Yarg!
Hey guys, finals are comming up! I give you this chapter, which I have written while I was supposed to be writing a huge paper! Everyone's talking about how long it is and that they need to set aside so much time to do it. It's one thousand words. They do not know the massively writing fury that is Kyn! BWAHAHA!
This chapter heralds the return of someone you might have been missing! Hope you enjoy!
A Change of Path
The Undercity
Euquin moved quietly through the city, taking in the rancid smell of sewage and death. The Undercity unfolded around her, endless sewage tunnels sprawling off into many strange directions. Forsaken scurried to and fro, going about their day to day business. Purchases were being made, weapons forged, and magical spells practiced.
The undead half-elf tugged on her hood to ensure that it was covering her face. She could feel Varimathras's mind overshadowing hers, directing her carefully through the undead rabble. She sniffed the air, drawing in the putrid scent of her surroundings, and then hurried forward. There were many places to check, many locals to visit.
From above, high in the ceiling architecture of the Undercity, something watched her curiously. It could sense the telepathic bond she shared, and it found the connection... familiar, somehow.
Euquin visited the Apothecarium and the old Royal Chamber, trying to ignore the painful memories that surfaced as she did so. Varimathras shielded her from them, dimming them down and keeping her from panicking. She trusted him to protect her and guide her, just as he had done for the past two years. Occasionally, something curious caught her eyes, and she could not help but to go over and investigate.
Varimathras sighed from where he was waiting outside of the Undercity. Euquin's, "Ooh, shiny!" mentality was one facet of her personality that he was still unable to control. He waited for her to get over the initial novelty of her distraction, and then gently reminded her of her mission. She was only too eager to jump back to the task at hand.
Euquin wrung her volgue and sighed, feeling wretched for her short attention span. The weapon in her fingers glimmered slightly, green runes illuminating in a sickly fashion all along its shaft. She sighed, calming as she felt the potent magic of the demonic weapon rushing around her. Any ordinary being would have cringed at the evil emanations, but Euquin had long associated them with her demon benefactor. The few undead that cared to notice the girl's volgue merely assumed she dabbled as a warlock, and gave her a slightly wider berth.
She felt Varimathras gently nudging her forward, and she nodded, sending him a mental apology. When she did not find the thing she sought in the main bulk of the Undercity, she began investigating more remote regions. Tunnels, side passages, routes up to the broken city… Now and then Varimathras pointed out a sewage pipe she missed, and she went to investigate.
Her goal was here, somewhere. She just had to find it. Varimathras would be pleased, and she would have earned his aid…
Her unseen observer followed.
The Temple of Ahn'Qiraj
Nathanos eyed the fallen Old God for a moment from his perch on Ouro. He gave a satisfied nod, and then looked around at the many individuals within the area. "Okay, war's over. Time to go home now." He gave Ouro a nudge and the worm started heading for the exit.
He paid no heed as his party members stared after him, mouths agape. Such was the wonderfully anticlimactic exit of Nathanos Blightcaller from the Temple of Ahn'Qiraj, in a way so un-storybook that only he could have managed it. He did not even bother to address the three dragons who had bound themselves to the temple in order to keep C'Thun repressed. Nor did he participate in the after battle huzzah. There was no fanfare, no herald leading the way before him. He was much happier that way.
"Nathanos?"
The Ranger Lord glanced down at where Ras was standing. The mage continued, a little nervously. "You do realize that if you take Ouro out of here, he's just going to be attacked by the Horde and Alliance waiting past the Scarab Wall. He's sort of notorious."
"She."
Ras blinked. "What?"
"Ouro is female."
Ras stared at him a moment, but shook his surprise off quickly; it wasn't exactly the most unusual revelation of the day. "The Necromancer's name is Flower," he quipped back. Nathanos lifted a brow, and nodded, silently acknowledging that Ras's information was by far stranger.
"If I leave Ouro here, she'll be killed by looters looking to salvage her hide. She's too injured to defend herself long."
"Actually, I was suggesting we burrow under the city walls. With the gate open, the magic that made the walls impervious is gone. We can slip out past the war camps without encountering a soul."
Nathanos blinked, and eyed the ex-lich. He smirked lightly, proud of the mage's ingenuity. "That should work," he agreed. "Although, I'm not certain where I should release her. It would be near impossible to transport her across the ocean. And while I'd love to disrupt the lives of thousands of people by setting her free in a densely populated area, she'd probably get herself killed."
At least he's concerned for the life of something, Ras observed to himself dryly. "Are you feeling alright?" the lich asked aloud. Nathanos blinked.
"What?"
"Well," Ras said slowly, "you have been acting rather strange over the past few days."
The ranger looked down at him again, an amused smile on his face. "Strange? Really? My goodness, whatever shall we do? Nathanos acting anticlimactic, sarcastic, and homicidal! It's just so unnatural!"
Ras shook his head. "No, that's just it. I meant strange for you- not strange for a normal, mentally and emotionally stable adult."
Nathanos was mildly surprised by the mage's boldness. Ras had quietly followed the ranger's lead ever since they'd arrived in Silithus. Perhaps the fighting had caused him to shed some of his docile melancholy? "Why Ras, I'm hurt. And here I went that whole trip without killing any paladins."
"You haven't killed a single member of our party. You just used a pouting voice to say you were hurt. You were laughing while taming Ouro. You let the leaders of the Ahn'Qiraj, the Twin Emperors, survive because they had offended your taste in architecture. And now you are using Skeram's head like a puppet to mock my nagging."
Nathanos stiffened and eyed the disembodied head he was using for just that purpose. "I stand corrected," he decided after a moment of thought. And then he shrugged and tossed the head to Ouro for the worm to snack on. "And, after thinking about it, I couldn't care less."
