Starpetal stepped forward, body language first confident and commanding, and then hesitated. "We're not from Stormwind, spellbreaker. We're adventurers from the Argent Dawn and former Wretched. My name was Davion Starpetal and this is our captiain Jonathan, son of Levin, Gnomish Paladin responsible for your citizens recovery."

The young man went white and forcibly kept his eyes from bugging out. He waved a hand shakily at the imposing, apparent mage hunter, and forced himself not to quail under the suspicious glower. "The guild of scourge hunters and scavengers from the southern kingdoms." The man acknowledged, relaxing visibly. "I take it then you're the 'fake death knight' responsible for the last group of refugees."

Jonathan nodded and Manapetal continued, taking encouragement from the guards drop in hostility, though Jonathan could see incredulity and wariness still clear on their faces.

"Yes, most our party was collected within Silvermoon itself from the ranks of the Wretched. However, Jonathan's light-forged alchemy ran out before we could save more than a dozen."

The red armored soldier pursed his lips and stood straighter. "This is an extraordinary story. You understand we'll have to verify it before allowing you into the protected zone."

Davion nods. "Of course, that is to be expected. I'm sure we'll all consent to being placed under guard while you bring us to someone in charge."

The 'spellbreakers' pull back to the doors from which they had burst into the room and form ranks, causing Johothan and many of the formerly wretched elves to cringe. The sorcerer makes his way over to the man and catches a muttered comment by one of the revived elves.

"Light-forged alchemy, ha! What sort of wears a necromancers armor and uses blood?"

"The type who wants to hide from the undead."Jonathan replies, grabbing Starpetal's hand and leading him away from the others. Ysolde and Lynnette also took notice and moved to join them as fast as would not cause panic by their guards.

"Why did you tell them that?" Jonathan hissed. "Couldn't you have come up with a lie better than an organization I know nothing about?"

The professor frowns. "I was more concerned they would try to verify my identity and become suspicious or else reject anything I had to say on account of my new body being a half-blood. Such distinctions are decidedly not favored here." He returns calmly. "As for the Argent Dawn, they're a noble if motley sort. The order is a new one drawn from all races whose only requirement is that you dedicate your life to countering the scourge. Any attempt to discredit our membership would be pointless as any member may recruit and many do without telling the rest about it."

"Starpetal has the right of it," Ysolde tells you, voice low, "but he forgets an important detail. You've no training in, nor items infused with, the Light. To the point, it'd behoove you" she turns to Lynette "to get rid of those soul-blades. Its just lucky that armor you made Jonathan lost its enchantments fuling the ritual, or they'd have attacked us on sight for wearing it. The rest of us at least have good elven garments, even if they are a little torn and bloodstained. Remember, while you were used to counter resistance efforts, I've did reconnaissance and assassination here. They're VERY jumpy about necromancy."

Lynnette raises a red brow. "And they won't be suspicious of our claiming to have fought our way through the plague lands, all of quel'thalas and be accompanied by reclaimed wretched? Don't be daft. They already have witnesses to Jonathan and my banshee self working together. We're going to be thoroughly examined no matter our story, never mind if one of us slips up and reveals elements of the real story. That's why we cut off the betrayers head in the first place rather than just letting you have your fun. As soon as someone important comes to review us, we pull it out."

Jonathan raised his hand and the others looked at him. "I've been thinking over the things you told me about Dar'Khan, won't they be suspicious about how we even managed to take him out? I mean, he was supposed to be able to singlehandedly duel all of your senators." In a medieval society where ass-kicking equaled authority, it was a valid concern.

Lynette smiled at him. "They will be suspicious. But that's where keeping the daggers comes in, allowing them to write us off as simple assassins. They'll also scout or scry Deatholme to confirm our story. The crater there will waylay all of their concerns, I'd wager."

"And how much would you wager, Lady adventurer?" A voice asks, cutting through the conversation.

The group turns around to see a column of figures clad in more red and black armor halfway between them and the door. Lynette's eyes widen and Starpetal pales while Jonathan and Ysolde look on in confusion. His confusion quickly turns to alarm. The forward two figures, a sallow skinned elf with a blue ponytail and intricate red and gold robes, and a warrior in resplendent crimson and black armor with a goatee and wicked scar running across his face. Most importantly though, both of their eyes blaze with a poisonous green light. It's nothing like the cool jade of his new power, but familiar nonetheless. Like a half remembered ritual.

"Lor'Themar Theron!" Lynette goes into an awkward curtsy and Starpetal settles for a salute. Darkwhisper sneers slightly before settling into an expression of smug superiority. "I'd wager my life on it, Ranger Lord" the redhead replies, reaching for the sack with our supplies and Dar'khan's head.

Lor'Themar's guards tense and a neon green spell weaves itself around the purple elf's wrist as she pulls out the box containing their trophy and presents it to the military commander.

While one of the Guards marches forward to retrieve it, stopped by an exasperated Ranger Lord, Jonathan's eyes fixate on the purple elf. "Demon..." he breathes softly, eyes flicking up to the elf's eyes as the dark power strikes a familiar chord to his memories of life in Sunny Hell and the power of the helmouth. He looks back and forth between Lor'themar and the mage, lips pursed. The energy is wrong despite its familiarity, not the same dark magic from home but somehow... purer. The guy was obviously a fellow warlock, but the thing Jonathan wasn't sure of was if he was just bad at cleansing, didn't even bother, or was an outright half-demon.

