PS: I do not like the broken draenei models in WoW, and have only partially accepted Akama's new appearance. Personally, I liked him better from War3. I also dislike the eredar in the game, as they're just darkly-tinted versions of the draenei. Furthermore, Far Seer Nobundo's model irritates me. He's dressed entirely in cloth (He's a Shaman! He should be in MAIL!), he has no hair (His hair was really cool…), his hands have just been scaled up to a ridiculous size, as opposed to being modeled differently, and his feet look like hooves (They're supposed to be claws). I am much more fond of the concept art that's been done of him looking into a pool of water and seeing his reflection.
Oh my god, I so did not have enough space in order to present all the sections I wanted to! Gahhh! My head is going to explode with too much in it! Not enough space…. To fill… with what Kyn wants… to say… I MUST WRITE FANFICTION FASTER!
Woo! This chapter only took one week! ONE WEEK BABY! ...Erm, sorry...
Friendship
The Exodar, Azuremist Isles
The Exodar. Such was the name of the ship that carried the draenei from Outland to Azeroth. It had crashed, quite conveniently, in the Azuremist isles. Since then, the draenei had converted the ship into their capital city. It was a bizarre place, made of metals no Azerothian had ever seen, and oozing magic from every inch of its surface.
Jaina stood in the main entryway to the city and looked around herself in awe. She had never before visited the Exodar, and immediately regretted this fact. Now that she thought of it, she regretted everything about her interactions with the draenei. The Lady Proudmoore had been preoccupied with so many things: among them the Dark Portal, Silithus, and the orcs. As a result, she had not set aside any time to better know her new allies. The more she saw of the Exodar, the more she regretted the fact that she had not found the time to visit earlier.
All around her were crystalline structures of unknown purpose. Soft violet light blanketed the surrounding area like a curtain. The Exodar was beautiful and overwhelmingly intricate. The sorceress blinked and tilted her head to the side. Her eyes focused on the immense crystalline structure in the center of the entry room. Violet light spiraled down around it. What ensnared Jaina's attention was neither its size, nor the obvious magic endowed in it. Rather, the subject of the lady's interest was a soft voice that seemed to call to her from beneath it. The sorceress inclined her head to the side out of curiosity, and then slowly approached the structure.
As she got closer, she saw more clearly the nature of the Exodar's architecture. To the side of the crystals, a great staircase wound its way downward. After a moment of pondering, Jaina headed towards it, and quietly began her desent into the lower levels of the structure. The staircase was long and traveled deep into the earth; by the time Jaina reached the last step, her curiosity had risen to astronomical levels, and she was made even more certain that something was calling to her.
She was not disappointed. At the very bottom of the winding staircase hovered a being unlike anything the sorceress had ever seen. It seemed to be composed of many metal plates, all engraved with strange runes. These plates floated in midair, and were held together by what seemed to be a manifestation of light itself.
The being shifted lightly, and appears to turn towards her. Its white light intensified somewhat, and its blue plates shifted. Jaina blinked, and gazed at it a moment. Then she slowly moved up to it, so that she might see and sense its aura more fully. And then, suddenly, it spoke. Its words were more like soft music coursing through her bones than any actual sound.
"Greetings, Jaina Proudmoore."
The sorceress blinked, but was by no means struck speechless with awe. Instead, she conveyed her wonder and admiration in an utterly different fashion. The Lady Proudmoore stepped up to the being and slowly lifted a hand to touch its shimmering blue plates. She could sense the being's amusement, but did not mind; it was so fascinating that she could not possibly have restrained herself.
"I must say, that in all my time among the draenei, none have ever been so brave as to touch me. You humans are a curious race."
Jaina blinked and blushed slightly, drawing her hand backwards. "I am sorry if I offended you."
The being's laughter rolled through her mind like the tinkling of many bells. "Fear not, little sorceress. I was merely remarking. I am O'ros, a naaru. My people champion the cause of the Holy Light." Jaina blinked and inclined her head to the side. She took a second look at the being's plate arrangement. Its symmetric, angular patterns almost made it look as if it sported wings…
"Are you angels, then?"
The Naaru seemed surprised at her deductions. It thought about her question for a long moment before responding. "By a broad definition of the term, I suppose we are. Naaru means born of light. We were created of the light, and we embody the light."
"So… do you have a gender?"
The naaru seemed to stare at her, utterly baffled by her tone and question. At last, it started to laugh. "Such a strange creature you are, Lady Proudmoore. I have dwelled here for over two years, and no one has approached me with that question."
"Well, it seems a logical question to me," she answered innocently. "Right next to 'What is the meaning of life?' and 'What exactly is in mystery stew?'."
The naaru laughed even more. It seemed so pleased by the mundane conversation that it decided to answer her first question. "If one were to divide our race and make distinctions based on the human concept of gender, then I am male."
"And you're just going to leave me clueless on the stew part?"
"Some things are better left unknown."
