Story: QUESTARS OF WARCRAFT (all chapters)

Authors: Rhanar Narra-Jar

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Chapter 1

Title: The Heroes Arise - An Introduction

[Author's notes: A list of the characters in Questars.]

After the successful assault on the Icecrown Citadel by the valiant soldiers of the Argent Crusade and the Ashen Verdict, the Lich King’s defeat heralds the end of the greatest threat of the arctic Northerend, and Azeroth can now live in peace, knowing that the Scourge will never again rise up and challenge all life on the planet in a wake of Undeath.

However, despite the hundreds of battles, gathering of ancient items and assisting the mighty factions of Azeroth, a group of adventurers, known only as ‘Questars’, have yet to fully embrace the peace, and still work tirelessly to attain fame, fortune and glory beyond what any other hero could achieve...


Shindris is a quel’dorei, a highborn elf living in Silvermoon City, although she recently expressed her dislike for the newly christened ‘blood elves’, as she, herself, is fully capable of resisting her hunger for magic through sheer force of will.

Working as a courtesan, Shindris has always been open about her love for women, and works in the employ of noble ladies, sorceresses and other high class circles of female elves, be they high elves or blood elves, although the latter, to Shindris’ tastes, are far more aggressive during the time of Shindris providing her ‘services’.

Although shunned by most men of Silvermoon City, Shindris is pretty much admired by like-minded women who see her as an icon of individuality and self-confidence.

Working as a courtesan, Shindris works in the employ of noble ladies, sorceresses and other high class circles of female elves, be they high elves or blood elves, although the latter, to Shindris’ tastes, are far more aggressive during the time of Shindris providing her ‘services’.

Although shunned by most men of Silvermoon City, Shindris is pretty much admired by like-minded women who see her as an icon of individuality and self-confidence; Shindris has friends in high places, and can easily ask favours or pull strings if need be to achieve her own ends, although those are often as simple as a free stay at a local estate or remaining with one of her clients overnight.

A highly respected member of Silvermoon’s upper class, Lanaris is a brave quel’dorei paladin, sworn to serve the Light and the Naaru; having been trained to understand the many sides of right and wrong, Lanaris is eager to eliminate injustice across Azeroth, not caring if it is in the territories of either the Horde or the Alliance.

However, despite his eager to undo injustice, his mind is set mostly on trying to stop the practice of fel and shadow magic amongst his fellow elves, the ones calling themselves ‘blood elves’; seeing it as destructive, dangerous and corruptive, Lanaris despises warlocks and those who openly misuse their demonic powers for their own gains.

With his dedication of eliminating this evil for good, he hopes to visit Outland one day, and by some means find a way to return it to its former glory as Draenor, homeland of the orcs.

Although no-one knows of it, he and the courtesan Shindris are actually brother and sister, and by combining their talents, Lanaris’ for the Holy Light, and Shindris’ influences of Silvermoon City’s upper class, they hope to one day return other quel’dorei, as well as sin’dorei, back to practise the worship of the Holy Light.

Making his living in the Trade District of Stormwind City, this quel’dorei swordsmaster have a reputation for being able to perform incredible feats with his blade; seeing the world from a more easy-going view than expected for one of his age, Saigan dedicates his services as a blade-for-hire to the lower and middle class of citizenry, right out refusing to serve nobles, kings or any higher authority, being highly sceptical of them.

Being fond of challenging games like cards or chess, Saigan enjoys challenging his intellect around taverns and inns, as well as teaching his skills with a sword to anyone willing to learn, although he is hardly a strict teacher, believing that only time can tell when a student is fully graduated and has mastered the skills he wishes to teach them.

An ingenious and right out brilliant gnome mage, Wrex is calculating, logical and, by any means, handling engineering as well as the arcane magic he wields.

He calls himself a tech-mage, claiming that he hates the term ‘alchemist’, and bases his studies on the ley lines across Azeroth and his own technical expertise; apart from other gnomish devices, Wrex’s contraptions are more than often brilliant, easy to understand, and works as intended.

Despite being a workaholic, Wrex has a nose for adventure, and sometimes travels Outland with his self-made ‘photographic lenses’ inbuilt into his helmet to take pictures in hopes of understanding Outland’s wild, chaotic state, as well as the orcish fel magic responsible for tearing the former Draenor apart.

Cassandra & Lilith
The warlock Cassandra has an infamous rumour to completely decimate any obstacles in her path while she is one a quest, and her first official quest, given to her by her uncle and trainer, Zulcar, were to find an icon in an abandoned mine north of Darrowshire.

Finding the icon, Cassandra prepared to face the entity sure to rest within it, but instead found Lilith, a skirt-chasing, stubborn and seductive womanizer of a succubus, a lot like Cassandra herself, the two of them immediately feeling a deep affection and desire for each other, Lilith promising not to drain off Cassandra’s lifeforce if she accepted to be made love to by the succubus.

Upon her return, Zulcar were bewildered at his niece’s grinning smile, Cassandra happily introducing Zulcar to Lilith, the older warlock happy that Cassandra had even found affection for her minion, or, as he quickly corrected, lover.

As for Lilith, her demonic powers increase by the day due to herself getting used to the mortal world of Azeroth, consuming lifeforce from wildlife, getting used to normal, solid food, and her nightly lovemaking with Cassandra, Lilith warmly claiming Cassandra to be fantastic.

A quite young and passive Draenei priestess, Inji stands out from most other religious followers for several reasons, one being that she prefers to use swords in combat rather than to rely on her holy magic.

Another thing that makes her stand out is her preferences; while other Draenei women usually favours men, Inji is the only one to ever fully have confessed to the High Priestess, that her preferences and desires are that of women; although not taken lightly, Inji’s reputation as a fiercely dedicated follower reduced what might have been heresy in the Aldor’s eyes to something as a sort of possible joke; finding her colleagues’ teases and taunts too much, though, Inji left the order along with her brother, Irraka, who, as they both claimed, could not serve the Light as the Aldor wanted them to if they were so narrow-minded in their beliefs and opinions.

Travelling to Azeroth, Inji found it to be a marvellous place, and while striding around the village of Goldshire, her life were given new meaning as she saw what would later become her lover:

Mithra is a warrior who hardly talks while in battle, but gladly empties tankards of ale and dozens of glasses of wine at inns all around Azeroth, although she earns most of the gold ridding local villages and settlements of pests and wildlife.

Attractive and ravishing to say it mildly, Mithra is quite a temptress, fully admitting her tomboyish ways and charms, as well as her great love for women, her seductive and exotic elven nature greatly aiding her as she has managed to acquire a certain taste for exotic girls.

When taking a break from her adventures, Mithra prefers travelling to the calm, easy-going environment of Elwynn Forest, loving the local nature.

But, as it often is with fate, Mithra one day stumbled upon a young Draenei girl named Inji who stayed at the Lion’s Pride Inn in Goldshire; greatly amused by the draenei’s elegance, grace and beauty, Mithra slowly seduced the priestess, stealing both her night, her virtue and her heart, Mithra opening up her own to Inji, the two of them quickly becoming lovers.

Although having opened her heart and love to Inji, both her and Mithra shares a dislike for Inji’s older brother, Irraka, who often spits insults at Mithra and yells of his disapproval.

A powerful warrior, Irraka is often called Irraka the Fel-Hater for obvious reasons:

He hates everything fel to the brink of madness and obsession, seeing it as a force of malevolence that he is the only one who can destroy for good.

Clad in ornate and imposing armour, Irraka is both a swordsman and a gunfighter, proving his worth a hundredfold with both weapons.

As the older brother of Inji, Irraka is protective, if sceptical, of his sister, and even left the Aldor alongside her when her preferences for women were seen as a bad joke; hearing his sister taunted by his commanding officer, Irraka claims he broke the officer’s one horn in rage, leaving with his sister.

Despite claiming he supports his sister’s ‘choice’ of loving women, Irraka is clearly upset about Inji falling in love with a mere ‘forest nymph’ as he calls Mithra, the night elf warrior; failing to hide his disapproval from Inji, he always has a snort of sarcastic comment to spare for Mithra or the mention of her name.

Many things can be said about the infamous warlock Zulcar, such as his dark and twisted sense of humour, his hatred of rats, his odd habit of sending cows and other livestock flying through the air like leaves for no given reason, or his apparent allergy to alcohol.

Being a warlock, Zulcar is a surprisingly kind person, especially thinking that children should understand how their acts, even from early childhood, can change the course of history; although not really a philosopher, Zulcar enjoys writing poems, although allowing himself to add a bit of his own humour into them.

Under the somewhat friendly surface, Zulcar has shown to possess enough dark powers to tear up entire sections of Elwynn Forest in an attempt to stop a thief who had stolen a gold piece from him; as the authorities of the Stormwind Guard considers him too dangerous to meddle with, Zulcar is aware of his reputation and the fear people has for him.

With his niece Cassandra learning her craft to be a warlock, Zulcar is never far from her, feeling protective of her, and sees her training to become a warlock as a good way to broaden her horizons.

The mere mention of a death knight is more than often enough to make people hush their children and hide themselves under their beds, and as Dainon knows this, his former despise for ‘weak mortals’ replaced with a sense of grief and regret for what he accomplished under the Lich King’s control.

Today, freed of his shackles, and abandoning the Knights of the Ebon Blade, Dainon leaves a freezing trail for every step he takes, his reputation as one of Azeroth’s most dangerous and brutal death knights is well-founded; however, having decided to do the exact thing that he is a polar opposite to, Dainon uses his talents and powers to preserve life by keeping the small towns the Eastern Kingdoms safe from the undead and other monstrosities that haunt the cursed land.

Although set to start his unlife anew to help people, Dainon secretly hopes to one day find and claim the legendary Shadowmourne, hoping to wield the incredible weapon against the forces of darkness and the Burning Legion, believing himself one of the only people in all of Azeroth powerful enough to control it.

Uranus is ancient kel’dorei and master of arcane magic; waking up from his slumber in an unmarked tomb, faking his own death, Uranus studies the younger races and talks to dragons to understand Azeroth’s current state and its difference since the time of the Cataclysm.

Appearing like a guiding spirit, Uranus’ dedication to life and command of vast energies of arcane magic has earned him many allies and even more enemies; despising killing, Uranus can nevertheless render entire armies immobile or paralysed, his focus being that of defensive magic.

Although it is with much envy, even the greatest mages of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran takes a step back to Uranus, the kel’dorei glad to teach the curious younger races about the workings of magic from his own time.

A tomboyish and mature orc woman, Kriskha is a berserker from the Barrens of Kalimdor, a veteran of the war in Northerend and one of the few survivors from the Wrath Gate, earning her a reputation as a fierce warrior.

However, although she keeps a professional attitude as a warrior, Kriskha has a personal interest and love for Alliance women, although she prefers human girls and draenei women, a self-discovery she took during the battles in Northerend.

However, despite her skills, she is an outcast of the Horde, as Kriskha has great sympathy towards the Alliance, claiming that peace between the two can indeed exist despite the factions’ differences; however, after a harsh argument with Garrosh Hellscream, Kriskha were exiled from Orgrimmar, although she prides herself of it, as Garrosh had to send a dozen grunts to escort her outside the city walls, so powerful she was and is still today.

Making her way to the Eastern Kingdoms, Kriskha found herself being treated with a mix of awe and despise; however, taking pity on her, local Argents at the town of Lakeshire supplied her with rations and assured she could camp outside the town, literally telling local authorities to leave her be, Kriskha more than amused at her new home.

