I live! Hehe! Hey everyone, I got this chapter uploaded. This time it only took me a month! Ironically, I had this chapter done just 2 days after I posted the last one, but I haven't posted it. Why? Well, as some of you may or may not know, my Beta went missing three months back. Ever since, I've been lethargic and paranoid that my writings are absolutely horrible.
My Beta-Reader has only been with me since the last chapters of Mahi-Mahi, but I'm already convinced I need her! Sure, there are all kinds of authors out there who go about their business without a beta, but let me tell you, you don't realize how great they are until you find one, and then subsequently misplace it.
Three months ago, my Beta disappeared into thin-air. And now, while I was writing this intro… she's returned. GASP. YAY! So everyone give a big hand to my Beta, Arallion. She has an unnatural obsession with coffee and Pirates of the Caribbean. She writes fanfiction for Trinity Blood. She draws elegantly. She has written excellent ThrallxJaina one-shot.
No seriously, you should check out her TxJ fanfiction.
Furthermore, I'm sad to report that I don't have access to a scanner, and I'm drawing like mad. I have all these adorable pictures, and no means to get them to you! Maybe I'll be able to get them all to you for Christmas, like a big present? Woo!
On average, there are 150-200 hits on a new chapter of Truae. It has occurred to me that this means there are at least 100 people out there, reading my fanfiction, all of whom I have never even heard of. Weirddd. I hope they like it!
Anyhoo, I've ranted enough. Enjoy the chapter!
Arguments
Theramore
"Jaina, I have never seen you act so irrationally!"
"I, act irrationally? Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on what I've done that happens to be 'irrational'?"
"You know exactly what I mean! First you tell me that you notified your father of her existence-"
"He walked in without knocking!"
"Which worries me, because it indicates that anyone who decided to just enter your room would see her-"
"How many people do you think just randomly barge into my room without even knocking?" she exclaimed loudly.
"Apparently enough that a mentally unbalanced racist can get in!" he answered with equal volume.
"Hold your tongue, Warchief! Daelin may hate orcs, but he is still my father and closest advisor."
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean? It didn't stop you from betraying him once already! This is the man who has threatened peace between our nations for years! In fact, the fact that you trust him makes the whole situation worse! Who the hell claims peace with another race, and then takes the world's biggest racist as their closest advisor?"
That made Jaina mad. She was so mad that she could not immediately say anything.
"And as if that were not enough, now you tell me that you've allowed her out into your courtyard at night, knowing that he was out there watching her! Are you trying to get her killed?"
"You are toobold," she snarled. The venom in her voice would have shocked Thrall at any other time. "At least I was watching her."
His blue eyes narrowed. "And what, exactly," he said acidly, "is that supposed to mean?"
"Ko-do." She enunciated both syllables clearly and with great accusation.
"So now you spy on me?" he asked with a slight sneer.
"Spy on you?" she shouted, as if she had just heard the most outrageous thing in the world. "I just want to ensure that my child is safe!"
"So what you are saying is that you do not trust me?"
"Is such a sentiment unjustified? You did almost let her get trampled by a five ton lizard!"
"At least the incident with the Kodo was unintentional! You treat her like she's part of some damn experiment!"
"Are we interrupting something?" asked a voice from nearby. Both leaders spun to glare at their eavesdropper, and then froze. The Admiral Proudmoore was standing in the doorway to Kallah's room, his arms folded over his chest. Clinging to one of his legs was Kallah, herself. Her little forehead was pinched up with worry, and her lower lip trembled. She looked at her parents uncertainly, her eyes large and watery.
To make the scene even more bewildering, the little girl had bandages all over her. "Kallah…" Jaina murmured upon noticing the wraps first. She moved quickly up to the little girl and knelt, touching her arms and cheek gently. "My goodness child, what happened?" Thrall blinked and stepped forward to get a better look at Kallah, all traces of anger gone.
Kallah did not answer the question posed to her. Instead she asked, "Were you yelling about me?" Jaina opened her mouth to respond. To her surprise, Thrall answered first.
"No, of course not lamb-chop. Mommy and daddy are just upset because they feel irresponsible," he responded gently, and he reached out to touch Jaina's shoulder in order to prove to Kallah that everything was alright.
"'Cause… of me…?" the little girl asked.
"No, silly," Jaina continued, leaning forward to kiss her on the nose. She smiled at Kallah, and then used her sleeve to wipe tiny tears from the little girl's cheeks. "They feel that way because they are irresponsible. Now where did you get all these boo-boos?"
Jaina shot a look up at Daelin. She had a feeling that he had something to do with this, but he was also the one to whom which Kallah was currently clinging. Certainly he couldn't have done anything that bad.
Kallah wiped her own face and composed herself, before saying quite innocently, "Grandpa pushed me off the roof."
Thrall's head jerked up, and he looked at Daelin with an expression that promised death.