The elf locks eyes with him and glares. Immediately there's a sort of pressure on his temples and his eyes begin to itch. "Gra ix ta Arashmahar, ikalgo nex" the earth-warlock whispers, invoking Arashmahar, plane of Vengeance, and draws in dark magic. Thus done, he grabs onto the mental probe and the world falls away around them, slowing as if stuck in molasses.

You're not a paladin the elf replies, mental voice smug, curious and suspicious. As the elf speaks the by gets a sense of his opponent. Rommath, One of the few surviving Magisters from the Fall of Silvermoon. He's also recently learned Chaos Magic, which is the reason for the nauseating green spells.

And you're not very good at cleansing yourself he replies. I could teach you. It would be... nostalgic. He said, thinking of how he had learned with Willow Rosenberg, and how he'd taught his friend Andrew Wells.

Cleansing myself? The elf laughs. Of what? Sheer power? This is my masters gift! A promise of renewal and hope to all blood elves! Through the connection Jonathan saw an image of elves draining magic from a variety of objects and creatures, several of whose power staggered him just with Rommath's memory of their presence. Most though, and most unfortunately, were demons, captured and imprisoned in giant crystals. The warlock could appreciate the ingenuity it took to make a workaround like that, but they were using demons who's power was too...meager for the effort involved. Better than contracting perhaps, but that led to their current...stupidity.

Jonathan snorts, projecting derision. And who is your master? What greedy, betrayal happy idiot demon have you pledged your service too that mental stability and freedom from outside influence is to be laughed at?

No demon, boy. My Lord, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider taught me... An image of the blond 'prince' and numerous impressions of the man appeared in Rommanth mind, but in the most prominent one he was kneeling to another, rather than having others kneeling to him.

That's a lie. Jonathan, cut him off, and not a very good one either. You're not familiar with Telepathic communication are you? Another reason you need me.

The elf's eyes narrowed and brightened in a glare and Jonathan got an impression of another (much darker purple) elf, only this one was mutated to match the visage of a classic demon. It's feet were cloven hooves, hands held wicked talons, teeth became fangs, great rams horns curved up from the elves forehead, draconic wings loomed folded across the back and it's eyes were literal pits of fire. Illidan Stormrage, Lord of Outland, The Betrayer.

Then the Image turned to look at him and Jonathan quickly backpedaled, drawing back the strength of his probe to just barely enough to maintain the connection, a headache rapidly forming at his temples.

So that is what it feels like... the elf replied, irritated but thoughtful. Yes, I am acquainted mostly with searching the thoughts of others. My own people have more respect than that and lesser races have never had the skill nor power to challenge my command over my mind Few enough even know how reply... Perhaps there are things we could learn from each other... gnome was it? But no, that's not right either. …you're human...

Jonathan could feel the disdain and fury rippling off those words and caught more glimpses of the elf's past, unbidden. Those of a armored bearlike human noble and a rather impressive Gothic Fantasy prison. Garithos, I presume? I have it on good authority even his human troops and sub-commanders hated him.

The rage diminished to a dull throb, but the disdain ratcheted up a notch. Disloyalty. As expected from humans.

Disloyalty makes the assumption I ever owed the man Loyalty, the boy counters can't be loyal to someone you've never met. Unless you're referring to the mans soldiers, in which case I'd tell you human Loyalty is nuanced and must be earned rather than given.

On that at least, we are in full agreement, human.

So... what happens now? Will you take my offer?

I think not. The Magister replied, causing Jonathan's blood to rise. An image of Dar'khan's head appears in his mind briefly and he continues. Your friends service to Silvermoon notwithstanding, we're not in a position to entertain... guests, at the moment.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he tried to suppress the feeling of resentment and hostility no doubt projecting across the link and replied slowly. But you're not the one who decides that, are you? He asked digging into his opponents mind once more. An image of the white haired elf beside the magister flashed though Rommath's mind, despite the elfs obvious resistance. It's Reagent Lord Lor'themar Theron's. While it's true that my friends were the ones to take down Dar'khan, I was the one who took down Deatholme and provided the spell that just broke the deadlock on your ley lines and healed some of the wretched. You elves are starving for magic and desperately holding out against the scourge, right? You're welcome, in the last week I did more for your people than you probably have in your life. And I yet have more to offer. You. Owe. Me.

The elf looked floored by the vehement pronouncement and the memories slamming into his mind for a moment, but quickly recovered. Arrogant welp. I personally saved everyone who still resides in this city when your Prince Arthas stormed through the city and was involved in destroying the sunwell so that it's corruption wouldn't doom the entire world. Now I bring them multiple means of sating their arcane nourishment and a means of escaping this hell which the orcs and humans have created. Regardless, your achievements are debatably relevant. I shall not stand in your way. We shall learn if you can call yourself elf-friend or if they merely served your own survival.

And with that, the magister wrenched control of the spell back from Jonathan and ended it, bringing them both back into the normal flow of time.

The pair of them snap back to their sense as Lynette presents the Tigers-eye blades to the Reagent Lord, the head even now being placed back in its box by a spell-breaker.

