#pc: Leithi Ash'alla

[cos-wow]

I could write Sylvanas porn. Or I could write this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166905

Let us see how long before I write porn into this.

[cos-wow]

Fallacy of the Fallen

“You're mine, you know.” Her fingers paused on the spine of a large leather-wrapped tome, and she allowed herself a small smile before continuing the lazy walk of slender digits over the hardened spines of several other tomes, seeking out a single weakness in the otherwise tightly packed shelf. The words lingered in her mind, bidden there by the unseen desire to hear a voice that had been too many days absent. Again, her lips twisted in that little quirk of amusement before parting to release a breath of triumph. Her hand pushed, spreading the gap between two thick books wider, just enough for her to slip in the slender book cast in black demon-skin. Some wrapped their gifts in colored paper and bows; Xaedryx took instead the more amusing route of a special brand of irony. There were several such books hidden throughout the personal library she was in. Each was warded by her own skill, a skill that could never be contested except by the most powerful of those among the Kirin Tor. It was lucky then, that no such people were among her close friends. She hated turning a friend into an enemy, though she knew that some could never help what had been drilled into their minds by the past. Standing atop the delicate footstool that she had pulled up along the bookshelf, she cast her silver gaze to the others. To her sight, the books blazed as though light was contained within each of them, a little gnomish light bulb caught between pages just waiting to be found.

These were gifts, slipped into the masses of knowledge that the owner of the study had to call his own. They were histories that none could hope to experience, studies that only the most hardened would be able to observe. They were her private wealth, ten thousand and more years of life crammed into countless journals that she had only just begun to open again and condense into these little slices of her long and tiring life. There were few who would understand what lay between them, countless who would be driven mad by the scribblings within. She should have bought him a hound for the season of giving, but hounds were hard to give a man who could snap his fingers and have all that he wanted.

