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[Kurohane]

Chapter 1: Eggs

It seemed, as of the past few weeks, that her mind was constantly overloaded with worries, plans, plots, devices, battles and mysteries. She supposed, on occasion, that this was likely the norm for someone who lead a guild. Of course, that was when she took a moment to bring her thoughts out of those spirals, and force them onto other things. As soon as one problem died down, another popped up.

And tonight was no exception. She had actually had a rather relaxing day, at the start, spending a rare moment of free time making leather armor for some of her guildmates. The crafting took all else from her mind, allowed her those few moments of blissful self indulgence in something she loved to do. Of course, it was not to be left at that. Oh now.

A small thud behind her jerked her head around to the side. Only the swaying trees and gentle view of Darnassus met her gaze over the edge of the balcony. Frowning, Kurohane wondered who had broken what, but as no cries of pain or anger were raised, turned her attentions back to the chest piece - and frowned once more, this time, her brow drawing together.

A folded letter rested atop the heavy, died leather. The inscription was written in Common by an obviously male hand.


If this letter has reached you then you are a known friend to the Alliance. I pray no mistakes have been made, but such times call for risks. The fall of the Blood Ravens is the last blow I can take without action. We must unite before you all share the same fate.

If you hold any hope or desire for the success of the Alliance please let it be known: I will be at the Inn of the Park, in Stormwind, when the clock strikes 11. We must avoid the eyes of the Horde and their spies.

My greatest friends have deserted me in the darkest hours of this war. I must know that I am not alone.

D.N.
The Lost Wolf

A funny business, that - letters nearly annonymous, delivered in unexpected ways. Far too many of them as of late, to be truthful. For a moment, her hand had moved to trace over a package in her bag - the origins and reasonings behind it still a mystery to her and those whom she knew had recieved identical packages as well. However, something told her that the two were not linked in the slightest. With a sigh of regret for the day's luxury ruined, she gathered her things and made her preperations.

It was several hours later that she found herself returned to Stormwind. Four of her men were in attendance, scattered around the farthest table in the abandoned tavern. Bloodweasel sat on the nearby countertop, lounging by first glance, but watching the slightest movements of thier new companions, fingers ready to leap to the massive maces on each of his hips. Xelthan leaned back in his chair, also at ease for the first glance. Every muscle in him, on further examination, was clearly ready to spring to action. Runewaybur, the tiny gnome rogue, stood in his chair to see the assembled night elves and human. She wondered how much longer it would be before he opened his mouth again and Bloodweasel's plated hand engulfed his face to silence him. A small smile tugged at her lips with the thought, even as she listened closely to what the other elf was saying.

A sudden wracking cough drew her gaze across the table, though, to the final member of the Swordwaltzers that had come to this odd meeting at her beckons. Jacanor, a young warlock, still no more than a farm boy, with a heart of gold, a ready smile, hearty laugh... And over the past few days, a consuming illness that none could place, cure or explain.

"Pardon," Jac murmered, covering his mouth as he grimaced at the cough.

Daedraug nodded towards the young man, continuing the discussion without pause. An hour passed, perhaps two, as the rumors of the Blood Ravens' plight were made fact, thier problems laid out, and the Swordwaltzer's help finally offered. Daedraug burned his old tabard, a symbol, she was sure, of both his desire to start anew and his rejection of what that guild had come to stand for. A few final words were exchanged, agreements made to meet again soon, and the former Blood Raven departed.

The Swordwaltzers sat quiet for a moment as the rogue left. Kurohane silently wondered if he was really gone, but paid it no mind. The fact that she had become so accustome to being spied upon was a bit disturbing, but it wasn't something she could yet do very much about. Her men were discussing what had transpired, she needed to pay attention, hear thier views upon it.

Another wracking cough double Jacanor over, nearly dropping him to his knees. The Swordwaltzers fell silent as she rose to go to him.

"Jac, are you alright?" her brow furrowed in concern even as he pulled himself up right again.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he wheezed, eyes darting about uncharacteristically. "I just need fresh air... I'm fine."

Turning, she watched as the man darted past them, out the door, her mouth still parted with unspoken words of worry and comfort.

"He gonna be alright, doll?" Runewaybur piped up behind her, and for the second time that night, reached over to pinch her rear.

Concern melted into anger as she rounded on the tiny rogue, eyes ablaze. Yelping, he tried to hide in the shadows, darting for the stairs. She was on him in moments, cornering him against the bansiter with a sharp bark of his nickname.

