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Hope and Damnation
Nagrand
Nagrand - orcish for "Land of Winds" - was formerly the homeland of the Frostwolf clan, and the meeting grounds of the orcish people, where the Kosh'harg celebrations were held twice every year. The clans would assemble at the base of their sacred mountain, Oshu'gun, and give thanks to the spirits.
The spirits had never explained what they indeed Ember to do or learn in Nagrand, but they had been very insistent upon her traveling to that local. Now that they had finally reached Nagrand, Zul'vii was dreaming up ideas for why they had came.
Nagrand was a fairly safe place- at least compared to the rest of Outland. It was green and fertile- much like Azeroth, in fact. There was a sense of reverence and peace in the air, and the battered remnants of old orc and draenei tribes strove to eck out a living for themselves.
Zul'vii took in a deep breath, enjoying the clean air.
"The spirits say that they are going to find me a teacher here," Ember said slowly. "A few teachers. They say the people are most in tune with the earth, and they'll be able to teach me to hold on to my name, even in places like Shadowmoon. They'll make me stronger so I can help my uncle."
Zul'vii blinked, and looked curiously at the little girl.
"They also want me to go there, but later," the possessed child continued, lifting a finger to point at a glistening white mountain in the distance. Oshu'gun. The largest diamond in the known universe. Zul'vii felt it looked like a large puff of whipped cream, but she wasn't about to tell anyone that. The spirits might have been listening, after all.
The half-troll grunted, and patted Ember's head. "You trust them?" she inquired. "This is their homeland. They could be doing this for themselves."
Ember pondered. The fact that Ember could ponder anything was a new development. She owed the spirits for that- for keeping her mind free of Archimonde's influence, for holding the waves of Nature back. "I think they have their own desires... But I think I can trust them to help me. I feel something strange here. Bad and yet good... Maybe it will help me."
Zul'vii nodded and stretched. "Alright then, kid. You lead the way. I'm just your guardian angel," she added with a wink.
The little girl blinked and smiled up at her guardian. "You're a good angel, Zul'vii."
"'Ey mon, between you and Illidan, I've got lots of experience. Ah, I'm going to stand out among these people like a sore thumb. Well, at least the Blood Elves are now on the Horde side, eh? You think I could pass for a night elf?"
"No. You're not purple enough, and you have tusks," Ember observed
"Right. Maybe a bit of voodoo magic, then. I've got a feeling some of your teachers aren't going to be horde, and it's hard enough to sneak you into orc outposts."
"Voo-doo?"
"Ya! Ancient troll magic, girl. I've been usin some to help us get through our long quest. Find it funny we took so long to get to Outland, only for your father to wind up right on our tail, though."
"We don't have tails..." Ember noted in bewilderment. "Except for Nana. But we didn't have her then."
Zul'vii laughed and ruffled Ember's wild hair. "It be an expression, girl!"
"Oh. Zul'vii? Why does your accent turn on and off?"
"Because I'm lazy, mon. One day I decide to be island troll, the next I'm forest troll, the next I'm elf. Too lazy to correct myself. But... If you want, milady, I can be prim and proper at all times, with fully coherent grammar and an archaic, run-on sentence style. I can also refrain from dropping my 'g's, and would have little problem fully conjugating the verb 'be'."
Ember gave her a funny look. "I have no idea what you just said."
Zul'vii laughed.
Naxxramas
Ketala despaired. She sank into herself again, cutting out all inside influence, broken and ashamed of her brokenness. Even Cheshire could not rouse her- could not get her to eat, could not get her to speak to him or respond to his touch. The next time Mograine tried to visit, he glared reproachfully at the horseman.
"You broke her," the mage scolded.
"I did," Mograine agreed, and his tone implied that he had intended to do so.
Cheshire scowled even more. "The Master's torturers were doing that fast enough. "
"No. They weren't," he replied flatly, his eyes focusing on the regressed ex-paladin. The mage seemed irritated by this answer, and he evidenced this feeling by pouting.
"I have to say I'm not impressed by your methodology. Now I have no one to talk to again."
"Silence, fool," the horseman ordered dismissively, reaching over to touch the girl's chin.
Cheshire growled and shoved the ex-highlord away. "Don't you dare touch her, deathknight. She doesn't deserve to be touched by something as rotten as you."
Mograine eyed Cheshire, one madman sizing up another. He decided not to run the unsettling mage through. If he did care about Ketala, even just for company's sake, then he was more useful than he seemed at first glance. "She is already as damned as any of us. Besides, don't you want me to fix her?"
Cheshire blinked and eyed the horseman uncertainly. After a long moment, he nodded. "Fine. I guess you can't make her any worse than she already is."
Mograine smiled to himself and knelt down before Ketala. He pushed aside her hair, and leaned in close to her cheek. "Ketala," he murmured softly. She didn't stir. "Thaddius needs you." This got a rise out of her- finally- after weeks of her sitting dormant in her cell. She turned her eyes to him, her brows furrowing in hatred and pain.