"Why the change?"
The ranger snorted. "I could go back to my old habits and eviscerate you…"
Ras shook his head and held out his hands in a gesture for peace. "I was just curious about the reason you've been acting in such a manner."
"It isn't your business," the Ranger Lord enunciated acidly. "And you are rapidly wearing away at my perverse goodwill."
The ex-lich hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should press the issue or drop it. At last, he sighed. "The Plaguelands, then?"
"The Plaguelands," Nathanos agreed.
Ras blinked and looked up at the Ranger. "You've been acting… happy… ever since you decided you were going to return to Naxxramas."
"To the land of gloomy dead people. Ah… Home, sweet home."
"And to Ketala."
Nathanos did not respond for almost an entire minute. When he did, his voice was patronizing. "Ras Frostwhisper, you were a lich. You are a mage. You must therefore be an intelligent man. So I am left wondering how it is that you manage to understand me so very poorly. It is as if you do not even know me."
Ras lifted a brow.
Nathanos continued conversationally, "Because if you did, surely you would realize that I hate, more than anything else in the world, being labeled. I hate my actions being diagnosed. I hate being predictable. I hate clichés. I hate love. I hate when everything turns out alright. And most of all, I hate Ketala. And if you continue to try and dissect and understand me, and forcibly lay out all these things for me to deal with, I am going to deal with them as I deal with everything else- and hate them. I am going to choose to do the exact opposite of what everyone needs me to do.
"And if you were an intelligent man," the Ranger Lord rationalized, "you would realize this. If you want me to save Ketala, then shut up, and stop talking to me about it." And as Nathanos finished, he eyed Ras as if the ex-lich were daft.
Ras eyed the ranger strangely, a little thrown off by the man's words. The mage had, of course, realized all of these things about Nathanos quite some time ago. But it came as a surprise to find that the ranger was now equally aware of them. At first, Nathanos's words seemed childish and immature… But if they indicated that the ranger was recognizing his internal issue and trying to deal with them, then the Ranger Lord was actually acting with surprising maturity. After a moment of thinking about it, a question occurred to the ex-lich. "You say you hate her?" he asked curiously.
"More than anything else in the world," Nathanos affirmed.
"Why…?" He might have been hoping to catch Nathanos off guard with the question, but the Ranger Lord had a wonderfully anti-climate response.
"Because she's like any other paladin. Blind and self-righteous. Judging, enforcing her moral opinions, changing the world so it models her vision of perfection. And she's so very condescending." Nathanos eyed Ras, who looked bewildered. The ranger's words had taken Ketala and degraded her from an icon into an average, flawed mortal, just as clueless about the nature of good and evil as anyone else. "You were expecting something more emotional?" he asked after a moment. "Like "Because she loves me?" or "Because it's how I deal with the fact that I love her?"
"Why do you love her?"
That question caught Nathanos off guard. He blinked, and tilted his head to the side.
He couldn't rightly say because he was attracted to her- he was undead after all. He couldn't say that it was due to growing used to her presence because he'd been away from her for years, and such sentiments would have worn off within that time. He remained staring at Ras for a long moment, and then looked back to the path they were traversing, his mind searching rapidly for some explanation. The question had utterly stumped him.
Now that he thought about it, there were thousands of reasons, all sort of working together, condensing into a more solid, defined emotion. The only encompassing explanations he could think of were vague and storybook, and he had no interest in sharing them with Ras. He figured his inability to come up with a straight answer was due, at least in part, to the fact that he was still subconsciously trying to ignore his affection for the undead paladin.
"You don't know?" Ras inquired incredulously.
"I don't think about it," Nathanos quipped back.
"… Perhaps you don't love her, then?"
The Ranger Lord's dead heart gave an angry spasm. Nathanos grimaced in irritation, and then gave a dry chuckle. "Oh, wouldn't that make the world just peachy…?" he asked almost dreamily.
Ras looked at him bewildered for a moment. "Why does she love you?"
Having recovered from Ras's previous questions, Nathanos answered with his usual bitter aplomb. "My sense of humor, of course."
"Of course…"
Undercity
At last, Euquin located her destination. The chamber had been hard to find, hidden deep below ground through many winding passageways. But she had found it. Four elite warriors stood guard in front of the chamber, denying entry to all. She did not approach them, but rather took in a deep breath. The scent of her goal wafted to her. "I've found it, Varimathras. I know where it is."
She projected to him an image of the chamber and its guards, as well as of the complicated passageways she took to come to her destination. She felt the demon's pleasure, and smiled innocently.
Euquin's silent observer drew in the taste of telepathy, analyzing it as it shuttled past him towards a mind just outside of the city. He tapped gently into it, and let the telepathic words flood through his consciousness.
Varimathras? The silent observer blinked, and then gave a slow, cruel smile. Varimathras… Oh, what a lucky, lucky day…
After a moment, the dreadlord-in-question's voice came to her over the mental connection. "Wait for me," he ordered. Euquin nodded enthusiastically, and wrapped her hand around the volgue she had strapped to her back. She'd need the wicked polearm soon- she was certain.
Varimathras grimaced as he looked up at the great cave before him. The cave had once been a secret entrance into Lordaeron- a large sewage pipe that traveled down under the old city. Now, the entrance was reasonably well known, but still ill used. There were many more convenient ways of entering the Undercity; this entryway required far too much walking. Still, only a handful of abominations guarded this particular path, and the route was relatively free of intelligent Forsaken. If he were to reach the bottom, he would be attacked by the whole host of the Undercity. It was to his fortune that he didn't need to decend that far down the passage.
The tunnel that Euquin had found could be accessed from a side sewage pipe. All he had to do was get past a few abominations, and he would have a clear path to his final destination.
