Stefkechan’s blog

Know now, that there dwells in the human kingdom of Stormwind the last of the Darkmoor clan. He is a decendent of the first houses of Arathor and sole survivor of his once noble clan. The sons of Darkmoor were called from their village high in the Arathi Highlands to aid in the evacuation of the people of Lordaeron from the cullings.

Upon discovering the living remnents of his fathers once proud Kingdom were fleeing, the Death Knight Arthas and his undead minions began the systematic slaughter of all they encounterd. The Darkmoor clan hired as sell-swords were charged with the defense of these pathetic caravans.

Though they fought hard, the battle was quickly lost and the clansmen eliminated. Only Kitarl survived the horror. Taken out of the battle quickly by terrific back hand blow from an undead abomination, Kitarl's broken form was cast into a stream and gently flowed away with the rest of the detritus.

He was found later that night by a hunting party of Wildhammer dwarves. Being sometime allies to the Darkmoor clan they took him in and tended his wounds. After a month of their ministering and bedrest Kitarl returned to his village.

He was on the edge of nerves as it was, trying to think how he could explain to the remaining people how their beloved kinsmen were torn to pieces and he alone survived. The village that had shelterd him and his fathers fathers since the fall of Alterac was no longer there. In its place a Charnal House for the Scourge had arisen. Mad with grief, Kitarl fled the decaying stench of the horror he saw and ran straight into the Silverpine forest. Once a lush and wonderful place filled with life, it had become dark and tainted by the Legion and Scouge's arrival. No longer caring whether he lived or died he failed to notice the creatures that were following him. Trapped beneath the base of a cliff Kitarl turned to face his pursuers sword in hand. He would have gladly met his end there had it not been for the arrival of a Knight of the Scarlet Crusade. The mighty Paladin quickly dispatched the wolf like creatures with crushing blows from his mace. He slowly approached the terrified youth and offerd his hand. Kitarl accepted it, and collapsed. He awoke inside a cavernous cathedral and was told by the smiling Paladin where he was. Kitarl listend to the Knights tale of Arthas' treachery and the disbanding of the Knights of the Silver Hand, and how from the ashes the Crusade was born. He stayed at the monastery for the following four years and was then sent armed and "educated" to Stormwind to join the Scarlet Inquisitors there, spreading the message of the crusade. Exactly what he was taught at the Monastary and what he did during these years is known possibly only to Kitarl himself... he has never felt the need to share it with anyone.

Kitarl served them loyally for many months afterwards, never questioning his mission or the unqenchable rage that burned in his . It was only after a evening of prayers when the High Inquisitor took him aside and told him to "watch" another member of the order that doubt crept into his mind... Exactly what happened here is again knowledge only Kitarl posses, but he threw off the Crusades tabard and broke his oath to them. He felt reborn, as if a great weight had been lifted from him... He travelled alone for some time afterwards, and upon hearing of a Guild known as the Sacred Circle and their mission, he felt an instant rightness, and s with their leader Bradley asking to join, the Guild was eventually torn apart by in fighting and Kitarl found himself alone once again. Upon hearing his newly discoverd half sister had joined the Crusades he retruned to them. Kitarl then met a Paladin named Danath Ladimore... the rest is history.

Kitarl is currently active in and around Stormwind and has even married the true love of his life... but he path of true love was never a smooth one. "Grow up and be a man."

Parting shots exchanged, Kitarl staggered back through the streets the fog clawing at his legs. Zaredd's light blessed power healed his cracked skull and the dagger wound in his chest, but not the infections that now coursed through his veins.
His vision blurring he stumbles and falls, barely feeling the impact on the cold ground. He begins to crawl towards a pile of crates and refuse. pulling a musty blanket around himself he huddles in the corner, trying to will warmth and life back into his numb limbs.

Uneasy sleep takes him, his body shutting down in an attempt to prolong his ebbing life. He dreams...

He dreams of waking for the first time in the Scarlet Monastery, under the care of the Paladin Gunther Hillsend, now a crusader.

"Well boy... you were nearly dog food there." Gunther treats him to a mocking smile.
"Where...?" Kitarl, groggy from his run through the forest, tries to focus on the Knights face.
"The Monastery of Lordaeron, you are in our care now. What is your name boy?" Gunther demanded.
"Wi... Kitarl. Darkmoor."
"Darkmoor eh? Your clan fought well I'm told."
Kitarl turns from the Knight, shame and anger burning in his heart driving the fatigue poisons from his body.
Gunther smiles at the boys shaking form. Yes, he'll do nicely.

Kitarl shivers in his sleep, a passing rat smelling the sickness on him scurries to a corner to watch, rodent interest on it's face.
Kitarl dreams on.

"Ha! You hit like a girl Darkmoor!" Corbeau screamed in triumph as he presses his advantage.
"And you smell like a Murloc, Jon." Kitarl blocks the Hammer blow with his shield and thrusts his sword for Corbeau's shoulder, the wooden gladius landing with a glancing blow off the bone. Corbeau screams again in pain as he drops his warhammer, clutching the shoulder with his good hand.
"Enough! If you two Gnoll lovers trained as hard as you trade insults you might be worth a damn!" Gunther chided his pupils. He examines Corbeau's shoulder tutting impatiently.
"You're both sorry excuses for men get out of my sight." Gunthers way of saying, good work the rest of the day is yours.
"Darkmoor... Commander Mograine wants to see you." Gunther added casually to the retreating forms. "I wouldn't keep him waiting."
Kitarl nodded slowly and headed off to the Cathedral.

The Watchman looked at the pitiful form huddled in the filthy corner. Shaking his head he moved on.

Rewon screamed as the burning iron seared his flesh. Kitarl looks on distantly, barely feeling the heat himself.
"I'm going to ask you some questions, and to be honest I already know you don't know the answers.
But I will ask anyway. And you will scream. Okay? Ready?" Kitarl smiles cheerfully.

Kitarl shivers this memory away. His coughing fit waking him up and scaring away his silent rodent companion. In his fevered sight he sees some of the nights more dangerous clients watching him. Kitarl roars his defiance at the fleeting shapes, they scatter for now, and he collapses once again into dark dreams.

Ogma wiped the spit from his beard.

"Think yer a hard man dae ye?"
Kitarl roars in pain as the Shadow Priest blasts him with a bolt of dark magic.
"Alskazar my friend, ye ken whit tae dae."

The warlock forced his cold dead features into a smile. Muttering eldritch words of darkest origins his body becomes consumed in flames, without a word of protest the nightmare burned himself alive before Kitarl, who bloodied and beaten could only watch the display in horror. Moments stretched into minutes, the Coven members of the Dark Deceit watching Kitarl closely. He tries to stand but his legs are still paralysed by the pressure point torture he endured earlier. He feels a cold sense of dread followed by an ice cold fire in his veins.
"Get.. out...of..my... head!" Kitarl screams through the agony, the cold laughter of the unliving warlock ringing in his ears. Before swim visions of his family and friends, his clan dead and rotting reaching out to him. He looks down at his hands and sees his skin wriggling as though thousands of tiny rats were crawling beneath it, trying to gnaw their way out.

Kitarl screams himself awake, shivering in the dirt and blinking in the cold light of the dawn, he pulls himself up, the fever having passed in the night. He walks slowly towards the city gates, alone and broken. The alien shaman smiled as he sensed the strangers approach. It had been over a month since the crash off the coast of Kalimdor and he had to admit, he liked this world. It was strong with the elements, and the pain it suffered from the Legions arrival could not be ignored.
He was also quite fond of its people. Harsh and untrusting though many of them were, he could see that they were blessed by their ancestors, and that they walked in the Light.
The man approaching was no different. The shaman sensed he had walked through dark places to arrive here, and had darker paths to walk still.

The shaman cleared his throat and smiling said with his thick Draenei accent;
"Naaru's blessings be on you stanger."

The man made no indication that he heard. He stood nearly a half foot taller than six feet, clad in dark red and gold plate mail armour. A long cloak trailing behind him and his features masked with a black and red helm. At his side he carried a one handed axe that burned with fiery light, he also carried a black and crimson shield with a Blood elf symbol. The shaman chose to assume it had been scavanged or taken as spoils of war.
The armoured human turned suddenly and regarded the shaman with cold indifference. The shaman returned the gaze with an easy smile his eyes glowing in cheerful mirth.

"I am Veloros." The shaman ventured.
"Indeed." Was the strangers cold reply.
"Ha!" The shaman cackled with delight. "So you do speak then yes?"
The human made no response at first, instead surveying the landscape around them.
"Is beautiful no? I come here, becuase the elements have deemed this place good."
"I seek your advice as a neutral party." The stranger whispered.
"Neutral? Yes I suppose so... though we shamans hold the Naaru in awe like all our kind... I suppose we are neutral on many affairs. Ha!" The shaman ended with a good natured laugh.
"You know I speak of the Naaru?" The human asked with his head titled to the side.
"I am Draenei... I know one who has been touched by the Naaru's power like I know the feel of the wind through my facial appendages." The shaman grinned happily.
"I see.." The human faltered.
"You sought their help and they aided you, now you wonder if they will collect on a debt yes?"
"No one does something for nothing." The human whispered."
The shaman sighed. Shaking his head he chuckled.
"You mock me?" The human asked.
"No, no, no." The shaman sighed again. "I do not. I am infact deeply disturbed that you think they give such aid and expect to be paid for it! They saved my people, and asked nothing of us, we volunteerd our services to their cause."
"I care not for their cause."
"Yet you have fought for it, no?"
"I fight for myself."
Veloros shakes his head. "You have fought for yourself, now you fight for others. If you did not, the Naaru would not have aided you."
The human grunted and turned to walk away.
"Wait!" The shaman cried out.
The human turned slightly indicating he was listening.
"What you are planning, the knowledge you seek... It will only bring pain. Wounds have been healed, do not reopen them and make new ones! Deeper ones..." The shamans voice was pleading.
"What makes you think I care?" The human voice was low and dangerous, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"You feel anger I know, but you do care..."
"I don't want to..."

