Hehehehe! Look, 1 week only and I update!

I've also had a bout of inspiration for my Starcraft Fanfiction. Don't hold your breath, but I might post the first chapter soon. The fic shall probably be named "Children of Auir" or some such thing. It's not going to be the main fic I update, and the chapters are going to be much shorter. The fanfiction genre is a lot like MahiMahi's Genre: General. There are romances, there is humor, there's action and adventure, there's parental relationships... However, the Starcraft fic is going to have a very distinct element of supernatural horror to it. The fic shall feature 3+ child protagonists, as well as many of the canon Starcraft characters. The children are all protoss hybrid- hense the name of the fic. The children should all grow up through the course of the fic. I just have to figure out how I want to arrange everything, and I'll be good to post it.

Hope you like this chapter, guys! I would like to reccomend that if there are names or places you haven't heard of, hop on over to wowwiki.

Hope

Tempest Keep, Outland

Kael'Thas struggled to hold his pen steady. He felt at once famished and nauseous, and the sensations were overwhelming him. The elf prince took in a steadying breath and swallowed hard. Across his tongue he could actually taste the nearby wells of demonic magic. All of Outland was polluted with the stuff. It had infiltrated his every pore, and his body screamed for him to take in more. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He would resist until he had no will left within him.

That, unfortunately, was not going to be a long time in coming. Even now, he had difficulty supporting his morals and thoughts above his overwhelming thirst for magic. Outland was driving him insane. He had entire black-out periods where he could remember nothing but his starvation for power.

In frustration, the elf dropped his pen and closed his eyes. He massaged his temples and the bridge of his nose, and then took in a deep breath. Slowly the burning addiction dimmed as he took a moment to meditate and conserve his strength. Kael knew that he was losing his inner war. His only rock, his only shield was his burning desire to save his people from their magical addiction. After a moment, his green eyes opened, and he glanced over at the Vial of Eternity that Illidan had gifted to him.

The Vial was a great artifact and an even greater temptation. Looking upon it always filled him with equal parts hope and despair. Inside that Vial was a small sample from the old Well of Eternity, collected from its waters by Illidan himself. With it, Kael could restore Silvermoon's Sunwell tenfold. He could bring back magic to his people, and save them from themselves.

But the solution to saving the elves was not so simple. He could not return to Silvermoon himself, and he dare not entrust the vial to anyone else. In addition, if Silvermoon could not protect the well, the elves would be overrun by monsters seeking its power. No… Illidan had him on a tight leash, and desired him to remain in Outland to defend against any attacks by Kil'Jaden.

And Kil'jaeden… Well, there were reasons that he was called the defiler. Kael squeezed his eyes shut again. He didn't want to think about that or what it meant. He did not want to think about all that he was gambling. He did not want to think about what he had done, or how far that it meant he had fallen.

If he thought about it, Kil'jaeden might hear…

And he didn't want to really hurt anyone. He didn't want to do this. He hated them. He hated Illidan, and the demons, and distrusted the lot of them. And rightly, he knew he should not invest any hope in plots that dealt with them, as they were superior to him. But he hated the humans, and he hated the undead, and it burned within him, and he wanted to destroy them, and Tempest Keep, and he could rip them apart, and make them pay, and Garithos, and salvation and mixed with the yearning for magic, and if only Jaina Proudmoore had loved him, and he would never be Illidan, but he was, he was so much like the demon, he had practically sold his soul, and all so that he could protect his people when the sunwell was back, but the sunwell was destroyed, and he fought against Arthas, but Kil'jaeden was so powerful, and he hated them, and he was so angry, and the anger overwhelmed and made his blood black-

At that moment, Kael'Thas Sunstrider realized that he had lost the majority of his mind. He was crazy.

Kael began to laugh. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until his laughs were more like sobs or screams than anything else. At last his green eyes opened to slits, and he looked pathetically out across his planning table, his thoughts spiraling in all directions. He still wore an insane smirk across his face. There was a moment of the most horrible and repressive silence. Then tears formed at the corners of his polluted eyes. Each tear lingered for but an instant, suspended over a chasm from which there was no return. For a moment each tear clung to the edges of his golden lashes, before at last giving in. Each inevitably slid down over his colorless cheeks.

After a long moment, he once more closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. Very soon, the elf prince would be unable to trust his own mind. When that time came, he had to ensure that all the pieces were in place. He could indeed save his people, but only if he entrusted their salvation to others; to those stronger than he. After calming himself, Kael once more opened his eyes. He glanced again at the Vial of Eternity, and reached out to touch it.

In the first months in Outland, Kael'thas had combated the addiction of his people with will and meditation. He had striven to build a home for the blood elves in the wretched red land. He had tried to harness elemental energies with little success. He had sent rangers back to Outland to search for Zul'vii. But the months kept passing. There was still no magic. The addition was growing. There was demonic power all around. Zul'vii could not be found. Elemental energy was too wild to be harnessed by anything other than shamans. There was no hope. There was nothing to keep him going.