"RUNE," she rarely shouted, but this was the last straw. "Enough of this foolishness! I am your guild master and you will show me respect if you wish to remain a member of this organization."

He paled under her heated gaze, no longer trying to so unsucessfully hide in the shadows, "It's just my way of... Yes ma'am... I'm sorry, do- er, bosslady."

Sighing out the anger - despite all he tended to pull, it was hard to stay mad at him - she nodded in acceptance of his apology and knelt down to give him a hug. He blushed profusely, muttering unintelligbly under his breath.

"I had best go check on Jac," she stated, moving towards the exit.

Bloodweasel gave her small nod, bowing as she passed, "Be safe, Ogema."

Offering a small smile to her men, she waved her goodbye and was on her nightsaber, riding through Stormwind in a matter of moments.

Her trail to the man consisted of worried gaurds and town folk talking about the "sick fellow" who had run through. A few quick questions kept her pointed in the right direction, and eventually, she rode through Elwynn Forest, her silken white gown billowing about her arms and legs as she urged her stead to it's full spead, following the man's stumbling tracks towards Northshire Abby.

He lay prone on the ground beside a small pasture behind the house the crazy cat lady lived in, looking for all the world as if he was dead. She lept from her mount's back, running the final few paces to his side.

His head turned slightly, glazed eyes watching he with dimming light as his lips parted to breath out his final words, "Help me... M-Miss Kuro, please... help... me..."

She knew she spoke something then, but what exactly she could not be sure. She fell to her knees shaking his still form, trying to revive him through sheer will. His pulse as gone, his breathing stopped. Her chest tightened. His glazed eyes stared blindly across the grass, the inner light of life fading with each second that passed.

Stumbling to her feet and away from him, she leaped back to her saddle, spurring the great cat back into Stormwind. She all but plowed Alucian down, once inside the great city's walls. He stared at her, baffled, as she called his name, her face drained of color, her breathing far too fast.

"My love, what is-"

"Alucian, you must come quickly! It's Jac! He's.. he's.. Come, hurry!"

Again, through Elwynn Forest, now two mounted Night Elves sped, the druid's robes billowing as much as the huntress's gown.

"Where is he?" Alucian called to her over the beat of thier cats' paws on the soft earth and grass.

"Just up... ahead..." She reinged in her nightsaber as he pulled his frostsaber to a halt beside her.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She stared numbly at the ground for a long moment before slowly dismounting. "He... he was right here..."

The druid pulled himself down from his mount as well, coming to stand beside her. "Are you sure this is the place? Are you sure he... well. Are you sure he was dead? Maybe he passed out, then woke up-"

"Alucian," her voice cut him off, despite how quietly she spoke, "I am a Huntress. I know death when I see it."

Silently he nodded, watching as she knelt in the grass, running her fingers through the grass. Her chest knotted up again. "This is where he was... Look." Alucian knelt beside her, watching as she pointed out each spot she spoke of. "He stumbled, fell there... dragged himself here, and laid here for several minutes. No sign that he was dragged off... Wait...he was on his hands and knees here. And more foot prints, a scuffle of some sort."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, she looked back to Alucian, "I don't understand how it's possible, but... he moved. On his own, by the press of the grass. There was a fight here, though."

The druid's brow mimicked her's, and he glanced to the abbey not far away, "If he revived, perhaps he would have gone there, to seek aid?"

She nodded silently. They searched and searched, spoke to everyone they could find. No, nobody had seen Jacanor. No, the gaurds hadn't seen anything but that undead that gave the cat lady such a fright. Of course, the slippery devil had managed to escape. What? No, the cat lady hadn't seen Jac, but that undead, he was wearing clothes just like Jac had worn that evening.

Kurohane felt sick. Her stomach twisted into knots, her heart clenched in her chest, her head spun with the possibility. Alucian saw her back to thier room at the Guilded Rose. It was the only explantion, he had told her. There was so much to do. She had to find Jac. She needed to know what had happened to him... She felt Alucian's warm gaze on her even as she closed her eyes. She would just rest a moment, let her stomach settle...

He smiled silently, taking a seat to keep vigil over her as she slipped into dreams.

((Edited in OOC Note: My 200th post. :o Yay for it being an RP one!!))

[Jacan]

He opened his eyes.

Everything was a blur. Lights, colors, sounds, sensations, thoughts, feelings, everything. A spinning, whirling, confusing blur.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to sort through the cacophony, the smeared reality he found himself in. Even without the barrage of outside forces, his thoughts and emotions spun in their place.