The shaman stood, walking slowly over to the human he placed his large blue hands on the warriors shoulders.

"Don't be consumed by senseless hate." The shaman whispered.
"Hate? Is that what you think? I have felt hate alien... I would kill to feel even that."

The shamans eyes widen in surprise as the warrior turned with incredible speed and buried his axe in the aliens chest.

"See? Nothing."

The warrior collected his mount and rode off. The shaman lay there in a pool of his own blood for a few moments, he waved his hands weakly over the wound casting a healing wave. The blood dried and the gouge closed. The shaman rose shakily to his feet. Shaking his head sadly, he began the long walk back to town. Kitarl roared his defiance at the Dragon. Taking the blast from it's fiery breath on his shield, the mettle glowing red hot at the hell fires touch. Kitarl cursed, his clan had lived near these mountains for centuries and never once did anyone mention a bloody dragon. He dove behind a boulder as the creature prepared another assault. It had all seemed simple enough; return to the mountains, scout around find the perfect place for Ky and he to settle down, at least for awhile, maybe do a spot of yeti hunting as Ky was forever going on about him never bringing her back the soft fur hides that cover their frames. Ky... lost in his reverence for her Kitarl forgot about the twenty feet of armoured firery death that was quickly reducing his cover to molten slag. Finally feeling the searing heat on his back he broke cover charging forward, he nearly ran straight into one of ugly beasts. Without thinking he dived between the yeti's legs, nearly passing out from the smell, he scrambled quickly to his feet and kept running. He glanced back long enough to see the yeti bit in half by the great wyrm.

"Bugger that" He muttered between breaths.

Animal senses flaring he dived for cover his armour sizzling as another sheet of flame passed over head. He unslung his rifle and fired a single shot at the creature, the bullet skimming along its armoured flank.

"Bad idea.."

Casting the rifle down, Kitarl drew his axe. Charging this time at the dragon, he lept atop the creatures head, stamping his boot heavily down on its eye. The monster screamed in pain as the Arathi danced along it's neck, barely keeping his balance and a stream of curses being left in his wake. Leaping off, he brings his axe down on the joint conecting the creatures wing to its torso, severing it completely. The creature screamed again, crashing to the ground thrashing around in its own blood. Seeing Kitarl it lunged his large reptillian head jaws wide, hoping to tear his head off. Tensing before the expected strike, Kitarl lashes out burying his axe in its neck. Gurgling but still thrashing the dragon fought on. With a roar Kitarl leaps at it, gripping it by the head, he forces his fingers in its mouth and began to open its jaw. With a roar Kitarl rips ligaments, bones and muscles and with a final burst of strength tears the dragons jaw off completely. Finally surrendering the wyrm lies still. Breathing heavily, covered in gore he casts aside the jaw.

"Now... where's my damn horse?" Kitarl sat on the cold stone, brooding over the events of the last few days. Atta's disappearence, Locklears arrival, Silvestra's return, Zaredd's painful war with her father, Kylah... well Kylah. He smiles when thinking of her, a reflex reaction. He remembers with bitter shame, that removes the smile, the night she attacked Zaredd and how he sought her out angry and armed. He knows in his heart that he could not have attacked her... But there's no excuse. The same mistakes made over and over, Kitarl wonders if he will ever learn.
He takes a moment to examine his skin, slightly pink but returning to its usual whiter shade of pale. He remembers the agony of the magical burns he suffered in the battle beneath the Cathedral. The former Scarelts he kept tabs on had all reported a consensus that Kligsor was dead. Kitarl had not taken the reports lightly having fought several men to whom death was but an inconvienence. Well, for the moment then Kligsor was just one more name to have added to his problems, and the problems of his loved ones.
Kitarl let out a long sigh. Where was Danath he suddenly wondered. He pushed the thought aside. He had renouced Danath, unable to give his loyalty to him and place his life and the lives of those he loved in the care of someone who had become so... unpredictable. They all needed some form of stability. Kitarl pondered this as well. Stability. Could he do that? When he spent so much time either consumed with rage or depression, or passed out drunk on the streets of Stormwind and Goldshire. He was a poor leader he knew, he was fortunate to be surrounded by others that were naturally good at leading, often they would step forward when he was unable to. The shaman he thought he had slain had found him this morning. Walked right into his house, had a look around, ate one his apples. That was the last straw. He had came down down stairs ready to leave when he saw him. Before he could react the shaman smiled and hurled the wooden hammer he carried with a speed Kitarl could not match. The blow had knocked him cold. He awoke in what he recognised as Northshire abbey. Near the water fall. He had been stripped of his armour and weapons, but felt no wound on his head.

"Ha! Good sleep yes?" The shaman cackled.
"Didn't I kill you?" Kitarl enquired.
The shaman laughed again. "Almost! Good strong blow with the axe, shattered many ribs!"
"Indeed." Kitarl glanced about for his weaponry, not wishing to tackle the shamans magic without something to even the odds.
"No need of weapons, enough blood for one day yes?"
"Almost alien, almost."
"Now look you, you cann keep trying to fight me, or maybe listen yes?"
"Since I'm unarmed and lacking in armour I dont have much choice. Why did you take my armour anyway?"
"Ha! Not to see your pastey flesh anyway! Come sit under waterfall."
"I've already washed thanks all the same." Kitarl began scanning the bank for a rock or club.
"I see you need little push yes?"

With a gesture a totem of alien design appeared next to Kitarl. Despite never having seen it's like before, he recognised a certain flamable quality to it. The totem began to shake.

"Bugger."

Kitarl leapt into the stream as the blast from the totem burned everything around it. He emerged behid the rock the shaman was perched on and grabbed onto his tail.

"Ha! Good try!"

With the powerful muscles in the shamans tail he threw Kitarl into the waterfall.

"Alright... I'm in the damn waterfall... what do you want?"
"Good pinkskin. Let us begin yes?"

The shaman indicated that Kitarl should sit down on the stone, allowing the water to flow down his back and shoulders. Deciding to wait it out, Kitarl agreed. He sat cross legged where the shaman had indicated. The alien sat next to him. The shaman closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Taking his cue Kitarl did the same. Gesturing the shaman summoned another totem. This one seemed to give off a wave of peaceful energy that Kitarl's body soaked up like a sponge.

Slowly the shaman asked, "What troubles you?"
Without wanting to answer Kitarl did; "They keep a secret from me... something... dark, they will not tell me. They do not... trust me. I am not needed."
"Do you need to know this secret? Will it cause pain for you not to? Hmm?"
"It is something important... something to do with... what happened." Kitarl struggled enough to withold the story from the shaman, his mounting rage being suffocated with the totems magic.
"Shall I tell you this secret you must hear?"
"You... cannot know..."
"I do know. The spirits have told me. They have told me, that understanding has been reached. Do you understand?"
"I..."

The totems waves intensified, Kitarl could feel himself being pulled down, while rising at the same time. He could a faint whispering, his name being called from a great distance.

"Hear it for youself, Kitarl." The shaman whispered, a sound that shook mountains a troubled the clouds above them.

Kitarl heard them, the spirits of his clan and those long gone before him. The primal forces and elements they once worshipped before the nation of Arathor was born. They told him many things... things of his past, present and some of his future. Darkness and death would forever follow him, as it does anyman. Kitarl felt their voices wash over him and he understood. They spoke to him of wounds of the soul and how they are healed, and he understood. There was light, and then darkness. Stars moved overhead and a sound interrupted his reverie.

"Ten gold please."

Kitarl snapped awake. He was on the bank near the waterfall, his armour and weapons returned to him, his muscles sluggish yet strangely... more alive. The shaman was gone. Only the scotched earth near where he lay convinced Kitarl that he had not dreamt all he saw.

"Need ten gold for training please."

Kitarl turned to the gnome standing next to him.

"Get away from me." He growled.

Yelping the gnome fled back to the abbey. Kitarl rose slowly to his feet still unsure of his legs. He began walking slowly back to Stormwind. He turned his thoughts back to the present. His frustration lost in the mornings... revelations? He lacked the ability to put into words how he felt now. His insecurities remained, but felt somehow hollow and small. He no longer felt the cold indifference to his wife and Zaredd. That wound was closed. Whatever secret they shared was theirs, and no threat to him. He would pursue it no longer. He turned his thoughts home, and business still to be settled. He had not forgotten Woolner, the assassin had questions to answer. Kitarl smiled, yes... Seeing his wife, welcoming his sister back, educating the new boys Locklear and Jakko, Silvestra's usual enigmatic comings and goings... oh, and torturing some information from Woolner.

