Il Notte Eterna

[Ninorra]

..and so it is written that the dead shall walk, and at their helm,
the lady shall lead them to their pain eternal.
Woe to he who is foolish enough to live and die with belief.
Woe to he who sins, and knows the wrong that he has done.

She awoke to the sounds of screaming. This was not unusual, and they usually gave way to images of the dead. Opening her eyes, she knew that this was the same nightmare as usual. Surrounding Ninorra were thousands upon thousands of corpses, most of them seeming to be in the same state in which they had died. Some were old, some were young and hideously disfigured. They shuffled past her, driven like cattle by a demon on the back of an enormous fel steed. The demon looked somewhat like an incubus, long black hair swept in a tall ponytail, horns protruding longer than a foot in front of his face.

He glanced at Ninorra, and nodded once he recognized her face. Looking down at her hands, she saw once again the hideous mutations that had been inflicted upon them while she wasn't paying attention. Her fingernails had grown into long thick claws, contorting her bone structure from it's once comeliness into a disfigured series of bones and sinew. Gritting her teeth in anger, she looked up once again. In the distance, a white light swept overhead. It was part of their punishment, an eternity of seeing those who led virtuous lives, ascending into an afterlife they could never experience. Reincarnation, eternity of paradise, their fates were theirs to choose; these ones, however, they had no choice.

The foreman would choose for them.

It was then that she saw something, in that ray of bright light. A figure, one that she knew well, and loved dearly. It ascended so quickly that she could hardly tell if it was him, but in her heart she knew, and in her despair she attempted a scream. The noise remained caught in her lungs, Ninorra finding herself unable to scream. It was painful to breathe in, and the only sound that slipped past her lips was a tiny innocent squeak. Looking up towards the ascension of the virtuous, she caught sight of the light, knowing that he who had gone was gone forever. Seeing him in comparison to the damned, she felt her hands move of their own accord, and suddenly tore through her own face.

She suffered past the pain, hoping that it would ease her own suffering to never see the damned again. Ninorra shredded her eyes and ripped them from their sockets, taking with them bits of flesh and skin around them. A hissing sound gave way to more white-hot pain as her demonic blood ran down her hands and face, burning all that it touched in it's acidity. Smoke rose to her nostrils, and she felt her hands and face melt as the rivulets tore through them.

Surrounded by the dead, she wept tears of blistering blood, and cried for that which had been lost.

______________________________________

[Ninorra]

"Ninorra?"

It was deep and gravelly, as if he were made of stone. Vicailde's voice was her ground, her earth which bound her to the world.

"Wake up."

A nightmare, and one she had had before. It was nothing so very special in terms of nightmares, she now realized, as she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of the sun pouring in through the window. Only a premonition of things to come. Memories of her time in the Dark Below, and the constant nagging of her conscience.

"You were dreaming.." He muttered, turning over to go back to sleep. He had been sleeping so heavily lately, and she knew that it must be from his own thoughts and nightmares. Perhaps he still felt guilt over the loss of his men in Northrend? If he did, he was not discreet about it. The old elf bore more pain than she could imagine, and it only seemed to worsen as days went by.

Sitting up in bed, she pushed off the covers and opened her mouth to speak. Should she wake him, she wondered? No, let him sleep, and I will prepare breakfast before returning to Outland. There was no reason to share imaginary pain with someone who felt the real thing so often.

[Ninorra]

The only thing that traveling in Outland was traveling in Northrend. In addition to being cold, Ninorra was constantly reminded of the Scourge’s presence. While she enjoyed destroying the living dead and their monstrosities, it was beginning to get tedious. Walking through another wooded out of the way thicket, she suddenly found herself staring face to face with an enormous blue troll.

For a moment, she and the troll stared at one another face to face. There were a few seconds of silence before he opened his mouth to call for his brethren. Ninorra didn’t give him the chance; instead, she screamed into his shocked visage, her high-pitched voice causing more than just a startled expression. The troll’s hair burst into flame, which quickly spread throughout the rest of his body. Using the distraction to slide off of Benedictus’ back, the warlock nodded towards her enormous demon companion, Thooroon, and watched for a moment as the Felguard used his axe to hack at the flaming troll. The troll fought back as valiantly as he could muster, but his attacks were only met with more music from Ninorra. After about a minute of singing, pain, disease, flames and flesh wounds overcame the troll and he fell to the ground in a pile of charred flesh and exposed bone.

With a sigh, Ninorra wiped her forehead and made sure to check her surroundings before dismissing Benedictus and walking a bit further through the copse of trees. The sound of bones clacking against one another rhythmically caused her to stop in her tracks. Several yards away, she could see moving figures. Stealthily moving from tree to tree, she approached what appeared to be a ritualistic gathering of frost trolls. Some of them stood in a circular formation around a bonfire, while a few others, decorated with beads and paint, danced and chanted. Slowly the dancers, which she now realized were shamans, moved their way towards the center of the fire. It did not burn them, but their chanting grew louder, and as they walked through, they brought something out with them.

It was a female.

She lay unconscious in their hands, and unharmed by the flames. While her eyes were still closed, she thrashed in their hands, muttering words in their language that Ninorra could not understand. It was a ritual unlike she had ever seen before, but one thing was tugging at her curiosity; the strange object in the female’s hands. It resembled a skull, but seemed heavily mutated. Its teeth and horns were so large and misshapen that it seemed it could not possible fit on a natural creature. Smiling brightly, the warlock recognized it as a demon, and an unusual one at that. Not one to leave her own hobbies in the dust, curiosity ate at her until she relented.

It’s not theft if I return it, is it? She thought mischievously to herself.

[Cabriel]

It was his chambers in the guildhall at Shattrath.

Well, not exactly. The lushly-appointed place approximated his chambers, playing them out in some macabre, highly-defined parody. The window that looked out onto the preening forests hung motionless in the air with no wall to support it. Cabriel raised his head. He peeked: still a tangled mass of ferns, vines, and strange blossoms. The clothes strewn on the floor were definitely his, though the floor was the mottled cap of a huge fungus growth…one of those mushrooms in Zangarmarsh. The bed that creaked beneath he and Mareknov was familiar, and even the lantern suspended by a thin chain over the headboard matched that of the lantern in his chambers. It didn’t matter that the chain simply ascended into the misty sky until it disappeared.

“Probably hanging from the moon,” Mareknov muttered. Cabriel nodded and kissed him again.

“Doesn’t matter,” the elf replied. “Watch this,” From the space between Mareknov’s neck and the pillows, Cabriel plucked a bunch of red grapes. They seemed moist, dripping with sweet water and swollen. He shook some of the water onto the knight’s face. He giggled.

Mareknov strained his neck up and bit one of the fruits from the bunch. He grinned wickedly up at Cabriel, holding the grape between his perfect white teeth. Cabriel playfully rolled his eyes and placed his hands on Mareknbov’s bare chest, leaning down to slowly take the fruit from his mouth.

“What are they doing here?” the knight’s voice echoed off unseen walls. In a half-circle bending around the foot of the bed were a motley collection of creatures. Abanip clapped his hands together, tongues of tiny flames pierced the mist. Bronna cocked her hip and wet her lips, staring. Flaadhun was a statue of muscle, towering over them all, while Gzaadhun slavered at his feet. Cabriel felt each set of demonic eyes on his back, and he tried to ignore them.

“Ignore them,” he whispered. “They’re just defensive.” Mareknov laughed and ran his strong hands down Cabriel’s legs. The elf felt his companion quicken beneath him. Cabriel closed his eyes and smiled, finally giving in to his need of the strange person he shared his bed with.

The light of the place extinguished and Mareknov bucked under Cabriel. The warlock took his muffled groans as indicators of pleasure, and continued on. Violet light appeared like tiny stars along the muscular contours of the knight’s torso and arms. He was a being of stars! Cabriel licked his lips and watched them coalesce into miniature galaxies, swirling spirals of light that drew closer to him as the friction between their bodies began to heat. Each bead of sweat on the elf’s body reflected the light, firing it off into a thousand simultaneous directions. Cabriel reached out to touch the light, watching Mareknov below him strain against some unseen pain.

The blue light in the knight’s eyes flared briefly, then left. Cabriel reached his height as the violet glow suffused him, sustaining him. The lantern swung violently over them and Mareknov’s empty body burst into fel-green flames. Cabriel let out an echoing laugh, realizing the irony in his mounting a fiery steed.

Something dark uncurled inside his chest.

[Cabriel]

His ears were suddenly filled with the weird croaking of the Outland frogs that spawned in the pools of Zangarmarsh. He tasted the film in his mouth before opening his eyes to the slanting light of dawn. Everything was in soft-focus, save for the panicked-looking innkeeper. A troll female with loose hair and carrying a tray that now quaked with nervousness, she just smiled crookedly and set the juice on the floor and nearly ran down the rickety stairs.

Cabriel padded over to the pitcher and cup, poured himself a long drink, and threw it back. He blinked hard against the grit in his eyes and picked up The Turgid Affairs of Lady Anitra, his makeshift grimoire. The page containing the recipe for a sleep-aid he was experimenting with was dog-eared, and Cabriel flipped directly to it. A few quick scratches and he had recorded the events of another night full of strange and vivid nightmares.

“Fucking dreamfoil," he muttered to himself.

[Lascivious]

Lascivious sat astride Sam atop the crater looking down at the dark portal. On either side of her on their frostwolves were the Tauren hunters Mohan and Muatah. They had spent the day together riding and exploring. The little warrior had worked hard to improve her knowledge of the world around her since becoming the Grim’s Mistress. It was a daunting notion, but having two allies like these with her – pillars of strength who were ready to live and die by her command for the Mandate - gave her the confidence she needed to ensure the Horde’s survival.

“The portal will open soon,” she commented gazing at the flickering light offering fleeting glimpses of the world beyond it.

“Yes, Mistress,” Mohan answered as Muatah nodded in agreement.

“Soon Outland will know what it is to feel our wrath,” Lascivious grinned. “Then one day Arthas.”

Muatah turned toward looking down from his perch atop his war wolf. “Why wait? Perhaps you should visit him now.”

Lascivious blinked in confusion. Mohan dismounted and grabbed the Forsaken’s arm. She turned toward him to tell him to let go, but he was gone. On the hunter’s shoulders sat a demonic looking head – one she had never seen before and nothing like those commanded by the Grim’s warlocks. Muatah grabbed her other arm and his face mutated into that of a demon stunning her to immobility. Their long tongues snakes out licking and slashing at her face as they laughed walking toward the portal.