"Thaddius is dead," she snapped hollowly.
Mograine smiled. "And what do we do with dead people around here, Ketala?"
For a long moment, she just glared at him. Then her glare faded.
"You brought him back as an undead?"
Mograine smiled. "I doubt he'll recognize you... But some of him can be recovered. Don't you think?"
"...What's the catch?"
The death knight smiled and gently patted her head. "You don't get to see him till you're fully in the Lich King's service. But I thought it would make you happy to know that he isn't gone forever. Try to stay conscious, dear Ketala; you're upsetting your only friend. And he's wasting a lot of very good pie."
Mograine stood then, turned around, and walked quietly out of the cell. Ketala watched him silently, and then turned her gaze to Cheshire.
He was watching her with concern- at least she felt it was concern. With his leery, carnivorous mouth, it was often hard to tell.
She turned her head to the side, and said nothing.
Vaiden...
Vaiden-vaiden-vaiden-vaiden-
Vaiden was sleeping. Over Quel'Thalas, mounted on a Forsaken Bat and heading straight for Silvermoon, he twitched in Zeliek's arms. The paladin frowned and held the child a little closer. Since their brief stop at Light's Hope Chapel, the little boy hadn't looked particularly well. He hoped it didn't have to do with Ketala.
The Black Temple
Illidan had collapsed upon his bed, and it sagged beneath his massive weight. His wings were sprawled off the sides, and his regenerated horns brushed against the backboard. He was asleep, and his eyes had ceased their dreadful glowing. Furthermore, he was dreaming, and twitched frightfully at whatever visions he was seeing.
Monster... Betrayer... Demon... Murderer...
"Uncle!"
Green flame poured out in a flash from where his eyes should have been, and he took a sharp breath. Ember's voice echoed to him from the depths of his conscious and the pit of his dreams, rebounding around him like the voice of a ghost. He shuddered violently, and his violet lips twisted in shame.
Something interrupted his angst. Pinned beneath his hips and abdomen, a blood elf female moaned. He had used her viciously the night before, trying to sate his anguish by forcing it on to her, by tearing her apart. She lay there, spent, broken, crushed under his weight.
He grimaced at her noises, having sincerely hoped that she had suffocated. With a sigh he rolled casually off of her and then reached down, grabbed her throat, and effortlessly snapped her neck. There was blood on her face, and it came off on him. He lifted his hand and regarded the bright red droplets for a moment, before unceremoniously kicking her ruined corpse off of his bed.
I am a monster, he reflected. What more did I expect?
"Uncle!"
He sat bolt upright, his lips parted in surprise and his eyes flaming brightly. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then took in a slow breath. "Ember?"he asked softly, looking around his bed chamber. The voice had been physical- not mental.
"Uncle!" was the only response he received, in the same tone of voice as the 'uncle' before it. His ears twitched and he looked up towards the sound. A translucent, green bird was sitting in his window. It looked very much like a parrot, and was sitting upon a scroll of parchment. "Uncle!" it exclaimed again, proclaimed the intended recipient of the letter
Illidan stared at it a brief moment and then scrambled out of the bed. He fell off the side in his haste, banging his chin against the ground, and then scrambled up to the green bird. The strange animal just hopped off of the scroll and waited there patiently. Illidan seized the soggy parchment and carefully began to unravel it, his fingers shaking slightly in anticipation.
The handwriting was crude and childish, and much of the ink had been smudged. Still, there it was, in black and white- the proof that he was not yet damned.
"Dear Uncle Illidan,
I miss you a lot and wish I was with you! I'm safe. I have a friend named Zulvii. She was taking me to visit you but we are taking a side trip. She says she is your friend too. I met some spirits who are helping me fight against my inside demon. They help but I would rather be with you. They promised I would get to visit you by the end of the year and so did Zulvii. I love you and I miss you a lot.
Love, Ember.
By the way Zulvii helped me spell stuff."
Illidan's hands shook, his stomach and heart contracting and his lungs shriveling up within his chest. She was alive. Ember was alive. He hadn't killed her. She was alive. He'd attacked her, and she didn't even blame him. Tears formed in his left tear duct- his working tear duct- and trailed down his face.
Illidan slipped to his knees, drawing the tattered letter lovingly to his chest and wrapping his wings about himself, shutting out the world. Ember. The child that should have been his. His niece. And Zul'vii…
Zul'vii… Illidan had told the half-troll he loved her.
But he loved Tyrande.
It didn't matter; they were alive, they were coming to him, and that was all that counted.
"Ember," he murmured softly, a great weight lifted from his shoulders.
"Ember!" yelled the translucent green parrot, and Illidan nearly jumped out of his skin. He jerked his head up and stared at the creature, which fidgeted and then yelled again: "Ember!"
Illidan stared at it for a moment, and then he climbed to his feet and quickly staggered over to one of his bedside tables. He rummaged through its drawers, tossing aside magic items and scrolls before at last coming across a blank piece of parchment. When he couldn't find a pen or inkwell, he conjured both of them, and quickly wrote out a return letter.
