A voice spoke to him "Landowar Lost burvon thought Valkors?" Valkors cursed his undead rotting brain for slowly forgetting his once primary tongue of speak. He looked up at the human female in front of him, her name, Orianna. Orianna's hair was a long dark black, which contrasted quite well with the white tabard and scarlet red flame displayed upon it. Quite funny for a forsaken like himself to be chatting with a member of the Scarlet Order. So they met in secret within the undead crypts of Duskwood, to exchange important information, as was usual with this contact of his... all notion of her once being a friend in life far in the back of this undead's mind.

"Valkors, bur landowar you want?" said Orianna as she held out some important documents. Valkors let out only a small nod as he reached out and grabbed the documents with his boney fingers. He read over them as best he could trying to make sense of it all. He gripped the paper tightly and tearing it to shreds after reading only half. That name caused him to go into fits of rage at times, and at others break down in what some folks may call crying... if you can cry without eyeballs or tearducts that is. Edwin VanCleef.... how he despised that man.

Orianna was about to speak when she noticed that the rogue undead was no longer in her sights. She sighed to herself and then slipped away into the shadows aswell, probably returning to see Sir Wyatt of the Scarlet Order. Valkors only caught fragments of memories within his mind of that young girl Orianna, aboard the ship of Captain Campbell. The Captain... the man who taught him the ways of the sea and how to use a gun... among other life important lessons such as holding his liquor and where some of the best brothel's within Stormwind were. Not that any of it mattered now... and with that Valkors headed off to his private hideout.

Valkors looks up from his desk, peering around as he notices the odd-eyed little green creature approaching his desk. "You there, little green man. What do you want of me?" asked the Director as he leaned over his desk to see the little creature. Even though the goblin looked exhausted however he managed to sputter out "The Pirates... The Pirates of Kalimdor are disbanding!" With that mere sentence Valkors practically fell backwards over his chair with astonishment.

"THEY WHAT?!" exclaimed the undead with disbelief. "How? Why? Was it the Blackwater Raiders?!" The Goblin looked up, "No, No Mr. McClaudes. It seems it is by their own wishes that they disband, it seems the old sea dogs have met their days, as fewer and fewer exist among their ranks. Many turning to a life of crime or dying during missions I assume." Valkors sighed to himself and grabbed a pen and paper scribbling a letter. With hand extended he handed the letter to the Booty Bay repesentative, "Give this to Captain Blacktusk." The goblin nodded "Yes, Yes, I shall do so right away!", and with that the little man scurried off down the halls of the Undercity.

[The Letter]

As Valkors looked at the little man, he gathered his thoughts writing it down on paper.

Ahoy! Captain Blacktusk,

It is a sad day when the beloved Pirates of Kalimdor disband. However, I too was once a Pirate under the ship flags of a man known as Captain Campbell. He trained me well as a sea dog, and for that I am grateful. I know what your men are going through, and I can assure you that you will always have comradery amongst your mates. There is it not a day that goes by that I do not think of my former mates, our days on the sea, and my life as a pirate...

But, I digress... us undead easily get off topic with memories of our past lives I suppose. Here's to you Captain Blacktusk, First Mate Boven, and all the rest of you. I wish you all well in whatever you may do, and I hope that you use your skills in the name of good, fighting the good fight. Please... I beg of you all to not end up on the wrong side of the law... on the side of my pointed and poisoned daggers... Instead, let us meet in the Salty Sailor and share a tale or two, and perhaps an equal amount of drinks as well.

Respectfuly Yours,
Valkors McClaudes

The racetrack bleachers would be relatively empty at this time of morning as well, though lately it seemed as though very few people were interested in the racing at all. Making her way to the center of the rickety construction, she seated herself upon the bleached wooden boards and began to pull some paper and writing instruments from her pack. Her trustworthy accountant, a priestess of Elune, and a friend, would see these letters to their recipients later today. And by that time, Tirasa would be in the throes of her destiny.

The letter to the Talons was difficult, but not overly so. It seemed just another betrayal, and she had betrayed them so often as of late. No fit commander, she. But they were more than just her squadron; they were her companions as well, and Tirasa paused as she remembered the very first excursion she had led. Raelis, Taunus, Tanna, Corpang, and Jarrax to Blackfathom Deeps. They had all fought valiantly, and, against all odds, had emerged victorious against those pawns of the Old Gods. Trackers and Assassins all… no priests or druids were needed when the Talons were on the job.

Of those four, only three remained. Tanna and Taunus were lieutenants, her most trusted. She was sure that Corpang would be promoted upon her departure. And now, once again, she was betraying their trust. Gritting her teeth, she continued the first letter, scratching her G2 Metallic Preciso-Grip 3000 more coarsely across the paper as she signed her name.

Tirasa’s eyes became watery as she gazed out across the salt-whitened landscape, lit up now almost brilliantly with the heralding sun’s colors. Ardanas… what to tell him? For a moment she lay the gnomish writing instrument down, thinking perhaps she was being too hasty. Did she really need to do this? Look at everything she was giving up! Was it truly necessary?

Their last night together, there had been a thunderstorm. The pattering of the rain against the roof of their new house in Stormwind had done little to dampen the passion of their lovemaking, if anything, it had intensified it. Alone together in the midst of nature’s onslaught, they had clung together, the downpour projecting a curtain of secrecy around them. For once, no worries of their relationship being discovered.

And afterwards, as they had settled off to sleep, Tirasa recalled that she had not known such peace in a very long time. Burying her nose into Ardanas’ grey-streaked longish hair, she kissed the nape of his neck, and was comforted even more by the scent of his skin. Tirasa loved the smell of him. She was never sure if it was cologne, though she doubted that. More than likely it was just the soap he used, mingled together with his body’s own aroma, that conspired to make him irresistible to her.

Now, on the deserted bleachers out in the middle of the Salt Flats, a river of tears drenched the paper before her, and she balled it up and tossed it away. But then she remembered how Ardanas suffered each time she became ill. Even if he could bear his own torment by the fel magics of that vile staff, would it be fair to add the burden of her own sickness, which she was sure would double and triple in time, perhaps killing her? The answer made clear to her, Tirasa began the second letter.

Finishing the missive off amidst a bout of petulant hiccups, the sobs began anew when Tirasa gazed at the bracelet upon her left wrist. The small blooms fashioned out of multicolored stones glinted as if in joyful greeting to the sunrise, their intricately carved petals seemingly twisting to get a better view. His mother’s bracelet… given to her by his father before their marriage. Ardanas had made a promise to her, a promise that she would not hold him to upon her imminent disappearance and possible death. Unfastening the delicate clasp, Tirasa brought the bracelet to her lips, and then to her heart, holding it there for several long moments before placing it in a small satin pouch. My heart… my soul…

*********

Tirasa dismounted, smacking the giant black-striped cat on the flank to send him away. Gladly the Kaldorei blacksmith in Gadgetzan had been willing to take the animal in, albeit with a disclaimer should Tirasa ever return. Sinking into the shadows created by the sandy cliff behind her, the assassin slowly moved forward.

Silently jostling several small stones in her hand, she eyed the bronze dragon before her warily. One mistake… and she’d be dead. Of course, there was always the possibility that she wouldn’t be permanently dead… but then, the bronze guardians would be alerted to her designs, and the second attempt would be much more difficult.

She glanced at the glowing indigo door to her left, and she became more aware of the buzzing sensation throughout her body that occurred every time she came near this place. Would the door open for her? She was almost completely sure that it would, however, what lay beyond it, she wasn’t completely prepared for. The Caverns of Time… time itself lay behind that door? The thought was of course incomprehensible, so Tirasa pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the task of the moment.

