The moon glinted off the water as they moved through the shadows with the swift grace that was natural to their blood. Night elves, six of them, slithered down the Southfury River that ran between the forests of Ashenvale and corrupted land of Azshara. Pressing their leather-covered bodies to the river walls, they steadily made their way downstream.

Assassins, they were. Ever since the Battle of Undercity, when the Dreadlord Varimathras betrayed the Horde and the Banshee Queen Sylvanas, the Alliance trying to find a way into the four Horde cities and even possibly some means to kill one of the five leaders. Sieges were made but each city had its own unique defenses. The Undercity was, well, underground. Silvermoon was surrounded by numerous undead warriors as well as the Blood Elves' own magical defenses. Thunderbluff stood tall atop several plateaus, making it impossible for anyone save those with flying mounts to reach the top, and there were plenty of archers up there. And Orgrimmar, the capital of the Horde forces, was built directly into a mount and surrounded on both sides by water. Frontal attacks were suicide.

The river slowed as they crossed the border into Durotar and began to surface. Each was dressed in tight black leather, their weapons hidden close to their flesh. The apparent leader of the group was the first to move up the rock wall, a hook in each hand. The others slowly followed.

Their scents had been lost in the river and even the most seasoned Horde hunter would have found it hard to track them. But this was not "traditional" Horde hunter tracking them.

Slowly, Xarinaku descended from his nest atop a nearby mountain, his talons chipping away at the stones underneath him. He kept his wings folded back as he stretched his neck down for a better look at his prey. He watched them steadily move from the cliff edge to the road. Just as their leader stepped onto the road that passed by the river, he dropped from the sky.

Releasing his scaly wings, his massive shadow surrounded the elves as they stared up at him with their tiny, silver eyes. He hit the ground with a thud, knocking the elves off their feet and covering them in dust. They came up quickly, poisoned covered blades in hand and fear in their eyes.

He showed no mercy. The nether drake devoured the leader in a single gulp, translucent fangs rending leather and flesh. The other assassins scattered, three running back to Ashenvale and two leaping into the river.

He was faster though, devouring another assassin mid drop. The other splashed in the water, but it offered no escape. The Nether drake took a deep breathe before unleashing a torrent of violet flames after the assassin. The boiling river, his body lost to the watery depths, drowned out his screams.

Xarinaku turned his scaly neck back to the road, sniffing the air. Snarling, he flung himself into the air. Wings beating he rose higher and higher, pale white eyes always aimed at the forest. With a whip of his tail he dove down into the forest.

They hadn't made it far. He found one in the branches of a tree, but as soon as Xarinaku saw him he fell from shock, snapping his neck. Another hid in the brush; his trembling gave him away. One swipe of the dragon's claws sent him sprawling down a hill.

The last one was the hardest. Apparently she (her scent gave her away) had backtracked over her steps and coated a few trees with her blood. Just when he had thought he'd found her she slipped around him.

'Looks like I'll have to use that.' He thought to himself. Reaching deep into the twisting nether, he began to fade into it. His already translucent form slivered into the forest floor until he was completely hidden.

The forest was silent, the animals and plants sensing his presence in ways the night elf could not. They were so still that he could here her breath a sigh of relief and step out from her hiding place. Right on top of him.

He waited until she had stepped off of his head before rising up from the earth and canceling his spell. She didn't seem to notice as she made her way to the main road. With a single pounce he had her in his talons. She let out a long scream as he did so, but stopped when she saw him. He could tell she was still trying too; a large rock seemed to have formed in her throat.

He stared at her for a few moments, giving her a chance to feel the full effects of fear. Eventually, he growled, "What did you think? That we would leave our backs unprotected and let you slit our throats while we slept?"

Her eyes widened till they nearly popped out.

"Yessss. We. Us. This is the Horde's land, and we won't let scum like you defile it."

With that he let her scream one last time as his maw surrounded her.

They said it was a slander against all they stood for.

Impractical, other's claimed. Even treasonous. He should be killed, some demanded, or worse. But, in the end, they did nothing. Nothing to be done.

Prince Xarunaku of the Netherwing dragonflight he was once known as, child of Neltharaku and Karynaku, younger brother to Mordenaku. Once he'd flown through the tattered remains of Outland, the slave of the accursed night elf Illidan Stormrage. Once he'd fought against his former master atop the Black Temple. Once he'd joined the red dragonflight and shredded his cousins' blood at the Nexus. Once, he'd stood before the Dragonqueen Alexstrasza and been honored for his service against the traitor Malygos. Once.

