(7-2-2014 Update) The Other's Game was started from scratch (yet again) and split into two parts due to length. I'm actually happy with it for once.


Chapter 23

The Other's Game pt.1


X Ranger-General X

It was fortunate that the Exilee was composed of Sunfury sin'dorei, which had been dragged around this planet and another and were thus ignorant of much that took place in recent years. Thomas feared what response they would have had without that ignorance, when a hundred of qiraji warriors blotted the sky above them in a storm of buzzing wings.

While the Commander and Ashblades muttered, Thomas perceived the slack-jawed nature of Merridan beside him. He also saw the collected look of Sin and his bodyguards in the distance, observing their reactions to the qiraji swarm. In a terse voice, he said, "Buck."

"I see them," Merridan returned, his voice no different.

Thomas kept a heavy stare at the distant human, seeking to read into his intent here. Qiraji – minions of old gods, kin to those that followed their current enemy – and that man over there, who reeked of godhood and corruption, had some semblance of control over them. This was a demonstration. Was it also a warning? An indication of something deeper?

His mind turned over the brief words already shared between them. An agreeable, nearly charismatic fellow under claims of friendship. Nothing said suggested otherwise. Yet, Sin de Rath's interest was in the cult and its destruction. He had a kaldorei warden at his side; never had he heard one of their sort losing purpose before, so what did her presence suggest?

Raeloth's stern voice interrupted his considerations: "Would one of you two bitterblossoms mind sharing your take on those flying women up there? You clearly know something we don't."

"Just keep calm," Thomas told him. He forced his hands away from his dagger hilts. "And Buck..."

"Don't you dare," his friend warned.

Thomas glanced his way, lip twitching with some wry amusement. "I told you so."

"Jackass." Merridan crossed his arms, also turning his attention to Sin and his protectors. "But even so, what is a loose clump'o'fur with amiss and out a trampled dally rose? I sayit merry an' open as a silk curtain, but I gave 'er an open an' out and go upon a weedling plot, eh?"

That was not regular Thalassian, Thomas noticed immediately. Even the fellow elves paused at it, glancing at Merridan. It was a mess of slangs and idioms, using words that did not mean anything close to what he was saying, until Thomas remembered the meaning of those particular turns of phrase. Anyone without a thorough mastery of the language – or without experience with such informal dialect – wouldn't have a hope of understanding its meaning.

It took a moment, but Thomas realized what Merridan actually said was, "But even so, there is nothing to indicate that he is our enemy yet. Let us first meet him with welcoming intentions, but keep your eyes open and your arms close."

The reasons were clear: some among Sin's force might understand their tongue. Don't trust Thalassian as a secure communication. By the sudden whispers that passed between the kaldorei and Sin, Thomas realized that the suspicion had merit.

"Then I'm going to ask again," Raeloth said, without any pretense. "What the hell are those harem girls up there?"

A hand gesture signaled the Ashblades closer to Thomas. He began to stride forward, towards that dark robed and dark skinned man with the cloak that shifted colors like the warden's. "They are qiraji Swarmguards," Thomas said for them, "the most elite warriors that the old god C'Thun had under his control before his downfall. They follow this... man now. So. Let's go meet him."

Thomas and his usual escort of command met Sin de Rath around the same time that Sin's other men made forward. A man with a black veil prowled as silently as any ranger, watching from the shadows, while at his side was a burly brute with red hair and red skin that spoke of desert living as certain as the deep tan that marked Sin's other men. Thomas was also soon to notice that Sin's personal guard extended beyond the succubus and warden he had briefly faced – both of which eyed him with unmasked distaste. Yes, a small team of qiraji hovered nearby, tensed and ready to explode in violence at a word, their glittering teal eyes unblinking in their tight attention.

For only a moment did their two sides address each other in silence, as Thomas was soon to remark, "A word with us, you said?"

Thirteen rangers, Merridan, Commander Raeloth, and himself. If conflict were to happen, could they win out here?

"Words of peace, if you can believe me," Sin agreed, seeming amused in a self-conscious way. His hand waved towards the qiraji above them, while the other held that strange staff in a firm fist. "I understand well how this all must look, but given chance to explain, I think you will realize matters are not so... perilous as they appear."

Subtle glances from his men hoped to meet his eyes, but Thomas kept his attention fast upon the man before him. Sin kept a very sincere and honest bearing; indeed, charismatic, with all the dangers associated with it. He returned the words with a slight nod of acknowledgment, letting his fellow human lead their meeting.

"My name, as I have said prior, is Sin de Rath. I am a warlock, from the town of Gatgetzan in Tanaris. So long as your blades, bows, and magic are trained upon the one called Ghat'Nothos, I and all with me are your friends and allies. Even the qiraji, those that are with me now, have joined the battle against the old god that plagues our world."

Thomas glanced to the qiraji escort meaningfully, and said, "I am sure you also understand that it is difficult to take your words at face value, friend."

"Without a doubt," Sin laughed. It was a rich sound, full of genuine amusement, as if hearing a long-standing joke. "It is nothing that I am not already well used to, between the Watchers and the goddesses. Such is my burden for giving the Battleguards of C'Thun my aid."

"I am sure that is quite the tale to tell. Before delving into it, however, I would like to hear more about the goddesses you mentioned."

The night elf responded before Sin could, stopping him with an hand against his sleeve. Eyes are sharp as the steel she bore met Thomas' eyes. "Believe me, human, when I say that I know exactly the suspicions you are feeling now. I too find it nearly impossible to trust the one who stands before the longstanding enemy of my race, but barely three weeks ago, the goddesses Freya the Life-Warden and the snow leopard Har'koa, from the Loa pantheon, accosted this man and pulled him into private counsel. When he left, it was with blessings from both and a divine heading to come to this forest to find allies in our cause.

"Right now, rogue, I have greater faith in this strange warlock with his qiraji horde and Burning Legion companion than I do an arrogant human that sends emissaries through assassins-" A flicked hand towards the Ashblades. "-and sooner speaks through his blades than his tongue. I give you the benefit of the doubt only at the urging of a goddess and from your actions in removing the cult from this land. Otherwise, I'd sooner leave every one of your-"

"Enough," Sin cut in. His expression was apologetic. "It is very easy these days to start on the wrong foot, I've found. However, Sentinel Blackmoon's words are true. I am here at the encouraging of Freya herself, and I hope that we can manage some semblance of trust between our two forces in the coming days. Light knows we need a friendly face."

Thomas would not stand bashfully, but he found a little half-smile when Genveera pointedly cleared her throat at the kaldorei's accusations. He considered his next words carefully, settling on a question that'd bring at least more insight than its face value: "Did the goddesses that guide you mention where you aught to go next?"

"Indeed so," Sin said with a nod. "North-west, into Icecrown. There was a hint that the forces left behind after the war could be rallied into further allies. I don't know if that is to mean vrykuls or something else, but we have no option but to go and hope."

"Jack," Buck said from behind him. Thomas was nodding even before he added, "King Malthon."

"The goddesses' words appear true," Thomas admitted. "We ourselves march to Icecrown to find a man named Malthon Eyenhart, who leads an army of paladins against the old god as we speak. You seem to know our enemy by name."

"Ghat'Nothos, The Always Watching, yes. At present, he lays siege upon Sholazar Basin, seeking to destroy the titan relics that are the Pillars, where the remaining gods of Azeroth desperate hold their final stand," Sin told them, yet his pink-skinned succubus was quick to add, "At the same time, he also wars with the moon goddess Elune, to great success."

Sin's brow drooped, turning a sudden look upon his minion. She did not return the gaze, yet the kaldorei muttered, "Her words are true. Elune's battle is a losing one."

It appeared that Sin was yet unaware of that last fact. He asked, "How can that be? This world may not have faced an old god at its height, but there must be some limits on their power."

"We may have the answer to that," Thomas interjected. "My portal masters have noticed some odd behaviors involving the Skinless along the ley lines, especially now that the Blues no longer watch over their domain."

