Her view was obscured slightly as Siegadormi angled away from the city for a few moments, turning toward the massive floating city’s landing space. Lelissa curled her lip distastefully at the required delay – the Violet Eye greatly disliked having large, winged mounts in the city streets – but counted it far less important than her other obstacles. At the very least, Siegadormi would be able to speak with others of her kind at the landing zone. Then she would be free to do what she wished.

“Siegadormi, I wanted to thank you,” Lelissa called out over the rushing wind. “You have been a wonderful friend and ally over these months.”

“It is the least I could do, Lelissa, for one who has served the cause of the Bronze Dragonflight. But what brought on this sudden gratitude?”

The bronze drake glided toward Krasus’ Landing, passing over the stone wall at the edge of the platform. Leaning her entire body back, Siegadormi angled her wings and flapped hard twice, slowing enough to land in the center of the platform.

Lelissa dismounted with a sigh, patting the drake’s front flank as she walked to the archway between the landing pad and the city. “It’s time for me to face my sister, and there is a chance that I will not return. Here we must part ways.”

Lelissa began to tuck the signal whistle into the saddle pouch, but Siegadormi stopped the Draenei with a shake of her scaled head. “Keep it. Another can be made, and none but you would be able to signal it properly to call me. You may have need of me another time.” Lelissa nodded, returning the whistle to her pack.

“I have greatly enjoyed our journeys, Siega. May the light always protect you.”

“May it protect you as well, Lelissa. I will pray that your sister can still be returned to you.”

Lelissa nodded her thanks, and turned away toward the archway, disappearing behind the stone as she took the stairs down. Siegadormi watched her leave, then with a great beat of her wings, took to the skies once more and angled southward to Wyrmrest Temple.

The sudden exhalation woke Kelarr from his sleep. Opening his eyes slowly against the light coming in through the window, he stretched and straightened in his chair, finally resting his gaze on the exhausted warlock across from him. Valyra was rubbing her eyes, visibly drained, and seemed on the verge of collapse.

“Good morning. You look like hell,” Kelarr quipped, a rueful smile on his face.

Valyra frowned in his direction, obviously irritated by the remark. Catching herself, she sighed and nodded. “I look like I feel, then.”

“Then you need sleep.”

“I can’t, I have to find the proper reagents for the ritual, and hire another warlock to assist in the process. It’s a two-person show.”

“Make a list. I’ll take care of it. But you need to take care of yourself. The last thing we need to happen is for you to fall apart in the middle of casting this thing. It could mean the difference between life and death.”

Valyra smiled then, nodding her agreement as she found a blank scrap of paper and her quill. “Very well. I will defer to your wisdom in this, old friend. I’ll make a list and send Fierevere with you.”

“No, keep her wherever you need to keep her. I’ll take Myrlia with me. You know I don’t do well with demons hanging about.”

“I had forgotten. Here’s the list.” Valyra handed over the paper, then headed to her bedroom for some much needed rest.

Because the links are still broken (I have practically zero spare time between testing, work, and thousands of other things to complete before Cataclysm), if you need to backtrack and catch up, go here.

This particular installment is a collaboration between myself and Amber of I Like Bubbles; Lyestra seemed a perfect fit for what needed to transpire in this chapter.

__________________________________________________________________________

Lelissa sat quietly on a bench near the training dummies, waiting for a turn. Siegadormi had not yet arrived, so there was time to kill until the bronze could carry her to Dalaran.

Lyestra had claimed a small area of her own and was stretching.  She moved stiffly at first, favoring her right side. To distract herself from the pain the Kaldorei took a swig from a flask at her belt and then glanced at those at the dummies.  “Ah, you don’t swing a sword like that,” Lyestra muttered under her breath.  “Wild and reckless yet, that one–someone should put axes in his hands, he’s better suited for those.”

A short distance away, Lelissa chuckled softly, shaking her head. “He’s still young yet. I’m sure he’ll improve, given time.” Turning her head, Lelissa fixed her gaze on the Kaldorei, smiling wryly. “After all, not everyone has the experience of years.”

“Some do.  Some don’t.”  She shook her head.  “Some brawler types never quite acquire any real finesse.”  Lyestra tilted her head slightly, then chuckled.  “As I know from my years of personal experience.”

“Or worse, they discard everything they ever learned in the face of rage.” Lelissa winced at her own admission, glancing down at the axe resting against the bench at her side. “At least we can hope he’ll survive it and learn from the experience… but I guess we all can’t be that lucky.”

“Rage can be a powerful drive-and not always a bad one.”   Lyestra glanced at the training dummies again.  “And some people are going to start seeing some of mine if they don’t hurry up.  I’m all for taking turns but Elune’s tits, people, don’t fucking dawdle.  They’re training dummies not magic workers.”  She fidgeted and took another swig from her flask, wincing at the taste.

“The trouble comes when it gives you blinders. I just hope that it doesn’t turn out to be a fatal mistake for some of these new ones.” Lelissa shrugged. “Time will tell. We’ll either have less of the scourge to fight, or more. Not where my battle lies right now anyway.”

Sighing, Lelissa reached out and tipped her axe vertically, sliding her hand down the haft and turning her wrist, lifting it easily over her shoulder. “We could be waiting around like this all day. I’m Lelissa. Would you like to spar?”

Lyestra instantly perked up.  “Elune, yes, please – more interesting than the dummies, anyway.  I haven’t genuinely sparred in awhile… I’ve been teaching lately, but that’s not nearly the same thing. I’m Lyestra, by the way.”  She turned to pick up the shield that had been leaned up against the wall behind her.