"And Impressive feat, to be certain, young Assassin." The Elven leader said thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to relinquish these blades to our mages college. To be able to enchant our weapons to strike down the Undead more permanently would almost be a greater boon than your party ending the traitors existence."

"I... Yes, yes, of course, Ranger General." The redhead nods quickly.

The white haired defacto ruler turns to Rommath and inclines his head. The elf, still as off balance from the mental assault is nevertheless quick on the uptake and conjures a small but ornate display box which he opens before a nervous Lynnette. She places the weapons within, trying not to look hurried and the box is shut. With the important artifacts secured, Lorthemar's expression moves from dour and thoughtful to gracious and open. "Come, my friends. Walk with me. We will need to get you screened and scry Deatholme, but I forsee a small celebration to honor your accomplishments in the cities future. It will coincide nicely with our increased ability to provide arcane rations to the populace." He explains, leading the four of you between the columns of Mage-Hunters. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

Jonathan and Ysolde eye the red plated warriors with trepidation as the group is led out of the room and toward a set of portals, but is distracted by Manapetal answering. "That would be our doing, Ranger Lord." The Magister replies smoothly. "Jonathan provided us with a ritual for magically purging an area. Lynnette and I were able to adapt it for use with Ley-Nexus circuit at a An'owyn and cleanse the countryside of Necromancy."

Lorthemar froze mid-step before stopping just outside the terminus of the portal. "Indeed?"

Jonathan's expression tightens with worry, pride and determination. A quick glare is exchanged with Rommath, but he steps forward and bows slightly. "I can do it again, if need be, Reagent Lord. But understand, the conditions are fairly specific. As are the material requirements. If I could have a lab..."

"We'll see." With that, he vanished into the swirling portal.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Lunch at the Summers residence was... tense, Dawn decided. Willow was spending a significant amount of time worrying over her Arcane Spirits, thinking them similar to the monstrous byproducts of large spells, Buffy was caught between glaring at her for the imagined slight of cavorting with elves and glaring at Spike as he played with his new Police badge and Pistol, and Dawn herself was trying to figure out how to wriggle out their overprotective grip without seeming like a brat.

...Ok, more of a brat than she normally was.

Robo-buffy moved around the table busing plates and laying down new dishes with chirpy, perky commentary and Dawn thanked her for the nuttella and olive hamburger. Taking a bite and savoring the bizarre taste the monks had developed in her, Dawn decided to go for broke.

"They haven't tried to use me to fuel a portal." The table is suddenly stone silent. "What? They haven't. They're not evil. Or at least, not anymore. Or not any more than Spike."

"Hey!" The former vampire exclaims.

"But, how do you know that?" Buffy asks, voice strained.

Dawn grins apologetically at Spike. "Because I do. Call it woman's intuition." Buffy glares at her and she relents. "It was also sort of their sales pitch. 'Hey, we're not the badguys; just to prove it, we'll teach you something to protect yourself.' I think it's worked out pretty well so far. I mean, ok, the arcane spirits are a bit of an 'oops my bad', but that's totally my fault. I just need to work on it a little!"

Buffy and Willow look at each other and the redhead takes up the rebuttal. "So they're not teaching you magic so you can make the portal home for them?"

Dawn blushed and Buffy slammed her fist on the table. "Damn it! Whats next, are they going to try to use the Hellmouth as a doorway like every other idiot who comes to town?"

Dawns blush deepened as she remembered the team that had come back from surveying said Helmouth and shook her head in denial. "No, they want to use the point Jonathan vanished through. They think he got sent to their world rather than dying."

Everybody is silent again. As Buffy and Willow stare at each other, seeming to hold some sort of private conversation, Spike speaks up. "The runt lives huh? Good for him! Stuck in the land of sexy elves? He can hold on till Red whips up some way to check on him."

"We should probably tell Xander," Willow adds, quietly.

Buffy snorts, but nods. "The weren't close, but they were friends. Anya's been distracting him. Loudly. Repeatedly." The she glares at Dawn. "That doesn't get you off the hook though. Floaty lights. Magic. Why?"

"I wanted to do something and they offered." Dawn replies, simply. "As for the arcane spirits, the mix of magic that makes me The Key is ridiculously high in Spirit element, so making these by accident is..."

"You mean earth magic?" Willow asks.

"Spirit, like captain Planet?" Spike laughs.

Dawn shakes her head. "No, Spirit as in Life, Death and cheesy martial arts movies. Apparently magic where they come from is a lot more... pure I guess you'd say. Magic here is frustrating them because everything's a mixed up mess. The power of the Hellmouth is equal parts Death, Darkness, Chaos and Order. Earth Magic is an odd, thin mix of Order, Life, Spirit and the four Primals."

"What about light?" Buffy asks. "If there's Darkness, then there's light, right?"

"Oh, that's up in San Francisco." Spike replies off hand. "A couple of other hot spots like Tokyo, Denmark and others. Hella uncomfortable. Not much of it though. Not as comforting a thought as it used to be."

Everybody looked at him, Dawn more intently than the other two. The Light, though Buffy and Willow may or may not understand, was the Light of Creation, quite possibly the Light Of God. Was there not a hotspot in the middle east? Or did Spike simply not know about it because deserts were just a really bad place to be a vampire? She had no clue, and less about whether to tell the elves or not. Their priestess, Goldenglade, could probably benefit from the knowledge, but the woman was poking at the Helmouth... Which action would make her this years big bad? Dawn hoped neither, but hellmouth...