Now, he was just an exile, a lost son and brother. After the Nexus War his father and mother expected him to return to Outland and aid them in rebuilding their family. Mating. It had never been Xarunaku's passion. A necessity was all he saw it as, but not one he'd willingly accept. No, adventure was his passion and the battlefield was his home.

So, he refused the order and left the frozen wastes of Northrend for the rugged land of Kalimdor. And the he met them. He'd fought alongside the warriors of the Horde numerous times, like in his homeland of Shadowmoon Valley or in Northrend. Like him, the orc's had once been slaves. He fought alongside the Sin'dorei against the Illidan and with the Forsaken in Northrend. He'd even allowed the orc commander Garrosh Hellscream to ride on his back into battle. Each time he'd felt a sense of kinship with the mortal races.

Orgrimmar had been his first stop. He still remembers the hilarious looks of shock on the citizens' faces as he descended upon the Valley of Wisdom. The Warchief Thrall himself had stepped forward to face him, the Doomhammer in hand and the Elemental Spirits at his side. Only in orcs did Xarunaku find such courage in the face of danger.

He did not dilly-dally with details. In orcish tongue he shouted, "I am Xarunaku, former prince of the Netherwing Dragonflight of Outland."

"I am Thrall, Warchief of the Horde!" The might orc shouted back, undeterred against the being before him. "What business to does a former prince of the Netherwing have with us?"

"Friendship, and much more if you will have it."

The Warchief loosened his grip on the hammer and stared deep into the dragon's eyes. "Explain."

"I will, great Warchief, but I would prefer to do so with a meal in my belly and my ass in a seat. It has been a long trip."

For a moment they just stared at each other, least until they both burst into laughter. Clutching a hand to his chest, Thrall waved his hand at Grommash Hold. "I do not think we have a seat large enough for you."

"That can be arranged," and to the shock of everyone around him he began to grow smaller and his translucent black skin thickened into a shade of green. With a roll of his shoulders, he was an Orc. Well not just an orc; he was a classy orc. A bright purple cape lined with exotic gold fur fell from his powerful shoulders, shimmering in the sunlight. Underneath he wore a silk robe with matching colors woven through it. And to make the outfit perfect, a chain of mystical rubies bound his cape to his robe, shining with celestial beauty.

"Will this do?"

Thrall nodded and led the newly born Orc into his meeting hall. They dined with his advisors while Xarunaku narrated his tale. He told them of the Blood Elf warlock who'd freed him from Illidan, the Orc shaman who'd healed him following his escape, and the numerous other members of the Horde who had aided him. Not once did he mention the Alliance, and they took note of that.

When he was finished praising the Horde explained his family ordeal.

"I'm too tired of war to take any type of active role in them any longer, but I'm also too young to settle down and raise a few whelps. It is not my place."

"So why are you here?" The wise Troll Vol'jin asked in his dark accent.

"As I have already mentioned the Horde has been very good to me, just as you all have been. So, I'd like to settle near here, preferably in the Barrens."

The advisors looked at each other blankly.

"Why did you come to us then?" Thrall asked.

"Would you prefer a Nether dragon living near your capital who is a friend or an enemy?" He asked with a grin.

Once again the advisors glanced at each other, but this time they smiled. So, after another round of drinks Xarunaku was accepted as a member of the Horde and declared the Sky Guard of Orgrimmar. Letters were sent out to the other racial leaders, detailing how the nether dragon would live not far from the Ashenvale/Durotar border and defend the city against attacks.

And that's how he found himself spitting up a ball of leather at the stroke of midnight. He sprawled down onto the cold floor of his lair. That had been the third ball of leather he'd spat up that night. Thank the Aspects it's the last, he thought as he let his mind drift away.

Whispers, like someone was speaking through water. Whispers, like a warm wind in the winter. They came to him like this. A word, maybe two, too quiet to be understood, but still heard.

Steadily, they became more frequent, more coherent. Phrases, maybe brief sentence.

Blood, so much blood. Murder. Deceit. He has betrayed us.

He brushed them aside, digging deeper into the darkness of the mind, but they followed. Bugs they were, buzzing in the darkness. Light, radiant, he was, shining in the darkness. They picked at him, and each time he pushed them away. But they were relentless.

They followed him where he went, steadily growing louder. He swam over the oceans, burrowed into subterranean worlds, crawled through dense forests. Nothing could deter them.

It was the young ones at first. They were the first he turned. They came at us in the night while we slept, daggers in hand.