Aras is a proud and noble red dragon, whose interest and hope of preserving life exceeds even other drakes of the Red Dragonflight, making him a great ally to all mortal races.

As a friend of Lanaris, Aras often assists the young paladin whenever possible, as the two often have saved each other’s lives.

While still loyal to the Red Dragonflight and his queen, Aras rarely even visits the Wyrmrest Temple or answer any summons; as he is fascinated with the much younger human race, he admires their courage, yet hates their tendency to let power hunger or blood lust completely blind them, exemplifying King Varian Wrynn as a perfect example of what prejudice, old, bitter wounds and other evils can lead even a human with a noble bloodline to do.

To further his plans for Azeroth’s benefit, and inspired by his friend Lanaris, he often poses as a human paladin, showing skill in wielding the Holy Light as well as to protect the innocent as both dragon and paladin.

In his mortal life, Santos proudly wore the vestments of a priest of the Holy Light, offering his blessings and healing to townsfolk of Lakeshire as well as visiting adventurers.

However, often hearing the adventurers mocking him that he wasted his powers on the common townsfolk, Santos grew angry at them and began charging the adventurers fees for his services, the adventurers now growing furious that he charged them, not the townsfolk.

As his charges grew slightly each month, he eventually earned enough to buy himself a rich estate and a new set of decorative robes; using most of his wealth for charity, he still provided his healing.

Towards the end of his life, though, Santos somehow found himself nearing his, to him, all too early death; praying for what some considered to be two whole days in the front of his altar, he was found dead by the altar by guards from Lakeshire and buried properly.

His prayer had not gone unheard, though, and as thus, the noble priest now has returned to the world of the living, the townsfolk knowing him well enough to realize that, despite his undead form, he still serves the Holy Light; conquering the prejudices of the town’s elders, Santos is presently one of Lakeshire’s most esteemed residents.

Wilson Hawkins
As one of the Eastern Kingdoms’ richest noblemen, Wilson Hawkins is a punctual, polite and perfectly schooled gentleman, always keeping his word, often coining his phrase, ‘it’s just another fair deal’.

Hawkins keeps entire armies of mercenaries at his disposal, although a few of them work for him out of loyalty over gold; he is considered a good employer, but will not tolerate violations of his mercenaries’ duties, tenets and ethics.

While a skilled adventurer, Wilson has most of his power in his wealth, his knowledge and his ability to turn even the direst situation into something prosperous.

Seeing the wars between the Horde and the Alliance as all too time-consuming a matter to delve further into, he refuses to sell goods to either sides, but is always happy to strike a bargain with adventurers; he will even arrange for quick transports for a small fee.
Two of his most important aides consist of the grizzly, but highly loyal old seadog, Captain Sanders to sail his flagship, the Dragon’s Hoard, and the powerful Nethermancer Janus to oversee his magic-related operations and facilities.

Serving as the loyal mount of Dainon, Dusk has an unique quality that is quite unusual even for a horse of his kind: He is as smart as a human, and as intelligent, as well, making him able to speak, although his voice, like his master’s, is deep, hollow and echoes far away.

Originally an ordinary death-charger given to Dainon from his time as a pawn to the Scourge, Dainon used his vast knowledge to give Dusk the power to breathe ice-cold winds from his mouth; honoured by his master’s gift, Dusk proved his loyalty by following his master after he first were freed of the Scourge, and later abandoned the Knights of the Ebon Blade.

As his ice-cold gales could be sued to freeze water instantly, Dusk soon mastered this new ability, transporting Dainon from town to town over the Eastern Kingdoms; also, Dusk is considered one of the fastest land mounts in all of Azeroth.

Of all the beings, creatures and people Uranus met in his travels over the scarred world of Outland, talbuks were the one kind of creature he found a kindred spirit in.

Over time, as he studied the creatures, an angry patriarch stormed towards him with its horns aiming directly at his heart; as Uranus simply raised his hand to calm the beast, its rage vanished, replaced with a wondering why this trespasser would not fight it over the best grazing area of its territory.

After understanding the talbuk’s physics, Uranus eventually communicated mentally with the beast, asking for its help should he ever find himself in need of travelling far distances he could not use his magic to teleport himself to.

With a simple gesture, a nod, the talbuk agreed, Uranus naming it Twilight, in honour of the time of the day their deal were made, as well as the talbuk’s black, gray and purple fur.


Xyrax & Blood
Even in life, Xyrax cast aside his humanity and his name, taking the name Xyrax, his dedication to fel magic and other vile sorceries scaring even his relatives.

Experimenting on his family’s lands in the Arathi Highlands, he soon realised his own powers, proclaiming himself as a demon god, tearing open portals to the Twisting Nether itself, abducting and brainwashing powerful members of the dreaded Burning Legion.

However, claiming his mortal body would soon fall old with age as he rapidly grew older, Xyrax sacrificed his body upon an altar of spikes, his soul trapped inside a large, red crystal seething with demonic power; resurrecting as an undead, Xyrax had gained immortality, the ground itself withering under his feet.

Set to destroy every being of nature in his way, Xyrax has organized numerous assassination attempts on the only beings he feels poses a slight challenge to his power: Highlord Tirion Fordring of the Argent Crusade, and the numerous Dragonflights.

Serving as his right hand, Xyrax has recruited the former blood elf warrior Turadar to his ranks, transforming him into his champion, the pale-skinned, vampiric berserker Blood, giving him the demonic war-blade Gore and powers far greater than any necromancer.

As a vessel to host a slight tap of his power, Xyrax had his slaves forge a diabolic weapon called the Infernal Doom for himself, which not only incinerates all it touches, but should the victim, by some miracle, survive, their remaining, short lives will be cursed, suffering every known disease in Azeroth.

The Scarlet Onslaught
A reformed group of the overly zealous Scarlet Crusade, the Scarlet Onslaught consists of the last remaining and desperate survivors of the original Crusade; these fanatics swore to destroy the Lich King by any means, and all who stood in their way; robbed of their goal with the Lich King’s death by Tirion Fordring of the Argent Crusade and his companions, the Scarlet Onslaught experienced severe in-fighting amongst the most high-ranked officers to prove themselves worthy to lead the Onslaught.

Alas, with the rise of the new Highlord Bartharos, an insane madman, the desperate crusaders hope to find a ‘sacred angel’ having ‘descended from the heavens’, to resurrect their fallen comrades across Northerend, intending to use the ‘angel’s powers to rise an army of angelic warriors to punish the, in the Onslaught’s eyes, traitorous Alliance and impure Horde for stealing their one chance to destroy the Lich King.

Behind the scenes, however, dark forces has worked their way into the fanatic Onslaught, Bartharos now being forced to search for a certain draenei girl in order to spare his brethren the evil taint he feels over them; to help him, Bartharos were quick to promote an especially bloodthirsty old paladin named Justin as his second-in-command over his legions.

The Dead Knight
The Champion of the Banshee Queen, the Black Nightmare, the Forsaken Harbinger, the Dead Knight...

Lord Darkslayer has many titles, honours, and the respect of both the whole Undercity and his queen, Sylvanas Windrunner; always a sign of immediate change on any battlefield, Darkslayer never speaks unless his queen allows him to; instead, he solves any situation in the best ways he knows, either through silent intimidation, or brutal, punishing dismemberment.

Taking great pride of his sword, armour and dark powers, Darkslayer revealed to the queen that his sword is all that keeps him from breaking apart in a pile of rotten flesh, bones and armour, and thus, Sylvanas ‘blessed’ the sword never to leave his side, cursing one of her most potent servants.

[End notes: As you are now fimiliar with the characters, let the quest begin...]

Chapter 2

Title: Chapter 1: Trouble in Goldshire

“Oh...light of the Naaru...!” Inji gasped, feeling relaxed, at last; she and Mithra had spent most of the night exploring every viewable part of each other’s bodies, and while having proven herself a frisky and seductive lover, Inji had enjoyed every moment, taking great pleasure in all that Mithra had done unto her, even if she had stolen both her virtue and her heart.

“The light of the Naaru may aid you at day...” Mithra chuckled behind her, Inji smiling to herself as she smelled the still-lingering arousal from her lover; “...but Elune guides my hand at night...”

“Your goddess condemns no-one, and for that I feel delighted...” Inji said, turning to face Mithra; “ for you...I am all yours, Mithra...”

As Mithra caught herself blushing, Inji giggled at seeing the purple-skinned night elf girl blush, something she rarely did; in a sort of retaliation, Mithra reached out and caressed the draenei girl’s horns, grinning as she saw Inji’s tail move back and forth in tact with her caressing and stroking.

“Well, I took your virtue, and so did you take mine...” Mithra said, winking at Inji; “...I haven’t seen any draenei use her tail in that manner before...”

“Stop it! I...I couldn’t control myself, and I apol-...” Inji began, Mithra’s sudden and needing kiss interrupting her, Inji giving into her moaning; no breakfast for now, it seemed...

“Heathen! Return my sheep to me!” a local farmer yelled, his pitchfork’s steel spikes pointing towards a man in a black and red robe trimmed with gold.

“I’ll bet you’re one of those adventure fellas! You owe me at least thirty gold pieces for that sheep, you lousy trickster!” the farmer threateningly thrust his fork against the man in the robe.

“Look, I told you, you old coot, sheep are simple beings...and simple beings tend to...” the man in the robe now turned around, his eyes flashing green as he waved his hand; “...disappear!”

As he spoke, green lightning of fel magic shoot from his palm, heading directly towards a herd of cows, the animals not realizing what happened until an explosion of fel energy sent the creatures flying to the sky.

“Of course I will compensate you...” the man smirked cruelly, tossing a small bag at the terrified farmer; “...but use it to buy new livestock! I will be staying here for a few months...”

“...Impudent brat! This precious life must matter greatly for death and unlife to be so painful...” Dainon mumbled in his own thoughts, his armour creaking as he watched the young warlock cackle with laughter as the farmer he had mocked yelled threats at him, Dainon sighing as he saddled Darkness, the undead horse’s frozen hooves giving off a chilling aura.

“Miss, where may I find the authorities in this village?” Dainon turned to an elderly woman, who, despite her terror of seeing the death knight, weakly pointed at a house close to Dainon.

“Thank you, ma’am, and rejoice, at least...” Dainon said as he went by with a swing of his cloak, smiling amused under his helmet; “...I will not be the one to drag your soul to Icecrown...”

“Mithra, honestly...does you night elf gals never tire??” Inji giggled as Mithra’s long purple hair teased her armpits, her and Mithra continuing their pleasant bedside exercises more sensitively before heading for the inn’s main room.

“I’m like a nightsaber in heat when I look at you, Inji! Your slightest move and I feel my heart race like a hurricane!” Mithra panted out, licking Inji’s cheek.

“You are one hopelessly masochistic girl, aren’t you?” Inji teased, letting her tail slightly stroke over Mithra’s butt, the night elf girl moaning longingly.

“Now I am, indeed! My sweet, little Inji...let me show you my love!” Mithra exclaimed passionately, beginning to right out suck on the draenei girl’s breasts, Inji chuckling amused, feeling it both tickle and feeling Mithra’s warmth all over her body.

“Barkeep, do you know where I can find a draenei priestess around here? She is not more than two meters, blue hair, wears a sacred robe, and golden rings on her tail” a quite imposing and large draenei asked the barkeep.

“Oh, you mean Inji? She and that night elf woman rented one of my rooms just the other night...looked dead drunk too, if I may add...” the barkeep said, rolling a gold coin over his knuckles.

“That may be, but what exact room? I do not have the rest of eternity...” the draenei asked again, his voice beginning to sound impatient.