She shook it off. "Anyway, spirit tends to do funny things to magic, and so, my friends!" The sparks of purple light spun around the room like a disco for a couple of seconds before closing in to hover behind her chair like a constellation of stars. Several of the lights intersected with the Buffy-bot and disappeared, but nobody noticed as the android began passing out ice cream and coffee. Spike dug in ravenously while the girls used it in lieu of conversation as an excuse to think.

Eventually Willow spoke up. "I think Tara and I should go with you next time you meet the elves. Just to see about their teaching methods. Make sure they're not evil and everything."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. I'll bring Giles along as well. We just had our yearly big bad. Best to make sure we're not about to have another one five months early. That would suck. It's supposed to be summer!"

"Oy, what about me?" Asked the former vampire. "M' I chopped liver or somethin? Didn't we just get deputized by the Mayor?"

Buffy rolls her eyes at him. "You've also got a problem with light fingers. You can watch Dawn when you're not playing Kitten Poker."

"Hey!" Dawn argued. "I'm not some kid! I'm older than you were when you became the Slayer and these are my magic lessons you're talking about going to! And these guys?" She gestured to the remaining Arcane Spirits, who contracted to points and started glowing brightly, "They can put me on your combat level, sis!"

~! #$%^&*()_+

On the other side of town, Warren Meers sat back from the screen where he'd been monitoring the Buffy Bot's visual feed. He'd originally installed the update to the Girlfriend Drone to keep tabs on the Vampire who'd beaten him up to get one, but it had been deactivated months ago by the real Buffy Summers. It had come as a shock to him to see it reengage one night while plotting out the next stage in his, Jonathan and Andrews D&D campaign.

He'd seen his friends 'death' and the birth of the 'elves' but assumed that the creatures had been your standard demon. Now he knew that not only were they not elves, but they had a better understanding of this magic thing than even Rosenburg. Further, Jonothan was on their world, palling around with who knew how many similarly sexy fantasy girls.

Lucky son of a bitch. Shrimp was likely totally blowing it too...

Still, it sort of screwed his plan to have Andrew summon and bind one of them to their will though.

That didn't mean he couldn't have one of course... just no mindless sex-bunnies. And if their approach to things was scientific enough... well, Warren had no qualms about helping them play Star-Trek or Plansewalker. Or getting rich from inter-planetary trade.

Kicking back and spinning around in his office chair, Warren rubbed his hands together and pulled out a cell phone. "It's time to science the shit out of this."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Stockton California, Women's Correctional Facility.

"430019!" Faith Lehaine, the dark slayer, pauses in the middle of a workout routine as the guards call her number across the Prison Yard. Using the bar she was hanging from to do a flip, the empowered warrior lands, snatches a blue burlap shirt from the ground by her feet and heads over to the metal door.

"What is it baldie?" She snarks, squinting up at the tall black man who'd called for her.

"You got a visitor, Lehaine" he replies, bored. "They need you inside."

"Right." She snorts. "Angel again?"

The guard shakes his head. "Nah, someone new this time. Dunno much, but the warden said something about a fairy godmother." He raises the phone on the wall to his mouth and calls into the receiver; "430019 is at the door, clear."

The thick metal slab jerks, a klaxon buzzes, and the door opens. Faith slouches in and gives her new escort a raised brow. The hispanic woman flinches and lowers the set of cuffs she'd been about to place on the dark slayer. "Right, follow me."

The pair of women move through the halls, stopping at various doors for clearance and surprise Faith by heading for the cafeteria rather than the glass and phones visitation rooms. "What's this? I ain't got no family for special treatment."

The Hispanic woman declines to answer and gestures for her to sit at one of the tables, before heading off towards the door. Rolling her eyes, Faith sits down. When the guard reaches the door, it opens and a distortion, like a bad photograph, issues out of it. Faith blinks and rubs her eyes as the distortion moves forward, but when she opens them, it doesn't help. A woman with slate grey skin, pointed ears and bronze fantasy armor is walking towards her in the middle of a rainbow shaded distortion.

"Alright, you pay the guard to dope me, or this some sorta magic bullshit?" she snarks at the possibly imaginary woman.

Said woman's mouth curls up in a grin, showing sharp teeth. "Magic bullshit, Faith Slayer." She replies, sitting down. "Normal humans see me as a Nubian woman in a pants-suit. Even so, this is a good omen."

"Some sort of prophet, huh? Look, you're hot, but I'm here to suffer for my past, not get involved in more destined bullshit. I'm the bad slayer, get it?"

She turned to the side and raised her hand to waive over the guard, but her arm was caught almost before she could do so by the grey woman and forced back down to the table with obscene strength. "Allow me to tell you something about Destiny, child. It can be resisted... Even defeated... with a strong enough will. Your destiny, as it stands is to rot here for another year and a half before escaping to try and save the Vampire Angel by returning his lost soul. You will fail to be anything but a delaying action for Willow Rosenburg and move on to living a life of half measures, as an utterly ineffective hero, leaving the same amount of death in your wake as if you'd embraced your nature as a destroyer. Your only true victory comes after Buffy Summers destroys this worlds soul and ends magic, at which point you become a social worker for former slayers. Your impact is that they continue to make an impact. Honorable, to be sure, but a feat which could be accomplished by Dawn, Rupert or Alexander should you not be there."

