Chapter 9!

Valentine Wolfe, was the first son of Jacob Wolfe, of clan Wolfe. a ruthless clan of noblemen and women who did whatever it took to be in the good graces of Empress Lionstone the 14th AKA The Iron Bitch, ruler of the galaxy. they did everything they could to look good and powerfu, up to and including dealing with the rogue AI's of Shub, the enemies of humanity.

Valentine Wolfe was tall, slender and darkly
delicate, like a hothouse flower rudely torn from its usual habitat. His facewas long and thin and more than fashionably pale, and his shock of jet black
hair fell to his shoulders in curls and ringlets. Heavy mascara highlighted his
overbright eyes, and a painted crimson smile hid his feelings from one and all.
He had an artist's hands, all long slender fingers and languorous gestures, and
they fluttered about his throat in moments of excitement like startled doves in
the night.
Valentine Wolfe was well known in and out of court for having tried every drug
known to man, and a few he'd had made up specially. If you could smoke it, sniff
it or stick it where the sun doesn't shine, he'd tried it all once, and twice if
he enjoyed it, which he usually did. It was truly said he'd never met a chemical
he didn't like. It was a wonder to all who knew him that he hadn't fried his
brains long ago, but by some dark chemical miracle, his mind remained sharp and
dangerous. He had the usual enemies for a man in his position and looked like he
would outlive them all. And though he chose not to play the game of intrigue
himself, he could still be a subtle and malevolent influence on those who did.

Sylvanas Windrunner, POV.

It has been, 6 days since that encounter with Illidan, 6 days since I started my training with the Demon Hunter, Hellbourne.

At first he'd been very reluctant to teach me, but after I told him of how little I was adverse to kicking a man while he was down, as well as some of the things, I'd learned from Trolls, that could be done with cheese graters. He quickly, gave in.

I yelped, as Hellbourne, drove me into the floor, with his hand at the back of my head, his fingers tangled in my hair… for like the 7th time that day… not counting all the other times he'd done in the previous days.

"Give in?" he demanded, not letting up on the pressure he hand on my head one iota, his knees ground itself deep into the small of my back and I bit back a groan of pain.

Damn it all to hell, Illidan Stormrage was definitely correct about my sense of pain being enhanced along with everything else! I thought, even as I pitifully tried to dislodge Hellbourne from my back with a back kick to his ass.

He grunted, but did little more, besides press his other knee into the back of my thighs, causing another yelp to escape between my teeth.

"I give damn it! I give!" I snarled and he instantly released me, backing away a few feet, to give me room to myself.

"So counting that time almost a week ago, I've beaten you exactly… 3 times, you arrogant bastard!" I grumbled, I was a sore loser.

"2, that time when we first met doesn't count, we weren't fighting you just did that to be nasty." he grinned. He was quickly becoming accustomed to me and I think he was, like Illidan said, becoming "Distracted!" by my rotting stench and feminine wiles. I thought bitterly about his words and wondered, just what the hell was with me that I just couldn't get over, what he'd said, it was ridicules! My own mother had said worse things to me and I'd walked away, feeling just fine.

"Something bother you? You look troubled Sylvanas." he asked, just the teeniest flicker of concern in his voice.

I waved him off, "Oh nothing just indigestion, Illidan presented me, with a… interesting meal last night and I really didn't agree with me I think." I shrugged.

"So what about this spectral sight, thing I heard Varedis and Illidan mention, whats that all about?" I asked, even as I warmed up for another fight. "Oh its where, us Demon Hunters, gouge out our own eyes, or blind ourselves in some other way. We gain a new ands pecial sight once we meditate on it long enough, our innate magic, develops a way to compensate for our lack of eyes and gives us new ones, to see things similarly as Lord Illidan sees them."

"You mean, like those Orb things, that burn behind Illidan's blindfold?" I asked, he nodded. "Yeah, but normally their not as bright as that. Lord Illidan was made to see that way and he can see a lot more too. His eyes were given to him by the Demon Lord Sargaras, he can see not just into the spectral world like we can, but he can also see magics of all kinds, or at least that's what Varedis says, its also said he can see our souls, see the essence of us and see whose good and whose evil, that sorta stuff."

I snorted, "I sincerely doubt that, I've done and seen enough things, to have gained quite a bit of insight into things. Trust me kid, the only way to see whose evil and whose not, is to look at their history, look into their eyes and look at their actions and even then, sometimes you just don't know them like you think you do. Everybody lies, in some way or another, some are bad at it, some are so masterful, they don't even really need to lie and just have to know enough of the truth to twist it around enough in how it sounds and how it looks and feels, so in your eyes it becomes something ugly and disgusting, hateful, where it might otherwise a beautiful truth."