“Oh! Might be room 21 or 12; I don’t remember, really...” the barkeep answered quickly, the draenei nodding his head as he went upstairs.

“You call this an invention?! What are the basic materials, even?? What did you do? Get drunk on the job and just slapped it together like a puzzle game?? It’s hardly worth ten copper pieces!” a gnome discussed with a human, both of them arguing over what really just looked like a mousetrap.

“Shut your trap, tiny! I spent all my earnings collecting the pieces for this, and it’s going to sell! Very soon! Mark my words!” the human gave back, turning on his heel as he picked up the mousetrap, walking away.

“By the...light of the Naaru...!” Inji panted out, slowly pulling her tail out of Mithra’s ‘moonwell’ as she called it, her love fluids running heavily from Inji’s tail.

“Inji, my well still runs deep; drink more from it, please...” Mithra pleaded, Inji nodding weakly, beginning to descend between Mithra’s legs again, her tongue exploring deeply into night elf girl’s well, slurping all the delicious fluids that kept gushing from her lover’s most sacred shrine.

“Oh-h-h-h-h! I do like it when you fuck me, Inji! You really know what a girl wants, don’t you?” Mithra smiled, Inji looking up.

“Uhm, I know how to do what? What does this ‘fuck’ mean?” Inji asked.

“It’s something I heard a human woman mention; turns out that when humans make love, they ‘fuck’ as they call it...” Mithra shrugged, winking at Inji; “...still, despite all their fancy names, no-one can satisfy me as you can, Inji.”

“How moving...and such truth! This ‘well’ is not served with being plugged up, now is it?” Inji smiled at Mithra, descending into her ‘well’ again, Mithra lowering herself deeper into the bed, holding a hand to her face as she smiled broadly, moaning wildly.

“Ah, so this is where you and your...’associate’ spend your free time...” Irraka suddenly spoke sarcastically, marching through the door to Inji and Mithra’s room.

“Brother! You have no right to barge in like that!” Inji snapped at Irraka, Mithra lifting an uncaring head.

“As your brother, I have every right, Inji, and frankly I have never approved of the company you keep...” Irraka grunted, looking sourly at Mithra; “...and your female girl-lover here...I thought Azeroth saw the last to the Plague after their Third War...”

With an aggressive gesture, Inji’s hand clenched into a fist, the energy generated from the gesture forcing the heavily armoured Irraka into the wall with the force of a battering ram.

“How dare you?! Why even need to carry that ridiculous armour since you’re already so cold-hearted!” Inji snapped at her brother, Mithra hugging her, trying to calm down her near-crying lover.

“What in Icecrown’s tainted name is going on here??” a sudden deep, chilling voice were heard in the hallway outside the room, Dainon looking inside, seeing the painfully grunting draenei warrior and the two furious-looking women in the bed.

“How dare you, you pathetic little maggot...!” Dainon growled, clenching his fist as he picked up Irraka by his throat, pinning him to the wall, the draenei nearly choking as Dainon’s grip tightened.

“I heard your little preach, two-hooves, and I assure you; you will regret ever spitting those words out...!” Dainon gritted his teeth behind his helmet.

“Wait! He’s my brother, after all...” Inji interrupted Dainon as she leapt from the bed, trying to drag the death knight back away from Irraka.

“Your brother? What wretch would dare speak such to his own kindred?” Dainon asked, slowly loosening his grip on Irraka’s throat.

“A homophobic one; that means he hates seeing two people of the same gender falling in love...” Mithra explained from the bed, Dainon stepping away from the gasping Irraka, unsheathing his sword, thrusting it deeply into the floor planks, were a layer of ice soon covered the draenei warrior.

“I have taken enough lives to now realize life’s purpose...” Dainon said darkly as he walked towards Mithra; “...our choices makes us what we are, not ‘fate’; and the two of you are in love?”

“Yes!” both Mithra and Inji answered almost simultaneously, causing Inji to giggle.

“Hm-m, I somewhat envy you; to feel a kiss and the warmth of life...but a bond like yours are not easily cleaved...” Dainon mumbled to himself, reaching up and removing his helmet, holding it under his arm, his tattered black hair and beard frosted with ice.

“I shall leave now and take this draenei with me...” Dainon said, raising an eyebrow at Inji’s scared expression.

“Your brother will be in one piece...but I hope he knows a local healer...” Dainon said darkly, gritting his teeth into a wicked smile as he took up his sword, put his helmet back on, and dragged the now unconscious Irraka out of the room by his tail.

“...Should we continue where we left off...?” Mithra smiled and Inji, the draenei girl crawling over the night elf and burrowing her face between Mithra’s full bosom.

“No fruits in all of Azeroth could be so delicious...” Inji lovingly stroke her head against Mithra’s breasts, the night elf girl chuckling girlishly.

“You’re really a saucy little wench, aren’t you?” she teased, Inji responding with a smile, nipping at Mithra’s left nipple.

“What’s going on in there? I registered a great concentration of holy and unholy magic at the same time! Can’t be good, no way...” Wrex mumbled to himself, entering the Lion’s Pride Inn, almost pushed out of his way when an angry Dainon forced his way out.

“Stand back! This bastard and I have a score to settle!” the death knight spat, feeling the draenei to slowly regain consciousness.

“AR-R-R-R-RGH! Why, why so aggressive now, Inji??” Mithra yelled out loud to the ceiling, looking playfully over her shoulder as Inji forced her against the wall, letting her tail penetrate deeply into Mithra’s well.

“Because you said you were wild, before...” Inji smirked, teasingly napping at Mithra’s eyes; “...and I do love this rougher type of...’dominating your mate’ as you can call least when I’m the dominant one...!”

“Maybe we should reverse that role after this, huh?” Mithra grinned smugly, Inji rolling her eyes and winking at her lover.

Chuckling playfully, Mithra turned around, gently pushed Inji unto the bed, following after the draenei girl as the both began tickling each other, laughing childishly and happily.

“ ancestors’ restless ghosts hits harder than that...!” Irraka spat as he pulled himself up, Dainon walking around the draenei warrior in circles, his hand resting on his sheathed sword.

“You are strong, that I will give you, but you have a fatal chink in your armour...” Dainon said, his echoing voice annoying Irraka greatly as well as his lectures; “ claim yourself a warrior, but you lack the honour and respect every warrior should have.”

“Don’t you start on that, death-bringer! All you know of are misery and pain, and you call me a coward??” Irraka roared as he struck against Dainon, the death knight simply parrying the larger draenei’s fist in his hands.

“Hmm, that could have cracked the skull of a lesser man...” Dainon said, leading his right arm towards his sheathed sword; “...but I tire of this!”

As Irraka quickly pulled out his sword in response to Dainon, the death knight’s rune-blade soared through the air, silently hissing in the wind as it hit the steel of Irraka’s sword.

“I cannot believe that ignorance you showed to your own sister, your own kin, draenei; such short-sightedness...” Dainon mocked, surprising Irraka as he struck out with his left foot, tripping the draenei over, Dainon’s rune-blade at his throat rendering Irraka at the death knight’s mercy as he sat his solid, armoured foot on the draenei’s arm, leaving Irraka without his sword; “ you not know one of the most basic rules for a common warrior? ‘Leave your mind open for learning’.”

“It’s none of your concern, and I won’t have my own flesh and blood get together with that...that.....forest nymph!” Irraka spat, Dainon sighing.

“Wha-...oh, Light preserve us! A death knight!” Wrex suddenly stopped by as he came out from the inn; seeing the defeated Irraka on the ground, though, he assumed Dainon was a threat, beginning to cast a spell.

“Leave that draenei alone, death-bringer!” Wrex yelled as he flung a spell at Dainon, the death knight holding up his free hand, the spell as if swallowed into his palm.

“I care little for wizardry, gnome...” Dainon said, turning his attention to Irraka, lifting him up with his free hand, holding the draenei in front of himself.

“This brute of a ‘warrior’ harasses his own sister’s lover and is willing to use force to separate them...” Dainon said; “...ignorance may be bliss for you, draenei, but now, that bliss turns to reality by my hand!”

“Lying-...” Irraka began to struggle, Wrex stepping over towards Dainon, too late as the draenei began freezing over, covered in ice as Dainon put him down with a satisfied grunt.

“What use is the word of a death knight, anyway? All logic would point towards dishonesty, bloodlust and evil” Wrex asked, Dainon kneeling down into eyesight of the gnome.

“You are wrong in all but one of those ‘statistics’; I’m neither dishonest nor bloodthirsty, but I ‘am’ what you may call ‘evil’...”

“Then give me a reason why I shouldn’t inform the authorities!” Wrex demanded, Dainon crossing his arms, pointing a thumb over his shoulders, two Stormwind guardsmen hardly paying attention to the discussion.

“I am a death knight, but I have grown an appreciation for life, which is why this wretch still lives...” Dainon explained, Wrex raising an eyebrow under his hood; “...and you may call your little authorities if you please; we will then see how steel swords will meet a saronite rune-blade.”

“Uhm, no need to be hasty, I imagine; maybe we ought to keep this in between us...” Wrex looked over at Irraka, the conscious and quite angry-looking draenei lying motionless in the block of ice Dainon had encased him in; “...besides, we need to treat this draenei’s wounds; you gave him a rough beating, I see.”

“I promised his sister not to kill him...” Dainon mumbled under his breath; “...although I feel like gutting him like a stuck pig…alas, then wait for a moment; I let get him out of there…”

“So...” Inji finally sat herself down at her and Mithra’s table, their breakfast being served by a barmaid; “...I thought we should head to Stormwind today; I need to get some new dresses.”

“Stormwind’s a rough place and the humans there are sure to be less tolerant towards us...” Mithra said as she drank a bit of the hot milk and honey drink she had ordered; “...we should try getting you to Northshire Abbey, instead; with all that holy magic you possess, you could really become stronger if you read your way through the tomes.”

“There is nothing more boring than reading! Besides, I had other things on my mind...” Inji said, sending Mithra a mysterious grin.

“Are you hiding something from me?” Mithra asked surprised, not minding to take up Inji’s little game.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not...” Inji giggled lowly, Mithra looking carefully at Inji, suddenly hearing a light creaking as the draenei girl sat down her legs on the floor.

“Hold on...” Inji now looked inquisitively under the table, seeing nothing but Inji’s usual silvery robe...and underneath it, pants of black leather catching her attention.

“My, if you aren’t feeling frisky this morning; maybe I went too far with you...?” Mithra teased, Inji blushing and caressing her new pants.

“Real kodohide, polished and fit just for the fashionable, yet alluring femme fatale...” Inji smirked, blushing again; “...I just liked how you looked in your armour, so I sort of felt the need to dress just a bit like you.”

“Now you’re flattering me, two-horns...” Mithra chuckled, Inji giggling to herself.

“Those two over there are up to something; I can feel it in my bones...” Zulcar mumbled as his companion, a dwarven warrior sat and enjoyed their drinks, Zulcar sticking to the usual: A tankard of clear water.

“Ye must be hearing things; ‘em two lasses’ been talking fer two minutes and now you go hearing things...” the dwarf grunted, looking into his ale mug; “...must be some kinda price ye warlocks pay fer ye ‘almighty’ powers, eh? Hearing stuff no-one else does…”

“I suppose you’re unaware that I could hit you with a fel meteor right now, if I so pleased...?” Zulcar mocked, the dwarf grunting sourly and returning to his ale.

“We seek the one named Inji; we demand to see this draenei at once!” a robed man angrily raised his fist to a Stormwind guardsman, the guard narrowing his eyebrows.