Knowledge, however... there were things within these slender tomes that not even the dragons would dare to peek at. Personal experiences laid raw and bare, anatomy of living creatures as they lived, and as they died. Details that none could even hope to imagine about things that had been gone from the world, or thought long gone. When you had nothing to give, you gave what was left of yourself. Xaedryx had come to realize this and embrace it as best she could, but she wondered sometimes if the credit she gave the man was sometimes too much. Were he any lesser man, the books would remain blank. Seven demon-skin novels, all useless beneath the eyes of those too weak. Not him. Bracing a hand against one of the shelves, she eased herself off the footstool silently, only the whisk of her gown sliding over the rich fabrics and wood heard to anyone who might have been listening. In truth, her discovery there might have lead to her death. It would have been a poor one; there were none but one who knew that she could not truly die. One of Nathrezim blood did not simply die. Banishment was a simple possibility, but among the humans who made up the court she lingered in, her very existence was more deadly than that of the warlocks that toyed with magic they could never hope to understand. But a Nathrezim was never so foolish as to wander unhidden. Oh, demons were brazen and haughty, she knew. Of all those who existed and were known, the blood of the most cunning of them all ran thick in her veins. This, though she had fought for centuries to disguise it, was known. Only a few knew, but the minds of humans were easy to crack, and the minds of elves were prone to selfish behaviors. In a court, her very existence could have been used to throw a meager peasant into the highest of nobility. Her head would have fetched thousands of gold, her blood even more. Humans were so fickle with their short-sightedness. Yet... … all of her current kindness was for one of them. Not all human, true. Not at all simple and daft as she considered many of them to be. No, this one was capable of being just as cunning as she, and he was the only one who could bring true fear from her. What had she, this lovely mix of chaos and nature, to fear from anyone mortal? Nothing, but he was no mere mortal. A shiver chased itself up her spine, and her lips parted once more to expel a soft sound of discomfort as she padded across the thick carpeting, the sound of her leash brushing against itself echoing in the otherwise silent chamber. Foolishness had leaked itself into her illusion of life. A year ago, she was nothing more than a ghost among the shadows, some nameless priestess who was dead in the annals that listed those who had fallen in the battle against Archimonde. A year ago, there were none who knew her or wanted to. Those who had glimpsed her saw nothing more than the absolute average of women. It had been enough, for all those years. But time had continued, as it was prone to doing. Time had passed, and a year had whittled itself to half of that, and someone had seen things that she had struggled to hide. Goldshire flitted through her mind like a butterfly over a field of flowers, and she shook her head, moving a hand to catch the silver and mithril-twined chain that comprised her leash and shifted it behind her as she walked around the room to replace the books that she had taken to read to herself the last few days that she had made this chamber her own. She had been there in that hive of filth looking for prey; someone who would be easily missed, and easily used to sate her lust for pleasure and knowledge. They had bored her, all of them. She supposed that her boredom acted like a shield for them. They had gone home safe, all because of one little distraction. It amused her how quickly he came to her mind, when she had once filled it with everything but the opposite gender. Until he had come into her closed off world, side-stepping all her barriers and showing her what it was like to laugh again. The thought was sweet enough to make her groan, almost sickeningly so. He might laugh, if he could ever hear the thoughts that danced within her mind, but they were not so tightly bound. She had become weak, she thought as she grabbed a book from his desk and stacked it upon the others in her arms, its corners pushing painfully into her breast. Standing before another of the large cases, she found herself harboring loss and frustration. The two seemed to travel hand in hand as of late with her, and she knew the cause. Perhaps, she considered as she put away the first of the books, it was merely a desire to be fully mortal that left her with such foolish fancies in her mind. Ah, but he was quite the man to wish to be mortal for. Another book was tucked away, and she slipped to another bookcase, the chain attached to the collar around her neck whisking against the desk legs as she moved further from it. Not for the first time, she glanced to the doors that led out from the study, barely visible in the glow of candles she had lit when she had first slipped into the room. Now, the candles had burned low, and he had still not returned. How many days had it been? Something tightened around her heart, a sense of foreboding that she couldn't quite shake. What if his time was now? The wind outside shifted, setting the rain she had forgotten was even falling tapping against the glass window. Her eyes watched droplets hit and vanish, until she could no longer take the dread feeling within her mind. He was fine, she told herself. It mattered so much to her that those words be true, and there was no one she could tell them to except her mind. A mind that had only just begun to realize that hope could be used for more than just hoping that her prey would scream just a few more times before the last of their blood stained the floor. Disgruntled, Xaedryx shoved the last of the books where it belonged before moving to the window, her arms crossed over her chest. One more night, was her self-aimed reprimand. She would wait one more night for him, and then she would leave and seek out yet more knowledge. Her body cried out for more than just a touch, now. It wanted blood and pain, it wanted screams and bliss. One more night, she would wait, and then it would become too much for her to hold back. Above all things, though he knew so much she had hidden from others, she refused to show him that side of her. Especially if he would be the one that all control was lost on. A sigh left her, staining the chilled window with a mist that spread in miniscule designs, broken only by the graze of her fingertips when she sat on the window seat. Her head propped against the cold stone, and she let her eyes drift closed, allowing herself to linger on the brink of waking and slumber, soon succumbing to the second as rain pelted a soft lullaby against the window. The click of the latch roused her, the sound of the door a forgotten memory in some wayward