A year into their occupation of Outland, and Kael had lost the majority of his faith in a happy outcome for his kind. In pursuit for arcane power, he had stormed Tempest Keep, and had taken it for his own. The Keep had once been a great naaru "ship," a device that could transcend the planes and carry beings to other worlds. In it, Kael had found a single naaru named M'uru, a being of great power and Light.

By that time, Kael had thoroughly hated the Light.

It took quite some time and effort before M'uru was at last defeated. Rather than killing the naaru, Kael had elected to capture it. Upon seeing the great being helpless before him, bound in chains of magic and shadow, Kael had felt a mixture of sympathy and hunger. He had stepped forward and touched one of the naaru's symbolic plates, and had siphoned energy from the creature.

The holy energy had been pure and radiant. It had rushed through him, filling every pore with warmth and energy. In that moment, he realized that the naaru had freely parted with its energies. It had allowed itself to be defeated, so that it might somehow help his people.

Confused, disillusioned, hopeful, and without a straight path, Kael had ordered M'uru to be painstakingly transported back to Azeroth, to Silvermoon city itself. There, he had hoped, the naaru would be able to aid his people. And as much as Kael felt the Light had betrayed his people, it was the only thing left to fight against the Burning Legion. It was the only thing left that could slake his peoples' unholy thirst without damning them in the process.

After fasting from demonic magic for several days, and relying solely on meditation to feed him, Kael came to the conclusion that he, the prince-king of the blood elves, the rightful leader of his people, he last heir in an ancient dynasty of powerful and virtuous elves- he… did not have the strength to save his people. He did not have the will. He did not have the faith. He did not have the conviction. Kael was lost somewhere, adrift in a sea of helpless servitude. He then concluded that if he could not save his people, someone else had to.

A year ago, a blood elf by the name of Voren'thal had led a great army of Kael's most powerful and intelligent followers to attack Shattrath city, a bastion for draenei and naaru- enemies to blood elf and demon alike. Kael had hand-picked every soldier sent on that journey. He had spent excessive time weeding them out from their fellows. He had chosen the best. He had chosen the ones with the most will and inner strength. Most of all, he had sent Voren to lead them, because the man had not yet abandoned the Light. Voren'thal's armies had advanced on Shattrath. There, they laid down their arms. Voren'thal had met with the naaru leader of his city, and had devoted all of his followers to the service of the Light.

It was the only thing that Kael had ever been able to do right for his people. And hopefully, lest they brand him a hero, no one would ever know.

Mulgore

"Oh no! The Man-Eating Ogre is AFTER YOUUU! RAWWWRRRR!"

Kallah giggled in delight, crawling away from her large, green companion at full speed. Thrall's mock-roaring was interspersed with laughter as he stalked after his little daughter. A quick step placed him in front of her. "Oh no! He's caught you!" he cried, crouching down and scooping her up by the legs.

"Ahh!" she laughed out, her tiny fingers latching tightly on to the grass.

"Mmmmm, baby! Let's see how this one tastes!" the great orc continued, pulling one of Kallah's tiny feet into his mouth and sucking on her toes. She gave a squeal of laughter and wormed helplessly. "Nooo!" she howled in pretend dismay.

"Blech! This one tastes like grass! It must eat is vegetables like its mommy and daddy tell it to!"

Kallah blinked. "Like broc… broc…ih… lee?" she asked inquisitively, looking up at the laughing face of her parent.

Thrall grinned broadly, calling into memory a story that Jaina had told him concerning Kallah, broccoli, and sneaking a certain Frostwolf food under the table. "Yes, like broccoli. Only… hmmm…" He licked her food experimentally and she giggled, squirming.

"Oh, this one apparently does not eat enough broccoli! I am tasting chicken, now! And ogres like chicken!"

"Nooo!"

(cont)

When Kallah was too tired to roughhouse anymore, Thrall lay down against the grass and pointed out the shapes of various creatures and objects in the clouds. Kallah curled up against his chest and pointed out shapes of her own. Mulgore was always a pleasant place to get away from the troubles of the world at. All around them was a sea of waving green. The breeze was cool and the sun was warm. Above them, the sky was a brilliant light blue, and filled with thousands of puffy white clouds.

Kallah gave a sleepy yawn, and her eyes half closed. Thrall looked at her and smiled, touching his tusked lips to her temple and hugging her a bit tighter. A tiny smile dimpled her face. She closed her eyes altogether, and snuggled happily into his protective embrace. Thrall watched the little girl sleep and brushed his battle-roughened fingers through her soft black hair. For a moment, there was no Orgrimmar. There was no Horde, there was no Alliance. There were no demons, or undead, or silithids. All that existed was the grass, the sky, and his tiny daughter.

Which might have explained how he could have accidentally fallen asleep. He woke to the thundering of Kodo feet.

(cont)

Kallah ran, crawled, and tumbled happily across the grassy field, feeling the soft green blades beneath her tiny fingers and toes. Ahead of her flitted a butterfly, painted with bright pinks and blues. The creature always managed to keep just out of her reach. At first, she did not notice the soft tremors of the ground. Then, as the tremors became all out quakes, she paused and docked her head to the side. Shaking ground had never happened to Kallah before. She hadn't any idea what was going on.