"So, do you have all kinds of restrictions on when you can intervene in combat, and whether or not you can tell me certain information?"
"More or less. That, and we like to maintain an air of mysteriousness."
"Mmm." Jaina pondered, searching for any question that might be concrete enough for the naaru to answer. "Do the naaru have any interest in the affairs of the undead?"
"Contact me in a few years when we can tell whether or not our efforts in Outland have born fruit."
"Well at least you have a sense of humor," she noted.
"I see I am not the only one drawn to this place," came a voice from behind her.
Jaina blinked and turned quickly about. Behind her stood a very peculiar being. Even at first glance, Jaina could tell he was no ordinary draenei. His nose had recessed entirely, and was now no more than two slits in the curves of his face. The thick, slightly blocky planes that made up a normal draenei face had sort of melted together, creating a visage long, gaunt, and haggard. His mouth had become somewhat enlarged and filled with thick, sharp teeth. The tentacles sprouting from his jawline had thinned somewhat, while his hair had bunched itself into three similar tentacles behind his head. Most of his body was covered in cloth or mail armor, and even his face was concealed somewhat by his hood. Still, she could see that his hooves had long since devolved into claws, and his hands had gone from five fingers to three.
It occurred to her, suddenly, that he must have been one of the Broken, a race of draenei that had regressed somewhat due to demonic corruption. On second glance, she noticed strange patterns on his mail armor, and was made particularly curious by the power she felt emanating from his simple wooden staff. It took her a moment, but she eventually realized what these characteristics all reminded her of.
"Are you… a shaman?" she inquired curiously. From everything she knew, the draenei were worshipers of the light, and the profession of "shaman" was almost wholly exclusive to the Horde. Still, the orcs and draenei had both come from Outland. Surely this meant that if one had engaged in Shamanism, the other could as well? The Broken draenei seemed surprised by her question. He regarded her a moment, before nodding.
"You are perceptive. My name is Far Seer Nobundo." He inclined his head to the side and regarded her with light blue eyes for a moment. "How strange. It seems the elements are with you as well…
Jaina blinked, taken aback. She had done well in her lessons with Thrall and Cairne, but she had never imagined that her dabbling would amount to anything… measurable. "Ah… I have… dabbled in the art of shamanism… But I am not a shaman, and I sincerely doubt the elements are 'with' me."
Nobundo chuckled and regarded her staff, which blazed with arcane energies. "Not even water?" he inquired gently. Jaina blinked. "Water Elementals, ice storms, frost bolts… An utter adoration for ships and sailing despite your more scholarly nature…"
The sorceress's eyes widened, and she found herself asking "How do you…?" even though she could have guessed as to the sources of his knowledge.
The Broken draenei merely smiled at her question. "You have communed with the elements longer than you know. You are just very bad at hearing or recognizing them. But water seems fond of you, just as she looks down favorably upon me." He lifted his eyes to O'ros, and gave a sad sort of smile.
"I come here, occasionally, to think… Do you know, I cannot hear his voice?" He looked at her. Jaina looked back at him in surprise. "Nor the voice of any naaru. As a Broken, I am cut off from the Light. I can no longer hear it, in any of its incarnations."
"That implies… that you once wielded it," she observed. He smiled mirthlessly and nodded.
"I was once a paladin."
That surprised her. Nobundo was a hunched and withered creature with a somewhat sickly disposition. He looked nothing like a crusader of the light- nothing even like a warrior. Only the breadth of his chest and the muscles in his arms indicated that he might have been well-schooled in martial combat. And yet, at one time, this Broken had been a full blown paladin warrior? Images of Uther appeared in her mind, and she realized that the draenei's deformities were far more than aesthetically displeasing. "What made you turn to shamanism?" she inquired.
He was quiet for a moment, before speaking. "Every day since I was cut off from the Light, I went up into the mountains to pray, to try and find that connection which I had lost. I did this for years, and years… And never once was there any answer. For a long time, I wondered if this was a failing of my own; if I had somehow deserved to be abandoned by it. It was only later that we discovered that we Broken are cut off from the Light due to how we were assaulted by demonic taint. The fault lay not within us, but within what we had suffered." He shifted his walking stick so that he was leaning on it more comfortably. "One day, when I went up into the mountains, a voice answered. It was not the voice I sought- the voice of the Light- but rather the voice of the wind."
"And so you followed it."
"I had no other choice… I had been abandoned by everything else around me, and the elements promised a way through which I might help my people and hold on to my sanity. At first, I had worried that I was straying down a dark path. I wondered if I was going through some type of test, and that I should deny the elements to prove my loyalty to the light."
"It seems to me that you were a remarkably devout paladin."
He chuckled slightly. "Or desperate. Eventually something occurred to me. The Light is a great champion against evil. It fights against the demons, and the undead. It is exceptionally good. But the Light itself is not perfect. It loathes corruption, and celebrates purity. Those who are imperfect, like I am, are not embraced by its warmth. We must seek other ways to do good in this world, and we must find other champions for our causes. I may always love the Light, but I now follow the path of the elements. It is they who shall lead me in my fight against darkness now, just as the Light once did long ago."
