Wow. I asked for positive reinforcement, and like 6 people just popped out of the woodwork to encourage! One lovely fellow even sent me a review stating the following words: "Positive Reinforcement." Never have I been so pleased, hehe!
Well, I was so delighted by the reviews that I was immediately inspired to write this next chapter. Yes! It only took a week again! woot!
Different Perspective
The Exodar
Jaina, Tyrande, Nobundo, and Velen spent several long hours discussing the various conflicts that faced their people. They spoke of Silithus, Northrend, and Outland. They spoke of the Nightmare in the Emerald Dream and the disruptions in the Cavern of Time. They spoke of the Scourge, and the Burning Legion, and Deathwing's legions. For the first time, Jaina felt comfortable and at ease in discussing politics with other Alliance members. Whenever she was speaking with officials from Stormwind, she generally found herself fighting a vicious battle on behalf of peace with the Horde.
"Out of curiosity, Miss Proudmoore, what draws you to the study of the arcane?" Jaina blinked, looking at Velen. The group was standing near a place of magical instruction in the Vault of Lights. Perhaps their proximity had spurred his curiosity.
"Well, I'm good at it," she pointed out. "People tend to be drawn to things that they are good at." Nobundo chuckled lightly. She smirked and elaborated. "I showed great potential for magic when I was young. My father sent me to Dalaran, the city of magic, so that I might further my education. I've loved it ever since. It's like a giant logic puzzle."
Velen nodded. "Ah. You must forgive me my curiosity. The Draenei generally abstain from arcane magic, because it is often associated with demons. The arts we practice here are carefully monitored. We want to ensure that we do not repeat the mistakes of the past."
It was a challenge of sorts, a gentle prod to determine the nature of her character. She smiled. "Believe me, Prophet, I know. But it is my calling in life, and so I shall attempt to curb it to my morals."
His lips turned up slightly beneath his white beard, and he nodded. "Then I shall not lecture you. I am certain you have heard all that there is to hear from Malfurion and our Lady Tyrande." He nodded politely to the night elf to eloquently assure her that he meant no offense. She took none.
Jaina chuckled, and decided to send a prod back. "Actually, they've talked to me the least. The person who lectures me most is, of all people, the orc Warchief." She immediately had the prophet's attention, so she continued without missing a beat. "He seems utterly terrified that one day my skin will turn red, and I will go marauding about the countryside." She looked innocently to the side to examine a magical structure. "He is a shaman, so I assume it's fairly easy to see why he has such loathing for demons."
"Is he the one who taught you?" Nobundo asked after a moment. Jaina looked to the Broken and nodded.
"For the most part."
"Taught…?" inquired Tyrande curiously, and Jaina could see Velen was thinking the same thing.
Jaina grinned lightly. "Shamanism. It was a culture exchange thing. I taught Thrall to do the waltz, and he has gotten me to dabble in shamanism. "
"The waltz?" the night elf asked, baffled.
"It's a dance."
Tyrande stared at her. "You taught him to dance?"
"It was very difficult. Have you ever had an orc step on your feet?" Jaina shuddered, and grimaced at the reminder of pain. "You heard of the meeting I orchestrated between he and Bolvar Fordragon, yes? Well, he needed to be able to dance. It was a ball."
"You taught an orc to dance and invited him to a ball."
"Haven't you heard any of the opinions about how scandalous it was? Geez, the night elves don't get any juicy political gossip. Yes. I taught Thrall, son of Durotan, Warchief of the Orcish Horde, to dance. I got him to shave, put his hair up, and shed Orgrim's black plate. And then I got him to come to my ball and dance with me. After this, I got the leader of the Alliance to sit down and have a civil conversation with him. And now we are cooperating in Silithus and fighting side by side at the Dark Portal."
Tyrande wasn't one to show much emotion in public, but the slight arching of one of her elongated brows hinted at her thoughts.
"What? Did you think I was just moping around complaining about peace and not getting anything done? Just because I hate politics doesn't mean I don't understand them!"
"Durotan?" asked Velen, looking at the sorceress.
Jaina blinked and nodded. "Yes… Thrall, son of Durotan. He's of the Frostwolf clan. Orgrim Doomhammer passed on the mantle of Warchief to him upon the old orc's death."
Velen mused and stroked thoughtfully through his beard. "Thrall isn't an orcish name."
"It's a human word. It means slave. Thrall was raised in the orcish internment camps. He only found out about his people and his family after he broke out."
"And you say he is a shaman?"
"Yes."
"How very interesting…"
"You knew Durotan," she observed with surprise.
He chuckled lightly. "I am very old, Lady Proudmoore, and the Draenei tried to make peace with the orcs on several occasions. Durotan was one of the few who resisted the influence of the demons. There was one point when I was his prisoner, and he set me free, claiming there was no honor in killing me."
He looked between Tyrande and her. "I have heard many stories about how the Burning Legion recently invaded this world, using not orcs but rather undead. I have heard about a battle at Mount Hyjal… I have heard of a joint effort between night elves, humans, and orcs… And I have also heard of the vanquishing of a very powerful eredar, named Archimonde. I would like to hear the entirety of this tale, from onset to present. I want to know exactly where the orcs stand, and where you stand, to know everything about all parties involved. And most of all, I want to hear about what happened to Archimonde the Defiler."
Tyrande and Jaina glanced at one another, and then looked back to Velen. "Well," the sorceress said after a pensive moment, "there is a lot of background to the story. The demons have tried to invade Azeroth many times before, not the least of which was with the orcs. But the tale really begins in the Eastern Kingdoms, with a human prince by the name of Arthas Menethil…"
Thrallmar, Outland
Archimonde slowly opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings. He was lying down on a bed with fur covers drawn over him. Judging by the architecture, the building he rested in was of Horde make. His gaze came to rest at Zul'vii, who was asleep in a bed on the other side of the room. His eyes narrowed, and he kneaded the covers with his hands… with his wood claws…
Wait.