He saw them moving through the darkness as their razor-sharp fangs and claws catching the light, feeding off of it. Patches of multicolored scales covered their bodies. Others similar to them slept within the darkness, undisturbed. Unlike the others, light emanated from their scaly flesh.

The Betrayers raised their daggers high over their heads and maliciously stabbed at their sleeping brethren. Blood gushed from the wounds by the gallons, but they did not stop. They kept stabbing into their brethren were nothing more than twisted masses of scales and flesh.

Finally, they abandoned their daggers and began wrenching the corpses' ribs apart. Those too they abandoned into a tattered pile. Greed in their eyes, they delved into their victims' chests and pulled forth an ever beating, glowing heart.

One walked through their ranks, dead eyes passing over the piles of meat that were his fallen brethren. The live ones bowed to him and raised the raw hearts to him. He greedily snatched them away and swallowed them without chewing. His Adam's apple bulged outward as they slowly slid down his throat.

He has betrayed us. Murder. Lies. Betrayal. He will destroy it all.

Images flashed before Xarunaku. A village lit aflame. A once heavenly city reduced to mere rubble. The oceans churned violently as molten fire sprung from the surface. A woman screamed as razor-sharp arrows impaled her where she stood. A child screamed as a monstrous grey orc-like humanoid towered over it, a bloody axe in hand.

He brushed it all away with a huff of his nose. War, death, suffering? What was it to him, a dragon who'd fought enough battles for a millennium?

All will feel his wrath. The dragons especially. He hunts them.

The war, the darkness, the Betrayers disappeared, giving way to a circular stone room with a pedestal in the center. Xarunaku was no longer a dragon, but a man of thick black hair and purple eyes. He stepped into the room cautiously, magic swirling at his fingertips.

As he stepped up to the pedestal, a flash of light enveloped it. Three egg-like objects appeared atop it. No, they were eggs, each a different color. One emerald, one crimson, and one sapphire.

These are the last. The last of the dragonkin.

Xarunaku could only stare at the eggs. Last of the dragonkin, last of his race. How? Why?

Not your race. His.

The Murderer appeared on the other side of the pedestal. His eyes shimmered with hunger as he gazed down at the eggs. Quickly, he snatched up the emerald one, gently wrapping it into a sack. He reached for the crimson one next. Xarunaku was faster.

The Murderer reached the egg just after Xarunaku, his spidery hands wrapped over the dragon's. Their empty eyes met. For a moment all was calm.

The Murderer threw his other hand up, a wave of energy stabbing at Xarunaku in response. He took it in the chest, letting it painfully roll over him. But he did not let go of the egg. He shouted back a word of power, whipping at his foe with a bolt of fire. It was futile.

The Murderer threw back the fire with a single word and that forced him to let go of the egg. He hit the floor hard, rolling over the smooth stone. Ash fell off of his chest as he tried to stand, but found his legs wobbled like they were made of water. The Murderer ignored the dragon, snatching up the crimson egg and locking it within his sack.

Save one, save them all.

The Murderer slowly moved for the last and final egg. Just as his fingers grazed the smooth sapphire surface, Xarunaku struck. Again, he reached the egg first, clutching it close to his chest like a mother.

"Mine."

And then the room exploded as he unleashed a maelstrom of nether magic. The stone that surrounded them melted away, revealing the void beyond. The Murderer struggled to reach him, his face stricken in rage, but he too melted into the void. Xarunaku pounded his wings with all his might, once more a dragon, and flew into the darkness.

He will not stop. He has two of the three, and his power will only grow. The final daughter must be protected.

Daughter?

At that thought a blue light cut through the darkness. Out of it stepped a white haired old man with the air of a mage but the look of a soldier. He clutched a blood-red blade in one hand. With the other, he reached for the egg. Xarunaku bit at his hand; a warning bite, to say the least.

Give it to him. The Broken-Rebel will ensure the eggs safety.

Slowly, the great drake let the old man take the egg and, with that, he was gone.

It will not be enough. The kingdoms of the world, the races of the land may unite, but he will win. Unless…

Xarunaku could feel himself drift away from the sleep.

Unless a Void Serpent flies to war once again.

The voice was fading. He was almost awake.

Come...come to…Alagaesia.

The nether dragon awoke with a start, begging his massive head on the cavern roof. He snarled angrily but shook the pain away. Sweeping his head from side to side, he found that he was alone. The sun was rising in the distance, barely peaking over the horizon.

Come…come to…Alagaesia.

He looked to the north, his black eyes piercing into the lands beyond. With a sigh, he stretched out his mighty wings and flung himself into the air.