As they drew near she heard laughter. Sick and twisted. A mockery joy and mirth. She recognized it even though she had never heard it before. It was him. Calling to her. Promising. Loving. Hating. Rewarding. Punishing.

The portal split open revealing a giant frozen pit full of the most foul abominations the scourge could assemble. Thousands of rotting arms reached up toward her, calling for her to come home, to return to her true place.

She started to panic and kick, but could not break the iron-like grip of the Tauren.

No! I am not one of them. I am not one of them.

The demon-headed hunters stopped in front of the portal and lifted her easily laughing as they tossed her through.


Lascivious eyes snapped open. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt an urgency to move and cry out, but she remained still and silent.

Just a dream. Her fingers dug into the mattress of her bed and she closed her eyes trying to calm herself. Did she have dreams? She wasn’t even sure if she really slept. She rolled over but the bed next to her was empty just as it had been since her return to the Grim. “Cold.” That is what Kia had called her and she had not seen her since the day she revealed herself to her.

Sighing she got up and began to dress. She remembered that day at the crater with Muatah and Mohan. Unlike in the dream, it had been a good day and she was pleased to return and find the two hunters still among the Grim.

Finished with her armor, she took up her blade and slung it across her back. She would seek out one of the demon tamers. Maybe one of them would know the significance of what she saw. Or maybe it was nothing. But she had thought that before.

[Cabriel]

He opened his eyes petulantly to the cool purple light.

They were all there. Flaad stood, imposing as ever with his bulging, inhuman muscles wrapped tightly in the sterile white robes of a healer. Over his right eye was a kind of telescopic lens, and when he noticed the elf looking at him, the lens narrowed and spun. Cabriel thought it sounded much like a swarm of bees. Bronna fiddled with a tray of cylindrical objects, her translucent wings concealing her task. She giggled, as she was wont to do. Cabriel smiled warmly at the sound.

“It’s good to see you all. Where are we?”

Abanip’s toes clicked as he bounded across the space. Cabriel noticed his reflection in the imp's great golden eyes. Over his head spanned a great latticework of facets, random, each set of glowing lines converging on another until the whole of the sky seemed once broken, but now repaired into something more enigmatic.

“A crystal. Hmm.” Cabriel gazed upward. “It would seem we’re inside one. Isn’t that odd?”

Abanip smiled with his multiple rows of uneven teeth. They had always reminded Cabriel of a collection of shiny items from a beach: sharp little shells, shark teeth, bits of pointy wood and glass, pebbles. Flaad cleared his throat, emitting a grumble so low that the elf’s ears barely registered it. The place reverberated with it.

“You know, I read once that elekks communicate with super-low sounds. So low we can’t hear them. But they’re there!” Under his outstretched hand, Gzaadhun purred and slavered as Cabriel scratched behind his quills.

“We begin,” the subterranean tumble of Flaad’s voice rolled out. Bronna turned and smirked. She wore a tight white surgeon’s apron and the same whirring goggles. He looked down to notice he was naked, then registered the fact that he was strapped to an upended metal table.

“These straps are cold,” he complained. The gathering of people who observed this scene made Cabriel blush. He noticed Exanimo, Mareknov, and Broxigan, and wiggled his fingers in greeting. Also with them were Ninorra, Vilmah with her clockwork arm, Pettipaw, Lysimachus, and his father. Sebastian and Asher were there, as was Valen, Amoola with her sleek fur, Q, and the ears, tusks, horns, and arms of others he couldn’t make out.

“Hello everyone! What a lovely surprise!” Cabriel grinned.

Bronna’s breath smelled rank. Nothing about it was beautiful like this place.

“Ever heard of a mint, Bronna?”

Her tiny knife slid a clean line into Cabriel’s forehead. Another was drawn, forming an “x” above his right eye. His blood was boiling hot as it rolled over his eyelid, obscuring his vision. There was no pain. Flaad appeared over the succubus’ shoulder, brandishing a shiny silver tray arrayed with a dozen different horns. Some curled like a ram’s, others looked more like antlers. Cabriel paused for a moment, then used his nose to point at the perfect one. It was medium-sized and jet black, with a narrow point that looped once near the end, forming the perfect curlicue. The room erupted in applause. Bronna nodded.

Cabriel felt her peel back the thick triangles of skin and muscle from his head, using sharp little pins to hold them back. He whistled a song and blinked through the bloody haze. Bronna positioned the horn in the incision and began slowly screwing it into place.

“This part’s a bit uncomfortable,” Cabriel grinned through clenched teeth. The audience laughed at his joke. “But pretty is pain, am I right?” They laughed even louder. The sound of bone on bone was deafening, and soon a few ivory chips joined the blood in Cabriel’s eye.

Abanip cackled and Flaad smiled broadly. Bronna held another tray up so Cabriel could see. At once, the surgical observers moaned in adoration at the wonderful new addition. Cabriel raised his eyebrow a few times, smiled roguishly into the mirror.

“Perfect!”

The audience cheered.

[Villayna]

Higher..must get higher...

The alien muscles located below her shoulder blades strained, beating the Nerubian wings faster, but the air was unnaturally thick. Angry, eye-less Anub'Slpktuh roared below, rearing up and flailing wildly for her with his beetle-esque appendages.

The air turned darker the more she struggled. She glanced below her, Anub'Slpktuh had released a swarm of phantom flies that filled the ancient library's room. Despite having tried to fly higher for what seemed like hours, she was still only inches from his highest reach. The pain below her shoulders mounted, and the ritual cuts on her face burned from the musky sweat of her transformed body.

"Take my hand..." His voice was kind, and she looked up to her King, his golden hair framing his face, manicured fingers so close..

She reached up, desperately, to take his hand, to be saved, eagerly she strained with renewed energy to fly just a bit higher. Her arm swung heavily up, unfolding it's razorsharp blade toward his arm.

"No!" they cried in unison.

"You have failed me, you have failed all of us!" He yelled.

Fel-green ichor spewed from the severed arm, blinding her, making her heavier, her wings sputtered and slowed, and she felt contact from below as the Nerubian Watcher pulled her down.

Another voice whispered in her mind "There is no escape...not in this life...not in the next... "

She screamed...


She screamed...

And she was awake in the darkness. She struggled, tossing the binding sheets of her bed aside violently. Her eyes adjusted, the faintest light of dawn coming in through the Inn's window.

Reflexively she looked behind her shoulder for wings. Seeing none, she sighed and her body released its tension as she realized it was just a nightmare.

[Qabian]

The impenetrable darkness around him filled with a ring of soft, pale blue lights. He'd had this dream before. Wretched. He stood where he was and waited for them to approach. He would be ready, as he always was, and he would fight them until the silence overwhelmed, and that would wake him up.

But this time, the lights were slow in their approach. They seemed, in fact, immobile. He tilted his head, somewhat confused, his own eyes narrowed as he peered into the darkness, waiting to learn why this was different. Would the silence draw out for hours? Would he drown all night? He gritted his teeth.

But the lights never did approach. Shapes began to form out of the darkness, edges lit by nothing, from no direction -- a dark altar before him, a valley of ash around him, a dead, grey sky above him. The lights? The eyes of soldiers? Death Knights?

Qabian scowled. Scourge... No, the Blade. They wore the tabards he had come to recognize as the symbol of those who thought they had actually overpowered the Lich King, whether or not he believed them.

The altar before him was bare, but a figure stood on the other side, female, elven, a hood pulled far over her face, and a quiver at her back.

"Sylvanas?" he whispered, still confused at the turn this dream that had started in such a familiar way was taking.

"Magister," she whispered in turn, voicelessly. "Follow me." The circle of Ebon knights behind her parted and she stepped past them. He hesitated a moment, then followed her outside the circle. "Look."

A moonwell took shape in the darkness, the kaldorei arches, the magic of it.

Qabian paused as the woman knelt down and reached into the moonwell's waters.

"What --" he said aloud, blinking repeatedly. He could see nothing of what she was doing from behind her.

Then she smoothly stood and turned to face him, cradling a naked, sleeping, newborn elf-child in the crook of one arm. Her other hand brought a slender finger to her lips. "Shh. This is no ordinary moonwell, but the waters of the Well of Eternity itself," she explained in soft sibilants, still voiceless, words barely audible even through the utter silence that surrounded them. "The blue flight shall have their wish, the absence of all mortal magic will be made real."

She brushed past him and the Ebon knights closed their circle again. He didn't recall ever having moved from where he stood staring at the moonwell, but found himself kneeling before the altar as she placed the sleeping child on top of it. The baby stirred in its sleep, stretching its arms and yawning. "And they shall accomplish it through your son."

"My what?" Qabian tried to scramble to his feet, but tripped on his dark robes, stumbling to one side.

The woman lifted a runeblade over the altar, weapon aimed at the child. Sylvanas... would never touch such a thing, Qabian's thoughts managed to slice through his growing panic. "Shindu Sin'dorei," she said, finally giving the words a voice, and brought the sword down as a pair of ephemeral wings spread out behind her, hood falling back to her shoulders.

Nymare?! "Wait!" Qabian cried out, one hand sliding over the altar towards the child.

But what lay bleeding between the altar and the blade was no infant, but a beating, disembodied heart. He stared at it a moment, but pulsing outward from the heart was the silence and the terror, more familiar but no less powerful. The Ebon knights no longer dead, but Wretched, reached towards him from around the circle. Nymare, standing behind the altar, eyes with the cold blue of the resurrected dead, wings of the val'kyr outstretched, blood dripping from the runeblade in her hand, laughing without cruelty, but with joy.

Qabian tried to speak, but brought his hand to his throat, finding only the choking silence he had come to expect from his mind in the night.

He turned and ran.

[Cabriel]

Cabriel awoke with a start. Sounds of tinkling crystal told him he had bumped the barrel that served as a nightstand next to his scratchy hammock. His bleary eyes followed an unstoppered vial roll out across the floor and disappear over the edge of the raised platform. All the huts were like this in Zangarmarsh, raised from the spongy ground on stilts. He clamped his eyes shut, thanking his stars he was only experiencing nightmares and not sleepwalking.