Lelissa rolled her shoulders, loosening her muscles a little before walking to a clear space in the practice field. Turning to face her opponent, she settled into an easy stance, hooves planted in the soft earth. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said, tilting the axe in her hands low and to the right.

Lyestra eyed her opponent, then gave her a nod to indicate that she was ready.  Lelissa would probably pick up rather quickly on the fact that she favored her right side-but she was used to that by now.  She sighed softly, more to release tension than anything else, and kept her eyes on Lelissa’s hands while lifting her sword.

Lelissa flexed her fingers, steadying her grip on the haft of her axe. Taking a step forward, she planted her right foot, swinging the axe upward.

Lyestra pivoted at the hip, deflecting the swing with her shield, turning with the momentum of Lelissa’s swing and the block. Continuing the spin and pushing the axe away, Lyestra’s sword cut an arc through the air as it swept toward her opponent.

Lelissa allowed her own momentum to carry her through a turn as well. Shifting her right hand’s grip on the axe, she dropped her left, putting the solid haft in the path of the sword swing. Lyestra’s blade rung with the block and changed direction, a wide sweep over her head that had Lelissa backing up a step. Turning, Lyestra set her shield and squared off with Lelissa once again.

The Kaldorei was grinning, delighted by the initial exchange. Lelissa’s smile was just as broad, caught up in the excitement of a real sparring partner instead of a training dummy. Lelissa paced toward her right, keeping Lyestra’s shield between the two of them, intending to use it as a buffer. “Too bad,” thought Lyestra, as she rushed forward, shield squarely set on her arm.

Caught off guard, Lelissa gasped as the shield came in low, prompting her to block. As the haft thudded against the shield, Lyestra drove forward and up. “She’s heavier than she looks,” Lyestra thought, her back and leg muscles straining with the effort to throw Lelissa back. Unable to stop the momentum, Lelissa sailed a short distance through the air, crashing to the ground and rolling noisily to a stop several feet away.

Lelissa scrambled to her feet, angry at her foolishness. She had known many warriors and paladins who used a shield as a weapon, and should have expected that this one would as well. She charged, covering the distance between them quickly and crashed into the shield. Using the haft of her axe, Lelissa wrenched the shield wide and down, then slid the ornate wood through her hands, the butt of the haft skimming dangerously close to Lyestra’s eye and scraping her cheek.

Lyestra’s eyes briefly widened with shock. This girl was fighting dirty. A devilish smile crept across her lips as she said, “Why, Lelissa… I haven’t made you angry, have I?”

Lelissa narrowed her eyes, suddenly dropping the haft heavily on Lyestra’s sword hand, numbing her wrist and sending a rolling shudder through that arm. Lyestra gasped, fighting to hold on to the blade, twisting her left arm around to knock the haft away and disengage. Lyestra whirled, squaring her shield again and set against a charge…

Only to see that Lelissa had turned away from her and was walking back to the bench.

Despite the fact that she was still having to exert some effort to keep her hand around the hilt of her blade, Lyestra arched her eyebrows at Lelissa’s abrupt exit from the practice ground.  “What, done already?  I wouldn’t have taken you for such a sensitive git.  What’re you walking away for?”

“It wasn’t what you said. It’s me and my own oversights. My anger at myself. Using such tactics in a sparring match.” Lelissa sighed, sitting heavily down on the bench at the edge of the practice area. “Light, I’ll never get anywhere at this rate. Sorry about the wrist, by the way. I have a bandage if you want it.”

Lyestra shrugged and sheathed her weapon, absently rubbing her wrist.  “Ah, that’s nothing.  I’ll just make my husband earn his keep and take a look at it when I get home.”  She wandered over to the bench and sat down heavily, stretching her legs out before her.  “Anger is useful, just best channeled in a more controlled manner.”  She took a swig from a belt flask as she paused.  “And that is a lesson that took me some five hundred years to learn, if that makes you feel any better.”  A second silence as she searched for further words.  Advice wasn’t really her forte.  “If you don’t feel like you’ll get anywhere at this rate, change rates.”  She chuckled softly even as she knew the statement wasn’t really that witty.

Lelissa cast Lyestra a sidelong glance. “I used to be a lot better. More controlled. Then my sister ruined all of it.” Lelissa frowned. “She made me doubt myself. Doubt everything I had ever learned, ever done… I’m like some goblin zeppelin careening out of control after one fatal engine failure.”

“Ah, she didn’t ruin it.  You’re just letting her play mind games with you.”  Lyestra fiddled absently with the cap on her flask.  “What’s a goblin zep doing wandering around without an engineer, anyway?”  She took another swig and waggled a finger at Lelissa.  “The skill and the control is all still there, I’m sure.”

Lelissa scoffed. “Yeah, mind games. Nearly killing me and my closest friend is a mind game.” She looked out over the snow, away from the tournament grounds, across the vast and empty expanse in the shadow of Icecrown Citadel. “I have to face her. Beat her. Save her, maybe. But…  I’m so damned scared to try. I know I don’t have a choice, but it’s almost paralyzing.”

Lyestra leaned back and crossed her arms.  “It is.  Death is the greatest mind game of all.”  She cocked her head, taking a moment to study Lelissa as something other than an opponent.  “And fear is a close second.  If you don’t have a choice, then there’s no reason to dally.”  How much of her own experience was applicable?  Not knowing any details there was no way she could know, but Lyestra offered the words anyway.  “Fear is only conquered by facing it.  Sometimes repeatedly.  Lost your skill and control?  Regain it.  Drill, not against these stupid dummies but against people.  Push and be pushed.  If you think she’ll play dirty, then find someone to play dirty.  Find someone who fights in the same style she does.  Burn the memory into muscle so that even if your mind betrays you, your body will not.  Don’t worry about saving her.  Maybe she can be.  Maybe she can’t.  But maybe she won’t.  In the end the person to worry about saving is you.”