Tears begin to track their way down Faith's cheeks, and her arm quakes against the against the other womans strength, but her eyes are hard. "Bullshit. That's bullshit! Why say destiny can be fought and then insist mine is to always lose unless you're here with some stupid offer? Alright then, get on with it, bitch!"

The elf's sharp toothed grin widens further. "You always had a way with words. No, contrary to your belief, I am not here with the Powers That Be to bind you into a new more obedient destiny. I am after all, I'm a similarly disobedient child. I'm here to give you a choice. Follow me to a new life. One where you have no destiny. Where nothing is written for you. Beyond the reach of The Powers, where you should never be, and where you can create a life all your own. Yes, there will be violence. But I get the feeling you'll enjoy that. You are not a bad girl, Faith. You were simply born on the wrong world; betrayed and alone. I offer to fix two of the three."

"What... sort of demon are you?"

"Demon? Amusing. I'm a Dragon. Make your choice."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Silvermoon.

The terminus of the portal was the Silver Spire, recently renamed Sunfury spire by it's new owner, Archmage Aethas Sunreaver, leader of the Sunfury guild which split its time between the reclaiming ruined cities of Silvermoon, Dalaran and another site everybody was being cagey about in Jonathan's presence. Each of the elves and Jonathan were quickly paired with two of the city guard while a mage examined them thoroughly. Bands of plum light formed intricate patterns around the adventuring team and misty swirling aura began to form over their bodies from which the magi of the tower began to take notes.

"You said you were a paladin?" The mage examining the small human asked, frowning as he looked Jonathan up and down. Gold light emanated from the crown on his brow, but with a few small exceptions everything else was lightning rimmed turquoise. "You've an alarming spiritual presence, a little necromancy which is consistent with, if a little weak for, your story of having performed a death ritual. You've clearly used a number of arcane spells very recently and there's this odd magic I can't quite define except to say it's similar to the blessings of a Loa, but you've not a arco of Light in you beyond this artifact."

Jonathan nodded, a serious look on his face as an excuse to buy time. Thinking fast he wracked his brain as he had been for the last few minutes to come up with an explanation. "You know the relationship between Life, Spirit and Death magic?" he asked, grasping at straws.

The elf narrows his eyes and the rest of the room turns to look at him. "Yes, but spirit becomes Nature magic with only the slightest taint of light magic. Anything more and the light consumes the spirit three and becomes stronger..."

Jonathan smirked, silently thanking the elf for giving him an out. "And what if one wee little paladin channels enough death magic to kill an entire empire?"

"Then you should be dead." the elf deadpans.

Jonathan raises a hand and taps the crown on his brow. Everybody is looking at it now, and Jonathan feels the urge to cringe and shrink in on himself at the naked hunger in many of their eyes.

Then the elf in front of him shakes himself and his face splits into a smile. "Indeed... indeed. Well, you are cleared to enter Silvermoon, Father Jonathan." He lowers his voice so that only Jonathan should be able to hear him. "I shall... endeavor to see the Regent Lord raises your security clearance, my friend. I hope to escort you to meet one of our... less social residents."

"If we're to be... friends..." Jonathan murmurs back, "Then might I have your name?"

The elf looks slightly nonplussed but nods. "I am Inverneth, head professor for Arcane studies in this state of emergency. I apprentice refugees such as your... friends" he looked over at the former wretched before continuing "and oversee the production of arcane rations for the populace as a training exercise to build young magi's stamina."

Jonathan's eyes widened somewhat at that but instead of responding, filed it away for later. Lynette and Davion had explained how the elves were starving for mana and he had seen the results, both before his appearance on this world and earlier this morning, but he hadn't put much thought into how the issue was dealt with. Of it it was being dealt with at all, given the mana draining abilities he'd seen in Rommath's mind were a rather new addition to the city.

Magi were obviously in great demand. Given how difficult it was to learn ritual based casting, he could only imagine the sort of bottleneck this placed on Azeroth with the requirement that magi do the entire ritual in their head and adjust it on the fly in the case of battle-magi.

Or what a terrifying place it was if they were easy to come by. This world was giving him an ego boost, for all it's terror; but something like that would be a body-blow.

Released from the Mage Trainer's clutches, the young man scuttled over to Lynette's side.

Starpetal and Lynette were released by their examiners quickly enough, but Darkwhisper was held up. Not, much to everybody's relief, because 'his' examiner recognized Dar'Khan's body, but because of the dark power 'he' had used to subdue the Wretched. Magister Surdiel Dawnglow, a veteran of the second war recognized it as the same power Gul'Dan's Death Knights had wielded against the young Alliance.

"It's also the same power that drove our people mad in Tirisfal," Ysolde replied, gruffly, citing an old legend told in the troll books. "Why we left it to the humans, rather than fight them for it. Your point? The void heeds those who despair. You'll find many a former priest turned to it for solace."

"Heretic..." Dawnglow hissed. "Spellbreakers, watch this one! He's dangerous."

The red plated warriors straightened to attention at Darkwhipsers sides, but Jonathan clearly heard one of them snort. "And the rest of them aren't?"