"Your very cynical aren't you." he stated, staring at me, with what probably would have been pretty wide eyes, were it not for the fact that he'd removed them.

"I prefer to think realistic shut up and fight, Hellbourne." I snarled and he shrugged, before charging forward.

I grinned and readied myself, even as he came at me. I would be prepared this time.

14 minutes later, I had Hellbourne on the ground, at last. One hand jammed against his neck, ready to break it should he try to move and for good measure one knee in the center of his back, ready to grind down with a single hard fluid movement that'd shatter his spine. A special move he'd learned from Varedis and tested out on several Scourge acolytes.

"give?" I asked, smugly. "I give." he groaned and I smirked satisfied and got off him.

He rubbed at his aching back and neck, "You know I think you gave me some damaged vertebrae! I swear I can't feel some of my extremities and I got some very painful twinges in my spine." I moaned out even as he rubbed at these places.

I shrugged, "Well that's what you get, when you tangle with a former Ranger general of Silvermoon, they made us strong, back then… in those days."

I sighed sadly. "Could you tell me about it?" he asked. I looked at him in surprise. "Tell you about Quel'Thalas?" he nodded, flushing slightly. "YEah I mean, if its not too much to ask, I mean, well… I've always been curious about it, I mean how the Highborn did after they were banished and stuff."

"Why, don't you ask some other Elf?" I asked, he shrugged sheepishly, "Most of them don't want to talk about it, more focused on vengeance and how unfairly the Alliance treated them. The ones who do talk, like to exaggerate and can't keep their stories straight and are generally either heavily drunk or heavily out of their minds with out of control magic addiction."

I nodded, thinking it over for a few minutes. I thought of the long years I'd spent on taking vengeance for my people, out on the scourge, all those month's I'd spent as a banshee, feeling little other than my overwhelming sorrow and guilt. I thought of how long I'd spent trying to avoid, thinking of that pain, thinking of the lost sunwell and all the people I had fought so desperately to protect, all that heartrending, stomach twisting guilt and grief I'd felt after I'd gotten my free will back as I remembered ever death and betrayal I'd made to everything and everyone I'd held so dear in Quel'Thalas, all the people I'd sworn to protect and failed so utterly. I should have died with them… I thought miserably, just like grandfather said… But we did! a loud distorted with rage and hurt, voice said from within me.

I blinked, Whose there? Deirdre, Deirdre Sorrows. I am your mental personification, for your sorrow, your pain, your tragedy… your betrayal! As well as just a little bit of your logic. Okay weird, what do you mean we did? this Deirdre in my head, sighed, it means we did die! Sylvanas, we did die like grandpa! she spat that last part, said we should have. We died and we got brought back to an icy mindless torment, unable to think or act as we would on our own. He called us a traitor to our people for living and not sharing their fate! Well isn't he just the poster child of the Hippocratic, if we should have shared the same fate as our people, then so should he! And besides that we DID share the same fate as our people. We died, directly by Arthas' hand and were brought back by that hand as well, just like our people. I listened to this Deirdre's rant and I paused to think about her argument, stunned by how much it really did make sense. But then, I heard grandfather's words over and over again in my mind and I shook my head. No, No your wrong! We don't share the same fate as them. They remain slaves to the Lich King, now and forever. We escaped his will after 6 months, we do not share their fate, we were cowards, we left as soon as we could, without even thinking about our other people. We're no better than Arthas.

I tasted salt in my mouth, as bitter tears tried to flow, but just stopped halfway and fell back within my body, to be reabsorbed.

"I, I'm sorry," I murmured, "but I can't, maybe later." And with that I left the room and didn't look back. Not seeing the worry in his face, or the sad sympathy in his eyes.

Author, POV.

Probably a good thing, she didn't see the pity in Hellbourne's gaze, if she had she would not have reacted at all well, to it not at the moment anyway.

In the meantime, Sylvanas Windrunner, our favorite neighborhood, lawfully Evil, Banshee or whatever. Strolled the corridors, not quite knowing what it was exactly that she seeks, just knowing it is not within Hellbourne's quarters.

(Sorry there Hellbourne,) Author thinks. (but you don't have what it takes to make her happy, lol! Never rub another man's rhubarb, ahahahahahaa!)

Illidan Stormrage, POV.

Location, Throne room, roof, thingamajig.

I sat cross-legged or at least as close to it as I could come to anyway with my hooves and all, my eyes about as dimmed as they could be and my hands resting upright on my knees… or well where my knees should have been, considering yet again my reverse jointed legs from the thighs down.

I did my best to concentrate, just like my old master had taught me, did my best to envision the heart of the world, the great calming energy within that heart. I tried to draw on that power, tried to be one with it. I actually managed to set off a few crimson sparks, as well… when she came into the room.