Lelissa nodded absently, noting a runner coming toward her. “The trouble is, I doubt there’s enough time. Arthas’ reach is long… too long by half.” The runner reached the pair, leaned in and whispered into Lelissa’s ear. Lelissa murmured a thanks, and the runner set out for his next destination. Lelissa stood. “Looks like my ride is here. Thanks for the spar, and the advice. Sorry about the wrist. Light willing, we’ll meet again.”

“Then use what time you’ve got.  Come wander through Ashenvale sometime and look for the house west of Maestra’s Post.  I’ll be more than happy to spar again.”  The Kaldorei rubbed her wrist, then shook her head ruefully.

“I’ll do that.” Lelissa smiled apologetically, then turned and headed for the landing area. Siegadormi was waiting.

It was raining today, and that didn’t help her mood. To her, it felt as though the clouds had filtered through her mind, making her thoughts as hazy as the day, and it irked her. Fierevere had returned yesterday with the news: Siasha would not come, and Esmerellda couldn’t decide. Valyra was angry, but it wasn’t Fierevere’s fault that the others couldn’t see the possible outcomes. The thought rankled in her head, curling her lip in distaste, which curled even farther when her nose caught the scent of a wet animal. She looked up, and there stood the two Kaldorei who she had been waiting for.

“About time you two showed up,” she said to Myrlia and Kelarr, the latter of whom smelled awfully like a half-drowned cat.

Myrlia cleared his throat nervously, stammering out a reply. “We ran into unexpected delays.” Kelarr scoffed, and Myrlia nudged him hard with his elbow.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to focus on the situation at hand. Go clean up and take a hot bath. I’ll meet you two back down here in an hour. You can eat while we talk.”

“Copper for your thoughts,” Quillion said, coming up behind her.

Lelissa just shook her head. “Something about this seems wrong, Quillion. We have a war to fight. Why are we even here?”

Quillion shrugged. “Tirion has called us to fight and prove ourselves for Varian Wrynn. The battles in Ulduar are done, and we’ve all been restless. It gives us something to do, and brings hope to the people of Azeroth.”

Lelissa turned to face him, her hand slicing through the air in denial. “We shouldn’t be here. The Lich King hides inside Icecrown, and we sit here participating in these silly games, these so-called tests of skill. We have bested Titans in battle! And now we fight for the sake of an audience? This is ridiculous.”

“We do what we must, Lelissa. We cannot assault Icecrown alone, and if we were to leave now, that is exactly what we would be doing. I will not needlessly risk the lives of Purgatory’s finest. Now let’s get inside. We have enemies to face.”

Lelissa shook her head, turning away. “No, Quillion. I will not fight for the amusement of a king I hold little regard for. If this is the direction that Purgatory is going, then I have other matters that I must attend to.”

Lelissa reached into a pack on the ground at her feet, withdrawing the whistle she used to call Siegadormi, a friend from the Bronze Flight. Raising it to her lips, she blew it, the note carrying long and clear to the wind, though silent to the Draenei’s ears.

“You mean, you have your sister to attend to.”

Lelissa nodded. “She left me for dead. She kidnapped my closest friend to lure me to Icecrown. These are not the actions of my sister, I fear, but of something else. Something darker.”

“Do you think the Lich King holds sway over her once more?”

Lelissa turned to face Quillion again, her eyes flashing with barely concealed rage. “For her sake, I hope not.”

Siasha sat at her sewing table, inspecting a tear in a delicate purple shirt. It was one of her favorites, a gift from last year’s Winter’s Veil celebration, and the tear in the elbow bothered her a great deal. Reaching over to her kit, she casually read the colors on the labels, finding the thread she had dyed especially to match the shirt. Finding it, she began to draw it out when the hairs on her neck tingled; she was no longer alone.

Turning, she threw up her hand, her lips moving with the words of a binding, capturing the demon standing in the doorway behind her. Reflexively, she flexed her fingers, sending fel energy through the bind, designed to cause pain to the trapped demon. The demon shrieked, back arching in pain, and Siasha recognized the voice.

“Fierevere? Is that you?” Siasha released the binding, and the succubus dropped to her knees on the floor.

Fierevere grimaced, shuddering as the dark binding left her body and the pain faded. “My mistress sends her request for your aid, Siasha Thimblewidget. She knows of Malyss and Lelissa, and has seen Lelissa’s death. She asks that you join her in Southshore.”

Siasha looked back down at the shirt, shaking her head. “Tell Valyra that I’m not going. I’ll have nothing to do with this.”

“She says that she needs your assistance for the ritual. She cannot think of anyone else who has the skill.”

“Then she’ll have to find someone else who does. I will not be a part of this. Going up against Malyss is suicide.”

“But…”

“That will be all, Fierevere. Send her my best regards. Hopefully she’ll live long enough for us to meet again after all this foolishness.”

Fierevere frowned, thinking of what Valyra would say… or do… to her once she returned, but she couldn’t worry about that now. She had to seek out another before the day was out. Enveloping herself in fel energy, she sent herself hurtling through the nether once more to continue her mission.

Siasha felt Fierevere leave, felt the pull of fel energy from that portal, and let out the breath she had been holding. With it went all her emotions; her anger and frustration, her fear and panic, her hopes and wishes, all for her doomed friend. The weight of it was too much, and it bowed Siasha’s head over that shirt, Lelissa’s gift, staining the fine silk with her tears.