"My Dearest Niece,
I am glad to hear you are well, and I apologize for what happened last time you saw me. I was not myself. Zul'vii is a close friend of mine, and I know she'll keep you safe. These spirit friends you've met seem very wise, and it's good that someone's helping you against Archimonde. While you're on your detour, I'll try and fix things up so you'll be safe here. Even so, please send me a letter when you reach Shadowmoon, as I'd like to bring you here myself. I love you, little Ember. Please stay safe, and know that you can write to me whenever you wish.
Love, Your Uncle
PS: And no, 'uncle' is not a silly word."
Illidan shivered and sat down on his bed. He eyed the parrot, and then carefully rolled up his letter and closed it with a bit of wax from a bedside candle. He wanted badly to follow the magical bird, but if Ember was hidden from his senses, then someone was trying to protect her…
And the more he thought about it, the more he realized they were right to shield her from him. That was the thing, about Ember, he supposed. It was easier for him to be unselfish when she was involved. It was easier for him to admit when he was flawed. He pitied her, loved her, and knew he had to do the right thing for her.
The right thing was to allow her to go on her little detour to Nagrand. The right thing was to keep her away- at least until he could straighten his mind out again. At the very least, he needed to stop hearing voices.
Illidan took in a deep breath, and stood up. He stepped up to the green parrot, and offered it the scroll. It daintily plucked the letter from his hand. Then it took off into the steadily brightening sky, and vanished into the emerald dream. He neither cast a spell nor took wing after it. Ember was safe with Zul'vii. Now he needed to make it so she'd be safe with him.
Illidan grimaced and turned, hurrying out of his room.
Safe with him.
He remembered the taste of Archimonde's demonic energy, wafting from Ember's being. His throat grew dry, and his green eyes blazed a little brighter. What would it be like to feast off a demon lord? Perhaps he could use Ember, siphon her energy so that he could stand against Kil'jaeden! He could rid the world of the deceiver, once and for all, could- could...
Drain Ember?!
Illidan froze, his eyes widening.
By Elune, he was stalk raving mad. Ten seconds after he found out Ember was alive, he was planning to eat her.
He covered his mouth and slumped against the doorway of his room, a horrible, cold sensation welling up through his stomach. What the nether was wrong with him? Was he that insane? That lost?He'd just considered devouring Ember! Not only considered it- but imagined how sweet it would taste, planned how he'd use it again hist enemies-
But then she was such a powerful wellspring of power... And she was only one, insignificant girl- the prized child of his disgusting brother, no less. One child for the power to defeat the burning legion, to take all of Outland, to destroy Kil'jaden.
NO! That is my niece, my child, MY Ember, and her safety is not to be compromised!
Did I not steal the skull of Guldan to save my people? Did I not use the dreaded eye of Sargaras to try and destroy Arthas, once and for all? Both time I was doing a noble task, and both times I was halted by the morality of others. Now I have all of Archimonde's power at my disposal. He is helpless, contained within he body. It would take nothing more then a thought to destroy him, to take all his power, to use it-
None of his minions could help him. Kael was growing more and more... deceptive. Vashj was cunning, looking for any opportunity to destroy. The Satyrs would claim his madness was the correct path to follow. He was going to lose it. There in that dismal palace, every good thing he'd ever done was withering away.
He would hurt Ember. He would kill Ember!
He slipped to the ground, staring vacantly at his worn hooves, studying his clawed fingers.
He'd hurt Ember? That was impossible. He would never do such a thing.
Well, unless...
Never.
He scowled, disgusted by his sudden inability to keep his convictions straight. Why was this so difficult? How could he not remember his niece and what she meant to him? How could he even think of harming her?
Because power is more important to you than anything else. You are sick with it.
He shuddered, baring his teeth. Very well, if that was the case, he was a sorcerer. A mage. He knew how to meditate, to enforce mental discipline upon himself. He grimaced and folded his recurved legs, closing his green eyes and lowering his head.
He would not hurt her. Could not.
But I'm hungry, so hungry... Should drain a demon first, gather strength for...
No. This was for Ember. Ember.
Just focus on Ember.
He breathed in slowly, pushing out all other thoughts- forcing them out if they refused to leave willingly. He would never hurt her.
Ember.
Theramore
Kallah looked baffled as her father's expression changed to match Nobundo's, almost... almost spooked. She frowned and looked between the both of them, not understanding.
Thrall took an uncertain step backwards, his brow furrowing slightly. Then he looked down at the totem still clasped in his hand. It was crystalline... And Jaina had said the Exodar had been a ship forged of crystal. He hesitated a moment and then lifted the object up, showing it to the draenei.
"Did you give her this?"
Nobundo looked at the object and nodded. Thrall offered a tentative smile, trying not to show much tusk.
"... Thank you. I'd been meaning to make one myself, but hadn't the time... It's an earth totem, is it not?"
The aged draenei tilted his head to the side, almost as if examining the warchief from a new angle. After a long moment, he finally regained control of his throat. "It is," he said slowly, and his voice sounded as tortured as his body looked.