"Thanks kid," the Admiral muttered dryly. "Speaking of which, you'll need to re-shingle your bedroom, Jaina. I suspect it's raining in one corner right now."
"It was an accident," Kallah continued hastily, sensing that her parents were about to maul the living daylights out of her grandfather. "I almost fell, but he caught me!"
Thrall and Jaina exchanged a look of bewilderment. They silently came to an agreement to discuss the matter later - it wasn't like Daelin was going anywhere - and instead looked back to their offspring. "Kallah, what were you doing on the roof?" Jaina inquired after a moment.
The half-orc child blushed guiltily and lowered her head. "Watching the storm come in," she mumbled quietly. Jaina had known nothing of Kallah's roof-time excursions, and the little girl had a feeling that she was about to have her window boarded up.
"Oh Kallah, what you did was dangerous! How many times have you done this?" her mother exclaimed worriedly.
"Um… Once?" she offered hopefully.
Jaina eyed her.
"…Lots?" she amended, equally hopefully.
Thrall sighed. "Jaina, perhaps we should put Kallah to bed, and discuss this in the morning," he offered. The sorceress looked up at him and then nodded.
"Your daddy's right, Kallah. Promise you won't go out again tonight?"
Kallah quivered. "I promise," she said solemnly.
"Cross your heart?"
She made a gesture over her heart to indicate the sanctity of her promise.
"Good girl… now come on, I'll tuck you in." Jaina scooped the little girl up and carried her swiftly back into her little room. She shut the door behind her, leaving Daelin and Thrall alone.
"You pushed her off the roof?" The orc asked after a moment of silence, turning his head to look at the admiral.
"Yes," the undead man answered without hesitation.
"And yet you caught when she fell?"
"Yes," he replied again.
"Why?"
"To spare my own neck." Daelin didn't miss a beat. "Killing a single insignificant half-breed is hardly worth dying for - especially since she will probably be slain by a group of elitist Alliance freedom-fighters in the near future. Or… Kodo feet."
Thrall whirled on him, blue eyes burning with a barely contained fury. The Admiral affected not to notice. He merely turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the incensed Warchief to stand there and watch his retreat.
For a moment, Thrall seriously considered snapping the Forsaken's neck and being done with the whole matter. Then his rage cooled, and his mind subsided into calm, rational thought.
He could hear Kallah saying her prayers, both to the Light and to her ancestors. After a bit, Jaina exited the little girl's room, and closed the door quietly. She looked up at him, and for a moment the two leaders contemplated what to do next.
"I'm sorry," Thrall said after a long moment.
Jaina blinked. "You're sorry? You're not the one who was in charge of her while she was wandering around on the roof."
"No…But I let her practice summoning lightning," he admitted guiltily.
Jaina blinked. "That would explain how Math ended up as a static puff-ball the other day…"
"… It is ironic how Kallah has made it more difficult for us to trust one another," Thrall observed after a moment.
"Only because we feel guilty, and are trying to channel that feeling on to someone else. We're both utterly terrified of screwing up, and want to blame anyone but ourselves for the results."
"An immature impulse. I think this whole ordeal with the Dark Portal is wearing on my nerves."
Jaina gave a short laugh. "You preach to the converted. I have to meet up with officials in Stormwind tonight in order to discuss the matter. Now, more than ever, we have to finish the conflict in Silithus. Our forces are starting to stretch thin…"
"Both your people and mine are very hungry for demon blood. We might have to abandon the conflict in the desert."
"That wouldn't be the best path."
"I know. We'll figure it out, somehow."
Jaina smiled and came up beside him. She laid her hand on his arm, and looked up at him fondly. "I am sorry. Do you still trust me?"
He nodded. "And do you trust me?" he inquired.
"Of course. It's not like I'd risk my life for peace with the orcs, and then expect you to keep a shoddy eye on our child," she responded with a grin.
He smirked lightly, and then looked at Kallah's door. "Our kid," he echoed softly, as if still amazed by the meaning of the words. Jaina blinked and then looked at the door as well, held by the same mesmerizing thought as he.
Naxxramas
Vaiden looked around curiously as Ketala carried him from Kel'Thuzad's throne room. Of great interest to him was the mighty Sapphiron, who guarded the room's main entryway. The undead dragon shifted slightly in response to Ketala's presence, but did little else; it was used to her comings and goings. By the look on Vaiden's face, he was deathly curious about the giant white and blue behemoth, but Ketala did not halt.
She was still caught up in an instinctive drive, somewhere in limbo between conscious action and dream-like whimsy. She was seated at the precipice of realization, directly before the place where whims gathered to become concrete thoughts. As long as she stayed there, as long as she didn't think about it, as long as her plans remained unformed and she lived only in the present, Arthas could not see what she would do next.
That was vital. So she let her elemental heritage assume control, and she walked. She couldn't stop. Not now. No time. She couldn't remain in limbo for long, and the edges of her plans and motives were threatening to form, like clouds gathering on a horizon.