The warlock stretched out a bare arm grabbed his grimoire, but hadn’t the energy nor the light to record this most recent mental abomination. Part of him wanted to toss aside the thin blankets that covered him and begin sussing out the cause of the nightmares, which had been becoming increasingly vivid and strange. The answer had to lie in one of the odd fungi Cabriel had been studying here. Local folklore told of a concoction that would aid sleep and give one the ability to be fully conscious inside the “dreamscape”. Curiosity, as it always did, had gotten the best of the warlock. He wasn’t doing much else in this upside-down place. He figured a bit of learning might pass his time.

Try as he might to muster the strength to leap out of bed and get to work, his muscles protested more than normal. Another side effect of the glowing mushroom caps he suspected to be tampering with his head? At that moment, it seemed to matter less and less with each deepening breath. It was the middle of the night, and night lasted longer in Outland.

[Ninorra]

The trolls carried their prize in their arms, who was still unconsciously clutching the source of Ninorra's curiosity, and brought her towards a small leather sewn hut. Careful not to allow them to see her, she crept silently from one tree to another, making sure not to peek at her prey too quickly lest they catch sight of her glowing eyes. She watched as they disappeared inside, only to leave without the female they had carried, or her skull. Waiting cautiously until they left her, Ninorra took a deep breath and snuck into the hut.

Inside were the usual assortment of troll voodoo artifacts; pipes, blades, drums and shrunken heads. Laying in a bed of enormous feathers, the troll female that Ninorra had watched thrash about in her sleep seemed strangely still. Her dark red eyes were wide open, and rolled about as if she were looking at some quick moving object. In her hands was, of course, the skull.

Don't mind if I do.. Ninorra thought to herself with a smirk, reaching down to swiftly snatch it from the trolless' hands. A sudden scream erupted from her, as she reached for the skull, swiping her hands back and forth in the air.

Cursing silently, Ninorra ran out of the hut, aware of the fact that the trolls would likely be able to catch up to her if she tried to run. Hiding behind a tree, she opted for the more cowardly approach and summoned the use of her hearthstone.

"I'll return it, I promise," she said quietly, a moment before vanishing into thin air.

[Ninorra]

The skull sat in front of Ninorra as she sat in her living room, staring at her teasingly with empty sockets. It was slightly tilted, resting on one side of it's jaw, numerous scrolls and books holding it upright. It had been several days since she'd brought it home for study, but still, the powers of the skull eluded her. She'd even gone so far as to ask Fhurruk, a formidable druid, if he had anything to say on the matter. The only conclusion they could reach was that the skull did not originate from Azeroth.

Sitting in a large overstuffed chair, Ninorra rested her chin in her hand, with an elbow propped on her knee, and stared at the artifact. The trolls seemed to be astounded by it's mystical properties, and the female she had taken it from thrashed insanely the moment it was stolen. Now the warlock considered whether or not the skull really had any magic at all, or if it was simply an ornamental piece for some sort of voodoo ritual. With a resigned sigh, she picked it up and held it an inch from her face.

"I will discover your secrets, you ugly thing," she said proudly, and tucked it under one arm. "But for now I think I need to get some sleep."

Vicailde had, luckily, taken Damian outside for a bit, and their home was peacefully silent. Having spent half of the day fighting wildlife in Northrend and the other half studying, Ninorra was fairly exhausted and thankful for the tiny break from motherhood. Still holding the skull, she removed her robe and hung it up beside the bed, then slid beneath the covers wearing a long silk nightgown. It's softness, combined with the warmth of her down comforters, took the worry out of Ninora's mind. She fell asleep without remembering to put the skull on her nightstand, and, with the hideous object clutched in her palms, she entered into the most frightening slumber that she had ever experienced.

[Agnarr]

He was in Stratholme, that much he could tell. He was very familiar with the burning city after having spent many days there searching for the remains of his son.
The son he helped kill one day, tasked by the Argent Dawn to fight his way through the legions of the Scarlet Crusade. The son he didn't know had run off to join the Scarlet Crusade after the fall of Lordaeron. The son he did not want suffering the same fate that he did, rising again after death.

Waves of fanatic scarlet-clad humans fell before the Forsaken warrior. He cared little for them or what he held. He was searching for one lone corpse.
Through the crown of crimsonn Agnarr fought, finally coming to the far side. He could see the leader of the Scourge in Stratholme, Baron Rivendare, a short distance away mounted on his deathcharger. The death knight drew his runeblade and pointed it at Agnarr.

"Agnarr Silverblade," the Baron called out. "I believe I have something of yours!"
"I gave up the name Silverblade long ago, death knight. And there is only one thing I want in this cursed city!" Agnarr replied.
"Ah yes, your lost son. Slain by your very own blade!" Rivendare grinned at this point, his putrid features only increasing the evil aura he gave off.

Agnarr heard a quiet voice from behind him. It said one word. The word that made fresh once again the memory of his son dying in his arms, clad in the trappings of the Scarlet Crusade.
"Father?"
Agnarr turned, seeing his son there, emerging from the corpses of the slain Crusaders.

Meanwhile Baron Rivendare had quietly ridden forward, and stopped alongside Agnarr.
The death knight spoke up. "Come here, my son."
Agnarr spun to face the death knight, his weapon at the ready. "You will not touch my son, scourge."
"Father, as in all things, you have failed," Agnarr's son added from behind him. This time his son's voice was different. Hollow.
Agnarr turned back to face his son and saw him now standing there in wicked black armor holding a large glowing axe. "Siggeir, no."
"Yes, father, look at what I have become. Look at the power I hold. And you helped me along this process. I...blame...you." With this Siggeir held out his two-handed axe, pointing it at Agnarr.
"S-Siggeir, no," Agnarr stammered.
Agnarr could hear the echoing laughter of Baron Rivendare behind him.

[Ninorra]

Opening her eyes was not as easy as it should have been. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if weighed down by something. The surrounding air was hot and dry, causing Ninorra to moisten her lips with a flick of her tongue. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any noise. Good, she thought. At least I haven't returned to the Dark Below.

Suddenly and without explanation, her eyelids were free. She blinked rapidly, and wiped away excess moisture from the corners of her eyes. Around her, here was nothing. A vast plane, devoid of anything, stretched as far as her eyes could see. Looking down at her feet, all she could make of the ground she stood upon was that it seemed solid and endless. Like stone, with no cracks, and black as pitch. The sky overhead seemed black as well, but now that she studied it more, she could recognize stars dotting the sky. Stars, and nothing else.

"Where am I?" She asked alloud.

Nothing answered her. Ninorra's voice was clear and did not echo. Biting her lip, she took a timid step forward, and sighed in relief as her foot made solid contact with the ground.

Her relief was short lived as she felt the solidness melt, and engulf her foot. She opened her mouth to scream, but once again felt the breath leave her lungs. The ground pulled at her body, sucking her in like quicksand, and still she could not inhale enough air to cry out for help. It was as if she were drowning, but there was no water here. Only a lonely star filled sky, and the ground which had betrayed her. Soon she was sucked in up to the waist, and as far as she could tell, her body at that point seemed numb. She could not feel her toes, her feet, her legs or hips.

"S..ome... o..ne........" She managed to whisper, thrashing wildly to free herself. Magic had left her fingertips. Her voice was gone, and the world was becoming even more black than it was before.

--------------------------------

Still lying in bed, Ninorra clutched the skull in her hands. Beyond the black sockets if it's eyeholes, the skull seemed to glow an ethereal green color.

[Agnarr]

Agnarr gazed at the battlefield before him. The gates to Icecrown Citadel were blasted apart. On both sides Argent Crusade and Ebon Blade made quick work of Scourge defenders. Inside the citadel, he could hear a clanging, growing louder. He turned his attention back to the immense black building.

The imposing figure of the lich king stepped out of the broken gates of his keep, holding Frostmourne in one hand.
His voice reverberated across the land. "You have fought well, but surely you cannot think you have any chance of actually defeating me, so I offer you a choice: Join me."
An arrow went sailing through the air and ricocheted harmlessly off of the lich king's helmet. Growling, he turned his attention to where it came from.

A troll huntress, feeling his gaze upon her, pointed at Agnarr. "He did it!"

Agnarr sighed. "Xara..."

The lich king charged toward the assembled group. Agnarr in turn ran at the fallen prince of Lordaeron. The two met and a swipe of Frostmourne sent Agnarr barreling back in to the center of the group. Getting back to his feet, he felt the warming sensation of several healing spells being directed at him.
Agnarr charged back to the lich king.

His hammer swung at the powerful foe, making contact but doing no noticeable damage. Frostmourne swung toward the warrior in a fierce arc, and met the warrior's shield, but still pushed the warrior back a few feet. The enchanted runeblade swung out again, and again was met by the warrior's shield. The numbness Agnarr felt in his arm after each hit quickly faded as the healing spells from behind took effect.

Explosions of magic detonated at the lich king, as mage fireballs and warlock shadowbolts met their target. The telltale glow of a druids moonfire illuminated the dark figure repeatedly. Paladins, hiding in the shadows up until now, ran up behind the enemy and swirled around with their golden swirls.

"Enough!" the lich king yelled. A wave of force knocked everyone nearby to the ground.
A single arrow ricocheted off the lich king's helmet. "Get 'em, kitty!"

Getting back to his feet, Agnarr heard an indecipherable shout from the side which sounded elvish. Turning, he saw a night elf in heavy plate armor standing at the forefront of an alliance group. He recognized the banner they bore instantly. "First Legion," Agnarr grumbled.

The alliance First Legion group charged toward the assembled horde. Agnarr watched Leoren trot by, yelling "Kill the alliance!" with Anorah in quick pursuit.

Agnarr watched dumbfoundedly as the horde and alliance fought each other in front of the lich king. Slowly, each side started to lose numbers as their respective healers couldn't keep up with the damage being taken.

The action seemed to blur for Agnarr; shouts sounded muffled. After a while, he realized he was the only one left standing. He blankly turned to face the lich king. Arthas stabbed Frostmourne straight in to Agnarr's head.
-------------------------------

He awoke with a yelp.

