It has come to my attention that I am unable to continue writing this story. I have too many things going on in life right now, and far too many other projects I want to work on. Although I love the warcraft world, I haven't played World of Warcraft in many years now, and my inspiration has dwindled. It used to be that when I sat down to write MahiMahi or Truae, the words would just flow out of me. But now if I sit down to write, several hours go by without anything getting done.

I've got novels to write, video games to program, and lots of other things to do! I don't have the Spark for Truae anymore.

Nevertheless, I am very much against the idea of starting something and never finishing it. Therefore, I am going to try and post all of the text I'm still inspired to write. The remaining chapters of this fanfiction will be choppy, unreviewed, and skip long stretches in time. Nevertheless, at least I'll be able to 'finish' the story for you guys and perhaps sate curiousity as to what the grand conclusion of this tale would be.

Here's what I managed to accomplish of the next chapter:

The Beginning of the End

Silvermoon

Nathanos patted Vaiden's back awkwardly, trying to get the boy to stop sobbing. He was a little surprised that the child made no noise as he cried.

Nearby, the bratty little elf girl was still watching, her mouth open wide. Nathanos glanced at the girl. She blinked, and then sucked in a deep breath of air, as if to scream. "You make one sound, and I'll rip you open, stuff you with sand, and make you into a doll for him. Is that clear?" She froze, swallowed, and bobbed her head up and down. Nathanos sniffed. "Good. Now run along home." She did not need to be told twice and bolted off.

The Ranger Lord snorted and then turned, stalking back through the bazaar, past Zeliek, and out of the district. The undead paladin watched him with wide eyes and then hesitantly moved to follow.

Nathanos sighed as Vaiden calmed down. It was disconcerting to hold the child in his arms. Disconcerting to hear his heart, to feel his meager body-heat... Is it safe for him to be this cold? Humans are normally much warmer. Could he be a little ill because he used his powers? Or is this how he usually is?

"Is he normally cold?" Nathanos asked with a snap, not even turning to look at Sir. Zeliek.

The paladin hesitated. He still wasn't sure if he was happy with Nathanos holding Vaiden or not. After a moment of thought he answered. "... Lukewarm, yes."

Must be an effect of Ketala and I being undead. Come to think of it, I sense a lot of necromantic energy in him... Is that safe? True he's normally this way, but is that really the best? Shouldn't the kid have as little necromantic energy as possible? It could be stifling his life force... Perhaps I could have the apothecaries look over him.

Vaiden looked up at him quietly, his hawk eyes whirling many curious colors. Nathanos docked his head to the side, his mind suddenly conjuring an image of Master Apothecary Fandall holding a syringe and smiling happily over the boy. A chill ran along the ranger's spine- quite a feat for a Forsaken.

Nevermind. No apothecary.

"Does he talk?" Nathanos asked, just as terse.

"No. Ketala said he has been mute from birth. She wasn't sure if it was a natural affliction, or if it had to do with Kel'Thuzad stabbing her in the stomach during the pregnancy."

The thought of Ketala pregnant was mildly entertaining. If he weren't so worried for the stupid paladin girl, he might have entertained it longer. Or perhaps he'd entertain it anyway. A fat Ketala. Hmm. He admitted, Ketala seemed a bit young to have natural children, but he couldn't' really use that excuse since he'd slept with her. She probably made a great mother. What in the nether possessed her to send the kid to me? Even in Naxxramas, she could have done a better job at caring for him.

He frowned. Something must be wrong. What had that paladin said? Something about Kel'Thuzad stabbing her? Kel'Thuzad... A sneer moved over the ranger's face. Whatever the lich had done to his Ketala, he'd pay.

Vaiden tilted his head to the side, much after the fashion of his father, and then yawned and wiped tears from his own little face. He was asleep by the time they reached the tavern, his cheek nestled against Nathanos collar.

I have a kid...

I need to think.

Ras Frostwhisper looked up from his wine and spellbook when the ranger entered. His eyes widened when he realized what Nathanos was carrying. If Ras had been asked to write a test- a test to determine whether certain individuals were safe to be around children- Nathanos Blightcaller would have scored in the bottom percentile, somewhere between C'thun, Deathwing, and Sargeras.

The mage stood up quickly, leaving his book and coming up to the ranger. "What is-?"

Nathanos snorted and gently moved Vaiden, pushing him into Ras's startled arms. "Your grandson," he answered blackly, and then he turned and stalked up to the second floor of the inn.

"Wh-?!" Vaiden shifted and blinked, opening his whirling eyes and looking curiously up at the mage holding him. Ras sucked in a startled breath. "H-how-?"