O'ros seemed to glitter a little sadly.
The Broken draenei smiled lightly, perhaps comforted by the fact that the naaru did not condemn him. He then looked back to Jaina. "Forgive me. I am already conveying my life's story, and I do not even know your name."
She smiled in response. "I'm certain Water could tell you."
"This is true, but I prefer to engage in actual conversation. Omniscience is so socially… limiting."
She grinned. "I am Jaina Proudmoore, sorceress and leader of Theramore Isle. I found your story quite fascinating, actually. I have never thought of the Light in that manner, and so it's always been difficult for me to truly analyze other faiths."
"Well. I am not trying to discredit the Light."
"Fear not. My beliefs are secure. I was just talking to O'ros before you arrived."
"I heard you. In fact, I've been meaning to ask you; do Naaru have genders?" He gave a wry grin.
Jaina smiled from ear to ear. She turned to O'ros. "See! I told you! It's a very logical question!" The naaru chuckled lightly and Jaina looked back at Nobundo. "He says he's more-or-less male."
"I see," the Broken remarked sagely. "Well, you have come a far distance from Theramore. What has brought you to our city?"
"Curiosity, mostly," she confessed. "I've wanted to see the Exodar since the draenei first arrived, but I've put it off for years."
"Ah. Busy running a country?"
"You don't know the half of it."
He laughed lightly. "Your lighthearted spirit is refreshing. Such an attitude is generally uncommon among mages. I am glad to have encountered you." He pondered for a moment. "Would you perhaps like a tour of the rest of the Exodar?" he suddenly offered. "I have nothing much to do for the rest of the day, and it is nice to have someone to talk to."
"I would love nothing more." She turned around and gave a light bow to O'ros. "It was pleasant speaking with you. I hope I get a chance to do so again in the near future." The naaru gave what might have been its version of a bow.
"I enjoyed our conversation as well. Please feel free to return at any time." She nodded, and then turned back to the brokBen.
"Lead the way, my new friend. I want to see everything."
Naxxramas
Mograine was an absolutely brilliant swordsman. Shadow energy pooled around him, augmenting his strength and speed. The Ashbringer flitted through the air like some type of butterfly, dashing forward, backward, and side to side. He used the weapon as if he were wielding a dagger- one handed and with unbelievable grace and finesse. Despite this flitting technique, ever blow he struck resounded with the full weight and power of a mighty greatsword.
Ketala found herself forced to use both of her blades in order to counter his, and he was forcing her to back up. Had she not been undead, her arms would have already gone numb with exhaustion at the sheer strength of his blows. She parried high, deflecting an overhead chop of his blade. Quite suddenly she was blocking a diagonal swing from the side with her other scimitar. She grimaced, trying to keep pace with him and to find any opening in his strikes.
And yet every time she tried to get a concrete hold on the situation, Arthas assaulted her mentally. In her vision she could see monstrous horrors appearing on all sides of her. Decapitated bodies were strewn around her. Blood ran from the walls. Worst of all, she could see Vaiden being ripped apart and devoured by abominations. Empathetic feelings of terror and revulsion flooded through her, and she fought as hard as she could to keep them repressed.
She blocked an underhanded stab. For a moment, she marveled at the ease with which he shifted grips on his blade. Then she was with Zeliek as he fled along Naxxramas's corridors, and at full gallop for the top of the floating ziggurat where the gargoyles roosted. All along his way she was deflecting undead, sending them scurrying back into their holes. Their minds were barely perceptive of hers, and she had to scream out her orders, forcing them back with sheer will.
Mograine took another swipe, this time at her head. She barely ducked in time, and lifted her blades to fend off one of his diagonal hacks. She could see Vaiden's eyes, from where he was with Zeliek, and the blood that was covering the boy's face-
No! No, Vaiden was not dead! That was an image sent to her by Arthas! She tried to shake it off, but realized that another blade was coming at her, a farmer's blade- NO! Mograine's! She was fighting Mograine!
"Ketala!" came Kel'thuzad's mental scream. "Ketala, he is destroying me! Stop!" She tried to reach out to her guardian and then retracted. No. Take care of Zeliek. Get Zeliek out! But Zeliek was already dead. Along with Nathanos. Along with Vaiden-
The paladin girl screamed in frustration, holy energy rushing through her being. Mograine jumped backwards, but she showed not the slightest indication of pain as the white fire licked his flesh. The Light had always been there, and would always be there. It was her sword and shield, and she suddenly clung to it like never before. The Lich King was trying to cloud her thoughts, and she had to be able to think straight in order to get Zeliek out.