"You okay, dear? You never fell asleep after that before...it must have been a tiring day at the castle."
Agnarr's wife was standing at the side of their bed, wearing a fairly translucent nightgown. He smiled as he looked at her. He wasn't sure why, but he almost forgot how beautiful she was. He hair was graying, but that was to be expected of someone their age. Still, no one could deny her beauty. Not the kind of fancy beauty that a courtesan or a princess might attain to, but a kind of natural beauty.
She glanced down at him. "Well, I guess you can't be all that tired after all," she smirked. Pulling off her nightgown, she climbed onto the bed and straddled him. Smiling, she started gently rocking. "Is this what my soldier wants?" she asked quietly.
His hands went up to her breasts, squeezing them gently. Her motions increased. "Yes, my soldier. He gets what he wants."
He closed his eyes, tipping his head back in ecstasy. He could feel her leaning forward, wrapping her arms around him.
Opening his eyes again, he looked down at her, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her tentacles wrapped around his lower torso.

"What?!" he called out.
"Everything well, sir?"
Agnarr looked about. He was in the bar in the underbelly of Dalaran. Seated in a chair, all alone except for the barkeep.
"Oh, nothing, just a dream, I guess." Agnarr stood up, gathered his belongings from the table, and walked away.
"What in the nether...?" he mumbled as he exited.

He didn't notice as the innkeeper thoughtfully brought a tentacle to his chin, rubbing it gently.

[Cabriel]

Brief bursts of clouds were shredded by hundreds of beating wings. Cabriel flew among the flock, and laughed at each twist and curve. His wings were broad and powerful, connected to his shoulder blades by dense cords of muscle that hummed like harp strings with every downstroke. He felt the searing cold air between each snowy feather, and marveled at the sensation of tiny droplets of ice flinging from each feather’s tip into the sky. His bare chest gleamed with cold sweat and the exertion of flight.

The sun dazzled the landscape of winter beneath them, nearly blinding him. He saw his own shadow traversing over dunes of snow and darting into copses of evergreens. Everything was white, silver, and sparkling.

“You’re not one of us!” one of the crows croaked, against the wind.

Cabriel smiled, taking a quick dive and exultantly gliding back up to join the flock. “But I can fly with your flock!”

The crow smiled with uneven, yellow teeth. “We’re not a flock. We’re a murder.”

His breath suddenly stolen, the elf plummeted. He screamed, but as the sound left his mouth it was ripped asunder by the stratosphere forcing past him. It felt as if his stomach was rushing past his other organs to shoot from his throat. Then he remembered: this was a dream!

His tumbling form burst through a cloud and Cabriel screwed his eyes tightly shut. He bore down hard, knowing this to be the fail-proof method to startle his sleeping body back to consciousness. Any minute he would jerk awake drenched in sweat. He just needed to ignore the dream logic that told him he was streaking toward earth.

No, not earth; a lake. Cabriel snapped his eyes shut again and tried to shatter that thin veil that separated his nightmare from his reality. Only a few more moments…

Every bone in his body seemed to shriek out in pain as he crashed through the ice that covered the water. Tears welled in his green eyes and were washed away with the rushing currents. All around him was black, like cold ink. He thrashed toward the glimmering surface, grabbing out at errant chunks of ice. Each stroke of his arms sent needles of pain into his torn wings, which trailed behind him, useless and heavy.

Finally his hand penetrated to warmer air. His arm followed, then his soaked red hair. He clenched his eyes against the inevitable whiteness of snow, but no glare appeared. He tugged himself up and breathed the air. It smelled sterile, like ozone and soap.

The lake was gone, and Cabriel sat drenched in a deep granite bathtub. Across the brightly-lit chamber was another identical tub, this one occupied by the crouching form of his father, Alfonso Lockvictor.

“Father?” Cabriel squeaked. He clamped his eyes shut again to rouse himself. Nothing.

Alfonso muttered to himself, itching at invisible insects he always felt crawling beneath his skin. An attendant soon appeared carrying an overlarge pot of boiling water in one hand, a boar’s hair brush in the other. She turned her gaze to meet Cabriel’s. It was Mareknov’s face he saw, but grim and serious.

“We must wash away the contagion. Infection is everywhere,”

The dream-Mareknov twisted and upended the pot over Alfonso. Cabriel screamed, but no sound issued forth, and the scalding water streamed across his father’s back. The crazed Lockvictor grabbed the brush from his nurse and began to scrub away at himself. Cabriel tried to look away as layers of pasty skin turned pink, then red, to purple and then peeled away, trailing translucent edges. The elf struggled to free himself from the tub, but remained seated, now naked and wingless. Alfonso cheered and pulled a long strip of skin from his shoulder.

Cabriel breathed deep and began pinching at his skin, trying in desperation to wake from this horrid scene from his past. He grunted with the effort of it, but still he lingered. The dream would not end.

The attendant turned to him, another pot at the ready.

“The infection is everywhere,”

[Ninorra]

The sunlight was piercing her eyes. She opened them as slowly as she could, but had to wait a moment before she could adjust to the brightness. There seemed to be voices everywhere.

Not here again, oh gods, please not here again..

"Fish! Fish for sale!"

Her gaze darted towards his call. Ninorra squinted past the pain and blinked in shock at the image of a man, a human man, holding up an enormous grouper while calling out towards all who would walk by, "Fish! Fish for sale!"

The voices came from all directions, but they were not cries of pain and agony. Rather, they were bits and pieces of random conversations and people walked by. Ladies arm and arm gossiped, boys ran through the legs of grown-ups while chasing one another, and men carried heavy loads on their shoulders, carefully manuevering through the crowds. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her palms burn with the innitial fear of being attacked by the nearby guards.

Nothing happened.

"S'cuse me, missy," came a calm human male, brushing past her as he wheeled a cart full of straw through the streets. Two children inside of the card passed whispers and glanced towards Ninorra, giggling to themselves.

It was then that she finally decided to have a look at herself, and caught her reflection in the window of a wine shop. She looked quite like her usual self, long black hair in tumultuous curls, curved elven ears pierced with heavy gold rings, and her eyes glowing like red embers. She wore long black robes, similar to her usual garb but lacking in skulls and chains. Staring confusedly at her reflection, she didn't notice the first tap on her shoulder until the second was accompanied by a cleared throat.

"Hm?" She hummed, turning towards a tall human man. He looked young, and was dressed in plain cotton clothes.

"Sorry t'disturb you, ma'am," he said, smiling. He had a good natured face and seemed pleased. "Was wondering if you'd like to try a glass of the new port we've got shipped?"

Her lips searched for words, but finally she grabbed his wrist tightly, as if she would faint. "Where am I?"

Blinking with confusion, the human chuckled. "You're at Madam Martha's Winery, miss. Best wine in all of Lordaeron."

[Agnarr]

Agnarr turned the final corner of the passage leading out of the Underbelly of Dalaran. The difference in brightness between the daylight outside and the darkened sewers was enough to make him squint briefly. Stepping outside the portal, Agnarr realized the brightness wasn't solely caused by the daylight. Dalaran was burning.
An elf ran to Agnarr and grabbed a hold of him. "Oh Light, please, you must help us!"
Quieting, the elf just shook his head. "No, no...nonono!" He finally just screamed and staggered back. Agnarr watched as slimy tentacles forced their way out of the elf's eyes and mouth. The tentacles ripped the face and body of the elf apart, leaving Agnarr staring at a Faceless One, dripping elf parts.

The warrior pulled his mace off of his belt holster, and drew his shield from the strap on his back. As he readied to attack, the entire city shook. Agnarr was throw to the side as the entire city tilted.

He felt light all of a sudden. A rush of wind told Agnarr that the city of Dalaran, floating magically above the Crystalsong Forest, was plummeting to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, Agnarr raced as best he could toward the landing, knowing it was the easiest way over the wall that surrounded the city.

Scrambling across the tilted landing, Agnarr pulled out the cape awarded him by the Skyguard from the broken remains of Draenor. Clutching it tightly to himself, he jumped.

He was not falling. At least he didn't think he was falling. It seemed to him that he was standing, though he was unable to see for certain in the complete darkness he found himself in. Unsure of whether he was standing or not, Agnarr let his other four senses draw in what they could of his surroundings.

He heard breathing. He felt the low-pitched reverberation throughout his body. He smelled dirt and metal.

"How far you have fallen, fleshling. The impact of the voice was enough to almost knock Agnarr over. Realizing that, he figured he must have been standing. "Have you come to serve me or to feed my servants?"

"Who are you?"

The darkness was pierced by a large eye opening. The eye blinked, and then looked directly at Agnarr. "I am that which was. That which will be. That which is always. I have no use nor need for your mortal names. For what could name that which is forever?"

"What do you want?"

Agnarr could feel a moist warm air flow, coinciding with the low-pitched laughter following his question. "I want you."

[Ninorra]

"Lordaeron.." Ninorra repeated, the word caught on her tongue.

It was certainly reminiscent of the Undercity, as she knew it. The palace stood close to where she was, but guards surrounded the entrances. Surrounded by humans, the Sin'dorei felt vulnerable.

This is an odd dream to have, she thought to herself, watching the crowds mill about. I have no ties to this city. Why should I be here?

Her question was only partially answered, the moment a man ran through the street shouting.

"Stratholme!!"

Heads turned from their business, turning towards the commotion.

The man ran, looking panicked, his face covered in sweat. "Stratholme!! B-burning!!"

Narrowing her eyes, Ninorra frowned. This didn't feel or sound right. Despite what she understood of history, it made no sense for her to be anywhere near either Lordaeron or Stratholme. Looking around for some clue, she tried to pinpoint when in time she might have been thinking of, or something that her imagination had chosen to grasp. Seeing so many humans, her explanation came up short. Nothing familliar surrounded her, save a solitary skull that she saw through a window.

"..wait a moment, is that--"

But as soon as she spotted it, the skull was gone, and the crowd was parting for the special arrival of someone Ninorra had heard of..

[Ninorra]

She was not pleased.

Time was acting strangely. Arthas and his men walked through the crowd, and as humans young and old showered him in flower petals and cries of joy, Ninorra knew that none of it was right. How could he be celebrated here, while only a few short miles away, Stratholme was being burned and ravaged by the Scourge? She knew so little about these events, and the idea that she might dream of them made no sense.

Am I alone, here? She wondered to herself.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Ninorra ran for the gates. Arthas' men had already passed through the main street and were on their way to the king, where history would be made. The townsfolk were too distracted by their prince to care if a lone elf was making her way out of the city. Quickly, she was able to pass through the exit.

Stratholme burned before her.

"What.." She murmured, eyes widened in horror. Looking behind her, she saw nothing but the outskirts of the once great city. Lordaeron's capital was nowhere in sight, and the sound of screaming flooded her ears.

