The usual disclaimers apply. I don't own WoW, this is a work of fiction. I'm trying my hand at a little light humor.

Most of you know succubuses. Succubeese. Succubi. Or whatever you call 'em. Not that I'm advising you call 'em, by the Light, I wouldn't even advise you call one of 'em. But I digress, which I do all the time. I digress like a goblin makes gold.

But back to the point now—I'm sure you've heard something about succubis. Maybe if you've been to one o' the great cities, Stormwind or Ironforge or maybe even Darnassus or the Exodar, you've seen one or two or seven hundred of them about, walking tamely beside their warlock master or mistress, but seething inside with some kind of boiling hatred…if you've seen one you've seen 'em all. Or almost.

You see, I'm going to tell you a story about one o'them succubuzzles, and it's all completely one hundred percent reliable. Okay well…some of it is true. Most o'it. I had to dress it up with a little embroidery here and there, pretty the tale up in places.

Anyway, there once was a succubus named Rathna. Funny sort o' a name, I think, rather sounds like a sneeze, but Rathna it was. If this were a true fairy tale, Rathna would have two sisters who made her do housework or she'd been living in a cottage with a multitude of dwarves. But as far as I know, succuboose don't have sisters, unless they're all sisters, which they really could be. And they don't do housework that I knows of, unless a warlock tells 'em to. And they certainly don't pal around with dwarves, though gnomes they seem to like okay.

Well, all that aside, this story concerns Rathna, and the story begins around the founding of Theramore, when the greenskin…I mean the orc Thrall became Warchief of the Horde…oops again, I mean the Durotar Institute for Equality and the Serious Community Unity Movement, or as we Alliance call it, the DI ESC UM. I think that's Orcish for "Peace," said that way, they've become so nice since that young Garrosh took over…anyway! There once was a succubus named Rathna, which sounds like a limerick, only nothing rhymes with Rathna.

Rathna was beautiful, like all succubusses are beautiful, but she was not the most beautiful succubus, nor was she even in the top billion. Her legs were just a little too short, her hair was just a little too dull, her smile was just not quite wicked or sharp enough. She passed every task they set before her, but not with high marks, because she wasn't real good at it, see? Except for Conversation. She was great at Conversation, not because she was so flirtatious, but because she was so intelligent. For a succubus, anyway.

Like all succubi, Rathna had to pass an exam in order to be ready to become part of the Burning Legion's forces. Mostly they use subterfuge, you know, eventually controlling their warlock and pushing them into Legion schemes. Or trying to, anyway. O'course, some of them fight on the front lines. Nasty things to face, succubuzzes.

"Your Conversation was good," her teacher, Instructress Gaznira, told her afterward. "But your Seduction could use some work. You're a little awkward, a little clumsy. But you passed."

When two years had gone by since the exams, Rathna started getting annoyed. Izthna had been summoned, Thiarna had been summoned, even Ashushna had been summoned accidently when a warlock had a horrible sneezing fit on account of getting knee-deep in a bed of Goldthorn he was picking. Everyone, even the felguards, had laughed about that. And of course, Faerna had been summoned. She was considered the most beautiful of all succubills that were or ever will be, in part because of her rare silvery eyes. Strangely enough, Rathna had the same silvery eyes.

"You'll know when your time comes," Instructess Gaznira had tried to console Rathna. "Be patient. Soon you will be able to convert a warlock to the glories of serving the Burning Legion!" But Rathna was very anxious to be summoned. The longer she went without, the longer she had to endure the taunting of her fellows. And the longer she had to endure that taunting, the more she hated her fellows, and the rest of the Burning Legion. It's like them people what run off to join the Defias Brotherhood; they don't feel like the fit in anywhere else. So it was with Rathna.

One day, Instructress Gaznira showed up in Rathna's bedroom.

"Mother Gaznira!" Rathna said, jumping to her (cloven) feet and snapping her whip to her left side.

The Instructress surveyed Rathna with consternation. "Why is it that you only do the salute correctly after you are no longer my pupil?" Rathna opened her mouth to speak, but the Instructress cut her off. "It's a rhetorical question, Rathna. Now. There's a warlock we think may be trying to summon you. Do you remember what you practiced?"

"Forcing? I do. Must I go now?" asked Rathna.

"You must!" Instructress Gaznira replied decisively. "Close your eyes, and remember what I taught you."

Rathna closed her eyes and concentrated on pushing her way through the Twisting Nether. She heard winds howling about her ears all dreadful-like, and all manner of spots, in lurid reds and pinks and oranges, flashed behind her still-closed eyes. She felt a dreadful squeezing sensation and the howling grew to a fever pitch. Then just as suddenly, all was quiet. Her feet were on solid ground. She was in a darkened room.

Rathna opened her eyes then, thinking she would find something like a circle of warlocks summoning creatures of fel power, or maybe even just one lone warlock poring over books of lore, mumbling long-forgotten incantations and cantrips to himself (or herself, Rathna reflected—maybe a female warlock would be easier to deal with?). But what she found surprised her.

She was in a bedroom. On the bed was a human male of indeterminate age. His hair was still mostly dark, with a few grey streaks throughout. The stubble on his chin was dark as well. He was snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

"Did you summon me?" Rathna demanded of the sleeping man, but all she got in response was a sleepy grunt. Suddenly irritated, she leapt onto the bed in one fluid motion and shook him.

"I said, did you summon me!" she roared in his face. "Five…more…minutes…" the man replied sleepily, then rolled over, loosening her grip and causing her to fall off the bed onto the floor in a heap of succubus in high dudgeon. Rathna picked herself up, brushed herself off, and stalked over to a corner to sit on an enormous, jumbled pile of books. She trained her silvery eyes on the man in the bed and thought to herself, He'll have to wake up sooner or later. She got as comfortable as she could, and prepared to wait as long as she had to, until the man awoke.