Hey guys! Hope you like the next chapter :P Don't worry, I've no intent of giving up on this fic any time soon. It just took me awhile to get that impulse to write that I needed. I refer to such impulses as "Flow." To be honest, I think I contracted it by reading "Forsaken" by Lurking Grue... You should all read it and attempt to contract Flow as well! The Author was putting out chapters at the rate of 1 to 2 a day, and all of them were high quality and awesome! Now I want to be Lurking Grue!
I don't have any art for this chapter, but I should have some for /next/ chapter. I've also got some art from my novel, as well as art from my side project, Children of Aiur. I just uploaded a new pic off Sasha and Danial, yayy!
I'm currently looking for a good Beta to help me out. My normal Beta is very busy right now, and while she is infinitely uber in her uberness, I need someone to help me with spelling, grammar, sentance structure, and- well- just plain good storytelling while she's gone. I think of myself as a good writer, but a writer is only as good as their beta! Can any of my readers assist me?
Well, anyway, Happy reading!
PS: Dear Arallion. I'm sorry my chapter starts with passive writing. I didn't mean to do it! It just happened!
Affection
Silvermoon
Much to Nathanos's surprise, he was not questioned for bringing humans into Silvermoon. The guards seemed ambivalent about their presence, and with a member of the Horde escorting them, they had better things to do.
That was the nice thing about blood elves, he decided. They hated everyone with equal prejudice, looked down upon everyone with the same arrogance, and could scarcely tell the difference between a human and an orc.
He supposed this was reasonable of them. The elves had fought against the orcs. They hated trolls. Their homeland was overwhelmed by undead. They were looked down upon by the night elves. The humans had abandoned them. The dwarves hated them.
Really, from a blood elfish point of view, faction lines were probably blurred. They were only part of the Horde as a matter of convenience, and because the Alliance no longer wanted them. All they cared about was magic, and as long as you didn't stand between them and their magic, they would accept your existence... however begrudgingly.
This was useful for Nathanos, who needed a place to store two humans until they became of use to him again. Ras and Flower were both technically human, and Nathanos wasn't keen on flying halfway across the world to Rachet or Stranglethorn in order to leave them in an unaffiliated city. And he really wasn't going to track down the Argent Dawn for that purpose. Also, due to Flower's status as a necromancer, he couldn't rightly leave them in an Alliance city.
All it took was a few extra pieces of gold, and Silvermoon's inn was happy to house two humans. He suspected that they'd be a glaring target for thieves, but otherwise it seemed relatively safe. They weren't in poor standing with the elfin leaders, and had no interesting information to communicate.
Sadly, Pudgy Lumpkins had to return to the Undercity. Nathanos was thankful he'd gotten them a puppy, or Flower might have cried himself to death.
Or would that have been a good thing? Hmm. Well, in any event, Nathanos was happy to use his residual necromantic abilities to lead the abomination home. He had avoided Naxxramas for long enough.
He'd need a plan to get into the flying ziggurat. It was time to speak with Sylvanas.
Naxxramas
NO! NO, I AM NOT YOURS!
She screamed in agony as the necromancer jabbed the long syringe into her right eye and pressed down on the plunger. Acid poured into the orb, causing it to burn in unworldly pain. It fizzled and flamed, before finally bursting in several places and starting to lick white ichor. The acid poured out as well, drizzling over her face like tears, burning her skin and leaving tracks where it had fallen.
Her screams echoed throughout Naxxramas's halls, ungodly, broken, lost.
I'm not... Oh Light... Light... I'm not...
The light didn't come. It had always come before, and yet she could not feel its golden rays surging through her. She had lost it somehow, back with her freedom. Back with Thaddius.
Thaddius.
Tears coursed from her undamaged eye, and her whole body reeled with the agony. As the acid burned its course, a multicolored pinpoint of light slowly manifested in the depths of her skull, and her eyesight returned.
Dead eyes.
"Ketala..." the icy voice murmured, gentle, soothing.
No.
The syringe descended into her other eye.
As he walked towards the prison cells, Cheshire smiled. The screams were almost beautiful, like heavenly music coursing through the air. Ketala didn't know how lucky she was. He had lost his eyes before joining the Scourge, and now he had to use a horribly inconvenient magical sight.
Some people had all the luck and none of the gratitude. Oh well. He whistled merrily to himself, before at last arriving at her cell door. Her tormentors were just leaving, and they shot Cheshire an irritated look as they past.
Cheshire didn't mind. He had a certain fondness for any undead that still retained a personality.
Ketala huddled helplessly within the confines of her cell, her face streaked with burns and ichor. Her body was curled up almost fetally, and her hair shielded her face, clinging to her fresh wounds.
Chesire smiled, showing off unpleasant rows of pointed teeth. He descended into her cell, carrying a bucket of cool water, along with a small satchel and some rags. She did not react to his presence, not even when he knelt by her side and moistened one of his rags- not even when he leaned over and examined his face.
He pouted. "Hmph. Again, nothing. Can you hear me, or see me? Have you any idea that I'm here?"
There was no response. If Ketala was aware of his presence, she gave no sign. Cheshire sighed, and looked around to see if he was being watched by her torturers. He wasn't, so he leaned down further, and placed his tongue to her cheek, licking fried eyeball goop from her ruined face.
She tasted wonderful, but that was not the purpose for his dubious-looking ministrations. The true reason for his behavior was that he could clean her face more efficiently this way. Furthermore, he was so permeated with necromantic energy that his very saliva acted as a barrier against rot and decay.