Things were certainly looking up. Smiling, Kitarl urged his horse into a gentle trot leaving a bewildered Woolner in his wake. That smug lieing smile infuriated him. That Woolner would die was already a forgone conclusion, the assassin would be an example to all that Repentance was off limits regardless. He wouldn't give up who had sent him. That was the bit that tore Kitarl up. A year ago he would have had Woolner dragged down to the catacombs and the truth purged from him. Sadly, Repentance lacked the ruthless authority of the Inquisitors. Kitarl pondered this...and emergence of his old feelings, cold calculating hatred. He felt he needed this perspective now more than ever, but it still troubled him.

"Not in public Woolner"

She had met him at least once in private. Kitarl was no stranger to using sources, but never did he use or trust someone who had harmed one of his own. Rewon being the exception... He was a unique case. Woolner attacks Zaredd, Kylah meets him private, Woolner walks away unharmed. The picture was almost clear. She acts with her heart...
Woolner was going to die. He would drop the issue of the why, and settle for a simple explanation. Woolner saw an oppertunity and took it. Something else was troubling her though and she would not confide in him. This lack of trust was disturbing, but understandable. He had already proved himself unreliable. He swore he would not risk his marriage here. Not again. She may have the strength to take off her ring, he did not. If she could live with this, so could he. Then again perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps there is some innocent reason for all this.

She could be having an affair.

He'd given plenty of reasons.

And of course the first time there is a public crack in their marriage she had at least a dozen men circling around. Kitarl looked at his wedding band. He found himself thinking of his own arranged marriage, decided when he was only knee high.Could he have made her happy? Could he have made anyone happy?

No, she wasn't having an affair. He would never believe such a thing unless she said it herself. Even then, he didn't hink he could accept it. He couldn't picture a time when they wouldn't be together. He would trust in her. In them "K... Kitarl? Is that you?"
"Here's a hint."

The hunting rifle blast would be heard for a mile around. Kitarl was in no mood to care, the sight of the mans knee being vaporised with an adamantine slug did little to pacify him.

"Kit... Kit please... oh Light... I didn't know... I swear I didn't know!"
"It's not me you have to convince Marty... It's my trigger finger. Right now, he thinks your lying."

Kitarl pulled the trigger again, this time Marty's left hand disappeared in a crimson cloud. Kitarl calmy began to reload.

"Oh... gods... my hand...my leg...."
"Marty, I don't mean to rush you, but these bullets are ver expensive, and damn me if the sight of you bleeding isnt just boring me... I'm apt to put one between your eyes after a few more limbs Marty!"

Marty screamed in pain and fear and from the smell he had clearly lost control of his bowels.

"Marty... have some dignity. And tell me what I want to know!"
"Alright... Gods below...alright...He's at Lights Hope Chapel... he joined the Argent Dawn after you... betrayed us!"

Pulling a knife with his right hand, Marty Simmons died with a final blast from Kitarl's rifle. Kitarl sighed, shaking his head he went back to his horse. He had what he came for, Gunther was alive... but not for long. "Aaaarrrrgggghhhhoooooohhhhsssshhhhiiiiiii..."

The crevice was deeper than it looked. Kitarl scrabbled desperately trying gain a purchase on the shifting rock, he made the mistake of looking down past his feet at the fast approaching emptiness of the Twisting Nether. He didn't much like it. Gripping his shield with both hands he slammed its pointed base into the ground his momentum stopped suddenly, pain flaring in his shoulders.

"Okay Kit... Now what?"

Kitarl hung there for nearly an hour. Everytime he tried to reach for his Hearthstone, his grip would lessen. The other thing that concerned him was that since he had entered this bloody valley, the beat of heavey wings had been constant. Even know he could hear it. He knew the Netherdrake would not wait much longer to strike.

"Dragons" He muttered, "Always bloody Dragons..."

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Gunther surveyed the twisted landscape before him. He had been born here and, he supposed, here was as good as any place to die. He knew Kitarl was coming, knew the Arathi would most likely try to torture him first. He had trained the mongrel, he wasn't too concerned. Lost in silent reflection over the ruin of his homeland, he barely had time to duck the incoming axe blow. Rolling free of his attackers range, Gunther readied his warhammer.

"Hello Kitarl." Gunther grunted.
"Hello Gunther." Kitarl replied. Then he charged.

Gunther awoke some hours later, he was mildly surprised that the pain had subsided. He was, however, still somewhat disturbed that he could still feel his now severed arms. He had heard wounded men speak of their "phantom limbs" but nothing had quite prepared him for the sensation.

"Welcome back...old friend." Kitarl whispered.
"You've not lost yer sense of humour I see." Gunther replied dryly.
"Kligsor... What do you know of him?" Kitarl's voice was low, and his was pouring something into a bag. Gunther couldn't see it, but he had a good idea what it was.
"He's... he's a Captain... in the Crusade... isn't he?" Gunther felt his mouth go dry.
"Oh yes... he was." Kitarl hinted.
"Ah.. killed him did you?" Gunther asked.
"Had to be done. Did you know he was a Warlock?"
"Kit...listen to me... I've changed... I'm not blinded by them anymore, I joined the Argent Dawn for Light's sake!" Gunthers voice was nearly hysterical.
"I heard." Kitarl's voice was cold. "You knew everyone Gunther... from the High Inquisitors, down to your little lads. I want to know how many people Kligsor had under him directly and who they were."
"I don't know Kitarl, I swear on my oath I don't know!"

Kitarl nodded. He rose, carrying the bag over to the manacled Knight and kneeled down next to him. Gripping the remains of the left arm, Kitarl rammed the bag on the bleeding stump. The salt worked quickly. Gunther's screams shook the old shack he had been dragged to, Kitarl simply looked on as he tied a knot securing the bag in place.

"Let's begin again."

It was a few hours later that the Dawn's agents found the shack their brother had been taken to. They burst through the door, righteous fury at hand... to discover Gunthers body, armless and legless with bags of salt strapped to the bloody stumps, suspended above them. He had died screaming from the look on his face.

"Lights mercy..."
"No... That was my mercy."

Kitarl dropped from the rafters, axe in hand. Kitarl urged the horse on, knowing better than to look back at his pursuers. They would dog him until he reached the border, but he had no intention of letting it go that far. In retrospect perhaps visiting Mulgore wasn't such a good idea.

The kodo's angry bellow gave Kitarl some idea of how close they were. He counted three before the chase was one, the hoof beats behind him made him think at least five now. Two tauren, he was certain of that. A rocky outcrop up ahead, maybe a copper deposit he thought absently. He slowed his horse to a halt and dismounted. He had enough of a lead to get ready for the Horde when they turned the corner. He slid a shell into the hunting rifle he carried and waited.

An odd thought crept into his head as he waited. The young thief. The girl who had been tortured and killed for information. Information regarding one of his own. He hadn't thought of her since that night, and he wasn't sure what was more disturbing. That he hadn't thought of her... or that he thought of her now. It was then that he did something he hadn't done with sincerity since his people were wiped out. He prayed. He prayed for a child who would never see womanhood. He prayed for a young paladin who had suffered at the hands of her own father. He prayed for a warrior lost in his rage but was finding his place. He prayed for a thief, far from home but not forgotten. He prayed for an old knight, a man he called father. He prayed for a mysterious woman, powerful yet troubled. Finally, and with the greatest of reverance, he prayed for his wife. He smiled slightly as he imagined her with a look of scorn on her face as he did so. He prayed that she was safe, and he prayed that she knew how much he loved her. He didn't know who he was praying to. Anyone who was listening he supposed.

With a sigh, he pulled the trigger, the shot taking one of the tauren in the eye. With a satisfying thud it hit the dirt. That left one tauren, one forsaken, a blood elf and the biggest orc Kitarl had ever seen. Slowly unslinging his axe, he walked towards them slowly. He stopped after a few feet and drew a line in the soil with the blade of the axe.

"In your own time." Kitarl looked at his slightly scorched hand and grinned happily. She believed in him. The thought galvanised him, and he felt better then ever. The grin quickly faded though as the nights events hit him in full. Zaredd had seen the part of him he kept hidden, the "darker side" as she called it. He knew what it was, he'd always known. He could control it, keep it quiet. It used to have free reign over him, when his vision would cloud over and the red mist would descend. Not anymore. He was a better man now. Okay, he had to sacrifice bits of himself to it now and again, but the strength and focus it gave him was worth it. He couldn't have done what he did to Gunther without it, he couldn't have dealt with those traitors in the Argent Dawn that were hiding him, and he couldn't be strong with out it. And Zaredd and Kylah were at each other throats. No, that wouldn't do. He needed them together. He could only tolerate this for so long before he just plain snapped.

The still sane part of Kitarl's mind screamed at this, but even it had to concede this new arrangement was better. No more fighting, no more struggle. The two sides could co-operate for a change, because she believed in him. He should really thanks Zaredd, he supposed. She had let the darkness out, and he found he had liked it. She said she believed in him. Kylah believed in him. If he could broker a peace here, everything would be okay... and if he had to kill a few people here and there to do it...well, even better. He grinned as he walked along the road back to Stormwind. So much to do... and so little time. He knew a certain shaman that was going to meet with an accident for a start. Of course... there was also Woolner to consider. Every fibre in his being had told Kitarl to slay the former assassin then and there. Kylah had found him useful though... that earned him some merit. He'd have his chance. Kitarl wasn't sure how Zaredd would react, not well he imagined. He'd explain his reasons to her, and he'd be honest about them.