She walked silently down the long hallways, ignoring the screams and moans that echoed around her. She ignored the curious look upon Vaiden's face, and merely carried him… carried him…
Zeliek sat quietly upon his horse, and gazed down with quiet shame at its skeletal neck. The undead animal turned its head in order to look back at him. He lifted his eyes briefly to meet the unnatural violet glow of his mount's desiccated eyes, and then lowered them again. Sad. He couldn't even meet the gaze of a horse.
Well, his horse. The beast was actually Zeliek's mount in life. It had been reanimated beside him to serve him in undeath. Zeliek had first met the creature when his own horse had been slain in combat. He'd been forced to borrow a replacement mount from a nearby farm. The animal had then saved his life by kicking the head off of a charging orc. Zeliek had promptly bought the horse, and renamed it Orcbane. He'd found the animal so dependable that he'd refused to ride any other horse.
This whole situation had been fairly annoying to the Lordaeron nobility, as Orcbane sported mixed blood, a splotchy yellow and gray coat, and an extremely well-developed sense of humor.
The memories made him smile, even though they churned his stomach. He shook his head after a moment, trying to dispel his depression. He could do nothing for Lordaeron now. The city had fallen. But if he was strong, perhaps he could help Ketala…
He looked up as soft metallic footsteps echoed across the room. Blaumeus and Korth'azz were busying themselves with toying with prisoners from the battle, and playing games concerning how many severed heads could be affixed to a single weapon at any one time. Mograine was sitting quietly upon his mount, running a thumb lightly over the side of his blade; there was a strange intensity to the ex-scarlet crusader that was really quite disturbing. However, it was clear that none of these individuals were the cause of the footsteps he heard.
His curiosity was sated a moment later, as from the corner of his eye he caught sight of a form in shining white gliding into the room. Zeliek turned his head to get a better look, and realized that the white form belonged to none other than Ketala. He sat up straighter, his surprise visible. Never before had Ketala come to visit him. Their conversations had always been mental, in order to keep the Lich King ignorant of their… friendship. Zeliek had only encountered her once in person, so he could not fathom what she was doing in the death knight wing. But there she was.
Furthermore, he was not the only one who noticed her. A quick glance to the side showed him that Mograine had also detected her entrance. The ex-highlord had gone very still, and had turned his head towards the undead girl. This worried Zeliek, but he refrained from moving forward to shield her. Both Blaumeux and Korth'azz remained ignorant of Ketala's presence, and he didn't want to budge, lest he draw their attention to her.
"I need you to do something for me," Ketala said mentally as she approached him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, somewhat alarmed. The manner in which Mograine was leering at her left him exceptionally worried. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his fellow horsemen, that he did not immediately recognize what Ketala was carrying. When she was within a few feet of his horse, his eyes widened even more. It was a child. A small, pale, child. "What-?"
"This is my son, Vaiden," she continued without missing a beat.
"But- you- Is he undead?"
"Not quite." She hoisted the boy up and forced him into Zeliek's lap. Both child and death-knight blinked in confusion.
"Ketala, what are you doing-"
"He was conceived during my undeath. He is mine and Nathanos' child."
Anything Zeliek might have intended to say transformed into an unintelligible jumble as a result of his surprise.
"I cannot keep him here any longer. This world will poison him. I cannot yet go, but he needs to leave. And you are going to take him."
"What?" Zeliek gasped aloud, forgetting to keep his words mental.
"You heard me. I will shield your mind, and you will get him out of here."
"Ketala, you are acting foolishly! If anyone should escape, it should be you-"
He was unprepared for the paladin girl roughly grabbing his face, and jerking it down to her level. He almost fell off his horse.
"You will take Vaiden to Andorhal, where you shall meet my friends, and my adoptive children. From there, you will find Nathanos, and you will bring Vaiden to him. Is that understood?"
"No. Why me?"
"Because out of the two of us, I can't leave, and you can."
"So you shall continue to serve Arthas, a slave to his whims-"
"No. That's why I need Vaiden to be safe. And you, too."
"Ketala-"
"I need to stay."
"Because of Kel'Thuzad?"
"Somewhat. But there are other reasons. I need to get Vaiden out of here, and Arthas won't follow you as passionately as he would follow me. I can cover your escape like you could never cover mine. It would take me years to amass a force powerful enough to punch through the Lich King's lines, and by then Vaiden would have lived out his entire childhood in this hell, and Ner'zhul would be well aware of my intentions. I need you to go now, while he is not prepared to stop you. Please, Zeliek. Do this for me."
He stared at her quietly. "Are you really so trapped here? Once I and Vaiden are free, can't you escape? You are a stunning swordsman- surely you could beat anyone here…"
"Take on Naxxramas all by myself? I couldn't do it all- not on my own. I may be stronger than you, but am I stronger than Sapphiron, Kel'Thuzad, Mograine, Blaumeux, Korth'azz, and any other number of monstrosities within this place?"