The horrid visions faded somewhat, becoming translucent, but they did not disperse all together. Arthas had too firm a foothold in her mind, and she could not shake off his influence. Within the confines of her skull, she could hear the specter laughing. She ignored it, funneling holy energy through her body. She would defeat this.
"You fight well," the ex-Highlord remarked. "But you are succumbing. Too much of you already belongs to him." Ketala glared at the Highlord, taking full stroke of him. He wore beautiful bronze-colored armor that was obviously forged by a master craftsman. His shoulder pauldrons were raised to guard his neck, and the metal over his torso was arranged in bands, so that he might have greater mobility. He stood with the poise of a paladin, and yet his eyes burned with an unholy fervor. There was something inherently unnerving about him that Ketala could not quite place.
"I will never be his," Ketala answered. "I will not give in. My son is leaving here alive." He gave a short and mirthless laugh, and batted his sword at her almost effortlessly. She had to jump back a step to avoid shattering her arm.
"If Zeliek did not escape, you would disappoint Ner'zhul," the ex-Highlord remarked darkly. "Even now, even in your weakest state, he expects you to succeed. You are the ultimate weapon, the ultimate prize. He has slowly groomed you every moment up until this point."
This convinced her that Mograine was simply taunting her, trying to break her mind down. She put on a stoic face and smiled confidently. "Sacer et Lux," she murmured, and holy light rippled down the length of her blades. She directed undead away from Zeliek, and then concentrated back on Mograine."You know not of what you speak, Highlord. I owe nothing to Arthas. Kel'Thuzad raised me, Anub'arak trained me, and the paladins taught me to live. You are just hanging false prophecies in the air to break down my will."
Mograine smiled piteously. There was something utterly disturbing about such an expression on his face. It seemed genuine and yet perverse, corrupted by some internal malady. "Don't you understand?" he asked softly. "You are, and you always have been, Zeliek's replacement. He was a placeholder for you."
"And?" she asked, refusing to be thrown off by his words. She dropped her shield of holy energy and he came at her again. Her blades flashed against his, now and then teaming with holy energy.
"Now, now," the deathknight admonished. "Think more carefully." She snorted and blocked three more of his blows before the meaning of his words rushed in on her. Her eyes widened and she stared at the ex-Scarlet Highlord. "You… you imply that the Lich King knew he would lose Zeliek…"
Mograine nodded sagely. "Of course, Ketala. He planned your first meeting with Zeliek." She tried to think over what Mograine was saying, but it was so difficult, what with ignoring Arthas's visions and bringing Zeliek to safety.
"That makes no sense," she hissed. "Why would the Lich King rejuvenate my hope by leading me to Zeliek?"
"To further your loneliness when he is gone. To further crush your spirit. Do you not understand, Ketala? Every move you make has been dwelled on and choreographed by him."
"I defy him!" she answered the fallen paladin, holy energy coursing around her.
"Yes. He knows. You are not like us, cannot be corrupted like us. You must actually fall. You must choose the darkness over the light. Can you not see it? You have ignored his hold on your mind, but now you are acutely aware. You can see how he pressed down on you, claiming you, destroying you. You cannot leave Kel'Thuzad, but he would kill you for power. You are alone, and you shall slowly dissolve, until Ner'zhul is the only name on your lips."
"Stop it!" she commanded, holy energy rippling through her once more as she thrust his blade away from her. The white fire burned at the Scarlet Highlord. She screamed and called down a blast of holy light on the ex-Highlord, but he counter with a shield of shadow and green fire. It had suddenly occurred to her what the sickly, disturbing aura around the deathknight was. Mograine had not simply fallen, or turned to darkness. He wasn't a puppet in the sense that Zeliek was. Rather, he reminded Ketala of another being altogether: Sylvanas' High Apothecary, Lydon.
In short, the ex-Scarlet Crusader was insane.
He smiled at her pleas that he desist. The unnatural breadth of his grin only further convinced her of his mental imbalance. The Ashbringer blade came at her face and she leaned to the side, whipping one blade up to block his next strike, and using the other to strike a hit on the ex-Highlord's side. Mograine chuckled and backed up a step so that he might bring his blade back into fighting position.
"You make me proud, little one."
"Oh? Why? Proud that at least some paladin will stand against him?"
"No. You were trained based on a conglomeration of the fighting skills of all of Ner'zhul's finest warriors. Did you honestly think Anub'arak knew how to wield a sword on his own? In ways, one could say I helped train you. You've scored a hit, so I say I am proud."
Ketala blocked another blow of his sword, uncertain of how to respond to this. "Why are you telling me these things? And for that matter, if you were telling the truth, why would Arthas allow you to speak with me?"
He smiled grimly and sent a blow her way that nearly knocked her clean off of her feet. "Because he already knows the path you will choose. He knows you won't let me kill you. He knows you're a fighter, that you will struggle all the way till your end. Everything that has happened to you so far, he has planned. Even this meeting. And instead of me convincing you to end your existence and escape him, you will live on, more doubtful and broken."
