World of Warcraft®

((A piece from the future, heh heh.))

Beyond the mist of myth and legend
In a place not far from here
Beneath the stones on the hill
I want to see your land
And I wonder if I’ll ever
Understand

Master Taeril'hane Ketiron stood on a coastal ridge, his cloak fluttering in the icy wind...but his gaze was not on the sea, but to the great moons in the sky above the desert of snow. The land reminded him of Northrend, in a way, without the constant aura of death that permeated the northern continent of Azeroth...but the same desolate beauty was there. Before him, his House engineers were working with goblin craftsmen and some borrowed peons from Orgrimmar to construct where he would be living in this strange place.

Where he would be living...and where his family would live with him.

Elementalist Thek'la, the exiled Darkspear he had met in Pandaria, approached from the construction site. During the Pandaria war, Ketiron had convinced the banished shaman to find a way to redeem himself in the eyes of his people. He had done just that, fighting with honor - and the savagery of the elements - against the Zandalari in Lei Shen's palace, and again against the Kor'kron betrayers during the siege of Orgrimmar. With Hellscream gone, he had received clemency from Vol'jin, now Warchief of the Horde. "Dey be here. Da mages brought 'em in wit' da last of da peons."

Ketiron nodded. "Thank you. I will be along shortly."

While he had gone ahead with the great force that had assembled under the Archmage Khadgar - an irony not lost on him - Ketiron had told his wife and their son to go to Orgrimmar and wait for his word. He had no real idea where anything was here; he remembered feeling the same way when he had first arrived in Outland, years before. But the scenery was very different this time...

He remembered the bloodbath around the portal, cannons firing from the commandeered monstrosity the enemy called "the Worldbreaker". The frenzied flight to the harbor. The voyage on the iron vessel, to the homeland of the one orcish clan not participating in this insanity; the clan of the former Warchief and World-Shaman, who had gone ahead to greet his people. Once he had words with his family, Ketiron would head to the Frostwolf camp himself.

Entering through the rudimentary gate, Ketiron was heartened to see all the races of the Horde helping to build here, just as they were for the other bases of operation for their Horde here. Tauren guardsmen, orc peons and grunts, troll shadow-hunters, goblin engineers, sin'dorei artificers, and even Forsaken magi. The chief engineer of the project, of course, was Kitrik, Ketiron's personal assassin. "We've got the basics set up, chief, but there's plenty of room for expansion," the goblin said proudly. "This'll be just as good as what old Gazlowe is putting together."

"Excellent." Ketiron looked around, not seeing them.

"Inside our temporary great hall, boss," Kitrik replied, as if reading his mind. He smiled. "Go on. I'll take care of things here."

Ketiron walked into the "great hall", which was at the moment just a structure of stakes and skins. Standing there waiting were his wife, Areinnye, and their six-year-old son, Ord'taeril. He smiled, knelt first to embrace his son, then gently kissed his wife. "The trip was not too bad, I hope?"

"Well enough," Areinnye replied. "It was odd to see Orgrimmar with a guard force so..."

"Diverse?" The Blood Knight Master grinned. "I was thinking the same thing. We have a troll Warchief in the orcish capital, with tauren guards in the streets. What next?"

Areinnye was not smiling. "Taeril'hane," she asked hesitantly, "are you sure about this?"

"Vol'jin needed our veterans to fight the Iron Horde, my love. I couldn't very well say no."

"I mean us." She indicated herself and their son. "This is a military outpost. It could well turn into a warzone. Are you sure you want our son here?"

Ketiron had to admit he had asked himself the same thing. "He sees so little of us, Ren," he said after a moment. "We've both been in the field for so long, leaving him in the care of tutors and nannies. I have a feeling a great deal of our time will be spent here, overseeing our new outpost. And besides...this is his opportunity to take in the wonders of this place." His smile faded entirely. "Before it becomes like Pandaria." Areinnye finally nodded in agreement.

He knelt and put a hand gently on Ord'taeril's shoulder. "This all may seem strange to you, my son," he said, "and there will be many new faces - from our home, and from this new world. We will be here for a while. Watch everything and everyone. Listen. Learn. Above all, behave properly, and make a good impression with them. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ann'da," the boy replied, his voice slightly shaky.

Ketiron smiled warmly, and hugged his son to him. "All will be well...and you will have tales to tell your own children someday."

As I walk the room
There before me a shadow
From another world
Where no other can follow
Carry me to my own
To where I can cross over
Close to home, I cannot say
Close to home, feeling so far away

Linavil Shadowsun had tracked his movements for the last three months; he had bided his time during his exile in Northrend, before returning to the human city when the Portal began its change...once again offering his magics and his experience to the defense of the Alliance after the fall of Nethergarde. Then, he had gone through.