Ysolde's eyes flicked over to the former wretched making their way in now to be examined. "I brought most of them down myself. Keep that in mind before quarantining them for void energies" 'he said, and then turned sharply, flaring Dar'Khan's cape dramatically as he moved to join the other three, the spell-breakers shadowing his movements.

The now six man party made their way to the door, and after receiving a nod from a blond elf beside Lor'Themar, they were led, not to a cell, but across a bridge between towers and into an opulent bedroom flush with silks and blush cushions.

"These are old ambassador's quarters." One of the red clad men told them. "Lord Brightwing has been using them to house visitors from Outland and any woman foolish enough to get pregnant in these dark times, but the tower still has some left over space. Don't expect to stay here long. The Prince has promised us allies, so real diplomats will likely be moving in within the fortnight. Consider it a courtesy for the death of the Traitor."

His partner then points first and Jonathan and then Darkwhisper. "You two unfortunately won't be going anywhere without escort, but your teammates can come and go as they please. If you need provisions, they'll be provided to you. If you need money... well, lets just say the Regent Lord and our Prince are likely to be generous. IF you behave."

Jonathan adjusts the strap on his pack and smiles innocently. "Do you have any cherries?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Sylvanas winces as a misjudged dive ends with her back against an uneven boulder in the ruins of Deatholme. Just behind her one of the Royal Guard bursts into wraith form before dissipating with a strangled gurgle. Not pausing to mime regret, real or frined, she rolls out from behind the rock and draws her bow. Ebon tendrils snake between her cocked fingers and the arrow rest, and she pauses just long enough for the pulsing darkness to bridge the distance before firing. The dark arrow shrieks with the power of Death and Void working in entropic concert toward a target that vanishes in a puff of smoke.

"Et no be dat easy, queeny girl..." a drawl rasps from behind her, and the banshee leaps forward, out of the near grip on her shoulder.

One pause, one second of hesitation, and oblivion.

NO! Not until she had her chance to repay Arthas for what he had done!

"What is your game, Loa?" She called out, her quarry no longer where she had just left it. The leader of the forsaken makes several gestures to her fellow dark rangers and they spread themselves so that no area and no team member is without over-watch, arrows nocked and eyes wide.

"Ooh ses I be wantin a ting, queeny girl?" The ghastly god asks from above, vanishing before a hail of black arrows. "Mebey da ting I be wantin don deal wit you. Mebey you just be da 'musin' ting en de wae."

Sylvanas suppressed a curse and scanned the area for the new source of the voice. Dipping into her banshee abilities she projected a whisper to two of her guard. "Selune, return to the Undercity. The Horde must be warned the Amani are rising. We may be able to turn this to our advantage, but not if we wait. Shar, make tracks for Silvermoon, our surviving relatives need to be warned. Take the emergency Hearthstone with you, this diplomatic retunue may need to be...delayed indefinitely."

The two corpses nodded and tensed ready to flee when Sylvanas upped the volume. "What are you interested in then, Bwon Samdi? Perhaps we could come to an arrangement. Trolls are of course welcome in the Horde."

There was silence for almost a minute before the Loa replied. It started in low, and then it started to grow. The great spirit was laughing. And not in a pleasant way. "Dem faithless Orcs? An you queenie? Dead men led by dead ELVES..." The voice thundered with that last word and Sylvanas could feel the rocks weather and her own body decay under the sheer power of the Trolls disgust. "No, I be tinkin you should go afor I do be takin intrest. Shoo, little crying girl, I be waitin for someone. Scream else in de world, afor I decide you scream for me."

Sylvanas swore, but before she could say anything further a pillar of poisonous green light issued from a black hole in the cloud cover and shivering green flames slammed into a point on the crater wall above them, quickly spreading out and moving towards them in a Hungry manner. The Loa Howled in rage, but the Forsaken cared little. A warlock, or maybe even the Legion itself, had launched a Fel-Firestrike at their location. That meant someone was watching the engagement and whoever it was didn't give a damn that they were there.

On in the case of it being the Legion, thought to take out two priority targets in one fel swoop.

The Banshee's scattered, flying in retreat as fast as their powers would carry them.

~! #$%^&*()_+

"Rommath! What just happened?" Halduron Brightwing Demanded, alarmed as the scrying pool suddenly filled with neon-green light. "Is it the Legion? Spell-breaker's! Prepare the General Alarm! Get the Civilians to the Evacuation points and pre..."

"Calm yourself, Ranger Lord..." The Grand Magister drawled. "And belay that order, Knight Captain. The Legion isn't on it's way, though we should be on the lookout for rogue Warlocks."

"Sire?" Halduron asked, looking to his former commanding officer, Lor'Themar for confirmation, something that by Rommath's expression clearly irritated him.

"It's...not an issue, old friend." The Regent Lord told his replacement Ranger General. "I have a fair Idea who's responsible for this. I'll have a talk with them later. More important is what we've learned. The Forsaken are moving into our territory for a Diplomatic Venture, The Amani have a new Loa and the Gnome's story checks out. Deatholme is no-more and the rest of the world is starting to take notice. Halduron, tell the spell-breakers to be on alert for this 'Shar' and for more Troll attacks. If the Forsaken are here for us, we may be able to welcome more allies. If they're here for the Amani, we need to up our timetable. Rommath, perhaps you should like to tell us more about the Prince's Promised Land?"