"It's... It's very different from what my people make, but its still quite recognizable. It is only a focus for earth, after all.."
Nobundo could only nod mutely. Kallah blinked and smiled at the totem. "Nobundo was giving me lessons!" she told her father. "He taught me how to use the totem and everything!"
Thrall recorded this fact for his later attention but for now he needed to do something to ease the tension in that hallway. "She... is a talented student, is she not?"
Nobundo shifted. "Exceptionally so," he answered after a moment. He paused, and then went on to address another subject. "Lady Proudmoore had mentioned her affiliation with the orc warchief. She even said he had taught her to dabble in shammanism."
Thrall nodded. "Culture exchange." Nobundo glanced down at Kallah, and then back to Thrall. It almost seemed as if he was saying 'Huh. Culture exchange. That all?' The orc warchief grimaced. "A result of our friendship," he said slowly, and it was not clear whether he referenced the culture exchange, or Kallah herself.
The explanation seemed to placate Nobundo, however, and he eyed the orc curiously. Thrall was not at all what he had expected. The orc leader was soft-spoken, and looked embarrassed- perhaps even a little ashamed.
"You are... a draenei?" the orc asked slowly, hoping not to offend. He had never seen a draenei up close before, and could only rely on verbal descriptions. Draenei rarely came to the barrens, and had not been involved in Silithus.
"A Broken draenei," Nobundo corrected. "Corrupted by the demonic taint of the orcs when they ravaged my homeland."
"...I... I'm sorry. I cannot express the depths of my grief for what my people once were. There is no excuse for our sins. We drank the blood of demons willingly, corrupting our spirits for the strength to destroy. There is no honor in that- just filthy shame. But... now... all we can do is put that twisted history behind us, and push onward... And try to atone for what we have done."
Nobundo stared at the orc warchieftain, amazed by the eloquent and humble words that issued forth from his mouth. This was no Ner'zhul, no Guldan, no Blackhand or Doomhammer. The orc was taller than Nobundo, far more massive, and garbed in Orgrim's Black plate...
But the words he used were words of peace.
Nobundo closed his eyes momentarily, feeling the wind as it trickled in through the tower's stones and timbers, through open windows and gaping doors. The spirits were strong around him, wrapping around the young orc and murmuring their blessings. Here is honor, the told him. Here is justice. When he opened his eyes again, Nobundo smiled.
"You speak like Durotan," he said softly. Thrall stiffened.
"You know, it serves me right," Thrall blinked and turned around to see Jaina standing outside her corners, shaking her head. "There was no way I could keep two powerful shaman in one building without one sensing the other anyway. This wasn't quite how I hoped you'd two meet, however." She looked apologetically at the draenei shaman.
Nobundo looked to the woman, and Thrall tried to gage the Broken's response. Would the draenei be disgusted? Would he feel betrayed? Would-
Nobundo smiled weakly in amusement. "Miss Proudmoore. You are late."
Jaina blinked and gave the draenei a big grin, stress and worry sloughing immediately off her shoulders. "Nobundo, you are so my new best friend."
"What?" Thrall exclaimed, as if hurt.
"Oh, right! Nobundo, you are so my new best friend- next to this oaf here, that is." And she gave the orc a friendly shove. So innocent was their banter that Nobundo couldn't help but smile a little more. Surely a relationship so innocent could not be a sign of traitorous intent? He would have to ask Velen. But the spirits told him that this was sanctioned, and little Kallah, so obviously blessed by the elements, could not be a fluke. Even so... the sight of that armor...
This was not how he expected to meet the warchief of the orcish Horde.
There was something liberating about that, as if a great weight on his soul had been lifted. Perhaps, if this was what Thrall was truly like, there was hope for the green-skinned race after all. He was still shaken... still suspicious... But perhaps there was hope. Perhaps.
Kallah giggled at her parents antics, and smiled happily up at Nobundo. Although he could not see her face, he imagined cyan eyes and green skin. One thing was certain: He would not tell anyone about Kallah. This child was innocent of her ancestors' sins.
"We should get inside my quarters," Jaina said after a moment. "We could be overheard out here, and Thrall's appearance still rouses suspicion. I will explain everything Nobundo... and I am sorry I did not warn you that he would be here."
Silvermoon
"Stay close Vaiden," Zeliek said sternly to the little boy as he began sifting through the various items available at the Silvermoon bazaar. They had many long days ahead of them, and the undead did not want to face them unprepared. Tirion Fordring had not been stationed at Light's Hope Chapel, but was believed to be wandering around Quel'Thalas. If Zeliek was exceptionally fortunate, he might be able to find the old paladin. If not, Tirion would have already headed back for Light's Hope, and Zeliek would have to pursue.
Either way, the journey would be long and tedious. Vaiden would require food, water, and clothing, among many things. Zeliek himself was pondering over the idea of buying a shield.