“And by what given authority, then?” he asked, the robed man letting his robe fall, revealing a tabard of the Scarlet Onslaught and a red and gold-trimmed sword hanging in his belt, his armour dyed completely crimson.

“By authority of the Holy Light, I command you to lead us to this draenei woman!” he once again raised his fist, the guardsman looking over his shoulder, gesturing another nearby guardsman to approach him.

“These Scarlet people demands to see a draenei priestess by the name of Inji, and has gone as far as to threaten with murder if we do not comply” the guard told his friend, the two of them unsheathing their swords.

“Gentlemen, we must ask you to-...” one of the guards tried and speak, but one of the robed Scarlet fanatics lunged what appeared like a dagger towards him, the guard barely managing to raise his shield to save himself from the dangerous blow.

“Heretics! The General must live again! Forward, brothers! Slay all who defy the Holy Light!” one of the fanatics cried out, one of the Stormwind guardsmen lucky enough to deal him a hefty blow with his fist, knocking the fanatic back down.

“What in tarnation-...??” Zulcar asked himself as he stepped outside the inn, hearing what sounded like war-cries, only to find a small crossbow bolt impaling itself to the doorframe where his hand had been not two seconds before.

“Scarlet fanatics...just what I needed...” he sighed sarcastically, letting his eyes towards the sky; “...I swear, sometimes I feel bad for them...only sometimes, though...”

As he swore under his breath, he looked directly at a fanatic trying to run for the inn as more Stormwind guards arrived; as the fanatic got eye contact with Zulcar, his pre-prepared spell were set into effect as he returned the eye contact; screaming, the fanatic fell to the ground, his eyes burning with fel fire.

“You call yourself warriors of the Holy Light? HAH! You of the Scarlet Onslaught are a blight upon all the Light stands for!” Zulcar taunted, swinging his heavy golden staff towards the fanatic’s head, a nasty, cracking sound telling the satisfied Zulcar that the fanatic were no longer amongst the living.

Chapter 3

Title: Chapter 2: Darkness Cometh

“I thought I told you what would happen if I ever saw you wear that tabard again!” Dainon furiously held a Stormwind guard by his throat, slowly walking into the middle of Goldshire’s town square with him, many people yelling in terror.

“Dainon, what’s wrong with you? What has he done?” a newly-armoured and combat-ready Mithra demanded to know as she ran from the Lion’s Pride Inn into the street.

“Last time I saw this swine of a man wearing Stormwind’s tabard, he were about to molest and violate that very peasant girl there!” Dainon pointed a finger at a red-haired human teenage girl, who, apart from the other villagers, looked angrily at the man Dainon held.

“No-one would mourn your passing...” Dainon coldly narrowed his glowing, blue and icy eyes at the terrified man; “...but I took enough lives under the Scourge’s command; you may live...”

As he dropped the man, he attempted to breathe out a curse, but instead minded his throat as it felt as if it had been pressed together in an ice-cold vice.

“Remember; one small snap…and you could have ended up claiming the graveyard as your new home...” Dainon threatened the guard; “...when you die, I swear to return here, and raise your corpse as a minion in unlife!”

“You’ll hear for this, you monster! Mark my words!” the guard yelled over his shoulder as he ran.

“You’re surely a charmer, aren’t you?” Zulcar sarcastically taunted Dainon as he approached the death knight.

“A demon-caller? Hmm, I shouldn’t be surprised, really...” Dainon simply gave Zulcar a worthy nod, grabbing one of the zealots’ corpses, holding it up as he shoke it.

“Such a lowly pile of bones-...” Dainon mumbled sarcastically, hearing a clinging as something fell out into his open gauntlet; with a satisfied grunt, he threw the zealot’s corpse over his shoulder, looking at what appeared to be a small vial.

“Poison used to coat daggers with; hypocrites to their own faith, these curs...” Dainon grit his teeth.

“The Scarlet Onslaught has no rules they will not break to achieve their own ends...” a voice came behind Dainon, the death knight turning around to see what looked like an old man walk towards him, holding on to his staff; “...but such a bold move? Soldier, I suggest Stormwind be informed of this attack.”

“Mind yourself, Santos!” one of the guards snarled as he picked up his sword, Dainon finding this old man, Santos, to be an undead; dressed in rich, holy robes, though, he remembered hearing of a generous old priest from the town of Lakeshire.

“I’m not really on friendly terms with undead, old man...” Mithra mentioned coldly, Inji hiding herself behind her lover, Santos looking at them all with his hollow, yellow eyes.

“Your fear of the dead is only natural, child, but know that I’ll do you no harm...” Santos said, groaning as he leaned himself up against the inn’s wall, Mithra grinning sarcastically.

“’Child’? I’m properly older than you are, but-...” Mithra began, interrupted as Zulcar walked over to Santos, reaching out his hand.

“Do you need help, sir?” he asked, Santos surprised at the warlock’s kindness, holding up his clawed hand, Zulcar helping him inside the inn.

“…So-o-o…your praised assassins failed me, Bartharos…” Xyrax’s hoarse, ill-boding voice echoed through the cold stone room, the Highlord of the Scarlet Onslaught feeling the sweat of fear form under his helmet.

“Lord Xyrax, they were the most promising recruits we had to spare! I-…” Bartharos began, Xyrax turning around and facing Bartharos, the highlord feeling the urge to take a step back.

“…Recruits…? You sent some simple pups to bring me the item most important to my plans?!” Xyrax’s voice rose in volume.

“My lord, please-…” Bartharos tried again, the dark, menacing warlock taking a step towards the highlord.
“I am about…to rearrange all of Azeroth…AND THE ONLY ITEM I NEED…” Xyrax’s hollow eyes glowed with a ghostly, yet eerie red light; “…STILL…WANDERS…ABO-O-O-OUT?!?!”

The fel shockwave of the warlock’s fury sent Bartharos flying through the room, hammering into a pillar, his two guards collapsing beside him, screaming in pain as their bodies dissolved into dust, their armour, weapons and uniforms clinging to the floor.

“Lord…I, I had nothing else to spare…please…” Bartharos gasped in fear, Xyrax folding his claws so forcefully Bartharos heard the warlock’s gauntlet creak.

“Be thankful that you’re still of use to me…” Xyrax remarked coldly; “…I need that goat-legged harlot’s soul before the next full moon, or your soul will have to provide me with…amusement for my demons and I for the next millennia…”

“Your will be done, lord! But, we have just received word from our spy in Goldshire that Dainon is staying at the Lion’s Pride Inn! None of our soldiers can match him!” Bartharos said, Xyrax looking down at his servant with disgust.

“Summon your Patriot Guard! Use that silver tongue of yours to make them believe the Holy Light really spoke unto you…” Xyrax spat as he vanished in a flash of sharp, red light.

“…Your…your will be done…” Bartharos spoke to himself, panting in fear.

“Anytime, gentlemen; it’s just another fair deal” Wilson said as he finished with business with the two grizzly-looking thugs sitting in front of him at his table, Wilson easily emptying a glass of wine.

“We’ll keep our part, Mr. Hawkins; you better keep yours…” one of them said as they both rose up, having promised to find a few of their ‘friends’ interested in working for Wilson.

“If I may, Mr. Hawkins, but why pay these thugs so much money?? It seems like a complete waste…uhm…sir…” Sanders mentioned, Wilson looking at the old seadog of a captain.

“Not at all, Mr. Sanders; see, these common thugs and bandits are willing to sell out even their own family for the right coin, and since our excavation in Stranglethorn needs more workers, I thought they should prove an excellent work force” Wilson simply said, Sanders unable to avoid frowning from under his moustache.

“But think about it, Mr. Hawkins! These men are savages! Uhm, with respect, sir, I doubt the women at the excavation would approve of these…thugs…” Sanders mentioned, Wilson gesturing him to sit down, pouring him a glass of wine.

“It has been taken care of; Janus is overseeing our operations out there, and as you may know, Sanders, he is not one to neglect either his duty or his manners…” Wilson said; “…he won’t let any such attempts from their side go by unpunished.”

At that notice, Sanders nodded slightly.

“Aye, that Janus fella might be a bit to the crazy side, but he’s got marbles…” Sanders said, holding up his glass; “…to good wealth and good fortune, Mr. Hawkins!”

“And to the next, fair deal, Mr. Sanders” Wilson raised his own glass, the two of them clinging together.

“If I may, Lord Xyrax, why not dispose of this ridiculous alliance? You have enough minions…” a pale-skinned, tall creature asked Xyrax, the warlock looking up at his creation.

“Because it amuses me to manipulate those idiots into thinking their lives actually matter! You, Blood, should know that everything and everyone around me is expandable…” Xyrax smirked cruelly under his cowl; “…and yet, as my blade, my champion, my blood-letter, at least take comfort in the knowledge that you still have some small use to me.”

“I exist to serve you, my lord…” Blood readily said, looking to the sword by his side; “…but sire, this Scarlet Onslaught…what will happen if they actually find out that their glorious leader serves you?”

“Hm-hm-hm, then I shall enjoy watching him be destroyed, and as for the fanatics…I might have to lift a finger, even…” Xyrax said as he walked past Blood, the vampiric creature following him.

“Ah, my throne has been prepared; you have done well…” Xyrax mockingly approached a small, green-skinned demon, clapping his hand on its shoulder, smirking amused as what seemed like rot spread from where he had touched, the screaming demon collapsing unto the floor in a black, gooey puddle.

“Now, I need you to deal with a little nuisance, Blood; there is a wizard living around our little cavern, and I would very much like to have a look at his books…” Xyrax said as he sat down on his throne, folding his fist; “…bring me the books…and tear that disgusting mortal…piece…by…piece…!”

“It will be done, sire!” Blood saluted, feeling his fingers itching to grab his sword to cut flesh, cloth and armour alike and to hear the screams from his victims; as he cackled and left through the cavern tunnels, Xyrax sat on his throne, admiring his own weapon; the Infernal Doom, which had already ended dozens of lives, Xyrax’s ruby-replaced eyes gleaming as flames licked up the sword’s blade.

“An undead in my inn?! Why, I-…” the innkeeper at the Lion’s Pride slammed a tankard into the desk in frustration, suddenly finding Dainon stand in front of him.

“Remember your nephew in Lakeshire? How he caught a cold last winter and no medicine could cure it? That ‘undead’ you point out as your scape goat was the one to heal the damn toddler…!” Dainon snarled at the innkeeper, pointing directly at Santos.

“That ‘undead’ you see there simply came back to life to serve humanity once again, and as such…consider your words carefully, barkeep…” Dainon’s cold, chilling and echoing voice had its effect on the innkeeper as he slowly backed down.

“Dainon, threats solves nothing; if this man doesn’t wish for my presence, I will depart once again…” Santos said weakly, trying to stand up, but Zulcar slowly sat him down again.

“Relax, friend; no-one here likes undead and warlocks more than you like the Horde…” Zulcar pointed out, Santos’ eyes looking over to Inji and Mithra sitting in front of them.

“And you two youngsters, I’m glad to see you tolerate my presence; I suppose that even in unlife, a priest brings comfort to some…” Santos said, Inji looking at Mithra.

“He seems OK, for a living dead; I don’t know why, but I can’t bring myself to…to…to strike at him…” Inji said.

“That’s because you are clever, Inji; apart from those narrow-minded zealots from both the Onslaught and the Brotherhood of Light, you think things through realistically, not because some ‘holy force’ commands you to ‘rid the world of the condemned’…” Dainon said as he walked down to their table, picking up a nearby chair, sitting at the table end.