[Agnarr]

He turned, distant screams drawing his attention. Glancing back toward where the single glaring eye had been only darkness remained.
Furrowing his brow, Agnarr again faced the direction he heard the distant screams from, and began to walk. Slowly the darkness around him retreated or just blended in to the buildings starting to take shape. Scattered amongst the buildings were corpses all dressed in crimson.

Agnarr eyed three figures standing in the distance. As he approached, recognition dawned on him. He knew those three. One was the Scourge commander of Stratholme, Baron Rivendare. The second was his own son, become a death knight. And the third, he realized as the figure drew his weapon and shield, was himself.

Running now, Agnarr watched the trio engage in a battle. The two death knights were no match for the lone warrior, and as Agnarr got closer, he watched as Siggeir's runed axe burrowed itself deep into the warrior's skull.

"No!" Agnarr shouted, still running toward the small group in the distance. The two death knights turned toward Agnarr and grinned widely before their forms seemed to fade into the distance.

Agnarr stopped and knelt by the fallen form of himself, turning its head to look at its face, only to realize the armor was empty. In a moment, as if the suit of armor was made of naught but dust, it disintegrated and blew away on the breeze.

Agnarr stood and glanced around, watching as Stratholme burned around him, and wondering just what was happening to him.

[Cabriel]

He struggled against the cold surface of the tub, but his hands could not find purchase by which to lift himself up and out. Cabriel whimpered and watched the Mareknov-nurse smile magnanimously as she tipped the scalding water over his head.

He braced against the inevitable pain, but none came. He dared to open his eyes to slits, and found that the sterile room had shifted. The marble walls were now planks of charred wood. Rafters hung like broken teeth from the ceiling where the underbelly of a fire on the second floor still glowed. Instead of breathing air, Cabriel now took in lung after lungful of acrid, grey smoke. He coughed against it, and accepted a new sleeveless tunic and breeches from a small human girl who stood near a window.

“The city is burning,” she intoned against the crackling of flames. Cabriel looked down at her.

“Why? What is this place?”

She meekly stared up into his eyes and the elf saw a soot-blackened tear slide out of her eye, and suddenly she was engulfed in fire. Cabriel’s eyes welled at the intense heat of it, though he saw that the child did not flee or panic, but stood like a statue and crumbled into ash.

Cabriel shut his eyes against the sight, again willing himself against all hope to wake up from this nightmare. When the world blinked into focus again around him, he shouted in frustration and barreled through the door, into the smoky street.

[Villayna]

The wyvern struggled in the sudden snow storm. Villayna lay low against him, as much for his warmth as to keep the ice out of her eyes. She could feel his neck muscles roll beneath her as she tried to angle him downward towards the land below.

They were close..she could see the tips of sparse evergreens below. For a moment, she relaxed. And then she was tumbling, still clinging to the whirling wyvern as a gust tossed the two into a spin, his wings struggling to right them but they were dropping too fast. She clung to him and closed her eyes, unable to tell the gray of the storm from the gray of snow below as vertigo overtook her senses.

They hit deep snow, plowing downward, Villayna still clinging to the wyvern. Everything became white, and her heart waited, saving the beat for the impact that was sure to come, but still they plunged farther down into the bottomless snow.

It became hot, and red, and they were swimming in lava suddenly. Her wyvern grew, until he became a great black dragon. She screamed, trying to pull off, but the dragon only laughed a deep rumbling that echoed around her as he kept flying downward...or was it up? She wasn't sure she could trust her senses.

The heat was unbearable. Her skin was raw, her lungs full of ash, and then even the dragon was gone, and there was only the burning smell of hair and skin.

[Ninorra]

This can't be right, she thought to herself, looking around for some sort of way out. This was lucid dreaming. She should have had the ability to make the fire stop, or to at least escape it. Instead, the flames raged on as humans ran past her. One of them, too blind with fear, pushed Ninorra's shoulder with his arm, sending her falling into a pile of wooden crates.

"Damn!" She yelled, fire appearing in her hands out of reflex. It would have been so easy to incinerate the entire crowd. It wasn't as if they were real, anyway...


"Help.."

What was that?

The voice was small, insignificant but also older and familliar. Something that she cared about. Ninorra's mind raced with possibilities. One of her friends, perhaps? Vicailde? Deciding that there was no reason to waste any time in thinking, she acted instead and made her way towards the voice, shoving through the people who ran in the opposite direction. The Sin'dorei ran directly into the city, where even the rats attempted escape.


"Help.."

"I am coming!" She yelled, becoming impatient with the voice, and with the entirety of this dream. Perhaps, she thought while shielding her mouth and nose with one hand. If I can get to whoever is screaming, I will find my way out of this nightmare.

It was wishful thinking, but she had no other hope to go off of. Coming to a halt before a simple looking townhome, she peered through the smoke clogged windows, looking for the source of the voice.


"Help.."

"I am almost there!" Ninorra shouted back, singing a high pitched note that should have called forth a destructive bit of energy and broken the door. Instead, the door remained intact.

"Damn the luck.." She growled, realizing that her powers no longer worked. With a deep breath, she braced herself and thrust a shoulder against the door. It gave a creaking rattle, and nothing more. Sighing sadly, Ninorra repeatedly pushed her body against the wood, beating the side of her body until finally it gave way, and she stumbled inside.

There was very little to see, within the house. Gray smoke kept her from opening her eyes enough to get a good look at her surroundings, but, she managed to catch sight of a kneeling figure, his back turned to her.

"You! Get up! Come on!" She yelled with no small ammount of anger, rushing towards him to grab his shoulder. "We have to get ou--"


"You're not going anywhere, my dear."

Damian Bloodstone's face grinned at Ninorra wickedly. With one swift motion, the tall Sin'dorei grabbed her hair and thrust her entire body towards a cradenza, sending a book case tumbling down on top of her.

[Cabriel]

He didn’t recognize the dream city. Flames had gutted many of the free-standing buildings in the plaza, and they now leaned against one another like tired old men. Each one still smoldered until their smoke blurred in the bleak, ashen sky. Cabriel stumbled amongst broken stones and over the carcass of a dead horse. As he would have expected a city on fire, the place was abandoned.

He picked through the ruined place, avoiding places still aflame and those that looked as if they might crumble with the slightest touch. Carrion birds circled overhead, calling out the names of their imminent feasts below. Each one had its voice. He realized with a blink of his watery eyes that this was the same flock that he had flown with earlier in his dream.

He waved, because it was just a dream, and there was no harm in waving. The murder of crows swooped as one, and Cabriel strained against the desolate wind to hear their cry.

“I am almost there!” One bird sang a high-pitched note, and Cabriel considered it a keen for the dead. The sound of it echoed away between the destroyed buildings and became lost. He remembered a voice like that.

Somewhere else.

Humming some song to which he knew every note but could not identify in the dream logic, Cabriel continued to pick his way across the city’s square. Hanging from a scorched oak were the empty, charred husks of a family; two young boys, a girl, their father and mother. Beneath them lay a few shoes, two boots, and something that glittered through the blackness.

“You! Get up! Come on!” Were the crows back? He craned his head upwards. No birds.

No. They must have decided to nest for the night in a house just a few yards down the empty street. The voice was from there, he was sure of it.

He smiled weakly, drowsy from the energy the dream was sapping from him. Never before had he felt so exhausted while he slept! There was nothing to worry about. This was just a dream, and he was panicked about nothing. He stepped toward the house and briefly wondered what he’d feel like in the morning.

[Villayna]

Villayna clung to a child's hobby horse. She had owned a similar one when she was a child; painted red with gold trim. This one looked like it had once been blue, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

There was no lava or dragons, but the smell of smoke remained. She braced against the wooden contraption, slowly standing on unsteady legs as her balance returned. She was in a building, human, based on the decor. The eerie, sudden quiet was interrupted by a cough.

She turned, but couldn't see anyone. Another cough, but farther away. Villayna located a door and found herself outside. The city was burning and empty. Something tugged at her memories, something about the city reminded her of somewhere else, but she couldn't see anything that looked familiar.

Another cough made her whirl around trying to find the source, but there was only smoke. "Hello? Anyone there?" She called out.

Movement in her periphery vision made her whirl again. She stared hard at the building she was sure she had seen something, but there was nothing to mark it as any different from the other buildings on the street.

The city was making her edgy. "This has to be a dream," she muttered as she headed towards the building. Inside, she found a room much larger than the outside would have suggested. It was decorated in older, elven glamour. It reminded her of how her mother would decorate before the invasion.

The cough was closer, directly behind her. Villayna turned, not finding a door, but the same room extended out as far as she could see.

"Mother?" She blinked at the hooded woman standing before her.

The figure laughed and pulled back her hood. "No. Don't you recognize me?"

"The Other..." Villayna felt all her blood drain away and she screamed as loud as she could, because that was how you ended nightmares.

The figure burst out laughing in response.

[Lascivious]

Lascivious ran through the streets of Stratholme.

She was uncertain how she arrived there. She awoke in a bed not her own and after a few moments realized the sounds of the city were similar too, but not quite the same, as those of Orgrimmar.

At first she had panicked when she walked down the stairs of the inn and saw all manner of alliance lounging about. She had reached for her weapon instinctively, but she had not found one in her room - or any personal belongings at all. The barmaid spoke to her in a light musical voice and Lascivious understood her perfectly.

"Something to eat, my lady?"

Stunned, Lascivious shook her head. The room began to spin a little and she ground her teeth attempting to steady herself.

It must be a dream.

Curiosity overcame her fear and she slipped cautiously outside, prepared for any change in the indifferent attitude of the alliance.

The city was peaceful and the market bustled with trade and frivolity. No one had noticed she was Forsaken. They hadn't even glanced at her. It was a beautiful day and the citizens were trying to take advantage of the good whether to earn coin or finish delayed errands.

Then Arthas had come. A noble, handsome prince. But his purpose this day was less than noble if not heavy with necessity. The prince strode through the human town swinging his mighty hammer crushing it’s the town folk who heaped praises on him even as he killed them one by one.

Lascivious laughed inwardly at first at the foolishness of the people who just stood there letting Arthas end their lives, offering themselves to him eagerly, their voices ringing with joy as he approached each one. But soom their unnatural lack of action began to unnerved her.