He shifted and looked down at his feet. Connected to his foot bones were two new replacement hooves, made of metal. They wore painfully against the healed tissue of his legs, reopening old wounds. Furthermore, they exerted an uncomfortable pressure on the bones themselves.
Nevertheless, they allowed him to move around freely, without crawling or being dragged by Euquin. They gave him freedom, and a means to complete his current mission. He'd survive the slight discomfort they gave him. His lips moved, mouthing carefully over the words of the spell he intended to cast. He had to get them absolutely right. Without fingers to perform hand gestures with, he was already at a disadvantage while spell casting. He could not afford to lisp should his missing fangs give him difficulty. This had to be done perfectly.
He reached a hand into a pouch tethered at his side, and touched one of the infernal stones he carried there. One to distract the abominations in the tunnel, one to help Euquin against the chamber guards, and one "just in case". Varimathras hoped to the Nether that it would be enough. He did not notice as Euquin's mysterious observer slowly materialized beside the entrance to the cave.
Said observer took one look at Varimathras, and then flat out stared, his eyes wide in incredulity. Detheroc took stock of his brother's condition, noticing Varimathras's various wounds. An overwhelming urge to laugh suddenly rippled through him, and he only contained himself by sheer force of will. His eyes flicked from his brother's missing horns, to the scarred sockets where the dreadlord's wings had been ripped from his body.
Who fares better now? he gloated silently. He had intended to immediately alert the city as to Varimathras's presence, but the situation was too much for him. He couldn't even bring himself to slay his pitiful brother, and instead chose merely to observe.
The broken dreadlord moved his hand from the infernal stones to his abdomen, as if experiencing a fit of heartburn. Detheroc blinked, and narrowed his eyes. If he stretched his senses enough, he could just barely feel a soul crystal that his brother must have recently devoured. How unusual. Varimathras had always preferred blood. Souls had been Detheroc's favored sustenance. Why would Varimathras have consumed a soul? And furthermore, why would said spirit not have been digested yet? He gave a small smile, further amused by Varimathras's wretchedness. Apparently his brother had bitten off more than he could chew, and had attempted to swallow some particularly potent spirit.
Detheroc allowed himself amusement for a few moments. But on a more pressing note, what could Varimathras have hoped to accomplish by returning to the Undercity? Detheroc could not guess, and so he settled down to watch.
Naxxramas
Ketala looked down at Mograine for a long moment. The specter of Arthas stood by, eyeing her coldly. Images flashed before her eyes, memories and visions sent by the Lich King. She ignored them, and focused entirely on the deathknight before her.
Ketala had the eerie and overwhelming sensation that everything hinged on this very moment- that she stood on a crumbling tower and was making a decision as to which direction she was going to dive. She could not see the ground from where she stood, and had no idea what route might preserve her. And no matter what direction she chose, there could be no back tracking. When she selected, her choice would be final.
As she stared at Mograine, she was filled with a wealth of uncertainty. He had just offered his services to her, but she was not certain if she wanted him. The man was an insane servant of her greatest antagonist. His mind was a tainted cesspool of broken glory and shattered light. He had promised her that she would fall in Naxxramas, consumed by Arthas's power.
And yet suddenly he knelt before her, his entire demeanor changed. She had the unsettling impression that he'd been testing her, but she had no idea for what, or whether or not she had proved worthy. In the back of her mind, she could still hear the mental anguish of her adopted parent. Images ripped through her mind of carnage and betrayal. She could feel her power waning now that she no longer had Velden to protect.
She did not have long; she had to choose now.
Ketala stared at the fallen Highlord, her mind flicking through thousands of ideas and images and experiences. She recalled the old stories of Mograine, the Ashbringer; of how the Scarlet Crusade had once been a noble order, dedicated to fighting against Ner'zhul's evil. She recalled how it had fallen with his death, and saw its degradation mirrored in the broken spirit of the deathknight before her.
Was Mograine so different from Nathanos, or Zeliek, or Lodan, or all the ghouls under her care? Could she help him? Could she save him? She pitied him, that was for certain, and Ketala's maternal instinct was strong. She reached out tentatively, touching his mind again. The chaotic entity she encountered was so perverse, so mad, that she withdrew involuntarily.
No. This was different. She could do nothing for him. She would not be aiding him, or comforting him. Accepting him was not like accepting Zeliek. Mograine was older than her, wiser… Ketala was a great swordsman, and a devout servant of the light, but Mograine had been its champion. He had slain thousands of undead, whole armies, with nothing but his sword and his faith. He had been more a paladin than she could ever be. And even now, in the enigmatic chaos that shielded his mind, he was stronger than her. Mograine did not share Zeliek's humanity or frailty. Where Zeliek had possessed purity, Mograine possessed power. There was a presence to him, an intent and a will that were as inscrutable as the Lich King's own.
Looking down at him, Ketala was filled with the sensation that she should have been the one who knelt. Accepting him meant something else entirely; it meant entrusting her soul to him- him, the fallen pride and glory of the Holy Light.
Shrieks echoed all around her. Ketala could hear the clattering of Nerubian legs against the stone walls of the ziggurat, and the pounding of Abomination feet as they lumbered down its passageways. The images in her mind were growing darker, and the specter's gaze bored through her soul. She shivered, and then slowly moved up to him and tentatively placed a hand to the crown of the kneeling deathknight's head. Her skin crawled at the feeling of the darkness within him. She closed her eyes and sighed. Ketala had already subjugated herself to so many evil deeds, to so much taint. It was a wonder the Light still came to her call.
And yet…
If this was to seal her doom, perhaps it was an appropriate way. Trusting in the un-trustable. Putting faith in the damned. She had killed so many in the last two years… She had made so many mistakes, and committed so many sins. If this was to be her end, then at least she would be holding true to her character and her faith to the better end.
