I own Vician Trannyth, Itris Highbinder, Kaxet Botfuel, Ororan Lonesnarl, Elkemin Winddreamer, Uraz'Do, Tibarn Bonefever, Rili the succubus, Death Knight Borgan Van Talen, Shadow Priestess Victoria Painbinder, and Lightslayer Hiro Tombweeper, all else to Blizz

A/N...

There is one line in here that belongs to 3 Inches Of Blood, from their song: God of the Cold White Silence. Bonus points if you can find it :)

I've got nothing else, so I'll just dance to Caramelldansen :3

Warning: Yelling, implied sexual thoughts, language, implied violence, and deep thoughts

Kalira has been noticing a strange occurrence with Sylvanas. The Dark Lady, it seems, is eternally tired. She rarely leaves her private chambers, and when she does, her temper is short. Between the Cult and the elections, Kalira has tried to pull Sylvanas out of her chambers, with little success.

"I said no," Sylvanas screeched at Kalira one day, "I want to be left alone. I am not going anywhere with you, nor anyone else!" She slammed her chamber door, the sound echoing throughout the Undercity at large.

For the first time since she died, Kalira has felt her heart ache. She has fallen in love with the Dark Lady, and now Sylvanas was pushing her away. Did Sylvanas feel guilty over her affair? Did Sylvanas even love her, or was it just lust and frustration? With her mind consumed by these thoughts, she rounds the corner, bumping into Borgan. "Oh, sorry Borgan," she exclaims, looking up at the undead Death Knight.

Borgan nods and shrugs his shoulders, "It is no problem, Kalira. I was on my way to see you anyway."

Kalira nods, motioning for Borgan to follow her, "Walk with me. Why were you on your way to see me?"

"We have been getting disturbing reports from the plague-lands," Borgan begins, motioning with his hands as he walks, "Members of the Forsaken have gone mad; more-so than usual."

Kalira nods her head, pushing her thoughts of Sylvanas aside,"How so?"

"They mutter and whine; they bash their heads against the walls; they try and claw out of their confinement; and they mutter one phrase, over and over again."

"Could it be the Lich King?" Kalira asks, hoping it is not so.

"The Lich King is dead," Borgan says tersely, "Despite what the Alliance Dogs say."

Kalira looks up and down Borgan, watching him square and tense his jaw, "Who could be behind it then?"

"I know not," He says, shaking his head. "I'll take you to Faranell, he'll know more."

Kalira nods as she walks with the Death Knight. It is strange going back to Faranell without an Orc guard in tow. Since Vician's death, very few Orcish guards remain. Most of them have been drugged with a modified plague, which allows for rapid growth of flesh, at the cost of organs. When on death's doorstep, they were taken to Faranell, who would kill them and use the flesh to create Abominations.

Although Vician agreed that the Abominations were essential to Forsaken Society, he hated the practice used to get them. It's what made Kalira fall in love with him in the first place. Despite that, he was well spoken, his mind was quite sharp, and although his physical appearance was rotting away, she was told—many times—by other Dark Rangers, not to let that fool her.

She had seen it for herself once. Vician and she were walking Durotar, when they stopped in Razor Hill for a rest and a bath, to clean the dirt and sand from themselves. She mistakenly walked into his room while he was dressing. Not quite mistakenly; she had heard stories of his physical appearance and she had wanted to see for herself.

Boy-oh-boy was she glad she walked in. Her eyes traced the lines of his muscles—on the places where he still had skin. Due to his age, the skin was withered and rotting away; his arms were mostly bones. But his chest, however; Kalira stood there, her eyes glued to his muscled form, the tip of the slender finger resting just on her teeth, her arms slightly crossed, and her body leaning against the door frame.

She had no idea that a warlock could have the muscles of a warrior. When she slept with the Orcish guards, she found out that many of them were lacking in that department; and others as well. She wasn't sure that Vician even had anything anymore, or if it had simply rotted away. But his possible lack of something still would have put him miles ahead of any of the Orcs.

It was not only his body that she lusted for, it was his mind as well. Of course, he was always a perfect gentleman, but he knew things, that most others did not. When they would walk the halls of the Undercity, he would sometimes tell her of his travels. It was nothing astounding, but it did make her feel warm inside, when he spoke to her.

But now, he's dead. The Heroes of the Horde have been gone for months and she is beginning to lose hope. Why did Vician only appear in Sylvanas's dreams and not hers? She is as much in love with Vician as the Dark Lady; perhaps even more; and now she is in love with the Dark Lady as well; how amusing it all is.

Even though she yearns for Vician to return, she also wishes that he would just stay dead, for it'll make things simpler between herself and Sylvanas. But with Sylvanas now pushing her away, she isn't sure what to think anymore.

Kalira growls and shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair. "Are you alright?" Borgan asks, tentatively.

Kalira sighs and drops her hands, "I'm fine." Looking from Borgan to Faranell, she smiles, "Hello, Faranell."

Faranell nods his head at the pair, "Greetings Kalira and Borgan. I trust you have heard of the situation in the plague-lands?"

Kalira nods her head, "Yes, Borgan has informed me. What's going on?"

Faranell motions for the pair to follow, as he heads towards the cages, "It is the most peculiar thing. The Forsaken that have recently gone out to the Eastern Plague-lands have returned mad. We are all a bit touched in the head—death does that to us—but this is stranger than that. These Forsaken writhe against us and even lash out, all while muttering a single phrase."

When they approach the cage, Kalira can clearly see. A Forsaken struggles against the bindings, his eyes wide and his mouth constantly moving. He twitchily looks around the cage, his eyes darting back and forth. "In the woods lies a Great Old One," he mutters, "Who'll tear the flesh, right off your bones." The Forsaken repeats the phrase over and over, his eyes darting around the cage, while he still struggles against the bindings.

"'In the woods lies a Great Old One, who'll tear the flesh, right off your bones,'" Kalira repeats, pulling at her bottom lip, "Could he be speaking of an Old God?"

Faranell shrugs his shoulders, "Perhaps. Either an Old God or a lieutenant of one; something either has recently moved into the area or something has awoken."

Kalira nods her head, "Well, we will have to investigate." She turns to Borgan, "Gather some Rangers and Death Knights, we are going to investigate," Borgan nods and heads off. Kalira turns back towards Faranell, "Keep researching the Forsaken here. I want some results when Borgan and I return."

"As you wish, Ranger," Faranell says as Kalira leaves, his eyes following her leather bound rear. When he is alone, Faranell approaches the twitching Forsaken. "That bitch will know of her place soon enough," he mutters to himself. Looking towards the door, he grins, nearly splitting his face in two. "How wonderful it would be to experiment on her body."

He chuckles, picking up a scalpel, "She will be mine yet," he mutters. Nodding his head—mostly to himself—Faranell cocks his head at the Forsaken, before thrusting in. As he cuts at the Forsaken, a deep chuckle builds in his throat. His laugh grows louder and louder; and soon, Undercity echoes with his twisted laughter. It echoes long into the night.