He frowned slightly. Zaredd. Her Light given magic would be a problem. Kylah could accept this arrangement, but the Light in Zaredd would most likely balk at it. He'd have to take steps then. She could never be allowed to get that close to him again. To look beneath the surface. He couldn't take the risk she might try something... noble. Kitarl's almost cheerful grin returned. He knew he was most likely mad, but he had accepted that. And in acceptance he had found a sort of peace. In all his personality changes over the last six months, he finally found something stable. He had almost been overwhelmed when Zaredd's probe let the darkness loose. He couldn't decribe the turmoil he'd felt as he wandered away from Kylah and Zaredd, their argument concerning Attalus washed over him, and he took little of it in. Kylah's blunt dismissel, undermining everything Kitarl had said to Zaredd. She didn't realise how much Zaredd looked up to her, and Kylah simply didn't listen to him. She heard him of course, but she didn't listen. That's okay he thought, she believed in him. That would be enough.

Without a sound Kitarl grabbed the wrist of the pickpocket that had been following him. Grinning happily he snapped it. Dragging the struggling, sobbing thief behind him, Kitarl approached the Valley of Heroes. Grabbing the rogue by the neck Kitarl suspended him over the edge.

"P..p...please..." The rogue pleaded.

Without a word, Kitarl dropped him. Not even waiting for the scream to end and the sudden splash to start. Kitarl continued on into the night. He should buy Kylah some flowers, he thought. "Wil, where are you boy?"

Wil grinned to himself as he hid in the long grass. He knew he was too big even at eight to hide for long, but that didn't matter. His father knew it too, and it still didn't matter. They enjoyed this game of hide and seek.

"By Kull boy when I find you it's going to be an extra hour by the forge!" The tone was angry, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Colm Darkmoor was man at peaces with his world. His wife Helen was a wonderous woman, although she still mourned the loss of her youngest son Tom to the wasting sickness that had plagued him since his difficult birth, she was strong and spent everyday reminding her family how much they were loved. His remaining son Wil, a strong and powerfully bit lad would be the village blacksmith after he was too old to man the forge. The boy was lazy and tended to dream, but his strength and warm personality would see him make fine blacksmith. A posistion of great honour in the Clan. He would forge the arms and armor of his people, and would be a strong voice in times of council.
A scream from across the fields roused him from his thoughts. He broke into a run back towards the village. Wil had heard the scream as well, errupting from his hiding place he too broke into a run. He closed the distance between he and his father. They said nothing to each other but ran for the forge outside their home. An ugly gutteral voice called out followed by more screaming told them everything. The Witherbark Trolls had returned. There had not been a raid for more than a year, and so the Clan had become relaxed, and the trolls had waited. Father and son rushed to the aid of their fellow clansman, Colm slew the first troll with easy, the green skinned creature died with a pitiful scream. Wil on the other hand, searched frantically for his mother, his father may not have noticed but he knew that scream to be his mothers, as sure as he knew the feel of metal beneath his fingers. He found her, a pool of blood formed around her cold unmoving form. Wil dropped to his knees weeping silently.
The sounds of the battle faded slowly as the invaders were driven off. The Clan had slew the Trolls almost to the last but the price for their lax security had been high. Many women and children had been slain in the initial wave, and the Clans warrior's had paid out a heavy penance to the trolls in return.
Colm, bloodied and panting heavily from the fight, found his son a few minutes later. His eyes opening wide in shock and despair at the sight of his beloved body, he roared his anger and loss at the heavens, and sank to his knees by his son. Taking a knife from his belt he cut his arm three times before a shield maiden, and friend of the family forced the blade from his hand. Illyanna clutched at Colm, and Wil, holding them, allowing thier collected grief to wash over her.
A week after the attack, and the last of the fallen had been given their rites, Colm left for Stormwind. Wil had been placed in the care of Illyanna until Colm's return a month later. Wil had become a withdrawn child, prone to fits of rage when ever anyone tried to reach him. Colm himself was quiet, his face a mask of despair. The cuts on his arm always looked fresh despite Illyanna's tendering.

"Wil... Wil... Wil... Kit... Kit?!"

Kitarl snapped awake. The dream already forgotten as he took in his surroundings.

"Dozed off, sorry..."

The marshall smiled.

"Alright my friend, I'll see you later."
"Goodnight." Kit answered as the door closed.

Kitarl Darkmoor stared out the window into the dark. Ghosts and forgotten dreams preying on his mind. Kitarl stepped off the boat, and onto the port of Ratchet. He hadn't slept the entire journey, even his normal sea sickness seemed numb and distant. He retrieved his horse from the boat and led it off the dock. A heavy set tauren and a slender blood elf eyed him warily as he passed. He took little notice of them and mounted his horse. The animal had been strangely subdued, perhaps sensing its master was in no mood to play. With a slight nudge from his knee the horse began trotting off into the Barrens of Kalimdor.

*

Veloros sipped his water. He was tired but still managed a smile. The spirits had told him the troubled warrior would appear sooner or later. He did wish though that the spirits were occassionaly a little less vague. He had been waiting nearly a week.
With a gesture the shaman transformed discreetly into the aspect of the ghost wolf. Taking a few moments to adjust to the new specteral form, he began to track the human. He couldn't afford to let him get too far ahead.

*

Setesh wasn't sure what spell he had cast to wind up in Tanaris, but he took it with his usual grace and decided to get rip roaring drunk. It wasn't an easy life being the self proclaimed most powerful mage in the world, but he got by.

*

"Coppercog the mighty, master of geography, when there's trouble never fear! For Coppercog is near!"

Coppercog sang happily to himself. He didn't believe a word of it, but he liked to sing. He felt that even for a gnome he had a particularly annoying voice, and it gave him no end of joy to know the torture it was putting the imp Piztik through.

"Do you have to sing!?" the imp screamed at him.
Coppercog considered this. "Yes. Coppercog the mighty..."

The imp wailed as the singing began again.

*

Learson regretted having to steal the bread, but he was a rogue on a mission, no time to feel sorry. The big Arathi had a horse and he did not. This presented a problem, and Learson was very direct with such problems. He crept up silently behind the blood elf, with a minimal struggle, he had slit the slender beings throat. Now all he had to do was master the damn bird the elf used for a mount. That shaman's money had better be good. Steamwheedle Port. Seemed as good a place as any Kitarl thought. He had wandered aimlessly through the barrens for a day and a night. He had made camp not far from Razerfen Kraul, lighting a small fire to keep the cold night air at bay. He had looked for Kylah before leaving, nearly tore Stormwind apart in his frantic search. He had stopped outside the city bank, slowly sinking ti his knees, as he realised he would not find her. Maybe... maybe she didn't want to see him, the goodbye too final for her... maybe she was repelled by him, answered the other voice. Maybe they all were. No... he couldn't accept that.
The next morning in the Barrens he felt the pull again. Southwards, Tanaris. He set off at first light and rode most of the day through the Thousand needles and the salt flats. He paused there to speak with the goblin and gnomish teams, he had found there racing machines fascinating at one point and had spent a few days here speaking with them and watching the races. He couldn't feel anything for them anymore, so he turned his horse and rode on to the desert wastes.

Gadget... Kitarl had a strong dislike for this neutral town, to be fair however, this was mostly due to the large tauren that was holding him by the neck three feet in the air. The beast grunted something at him in orcish. He'd been saying it over and over and still Kitarl, with his knowledge of common and bad common, was none the wiser. He decided to try diplomacy.

"Your mother was the best steak I ever had." He managed.

The taurens eyes widened. Kitarl realised that while he may not speak any of the Horde languages, it didn't mean they couldn't understand the Alliance ones.

"Ah craaaaaaagh!" He yelled, as the tauren threw him across the yard.

He struck the steel mesh of the arena wall hard, the air being knocked from his lungs. The beastman bellowed something and gestured at the Arathi. His meaning was clear. Kitarl rose shakily to his feet. The tauren pointed at the cage and bellowed again. Kitarl nodded and stepped inside. His side was on fire and he was pretty sure he would pass blood later, but that he would worry about then. The tauren, pounding on its chest, stepped into the cage behind him. It brought no weapons in with it, so Kitarl assumed it was to be unarmed combat. He quickly sized the beastman up, he was at least three feet taller and about three hundred pounds heavier. Two massive horns anointed its head, and its arms looked like tree trunks. Kitarl nodded slowly. The beastman turned around to bellow at the crowd, the only opening Kitarl needed. He charged the tauren and lept up onto it's back. Wrapping his arms round its neck he tensed his muscles and tried to choke the tauren out. The crowd began cheering and betting amongst themselves, Kitarl ignored the chants calling for his blood, he gritted his teeth and applied all the pressure he could to the taurens windpipe.

"By Krull... hurry up and die." He whsipered.

The tauren dropped to one knee, braying heavily. Kitarl released his grip round it''s neck and grapped it by the horns. With a final burst of strength he broke one of the horns off and rammed it into the taurnes skull, before collapsing to the ground. The crowd fell silent. Kitarl felt someone begin to drag him out of the cage. He was too tired to protest and allowed himself to be dragged away. He looked up, his vision swimming, and saw his dragger.

"Oh no... not you..." he muttered before passing out.
"Ha! Yes, small world it is!" Veloros replied happily.

"Get away from me..." Kitarl muttered.

Veloros shook his head with a sigh.

"I'll rip yer tentacles off..."