What were they doing? Run! Her mind screamed even though she cared nothing about them. How could they just stand there? The little woman began to look around nervously for some place to hide as Arthas approached. It was then she notices the trail of bodies he left behind them. Where each citizen fell a scourge rose and trailed along behind the handsome man. But they did not attempt to strike at him, nor he them.

Smoke and the rancid smell of burning flesh filled the air as they began to burn the city. Soon she was the only one standing, her feet rooted to the middle of the street.

Arthas stopped before her is fresh legion of ghouls and zombies behind him, shuffling, slathering. He held out his hand to her.

"It is time."

No. Lascivious shook her head. No. I beat you. I broke free of you.

"I am not one of you!"

Finally the spell was broken and she turned and ran down the street, billowing smoke making her eyes water, blurring her vision.

She came to an abrupt halt. She saw a feminine figure in the smoke. A blood elf? Here? She was running into a burning building.

"I'm almost there!" she cried.

The Forsaken hesitated, then looked around. It seemed she had lost Arthas and his scourge minions for the moment. She ran past the building, but stopped after a few paces and cursed to herself. Her curiosity overriding her sense of danger, she turned and around and went back and went inside.

Laying on the floor under an overturned shelf of books was the woman. She looked like she had been thrown but a cursory search of the room revealed no one else there. The fire burned but strangely did not seem to be spreading, and though the smoke blurred her vision, her she needed very little air to function. She shoved the case off the elf and rolled her over slapping her face.

"Hey! Wake up! Wake up you stupid elf."

[Ninorra]

Ninorra's eyes burst open, red and burning, as if she too were on fire. In front of her was a femenine face; young, pretty, but pale. [i]Forsaken?[i] She thought to herself. Pain shot through her skin as the heat transferred from the floor to the wood of the book shelf on top of her. The house was coming down, and this girl had awoken her. Within a dream. It was all very complicated.

"Thank you," she said quickly, grabbing hold of the shelf and pushing it from her body. It took a few seconds, but it was light enough that she managed the strength to shove it aside and stood up with only a few bruises.

The house was still on fire, and smoke was building within. The girl who had woken her didn't seem at all disturbed by it, and Ninorra came to the conclusion that she was a strange piece of the dream. Perhaps a guide? Or a trick. Either way, she must have had some clue as to how to free herself from this nightmare, so she grabbed hold of the girl's hand and rushed towards the door as fast as her feet could carry her.

"Come on, lets hurry."

[Agnarr]

Agnarr walked down a burning street. A woman carrying an infant ran out from a burning building. Agnarr stopped and watched. She looked over her shoulder as she ran, glancing back toward the building she emerged from. She never saw the flaming debris fall from a higher building on the opposite side of the street. Turning her head back around, she was not quick enough to avoid the incoming projectile.

The still-burning debris struck her directly on top of her head and she dropped to the ground, the bundled infant falling from her grasp and rolling on the street in front of her. Agnarr hoped that the woman was killed by the impact, as she'd be burning to death right now if not. He moved closer and leaned down to pick up the bundled child. Grabbing at the blanket, he lifted the small bundle. Small hands reached out of the wrapped blanket. Agnarr pulled back a bit of the blanket to gaze as the infant's face.

Yellowish eyes glared back at him, framed by rotting flesh of its face. It leaned forward, mouth open, reaching for Agnarr.
Shocked, Agnarr threw the bundle to the ground. He pulled out his large mace and slammed it down on the wriggling baby blue blanket.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Agnarr turned away from the scene and rounded a corner. His gazed focused on a lone individual standing in the middle of the street. He watched as the person looked up at the sky, then started to slowly move down the street. Agnarr thought he could see the long ears of an elf on the man.

Agnarr called out, "You there! Why do you linger here?"

[Cabriel]

Cabriel’s head pivoted as if on a spring at the commotion of a voice. Without thinking, his fingers deftly wove a complicated series of glyphs as his arms swung forward. The familiar feeling of tightness squeezed his muscles against his bones, and his hands descended into a mad nexus of shadow. This was the first fel magic that had been used against him, so long ago, and he always hated calling upon it. Still – it was effective, and quick. He would not be caught defenseless against one of the nightmare's creatures.

Around the bolt, the air of the place (if nightmares had air at all) cracked in the instant vacuum the conjuring created. Cabriel watched with smoke in his eyes as the deadly orb careened toward the source of the voice, a lone figure that stood black against the fiery ruins of the city.

[Agnarr]

"Damned trigger-happy son of a fire crab," Agnarr muttered as he braced himself for impact. The impact from the shadowy bolt knocked him back a step as he again drew his imposing mace, and unslung the shield from his back.

Gritting his teeth, the undead warrior ran forward, his rage feeding him

[Cabriel]

He watched the loping figure advance, leaping over a pile of debris in the street. Cabriel cursed out loud, trying for what felt like the millionth time to mentally jar himself awake. It failed, of course. The elf snapped his hand and fingers taut, then raced through a simple clockwise motion. He felt his skin prickle with energy, strengthened against attack. Without weapons, he could hardly hope to stand against the insane undead lunatic streaking across the street.

Oh well, he thought. Maybe this will finally wake me. He screwed his eyes shut against the oncoming impact.

[Lascivious]

Startled by the elf's quick recovery and urgency she let herself be pulled outside. Once there, she dug her feet in and pulled her hand loose. She looked apprehensively up the street, but it was empty.

"Be careful elf. He is here."

[Villayna]

Villayna's scream subsided.

"Who are you? Where am I?" She looked around the room again, something familiar about the room full of tables and divans and veiled nooks tugged at her memory. "Is this an inn?"

The dark-haired woman chuckled and eyed Villayna up and down. "You know the answer to all of those questions."

"Where is the door? It was right here..." Villayna pointed at the spot she had entered the building, but her voice trailed off as a guardian arcane golem entered the room from the other side. It paused when it saw Villayna, then beelined for her. It stopped before her and emitted a spinning noise. Lights flashed across what was meant to be it's head.

"Analysis inconclusive. Master but not master. Password authorization required."

"Password?" She looked to the other woman to see if she knew, but the scarlet clad ghost was now leaning against the doorway the golem had come through. Villayna sought her memory for a password, any password. "Umm.. artichoke?"

"Password incorrect. Counter-measures activated."

Villayna was already running towards the robed figure. The golem emitted a high clear noise that grew louder as it cycled up for the burst of arcane that was sure to follow.

"No wonder I was required. You've forgotten who you are." The Other laughed, seemingly unconcerned for the bomb that was about to be exploded.

Villayna didn't stop. She ran through the doorway into a hallway full of portraits. To the left the hall continued on for as far as she could see. To the right, it ended in a door. She glanced behind her as the flash of the arcane spray lit up the room behind her. "Stupid dream," she muttered as she headed for the door to her right. It opened easily, and she was once again outside in the burning city.

There were people in the streets now. A warlock bolt raced past her towards another figure. She didn't know any of these people either.

It was the last straw. She'd had some cyclical nightmares before, but this one was too vivid and too real. "Zuffid, if you can hear me, wake me the frack up now!"

[Agnarr]

He charged. It was instinctual to him, after years of this sort of thing, first as human then as Forsaken. He barreled in to the warlock full bore, slamming his shield hard into his chest.

Agnarr waited then. He knew something very strange was going on, and maybe this elf knew. The warrior would defend himself, but he wasn't here to kill anything he didn't need to.

[Ninorra]

"He?" She asked curiously, looking around their surroundings. "Which 'he'?"

It was a dream. It could have been anyone. Vicailde's father, Vicailde himself, the king of Stormwind, who could say? All she knew was that the pain of that book shelf felt all too real, and should have woken her up. This place was being altered constantly, and not by her own commands.

"And who are you? And what are you doing here?" She finally asked, turning towards the girl. "I've never seen you before. Are you a memory, come back to haunt me?"

[Cabriel]

“Ow! Jackass!” Cabriel sputtered, his back unceremoniously sliding in the sludgy mixture of rain and ash on the ground. He didn’t wait for the dream warrior to respond, since he generally avoided having large blunt objects driven into his brains, but instead scrambled to his feet. He winced involuntarily, waiting for the warrior to dash him upside the head, but nothing came.

Slowly, Cabriel turned to face him. He looked like many of the other undead he’d run across, so it was no real revelation that his sleeping mind would conjure him as one of the cast members of this screwed up little dream play. It was unnerving, how still the warrior stood, just watching Cabriel. With his thumb, the warlock sketched out another glyph in the air. His right hand was swallowed by fel fire, which burned just above his skin, leaving no trace of burning.

He watched the warrior’s dead eyes flick down at the fire, then back up. He looked…confused? Cabriel fully expected his face to melt into something else, or for wings to sprout from his back, or the entire world to turn into one big mushroom forest…but it stayed the same. The city burned, and the two stared at each other.

“I know you’re not real. That you’re just a part of this dream. I just want to wake up. Can you tell me how to do that?”

[Agnarr]

"I might ask you the same thing."

Agnarr held the mace to his side, relaxing that arm, but keeping his shield up in case he needed to reflect any further spells this warlock might cast.

"Something quite strange is going on. I feel as if I am dreaming here, too. So are you trapped in whatever nightmare this is, or are you the figment of my imagination?"

[Lascivious]

"He?" She asked curiously, looking around their surroundings. "Which 'he'?"

It was a dream. It could have been anyone. Vicailde's father, Vicailde himself, the king of Stormwind, who could say? All she knew was that the pain of that book shelf felt all too real, and should have woken her up. This place was being altered constantly, and not by her own commands.

"And who are you? And what are you doing here?" She finally asked, turning towards the girl. "I've never seen you before. Are you a memory, come back to haunt me?"

She peered down the smoky street, but saw no one. It must be a dream. But the smoke and heat felt real enough. The elf's grip urgent.

"Arthas." She balled her fingers together. She needed a weapon. Unarmed and unarmored she felt naked. "Arthas is here."

She pursed her lips and shook her head lookking at the elf suspiciously wondering about her red eyes. What trickery is this?

"I am called Lascivious."