Not. Archimonde.
Ember shuddered and closed her eyes again. She drew her battle claws up to eye level, and then carefully pressed the cool wood gauntlets against her face. The claws had dissolved away her flesh beneath them, and melded to her. They were now a part of her, and could not be removed any more than normal skin. They were Nature's means of claiming her.
Not Nature either.
Ember grimaced and tried not to think, not to wonder or believe, and instead tried to merely exist. She tried to find that safe spot between passion and rationality. Her breathing slowly calmed as she managed to force herself into a blank, serene, instinctive state.
She was hungry.
Ember blinked and then climbed out of bed. She wandered over to where Zul'vii's backpack was resting against a wall, and rummaged through it. Inside she found several chunks of dried meat, which she proceeded to nibble on.
"Ember." The voice was rough and orcish. Ember stiffed and looked around, but there was no one within in the room but her and Zul'vii.
"Hush! You'll scare her!" came a much softer, more elfin voice.
"She needs to know sometime!" That was the orcish voice again.
"Yes, but you do just have to startle her while-"
"Why are we even doing this?"
"At least argue where she can't hear-"
Ember blinked and cocked her head to the side, her brows drawing together in confusion. This was strange. Ember had always been aware of Archimonde, and to a lesser extent she had been aware of Nature, but neither of these beings had ever interacted with her. In fact, Ember was so much a part of them that she doubted if they actually could speak directly to her. Suffice to say, actually hearing voices in her head was new, and the ones she heard now belonged neither to Nature nor demon.
"Ember?" asked a softer voice, piercing through the general argument that was going on within her mind. Ember gave her attention to it. "I apologize for all the arguing. We haven't exactly learned to cooperate yet."
She lifted a brow. This new voice was strange, and nothing like the voices of creatures Ember was familiar with. The voice chuckled lightly.
"I am a draenei spirit. That is what we all are: ancestral spirits." Ember frowned lightly, and rubbed her clawed hands together, feeling over the wooden fingers. "Yes. We are the reason Nature came in to you, and fought against Archimonde."
Her eyes narrowed, and she growled, remembering how Nature had almost seized control of her, just like Archimonde had tried to.
"Ah… But Nature didn't take you. She had every opportunity to, and yet she listened to your pleas. Furthermore, you would not exist without her. It is her fight with Archimonde that gives you your identity and your weak freedom."
Ember snorted. She wouldn't have existed with Archimonde either, but that didn't make him any better. The draenei spirit chuckled lightly. The others had gone quiet to observe.
"Yes, I know you're angry. But we want to help you."
A night elf voice suddenly took over. "We have been watching you for a long time."
"The night elves and tauren have been with you the longest," continued another voice, perhaps one belonging to a tauren. "We have grown fond of you…"
"And so we desire to help," finished the draenei.
Ember gnawed on her food for a moment. She didn't want to think too hard about this matter, and yet her mind ached to further consider the draenei's offer.
"It's alright, Ember. We'll hold him off. Part of your mind may be Archimonde's, but you've the same brain as any other night elf child. It will not fail you."
The little girl closed her eyes for a moment, and then slowly formulated a question. "You won't let Nature… eat me?"
The night elf laughed softly. "Of course not, Ember. And she doesn't want to 'eat' you any more."
"… Why?" Ember asked, bewildered.
"You are her creation. Intentionally or not, she made you. And just as she does for all her other creations, she loves you. And she feels responsible for you. So now, Nature will not devour you. She is content with fighting off Archimonde."
Ember mused, considering this information. "How come I've never heard you before?"
"We've never been very strong before, so we weren't able to reach you."
"Where did the draenei spirit come from?"
As was sensible, the draenei spirit answered."Nature is one whole that stretches across all worlds, but she takes on different forms in each of them. When you came through the portal, you were only attuned to her Azerothian side. She had to reach you with her Outland side. She did that by calling us to you."
The night elf took over. "You are lucky. The battle claws that Malfurion gave you were the last thread that connected you directly to her. Had you not been wearing them, Archimonde would have been able to keep the Outland spirits at bay."
Ember blinked and looked down at the claws.
"Do you understand?"
"Sort of…"
"Good enough. Suffice to say, we are going to try and help you."
"How?"
"We can tell the difference between Nature, Archimonde, and you. We'll try and keep your identity more concrete."
"You can do that?"
"Little one, there are thousands of us. And we have nothing better to do than take care of you."
"How come I can only hear a few?"
"We're the strongest. Besides, do you really want to hear thousands of spirits talking in your head? Along with all the insane ones that somehow managed to sneak in?"
Ember remembered back to when several of the prominent spirits had been arguing, and she hadn't been able to tell what was going on. She grimaced. "No." She finished her food and then looked at Zul'vii. The half-troll was fast asleep. "Will you help me find my uncle?"
"… Eventually, yes."
Ember's eyes narrowed. "Eventually?"
"Give us a moment to explain ourselves. Your uncle is currently beyond your reach."
"I want my uncle!"
"We know, Ember. Please, believe us, we know. And we want to get you to him. We agree; he can help you." That pacified her slightly. "Your uncle is not doing well. He is stronger than ever magically, but the magic is eating at him, consuming him." She saw images in her mind. A wasted land of ash and taint. Black earth broken by unholy mountains, from which spewed green fire. The sky was a pasty orange color smeared with sickly olive clouds. Bright green and yellow lava dug canyons through the earth, and formed jagged obsidian spires where it splashed against rocks.
"It's been two years since you've last seem him Ember. In those two years he's done many bad things." The images moved across the earth. Slowly they came to rest at a giant structure. Braziers filled with green flame lead up to a great and ominous black doorway. Everywhere weapons and old corpses littered the ground. The building gave off a haunted, corrupt feeling.