Always with the tentacle bashing these humans. Veloros waved his hands over the warriors cracked ribs, healing energy cascading down to repair the damage from the battle with the tauren. He was more than a little worried now. Kitarl should not have had such difficulty in defeating it. He should have finished the inexpperienced and loud bull off much quicker. Bad signs, the shaman decided. Veloros looked out over the desert, leaning slightly on the wall he had propped the human against. The spirits had told him to come here, to aid this overgrown monkey in anyway he could. He contemplated, not for the first time, perhaps the spirits of this world were a little crazy. He looked down at his impatient patient, and saw him looking in the same direction he himself had been looking in.

"You feel pull too yes?" Veloros asked.
"I... yes... I feel it." The human relented.
"Hmm. Alright, we go together then. Ha! Perhaps you teach me how to take hit from bull man and forget to duck?"
"I'll teach you how to die in a minute..." Kitarl growled.
"Excellent! I will even resurrect you afterwards!" Veloros said with a grin.

Kitarl sighed. Clawing his way up the wall, he managed to get to his feet. Taking a moment to stretch and steady himself, he started walking out into the desert. Veloros followed, his tail swishing happily in the morning breeze. Learson watched them go. He finished sharpening his dirk and returned it to it's sheath. Checking his water supplies he began to follow them.

Kitarl and Veloros walked in slience across the sands. The midmorning sun shone down on them, baking the sand beneath their feet. The alien shaman seemed unconcerned with the heat, but the Arathi was suffering quietly. His pale skin burned under the stars onslaught and huis vision swam before him. Taking a sip of water he shook his head in an attempt to clear it, and carried on. At least the ogres finally got the message about leaving them alone.

Learson was growing uncomfortable. The heat held little wory for him, and the native animals hand ogres had stopped appearing after so many of them met such quick ends at the hands of the warrior and the shaman. His unease was at two things, firstly he wasn't sure why the shaman had instructed him to follow them, and secondly - the biggie here - why in Titans name were they going to the Caverns of Time. Learson had been there once in his life and never wanted to return. Dragons were bad enough, but he shuddered at the thought of them gaurding the time ways, all it took was one of them to mess with something in the past, and bang. No more Learson, or his father, or his fathers father. Way too creepy for the man from Kul 'Tiras.

The bronze dragon regarded the human and the draenei critically.

"You want what?" It roared.
"To talk to someone that has a clue for a start." Kitarl mumbled, his lips cracked and sore.
"Uh, what my friend is meaning, perhaps, is that we seek an audience with one of greater knowledge." Veloros spoke quickly.
"I don't suppose you could just eat this blue freak by any chance?" Kitarl asked.

The dragons eyes narrowed.

"Enter... you will meet a guide. Do not stray from the path!" It roared again.

Walking hastily away, Kitarl and Veloros passed the time keepers door.

"Eat me?"
"It was worth a shot."

Veloros laughed happily and slapped the Arathi on the shoulder. "Yes good try!"

Kitarl winced. His sunburnt skin screaming in protest. "I am Asuntarel. How may I help you?" The High Elven child asked.

Kitarl regarded the child through narrowed eyes. He was in a foul mood. The caverns were crawling with dragonkin and the alien shaman had done nothing but laugh and and dance with excitement since they passed the door. Now he was being presented with a sun bunny child that wore power like a cloak. Kitarl's nose told him if this was a elven child, then he was an orc. The other was shouting again, screaming at him to leave this place. With an act of will he silenced the voice and turned his attention back to the small elven boy.

"We come seeking answers mighty Asuntarel, we have both been drawn here." Veloros replied.

The child regarded him and smiled in a way Kitarl found disturbing. He turned and walked along the sand strewn path. Veloros turned to look at Kitarl and shrugged his massive shoulders.

"We follow yes?" Veloros enquired with a grin.
"I suppose." Kitarl growled.

The warrior and the shaman followed.

Learson hugged the wall. His stealth abilities, so far, had allowed him to negotiate the winding path down into the caverns. Not for the first time however, he had the feeling that the dragonkin knew he was there and simply chose to ignore him. His unease was growing at this thought. He was going to demand double the gold from the shaman for this days work. He caught sight of the Arathi and the shaman following a small elf along the path deeper into the cavern. With a sigh of resignation, he followed them.

Setesh of the Kirin'Tor, master of the flame of Antonidas, regarded his diminutive oppenent. He had used all of the skill and training as the result of years of tutalege, under the masters of magic in Dalaran, to beat his oppenent back into this corner. Now was the moment to strike! He moved the Queen forward three spaces.

"Checkmate!"

Coppercog, the gnome warlock, nodded and moved a pawn diagonally one space. Setesh' mouth hung open. He had completely missed the pawn the gnome had casually moved up the board. Coppercog grinned happily.

"That's seven gold two shirts and a goat you owe me."

Setesh gestured, the board was incinerated instantly.

"Or not..." The gnome regarded the cinders of his chess board sadly.
"Gentlemen, I trust I am not intruding." Asuntarel asked quietly.
"Not at all my fine fellow!" Setesh said cheerfully.
"I am glad. These three gentlemen will be joining you on your venture." Asuntarel stated.
"Three? And what venture?" Kitarl asked suspiciously.
"Oh yes three." The child replied.

Learson's eyes opened wide in panic and he made a dash back up the path, only to run straight into the waiting dragon guards. Raising his hands in surrender, he walked back down the path towards the group. He stood next to Veloros who, with a theatrical sigh, smacked him across the back of his head.

"Well, I am hoping you are not expecting payment for this days work." Veloros chided.

Kitarl regarded the dishevled rogue, and grinned.

"This is how you found me isn't it? Not some mystical arts, you just paid someone to follow me?" He asked, a dangerous grin appearing on his face.
"Yes.. of course it was a trick." Veloros replied. His broke into a wide grin of his own.

Kitarl's grin faded and he lunged at the shaman. He was somewhat surprised when he didn't make it. He looked down and found himself suspended in mid air, the elven child regarding him thoughtfully. Kitarl felt his hatred and anger threaten to overwhelm him, as he began struggling to break free of the spell holding him. Veloros shook his head sadly, and picked Learson up from the floor where he had dived in a bid to avoid the Arathi's wrath.
Slowly regaining his composure Kitarl nodded to Asuntarel. The elf looked at him curiously again then nodded. Kitarl felt himself being lowered gently to the floor.

"Alright" he growled. "What in Krull's name is going on?"
"That... may take some explaining." Asuntarel said. Kitarl struggled to keep his eyes open. He had listened politely to Asuntarel and his explanation of chronal displacement and temporal paradoxes. He had made a mental note to look up several of these words when he returned home.

"I sense you are not following the conversation Kitarl." Asuntarel whispered.
"I can't say I am." Kitarl replied, he tried half hearted to supress a yawn then gave up.
"It's rather serious dear boy." The mage, who introduced himself as Setesh, said.
"Oh definately serious." Coppercog the gnomish warlock added. Kitarl had little time for gnomes, but this one had the most disgusting of personal habits that Kitarl could not help but listen and stare in horrid fascination whenever it spoke. At the moment it was noisely inspecting the contents of its bulbus nose.
"Basically, what we have here is a potential cataclysmic event that threatens the stability of the space time continuum. Simple really." Learson stated.
"Ha! You only know that becuase the gnome told you!" Veloros exclaimed.
"Just felt I should contribute is all..." Learson said weakly.

Breaking free of his horror at the filthy gnome, Kitarl regained enough wit to re-enter the conversation.

"I still have no idea what any of you are talking about, and my patience is wearing thin." He growled.
Veloros chuckled at this. "Yes, any moment know he is libal to tear the cavern walls down no?"

Kitarl considered making another angry lunge at the shaman, but a quick glance at the impasive form of the elven child made him reconsider. There would be time to deal with Veloros later. Betraying no emotion Asuntarel turned his gaze to Kitarl directly. He regarded the Arathi warrior for a few moments, and nodded to himself.

"You are all here because you felt a certain pull. Each of you have recently become... displaced in some fashion or another. This is as a consequence of a chain of seemingly unrelated events."

He pointed first at the gnome coppercog.

"The loss of your home city Gnomeregan."

He pointed then at Setesh.

"The destruction of the wizard city state of Dalaran."

He pointed at Learson.

"Your exile from the island nation of Kul'Tiras."

He pointed at Veloros.

"The flight from your second homeworld of Draenor."

He finally indicated Kitarl.

"The destruction of the Darkmoor Clan at the hands of Kel'Thuzad."

The five men lapsed into silence.

"It was these events and your subsiquent choices that led you to this point. Your actions since then have made you the most viable choices to carry out the task we require of you. When you were all ready we summond you here. Each of the events that have shaped your lives is a major turning point in the history of this world. Even the least of them is an event integral to the fabric of what you call reality. As you are now aware, my kin and I are tasked with protecting the timeways. To ensure the events that have shaped Azeroth are not affected. For you see, any amendment to the time line will result in the destruction of your world. As it stands... There is another force that actively seeks to alter past events to bring about this destruction. They are the Epoch Dragonflight. Dark and sinister beings that interfere with causality, so far we have been able to oppose them as they try change the outcome of major events in our past.

"What has this to do with any of us?" Learson asked.
"I could explain that, but we don't have that much time. Your mission, is a co-ordinated strike at one of the Epoch flight's lairs. You must eliminate all resisitance and destroy an artifact they are harbouring. A simple task for which you will be rewarded." The childs voice betrayed no emotion and seemed, if anything, bored by these events.