Accompanied only by the last two members of her House Guard, she had followed him to a world that was both familiar...and not. Her last visions of this land had been of smoke, lava saturated with fel, and green fire raining from the sky. Here, it was quite different, quite different indeed; a land that never knew the sun, only the dark blue of twilight...the only illumination being the bright stars and the moons, high above. She knew she had to be especially cautious here; while their capital of Shattrath and their holy tomb-shrine of Auchindoun were in the woods to the west, this was the draenei's innermost sanctuary. At the eastern end of this valley was the great temple that was home to the Prophet.

She doubted that he would go there; indeed, he would probably avoid the draenei entirely. They shunned "man'ari" regardless of species...for they knew well that eredar and orcs were not the only races that could be warlocks.

----

Linavil was wrong; he did in fact mingle with the draenei, but he was careful to conceal any evidence of his fel magics, wearing the dark red travelling robes he had obtained in Pandaria, and carrying his jeweled sword instead of his fel-touched dagger.

Having gone to the city of Elodor, he had listened to the draenei speak amongst themselves. They said that Velen's visions had failed him, that he had not seen the rise of the Iron Horde...and there were whispers of a hidden coven that planned to do that which Velen had refused to - swear their allegiance to Sargeras. There were even rumors of a traitor in the Council of Exarchs itself, the ruling five who acted as the Prophet's hand in matters of state.

Not even draenei are above backstabbing, it seems, he thought with a grim smile.

He had stopped in at Embaari Village for some supplies for his new base in this land. He had rallied what support he could in the Alliance - particularly from the poor farmers in Westfall, whose lives he had protected months before - to help him establish a new haven, not only for himself, but for those seeking refuge from the iron hand of Stormwind, free of the apathy of Orwyn and the Watch.

He called his new sanctum "Shadowgarde".

Now, as he rode back to his new abode astride a white mechanostrider, he felt a familiar presence. He had been followed since Northrend, he knew; first by that puritanical priss Blunderwitz, and now by his old mentor. He grinned as he sensed the approaching guards...and with a blur, he leapt from his mount, sword in hand, and slit the blood elf from chin to crotch as he landed on the road. The other elf stared at him in stupefied horror, as he sliced through his hamstrings. Collapsing to his knees, the elf guard was now at eye level with his enemy.

"Not very subtle," he sneered. He grasped the man's chin. "Your mistress has a very low opinion of your worth, sellsword. She did not honestly think that I would be that easy, did she? Why, because I am a 'lowly' gnome?" He cackled. "Realize now your mistake." With a swing of his blade, he severed the elf's head...and then spoke up in a loud voice, "Why don't you come out where I can see you, 'Master'? I know you're there."

Linavil stepped forward, staff in one hand, shadow-fire building in the other. "Ah, there you are," the gnome taunted. "I repaid my debt to you a thousand-fold, Shadowsun. Did you really think you could try to dominate me again?" He laughed again. "You blind fool."

"Who do you think you are, you ungrateful little toad? Without me, you'd still be scraping dung from Saavedro's boots." She let fly a shadow bolt, which he was able to sidestep.

"Who do I think I am? I know who I am, witch. I am Rakeri Sputterspark, and I answer to no one." Deciding on the engineer's approach, he pulled his bolt gun from his robe and fired two shots into Linavil's kneecaps. She fell, screaming, to the ground. "I will never be beholden to another, and no one will ever take away my freedom again. Not the Titans, nor Orwyn and his lapdogs...and certainly not you." He raised his weapon to her head. "Give my regards to your sister - in Hell."

The last thing she felt as the bolt went through her head was a blast of cool air in the middle of her brain...

And if the night is burning
I will cover my eyes
For if the dark returns then
My brothers will die
And as the sky is falling down
It crashed into this lonely town
And with that shadow upon the ground
I hear my people screaming out

Battlelord Velenkayn had felt trepidation ever since he had left Azuremyst, making the journey first to Teldrassil, then across the sea to Stormwind, and then the flight across the kingdom into the Blasted Lands. Truly blasted they were now; Nethergarde stood in ruins, and the Ironwatch had gone as far north as Blackrock Mountain...but that was not what had gained his attention. It was a message from Eidan Zherron, sent through mage couriers from the front lines. It was four words: "I met you again."

The rumors were true. There was another Draenor, that coexisted with Outland. That meant there was another Velen, another Karabor, another Telmor - and according to Zherron...

Another me, he thought. Another Velenkayn...

----

The artificer walked out to the outskirts with two hot cups of tea in his hands, and handed one to the vindicator on watch. "You've stared out towards Auchindoun for hours, my friend," he said.