Ketala also sported a gaping tear in her cheek, a leftover from the barbed nets that had ensnared her. Although he had healed the rest of her wounds, Cheshire found the tear to be quite charming. It gave her a constant, one-sided smile. He licked gently at that wound, ensuring that it was protected from the elements.
It took him some time to finish, but then he sat back and admired his handiwork. "There. You're so beautiful, and your eyes were the prettiest part. Its a shame he had to ruin them." He smiled gently, if a bit carnivorously, and then took one of his rags and started mopping the blood and grime from her extremities. Her feet had been whipped and burned, so he carefully cleaned out each slice, and then applied a home-made spell to close them shut.
Her feet twitched slightly, a reflexive action, and Cheshire smiled. This was a good sign. "Maybe I can regenerate your eyes once this is over," he reflected. "It shouldn't be that hard. The mechanisms for such a spell are fairly simple..."
She didn't move, lost in her own little world. He mused for a moment, and then sighed and stood. "Well. See you tomorrow," he said at last, and he gave her a little wave before turning and heading back out of her cell.
The Undercity
As he entered the Royal Quarter, Nathanos eyed Varimathras curiously, noting that the demon was still heavily bandaged, but nevertheless quite alive. This was something of a surprise to Nathanos, who had expected (and hoped) that Sylvanas had cannibalized the majordomo.
On the other hand, Ketala had said that Sylvanis had a 'thing' for her demonic advisor.
"I see you're doing better than last time we met, ex-Nathrezeim!" Nathanos said with a saccharine smile. "But Sylvanas, I'm surprised you forgave him. Is he that good at make-up sex?"
If glares could kill people, Nathanos would have imploded on the spot. The looks of sheer vexation on both leaders' faces were priceless. The Ranger Lord smiled innocently, and continued without missing a beat. "Silvermoon will make the best staging point for an assault on Naxxramas. I don't need an army. I need small, a proficient group of intelligent, capable warriors. That's all."
Sylvanas snorted. "Easier said than done, Blightcaller. My absence has weakened the city, and the Apothecaries did not keep things well-organized or well-supplied in your stead." If she had attempted to make him feel ashamed, she did not succeed. Nathanos just continued smiling innocently. "Aside from that," she continued, annoyed, "people who fit your definition of 'skilled' are few and far between."
Nathanos nodded. "Agreed. So you are fortunate that, in my absence, I have already collected such a group."
Sylvanas lifted a brow. "Indeed?"
"The same group that helped me defeat C'Thun in Silithus. They are competent enough, and listen to orders. If you get me into contact with Jaina Proudmoore, I can probably get most of them here. Some members of the group not come, but the rest are just adventurers, restless and always seeking something new to kill. We can fill the holes in their ranks with Forsaken."
Sylvanas eyed him critically. Rarely did Nathanos speak highly about soldiers; when he did speak favorably, he meant it. After a moment, the Dark Lady nodded, and guestured to to Varimathras. "I will contact Proudmoore. The two of you are concoct a fully-realized plan for the infiltrating of Naxxramas, with no detail left out. Behave, Nathanos. Behave Varimathras. If either of you cause problems for me or for each other, there will be a price.
Nathanos nodded, accepting the threat for what it was. Varimathras grimaced and did so as well. Sylvanis glared long and hard at the both of them, before turning and exiting the Royal Quarter. Ranger lord and majordomo watched her go, before looking back at one another. Nathanos smiled, and Varimathras glared.
"Must have been really good sex."
"Is your mind constantly in the gutter?" the demon hissed. "Or are you just incapable of taking anything seriously?"
"Oh come now, Varimathras, that hurts. I took your torture quite seriously. Besides, I'm not the one having sex with my boss."
"I am not- augh!" Varimathras threw up his arms in disgust and turned to his war table, gesturing to a map of Naxxramas. "You may feel that this is all a joke, but I assure you that Naxxramas will take more planning than just waltzing in its doors and slapping your primitive weapons at whatever you come across! If you will not be serious about this, then leave-"
"Varimathras," the ranger said slowly, quietly. His tone was so completely devoid of mirth that Varimathras looked back at him, surprised. "You have already betrayed Sylvanas once. If you f"ck with me getting Ketala back, you will beg for the torture pits of the Burning Legion."
He was a bit tired of all these threats being tossed so carelessly around, but the dead-panned, intense nature of the Ranger Lord's proclamation seemed fully in earnest.
Varimathras smiled.
"Really good sex?" he inquired nastily.
"Really good sex," Nathanos affirmed without missing a beat. Whether he was serious about that or not was irrelevant; by default it was the answer the Ranger Lord had to give.
"Very well. If you cease irritating me, I assure that you will be able to free Ketala Truae."
"So be it," the Ranger Lord answered, and he came up to study the maps.
Outland, the Warden's Cage
I remember the Temple as it used to be: a place of worship. I prayed within its chambers and meditated among its gardens. I was happy then; at peace. I remember, too, the day the orcs came. That day marked by cries of war and torrents of blood where terrified women and children huddled in darkened corners. I led many to safety, but many more paid the ultimate price.
That day my beloved sanctuary became the Black Temple. There the orc warlocks practiced their twisted magic that corrupted the land and nearly destroyed us all. Even after the Horde's reckless sorcery tore the planet apart, my people were unable to find a lasting sanctuary. I remember the armies of demons that swept down on us like a plague. During these dark times, the one called Magtheridon made the Temple his home.
Then came Illidan...