After some time, he realized he was lying near a home...a farm....he could hear cows scuffling about in their pen...someone inside the home. Maybe they could tell him what happened...what was going on...

He tried to stand, but found his limbs didn't respond as they should. Confusion wafted through his muddled mind as he floundered for a moment in the grass, trying to figure out what was wrong. Finally, he managed to roll himself onto his knees.

And that was the first time he saw.

His hands...they were bony, the flesh rotting...pale, sickly skin covering what was left of the meat...his once clean sleeves torn, presenting more revealed bone and ragged skin...

A scream jerked his attention from his hands to before him. A terrified woman stared at him with wide eyes, backpedalling away. He tried to stop her, reach out to her, beg her for help...

But then, armor-clad guards burst through the trees and grass, yelling orders and cries of battle. His head spun violently, the shock of everything overwhelming his senses, dissolving into sheer panic. On instinct, his bony hand grasped the grey stone in his pocket, his fear activating the magic held within as he scuttled backward over the grass. The soldiers were upon him just before the innate spell was complete, one of their blades swinging down to score a deep hit into his shoulder. He cried out, his blood spilling on the grass, and then...he was gone.

He felt himself being pulled away, reality bending to allow him free passage. The place, the way he was being pulled, it was different than what he felt to be normal.

The spell released him finally in a dark stone room. That was all he could register before he lost consciousness.

----

He didn't know how much time had passed when he finally awoke again. The room he was in remained unchanged from the brief glimpse he'd had before. The air was stale and dank, and hardly any light filtered down from the stairs before him.

Carefully, he raised himself to a sitting position, the wound in his shoulder stinging. His mind was much more quiet than before, as if the silence of what he could only describe as a crypt eased his tormented confusion.

Slowly, he crept up the stone stairs, and entered into a dreary land that he did not recognize. Then the realization dawned on him...

He didn't know who he was. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know...what he was.

"What...am I..."

A man standing next to him started at him through dark eyes, his skin taut on his frame...his hands bony as well.

"Psh, death has rotted your brain. You're a Forsaken, of course."

The lost Forsaken sank down onto the stones below him. "Forsaken..."

(( cross-posted, hope that's okay ^^; ))

[Kurohane]

Chapter 2: Flour

The sun had already set over Southshore as Kurohane leaned against the wall in the entrance to the Inn. The smell of the salty sea and crash of the waves did little to calm her, as it normally did. The night was too quiet, as well. The ever present sounds of fighting that surrounded the alliance town, and the nearby horde town of Tarren Mill were absent for once. Strange how that made the night's quiet seem eerie instead of relaxing.

She glanced once more up at the clock on the mantle. It was nearing midnight... Where WAS that man? Sighing heavily, she pushed herself off the wall and began pacing the wooden floor. Due to recent events, certain members of her guild refused to let her go into various areas alone.

So what if Silverpine was a horde controlled area? She'd spent plenty of time sneaking about those lands, and when she was not nearly as skilled as she was now. Nor had her mount.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips finally, and she retook her place on the wall. Of course, back then, she and her guild were not at war with horde guilds. She was a nonentity. Much had changed.

“KURO!” a voice erupted near her knee and she jerked her wide-eyed gaze down to the gnomish mage that grinned up at her. “What are you doing here? Are you here to go fight the horde? Can I come help? I love to help! And I love a good fight! Is Weasel gonna come too? I like him, he's a nice elf!”

She couldn't help the small smile that pulled her lips back as she leaned down to hug the girl, “Weasel's coming, Kit, but we're not here for battle.”

Kitsuryou blinked at her several times, as if trying to grasp the concept. Finally, a wide, beaming grin split her face. “Can I come anyway? If you get in any trouble, I can go 'POOF!' and freeze them to the ground and then 'ZA-POW!' and hit them with fireballs! See? I can help keep you safe too!”

She didn't have it in her heart to tell the tiny mage that those last words made her want to order the gnome back home. Instead, she sighed quietly, keeping the small, amused smile in place. “Of course, Kit – what would any of us ever do without you?”

“Probably all be over taken by the evil rogues of the world,” Bloodweasel answered from the door, a wry smirk playing across the warriors face. With a small nod to the gnome, he turned and bowed to Kurohane. “What's this about, now, you needing to go to Silverpine?”

The amusement faded from her pale face as she glanced between her two Swordwaltzers. “Jacanor passed away last night, in Elwynn Forest.” Confusion traced the warrior's face as the mage gasped. Taking a deep breath, she continued, not giving them a chance to interject. “When Alucian and I went to try and either resurrect him or take his body to the church, it was missing... Due to accounts in the area, my tracking, and what we saw... Well, there's a good chance he has turned undead.”