The lavender elf pursed his lips and frowned, turning away from the scrying pool to face the pair. "Outland has... many terrains. And numerous holdouts. One, The Blades Edge has a number of large well protected verdant valley's where the Prince has set up for our people to live, but the work progresses slowly. Due mostly to Logistics. Outlands resources are abundant, but largely concentrated in wastelands the orcs have made as hellish as what we have to contend with here. I've cautioned you against moving the civilian population because I fear the shock may cause many of those who have held on to wither. If I may, m'lord..." He grimaces as though chewing on something foul and rotten "we may want to consider finalizing and advancing our plans for Paladin Levinson instead. If he can be used to cleanse the other two gateways, then we can reconstruct Ban'Dinoriel and wait out the Trolls, Undead and Demon as we have for millenia. The Prince only needs a few more months to prepare and the Ley Gates can be constructed underground this time for security and stealth."

Lor'themar nodded slowly. "General?" Halduron straightened "Prepare a scouting party and find some siege engineers. Regardless of the other outcomes The Grand Magisters suggestion has merit, and we've already one city cleansed. Rommath, I'll leave it to you to Introduce our new friends to Lady Liadrin." His eyes narrow. "Make sure the meeting goes smoothly. We do not need a repeat of Galell...or Orovinn."

The pair of them nodded, unhappy but determined.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Jonathan looked up from his computer as the door to their suite snapped shut suddenly and smiled at the sight of Lynnette. The redhead was looking harried and uncomfortable, but otherwise fine, so Jonathan decided to take heart from her appearance rather than anxiety. He turned to Darkwhisper, who was reciting troll texts to him from the basin of a pool sized bath and hit the save button. "Thanks, Ysolde, we'll have to continue this later though. I look forward to seeing what you can do with my books though."

He received a grumbling affirmative and quickly set the machine to the side and hopped, childlike, up to meet his first companion as she made her way across the room. "That was fast. Did you get what I asked for?"

She grimaced. "Yes, the staff or wand hands of three magic users. The city is less secure than I would like it to be, and I had to take their armor and coin to stop the guards from being suspicious." she replied, bringing them out of her bag. "You're sure these will work? You told me that the previous set of bones were simian if I remember."

Jonathan took them eagerly and started removing the intricately inscribed gauntlets from the desiccated undead limbs. "Yes, of course. When I said monkey, I meant Popobawa demons. Magical baboons that sodomize and eat people in Africa. They're popular summons for this sort of thing because as a subspecies of Wendigo they fill out the same requirements for voodoo type magic while reversing the ethical concerns involved with murder." He explained, snatching a fruit knife that had been brought with a bowl of fresh fruit earlier and beginning to pare away the rotted flesh. "They also happen to be summon-capable which is really convenient. Elf bones should be just as good. Better even because they aren't mutant monsters, they died and then were used for various dark magics afterwards. Should be a cleaner focus than what I was using before. "

She nodded slowly, mind moving unbidden to the numerous necromantic rituals she'd seen as a slave of Dar'Khan. There was a splashing of water and she looked over to see the object of her thoughts wrapping 'himself' in a towel through the door. The surrealism of the situation was making her deeply uncomfortable as Jonathan hummed and went about his grisly work. Shaking herself she steeled her heart. A feat made more difficult by a living body and lack of adrenaline. A fresh one at that, without her conditioned responses as an accomplished enchantress.

Speaking of which... She moved over to where Ysolde was now examining Jonathan's Black Tome. This... lap-top. It was like a book without pages, one inner cover set with rune-stones and the other a glowing illusion. She watched carefully as Ysolde clumbsily manipulated a tassel made of similar black material to change the image in the illusion, showing page after page of of arcane lore. Remarkable.

Fragile though, from what she remembered of Jonathan's insistence over it's handling during her time in charge of his body.

"Jonathan?"

"Hmm?" the boy asked, now examining the first set of Knuckle bones for excess flesh.

"What is the hard black material used in your 'lap-top' Tome?" She asked, curiosity burning now that survival, pain and revenge no longer clouded her mind. "What is it that allows it such essence density?"

He looks over, confusion writ large on his expression. "Huh? Oh, OH!" Then he laughed. "The cover. Right. Thats Rubber and Plastic, both plant extracts. They're not what make it work though. Inside is a, ah, how to explain... a complex ritual of copper, quartz and storm magic. I can go over it with you later, but the magic you're feeling is a series of blessings I put on it ever week to up the memory and processing capacity..." at her raised eyebrow he elaborated "er, wisdom and intelligence. How fast it can think and how many simultaneous lines of thought it can hold onto at the same time. The category of device it is is called a Computer. From what you've told me about the Gnomes, they probably have a few of these in their country, but HUGE and not nearly as useful."

Ysolde laughed. "Not nearly as useful, hah! I can't wait to see you in Gnomeregan. They'll murder you, out of envy or wounded pride I can only guess. I've heard of computers, they use Punch-cards, levers and are about the size of this tower." Then s/he saw Jonathan's face and laughed even harder at the horror reflected there.

"Forton and Cobol analytical engines?" The geek asked, incredulous. "I'm not certain whether to be impressed a Medieval world has one of those or horrified anyone decided to use those piles of garbage. Baby steps I guess. I'm not sure IBM even employs anybody who remembers those relics. How prevalent are they?"