Vaiden tried to do as the paladin had bade him, and remain close. When he found something interesting, like a particularly yummy smelling food, he'd bring it up to Zeliek to see if his guardian would buy it. But as curiosity got the better of the little boy, he began wandering father and father away. Until recently, he had never left Kel'Thuzad's throne room, and so was he eager to investigate everything he came across.
The world was so much bigger than he had thought!
Vaiden was looking inquisitively through a crate full of strange purple fruits when he first saw it. It glided past him silently, a brown cloak fluttering in tandem with its movements. Its steps were quick but soundless, in the way only a highly trained elf's could be. As it slipped by him, he could feel the change in the air, a slight shift in pressure and a lingering chill on the breeze.
Vaiden lifted his head and quickly turned towards it, watching it as it flowed effortlessly through the crowd. It came to rest at a blacksmith shop, and set something down upon the smithy's counter. The little boy blinked and looked down again. He eyed his doll tentatively a moment before his childish curiosity overwhelmed him. Without pausing to consider his actions- for really, what child ever considers their actions?- he turned and headed up to the smithy.
He slowly came up behind the thing. The noises of the bazaar were overpowering, blocking out all else, so the boy drew closer and closer, wanting to find out the purpose of this curious store.
A voice caught his ear, hoarse and effectual, seeping out over the din. A human voice, rough around the edges.
Vaiden's eyes widened. He knew that voice. Knew it as well as he had ever known anything, as well as the sound and smell of his missing mother. He knew it keenly, intrinsically, with every bone in his body. The boy bolted forward, directly up to the cloaked thing, letting the sound of the voice- its voice- roll over him. Excitement mounting, Vaiden flitted to its side and reached up, past the cloak. His fingers came to rest on the cold metal blade of a jagged axe.
Nathanos's hand moved the second he detected thieving little hands near his axe. His fingers latched around a tiny wrist, and he looked down with malevolent irritation at the small child he had caught. The little one blinked and turned surprised eyes up to the ranger's face. Nathanos was halfway through wondering if anyone would mind should he decide to hack the kid's hands off. All thought ceased when he saw those eyes. His whole body stiffed and he did an immediate double-take.
Whirling, multi-chromatic eyes peered up at him. He lifted a brow and turned fully towards the child, taking stock of its gray flesh and lukewarm temperature. Was this… thing created from the same stock as Ketala? And if so, what was it doing in Silvermoon?
"Vaiden!" a voice called through the crowd. The boy blinked and looked towards the sound. Seconds later, a white clad paladin forced his way through the people nearby. Nathanos released the child's arm and stepped back, watching as the paladin approached the blacksmith booth.
Hmm. Paladins. Whirling eyes. Undead children. This was all very peculiar, and scented vaguely of deja vu.
"Vaiden!" Zeliek gasped, coming up and kneeling before the little boy. "I told you not to wander off! What did you think you were doing?" He examined the child thoroughly making sure the boy was still in one piece. Then he pulled back. Vaiden's expression was very peculiar, but Zeliek couldn't even begin to fathom what it meant. After a moment, he looked up to the cloaked ranger and sighed lightly. "I'm sorry; he is just a child and does not know any better. Come now, Vaiden, we have shopping to do." With that, he reached down and attempted to take the little boy's hand. Much to his surprise, Vaiden evaded his grasp.
Nathanos eyed the two and then concentrated on the paladin, taking note of his white skin and low body temperature. The ranger grimaced at the notion that the world had just manifested another undead paladin. For a moment, he contemplated just turning and walking away… But it occurred to him that this paladin might have valuable information concerning Ketala.
Although it was against his better judgment, Nathanos decided to speak.
"You know Ketala Truae," he observed pointedly.
Zeliek blinked at the words and lifted his eyes to the cloaked being. The voice had been humanoid but dry. The more Zeliek stared at the man, the more he recognized the chill that emanated from the his person. In this manner, he came to realize that the cloaked being was a Forsaken. He sent a silent prayer to the Light for protecting Vaiden from such a creature.
"How do you know that?" Zeliek inquired slowly.
The Forsaken shrugged. "There are only so many undead paladins in the world, and all are somehow associated with her."
Zeliek frowned at the words, looked to Vaiden, and then looked in sudden understanding back at the Forsaken. Over the undead's back was strapped a beautiful bow of elfin make, with elegant runes and patterns etched on its surface. Tied to his waist were two jagged axes, distinctive and unforgettable in shape and make. Zeliek slowly stood from his kneeling position, brows furrowed.
"Nathanos Blightcaller?" he asked.
The Ranger Lord chuckled and applauded. "There we go. I was waiting to see if I'd be recognized. Now, who are you, how do you know Ketala, what do you have to tell me, and- out of simple curiosity- what the Nether is that?" he inquired, gesturing to Vaiden.
Zeliek was still a bit stunned at finding the undead ranger so suddenly and in so strange a place. "I… I am Sir Zeliek," he said slowly. "I was forced to serve as a deathknight under the Lich King… Although he owned my body, my spirit did not succumb-"
"Yes, yes, definitely sounds like a friend of Ketala. So she took pity on you and fought the vile forces of the flying ziggurat, and helped you flee."
