Many apologies to you all for constantly spamming your emails with new chapters when they're just the same one. I originally posted Blade Dancer as a mini update, but after completing Silver Arrow I decided to fuse them. However, after posting the revised version I realized I forgot to place any grey lines distinguishing between different point of views and/or settings, so I reposted it once again.

As always, I do not own World of Warcraft or The Inheritance Cycle.

Dawn came early in the Barrens, sweeping over the gnarled earth and tattered patches of grass in an amber light. The heat increased dramatically; hard to believe since the night was drenched in sweat. Gundag in particular hated it, boxed into his thick, saronite armor.

He whipped his brow every other second, steadily callusing his wrists.

"This is mad," He gasped.

"You can turn back now. Xarunaku won't be angry." Reka stated from the top of her black wolf. The Tauren was on a brown kodo, further increasing his formidable height.

"I mean…this heat!"

"Oh," Reka said. She was gowned in a cool white robe barely breaking a sweet. "Well, Ratchet isn't too far. Just hold up until then."

Gundag nodded. It was maddening he thought, to be traveling like this. However, the weary weather plaguing his mind kept his thoughts from drifting to more grave topics. He'd initially rejected Reka's request to join her on this mad quest to Alagesia. She had saved his battalion two nights ago and committed other heroic acts for him over the years. But, that barely warranted her the right to ask him to go rescue dragons on some imaginary world. There has to be limits to friendship.

She was about to leave before mentioning Xarunaku's involvement, and that sent the Tauren after her. While his friendship with the Orc had its limit, the Dragon's did not. Gundag had long ago discovered the Mu'sha walked beside the Netherdrake and An'she lead him through life. If such a blessed – or cursed, as he occasional fancied to see it as – required aid, then Gundag would be damned before he could not offer it.

He peered down at the thin Orc, weakly asking, "Where to…from here?"

"To Silvermoon. We have to pick up someone else and then we're off to the Dark Portal."

"Won…derful."

Booty Bay possible houses the worst collection of vagabonds, scoundrels, thieves, pirates, rebels, murderers, con artists, pick pockets, and rouges the world had ever seen. Next to Ratchet.

Kajah never understood why he'd taken up residency there, least until he noticed the lightness of his money pouch. It was growing quite thin as he tapped the counter for another mug. The bartender responded accordingly, slamming a dirty glass down in front of the Troll. He didn't complain; it was still better than the water.

Despite the sag of his muscles and dulled senses, Kajah's battle instincts told him a dagger was just inches from his kidney. He didn't move, slowing slipping his mead.

"Hello, Grug." He slurred. "How ya do'in, man?"

The one eyed Orc snarled. "My eye still itches, no thanks to you."

Grug slowly twisted the blade against the Troll's back and gripped his shoulder tightly. "Recall that it is I who have the blame, not you. Now how bout you hand over those earnings you robbed me of."

Kajah raised an eyebrow then sighed as he unhooked the pouch. He dangled it out for the Orc to snatch up, but when he tried, Kajah threw it up into the air. As Grug lunged after it Kajah threw an elbow into his jaw, spinning on his stool to follow up with a knee strike up to the stomach.

The bar patrons paid no mind to the Troll as he slapped his palm against Grug's nose, spewing a torrent of black blood all over the floor. He struck the windpipe next, shattered a kneecap with three quick and consecutive strikes, and finished him with a quick clip of the forehead. Grug tumbled onto the floor, broken in multiple places. No one paid no mind, not even the owner.

Kajah snatched up his money and hopped back on his stool. Before he could lay down another coin for a meal, a tiny green hand beat him to it.

"Still up to the same old tricks?" A squeaky voice at his side asked.

Kajah smiled as his eyes met the greedy yellow of Ulo's, who was dressed in a war-torn leather jacket and matching pants. Dual pistols of his own design hung on his hips, sleek and clean.

"Ulo! What brings you to my sunny resort?"

"Business, as always Kajah." He winked.

"Ahem," The Troll coughed, and then whispered, "What type of business?"