Vaiden cocked his head to the side. That was strange. Mother hadn't told him about this person, but he was sure the mage was familiar. He lifted a hand, gently touching the human's cheek. Ras flinched.

"Flower!" the mage cried desperately.

The necromancer in question poofed into being in front of him, accompanied by an explosion of pink dust. "Here I am!" he cried, throwing his arms in the air like he'd just landed a particularly demanding gymnastics stunt. Ras gave a primal exclamation of overwhelmed confusion and thrust the child into Flower's arms. Much to the necromancer's credit, he actually did take the boy.

Vaiden blinked at the jarring motion and clung to the interesting necromancer. Aha! Mother had told him about this person!

Ras jumped backwards, breathing hard and clutching at his chest, trying to get over the sight of the child. He closed his eyes tightly, overwhelmed by memories. Memories strong enough to break his bond with the Lich King.

To be truthful, Flower would have scored lower than Nathanos on Ras's hypothetical child-safe test. In fact, the necromancer would have scored so low that the end result would be mathematically impossible. Even so, the mage needed a moment to compose himself.

Flower blinked, staring down at little Vaiden. He tilted his head first to the left, then to the right, and then leaned forward to get a better look at him, squinting. After several moments of rapid mental calculations, he came to an amazing conclusion. "It's a boy!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Why hello, there! I'm Flower. You know... like the skunk?"

Vaiden blinked, and then smiled up at the crazy old man.

"Aww. Aren't you the cutest? You want to see a silly trick?"

Vaiden just looked at him, but Flower seemed to that as a 'yes'.

"Alright, here it is!" The necromancer took in a deep breath, and then summoned a bit of electricity. He made sure he had control of it, and then touched it to his beard. BBZZTT! Immediately all his hair was standing on end!

Vaiden's face brightened, a smile appearing on his mouth.

"You like that, did you? Haha!"

He sucked the energy out again, and his hair flopped back down.

Zeliek stared at all this in bafflement, and wasn't certain what to make of Ketala's eccentric friends. He glanced at where Nathanos had headed up into the inn, but then decided it was his duty to stay as close to Vaiden as possible.

Theramore

"What will he tell Velen?"

Jaina shook her head. "I don't know."

"He could unravel all we have managed to do. All the weak peace we have drawn together. The tenuous alliance we have just barely preserved."

She was quiet. Despite all that was at stake, he was Thrall, son of Durotan and she was Jaina Proodmore. Yes, they had fought countless battles, and yes they had taken many lives, but they were not- they were never- murderers. They had screwed up, and this Draenei would not pay for their mistake.

Jaina had sent Nobundo to report back to Exodar as any ambassador would do. It was the right thing to do- the trusting thing to do. The foolish thing to do.

Thrall stroked gently through her hair. "Whatever happens," he murmured, "we will get through this together."

Jaina sighed. She didn't want to imagine how badly Thrall's prestige would stuffer if his people should know about his choice in mate. She supposed they would have to find out eventually... But at such a hostile time the ramifications could be horrific. And the Alliance would turn on her, she was certain.

"You did the right thing," he murmured. "We have always known the consequences at hand."

She nodded and leaned into him. Thick arms wrapped tightly around her, and tusks lips planted a kiss upon her head. Jaina sighed. She prayed for all their sakes that Nobundo would be kind. The world still needed them.

Exodar

Nobundo himself wasn't certain what he'd tell Velen. As he walked through the Exodar, many images passed through his mind. He recalled horrible memories of devastated cities and murderous orcs, and he recalled Kallah's smiling face. His people were slaughtered mercilessly. He himself had been corrupted and had wasted away into a feeble monster. Yet, somewhere in the world, two fools believed in peace, in justice, in hope, in healing.

His head was bowed in thought, his footsteps slow but purposeful. Kallah he could not mention. He had already sworn to himself that she was beyond reproach for the actions of her parents. Doomhammer's black armor, and screaming women tossed over the walls of the city... A face painted like a skull, Warsong raiders...

"I see you have returned, Nobundo!"

The Broken lifted his head and was surprised to find himself already within the Vault of Lights, standing before Velen. His feet had carried him there and left his mind to wander, it seemed. Velen blinked and tilted his head to the side, watching the shaman quietly.

"You look troubled, my friend... What has happened?"

Nobundo blinked at him quietly a moment, and then sighed. "I need to talk to you in private," he answered.

Velen frowned and nodded, gesturing for the Broken to follow, and heading for one of the inner sanctums of the ship. Nobundo followed slowly, still wracking his mind for exactly what he would say. He had already hinted that something important had occurred... he needed to say something profound... and yet he needed to protect Kallah, as well.