"Then have you given up hope?"
"Not yet. I will do everything I can to get out of here. But Arthas sees much of my mind, and I could never kill Kel'Thuzad. I need help. When you find Nathanos, tell him where I am. Tell him that I'm quite annoyed that he's kept me waiting so long," she said, and she smiled weakly.
"He… he may not be looking for you."
"Then find someone who will."
"Ketala…"
"I can't do this alone, Zeliek…" she whispered out loud, and her voice cracked slightly. "I did not understand the consequences of my actions when I damned myself to this place. Please, go… Find some way to help me… Please…"
Her fellow undead paladin looked at her for a long, hard moment, and then nodded. "I will not fail you, Ketala. Tell me what to do."
She quickly gave him a mental list of instructions, and then pulled back and gave his horse a shove. "Get going."
"As you wish," he murmured half in reverence, and half in apology. He spurred his horse- an unnecessary measure considering it lacked anything to spur - and the animal leapt forward, dashing for the entry hall to the horsemen's room. The clattering of hooves drew the attention of both Korth'azz and Blaumeux, who looked up in surprise.
"Where the nether is that snivelin' rat headed off to?" Korth'azz growled in annoyance
Blaumeux was far more personally offended by the whole matter, and demonstrated this by yelling loudly, "What is she doing here?" and pointing accusingly at Ketala.
Mograine chuckled, and gave Ketala an almost gentle smile. "Welcome to the club," he said with amusement. Ketala blinked at him, and it occurred to her that he must have heard her verbal pleas to Zeliek. Still, he did not pursue his fellow horseman- just observed Ketala.
"I met your son once," Ketala said after a moment.
Immediately, the grin left Mograine's face. All mirth passed from him, and he stared at her with hard, calculating eyes. The air around her immediately felt colder.
"He was an asshole."
The ex-highlord blinked. Quite suddenly, he burst out laughing. Blaumeux and Korth'azz looked at him in amazement as he laughed and laughed and laughed. At last his manic laughter dried out to soft chuckles, and he nudged his horse up to Ketala. He circled around her once, and then smiled. "I will warn you only once," he said matter-of-factly. "An undead of free will is the only creature that can slay itself and not fear reanimation. If you end your existence now, you will find peace. If you do not, one day you shall find yourself helpless to obey your masters.
"You say that with conviction."
"It is the greatest of certainties," he countered. "And even now, the master's will is done through you. He consumes you, just as he consumed all before you, in one way or another."
"And yet here you are, warning me."
"We all have our own ways of coping with our darkness," he answered in a foreboding tone. Ketala looked directly at him. Those words… She had once used them to describe Zeliek. "We may be instruments of death, and champions of the slaughter, but we were all once men."
She regarded Mograine pensively a moment, and then responded calmly in the most bizarre of manners: "Well, that does explain Blaumeux's exceptionally broad shoulders…"
The woman in question gave a primitive cry of disgust and outrage. Her axe was bared in an instant, flashing through the air like a poisonous snake. "Silence your tongue! You may be favored by Kel'Thuzad, but I would have no problem tearing those puny arms from your minuscule frame!"
Korth'azz hooted and hollered in delight at his companion's irritation. "Haha! Look at ye, Blaumeux! Getting yerself all worked up- Ha! She is a wee thing, ain't she?" He leered down at Ketala with a frightful grin upon his face, and winked sloppily. The corner of Mograine's mouth twitched in amusement.
"Have either of you noticed that Zeliek is fleeing Naxxramas?" he inquired of his fellow horsemen innocently.
Both blinked.
"Well what are we sittin' around here for? After the sniv'lin' paladin!" Korth'azz snarled. His horse reared up and then bolted forward. Blaumeux shot Ketala a look of pure malice and then followed. Neither appeared to notice the fact that Mograine did not follow. The ex-highlord watched them go, and then looked back down at Ketala. There was a second of stillness - no sound but the clattering of departing hooves. And then, suddenly, the ex-highlord's sword was hurtling down towards her. She grasped the hilts of her scimitars and ripped them up above her head, catching the massive blade and holding it less than a foot from her face.
He was unnaturally strong, and the blade itself was heavy. She found herself bracing her legs tight against the ground, and shoving up against his weapon with all of her strength. The ex-highlord tilted his head to the side. With a swift motion he drew the sword back and hacked at her from the side.
Again she countered. Again, they were at a standstill.
"So, you can puncture Kel'Thuzad's control over his mind…" the deathknight observed. He drew the Ashbringer back, trotted his horse a few feet away and then dismounted. "But can you maintain the control while fighting for your life?"