dream that had quickly set itself up to be a nightmare. Her eyes remained half-lidded, a natural desire to remain undetected hindering rationality in a room that was by now dark. Darksight was one of the very few gifts that she had not inherited from her mixed blood, but she had always had Shadyx for that. Her long ears twitched just once, the only movement she allowed herself so as to not betray her presence in case the one who had entered would not take kindly to her presence. Her blood rushed in her veins, pushing a greater urge forward and making her even breathing stagger for just a moment. Control was becoming harder, and though her eyes closed against the darkness, she could feel the heartbeat of the one in the room, could smell his scent as if he sat with her where she was. The seared circle of skin around her throat began to itch in response to the sudden warmth that flooded her, and she let her eyes go to where she knew the desk was as a weight fell into the chair that matched it. She knew, as she stood in one graceful motion from the window's ledge, that he had seen her. There was a chance that he had seen her when he had closed the door behind him. As the clouds parted enough to let the light of one moon filter through the window, she saw his lips pull into the near-feline smirk she had become so used to. While he made no motion to beckon her forwards, she moved in time with the thundering heartbeat in her ears, until her fingers touched the wood of his desk. It was a motion she had practiced, though she'd never tell him that herself. Her hand reached, pushing the pile of papers he had brought with him into the room aside. The weight of it made other papers, no less important, fall to the ground with a faint noise that was disguised as she slid herself into the vacated place, casually looking him over. She did not move as his hand lifted, tangling in the chain she had so frequently moved out of her way the last few days and pulling until she was bent near double. Her eyes never left his, meeting arrogance with arrogance as his fingers touched along the silver collar. “I never put this on you.” His voice was a dangerous whisper, as chilly as his fingers that touched her skin beneath the metal. “I also warned you the last time you touched my papers. Your punishment will be most fierce.” A mischievous grin formed on her lips, long ears twitching as she made her reply. “Were there someone who wandered into your sanctum while you were absent, I would rather have them believe you were keeping some craven slut tied as she should be, than have them believe you allow some strange woman to read your books. I also remember, keenly, telling you that you could do your worst when you made that threat.” “That you did, and that I will.” He jerked the chain, and was rewarded with the faintest gasp and her hands breaking their stoic rest on the top of the desk to grip the side in an attempt to stay seated where she was. He released the chain and slid his hand downwards, ghosting over the silken fabric that comprised the long robe she wore. She offered no resistance as he slipped his fingers into the folds, pushing it roughly down and off her shoulders while he stroked his palm over the swell of her breasts. Xaedryx bit back a moan, but did not stop herself from pressing herself into his palm. She was content to let him explore, usually, but this time was going to be different. Apologies swam in her mind, unspoken as she reached out her own hands and pushed the heavy traveling cloak off of his shoulders, perhaps more roughly than she had truly meant to. Perhaps. It was more surprising that she nearly tore the laces of his tunic from the fabric, an action that she covered beneath a veneer of concern when she pressed her lips to his collar. His skin was like ice beneath her lips and fingers, and her warmth sent goosebumps over the flesh as she fell forward, guided by gravity and his hands that had found their way beneath the robe to grab her ass and pull her to him. To say she landed gently would have been a lie; the only thing that was soft was the silver-blue sheer silk robe falling over her parted thighs as she straddled him, nestling his still covered and hardening cock between her bare folds. Her hands raised, cupping his face while she tilted his head back, spying eagerness within eyes of green. Eagerness, and so much more. Need was no longer in question. Whatever had been need was now a requirement, and her fingers brushed through his hair to dispose of what ties might have been there, slender blue fingers of one hand coursing through ash-blonde locks as she pulled herself closer to him with the support of her other hand on the back of the chair, crushing her breasts against his chest while she ground her hips against his, coaxing him to full mast with only his leggings to constrain him. “You're cold,” she whispered, looking down at him from where she was. His words came with the sudden squeeze of her hips, far beyond a gentle touch and well into the realm of bruising, his grip brought fire and pain as he forced her down as his own hips lifted, his mouth opening only to close on her neck. “Then warm me.” The roughness of his leggings ground at her sensitive mound, bringing forth shuddering gasps that he felt in his mouth while his tongue traveled over skin that was clasped between his teeth. He played with that breathing of hers, making it stagger into plaintive mewls when he clamped hard enough to leave marks over her flesh, releasing it only to nip and bite at the lobe of her ear, drag his teeth along her jaw and then settle on her shoulder. There, he did break her skin with his bite, and she did little more than revel in the pain that it brought her, shuddering against and then unleashing her own brutality upon him. She saw the world as nothing more than a glimmer of silver fire and his eyes, moonlight shedding light over skin that was becoming warm and receptive, sweat beginning to glisten. Her own nails dragged from the back of the chair, scoring the hard plane of his shoulder and around until she eased at his naval. Blood touched her senses, his and hers mixing like a perverted wine that made her mind spin. She braced her knees, lifting herself and hissing when he tried to stop her, his nails tearing shallow gashes into her hips. His leggings stood as much a chance as his tunic had beneath her fingers, and she tore what she could before roughly shoving the rest away until her hand could grasp what she hungered for. Their moans entwined; hers muffled against his temple while deft fingers slid around his shaft and her thumb skated over the crown already wet with his precum, his own from her breast where he teased a stiffened nipple with the tips of his canines. She played with that moment, the cliff edge where she faced throwing herself into the unknown from the cave that had protected her all these long years. Once more, she yielded to want and desire, and threw herself into