“The Holy Light teaches of peace and tolerance, Dainon…or has today’s priests not told of that…?” Santos said mostly to himself, looking at Mithra and Inji leaned their heads together, Santos’ mind slowing putting the pieces together.

“You two…I can feel that you are very intimate, yet hesitant to show it; whom are you, really?” Santos asked, Inji looking blushingly at Mithra, the night elf girl smiling to her and speaking to Santos.

“We are lovers, old man; not all women follow nature’s so-called ‘call’ and head off the copulate with males…” Mithra explained, beginning to grin as the sockets where Santos’ eyes had been widened as his eyebrows rose.

“L-lovers? But…no, this is something new; two women sharing intimacy and love for each other? Oh, by the Light, this is something new…I have been dead for…how many years has it been now…?” Santos asked, Zulcar twirling his staff around, looking at Mithra and Inji.

“A shame the only ones here to look at it that way are practically dead, ladies…” Zulcar could not help a grin as he made a bold move; “…as a living, myself, and a man, too, I’d have to say that many men and women would think it’s just an act you play to get attention.”


Hit with a heavy leather gauntlet, Zulcar took a sharp hit to his cheek with surprise and pain marked all over his face, finding Inji to look furiously at him, pulling back her hand, Mithra looking at him with disgust.

“Commanding demons from the Great Beyond will not save you from these two, warlock…” Dainon said as he put his helmet on the table.

“…No…don't-…!” were the last words of the old, grey-haired wizard as Blood’s sword beheaded him, the vampire creature looking at the wizard’s very poor selection of books.

“How…disappointing…no guards, no servants, only elemental guardians…” Blood snarled as he held the wizard’s severed head in eyesight, spitting on it; “…did you really need to bleed out so fast?!”

Angered at the lack of challenge put up by the wizard, Blood tossed the head into a wall, enjoying the crack of the skull as it hit with all the unholy strength he possessed; returning attention to the books, he began the dull task to collect the most promising ones for his creator; books of forbidden arts, of demon summonings, ritual sacrifices and far worse.

“Hm-m-m, interesting…” Blood now took up a book with a black leather cover, an almost seething dark energy coming from it…

“And then she slapped you? Well, I can understand that…” Wrex sat and talked with Zulcar, the warlock having left Mithra and Inji’s table.

“Why?? I was only saying-…” Zulcar tried for what he counted to be the sixth time to explain, but Wrex simply sighed at him.

“Zulcar, unintentionally, you actually told them that you thought they were just putting up an act, so disguising it as ‘some men and women’ does not really cut it…” the gnome said, fiddling with a small, silvery gadget meanwhile; “…and if you ask me, it’s not just an act, and you really wish to continue alienating it, remember, it is a matter of the heart: Me, I love engineering, science and magic; you like to blow things apart and killing livestock; it’s as simple as it gets.”

“I didn’t expect a lecture…” Zulcar rolled his eyes, sighing, nevertheless having tried to understand what Wrex said; “…please, hold this; I need to fix this…”
Leaving his staff at his and Wrex’s table, Zulcar approached Mithra and Inji’s table, Zulcar feeling uneasy as they both sensed his presence, their looks hardening and eyes narrowing.

“I…I wanted to apologise for what I said before; it was rude and insensitive…” Zulcar tried his most sincere voice, Inji and Mithra exchanging looks.

“Now that is something I have never seen, either; a caster of the dark arts…apologising for his behaviour…?” Santos spoke mostly to himself, looking up at Zulcar; “…you have honesty in your voice, at least; credible.”

“OK then, warlock…but if you start things up again…!” Mithra said, folding her hand into a fist, the sounding of the hardened leather sending a clear message to Zulcar.

“Blackrock…will they ever learn…?” Aras spoke to himself, the groaning body of an orc of the Blackrock Clan falling before him as Aras tore his sword back out; he had been circling over the Burning Steppes for hours, and having assumed a mortal disguise, his true draconic self would have been all too easily detected.

As the orc fell before him, like the dozens of others yet to challenge him, Aras sneaked towards what looked like a smaller cave entrance, Aras sneaking closer, finding the cave to have no illumination, starring into a pitch-black darkness.

“Sniff him out! I want his guts for my hounds!” the furious roar from an orc suddenly echoed from inside the cave, Aras moving away as quickly as his armour allowed him, readying his sword, the light tongue of flame caressing up and down the blade.

Hearing another roar, Aras saw as a half dozen orcs came out from the cave entrance, their hands held closely around their weapons and their bloodshot eyes seething in anger.

“Find that pup! Find him and skin him alive!” one of them ordered, five of the orcs running off in the distance, the remaining orc staying behind, kneeling to the ground, drawing what looked like symbols in the charred sand.

“Unwise of you, warlock, to send your hounds for a prey they cannot catch…” Aras slowly stepped out of the cave’s shadow, the surprised orc just barely managing to block Aras’ sword with his staff, the orc cackling insanely as the small emerald in his staff glowed brightly green with fel energies.

“No-one’s here to mourn your passing, paladin! Your ‘righteousness’ won’t save you now!” the orc mocked, energies of fel magic shooting from his staff like lightning bolts, Aras holding up his hand, the energy as if consumed into his fist.

“I am a servant of the Holy Light, the Naaru and Azeroth…” Aras spoke; “…those who serve only themselves will always fail!”

As Aras slowly stepped towards the warlock, the orc roared, flinging fel spell after fel spell at Aras, the paladin absorbing the spells fluidly, throwing his sword into the air, grabbing it with the blade downwards, tossing the sword with all his strength into the orc’s right eye.

Leaving the screaming orc to his fate as he rolled on the ground, soon to die from blood loss, Aras picked up his sword from the warlock’s eye and cutting his staff in two as he entered the cave.

“What a Light-forsaken place…” Aras muttered to himself, seeing demonic runes as far over the cave as he could see, walking down a small tunnel, suddenly falling as something heavy hit him.

“Blood traitors! Fel-weavers! Infected vermin!” a rough voice rang, Aras discovering the heavy object that hit him was the body of one of the Blackrock Clan orcs, the marks on his neck clearly indicating that he had be strangulated.

“Huh?? More of you?!” Aras heard, just barely managing to parry with his sword before a black, poison-tipped spear clang its head against his sword.

“Whoever you are, I am no orc!” Aras said, the flames from his sword illuminating his face to his attacker.

“What? A paladin?! What in Doomhammer’s name would you be doing here??” the orc asked, Aras surprised to see how old he was; while his muscles were still as strong as any orc’s, his long hair and braided beard were nearly ash-grey.

“I sought to wipe out the Blackrock orcs who serve the Black Dragonflight; I discovered they had a nest in this cave, so I went to investigate” Aras explained, sheathing his sword in its scabbard.

“You won’t fight me? I thought all the Alliance had for the Horde were hatred” the orc asked, Aras narrowing his eyes under his hood.

“And see Azeroth drown in blood while we stick to our pride and attempts at genocide? No, I have seen enough death to let prejudice destroy what shards remains of Azeroth’s former beauty…” Aras said, reaching his hand out; “…may I ask your name?”

“Ugrik of Orgrimmar…” the orc proudly pounced his chest in respect, accepting Aras’ offer of a handshake; “…now then, human; what would yours be?”

“My name is Aras, but I only take this guise to better travel discreetly; I am of the Red Dragonflight…” Aras said, the Ugrik looking worthily at him.

“If you get me out of here, Aras, I won’t be forgetting it as long as I live; these Blackrock pigs have warlocks everywhere!” Ugrik snarled, his fangs bared as he headed back into the cave.

“I will help you, of course; once we are out in the open, I will fly you wherever you wish” Aras said, Ugrik grunting as he entered a small, hollowed out cave, grabbing various pieces of armour and weapons in there.

“I thank you, Aras of the Red Flight; I shall be with you shortly…” Ugrik said, Aras seeing as Ugrik hurled a perfectly fine piece of platemail over his shoulder.

“Would it not offer you the best pro-…” Aras asked, suddenly seeing the Black Clan’s symbol on the armour.

“Do you think I would wear that trash?” Ugrik grunted sarcastically, beginning to bend, stroke and form the pieces of armour and metal into a shape of his liking with his bare hands.

“A-a-a-ah-h-h-h... bless the Light…so that was what was stuck in there, all along…” Santos nodded gratefully as Inji had removed a large stone splinter from the priest’s foot, Santos putting his staff up against the wall, glad that he could now walk without it.

“I will go and look to this ‘Irraka’ I heard you mention before, Dainon; I only hope he will not try something as foolish as-…” Santos began, a sudden, violent noise from upstairs and the stomping of what sounded like hooves interrupting him; moments later, a very angry Irraka came down the stair, grabbing Inji’s arm as he headed for the door.

“We’re leaving, sister! I don’t want us living with such-…” Irraka spat angrily, only to see Mithra blocking his way, her eyes shining with a hateful glow.

“Let go of my lover…!” she spat, her voice sounding almost like a cobra ready to bite at any given reason.
“Move, you harlot! I won’t have you tainting my sister with your lies and false promises…” Irraka mocked Mithra, Zulcar standing up behind Mithra.

“Look here, I-…” he began, Irraka unsheathing his sword and pointing it directly at Zulcar’s heart.

“Just one more word out of you, filth, and there will be one less parasite on this planet…!” Irraka grit his teeth, suddenly hearing a tearing noise; looking at the source, Inji had struggled herself loose, her shirt torn as half of it hung on Irraka’s massive fist.

“Irraka, stop!” Santos said, his voice echoing with power as his eyes glowed golden; gesturing towards his staff, it flew right into his hand as he looked harshly at Irraka.

“You call yourself a vindicator, a protector of the Holy Light, and yet you betray your own word, threaten people’s lives and seek no understanding of what you face…” Santos said, even Dainon feeling as the old priest’s powers were nothing to joke about.

“To you, Irraka, I say: Enough!” Santos said, tapping his staff into the ground, Irraka suddenly feeling as if paralyzed, Inji walking towards him, giving his face a solid, well-placed smack.

“If you can’t accept my lover…we are no longer kin…” Inji spat, her eyes filling with tears as Mithra walked towards her, hugging her lover as she silently cried.

“Santos, let me…” Dainon’s chilling voice came, Santos standing back, shaking his head at the death knight.

“No, Irraka is beyond our reach, but I have an idea…” Santos said, turning to Wrex; “…noble mage, I would ask a favour of you: Can you send this zealous warrior to the Aldor?”

“I can…and I really think it’s for the best; his disagreement over these two young ladies’ love is quite illogical…” Wrex said, beginning to mumble an incantation, Irraka vanishing in flashing, blue sparks of arcane magic.

“Geez, and people think we warlocks are the spawn of pit lord’s groin…” Zulcar sighed, Dainon looking at him in bewilderment.

“That bastard! That good-for-nothing son of an eredar! Why can’t he just accept me and Mithra?!” Inji yelled out loud in frustration, Mithra clapping her lover’s back, beginning to wonder if her first impulse on gutting Irraka would not have been the best idea.

“Some men cannot see beyond what their childhood taught them, child…” Santos looked in pity at Inji; “…you and Mithra together must be something Irraka cannot fathom.”

“Were it not for their xenophobia, the Scarlet Onslaught could surely use one with his narrow mind…no offense, of course…” Zulcar mumbled sourly, remembering his manners and apologising to Inji.

“I will come back later if you are all here; I have an assignment to accomplish…” Dainon said, standing up and grabbing his helmet.

“W-Where are you going?” Inji asked.