The one they called the Betrayer; the enemy of my enemy. We helped him seal the portals of Outland and cut off the Legion's reinforcements. We fought with renewed strength, and together we reclaimed our sacred ground. I think part of me knew even then, that the Black Temple had only traded one evil master for another. I prefer to remember the Temple as it used to be; not the abomination it has become. My soul bears the burden of my misjudgment, but I have been patient; I have been waiting. And when the time is right, the Betrayer will become... the betrayed.
Akama's eyes opened slowly. He blinked several times and then realized he had dozed off. A grimace twisted his fanged mouth, and he sighed. With how little sleep he got these days, his impromptu nap was no surprise.
"It's ironic, isn't it?" a low voice murmured, feminine, echoing off the depths of her prison. Akama blinked and looked at the door of her cell. Her voice was thick, filled with emotion, passion, hatred. "Kael'Thas Sunstrider. He was the one who told Malfurion that I had lied about Tyrande. Furion turned on me and accepted Illidan's aid to rescue his beloved wife. I remember the blood elf then. I had been unwilling to aid him. He seemed so petty, so weak, but Tyrande had called him one of us, had refused to leave him."
She sighed. "He was idealistic then, hoping he could give his people a better life. Hoping to save them. And look where he is now. So far away. So broken. So twisted. I wonder if that's when Illidan learned who he was, and to start keeping tabs on him. Kael refused to lie or sit back and let me lie. And only because of Kael was Illidan able to reconcile with his brother and save Tyrande.
"The fool demon probably really thought he was helping Kael'thas by extending the offer of this magical slavery. Felt like he was returning the favor. And look how he's destroyed him. "
Akama was silent, watching her as she languished in her righteous fury, still fully armored and yet completely helpless. After a moment, he decided to speak. "Nothing is ever black and white, Maiev. No matter how much you might wish it to be so."
The warden snorted and glared at him, luminescent eyes blazing from the depths of her masked helm. "You know its the truth. He corrupts everything he touches. He is nothing more than a demon, and yet you will not free me. If we truly desire the same thing, Akama, then release me! If Illidan is to die, it shall be by my hand!"
Akama sighed and stretched out his limbs, trying not to wince at his arthritic joints. "In due time, Maiev. I've spent years planning to make my move - I can't afford to put my plans in peril by tipping my hand too soon."
Her eyes flamed and she jumped to her feet, splashing through the water that lined the bottom of her cell. "Curse you, Akama! I am not a pawn in your game...my will is my own. When I unleash my wrath upon Illidan, it will have nothing to do with your foolish scheme!"
The Broken draenie looked sadly up at her and shook his head. He wondered if Maiev was aware of how... damaged she sounded, of how her mind had frayed and torn at the seams. She behaved like a hungry animal, a weapon, an avatar of vengeance and nothing more. Once, surely, there must have been a woman behind that mask.
Now there was only hatred.
"In due time, Maiev. Only in due time."
He looked away, prepared for her insults, her fury, her accusations. 'Monster,' was her favorite appellation, although she knew many more colorful ones. And he supposed she was not far off the mark.
Oftentimes he felt like a monster.
"Look at what he has done to your people, Akama. Look at how he asks you to herd your fallen cousins, to use as slaves and test subjects."
He paused. If he had still possessed hair, it would have stood up along the back of his neck. As it was, the fleshy tendrils sprouting from the back of his head stiffened.
"How can you do that? How can you let let him force you to do that? They are not so far from you, are they? You have fallen further than all other Broken draenie- that's why you hide beneath layers of cloth, why you cover your face in that old hood. You are ashamed, even among the Broken.
Akama closed his eyes, and then turned back to Maiev. She was standing directly against the bars, and so he walked up to her and studied her carefully. Her face was mostly obscured, but he could still see the lines of her mouth, confused and frustrated beyond measure.
"Maiev, if you were confronted by a village of the Lost Ones, you would slaughter them, and claim that you were putting them out of their misery. If you were confronted by a village of elves in the same position, you would slaughter them. You do not feel sympathy, warden. At least I mourn at the suffering of my brethren. But then my very presence disgusts you to the point that you would rather kill me than heed my words, so perhaps my breath is wasted."
Her eyes flamed once more, but she had no verbal response. So incoherent was her rage that she could not even begin to talk about Naisha, or all the wardens who had died in her pursuit of Illidan. She grit her teeth, thousands of emotions whirling through her. Lightning fast, she moved, her hands shooting through the cell bars, grabbing at his throat, sharp-gauntlets shimmering in the torchlight.
Akama moved faster, grabbing her by the wrists and holding her metal talons at bay. She screamed and twisted in his hold, jerking herself wildly until finally slumping before him, defeated. Akama watched her a moment, and then released her hands and continued speaking in his low gravely voice, as if nothing had happened.
"But hear this. My sins are my own, and I know them intimately. I can only atone for them if Illidan is defeated. And you can only defeat him if I set the stage right. It is not time, Maiev. I will wait for the perfect moment. I will not squander my only chance. My poor brethren will not have suffered in vain."
She could not wait! Why couldn't he see that? Illidan had nearly killed her brother- had consumed her entire life and her sanity in the process. She could not wait! Her quarry could not be denied! Akama's plan could take years- countless years- and every moment her agony grew.
Maiev had to destroy him. She had to!
There had to be some way to get Akama to free her. Something- anything!- that would spring her from this dismal prison, with its laughing demons and rotting water. But if neither emotion nor reason would sway her grotesque guardian than what would-
An idea struck her, an idea so repulsive it almost made her gag, but one that her desperation forced her to try.