Zeliek blinked, fumbling for words. "Err, yes… She asked me to bring Vaiden," he gestured to the boy in question as he spoke, "safely from Naxxramas… And she asked me to find out what happened to you."
"To me?" Nathanos asked in feigned surprise. "Why, nothing's happened to me. What would make her think that something had?"
The undead paladin frowned. "She… believed that you'd try and free her…"
"Yes, well, Ketala believes many strange things, now doesn't she?" the ranger asked, a grin forming over his partially hidden face. Zeliek's eyes narrowed. Nathanos smiled even more, enjoying the paladin's arrogant disdain. If his senses spoke the truth, than this white-clad knight cared very much for Ketala and did not enjoy hearing her mocked. The ranger looked casually to the boy at 'Sir Zeliek's' side.
"And what is he?" the Ranger Lord asked languidly.
This time, it was Zeliek's turn to upset his adversary. "Your son," he said flatly, hoping to shock the ranger. He obviously did not know Nathanos very well. Comments designed to shock Nathanos Blightcaller bounced harmlessly off the ranger's armor leaving nary a scratch.
Or, at least… they usually did.
All mirth left the ranger's face. He lifted his head and stared quietly at Zeliek. What the paladin could see of his expression was blank- but then Zeliek could not see Nathanos's eyes. He had not the senses to detect the slight balance adjustment in the Forsaken's stance that signified a slight jab of vertigo, nor could he perceive how his body tensed dramatically, every hair standing on end. Had Ras or Ketala been there, they would have easily been able to translate the ranger's pose into a palpable question, something along the lines of:
'What?'
But neither Ras nor Ketala was present. The ranger quickly gathered his thoughts, and his response was snide and rational. "Really? Tell me, Zulock was it? Has it escaped your notice that I am, in fact, dead?"
"No-"
"Has it escaped your notice that Ketala is dead?" Nathanos interrupted calmly.
"… No."
"Then how, Sir. Zulock, do you presume two dead people could possibly create a child?"
"I don't know-"
"Then how do you suppose this child is mine?"
Vaiden frowned, his brows drawing together in confusion at his father's- and it was his father's- sharp tone. When Ketala had told him stories, Vaiden had heard and seen the things she described as clearly as if he'd been there himself. He knew Nathanos's voice- knew it as well as he knew Ketala's. He knew his father's face, his weapon, his voice, even his smell. And now at last, Vaiden had found him, had met his parent for the first time in his entire life.
And… And Nathanos didn't want him?
Oblivious to Vaiden's thoughts, Zeliek took in an unnecessary breath, drawing on Ketala's stories to determine how to deal with the ranger. "Did you sleep with her?" he finally asked.
"Surely as one of the undead, you must know we do not really sleep," Nathanos continued conversationally, a nasty smile on his face.
"We can enough that we might dream, but you know well that "sleep" is not what I referenced."
"Oh? Do tell," the ranger coaxed sardonically.
Ordinarily, the conversation would have made Zeliek blush, but he felt he needed to be blunt. "Did you have sex with her?" he asked flatly.
Nathanos didn't blink, just smirking. "I hardly see how that's your business," he answered frankly. Such was his charisma and his ability to lead conversations in circles, that he could dilute the truth to the point where not even he could recognize it. This particular habit of the ranger's was in fact Jaina Proudmoore's reason for approaching him so indirectly about teleportation to the Undercity. Zeliek, unfortunately, was not possessing of the sorceress's wit.
"You asked me to prove-"
"Wrong!" Nathanos answered dismissively. "I did not ask you to do anything. He is not mine."
Vaiden winced and lowered his head. Sorely hurt, he wandered some distance from the two men and had plopped down to cradle his doll. He stroked over its soft black hair and against its silk clothes. The boy sighed inwardly and then drew the little doll up to his face and rubbed his cheek against it. His mother's scent wafted to him from the doll, and for a moment he was content.
"Hey!" came a voice near the boy.
Vaiden ignored it.
"Hey!" the voice sounded closer. Vaiden blinked and opened his eyes. Standing near him was a young blood elf with her hair dyed a bright red. She had an eager expression on her face, and was eyeing the doll he carried greedily. "I want that doll!" she said.
The grown-ups were still arguing. "You know Ketala exhibited many signs of life-" Zeliek protested.
"Oh please," the ranger scoffed. "Even if the child was Ketala's, that hardly makes him mine."
Some distance from them, Vaiden frowned at the elf girl and shook his head. She gasped and her eyes narrowed in anger. "I want that doll!" she yelled, and she pounced on him, grabbing at the doll and pinching him. Surprised, Vaiden did the only logical thing to do; he bit her. Immediately the girl's eyes went wide and she let go and jumped backwards, screaming. "He took my doll!" she wailed. "That monster, he took my doll and he bit me! He took it and he BIT me!" she screamed.
Zeliek blinked at Nathanos's insinuations and his eyes narrowed. "How many people do you think she's lain with?"