A split second from now the flying guardian would be in a position to allow her to slip behind him through the door… there. Holding her breath, Tirasa tossed the pebbles away from her, and the dragon turned.

She hurriedly stepped forward, and her world went black.

She lay awake long after his exhausted breathing slowed to a reposing one. He had turned to face away from her, and she gazed fondly at his naked shoulders peeking out above the coverlet, adorned with a few scratches made by her own hands. A few silver strands glittered within his black tresses that were spread out upon the pillow, but she thought perhaps that a trick of Ironforge’s ever-present light filtering through the window.

That they hadn’t spoken after his late night arrival had been fortunate, as Tirasa had not yet decided how to react to his confession earlier, before he had embarked upon a dangerous mission of his own. It had obviously been a trying one, as he seemed as much in a dream state as she when they had made love. Words were unnecessary; each other’s presence had been enough.

Did he know just how much he was destroying her mission by loving her? Apparently not. His words came back through her mind in a hush. “Your mission depends on you not loving me, it doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love with you.” She grimaced. His love for her would make him careless, reckless. The demonic energies held within that artifact he carried upon his back would use it to advantage, of that she was certain. Already it directed his dreams, or so she surmised by his discussion of them.

She’d have to be doubly careful now, as he was weakened, vulnerable. And she must be stronger still. How close had she come to relating her true feelings to him? Her fist clenched upon the pillow, and a catty voice, a derivative of her own, filtered through her thoughts.

How perfectly fitting that you fall in love with a human. Your peers would be outraged, were this the Talons’ prime.

Tirasa grunted, and defended herself in her mind. I don’t like it either. But he is like Illidan in so many ways… I… it was not something I could control.

Like Illidan? The voice snorted. Imagine the sneer Illidan would save for you were he to hear that. And the throttling. This one is weak. He is powerful directing the Arcane, yes, but he is no better than an infant at close range. He doubts himself, something Illidan never did.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Illidan was the same before I taught him the ways of the sword. And yes, he doubted… perhaps he doubts still, in this timeline that makes me a stranger to him.

You must kill him. And this one must be taught the strength to stand against those who would hurt him, even if he loves them.

At last the two voices agreed. Yes.

Tirasa gazed once again upon the slumbering mage, and moved over to fit her body against his, frowning as he grabbed up her hand and brought it to his heart. How old did he say he was? Hm, forty years of age… that would leave him another four decades, six at most. Six decades, that was nothing. She could wait.

And also he’d said that he was “quietly jealous”. Perhaps she could find a way to lessen his love for her still…

“He is a weak, cowardly fool.” Her cheek was resting upon his shoulder, her head curled up under his chin, one of her legs entangled with his.

“He is human.” Myrokos had just debriefed Tirasa, rather informally, on the state of Ardanas’ voyage to Tirisfal. One of the SI:7 agents had been captured and tortured by the Forsaken, though the assassins sent by Ravenholdt had kept themselves safe, as had the mage.

She blinked. “Yet you surround yourself with humans day and night, Mister Duplicity.”

He chuckled, a sound full of blackness and secrecy. “I was merely pointing out the popular Kaldorei opinion, night flower. You see, the humans were the only ones to befriend my people when yours exiled us.”

Raising her head to lay beside his upon the pillow, his silky blonde hair caressing her face and lips, Tirasa regarded him steadily. “Not all of us agreed with that decision. But who am I to interfere with the workings of my employer?”

“Indeed.” He paused but for a moment. “Strange then, how you have begun to fall in love with your subject.”

Tirasa tucked her head back down. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just want this mission to end.” The last sentence held a bit of a whine.

“Diverting a war is never easy, nor quick, Tirasa,” he replied as he gently flipped her onto her back, his hands busying themselves with other parts of her anatomy. “Surely you know how protective the inhabitants of Dalaran are of their own.”

She grabbed his shoulders suddenly, stopping his actions for a half moment. “I do not shirk duty for the sake of personal pursuits.”

“Of course, Tirasa,” he replied, leaning over to kiss her once again.

A middle-aged male human stood upon the balcony before her, speaking in hushed tones to the female assassin beside him. At the stair’s creak, he turned. “As surprising as ever, Tirasa.” The auburn-haired human chuckled as she approached. “I didn’t expect to see you until you had gained another five ranks of training.”

The night elf drew down the crimson mask she had torn from the dead Edwin Van Cleef’s face and smiled. “You knew I couldn’t wait to see you again, Fahrad.”

He snorted. “Somehow, I believe it was another.” He absently waved his hand. “In any case, on behalf of Lord Jorach, of course, I want to thank you for your continued work with the Ravenholdt Assassins.”

Ignoring his first comment, Tirasa nodded. “It is a pleasure, as always, sir. Azeroth’s leaders are blind to much, and it seems we in the shadows are the only ones who can truly see. Have you any missions for me at this time?”

“None at the moment. But… do not be a stranger.” He bowed dismissively and turned back to his business, leaving Tirasa gritting her teeth and muttering in Darnassian about the audacity of his race.

Making her way back down the stairs, she was hailed by another, all-too-familiar voice.

“Ishnu alah, Tirasa. Alo’dora, sha maeness fala insa suh.” The diction was strangely accented, but the grammar was perfect. She hadn’t heard that phrase in centuries.

“Wonderful to see you again, Myrokos.” A practiced sweet smile settled itself upon her mouth as she moved to face the Quel’dorei in the open room below. His ice-blue eyes showed a hint of triumph as she did this, and Tirasa quickly pulled the red mask up over the lower half of her face as she continued down the stairs.

“The pleasure is indeed all mine, night flower. It has been some time, and you have been missed.” He watched her make for the door. “Might I have a word with you?”

Narrowing her eyes, Tirasa stopped. “One… word.”

Opening his hands in a gesture of surrender, the blonde assassin grinned and chuckled, his eyes crinkling into a rare show of affection.

Tirasa sighed and moved to stand in front of him, glancing at the female human safeguarding him not a few feet away.

He merely shrugged. “The value of silence is priceless here, as you should know. But then again, I seem to remember quite a few nights where you had some trouble with that idea.”

“Enough, blood elf,” she snarled. “Say what you have to say and I’ll be off.”

“So beautiful when you’re angry…” he sighed, his eyes twinkling merrily. “No need to be hostile, I merely wished to congratulate you on the continued success of your latest mission.”

She shook her violet hair and groaned. “If I have *anything* to do about it, he will not fall into the wrong hands. I will protect him to the best of my ability, though I fear my guarding skills are meager at this point.”

“Yes, my condolences for your… condition. Perhaps you have more of a positive effect on the subject than you know.”

Smiling thinly under her mask, she nodded. “That is my hope as well. If that is all, I will take my leave.”

He nodded, and Tirasa turned and took a few steps towards the door.

“Oh, Tirasa…” His voice held a mocking edge, barely discernable. “We all know how things collapse once your feelings get in the way, don’t we?”

The night elf spun, her lip curling dangerously as her hands grasped for the hilts of her swords. “One day you will regret your insults, Myrokos. And, by Elune, I hope retribution comes by my hand.”

She bowed, and her appearance suddenly became one of serene composure. “Until then, I will use you until your secrets are no more.”