"The type you won't believe."

Grommash Hold was silent as the sun reigned overhead, glaring with violent rays. Xarunaku barely noticed, his translucent body unaffected by temperature. He landed just at the base of the stairs leading into the massive stronghold. The twin Kor'kron Elite Guards knew him personally and saluted with their battle-axes as he descended into his Orcish form. He began to greet them, then realizing this would be the last time they would speak to each other, settle for a slight nod.

It was much warmer within the fortress, and he quickly regretted wearing his thick velvet robe. A few Shamans mingled in the entrance chamber, speaking in hushed voices. They eyed him suspiciously, but otherwise kept to themselves. The main chamber was much the same, Thrall's advisors toiling away with their own matters. Most notably, one was missing.

The Warchief himself was seated atop his throne, azure eyes meeting Xarunaku's as he entered. He stopped at the steps to the upper dais, bowed, and then mounted them.

"Xarunaku of the Netherwings. What brings you away from your post?"

"My Warchief, I fear to tell you." In a lower voice he said. "It may be better if I show you."

The Warchief nodded his permission and Xarunaku placed his hands gently on the Orc's brow. Slowly, he poured his memories into him, careful not to leave a detail out. When he was finished, Thrall opened his eyes, a somber look in them.

"I see."

"I know much more pressing matters are o your mind, and my request will weaken your defenses, but I must ask your permission to attend to this sudden revelation."

Thrall sighed heavily, dipping his head forward. "Open war with the Alliance, betrayal from the Forsaken, an extremely costly campaign in Northrend, rumblings form my shamans that the elements are acting chaotically, the Darkspears assaulting the Echo Isles, and now this matter."

He stopped and began staring off into the distance. For a while, Xarunaku thoughts he'd fallen asleep, but then he said, "You have my permission, but only if you promise to accept my aid."

"Anything you would offer me would be accepted with much grace, my Warchief, but you yourself cannot leave your post."

"And I will not," Thrall replied, rising to his feet. "Walk with me."

He did so, following the Orc from the black metal fortress. They walked the dark, winding path of the Drag. Citizens stopped to honor their leader with salutes and blessings, eyeing the fashionably dressed Orc beside him. Most were to pressed for time and ran off to complete some errand.

"So simple," Thrall would occasionally say as he watched them walk away. "But deep down they've all been affected by the war. Everyone in this city has."

Xarunaku nodded. They continued a little further until the reached the opening to the Valley of Strength, where the city sang with the voices of its diverse mesh of denizens toiling away. All knew of that open war with the Alliance was not far off and, despite the quiet whispers lamenting the lost peace, all offered their services to aid the war effort.

"After all our efforts, after all our attempts at peace, this is what we are reduced to. You were not here when the Alliance and Horde rallied our forces against the Burning Legion at Hyjal, but I think you can understand the joy it brought me to experience such an event. Now it all seemed to have been sacrificed."

"It has to be. Its all about survival now."

"But is that all we're are meant for? Survival? No, there has to be more for our people .we have to seek something higher. Before I was Warchief I was a gladiator and a warrior, Xarunaku. I fought on the front lines for the freedom of my people. It was simpler then."

"Harsher, from the tone of your voice."

"Hah, and you'd be right about that. But back then I knew what I had to do. I knew how to manipulate events for a single purpose. Now…"

He shook his head.

"I envy Garrosh and Saurfang. They can tread where they wish to in order to service the Horde while I am bound here to the matters of politics and diplomacy."

"You are Warchief. Your will is your own."

"Hah, were it so simple but I mu—"

"It is that simple! We have both taste the bitter spite slavery curses us with and both know that nothing good comes from it. If you desire to step on the front lines, to face the problems with the Alliance first hand, then you should, just like you did with Varimathras and Putress."

This took Thrall aback, spellbound by the dragon's fury. Xarunaku immediately realized his mistake and bowed his head in shame.

"My apologies, my Warchief. I forgot my place."