She tentatively threaded her mind through and around his. Protective magic gushed through him, and she slowly knelt. He blinked and lifted his eyes to her as she reached past his sword. Her fingers touched the holes in his torso where her scimitars had punched through his armor. The protective magic oozed to the site of his wounds as healing light trickled from her fingers, knitting the torn tissue back together. This was a trick she'd learned after healing her own undead for so long.
The ex-Highlord tensed, and just watched her. She finished healing him, and then drew back. She observed him for a moment, and then smiled.
"You need a bath and shave," she observed. "You're a mess."
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a sickly smile. A massive skeleton lumbered into the room and started to head towards them. Ketala never glanced away from Mogriane, but the skeleton suddenly turned to barricade the hallway.
"He will punish you. You will not emerge unscathed. The final blow is coming," the deathknight cautioned, his voice coming across in its disturbing fashion.
"What do I do?"
"Give in."
Her eyes widened."What? I finally just retrieved my will to fight again!"
"Then fight. But then give in. If you don't, if you struggle until the last, then he will have to defeat all of you to win. If you give in, he doesn't."
"Why should I make life easier for him?"
"Because, in the end, less of you will be destroyed."
She blinked, tilting her head to the side.
"Wait for the moment. The perfect moment. Conserve and protect the last part of you that is still Ketala."
"And allow myself to become a monster?"
"If you accept the premise that you cannot prevent becoming one, then you will see the wisdom in my advice. Ner'zhul will never assume full control over you. You are too valuable. If you truly do have faith, if your spirit is as strong as you think, then you will be able to save yourself at the crucial moment. Don the armor of a death knight. Take your position in his armies. And when the moment comes, when your memories of the Light are triggered, enough of you may be left to undo what has happened here. But if not, that same moment will come, and you will be empty."
She stared at him.
"Now go. Ensure the blow falls now, while you are ready, and he is not. Go." He grinned broadly, sickeningly.
Ketala stared at him, torn, indecisive. At last, she closed her eyes and sighed. Decisions, questions, fates, assurances, promises, destinies. - She hadn't the foggiest idea what was truth and what was conjecture. She took in a long breath, and let thoughts of good and evil slide from her mind. She placed a hand over her heart. Holy energy rushed through her, filling every particle of her body. It spilled through her, wrapped around her, and then launched forward. It tore through the images, and past the specter. The Lich King had instated many magical means to keep her mind caged within Naxxramas. Like a lance, Ketala's will pierced through these protections, ripping them aside. Her senses stretched out across the globe, reaching, searching.
"NATHANOS!"
A thousand scattered images followed her desperate mental scream, broken fragments of the hallucinations she was enduring, of her nightmares, of the Lich King, of Zeliek, and Mograine, and of slaughter- too many memories to keep track of, too many for him to take in.
The poor Ranger Lord was knocked clean off of his worm. He fell a good ten feet (Ouro had been upright, as opposed to entirely horizontal) and landed with a crack upon the ground. His shoulder twisted into a direction it was never supposed to go, tendons snapping. The sheer amount of mental information had blocked out almost everything else- apparently including balance control.
Ketala winced, and sent a blushing, apologetic, "Oops." And then the Lich King's mind was enveloping her again, wrenching her back from the world. She felt Nathanos numbly grabbing for her, despite his surprise. For a moment, their minds touched, and then she was dragged back down into blackness.
Immediately the Lich King's mind rushed in on her full force, tearing at her, shoving visions into her cranium. Her eyes widened and Light rushed through her, trying to stave him off. "Now!" Mograine snarled."Now, quickly! Go, and do not stop until he has finally caught you!"
Ketala shuddered violently, pushing away the images of macabre death that blurred her vision. She looked up at the ex-highlord. Any motives he might have had were hidden behind his impregnable wall of intensity and madness. She closed her eyes. "Nathanos, save me," she murmured to herself. "You reached for me. You want me. I need you… Please." She prayed and begged a moment longer, and then she stood, slowly picking up her swords. "Sacer Lux et Pyro," she murmured. Both blades immediately began to burn with holy flame.
Mograine smiled.
Undercity
Euquin rushed forward, using her volgue expertly, slashing at the guards and holding them at bay. Varimathras nodded appreciatively, waiting for a way to open to the chamber behind them. Without hands, he could do little to fight against the guards, and he couldn't do much by way of spells. He had to rely on Euquin.
Strangely, the situation wasn't as horrible as one might imagine. For whatever reason, Euquin had great skill with the volgue. She was holding off two guards all on her own, and had already scored several hits on them. How she had ever ended up as a demented undead in Ketala's care was a mystery to the demon.
The other two undead warriors lay stunned on the ground, surprised by the infernal that had crashed into their midst. The great fiery monster slowly stood, contorting and letting loose a roar reminiscent of a blast furnace. It rushed forward to assist Euquin, arms flailing through the air. Varimathras took this opportunity to flit past the combatants. He reached the chamber doors and stuffed his hands in the handles, pulling with all his strength. This took quite the effort, as said doors were over a foot thick and made entirely of adamantine, but he managed, throwing the whole of his demonic strength into the task. . He was lucky the door hinges were well oiled.
One of the undead warriors turned towards him, and was promptly sent flying through the air by a wild blow of the infernal. Varimathras grunted and stepped through the opening he'd made. He then turned around and slammed the chamber doors behind him. A quick spell locked the door, ensuring that the guards wouldn't follow them. He listened for a moment to the muffled sounds of battle on the other side, just to be sure his infernal would hold up against the four Forsaken.
It was doing well. He could even hear Euquin's shrieks of battle-rage as she worked to hold the attention of the guards. Varimathras nodded, and then slowly turned around to eye the chamber.