He had not felt the earth beneath his feet for a long time. After a moment he gave his horse a gentle shove, sending it off into a corner. Ketala tilted her head to the side. Mograine turned towards her slowly, and gave his sword a practiced swing. "Can you distract Kel'Thuzad, retain control of your minions, ignore the Lich King's tortures, and shield Zeliek… All while locked in combat?" he questioned coolly.
"I cannot see why you would have any interest in dueling me. And if you were just doing your duty to the Lich King, you would have had Korth'azz and Blaumeux help you."
He gave a few more swings of his sword, and then took an offensive stance. "Call it curiosity," he answered. "Boredom doesn't just affect the living."
Theramore
Jaina looked critically down at her roof. All the shingles in a wide swath were either missing or broken. Hell, her bedroom had almost flooded. She might as well have installed a small waterfall in her ceiling. Thrall crouched down beside her and touched several of the damaged slate leaves.
"This looks like too much damage for Kallah to have caused it all," he remarked.
"It is," Jaina agreed. "And the damage reaches too low, as well. She would have had to slide all the way to the edge of the roof… And then she would have slid much too far for Daelin to have simply 'grabbed her'."
"Could the storm have dislodged more?"
"Yes, but it wouldn't have broken any shingles. The smashed shingles on either side of the swath indicate that all of this was all done manually. Strange… What else could have slid off of the roof besides Kallah?"
"Oh! That was Grandpa!" proclaimed a smiling voice behind them. Jaina and Thrall both swiveled around so fast that they nearly fell off the roof themselves. Kallah stood there, smiling hopefully up at them."
"Kallah! Did you not promise to stay inside?" Thrall scolded after his initial surprise.
"…Um… Well, technically I promised to stay inside for last night…"
Her parents glanced at each other, each silently berating themselves for not phrasing their words properly. Then they looked back at Kallah. "What do you mean, 'that was Grandpa'?" Jaina inquired after a moment.
"He… He broke the shingles while catching me," Kallah tried to elaborate.
Jaina blinked and Thrall frowned. "Are you saying that he slid down after you?" the orc asked incredulously.
Kallah bobbed her head happily, and came up between them to look at the damaged roof. Thrall and Jaina shared confused looks over their daughter's head.
"He… could have done it. Physically, I mean," Jaina allowed slowly. "He's used to maintaining his footing on bucking ships in the middle of wild thunderstorms. He could… theoretically… have slid down, grabbed her, and successfully pulled himself back up."
"…Theoretically?" Thrall asked after a moment.
"Well… It's quite a leap to say he would have done it."
Thrall smirked. "I thought you trusted him?"
Jaina snorted. "Not that much. Daelin might stay his hand against her… But rescue her? She might touch a soft spot or two when it comes to him, but he's still Daelin, and she's still a half orc. By that virtue alone, he should utterly hate her. Letting someone die is a lot easier than just killing them. I wouldn't have put it past him to have just allowed her to fall."
"Well, he did push her off."
"He only manages to tolerate her by stubbornly ignoring the fact that she exists. I doubt he'd feel responsible enough for his actions to want to save her."
"He said that he caught her to save his own neck. That could even explain why he bandaged her up afterwards."
Jaina nodded, accepting this explanation. Kallah blinked, looking up in confusion at her parents. The little girl hadn't the foggiest idea that her family set-up was strange. She didn't know that orcs and humans had ever fought- much less that her Grandfather hated her. All the talk of death and killing (which she hardly understood, either) was baffling her.
Her grandpa seemed mean at times, but also confused and upset. When he'd pushed her, he'd seemed more spooked than anything. And hadn't he saved her, and said he was sorry, and… and…
"But I like Grandpa," she suddenly protested. "He even brushed my messy hair!" she continued, spouting the culmination of her mental processes.
Her parents blinked at her in confusion.
"After he bandaged me up," she supplied, realizing that she'd left out some crucial details.
Her parents blinked at each other in confusion. Both individuals thought back to how Daelin had butted into their argument. His tone had been rife with disdain, but that could have been attributed to how disgusted he was at Thrall's presence. Still, the manner in which he had chosen to approach then, with Kallah hiding behind his leg…
His choice in words: "Are we interrupting something?" And later, his dry response to Kallah's assertion that he'd pushed her off the roof: "Thanks, kid."
Why hadn't he let them argue? If their relationship was strained, they might have lost interest in one another. Hell, the whole orc-human alliance might have started to crumble. Why choose to interrupt at that moment? Why speak with such disdain? Why let Kallah cling to him, and then rebuke her almost amiably?
…
It occurred to both leaders, at around the same exact moment, that Daelin Proudmoore had interrupted because he felt it was wrong for them to argue where she could hear. He had been protecting her. And that was the strangest revelation at all: not only did Kallah like her grandfather, but he in turn liked her.
Ahn'Qiraj
Dear Journal,
It took the five mages (Am I a mage? Hmm. Good question. I suppose that since I can't conjure bread, the point is moot) in the party around an hour to feed Ouro the Sandworm.