He bowed in return, a crooked smile of challenge etched across his harsh features.

http://www.talonsofravencrest.com/images/Myrokos2.jpg

The evening with her new lover had exceeded her expectations. Physically, that was, for the emotional void that filled Tirasa’s every waking moment had only been widened by the contact. Widened and then contracted, like some bizarre iris into the darkness. It was as like two vampires trying to feed off one another… at once satiated, and then once again ravenous. Such was his internal anguish that it mirrored hers, and she wasn’t quite sure yet if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

As she neared the shoreline, her silvery eyes caught sight of a squat reddish-black shape running at full four-footed speed along the beach in her direction. It was Rataf, she deduced quickly, one of Loramus’ felhound guardians. It bounded up to her and placed its spiked maw around her ankle in a friendly gesture, only letting its teeth brush her leather boot.

Dismounting, she stared at the foul beast, at a loss as to how to try to comfort such a creature. Tirasa had never been much for animal husbandry, indeed, her nightsaber mount she barely tolerated. Her black king snake amused her, but only because it did not make any demands on her, affectionate or otherwise. The dark dragon whelpling was there, in its tiny cage, for her to take out any aggression upon. And so, the night elf assassin found herself caught between her devotion to Loramus, and her distaste of creatures in general, especially fel ones.

And then she heard it. Or, rather, felt it. It was as if a brutal wind suddenly buffeted her and forced her back a few paces, and yet the trees on the cliff above remained perfectly still. A powerful wave of energy had been unleashed, and it was coming from the direction of the island near which Loramus made his home.

Instinctively slipping into the shadows, Tirasa took off at a sprint towards the disruption. Rataf bounded ahead, as if understanding her need for concealment. An unearthly roar sounded in the near distance ahead, followed by another, and then the clashing of weapons. And then, a sound that stopped her dead in her tracks.

“FOOL! At last we have found you!” The ensuing low chuckle sent shivers up Tirasa’s spine. It had been millennia since she had heard such a voice, and her heart pounded in her chest. Loramus…

Continuing forward, a horrific scene suddenly spread out before her. The corpses of six doomguard lay on the beach near Loramus’ island. Three more now battled the Demon Hunter, who was a whirlwind of glowing warblades. He fended them off easily, his two other felhound guardians, Shatllar and Zaman, joining in the fray.

Looking ahead, Tirasa saw three more doomguard marching in from the south, perhaps a score of satyr, and a few naga accompanying them here and there. But that alone did not strike fear in her heart.

Commanding the onslaught of the doomguard a few yards away could only be a Dreadlord, yet the illogic of a Dreadlord’s presence in Azeroth screamed through her mind. The portal wasn’t open! How was he here?!

Tirasa watched as more enemies descended upon Loramus. He appeared to be tiring, but his face… he wore a determined and mocking grin. Certainly he didn’t think he could go up against all these doomguard, satyr, naga, as well as a Dreadlord? But then, suddenly, he raised his hand towards three of the satyr, and a bolt of white fire shot out, sending them charred and smoking to the ground almost immediately, resuming his deadly warblade dance a split second afterwards. And then it dawned on her.

Loramus didn’t know the Dreadlord was there. Again her mind screamed fallacy. He had demon sight! How could he not see?!

An evil peal of laughter roused Tirasa from her cloud disbelief. “Feel the wrath of Dagiron, mortal!”

The Dreadlord charged, and, from behind him, and in the shadows, Tirasa did the same. Bringing down her swords upon the thick bluish hide of Dagiron’s back, she winced as they merely glanced off with a fleshy bounce. The monster turned on her, one shaggy eyebrow raised, and threw back his great horned head to laugh.

Dark swirling energy appeared around the demon, which he gathered like so much wool from the air, and directed it straight at Tirasa’s chest.

Pain exploded through Tirasa’s mind as she found her body floating a few feet in the air, her back arched, a tortured scream echoing from her lips. Soon a red-gold light of energy began to seep from her chest into the Dreadlord’s waiting hand, and he licked his lips.

With unabashed horror she watched her life essence slowly being drained from her, and she closed her eyes as the landscape of Azshara gradually faded, to be replaced by a pit of belching fire. As a slave of the Burning Legion, her soul would know an eternity of conflagrating torture.

Her last whisper was a half-mad prayer to Elune.

*********

A dark red light was her field of vision. Funny, she didn’t feel any pain. Was her soul protected, even in this place? Had the Moon Mother aided her in this way?

“You awaken. Good.”

Tirasa literally jumped at the familiar voice, and then wondered that her formless soul could startle. And then, she felt a hand on her forehead.

“Be at peace, Tirasa. Your senses will return to you shortly.”

“Loramus! How is it that our souls ended up in the same place?!”

A short snort of amusement sounded in the other’s voice. “You passed out just before you could watch me save the world.”

Tirasa blinked, and then struggled to sit up, but found that she had no more strength than that of an infant. But she could still smirk. “You sound like Illidan.”

“Do I? Or is it that you merely wish me to?”

Suddenly, uncharacteristically, Tirasa wailed. “Loramus, stop! I am… I…” Her voice rose in pitch as she began to panic.

A cup was brought to her lips. “Drink.” The nectar did help her vision clear, and she saw the comforting shape of Loramus, seated on the edge of the bed next to her. But still, she was weak. She pouted.

Loramus sighed. “I could not return your essence to you in entirety, as Dagiron still held quite a bit of it when I slew him. You will have to return to Shadowglen to retrain, I’m afraid.”

Struggling, Tirasa managed to scoot herself up into a semi-seated position. “Sh-shadowglen? I am…?”

“Consider yourself a novice.”

Stunned but for a moment, Tirasa quickly gathered her thoughts. “How will I get there from here?”

“Leave that to me.” The Demon Hunter’s tone softened. “I do have a gift for you.” At the snap of his fingers, what looked like a small, pinkish felhound scampered into the room, jumped onto the bed, and perched itself onto the stomach of a now horrified Tirasa. “The Legion summoned these beasts from the nether some time ago. I believe they are what was used to create felhounds long ago.” He paused. “Tirasa, it is your friend.”

“Ugh! It’s disgusting.”

Unfazed, Loramus continued. “It is called a Zergling. Do not worry, it does not eat, it simply absorbs energy from its surroundings.”

“Why are you giving this… thing to me?”

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I will not see you for some time, Tirasa. This creature will warn you when there are fel in the vicinity. Rest now, and I say my farewell.” He rose, bowed, and then stepped out of the room.

“But…!” And she fell back against the pillow, falling soundly asleep, the drug in the nectar apparently doing what it was designed to do.

Tirasa strolled the dusky sands of Darkshore, head down, her eyes barely taking notice of her surroundings. Her head pounded mightily, and she owed that to the copious amounts of Darkmoon Ale she had downed all at once the night before. She’d heard mention later of herself dancing with an orc and tickling him tremendously, but she hadn’t remembered that. She wondered what else she had done that she couldn’t remember.

She sat down suddenly and removed her boots, jabbing her bare toes into the chilly spray. Waves of desire still flowed through her veins like rivers of magma as she thought of the infuriating male, and she gritted her teeth. There was really nothing she could do about that. He had to make things so difficult, fretting and theorizing, why couldn’t he be like the others? He both repelled and attracted her at the same time. It was better, yes, that she didn’t see him anymore. Her mind was all ajumble, she couldn’t remember half the conversations she’d had, and she’d find herself walking along and then stop, with no idea where she’d set off to.

But perhaps Tanna was correct. Maybe it wasn’t Ardanas’ fault. She snorted. Perhaps this is what happened when half your life essence dies with a demon. She rubbed her forehead and frowned, looking up at Elune’s blessed light, misty through the low clouds of the coastline. “Yes, Mother,” Tirasa murmured. “I know. Be strong, that I know how to do.”