Silence met her as the towering man in plate and the miniature mage in shimmering cloths exchanged glances. Finally, Bloodweasel spoke up as the gnome attached herself affectionately to the huntress' leg. “We had best see if that is true... What will we do if he is turned?”

Adjusting the blades on her hips, Kurohane shook her head. “That depends on him.”


The trip to Silverpine was certainly not as quiet as the night had led on to be. Kurohane and Bloodweasel had left their mounts in Southshore so that Kitsuryou could keep pace, and apparently that made the three apt targets for attacks. It was with several muttered curses and drawn weapons that they finally found themselves nearing the tainted wood. Ahead, the Dalaran wizards mulled about, talking quietly about whatever it was they discussed.

And from the other direction, a Forsaken man walked.

She had not expected, after having spent the entire day combing innumerable areas, including Silverpine (though her guild need not know about that bit), to have that sight laid so readily before her.

“Stand down,” she stated quietly as Kit began whispering the first words of an incantation.

Weasel, however, merely watched, his expression hidden behind his helm, her gauntleted hands resting with a lazy grace upon the two maces at his hips.

The Forsaken eyed the three of them warily, moving to pass on the other side of the road. The imp at his side danced about, snickering as it followed behind its master. Oh yes, Paggy would be most amused...

The subtle speed of the cheetah placed the huntress quickly in the forsaken warlock's path as she narrowed her eyes, studying his face. He stopped, a hint of fear seeping into his dead gaze as he glanced from her to the other two Swordwaltzers. His lips moved and a rattling noise she could only assume were words tumbled out.

“Jac,” she finally whispered, her brows drawing together in the horror that stood before her.

“He's an undead! We should kill him before he tries to get us!” Kit spoke up, all but vibrating in place as she eyed the warlock.

Kurohane shot her a stern look as the warlock eyed the mage in return. “He is... was one of ours, Kit. Last night, he was sick but, well...”

“..alive,” Weasel finished for her, placing a hand on the mage to still her. Somehow the elven warrior had a way of subduing gnomes. It was uncanny at times.

Kurohane pushed the errant thought away, nodding as she looked back at the man she had called friend and ally. Know me Jac, please... Know me. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing again between the huntress and her two companions. Confusion had taken over what was left of his face, the cheeks gaunt and drawn over the bones.

“I'm so sorry Jac,” she spoke to him again, her mind screaming with pleas for his understanding, for him to know her. “I'll find how this happened to you... I'll bring however is spreading the plague again to just... I'm so sorry, Jac...”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she moved without thinking to embrace his rotting form. Bony hands met her shoulders and he pushed her away, stumbling back a step. But something was off... He was stronger than he'd been in life and she could feel more power in him than he'd had the day before. FAR more power.

He spoke again, eyes narrowing as he looked at her, repeating the same phrase again and again.

Kit let out a long sigh, finally, her usually joy and enthusiasm muted by the situation. “His mind is gone.”

No! she wanted to shout but held her tounge as the tears finally slid down her cheeks. Beside her, Balah let out a small growl.

“Don't do this to yourself, Kuro,” Weasel added, placing a hand on her shoulder. “He is lost. Don't fight it and make it harder for yourself.”

Her throat tightened, refusing to allow her to speak. The now forsaken warlock's gaze moved to Kit, seeming to size her up. If what she sensed in Jac was right, Kit would be no match for him...

Protect those you still have... No, not Jac! Know me, Jac, please! Elune, please, don't let him be lost to us!

...he is gone.

She moved without warning, her blades meeting his flesh, Balah's teeth sinking into his leg. Better dead than forsaken. Better released from this torment than suffering. He didn't know her. His mind was lost. Oh Elune, Jac...

His form lay crumpled on the ground unmoving. She could set it aflame, ensure he never awoke again. She could call on a priestess to release his soul from it's trappings as Izanami had done with Yomi.

She stood for a moment, staring down at him, her blades trembling ever so slightly in her hands. She could not do it. She could not...

She walked away a few steps, slowly resheathing her blades.

“It had to be done,” Weasel whispered behind her, and she shook off his comment.

“We'd best get a move on,” she answered with a far more steady voice than she would have guessed she'd have.

She felt cold, hollow. Jacanor... He had been one of her men. He was Forsaken now, and she could not finish him as she'd done others. Her feet moved of their own accord, pulling her away from the corpse, but not away from the scream of agony in her mind.