"Just a thought I've been having," the vindicator confessed. "Wondering if at last my time is coming, and I will join them in their rest...at least, if the Iron Horde or some other force does not desecrate it." He accepted the cup that the artificer offered him, and sipped contemplatively. "These strangers who came from the other world, this Azeroth - there are even some draenei among them. Some of them look familiar, some don't...is this a sign, Jaeden'laek? Do you think...'new' versions of us are coming from this Azeroth to replace us? And if so, why has the Prophet not seen this?"

"He is troubled by the emergence of this Iron Horde, and also by these strangers. Not just different draenei, but different orcs too, and other strange peoples. Some whisper that he has failed us, that his visions can no longer guide us." Jaeden'laek snorted. "I follow the Prophet as I always have; I would follow him to the abyss if that meant we would die pure, not as man'ari, like our cousins of old. I admit I am concerned that his vision eludes him...but if he cannot help us, we must help him, and to do so, we must first help ourselves. So for now, I prefer to keep my focus on the present, and react to what is occurring now. Perhaps if we do that, we can focus on the future."

"Would that others had your optimism...but how do you think the strangers fit into this?"

"I am not as versed in the weighty matters of the Light's will as you are, Velenkayn," Jaeden'laek replied with a thin smile. "But I think this is a sign that if we must die, we will not do so alone. Perhaps they are the deliverance that some among our people ask for. But as I said, I am no anchorite or vindicator...I am an artificer, a digger in the dirt, a builder." Jaeden'laek looked over now towards Auchindoun, looking thoughtful as he sipped his own tea.

Velenkayn could see what his friend was thinking about. "Is Tasera still in Shattrath?"

"As always, my sister prefers to stay to her post, regardless of the risk," Jaeden'laek replied, chuckling sadly. "I hope she will be alright."

"Your sister is a fighter, my friend. She will be fine."

The artificer could not help but grin. "Would that I had your optimism."

"Velenkayn?" One of the other vindicators approached. "I'll take over for you here. Restalaan needs to see you."

"Thank you." Velenkayn nodded to Jaeden'laek. "Thank you for the tea."

"My pleasure."

----

"It seems very fanciful to me, Archdruid, but then, your people coming through the portal the Iron Horde built in the Tanaan Jungle was not something I expected, either."

"That makes two of us, Captain, I assure you; seeing this world in a nearly unspoiled state is a rather breathtaking experience."

"No doubt." Restalaan, captain of the guards of Telmor, looked up as another approached. "Ah, Velenkayn, welcome."

"I was told you wanted to see me, sir."

"Yes, indeed." He indicated their visitor. "This is Eidan Zherron. He has come from the world called Azeroth." The visitor looked all the world to him like a walking beast, but he could see the intelligence in the amber eyes as he bowed his canine head. "Master Zherron is a 'worgen', I believe he calls himself."

"Not by choice," Zherron replied, baring his fangs in a feral grin.

Restalaan looked over at Velenkayn. "He says that you've met before." His words were heavy with implied meaning. "I will leave you to become...reacquainted." He inclined his head to Zherron before returning to his tasks.

Velenkayn's eyes went wide as he looked over at Zherron. "You mean...there is another Velenkayn in your world?" At Zherron's nod, he asked, "Well...is he a vindicator, like me?"

The worgen archdruid hesitated for a moment, before replying, "Not exactly."

The darkness must go
Down the river
Of nights dreaming
Flow, morphia, slow
Let the sun
And light come streaming
Into my life

"Saavedar", he had called his new base. The sentimentality was sickening.

What made it even worse was that the minions (for lack of a better term) he had rallied to him had gone for it. You would expect orcs to protest a settlement being named for a human. Not these orcs, apparently. Ketiron had chosen his allies well...they all drank from the same spiked punchbowl that he did.

The fool is dead, and naming a frozen hellhole after him is not going to bring him back, you emotional idiot, Euphrati Velade thought. Focus on the present...like what are you going to do when that psychotic warlock or his psychotic puppetmaster comes knocking on your fancy new front gate? Particularly the former at the moment, it would seem...

The Forsaken monk had tracked Ketiron across the wastes of Frostfire Ridge for the last two days, leaving his new base of operations to assist the Frostwolves as they moved eastward, into the jungles she had heard referred to as "Gorgrond", the home base of the Blackrock clan. Rumor had it that Sputterspark was on his way from Shadowmoon Valley to the southeast. For what purpose, she had no idea - yet.

The pawns moving across the board, but where is the hand that guides them?