"There may still be hope for you and him, and we will do all we can reunite you. But this is his home. He's surrounded by monsters and demons on all sides. Some are of his own making, and some seek to kill him. All of them would happily destroy you. Some would do it to empower Archimonde, and others would do it to drain his power."
She saw fel orcs and other monstrosities lumbering around the area. Then the visions went into the temple, past the demons and naga in Illidan's employment. At last it came to a final raised platform, a place from which one could look out over the whole of the valley.
"Before we can get you to Illidan, we must equip you to deal with all of these things. But most importantly…"
There she saw her uncle and guardian silhouetted against the disgusting sky. His wings were thicker and more gnarled than she remembered them, and his horns were completely regenerated. He must have sensed that he was being watched, for his stiffed, and then quickly turned "towards" her.
Two years had warped her beloved uncle. His face was drawn with malice, paranoia and near-insanity. His eyes flamed greener than ever beneath his bandana, and his lips were contorted in a snarl. His demonhunter tattoos had altered somewhat in shape and coloration. Rather than being a dark purple, they were vivid green, in keeping with the area's primary colors. He stood with the posture of a powerful but hunted animal, his claws grasping almost compulsively at the air.
"Most of all, we must equip you to deal with him." His brows narrowed, and he lifted a hand, claws splayed. His fingers contorted, slowly balling into a fist. Suddenly pain ripped through Ember's mind. She screamed, lifting her clawed hands to her temples and drawing blood as her sharp fingers dug into her skin. Zul'vii jerked awake and sat up quickly, staring at her.
"Spy on me, will you?" came a cruel, hissing voice. "How dare you intrude into my realm? How dare you stick your nose into the affairs of the Lord of the Black Temple? I shall teach you pain like you have never known…"
"Illidan!" she screamed, both out loud and with her mind. Blood was starting to ooze from her nose, and her brain felt like it was melting. The demon hunter's brows lifted in surprise and his hand opened. The horrid pain was gone immediately, leaving Ember staggered and swooning.
"You are the only one who can help him," murmured the ancestral spirits in unison.
"…Ember…?" the demonhunter whispered, amazed and alarmed.
"Uncle…" the little girl whispered, and then she outright fainted, her mind slipping through his grasp.
"Ember!"
The Exodar
Velen placed a hand to his bearded chin, and regarded the women before him. His blue eyes conveyed an expression of intense thought, and his mouth was set in an expressionless line. He, Nobundo, Tyrande, and Jaina were all seated in a meeting chamber. The high priestess was just finishing the telling of the Battle of Mount Hyjal.
Velen regarded Lady Proudmoore in particular. All three races, the night elves, the orcs, and the humans, had fought against Archimonde that day. They had stood united against the world's greatest foe, and they had succeeded. Azeroth owed that united front everything. Now that he knew the full extent of the tale, he could better understand why Jaina chose to throw in her lot with the orcs. It was not, as the officials in Stormwind would have liked him to believe, that Jaina was in some kind of conspiracy with them. Rather, she had taken the message of unity from that battle to heart.
Her persistence was somewhat admirable. She had thrown away the past for the sake of the future. Indeed, if he was interpreting her comments correctly, she had forged a friendship with the orcish leader.
His gaze shifted to Nobundo, who stood at the sorceress's side. Velen had come to value the Far Seer's opinion on matters. Nobundo had suffered much in life, and yet held few prejudices. He had suffered much at the hands of the orcs, and yet his hatred towards them was mild, to say the least. Nobundo had taken up the same shamanistic path as the ancient orcs. Perhaps it helped him to relate to them.
In any event, the seer was hovering near to Jaina, and evidenced no signs of distrust. In fact, it seemed he wanted to speak to her about the orcs. Velen stroked through his beard thoughtfully. While he had come to understand and accept Nobundo, he knew well that most other beings found the Far Seer disturbing. The sorceress's relaxed demeanor indicated she had no such sentiments. If anything, she seemed to find the Broken fascinating.
On one hand, her acceptance might have skewed Nobundo's perception of her. But on the other hand, the fact that she so readily associated herself with the Far Seer was an indication that she was genuinely friendly. It supported the idea that her bond to the orcs was a positive and mutually beneficial one.
"Archimonde's shattered armor now leans against the World Tree," Tyrande finished. "He and his undead legions were utterly defeated."
Velen nodded. "He is destroyed then. With luck, he shall remain that way for quite some time. We are fortunate; Archimonde has generally led all forays into the mortal worlds. His defeat is a great boon."
Jaina glanced at Tyrande. There seemed to be something on her mind. Velen blinked and regarded the two women. High Priestess Whisperwind seemed more withdrawn than normal. There was something they were not telling him.
"… What is it?" he inquired gently, his tone indicating that he was aware information was being concealed. Jaina looked to Velen and frowned lightly.
"There was a complication… But I think Tyrande would have to be the one to decide whether to tell you about it."
The night elf scoffed. While she had likely not intended to share this information in the beginning, she would certainly not withhold it. To do so would be absurd. "Why would I not?" she asked the sorceress. "The Prophet should know." She looked back to Velen, and her eyes were cold and steely. "A few years after Archimonde's death, I gave birth to twins. He corrupted one of the children in my womb, and possessed her."
Velen's eyes widened.
"That's what we think, anyway," Jaina continued. "The little girl was utterly flooded with demonic energy, and would throw exceptionally violent fits at the slightest provocation. One of our great heroes was Medivh, as I said. He was once possessed by Sargeras, in the same way as Ember. I had Medivh's mother, Aegwynn, look the little one over. At first, she said there was nothing within Ember but demonic taint, and that we should kill her. Then, when Ember threw a fit, she changed her mind. She said that, impossible as it may sound, Ember seemed to be fighting against the demonic influence. Aegwynn said that Ember's rages were actually her response to Archimonde's manipulations. She'd slide into an instinctive temper tantrum in order to block him out."
Tyrande swallowed, just looking at the little sorceress. Velen stood up. "Why did you not tell me about this immediately?" he asked in astonishment.