Quite suddenly a gigantic wrinkly behemoth crested a hill beside the little girl. Its massive legs were like tree trunks. Its body seemed like giant boulders encased in a shell of bark and ropy muscles. The ground trembled with each step and the air vibrated with its explosive bugle. Kallah blinked up at the creatures in wonder. The great monster thundered over the hill and headed straight for her. Right on its heels were several more of the great beasts, all of various different shapes and sizes. Dust erupted into the air wherever they stepped, and their legs were like a moving forest. The lead creature was the largest of all, a great dun-colored beast roughly the size of a full grown elephant. It bugled again as it neared Kallah; but with its limited perception and overwhelming momentum, it clearly expected her to get out of the way.

A full blown roar answered the bugle. Just before the kodo reached the unsuspecting girl, a shape rushed up and slammed brutally into the Kodo's massive chest. Now most people that tackled Kodos had a tendency to simply bounce off of their hides. In fact, Kodo hide was impervious to almost everything, from spears to cannonballs. Therefore, it was to this Kodo's immense surprise that an orc- of all things- managed to halt its forward momentum.

Thrall's shamanistic gifts coursed through him, empowering his straining muscles with uncanny strength. His adrenaline had gone absolutely mad. His shoulder dug hard into the Kodo's large chest and, to the beast's continuing surprised, forced its front end off the ground. The poor Kodo reared back in confusion, its stubby legs trying to pull it away from the enraged orc. Thrall roared again. He gripped the Kodo's throat with one hand, and shoved ruthlessly to the side. Much to the Kodo's relief, its front end landed on the ground again. It was now facing a slightly different direction, and causing massive travel congestion among its herd, but the world was as it should be. With a typical Kodo mentality, it began walking in its new direction.

Thrall shuddered, backing up as the herd changed direction and began heading away from his daughter. His exertions had left him quite drained, and his whole body tingled in adrenaline-suppressed pain. He reached down and scooped up his daughter, and proceeded to carry her a safe distance from the stampeding animals. When he was sure everything was safe, he set the little girl down, turned away, and was violently sick all over the ground.

He had never known it was possible to be so frightened.

Naxxramas

Flames rippled down along Ketala's arms and channeled over her beautiful blades. A hacking motion sent a wave of fire screaming through the air.

The Scarlet Crusaders on the receiving end of her attack never knew what hit them. The flames burned at all exposed tissue, and heated their armor to unbearable levels. The sounds and smells accompanying burning flesh drifted to her, but she did not pause or hesitate. She ran forward, blades rippling with dark energy. She ripped them apart in the most effective of ways. If gutting an opponent made the kill faster, she did so. She then left the opponent to die slowly of his wounds, with his intestines on the ground before him. She was what the Lich King made her. The former paladin served now as Ner'zhul's sword arm. Through her, he forced his will onto those who would stand against him.

Within ten minutes, every crusader was disabled or dead, and the ground around Ketala was awash with fresh blood. Arthas's specter applauded. She ignored him, or didn't notice. Didn't notice, or didn't care. For a moment, she considered putting those that still lived out of their misery. Then she decided it didn't matter; Kel'Thuzad would raise them all as undead anyway.

She cleaned her blades off against the bodies of the slain, and then quietly walked away. The hallways of Naxxramas were extensive. Even after living in the floating ziggurat for two and a half years, Ketala had not explored all of its winding passages. Her plate boots clacked softly against the ground. As she walked, she lifted a hand to her white breastplate, and felt over the insignia of the silver hand engraved into the metal. It had been a long time since she felt worthy of donning her armor.

Ahead of her, she heard the clacking of hooves. One of the horsemen was up and about. The four of them were generally very reclusive, but Ketala did not find it odd that one should be in the same vicinity as her. Doubtless Lady Blaumeux, Rider of Famine, was again annoyed that Ketala kept stealing all the "fun." Out of the four, Blaumeux was the only rider that she had ever met. The Lady hated Ketala with a passion- even more so because the undead girl was too glum and apathetic to care about what the woman had to say.

Ketala just kept walking, her eyes whirling a dull orange. The hooves came closer and closer, until at last Ketala rounded a corner and came face to face with an undead horse. To her surprise, the mount did not belong to Blaumeux. Its armor was white and seated with violet gems. Blaumeux's steed was robed in blue and black. The rider, perceiving that he was just about to run someone over, quickly reined his horse to the side. This act of common courtesy was so out of place in Naxxramas that it pierced Ketala's apathy, and drew her attention. For a moment, Ketala and the rider looked directly at one another. Both were taken aback at what they saw.

The Rider was dressed in beautiful plate armor. It was white in coloration, and trimmed with a soft yellow. A white cowl was wrapped around his face. On his brow was a circlet. It was set with a purple gem and sported two stylized metal wings in a manner that typically symbolized victory. His hair was long and black, and much of it had been tied behind him. She could not see much of his face due to his cowl, but she could clearly make out his eyes. In them, she saw betrayal, helplessness, and sadness. In them, in the depths of his soul, she could find no shred of hatred or greed.