No, silly. Ouro didn't eat them. It ate all the bread they conjured! Honestly, what did you think we were? Cannibals?
Anyway, after that Ouro was very fat and sleepy, so Nathanos made it run circles around the arena to get it all worked up again. When Ouro was full, happy, and ready to smish something, we all headed back to the wall between where the now deceased prophet Skeram used to be, and C'Thun, which was at the front of the temple, and Nathanos didn't like it, but he thought that climbing was a bad idea.
Hmm, maybe I shouldn't narrate things. My grammar of grasp be shoddy-bad. That, and I think I'm writing this journal on the hind quarters of a small pig. What was I thinking? I should obviously have used a dung beetle. That way, when I wrote using my black ink, everything would be invisible.
But I suppose it can't be helped. A man's gotta do what a woman's gotta do, and walking bones can't do everything, you know? Of course they are very good at attacking things, which is what they are doing now.
What was I talking about again? Oh yes, of course! Now that we've finished gastropods, please turn the page in your textbook to look at megadriles (more commonly referred to as Earthworms).
Say, I knew this ranger lord once who tamed an earthworm, and used it as a mount. Oh! And a battering ram! You see, when Ouro was full, happy, and ready to smish something, we all headed back to the wall, which Nathanos didn't like, but he thought that climbing was a bad idea. Then he had Ouro just smash through the wall and send mortar flying everywhere! I suggested that Ouro just dig under the wall, but that might have led to ambushes, and besides, Ouro was being used as a battering ram, and I like bats and rams.
Now bats come from the order of chiroptero, but they are not chiropractors. Most actually prefer to engage in entomology, the study of insects. They even go so far as to participate in entomophagy, the practice of eating insects.
The Qiraji are also insects. I wonder if they'd be easy to defeat with an army of bats from the Undercity? You know what's also very strange? I don't remember any bats being used by undead prior to six years ago. I thought all bats were used by the island trolls- but you never seem to see that any more. Maybe I'll ask the trolls here about it later. They're fighting too, along with Ouro, and the skeletons, and the orcs, and the humans, and the tauren, and the night elves, and the blood elves, and the dwarves, and the gnomes, and the other undead. We're fighting this big eyeball thing named C'Thun that's bathing in a pit of what appears to be oil.
I'm confused by all of this, because even a gargantuan eyeball would still be relatively easy to pierce with a blade, and yet this one has resisted all our attacks so far. I-
(cont.)
At this point in time, a green beam lashed forward from the giant eyeball. It ripped through the crazy old necromancer, and then jumped over to blow to smithereens the flamingo he was writing on. The necromancer gasped, not in pain (for it didn't appear that he felt any), but in alarm. He looked silently at the tattered remnants of his journal/flamingo for a long moment, and then sniffled. With sad and lamenting gestures, he used his pen to write out "Sincerely, Flower," on one of the deceased flamingo's feathers. "Poor Piggie," he said sadly. He lifted his head to look at C'Thun's giant eyeball. It seemed to him as if the eye was laughing at him (despite the fact that hitting him had been an accident- the eyeball had actually been trying to blast the smithereens out of Ras. In fact, the eye was already turned in a different direction). The necromancer scowled darkly. He picked up his staff and slowly clambered to his feet.
Piggie would not have died in vain.
Ras was mildly worried when the eccentric necromancer stood up. The old man rarely fought personally. He generally summoned up a few skeletons at the beginning of every battle, or cast a few curses. Then he'd grow bored and totter off to find something more interesting. He was actually fairly useful. His curses were pungent, and his undead were exceptionally powerful. On the other hand, Ras would have to watch over him for the course of an entire battle. If he lost track of the necromancer for a second, the eccentric man was liable to end up eaten by something.
It had happened several times already.
Like Nathanos, Ras really couldn't explain why he cared about the necromancer's well being. He supposed it had to do with multiple things - not that least of which was the fact that the necromancer was really quite helpless, and hadn't a wit to his name. It made the ex-lich feel responsible for whatever happened to him. Furthermore, the necromancer's constant babbling at least added some variety to an otherwise monotonous desert existence.
In any event, Ras was mildly worried when the necromancer stood. Worry quickly turned to bafflement as he saw electricity rippling along the necromancer's staff and robes. The old man (or 'Flower', as he may or may not have been named; he had signed that name on his flamingo/journal, but then any man who keeps a flamingo as a journal has issues too convoluted to make sense of) glared at the eye of C'Thun. Flower's eyes were completely and entirely gold. He lacked pupil, iris, or white. Those eyes now glowed brilliantly, and sparked as if giving off electrostatic discharge.
C'Thun's eye suddenly paused. It swiveled around and aimed directly towards the necromancer, its massive pupil contracting in order to bring him fully into focus. There was a moment of silence, and then the massive eye began to turn a dark and ugly red. Electricity rippled around Flower's feet, and up the length of his staff.