She lunged forward again, this time from a kneeling position so he could not restrain her in time. Now, however, she did not attempt to strike or otherwise injure him. Rather, her hand pushed up his kilt, and came to rest on the Broken's inner thigh. Akama grabbed her forearm just a moment later and froze, staring at her with wide eyes.
The expression on her face- at least what he could see of it- was utterly pathetic. She was crazed and desperate, craving her vengeance to the exclusion of all else. Although he did not desire to be hamstrung, his dismay forced him to speak:
"Are you now a whore, Maiev Shadowsong?"
His fears were confirmed when she evidenced no shame, and said only: "I will be anything if it will make you release me."
Akama stared at her in awe and revulsion. After a moment he released her arm, and stepped backwards out of her reach. Fortunately, she did not try to harm or restrain him. Once she was no longer touching him he shook his head and sighed, readjusting his clothing. "Then it is you who are Lost and Broken," he said softly. "Not I."
Naxxramas
Ketala's mind might have been broken, but her will still held on by a thin thread. It would break, soon enough. The instant it did, the Scourge would have a new death knight. But it would take just a little longer to push her over that final edge.
Cheshire dabbed gently at her face, wiping off blood and grime. He cleaned the insides of of her empty eye-sockets and wiped gently over the burns and tear in her cheeks. She stirred slightly and her undead eyes focused on him, pinpoints of multicolored light.
He smiled from ear to ear. His mouth was impossibly wide and filled to the brim with sharp, needle-like teeth. "Good morning sunshine," he cooed, pushing matted hair out of her face. "How are you feeling?"
She said nothing, just staring at him. Her tear ducts had been damaged, but saline liquid oozed out of one of her eye sockets all the same. Tears. He smiled and dabbed them off her cheek.
"Not so good, eh? There, don't cry. Nothing's going to be alright, but crying certainly wont solve your problems."
More tears slithered down her cheek, and he dabbed them up as well
"There, there. I'm taking care of you. I don't mind that you're crazy."
Crazy. She was crazy, she supposed. It was the only adjective that could describe the utter chaos in her mind. The total devastation, disillusionment, nightmares, failure, hallucinations, hmm, yes, 'crazy'.
He leaned over her and touched his lips gently to her brow. Her eyes dimmed momentarily in response to the strange affection, and then looked at him again.
"Cheshire," she said hollowly, recalling the name from the depths of her cluttered subconscious. "Like the cat, from the story..."
His face brightened into one of his trademark grins, and he nodded. "Yes. I tend to your wounds every day. I'm not really a priest, but I've had some training in the discipline, and I've been able to develop some arcane spells for healing."
She nodded. That sounded familiar.
"Mograine visits too. I think he enjoys the opportunity to walk."
Mograine. Her eyes dimmed, and she looked off at nothing again, drowning in unpleasant memories.
"Oh, hey, hey! Don't do that, don't do that!" He shook her shoulder, and she temporarily resurfaced from the depths of her mind, looking at him uncertainly. "If you do that, this'll all take longer, and worse: I won't have anyone to talk to!"
She stared at him unblinking. He smiled, and stroked through her hair.
"I wont talk about things that upset you, then. Oh I'd almost forgot! I think you could use some fuel, so I brought you a little something to munch on." He began rummaging around in his robe for this 'something'.
Ketala stared at him, half expecting him to pull a human cadaver out from one of his pockets. To her surprise, he produced a pie. A real pie, a fruit pie by the looks of it, a pie still in its pie-dish, with strips of dough laid over top of it in a lattice.
"Tada! I baked it myself!" He smiled brightly at her, and held the pie in front of her face. When she did not respond, he cut off a small sliver for her, and brought it to her mouth. She was still a long moment before parting her lips and accepting the morsel.
There was definitely something unpleasant in that pie- probably meat scraps or blood, she couldn't tell which... But the primary ingredient was apples. He pushed another portion to her face, and she ate that as well. Cheshire smiled at this, and kissed her brow once more.
A small, maddened part of Ketala's remind, reflected that if she had this mage's silly antics to look forward to, damnation couldn't be as terrible as she had previously thought.
The Undercity
Sylvanas had used a mage to send a message to Jaina Proudmoore, and could only wait for the woman to respond. She could have sent any of her servants to perform this task, but had gone herself for a very calculated reason.
Varimathras and Nathanos would need to work together for the attack on Naxxramas to succeed. Sylvanas had to gage their reaction to one another, and determine what needed to be done before they could proceed. Needless to say, she was quite surprised to find both of them working in harmony, flipping through maps and tossing suggestions rapidly between one another.
This was promising. Apparently Nathanos wanted Ketala back more than he wanted to piss off Varimathras. She waited at the entrance to the room, not wanting to disturb the peace, and watched as they planned.
When they were finished, Nathanos turned around and gave Sylvanas an elegant bow, as if he had known she was there all along.
He probably had.
In any event, he smiled at her and started on his way out. "I best make sure my comrades have not been eaten by the elves yet. Shame how they all went crazy, hmm? I guess you got out lucky. You died before they became a bunch of corrupt, bloodthirsty parasites." He winked at her and then walked past. Sylavanas's eyes opened wide and her mouth contorted into a snarl. Nathanos had never behaved so out of line before!She reached down to her belt, and drew out a dagger, her whole body tensing, readying for battle.
Clawed hands closed around her own, and she looked up to find Varimathras standing beside her, shaking his head. "He's not worth it, milady. And he's useful to you. When this is over, he will remember where his loyalties lie." She snarled and shoved the demon away before stalking off to her quarters, emanating an aura of hatred and, dare he say it, despair.