An ancient ballad floated through her mind, and she sang to the choppy waves. And then, Tirasa pulled up her knees to her forehead, and cried.

http://www.talonsofravencrest.com/images/Greenwaves.wma

The orc prisoner burst out of the pile of hay a fraction of a second before the guard drove his spear into him. "No weapon.", the orc said in Common, waving his hands to and fro to show they were empty.

---

Durnhold Keep, one of the main intermittent camp for orcs held prisoner after the last war. This is the camp where the legendary Thrall himself was raised in. But he was not here any longer. Not even an hour after his escape, word of Thrall's elusion spread through the other orcs held there like wildfire. Though the desire for battle was still not in them, the desire of freedom was as strong as ever. Unfortunaly the hasty call for a break-out was too random and unorganized. With Thrall missing, the Warden had raised security by calling all men in the keep to arms, and there was even less of a chance for escape now. No chance for escape... or mercy...

---

Though he never fought back, it took three soldiers to bring down the hiding orc to death with their spears. There was no remorse for killing the surrendered. In fact, the humans were smiling with pride. This was an orc they got to slay!

"Nonna' the other prisoners make it out of the walls yet.", one of the guards, Anders, said with grimness yet satsifaction.
"Hey!", Yohan shouted playfully with near out-of-breath pantings of adrenaline. "If anyone else is hiding in here, they should come out now, or expect no mercy!"

In the simple but large barnroom, the three humans stood near the only viable means of escape; the front entrance. None of the horses were in here, all of them out and mounted by knights to hunt down the one orc who had gotten away. Thrall. This left ample room in there for a few orcs who had failed to make it out to hide and avoid punishment or death temporarly. Baeldok was one of those orcs.

Baeldok fought to not grind his teeth and fangs together for fear of making any noise. But inwardly, his mind was shouting at the top of his imaginary lungs, cursing himself for being such a coward. 'If only I had a weapon', lamenting in thought. 'If there was a way to fight back and win freedom.'...

The Anders, Yohan, and Jorac, growing impatient, advanced further into the barn, when a fourth huamn joined them.

Tsao casually stepped over the slain orc at the entranceway. An eyebrow raised and the three men felt a cold chill run down their spines. Though Tsao never showed any inclination to anger or violence, he sure knew how to make someone feel very uncomfortable suddenly.

"I do not sense any more life in here. Go kill elsewhere." The General spoke quietly.
"Yes sir!" came in broken unison, and the three guards hurried out past Tsao, mail link armor chiming like metal rain as they marched quickly, pace quickened as the screams of more orcs could be heard further throughout the keep. Tsao stepped up to one of the stables and looked inside over the wooden pen door. An orc he knew, Umolg, looked up at him worriedly.

Tsao remarked, "It is not just you in here. One other." Baeldok stood up from his stall confidently, but rattled to the bone.

"It was just us two in here...", Baeldok started but then droned off, "..and Vomkar." His red eyes stared wairly to the slain orc. "If only he could have fought them off with his bare hands."

Tsao knew instantly what he was talking about. The discusson and display had come up more than once during his classes. The art of attacking and defeating your opponents unarmed. But there was little time at the moment for pondering silence.

"If you had taught us that, instead of... ethics," Baeldok practically spit out the word in Common, "we would not get slaughtered now. If only Vomkar had a fighting chance, we--"

"Silence!" Tsao shouted in a whispery voice that wouldn't leave the structure, but would strike the desired effect. Umolg looked between the two with continued worry. He was always the quiet type anyway, desiring to study more about their race's history and the shamanic roots. His greatest fear right now wasn't dying, but that he'd never get to learn this fully. So he stepped out of his hiding spot and bowed before Tsao.

"Please Master Tsao, we'll be killed here today."
Baeldok snorted. "Stop calling him that. In our day of death, have some honor."
"I agree." Tsao said without hesitation, which caused Baeldok to stop in surprise. "Today is death or freedom. I have much too long watch you suffer for Warden Blackmoore's personal goals." Tsao turned his back to the two orcs and looked outside as a pair of guards ran by. They gave the General a glance, figured he had that location secure, and continued on their way. After they passed, Tsao continued. "I should have told King Terenas of this long ago, but the Alliance was as walking on ice. Now we will all sink and drown."

Baeldok and Umolg approached Tsao further.

"But today I will do this one thing right. Let us go."

---

Jorac looked over to the paladin, Captain Quintsen, who tugged at the reins of his uneasy horse. "I don't understand."

The Captain grinned manicially over his own glee. The situation is too perfect, so much so that he tried to contain his laugh while he responded. "What's to understand? Only because the King favored his devil's tongue with words and silly poems did he get to be a General. Tsao was always too soft on non-humans."

"So, shouldn't we stop him? Those orcs an'em are gonna get away!" Anders was thirsty for more blood.

"Let them escape to the outside first." Quintsen nodded. "Then there will be no excuse for him when we catch him and bring him back for execution. He's poisoned the King's mind long enough about leaving the orcs alive. With him dead, humanity is one step closer to survival."

The soldiers at the side of the mounted Captain pumped their fists in a cheer at the wisdom of his plan.

Yohan sighed. "Good. If we kill all the orcs, maybe we can get a break and go home to our families."

The crowd of soliders liked that even more, and cheered again, this time louder.

Captain Quintsen's eyes sparked with determination. "Finally.", monologing to himself. "Finally a chance to get rid of him. He made me look like a fool in front of the Court one too many times. Once that's taken care of, Uther will have to respect me for rooting out such a high ranked traitor..."

The hunt was on.

---

Next episode! Chapter 2: Pride's Revenge: In Chaos A Panda Appears!

They were completely different save for the sickly green tabards hung loosely over their various pieces of mismatched light armor. The by far larger of the two, an orc, fell behind a bit in their already slow pace to look over his left shoulder, to the north. Another gust flew by, the kind that presents ominous sight of past or present- even though neither were practicers of any sort of shamanistic or druidic arts who sense such things. The orc touched his braided beard, which was greyed with age. "Masta'", he said in his orcish accented Common. "Does not this bring back a memory?"

The second of the pair, smaller in stature but exremely more fearsome looking, also gazed to the north. His skin was dusty and cracked and a grey-becoming-blue. Despite a complete lack of eyes he was able to see the run down remains of Durnholde Keep. The rotting humanoid's jaw twisted as if it was loose as he voiced his words.

"Swallows fly in the sky. Water reflects their shadows. The swallows leave no trace. The water keeps no shadows."

Then the undead continued to walk again.

The orc was overcome with emotion. Despite all the ancient powers that the old orc held onto bearing from the dark powers of the warlock, he felt weak to the power of the other's words.

Master Tsao, of the Forsaken. Former Alliance General of Lorderan. Former teacher of ethics. Former human. Though for all his words, he could not meditate away the feelings of sadism, which all but replaced any feelings of sadness for the past.

---

"Dabu, Master Tsao.", an orc raised his hand as he sat behind the table-like desk which he shared with two other orcs. In the wood-and-stone constructed schoolhouse, many desks and other orcs behind them inside. Though Durnholde looked like a formidable prison fortress on the outside, on the inside things were much more civil.

"Hmm?" The aged human looked from behind what he was writing on the chalkboard to his studen orc who had called for attention, and set the chalk down. "A question from you?" Tsao was happy when his orcish students asked questions. Sometimes they were so lethargic that he was surprised they didn't sleep during class. Better this, though, then their past desire of bloodlust.