Ketala's white plate was stained with blood. Her own black hair shrouded most of her face. Her helm, which she carried under one arm, sported two spiked fins. And in her eyes, he could see something great… Something caged and bound… Something that, long ago, had lost all hope.

For the longest moment, the two just stared. Each saw his or herself mirrored in the other. Then, so very slowly, Ketala moved. Her feet drew her forward, and closed the gap between them. Her arms acted of their own accord, and lifted her hands towards his face. Without thinking, he leaned closer to her, and closed his eyes as her fingers gently cupped his cheeks.

For a moment, both were still. Then the rider sat back upright, and Ketala lowered her hands. Kel'Thuzad had given him orders, and he had no choice to obey. He gave his horse a nudge and it continued down the hallway. After four or five steps, he turned in his saddle to look back at her. The undead girl docked her head to the side and then gave a small smile. She lifted her hand, and gave a parting wave. Her eyes whirled a vibrant mix of greens, yellows, and pinks.

Zeliek. His name was Sir Zeliek. And hers was Ketala.

Ship: Hillsbrad to Westfall

Puma was looking over the side of the ship and staring intently at the waters below. She had never imagined that water could stretch from horizon to horizon, or that it could be so unfathomably deep. One of the sailors was approaching her from behind. He smelled slightly aroused. Puma was, by and large, an animal. Unfortunately for this sailor, she was an undead animal with an obsessive compulsive stabbing disorder. The undead rogue shrunk down slightly, making herself seem smaller and more vulnerable. She waited, every one of her muscles preparing to pounce.

The man came closer still. His breath smelled faintly of whisky. It was late at night, and most of the boat's passengers and sailors had already gone to bed. She shivered as she felt rough hands grab her waist, just to lull him further into a sense of power. A moment passed. Quite suddenly, Puma whirled around, her dagger glinting in the moonlight.

A firm hand gripped hers and another wrenched the sailor away. Everon pushed himself between Puma and the drunken man.

"Excuse me sir, but you seem to be a little lost. Would you like me to escort you to your quarters?" the male rogue asked suavely. Before the drunken man could stutter out a nonsensical reply. "Of course, it seems a strange thing for a sailor to be lost on his own ship…"

The man grunted, trying to defend himself with, "Wasn't lost, boy."

Everon blinked in mock concern. "Oh, but you must have been! How else could your hands have ended up upon my wife's bottom unless they were unaware of their location? Why, that would be positively orcish behavior, and I know no upstanding citizen of the alliance would even think to sully themselves with such an… an… unpatriotic act!"

The poor man just blinked, trying to construe a reply. By the time he had managed to form the first word of his carefully formed and yet totally inebriated argument, Everon had propelled him to the cabin, and was shooing him off to his rooms.

The black-haired rogue watched the Sailor stumble off to his quarters, and then quietly made his way back to Puma. The girl was standing there, her dagger still raised as if to stab someone, her blank eyes directed towards him.

Everon smiled. "Why Puma, I'm flattered," he said with grand flourish. "I do believe that is the first time you have neglected to stab me for getting in your way."

Puma didn't react, still watching him. He merely winked, and came over to lean his arms against the ship railing so that he might stare out at the sea. Her eyes followed him for a long moment, and then turned out to the sea as well. After a long time of gazing at the dark horizon, the rogue looked over at her once more.

"Contemplating the mysteries of the universe?" he asked with a smirk.

Silence.

He moved a hand, carefully moving it towards her face. Immediately she shrank down, looking nervously at his fingers. Everon put on his stern face and shook his finger at her crossly. "No! Bad, Puma! Bad!"

She blinked.

"Bad Puma! No stabbing!"

She blinked again, and straightened a little, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Everon grinned and proceeded to pat her on the head. "Good Puma… No stabbing. Good… Now, look up," he said, gently tilting her chin up, and gesturing up towards the sky. She eyed him a moment and then obeyed, lifting her eyes to the stars. A very rare expression of surprise and curiosity crossed her face. Above her was a great and endless velvet mass, with tiny twinkling lights seated in its soft black depths.

Everon smiled. He patted her head once, let his hand slip gently down the length of her hair, and then gazed quietly at her face. His smile slowly faded.

Reflected in her eyes was the light of a thousand stars. The expression on her face was so pristine, so pure; he could imagine it upon the face of the first human to ever gaze up at the sky. There was a realization there- an understanding in those gray eyes that could not quite be defined…

He wished he had a painter present, so that someone might capture that moment of discovery and give it permanence. At it was, he memorized every last detail of her simple expression, and bathed in the profound meaning to which that expression was so elegantly attached.

Ahn'Quiraj

A temple organizer has to design the layout for the Ahn'Qiraj temple grounds. What should he do when presented with the following facts about the temple's needs? 1. The Qiraji were supposedly a race of very powerful and intelligent ancient beings, who had at one point claimed much of the world as part of their empire. 2. The Qiraji are under attack by outside forces that seek to eradicate them. 3. The Qiraji have a powerful and beloved prophet who leads their people- the prophet, in fact, that first discovered C'Thun. 4. The Qiraji also have a gargantuan sandworm named Ouro who likes to smash things. 5. The Quiraji have to defend their temple from intrusion.