the utter unknown that was him. When he tired of her games, of her firm yet gentle stroking despite his biting, and slipped three fingers into her, she mewled. When he curled those fingers, she shuddered. And when he pulled them towards him, mashing that sensitive bundle of nerves roughly, she screamed her climax into his shoulder, muffling it beneath his flesh as she bit him until skin broke and she tasted his blood along her tongue. Her mind blanked, body moving on instinct to obey that silent command of the pull, anything to stop the overpowering mix of pain and pleasure that made her writhe and whimper, gasping against his skin. Her hand flattened, using the heel of it to guide his cock towards her slit, and when his hand did not move despite that obedience she showed, she coaxed it past the top of his hand, sliding it along his middle finger until he was sheathed halfway within her, only his fingers keeping him from easily hilting. For a blissful moment, she allowed herself to revel in the feeling of him within her, stretching her with both cock and fingers. Her breathing was ragged in his ear, and she knew the moment that she felt his arm move around to brace at the small of her back that she had let herself fade too far. His hips gave one swift lurch upwards, and then it was her lip that was bleeding, her pain-laced scream of pleasure bitten back into a mangled whimper that ceased to die as he lifted his hand and she followed only to keep his palm from ravaging her clit when he gave no sign of easing. His other hand slid down her back and into the cleft of her ass, dancing playfully over the tightly clenched ring there before continuing on and forcing his fingers into her already painfully stretched folds. He lingered there, soaking his fingers in her arousal while she grabbed at his arms and shoulders, trembling fingers tearing new lines of red down his pale shoulders while her voice hitched in its begging. Oh, how she begged. As her hips rolled and she felt him stretch her painfully open, she whispered pleas into his ear that he simply chuckled at, his breath hitting against her neck in staggered waves as she rocked and ground herself onto him despite the pain she felt. It was a drug, that requirement taking what he wrought on her and turning it into the sustenance that she required. When he at last removed the fingers that had sent her into such a state, it was only to trace them back to her ass, deftly pushing the slick digits past the ring that tightened briefly to warn him away only to fail. Her body fell against his, a hand curling around the back of his neck while the other splayed over the back of the chair. “Are you so easily worn out,” he teased below his breath, twisting another helpless moan from her as his fingers delved deeper into her ass and pushed against the wall that divided his hands from each other, “that you would take only for yourself? Selfish. I thought better of the one I chose as mine. You are mine, you know.” His lips dragged over her skin as she shivered and whimpered, trying her best to clear her mind of his physical, and now mental, assault. “Mine, to do all that I desire with. Mine, to serve me. Mine, as was our agreement.” “Yours,” she murmured beneath another mewling moan, rolling the word over her tongue as she threw her head back and began to ride him, long rolls of her hips that made it easier to take his treatment and brought great groans and praises from deep in his chest. Her hand left him, sliding down his chest to fall slack at her side while the other remained coiled around the back of his neck, fingers tangled in ash-blond tresses. Though slow, the strokes were strong, with both of them panting before too long. His were muffled against her breast, where he left marks from his bites that would stay for days on her skin if she allowed it. She would, as she always did. A part of her believed he liked to see the marks of his conquest on her skin. For him, she let them stay. His name tangled itself on her tongue, spilling forth at last as her body tensed atop his, their breath escaping them in sharp hisses as both finally released; her with spasms that massaged his cock within her, milking his length with every stroke until she dropped herself hard and caught her heels beneath the seat of the chair, locking him within her as they rode out their climaxes together. She was loathe to dismount from him, relishing his warmth as he panted against her breast, parted lips wrapped loosely around her nipple. When he began to soften, she tempted fate by moving, a murmured moan leaving her as she stood and he fell from her completely. The silk robe she wore, bloodied now with red that contrasted darkly against the pale silver-blue material, slid back around her legs, and already she felt his seed leaking from within her. Her steps took her away from the desk, and she began to tie her hair back from her face. Began, but did not finish as she felt something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, and a shudder ran up her spine before utter hate spilled into her veins. When she turned, it was to lunge at the newest figure, summoned by the will of the one she held dear. The Felguard watched her with amusement; it knew the outcome of this as much as she did, and it enjoyed what came next. When the Kaldorei half-breed flew at him in the rage he had come to associate with her, he was ready. Her outstretched arms were grabbed, twisted until she yelped in pain and went rigid as he spun her and tossed her down to the ground. When she rolled to recover, he stepped on the trailing hem of her robe, and knew he had won. Tangled, Xaedryx could do little more than hiss her displeasure, biting at the demon's hands as it pulled at her. For a moment, she was a hellion on her own, and made triumph a difficult task indeed, but within minutes, the Felguard had worked the half-breed to her knees, her robe torn to shreds. Her breasts ground into the fibers of the carpet, her breathing ragged as she looked up at her lover with pain and fear in her eyes. He smiled, that wicked smile that made her heart leap and her stomach burn, and yet terrified her all the same. “I did tell you, pet. You were to be punished.” “Anything but this,” her mind begged as the Felguard yanked her hair back with one hand until her mouth fell open, and he crammed a balled up piece of silk into her mouth. She bit him, and he did little more than laugh before pushing her torso down until her ass was high in the air. Her eyes never left those of her love, silently pleading, and she felt shame touch her cheeks as tears formed in her eyes. The Felguard was massive, and not gentle. The heavy clink of it's armor dropping away heralded the first brunt of pain as the demon took hold of her hips with one hand while he held her neck with the other, and thrust into her slit with one rough stroke that buried himself and set pain through her as he brutally hit her most inner wall. It's thrusts