From among Sin's forces, the warlock seemed to realize the quickest. "No longer... Oh, Light and Shadow!"

Thomas confirmed his fears with a nod. "Yes, we've theorized that Ghat'Nothos sits upon an interjunction at Ulduar, harvesting that limitless mana for himself."

Sin raved in silence for a long moment, unresponsive to either bodyguard. Eventually, he deflated but quickly squared his shoulders and addressed Thomas once more, his brown eyes now bright with some hidden energy. "Then I am without doubt that our conjoining is absolutely necessary, friend Thomas. March with us, fight with us, plot with us. We can remain separate entities, until our mutual trust is absolute, but no longer can the resistance of this world stand without unification."

The prospect did not take much consideration; despite appearances, there really wasn't a choice here. Thomas nodded amicably. "Of course. I look forward to the information that can be shared between our parties." Too much was off about Sin and those that followed him; divine heading or not, Thomas did not trust the warlock. They would need more than a heavy nightwatch in the coming nights, in the case of a midnight transgression. "I will call the Exilee forward."

XxX

"There is already a King of Northrend, Merridan. Why do you insist?"

"Because this King Malthon will know only war in his rule, and those who do usually die before they can see an end. It is a preparation."

"I have and am considering this, but more importantly I wish to ask if you trust that man: Sin de Rath?"

"About as much as he trusts me. It is the fayest thing when his eyes fall upon me, like he knows exactly what is lurking beneath my skin. It is no kinmanship either, so perhaps he is more trustworthy than I."

"His words, though."

"All with the ring of truth. Thomas knows this too. Odd as that man is, he is genuine in his desire to help."

"Still I feel as though I must tread cautious ground. The darkness lurking within all of those with him unsettles me. I have tried to help cleanse it, but it was as helpless as pulling buckets from the ocean to drain it. I became overwhelmed, consumed even, by the task, with awful waves of roiling corruption washing over me."

"You are still young, my lord. You will grow into your powers, and such tasks will come with hardly a sweat off your brow."

"I hope so, Merridan. This land feels too lost otherwise."

X Prophet X

At the sound of his tent flap moving, Sin's head rose sharply, turning away from his argument with Lynona. His brows pinched, and he asked warily, with his voice still heated from the previous debate, "Lady Blackmoon? What are you doing?"

A rare visage was Narelle without her hawk helmet. Scarcer still was her without the massive spaulders and dagger-lined warden cloak. The night elf stood there now with both tucked under her arm, the cloak neatly folded beneath the helmet, and though she hesitated at the entrance, she did not shy from his anger.

"I invited her," Lynona admitted.

The surprise washed away the rest of Sin's ire, rendering him speechless. The succubus hated the elf, hated what Narelle represented for Sin, yet to invite her, or any woman, into his tent? By the look of her, Narelle expected to stay the night, with her sentinel's sack present in her other hand. He was reminded of Lynona's reveal about Elune earlier; something must have transpired between the two.

Quiet, yet resolute, Narelle said, "I feel it is time we took our arrangement of trust and openness seriously."

Sin found his voice in a flash of indignation: "You know that I have been honest and gladly expanded on every question you've had for me, additionally open to every relevant topic that occurs to me."

Narelle nodded. "And you have my sincere gratitude, and pleasant surprise, for it, Sin de Rath. But it is I who must return your trust now." She bowed her head towards Lynona. "Recently, I've found my confidence in doing so."

Sin's eyes remained narrowed in suspicion, yet as he opened his mouth again, Lynona snapped, "Oh, would you just invite her in already? So rude sometimes, Master."

"Please, come in," was the dry remark. Narelle smiled slightly at it, and she moved to set her things in the corner of the tent. "So what is this supposed to be? You can't seriously be thinking of sleeping with me."

Narelle shot him an equivalent look, and she showed him the blanket she was taking from her sack. "Don't get your hopes up. My bedding would be laid here."

For the first time, Sin noticed Narelle's scars. Certainly, such weren't rare with warriors, especially old elves, but for a woman so scandalously clothed in battle, none ever seemed to show. There were no blemishes along her face, no notches torn from her ears, and certainly no pale lines over her thighs or front, yet bent now over her sack, he could see a ropey line that once lacerated her left shoulder, now just a pale pink indent against her purple skin, yet most telling was the angry, misshapen pink patch located center of her back, in the small between her shoulder blades. A burn or curse, he knew by sight.

"What did that to you?" he asked, already forgetting the rise of her comment.

Narelle stopped her movements, but she did not reply immediately. She knew what he was speaking of. Finally, she settled back on her heels and said, "Can you guess why I no longer wear armor, Sin?"

Answering a question with a question; how rude. "On most days, I'd guess because you cover yourself in enough steel from weapons alone." She looked his way, and Sin saw she did not appreciate his jest. "Fine. Because it's a burden and I've yet to see anything touch you but me."

He recalled losing control to Shed'lahk, becoming the beast, sealing Narelle away within the Gardens...

Narelle considered his reply with a tilt of her head, then nodded once. She said, "Because it does not protect me from the forces I fight. That scar is a shadowburn I received at the hands of an eredar in my forty-sixth hunt. I watched sixteen sisters die that day, and it was the last day I wore my armor. To wear that weight day after day, slowing my running, my strike, and adding sound into my silence, and the one time it is needed most, to watch helplessly as shadows seep past unhindered to sear away at my flesh."

"Shadowburn," Sin remarked, troubled. "That wound must be ancient, to look as it does now."

As she laid out her bedding, Narelle made an agreeing sound. "I have completed over two-thousand hunts since in my time with the Shadow Wardens, but I spent three years unable to walk after that day. Any movement that pulled on my back would send me into a seizure of crippling pain and muscle spasms. Our healers could do nothing for a cursed wound. I relearned from it the meaning and intricacies of pain, the mortal coil, and duty, when all personal will was devoted only to death – an end."

"Does it still ail you?"

"Four and a half centuries later? Only in times of great physical stress or weakness; it fans like the flames of a forge, growing hotter and hotter, but no longer does it exceed my pain threshold."

Sin looked to Lynona. The succubus had a look of pity for the night elf, knowing as he did the details behind such agonies. After all, it was Sin's preferred method of killing his enemies and the same forces he was devoted to combating.

To Narelle, he asked, "Will you let me take the shadows from the wound?" No matter how much time would pass, wounds of shadow did not turn to scar and heal. They only festered until the shadow itself fully left.

There was a wry smile on her face as Narelle looked his way again. "Sin, a healer?"

"A warlock," he said compassionately, "but not all we do must be destruction and death."

The sentinel hesitated further. "I would tell myself that given a chance to remove the curse, I would refuse, for it served as a memorial, one that refreshed my memories through all the ravages of time. But to see the offer before me, I realize that I am memorializing only pain, and that is both needless and childish... My gratitude goes beyond words if you would."

"Sit here." He gestured before him, and in two strides Narelle was there, kneeling down with her back towards him. The wound truly was ancient, appearing as only pink scar tissue that might fade in another century.

As he studied it, Lynona growled, "That bastard... That's chaos shadow-flame. He wanted you to suffer. Master, can you...?"

She trailed off, and Sin knew why. Chaos energies were deemed untouchable by most warlock circles. The others sought to experiment with it, but success was few and far in between. Even his mother, Margaret de Rath, admitted to the nigh impossibility, but at least she had given tips to it.

"Light and Shadow... I can break it into components. I can draw out the shadow and leave the chaos flames, then burn those out so it can heal, but that is asking for a new world of hurt. There must be some way I can use Freya's gift to flush it out and heal it without the rest. Alright, try to hold still; it's not delicate work so much as me needing full visuals of it."

"I will be fine. I have learned to embrace pain," Narelle said. Her hand reached back and found the knot that held her leather top closed, and she undid it for him, holding it to her chest with her free hand still.

Not the time to consider the attractive features of the elf, not even with her fully naked back in view. Sin touched upon soul magicks, blowing a strand of spirit into his finger, and he drew a circle around the full length of the wound as if the pale blue light was paint, then sealed the circle with a thought. That would contain both the wound and his work.