Well, obviously, the smart thing to do would be to place the prophet at the entrance to the temple grounds, and surround him with only a few loyal units. Once that's done, one can place the Sandworm in a hidden and remote area, secreted deep in the back of the temple where absolutely no one will ever have to tread.

Hell, once the temple organizer's come up with that brilliant piece of handiwork, he might as well just sit the building containing his god right beside the entrance. Then he can stick a wall between the two, and link them together via a long, winding path through the rest of the temple grounds. In this manner, adventurers would be forced to traverse the winding path before accessing the house of C'Thun. As long as one ignores the fact that the Alliance and Horde both employ siege engines, the plan's foolproof!

And maybe it was, Nathanos decided, after staring at the layout with nothing short of incredulity. The only reason the undead ranger didn't just climb over the damn walls separating him from C'Thun was because half of his party was wearing heavy plate. "Heavy plate" plus "climbing" equaled "grievous injuries." He was too impatient to wait for a catapult to arrive, so he decided to simply take the temple organizer's round about route to C'Thun's chamber. At least then he'd be able to kill insects on his way.

If only there was some way to just delete walls, or something…

"NATHANOS!" Ras yelled irritably. "Would you please just help us with the damn battle?" Nathanos looked over at Ras, who was busy hurling ice bolts at a very angry Prophet Skeram.

"But… but… It's just so stupid!" he complained in dismay, holding his arms out and gesturing to the wall between him and C'Thun. "Who the nether built this place? I could have done a better job!"

"Be that as it may, we are in the middle of a fight!"

"But-!"

"Nathanos!"

The ranger sighed exaggeratedly, pulling out his axes and sauntering down towards the prophet. "Fine, fine. I'll help you with your little battle," he muttered. "Don't know what you're all upset about. That orc warrior looks like he's doing fine holding-"

At that moment, a sense of True Fulfillment came over said orc warrior. He felt as if he had finally found his purpose in life, and power and adrenaline rushed through him. He suddenly doubled in size. He felt as if his legs could carry him thousands of miles in a matter of minutes. His muscles were like finely honed diamond. And the Prophet Skeram was in danger! He had to defend the prophet! He had to-

Ras promptly turned him into a sheep. Problem solved. He looked sidelong at Nathanos with an expression that clearly said "Get your ass in there." The Ranger lifted a brow and then shrugged.

"One second."

"ONE SECOND? What the hell is the matter with you?" the ex-lich exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "We-!"

At that point, the Prophet Skeram vanished, and reappeared directly behind Ras. Nathanos gave a salute with his axe to the surprised magic user, and then promptly charged the enormous pink and purple prophet.

The Prophet Skeram was in a state of religious fervor. Here these monstrosities had come into his sacred home and threatened him, the highest and most devoted of the Qiraji. Obvious these were creatures without faith, and likewise must be punished. He reared up, slashing forward at the undead filth that now threatened him.

He was quite surprised when three creatures- three spiders, no less- tripped him and sent him off balance. The undead's axes ripped across his underbelly and he snarled in surprise. Such a low blow! Clearly these creatures lacked ethics as well! Well, he had a few tricks up his sleeves as well.

It was at that moment that the Prophet Skeram vanished momentarily. Four Prophet Skerams reappeared, one on every platform in the temple. Nathanos lifted a brow and then looked to Raz.

"Three must be illusions," the mage conjectured. "Only one-" Nathanos lifted his axe in time to block a blow from whatever was fighting him. The axe came into contact with solid flesh. He smirked and stepped forward to slash at the Prophet's legs. Surprisingly, the Prophet did not move in time to stop his blow. His axe sunk in deep- too deep…

"Not illusions," Nathanos grunted. "Half real, much weaker. I and my spiders should be able to kill it in…" He blinked. His spiders were not attacking the figment prophet. In fact, he couldn't see them anywhere. He deflected a blow from the Prophets forelegs, weathered through an explosion of magic, and then looked around briefly. After a moment, he caught sight of his spiders. All three were heading in the direction of one of the other Skerams. The ranger grinned. "Ras, follow the spiders. They smell the real one. I can take this thing all on my own."

The mage glanced at him and then nodded. He turned and took off quickly down the temple steps, following the three dreadmists. Nathanos looked back to his personal half-prophet and grinned. He was unprepared for the wash of True Fulfillment that came over him. He suddenly doubled in size. He felt as if his legs could carry him thousands of miles in a matter of minutes. His muscles were like finely honed diamond. And the Prophet Skeram…

True Fulfillment? Death? Peace? Belonging? Love?

The Prophet Skeram was between him and returning to Ketala. Between him and C'Thun.

Nathanos's eyes flamed, rage erupting from him at the half-prophet's attempt to seize his mind. He shrieked, bull rushing the Qiraji and then bringing his axes to bare, slicing through the thick plates protecting the half-prophet's torso. And then he was past the plate, cleaving the damn monstrosity in half. Hack after hack, until he had utterly severed the half-prophet's upper body from its legs.