"For Piggie!" the necromancer snarled, whipping his staff in the giant eye's direction. An explosion of lightning burst from the tip, arcing directly towards the massive orb. Simultaneously, blood-red light burst forward from eye's pupil, designed to utterly vaporize the old man.
Ras's eyes widened, and he conveyed his dismay in a terse, yet descriptive manner: "Shit."
The Dark Portal
The sky in the Blasted Lands was permanently shrouded with clouds. The terrain had once been a vast swamp, and the climate remained exceptionally wet. Lightning ripped constantly across the skies. Flash floods were both common and lethal. Any creature that thrived in such a land did so by utilizing the many mountains in the region.
But now the sky stood very still. There was no lightning, nor rain; there was not even any wind.
Furion only had a minute or so to dwell on Ember's loss. Quite suddenly, and without any prior warning, every hair stood up on the back of his neck. A tingling sensation rushed over him, alighting upon every last remaining nerve. He shivered and lifted his head, his mouth creasing into a puzzled frown. Everything seemed unnaturally still and quiet. The void where noise and commotion should have been was filled with a thick and weighty silence.
Something was happening.
He stood slowly, breathing in the scent of the surrounding landscape. The air was so moist he could almost taste it. Around him, many warriors lifted their heads, sensing the change in the atmosphere. They shared worried glances with one another, all wondering what the heavy silence portended. Everyone- even the eccentric goblins and the brutish orcs - spoke quietly, as if they feared they'd be reprimanded if they conversed too loudly.
Malfurion closed his eyes, listening intently to the world around him. Beneath the sounds of rustling armor and soft mutterings, he could hear the earth churn and the sky tremble.
"I am here," the archdruid murmured. "What is it…?"
---
The first thing that Ember experienced upon arriving in Outland was an overwhelming sense of vertigo. She felt torn from her conscious body, as if she were sitting far back inside her head and watching everything through a thick fog. All higher thought had ceased. All that was left was an unconscious sensation that something was wrong.
Very wrong.
What was most bizarre about all of this is that she evidenced no physical sign of her mental upset. She did not faint or stumble. Instead, she accompanied Zul'vii away from the portal, down to where a tremendous battle was raging between the forces of Azeroth and the Burning Legion. She tried to speak, to voice that something was wrong.
She couldn't remember how. And yet she was speaking to Zul'vii, asking about the fighting. She couldn't remember how to move her arms, and yet she was pointing curiously at the demonic front. She couldn't feel anything. She could hardly hear.
---
Shouts suddenly rang out around Malfurion. The stillness was disturbed as soldiers began running around. They gave off a scent reminiscent of fear. He opened his eyes and looked up. Above him, the clouds were on the move. Clouds from the mountains spiraled down and mixed with clouds blowing in from the Swamp of Sorrows. The sky where they met was so black it seemed to absorb all light. And then the silence was broken; there was a shrieking crackle as a thick bolt of lightning slammed down into the Dark Portal. The clouds gave a deep bass rumble, and then the lightning struck again, and again. A wall of wind slammed into the area, uprooting several tents and sending them flying off across the Blasted Lands. The tormented air shrieked and howled. Meanwhile, the mingling clouds were slowly beginning to spin together. Between them, an elegant black finger stretched towards the ground- a funnel cloud.
--
Archimonde was satisfied. A thousand subtle manipulations and tiny suggestions had finally born fruit. He scanned the lines of Azerothian fighters, looking for weaknesses in their formation. All he had to do was be patient. One well-placed step, one surge of demonic power, and both he and his host body would be safely within Legion clutches.
And if he were exceptionally lucky, he'd get to kill an angel in the process.
As for 'Ember'… For her, all was now numb. All quiet… Her sight faded, but she could not remember that it had ever existed. She couldn't remember walking through the portal, or where she was. She couldn't remember being anywhere. She couldn't remember being. She couldn't remember…
She couldn't…
She….
Then nothing.
Just Archimonde.
--
Furion tilted his head to the side in bewilderment, staring at the funnel as it slowly lowered itself towards the Dark Portal. Lightning struck again, and again, and again.
"I don't understand," he whispered quietly in Nightelfin. "I'm sorry… I don't…" The funnel touched down, ripping apart the land. Even so, it seemed to do no damage to the portal itself; it merely tore up earth, and bumped gently against the portal's surface. "Why…?"
--
Outland trembled. At the Legion Front, almost every demon and Azerothian lost his or her footing. The entire battle turned into a jumble of confused bodies. The shockwave originated at the Dark Portal, but it was felt as far away as Tempest Keep, the Black Temple, and Oshu'gun. It should be noted that Tempest Keep floated in midair. It was in no way, shape, or form, connected to the ground. No earthquake would have budged it in the slightest, and yet it trembled so vigorously that many of its inhabitants tripped over themselves.