"I'm sorry, but I do not understand. Master." The orc continued. Tsao knew him as Baeldok. Once a very powerful orc who was known himself as cruel and to never take prisoners, he too was now as docile as the others. Tsao nodded, and Baeldok spoke slowly, to get his Common correct. "You say those who desire and keep great treasures will have roots in the earth. But... you say as if this is bad. Do not root be good? Root give life to tree and plant."

Tsao smiled. He was proud to have such thinkers. 'There's hope for this world's peace, yet.', the Master thought to himself. "Yes, roots are very nourishing. But tell me, when is the last time you have seen a tree wander on it's own? There is a pretty river and field down in that valley. Go, tree, live there happily. Oh? You cannot? Why are you rooted, tree?"

Baeldok lowered his head in deep thought.
"Don't expect all to be clear as a snap of a finger. You have a long life to think about it."
"Zug zug, master."
"And in Common?"
"Thank you."
"And thank you."

And such as exchanges went, and many more, in Tsao's Ethics Class. Though the captive orcs fluxuated between lethargy and anxiousness throughout the intermitten camps in Lordaeron, Durnholde was the one most well known for it's peacefulness. Many war heroes spent time with the orcs, either to rule as wardens over their previous enemies, to study them out of curiousity, or in attempt to better them. And although things seemed docile within this classroom, Durnhold was not without it's strife. The chief warden Aedelas Blackmoore sought to mold the orcs into his vision of his own personal army. He, in fact, was personally teaching one of them all of his tactics and philosophy. Through this cunning, the Horde's future warchief Thrall was trained. Tsao, looking to retire, was a perfect addition to Warden Blackmoore's plans. With his passive teachings of manners and ethics, he thought through him that they would stay in line, and leave their desires of breaking out for their own freedom through respect through mental discipline.

Instead, this caused orcs to think for themselves. Because of this, though it was the Alliance that held power today, things would not remain this status quo forever...

Rumors were starting to spread throughout the orcs who were returned to the camps after escaping that there were still clans out there who were resisting entrapment, such as the Warsong clan and the Frostwolves. Thrall started to plan his escape from Durnholde. And things at this very location were becoming a storm for a shaping of things to come.

Next: Chapter 1- Tsao's Secret! Will This Lead To Betrayal?

[Heavily Classified Information, High Ranking Officials Only]

Name: Valkors McClaudes
Gender: M
Age: Deceased
Height: 5' 11"
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
Distinguishing Marks/Tattoos: None
Cause of Death: Undisclosed

Military Experience: Lordaeron Guard
Military Specialty: Light Scout
Competence Assessment: High
Weapon Proficiencies: Unarmed, Swords, Daggers, Poisons, Guns
Weapon Specialties: Dagger, Gun
Other Proficiencies: Herbalism and Alchemy

Criminal Record: Multiple Sexual Harassment, Disorderly Conduct, Public Drunkenness Charges, Deadly Assault of a Stormwind Guard in a local Tavern, Petty Theft, and Pick pocketing Charges

Temperament: Disciplined, Honorable, and Flamboyant. Subject has an infatuation with Night Elves of both sexes, primarily females. However we have noticed a trend that leads us to believe that the subject is simply obsessed with beauty. Subject performs phenomenally well in combat, and works well with SI:7 Operative Edwin VanCleef. Subject’s ability to perform is compromised when a female becomes a factor in a combat situation.

Background: Background investigation reveals subject born in the town of Brill. Mother died giving birth to subject. Subject lost father, a Lordaeron Guard and friend of Operative Edwin VanCleef, at a young age during an attack upon Lordaeron led by Hellscream, Ner’Zhul, and Doomhammer. Adolesence spent living as a street urchin in the Tirisfal Glades, pick pocketing to survive. Young subject learned tricks to apply to his art of thievery from traveling circuses, escape artists, and other pick pockets. In subject’s teens, for unknown reasons, the subject then traveled the world and lived life on the sea as a pirate for quite some time studying under a man known as Captain Campbell. Returning to Stormwind the subject participated in a bar brawl at the ‘Tipsy Elf Tavern’. The subject was thrown into the Stockades and sentenced to life, for disorderly conduct and deadly assault upon a Stormwind Guard with a poison tipped dagger. Operative Edwin VanCleef vouched for subject’s release from Stockades in exchange for his services in SI:7, subject recruited into this organization.

[All information after subjects induction into SI:7 is heavily classified material]

Recommended Assignments: Light Scout, Infiltrator, Saboteur, Assassin, and Personnel Security Detail.

Limitations: Ability to perform in combat is compromised by things of beauty, such as females. Unwilling to harm females unless there is no choice in the matter. Subject’s flamboyant behavior is a risk factor in certain types of missions. Subject should be watched over carefully as to prevent mission failure.

Loyalty Assessment: Flawless. Subject displays unwavering loyalty to the Stormwind Army, Lordaeron Guard, and SI:7 Operative Edwin VanCleef.

------------------------------------------- #SWSI7255 ---------------------------------------------
------------------------------------ SI:7 Operative Dossier ------------------------------------

Valkors sighs unhappily, putting the photo aside as he thinks to himself, "A murderer? Justice must be served then... but... my morals?" Valkors knew he was always a protector of the elves, completely immersed in the beauty of their culture. To harm them would be unthinkable, but the Shan're's unprecedented attacks upon Splintertree Post, and the rogue in question's murder accusations, it was all too much.

Standing up, Valkors stands up preparing to head towards the forests of Ashenvale to do some investigating. "Looks like I'll have to get in touch with Drecael again." contemplates Valkors, thinking of his old night elf friend. Casting aside the photograph in anger and dismay, he gives it one last look as it faces up to him from the wooden floor of his hideout. Walking towards the docks he thinks of that photo, and the night elf that was looking back at him from it, whispering to himself, "Satoya."

Hours pass, eventually the cry of a night elf woman is heard, and Valkors looks down, as his sockets begin to weep dry tears. "It's... It's such a shame, that a beautiful innocent Night Elf had to die." Looking up at Sylvanas he sees her calm, emotionless face, shuddering slightly at how uncompassionate it is.

Valkors clears his throat as he looks at Sylvanas, "Ahem... well now, I'm glad that the Apothecarians came up with such a brilliant scheme so quickly. Who would've thought, using such a concocotion of chemicals on Night Elf would have transformed her in such a way, a would be banshee... it seems we are coming along quite well in our search for a new plague." Sylvanas once again, quietly nods at him. Valkors gulps slightly, dreading the day when the new plague comes, recalling the horrors it put him through in his Human life. "Well then... stay put M'lady, I shall take a peek."

A stone tile creaks and is pushed up, sliding aside as a boney hand is viewable. Valkors peers around the empty room, Varimithas slightly bruised up, as he looks over the dead decoy's body, turning his head towards Valkors and nodding of approval. Valkors, with great relief states, "The coast is clear m'lady." as he extends his hand to Sylvanas to help her out of the hide-away shelter.

The near lifeless corpse of the once Night Elf huntress looks up blankly at the banshee known as Sylvanas, seeing that cold blank stare looking back at her as she feels herself fade away into nothingness.