The apparent apathy broke Kitarl's resolve. He grabbed the being by the throat and hoisted him into the air. The child glanced at the two large dragonkin advancing on the Arathi, and shook his head slightly. The dragonkin stopped in their advance and backed away slowly. Kitarl's sudden fury was burning bright in his heart, his otherself taking full control now as he tried to squeeze the life out of the childs throat.

"You took me away from my loved ones for this nonsense?! I left Kylah for your secret war!?"

Veloros laid a gentle hand on Kitarl's shoulder. Kitarl looked at the false elfchild again and released his grip. Asuntarel hung in mid air for a few moments then gently floated back to the ground. With a violent shrug Kitarl removed Veloros' hand from his shoulder. The shaman backed away and sat down on a rock, staring at the Arathi intently. Asuntarel stepped forward and took Kitarl's hand. Looking intently into his eyes, Kitarl felt the being voice rather than heard it.

I am sorry that we used such... questionable methods to bring you all here. Please understand you and the other four here are unique, for reasons I could not possibly explain to you. The Epoch dragonflight have an artifact in their possesion that will end the war. Permanently. If you and the others do not destroy it, they will end our world, and your loved ones with it.

Kitarl looked down at his wrist to the band Zaredd made for him, crafted from Kylah's discarded hair, and conceled by his gauntlet. He looked through the sheeted plate at the hair and nodded slowly. He looked up at the others, each in turn nodding at him. He retruned his gaze to Asuntarel.

"Alright... we'll do it."

Asuntarel merely nodded. Kitarl lifted the torch a little higher, illuminating the cavern they had entered.

"The dragon said just follow the tunnel." Coppercog offered.
"The dragon said alot of things." Kitarl muttered.

He was growing angry again, he felt used and manipulated by powers he didn't understand. He was missing Kylah, and the voice that mocked and taunted him was too loud to ignore. He gritted his teeth and continued on.

Learson was stealthed, hidden at the back to cover them in the event of being ambushed. He felt it was a little paranoid but he wasn't going to argue with the Arathi. The man had murder in his eyes and Learson was damned if he was going to die here. He kept his knives unsheathed and treated every shadow with an appraising glare.

Sethesh gripped his staff tightly as walked. Despite his grim countenance, he couldn't remember having so much fun. He had even found a friend in the warlock Coppercog. Despite the gnomes disgusting personal habits he found him a refreshing change from the stuffy atmosphere at the Kirin Tor. He allowed himself a wry smile at that and followed the torches light.

Coppercog was humming cheerfully to himself. He thought about soup mostly.

Veloros felt a deep unease. Kitarl was close to cracking and were he to lose control... they would all perish here. Wherever... he corrected himself, whenever here was. He hadn't understood much of what the dragon in the elf form had said but it sounded exciting. He thought of the little light bearer, and grinned. His sparring with her was refreshing and enjoyable, her devotion and strength was something he admired greatly. He would pay her a visit after they were done here... if they survived that is. He chuckled softly to himself and swished his tail as he walked.

Kitarl motioned for the group to halt. Each had felt the same sensation of displacement and knew they had crossed the threshold into another time. What was originally the dark interior of a cavern gave way to what seemed an infinite cosmos of stars and galaxies, they wheeled overhead with a timeless splendour, and the five companions felt a sense of awe wash over them. A sense that then gave way to a great feeling of wrongness. Something was here that shouldn't be... something that tore at the fabric of creation with its very presence. The Epoch dragons were here. They found themselves on a massive plateau of rock, the cave they had emerged from was behind them. Seeing no point in turning back, the group marched onward. It was Learson that asked the obvious question.

"Where the Nether are we?"
"On big lump of rock." Veloros answered.
"Oh." Learson replied.

Veloros swatted him across the back of the head.

"Do not ask silly questions." Veloros chided him.
"Sorry Veloros."

Veloros sighed.

Kitarl dropped the torch and stamped out the flame. The had walked steadily down what seemed like a natural path in the rocky canyon, so far they had failed to encounter any resistance. Kitarl drew a short warhammer and his blood elf shield, signalling the rest he crouched down low and listened. A steady rythmic humming could be heard, it was almost immpossible to locate the source but Kitarl had a fair idea.

"We're expected." He whispered.
"Good let us not be disapointing them." Veloros answered quietly.

Veloros unslung the warstaff from his back, tested it's weight and grinned in the starlight that lit the canyon. Coppercog pulled a long serpent bladed knife and strange fetish that glowed with a purple light. Muttering eldritch words and shrouded in a mysterious light he summoned forth an imp. Kitarl raised an eyebrow at the diminutive demon, it tried a friendly grin and wave but recoiled at Kitarl's scowl. Learson unstealthed and crept slowly up to Veloros and Kitarl.

"I count four behind us, large, with footsteps that click as they walk." He whispered urgently.
"No... there is only being two... these creatures are walking on four legs." Veloros replied.
"Dragonkin" Kitarl growled.

At that moment two of the beasts appeared at the end of the pass. Large heavily muscled and armoured reptiles, as black as the space between the stars, their eyes glowed with a fearful light.

"So much for sneaking in." Sethesh said dryly.
"Meh... Charge!" Kitarl roared.

Kitarl and Learson charged at the dragonkin, barreling into them. Learson rebounded off his target and rolled clear as three magical blasts; lightning, fire and shadow bolts, took it in the chest. It's armour melted under the mystical assault and Learson sprang back to his feet, his blades flashing as he slashed and stabbed at the dragonkins exposed flesh, finally ending it with a powerful backward sweep that unzipped its guts over the rocky floor. Panting heavily Learson turned his attention to Kitarls target. Noticing too late the flying form of the big Arathi, both Kitarl and Learson were smacked into the canyon wall. Snarling, Kitarl scrambled to his feet and entered the fray again. He had done considerable damage to the dragonkin in his first assault, it's left arm was broken and the right side of it's face was caved in. It hissed angrily at them, a sound that felt like nails on the chalkboard of each mans soul. Kitarl swung his hammer, smashing it into the monsters hip with a satisfying crunch. Ducking under it's next attack, Kitarl smashed his shield into its broken arm, grinning evily as it screamed in pain.

"Pinkskin! Down!" Veloros yelled.

Kitarl slammed into the ground as another magical assault finished the dragonkin off. He rose to his feet and brushed himself down. He looked over at Learson, who was being tended by Veloros.

"I don't wanna go to market..." Learson slurred.
"Market? What Market? Wake up stupid boy!" Veloros swatted him across the back of the head. When he saw he had his full attention, he cast a healing wave over the rogues body and helped him to his feet.
"Did we win?"
"Yes now we go home."
"Really? That was easy."
Veloros rubbed the ridges on his head. "What am I to do with him?"
Learson grinned at the Draenei and patted him on the shoulder. "You could always feed me..."
"Feed you?! I feed you to dragons!" Veloros looked sternly at him, then laughed loudly.
"Quiet." Kitarl grunted.

The group regained its composure and continued on.

They walked in silence for nearly an hour, following the natural path that wound down deeper into the rock. Coppercog kept glancing back along the path and staring thoughtfully before catching up with the others. Kitarl turned to the gnome and indicated with a nod what the matter was. The gnome looked from Kitarl to the passage behind and shook his head.

"No turning back." Was all he would say.

Kitarl looked back down the passage they had just came, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He looked at the gnome and nodded. Another two hours passed. Kitarl was forced to relight the torch as the oppressive gloom from the sheer cliffs either side of them blotted out even the brilliant light from the stars overhead. Kitarl called a halt and the party rested. Kit and Veloros sat upahead , discussing the path before them.

"I would feel easier about this had Asuntarel actually told us what we are looking for." Kitarl confessed.
"Hmm, I would be thinking we just smash everything... just to be sure." Veloros replied and grinned cheekily in the torchlight.
Kitarl regarded the large Draenei for a moment. "Who are you anyway?" He asked with a slight trace of puzzlement.
"I am Veloros, shaman, traveler, juggler, and baker of best pies in known universe." Veloros said with only a hint of mockery.
"Indeed?" Kitarl asked.
"Oh yes, my pies are very much demanded."
"You should add clown to your titles." Kitarl grunted.
"Ha! Yes I juggle too." Veloros chuckled at this.
Kitarl grinned a little. "Tell me... why are you following me so much?"
"You have wonderful personality and cute button nose." Veloros replied, his face breaking into an uncontrollable grin.
"That's as straight an answer as I'm going to get isn't it?" Kitarl asked, shifting slightly to look at the shaman directly.
"My sources say yes." Veloros replied with his usual smile. The last dragonkin fell, it's skull crushed by Veloros' staff. He wiped some persperation from his brow and leaned heavily on the weapon. He took a moment to look over his companions, checking to see if they were in any discomfort. Apart from all looking tired and dirty they seemed unharmed. Kitarl had plodded off a few feet ahead and sat heavily on a rock, Veloros was keeping a close watch on him, after the third ambush he had begun to mutter to himself. Veloros' understanding of the common tongue was sketchy at best, but he didn't like what he heard. Something about laughing... always laughing. The troubled human warrior was not doing well so far from home and loved ones. The shaman feared that outside their influence Kitarl would begin to unravel fast. Not good he thought, not good at all. He understood though, he had felt the same when his people had fled Draenor. He was born there, grew up there, was married and had children... a family he had lost during the battle to take the Exodar from the blood elf forces. He smiled as he thought of his wife Shanna. She laughed more than he did, the thought of which made him chuckle softly. Kitarl stood up from the rock and looked at Veloros intently. Veloros felt his grip on the staff tighten. If need be he would try to take the warrior down without hurting him. He swallowed hard... If the warrior didn't cut him in half first.
Kitarl blinked and signelled the rest of them that break time was over. With only token protest from Learson, the group collected themselves and carried on along the tunnely they had entered almost six hours earlier.