"Actually," continued Jaina, "Aegwynn suggested bringing Ember to the Draenei." She looked curiously at Tyrande. "What happened?" Velen looked at Tyrande equally questioningly
The High Priestess closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. Then she opened her eyes again. "Ember fled. Furion initially tried to help her, while the Draenei were still getting settled, and were not yet fully part of the Alliance. But a few months after she'd been returned to us, Ember fled. She has been gone for over two years."
"You are saying that a child possessed by Archimonde the Deceiver is somewhere out there? Perhaps plotting against us all?"
Tyrande's eyes narrowed. "Do you know the name Curiato?" The draenei leader blinked and hesitated. "Surely, if your people serve a force as respectable as the Light, you must have heard of them…"
"… Yes, I have… My people still preserve the legends of the nine angels. Curiato… that name is given to the angel of healing…"
"Curiato is on Azeroth. She's manifested in the form of a young half troll. And she's with Ember now. I trust the angel to do what is right."
This helped Velen settle down. "If Curiato is here… then…?"
"MahiMahi is here as well," Tyrande confirmed. "She hasn't been sighted in awhile, but her presence has been felt. The angel Truae is also present, although she has gone missing entirely."
Velen frowned. "So the first three are all present, and yet none of them are locatable? This is not a good omen…"
"In theory, we could locate Curiato. My husband is, even now, searching for her and Ember."
"That explains Furion's absence… Still, if this child can be found, I would like to examine her. Perhaps there is something we can do for her. I knew Archimonde once, you see, long before the Burning Legion claimed him." Tyrande and Jaina both blinked. "This… Aegwynn was right to suggest Ember be brought to me. If anyone can purge his taint, I might be able to."
Tyrande regarded him quietly. She thought back to Ember's insistence on being reunited with Illidan. Tyrande had been so certain, as if Elune herself had ordained it. She had ignored Ember's absence for two years, she had been so certain. But now, at Velen's blunt words, she began to doubt.
Had she been wrong? Was Ember going to her doom? Was Tyrande's own judgment blinded by the lingering trust she had for Malfurion's twin? Quite suddenly, the high priestess was not so certain that she had made the right choice in not setting out to find Ember immediately.
"…Jaina…" Tyrande said slowly. The sorceress blinked and looked up at her. "Can you teleport from here to the Dark Portal?"
The sorceress was taken aback by the request. "The Dark Portal? Well, yes… But why would I do that?"
"Furion should be there," Tyrande continued, sounding tired. "Perhaps he has more information on her whereabouts."
"Why - " Jaina paused and then turned quickly towards the priestess. "Illidan. Ember's trying to get to Illidan. Which means she'd have to go through the portal."
"Yes," Tyrande said softly.
"Illidan?" questioned Velen. "Illidan Stormrage, self-proclaimed ruler of Outland? The half demon?"
"Hey," said Jaina defensively, seeing a need to back Tyrande up. "Illidan is Ember's uncle, and they sort of suffer from similar problems."
"That he is a demon, and she is possessed by one?" the draenei leader asked incredulously.
"Illidan fights against Kil'jaeden. He would be the last person in the entire world to help Archimonde," Jaina answered. This seemed to appease Velen slightly. "He's also the one who brought Ember to me, to ask me if there was any way to purge Archimonde from her."
Tyrande looked up at Velen and spoke. "I haven't pursued Ember, because Illidan is the only one who has ever managed to help her. Her entire demeanor changed after her short time with him. She could speak in complete sentences and control her fury. When she raged, she tried not to hurt the people around her. And I believe that he can help her, now. But your words make me doubt. Perhaps it would be best if Ember was retrieved and brought back to you."
The draenei leader sighed and nodded. "I… understand the reasons for your actions. Still, I wish I had known of this before the little girl had time to depart. This whole mess might have been avoided."
"I'll go to the Dark Portal this very minute, and inquire after the Archdruid," Jaina announced. "If Ember has gotten through the portal, he'll know."
"And if she has?" asked Tyrande.
"Then there are only so many places in Outland that she could be. Presuming she hasn't yet made it to Illidan, we can track her down." Tyrande nodded, and Jaina stood back in order to cast her spell.
Inside C'Thun, Ahn'Qiraj, Silithus
Nathanos landed with a thud in a lake of exceptionally corrosive acid. He snarled and stood up quickly. Thick muscles pumped around him, jostling him around and splashing more acid on him. Scattered here and there, however, were bubbles of stomach flesh that rose above the acid. The ranger quickly clambered out of the green liquid and onto one of the bubbles. His skin was starting to become raw and blistery where he'd touched the acid, so he started shaking himself to get the bulk of it off, glancing around quickly.
Several other unfortunate individuals had landed in the stomach before him. A few seemed to have tried to climb up the sides of the stomach, and had dissolved away. Two survivors were on a different organ mass. They were currently engaged in fighting off a giant spiked tentacle that was protruding from the side of the stomach. Nathanos observed this idly, before a deep, low moan caught his attention. Nathanos blinked and looked around. Nestled at one side of the stomach was Ouro. Great fleshy appendages were wrapped around the worm, and slowly prying at its carapace. It was partially submerged in the acid, and looked to be in a great deal of pain. The ranger's eyes narrowed.
His plans were disrupted by a giant tentacle emerging from the acid between him and his worm. It hovered there for a moment spikes rippling down its sides, and then it launched forward, stabbing down at him. Nathanos smacked the tip aside with his axe. It pulled back and prepared itself to strike again.
The ranger eyed the tentacle. It was roughly halfway between himself and Ouro. He grinned, and waited for the spiked tip to descend.