It was quite an affair, with elaborate carvings decorating every inch of architecture. In the center rested a raised stone casket, like an altar, with the lid shut. Laid out upon the lid was a corpse.
Varimathras slowly approached the body. He stared at it for a moment, considering its perfectly preserved frame. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. This was his last hope, and his last chance.
He crouched and placed a disfigured hand to his chest, feeling the soul shard trapped inside him. Protective magic kept his essence from devouring it, leaving it whole and unharmed. Demonic energy whirled through his torso, starting to unravel the ties that held the crystal bound within him.
"My lady, please," he murmured softly. "Have mercy on your foolish servant." The crystal hummed angrily, but what choice did he have? There was no other path he might tread. If he did not do this now, he might lose his only opportunity to.
He lowered his head, and pressed his mouth to hers. The demonic energy with him constricted, liquefying the crystal within, releasing its contents. The banshee spirit tore through him, ripping up through his throat and out his mouth.
Sylvanas gave an unearthly scream as her soul slammed back into her mortal coil. The sound might have killed a lesser creature, but Varimathras did not even bother to cover his delicate ears. He merely released her and backed up to watch. Her body heaved, and her eyes opened wide. She twisted, shuddered, and convulsed, breathing in and out rapidly despite the fact that she needed no air. Her white eyes focused on him, and an unholy fury erupted in their depths, practically tainting them red.
"You."
The threats and implications associated with her tone overwhelmed all the verbal abuse that followed.
"You… you disgusting… putrid… filthy, miserable, backstabbing," she pulled herself up as she listed his faults, hauling herself shakily to her feet, "arrogant, stupid, DEMON!"
Varimathras did not respond; instead he dropped from his crouching position into a kneeling one.
"YOU BETRAYED ME!" she shrieked, grabbing one of her daggers from where it had been laid out beside her.
He placed his shattered hands flat on the ground before him and bowed his head submissively. Still he did not say a word. His lack of self defense only infuriated her.
"SAY SOMETHING! Defend yourself! Excuse yourself! Tell me how it wasn't your fault, how you were tempted, how you're a demon, how I should have known better!"
Silence.
"SPEAK, TRAITOR!" she snarled, her words venomous and filled with harsh consonants and grating vowels.
"It is good to see you well again, my lady," he murmured.
The Banshee Queen screamed in frustration, anger, and incredulity. She launched herself at him, her dagger slamming down towards his prone form. He did nothing- even as he felt it rip deep into his shoulder and tear through muscle, bone and tendon. She brought her knee up powerfully into his side, but he made no sound, and did not fall.
"Fight me, then, you troll-rutting coward!"
He never lifted his eyes. "I can't," he answered.
"FIGHT ME!"
"What do you want me to do? Gum you to death? I could not fight a dormouse," he responded.
"Then flee!" she hissed. Her knee connected again with his side, this time with enough force to knock him over. He grunted, but made no other sound, just lying where he had fallen. "Get up! Get up and flee, coward!"
"No."
Her eyes widened with angry disbelief. She kicked him again and again, hurling countless curses at him, until blood was trickling from his mouth. "Get up! GET UP!"
"No. I accept my punishment," he managed. By the Nether, he begged that this would work. She paused in her abuse and stared at him. "I betrayed you, and I have no where else to go. If you will not have me, then I have no reason to fight or flee; kill me."
"You won't even beg… You… you dare to do that to me, and you won't even beg," she noted in astonishment. His cyan eyes shifting, turning to look up at her face.
"It would avail me nothing. I was wrong."
Sylvanas stared at him, and then started to scream. She screamed and screamed, turning to a wall of her chamber and stabbing it, clawing at it, kicking it, till her dagger was chipped and dulled, and her fingers bled. She recalled being stabbed by the runeblade… She recalled being imprisoned in its depths- the horrible, lightless emptiness far greater than that associated with normal undeath She recalled… until finally the Banshee Queen leaned, defeated, against the scarred wall. She slowly slid to the ground, her whole body shaking with the memories.
Varimathras looked weakly at her, pulling himself to all fours. He grimaced as damaged ribs protested the action, and then slowly crawled to where his queen shivered. When he reached her, he laid a flayed hand tentatively upon her shoulder. She immediately whirled on him, grabbing his neck and squeezing with all her fury.
He winced and choked lightly on the blood that was also impeding his trachea. "Please, forgive me…" he murmured as earnestly as he could. Her reaction was promising; she shivered violently.
"You betrayed me," she stated flatly, emotionlessly.
"You beat me and left me senseless in Anub'Arak's cell."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And Arthas's offerwas tempting, as you suggested. He even shielded my thoughts from you."
"I was a fool to trust you."
"In my defense, I am a demon," he offered, being careful to state as opposed to beg. "If I hadn't betrayed you at least once, I would have been insulting your intelligence."
"And I failed to subvert you," she hissed.
"In your defense-"
"I knew what you were! I knew I couldn't trust you!" she snarled. "I knew you needed a tight leash- knew you would betray me!"
"I was your closest advisor. Who else were you to rely on?"
"A weakness of mine!"
Her hand tightened on his throat. Her energy increasing with her hatred.
"Yes," Varimathras grit out, fighting mentally for air. "But in retrospect, we would have had far fewer problems if I had simply been reliable. I haven't exactly fared well as a result of my betrayal." He lifted a hand to show her his lack of fingers. Her grip loosened enough that he could breathe, and he was very careful not to display any relief at her actions. "In retrospect, I threw a bit of a temper tantrum. Something I have regretted every moment since."
"I should destroy you for what you have done," the undead elf stated, seeming to have much less strength. Her unhappiness now eclipsed her hatred, but the tables were slowly turning again. This was the moment he needed- a moment of slight vulnerability.