The walk was not as long as he might have liked. Soon they were safely beneath one of the small sanctums, and the doors were proofed against all sound. They were safe from prying ears, and Nobundo needed to speak. Velen turned towards him expectantly.

The shaman closed his eyes momentarily. Spirits be with me.

He took a slow breath, and then looked back at the Draenei prophet.

"I've engaged in an interesting experiment," he said slowly, the words oozing out of his mouth almost automatically. Velen blinked. "The Lady Proudmoore has a child in her care, a girl who evidences signs that she will one day make a great shaman. I sensed the child's presence immediately and eventually met her and was able to educated her in the art."

Nobundo had to be careful. He had to let Velen know without truly letting him know. "I was amazed by how easily the elements flowed through her. But also I saw that someone had already been teaching her art. My suspicions were proven correct when one day this child came to me and introduced me to her tutor."

The shaman took in a slow breath, letting this information sink in. Then he continued: "When she came here, Jaina mentioned who had taught her shammanism. Can you guess who tutored the girl?" He asked with a weak smile. Velen blinked and then his eyes widened in surprise.

"The Horde Warchief was present at Theramore?"

The information tumbled out in a rush before Nobundo could stop it- like a tidal wave: "Yes. To visit his half-orc daughter."

Dead silence.

Nobundo clamped his jaws shut and closed his eyes. Kallah is innocent of all this. And I start by presenting her existence first! Spirits- why?

"You seem very shaken, Nobundo," the prophet noted gently.

"I have not seen that armor in so long," he whispered almost reflexively. "It was like a ghost from the past." He shook his head. "But different." There were chairs in the sanctum and he slowly made his way to one and dropped into it, exhausted.

"Different? The other Draenei prodded gently.

"He... He apologized, to me, Velen. On behalf of his race." The Broken shuddered and covered his deformed face. "He was soft-spoken and polite. And earnest. He even sounded ashamed."

Velen was quiet. After a long moment, he came up and put a sympathetic hand on the Broken's shoulder.

"They told me their reasons for it-both of them taking turns to speak, finishing each other sentences, exchanging banter and occasionally glancing soulfully at one another. They spoke of Hyjal, a similar tale to the one Jaina told you. Of the prophet who told them that only by working together could they thrive. That they had been friends ever since, and then..."

"You tell me that this girl, this child you were tutoring, is the warchief's child? That she is also Lady Proudmoore's?"

Nobundo huffed. "The child is an innocent and naïve creature, without a black mark on her soul." He paused, thinking. "And her unusual parents are free of any shame."

Velen tilted his head to the side. "You have suffered so terribly at the hands of the orcs, and you excuse this?"

Nobundo lowed his hand and looked up at the prophet meaningfully. "Yes. By the spirits, yes."

"Why?" the other Draenei questioned.

"Because they believe in what they say," he answered fiercely. "They are two blind fools who believe in hope, in peace, in standing against a common enemy and throwing aside all doubts, all hatreds, all past wrongs. Two blind fools, and one of them leads the Horde. A passionate young idiot, who thinks his people can return to their shamanistic roots and slough off the curse of the demons. By the spirits, yes, I excuse it! They can have ten more children for all I care, and streak through our city naked, so long as someone out there believes in such foolish things!"

Velen lifted a brow and smiled as Nobondo stood up and began to pace. "How often does that come about? How often do two people from two such dynamically opposed groups come together? More so! How often does it happen that their leaders come together? The two people most equipped to end peace, united, working together towards the same goal!"

He threw an arm in the air, gesturing, ranting. Velen watched him, still smiling.

"And yet how stupid! A thousand times this story has been told and a thousand times it has ended tragically. A thousand times, the two were broken apart, one is killed, the other follows. A thousand times the dream dies, a thousand times everything is for naught and the death and sorrow return. A thousand times, and this time bound to end just as all those before it, just as radiant, just as doomed, just as hopeless."

He sighed, depressed by his own train of thoughts, and not entirely sure where the words had come from.

Velen chuckled and slowly came up to his fellow Draenei.. "What have we to look forward to if not the dreams of fools?" Nobundo opened his eyes and looked over at the prophet. Velen stopped before him and leaned against his twisted staff. "I understand," the prophet said. "You feel obligated to tell me what you know, but yet you do not want the Alliance to be privy to this knowledge."

"You understand?" Nobundo inquired and then sighed heavily, terribly confused. "Good then, for I do not."

"Have you sensed a darkness in either of them?"

"... No... the spirits were very close to both..."