Esmerellda sat, staring out of the window of her cabin in Elwynn Forest. It had been decidedly empty ever since Lelissa had gone, leaving Fate’s Legacy for Purgatory in the months before. She hadn’t heard from Lelissa since, and it had left a void behind. Her friend was gone. Esmerellda sighed, part sadness, part wistfulness, but mostly frustration. Why hadn’t she stayed in touch? Didn’t her friends matter anymore?

Esmerellda’s unease and depression had affected the cabin, as well. The flowers of her garden had long since died away. Lack of tending and care had turned the soil into nearly barren dirt, occupied only by the weeds that had taken over long before. Dust was thick on the furniture; since she rarely came here, there was no point in keeping it tidy. There wasn’t anyone to share it with.

An hour had passed since Fierevere had left, and still Esmerellda felt her emotions tearing at her, first in one direction, then another. She was needed to help Lelissa? Why should she? Lelissa had left nothing behind but an empty home and a tabard that no longer mattered to her. Esmerellda held that tabard now, like she often had in the past weeks, thinking and dwelling on what had happened. Anger gripped her suddenly, her face contorted with grief and rage as she stood and began to swing the tabard wildly about, taking out her frustration on the air.

Esmerellda sobbed, raged, railed and cried as the tabard whipped through the musty cabin, stirring up dust and knocking over vases and framed pictures. One wild swing coiled around a bedpost, and something small, red, and round shot out from the tabard, striking the wall with a sharp crack before falling to the floor in halves. Shocked into calm by the sudden event, Esmerellda walked over to the object, her eyes wide in surprise and curiosity.

Reaching down to pick up the two halves, she recognized the object. A small ruby, taken from a ring she’d given to Lelissa to repair some time ago. Lelissa had replaced the cracked ruby with a new one, but had apparently kept the flawed stone. Holding the halves in her hand, she inspected the tabard a little closer. On the inside, just over the heart, Lelissa had a padded pouch sewn in to hold the stone. Probably sewn by Siasha, judging by the stitching – Lelissa never was much of a seamstress.

Sighing heavily, Esmerellda walked over to the trunk at the foot of the bed. Opening it, she reached inside and took out her armor, unworn and unused for some time. It shone slightly underneath a thin layer of dust, and Esmerellda frowned.

It wouldn’t do to go out looking like that.

Siasha stood on the dock in the Dalaran sewers, staring into the iridescent water as though trying to see something beyond it. The rats were her only company as they skittered around her, seemingly ignorant of her presence. Her tears were long since gone, cried out long ago. Unfortunately for the rats, that sorrow was being replaced by frustration, made worse by their incessant squeaks and scrabbling.

Stomping her foot in anger, she felt the fire building inside her, and released it in a wave of destruction. The rats who weren’t smart enough to flee when she stamped her little foot were incinerated, flesh roasted away, leaving behind only blackened bones and smoldering fur. Sighing, Siasha sat down on the deck dejectedly, her anger somewhat vented, but still burning in the back of her mind. Grumbling, she picked through the corpses, tossing charred bones into the sewer waters.

“Valyra is insane. Going after Malyss is the stupidest idea ever,” she said to the empty sewer. “Actually, I take that back. My brother’s dragon-milking machine was the stupidest idea ever. But Malyss is going to kill them all. They’re walking into a death trap. The whole idea of anyone going with her is stupid.”

Her brow furrowed as she stared into the water, the stillness interrupted only by another bone. She shook her head, hand poised to toss in a burnt ribcage. “I would be stupid to go.”

Finally with a huff and an exasperated sigh, she stood, wiped her ashy hands on the edge of her robe and trudged across the slimy boards to the firmer footing of the stone ramp leading up to the brighter areas of Dalaran. “I’m an idiot.” There was a great deal of work to do if there was any hope of any of them surviving this suicidal attempt and very little time.

Siasha stood before the glowing portals with wavering images of the Alliance cities visible in the depths of each one. Decisions, decisions…

Her own library and workroom were in Ironforge. There wouldn’t be much more she could glean from that resource and most of the relevant books were still in the inn anyhow. She’d have to send her minions back there to retrieve them before someone either attempted to steal them or open them out of curiosity. She wasn’t going to pay the innkeeper to repair a charred hole in his floor again.

It would have to be Stormwind. Perhaps the trainers and older warlocks that kept their workrooms in the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb could give her some insight. Besides what she’d discussed with Esmerellda and Lelissa earlier, Siasha knew that her own skills weren’t up to a test of the magnitude that Malyss had become. She would have to retrain into a different discipline.

A shame, really. The intricacies of the Affliction path were such fun. However, Malyss being what she was, Siasha would either need a great deal more direct firepower or a more powerful minion. Perhaps even both. In any case, she would have to let the other officers of Fate’s Legacy know that she would be unavailable for the guild’s battle groups for the foreseeable future.

With a wrinkle of her nose, Siasha Thimblewidget stepped through the portal to the human’s home city and hoped the taller ones would look down once in a while for a change.

Lelissa dove behind a broken pillar, taking cover from an onslaught of dark energy rolling through the room. The ground trembled in this fallen cathedral as the rage of an Old God, once imprisoned beyond time but now free once more on Azeroth, shook Ulduar to its very foundations. Parts of the ceiling cracked and fell away, stained glass shattering and spilling out onto the floor as Yogg-Saron vented his hate upon the team who had hurt him so badly. A slight movement at the corner of her vision caused her to look up, prepared for the worst. Quillion, a Kaldorei hunter and her longtime friend and ally, rushed across the open space toward her as the wave of power ended, sliding in next to her. His eyes were wide with adrenaline and a little madness: the battle against this foe was taking its toll on all of them.

“I think we need a better plan, Quill.”