"Then why tell me?" she nearly shouted. Kel'Thuzad's screams of pain echoed through her mind, but she couldn't tell if they were real or fabricated by Ner'zhul's illusion.
"Perhaps I am hoping he is wrong, or maybe I have a sadistic streak. Most likely, I simply don't have a choice. I am sentient, and yet I am just a puppet, and he knows all my strings."
She tried a spin in an attempt to get another strike on his body. The result was that she missed a parry, and the Ashbringer ripped a crack open in her armor. She grimaced and released a burst of holy energy at the ex-Highlord, just aggressive enough to let her back up and reorient herself. "And why help me, Mograine?"
"Because it is how I am attempting to cope," he answered without missing a beat. "It is irrelevant that my actions are futile. They give me a sense of purpose." She stared at him in amazement. Zeliek had finally reached the top of the flying ziggurat. There, a giant frost wyrm waited for him, accompanied by a flock of gargoyles. The second he was on the roof, the frost wyrm pounced upon his horse, and lifted all of them; paladin, child and undead steed; into the air. The gargoyles followed, tearing apart enemy undead that would dare impede the dragon's journey.
"How can you exist like this?" she asked of the deathknight. "As nothing more than a puppet! How can you kill for him? How can you wield that sickly blade, as it spews forth green taint? How can you not yearn for everything you were?"
He dashed forward, bull rushing into her and slamming her hard into the wall behind her. Her blades went straight through his armor and body, and protruded through the other side, but he seemed not to notice. He glared at her, although he was careful never to make direct eye contact. After a moment, he leaned forward, placing his lips near her ear.
"By embracing it," he whispered. Her eyes widened. "Tell me, Ketala… How do you survive knowing that he is in your mind? That he puppets your movements? That Kel'Thuzad is his pawn, and is working to destroy you? How do you survive knowing you have slaughtered countless in his name? You ignore it. You forget it. You make explanations for why you do it. And slowly, oh so slowly, you stop remembering why you hated it in the first place. It's too much to handle, and you must cope… So you learn to love it, to accept it…" She shivered, and he smiled. "There is only one way out, and so far few have taken it."
"Death," she whispered.
He smiled, and lifted the Ashbringer with his free hand, moving to stab down at her with the blade. She grunted and ripped her blade out of his body and to the side, and then snapped it up with lightning speed to deflect the oncoming blade. Mograine blinked, and looked at her rather sadly. His gaze was utterly unnerving.
"Why?" he inquired.
She shivered again, and swallowed dryly before answering: "I have to try. I cannot give up, because I have to try. If I do not, who will? If I can't fight him, who can be expected to?"
"He will consume you, and you will become his pawn."
"I cannot leave the people who need me most. If I fail, who will save them?"
"Who will save them from you?"
"No one. I will not let it go that far."
"You will have no choice-"
"I am sick of your finalities!" she finally shouted. "I am stick of destiny, sick of fate! I am sick of being a pawn, sick of inevitabilities! I will fight him, and I will succeed!"
"You will fall."
"I will succeed!" she reiterated, even more confidently than the first time.
"Why do you believe that, when all evidence points to the contrary?"
"Because I must have faith in something! I must have hope! If I do not fight, no one will! I am all that's left! I do not have the choice of failing! Against all odds, against all destiny, I must somehow find a way to defeat him!"
He tilted his head to the side in the most peculiar of manners, his brown hair shifting around his shoulders. Then he slowly released her, and stepped backwards. Her second scimitar slipped out of his body with a disturbing, slurping sound. He placed a hand to the wounds, and felt the bloody ichor that leaked from the holes. Then, after a moment, he lifted his eyes to her face. The ex-Highlord stood motionless for a long time. He then slowly sank to one knee, and planted his sword in the ground before him.
Ketala hesitated, staring at him. Then she carefully approached him, and reached her mind forward to touch his. She was met with a chaotic, blackened whirl of hatred and filth. The darkness almost overwhelmed her and she stumbled backwards, blinking in shock. The darkened mind heaped a chaotic message together of broken grime, and then thrust it towards her. The resulting telepathy filtered into her brain like putrid sludge:
"Command me, My Lady. I am yours."
Ahn'Qiraj Temple, at the Eye of C'Thun
"For Piggie!" Flower shouted. Electricity rippled forth from his staff towards the great eye of C'Thun, while a beam of red light shot forth from the eye's pupil towards him. Both launched their attacks at almost the same moment. The actions happened so quickly that the rest of the party wasn't fast enough to protect the necromancer.
The lightning crashed into the eye. The dark red beam tore through the space where Flower was standing.
For some reason, there was quite a spectacular explosion- something probably attributed to a hyperactive CIG department. In any event, when the explosion cleared, the Eye of C'Thun was rolling madly and emitting a high pitched whining noise, as electricity rippled over its surface. Its pupil was opened wide and its membrane was pulsing violently. Flower was missing.