[Cabriel]

“That’s exactly the kind of thing a figment of my imagination would say,” Cabriel retorted. “So this is getting me nowhere. I suppose I’ll play along. No, I’m not a figment of anyone’s imagination, at least not that I know of, and yes, I think I’m trapped here. Wherever here is. Not here, literally. I mean, I can move. And I was just in a different place. I was flying over this snowy mountain, then I feel into a lake, but it wasn’t a lake, it was, like, playing the lake in my dream. Turns out the lake was a bathtub in my father’s private chambers, which is insane because I haven’t seen hide nor hair of my father for a very, very long time. His nurse turned out to be this death knight I know who kind of has a crush on me, so that was weird enough, but then he wanted to scrub me with scalding hot water. My father used to make us do that because he was terrified of contagion. I didn’t want to get scalded, which is for obvious reasons, so my wings fell off and I crawled out of the bathtub and into that house over there. It was on fire, there was this creepy kid, then I walked out cause I thought I heard a voice I recognized – not yours, a woman’s – and then you yelled at me, scared me half to death, I reacted badly, got shoved down in the mud, and now I’m standing here rambling to you and I don’t even know if you’re just another weird twist my mind is playing with in this nightmare, but it just feels good to talk to someone who seems to be able to hear my voice,”

Cabriel stopped for breath.

“No more spicy food before bed, EVER.”

[Agnarr]

Agnarr grunted. "Do you always babble this much?"

He looked around again, seeing someone else in the street nearby. He pointed toward Villayna and motioned to the warlock. "What about that one, do you know her?"

[Cabriel]

Cabriel smirked. “So now, even the made-up dream creatures in my head are smart-asses. That figures,”

He followed the warrior’s pointed finger toward another figure down the street.

“No, I don’t know anyone here! I don’t even know what city this is supposed to be,”

Cabriel sighed in resignation.

[Agnarr]

"We're in Stratholme. Unless it changes again, which I wouldn't put past, well, whatever is causing this. Shall we go see if this other is a figment of either of ours imaginations?"

Without even waiting for the warlock's response, Agnarr started to walk toward Villayna, still holding his shield, though to his side, in case this one decided to attack as well.

[Ninorra]

"Lascivious.." She repeated, sounding the word and the name. The girl looked like someone she had seen before, but she could not place her face.

"Pardon me, the name is familliar. I am Ninorra, although I suppose you know that already. Might I ask what you are doing here? And what I am supposed to accomplish, here?"

[Villayna]

Villayna pouted, watching the sky as if her fiancé would suddenly appear and yank her out of the dream. When nothing happened, she turned her sight back to the figures walking towards her and let out a frustrated sigh. The Forsaken and the Sin-dorei approached her quickly, the two exhanging glances before stopping a few steps in front of her.

"Who are you, and are you real?" one of them asked.

Villayna raised her eyebrows at the curious question. "My name is Villayna. I thought I was in a dream, but I cannot wake up, so I don't know anymore." She eyed the strange pair a bit closer. "Neither of you look like you belong here either."

[Lascivious]

"Lascivious.." She repeated, sounding the word and the name. The girl looked like someone she had seen before, but she could not place her face.

"Pardon me, the name is familliar. I am Ninorra, although I suppose you know that already. Might I ask what you are doing here? And what I am supposed to accomplish, here?"

Lascivious upper lip curled into a snarl. "I am Mistress of the Grim. I have no idea who you are what we are doing here. I've been... dreaming. This must be a dream... I've never seen an elf with red eyes. "

The knight looked at the elf for a moment, considering her. Then she reached out and pinched the warlock.

[Agnarr]

Villayna pouted, watching the sky as if her fiancé would suddenly appear and yank her out of the dream. When nothing happened, she turned her sight back to the figures walking towards her and let out a frustrated sigh. The Forsaken and the Sin-dorei approached her quickly, the two exhanging glances before stopping a few steps in front of her.

"Who are you, and are you real?" one of them asked.

Villayna raised her eyebrows at the curious question. "My name is Villayna. I thought I was in a dream, but I cannot wake up, so I don't know anymore." She eyed the strange pair a bit closer. "Neither of you look like you belong here either."

"Our stories are similar, it seems," Agnarr said, motioning toward his warlock companion while addressing Villayna. "My name is Agnarr Bloodmourne. His father, "Agnarr started, thumbing toward Cabriel while continuing, "touched him in the tub or something," he completed with a half-shrug.

"So now the question of the day...why are we all here?"

[Ninorra]

"Ouch!"

Ninorra blinked in shock. A part of her dream had just pinched her. She had certainly felt pain in dreams before, but not by a figment of her dream claiming to be dreaming. It seemed overly complicated.

Rubbing her arm, she frowned slightly. "I beg your pardon 'mistress', but, this is my dream. I do not know why I would dream of the mistress of the Grim, considering that I do not remember meeting you, or recognize your significance."

Looking the undead over, her ears twitched in thought as she looked around the burning buildings around them.

"..although I suppose this dream is strange enough. Is this your city?"

[Lascivious]

"It is not. Are you sure you're dreaming? Wouldn't you have woken up?" Lascivious ran her tongue over her lips looking around warily. "What is happening here demon tamer? What have you been meddling with?"

[Ninorra]

Demon tamer?

"I have done nothing that would bring two people together in the dreaming, nor can I remember an incident that may have caused it.."

The city was gradually becoming worse. Ninorra could hear buildings cracking around them as brick and mortar fell apart, and wood crashed to the ground.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere. If this is a dream, it may allow us to take some ammount of control over the scenery."

[Cabriel]

“That’s exactly something a dream-person would say,” Cabriel sputtered. “This is not helping us get anywhere!”

A precariously leaning wall behind the new personality suddenly buckled. Smoke and steam erupted into the air, and ash exploded outward. Without thinking, Cabriel reached out and, taking Villayna by the shoulders, tossed her out of the way of a large chunk of smoldering wood that arced over the trio and into the gutter. He coughed.

“I’m going to assume that everyone else I meet here is just some machination of this crazy dream I’m in. There’s so much that could explain why I’m not consciously able to wake myself up,” He thought of his recent experiments, and decided that, yes, this was the case. “So I’m done talking about who’s real and who’s not. To me, none of you exist. Now, can we please find a safer place to figure out how to wake me up? I’m not keen on the idea of being squished beneath some burning building.”

[Agnarr]

“Now, can we please find a safer place to figure out how to wake me up? I’m not keen on the idea of being squished beneath some burning building.”

Glancing about, Agnarr had to agree. "The annoying one is right. Whether or not one or any of us is dreaming, we should assume that being crushed by a burning building," Agnarr began, glancing toward Cabriel as he spoke, "would not be a good thing."

"I am familiar with the layout of Stratholme, if this is where we actually are, and there should be a way out over in that direction," Agnarr pointed. "Though if we all are actually real, there could be others here as well."

Agnarr thought for a moment. "There is, or was, a fountain nearby...just ahead in Market Row. It would be as good a place as any to meet up."

Agnarr began to walk, and bellowed out, "If any here are living, go to the Market Row fountain!" Over his shoulder, he added so only his two companions could hear, "Be ready for anything."

[Lascivious]

In theory, the warlock was right. But she had never tried to control a dream before. But then, she hadn't often had dreams since becoming Forsaken, nor had any reason to try and alter them since she always woke.

Lascivious closed her eyes and willed elf out of her sight. She opened them again but she was still there.

"Hm. Well that didn't work. I'm open to suggestions."

[Ninorra]

"If any here are living, go to the Market Row fountain!"

Ninorra's eyes widened for a moment at the proclamation. Looking again to Lascivious, a thought ran through her mind.

"..perhaps you are no figment after all. Unless this is a madness that I suffer," she added, rubbing her temple. "Either way, that voice warrented an investigation. Come, mistress Lascivious. Perhaps we shall find a suitable route from this hellish place."

[Lascivious]

"I was thinking out is suitable." The death knight pointed out of the city, the direction she was going before seeing the elf.

[Villayna]

Villayna arched an eyebrow at the warlock's declaration that she was a figment of his imagination, but decided not to argue with him about it. With all the strangeness she had seen since leaving Quel'thalas, she was beginning to suspect that this wasn't a dream at all.


Agnarr bellowed out, "If any here are living, go to the Market Row fountain!" Over his shoulder, he added so only his two companions could hear, "Be ready for anything."

She watched him move off. She glanced over to Cabriel and shrugged before following the warrior. "Might as well stick together."

[Agnarr]

Agnarr turned a corner, expecting to see Market Row lay out before him, the central fountain in the middle of a small plaza at the end of it. What he found, however, was a street that looked remarkably like the one they were in.
Narrowing his eyes in thought, he went over the layout of the broken city he had spent countless hours within while searching for his son's remains.
Stopping, he looked back the direction they came from. Certain landmarks were in the correct place for him to know exactly where they were. Yet Market Row was not where it should be.
"It should be right here."

Turning back around he pulled out an ornate spyglass and looked down the street ahead of them.
At the end of the street he could see what appeared to be three individuals, two of which were following a third, whom seemed to be looking down a street to the right.

Agnarr lowered the spyglass. "Well that figures," he mumbled. Turning back to face his two companions, he shrugged. "It doesn't look like we can go that way."

Blinking, he realized the street he was now facing down, the one they had just walked up, looked different. "It appears this dream city is changing its layout at will."

[Cabriel]

"Shocking," Cabriel said sarcastically. "Did I mention that I got here through a bathtub?"

He stopped in his tracks.

"Let me try something," The warlock withdrew a rough crystal from the robe of his pocket, and looked mildly surprised to see it there. Shaking his head, his eyes lost focus while a subtle glow appeared around the stone clenched in his fist. An audible 'pop' cracked through the air and echoed off the strange city around the trio.

The crystal, now a hunk of brown glass, tumbled from Cabriel's outstretched hand to the ground. Floating just before the elf was a small green orb, vibrating with a low pitched hum. Without blinking, and still looking distant, Cabriel muttered, "No more walking. If there's a way out, this will help find it,"

The orb sped off down the street and turned a corner.

[Ninorra]

"Gah!" Ninorra shouted, startled by the sudden green orb that had nearly flown up her robes. Jumping back, she pointed down at it and stuttered. "A-an Eye of Kilrogg??"

Looking around frantically, she wondered if it was perhaps sent by some sort of enemy she might have been dreaming of. There were several warlocks that she did not care for, but she would not have labeled any of them a real enemy.

"Who are you? Who sent you??" She asked, still pointing at it, before placing a hand on her hip. "I demand to know what is going on."

[Cabriel]

“Ninorra? Ninny???”

A glazed-eye Cabriel shouted out as his summoned Eye focused on his former mentor’s face. She looked pissed.

“Ninorra!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Follow the Eye back to us!”