"I am thinking... we just found what we look for." Veloros whispered.
"No shit." Was all the response he received. As he thought, it was from Learson.

The had entered a cavern larger than any they had seen before. Although the shape of it was hauntingly familiar.

"It's..." Kitarl began. Stopping only when Veloros touched him on the shoulder.

He turned to look at the shaman who simply nodded. It was indeed the Cavern of Time. Millions of years before the Titans began reshaping the universe, before Azeroth and the Old Gods. Before the horror of the Legion. The Cavern stood. Silent and eternal. The nexus of causality. All around them swirls of temporal energy gathered and danced, a cosmic lightshow unlike anything they could describe. It was the centre of the cavern that their attention was ultimately dragged back to. They knew it the moment they saw it. The purpose of their mission. A large glass container with strange fel machinery surrounding it. Machinery that seemed to phase in and out of existance. Inside the glass rested, curled up and sleeping, was the largest of these unnatural brutes. In all ways a true dragon in appearance, but like the dragonkin they had fought... dark as the space between the stars, and radiating a sense of malevolant wrongness.

"Okay plan is simple, we smash glass kill dragon and go home, no?" Veloros whispered.
"I doubt it my blue friend." Sethesh replied.

Learson produced a stick of dynamite from his pocket.

"We could just blow it up?"
"No." Kitarl whispered, "The Cavern must not be destroyed."
"Wha?" Learson gawked.
"We destroy the cavern here, then we do their work for them." He used his thumb to indicate the Epoch dragon.
"Damn." Learson mutterd and hid the dynamite again. "What do we do then?"

Kitarl looked at him.

"We walk out there, and we see what happens." He said simply, and rose to his feet.

The others, dismay written on their faces, followed suit and rose with him. One by one the entered the Cavern and walked towards the entombed Dragon. Kitarl drew his weapons and signalled Veloros. Veloros nodded in response and created totems arround them, one for protection, one for healing and one for, as the shaman would say "To be making things interesting." Kitarl nodded to Learson and Coppercog next. Learson drew his daggers and vanished from sight. Coppercog waved his hands, bands of purple energy flowing from them, the imp piztik disappeared and alrge Void Walker appered in its place, muttering obscenities. Finally he nodded at Sethesh. Silently the mage began his own spell, summoning burning fire to his hands, and suddenly throwing the resulting ball of burning plasma at the glass. The ball smashed silently off the surface, not even scorching it. The only event to mark it's attempt, was one of the dragons eyes had slowly slid open.

"Who dares dares dares dares?" The beasts voice rumbled. It was felt more than heared, and each of the champions took a step back.
"Uh... we do?" Veloros ventured.

The large glowing eye, swiviled, taking each of them in turn. Finally settling on Kitarl, it widened slightly as it looked at him. Kitarl felt the depthless and utterly cruel gaze expose his very soul. Like the books he would take from the library shelves, plundering their secrets for his thirsty mind. He glared back defiantly and uttered a curse in his native tongue.

"What he say?" Sethesh heard Learson whisper.
"Something like... 'away and bile yer heid'... I think." The mage translated.

The dragon laughed silently. It's peircing gaze intensified and Kitarl Roared in pain. The others could do nothing but watch helplessly as unseen forces lifted him off the ground into the air. Like a doll being lifted by a curious child.
Veloros reacted first, creating a new totem. This one was strangely shaped and glowed with a purple light. As it appeared a shaft of this light flashed out and struck Kitarl in the back. The Arathi stiffened and the same light burst from his mouth straight into the Dragons eye.

"Ha! They not teach you that one in Exodar!" The shaman yelled triumphetly.
"What are you doing?!" yelled Coppercog.
"Big lizard not come out of glass, so I find way in. Arrogant geko use power to take Kitarl, make channel to itself, totem follow channel back to source!" Veloros exclaimed.

The dragon lord roared silently, each of the champions clutched their heads in pain. Veloros recovered enough to see a dark cloud burst throught the glass, and enter Kitarls mouth. The mind totem he had created exploded in a burst of dark energy. Veloros shielded his eyes from the blast and quickly turned back to Kitarl, now lying on the cavern floor, convulsing wildly.
The dragon was still. Its eye reduced to a dull imitation of its horrific splendour. Kitarl sat up as Veloros appraoched him, his convulsions worsening, and a sickening wretching sound coming from his throat. With a cry of pain, Kitarl heaved the contents of his stomache on the floor before him. His painful ordeal over, he fell to the ground, and was still. Veloros edged closer still to him, urgently trying to see if he was breathing. Before being able to make such a diagnosis, a hand burst forth from the foul black muck Kitarl had expelled from his body. Veloros yellped in fright and leapt back from the mewling monstrosity that crawled it's way into existance from the puddle of muck.
It stood tall over the shaman. A large black broadsword in it's hand. Aside from it's deathly white skin and glowing blue eyes, it was a perfect replica of Kitarl.

In the dragons voice it said "And now... time to end this heroic nonsense sense sense sense sense."

It struck out with it's free hand, a terrible blow that broke every bone it touched. Learson who had quietly been trying to sneak up on the monstrosity was sent hurtling through the air. The remain champions new he was dead even before his broken form hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Veloros closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. The beast had only begun. With a preternatural speed it shot across the cavern and buried the massive broadsword it carried into Sethesh's chest. The mage stared blankly into the beasts eyes, then slumped. with a flick of its wrist it disloged his corpse. Lashing out suddenly it cleaved Coppercog's Voidwalker in half. The demonic being dissolved as it fell, leaving only it's bracers. Coppercog himself hand begun hurling bolts of shadow magic at the beast wearing Kitarls form. The shadow bolts seemed to fade into nothingness as they struck. Smiling sickly, the beast lunged at Coppercog. It's movement somewhat slower, savouring the look of fear on the warlocks face.
It never made it. Veloros tackled the beast in midcharge, driving it to the floor with his massive bulk. He cried out in pain as the creature grabbed and tore one of his facial tentacles off with a mere gesture. Gritting his teeth shaman tried to grapple with the beast. It punched the Draenei once, twice, three times, each blow being greeted with a sound like a spade hitting wet cement. Veloros slumped over and fell on the ground. The beast rose majestically to his feet, and raised it's broadsword above the shamans prone form. Veloros stared back up at, defiance in his only remaining eye. The other a pulp of purple blood and glowing life energy.
The beast grinned with it's horrible parody of a mouth, and brought his sword sweeping down in a final arc.

Veloros awaited the end. Kitarl sharpened the long sword he had taken to carrying, his attention focused on honing the blades edge. The dangerous swish-swish of the whetstone as it slid down the metal kept most of the animals away. The ones that remained were not to be detered by cold steel. Kitarl's eyes were red and bloodshot, partly from the ale but mostly from lack of sleep. He hadn't slept in three nights... not since he and Kylah fought again. He knew he'd done wrong, reminded himself of it every minute of the day. He tried to approach her in Stormwind, he glimpsed her briefly outside the bank and resolved to make amends. Just as he reached her throgh the throng, she vanished. Cursing angrily he had thrown his shield on the ground and sat down heavily on the bank steps. He wasn't sure how long he had sat there, but when he looked up the mid afternoon sun had given way to the twilights gloom. He picked up the shield and slung it on his back, and began walking to the griphon post.

Landing in Nethergard, and finally realisng the protesting griphon from the death clutch he had it in, Kitarl began the trudge along the scorched earth to the Dark Portal. Riding hard and fast across the Hellfire Peninsula, Kitarl didn't stop till he reached Nagrand. The open plains and oddly formed trees that streched far out across his vision before giving way to granite hills had always soothed him. The alien beauty a stark contrast to the horrors of the peninsula and the madness inducing tedium of the marshes he had crossed to reach here. He climbed a tree he had marked some weeks ago and settled in. He had rarely left this spot in his time in Outland. Occassionaly answering the call of desperate adventurers that pleaded for his aid. With sword and shield he had hacked, slashed, and genrally beaten his way through Fel Orcs, corrupted Draenei and hideos Naga. Ultimately, he aquired new scars, a few coins, and a thirst for privacy and ale. Fighting was no longer it's own reward... not without her by his side. Food lost it's taste and the ale did little to relieve his tension. He mused quietly when sober at how quickly he seemed to break down when she turned her face from him. Shuddering slightly at the thought he returned the sharpening of his blade.

Zaredd had found him. Delivering a letter she had looted from the corpse of a half-eaten Scarlet. He read the letter carefully and swore. Garner had put them all in danger yet again it seems. And more to his annoyance it seemed he would be returning to where much of his life had truly began. The Scarlet Monastery. The assault went well, Kitarl was mostly uninterested in the details or even who was there. They asked for tactics and in a off-handed he suggested hitting hard and fast. This seemed to satisfy them. He did note with interest the presence of Rewon, but he was dismissed almost as quickly. They fought and killed their way through the great Library wing and slew the Mage that guarded the knowledge stores. Passing a disinterested eye over the slender volumes of a random shelf, Kitarl's blood ran cold. One of the volumes had his name on the outer cover. Glancing about Kitarl removed the book quietly and slipped it into his pack. They continued on, slaughtering more Scarlets... eventually they found what they looking for. Kitarl had lost interest again by this stage, briefly surfacing from his apathy as Rewon began setting off explosives... reducing much of the gardens to rubble. Long as he's happy Kitarl supposed. After their successful raid, Kitarl slipped off quietly making his way back to Outland. The bitter feeling in his stomache left no room for food, so he drank. He passed out rather than slept, and no dreams came to him.