“I’ve signed on a contract to escort a caravan from Westfall through Duskwood and to Booty Bay” Dainon said, Wrex looking quite interested.

“Mind if I tag along? I’ve always wanted to see that so-called ‘exotic’ place...oh, and you can keep your payment…” Wrex asked, Dainon looking down on the quite smaller gnome.

“You may; I believe Darkness can carry two riders…” Dainon shrugged, saluting towards Inji, Mithra and Santos.

“Mr. Zulcar, I assume we can leave you for a moment? I need to talk to Mithra and Inji in private” Santos asked, gesturing Mithra and Inji to follow him.

“I will be waiting…after a few drinks…” Zulcar looked over the room, spotting a waitress to place his order.

“Miss Inji, from what you tell me, your brother defended you from your colleagues of the Aldor, and now he has begun showing sign of his own intolerance?” Santos asked, having asked Mithra and Inji to sit down on their bed, the priest carefully writing down notes from his conversation, his mind set to somehow help these two overcome their problem with Inji’s brother.

“…Yes; he said he understood that I…well, I fancied women, but then, when he saw me with Mithra, he just-…” Inji tried and explain, Mithra patting her shoulder as Inji sighed out in surrender.

“Let me see…” Santos tapped a claw slowly on the table, his brain trying to find out why Irraka would show his disapproval so immaturely.

“…Inji, I fear your brother might suffer from hypocrisy; it is a state of mind where one may pretend to believe in something, but simply uses it as an excuse for their own goals…” Santos said, Inji nodding weakly, Mithra looking at Santos.

“Why are you even trying to help us?” she asked somewhat harshly, Santos tapping two claws together.

“All my life I was a priest of the Holy Light, but I saw hundreds of paladins turn their zeal into a xenophobic and self-righteous means to further their own causes and reasons for personal vengeance…” Santos explained; “…in short, the Light has grown dim, and I don’t want to let its ideals of freedom and individualism fade into nothingness!”

“But why us? Why not some of these farmers complaining about the Defias stealing their cattle and demanding ransoms for their abductions?” Mithra asked again, Santos sighing.

“Those are worries for the Stormwind Guard, not I; if King Varian won’t bother sending his own soldiers to defend his people, but rather continue his warmongering, that is his own flaw, not mine!” Santos said, placing his staff in a corner as he returned and sat down on a chair, folding his arms.

“See, I was not only a priest in my life, but also a sort of spiritual healer; to me, both the soul and body may need healing, and I try now to heal Inji’s and yours…” Santos pointed out, Mithra and Inji listening interested.

“I just…I really hope my brother can be cured…” Inji said, Mithra patting her back.

“He can, but he will need to go to the direst place he can imagine…” Santos said, looking to Inji, sighing; “…I am afraid, my girl, that I will have to ask the Aldor to have Irraka meditate over his actions; his own mind could be the one place he would never want to visit.”

Santos rose up, heading for the door, turning around to the two girls.

“I will need to go and write a letter to the Aldor and send it; I may be back later” he said as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

“…Are you alright, Inji? You have been silent the whole afternoon…” Mithra carefully asked, Inji still sitting in their room while Mithra had gone and gotten them both some drinks.

“Yes, I’m alright; I…I just needed to really realize what that…’hypo’ saying was all about…” Inji said, taking the drink Mithra handed her.

“I don’t know about you, but that Santos fellow seems like a decent sort; I think he can help your brother…” Mithra said, sitting down by Inji, who smiled at her.

“You never really dwell on dark memories, do you? I envy you that…” Inji blushed slightly, Mithra unable but to smirk at her, stroking Inji’s cheek.

“You are such an adorable woman, you know that, Inji?” Mithra honestly asked, Inji’s blushing worsening.

“You say that every time we make love…and when you want to make love…” Inji could not help but tease, Mithra shrugging, smiling as she slowly began undoing her armour and cloak.

“What harm does it do when it’s true? You are possibly radiating adorability…” Mithra teased, Inji giggling at her.
“You sound like a little girl, Mithra…” Inji smiled, Mithra kissing her cheek and stroking the leather of Inji’s pants.

“I am childish, Inji, that I know…” Mithra whispered in Inji’s ear, the draenei girl feeling her lover’s hot breathe in her ear.

“I can drink later…!” Inji set the cup on the table, facing Mithra, the night elf girl truly happy as her lover kissed back, although quite passionately.

“You are a weird sort, you know that? You once existed only to destroy all life, and now you praise it and protect it like one of those Argent crusaders?? You are a strange man, Dainon…” Zulcar shoke his head, he and Dainon practising behind the inn, Dainon’s focus not faltering the slightest.

“I took too many lives, revelled in their agony…” Dainon’s echoing voice once again took Zulcar aback as Dainon’s attacks became quicker; “…how else would I seek redemption for the monster I was??”

“Relax, Dainon; there’s no use living in the past…” Zulcar casually said, blocking another of Dainon’s blows with his staff; “…besides, Wrex will be back soon so the two of you may be on your way.”

“We will be back before sunset; I hope I can trust you not to peek where you should not while I’m away…” Dainon’s voice became chillingly eerie.

“What are you suggesting? Do I look like a man who hits on any common wench?” Zulcar protested, Dainon’s next attack shocking him in its force.

“You look like the man who would see two women make love and believe yourself entitled to them both; don’t put your so-called ‘faith’ in false hopes…” Dainon warned, a single flick of his sword succeeding in disarming Zulcar.

“How long am I to hear for that?? It was an honest mistake!” Zulcar angrily asked the death knight, Dainon’s eerie blue eyes nearly nailing him to the spot as he spoke.

“Until the day that even I grow weary of life, itself; when it comes…” Dainon said as he walked past Zulcar; “…don’t give me a reason to tag you along into the Afterlife…!”

“We’re all set to go, Dainon! I hear this job’s got a pretty big priority to Alliance Command…” Wrex mentioned, unrolling a small carpet, Dainon looking in surprise at him.

“It is, but what is the use for this…rug?” Dainon asked, Wrex mumbling arcane incantations over it, runes suddenly weaving into the silk of the carpet, Wrex sitting comfortably down as the carpet hovered into the air, Wrex leaning back, Dainon making a low snort.

“You mages use any excuse for your magic tricks, I see…” Dainon coldly remarked, heading over to Darkness, the charger stomping impatiently into the ground.

“We’re to meet with the rest of the caravan at Sentinel Hill; we won’t be getting much of an escort, though; just the two of us, a troll and a tauren…” Dainon informed, saddling up as Dusk neighed loudly, Dainon grabbing the charger’s bridle, galloping towards Westfall, Wrex following him as quickly as his magic could allow the rug to fly.

“Where’d he be? I hate waitin’ up…” Xinrai grumbled, tapping her feet in impatience, examining her blade, really wishing to get this job over with.

“Patience, lass; we need as many as we can to fulfil our duty…” a massive tauren said behind her, checking the spikes on his mace, letting it swing lightly in the air.

“What good is one human for this escort? He’ll properly get us all killed…” Xinrai grit her fangs angrily, sheathing her blade and walking over to the caravan; five wagons of weapons, armour, food supplies, water and several cases of magical talismans were safely stored away under the wagons’ sheets, the leader of the caravan, a gruff old dwarf, marching back and forth, barking orders to the few members of the People’s Militia who had signed up for the escort.

“I am here…” a voice suddenly rang beside Xinrai, the troll spinning around, her blade unsheathed, only to discover a death knight, his black armour and echoing voice nothing to be mistaken by.

“Thanks for waiting up, Dainon…” Wrex mumbled sarcastically and sourly, hopping down from his rug as it vanished, brushing off his robe.

“If you wanted to start off our teamwork with a snack, you’re welcome…” Xinrai smirked deviously, stepping closer towards Wrex, her blade at the ready.

“What?! I’m part of the escort, you twit, not your lunch!” Wrex near panicked, Xinrai letting out a surprisingly twisted laughter.

“Just messin’ with ye, mon; c’mon, it’s time we get this circus on the move…” Xinrai pointed towards the dwarf, Dainon and Wrex following her and the tauren.

“About bloody time! We should’ve been leaving ten minutes ago, by the Nether!” the dwarf cursed as he saw his missing escort members.

“Then why waste time barking like a hurt pup?” Dainon glared dangerously at the dwarf, who began to think twice over provoking a death knight.

“Alright, lads and lasses! You, death knight, are with the troll lady! You, gnome, you’re with the tauren! Quite your yapping and start moving!” the dwarf hopped on top of the front wagon, cracking a whip as the horses started moving, the other drivers cracking their own whips, the caravan slowly bumping over the scorched landscapes of Westfall towards Duskwood.

“Ur-r-r-rgh…you flew too fast, damn it…!” Ugrik cursed, trying to calm down his stomach as Aras landed gallantly outside Lakeshire, the dragon careful to land as silently as he could.

“I’m sorry; I’m not really that used to passengers” Aras apologized, Ugrik quickly dismounting, feeling as if he could risk vomiting any minute.

“You stay right here…!” he swore, heading towards a nearby tree.

“Oh dear…” Aras could not help but feel guilty as he heard a large burp, Ugrik apparently not so used to flying that he could hold his stomach.

“…Now that that’s over…what’s the plan now, paladin?” Ugrik asked, Aras pondering the question.

“Stormwind has no real garrison at Lakeshire, so I think you can stay here safely; there’s no need to alert the local authorities, though…” Aras mentioned, Ugrik suddenly slamming his fist into his open palm.

“Lakeshire! So that’s where that little rascal went! You come with me, Aras; I have a daughter to pick up!” Ugrik exposed his fangs, walking aggressively down towards Lakeshire, Aras trying to stop him.

“If the town guard sees you, they will mistake you for a spy! We can’t afford to stir up hostilities at this time!” Aras said, Ugrik turning around slowly.

“If you are worried that I will go slaughter anything in my way, then you’ve nothing to fear; I’m a warrior, not a butcher…” Ugrik shrugged, unfastening the small axe hanging in his belt, giving it to Aras.

“Here, keep it if it’ll help you calm down; I’m off to find Kriskha…with or without you…” Ugrik snarled, Aras staying behind, seeing that there was no point in arguing with the orc.

“You there! Have you seen an orc woman anywhere around here? Well?” Ugrik asked an elderly woman, who simply quivered in fear, backing away into a food stand.
“You are beginning to cause quite a stir, Ugrik; maybe we should leave now…” Aras suggested, Ugrik simply grunting impatiently.

“Halt! Don’t move, orc scum!” a voice suddenly came, Aras spotting a half dozen guards, the five of them loading their crossbows and aiming them at Ugrik’s heart.

“Hold your fire! This orc means no-one harm!” Aras attempted to calm down the guards, one of them sending him a hateful look.

“What paladin are you? Siding with an orc…” he spat, Aras seeing that there was no other solution.

“By the right of the Argent Crusade, I order you to lay down your arms! You have no reason to harm us, and killing this orc would only prove your own decent into hatred over reason…” Aras said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“The Argent Crusade has no authority in Lakeshire! Only-…” the apparent sergeant of the guards began, Ugrik snarling at him.

“This is your sense of honour, human?? Shooting me down like a stuck pig with five of your men backing you up? So this is what became of your ‘honour’ after the battle of Mount Hyjal…” Ugrik taunted, the sergeant gritting his teeth in anger.

“You speak when spoken to, savage!” the sergeant said harshly, Aras’ eyes getting a certain, golden glow.

“Leave him; there is no need for bloodshed…” Aras said calmly, the guards looking perplexed as he drew his sword, a flame of holy magic engulfing the blade.