"And you, Sin de Rath? What is your worst wound?" Narelle asked.

Sin finished the next spell he had been muttering and gently placed his palm over the scarred tissue. He mentioned, "So is this what you wanted? Delving into our pasts?"

"I assumed it a part of an openness to each other, but remember whom breached this topic first."

Sin grunted in amusement. He lifted is hand, dragging his fingertips inward until they met at the center of the wound, then pulled back. Wispy strands of black clung to his fingers, feeding from the wound into his palm. "Fair enough. Well, I have died twice in my short years, but the worst wound I can honestly say was losing Lynona. No amount of healing magicks could ever repair that hole, that broken bond, and it will be some time yet before it is fully healed, even with her right here beside me."

When the final black left the wound to his palm, Sin leaned forward and showed it to Narelle. "This is what you've been carrying for all those years. Shadow magic fades at the same speed as mountains erode. Sometimes slower." He let the energy dissipate.

He paused at the strong surge of feelings that were not his own. Sin recognized the signs of emotions from the bond, and he looked to see the bleary-eyed smile Lynona had for him. Her every thought burned strongly with golden veins of love, and she let him know, with just her look and the bond, both her appreciation and that it was the same for her. He met her smile and let her feel his own returning emotion.

As the moment passed, he readdressed Narelle by asking, "How does it feel so far?"

"Cool as the mountain springs after winter. Thank you."

Sin nodded, though she couldn't see. "That's only half the battle. There's still a fire lingering within, waiting to react. Usually I'd quell it with my own flame, burning it out so it can heal naturally, but Freya gave me access to untold power with nature, so I'm trying to decipher a better way, one that might even be pleasant rather than send you writhing on the ground for the next half hour."

"That would be appreciated," she admitted. While he studied the nature of the chaotic curse and reviewed magical theories, Narelle spoke, "I wish to ask after your two deaths and how you returned, among other details of what has made you as you are, but there are more pressing, immediate questions, such as: What is the exact nature of the gifts bestowed upon you by the two goddesses?"

Always the helpful one, the cheery Lynona answered, "Well, Harkoa turned him into a horn-dog."

He noticed the huff of laughter from Narelle, but she let him speak as he explained, "Hers is the Song of the Loa. As was so artfully explained, it is savagely primal and likes to bring about all sorts of urges, but the purpose was to enforce my will and independence so that either Shed'lahk or Ghat'Nothos must first overcome the will of the loa gods before they can claim me. So long as the song still beats in my heart and my loins, if you'll excuse me, then I cannot be controlled."

"Well, at least one of those cannot be put down in a male," Narelle quipped dryly, to the eager agreement of Lynona.

Sin accepted their teasing with a smile. "Harkoa also mentioned a blessing from her, to be a master of shadows, but I haven't yet explored what that entitles other than exceptional night-vision and seeing through your shadowmelding as if you were illuminated by a spotlight."

Narelle hummed, and he finally called twines of green nature magic to his finger, carefully considering his next move. He did not want the curse to respond with violence, nor did he want to thrust magic into her in case it resulted in a root or branch spearing her through by accident.

"And Freya's?"

"The power and authority of the forest," he mentioned absently, his mind still turning over the curse. "Basically her mantle and abilities, but backed by my own power. Also, she attached her own support for my will and control, to better face my mental trials. To be as solid as oak or bending and unbreaking as saplings, for my will to be as endless as the forest. Aha!"

The green mana within his hand began to spiral, churning about into an orb, and Sin noticed leafs begin to appear and vanish within the confines. Without further hesitation, he commanded that sphere directly into the wound. Sparks and smoke erupted out in backlash, licking the green nature with flames.

Sin pumped more mana into the spell, focusing on the rejuvenating energies of nature magic, and the flames began to simmer and die, until only smoke trailed from the scar. His spell ended and he wiped at the smoke, leaving her back unharmed. Sin's lip went up in satisfaction. Though Narelle's scar remained, he could detect no more magic contained in the wound, and its angry darkness had lightened to the natural pink also seen on her shoulder.

Erasing the pale circle of spirit, Sin touched her back one last time with his hands, tracing the bumpy ridges of the scar and the smooth portions of her skin. Satisfied that it was entirely cleansed, he said, "Tricky stuff, that nature magic is, but it forms all the same. Never again will that wound bother you."

"I won't forget this kindness, Sin de Rath. Thank you." Gesturing to the hanging ties of her top, she asked, "Could you fix that for me?" He complied, then settled back with Lynona as Narelle moved to face them.

When Sin could see it, he noticed Narelle's face really was pretty. Most elves were, of course, but face to face with her now, with her silver hair down from the tall topknot... She knelt with her back ramrod straight, clearly a conditioned mannerism, and with her hands neatly folded in her lap, she acquired the enigmatic, aristocratic air that always seemed to float around elves of any race but particularly the kaldorei.

"Focus, Master," Lynona warned with just a smidgen of jealousy.

Sin's smile was apologetic, but the dismissing thoughts for Narelle in the bond were selectively ignored by the succubus. The warden spoke: "I will let this one slide, but I come tonight genuine in my intentions, Sin de Rath. You said you will treat me as someone closer and more intimate than a lover – you will show me that trust and openness, if I would but attempt the same. We have skirted that line in the most frustrating of ways since then; now I seek to end the games. I will uphold my end of the trust, and now I expect you to fully include me in your plots and ploys."

Sin's jaw flexed. What Narelle was suggesting was awfully intrusive, more so than he had been expecting when pity guided his words on that day of absolute terror. Yet as she spoke now, softly but also in soft tones, she sounded not at all like the hard, murderous warden he kept as a fail-safe to his own duties. She sounded and looked as a woman.

Women. Sin had little idea of what had wrapped him into the games and machinations of so many, nearly exclusively, of the fairer sex. A man ought to have reprieve from them, yet kicking back and discussing the latest gladiatorial match-ups and bets with Darnin and Jern was an absurdity. At least this Thomas fellow seemed agreeable enough, and they were to march together for a long time yet.

Sin would take the schemes of elves over the pressures of women on any day of the year. And that was the truth.

With a sigh, he knew he would have little choice in the matter. His words then had surmounted to a contract, and Narelle was proving willing to pay her end. Even within his own tent, his place of rest, the doubling up of both Lynona and Narelle against him would persist.

His withering glance at Lynona was met with an innocent smile as she so curiously studied the tent around them. Her purpose had been exposed and she knew it from his thoughts.

"Sin?" Narelle asked as his silence stretched.

"With my will supported by the blessings of both goddesses," Sin started, and he looked back to her deceptively fair face, "I have been considering contracting a demon well beyond my usual means of control, entities equating to the lords of the Twisting Nether, and utilizing their power as my own to supplement the power needed to face an old god. With knowledge that it is using Azeroth's ley lines for power, such bargains have become a necessity."

"It's utter foolishness," Lynona touted immediately. It was the same argument they had been having before Narelle's surprise arrival. "Those Sin is considering are malevolent and cannot be tamed. Even if untouchable behind a gods' blessed ironclad will, their mere presence will corrupt all near them, and their evil will spread into Sin's soul by proximity, not to mention their cunning and the plots they would begin once discovering themselves bound for servitude under a simple mortal."

The two sides, the need and the risk, already thrust upon Narelle's lap in the first instant of their total agreement. For such a seemingly slight woman, her stern stature as a warden remained even without her weapons and remaining armor.

"Can you harness their power once the contract is made, or must they be compelled by servitude to be of use?" she asked.

"The Demon Soul," Lynona started angrily, just as Sin hesitantly admitted, "The Demon Soul..."

The succubus shot him a glare, but she let him explain: "There is a spell that has slowly been constructed by the most powerful of warlocks in the world, each adding input and insight on how to make it work. I was included in the project, overwhelmed by the trust and unity of my kind in our strive for this tool. Though we have completed it, we are still discussing a way to make it powerful enough to be cast, rather than reply on tools and soulshards.