Varimathras frowned lightly, but did not follow. He had no love for Nathanos Blightcaller... But he knew well that Naxxramas needed to fall. She knew that as well. And if Nathanos had defeated an Old God, if he had slain C'Thun... Then there was no one better-equipped for the task.
Naxxramas
Chesire nursed her back to health, not just physically but also emotionally. Each day she would bare the marks of her refusal to submit, and each day he would come and tend to them, soothing the pain and talking to her, comforting her in a way.
It had gotten to the point where she would wait for him to arrive, no longer huddled in the fetal position, but sitting upright, eager for a sign of him. He still had a spirit, a personality, and he seemed to care for her. That was more than anyone else could claim.
A horrible voice in the back of her head remembered what Kel'Thuzad had done to her, and implored her not to trust this mage. Another voice argued that Arthas would take him from her if she seemed to enjoy his presence too much. But another part, a far stronger part, needed to care for someone, something, and Cheshire was all there was. Every day she sat there, wondering if this time he would not come.
Every day he came in smiling, and tended to her. The mage would clean out her wounds and heal them, and wash out any area where rot was likely to form. He'd speak to her, asking her questions and talking about almost anything. Cheshire had a great gift for small-talk. He never even mentioned Naxxramas, Thaddius, Mograine, Arthus, Kel-Thuzad- none of those things. Rather, he spoke to her about cooking, small annoyances in the real world, innocent pet peeves, scenery, geography, and the general silliness of life and unlife in general.
Ketala watched him, and added small comments of her own. He was a tad unsettling, with his candied, often sarcastic demeanor, and his far too-optimistic outlook on her position, but he was company either way. She could even ignore the steel belts wrapped around his face, and the black oozed that leaked from between them, from where his eyes should have been.
At the moment he was sitting behind her and brushing her hair, carefully tidying her blue-black tresses. The amount of time and effort he spent on this task was staggering. Despite his best efforts, Ketala had lost most of her life-like characteristics, and her hair would fall out if he dared brush too firmly or quickly.
For some reason, the idea of her hair falling out upset Cheshire, and she didn't question him as to why. Cheshire rarely made much sense. He'd also neglected to heal her fingers from the various wounds they'd sustained. Instead, he'd filed the bones to points, so she sported a set of claws. Although she didn't find them nearly as exciting as he did, she decided not to comment.
After a moment, he stroked gently over her burn-streaked face, and he smiled. "You're so pretty," he said happily, like a child with an adorable pet cat. Ketala regarded him.
"How can you see me?" she inquired.
"Magic," he answered wryly, wiggling his fingers mysteriously in the air.
Ketala smiled. Just a bit, just a corner of her mouth twitching upward. It was more than enough for him, and he beamed happily and went back to brushing her hair. She was content to let him do so. It was comforting.
Heavy boots crunched against the cobblestone floor, descended down the staircase into her cell. Ketala blinked, and looked slowly towards the newcomer. Her whole body tensed as she saw who it was.
Mograine.
"You..." she whispered, standing immediately. Cheshire protested her movements and narrowly avoided yanking half her hair out. Ketala sported manacles and was chained, albeit loosely, to the wall. The metal links rattled over the ground behind her.
Mograine docked his head to the side, his hair shifting with his movements, a curious expression on his face. "Me?" he asked, intrigued by how she would respond.
Her eyes began to whirl hotter colors- yellows and oranges, even the occasional red. "You backstabbing, traitorous, spiteful monster..." she whispered, taking a slow step towards him, then another. She was a little unsteady on her feet.
Mograine smiled broadly, and gave a light bow. "Why, thank you. That was a charming compliment."
Ketala screamed, launching herself at him. The heavy chains were just long enough, stretched just far enough for her to reach. She slammed into him at full force, uncertain what she'd do after that but wanting, beyond anything else, to hurt him. To make him suffer, to make him pay for his deception, for tricking her, for causing her to fall, for losing her poor Thaddius...
She wanted him to suffer. Mograine grunted as she hit him, but stood his ground, unmoving. She screamed, tearing at his armor and clothes, at his skin. She was injuring him, drawing putrid blood with her sharpened fingers. He grimaced and winced but did nothing, watching her face, looking into her eyes. She shook, choked, shivered, screamed, and finally just collapsed, overwhelmed.
The ex-highlord blinked and caught her around the middle, holding her up and pressing her tightly against him, supporting her as she cried. He was cold- horribly cold- but someone was holding her. Coagulated blood oozed down his armor. The room was silent aside from her sobs.
"Y-you deceived me," she whimpered.
"I recall no such thing," the horseman responded, and he seized part of his ruined tabbard to wipe the tears from her face. She slapped his hand away and glared murderously up at him.
"You deceived me!"
"I told you to kill yourself," he corrected. "You chose this. Just as I told you that you would, just as I told you Arthas wanted. You don't listen very well, do you?"
"You turned against me! You kept me from Thaddius!" she screamed.
"As you knew I would. If Kel'Thuzad couldn't defy the Lich King for you, how could I?"
She bit her lip so hard that she drew blood, and started shivering violently. Kel'Thuzad. Her parent. Her parent who loved her and yet let himself hurt her child and kill the things she loved. Tears drizzled down from her empty eye sockets, coating her burnt cheeks. Sobs built up in her throat, followed by wails and gasps for air she did not need. She dissolved, her brain melted under the strain, and she sagged in his arms all while crying uncontrollably.
Mograine grunted and stopped trying to wipe the tears away. Instead he wrapped both arms around her, just holding her.