Makura sat at one of the tables in the corner of the Lion’s Pride Inn. It’s nice to be in the closest place that I call home again. It’s been such a long journey. She thought of summoning her imp Zortip to join her in this inn like the old times, but decided not to. She was thankful that no one recognized her. Makura didn’t want any trouble in the one place left that she could at least semi-relax. She was on the run from the Crusader guild at the moment and was taking refuge in the first place she had met them. Of course it was self-defense, but they won’t care. The Crusaders had been having their own private war with Makura for a few years now. After a stand off with one of their high ranking members in Stromgarde Keep that had ambushed her, she had killed him. When his charred and mutilated body hit the ground Makura fled the Aralhi Highlands to return to Goldshire in hiding.

A tall cloaked figure walked into the inn which snapped Makura out of her reflections. From the way the figure walked she knew it was a woman. The cloaked woman sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender warily handed the woman a drink. Makura’s hand slipped down to her dagger as she watched the woman turn around and look around the bar. When the woman’s gaze swept over Makura she saw the woman’s features. A Night Elf! Not many Night Elves are seen in the mostly human populated Eastern Kingdoms, but they have been known to be seen sometimes.

The warlock decided it was time to return to her rooms. She didn’t like the feeling the Elf gave her. As Makura passed the assistant innkeeper she asked that a meal be brought to her room. She climbed the stairs while keeping an eye on the cloaked Elf woman.

Back in her rooms Makura sat at the desk again. She opened the worn journal to the first page. She needed to figure out what to do next. Even though she would like to stay here for awhile she knew that she couldn’t. The Crusaders would eventually find her and try to kill her. Makura sighed and looked over the first page. Her young spidery scrawl covered the yellow parchment.

Autumn, Year 8
Brother Paxton gave me this journal the other day in hopes of keeping me out of his library. It won’t work, but at least it will help pass the time. I’ve never had a journal so I’m not sure what to write. I suppose I’ll just keep this journal to myself and record my memories down.

My name is Makura. I am eight seasons old and an orphan. My parents died traveling here to Northshire when I was about two, and left me in the care of a passerby. That person brought me here to the Abby. Marshall McBride didn’t know what to do with me and passed me to Drucilla La Salle. Drucilla is a lovely person, but mostly everyone in the Abby is wary of her. I don’t know why though and no one will tell me anything. It’s annoying the way everyone treats me like an unwanted pet. Even Drucilla does. Maybe it’s because she spends most of her time in the graveyard…

Makura was startled out of her reading by a knock on her door. Her hand slipped to her dagger as she got up to open the door. A servant girl stood outside of her door with a tray of food and drink. Makura smiled at the girl and paid her before taking the tray. She thanked the servant and shut the door. With a sigh she set the tray down beside her journal. She sat down and ate as she flipped through the pages of her innocent childhood memories. Makura came to a stop upon a certain entry.

Summer, Year 11
I’ve made a discovery! I was in the library – without consent of Brother Paxton – and I came across a book! It’s not just any book though. It’s a book about dark magic! I’ve “borrowed” the book to read through it and found that it contains spells and curses. I want to learn more about dark magic now. I’ve tried to cast the spells, but I guess I just don’t have any powers. I’m determined and I’ll persevere!

Winter, Year 11
One of the guards is teaching me how to defend myself lately. She’s happy at how well I excel at using a dagger. I’m not good enough to become a rogue nor am I decent at using swords, a mace, or any other offensive weapon. I won’t tell her that I’m not interested in becoming an offensive class, because it would break the poor thing’s heart. It seems that during the winter when all the wolves have moved away from the Abby in search of food, some of the trainers or guards are trying to see if I’m suited to their class. Drucilla doesn’t seem to care. She has always brushed me off as a nuisance.

Makura scoffed. She wanted to scream at her younger self to escape from the Abby before anything else happened, but knew that nothing would change what happened. She skipped a few more pages that held nothing above mundane chatter.

Spring, Year 13
I want to burn this Abby to the ground. The drunken guards assaulted me last night. They think it was all in good fun, but I know I angered the most aggressive one. Somehow he was injured in the scuffle. I saw a small shadow out of the corner of my eye punch him in the shin. The guard thought it was me though. I must keep away from him at all costs. I fear what he’ll do in revenge. I’ve been searching through my “borrowed” books from the library in search of the shadow. It seems familiar.

Late spring, Year 13
The shadow was an imp! I “borrowed” another book from the library about demons and recognized the drawing of the imp in the text. I’m taking this as a sure sign that I’m going to become a warlock! I told Drucilla and she seemed surprised at first, but then seemed pleased. She told me to keep studying and to come to her when I was ready to undergo my rites of becoming a warlock. It’s her first true interest in me! I must study harder and become a warlock quickly!

Makura finished eating, and she pushed the tray to a corner of her desk. She glanced out the window and saw that the moon was high in the sky. It was becoming late, but she wanted to read more.

Autumn, Year 14
It’s the Autumn Equinox tonight and my birthday. There is a festival tonight and I’m pleased to write that I look like a woman! I’ve had to start wearing some of Drucilla’s old clothes which she isn’t too pleased about. I think she’s just jealous that my figure looks better than hers. Milly loaned me one of her simple dresses to wear to the festival, which I should leave to.

Late autumn, Year 14
I’ve become Drucilla’s apprentice. There was a long ritual and it left me very exhausted. She seemed more than fine though. Drucilla has been looking at me oddly lately - like I’m her new favorite toy. It makes my skin crawl. At least now I can cast Shadow Bolt at will. Everyone in the Abby shies away from me now. I’ve become a warlock and it scares them for some reason. I don’t know what there is to be scared of though. That guard left the Abby soon after that incident. I’m glad. I think he had it coming. The only bad thing is Brother Paxton won’t let me in the library anymore. I of course can sneak by him sometimes, but it’s becoming much harder. Sometimes when I’m reading through my collection of “borrowed” books I think I’ve gotten into something much deeper than I think.

Makura shook her head. Oh how you don’t know how right you are. Indeed it was too big of a concept for her to understand at that age, but she should have read the people better in the past. She closed her leather bound journal and stood up. She stretched before moving to an open space in the room. Makura called upon the dark power within herself to summon her imp, Zortip. He appeared with a burst of dark magic and flames. She smiled at Zortip before climbing in her bed. She felt better with Zortip guarding her as she slept. Soon she was fast asleep.

Kirei gripped the ledge of the window and silently hoisted herself up. She was under a stealth spell to appear invisible. What Kirei didn’t expect was that the warlock would be paranoid enough to use a summoning spell while sleeping. Zortip sat on the edge of Makura’s bed and was staring at Kirei like he knew she was there. Damn. I won’t be able to carry out this job if the imp is here. She glared at the imp as the wind picked up outside. Out of the corner of her eye the rogue noticed the pages of a journal on the desk fluttered in the sudden breeze. She tilted her head to the side and silently stepped closer to the desk. Kirei was curious by nature and the open journal tempted her beyond reason. She casted a glance to the imp, but it seemed not to pay attention to her in the slightest.

Spring, Year 21
Today will be my last day in Northshire. I have completed all the tasks the Abby inhabitants have given me. Drucilla tricked me into retrieving a tome of great import that the thieves stole. I think that was the final draw. Now that I am grown I grow weary of her mind games…

Makura tossed the Tome of Void at Drucilla’s feet as the warlock trainer cackled. She sneered in reply to the trainer, “This will be the last time I see you Drucilla.”

“It’s such a shame. Are you sure you won’t reconsider my proposal?” Drucilla smirked in reply.

Makura didn’t bother to reply. She bade Dane Winslow goodbye before leaving the graveyard to the harpy and her lover. Her wine colored cape fluttered in the slight breeze behind her as the warlock made her way to the Abby gates. Marshall McBride had given her a letter of introduction to assist the soldiers of Goldshire, a nearby town. Makura was happy that she had finally set out on her own to pursue her dream of becoming the most powerful warlock in the Eastern Kingdoms.