"No," Thrall said with a chuckle. "You claim it! never once has one of my warriors spoke to me so, other than Garrosh and Saurfang. It's refreshing.

"And your words are not without wisdom. Maybe it is time for me to get out of this old place. Stretch my legs a bit, as the Human's say."

For a while the two of them just stood there watching the sunshine. It struck the black metal rooftops with a translucent red light, broiling the air with weaving heat waves. The wind tilted them sideways and brushed the either Orc's hair across their faces.

"You should leave now while the wind is strong."

Xarunaku nodded, and in less than a minute he returned to his Draconic form. "You mentioned providing me aid?"

"I will send word ahead to Sylvanis of your mission. She will prepare a fitting soldier to aid you." He raised his arm in salute. "May the wind bless your wings."

Xarunaku bowed his head in respect, then with a powerful flap of his wings bolted into the air and over the city.

Within the darkest and deepest corridors of the Undercity where the ooze rivers do not run to fill the shadows with a postulant teal light, cloudy blue torches line the walls. They did not clearly define the patches of grime and dirt that layered the floor or the plagued rats scurried over their own innards. At best they kept the decaying denizens from walking into walls, or transformed the pale flesh of one undead High Elf a lovely, yet still fearsome, shade of silver.

It did both, if not more of the latter, for Daria Crystalbolt as she silently stalked the dingy halls. Her brow was tightly confined in an icy glare and lips in a malicious frown. This was the normal outlook for a Forsaken, especially the vengeful Dark Rangers, but Daria had been perfecting for the past few minutes.

She had found it waiting for in her dwellings. It was a fine scroll, sealed with the mark of the Elven Ranger Corps and penned in the Dark Lady's hand, resting atop her termite-ridden desk. She had spent the past year in coordinating covert operations in Northrend, so the state of her room was not a major concern. The contents of the scroll was, however. Within was not the transfer to the Plaguelands like she'd hoped for but a short and blunt order to report to some lackey of the Warchief's named "Xarunaku" atop the outer wall.

Daria was furious. She had proven herself multiple times as a loyal servant of the Dark Lady, daring to the take on the most suicidal missions in the name of the Forsaken. And now she must play servant to some barbaric Orc because some power hungry Dreadlord had dared to start a rebellion. It was insulting.

She had never understood why Sylvanis allowed the rest of the Horde to dominate her people. Sure, she should not have allowed Varimathras enough power to cause such a mess, but she had no cause to suspect such a mess would occur. Besides that, he had attacked the Forsaken too and stolen their city! They had wanted him dead like everyone else. No reason to single them out as the root of the problem.

She sighed and thought, No matter. I will simply speak to the Dark Lady and remind her of the necessity of transferring me to Plaguelands. Surely she can find someone better equipped in diplomacy to take care of some Orc.

Despite the damage wrought during the Battle of the Undercity, much of the city had been rebuilt – and renovated in some cases. The main level surrounding the Trade Quarter was far cleaner, the floors swept and cracked stones replaced. Any debris had been removed, infested wood cleansed, canals of ooze – well, that was the same, but other than that it was quite different.

Still, the Dark Ranger kept her face masked in insufferable rage. Even the Kor'Kron Guards who stood watch along the hall to the Royal Quarter refused to question her. Her mistress was standing proud atop the upper dais discussing some matter with an apothecary. Daria stopped at the top steps, sensing the raised tension.

"I did not ask how 'useful' is it. I ordered you to dispose of all that remains of that accursed plague. I do not think I have to repeat myself."

The apothecary slunk into his robes and in a deep voice replied, "My apologies, my Lady. I am simply reminding you that Putress's concoction succeeded in killing—"

"An entire legion of Horde and Alliance troops in cold blood and instigating a rebellion that nearly whipped us out! Putress's concoction also gave the Alliance warrant to declare open war on us! I think Putress's concoction has proven itself quite well. Now destroy everything that remains of it!"

"Y-yes, my Lady." He slipped away and out of the room.