"Then is it strange that you cannot bring yourself to wrong them?" Nobundo tilted his head to the side, thinking about this. Velen smiled in his aloof yet compassionate matter. "I trust your judgment, Nobundo. If your gut tells you that this is how it must be, then we will trust the Lady of Theramore. Indeed, it seems a great boon to befriend someone who has the ear of the orc warchief. Perhaps many of our conflicts can be solved without more violence."

The shaman nodded slowly, pondering this new angle. "Yes... that is highly possible."

"Good. Now that you are calm, tell me this story again, but in detail. I find all of this quite fascinating."

Theramore

Daelin stalked back to his room the next morning, walking past his daughter's quarters as he did so. He was surprised by a tiny halforc who practically dove out of Jaina's rooms to get to him. "Grandpa!" she squealed, rushing up to hug him. The admiral grunted and eyed her. He was not in the mood for this.

"Why are you still here?" he asked a bit harshly.

She giggled. "Daddy stayed the night, so I did, too!"

That was not was Daelin wanted to hear. An ugly scowl moved across his face. Thrall was still in Theramore. Somehow that made it all the more real, all the more disgusting. After all, what would have compelled the orc to 'spend the night' aside from...

He grimaced and pushed past Kallah, now hell-bent on reaching his quarters. Kallah blinked at the furious energy radiating off her grandfather. She frowned and looked at her feet a moment, before tentatively hopping after him. He flung the door to his room open and began rummaging around his possessions. When Kallah peered in, she saw him filling up a knapsack with clothes and other vitals. She tilted her head to the side, confused.

"Grandpa? What are you doing?"

Daelin grimaced. "Packing," he answered tersely.

Kallah fidgeted. "Are you leaving?"

He didn't need much. Just a single change of clothes, some good boots, some fishing gear. "Yes," he answered after a moment.

"...For how long?"

Daelin wasn't certain why he was answering Kallah. Perhaps he simply had to to tell someone, and Jaina was not available. "I am returning to Kul'Tiras. I will remain there indefinitely."

Kallah's eyes widened. "Wh- what?"

He finished packing, closed the sack, and stood. "I am finished with Theramore," he said with a bit of a snarl. Kallah stared up at him, horrified. Even his nasty tone couldn't strike her harder than his words.

"But- but- you can't go, Grandpa!"

He snorted and walked briskly for the door, moving past her.

"Grandpa!"

He didn't answer. She stared after him for a moment, mouth open in surprise, and then quickly hurried after him. "Grandpa!" Nothing. "Grandpa!" Daelin snarled and whirled around, unnatural eyes glaring at her.

"Get back in your room," he hissed.

"You can't go, Grandpa!" she exclaimed, coming up to him, trying to hug him. His eyes flamed, filling with rage and frustration. He seized her roughly by the back of her cloak and shirt, picked her just an inch off the ground, and then threw her backwards.

He didn't want to hurt her, but he needed to get her away from him. Kallah cried out in alarm and yelped as she hit the ground, looking up at him with big eyes.

"I said get in your room!" he snarled, advancing on her. She shuffled back from him, instinctively frightened by this furious and unexpected response. That's enough. She's not at fault. "And don't you dare follow me out of this hallway!" he hissed.

"You can't go!" she wailed, tears forming in her eyes. "Grandpa!"

He snorted and turned on heel, stalking towards the tower staircase.

"Grandpa! D-don't go!" She hiccuped and sobbed and sniffled, wiping her face of tears and boogies, scrambling to her feet, taking a few steps after him.

Daelin didn't so much as look back at her

She stared after him in horror, and then bolted after him."Grandpa!"

He reached the staircase and headed down. She reached the staircase above him, but recalled his nasty directions. She wasn't allowed to leave this floor, not without her parents or her grandpa, and Daelin had explicitly told her not to follow.

Tears poured down her face she clutched the side of the staircase, cyan eyes following him as he disappeared. "Grandpa! Don't leave!" He didn't stop. "Grandpa! Grandpa!" she sobbed and hesitantly set a foot down on the next stair, vainly trying to follow.

"Up the stairs Kallah!" he snapped back at her, without even turning to look.

"Grandpa!"

Daelin did not look back. He forced himself to keep moving, despite the heartrending wail of "GRANDPA!" that echoed after him.

And just like that, he was gone, forever. Kallah burst into tears.

Theramore

Thrall held Jaina supportively close, shifting slightly to the quiet music of the outside wind. The sorceress leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his. Both were silent, just enjoying the moment together, eyes closed. Both prayed for the future. It was late and cool air streamed in through her open balcony. Silver light painted her rooms.

"You are beautiful, Jaina Proudmoore," he murmured softly.

She smiled. "You don't have a last name, Thrall, son of Durotan," she said, as if undergoing an epiphany.