He whirled around and his eyes locked on Ras, on his spiders… on the real Prophet.

Naxxramas

Ketala did not have a room of her own. This was a psychological tool, used to constantly remind her that she had no freedom and no privacy. She was a slave to Ner'zhul's will- nothing more. However, Ketala could hardly be described as upset with the situation. Due to her high value, she was given a place in Kel'Thuzad's throne room. Despite everything that had happened, it still pleased the undead girl to be so close to her adoptive parent.

Ketala carefully removed very piece of her white plate, and set them down on the floor. She had neglected the armor, and had not properly cleaned it since her first arrival in Naxxramas. That was unacceptable. With great care and devotion, Ketala set to scrubbing each piece of metal free of blood. She labored for hours, scrubbing, chipping, polishing; until at last all the stains were at last gone. Kel'Thuzad just watched her. When he was not planning, plotting scheming, conniving, or torturing something, he had little else to do.

Little shuffling footsteps brushed across the floor beside her, and she smiled and turned around. Next to her stood a little boy not even three years of age. His skin was pale gray, both due to his heritage and to the fact that he had never seen sunlight. His hair was a mousy brown, and his eyes whirled many strange and bizarre colors.

Ketala ruffled his hair, and then plucked him off the ground and set him down upon her lap. He looked up at her curiously and she tenderly kissed his brow.

His name was Vaiden. He was the precipice that everything balanced upon. Ketala's cage and freedom, all in one. The one wild card, the one unpredictable element. The one thing that Ner'zhul could not take from her.

Flashback, Naxxramas

Ketala shuddered and arched her back. Her whole body was wracked with pain and she clenched her teeth tightly and gave out an anguished sigh. She had clenched her fists so tightly that her nails were cutting holes into her palms, and still she could not overcome the pain. Her stomach muscles strained and contorted, trying to perform a duty for which death had left them inept.

Ketala had been killed at the onset of adulthood. Her hips were exceptionally narrow. She was, for most intents and purposes, undead. Her body had not been able to properly equip itself for this trying endeavor. Nothing had grown or altered tremendously. She had hardly even gained any weight. Since she was carrying the child high up in her womb, it was difficult to notice that she was even pregnant.

No, the child that Ketala carried within her was a miracle babe- something that shouldn't have ever been conceived, and something that certainly shouldn't have survived. But it had. And it wanted out. The problem was that her failing body was unable to carry out this final step.

She gave a scream of pain. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire, and she could literally feel things ripping inside of her. She couldn't do this. Her body was not capable. It was not pliable enough, not strong enough, not alive enough. She was only three hours into labor. Her body was ripping itself apart as if it had expected to pull of the miracle of birth in but a few minutes, and was exacting vengeance for the delay. "DADDY! DADDY!"

A cold aura washed over her as the lich carefully "knelt" beside her and reached over to touch her face. She shuddered and quickly grabbed on to his arm, squeezing tightly and worming in pain. Her cheeks were ruddy with effort and cold sweat had actually beaded on her brow.

"I'm here…" he murmured, slowly moving his arms around her and pulling her up against him. She kicked weakly at the ground, pain flowing over her in waves. In his eyes, the necromantic energies that held her together were being equally strained. Both portions of her, the living and the dead, were in close harmony. Failing to properly deliver the child would probably not kill her, but it would take her ages to properly recover…

And, of course, he was rather interested in her unborn child. There was no sense in killing it off so early.

"D-daddy…" she whimpered weakly, grabbing on to one of his tusks. He turned his eyes and looked directly into hers. The whirling depths caused him such deep and profound nostalgia that he had to look down.

"Trust me, Ketala… Trust me," he said softly, and he carefully drew out a knife. Her eyes widened and she looked at him in alarm. He shook his head lightly, and dropped the blade, instead cupping her face with that hand. "I will not kill the child. It's okay. Trust me…"

And she did. He moved his hand back to the blade and then gently touched the knife's tip to her stomach. She tensed and clung to him, her eyes shutting tightly. He was quick; it only took him a moment to pull the child safely from her womb.

Ketala gasped and clutched herself. Holy energy rippled through her frame, mending the wound and easing her agony. Slowly her body calmed. When she had the strength to look up again, Kel'Thuzad was standing before her. In his arms was a small, and very anorexic looking child, with skin the color of ash. The little boy was kicking and squirming, clearly discomforted by the cold. Strangely enough, the child was not crying. The undead girl shuddered, and then weakly lifted her arms, silently asking for her parent to give the child to her.

The lich looked down at her, and then shook his head. "The Lich King has a great interest in this child, Ketala. The boy will be sent to Icecrown on the first ship available."

The paladin girl blinked, and her eyes widened slightly. She stared at him in surprise and disbelief. "… Daddy…"

"I'm sorry, Ketala. It is the master's will."

"… Give him to me," she whispered, her eyes searching his.

He looked away, and began drifting towards the exit to his throne room. "I am sorry."