“I must ask you one last time: Go peacefully, or I shall be forced to defend this orc and myself…” Aras said, the guards beginning to lower their weapons.

“…Fine…traitor! But I want you and that beast out of town before sunset!” the sergeant cracked his knuckles, he and his men turning around, Ugrik snarling at them.

“I will have to leave you for a few hours, my friend; I have an urgent summons to attend at Northshire Abbey…” Aras lay a hand on Ugrik’s shoulder, the orc grunting.

“I can hold my own just fine, so take your time, paladin…” Ugrik said, Aras heading towards the wooded area they had landed in.

“Ah-h-h-h-h…oh-h-h, Mithra-a-a…” Inji moaned pleasantly, Mithra soothing her lover with soft kisses, Inji wiggling her tail lovingly as Mithra’s hands reached for her stomach, Inji turning her head and kissing Mithra deeply.

“You’re the huntress and I’m your prey…” Inji sighed happily, Mithra stroking her hair, letting her fingers tickle over her stomach, slowly reaching down towards Inji’s nethers.

“You are so wild, Mithra; maybe I’m a bit too sensitive, really…” Inji blushed, Mithra looking at her in adoration.
“Your sensitivity is what makes you cute, Inji! I love seeing you blush…” Mithra grinned, rolling Inji over, the two of them embracing and lightly wrestling, giggling playfully.

“For the last time, Zulcar; Dainon asked you to leave them be…!” Santos pointed a claw directly at Zulcar as a warning, the warlock sighing frustrated.

“And for the fifth time, I just left my grimoire up there, you old fool!” Zulcar tried the same explanation again, Santos turning around, sighing as he gestured his staff in two vertical patterns.

“I have now casted a seal of truth; if you really are going up there to find a tome, you can pass freely…” Santos said, his otherwise emotionless face lighting up in what looked like a grim smile; “…but if you lie, your falsehood will be punished by having searing, divine light strike you down, leaving even a warlock of your power visually, and spiritually, dead.”

“…Damn it! You should learn to mind your own business, you nosy-…” Zulcar angrily turned on his heels, muttering curses as Santos leaned to his staff, nodding worthily at his handiwork.

“You’re coming home with me right now, pup!” Ugrik grabbed Kriskha’s arm, the young orc girl struggling herself loose, her armour sounding as if it were cracking under her pent up anger.

“I’m no pup anymore, father! I ran off and spared your precious ‘family honour’, so don’t try dragging me back to serve that…that tyrant!” Kriskha angrily bared her fangs, Ugrik looking confused at his only child.

“If you mean Warchief Hellscream, I wouldn’t drag you to him for any reason; he’s become an obsessive warmonger…” Ugrik said, shaking his head; “…why won’t you leave this place, then?”

“..You wouldn’t understand; I’m orc by blood, but my heart doesn’t belong on the battlefield…” Kriskha snarled, turning her back on her father, looking over her shoulder; “…I love women!”

“WHAT?!?!” Ugrik’s exclamation rung across all of Lakeshire, many of the citizens beginning to wonder if it was an earthquake coming from the mountains.

“You mean to say, that I, who raised you as I would a son, ha-…, so that means-…” Ugrik begin putting the pieces his daughter had thrown him in his mind together, looking in right out surprise at his daughter.

“HARH-HARH-HARH-HARH-HARH-HA-A-ARH! So you fancy women, eh?? And you thought your old dog of a father wouldn’t understand that?! Lass, I was afraid you’d begun studying warlock magics and fel spells…” Ugrik gave his daughter a friendly, if forceful, pat on the shoulder, Kriskha turning to face her father; “…as long as it’s only that, pup, I wouldn’t start barking like the old hound I am, and stop you from doing what you wish! You carry the armour I gave you with the same pride I hoped you would as a warrior by heart, so don’t worry about upsetting me!”

“…I’m not a pup…!” Kriskha could not hold back a grin, smiling as she hugged her father, Ugrik hugging back, feeling somehow proud of his daughter.

“…So, if this old fool can ask…” Ugrik released Kriskha, putting her down; “…has any woman fallen to you yet? Either by charm, uhm, contest…or-r-r, eh-h-h-h, what did humans call it…oh yes! Uhm, ‘seduction’?”

At that, Kriskha managed to hide a quite feminine giggle.

“Well, three has thus far; one was a tavern wench, another a school teacher…and the third was a member of the town guard…” Kriskha said, Ugrik grunting a short laughter.

“It bloody well beats raging war, I hear from you; just keep your wit as keen as your axe, you hear me?” Ugrik asked, Kriskha lightly pounding a fist to her chest in a sign of respect.

“STOP! What the Holy Light’s name are you doing?!” Aras asked in shock as he entered the catacombs of Northshire Abbey, finding a group of monks standing around, one of them pointing a needle towards a naked, chained-up woman.

“We’ve found a witch! She’s befouled the very Light by her presence here! She claims she was searching for her uncle, and then we found her skulking around the library!” the man holding the needle said as he saw Aras, pointing at the girl.


With a solid hit from his gauntlet, Aras sent the man to the floor, stamping the fragile needle into the dirt, crushing it with his solid, armoured boots.

“Witch or no witch, what you do is even fouler…” Aras grabbed the man by his shirt; “…how dare you even wear the vestments of a servant of the Holy Light?”

Looking to the girl, Aras could see she was struggling against her several slashes from what seemed like whips; even worse, he saw a needle stuck halfway through her right nipple, Aras looking to the man in the dirt, unsheathing his sword.

“I shall bring you before Lord Fording, with or without your head…and you…” he pointed his sword towards the clearly scared monks; “…how long has it been since you captured her?”

“Less than twenty minutes…” the girl grit her teeth, groaning as she slowly tried to move; “…and the dirty bastards claimed they had to strip me naked just because I didn’t fancy ‘redeeming’ myself.”

“You need no redemption for simply being suspected for being a witch, miss…” Aras said; “…and these bastards had no right or authority to do such unto you!”

“Tell them that! When they found out I would rather ‘befoul’ a priestess than give them anything, they looked ready to draw their swords and killing me!” the girl grit her teeth evilly, hoping that this paladin was no zealous idiot.

“…I see you are one of those women who fancies other womenfolk…and the Light calls that heresy?!” Aras grabbed the man’s shirt, Aras’ eyes glowing golden in anger.

“And you I fought for in Northerend…my brothers and sisters, hoping to bring peace to Azeroth…and yet, you prove no better than those Scarlet fanatics…” Aras turned his head to the monks; “…out, my ‘brothers’…..…OUT! AND LET ME NOT SEE YOU ON THESE HOLY GROUNDS EVER AGAIN!”

As the monks screamed in fear of the furious paladin, the man Aras held began begging for his life.

“Stand back, miss…” Aras headed over to the girl, raising his sword as he cut the heavy iron chains.

“Now…” Aras said as he stuck his sword into the dirt, placing the man in the chains, binding them together again by his magic, taking his sword and pointing it at him; “…you will stay here until I have contacted the Argent Crusade.”

“What about me?” the girl carefully asked.

“Come, there must be something in the abbey…oh, but take this…” Aras said as he sheathed his sword and undid his cape, letting it over the girl’s shoulders.

“A paladin helping a warlock? Geez, what is Azeroth coming to?” the girl rolled her eyes.

“Guards! Help! Someone has broken into the abbey and are trying to release a witch we caught in there!” one of the monks yelled in desperation, tugging a confused Stormwind guard by his tabard.

“Calm down, sir! You two! Head up to the abbey and check it out” the guard shrugged off the monk, pointing to two of his colleagues, the two of them sighing annoyed as they made their way up to the abbey.

“Bah! Witches in Northshire Abbey? What next? Tauren attacking Westfall??” one of the guards shrugged, the other simply shaking his head.

“Hah! A witch in the abbey...tsk, that's rich-..…oh…oh-h-h, no-…no-no-no-no-no-NO-O-O-O…!” Zulcar stood by, listening to the guards, suddenly realizing something; not too long ago, his niece, Cassandra, had taken up a quest he had given her to find herself a minion, and if the priests of the abbey had caught her…

Zulcar’s train of thought flushed out of perspective as his hands started glowing with fel energies; as he right out stomped towards the panicking monk, Zulcar’s hand tightened so hard around his staff that the metal felt as if it bended.

“TAKE…ME…TO…THAT…ABBEY…!” Zulcar’s voice deepened for each word, his eyes flashing with fel energies, his very presence almost darkening the whole town square.

“A-Another warlock?! Where’s the king’s soldiers-…?” the monk began as he slowly stepped back, Zulcar pointing the sharp tip of his staff directly at the monk’s heart.

“GET…GOING…..NOW!” Zulcar hissed, the monk swallowing hard as he turned on his heels, walking back towards the abbey, Zulcar holding his staff directly into his back.

“These are some real creepy woods, I tell you…” Xinrai mumbled, looking over her shoulders every now and then; Duskwood was a contrast to everything she knew of Stranglethorn Vale, which was lush, bright, green and inviting; to her, Duskwood seemed like something the Forsaken would find homely.

“There’s a stench of death and despair in the air…..ur-r-r-rgh, it’s sickening…” Dainon remarked, riding up beside the troll girl, her raptor leaning its head towards his horse, the undead horse simply starring at the lizard with its icy, blue eyes.

“So you death knights can smell death? Heh, that’s real rich…” Xinrai said sarcastically, Dainon narrowing his brows under his helmet.

“It mustn’t be pleasant for a troll to travel these parts; your kind is free-spirited and not used to these shady environments…” Dainon tried his luck at striking up a conversation.

“Nope, and this place is just lookin’ like that Banshee Queen’s gardens; no life at all…” Xinrai said; “…was in Tirisfal Glades one time; it’s like looking back on the time of the Lich King…”

At the mention of the name, Dainon’s fists tightened angrily around Darkness’ bridle; he almost wished the dark overlord of the former Scourge would return one day, just to have a go at him and carve him up and rip his flesh from his armour like a seashell.

“You OK? You’re strangling your horse…” Xinrai remarked, Dainon seeing she was right, letting go of the bridle, Darkness shaking its tattered mane aggressively.

“You didn’t like your old master, did you?” Xinrai teased, Dainon looking in surprise at Xinrai.

“…..Women have that extraordinary gift of knowing what I think before the thought leaves my mind…” Dainon shrugged, Xinrai grinning to herself.

“It’s just predictable; most of you death knights didn’t really love your master, right? Why else did that Mograine fella found the Knights of the Ebon Blade, eh?” Xinrai asked, Dainon nodding in silent agreement.

“…By the Earth Mother, would you stop?? You CAN’T analysis your way through life, gnome…!” the tauren grunted angrily, beginning to tire of Wrex’s constant comments on the landscape, the gnome stubbornly refusing to keep quiet.

“But this place has such history! Did you know that-…?” Wrex started over, the tauren violently tossing his mace back and forth between his hands, finally waving it threatingly close to Wrex’s face and frowning loudly from his nostrils.

“…So this is where the worgen, supposedly, entered Azeroth? Heh, sounds like a fairy tale…” Dainon spoke, Xinrai mumbling to herself.

“It’d be a scary one if it was, ‘cause I tell you, it’s a true story; something about some elven artefact used to summon them here…” Xinrai said, Dainon still not convinced that the infamous worgen had come to Azeroth because of a mislead spell.

“Spell or not, at least they now walk amongst us…” Dainon said, looking at Xinrai; “…I hear that the Horde is not taking well to having another race unite under the Alliance.”