Quillion murmured agreement, shaking his head in disbelief. “It was the best I had, though. I’m all out of tricks, and I don’t know how much everyone has left to give.” Quillion leaned slightly, peeking around the corner, surveying the room and the creature it was designed to imprison. His eyes briefly sought out the best that Purgatory had to offer, taking stock; no dead, many wounded, and all a little less sane. “Purgatory, form up! We’ve got to take back control of this fight!”

Hearing his call, the small squadron began to work their way toward each other, fighting every step of the way to get back to a defensible position. As they gathered together, a druid and paladin worked quickly to heal wounds and remove afflictions, and the team stood a little straighter and looked more determined with each brief second that passed. Quillion leaped from behind cover, motioning for Lelissa to follow.

“Give me a shield to the front! Ranged to the back rank! Lelissa, get the Knights on that ugly lump, and let’s get something done!”

Lelissa sprinted to the front, motioning to two Death Knights to assist her. A few months ago, she would have been very uncomfortable fighting alongside them, but Quillion had vouched for them, and his word counted for a great deal. Since then, they had become a very efficient team, and they all worked in concert against the pulpy, many-mouthed body of the Old God.

One of Yogg-Saron’s guardians appeared across the room and began charging directly for the three, intent on protecting its master. A lone paladin stepped forward from the back ranks, sending a lance of holy energy into the creature. Rage contorted its twisted visage and it turned toward the paladin, striking at him with flailing tentacled arms. Each of these strokes he caught on his shield, but the creature was powerful, and each successive smash against that shield drove the paladin to his knees.

“Knights, get on that elekk… squid… thing! Lelissa, stay where you are! Casters focus on Yogg! We have to bring him down!” At Quillion’s command, the pair of Death Knights broke away from the Old God and moved to attack the guardian, their fast and powerful attacks carving into the creature. It was bleeding from numerable wounds and was obviously weakened – no longer pounding the defending Paladin like a tent peg – but it refused to die. Worse, the Old God had called another guardian into the fray, and it raced to join the first.

A sudden explosion of thunder and a flash of light crashed in the middle of the battle, and a smoldering pile of ash was all that was left of the weakened guardian. The booming laugh of Thorim could be heard above the battle, and the fighters were able to breathe a little easier, and the Paladin struggled under the crushing blows of the new guardian until it had been heavily blooded once again.

A dark, hollow laugh from Yogg-Saron washed over them, and Lelissa’s mind went fuzzy for a moment. She stumbled as she turned, catching a glimpse of figures standing behind her… nine copies of her sister, Malyss, attacking an old friend, Esmerellda. Esmerellda was holding her own for the time being, bashing one of the strange clones with her mace, but the two behind her were quickly making swift work of her armor. Pieces of plate were cut away and sent flying, and her back, exposed to blades, was slashed with deep cuts. Feeling the rage building in her, Lelissa charged to save her friend, diving headlong into the two clones at her back, tackling them to the floor. She wrestled with them, trying to keep them on the ground, only to be blasted away by dark energy thrown from another at the back. Lelissa jumped to her feet, seeking to go to her friend’s rescue, but one of the clones stood in way, twin axes at the ready.

Lelissa leaped at the clone, a feral roar escaping her lips as her axe clashed again and again with the pair wielded by her sister. She was growing frustrated, seeing Esmerellda’s form slashed by swords and axes, bashed by maces, pierced with bullets and wracked by spells; every moment counted, and if she didn’t hurry, then…

Esmerellda exploded into a flash of light, leaving nothing behind. Lelissa screamed denial and rage, thrusting the haft of her axe into the clone’s gut, doubling it over. She spun and delivered a crushing sweep to the side of its head, and charged for the clones that cut her friend down. Just as she reached them, the room swam, and she ran headlong into one of Purgatory’s Death Knights, knocking her aside and crashing into the shield of the Paladin who fought the guardians just moments before. She thumped to the ground, and her axe fell from her hands, clattering and skidding across the flagstones. Shaking her head slightly to clear it, Lelissa looked up, blinking confusedly at her teammates.

“Hmel, check Van and see how bad he’s hurt,” Quillion said to the Paladin as he held out his hand. “Up off the floor with you, ‘Lissa. What happened to you? You suddenly turned and attacked Van and Averna, and nobody knew what the hell was going on.”

Lelissa let him help her up, then looked over her shoulder to see Hmel helping Van to his feet, a little hurt and far less than dead, but certainly worse for wear. Looking back at Quillion in horror, she shrank back a little, her voice shaking. “I… I don’t kn-now what happened… I heard Yogg-Saron laugh and then I saw… I saw…” She cradled her head in her hands, shutting her eyes, trying to hold off waves of vertigo as she regained her senses and sanity. “Light, my head hurts.”

Quillion watched Hmel and Van limp past the dead god, making their way to the healers. “Well, I wouldn’t worry. Yogg-Saron was an architect for a lot of chaos. It would only make sense that he’d be able to warp what you see to suit his purposes. Get your bearings a little bit, then collect your axe and meet us back where we fought the Iron Council. We’ve got to stop and see Brann on our way out and see what he found out about those sigils we found.”

Lelissa nodded, and Quillion turned to leave. She watched him walk away for a long moment, then turned her thoughts inward, considering old friends, family, and enemies.

Looking at the carnage on the library table, Valyra wondered if she were even searching in the right place for what she needed. Sighing softly, she began to clean up the mess, neatly stacking books and papers that only moments before had been strewn about the giant table as though subject to an explosion. Hopefully the counsel she would gain from her old guildmates would provide some sort of insight, for she was at a loss. At least Myrlia had experience with the Shadow, and Kelarr… Druids are supposed to know about cleansing the earth and all that anyway. And where the hell were they?