[Jacan]

Days that had stretched into eternities had passed since the Forsaken warlock awoke in Deathknell. He retained no memory of who he was, where he was, or even what he was. Despite how desperately he chased the shreds of memories that danced just at the edge of comprehension, the warlock remembered little more than his name. It didn't feel complete to him, but it was enough.

So, the Forsaken warlock Jacan worked during those days to regain the strength he felt he should have had. He saw the looks the trainers in Deathknell gave when they noted his amazing progress. It didn't take a trained eye to tell that Jacan was learning things and growing stronger much faster than the other corpses the crypt in Deathknell coughed to the surface world.

Even so, no matter how many darkhounds he slayed or how many rotting Scourge-ridden undead he sent back to their final resting place, nothing jarred his memory free of whatever binded them.

Jacan pondered these things as he sat in the inn in Brill, his imp idly chewing on a soul shard in the chair next to him. What little he did remember took the form of impressions and emotions rather than concrete thoughts. Warm sun. The hot smell of fresh hay. The click his boots made on city streets.

There were a few blurred faces that he remembered too. Two seemed human, and another resembled a night elf. He only felt pangs of distant sadness when he thought of the humans, but the night elf brought a different kind of sadness...one Jacan couldn't quite place.

The imp tossed the last bit of soul shard in his tiny mouth, then looked expectantly at Jacan. The Forsaken sighed and stood, tossing a few coin on the table. "Let's go for a walk. I need some air."

The quiet stroll took the warlock and his imp through the fields of Brill and into the dark woods of Silverpine. He passed the Sepulcher, the fields overrun by the worgen of Arugal, and finally, he found himself outside Ambermill, with the arrogant and self-centered mages of Dalaran. Jacan paused and watched the humans scurry about their tasks, paying him no heed at all. Or perhaps they did, and hoped he hadn't noticed them?

Jacan shook his head and continued on his walk. Ahead, he came upon three travelers, two clad in clanking metal armor, the third a short thing garbed in cloth robes. He didn't care who they were or what they wanted, and merely moved to the side of the road to pass them.

Suddenly, he found himself stopped short by the shorter of the two armored travelers, and Jacan snapped his eyes upward irritably. His face smoothed in surprise when his eyes fell on the blurred face of his memory, suddenly crystal clear.

The night elf babbled something. He could see she was crying. Jacan fumbled for something to say, then finally just told them to move on and leave him be.

No sooner did the words leave his lips than a dam opened in his mind, dark memories of a life he'd long since left behind tumbling out, making little sense. The night elf before him with the tears was Kurohane Mistveil, the leader and Ogema of the Swordwaltzers, of which he was one. He remembered seeing her in a white dress from behind as he followed her, then again in a tavern, and again...

In a green forest. He was in great pain. He saw her glowing eyes looking down on him.

Help me...please...

Suddenly, the different sadness made sense. It was a sadness brought on by betrayal. The kind of sadness that caught a spark and burned into hatred, as the sadness in Jacan's heart had just done.

Kurohane lurched out suddenly and grabbed him around the shoulders in an embrace Jacan no more wanted than the embrace from Death itself. He shoved her away and pointed a bony finger in her face.

"I know you...I remember you! You let me die! I begged for your help, and you let me die! You let me die!"

The gnome at Kurohane's side began to look anxious, as did the tall warrior on her other. Jacan started to ponder an escape plan...

...but Kurohane beat him to the punch. He cried out in pain as the hunter's blades scored his flesh, as her cat tore at his limbs. To the little chittering fool's credit, Jacan's imp tried to fend off his master's attackers, but to no avail. Within moments, both demon and master lay in a limp pile at Kurohane's feet.

Jacan caught a glimpse of Kurohane looking down on him yet again as he lay dying, blades shaking at her sides. He would have laughed at the irony if he hadn't passed away.

---------

Once again, Jacan awoke in the belly of a crypt. He didn't know how much time had passed, but his grunted question to the innkeeper was answered with several hours. Any chance of retribution was long gone. The night elf would be safely within the walls of an Alliance capital, drowning the evening in whatever foul spirits those fatlings thought of next.

Grimacing, Jacan pulled himself to a sitting position and stared out over the room. "You will not brush me under the carpet so easily, Kurohane," he whispered to himself. "I will haunt you until the day you draw your last breath."

[Jacan]

((And now, if anyone who received a mysterious package would like to add to this, please, by all means, go ahead. :) ))