"The Demon Soul, as it is, allows us merge the soul of a contracted demon with our own. I can see, by the cast of your eyes and new tension, that you understand the risk and trust needed between master and servant. In that moment of unison, all of the power contained within that demon becomes ours to utilize, including the power they gain from the warlock by bonding. It stacks to an unbelievable limit, but such power comes at a heavy cost. Allowing a demon into one's soul gives it freedom to influence, corrupt, and overlap its personality with our own.

"With Lynona, we can remain merged from sun up to sun down at no loss, and her bonus is significant. My headstrong dreadsteed, maybe thirty seconds before I find overwhelming urges to roam the rolling hills in endless running, leaving behind me trails of flame and destruction, to leave free and indomitable as the dreadsteed himself. If I were to contract something like Claxius... I might manage one spell. One spell before its claws rip out my soul and consume it with utter madness and the darkness of the lowest pit of hell."

"Exactly," Lynona hissed, but Sin still looked to Narelle with a grave resolution, explaining, "The power behind that one spell, however, if compounded by the bond and merge, giving me full access to that of the gods, myself, Shed'lahk, and a demon of Claxius' immensity... That one spell could split apart Azeroth. It could shatter the moon. Certainly, it could banish even an entity as powerful as an old god with the power of the ley lines."

The considerations were making the elf visibly pale, but rather than dismiss herself, she pressed quietly, "You are sure of this?"

"Of that power? Yes," Sin said, and Lynona had no argument. "Albeit, there are ways of escaping such spells when a being as ancient and powerful as an old god possesses that endless well of mana. That is why I have the dagger of its blood and power, to ensure that it is fully susceptible to my finisher and cannot escape."

"And the cost," was the hissed reminder. "Lo, the old god is dead, yet in the same instant, my beloved Master is dead, taken over by the Banelord Claxius who is given the same currents of power. And Claxius has both the ambitions and means to rip apart the Gardens and steal the power of every prisoner within, including the Beast."

A wry smile overtook Sin. "Behold the world and possibilities of Sin de Rath. I know by the look of your face what you are considering, Lady Blackmoon, and be assured that you will not be able to put a poisoned bolt in my back fast enough to kill me in the transition to Claxius. Nor will your poison be deadly enough to even phase the resulting entity."

"Then why are you considering this path?" Narelle asked. Lynona thrust her hand up, surging with self-assured satisfaction.

"Because the possibilities of magic are endless. With appropriate preparations, nearly anything is possible. A child with a wit and the power to only conjure one fireball could kill me in a hundred-thousand manners, given time to ready his murder."

"So you have a plan?"

"Something far more potent and dangerous: I have an idea."

Narelle proved dubious. "A way out, you mean."

Sin nodded. "A perfect example, though it would be expected by Claxius, would be to assign a curse powerful enough to obliterate me in the merge just after I assign the power of my god-destroying curse. Then, once dead and Claxius banished back to the Nether, I use my soulstone to return. He would see that coming, but I can manage much, much better in the coming days."

The long, elven brows pinched inward. "If that is true, could you not prepare a better plan to eliminate the old god with allotted time?"

Sin felt another fierce surge of satisfaction burning through the bond within him. Of course Lynona would be pleased by that, for it was the same argument she herself had been holding onto. Light and Shadow, it truly was a doubling-up against him from the two.

"Nothing so certain," he explained simply, and he spread his hands. "Despite everything, I am only human, and my mind similarly limited. But I know bargains for power, I know them well and by the dozens, and there are those I can cash in to give me the certainty of success at costs so high that I cannot sleep with them in mind."

Following his words, there was a long span of pensive silence from the warden. Her lips remained pursed and eyes narrow. It was breached finally when she asked, "Are all warlocks as dangerous as you, Sin de Rath? I have never in all my life experienced fear as I do with you."

"They should be," Sin harrumphed. "But too many amateurs run about their calling themselves 'locks just because they like shadow magic. We are sorcerers first." He looked to Lynona. "Be a dear and get me both a soulshard and an un-etched disk."

"As the master wishes." She ducked her head to him before moving.

When he had the two objects in hand, Sin began to mutter spells, breaking the shard into enchanting dust and etching spells into the disk. As he worked, in between chants, he said to Narelle, "You wish to know more about me. Let me clue you in on two of the most important things that you can understand. The First Law of sorcery is that preparation is everything. The result of duel between two mages isn't who commands more power but who was most ready. You will see this time and time again. Time is the most crucial resource they need for anything."

"And the Second Law?"

Sin shook his head. "Insignificant compared to what should be the "First Law" of being a warlock. Control. That is paramount, that is our cornerstone. Control sees to the performance of our spell work with the dangerous forces of shadow and fel. Control sees demons under our command. Control sees us play our duels like a pre-set game of chess. Those are two laws I live by, and the more understanding you have of them, the more you will understand both me and my methods... and how to behave in pressing situations, to allow me to see to our success."

Something seemed to amuse Narelle, and her lips quirked into a smile. "You seek to control me, don't you?"

Sin's grin stretched. "I am going to wring every drop of use I can get out of you, Lady Blackmoon. That is the true cost of working with me. In return, you will achieve knowledge that should never be passed into the hands of the night elf wardens, knowledge that will educate and temper you to the truth behind this world and the one parallel to it. Can you handle that, Lady Blackmoon? Before all is done, I will fashion you into a Grand Warlock without you even touching the blighted mana I work with daily."

"You humans are so bold and crass," the elder woman said with a lazy grin. "So young yet certain of their knowledge and its potency. You will find I am not so easily cowed by darkness, Sin de Rath. I sit here before you, do I not?"

"Boldness or ignorance. I think we both sprint down that line, Miss Blackmoon."

"Darkness, just kiss already or something! Your paralleled bravado is sickening," Lynona complained.

They laughed at the succubus, backing down from their banter. Sin nodded his head to the night elf though. "I must admit, I like this side to you. Working together intimately already has lost its dreadful overcast." He offered his hand to her, revealing the completed trinket he had been working on. "A gift, if you can stomach it."

A warlock gift, comprised of the bound soul of a once living creature. Narelle accepted it into her palm, turning the disk-shaped trinket about in stone-eyed study, while asking, "What does it do?"

"A variant of the Shadow Ward I employ against beings of the Nether and foes of similar disposition as myself. It will give you Nether Plating, to iron your skin, mind, and soul against the touch of shadow and shadow-flame. "Absorbs" is a better term, but even chaos energies, which pierce all armor, are dulled against the holder of that trinket. Essentially, I am offering you armor, Lady Blackmoon."

The warrior of right, of justice, showed no emotion at it. "Soul magicks are an abomination, Sin."

"No more so than the fel or the shadow. It's an immensely powerful tool, one used to better protect those near me."

"Harvesting souls is worse than murder."

"No, it is merely unnatural, which is often mistaken for the other. Terrible would be torturing the souls of the dead, or attempting to return them to life, or erasing them to oblivion. I instead hold them, then use their energies before sending them onward for divine judgment. You do realize these are the souls of evil, do you not?"

Her lips pursed, and her dark skinned hand closed around the disk, bringing it to her side. "We won't argue about this now. Keep these practices to a minimum around me, Sin."

"Would this be a bad time to mention that he has been considering necromancy of late?" Lynona piped with apparent disinterest. A cold feeling of dread trickled down Sin's spine.

"No, this would be a perfect time," Narelle remarked coolly. "Enlighten me, Sin de Rath."

Now that was a dangerous tone. Discarding the urge to lie, Sin lived up to his end of the proverbial contract: "I mastered the art to better know how to combat it. I've never actually performed the work, and that is the truth, but there is boundless potential within that field. I've kept it, along with so much else, an option. Necromancy defiles only myself, not the world, if my hand is forced into a means of more power."

The narrow eyes of silver were livid with rage. "You are an idiot, Sin."

"Thank you," Lynona agreed.