The two were supposed to arrive in Southshore almost four days ago. Valyra had finally given up on waiting after the first day, and instead left a message with the innkeeper to tell them to wait until she arrived. She had gone back to check every day after, but only later after she had finished researching for the day. It gave her something to do; every night since the first dream, she had had others showing Lelissa’s demise in new ways each time. Shuddering, she knew that it was her unconscious mind looking Forward as it often did, looking at the possibilities, but one truth always remained the same.

Lelissa would die if she left to confront Malyss on her own.

Sneaking along the wall, she came to a corner where the hallways crossed. Sticking to the wall as much as she could, Lelissa followed the branch to the right, hoping that it might lead to Malyss sooner rather than later. At the end, she reached a large door, once carved with scenes of redemption and valor, now scarred and broken by the weapons of the fel orcs and demons who inhabited the Temple. Sadness crept upon her for a brief moment, the desecration and abuse of the once proud Temple of Karabor causing her to shiver at the cruelty of it. Sighing heavily, her eyes widened into disbelief as her breath was visible in the air; it was much colder here than anywhere else in the Temple. It wasn’t the cruelty making her shiver.

Malyss was here.

Saying a quick prayer, Lelissa shoved open the door, tucking into a roll that would move her into the room quickly without being a large target. Coming to her feet, axe at the ready, she bellowed a challenge to her sister. “Now we end this Mal–” A solid hit to her stomach knocked the wind from her, and Lelissa stumbled back, taking an accounting of just what she rushed into.

A score of demons, once loyal to Illidan, stood between the sisters. Malyss looked down at Lelissa from her perch on the dais, smiling slightly; her smirk grew from mild amusement into something cruel and hateful. Raising her hand above her head, Malyss called upon an army of ghouls to bolster her demonic followers. The rotting corpses moved to defend their mistress, and Malyss’ lips parted for two words: “Destroy her.”

Lelissa struck down one of the demons before he had a chance to react, but almost instantly she was forced into defense. The ghouls leaped at Lelissa immediately with little regard for their own lives – after all, it’s hard to be protective of something you’ve already lost – claws and teeth scraping across her armor. She cut down two of the unholy creatures with a mighty sweep of her axe, but still her opponents kept coming.

One of the demons had slipped behind Lelissa, grabbing her around the waist and working his muscled arms under hers; lifting them up and out, he pulled her arms out wide, painfully crushing her shoulders and hampering her blood flow. Lelissa struggled; he was too strong, and her body structure worked against her here – she couldn’t kick with any force from this angle, and he was too large for her to score his face with her horns. Finally, her hands numb, Lelissa’s axe fell to the floor, leaving her defenseless save for her armor. The ghouls and demons dove in, grabbing for her arms and legs, twisting and pulling cruelly, forcing the warrior to scream and beg for mercy while her sister looked on and laughed.

A loud popping sound followed by a shriek indicated the dislocation of Lelissa’s left shoulder, and the continued twisting and tugging only made her scream louder… right up to the point that her arm was torn free from her body, armor and all, and she nearly passed out.

When she finally stopped shaking with fright, she slid out of bed, taking the sheet with her to stay warm through midnight’s chill since the fire had long since burned low. Wrapping the soft linen around herself, the cloth clung to her figure, hiding curve and scar alike from view. She crossed the empty floor, sheet dragging across the floorboards, and opened the door at the other end of the room, looking briefly up at the night sky. This late at night, nobody would be out and about.

She would need the privacy.

Carefully, she gathered the sheet a little closer to her so that it wouldn’t drag, and she closed the door to her home. Hurrying down the narrow avenue, she turned into an alleyway, ran all the way to the end near the wall, and stopped to rest for a moment against the crates stacked nearby. Looking over her shoulder to ensure that she wasn’t followed, she discarded the sheet covering her body, quickly climbed the crates, and went over the wall.

She moved to an unmarked spot illuminated by the moonlight. She stood naked in the cold night air, eyes closed, her head tilted slightly back, hair fluttering lazily in the light wind. Opening her eyes to the moon, they glowed bright amber as her trance allowed her to look Forward.

A shattered ruby.

Iron bars.

A broken mace.

The visions swam through her mind’s eye repeatedly until they finally faded, the amber glow of her eyes fading with them. The woman shook her head as she tried to make sense of them. What did they mean? Were they even real objects? If so, where could they be found? Too many questions, and not enough answers. Either way, they needed to be warned.

Stepping to the circle, the woman began chanting in Eredun, her voice quiet and low on the breeze. Slowly raising her hands to the side, her words became stronger, more forceful, and her body strained with the effort of the summoning; this would hurt, but she didn’t have time to craft a soul shard. As her words reached a crescendo, the skin at her joints split and deep cuts appeared in her back and legs, overlapping older scars, blood spilling from every wound. It fell in droplets or ran in rivulets down her back, but the result was the same: the blood made contact with the stone and was drawn to the chalk lines.

Finally, the summoning was complete, but the space before her was empty. She was confused for a moment, until she heard the sultry purr behind her.

“Mmmm, I just love watching you do that. It gets me all excited… and I think you enjoy it more than you let on.” The succubus walked slowly around the outside of the circle, her eyes roaming up and down the woman’s body, glimmering with obvious arousal. The demon’s tongue traced seductively over her upper lip as she drank in the sight, making small, throaty purrs as her eyes fell on each lash mark.

“I liked it less when I couldn’t heal as quickly, Fierevere. I need you to play messenger. And no detours.”

“Awww, but that’s not any fun! It’s not like it would take me more than an hour or two… maybe three at the outside!” The succubus’ voice was teasing; she knew that she would do whatever her mistress required. Anything to stay out of the Twisting Nether.