were rough and quick, forcing her to cry out in sharp pain against the makeshift gag in her mouth. More pain, as the force with which it penetrated her pushed her across the carpet, burning the skin that had been so recently marked. Her whimpers were ignored, even mocked as the demon spoke to her in a tongue she knew well, and hated. “Whore,” it called her as she seethed with rage, “filthy demon slut. Half-breed toy.” It hammered at her mind while raving her cunt, it's pace only becoming quicker as it neared it's own release. She squirmed as she felt the telltale shudder within the demon that foretold of it's pleasure mounting, and as she fought, it only gripped her harder, only thrust faster, until she was not only pushed across the carpet but very nearly lifted from it, too. Her sobs were constant, her face hidden beneath a wash of azure hair as she screamed her hate into the gag, and her anguish as the demon released within her, flooding her with it's seed. She felt it twitch within her, spasming wildly as it pumped itself empty inside of her, making her whimper with discomfort at the sting it caused her brutalized folds. When it withdrew, it shoved her forward, and she collapsed, completely uncaring to the world. The pain of it's rutting dulled somewhat, but she was keenly aware of the demon still lingering near her. With a soft groan, she attempted to move, but gave up and lay unmoving for long minutes that were finally broken by a soft rush of chiming metal, and the gentle tug of the collar around her neck. Her eyes opened, her head tilting to follow the chain, which she found coiled in the fingers of her lover. His grin was not gone, and he gave the leash another tug that made her moan as the simple motion seemed to travel through her entire body. It came again, and she struggled to her hands and knees as his little tugs became one constant, his hand winding the delicate chain around and around. She paused, bracing herself back, and he languidly used the force to pull himself to his feet, watching her follow that incessant tug once more, crawling ever towards him. Her eyes held pain and hurt within them, but deeper still there was the raw want and need that always lay there, no matter how he hurt her. Oh, how he loved to hurt her in all the best of ways, and how she loved to please him in every way they could find together. She sat before him, not unlike a dog before its master, on her spread knees with hands braced in front of her, her eyes meeting his for moments. Without words, she bent and crawled the last foot forward, her lips pressing to the inside of his knee in a reverent kiss that continued up until his sack brushed her brow, and only then did she let her lips leave his flesh. Her hands slid up and around his legs, nails combing fine white lines along his skin until she flattened her palms over the back of his thighs and grabbed, pulling herself upwards and into his groin while her lips parted, grazing over sensitive skin. Her temple rested on his inner thigh as she simply breathed him in, taking in the scent of them before she let her tongue slip over the root of his shaft, her breath warm on slickened skin. Silver eyes flicked up, watching him while she let her lips travel over the entirety of his shaft, finally parting to take in just the tip of his manhood. The fingers of his free hand twisted in her hair and she sat up straighter, coaxing his length into her mouth until her lips pressed against his pelvis. She swallowed, the only way that ever felt comfortable when he was so deep within her throat, and held herself there until her chest burned and she had no choice but to pull off of him, a thick stream of saliva left to bind his tip to her lips as she panted before him. When she took him in again, her hands moved from his ass around his hips and to his stomach, leaving the same fine lines. When his other hand clasped in her hair, she yielded to his force and let him buck into her, sheathing himself repeatedly within her throat. Saliva wet her lips, then dripped to spill from her chin onto heavy breasts, soon thickened with his pre-cum. His hand went to her throat, tightening dangerously above the collar that she had placed on herself, and she released a soft mewl as he ravaged her throat. A sound of distress that became more audible, became more a sob, when the Felguard once more approached and pulled her by her hips, leveraging her into a more suitable position. Just once, he thrust into her folds, allowing his cock to become slick with what had already been spilled and her arousal from her lover's treatment, and then she felt the demon's tip push at entrance to her ass, and she groaned around her lovers cock as the demon thrust, swiftly hilting itself within. Her yelp as it struck the swell of her ass with a gauntlet-covered hand was muffled, and almost choked, by the warlock's cock, and he no more relented than the demon did as it found a pace of it's own. Her hands lifted, and one reached back to grab her ass, spreading her cheeks for the demon while the other curled around the warlock's shaft, and kept time with her mouth as she could, milking his length in fluid motions that made him groan and pant his pleasure as much as she was doing herself. When the demon speared her folds with one thick finger, she staggered and choked on her lover's cock, somehow regaining herself as their pace quickened. Xaedryx lost herself as orgasms wracked her frame, making her burn until she had become lost on the waves of pleasure, becoming little more than a toy for the desires of those who rutted her. The demon gripped her breasts painfully, pulling her back against itself as it released and filled her ass with enough seed that it dripped from around its length as it pulled free of her and vanished, the pulse of fel energy acting as herald to the warlock's own climax. His hands fisted in her hair, he held her in place as he came, his cock twitching in her throat until he pulled back and allowed her to milk the last of it from him, letting it splash on her cheeks and chin, dripping on her breasts. His hands unwound, untangling from her azure hair and the delicate chain only to return as he gave a gentle touch to her skin, combing fingers through her hair while her lips grazed over his skin, whispering words of prayer that mended the scratches she had laid upon him. More than the scratches, as what aches he had faded under her tender care. “You're - ...” “ - yours. I know.” She looked up at him, the need that had filled her something like a memory as weakness set in, leaving her trembling. “I'm many things, but above all of them, I am yours.” Her fingers touched at the collar around her neck, a quiet word unclasping it to have it fall into her hand. Slowly, she stood and set the silver item onto his desk, her legs trembling beneath her weight. He held out his hand for her, and she took it, following him willingly into the darkness, trusting. For she had no other choice.