But Varimathras could only stare at her in dismay. He had formulated a plan as to how to answer her, and yet now he was uncertain. Her volatile disposition left him wondering if she would respond favorably and forgive him, or take offense and feel that he was trying to manipulate her. After a moment he sighed dejectedly.
"Milady, any positive thing I can say is a manipulation; every plea I can think of is a deception; every word that passes from my mouth is untrustworthy. I haven't the foggiest idea what to do, and I find myself pursuing paths entirely contradictory to my nature. I am a very confused demon. My only hope left is that you will spare me. Please, forgive me. Please reinstate me as your majordomo-"
"You think I can just forget what you have done? You think everything can just go back to the way it was without PUNISHMENT?" Varimathras's ears twitched. He glanced past Sylvanas, convinced something was amiss. The banshee seemed not to notice, even with her uncanny hearing. Perhaps she was too angry?
"Milady, I can hope, can I not?" he inquired.
Sylvanas snarled and hurled him away from her. She stood up and looked away, fingering her dagger. Her eyes burned hatefully. Varimathras looked up at her. He shivered, touching his damaged ribs. "I am sorry for betraying your trust, Dark Lady."
"You will only do so again."
"Next time, you will be ready."
"Why should I spare one who will only betray me?"
He stood and slowly made his way over to her. "…For whatever reason you spared me when I first joined your service?" She whirled on him furiously. "I need you. I will take any punishment if you will spare me."
"That is what you said last time, and you betrayed me to Arthas!"
"Yes. It was one of my better choices. I have henceforth loved my inability to feed myself…"
"You return to me for only selfish reasons!"
"I am a demon," he restated.
"Exactly," she hissed, her anger building up again, lending power to her dagger arm.
"I am your demon," he elaborated.
She paused, eying him stonily. "Mine?" she asked mockingly.
"No one else would have me…"
"And I would?" she inquired dangerously. Varimathras looked directly at her, and then blinked. He was in such a position that he could see the door of the chamber behind her. It appeared to be cracked open, and yet Varimathras could hear nothing of the battle that should have been occurring outside. He couldn't hear the shouts of the four elite guards, nor the movement of his infernal. Varimathras couldn't exactly interrupt his conversation with Sylvanas, but he reached out mentally for Euquin.
"I am not certain. I hope. It at least appears that you value my presence, as you have not yet killed me." The words spilled out of him. He was distracted by searching for Euquin and so was not really thinking about what he was saying. "You have shown me affection in the past, trusted me, and have occasionally drifted off to sleep against me." At last, his mind seized upon the half elf's. He angrily demanded what she was doing, only to realize she was asleep. Asleep? How strange… Why was she…? "I am under the… unusual impression that you might possibly-"
Asleep?
Varimathras cut off mid sentence, his ears straining. He heard the steps of an invisible entity rushing towards Sylvanas's location. "Milady behind you!" he gasped, suddenly bolting towards her. She reacted reflexively to his lunge, stabbing forward with her dagger, and sinking the blade deep into his stomach. He didn't falter. His left hand reached past her face and over her shoulder, while his right sank into his pouch of infernal stones.
A fiery green meteor materialized but a few feet above them, and slammed into the ground just behind the Banshee Queen. A second dreadlord suddenly materialized there, screaming as green fire rippled over his frame. The infernal stood, unfolding from the meteor. Its hands grasped for him, but the enemy banished it with an angry flick of his hand. His green eyes burned furiously, and he turned his gaze to Varimathras.
"Long time, brother," he hissed. "Your idiocy just earned you a special place in the torture pits of the Legion."
Ahn'Qiraj
Nathanos was filled with many thoughts. The most prominent of these thoughts varied by the moment. At first they hovered around, "GAH! BRAIN… OVERLOADING!" and from there they flitted quickly from, "She's alive!" to, "Ketala!" to, "The nether was that for?" until they finally came to rest upon "I probably deserved that," which was one of the most mature thoughts the Ranger Lord had ever deigned to possess. After some time, these thoughts slowly melted away to be replaced by blinding pain.
When Nathanos could see again, he blinked rapidly, and looked up at his two companions. Ras was standing over him, and appeared to be a mite worried. Flower was doing the chicken dance and shouting, "Look at me! I'm a bear!"
"Ah, sweet normality," the Ranger Lord murmured appreciatively, glad to be back in concrete reality. Ketala's wild explosion of mental imagery had left him somewhat disoriented. He shifted slightly, and grimaced as pain rippled up his side. One of his arms was snapped in two or three places, and his shoulder blade felt as if it had been wrenched out of place. Ras lifted a brow and offered him a hand up. Nathanos contemplated the hand a moment, and glanced up at the mage. After a moment, he took the ex-lich's hand, and regained his feet.
"What happened?" Ras inquired.
"Ketala's alive," the ranger noted. "And I think she's mad at me."
"To be fair, I would be too," the mage offered. Nathanos shrugged lightly. His injured arm screamed in protest and he scowled at it.
"We need a healer. And not just for me either," he gestured to Ouro's damaged chitin.
"I wouldn't advise going to the Cenarion Circle," Ras cautioned. "They have no love for Ouro."
"They'll suddenly discover wellsprings of affection by the time I've finish with them, then."
Ras grimaced. "Why is it you find yourself unable to solve anything without violence?"
"I'm a man. We solve our problems by swinging around sharp objects," Nathanos answered, ignoring the fact that his satirical description of manhood didn't actually apply to himself, or in fact contribute anything relevant to their conversation.
But Ras took the bait. "Are you saying that I am not a man?" the ex-lich asked.
"You are wearing a purple dress…" Nathanos mused.
"Robes!" Ras corrected obstinately. "They are robes! The official color of the Kirin'Tor is purple!"