The woman smiled. “If not for the urgency of this task, my reluctant seducer, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. No, Fierevere, this is very serious. Malyss has Awakened, and Lelissa will run headlong into her death if we don’t help her.”

Fierevere sighed, resting her hand on her hip. “I knew that girl would be trouble the minute Lelissa brought her home. Who am I off to find, Valyra?”

Valyra leaned her head back, the smell of her own blood on the wind even as the wounds sealed shut. “Kelarr. Tell him to find Myrlia and to meet me in Southshore in two days.” Valyra paused, hissing slightly as the deep lashes in her back slowly pulled closed. “We’ll need a mage; tell Woggles, but she is not to breathe a word of this to Avyla. If that hot-headed Warrior gets wind of Malyss’ situation, she’ll kill first and ask questions later.”

Fierevere looked genuinely concerned. “I will. And what will you do, mistress?”

“For now, I will return to Gilneas and sleep. In the morning, I have to convince King Greymane to give me access to the library.” Valyra sighed. “I have a ritual to research.”

Siasha has been sitting there quietly for a few minutes, clearly mulling over what she’s going to tell us. She sighs a few times, picks little pieces of lint out of her robe, and makes terribly cute frowns when shaking her head… she’s probably changing her mind about wording. Through it all, Es and I are quiet. We have no choice but to wait, and I’m not going to rush her.

I like this place. I don’t want her to set it on fire.

“First of all, every living creature has a soul. You, me, Peaches, that rat over there… you get the idea. Now, a soul… fits… inside the body it inhabits. Fits it like a glove. For those of us who can see it, we can see that there is an aura that surrounds the body like a protective covering, that moves and shifts in the exact same ways that your body moves and shifts.”

Siasha reaches into a small pouch at her belt, taking a small, violet crystal from inside it and laying it on the table. She looks carefully at Es and me, then continues.

“Now, when you die, especially by violence, a tremendous amount of energy is released. The soul is released from the confines of a physical vessel and expands at an exponential rate of…” – she waves her hands in the air, a little exasperated – “Sorry. Anyway, the soul is released, and it expands. Warlocks can siphon off some of that final energy burst and store it in these forms.” She pats the little crystal on the table. “But that’s not really important. What’s important is understanding the expansion. Death injures the soul, and like any injury, it’s going to swell. Now, when Peaches here put your soul back into your body, her spell has two parts – “

“Right, because my spell has to heal the soul first. That makes so much more sense now.”

I wince. Siasha is looking very directly at Es, obviously not amused.

“Do you want to explain this, Peaches? I can just as easily be off doing something else, you know.”

Esmerellda blushes and manages to squeak out an apology. Under the table, I reach over and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. I’ve been on the receiving end of that glare. It’s not fun.

“Thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The spell first has to heal the damaged soul, and then it slips right back into place, neat as you please.” Siasha frowns, shaking her head. “But a Death Knight… whoever is restoring the soul to the body isn’t healing it first. They just shove it back in there, and the soul doesn’t fit at all. Probably why they’re so angsty and stuff about being dead. They’re worse than the Forsaken, and I don’t even want to know how whiny a Forsaken Death Knight would be. Ugh.”

Siasha shudders, probably disturbed by the mental image she conjured for herself. Opening her eyes, she looks at me… and I can see that she is truly pained by what she is about to say.

“And your sister… she’s worse off than most of them. Her soul’s aura looks like she’s been stuffed in, ripped out, stuffed back in backwards, and then had the cracks sealed up with duct tape and jb-14 welding compound… which, while useful for the expansion cracks in high powered rocket racers, it isn’t terribly good for use on soul-mending.”

I make a face. This is not a comforting thought.

“It gets worse. Souls have a color palette, so to speak. Your average, everyday, uninteresting soul gives off a white aura – very neutral. Angry, red. Someone in the throes of passion can give off blue or even violet.” She frowns. “Stop smirking at me. This is serious.”

Siasha sighs, looking away for a moment before turning back to look at me again.

“When Malyss came back from Outland, her soul aura was green.”

Es pipes up. “So, what, she was jealous or something?”

Siasha shook her head. “I only wish. Jealousy actually glows yellow or orange. No, a green soul aura is impossible… but if you think she has been corrupted by the Legion, that might explain it. You see, Fel energy is very powerful, and very addictive. Your people, Lelissa, being more closely related to the Eredar would be extremely sensitive to it. Personally, I don’t think red skin and claws would be a good look for you.”

Siasha stares for a moment at the soul shard laying on the table before picking it up.

“I need some of my reference books. Just a moment.”

Siasha hops down from her chair to the floor and walks to an empty corner nearby, slightly hiking up her robes to keep them from dragging in the dirt. She whispers a word, the fingernail on her right index finger growing long and impossibly sharp… using that nail, she carves a fel rune into the shard, continuing the incantation, the nail retreating quickly when her carve is finished.

It’s a strange ritual to watch; Siasha is holding the shard like she would a lover, gently brushing the back of her hand across the rune like it was her partner’s face. Her eyes are half-lidded as she brings the rune to her lips and kisses it gently, whispering to it one last time. “Come to me… Darora…”

The light in the room dims just a little bit more. Shadows begin to gather at Siasha’s feet, swirling around her, cradling her in a dark embrace before rushing into the shard in her hands. Opening her palms, Siasha lets the shard fall from her grasp, but it doesn’t fall very far – instead, it stops abruptly just inches from where she let it go, spinning slowly in midair, and pulsing with a black light from within.

I can feel the tug of this power on my soul. Fel energy, calling out to me… Siasha is right; the Draenei are very susceptible to it. Even as it calls to me, though, I am repulsed by it… it seems so unnatural, so demonic, that even as my soul turns from it, my muscles force my body to twist away as well.