[cos-wow]

An Unknown Book - 2

Of all the things I wanted, a normal life would be the hardest of all for me to gain. I never asked for anything, but Asha'lla gave me all that a young woman might have wanted. For her, I was an eager learner. She taught me the basics of mending my own clothes, of fashioning dyes for fabrics. She taught me to cook and how to wash, and we lived together for a long time without the magic that we both had been raised around. In time, Asha'lla met a man. His name was Yavrik Oakshallow, and I remember him mostly because of the joy he brought to her, and the kindness he showed to me. He is the only one I have known in these many years who trains with the bow, but never walked with an animal. We met him while wandering, and a mistake led to Asha'lla falling down a steep hill. Elune must have blessed us that day, for while I worried about my dearest companion and tried to stop her pain, Yavrik appeared as if by magic.

With his help, we managed to return home safely. I don't know when the feelings began to start. Yavrik started to come around our small home more often, bringing with him furs to warm us, or meat when he thought our stores were low. If he had been by a town, he would bring us gifts of pretty trinket boxes or jewelry. He was always kind, always showing a smile... but I lacked the eyes to see that he was interested in Asha'lla, more than I.

I still remember the day I knew that he would not love me, and that his affection was for her alone. I pushed aside the cloth that hid her room from the hallway of our home, and found them kissing in front of her window. The moonlight made the scene ethereal in my eyes, and I knew that as much as it hurt me to watch, it would not be something I interrupted. I had never seen contact so tender and shy, never seen an embrace that spoke of want just as much as it left the heart bare. I closed the cloth and stepped away, feeling no hate or anger. In looking back, I felt joy. Asha'lla, the woman that I loved more than I had ever loved my mother, had finally found someone to call her own. The months passed, and I can't say that I made it hard for us all to still be as we were. He was still kind to me, perhaps even more so, but I began to see where the affection was different. He treated me first as friend, then brethren, and finally... he treated me as a daughter. They were bound in late winter, nearly a decade after that first day. I was there, as I had always been there, and I have never seen her look so beautiful. There were few who attended, but in the eyes of the only one that mattered, they were together for always. But I... I began to feel alone. I did not feel jealousy at Asha'lla's happiness, nor did I lash out at either of them, but I felt as though I had worn out my welcome. I began to take the nights to myself, wandering far over the land for days upon days. I would receive letters in towns from Asha'lla and Yavrik, at first begging me to return home, and eventually... asking about my travels. I cannot say how long it was that I wandered alone. I kept a journal with me, and wrote down everything that I found. I filled out several of those journals before receiving word that Asha'lla was heavy with child, and wanted me to be there for the birth. I returned home in time to witness the birth of Galaesa, and held her in my arms while Asha'lla and Yavrik wept. It is then that I began to feel jealousy. No longer would I be Asha'lla's precious one, and no longer would there be smiles for me. When I knew that Asha'lla would be able to stand on her own feet again, I waited until the house slept, and slipped quietly into each room. To each of them, I gave a kiss on the brow, barely holding back my tears. In Asha'lla's library, I left the copies of my journals that I had labored over in her recovery, and I left a letter of goodbye. Over the years, I would receive many letters from them. The first few seemed pleasant enough, and then the tone began to change when they realized that I would not be coming back. Eventually, after several pleading missives, the letters began to come further and further apart until there were none. It would be several hundred years before I saw any of them again.