"So all mages are women?" he asked as he continued to walk, this time in the direction of the Cenarion Circle encampment. He didn't even bother trying to climb back onto Ouro's back with a broken arm.
"No! What does purple have to do with feminism? Purple signifies power- royalty!"
"Sure it does," the ranger intoned solemnly.
The ex-lich stared at Nathanos, at a loss for how to respond. He sighed, and looked over at Flower. "Good-natured, high-spirited ribbing. I hadn't the foggiest idea he was even capable of it. The adjectives just seem so…wrong when associated with someone of his disposition."
"I can rub my belly and pat my head at the same time, while jumping up and down on one foot. Want to see?"
Ras stared blankly at the necromancer for a moment. "I'd almost forgotten why we kept you around," he noted in an off-hand fashion, and then he started walking after the Ranger Lord. It was probably going to be a long day.
The Exodar
Tyrande looked up as teleportation runes spread across the ground. Velen's attention flit to the runes as well, and each waited the short time it took the spell to reach completion. Light flashed down cylindrically around the arcane latters, and suddenly Jaina had returned.
At her side was Furion. The Archdruid leaned heavily on his staff, looking tired but also content. Tyrande blinked and then immediately moved to greet him, and the two embraced tightly.
"I apologize for walking out like that, dear Tyrande," Malfurion murmured in elfish so that the comment might be private. "There were some things I simply needed to attend to."
She nodded in understanding, and gave him a brief kiss before pulling back. "What have you found of our Ember?" she asked him in Common. Furion lifted a brow at her use of 'our.' When Furion had left Tyrande, she had been claiming that Ember was not even her child. The druid glanced at Velen and nodded in greeting, before looking back to Tyrande.
"Ember and Zul'vii passed through the Dark Portal several days ago."
Tyrande blinked, surprised. She was uncertain whether to be horrified or relieved by this revelation, so she chose simply to concentrate on Furion's tone. He did not seem dreadfully concerned…
"And you? You seem unfazed by this news…"
Malfurion nodded, and looked from her to an equally surprised Velen. "Allow me to explain. I've seen MahiMahi."
"She resurfaced?" Tyrande asked in amazement.
"Yes," the archdruid reaffirmed. "She told me to let Ember pass through the portal. After a long period of introspection, I decided to do as she bade me. And there is something else. I have discovered the force in Ember that is fighting back against Archimonde's possession. Nature. Our planet went wild when she crossed through the portal, and was not sated until Draenor had also linked to her."
Nobundo blinked and looked to Velen. "I had sensed a sudden disruption in the world. The elements were all gathering in a certain location, and the spirits seemed to be drawn towards it as well."
"I stepped through the Dark Portal into Draenor after nature had finished," Malfurion continued, "just to be certain that she was safe. The nature spirits assured me that she was. Now that I know you might have been able to help her, I regret she could not have come just a few days later. But in the end, I trust Mahi and Curiato- and I most certainly trust Nature. I think she is in safe hands."
"I pray you are right, Archdruid," Velen said softly, "for all of our sakes. It is times like these that I wish I still dwelled in Shattrath, city of lights, so that I might have a greater impact on these events… But alas, what is done is done. I shall probably never see the city again, and we shall have to trust in the angels concerning Ember." He could do nothing about Archimonde or the night elf child at the moment, and it would not do to worry about things over which he had no control. He took a breath and catalogued those thoughts away in his mind for future reference.
Jaina blinked. She pondered for a moment, and then slipped past Tyrande and Malfurion.
"Actually Velen, about that… In theory, I could design a teleport spell that would take us straight to the city, to Shattrath." He blinked, looking down at her. "I'd have to scry on the city, and research all the cross-planar mechanics- both of which I could use some help with- but I could get you to Shattrath again. Many of your people still live there, correct? I'm sure it would be a great boon to you if you could travel there frequently to help with the various difficulties they're facing there. And as an added bonus, we could try and locate Ember."
"You can do this?" he asked curiously. "Develop a spell of that nature?"
"Sure. I've already developed a spell that can teleport a small army."
He blinked in surprise, and Jaina could not help but laugh. "A priest is filled with the splendor of the Light, and a shaman with the strength of the elements, but when it comes down to defying the laws of physics, look no further than a mage. It will take me quite some time to perfect this spell - maybe months, but I could do it with the aid of you and Nobundo."
The Broken shaman blinked and looked to her curiously. "I understand how the Prophet might be able to help you with scrying, but such things are not in my repertoire; and I am no mage. How could I possibly aid you?"
Jaina smiled. "Why Nobundo, I would think that would be obvious. You are tied very powerfully to the elements- the building blocks of Draenor. Teleportation often requires that a person visit a location first. Scrying out a location might give me a view of what it looks like, but a Shaman would be able to explain the very feel of the local- something magic could never do. Furthermore, identifying the aspects of the elements associated with Draenor would help me anchor my spell to that world. In fact, I wouldn't consider the spell safe unless I had obtained your aid!"
Velen smiled lightly through his white beard, noting how the Broken draenei was standing taller and not slouching as heavily. The sudden companionship between the human sorceress and the old shaman looked promising, and Velen considered the idea that such a friendship might be beneficial to Nobundo's health. The Broken shaman had little to do around the Exodar at the moment, and he seemed to be withdrawing a bit into himself. Nobundo had been a bit of a loner for a long time now, and it would be good to get him out of the world and away from all temptation to engage in self pity.
"But of course, Lady Proudmoore" the draenei leader agreed. "We would be delighted to help you. Any spell that would help strengthen the ties between our people would be well appreciated. Still, I find myself very busy these days, and we should probably arrange a formal time for me to help you with your scrying. Perhaps Nobundo would be willing to help you for now?"