"I am a man in a very, very dangerous position, Lady Blackmoon. I do not believe myself the only means of salvation for this world, but my threat to the old god is real, and I alone have the means to change the entire result of the battle. Can I admit something, Narelle? May I open up about something I would never say otherwise?"

"Speak briefly," she prompted, nearly hissing her words, drawing closer to an outburst – and women of her sort did not lash with words.

"I don't want to die," he told her, the grave voice falling soft. "I don't want to be corrupted into a monster or a mockery of a human being. I want to be myself, to live as I live. Every fiber of my being shrieks with fear at what will happen to me if I follow any path for more power; I have already done what I can without paying such costs, and now those are all I have left, and I am afraid of what is to come. I would do anything to avoid these." She opened her mouth, and he spoke over her sharply: "Anything but damn Azeroth."

Her mouth closed, still set with a scowl, then she said, "Have you ever considered that you need not face this alone, Sin? Are you so ignorant as to think the reason I insist after open trust between us is just so I can better know when to murder you? I want to kill this bastard god, not you. This burden is not yours to bear; you just have more knowledge and influence than the rest of us."

"You don't understand," Sin groaned, frustration mounting. "Against a being of this power, you can throw a thousand bodies, a million – every living mortal on this planet – against it all at once, and you will find only a sea of their blood for it. This is outside the realm of mortal conflicts."

"How many said that of C'Thun's awakening?" Narelle demanded. "What of Yogg'Saron's? Look at the triumph of our people, Sin."

"Narelle, please. You don't understand."

"Make me understand, Sin de Rath. It is why I am here."

From the side, Lynona spoke up again, her voice surprisingly soft, "Master... Put that to words." She was reading his racing thoughts, of death and helplessness and supernatural responsibilities.

"The ley lines change everything. They offer literally limitless power. Beating Ghat'Nothos with that power is impossible by mortal means. No exceptions. None at all. The gods of Azeroth are dead, Narelle, because even they could not beat this power, not even if they had been working together. In the Basin, Freya has one of the most powerful relics in all of history at her disposal, of titan make and unyielding, ancient mana, and it is failing against the old god. Mortals like you, Darnin, even that Thomas, aren't like annoying ants against it; you are nothing but infinitely small motes of dust brushing against its body."

"So why don't we just devise a way to sever it from the ley lines? You have that precious time to prepare."

Sin shook his head. "I've already begun considering it, but we cannot trust it to be a fool about its position after knowing the fall of its brothers. By now, Ghat will have astralized massive portions of its body into the ley lines, literally merging itself into them. Not only are we barred from taking that mana for ourselves, cutting it out would be like... You know needle in the hay? This is chipping the needle out of the bottom depths of Icecrown Glacier with only spoons. We haven't the time, power, or ability to do so."

Narelle's jaw flexed, eyes showing her own frustrations. "What are our options, Sin? Realistically, where is our hope and what can we pursue?"

Sin sighed, leaning back on a hand while also pinching the bridge between his eyes. "That, my dear warden, is what I hope we will discover together in the coming days. I have many tricks but one mind. I truly do want you aware of my abilities so you understand not only the options we have but are able to help me devise new methods. Remember again and again the dagger of its blood and power. The advantage of it is so crucial – it will be key to our victory."

"Always back to you, keeping yourself the center and the carrier of the future," she remarked, but now her voice was troubled. Her attention drifted aside, to the flat walls of the tent, and it was clear she was thinking.

Lynona's skilled hands came to Sin's shoulders, beginning a massage, and he nearly groaned in relief. Instead, he told Narelle, "Convince me that there is a better way, and I will cling to it with all my might. Until then, I can only prepare myself for the inevitable."

Narelle looked back to him. "You seek to martyr yourself." It was not a question, and at the chilling realization, Lynona's hands stopped to dig her nails into his skin.

"I seek to win."

"Goddess... I never would have expected this of one of your sort, Sin de Rath. Not even while knowing all that you did for us in the war."

Sin felt Lynona press herself close to his back, and her chin rested on his shoulder as her arms dropped to hug him possessively. "Keep eyes of that sort off my master, missy. He's my man." She clearly felt his flush of indignation, as she then drawled dangerously, "Deny it, Master. I dare you."

Narelle's smile was soft. "Do not mistake respect, little demon. I have no desire for relations in times like these."

"Admiration is a step up from respect," Lynona argued shrewdly. Narelle barked a surprised laugh, repeating self-reflectively, "Admiration?"

Sin opened his mouth, but the rush of excitement from Lynona in response argued him down as she read his thoughts: "You're wrong, Master. I can feel how every time you think of it, you have it associated with distraction, with responsibility. What you would actually find is relief and support and even strength. Love isn't a weight – but if it was, it would embolden you with the power to carry it and more."

How ardently and desperately she told him those things. Sin sighed and nodded. "I know, darling. But there is one matter more that keeps me hesitant." Lynona's lips pressed together tight, and he could feel the frustration and smoldering loathing.

"Pardon the interruption, but can you two actually read each others thoughts or do you just get suggestions and feelings?" Narelle asked from the side.

Lynona's arms held him tighter at the question, but it was he who answered it: "It used to be that thoughts could be heard if they were clear, specific, and simple enough, mostly pieced together by the combination of intent and feelings. Since the reformation, the bond seems to have formed stronger, and thoughts carry nearly as if they had formed in our minds. As always, the part that is Lynona remains foreign and recognizably separate to myself, describing how is beyond my ability, but the mingling of her demon soul and mine is a welcome conjoining."

"And how is it separate from the qiraji bond you had described earlier?"

"Coherency of her thoughts help. Lynona doesn't possess an alien mind with alien thoughts. The bond with Lynona is also a persistent, ever-present thing within me. With Sekara, the bond becomes the perceivable world, as I said earlier. Also, with Lynona I read her thoughts, so to speak. I hear them within me where the bond is, which is separate as from my mind as my own hands are. When Sekara communicates, it establishes directly within my mind, as if thinking through me, slowly breaking down the barriers of two independent entities."

"Yet you call it beautiful." A shrewd observation, but it did not come with any scorn.

"It is foreign, exotic, exciting – an actual look within a mind alien to a mortal, alien even to a demon. With Lynona, the bond is everything you would expect; with Sekara, it is everything you wouldn't. There is great beauty in the fae, Lady Blackmoon; standing there with the truth of the qiraji world presented before your mind, experiencing it and learning it, you will find wonder on every level, from sensation to intellectual engagement."

"Beauty comes from nature, and there is nothing more unnatural than the qiraji," Narelle mentioned reflectively. "Alas, it seems as if everyone has had their look into your mind but me. I cannot help but be curious."

Sin gave her a look, and by her returning expression, she understood what she was saying. Sin's hard gaze lasted for only a moment, then fell and he leaned back into Lynona's embrace. The succubus returned his reluctance, but he said, "Psychic magicks are within the school of shadow and under my mastery – but what you are asking, Miss Blackmoon, truly goes beyond the intimacy of family and soulmates. If you insist, I will take you in, dear warden, and show you all that I am in fulfillment of our arrangement, but not tonight. We are not ready for that sort of bond."

The night elf nodded slowly. He noticed again how steely her eyes were, even in moments such as these. "You are right; I suppose I am of an impulsive temperament at present. Already we have spoken at length and in depth. There is time still to speak later." Lifting the trinket from her side, the freshly etched disk, she said simply, "Thank you for the gift," and rose to find her own incomplete bedding.

After a moment of watching the night elf busy herself, Sin forced himself to leave the comforting arms of Lynona and also rise. "Sekara has been itching to enter and sleep, but for the sake of your first night within my tent, I will deny her just this once. Steel yourself for her company soon, Miss Blackmoon."

He passed the tent flap, ignoring the pleasant surprise from Lynona, and found the qiraji hesitating at that threshold, as expected. He passed an easy smile for her and quietly wove a spell to prevent the tent occupants from hearing them. He had more than a few words to share with her this night.