Zul'vii landed on her head and was momentarily dazed. Archimonde alone did not fall. He released Zul'vii's hand as she went tumbling to the ground, and turned to look curiously at the Dark Portal. What he saw amazed him. A delicate, jet black tendril of whirling air was jutting out from the surface of the portal and ripping up Draenor's red terrain.
Archimonde the Destroyer had conquered many worlds in his long existence. He had come to see them as little islands - intriguing but powerless, helpless against the combined might of the Burning Legion. Azeroth was just another world in a long line of worlds. Its power was localized and weak- not broad and all-encompassing like Sargeras' wrath.
And yet somehow, for the third time, no less, Azeroth herself challenged him.
Waves of agony shot up his arms as Ember's organic battle-claws buried into his flesh. Vines coursed through his muscle structure, fusing his hands to the insides of the claws. He made no sound, staring in bewilderment as his flesh dissolved and became one with the wooden weapons. Another shockwave burst through the ground, knocking over every warrior that had managed to stand. This time, Archimonde landed upon his posterior.
He blinked, and looked up at the Dark Portal. A second funnel cloud was forming, this one from Draenor's own green sky. The twister arced gently down to earth, danced around the first tornado, and pushed through the portal to tear up the Azerothian side.
--
"I don't understand," Furion whispered again, watching the two tornadoes dance. Neither was harming the portal, and yet both seemed to be attacking the land around them with vigor. Was Azeroth attacking Draenor? And if so, why? Were they attacking, or were they… absorbing? His thoughts were too cluttered, his emotions too frayed. He felt that nature - not just Azeroth, but all of nature- was trying to convey to him an urgent message, and yet he could not grasp what it was trying to say. Deep inside, he was distracted by one prevailing thought: if only Ember had remained in Azeroth a minute more… then she would have been trapped on his side.
Ember…
Furion stiffened. Ember? It… It couldn't possibly be that this storm…?
Lightning rippled across the sky for miles and miles, all at once. Furion quivered, and shut his eyes. The two twisters laced together and then joined - one solid power fueled by two separate storms - two separate worlds. One whole, desegregated nature. The wind coursed powerfully around Furion, blocking out all other sounds. The archdruid smiled lightly, at last understanding.
"She's yours, isn't she? You're the other side, fighting against him. Thousands of ancestral spirits died that day, sacrificing themselves to stop him. But they were spirits of this world… Now you need to tie her to that one… You need to be able to reach her through Draenor… Just as you reach her here…
--
Nagrand. In orcish, the name meant "Land of Winds". It was the last fertile place in all of Draenor. There, ancestral spirits wandered the countryside. Elementals conversed with Mag'har Orcs. Broken Draenei began to communicate once more with the Light. It was a place of power, and of healing. It did not quite resemble old Draenor - for example, its sky was blue rather than the old Draenor green…But it came so very close.
And in its center was seated the great white mountain, Oshu'gun. Nagrand and Oshu'gun were intimately connected, and the mountain was by far the land's most noteworthy feature. Oshu'gun was made entirely out of diamond. Over the years, it had served as many things- a ship for the ancient Draenei, a sacred meeting ground for the ancient orcs…
Lightning struck its surface, causing the mountain to gleam brightly against the darkening sky. Orc and Draenei looked in unison up to the great mountain, and mused quietly over what the storm could mean. The spirits around them froze in their wanderings, listening intently for nature's words.
--
Ember screamed long and hard as consciousness restored itself. She could feel things pouring into her, energy and life coursing through her. Her entire being was on fire, and her arms burned where she and nature became one. And then suddenly, vertigo overwhelmed her again, pushing her back. Primal sensations overwhelmed her, as other spirits sought control over her body. This time, she understood that she was losing herself - not to Archimonde, but to something else.
"No! NO!" she screamed. "I am Ember! I AM EMBER! My father is Furion, my mother is Tyrande, my uncle is Illidan, my brother is Fenuine! I am Ember! EMBER!" Her legs shook beneath her, but she threw back the veil of fog, and the warring spirits, and the frustrated demon. She heaved herself to her feet, and glared defiantly up at the sky.
"I AM EMBER!"
Lightning exploded through the sky.
"EMBER! EMBER STORMRAGE!" she shrieked.
Thunder sounded, but rather than being sharp and explosive it was soft and rumbling.
Her entire body shook violently. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She'd bitten her tongue during her screaming, and she could taste blood in her mouth. For a moment, the war in her head stopped.
"Please…" she whispered.
"Please," Furion said softly, a world away. "Please help her."
"Please help me…" she murmured brokenly. Her whole being ached and her heart felt like it was ready to burst. "I am not territory…"
A gentle breeze brushed up against her cheek. The twisters parted, and carefully oozed back up into the cloud layer. Ember shuddered, and then collapsed, exhausted.
YARG!