When Makura walked out of the gates her breath hitched at the sight that lay before her feet. The Elwynn Forest was spread out along the dirt road. The road itself was lined with sporadic fencing. The large forest that covered the area was bathed in the quickly dying sunlight giving it an ethereal unearthly glow. She noted the wolves were milling about the forest though which broke her awe. Before Makura went any further she decided to summon her newly acquired imp. She smiled as she cast the summoning spell. Her companion Zortip appeared in a flash of dark magic and flames.

“Hullo there Zortip,” Makura greeted her demonic minion. He replied in his demonic language. She reminded herself to learn his dialect sometime soon.

A wolf decided to attack the distracted warlock. Zortip hastened into action by quickly casting volleys of fireballs. The imp’s master whirled around and cursed the wolf. She leapt backwards while concentrating on her Immolate spell. After a few more direct hits of the imp’s fireballs the wolf died with a yelp. Makura thanked Zortip while she looted the wolf. Smiling, she gave the demon a rabbit foot before the continued down the road to Goldshire.

“We’ve arrived at Goldshire Zortip,” the warlock commented idly. The warlocks that came through the Abby had always thought her off her knocker because she talked to her “inferior” as they put it. She simply looked at them like they were the village idiots and went off on her way. Makura couldn’t understand why she shouldn’t talk to Zortip. True, he was her only friend, but she thought that if she befriended the imp than he would be an even more powerful ally than another humanoid.

Makura took in the small town with interest. She figured the inn was the best place to go first since it was already moonrise. Zortip followed his mistress as she entered the Lion’s Pride Inn. It was a bustling place already half-full with drunken patrons. Makura had the innkeeper convert her hearthstone to Goldshire then strolled over to the barkeep. She bought a weak beverage and stood by the fireplace with Zortip by her side.

As the warlock relaxed by the fire a man approached her. She noted that he was a mage while they conversed. He left after a few hours and promised to contact her when he returned. Makura decided that she was in dire need of sleep after the mage left and rented a room for the night.

At morning light Makura woke to Zortip’s demonic rantings. She rolled her eyes at the imp’s antics and freshened up. After he made a comment about his mistress being narcissistic she walked out of the inn in a huff.

Makura reported to Marshall Dughan who sent her out on missions for the next few days. On one afternoon a warrior she paired up with mentioned to her about new mission being offered by the Goldshire Marshall. The warlock asked him to wait for her as she ran back to town to ask for that mission as well. When she arrived in Goldshire the town was in an uproar. Many clansmen were gathered and dueling anyone who accepted. This was a shock to her. Normally the town was quiet and reserved. A man passing by snapped her out of her stupor when he challenged her for a duel. Makura declined with a puzzled frown. The man seemed to be a part of the clan and he called over the rest of them. They called themselves the Crusaders. What kind of absurd name is that?

The leader of the Crusaders sneered at her in loathing, “Cowardly warlock. Why don’t you go back to where you came from? We don’t want your filthy kind here.” The well experienced warrior threw a disgusted stare at Zortip who clutched her dress with a small hand and shouted at the warrior in a demonic dialect.

The Crusader’s unprovoked hatred for Makura took her aback in utter puzzlement. Thankfully for the speechless warlock, an elfin woman took up her defense. Apparently the Crusaders discriminated against other races as well. The two exchanged heated words before they dueled for dominancy. The crusader won with easy obviously having much more practice in combat than the Elf. Makura rushed to the woman’s side to hear the man’s parting remark.

“Well fought Elf. At least you had the courage to face me unlike the demon spawn.” With a final sneer in Makura’s direction he took off with his clan.

“Are you alright?” the warlock asked.

“Oh! What did he hit me with?” was the unintelligent reply. After a few moments of repeating the question the Elf smiled at her, “I’ll be fine dearie. You should worry about yourself. My name is Eliane.”

“I’m Makura. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Why did they act like that?”

“You’ll meet a lot of souls that are like that. Not all are graced with Elune’s guidance, dearie,” Eliane replied as she got to her feet. “It was nice to meet you. Be well, dear.” Makura waved in reply. With a start she realized she had forgotten about her partner.

The warlock returned at moonrise with Zortip in tow, and the two made a bee line for the inn. Makura sat down in a chair to relax before she headed for her room. She watched the commotion around her with indifference until there was a ruckus. She overheard a Crusader called Jean making scathing comments about Elves to Eliane.

Before she knew what she was doing Makura had leapt out of her seat and stood behind Jean. “Why don’t you leave them alone?” The question was laced with a promise of a threat. The warlock was tired of these ‘Crusaders.’

Jean turned and growled at her, “Mind your own business warlock.”

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the Legion than picking fights with everyone?” came Makura’s heated reply.

Jean demanded that she duel him which she accepted. In her anger she completely forgot about Zortip. Without asking for the imp to battle with her the young warlock lost the duel. Makura slumped down in defeat as the inhabitants of the inn threw Jean out.

“You didn’t have to do that dearie,” Eliane told her.

Makura smiled as she replied, “You did the same for me. I couldn’t just let him stand there and insult you.” The blue haired Elf grinned as the two talked for a few brief moments before both headed off to get some well deserved rest.

The warlock awoke at an odd hour of the night. She was having trouble sleeping and had pinned it to the curious comment made by the Crusaders’ leader. Makura decided to question the Goldshire warlock trainer. She quietly padded down to the basement where the trainer spent all his time.

She approached the insomniac trainer with uncertainty. He looked at her stoically as she asked, “Someone told me that warlocks are demon spawn today. I was wondering about the truth behind it.”

After a long pause the man finally replied, “Drucilla told you nothing of this? I almost feel sorry for you. Warlocks draw their powers from the Burning Legion.”

Makura felt all the warmth drain from her body. B-burning Legion? She didn’t bother to say another word, but brokenly made her way back to her room. How could I be so naive? All these years of practice and I never knew…

The warlock agonized over this thought as she mechanically continued her missions in Goldshire.

...How foolish was I…

Kirei looked over to the sleeping warlock in shock. The rogue had been told that she was to assassinate a murdering demon spawn, but she didn’t expect something like this. Silently the Elf climbed out the window and left Elwynn Forest that night. Poor thing. She was so dedicated to becoming the best only to find out that her whole life was a lie. I’m glad I took a look over her journal before finishing the job. The last people I want to work for are ones that look down on me.

...to be continued...

Amorit traveled down the road, on edge and alert for any creatures looking for an easy kill. She had lived here for 20 years, but that hadn’t made her complacent of the dangers. Her destination was a small house near Deadwind pass, it had been where she lived, and had only left a week ago. She needed some belongings she had left in the home, and hoped it hadn’t been ransacked already.

Her long red hair was pulled back from her face, hanging down her back in a tail as her inquisitive eyes scanned the bushes along the road. The eyes in the bushes, always there were eyes in the bushes in Duskwood, but one never knew if they were a squirrel or a skeleton. Movement out of the corner of her eye, she spun, a fireball thrown in a second…and roasted a rat that had been nosing about a decaying corpse.

Shaking her head, she continued down the stone covered path towards Darkshire. The lights from the town flickered even in the dead of night, another sign that the inhabitants had grown used to another kind of life. The Night Watch on guard patrolling the roads just outside the town eyed her, the weary lines on their faces showed they hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in some time. She nodded, and continued on her way. Past the town center and up the road near the pass, stopping at the last house just before the pass.