“The Alliance, the Horde, the Onslaught…it’s all the same; alotta people whining for freedom and to wage war ‘till Azeroth lies in ruins…” Xinrai grit her teeth, folding her fists; “…so don’t get into politics with me, death knight, ‘cause all I care about now is when my next pay is up.”

“A simple policy, but a respectable one…” Dainon admitted, shrugging; “…and if it’s any use, my name is Dainon.”

“Good name, for a human…” Xinrai said, a noise catching her attention as she looked straight ahead, narrowing her brows.

“That sure wasn’t-…” Xinrai spoke silently, another noise catching the whole caravan’s attention; the sound of a low growl and heavy footsteps from somewhere between the trees had Wrex sat up straight, looking possibly terrified as he tried summoning a spell of arcane energy.

“…Wait here…” Dainon said, stepping down from Darkness, grabbing his sword from beside the horse’s saddle as he headed towards the sound.

“He’s a madman, he is! It’d properly be feral worgen, or-…” Xinrai exclaimed frustrated, a chilling howling coming from the trees, followed by a low grunt as the sound of smashing metal banged against what sounded like a tree.

“We must protect the caravan! Stand your ground!” the tauren’s deep voice boomed over the scared mass, the hired mercenaries tightening their hold on their weapons, Wrex hopping down from his rug and standing beside Xinrai as she readied her blade.

Suddenly, a weak whimper from what sounded like a hurt animal echoed lowly from behind the trees; hearing heavy footsteps, the caravan escort saw as Dainon walked out from the trees, carrying the large body of a dead worgen, smacking it unto the stone bricks on the road.

“That’s what it gets from scratching my armour…” Dainon spat cynically, kicking the worgen’s head to the left, Xinrai trying to hide her disgust as Dainon, apparently, had broken its neck rather than stab it to death.

“Are you hurt, Dainon?” Wrex asked, Dainon simply grunting as he took off his helmet, spitting a little blood on the worgen.

“I’ll survive; that damned thing hardly gave me a chance…” Dainon said, a smirk rolling over his lips; “…if this one wasn’t so mindless, it’d have made an excellent killing machine…”

“You’re sick, mate! You’ve got that helmet sitting too tightly…” Xinrai gestured as she twirled a finger in circles near her head.

“Call it ‘uncaringly vicious’…” Dainon grinned satisfied, looking at his kill; “…could we take a break nearby? This fur would make a neat cloak…”

“AH-HA! Now, THESE are some good plates…” Ugrik smirked, the local blacksmith helping the orc fit on the heavy suit of blackened steel, Ugrik tightening his new helmet, grabbing his newly-purchased hammer.

“Now don’t go and smack skulls with that thing here in our town, mate; orc or not, I’d rather not have one of me customers put on a wanted poster…” the armourer said, Ugrik looking down at the dwarf, grunting.

“Don’t worry about what your wares are used for, dwarf…” Ugrik tossed a small leather bag from his old belt towards the dwarf, who opened it, his grin spreading as he saw the dozens of gold coins.

“Why’d ye find all these lovelies??” the dwarf asked, Ugrik grinning to himself.

“I was captured by those Blackrock pigs; I made sure to raid their hovel for everything they had before I fled…” Ugrik said, walking down the street towards the lake, sitting himself down on a bench.

“Look mommy! It’s one of those green men!” a little girl stood and pointed at Ugrik, her concerned mother looking sceptically at Ugrik.

“Huh…your pup calls me a ‘green man’? Heh-heh…” Ugrik grunted partly to himself, surprised as the girl ran over to him, looking him all over, her mother looking increasingly concerned, yet too afraid of Ugrik to act.

“I won’t bite her, missy; calm down…” Ugrik said, the mother narrowing her eyes.

“…You’re certainly more well-spoken than the others…but you’re still a monster! Why can’t you leave us in peace?!” the mother angrily spat at Ugrik, who looked at the girl as she sat beside him, looking at his helmet.

“Ask yourself, missy; why would your pup approach me without fear, and yet you call me a monster?” Ugrik asked, the mother heading towards him.

“Because she’s a disobedient brat! Come here, young lady…!” the mother said, grabbing the girl by her ear, Ugrik looking in shock as the mother almost dragged the crying girl away.

“..…I…..don’t…..get it! Why would-…?” Ugrik grit his fangs in anger, walking towards the inn as he heard Kriskha’s voice.

“Wait, that’s ten gold and I only charged five!” Ugrik now saw Kriskha talking to a human woman, one clad in a hardly covering black dress.

“It’s for the good service…and for what I did to your arse…” Kriskha grinned, the woman smiling as she turned around, only to see Ugrik stand in her way.

“Oh! Um-m…a friend of yours…?” the woman asked, Kriskha nodding.

“He’s my father…” Kriskha gave the woman’s shoulder a pat as she headed for the inn, Kriskha looking at her father.

“…Kriskha, I…I haven’t been in the human lands for some time, but…there was this lass over by the bench, and when she saw her pup talking to me, she mother tried dragging the lass back from me by her ear!”

“Trust me father; she’s xenophobic to the core…” Kriskha, said, brushing a stain off her cloak; “…anyway, I’m off for Stormwind; I hope to find an inn where I can stay there.”

“I hope you wouldn’t mind your old father tagging along? This…’village’ is a real bore…” Ugrik asked, Kriskha smiling.

“I wouldn’t mind…by the way, how did you get that armour?” Kriskha asked as they headed for the bridge out of the town.

“I bought it for some gold and loot from the Blackrock camp where I was held captive; sure is better than the trash you saw me in earlier…” Ugrik said, Kriskha looking at him in worry.

“You were captured?? Why didn’t you tell me before??” Kriskha asked, Ugrik grunting.

“Well, I’m still alive, and…I wouldn’t like if you started worrying too much about me; this hound still has his teeth…” Ugrik said, Kriskha sighing and shaking her head.

“Now where has that youngster gone…?” Santos mumbled to himself, not seeing Zulcar either at the inn or anywhere else in Goldshire; despite his best intentions, Santos decided that chasing after Zulcar would only be a waste of time, seeing as the warlock seemed like the sort who could himself.

“I wonder what the girls are doing…” Santos speculated as he re-entered the inn, sitting down by an empty table; he certainly hoped Mithra would do her best to comfort Inji, Santos still remembering the cynical look of anger on Irraka’s face as he had attempted to split them apart.

“CASSANDRA! Why in the Twisting Nether would you be skulking around those lunatics?!” Zulcar asked his niece, looking over at Aras.

“And who’s this? Let me tell you, mate, if you did anything to my niece-…!” Zulcar grabbed tightly unto his staff, Cassandra stomping roughly on Zulcar’s foot.

“He was the one who found me, moron; he’s dealt with the zealots and they’ve run off…” Cassandra rolled her eyes, Aras sheathing his sword.

“I am Aras, protector of Azeroth and its denizens; I had no intentions of harming your niece…” Aras explain, Zulcar eyeing him sceptically.

“…You and that bonehead Santos are the only ‘holy’ people today who hasn’t tried and kill me…” Zulcar grunted as he leaned down and rubbed his hurt foot.

“Not to interrupt the knitting class, guys, but I sort of need some new threads…” Cassandra said, Zulcar nodding.

“You got that right, kiddo; what did those people want to do to you, anyway?” he asked, Cassandra trying to suppress an angry sneer.

“They would do what we orcs today does to you fel types…” a snarl came from a few meters away, Ugrik and Kriskha stepping towards the group, Ugrik narrowing his eyes at Zulcar; “…but since the paladin hasn’t killed you, maybe you won’t actually be one of those would-be conquerors of Azeroth?”

“…Are we warlocks really that stereotypical to the public’s eyes?” Zulcar shrugged, Cassandra shaking her head.

“Father, that lass there didn’t ask to be tortured for being what she is…” Kriskha said, stepping towards Cassandra; “…prejudice is something no-one should suffer.”

“You’ve got that right, orc…but stop ogling at me!” Cassandra snarled, Kriskha eyeing her directly.

”…I grow weary of this…” Santos sighed, looking to the scared innkeeper; ”…why is it that you fear me so?”

“You…you are dead! A dead man! And yet you live?? How can I know you’re not some Scourge minion set to devour me whole?!” the innkeeper shivered in fear, Santos feeling that, if he had indeed had eyebrows, they would surely rise.

“…How would I even do such a thing? I am no abomination; my faith simply sustained me through my death and into this afterlife I have now…” Santos defended himself.

“That’s either the worst gibberish I’ve heard…or the most sincere speech from a living dead I’ve ever heard…”

Ugrik grunted as he stepped inside the inn, the innkeeper swallowing hard.

“Aye! Barkeep! How much do you charge for a few beds and just as many beers?” Ugrik asked as he stepped up to the desk.

“…I-…I don’t s-serve o-…-orcs!” the innkeeper stammered, Ugrik’s fanged mouth forming into a silent growl.

“Listen here, you gutless pig! Do you know what happens if this ‘orc’ gets thirsty?” Ugrik asked, undoing his hammer and letting it fall to the ground, dangling a small, leather purse in front of the innkeeper; “…he goes to an inn, pays for his drink, and he SITS DOWN QUIETLY!”

As the innkeeper looked right out terrified, Kriskha struggled to hold back her laughter; to her, humans like this one wasn’t worth wasting any time fighting against.

“…Uhm, is that ‘Ugrik’ fellow your dad?” Cassandra asked, Kriskha surprised that the human girl spoke directly to her.

“Aye, he’s my pa…” Kriskha shrugged, seeing as the human girl tried and act as casually as she could, but she still felt Cassandra’s eyes on her back.

“…So-o-o, what do you do for a living?” Cassandra asked, Kriskha even more surprised at this new question.

“I…uhm…..I fight, you see; beasts, undead, fel-worshippers, demons, those sort of things…” Kriskha said, rubbing her neck and looking at Cassandra; “…but you’re a fel-worshipper, yourself, aren’t you?”

“Nah, I’m quite new at this whole thing; besides, I don’t go and dream about becoming an all-powerful megalomaniac…” Cassandra smirked, Kriskha looking at her in surprise.

“Hm? I thought most humans really only cared about power…” Kriskha shrugged, her and Cassandra sitting down by a nearby table while Santos, Zulcar and Aras tried stopping Ugrik from his fierce argument with the now-enraged innkeeper.

“No, you see, I want a harem…an adorable, lovely harem with gorgeous women to tend to my every need, and jewels and gold for us to wade through…” Cassandra grinned to herself, Kriskha looking at her as if she had seen a ghost.

“…So, you…you fancy women…?” Kriskha asked, suddenly feeling as if she had met a kindred spirit.

“What’s not to love?? They’re beautiful, exotic, strong, nimble and-…-and they can make whatever career they chose for themselves sound exciting…” Cassandra said, twirling her staff around.

“…I’d never have believed I could find a human who shared my passions…” Kriskha slowly said, narrowing her eyes at Cassandra; “…see, I love women, too, but if you make any jokes about it…I’ll gut you…”

“Relax, Kri-…Kriskha, was it?” Cassandra asked, Kriskha simply nodding and crossing her arms.

“So where has this lead you until now, Cassandra? Have you ever really felt a woman’s skin against your own?” Kriskha asked, failing to hide a fanged smile.

“Well, I have, but she was a courtesan, so I dunno-…hey, what about you?” Cassandra suddenly bluntly asked.

“I’ve slept with a few, none of them too exciting; all they did was pretending to scream as if their lungs were on fire…” Kriskha said, tapping her sword.

“Oh…so-o-o, you believed they were all pretending to actually like it?” Cassandra asked Kriskha, the orc girl simply shrugging.

“…..We are both going to en

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