"Considering how undead swarm around her? Frankly, you do seem her type…" The poor paladin's eyes widened. "As long as we're talking about physical impossibilities, that is…"
Vaiden blinked at the girl, confused by the falsehoods she was shouting. Much to his surprise, a full grown blood elf adult approached the little girl. The elf was wearing brilliant gold and red armor, and he carried a great warhammer in his hand. He listened to her cries for a moment, examined her wound, and then turned vicious eyes on Vaiden.
"You disgusting rat! You come into our city, steal from one of our children, and dare to harm her for it? You are lucky I do not tear you to pieces with Light!" the elf cried.
Poor Vaiden was so utterly confused. The adult elf stalked up to him, knelt down, and swiped Vaiden's little doll right out of his hands. He then kicked the undead child sharply in the ribs, and turned to give the doll to the little blood elf girl.
Vaiden did not cry out simply because he was mute. Pain shot up his side, and he stared in horror as his doll was taken away. The older elf was going back to the little girl, was kneeling down, was offering the doll to her.
Vaiden's doll. The only thing he had left to remember his mother…
Zeliek took in a breath to steady himself before answering the Ranger. "Both Ketala and I have black hair," he countered. "Vaiden has brown."
"Traits often show up down the genetic line. Ketala's father has brown hair."
Vaiden's eyes narrowed, slowly turning red and orange. He lifted a hand towards the paladin, towards his doll.
At last, Zeliek couldn't take it any more, and burst out with, "He looks JUST like you!"
The ensuing explosion put a quick end to their argument.
It sent the blood elf paladin flying thirty yards. He crashed bodily into an orphanage, which caught fire and began to burn. The doll lay on the ground where the elf had been standing, completely untouched. A foot away, a little blood elf girl stood very still, her eyes wide and mouth gaping.
Nathanos and Zelik twisted around stared at the scene, both caught off guard by the thunderous disturbance. Zeliek's jaw dropped, and his eyes opened wide. The Ranger Lord just docked his head to the side.
Oblivious to the havoc he had wrought, little Vaiden just tottered over to his doll, plopped down, scooped it up, and nuzzled against it happily. Chaose ensued around him as elves ran frantically back and forward, trying to rescue the orphanage children and put out the mounting flames.
After a moment of contemplation, Nathanos stood a little straighter and made a definitive gesture with his hand. "On second thought, I take everything back," he announced. "He is obviously my kid."
Zeliek whipped around to stare at him. "What?" he asked at the absurdity of it all. His eyes were wide, and he was still trying to comprehend what Vaiden had done.
Nathanos shrugged. "There are only two people in the world who could produce such a perfect blend of innocent naivety and paladin murder," he answered matter-of-factly, "and neither of them are you. The irony, violent explosion, and orphanage burning are just icing on the cake; He has to be mine." And with that, the ranger turned and headed straight for the little boy. Zeliek's jaw dropped once more, and he stared at the ranger in unrefined amazement.
Nathanos moved with a confident stride. Everything about him was brazen, cocksure, proud. As always, it seemed that he knew exactly what he was doing, that he had analyzed every outcome and was fully in control of what was going on. He walked silently up behind Vaiden, eyeing the child critically.
It would have taken another Ranger Lord to discern the expression of sheer terror that washed briefly over his face. As he came closer, his footsteps slowed, and it took effort to set one foot in front of the other. Still, he came closer, closer, until he was only a few feet away. He rubbed his fingers against his palms.
Facing away from him, Vaiden's only noticeable feature was his mane of mousy brown hair. It matched Nathanos's hair soAlso, I med like hours, unwilling to step any closer.
In life, Nathanos had been engaged to a high elf by the name of Vila'thail. Twice since his death, Nathanos had reflected on this engagement. Each time, his first reaction had been distress at the notion that he might- just might- have sired a child. This detail was in no way a coincidence. Nathanos could not have described why the notion of having a child so horrified him. Had Ras been there, the mage might have understood. As it was, Nathanos was left alone with the alien feelings. He did not like them.
For a long moment, he contemplated turning around and walking away. A few choice words, and Zeliek wouldn't want the boy anywhere near the Ranger Lord. Nathanos would never have to see the child again. He'd be free, and he wouldn't have upset Ketala by killing the kid, and Zeliek would happily take care of the boy…
Except, Nathanos noted with a slight quiver, he would know. He would remember that somewhere out there was a little boy who shared his blood. A child he had helped give life to. His kid. His son. He had a kid. He had been dead almost two decades, and yet he had somehow given life to a little boy. Had helped make a little boy.
"Vaiden…?" he asked hesitantly, uncertain if he had heard the child's name correctly.
The little boy blinked and looked at him in surprise. Nathanos stiffened. The first time he'd looked at Vaiden, he'd been preoccupied by the child's multi-colored eyes.