It did, arcing downward. He slammed both his axes down onto it, forcing its tip into the organ mass beneath him. As the tip sank deep into the organ wall, Nathanos nimbly hopped on top of it, and dug his axe into its side. The spiked tentacle jerked backwards, ripping its tip from the organ mass. Nathanos gave a solid slice to the front of it, and it recoiled even further, to the point where it was practically leaning over Ouro. The Ranger dug his boots hard into the tentacle, and then jumped from its side. He landed gracefully on Ouro's carapace-covered hide, and began running for the sandworm's head.
The tip swiveled around to stab at him, but he knocked it easily away. He ducked under a few grasping appendages, and then quickly swung himself down to hang beside the worm's head. He belted an axe, and reached forward to gently stroke the creature's antenna.
It moaned.
"Listen. You need to thrash back and forward. Thrash like there's no tomorrow. I know you're hurt, but you have to get out of here or you're going to end up as lunch." He dug his fingers into the antenna. The worm cringed and then began growling and fighting against its bonds. "Good Ouro," he said fondly. A tentacle stabbed at him, so he quickly hauled himself back up onto the carapace. He pulled out his belted axe, and gave both weapons a show-off-y pinwheel twirl. "Shouldn't eat rotting food," he cautioned belatedly to the unhearing Old God. And then he went to work, hacking at the tentacles that held Ouro in place.
Andorhal
Andorhal was in a state of constant activity. The undead went about their business as a collective mind, using all of their strengths to push ahead with what needed to be done. There were times when they faltered, times when they paused and lamented what had happened, but as a whole they moved forward, struggling to complete the tasks with which they had been charged.
You see, when Ketala vanished into the depths of Naxxramas, the inhabitants of Andorhal lost the majority of their connection with her. The Lich King's power cut her off from them. But when Ketala vanished, she left behind a set of orders. She wanted a cathedral to be built over Uther's tomb. She wanted Andorhal to rebuild and defend itself. She wanted the undead to stay together and to protect one another. And so Andorhal clung to her orders, using them as a last lifeline between themselves and their beloved mistress. Those who had been soldiers in life continued their training, forcing old memories about combat to come to the surface. They had found or made armor and weapons for themselves, and lined the walls around Andorhal, keeping steady vigilance. The abominations assisted with construction, or patrolled Andorhal's streets.
Even the liches were bound by a desire to please their missing savior. Their magic strengthened the city against assault, and warded off anything that attempted to hurt its people. Most of all, they worked on Ketala's cathedral, carefully skirting around holy areas so that they did not damage themselves in the process.
Lodan, Ketala's ex-death knight, worked to keep peace with Stormwind, Ironforge, and the Undercity. He oversaw the building of the cathedral, and ensured that living persons worked on areas too sacred for the undead to touch. Even Ketala's favorite ghoul, Lachdan, had found a place in training the other undead warriors in the city.
There was only one being who was not able to cope with Ketala's absence. Euquin was a very rare mixture- half human and half night elf. No one had the foggiest idea where she had come from. She was also undead. Until recently, Euquin had been a form of Abomination, with meat-hook like claws projecting from every inch of her body. Her brain had been scrambled beyond recognition, and she had relied entirely on Ketala for mental stability.
Euquin had been healed, for what it was worth… But her dependency on Ketala had never truly waned. Now, with the undead paladin missing, Euquin was a complete mess. She would attempt to commit suicide every day or so, and would fail miserably each and every time. In the end, she'd pick her broken frame back up and drag herself back to Andorhal's inn. She drank profusely, but couldn't get drunk. She'd throw fits and throw herself around like a creature possessed. She'd curl up in a corner and cry, or babble incoherently to herself for hours.
This made everything worse for Varimathras, whom she was supposed to feed. The old dreadlord had been through quite a lot recently. He'd betrayed Sylvanas to Ner'zhul, and had gotten her ensnared by the Lich King. Nathanos and the Apothecaries had nearly tortured him to death. They'd seen fit to remove his hooves, fingers, horns, fangs, and wings. Then he'd been rescued by, of all creatures, Ketala. Until recently, the ex-majordomo had been watched over by Euquin, who had acted as a sort of nursemaid. She had tended to his wounds and fed him. And now because of Euquin's delirium, he was not being fed.
Varimathras sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the night elf vomit (For the nether only knew what reason) out a nearby window. She had tried her best to take care of him. When Ketala had disappeared, Euquin had gone out to Caer Darrow, where Varimathras and a handful of Ketala's undead servants were, and had herded them all back to Andorhal. But after that she seemed to lack any directive, or any motivation to help him.
The dreadlord rubbed his temples with the palms of his hand, and then blinked. He eyed Euquin uncertainly, and mused. Euquin lacked mental stability. Varimathras was not very skilled in telepathy… but all of Andorhal's undead seemed to have developed a primitive psychic bond after contact with Ketala. Perhaps Euquin did as well. He reached forward tentatively with his mind, trying to touch her own.
He was mentally hug-tackled. Euquin picked herself up and whirled around to stare at him, blinking curiously. He had to consciously resist the effort to hurl her mind from his; what mortals might have found cute and puppy-like, Varimathras found repulsive and disturbing.
"Euquin?" he asked as gently as he could. He needn't have been so careful. She took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. She was immediately at his side, her full attention focused on him. He smiled wryly. "Lost, are you?"
"Help?" she inquired. "Stay with? Help?" He mused a moment, and watched as she squirmed anxiously where she stood.
"All right," he agreed after a moment. "But in return, you must do some things for me."
She almost exploded with excitement. "What is? What I do?"
Varimathras smirked. "You must serve me and do as I say- everything I say- to the best of your abilities."
"I do! I do! Please, please no leave!"
He smiled and reached out a hand to pat the pathetic female on the head. His mind was connected to hers, so he could not outright lie. Still, Varimathras had learned how to concentrate on and enhance many of his own regressed emotions; Sylvanas had been telepathic, and controlling his feelings (or emulating ones he lacked) had worked wonders for currying her favor. Now he projected a front of concerned fondness towards the undead night elf. "I won't, Euquin. Don't worry. I won't."
Euquin oozed joy.