He woke with a startle that morning. Blinking painfully in the alien dawn. His mouth felt swollen and dry. Dropping down from the branch he had parked in, he stumbled slightly and fell. Swearing angrily he staggered back to his feet and looked at his arm. A series of short cuts covered it. He glared at them and the story they told. He didn't remember cutting himself, and he didn't feel the need to do it. He picked up the empty skin and stared long and hard at it. He sighed and sat down. Taking out the whetstone and began to sharpen his sword.

So here was, the blade gripped in his left hand, as the right brought the sharpening tool down and again. He was lost in thought as the orc crept up to his little camp. The orc was clever enough, kept down wind of Kitarl, and made little or no noise at all. He regurlarly tensed and eased his muscles to keep them from cramping as he slowly made his way towards the human. With only the slightest change in the air to signify his readiness, the orc hefted the club he was carrying and swung it directly for Kitarls head. The Orc screamed his battle cry of "Lok'Tar!" and was very surprised to find Kitarls gauntleted fist around the clubs end. The orc stood there frozen. Beads of sweat began to form on his head as he looked down into the humans eyes. What he saw caused a shiver to run up his spine. Feeling something was expected of him, the orc ventured a "Kek?" of enquiry. Kitarl's face remained impassive, but the heavy oak end of the club began to crack and splinter under his iron grip. Nodding slowly, the orc released the club and ran. Kitarl picked up his rifle with one arm and fired, barely noticing the orcs sudden drop, as the life fled its body. His arm was numb from the impact and he grunted as he pried his fingers free from the club. He sighed and sat back down. He thought of Kylah again. Wondering where she was... and wondering most darkly if he would see her again. Kitarl settled down in the Library of Stormwind Keep. His battle with the Infernal had exhausted him to the point of death... he wasn't sure how he had survived after staggering to the lake. He wasn't sure he cared. He picked a book at random from the shelves and flicked to an arbitary page. Using his finger to keep him focused he slowly began to read.

"There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference towards it, I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis. My punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. This confession has meant nothing"

Kitarl paused. He turned the book over to its cover. There was no title, and the book was bound in plain non descript leather. He turned back to the passage and read it again... and again... and again. He later had to look up some of the words, but the pasage struck a frightening cord with him. He hurriedly replaced the book and limped out of the keep. His mind raced with revelation he was presented with, and the possibilites terrified him.

He headed home.

((N.B. the quoated passage is from a real book, for fear of copyright lawyers descending upon me I will name it as American Psycho by Bret Eastmen Ellis)) The Paladin sipped the wine and sighed contentedly. He had never tasted wine so sweet and it's chilled flavour danced deliciously along his tongue and down his throat. He lounged in the chair he had taken inside the... blast what was it called... ah the Lions Pride Inn. He took a moment to glance at the rest of the inns patrons. gnomes, dwarves, night elves and the draenei all in evidence. He was fascinated by the night elves. Tall and powerful looking, with an ancient sadness about them. So different to the bright and vibrant high elves he was used to. He took another sip of the wine and smiled. He had to admit Azeroth wasn't all that bad. He seetled his bill with innkeeper, and finished his wine. Picking up the large decorative broadsword that was his fathers legacy, he stepped out into the sunny forest of Elwynn. A wonderful blue, if plain, sky greeted him when he glanced upwards. He rubbed his chin and grinned foolishly at the novelty of it. A sky of just plain blue, with no floating rocks or other visible planets, or even the ever present streams of magical energy. He shook his head, laughing a little. He hitched his pack into a more comfortable posistion and carried onto Stormwind.

The city was more than he could imagine. The stories he had been told as a child scarcely did it credit. Though he would learn later the reason for this was, Stormwinds rebuilding after the events of the second war. He managed to survive the pressed throng by walking in the slipstream of a large draenei. The draenei laughed often, and the paladin found it to be a charming and infectious laugh. More than once he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep him from joining in. He finally stopped in the Trade District. The sights, sounds and smells of the living city threatened to overwhelm him, he closed his eyes on these occasions and recited the mantra his father taught him. On opening his eyes, he found himself calm once more. He took out a small and much read piece of parchment from his tunic pocket and glanced at it again. Brother Sarno, Cathedral of Light, Stormwind. Well he was in Stormwind, now where was the cathedral? Glancing about, he spotted a young man clad in leather armor. Long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a red mask covering his features. He had spotted the draenei the paladin had followed into the city and looked like he was about to faint. The Paladin took him by the arm.

"Light's blessings! Excuse me friend, but could you tell where the Cathedral of Light is?" The Paladin asked, treating the rogue to his friendliest grin.

Learson nearly fainted when he saw Veloros across the square, two weeks and not a bloody word, and there he is walking through the streets like he's never been away! Learson was ready to go give the Shaman a piece of his rather vulgar mind, when he felt an iron clamp on his arm. He looked down at the large hand holding him fast. His eyes then followed the course from the hand, up the impressivly formed arm and finally ending with a grin. Learson would be the first to admit, it wasn't a scary grin. He'd seen scary. Mr Darkmoor, now he had a scary grin... Learson was convinced there was wolf somewhere in that man's ancestry. It was the way he could make you feel like a slab of meat. The grin infront of him now, however, made you wish, very quickly, that you'd led a better life and that maybe it wasn't too late to think about religeon. The grin had asked him something.

"Uh?" He managed.

The Paladin nodded and repeated his question. Word for word.

"Cathedral? Uh.. that's um... that way." He pointed. "Over the canal, you can't miss it..."

The Paladin let go, and Learson felt himself fall the last two inches back to the ground.

"My thanks! May the Light guide you!" The Paladin joyfully extolled, then waved his hand, laying a blessing on Learson.

"Th...thanks... " The rogue stammered, then fled.

Nice people, the Paladin thought to himself. He carried on out of the Trade District and into the canals. Wonderous planning he remarked, not for the first time. He ducked inside a wind tunnel and turned another corner. The sight that greeted him brought him to his knees. The Cathedral spire reaching up to the sky, catching the afternoon sun. A beacon of everything he had been brought up to believe in. He felt his eyes moisten and quickly scrambled to his feet, breaking into a brisk jog. He climbed the Cathedral steps two at a time, a wide and fantastic grin on his face. He crossed the threshold and was promptly knocked on his back. Blinking he looked up. There stood a man, clad in ornate green and yellow armor. A wicked looking curved sword at his side. His tabard was blood read, with a golden sword and shield emblazend on the front. Long strands of black hair fell under the helm he wore. The warrior was tall, nearly a half foot taller than the Paladin himself. The remarkable thing was not his appearance, but the smell. He didn't smell bad as in poor cleanliness...for the Paladin could tell this was a man who cleaned himself thoroughly but could never wash off what he saw. He smelled of blood and thunder. The warrior stared intently at the fallen Paladin, green intense eyes narrowed in, what, hatred? Anger? When he finally spoke, his voice was a low and animal-like growl.

"Look where you're going next time."

He swept past the Paladin and down the steps. Not far behind him came a young woman, beautiful, with long dark hair swept back and tied. She called out a name, his presumably. The Paladin tilted his head to see while pulling himself back to his feet. He saw the warrior stop and stiffen at his name. He couldn't hear what was being said, but a heated exchange was going on. He decided, for his own sake, to leave them to it and entered the Cathedral proper. Kitarl ran through the streets of Stormwind, occassionaly sending a citizen flying as his armored form plowed through the crowd. The distress beacon had beenn sent by the High Inquisitor himself, any Scarlet in a half mile radius was already on their way... But he'd be damned if he didn't get there first. He had alot to prove since his defection and return a few weeks earlier. The others didn't trust him and he was certain he was being followed. He'd worked hard to get back in, and betrayed a few trusts by doing so. Especially revealing Marwin, the Crimson Rebellions leader, had a spy in the Inquisition. Kitarl didn't know who the spy was, but the information had secured his return to the fold. He turned a corner in Old Town and realised finally where the signal had come from. The Dwarven District. Twisting Nether.. what was Melslak doing in there? The Dwarven District Guard had made it damn clear a Scarlet in their territory would be dead before he saw them coming. Kitarl drew his sword and advanced into the smokey streets.

Suspicious eyes followed him from every corner and out of every window as he moved caustiously along. He knew first hand how damn hard dwarves could fight and the longer it took him to find Melslak the less chance he would find him... in one peice anyway. If there was man in this city that had a bigger bullseye on his back that Kitarl, it was the High Inquisitor. He found himself now, passing through the forges at the centre of the district and out into the courtyard before the great hall. There he saw them. Melslak, with two novices infront of him. Rather typical Kitarl thought. Advancing on them were four armed and angry looking dwarves.
Kitarl took a deep breath and charged forward, knocking the first dwarf back with a bash from his shield. Adopting a defensive stance, sword in hand, Kitarl stared down the other dwarves. He was mildly annoyed they didn't seem too perturbed by his arrival, but he was mor