The shadows begin to solidify and take shape, the shard becoming the heart of Siasha’s summons… the shadows coalesce into veins sprawling haphazardly about, bones stacked in a kneeling position, overlaying with muscle, sinew, skin, until finally solidifying into a voluptuous, sultry shape…

“There you are, Darora dear,” Siasha says to the succubus kneeling before her. “I have an errand for you.”

“An errand?” Darora whines. Even her whine sounds seductive and petulant at the same time. “Why me? Why couldn’t you have one of the others do it?”

Siasha pats the complaining succubus on the head. “Simple, dear. Pagnam is too small to carry all the books I need, Bruuzhum would drool all over them, and Hathgak can’t read. That leaves you. Now, I need you to go back to my library and get me my copy of my Uncle Cogtosser’s Fel Power: Locales and Liaisons… Aunt Zot’s Fel Primaries: Orcs and Elves… oh, and my copy of Jaina’s treatise on Fel-tainted Orcs.”

The succubus sighs, her rather ample and barely clothed bosom heaving with boredom. “Oh, fine. I’ll go get your books. You know, you haven’t let me seduce an elf in such a long time. I’m starting to wonder if you remember what I’m here for.”

The succubus strolls out of the inn, hips swaying provocatively, and I have to admit I’m amused by the numerous pairs of eyes, both male and female, watching her leave with great interest.

“Ah, here we are. Now, as you know, there are locations on Azeroth and Outland that are heavily corrupted. Felwood on the continent of Kalimdor especially, and Shadowmoon Valley are probably the worst for continuous fel contamination. These two locations are constantly influenced by the corrupted environment caused from previous invasions.”

I nod. “I’ve been to Felwood on numerous occasions, but the fel energy there doesn’t seem so strong.”

“Well, that’s mostly because of time. The environment tends to take care of itself if you let it, and you don’t pollute the area more than you have. Smar is always giving me lectures whenever I have to summon an infernal. Anyway, it’s also possible to corrupt people. Warlocks tend to carry that corruption in varying degrees, since we’re always dabbling with the magic, but you don’t have to be a Warlock to be affected. The Orcs have had problems with fel corruption for quite some time. Only one group managed to escape the corruption, which was originally caused by the drinking of demon blood.”

Lelissa raced up the side of the mountain, her friend Ravekk, an Orc of the Doomhammer clan, running closely behind her. Ravekk was young, having seen his fifteenth summer on Draenor, and he had yet to take his trial of passage into adulthood. Lelissa was much older, though still not an adult by Draenei society standards, given the long lives that the Draenei were accustomed to having. Normally, this race would be full of laughter and joy, but today, this flight is caused by fear.

The two scrambled over rocks and brambles, a half dozen Orcs behind them, axes and blades swinging through the air. Shouts of “Get them!” and “Crush that Draenei maggot!” carried to their ears on the wind, only adding to the panic Lelissa felt when she first saw the Orcs rushing at her with weapons drawn.

An axe whistled past her head, catching the sunlight as it whipped past her field of vision, blinding her for just an instant. Lelissa stumbled on the rocks and fell forward, throwing her arms in front of her to protect her face and head.

Ravekk caught her by the arm, lifting her easily with his muscled frame. “Come on, Tail, no time for that now! We gotta go!” Even in her panic, Lelissa had to laugh at her nickname. She had called him Tusk, for his single lower fang that protruded from his mouth over his upper lip. In turn, he called her Tail, not just because she had one, but because the structure of his mouth and teeth didn’t agree with sibilant words and phrases, it was hard for him to say her name. When he was certain that Lelissa had her footing, he pushed her forward, turning to face their attackers. “Keep going! I’ll be right behind you!”

Those were the last words he ever said to her. When she cleared the ridge and spared a second to look back, she was just in time to see Tusk’s head sailing away from his torso, courtesy of a well-swung axe.

“On the other hand, the Sin’dorei Elves… don’t curl your lip like that, dear, it’s not becoming… have always had issues with magical addiction ever since Azshara’s rule. When they discovered the rush they could get from fel energy… well, let’s just say it’s like giving a dwarf the key to the mead cellar. The ones that followed Kael’thas into Outland are even worse, since they’ve succumbed to the blood taint as well. They might as well be doubly corrupted. And they’re crazy, too, if you ask me.”

“So, can it be reversed? We’re talking about my sister, here.”

“Patience, sweetie, we’re getting to that. Now, it’s possible to cleanse the tainted demonic energy from felcloth – I’ve done it myself on numerous occasions – but it requires a Moonwell and is a tiring and time-consuming practice. The Aldor in the Temple of Unending Light in Shattrath are able to cleanse the taint from fel armor found on the demons of Outland, or so I’ve heard. I’m not exactly welcome there, you see. So obviously, it’s possible to cleanse the taint from items.”

Siasha sighs.

“People, though… The Orcs have been trying to find a way to cleanse the blood haze from their tribes and clans for some time now, but according to Miss Proudmoore, it’s only a theory. She seems to be under the impression that it should be possible to trap a soul inside a soul gem, and then cleanse it with a combination of Shamanic and Druidic magic, performed in a special ritual circle.”

“So, we could do this for Malyss?”

Siasha scoffs; a sure sign that the sarcasm is about to be spread pretty thick. “Oh, sure. All we have to do is find her, subdue her, and keep her from killing any of us in the process. Then we have to separate her soul from her body without killing her, and then hope that Jaina’s theory is correct. After that, Peaches can perform a minor miracle and coax the soul back into the body so it’s aligned properly, and we can all live happily ever after. ” Siasha frowns at me. “Yeah, that’ll work.”