Felwood would become my home, though the process of getting there was longer than I make it sound. It was several centuries, as I spent much of my time wandering in peace, trading my elixirs with villages of furbolgs for knowledge they possessed. They were not the only ones who I conversed with; anyone who was willing to spend even an evening in my company, sharing food and stories, would inevitably wake with my gifts left behind as thanks. No place was one that I stayed for too long, my longest perhaps was the three months I spent in Ashenvale, when I happened across a wounded Sentinel. It was in these years that my devotion to Elune became all-encompassing. I did not always find time to pray at a temple or attend the rites, but everything I did was in her name alone. All coin that I gained from working with her healing light, I donated to the temples and shrines. Any gifts were given to those who were recognized by those temples, and they were always given in the same manner; with a child I paid to take them in for me, lest I be discovered. But my love for a being that I could not touch would not sustain me for long. I began to have other needs and desires, and for a long time, the travel that I did was an attempt to run from such things. Intimacy meant becoming close to a person, and I wanted to live. I wanted to continue my life, even if it was half-damned. But... it called to me. The more I pushed it away, the darker my heart became. I could not remain pure, not while something gnawed at me. More than the lust, more than the want... there was a desire to see something hurt. I should have known that I could never completely lock away the part of me that my mother and Asha'lla tried to. I settled in Felwood, and from there, I began to delve into deeper tests. I created several elixirs that I carry to this day, and I have found that these actually sell quite well in the human settlement of Goldshire. At the time, my only subjects were animals, until I found a settlement of satyr nearby. Oh, the fun that I would begin to have...

[cos-wow]

An Unknown Book -

The book is thin, but worn from countless years of use. The thick leather bindings have stretched themselves, cracks appearing where the leather has encountered stress. Patches of darker color, the original black of the leather, prove that the book was once decorated with something - perhaps metal. Now, all that remains to identify it - for there is no name revealed anywhere - is the embossing of a strange, taloned hand curled upwards, surrounded by an unknown rune.    I am not unlike you.    My life began in blood and pain, just as your own was. I screamed my first breaths just as any child might have, and kept my eyes closed against the brightness of a world that was not prepared for me. I cannot tell you where I was born, and perhaps the years have erased any memory of that day from the woodland spirits, but I can always remember the sobbing that happened that day. It was not unlike a storm - soft as a whisper against the ear of a lover, and then as deadly as a downpour on the mountains. I am surprised that I lived past that first day, but then... my mother never saw me past that day.    If anyone was to ask, I would tell them nothing of my beginning. In the years that I have lived, I have learned that it is sometimes better to let people believe what they wish, to let them trust their eyes. My birth drew my mother into madness, but she never gave me up. I suppose that it was easier for her to lie to herself if she could not see me, and she could not. No more than a few hours after her recovery of birthing me, she blinded herself. I would not know this tale for many more years to come, and the one who told me has fallen to ashes and dust so very long ago.