Ysolde laughs even harder, clutching 'his' sides and Lynnette takes the opportunity to steal the laptop from 'him'. Staring at the glowing 'pages' with reverence, she takes the mouse and begins copying Ysoldes former actions, rolling the wheel down and dragging the tassel across the silk sheets.

Jonathan meanwhile goes back to cleaning the bones and trying his best to ignore the creeping horror of the what Darkwhispers laughter implies. A city run by punch-cards. If not more.

Those poor people.

After Ysolde recovers, s/he begins teaching Lynnette what Jonathan had shown and explained to 'him' over the last couple of hours. The trio work in quiet parallel until Starpetal returns.

Jonathan looks up at him. "Salt?"

The elven professor nods, pulling a large sack out of his pack and throwing it at the smaller boy. Jonathan catches it with his forearms and an 'oof!' while Starpetal moves to the ornate dark-wood desk across from the foot of the expansive bed. "There's a family down by the docks who makes it in lotts to pay for their protection and livlihood. You'd be surprised how much salt a city needs. Talked my ear off about it while the fire runes worked their magic. Anyway, I was able to acquire a voucher for the armory from one of Lor'Themar's functionaries" he explained to the now attentive group "As Lynnette predicted, the dismal state of affairs has been good for us. Recovered artifacts from houses and skirmishes with the undead have left silvermoon with a surplus of fine items. Many of them are being used to teach the surviving populace how to extract and consume arcane energy in the absence of the sunwell as a supplement to Mana Crystal Production at the Spire. I also got a look at those green crystals the wretched told us about. Here," he tossed another crystal to Jonathan "see what you can make of it."

Jonathan caught the gem, a harmless looking Emerald in one hand, having put down his knife and bones along with the salt. Holding it up to his eye he observed it closely, noting the dancing inner light he hadn't noticed before in the lighted room. Shrugging he crushed it in his fist and felt the surge of power flow down his arm and into his stomach. The rush of heady power caused him to gasp and then cough like a smoker. "Gak! Oh, wow, ah... That's... foul. Wow... I can see why the wretched described it as burning."

Davion scowled at him. "That was reckless." Then he shook his head. "What can you tell us. It feels... familiar, but I'm not certain."

"Right, ah, I'm used to a more mixed bag of energies rather than the pure stuff you guys are, but I'd say this tastes like the dark'fallen. I suppose that makes sense though..."

Davion eyes him suspiciously. "So it's dark magic then?"

"Huh?" Jonathan asked nonplussed. "Right, I haven't told you guys yet. Thought you woulda guessed though, given what you already told me about outland and the Guards mentioning it earlier. Your Prince and Rommath are sacrificing Demons and storing their souls in those green gems. That's what's powering the city right now. It's got a surprising amount of other magic in it though. It tasted pretty heavily of Blood and Order magic too. I think the Blood Magic is how they're balancing the order and chaos together and making them safe for mortal consumption. Pure chaos wouldn't hold it's shape for more than a few moments. Too hard to control."

The silence in the room was deadly, charged with a tension pouring out of the three elves.

"We should tell someone, shouldn't we?" Ysolde asked. "I mean, there may be a reason for it, like the Scourge Gargoyles." S/he looks at Jonathan. "You said they were sacrificing them, right? So it's not like they're in league with the Legion?"

"No, Human," Lynnette replies, quiet. "It'd be like us revealing we were recently undead and intended to continue using Necromancy. If the higher ups didn't execute us on the spot, then the mobs would try to tear us apart as members of the Cult of the Damned. Or run in panic thinking us more of the likes of Arthas and Dar'khan. If the public finds out that their leaders are feeding them demon souls..."

"It'll be civil war" Davion finishes coldly.

Jonathan winced. This would be a really bad time to tell them the scheme sorta impressed me. "That'd be a bad thing at this point I guess?"

Starpetal snorted derisively and Darkwhisper guffawed.

"Jonathan? You have a gift for understatement." Lynnette offers voice sad. Then she barks out a laugh. "I suppose it's ironic and hypocritical though, considering we're helping you summon a demon so we can feed people it's blood." The small human opened his mouth and the fiery elf raised a hand to stop him. "I know, your demons are different from ours. You have my trust for sticking staying when you could have left and resurrecting us all, but I'll believe it when I've had a chance to examine them for myself."

Jonathan gulped and nodded. "Well, I suppose it's time for the last ingredient. The target. Moh'Ra are assassins and must always be summoned with a target in mind. An image, a lock of hair, a bit of clothing. Ysolde, I was hoping you knew what Kel'thuzad looked like? Or maybe someone else from that necromancy school you talked about earlier." S/he hesitated and then nodded. "Do you think you could draw me a picture? Make sure you're really, really focused on your memories of him as you draw. Without a proper photograph or item for sympathy that'll be the most important part."

The new man nodded and got up from the bed. "I'll see what I can do. It... may be sloppy. Art isn't one of my hobbies unless it's a ritual design, and this body is different than either of my previous."

"Just do what you can and meditate on Kel'Thuzad." Jonathan instructs. "I'll prepare the ritual." He looks to the other two, "did you get anything from the city that could restrain say... an angry orc? Moh'Ra are typically loyal, to the man providing the salt, but they don't like being summoned by the 'good guys'."

This time, the two elves break out in grins. "It's time to introduce you to good elven enchanting."