The shaman blinked and looked to Velen. "I would gladly offer the Lady Proudmoore aid… But do you not need me to help with the training of new shaman?"
Velen waved a hand dismissively. "There are many shaman willing to teach the youth now, thanks to your efforts, Nobundo. I think you have earned a reprieve from those duties. Besides, we have not yet sent a diplomat to Theramore, and that seems dreadfully unfortunate. We did not realize the character of the ally we were overlooking." The praise made both Nobundo and Jaina stand taller.
Jaina mentally recorded her response for further analysis. It occurred to her that part of what made Velen such a powerful leader was his ability to inspire pride in those around him. This was a strange notion to Jaina, who was used to seeing strong leaders garner respect by inspiring some kind of fear. It was unusual to encounter someone who maintained their power by doing the exact opposite. Ironically, it reminded her of Thrall. Though the orc chieftain was forced to rule with an iron fist, he held his people together by inspiring pride in their heritage.
Her attention was brought back to the present by Velen's further assurances that Nobundo could do exactly as he pleased. Jaina looked to the Broken shaman and gave a smile. "I could use the help," she admitted. "And not just with the spell either; I could stand to learn some shamanism tips from a master." She gave a smile. "And I most certainly could use the pleasant conversation."
Furion eyed Nobundo curiously. He hadn't originally thought much of the individual, and had actually been slightly repulsed by the Broken draenei's demonic taint. Through listening to Velen's conversation, he could better understand the shaman's worth, and he smiled in amusement as Velen and Jaina both herded him into a corner.
"Very well, then," Nobundo decided. "If both my sovereign and our newest ally insist, then who am I to refuse? I will go with you to Theramore, Lady Proudmoore."
"Great!" The sorceress proclaimed happily. "Erm, but hold on a moment. Malfurion, Tyrande, would you like me to return you to Teldrassil?"
"That is unnecessary," Tyrande answered. "I came here by boat, and I have transport secured to take us home. It would only take a few days to reach Teldrassil."
"Right then! Anything you want to grab before we head off?" Jaina inquired of the shaman. He shook his head, amused by the little human's demeanor. "Very well then. Prophet Velen, Shan'do Stormrage, Priestess Whisperwind- I wish you all good luck. Farewell." And with that, she began her teleport spell.
"Curious thing, isn't she?" Velen inquired, looking over at the Night Elf leaders.
"You haven't the foggiest idea," assured Tyrande. Furion looked at the two of them and broke out laughing.
"Indeed curious, but bold," he reminded them. Tyrande thought back to Jaina's comments about teaching Thrall to dance. She wondered if she might implore the human woman to confront Thrall about the logging operation in Ashenvale, and then shook her head to clear it.
"Indeed," she admitted. "Eccentric, but bold."
"Now Velen," Furion suddenly began, detaching himself from his mate. "I have been eager to speak with you ever since the Dark Portal opened. I surmise you have already spoken much with Tyrande, but perhaps we could discuss the Outlands?"
Undercity
Varimathras stumbled backwards, and Sylvanas' dagger slid out of him with a disturbing noise. He clutched at the wound, and at his damaged ribs. His wounds must have been too much for him, for he slid to the ground, unable to do more than glare angrily at his brother.
Sylvanas blinked in surprise and whirled to face the enemy dreadlord. Her eyes narrowed. "I recognize you. You were one of the three that tried to manipulate me. One of… his brothers," she hissed, gesturing at Varimathras. "Detheroc. I tore you apart with my bare hands," she spat vehemently. "How is it you are alive?"
Detheroc chuckled, lifting a hand pensively to his chin. "That's the boon of being a demon," he elaborated. "When you die, your spirit often returns to the Twisting Nether. Normally you're bound there for a few thousand years, but sometimes you get lucky, and a demon requires your aid. Sometimes a few foolish cultists can be gathered together, and your life can be quickly restored to you." He pondered for a moment, and then grinned. "Either that, or Varimathras spared me…"
The dreadlord's eyes narrowed. "I did no such thing," he growled acidly, trying to regain his feet. Detheroc smiled and lifted a hand. A long black dagger suddenly materialized in his palm, sickly green energy coursing around it.
"Let me repay you for your lovely betrayal, Varimathras," he said gleefully. The dagger suddenly shot forward, barreling straight towards the broken dreadlord, its surface gleaming with thick poison.
Sylvanas sidestepped in front of it, and deflected it to the side with her dagger. During her conversation with Varimathras, her emotions had swung back and forward dramatically from enraged to miserable. She had been given no stability, no solid ground with which to fight from. She hated Varimathras- it was true, but she also felt so horribly betrayed and morose and frustrated.
But here was a new target. Fresh, and capable of spurring no melancholy. Here was an easy victim on which she could take out her frustration. He was a dreadlord, just like that which had betrayed her, but with no pleasant emotions attached. She was ill equipped, weak from being comatose so long, and facing a deadly opponent. Her feet became steady, her muscles slowly hardening and reorienting themselves. Her senses sharpened, picking up Detheroc's steady heartbeat. Conviction and anger rushed through her, and her eyes burned with unholy rage. In that instant she transferred all of her loathing for Varimathras onto this new target. There were no conflictions. There was no hesitation, no sadness.
There was only sheer, contemptuous hatred.
Detheroc frowned, and Varimathras grinned. The enemy dreadlord hadn't any idea what he was getting into. The banshee ranger smiled lightly and lifted a hand to her lips in a 'quiet' gesture. Detheroc blinked and tried to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes widened as he realized he would be incapable of any magic. Sylvanas grinned, and approached the dreadlord with her dagger bared. She would have fun with this one.
Yarg! Review or I'll...
...cry! (yeah, that's it!)