"Now… I need food. You remember what I eat, don't you?"
She pondered hard and then nodded.
"Good. Go and find me some fresh blood."
"Okay!" she answered cheerfully, delighted to once again have orders. She bounded off excitedly, and Varimathras leaned back against his bed's headrest in content. Such a pathetic creature… And yet, she would prove to be useful… He mused to himself, rubbing his chin with the side of his hand. As of now, he only needed basic necessities to be taken care of. But, once those were finished with, perhaps he could use Euquin for more complex tasks. He carefully shuffled his plans around, and was pleased with how well the undead night elf fit in to his schemes. Now if only he could keep his temper with her.
He grimaced and regarded his damaged limbs. His temper had been getting the best of him lately. When Nathanos and Ketala had descended into Scholomance, his temper had kept him from warning them about Kel'Thuzad's presence. As much as Varimathras might have hated both Ketala and Nathanos, both were vital in the fight against the Lich King.
And the Lich King himself…
The Lich King had used Varimathras as an easily expendable pawn. Sylvanas had tortured the dreadlord for neglect in his duties; Ner'zhul had seized upon that. He had lured Varimathras into his employment with promises that the dreadlord would be able to exact his vengeance on the banshee queen.
Varimathras had seized the opportunity. He had betrayed Sylvanas, and disrupted her attempts to thwart the Lich King on Theramore. He'd delivered the Dark Lady directly into Ner'zhul's hands - and he'd almost delivered the rest of the Lich King's enemies right along with her. He had done his job admirably. Ner'zhul had held up his side of the bargain…
The Lich King's cold, cyan, warped eyes settled on the demon, and Frostmourne twitched. The soul of a banshee screamed its way out from the depths of the blade and was hurled across the room towards the demon. The ghostly remains of the elfish woman skidded and rolled on the ground, and finally ended up a moaning, screaming, cursing mass at Varimathras's hoofed feet.
Varimathras had taken his vengeance… It had hardly been worth it. Certainly, he had been able to torture Sylvanas for a few hours. It had given him great satisfaction. But after that? The Lich King had forged a plan to get Azeroth's warriors to leave Northrend. He'd given the resistance fighters a good many gifts to keep them placated. One of these gifts had been Varimathras.
To be honest, the dreadlord had known that it was likely the Lich King would betray him. Ner'zhul and Arthas both utterly hated demons, and generally worked with them only as long as necessary. Still, he'd been cast aside as little more then a parting gift to help along a begrudging retreat. The moment he was in the clutches of the Forsaken, they had gagged him and brought him back to the Undercity to be ripped apart. Nathanos ensured that he never even had an opportunity to weasel his way out of punishment, and with Sylvanas absent, there was no one who truly appreciated the dreadlord's worth. And then Ketala, of all people, had the audacity to save him. She'd spared him only after he had agreed to help restore Sylvanas and defeat Arthas.
Ketala was currently absent. Varimathras felt no obligation to meet her demands. But on the other hand… He had no allies. No country. No one to save him should he be rediscovered by the Lich King or by the Forsaken. He was completely and entirely alone. And on that fateful day that either the Scourge or the Free Races won control of Lordaeron, Varimathras's fate would be sealed. And either way, he would die. It was unlikely he could make any other allies. Ketala had saved his life, but she'd also made him pledge to reinstate Sylvanas, and accept any punishment the banshee queen decided to inflict on him. No human or orc would take him in. The Forsaken wanted him dead. The blood elves would just happily drain him of all his power. The draenei would kill him with nary a thought. Furthermore, his demonic brethren would rip apart the very fabric of his soul if they were ever able to get their hands on him. He was completely alone.
Perhaps he should not have been so quick to betray his only benefactor. He would have to be careful not to let his temper get the best of him in the future.
Ahn'Qiraj Temple, Silithus
Ouro screamed, ripping free of the fleshy tentacles that bound it. It hauled itself bodily out of the acid, and quickly bolted for one of the large organic "land masses" within C'Thun's belly. The worm's chitin was cracked and burnt, but the creature was very much still alive. A spiked tentacle thrust up from the bowels of the stomach in order to impede the giant worm, but Ouro crashed through it and ripped it from its moorings. Nathanos grinned devilishly, slicing through anything that dared move near his pet.
The insides of the stomach gave a terrific shudder. The muscles contracted, and the level of acid began to rise. The other party members that were trapped within began to shout and scramble for higher ground.
Nathanos blinked and looked around. He lifted a brow, and then quickly wedged himself under Ouro's damaged carapace. He acted not a moment too quickly.
Outside of C'Thun's stomach, things were not going so well. Although the raiding party had the resources necessary to keep its fighters alive against C'Thun, every individual present knew full well that the Old God was taking no damage whatsoever. His protective shield withered even the most powerful spells into little more than puffs of air, and weapons glanced off of him as if they were no more than small twigs. It wasn't exactly a moral boost that the Old God was eating people at random, or that two of his first victims had been a titanic worm and the group's de-facto leader.
Ras was desperately trying to hold the group together, but he was starting to succumb to the ill morale himself. He simply could not come up with some means by which the group might harm the colossal monstrosity they fought against. C'Thun's constant murmurs of "You will betray your friends," and, "You will die," weren't particularly helping the situation. In fact, the ex-lich was just about to order a retreat when something interesting happened.
C'Thun suddenly turned a very disturbing color. His eyes rolled and his tentacles shuddered. C'Thun was an ancient mollusk-shaped god of phenomenal power and unspeakable origins… but it almost appeared that the giant monster was… ill…
C'Thun quivered for a moment, then lurched to the side and… vomited. The contents of the Old God's stomach went spewing across the ground; a gout of acid followed by several confused and bewildered party members. The Old God shuddered and contracted again. This time, a gigantic red sand worm tumbled out of the monster's gigantic maw. It cartwheeled a good hundred yards away and then fell into a sprawling, stinking mess.