   My mother will remain nameless, for in her death I believe she found peace. She was an arcanist of little importance in the days of Azshara - not enough to be precious Highborne, but talented in her own right. Married, she and her husband were beloved by their family and their friends. I never knew that man, and I still do not know if that may be a blessing or not. He was not my father, though I was brought to term for the reason that my mother truly wished it to be so. No, instead I would be fathered by the hellspawn that those few arrogant souls brought forth into the world.    Yes, I am Legion.    It is here that I become unlike you. My mother's husband perished in the war that would bring about the Maelstrom, and the near annihilation of a proud race of dragons. Oh, these stories I heard from behind doors as I grew up, shunned by the other children for little things that I could not help. I am uncertain as to when my conception occurred, as there were many who were estranged from family and friends, and even more who died by blades and magic than there were those who were dragged aside for pleasures that one would not think of possible for a being bent on destruction.    I know only that when my mother recovered, it was to discover that she was carrying a child. She chose to pray to Elune that the child would be that of the man she so dearly missed; I suppose it was hard to believe that a creature so alien could indeed beget a child on a different race, but when I was born... the desperate hoping and praying had done nothing at all. My mother birthed me alone, setting me up for what the majority of my life would be.    I cannot say that I was much different from other children. I could not tell you which of the breeds of demon that I was fathered by. I bear no hooves, but I wonder if those would carry over. I am slender as my mother, and I bear no wings. There are slight ridges on my ears, and I do bear slightly longer fangs than most, nor do my eyes glow as my mother's did... but I am not openly demonic. Unless one can sense it. Then, perhaps, it all comes crumbling down... but when young, there was none of that.    My mother raised me alone, far away from cities. She had a single friend who would become the only one who knew me deeper than just my skin. She was sister-by-marriage to my mother, and cared for us both as I grew. It was she who told me the stories that the other women and men would not, she who tried to guide me when my mother would do nothing more than leave me alone in the home for days. If not for that woman, I might have died.    Her name was Asha'lla. A Priestess of Elune, she preached compassion for me when my mother would not look me in the eye. When my mother turned from me, it was she who touched me on the head and smiled as if I were her own child. For all of the hate that I knew she must have felt for my father's kin, she was determined not to show it to me. I do not know why.    Asha'lla would be the one who convinced my mother to begin the runes and warding when I reached the age of maturity. For her people, at least. I am not certain if there is an age of maturity for demons. I prefer not to think of them that way. Foolish, I know. To deny my heritage is damning, but everyone has their own little lies that they would like to keep believing. For me, the lie that was my own was that my mother loved me.    It was not long after the bindings were completed that I understood how much of a lie that would be. I was an adult in her eyes, and perhaps she refused to shield me any longer. Refused to pretend for me, anymore. I can't remember exactly what happened, but I would never forget the absolute joy that was on her face when the house that I had been raised went up in flames. Only because of Asha'lla did I make it out alive. My hands and hair burned, welts and bruises on my body, one of my ears near severed from my head... but I was alive. My mother was not.    Asha'lla did not scold me. With careful words, she led the druids to the burned out grove, and swept me away from the place that I would never return to again. Joining the world itself would prove to be a greater challenge than either of us believed. She quickly learned that those who could sense the wrongness of me were more than she had first believed. For a time, we let them believe that the reason I was cloaked at all times was because of the burns.    It would be children who uncovered the truth. Children who began the rumors. I would suffer the hate of the only people I knew for years, chased from the cities by those I wanted to become friends with. In time, I stopped trying. In time, I began to feel hate for them all. Asha'lla took me far, far from them all after it nearly cost us both our lives. Deep in the forests of Feralas, she would tap into the magic that was forbidden, the very magic that had drawn my father and his kin to our world, and she would attempt to help me learn how to disguise myself.    I tried. For long, long years, I did all that I could to disguise myself. I covered my eyes and played at being a blind woman, I painted my skin or wore all-encompassing robes to hide the runes that had been all but carved into my skin. It was by accident that we discovered a fairly simple elixir that would become the basis for everything that changed. I will not bore myself with recounting the details. I only need to remember the elation that I felt.    For the first time in several hundred years, I walked among the others who had scorned me before. With the arcane bred out of them, and the lack of intrusion from the Legion, I was an invisible relic that no one could remember. Asha'lla and I celebrated by visiting the temple, where I would feel the first feelings of love from a being I could never understand.    It was that day that I devoted myself to an unknown; not to the demonic blood in my veins, nor even to the natural bond my mother's kin held to the wilds, but to a being that watched from everywhere and no where. For all the love that I felt for Asha'lla, it was nothing compared to the love and devotion I dedicated to Elune.    Through her, I believed that I could be cleansed. Through her, I believed that I could be normal.