"Shh," he murmured softly. He even bounced her slightly- or jostled her at least- and rubbed her back. He'd been a father once, after all. It made sense that he should remember such actions, mundane as they might be. Ketala just cried more. "Shhh... Shh..."
The Undercity
Sylvanas leaned over her majordomo's shoulder, watching as he planned out strike teams and reviewed intelligence reports. He glanced briefly at her but then went back to his work. An order needed to be delivered to Hillsbrad, and he drew out some paper and began to write, his loping handwriting filling the page. She looked calmer now, with Nathanos gone and no one to insult or rile her up. Her interest seemed innocent enough.
Sylvanas smiled to herself, lifted a hand to one of his horns and rubbed gently over the base. He did not stop writing, but his eyes closed to slits, a reflection of his appreciation. He signed the order and looked at her, bemused.
Inwardly he winced at the haughtiness of his own expression. Humility never came easily to him. Throwing himself on Sylvanas's mercy had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. But, it had worked... and he did not want to spoil his good fortune.
"May I inquire as to the occasion?" he asked, trying to keep all humor and irritation out of his voice.
"There isn't one. But I am pleased to have you back, demon," she answered, as if he were a prized hunting dog. "I've decided I'm happy with how things turned out in Northrend."
He blinked uncertainly, turning to look completely at her. "Milady?"
"You wasted your chance at betrayal on a blind and unthinking whim, instead of spending the time to plan out something more thoughtful."
He could not help but grimace in disdain and annoyance, even as she leaned over and touched her chill lips to his brow. "That's not entirely true," he growled.
She smirked nastily. "How so?"
"I did, indeed, 'throw away' my chance at betrayal on Arthas's promises. But I had taken the time to plan out something more thoughtful."
Sylavanas grinned even more. "So you just threw a temper tantrum and took the shortest, easiest route? You had a whole plan ready, and you threw it all away on that?"
His eyes narrowed and his response was instantaneous: "I assure you, I will not make the same mistake again!"
She lifted a brow.
He bit his tongue, and shrunk back an inch. To one extent, his subservience made his skin scrawl. He, a Nathrezeim, subservient to this undead mortal! But another, far wiser part of him, knew well that his life rested on her mercy. And he had just spoken as if he intended to overthrow her in the near future.
Sylvanas was silent a long moment, before a wry smile twisted over her lips.
"Varimathras, Varimathras... For a demon, you are surprisingly easy to manipulate. It's very easy to get under your skin."
There was just something about that, something in the superior way she'd chosen to speak that brought out the worst in him. She had a certain power over him, coupled with a keen understanding of his moods and psyche. He lifted her eyes back to hers, a black scowl darkening his face, foul words bubbling up his throat, forming on the tip of his tongue. The fallen elf smiled further, and lowered her hands, resting them against the bases of his wings and pressing firmly. He grimaced, and then sighed as she started moving her hands in a circular fashion, in a massage. Foul words were left unspoken.
"Sylvanas," he murmured helplessly, at a loss for how to respond to any of this. "Please stop toying with me. I've had a rough year. Two years." She smiled blissfully, resting her cheek against against his spine, and rubbing firmly, soothingly, around the circumferences of his wing arms.
"But you're so fun to toy with, demon," she answered. "I'd have gone mad long before now had I not the ability to take my frustrations out on you."
He looked as if he had just swallowed something particularly unpleasant, but did not stop her. In light of this, she continued, running her fingers along the length of his wings, rubbing over the newly regenerated muscles and joints. They were already stiff and cramped from stress and disuse. Each shifted and fanned slightly at her touch, an instinctive gesture.
Pleasure mixed with disgust on Varimathras's face. He just hoped Sylvanas didn't arbitrarily try to stab him or something.
Why are you acting like this? He wondered, but did not dare to voice the question aloud. You seem so uncharacteristically happy- so far from the hollow spirit I saw just a few days ago. Is this an effect I have on you, or something else? You told me you did not care for me.
For once, it seemed she wasn't reading his mind. He sighed, and just enjoyed the affection while it lasted.
Sylvanas continued until he was practically nodding off, and then abruptly pulled back and turned to depart. He blinked and looked back at her, and then on a spur of the moment decision, reached out and grabbed her arm She paused and looked back at him, lifting a brow.
Varimathras stared at her a long moment before turning in his seat and lifting both his hands to her, pressing gently against the muscles around her shoulder blades. Her eyes brightened in surprise but she did not move, allowing him to rub and massage over her back, watching as he took great care not to scratch her with his talons. Every movement he made was careful, planned, deliberate. Demonic, really, but that was a less flattering adjective for a very pleasing attention.
His hands were considerably larger than hers, and her frame was considerably smaller. Furthermore, he had to move awkwardly, so as not to stab her with his fingernails. Even so, he did his best to return the affection, rubbing along her shoulder blades, shoulders, and spine.
Her eyes closed to slits.
He took that as a sign he had succeeded.
Theramore
When Jaina returned home, Thrall was with her, presumably to pick up Kallah. The two parents would generally trade her every other week, so she spent and equal time with each of them. Daelin wondered how this had worked when Kallah was a baby. Somehow, the thought of Thrall changing baby diapers amused him, and dissolved some of his hatred for the filthy orc.
Every time he saw the Warchief, he wanted to take his scimitar and run the orc through. He supposed that the feeling was mutual, but still. An orc. The enemy of his people. One of the monsters who had ravaged his homeland and destroyed all he stood for. Just standing in the same room as Thrall felt dirty, traitorous, disgusting.