The regurgitated Ouro lifted its head and looked around. Nathanos grunted and pulled himself out from under the worm's carapace. He glanced at C'Thun and then looked around at his surprised raiding party. "Well what the nether are you just standing there for?" he snarled. "His shield's down! Attack! NOW!"
The party members looked to one another. They all gave mental shrugs, and then whirled on the wretched C'Thun, screaming battle cries at the top of their lungs.
Flower ambled over to Ras. After he'd gotten bored with kicking at the Eye of C'Thun, the old coot had gotten bored, and had wandered around looking for any of Piggie's remains. He'd only managed to find a few of Piggie's beautiful pink feathers, and so he'd tucked them into his skull hat. Flower's beard and hair were still standing on end with static electricity. After taking stock of his own condition, Flower did the only logical thing to do; he poked Ras.
The mage yelped as he received a static shock from the necromancer's electrically charged person. He eyed Flower crossly and the necromancer giggled. "With all due respect," Flower responded blithely, "you should have seen that coming."
Ras eyed the insane necromancer for a moment and lifted a brow. The flamingo feathers tucked into his cow skull made it look less like a necromantic emblem and more like an exotic headdress. The ex-lich snorted and sent another fireball C'Thun's way. Something was causing him a lingering unease, but there wasn't any point in dwelling on it at the moment. After all, there was still a very large and angry (and nauseous) Old God thrashing around with murderous intent. Also, Nathanos was yelling complicated orders and ranting about slackers. Ras had more to worry about than the ridiculous necromancer's practical jokes.
It wouldn't occur to him until several days later that neither mages nor necromancers employed spells that utilized electricity.
Thrallmar, Outland
Zul'vii did not feel safe in Outland. From the moment she first arrived, she felt that demonic eyes were watching her and Ember- or at least searching for her.
The Dark Portal had emptied out into the Hellfire Peninsula, a vast red land of blood and battle. The ground was composed mostly of dust layered over an endless sea of brittle bones. Green smoked oozed up from mountains in the distance, where warlock's practiced their gruesome magic. An occasional wind carried the chants of marauding felorcs to the half-trolls ears, and every fiber of the land was suffused with the scent of demonic taint.
Needless to say, Zul'vii decided that it would be best to keep moving.
Right after they had entered Draenor for the first time, and Ember had been knocked unconscious, Zul'vii had secured a Wyvern to carry them past demonic lines, to the orcish base of Thrallmar. There she had secured a room at an inn. Ember had gotten up before her, and the girl's screaming had jerked Zul'vii awake. Once more, the child was knocked unconscious by whatever mental strain she was going through.
Whatever had caused Ember such pain might still be looking for her, adding another incentive to keep moving. Quite apart from those concerns was the simple fact that Zul'vii was only half-troll, and Ember was clearly of night elf blood. In Horde territory, this could land them in a very awkward position. With the added consideration that orcish warriors were known to be a tad axe-happy on the front lines, she knew it was probably best that they not overstay their welcome.
The half troll spread out a map before her. It was crudely drawn (those same orcish warriors would never be praised for their artistic abilities), but it accurately designated the general layout of Outland. She ran her fingers over it, carefully examining the names of many locations of interest.
Personally, Zul'vii believed that rushing into any problem headlong and without any information was stupid. She'd spent two years getting Ember safely to Draenor, and she'd spend two decades if necessary to ensure that the little girl remained safe in Outland. The half troll glanced over at Ember and frowned. The night elf child was breathing shallowly and seemed to be having a nightmare. None of this was a particularly good omen.
Zul'vii looked back down to the map and examined all of Outland. There was the Hellfire Peninsula, the Zangarmarsh, Terrokkar Forest, Nagrand, the Blade's Edge Mountains, Netherstorm… And last but not least, Shadowmoon Valley. If Zul'vii was correct, Illidan had taken up residence in the dreaded Black Temple.
Any place that had earned the adjective "dreaded" deserved to be treated with respect. The half troll stroked her chin and tusks thoughtfully. After a moment, she placed a finger on Thrallmar. If she'd wanted to head straight for Shadowmoon Valley, her path would be difficult but feasible. She'd have to head south, skirt around the Hellfire Citadel (definitely not a place Ember and Zul'vii wanted to go), pass by the Alliance bastion of Honor Hold (another place they didn't want to go), and head south through Razorthorn Trail to Terrokar Forest. From there she'd have to head east to Shadowmoon Valley.
Still, Zul'vii wasn't certain if she wanted to head there yet. What if she went down into Terrokar Forest and headed west instead? Then she'd come upon the city of Shattrath. It was a neutral town, but supposedly was filled with paladins and other worshipers of the Light. Would it be dangerous to take Ember there? Would they sense the demon in her and attempt to kill her?
Decisions, decisions…
Ember stirred. She grunted and lifted her head, looking around curiously at her surroundings. Zul'vii blinked and looked over at the little girl. "Heya. You feeling alright?" The night elf girl blinked and turned her gaze towards Zul'vii.
"I want to go to Nagrand," she announced suddenly. Zul'vii blinked.
"Well this is a new development. What happened to heading straight for Illidan?"
"That's too dangerous. I want to go to Nagrand first, to learn how to get to him the right way."
"… Okay… Who are you, and what have you done with Ember? You're not Archimonde are you?"
Ember's eyes flamed. "No!" she insisted. "I'm Ember! Not Archimonde! Never!"
Zul'vii laughed and scooted up to the little girl. She took Ember's face in her hands, and looked into the little girl's eyes. No demon glared back at her. Zul'vii nodded and released her face. "So why is Ember suddenly so concerned about safety?"
The little girl frowned and touched her temple. "…When I came through the portal, Archimonde tried to kill me."
Zul'vii nodded. "That I figured out."
"But there was something else. Archimonde was not the only one fighting for my body. There was something else." She looked down at her claws. "Nature was fighting, too. It called spirits from Nagrand to fight against Archimonde. The spirits say they want to help me, and they want me to go to Nagrand."