XxX

The ranger stopped to unload his motionless captive, removing the blindfold but not the gag so that Sin could see her face. Thomas gestured with his head. "I present to you Lady Alissa, the cult's de facto leader. She's been a tough one, but we've gotten her to sing a few times under the iron. I should mention, we've spelled her ears shut at the moment, so you may speak freely around her."

"Now this is an opportunity," Sin acknowledged. He felt a familiar hand touch his back, as Lynona peered around his side. The captive was a beautiful one, but such traits were insignificant in his mind. "What songs did this dove sing?"

"None of the conventional kind, I regret to say. Locations, names, strategies – these things hold no meaning to them and no aid to us. Still, it has given us clues to their operations. We know where the old god is focusing and some of the reasoning behind his peculiar minions. For example, they follow a process of ascension, where regular Skinless prove themselves worthy of casting their eyes upon the beast, and in turn receive Ghat's blessing. You have heard of Lwat'chtu?"

"Can't say I have," Sin admitted. He noticed those polished-blue cultist eyes were trained upon Shed'lahk, so he wiggled his fingers around it in a little wave. Her eyes slid up to meet his, saw his smirk.

Thomas speaking again called his attention back to the Ranger-General. "We will have much to cover in the coming days of our march, then."

"I'm in a state of agreement. Apart from the obvious, I am most curious about how else the Skinless differ from the qiraji, but I am sure you have questions of your own that I will try to answer. On top of even that, I would like to ask for your portal masters, to confer with them over the dilemma of the old god entrenched in the ley lines. The last I think warrants the utmost importance."

"You will have them," Thomas vowed. "Already they have toiled over the issue, without much success. A new voice would be welcome."

Sin took a glance behind him, where Narelle, the bandit leaders, and Sekara waited, then brushed over Thomas' lingering escort – the Ashblades mostly hidden away, but the Commander, the golden haired ranger, and a spattered few stood nearby in wait. Sin said, "I maintain that you and I, with a select few, march at the head of our forces, to share what we can. I also maintain that we remain segregated bodies, for at least a time longer."

Thomas rubbed his chin for a moment, passing a subtle glance to his nearby colleagues, then said, "I know you hold Freya's power confidently, but the threat of this forest...?"

It was left open ended. Sin waved away the concern. "The Other that haunts this woods has already been dealt with. It won't interfere with our march any longer."

"Other?" Thomas repeated, raising an eyebrow. Sin noticed one of the Ashblades moving, from shadow to light, at the mention. It was he with the beard, that exceptionally skilled one called Jerath, now with hazel eyes wide and intent upon him.

He gave a slight nod. "Yes, the Other. A being native to the Nether, yet outside of mortal comprehension. I don't wish to delve deeply into the subject, but it has manifested itself as a malevolent-seeming will of the forest, which stands as its domain. Utterly harmless now, I assure you."

Thomas also noticed the approaching ranger, asking, "Jerath? Something to add?"

The gold-bearded man shook his head. His Common had a thick accent. "No, sir. I just... Warlock, what you say is true? The Others are more than rumor?"

"And far more terrible than rumor," Sin acknowledged somberly. "We are lucky it has manifested upon the forest, where it must submit to ranger magicks and Freya's authority. Lucky indeed."

Jerath's fears left a greater impression on the Exilee than Sin's warnings could have. However, the fact that the man even know of their existence by rumor spoke enough of the ranger. Sin passed a respectful nod.

"I would like to hear more about these "Others,"" Thomas said, his tone sounding hard and wary.

Sin almost didn't notice Lynona's hand clenching a fistful of his robes against his back. He shook his head. "No. You really wouldn't. Let's start this march; we can speak then."

XxX

The first day together passed without issue. There was nothing to contend against in the forest, so the conversations between Sin, Thomas, and their respective companions went uninterrupted. Thomas admitted a pleasant surprise that Sin's followers could match the pace of an elven march, while Sin marveled over Thomas' engineered constructs and the handiwork of Donvorei.

At Thomas' prompting, Sin expanded on what he knew of the qiraji – the qiraji bond, their communication, the will and subservience. Sekara did her part in speaking and explaining, when called upon. Though some misgivings would remain, Thomas called that bridge of separation crossed and closed. He would strive to trust the qiraji.

In turn, Thomas expanded on the things he knew about Icecrown. King Malthon and the paladin army, the notion that the vrykuls may be fighting the old god with them, and the push into Storm Peaks. He also reviewed the things that the interrogation of Alissa had revealed to them: Lwat'chtu, pronounced L-wat kh-loo, were the testing grounds of the Ywalsthu or "minnows" of the old god – what Sin would call the war zones of the resistance. The largest of the Lwat'chtu took place in the southern vrykul lands and the nerubian Underworld but could also be found in Uldum, Ashenvale, the Hinterlands, and the mythic land of Pandaria. Thomas saw them as spots to find potential allies, but Sin was hesitant:

"The southern vrykul were obliterated nearly to the last man in the war with the Lich King. And aren't the nerubians nearly entirely Scourge now?"

They assumed that the elves were holding a long game of ranger warfare in Ashenvale, hopefully banded with the present Horde and naga, while in the Hinterlands, only the troll mountain-fortress Jintha'alor seemed a plausible place of defense. It made sense to them, as the trolls had a history with fighting the aqir before. Though there was no real method to reach either resistance, they kept the regions in mind in case they were driven southward.

Alissa had proven a much needed well of information, with her position in the cult. She knew of ambassadors being sent to the elemental plane, intending to drive the elemental lords back to their former masters. Others had been sent to capture the Dread Queen of the naga. For now, the factions were delaying on any commitment, but as soon as either the lords or Azshara gave in, the campaign for this world would find a bitter overcast.

Ghat'Nothos was everywhere, they had found. Centered in the crown of the world, yet fighting all the way through the world even to its Pandaria footstool. A fight that took place cosmically, against the gods and Elune, to even the Twisting Nether, where apparently the old god was pleased to draw recruits from. The ambitious demons had the right mentality and ambition to find ascension.

Not all news was bad, but the best of it was still grey. For the slaying of C'Thun and Yogg'Saron, there were consequences for the mortal races that sought to follow the old god. Their trials to ascend were greater, and even the most gifted and able were not trusted with the most critical operations. Considering Ghat's success even without their full involvement, the word was bittersweet at best.

In the north, their destination of Storm Peaks, the process for the reordering of Azeroth had already begun. Cities of blight and darkness replaced the charged snow, festering Skinless minions and housing endless armies of Ghat's might. If the Qiraji War, fought over a thousand years ago, had been so terrible in only the limited space of Ahn'Qiraj and Silithus, the wide breadth of Storm Peaks spelled only a more bleak campaign.

Sin proved unperturbed by the last bit, to which Thomas took note. "You know something I don't about it?" he asked.

The dark skinned warlock only shrugged atop his dreadsteed. "It was nothing I didn't already expect. The numbers and area of the enemy will be the least of our concerns, again using the Qiraji War as reference. The silithid hives out-produced the numbers that the kaldorei and dragons combined could slay, and that was under a slumbering master. This campaign cannot take place as an advancement of lines, no more than the earth could try to advance against the wasting decay of the sea."

That sparked the attention of Commander Raeloth. "You hold no faith in our march?"

"On the contrary, my faith is still yet unshaken. But we mustn't look at this as a war of mortals. We must do more, we must be more. Gods are not overthrown by tenacity and steel, my friend. It is the blind-side, the sucker punch, and the mother of all wallops – if you'll excuse a goblin expression – that does the job. Notice, Ghat didn't siege the walls of our capital cities. He sent the Singing Blades first."

The elf was nodding along with his words. "We are more familiar with that than most. Quel'dorei tactics used to involve the Ranger-General assassinating the enemy general and command long before the battles, sometimes even the kings and councils safely in their home cities. Not because there was doubt in our ability in open battle, but because it made the battle unnecessary. Yet, while still lovely in theory, I don't think this is a foe that can be slowed with a dagger across his sleeping throat."