For a moment, Ras felt both relieved and slightly saddened. Then he heard the Necromancer's distinctively erratic voice yelling "And take that! And this! And some of these!" He blinked and looked towards the eye, where the Necromancer was kicking quite ineffectually at its surface. The charged nature of the eyeball caused him to get shocked with every kick, and his beard and hair were both standing on end. From across the room, Ras saw Nathanos lift a brow and display his characteristic "What… The Nether… Was that…?" expression. Even Ouro seemed to find the situation strange enough to merit staring, although Ras wasn't precisely certain; he couldn't tell whether the worm had eyes or not.
In any event, the stillness lasted but a second, and then the whole of the raiding party was bearing down on the eye and hacking at it with anything they had readily available. Nathanos shook his head in dismay at all the people who were, subsequently, getting electrocuted. He shrugged, drew his bow out, and began peppering the eye with arrows.
At last a moan slowly emerged from the great eye. It shriveled slightly and rolled to an uncomfortable looking angle.
An irritated sounding rumble echoed through the area. The raid members slowly backed off. They killed a few of C'Thun's tentacles that had popped up in the surrounding area, and then watched as the eye slowly sank down into the black gook beneath it. This was even more unnerving due to the fact that the raid members had stood on that gook just moments before, and had detected no sudden drop off in its depths.
The eye vanished entirely beneath the depths of the black gook. All was silent.
And then the ground rumbled.
And then suddenly a soft voice reached out to the party. Every member of the raid heard it; each as if a being were whispering just beside their ears "Your heart will explode," murmured the voice.
And then, quite suddenly, a massive mound of flesh and teeth began pushing its way up from the ooze. Tentacles swarmed around its base, and great eyes peered out at all who were assembled. The voice came again, whispering almost intimately:
"You are already dead."
And then tentacles burst up from the ground and wormed forward, grasping at the individuals that defied it. Nathanos swore in irritation. He motioned to Ouro and the worm shot forward, plowing headlong into C'Thun's massive body. There was an audible crack, as the two titans collided, but the voice merely chuckled. A great shield had formed between C'Thun's body and Ouro's, staving off the brunt of the attack. The old god shifted, moving forward prehensile finger-like appendages and wrapping them around the worm. Atop of C'Thun's bulk was a massive ring of teeth- teeth that surrounded a mouth of enormous size. Tentacles wrapped around Ouro, and pulled the worm off the ground. The great teeth clutched around Ouro's bulk and punctured the creature's carapace.
The worm screamed.
C'Thun's body contorted and then extended. The mouth wrapped around the worm's body. Muscular contractions pulled Ouro in, tail and all. The Old God swallowed, and then his mouth opened again, hungry for more.
"You are weak."
The whole of the raiding party stared in dismayed silence. From where Ras was standing, he could hear Nathanos exclaimed, quite astounded, "It… ate… the worm…" Ras shook his head and then turned to look at Nathanos, and nearly panicked at what he saw. The undead ranger wore a look of incredulity on his face. And that was bad. Nathanos was never surprised. The Ranger Lord sauntered confidently through every battle. It didn't matter what was going on; no matter the odds, the circumstances, or the nature of the foe. In Ras' experience, Nathanos was never surprised. He had learned to count on the Ranger's uncanny foresight concerning every enemy they encountered.
And if he had underestimated their foe… C'Thun's tentacles grabbed at party members. Some tentacles were eating them, while others sported eyes that were shooting out explosive beams of light. The party was in a state of complete chaos.
Nathanos's brown eyes narrowed. "Get back to formation!" he snarled. "Fight off the tentacles, or you leave your friends to die, and forfeit your own lives!" He thrust his bow over his shoulder, and then ripped both of his axes from his waist. "No one," he hissed in a much softer voice. "Eats…" He bolted forward at an outright sprint, weapons ready. "My… Pets."
A grasping tentacle, equipped with neither spikes nor eye, burst up from the ground. It slithered around and then moved to slam down onto an unsuspecting night elf priest. Nathanos rammed into the priest and knocked her over. Then, Ras watched in horror as the tentacle ensnared Nathanos instead. It hoisted the ranger up into the air and gave him a flick. "Your friends will abandon you."
The Ranger Lord dropped straight into C'Thun's waiting maw.
Not. Good.
The Exodar
Jaina spent the whole day at the Exodar, looking around and marveling at all the strange things that the ship had to offer. She studied the holographs of demons, and spoke to mage trainers and portal masters, and all the while she held a very animated conversation with Nobundo. As a Broken, Nobundo was seen as something like a second class citizen by the majority of the Draenei people. Some still believed he should be exiled from the city, as he was tainted and unworthy to call himself kin to them. The Exodar could be lonely with all the pitying and hostile glances he had shot his way. Jaina, on the other hand, seemed not to care about his obvious physical corruption. She spoke with him as an equal, and seemed quite delighted to share his company.