The energy I'd just begun to summon, went haywire and quickly left me, though not without leaving a few tiny electrical burns, in my flesh.

I scowled at the burns and used a small dabbling of my arcane magic to regenerate the lost and fried tissue.

"Sylvanas, what are you doing here?" I asked, my voice even rougher than usual. I'd been trying to master Druidic energy, as it had a feel calming spells and energies about it, I had only begun to release back on Azeroth, that I figured my come in handy, especially when dealing the Undead woman who vexed me so.

Unfortunately mastering Druidic magic on Draenor, was even more difficult in some ways, than it was on Azeroth… for one thing, there wasn't much heart left in this blasted, shattered land. And what little remained of the heart was corrupted. Turned from the lively radiant green energy I could sense it once held and to a dark crimson that crackled and sparked with the various demonic energies it had absorbed over the years. Seeing as I am a Demon Hunter, fairly demonic myself and made it my business to master Dark and Demonic magics, I'm sure you can guess which of these made it easier.

"Stormrage, I…" she started and stopped, to burp a little, "Have come tok to juuu… botu whore and wine glass.." she giggled and made a little sound that I couldn't quite identify, but it sounded fairly pathetic I frowned at her. "What's wrong with you?" I demanded, feeling uneasyness creep through me. "Watsss.. Wron wif mE! How doweee shooo, ja, mutah brutha hmmfing.." she burst out laughing and fell to the floor and I stared at her.

"You know what your problem is, Illidan Stormrage?" she asked, staring at me hard eyed. I blinked at her suddenly lucid appearance and though I really didn't think I should answer her I did anyway, "I think I do, but you probably have an opinion of your own that completely differs from mine so please, enlighten me."

She giggled, "Enlighten, he said enlightened!" she laughed her sober appearance gone in an instant. "Your problem Illidan Stormrage… is taghht, you take yourself wayyy to seriously… why so serious?" she laughed, "you really should put a smile on that face, have seat, have drink.. You want my opinion ju sayyy… you need to lighten up." and with that she belched once more and a small stream of fire erupted from her mouth and without thinking I spread my wings wide and they beat the air hard flinging me back away from the stream of fire as well as sending the fire right back into Sylvanas' face.

She screamed in pain and I winced as the sound of crackling flesh and the smell of roast meat filled the air.

Sylvanas fell back and onto her side on the floor, clutching at her face.

I just stood where I'd flung myself with my wings, staring at her for a long second.

"Sylvanas," I called to her gently, she didn't respond, "Sylvanas are you okay?"

She nodded and when I moved over to her to brush back some of her hair to examine the damage, she did indeed look fine, most of the ruined flesh already having repaired itself, the few that remained already rapidly fading out to nothing.

She glanced up at me and looked away again quickly.

I smelled salt, but it wasn't the salt of sweat, though I could smell that she had been doing something like sweating not too long ago, though note I said, like sweating, it didn't smell right, it smelt… somewhat like the black synthetic blood, that filled her body, just as the other salty smell that I caught from her mouth… it smelled like tears and synthetic blood.

"Why are you crying?' I asked, curiously. Feeling something that resembled indigestion and that I had been insisting was indigestion the past few days, but deep down knew it wasn't.

She looked up at me sharply, glaring at me, though her eyes looking somewhat sober now, though they didn't quite hold the same venom towards me they had in times previous. "What makes you say that!" she demanded, putting one hand on a cocked hip, "I'm not crying, I'm merely brooding!"

"Yes you are and no you aren't." I sighed, "You are crying, or as much as you can cry and your so called brooding is nothing more than you trying to swallow those black tears of yours, before they choke you."

She sputtered and coughed and I went to her.

I wrapped my arms tightly around her torso and the sputtered yet again, indignantly. Before I pulled her up a bit like a child, so that her face was up to my chest instead of just over my waist.

She fought me, growling and cursing at me and demanded to know what the hell I was doing… before she finally settled just for burying her face in my chest and sobbing, dry heavy sobs, of grief and despair. And I held her, I rocked her in my arms, much like a child as she did this, not quite understanding why I did this or why that stupid indigestion I'd been suffering from the past few days had suddenly vanished to be replaced by a feeling glowing inner warmth inside of me… I just did and it did and I kept on doing it.

I stroked her snow white hair, from her grayish blue face, to get a better look at her anguished, despair filled face… and it was about the most beautiful sight I'd ever beheld. My spectral sight had adjusted, to her spectral presence and I could know more or less behold her the same as the rest of the world could, but in darker, truer colors. I saw flashes of crimson as she opened her eyes briefly, every once in a while, when she paused in her vicious crying just long enough to drag in a deep breath and cry some more.