There was light coming from the windows, which caused her to frown. Had her childhood home already been taken over? Curious, she knocked on the door. A man who looked older than he likely was opened the door and arched a brow.

“You have some nerve coming here at this time of night. You must not know this place well. Well, now that you’re here, what do you want?” The man scowled down at her, looking like he was about to slam the door shut.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but this used to be my home, I left some things here I need to retrieve…” The man stopped her mid-explanation.

“Your name?” Was all he asked.

“Amorit Bein'Llach.” She replied curtly.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I’ve lived here for thirty years now…and I’ve never heard of that family name in my life.” Amorit stared at him, at such a blatant lie.

“You must be mistaken sir, for my parents lived here, and I lived here for twenty years. They were killed a year ago in an undead attack.” She tried hard to be polite, but she disliked those who lied to her.

“I am not mistaken ma’am, I’ve lived here as long as I can remember. I think it is you who may be mistaken, perhaps you have the wrong house. You should check with the town clerk, he keeps records on all who live and die here…including those who continue on after they die.” He added the last part grimly, nodded to her, and shut the door in her face.

Clenching her fists, she turned and stalked back to the town, specifically the town hall. The clerk was still awake, going over some records in his study, when she entered. He glanced up at her, and arched a brow, waiting for her to state her business.

“The Bein’Llach house, where is it?” She frowned at herself, feeling stupid for having to ask where her own home was.

He frowned deeply and set aside his records. “Ma’am, I can tell you with utmost confidence that no one by that name has ever lived in Duskwood. In fact, I’ve never heard that name in my life, nor have I ever seen it in the records.” She almost lost control then, the wisps of a fireball forming in her palm, but she snuffed it out quickly.

“That’s impossible, I’ve lived here all my life. I recently moved to Stormwind to start my mage training after my parents died.”

“The records do not lie, ma’am. The family known as Bein’Llach has never lived in Duskwood.” He shook his head, dismissing her as if she was some sort of lunatic. Confused, and frightened, she turned and hurried out of the town, to the small graveyard where her parents had been laid to rest.

She searched the engraved headstones, seeking the one with her family name upon it, her parents’ names. She searched for hours, until she finally sat down in the cemetery, staring blankly at the headstone in front of her, some person she didn’t know.

“What in the world is going on?” She asked the headstones. “It’s like my parents never existed…”

Tirasa looked up from the book she was reading and regarded him calmly. “What do you have to do?”

“These… energies are not just upon your surface. They are deep, deep within you.”

She shrugged. “So take them out.”

He frowned at her with impatience. “Have you so little disregard for life that you would throw your own away with so little deliberation? What of your squadron? What of those who need you?”

“You mistake my resolution for disregard. I… cannot continue in this way. Would that I had died on Nordrassil. Perhaps you can release me in this way.”

Loramus’ voice became sharp. “I do not seek to ‘release’ you. ‘Releasing’ you in such a way would strengthen the Legion. You were brought here for a purpose, and I shall not go against the will of the Timeless One.”

Looking down at the table for a few moments, she traced the lines of the wood's grain with one finger before looking up at him again. “I will take the chance.”

He shook his head. “There is more. The coating of the sands of time that is upon you… it is keeping these energies in. I must… reach inside to draw the demon power into myself. I must find a crack in your armor, so to speak. And then, your skin, and perhaps… your organs.”

Tirasa glanced at Loramus’ curved blades, cradled lovingly in their rests upon a shelf. “I have been wounded in battle before. You could do no worse.”

“Very well. You are ready to begin?”

She nodded and stood. The Demon Hunter retrieved one of his swords and held it gracefully in his right hand. He motioned to a wall on the far end of the room that was fairly well-lit, and she moved to stand near it in the umber light.

He advanced on her, and she untied the robe, parting it as she watched his sightless gaze move over her body. He moved closer, and forced her face up to his as he pressed his forehead against hers.

A searing pain tore through her right side and she gasped against his cheek, her eyes closing as she fought to stand. And then, she felt his fingers in the wound, probing gently, brushing up against her very ribs… then deeper. Her breath caught a bit, and then she felt a drawing… a pulling… as if her organs, her muscles, her bones, all had been turned into one long string, that was being slowly pulled out of her skin. She grunted in pain, not knowing how long she would have to endure such unnerving sensations.

He was panting against her cheek now, and then, suddenly, a whispered, “It is done.”

But still he did not release her, and she opened her eyes. Feminine instinct took over, and she licked his upper lip, so close to hers. “Take me,” she whispered huskily.

“Are you sure?” came his whispered reply.

“Yes.”

Tirasa felt herself being lifted against the wall, and then, suddenly, a taloned claw raked her jaw and neck.

******

Gently she was lowered to her feet on the floor, and she looked sleepily upon her lover, the pain of her wounds forgotten for the moment. He swept up his kilt quickly and refastened it around his waist, and Tirasa thought to herself that perhaps she merely imagined the transformation of his hands into demonic clawed limbs.

And then, a wave of pain and exhaustion washed over her, and she fell back against the wall, still on her feet, her knees wobbling. Loramus was there beside her immediately, pressing runecloth bandages to her side and jaw. A gasped “I… I…” fell from her lips, but no other words would come out.

Loramus cursed suddenly through gritted teeth, and she started. “I will have to reknit the flesh of your side,” he muttered, “but your face is healed.”

Looking down, in the dim light Tirasa only saw what looked like a river of blood upon herself, Loramus, and the floor below her, though it looked like it was starting to dry. “I can’t… see,” she replied, and he glanced around, then slowly led her into another room, to finally stand before a mirror.

There was a scar on her face. Starting just above the edge of her jaw, it was practically unnoticeable until she tilted her head back. The rest of it snaked down her neck, almost to the opposite shoulder, another scar about half as long beside it. She frowned. In all her battles, she had never received a scar. Runecloth usually healed completely.

But her bewilderment suddenly evaporated as she took in the wound on her side. It started just in front of her armpit and traveled down the length of her torso, nearly cleaving her right breast in two. There was no blood, but it gaped like an open maw, her ribs showing brightly white through the tattered flesh.

She gagged, and her knees finally gave out.

******

“So I am to remain here? I certainly hope you have a lot of books for me to read.” She moved to sit up, and her side ached, but not nearly as much as she would have expected it to.

Loramus quickly appeared in the doorway and sat down upon the bed beside her. “I have done what little else I could do this eve, but you should be able to go about your business if you are bound tightly. And return to me each night so that I may work upon the wound again.”

“Why can’t I just take a potion or seek out a priest?” Tirasa responded grumpily.

“I believe you know the answer to that.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “Just sleepy. Loramus…? How… how easy would it have been for you to kill me? To simply squeeze the life from me, crush me like a grape.”

He remained silent, his face turned to hers as if looking deeply into her eyes.

Chewing her lip, she nodded. “I see. Very well, I shall attempt to carry on, and return to you until you can seal this hole in my side. Is there anything else I should know? And… am I beholden to you now? I think perhaps I am in your debt.”

Caressing her cheek with one hand, his fingers lightly traced the scar across her neck. “Only that my hope is that you remain well, Tirasa. And that you do not become my enemy as so many of the Kaldorei have.”

She reached up and clasped his hand. “Have no worries of that, my friend. Perhaps in the future there may be some of my squadron who will wish to learn your secrets to take up battle as you have. For, now that most idiots have chosen to war with the Horde, I feel we have not many left who would stand against the Burning Legion.”