Euphrati's chief goal remained unchanged; she would correct Saavedro's mistake and destroy her corrupted father utterly - mind, body, and soul. It had fallen to her to do this; it was destined, she felt it in her soul. The apothecaries and sorcerers back in Undercity had given her tools to prepare for just this eventuality. Soon, he would pay for betraying the Forsaken...and her. She was not one to forgive easily, especially in this case. She had no doubt in her mind that he would guide these two to war against one another.

Unless I can get rid of them first...

She knew she would not have any chance against Ketiron; he was too well-guarded. But Sputterspark...he was arrogant and self-assured, especially now that he was worlds away - literally - from Stormwind authorities. Rumor had it he, too, was building his own base...a rumor she dismissed out of hand. Ketiron was a powerful and well-respected nobleman and warrior, with access to many allies. Warlocks did not tend to have too many allies who weren't either demons or warlocks themselves.

Yes, she would go after him first...if she could get through this damned jungle. It seemed to be crawling with living plant-creatures; she heard a Frostwolf scout refer to the taller creatures as "botani", and the small, wide-eyed flower things as "podlings". They seemed to serve monstrous creatures called "genesaurs". And if the Horde response here was any indication, the Alliance would no doubt have similar designs in the region...and likely move northward, to where the Blackrocks were said to dwell.

Part of her wondered at what she was doing; like Ketiron, she had moments where she wondered if fighting against enemies in the Alliance, or in the Horde itself, was worth the time when there was a greater threat to contend with, in the form of the Iron Horde. But she had sworn an oath, something not even this new war could prevent her from fulfilling - to bring true death to Sekhesmet, and to kill any of his lackeys, or anyone who stood in the way of her mission.

And besides, she thought, a daughter's vengeance should mean something.

((Keep dem wordstuffs coming!))

Take if you meet
One heart to feel, one soul to die
And let this dark soul
Prevent this heart from pain
Bleak bygone walls
They cast a shadow over you
And if you'll be there
Your heart will be confined

Having undertaken his quest to remind people (and himself) that he had once been a living man and was now again, Sekhesmet of Stratholme had travelled extensively throughout Azeroth, and in the few remaining draenei territories in Outland, to rediscover the Light as he had once remembered it. The darkness within him remained, of course, but it was just the other side of the coin. Light and Shadow, Shadow and Light, one within him. Travelling to the Exodar had been interesting; Battlelord Velenkayn had wanted to take his head off at the neck, just like Genevra did, but something - perhaps remembering he had also once been a monster, seeking redemption after he had been freed from his own form of slavery? - stayed his hand. It was also rumored that Velenkayn had a "double", another version of himself living on the alternate Draenor. He wondered how he, Sekhesmet, would react if he found out there was another Azeroth...

Now he arrived in the woods of Talador, or Terokkar Forest as it was known in Outland. Unlike Terokkar, which was somewhat of a summer-like environment, Talador reminded him of Eversong Woods in Quel'Thalas - gripped in seemingly endless autumn. The blue-green fronds of the olemba trees were instead shades of red, orange and brown, and the olemba cones did not have the same spotlight-like luminance. Already he could see smoke from the town up ahead, and he tried to remember his geography...it was different from Outland, but similar enough. What was the name of the place...Tuurem, that was it. He could see heavy machinery - weapons, no doubt - moving back and forth in the place, and orcs in dark armor.

Beyond, he could see the dome of the great temple of Shattrath, and the spires surrounding it. More smoke. And remembering the battlefields he had seen both alive and undead, he recognized it for what it was. A siege, he thought. Moving carefully to avoid being spotted by Iron Horde sentries, Sekhesmet went around the town and continued on towards the great arch that marked the gates of the draenei capital city. And he could see yet more smoke coming from the harbor. It actually took him aback for a moment, the idea of Shattrath having a harbor; it had been his same reaction to seeing the harbor at Karabor. He was thinking too much about how he had seen these places in Outland, as opposed to how they were here.

Hellfire is a jungle, Shadowmoon Valley is beautiful, the region I knew as Blade's Edge is a jungle and volcanic plain, a desert of snow west of that...and the forest of mushrooms is growing at the bottom of a sea, he thought, smiling to himself. What a strange world this is. More so even than Outland. He had felt dumbstruck as he stepped through the Dark Portal and finding himself in a new and mysterious place, just as he had visiting Outland for the first time...just like --

Seeing movement headed to the gate, Sekhesmet's eyebrows rose as he saw a tall blood elf warrior in dark armor, carrying a glowing runic sword, surrounded by orcish guards. He smiled to himself. Ketiron. Thinking of you summons you. The sin'dorei nobleman didn't seem to notice him as he headed into Shattrath Commons. But as they crossed under the arch, Ketiron paused, turned...and stared.

Sekhesmet returned his gaze, and nodded slightly in recognition. Then he turned away and continued on...