A memory flashed through her mind. She recalled the moment Kel'Thuzad had learned of her pregnancy.

"But you love me," she whispered, her lower jaw quivering. "You love me."

"More that you know, Ketala," he admitted quietly. "More than my own existence. But you overestimate love's power. It is not enough. His power over me is greater. I am… sorry." And with that, he simply turned and floated away.

She remembered the pain, and the disillusioning. He had caused her such suffering- such loss of hope. He had taken from her, all the in name of the Lich King. He had loved her, and he had let himself hurt her… He had let himself hurt her child.

He was weak. Weak, and sick in spirit. He would not save her. He would not save Vaiden. He had given up, and in doing so had forsaken her. If he would not stand up for all that was important to him, so be it.

But she would.

"GIVE HIM TO ME!"

The words echoed in split tones across throne room. One tone was high and feminine. The other was deep and rumbled deep and earthy. Kel'Thuzad turned in surprise to look at his ward. By that time, Ketala had already closed the distance to him, and was hacking at him madly with her blades. Her eyes flamed brilliant violet, and her blades rippled with light. He stumbled backwards in surprise, trying to erect a shield of ice. Her blades slit through his arms, ripping huge gashes into his bones. The ice shield appeared around him and her blades exploded with flame. Within seconds they were boring through the magical force field, ripping it apart as if it were made of paper.

"GIVE HIM TO ME!" she screamed.

"Now, now, Ketala. You are breathing your oaths. And aren't you the perfect little paladin girl, always holding true to your vows?" Kel'Thuzad chided grimly, hurling a powerful bolt of shadow at her chest- something strong enough to subdue her.

To his amazement, she absorbed it and then flung it back at him. Tendril-like wings rippled out from her back, exploding with brilliant white power. They anchored into the ground and walls around her, boring in and ripping the architecture down brick by brick.

"I WILL RIP YOU APART! I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL YOU AND EVERY LAST UNDEAD ON THIS PLANET BEFORE I ALLOW YOU TO TAKE HIM! GIVE HIM TO ME!" Her voice was naught but one continuous split-toned scream. There were not at least seven pitches, and the sound was grating.

His eyes narrowed as he realized she was speaking the truth, and he began summoning the bulk of his powers, hurling various spells at her as he backed away from her incessant slashing. She just ran straight into the spells. They sunk into her, absorbed into her being and then thrust out towards him again. Her blades hacked madly at him, ripping apart his shield and then tearing into his skeletal frame. A few of his ribs were sent flying.

"GIVE HIM TO ME!"

The floor cracked around her feet. Violet, white, and yellow energy rippled around her, tearing apart the foundation upon which they stood. Her wings lashed forward, grabbing at him and ripping huge chunks from his frame. Kel'Thuzad stared in her amazement, still trying to get away from her blows.

"I relied on you. I trusted you; I needed you; I loved you! Everything I was, everything I ever did was to save you! You who gave me freedom. You who gave me life. And yet now I see that everything you gave was out of selfishness! Everything you did for me, out of loneliness! You freed me out of guild. You fought Arthas out of guilt! THERE IS NOTHING IN YOU WORTH SAVING! I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL RIP YOU APART, YOU HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE, WRETCHED CREATURE! You who are so weak that you cannot save the one thing that means something to you! You who are so weak that you would rather destroy everything you have then endure a moment of suffering!"

Kel'Thuzad's eyes flamed. He advanced a step on Ketala, whipping an explosion of flame at her and catching her off guard. "A moment of suffering? A moment of suffering? Silence your fool tongue Ketala! You know nothing of what I have endured! An eternity he tortured me beneath the ice, ripping apart my mind until there were only fragments left of it! You believe that love is more powerful than everything in the world; but you are wrong! There is one thing, something deep inside each being, that they simply cannot hold out against! He found it! He wormed his way into my mind. He exposed everything dark and weak within me, and ripped them apart slowly, savoring my every scream! And you call that a moment of SUFFERING?"

She launched at him, her blade arcing expertly through the air. The tip caught his forearm dead center, and promptly ripped the end of the limb from its moorings. Half his forearm, along with the entirety of his hand, went flying against the room. He nearly dropped Vaiden, and was exposed when she dropped her blade, reached forward barehanded, and grabbed his spine at the neck. Sheslammed him hard into the wall behind him, and dragged him down to her level.

"I would have saved you. I would have died for you," she whispered, her eyes blazing purple. "I would have done anything to save you from him. And I would have healed everything he had ever done to you."

"You forget, Ketala, that I started dark. My soul began this journey as evil. I headed his call willingly!Some things cannot be healed!" he snarled, ramming a bolt of shadow into her. She did not flinch, her white fire blazing up even hotter. She forced him down lower, her hand on his spine tightening. He could feel his vertebrae cracking against one another. Her wings arched out around her, illuminating the entire throne room with white-hot light. For a moment, her elemental heritage and angelic gifts were one.

He looked directly into her eyes, and for the first time, he could not look away. There was such passion, such love there, that it overwhelmed anything else. There was no hatred in her fury. Despite her words, despite the fact that he was certain she would kill him if she could, there was no hatred… Only sorrow; only pain; only love.