"No offense, but you generally don't trust the people in your head. Why listen to these spirits?"
"… I think they're right."
"Why?"
"… They showed me my uncle. I think he might be sick. The spirits seem to think he needs me like I need him. I want to help him."
Zul'vii sat back and contemplated the young girl. Ember's speech patterns had changed somewhat. For all the time Zul'vii had known Ember, the little girl's vocal expression had been limited to one-sentence exclamations. Yet now, her thoughts were structured, and she seemed willing to speak at length about a topic. These two traits were completely new to Zul'vii. It was as if the child had suddenly gained authority over a new part of her mind.
The half-troll nodded after a moment. "Alright. I see you've thought this through, and your reasoning seems sound. To Nagrand, then."
Ember nodded and scraped her clawed fingers over one another. Zul'vii smiled and pulled the map up between herself and the little girl. "This is where we are," Zul'vii said, and she placed a finger upon the town of Thrallmar. "This is the Zangarmarsh, which we shall have to trek through," she continued as she ran her finger through that location. "And this is Nagrand, where we have to go." Her finger stopped. "It's a long way. We should probably find a mount of some kind."
Ember perked up immediately. "A pet?" she questioned. Zul'vii laughed and nodded.
"Yes. Hopefully something with lots of fangs and spikes, right?"
"Yes! Something that can roar and fly and chop things up and everything's afraid of it, but not me!"
Zul'vii grinned and hoisted up the girl.
"That's right, 'cause Ember's not afraid of anything!"
"Nothing! Rrrawwrrr!!" she snarled playfully, clawing at the air.
Zul'vii laughed, and hugged the little girl. For one of the first times, Ember hugged back.
Ahn'Qiraj Temple, Silithus
A team of warriors, mages, and rogues hacked at C'Thun's insides in a unified, carefully orchestrated team. Behind them, druids warded them against acid, and healed the fighters of whatever they endured. Occasionally one was struck off into the acid, or smashed against a wall and severely wounded or even killed. But as a whole, they fought on. The raiding party on C'Thun's outside waited patiently, carefully ripping apart the Old God's endless tentacles.
And then it happened. C'Thun began to twitch awkwardly, and turn an unhealthy shade of green. His shield flickered.
As one, the raiding party poured down upon him, clawing up his sides and hacking at his tentacles and eyes. Spells exploded into his thick hide. Flower watched quietly as Ras sent forward orb after orb of ice. The necromancer had finally managed to get his beard to lie flat, and now he was bored. He watched the orbs for a moment and became mesmerized by the casting, to the point where he was starting to drool.
Ras sighed. "Necromancer!" Flower jumped and blinked curiously at the ex-lich. "Necromancer, can you please-"
"My name is not 'Necromancer', young man!"
"I know, but will you please attack-"
"It's Flower!"
Ras outright stared at him for a moment. Then he shook his head and fired off another orb of ice. C'Thun was now hurling out their party members. Lovely sight. "Flower, then!"
"Flower then what?"
He took in a slow breath to keep himself from strangling the poor necromancer. "Flower, will you please show us how absolutely brilliant you are by attacking our enemy with some type of powerful spell?"
"Mmm. I don't want to."
"Flower!"
"Stop yelling at me!" he wailed, and pulled his cow skull over his head. "I have very sensitive feelings!"
"Well if you'd just attack him, I wouldn't have to yell at you!"
"Ah! So it's bribery? Well, I see how things are here!" He waved his arms in the air, although he was currently blind with the skull over his head. "And you know what! I won't stand for it! I'll have the law on you! You just wait! You'll be indicted, and then you'll be sorry!"
Ras tried to think of anything that would get Flower's attention back to the subject at hand. "But we'll just bribe the judge," he observed.
Flower blinked. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Guess I'll skip town then. Bye!" And with that he headed off.
Ras stared after him in utter bewilderment, mostly because the necromancer was heading straight for C'Thun. He was blind with the cow skull helmet in front of his face, after all. He started whistling a merry tune. Around halfway there, he tripped on a body and fell flat on his face. His enchanted staff misfired, sending a lightning bolt straight into C'Thun's bulk.
"Fools," came the voice. The shield was building up again, solidifying against frost, fire, melee weapons… "You will never bind me again. I am eternal." And then the bolt of lightning ripped through him, tearing a hole from one side of his body to the other- a final strike in a long, long list of blows. Every one of C'Thun's eyes swiveled to Flower. The Necromancer propped himself up and lifted the skull off of his face, looking around in confusion. He looked up at C'Thun and blinked innocently as the Old God's eyes began to glow red. His shield faltered, but energy coursed around him, burning any that drew near to try and attack him. The energy coagulated, forming into a ball that would hurl forward and wipe from existence the mortal that had dared to attack him.
Whereupon Ouro crashed into him and smashed him brutally into the ground. There was a disgusting squishing sound, and the Old God lost control of the energy he wielded. It fell back upon him, ripping apart his insides and causing black ichor to bubble up from his stomach. His eyes rolled and he screamed, his tentacles flailing madly. And then, all at once, it was over. He gave a final, disturbing gurgle, and then his eyes rolled to uncomfortable positions, and his tentacles drooped.
So ended the manifestation of C'Thun, Old God of time before time; slain by a Lord and a Fool.
"The jester was a symbolic twin of the king. All jesters and fools in those days were thought of as special cases whom God had touched with a childlike madness—a gift, or perhaps a curse."
Also, I did some research. It turns out that the reason The Burning Crusade is a little Hero-Kill-Happy is because the Lead World Designer was hired for two reasons: A) He was friends with the former Lead World Designer, and B) He led one of the top raiding guilds on Everquest. EVERQUEST! GAHHH! It burns! IT BURNS! They kill GODS in Everquest! Illidan! NOO!
I am now done ranting.