But, at the same time, something compelled him to trust Jaina.
Maybe it was Kallah. She seemed to have a pacifying affect on him.
Speaking of which, the moment the two leaders walked in the door Jaina's chambers, the little girl has leapt to her feet and bolted up to them. Daelin blinked from where he was sitting on one of Jaina's couches.
"Daddy! Mommy! When I grow up, I want to be a pirate, like grandpa!"
A pirate-? Daelin slapped a hand over his face and groaned. A pirate, indeed.
Thrall blinked and looked baffled at the little girl. She was still wearing Daelin's hat, and had stolen her mother's rain boots and rain jacket to complete the slightly sailor-ish ensemble. A grin broke out over the orc's face, and he picked Kallah up and hoisted her over his head, laughing. "I see that! But what happened to being a shaman? Or a mage?"
"I will be all three!" the little girl proclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "I will be a Shamagerate!"
Thrall burst out laughing and held her close, and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly in return. Jaina grinned and came over to Daelin.
"Still alive?" she asked curiously.
He dropped his hand and looked up at her, leonine face forming a scowl. "Don't ever do that to me again," he answered grumpily.
She smiled broadly in return, and leaned over to hug him. He accepted the affection in a begrudging manner, and even managed to hug back. "Thank you, father," she murmured. "I really needed your help."
"Babysitting. Babysitting a half orc."
"Perhaps. But no one could have done it but you," she answered with filial affection. He huffed but accepted this consolation. She squeezed him gently, not minding his unnatural chill, and then pulled back and went up to Thrall, so they could co-spoil their little girl.
It was disgusting how she hovered so close to the green-skin leader, how she touched his arm and leaned into him in some gross mockery of love, leaned into his black plate- Orgrim's plate. Disgusting how he wrapped an arm around her and- right in front of Daelin- kissed her on the mouth, porcine beast that he was. Disgusting, the look of contentment on her face.
Daelin glowered blackly at them, his unnatural eyes blazing.
The two leaders pulled apart, and smiled momentarily at one another. "Ready to go, lambchomp?" the orc asked, giving Kallah a little bounce. "Or do you want to grab some toys first?"
"Toys!" the girl exclaimed excitedly, and Thrall chuckled and set her down. She hopped off to her room, obvious to Daelin's bloodthirsty glare, and quickly gathered up some of her things.
"Lambchop. A piece of meat," Jaina reflected jovially on his choice of pet name. She'd heard it plenty of times before, but it only just struck her as funny.
"Oh, and what pet name would you give her, pink-skin?" he asked teasingly. "Scallop? Shrimp? Oyster?"
Jaina laughed and gave him a shove. "Of course not!" she exclaimed. "Why would I name her after food? Typical orc, always thinking about your stomach!"
"Hey, I'm not the one with an outrageously large posterior. Somebody likes food a little more than she lets on."
"Why you-!"
"I'm ready!" Kallah cried gleefully, hopping out of her room with a bundle of toys in arm. "Um, and Mommy, Math went poopy in the bathroom again!"
"What? He's supposed to use his..." she broke off quickly, alarmed at how close she'd come to revealing that her Frostwolf had a litter box. "Well, I'll just clean that up, then," she continued quickly, and she hurried off to do so.
Suspicious of whatever Jaina had trailed off about, Thrall decided to follow.
Kallah smiled and then blinked and touched the hat she was wearing. "Oh!" She set her bundle down and then quickly turned and hopped back to Daelin, who was still glaring daggers at the room around him. Apparently she didn't notice the vile mood he was in, because she approached him without caution and offered his hat back to him.
His eyes shifted and settled on her for a moment, cold and sharp. He lifted a hand and jerked the hat from her fingers, and placed it on his head. Then without a word, he stood and stalked off, marching out into the tower hallways. Kallah blinked and watched him go, suddenly aware that he was upset. A part of her wished she could go find out. She frowned slightly and looked at the ground.
A thought occurred to her. Kallah perked up. Nobundo! The old shaman had arrived just a few days ago, but what if he wasn't there when Kallah came back? Worry scrunched up her face, and she realized she'd have to go say goodbye to him. The little girl backtracked to her door and peered inside. Her parents seemed to be occupied with Math's litter box. Surely they wouldn't miss her if she were gone for just a few minutes?
Determined to say goodbye to nice old Nobundo, just in case he had to leave and she never got to see him again, Kallah grabbed her cloak and rushed out the door to Jaina's rooms. Nobundo's room wasn't that far away- surely she could get there before her parents realized she was missing.
Nobundo knew that Kallah was coming, even before he heard the knock on his door. He smiled to himself, glad for the company. He stood up ponderously, stretching out his old joints. Kallah knocked again and he blinked. Was something urgent? In light of this, he shuffled quickly towards the door, and opened it.
"Nobundo!"
He was tackled by forty pounds of excited child. He grunted and tilted his head to the side, reaching down to pat Kallah's shoulder. "There there, child. What is it?"
Kallah jumped back from him. "Nobundo, I'm going to be leaving for a week, so I just wanted you to know in case you had to leave before then! And so you weren't wondering where I was! You aren't leaving, are you?"
Nobundo blinked and shook his head, fleshy tendrils shifting back and forward. "Likely not, child. I will be here for a few months, at minimum. But this is new. Where are you going?"
"I'm going to... to..." Daelin's words struck her at that moment, and she wasn't certain what to say. Did draenie dislike orcs? Daelin hadn't said anything about it, but she hypothesized that it was possible. What if Nobundo knew she belonged to a human and an orc? Would he get suspicious? Would he... would he hate her...?