"Don't you understand?" Her split tones hushed to a whisper now. Strangely enough, that only made them more powerful; more unnerving. "That is my purpose. That is my gift. To make light that which is dark. To heal that which cannot be healed…" Tears formed in her violet eyes, slowly dripping down her cheeks. Her hand tightened on his vertebrae, her maternal instinct overwhelming her filial love once more. "But I will never let you hurt him… Give him to me-"

He was already holding up the child with his one good hand before she finished the command. Ketala did not pause to consider his actions; she immediately grabbed the little boy and smothered him in a hug. The girl took a step back from the lich and then sunk to her knees, letting holy energy flow through the child. She closed her eyes. The wings faded, and the violet-white energy melted away. Ketala wavered and then jerked as if coming awake. Her eyes opened to slits and she looked around in bewilderment. She blinked at Kel'Thuzad, and tilted her head to the side.

She had no memory of what had happened.

Kel'Thuzad, on the other hand, did. When he reported to Arthas, he stressed heavily the fact that Ketala had been beyond all hope of control. He advised that the girl be kept from returning to that state. Ketala was powerful but predictable in her current incarnation, and she still managed to cause them trouble. For the girl to throw off all weakness and all common sense and to simply come at him, intent on killing him and ripping him to tiny bits… It was not worth the associated risks. Better a powerful pawn than a godly wild card.

It was a simply matter to keep her from ever again going berserk; leave her child alone. As long as nothing so much as touched Vaiden Truae, Ketala would remain a controllable, if somewhat rebellious, weapon.

It was worth noting that Kel'Thuzad did not tell Ner'zhul of Ketala's personal conversation with him while berserk. This was mostly out of a sense of self-preservation. Kel'Thuzad did not want Arthas to question his loyalty. The result of such questioning would have been… painful.

Warden's Cage, Outland

Akama looked up as a magical circle opened up in his small cave, covering the whole of a five foot radius. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he melded carefully into the shadows around him. There were very few beings who knew where or how to find the leader of the Ashtongue Deathsworn. To his knowledge, only one had perfected the long distance teleport. Akama did not trust the particular person.

Sure enough, Kael'Thas Sunstrider emerged from the circle. The elf looked slightly agitated and somewhat tired, and he looked around the cave before realizing that Akama was nowhere in sight. "… I know you are here," the elf said softly. "You rarely leave. I want to talk to you… elder…"

Akama lifted a brow, tilting his head to the side. The humble note in Kael's voice, and his use of the title "elder" were abnormal. In Akama's experience, Kael was elitist, arrogant, and selfish. Curious, but also cautious, the broken draenei did nothing to give away his position.

"It is unnecessary for you to appear. I can deliver my message any way. I know you distrust me, Akama, and you do so with good reason. My mind is not sound. I hardly trust myself. I will be wiping quite a large portion of my memory in a few hours so that I can do no more harm with what I know."

The elf smiled lightly. "I want the same thing you want, Akama. The freedom of my people from Illidan, and from the Burning Legion. I, unfortunately, am incapable of bringing it about. I hear Kil'jaeden's temptations in my sleep, and Illidan ensures I rarely leave my keep. You… on the other hand… There is a dark side to you, but it is one you are still capable of fighting against."

Akama's brows furrowed and he slowly faded out of the shadows, watching Kael with veiled eyes. "What are you alluding to, Prince Sunstrider?"

Kael looked at him, and then smiled slightly. "I know what you are planning, Akama. I know you intend on overthrowing Illidan. I know you intend on releasing Maiev. And I know this not through spies, or through magic scrying, but out of simple intuition. You want to free your people. I ask also, Akama, that you think of mine. I also plan on betraying Illidan, but not in any noble fashion. I… … I am trying to use the Burning Legion against him."

The Draenei stiffened, his eyes narrowing further. "When the time is right, tell him that. It will secure the appearance that you are loyal to him. … And then at least if someone kills me, it will do some good." His smile faded. "I am tired, Akama. I do not have the strength to hold out much longer. What you see now is a brief surge at the end of a very bitter struggle. And when it is over, I will be certain of everything. My manner of "saving" my people will just as likely damn them. Please stop me. And please, when you are finished, have pity on my kind."

The Deathsworn leader was silent a long time, before slowly stepping forward. He came up to the broken prince and set a hand upon his shoulder. "I will see all of Outland free; not just merely my own people." The elf smiled lightly again. He looked exhausted, and his eyes were dull.

"Good. At least someone thinks that way. I've a feeling that I intend on blowing something up," he responded, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. "… There is something else... Something else I should mention. An individual…" he lowered his hand and looked up at the Draenei. "She is a healer. A half troll, half elf. Her name is Zul'vii."

Yarg!

Akama's position and plans.
Sir Zeliek
The Ashtongue Deathsworn
Tempest Keep
The Prophet Skeram
C'Thun
The Lay Out of Ahn'Qiraj

All of these things can be found on Wowwiki!