"That is because you must think grander, my friend. We won't poison their wells, we will poison the ley lines Ghat calls his home. No bundle of mercenaries will bolster our ranks, I would see the Burning Legion begin its full-scale invasion of Azeroth – right on their front step! Let us see the old god seduce away the demons from the Destroyer's own hands. This is no mortal enemy, so we mustn't think in mortal terms. We find what matters most to this enemy, and we ruin it."

Sin's words were as bold and confident as he always is, and he finished his speech with: "So again, their numbers matter none to me. What use is a billion minions when it is found that the very rain clouds of Azeroth spill a poison that affects only those imbued with Ghat'Nothos' power?"

The Exilee Commander had a grin to stretch his elven features. Raeloth announced, "You are a special kind of menace, Sin de Rath the Mad. And I am absolutely glad we found you. The mind of a warlock is a wicked thing to us fairfolk, who still think magic a thing of beauty and splendor."

"Yet all that has been said is simple to conjure in thought yet impossibly complex in application. Unless attuning water vapor with anti-old god-magic for extended duration is a class I missed in my lectures?" was the somber rebuttal of Merridan.

Sin waved a sleeved hand his way. "I would hope you missed that class, elsewise my knowledge would be no more than parlor tricks to you. But curses, hexes, and the kind of powers I work with, and intend to work with... these are things I think require a specially tailored education. Alas, your point does stand. There is a dreary amount of ground-work to cover before any of these spells become possible, along with needing more specific and realized targets."

"'Dreary,'" Merridan repeated, bland. "As if it is not work that takes between decades and centuries for expert teams of arcane theorists."

Sin turned to give him a wide grin and a wink. "It is a good thing that I am better than experts, now isn't it? And if this is somehow impressive to you, you ought to meet my mother."

"Well, you certainly have the hubris of a god," Thomas drawled, not without a grin when Sin's attention turned his way. "We can only hope your feet fill the shoes your mouth suggests."

Sin shook his head. "You mustn't look my way. This is only what I foresee for your work, Ranger-General. I am only one man, and I must consult with your portal masters over the issue of the old god in the ley lines. But what your army holds right now is the entire legacy of the elves – all that remains, that is. You must send your Grand Warlock to the Grand Magister, your Spymaster to your First Assassin. Every man and woman with you was raised and educated under the entirety of elvish mastery, and now that knowledge must converge for the sake of this planet. I see in you the greatest shock force in all of Azeroth; the Exilee has the potential to assassinate gods, Sir Thomas."

A light laugh passed the human's lips. "I can see how you managed your position of leadership among your own force, Sin de Rath. I want so much to just believe your every word." He shook his head. "You are right in that we have our separate battles, even though we stand on the same side. I will keep your advice in mind... and hopefully you nearby for further consultation."

"I'll be around for as long as I can," Sin acknowledged with a wave. "For now, we have a few hours yet of daylight. What did Miss Alissa have to say about Ghat himself? What can we expect from this Beast called The Always Watching?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. Ghat is shrouded in mystery even to its own followers. It has met them only through a mouthpiece, a creation that speaks with its authority, I'm told. Personally, I'd like to know more about the process of becoming Sightless, and casting ones eyes upon the Beast. Apparently a few of their human followers have managed it already, but Alissa, clearly, is not among them."

"Only one mouthpiece? You are sure?" Darnin piped from the side. "C'Thun spoke through many prophets in Silithus."

Thomas could only shrug a shoulder. "Alissa believes so. "The Prophet of the Elder God" is not an empowered mortal, rather instead like Ghat's own avatar."

"Prophet," Sin spat, drawing attention back to himself. "Two-bit doomsayer, more like. Hardly prophesy if Ghat itself is the sole driving force to make the words true."

"Is that not prophesy though? A god makes a decree, then fulfills it," Raeloth said.

"No, not prophesy," Sin continued, "that is mere assumption, and just as fallacious as those of the mortals. It might be "watching" every damn thing on the planet, even us as we talk here now, but that doesn't mean a lick if it can't see one second into the future. And as was demonstrated in Silithus, I can blind a beast like that, no matter how many eyes it has."

XxX

When camped for the night, Sin was invited into the Exilee camp. Narelle Blackmoon remained with his forces, just barely, after he promised to record everything for her to listen to at her own time. Though he moved now seemingly alone, Lynona was ever present, shrouded by lesser invisibility and stalking in his wake.

Many dozens of green elven eyes turned his way. He nodded to them in reply as he weaved between their fancy, colorful tents. He was reminded of their name, the Green Army, and the similarly colored armbands each of them wore. These elves were proud of their army, proud of their human Deliverer. Though they might be few, this was indeed a potent force.

It was not Thomas that came to meet Sin. A golden haired elf hailed him, a slight woman that did not wear the grey of an Ashblade yet composed herself with much more authority than the average sin'dorei. Sin had seen her with Thomas on multiple occasions, likely a second in command. Genveera was her name.

"We bid you welcome," she greeted, offering a slight bow that involved her open palms spreading. The silver bow slung over her shoulder did not budge at it, neither did the brown leathers of her uniform creak.

In return, Sin let Shed'lahk tap the ground before him, giving an invisible thrum of dark power that pressed against the ranger, before he also dipped his head in a shallow acknowledgment. "Greetings, Genveera the Swan. Your Ranger-General was vague in his invitations, but have I correctly assumed that I have been granted a chance to speak with your nefarious little captive?"

"It is as you say," she said. "If you would follow me, I will take you to where she is being held." She turned, revealing a slender back with two full quivers strapped firmly to it, and she prowled away with a ranger's sure footing.

Sin did not immediately follow her, blinking after the fair elf. In his head, Lynona's thoughts carried intentionally over the bond: Master, that is...?

Here, under the many eyes and many ears of the elves, spoken word would betray him. He made his own thoughts as deliberate and clear as he could: Yes, I noticed. It is no business of us, however. Thomas trusts her.

He could piece together her reply, though it was not as clearly in words: Lynona did not. Sin smirked, beginning to follow the ranger before his hesitations became suggestive.

They arrived at what was clearly a guarded tent. Four elves were stationed around it, with a fifth appearing from inside when Genveera called. Sin presumed other eyes watched from afar, knowing the danger in keeping this captive. When the two finished speaking, the ranger performed another small bow for him. "You may enter. Take care with this one, Sin de Rath. She is many times more cunning and devious than appearance suggests."

"I am prepared," he acknowledged. She stepped aside, allowing him and the still cloaked Lynona to enter the tent. I want you firmly in my head, Lynona, he thought aloud, hoping it was directed towards the bond. Do you want to lead or shall I?

Sin only managed to glean a strange desire from her first attempt at a reply. The second attempt managed words: I will have my fun, but first I just want to watch her.

Once past the threshold, Sin wove spells to block sound and intrusion, giving them a rigid and private cover, before he finally faced the woman bound and curled at the center pole of the tent. She was already ungagged. The tent had no lighting, so he conjured several small wisps of fel green flame, sending them in positions around the tent so that its mellow light was omnipresent.

Striking eyes stared up at him, the fear and pleading already real in those orbs. It implied that Thomas already did some serious work on this one. Sin snorted loudly at it. "You can drop the act. You won't impress one of my sort."

Baby blues blinked up at him, as if not understanding. Sin paid it no heed, instead moving to begin the process of sealing and locking Shed'lahk in the soil of the tent. The captive, Alissa, could not ignore the powerful artifact, blue eyes falling entranced by the black staff.

Oh, that dark glitter that came to her eyes at the feel of the Beast That Dwells Below's power. She was a dark darling, one that would know the extent of the wonder and mind-numbing potential of such a tool. She knew Sin was its master, and already a sense of respect would build for him – and desire, desire fueled by ambition, that if this were a free world for her, she would do whatever it took to claim this weapon from his hands.

Sin knew from that look that this woman, the subtle leader of all of Ghat's cultists, had the ability to wield it, to control Shed'lahk much like Sin himself. But would she be a Warden? Or would she use the powers of the Gardens to unleash the dawn of a new age, one of terror and decay?