The shaman was watching her curiously, aged blue eyes curious and soft. Kallah smiled at him from beneath her magically darkened hood. No. Nobundo would never hate her. He was nice, safe. "I'm going to live with my daddy for a week!" she said proudly. "I want you to meet him! Come, come, I'll show you!" She gleefully grabbed a hold of his hand and set off for Jaina's quarters.
Nobundo blinked at this sudden revelation, and to be honest was quite curious as to the identity of Kallah's father. At the same time, however, he felt this was a personal, family matter, and doubted that he should intrude.
"He knows about shammanism and stuff, like you! I want you to meet him, I think you'll like him!" If Nobundo had any doubts about meeting Kallah's father, they were dispelled with that statement. Someone certainly had been teaching Kallah shammanism- it was evident from how well she understood his lessons. Despite the personal nature of the issue, he was intrigued as to the identity of his pupil's other mentors.
After a brief internal debate, Nobundo let himself be tugged along, chuckling and smiling when she coaxed him to "hurry, hurry!"
Thrall was still grinning when he came back to Jaina's lobby. A litterbox. There was something hilarious in that. Still, it was the most practical solution, with the wolf living hundreds of feet in the air. He blinked when he saw no sign of Kallah, and then stooped over to pick up her things.
A shimmer of purple crystal glinted through her bundle. He blinked and paused, staring at the crystal a moment, before reaching inside the satchel and pulling it out. It was a fat, crystalline structure, shaped something like a rook. It had prongs at one end, and disembodied crystals that somehow stuck close to the main body. Although it was covered in runes thatThrall did not recognize, he could immediately sense the presence of spiritual energy.
This was a totem. His eyes widened in surprise and he stared at it for a long moment, marveling at the alien design. So strange and elegant compared to- "Daddy! Daddy!" His head jerked up at the sound of Kallah's voice. She was coming down the hall of the tower, which meant she had likely run off after Daelin or some such thing. Slightly concerned for her welfare, and intrigued by what he had just found, he headed quickly for Jaina's doorway and rounded it without a second thought.
"Kallah, what-"
The spirits did not warn Nobundo that something was wrong, so he was completely shocked by the sudden appearance of an orc. He was even more surprised to see this orc was wearing armor! Wearing... wearing...
The Broken Draenie's eyes went wide. He had never seen Thrall, had never met the orc leader or seen him depicted in any form. Given that, one would think he'd have no means by which to recognize the orcish warchief. But there were only so many people who could walk around wearing Orgrim Doomhammers' black plate. And Nobundo saw that dreaded armor every time he closed his eyes.
Thrall froze. Standing no more than three feet in front of him was... a... something. Although it looked strangely familiar, it was still bizarrely alien, gnarled and hunched, with a face that looked like it was made of melted wax. The second their gazes met, the something froze as well, eyes widening in surprise and alarm. Kallah was holding one of its gnarled hands in her own, and she laughed, lifting her other hand to touch Thrall's. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "This is my friend, Nobundo! He's a shaman, like you!"
Nobundo's eyes flicked down to Kallah, and then back to the orc's in an instant.
Daddy?
Oh shit. He stepped backwards involuntarily, clutching his staff till his knuckles were white and bringing a hand to his chest. Kallah felt him pulling away and looked back at him, surprised by his reaction. "Nobundo?" She glanced between the two shaman, and was immediately alarmed by their stunned faces. She winced, and realized she should have paid more attention to what her grandfather had said. But as she looked between them, she realized that there was a marked difference in expression. Thrall looked surprised and curious.
Nobundo looked frightened. "Nobundo?" she asked again, taking a step back towards the aged draenie. His eyes darted down to her, and he took another step backwards. Kallah's brow furrowed in concern and bewilderment. Nobundo couldn't be afraid of her... could he? "Are... are you okay?" she asked, stepping towards him again and touching his arm. He winced but did not move, letting her near to him as he looked back to the intimidating orc.
Kallah was just a child after all. She wasn't a part of his nightmares, she was innocent, carefree... She was just a child, even if she was also... also... Even if this orc was her parent.
Thrall overcame his initial surprise first and coughed slightly. He supposed he shouldn't have rushed out of Jaina's room so quickly. "My apologies for staring, you just... surprised me." Nobundo didn't move. Actually, the other shaman looked- in Thrall's opinion- like a deer that he just seen an approaching mountain lion.
Was he a member of the Alliance, then? But he looked nothing like a human, nightelf, dwarf, gnome, or... or...
Oh shit. Draenie?
OMIGODZ, THE MUTTON CHOPS! THE EYEBROWS! THE CHESTPLATE THAT LOOKS LIKE A BRA! HE LOOKS LIKE A BADLY GROOMED HIPPIE CLOWN! AAAHHH!
Let's see, I want to poll all you guys. Who agrees with me that Varimathras's new appearance is the single gosh-darn UGLIEST, most REPULSIVE, most STUPIDEST (yes, I know that is grammatically incorect) thing they have ever seen? Who else thought his in-game betrayal of the undercity was a little too cliche, and silly? Who else saw it comming from a mile away, and wondered how Sylvanas was caught so off guard? Who else wonders where Varimathras got those muttonchops if Nathreziem lack hair? Hmmm...
BADLY GROOMED HIPPIE CLOWN!!!
Needless to say, Varimathras's sudden conversion to a hippie clown shall be left out of this story. You will, however, be amazed by my ability to nail the Undercity event within 9/10ths of the lore.
YARG!!! REVIEW IF YOU LOVE ME!