Furthermore, the sorceress herself was an engaging person. She had a sort of bouncy disposition that defied the times they lived in. Her curiosity was boundless and her mood cheery. It was refreshing to see someone of such power and repute acting like an inquisitive youngling.
He smiled as she poked one of the demonic holograms. "So, Lady Jaina… I have told you much about myself and my people. What of you?" She blinked and looked over at him, before smiling. "Well, I was originally the princess of the sea-faring kingdom of Kul'Tiras… When I was little, I evidenced signs that I'd make a good mage, so I was sent to Dalaran to study arcane magic."
"Ah. That would explain how you ended up as a mage. I didn't see you as the power-hungry sort."
She chuckled lightly. "I don't feel power-hungry, but then you never know. Often such personality traits just sneak up on you, without warning. But no, I study magic because I find it mentally challenging. It's a great big puzzle to me."
He nodded, understanding. "You said you dabbled in shamanism. Where did you learn of the elements?" Jaina paused, uncertain of how to respond. She lowered her hand from the hologram and mused for a moment. Nobundo blinked and looked at her curiously. "What stills your tongue, little one?"
Jaina smiled lightly and looked at the draenei. "An orc taught me," she said truthfully. He smiled and nodded.
"I had assumed as much. By your tone, I doubted you had encountered the elements like I had."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"Not so much. I understand that the orcs were perverted by the demons. They were shamanistic once- and once, they were not our enemies." Jaina smirked.
"My respect for you grows, Nobundo. Not many people can relinquish hatred like that."
"I haven't… But I try. I still remember the orcs torturing woman and hurling them down from the sides of our city. Nothing will make me forget their screams."
Jaina regarded him a moment, and then gently laid a hand on his arm. He blinked, and looked at in surprise. "Nothing will make me forget the smell of Stratholme. A thousand corpses burning because of the crazed vengeance of a paladin… Humans are not perfect either. Nor, I suspect, are Draenei, if the eredar are any indication." He winced. "So I suppose the moral of the story is that we should not judge each other based on what the darker members of our races have done. The orc who teaches me shamanism is a kind being who wants only a home for his people. The same thing we all want. If we cling to vengeance it will consume us, and we will create more and more people who have suffered, just as we have."
He nodded quietly.
"Miss Proudmoore?" Jaina looked up in surprise to see, of all people, Tyrande Whisperwind standing before her. Tyrande was generally a battle-hardened sort. She smiled infrequently, but she had a certain strength to her that made Jaina proud to be female. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same of you," the sorceress said with a smile. "I was just talking to my new friend." The night elf leader looked uncertainly at Nobundo, and for a moment a flash of pity or disgust flashed over her face. Then it was hidden, along with everything else. The Broken draenei noticed it, but said nothing. He just smiled with his lips closed, so as not to expose his ragged teeth. "I am here to meet with Prophet Velen. Considering our global proximity to the draenei, I thought it polite to speak with him face-to-face."
Jaina nodded. "It's pleasant meeting you on such informal terms. I was just here to explore the Exodar."
Tyrande said nothing about that. She still remembered how Jaina had wandered around Teldrassil for a few weeks asking questions about everything in sight. The human was an abnormally curious being, and Tyrande had gotten used to it. "Have you met with Velen yet?"
"No… Not yet. I got distracted by the naaru."
Typical Jaina. Tyrande smiled inwardly and nodded outwardly. "Then you should. Although I am well aware of how easily you are distracted, it still is not polite for a leader to wander around a city without ever once addressing the city's leader."
Jaina lifted a brow, a little amused by the elf's condescending tone. She didn't bother to mention it out loud, however, and instead nodded. "Very well, then. I shall accompany you to meet the prophet." She looked back to Nobundo. "Will you come, or have I already soaked up too much of your time?" The shaman chuckled lightly and moved up beside her.
"I have little else to do, Lady Proudmoore. I shall come as well."
Velen had expected Tyrande Whisperwind to visit, but he was surprised when he Nobundo and a diminutive human at her side. The human… ah, yes. Jaina Proudmoore. Velen had gotten little time to speak with the human female. Most of his interaction had been with night elves and the humans of Stormwind. He smiled brightly and nodded first to Tyrande, and then to Nobundo and Jaina.
"Tyrande, it is a pleasure to meet with you again. But my, you bring interesting company."
"We actually encountered each other quite by accident," the night elf confessed. "The Lady Proudmoore had come out of curiosity, and I discovered her on the way to see you."
Jaina had only encountered Velen a few times, and she still found his appearance interesting. But then she found all draenei's appearances interesting. He was as tall as a night elf or tauren, and was of a mass somewhere between the two. His feet ended in two powerful cloven hooves, and his legs were recurved, much like a tauren's. His skin, however, was of a blue-violet hue. He was garbed in robes of white, red, and violet, and carried an elegant wooden staff in one hand. Most interesting were his forehead crest and tentacles, and the exceptional length of his white beard. Jaina would have to say that he reminded her of Antonidas, her mentor and the Archmage of Dalaran.