"Shed'lahk. That is its name," he said, noticing how her attention did not even waver. "Would you like to hold it?"

A darting tongue wet her pink lips. "I am not a fool, Master of the Qiraji."

"So I keep hearing," he mentioned, amused. He stepped away from the weapon, relishing the absence of its burning corruption. "If you are so clever as they say, however, then you should know that I am genuine. Again, would you like to hold it?"

Polished eyes glanced at him, then back to Shed'lahk. She said nothing. That prompted Lynona to reveal herself, standing behind the cult leader and now with fistfuls of her dark hair pulled tight. "You will look at my master when he speaks," the succubus hissed into her ear. Sin could see the pained scrunch of Alissa's face as Lynona maneuvered her head to facing him. "Answer him."

Hot fury lurked just beneath that doll face, none of it managing to spill out. Alissa's eyes darted about, clearly unsure of their game. She held her tongue.

This moment belonged to Lynona. Sin left her to it, turning away as he began to loosen his robes and remove them. As he did, Lynona's tail drift up from behind her, slowly coiling around Alissa's throat until the end settled with its sharp quills lightly touching the delicate skin below the chin. She tightened the coil until those barbs began to dig, forcing Alissa to lift her chin higher and higher, eventually looking straight upwards, into the succubus' own illuminated eyes and wide grin.

"You are going to make this fun for me, aren't you? You know what I am. Surely you employed a few of my sisters in your little camp." The seated cultist's head reached no further than Lynona's thighs, so Lynona knelt down to both knees, leaving Alissa's neck craned awkwardly and her mouth beside Alissa's ear. "See, I want you to resist. I want you to lie. I want the excuse to hurt you." Her long tongue left those full purple lips, reaching out to lick Alissa's cheek. "I plan to taste human tears before this is through."

By then, Sin had his warlock robes and cloak off, leaving him in only a simple linen undershirt and cloth pants. He saw Lynona's eyes looking at him, mischievous and happy, smokey with desire, and he let her feel his mirth over the bond. The barbed tail left small cuts as it unwound, relieving Alissa to look back at him.

"I don't know what rock you crawled from under, but I'm sure you don't recognize who I am. "Specter of the Sands" holds no meaning to you. That gives me a chance to make the name anew," Sin said to her. He rolled his shoulders in a little stretch, then muttered a short spell. Purple light spiraled down his first two fingers, ending in a dimly illuminated point. He did not need special tools for this work.

"I am going to put you to question, Lady Alissa," he continued. "My inquiries will cover a great deal of topics. To encourage you to answer, I am going to start with simple shadow blades. Depending on your stubbornness, that will advance to flame, fel flame, then to shadowburn, banes, and in the rare case, chaos magicks. Beings greater than you have broken before that point, but I don't care to break you. I only wish for information. Lying gets you the special care of my lovely Lynona here. If all goes well, I will let you take your chance with the Bane-Heart, that which is called Shed'lahk."

Lynona's eyes seemed to positively glow at him as he knelt before the silver-haired woman. Sin tapped the shadow blade against the soil idly, keeping his eyes firmly on those of the cult leader's. "We will start with what you know about the deep south. Silithus, the qiraji, and the actions of the mantid Paragons that attacked Tanaris."

Alissa had a hard look for him. "My station was only the north. I can only speak of the southern Lwat'chtu and the operations of the the clan, things I already told that man with the leather mask."

Sin smiled and shook his head. "Tsk, the first question and already a lie. Lynona, if you'd please."

"Thank the Shadow," she breathed, husky. "Time to scream, darling."

XxX

The night was deep and the hour late when Sin emerged from the tent of the Exilee captive. He had around him his robes and cloak once more, and an expression better suited to a shrew. He nodded to the standing guards. Two elves quickly dived inside to detain her for the night. Sin promptly left, towards his own camp.

"Master," Lynona called softly, forsaking invisibility to bombard into his side, clinging tightly for his sake. He accepted her presence with an arm but did not slow. Unlike him, whose robes were immaculate, her pink skin and leather bodice were spattered with dried blood.

The two moved in undisturbed silence in the night. At this hour, most of the elves had gone to sleep, and the fires were faint red or orange embers. While Sin did not speak, Lynona picked apart his thoughts through the bond, quickly realizing his intentions and destination. Even without such clues, the words of that wicked Alissa foretold that he would meet the qiraji.

The succubus stepped out of his embrace but kept hold of his hand, and she tugged him aside. "This way, Master," she urged softly.

He knew her plan. Pain clenched in his chest, and he slowly shook his head. "You know why I can't." He had left Lynona unsubdued for this reason, yet Sekara was still...

"It's okay," she whispered. "I promise you it will be okay."

Never had their bond so perfectly paralleled, mixed with love and pain from either end yet so opposite in intents.

"Don't do this to yourself," he told her. "It isn't so bad. I just want to see her, and you, for a rest, and then..."

As he spoke, Lynona stepped back to him, and she kissed him. There were no regrets within her. No doubts, no unhappiness, no jealousy. Just warm, golden love, and she pulled back for a decidedly mischievous smile. "I promise you, upon my Name, that it will be okay – my strong, handsome, ravaging Master. So come with me."

What could a man say to a response like that? Sin let her take him aside, away from the qiraji portion of the camp, and towards the tent that they shared. The loa song within him beat loudly in his ears, and it grew louder with each step, consuming his thoughts, his doubts, his regrets, until it was him that was pulling them to their tent.

They swept past the threshold in a wave of passion, stopping only for him to growl, "Out!" to the startled Narelle, and then Lynona was thrust to her back against their bedding, the laces of her bodice already loose. The smirking succubus grabbed him by the front of his robes and yanked him down to her. They continued.

X Unknown X

"There is no suspicion; none at all. However, I cannot procure an opportunity to find others whom might be sympathetic or in need. What would you have done?"

"Can you see to the murder of that damnable man called the Shadow?"

"I cannot. He would undo any effort before it got close."

"The Madman then? Perhaps a poisoned drink, or a silent dart laced with blackweed?"

"His abilities are unpredictable, and his power too deceptive for simple death to slow him down. It would be a waste of effort and an immense risk to our collaboration."

"Then you have no choice. Send Snow to Thomas. Have her kill him."

"You presume too much of both myself and Snow. Her loyalties are not my own; her choices are not mine to decide. Snow will do as she pleases, as she always does. If I send her to Thomas, she would sooner fuck him and spoil the truth of us at once, or else risk me in a vengeful bloodfest. Snow is a card so wild you should be glad I have her safely asleep!"

"Are you always so useless? Snow Duskfury is the greatest madwoman and mastermind in all 'dorei history, and you can do nothing but strut in tight leather breeches!"

"I'm not doing this for you or your cause, you decrepit, disease-riddled blightmare. Be gracious that I have even seen to your ungagging."

"No, you are doing this because I have offered you a way out, and you know it is the only option you have, mana-slut. Insult me once more, and I will ensure it is the last thing you ever do- Oh, threaten me all you wish with that silver bow of yours, but you have too much need. Are your loins burning hot yet, whore? Can't quite let go of the shadow can you? I bet you want his cock in you again – not her snatch, but yours, so you can cry his name rather than watch her. Or are you so desperate that you'd take my tongue right now?"

"One more word and this arrow goes through your throat."

"..."

"So you can learn. Now, our deal is simple. You have helped me, now I will help you."

"So cute that you think yourself still separate. You accepted his gift, whore. His dark seed has saturated your womb like an incubus in the night. You know the time of collection will come, and you know where you must be when it does. I am your only option."

"My only option can have a few extra holes in it, if it keeps talking."

"..."

"Fuck this, you're getting this gag again. Know that I enjoyed watching you squirm and squeak in your interrogation, while those clueless fools had no idea of me. For now, we will keep low and silent, and we will wait for the perfect time. Ta-ta, little cultist. Enjoy the merciful hands of my true master, and remember whom is truly your way out."

"Mmifch."