Inwardly, Cabriel shifted the energies necessary to mobilize the Eye back to him. As he did, he worried deeply that this was just another dream manifestation – his mind sending him a savior in the form of someone he trusted implicitly. What if a dream Ninorra turned on him? He supposed he’d have to kill her before she killed him.

He sighed, and continued to direct the Eye to him.

[Villayna]

"It appears this dream city is changing its layout at will."

Villayna's eyes followed the direction of Agnarr's spyglass, trying to find some pattern or familiar point, but each block of buildings seemed the same as the block before.

"Perhaps if we..." she snapped her mouth shut in mid-sentence as Cabriel conjured an Eye of Kilrogg and sent it spining off down one of the side streets.

"Well, that would work even better," she said, mostly to herself.

“Ninorra? Ninny???"

"Ninorra!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Follow the Eye back to us!”

Startled, Villayna turned back to where the Eye had disappeared and waited for what new turn this dream had taken.

[Lascivious]

Lascivious raised her hand toward the eye. She had no weapon but she was not defenseless. A single word would blast the intruding eye back into the nether.

"Ninorra! Follow the Eye back to us!”

The knight hesitated and glanced at the warlock. For a moment she considered destroying it anyway, but lowered her hand and waited to see the warlock's reaction.

[Agnarr]

Agnarr glanced to Villayna. "Ninorra?" he quietly asked, wondering if she knew the name.

[Villayna]

Villayna frowned slightly and glanced over at the warrior. "I recognize the name from somewhere, but I don't recall where."

She gazed back to where the Eye had disappeared, still puzzling out why the name sounded familiar.

"Oh! I remember. She was the person who married Evanthe and Baron Ran'deau."

[Ninorra]

"Cabriel?!"

It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary for Cabriel to be in one of her dreams. It could have easily been a trick of the mind, something for her to put her faith in, only to have it betray her in the end. Pausing in mid-stride, she took a deep breath.

"Now wait a moment. This could be a trap. This may or may not be the Cabriel that I know. That being said," she nodded at Lascivious. "Let us be cautious."

Following the Eye of Kilrogg, Ninorra couldn't help but allow herself to run faster and faster. Despite her heroism in the past, nightmares were a lonely place. Her bravery and plans were immediately tossed aside the moment she saw the familiar other warlock.

"Cabby! Oh goodness, is that really you?!"

[Cabriel]

"Yes! Or, rather, it might be. It probably is. Me, I mean. I think I'm me,"

He watched confusion cloud behind her scarlet eyes. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the vile green eye. Without hesitation, he broke forward and enclosed Ninorra in a huge hug.

"It doesn't matter if you're you, either. I'm just happy you're here. In whatever capacity that's true,"

The group was silent. Cabriel's face flushed in exasperation.

"I think I'm dreaming, which means you're not real. You're just in my head. Right???" He looked pitifully at his former mentor. He saw her part her lips as if to answer, but her reply was cut off by Cabriel's eyes growing huge and alight with fel-fire. He pointed behind her at the cloud of dust and swords advancing toward them. An arrow landed directly to the left of the elf's head with a shunk in the soft wood.

[Agnarr]

Following the warlock's finger, Agnarr saw the approaching danger. Once again drawing his heavy mace and shield, the warrior stepped past them, standing at the ready.

"Fight or flight, we need to choose now," he said, gritting his teeth.

[Cabriel]

"Fight or fli-"

Before the word could leave his mouth, Cabriel shredded into fifty pieces, each blackening and resolving into the shape of a raven. Collectively, the flock (murder, the birds all remembered at once) tore into the sky. A great school of dark fish against the ocean of smoke-darkened sky, the birds swooped and dove as one entity. Cabriel lost himself in columns of smoke, finding himself again on the clearer side. Each pair of eyes turned and blinked as one, and Cabriel watched from them at great height as the maddened dream-army closed the gap between itself and those the birds left behind.

He found a rising pillar of hot air, and directed his fifty bodies, his hundred wings, into it's path. Upward he spiraled, with the warm wind beneath every feather, until Cabriel was no more than a mote of ash dwindling from sight in the canopy of sky.

[Agnarr]

Feeling a rush of air from behind, Agnarr turned his head back quickly to see a flock of black birds flying past them and up and away. He also noted that the chatty warlock was gone.
"Where did the warlock go? Or perhaps he was just a figment of my imagination, which means the rest of you likely are as well."

[Villayna]

(( *resists urge to yell out "“Wonder Twin powers, activate! Form of...a wyvern!" ))



Villayna didn't take her eyes off of the sudden army. "I'm thinking he chose "flight", and he might have had the right idea." She closed her eyes and whispered rapidly "wyvern wyvern wyvern!".

When she opened them she was still standing there in her normal form. She shrugged at the warrior. "I can heal you, or I can run. Your choice."

[Ninorra]

Cabriel's sudden transformation struck Ninorra as both frightening and fascinating. She had been in this dream for a rather long time, and it suddenly occurred to her that none of her dreams had ever felt long. They had simply been. In this one, she felt herself longing for her home and family, as if she had taken a long trip.

"..that must have been Cabriel," she said out loud, oblivious to the approaching violence. "I have never thought of a coalition between him and ravens, before. In fact, I am beginning to think that several of you may, in fact, be real people. At least those of you I have never met, before."

She tapped her fingers together, creating a tiny spark of flame that felt weak against her skin.

"Might I make a suggestion? Perhaps if this place is a combination of all of our dreams, or nightmares, it may make sense to attempt control over it together. I doubt one of us is strong enough to control the dreams of another, but if we think simultaneously, perhaps we may very well navigate through this."

[Qabian]

Qabian turned a corner and plastered his back against the wall. The city burned around him. He didn't know where he was or if it was even the same time. All he knew was exactly what he was running from and...

He brought his hand to his throat. Nothing.

The smoke dissipated enough for him to see a group of people standing together. He narrowed his eyes. Ninorra? Villayna? ...Lascivious?

As he watched the approaching attack and the elf with the curiously Scarlet habits, Qabian sidestepped against the wall and backed into a burning cart. He slipped in amongst the flames and crouched low within the fire, unaffected by any heat. The kind of nightmare that did not focus entirely on him was strange and... interesting. Rather than interrupt, he decided to watch.

[Agnarr]

"Perhaps if we thought about a way to get out of here then? A zeppelin would be nice."

[Cabriel]

Left, then right. The world was a three-dimensional space in which Cabriel glided on currents of acrid wind. Below, the approaching army gained ground on the strange dream city.

He swooped upward on fifty black bodies. Shreds of cloud banked around the ravens, tearing into oblivion. With fifty voices he cried out, the thin air of the stratosphere making the sound tinny, insubstantial.

The ravens took a spiral path around the pillar of air, finally breaking free of the ashy pall that covered the city. Below Cabriel, it was all grey cloud. Calm. Resting. Peaceful.

Shifting on a hundred wings, the ravens folded their bodies into deadly darts, and plummeted straight down from the firmament.

[Lascivious]

Lascivious followed cautiously. She didn't know whether to be relieved of suspicious to see a familiar face in Villayna. When in doubt she always chose the latter and gave the blood knight as cursory nod of recognition but remained silent. For now she would observe silently. One could learn a lot by keeping their eyes open and their mouth shut.

[I took an unexpected trip home, so I won't on long. I'll reply when I can. In the meantime just assume Las is following along sneering in superiority at all your idiotic antics.]

[Ninorra]

"A zeppelin? Very well, that may work. Hopefully we will be able to take enough control of this place without Cabriel. So long as there isn't anyone else out there that we haven't met yet.."

Clearing her throat, Ninorra, looked at each of the others pointedly.

"Alright now, everyone attempt to think of a zepplin. Think of it lowering a ladder down to us. Attempt to take control over the scenery. If we can put our thoughts together, it just may work."

[Cabriel]

A hundred eyes watched the earth grow larger before them. Tiny pinpricks of color resolved into splashes of paint on a canvas. Those splashes sprouted details – specks turned to trees, a bloody vein became a road. What looked to the ravens to be a careless smudge on the tableaux transformed into the threatening visage of a marauding army. They were undistinguishable at first, then faces rearranged and became human. Glints of light at the ends of their stick-like limbs were all of a sudden swords and knives, pikes, spears.

The cloud of black birds disappeared into an errant clot of ashy smoke. Cabriel felt the dirtiness of it burn his collective nostrils.

Silently, except for a rushing of hot air over smooth feathers, and then a loud crack as his hundred wings unfurled against gravity, the ravens wove into the ranks of human foot soldiers. Cabriel’s beak tore out an eye here, his talons rent long tears in flesh there. At once, he felt ears being plucked off of heads and deep holes punctured in the soft parts of men unprotected beneath their arms and inside their thighs. Ravens bore down on the army, stopping it where it stood and infecting the soldiers with a virulent confusion. Cabriel knew in the dawning gloaming of twilight, the human eyes beheld terrible creatures of shadow – formless, shifting, evil – sent from some angry dream God above to exact a horrid retribution. With a thought, the ravens coagulated and tore towards the sky. Blood and viscera followed in an arc, falling upon the heads of the wounded.

The huge birds were now soaked in a mantle of blood and ash. They spiraled up as one into the dirty grey sky, concealed against detection. Below Cabriel heard the army’s panic, the men desperately attempting sense at the random attack. He turned half his wings one way, half another, and the murder split in twain.

Flanked by black death on the wing, the army endured another bloody onslaught. Cabriel dug his beaks into mouths. He tore out tongues that screamed out in prayer. Two ravens fought over a finger that twitched in throes of agony, seeking its hand. Those soldiers who would run were buffeted by massive wings against their faces, preventing them from seeing the road which might lead them to safety.

Cabriel shrieked as one raven, then another, fell. He willed himself skyward, felt a blade slip between a bird’s breast. Within seconds, the fog of pain that was Cabriel vanished into the ashes of the city that danced on the wind. The army, those that were yet alive, scattered.

[Agnarr]

Agnarr watched in awe as the unkindness of ravens scattered and tore apart those of the oncoming soldiers that didn't scatter.
"Oh, he's good," Agnarr remarked.

[Lascivious]

Lascivious crossed her arms and looked doubtfully at the warlock.

Are all warlocks insane?

[Cabriel]

((Cabriel hovered overhead, waiting to see what the hell the rest of them were up to. He pondered if this RP was, in fact, dead. He wished someone would advise...))