After spending the entire day with Jaina, Nobundo noticed the signs that she was quietly analyzing the Draenei leader. He chuckled lightly. Jaina blinked and gave a polite bow.
"Forgive me for not seeing you immediately, elder, but I lack manners and have a tendency to get distracted by anything that defies the laws of physics. Nobundo was just giving me a tour of the city when the High Priestess found me. I must say, you have a beautiful city."
Velen smiled lightly. "We make the best of what we have. I had intended to speak with Tyrande and the Far Seer about the Dark Portal and the conflict in Silithus. I am told you are also invested in both activities. Perhaps you would like to join our discussions?"
"If Priestess Tyrande does not mind?"
The Night Elf shook her head. "Actually, I have been meaning to talk with you, Jaina. After these discussions, might I have a private word with you?"
The sorceress looked at her curiously and then nodded. "Of course. I'll even teleport you home."
Over the Plaguelands
The great frost worm ripped through the skies, gargoyles following like small fighter ships on all sides of it. Zeliek looked down at the ground below him. He swallowed hard. He was ashamed to admit it, but he was afraid of heighst. And he got seasick. And flying over the water without the bowels necessary to feel either vertigo or motion sickness was too much for him. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was not hundreds of feet in the air.
Vaiden clung tightly to Zeliek, his face buried into the paladin's cowl. After Zeliek had some time to reflect on this, he realized the boy had never been outside. Vaiden had only ever known the dark of Naxxramas, and his eyes were unused to the bright sunlight. The paladin opened his eyes slowly, and looked curiously down at the little child. The boy's skin was a soft gray. His hair was a mousy brown in coloration. It was shoulder length, and looked like it had been kept short using a sword blade. Zeliek smiled lightly at this, and then moved a hand to gently rub the child's back.
After a bit, he felt a strange warmth on his cheek, and he lifted his head. There, up in the clouds above him, the sun was peeking through. It warm rays spilled down onto Azeroth, and gave Zeliek's pale cheeks a sun kissed glow. The knight looked the yellow clouds, and then out at the air around him. I'm free, he reflected. A small, ironic smile touched his lips. I'm free… Had his tear ducts still been fully functioning, his face would have glistened with their product.
He closed his eyes, and shivered slightly. No taunting words filtered through his mind. No shadow clawed at him. He could no longer hear the laughter of Blaumeux and Korth'azz as they played with the corpses of the slain. Mograine's unnerving eyes were gone. When he attempted to move, he moved. He lifted his arm by his own will, turned his head of his own accord. Free.
Vaiden lifted his head and squinted painfully past the uncomfortable light of the sun. He looked weakly over Zeliek's shoulder, towards where he knew his mother to be. His eye poised a silent question, and his mouth drew into a frown. He could sense her there, on the fringe of his mind, but did not know how to reach out to her. And moment by moment, he could feel her presence moving farther and farther away. This was not right. He had always been able to sense his mother, and she always been very close. His brows creased together, and he slowly reached out his arm, his little fingers straining back in the direction he had come from.
Zeliek blinked and looked at the little boy. He frowned as he realized the cause of Vaiden's concern, and he gently pushed the child back a bit, so that he might get a better look at the boy's face.
"Vaiden?" he asked gently. The child looked up at him, his eyes whirling a sickly combination of yellows and brownish pinks. The paladin winced and gently stroked over the boy's cheek with the back of his plated hand. "Hey, listen to me… You are going to see your mother again, alright? I promise you. But you're going to have to be brave for a little while, okay? She's going to be far away, and you're going to have to be brave 'til she gets to you."
The child frowned, but of course, said nothing. Ketala had mentioned, in her final instructions, that the child was mute. Due to this, Zeliek had no way of gauging whether the child understood a word he was saying. After a moment he pulled the child back against him, and tried soothing the little boy by rubbing his back and stroking through his hair.
"Your mother told me to take care of you, for a little bit. She said I'm supposed to take you to your father."
Vaiden perked up and looked at Zeliek. The paladin blinked in surprise, and then smiled. "Ah. Has she told you stories about him, too? Probably the better ones, though," he noted with a light chuckle. The little boy just looked at him, quite attentive. "Yes… I'll make sure you're safe, and take care of you. I will find your father and bring you to him. And I will make sure you see your mother again…" Vaiden regarded him for a moment and then lowered his head again, seemingly deep in thought. Zeliek sighed and looked out at the horizon. "… It is the least I can do." He closed his eyes, and then just let the power of the Holy Light funnel through him, warming him from the tips of his toes to the ends of his fingers. He smiled weakly and yet triumphantly. The realization had not yet fully hit him, but every fiber of his being was starting to do joyful back flips. His dead heart called out in delight and exhilaration. Free. Oh blessed Light: free!
So... much... to write... So... little reviews... must... find... positive reinforcement...Yarg...