All previous thoughts of my own anguish and sorrow, of my lost path with Tyrande, were banished from my mind as I held the weeping, agent of Death in my arms.

I ruffled her hair softly, feeling the soft, silken texture of the hair and the smoothness of her scalp, not a single scar or bump, to tarnish the flawlessness of her flesh. I sniffed her hair and smelled a sweet sorta sickly scent along with it, cold and bitter with anguish, guilt and sorrow, the smell of death, but also along with it I smelled redwood and lilacs and the nearly forgotten scent of sunshine energy, trees of all sorts and laughter, the smell of her former life and homeland.

Her sobs were quieting down now and I could feel her breathing slow and deepen and I realized she was about ready to fall asleep like this. I realized what I had to do and I sighed.

I held her tighter with my left arm, so I could release her with my other arm and pull her legs up so I could cradle her in my grasp.

I summoned a portal and paused as I considered where wished to go. I couldn't teleport into her room, I had wards to prevent any such thing from happening, from any spells even my own. And I certainly couldn't teleport near the room, Vashj for some reason I couldn't fathom had taken to watching the young Elf's room like a hawk.

My own room though, that was a different story. Not only could I teleport in with my very own homemade spell, Vashj rarely paid my room any mind… partly because I rarely slept in it and partly because she knows I don't like it when she does that. It always sends chills down my spine, when I feel a hidden person's eyes on me, even when I know whose watching me.

So I teleported into the room and gently set her down on the silken sheets of my bed.

I paused briefly, before I removed her heavy black dragon scale boots with their stout stiletto heals made from a disguised Dragon's fang that was practically indestructible. I thought briefly about removing a few other articles of clothing, though of the embarrassment she'd feel if I took her pants… and made up my mind and took her pants.

I'd smelled liquor on her breath, strong liquor at that, probably made up special by the damned apothecary we had downstairs, a blood elf named Valentine Constantine Wolfe, who was by far one of the best apothecaries I'd ever encountered and loved to mix potent drugs in with his drinks.

So she probably wouldn't remember too much of what happened this night, when she woke up in the morning, but why take chances. Removing her pants would lead her to think we'd done something together or something she'd be embarrassed and infuriated, it'd get her mind off whatever the hell had set her off like this in the first place.

She woke up briefly as I was tucking her in, "You smell nice, Illidan," she murmured softly, "like cherry blossoms and rain, lightning and…" I pressed a finger to her mouth before she could say anymore, "Shshh." I shushed her quietly. "No need to talk, sleep now, I'll have a bucket and a few canteens of water, waiting for you in the morning."

She giggled, woozily and pressed one sloppy kiss onto my cheek, before she promptly passed out.

I sighed and pushed her back into the safety of the bed sheets. "Sleep well, Sylvanas Windrunner." I murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, "My little Black Revenant of Death."

With that I turned away, to go find an alchemist about a few potions, he may or may not but probably did cook up for a certain Black Revenant. There would be hell to pay in the morning and I wanted to get my licks in first.

Sylvanas Windrunner POV.

I woke up, with what was possibly, the worst hangover I'd ever experienced in my life… and that was saying something.

I saw a bucket nearby and gave silent thanks to whoever put it there, cause the instant my eyes set upon it, my stomach gave a sudden violent flipflop and I clutched the bucket to myself and heaved for all I was worth… as it turned out I wasn't worth enough, the only thing that left my body was a small trail of saliva.

My head was pounded, double in time with my heart and I groaned as I blinked and I felt light I had rubbed broken shards of glass into my eyes as I did so.

I glanced at the bedside and decided to makeup a fruit basket to whoever had left the water by me as well as a bucket.

I drank the water greedily and sighed thankfully as the heavenly water filled my mouth.

When I had polished off my third leather pouch of water, I settled back on the crimson silk sheets and sighed as the wonderfully smooth and soft fabric enveloped me.

Wait a minute! I thought, alarm bells ringing in my head. Silk sheets! I don't have silk sheets! I looked around the room and saw to my chagrin and horror, that I wasn't in my room, I didn't know where the hell I was.

I felt the fabric of the silk sheets caress my legs.. My bare legs! where in the hell are my pants! I mentally screamed, in alarm. I noted with some considerable relief that I at least had my underwear and my white blouse and my brown vest on, but where were my pants! And my boots come to think of it.

I glanced around the room wildly and memory started to return.

Valentine might be a hothouse flower, but his thorns were poisonous!

Valentine Wolfe, created by Simon R Green, in the universe of Deathstalker. i own nothing, i merely honor his memory by carrying on his dark legacy in the best of my ability.