He blinked and lifted a brow in amusement. "So I don't. What of it?"

"If we married, you would have to take mine," she explained.

Thrall chuckled and kissed her golden tresses. "Mmm, Thrall Proudmoore. There's something inherently wrong with that."

"Oh agreed. But I'm not sure that Jaina, wife of Thrall is any better."

He laughed hard and held her tighter. "What about Jaina, wife of son of Durotan?" he teased.

She smiled brightly. "I think we shall have to keep our respective names. But here is a conundrum: Would Kallah be Kallah Proudmoore, or Kallah, daughter of Thrall?"

"I must confess my preference for Kallah Proudmoore. 'Daughter of' has never rolled off the tongue quite as easily as 'son of'."

"True, true. But in the orcish language it sounds quite fitting..."

"Ah, yes. Very well then. She would be Daughter of Thrall in the orcish tongue and Proudmoore in the human tongue."

"Very suiting, very suiting."

He chuckled and interlaced his much larger fingers with hers, feeling how thin and delicate her hand was in his own.

"...We talk about this subject frequently," the sorceress reflected, more solemn.

"Names?" he queried.

"Marriage," she corrected.

He blinked and looked down at her quietly.

"... But almost always in jest. Is that because you will be expected to produce an orc son as your heir, and I will be expected to produce a human one? Is all of this doomed?" She tilted her head back to look up at him.

Thrall was silent, not out of coldness but rather because he was deep in thought, contemplating the problem she had just posed. His dark blue eyes watched her intently. He stood there for a long time, thinking, letting different images flow through his mind. As much as he might hate it, Jaina had an exceptionally valid point. His people would need someone to lead them when he died.

Bed an orc woman? Just so that she could produce sons for him? It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was only way he could think of to preserve the peace. Still there was something slimy about it, something foul, something dreadful that he could not place his finger on. He dwelled on these thoughts for a moment, and then suddenly the source of bitterness rose unbidden to his mind, crystallizing into an image...

An image of some human general or prince hovering over Jaina, kissing her, touching her. Another male, breathing in her lilac scent, touching her hair, his lips moving along her collar. Another male living in that space, her space, expecting her to act like a lady, always frowning at the disarray, grimacing at the smell of magic, getting irritated when she was too busy working to come to bed, looking down his nose at the embarrassment to the family, the bastard child, Kallah.

For some reason, he thought of Blackmoore.

Green arms tightened protectively around the sorceress, pressing her tightly into his chest. "I will appoint an heir," he answered her huskily. "Orgrim passed the title to me, and so I can pass it on to another."

Jaina frowned. "But you are their visionary leader. You are the one who drew the clans together and brought them safely to this new home. You built Orgrimmar for them, you garnered the loyalty of the trolls and tauren. You even accepted the Forsaken and the elves. What other orc could do that? The clans will remain united while a descendant of Durotan stands in Grommash Hold. If you appointed another heir there will be infighting and dissent."

"I will find a way," he assured her.

"How?"

He shook his head. The 'how' was not important. All that mattered was that Jaina continued to leave magic devices scattered around her quarters, and cheese under her carpets, and that no one ever, ever treated her like a vessel for extending the family tree. "It doesn't matter," he murmured.

"How can it not matter? We have a duty to our people-"

"The thought of you in some human's arms makes me want to kill the next male I come across. In light of that, I think we are doing the best that we can to lead our peoples. I will speak to all my advisors on this topic. We will come up with an alternative solution. I have seen too many miracles to believe in fatalistic predictions."

Jaina fell silent, struck by the conviction in his voice. She turned his words over in her head, and then just slowly melted against him, her whole body relaxing, molding to fit perfectly against his. Jaina was not male, and did not have the possessive, slightly territorial streak that all men seemed to have regarding their respective females. Even so, she hadn't been thrilled by the idea of losing her green-skinned companion to some random and unfortunate woman who existed for no other purpose than to produce 'royal' sons.

In fact, the whole idea was rather depressing. Actually, it was infuriating. Who the hell made up these rules of succession anyway? It wasn't like children were clones of their parents- just look at herself and Daelin! And what was it with men being valued above women, by the way? Tandrid Proudmoore and Jaina Proudmoore both currently ran their own nations, and from what Jaina was hearing she was doing the better job of it.

Eh, well, whatever. The important thing was that Thrall was nearly asphyxiating her he was hugging her so tightly. She thought of Kael and Arthas, and lastly thought of the blue-eyed orc who held her so crushingly close and promised that no matter how twisted and demanding the world was, no matter what his advisors said, no matter what Nobundo told Velen, he would never leave her.

Her eyes closed. This was where she belonged.