Daria, her anger and irritation diminished, hesitantly approached her mistress, who was now glaring off into the distance. Daria had to call out her name a few times before she noticed she was there.

"Daria Crystalbolt. Why are you here? I ordered you to report to Xarunaku atop the outer wall."

"That is why I am here, my Lady. I would like to know hwy I was not transferred to the Plaguelands where I could be put to better use."

"Why? Because the Warchief personally requested that I send one of my best operatives to assist Xarunaku, Prince of the Netehrwing dragonflight in a highly important mission, and I chose you! Are you ungrateful?"

Daria's head was spinning. Warchief? Prince? Dragonflight? "My Lady, I simply do not understand—"

"Of course you do not. I do not even understand. I only just discovered that Xarunaku existed, much less that he'd allied with us, a fact eh Warchief has been keeping to himself. Whatever the matter, you have your orders. Now, leave me be!"

Daria saluted and exited the room on instinct, all conscious thought lost to her. As much as she didn't understand earlier, she understood less now. Stealing herself to the task at hand, she ran back to her room, snatched up her bow, an intricate piece of petrified wood magically shaped into a hardened, silver weapon, and smooth, steel quiver.

The Kor'Kron Guards ousted the city's elevator eyed her wearily but did not stop her rise to the upper levels. Against any living creature, the night breeze would have chilled their bones. Daria had no restrictions and walked along the outer walls. She had no set destination.

How do I even know what he looks like? Do I just look for someone who looks Draconic? But on Orcs and Forsaken lined the wall, each with watchful eyes at the surrounding landscape. She chose to stand watch on the Western side, directing her attention to the sea.

Time passed and no one came, and yet Daria stood where she was. The clouds passed overhead slowly, hiding and revealing the moon intermittently. But, then it did not.

Someone nearby shouted, and Daria immediately strung her bow and aimed it at a shapeless black mass approaching the city. It was large, bigger than any gargoyle or bat that she'd ever seen. It was about the size of a…

Her Elven eyes cut through the shadows and captured the mass's true form. Orc and Forsaken archers stepped past her, drawing back saronite tipped arrows.

"No!" She shouted, leaping between them and the mass with arms stretched out.

Suddenly, moonlight surrounded them and a loud thud came form behind her. The archers' jaws dropped in shock, voices lost to the night. Daria slowly turned around, staring in surprise as a black haired High Elf gowned in fine robes of purple and gold with a matching cloak lined with jewels. One piece was the insignia of the Horde. He ignored the dumbstruck guards and stepped towards Daria.

"You are the soldier Queen Sylvanas suggested, I presume?"

She nodded and saluted. "Dark Ranger Daria Crystalbolt. It is an honor, Prince Xarunaku."

He mimicked her salute. "My apologies for suddenly requesting your services, but the need is dire. Have you been informed of our mission?"

"No, I was simply ordered to report here."

"I see," He said gravely, eyes darkening. "No matter. I will inform you on the way to our destination."

"Which is—"

"Excuse me!"

Both Elves turned to an Orc guard, who'd worked up the nerve to speak to the Dragon.

"My apologies," Xarunaku said, withdrawing a loose cloth from his pockets. It had a white wolf's head sewn into it, the symbol of the Warchief. "I am a special advisor to the Warchief sent here to retrieve dark Ranger Daria Crystalbolt."

The guards nodded slowly and reluctantly left the two in peace.

"Now, lets get a move on. I've wasted enough time already."

"Alright. My horse is in the stable, and we can easily procure one for you—"

"No time." Was all he said before stretching his arms to either side. In matter of seconds he turned translucent black, flesh turned to scales, neck extended, arms and legs turned to talons, and wings sprouted from his back. Before her stood a full grown Nether Dragon five times her size.

"Grab hold." His voice rumbled like thunder.

Daria nodded slowly, and tried to understand what he meant. His sales seemed ready to fade away any second but when she wrapped her fingers around them the felt as solid as stone. With a beat of his wings Xarunaku entered the night sky, dead set on north.