Now he saw his features mirrored back at him. He saw the high cheek bones and strong but pointed jaw, the expressive lips that could curl into the wryest of smiles. Although Vaiden's eyes were colored like Ketala's, their shape was hawk-like, akin to Nathanos's own. As he gazed down at the little boy, Ketala's traits came forward. They battled with his genes for control of the boy's nose. In the end, that feature was neither aquiline (like Nathanos's) nor sloped (like Ketala's), but rather somewhere in the middle. The general shape of the boy's face was heart-like, and so adhered more closely to the Truae side of things. Even so, Vaiden's features were so similar to Nathanos's that they brooked no argument. This was his child. There was no denying it.
Vaiden just watched the Forsaken man quietly. To him, Nathanos seemed worried- spooked, even. Unsure how to interpret this, the boy did nothing- just stared.
Nathanos closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked back down at his child. He took in a slow breath, and crouched down. "Come here," he said softly, beckoning with his hands.
Vaiden sat up straighter in surprise and docked his head to the side. Sensing his confusion, Nathanos held a hand out in the child's direction, palm up. Vaiden perked up even more so, and hugged his dolly tightly. He pushed himself to his feet, looked Nathanos up and down, and then took a hesitant step in the ranger's direction.
It took every ounce of Nathanos's will power not to bolt, and he took in a shaky breath. Even as he tried to steady himself, he also subconsciously pulled his hand back from the advancing child. Vaiden stopped around three feet away, and looked mystified up at his confused parent. The ranger grimaced as if in pain, but stubbornly reached out to touch the child's hair. Negative emotions flooded out of his body in an unsettling rush. He found himself staring wide-eyed at the boy, trying to comprehend that a little child shared his features right down to the texture of his hair. Encouraged by the touch, Vaiden tottered forward the last few steps and threw his little arms around the ranger's midsection.
A perplexed look passed over the Forsaken's face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it again and cocked his head to the side. After a moment's contemplation, he reached down and plucked Vaiden off the ground, and he stood and held the child out at arm's length.
Vaiden looked curiously at him.
Nathanos looked wonderingly back.
Then the ranger sighed and shook his head. He drew the little boy back against him. Small arms encircled his neck, clinging to him. A tiny chin rested on his shoulder, and a cheek pressed against his. At that moment, Nathanos had but one certainty: There was no way on Azeroth that he was letting some pansy paladin raise his kid.
Naxxramas
"Ketala?"
She lifted her head and looked quietly up at the speaker, a mournful look on her face. Cheshire was perched on her cell's staircase and looking down at her over it's side. He smiled broadly, unnaturally. He was holding something in his right hand, and when he saw that he had her attention, he held it out towards her.
A flower. Clasped in the mage's gnarled fingers was a simple flower. It was vibrantly alive, with an emerald green stem and cream-colored petals. It looked like a Lilly of the Valley, at least from where Ketala was sitting.
"I found this for you," he said, still grinning. "It was growing on the necropolis! Very surprising."
She was silent, unresponsive. When she spoke, it had nothing to do with the flower. "Mograine's insane," she reflected, almost angrily.
"Of course he is," the mage exclaimed, a surprised look flashing over his face. "That goes without stating; we're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad..."
She snorted. "How do you know that I'm 'mad'?" she asked.
"You must be so. Or you wouldn't have come here." He smiled again. "You came for Kel'Thuzad, did you not? That's a fairly mad thing to do."
Ketala grimaced, and stared uncertainly up at the bizarre mage, her eyes unblinking. At last her lips moved, speaking the question she truly wanted to ask.
"Thadius is now part of the Scourge?"
Cheshire regarded her and then nodded, holding the flower out further. "Take it," he pleaded. She hesitated, and a tear dripped down her face. Thaddius.
"I can give him to you, Ketala," an icy voice murmured in the back of her skull, soothing, soft. "Sweet, sweet Ketala..."
She closed her eyes, thinking of her newly adopted brother, of his soft voice and his brilliant green eyes. The Scourge would utterly ruin him, would destroy the last vestiges of his mind. If nothing else, she should be there for him. Even if she could not save his naïve innocence, perhaps she could save something. Something.
She took in a deep, unnecessary breath.
"Promise not to steal from me. Promise to give me all the Scourge lives that I ask for. Promise never to throw them away, even when they are of no more use to you."
"Done."
Ketala reached out a shaking hand, moving it towards Cheshire's lily. Her clawed fingers closed around the flower, cupping it tenderly, and he released it to her. All was silent and still for a moment. Then the flower began to wither in her grasp, as if the life were being sucked from it.. She examined it sadly for a moment, and then shook her head. "So be it, then. Train me; I am yours."
Silvermoon
Not all that far away, Vaiden suddenly seized up, his breath catching in his throat. A cold chill crept along Nathanos's back, and he looked bewildered at the young boy. Vaiden shivered, and sniffled, drawing his doll close against his chest. Nathanos blinked, and then jumped when Vaiden began to cry silently, glistening tears trailing down his face.
Nathanos frowned, and tried rocking the little boy. When Vaiden didn't calm down, the Rager Lord grimaced and shook his head. "... Ketala..." he murmured. "What have you done?"
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