The Black Revenant.

Partly betaread by my good friend, Overzealousguineapig, as well as by Anthurak the Chaos Lord.

inspired by Jane Doe and Say my Name by Within Temptation.

Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft or any of its lore.

Rating: Hard T—maybe a light to medium M, for a few sexual references, maybe for descriptions of hot Elven women… Maybe even a few Naga, for —in case you hadn't noticed, the women don't wear anything over their chests! Oh sure their lizard folk, but still… I at least have a sorta thing for our scaled kinsmen. Heh heh and I don't think I'm the only one! !

Anyway, Full Summery, prologue thinajigg thing.

It has been seven years, since I battled Arthas in that frozen wasteland of a home of his.

It has been four years since people began making portals into my realm. And six months since some undead Ranger General fired a special arrow into Arthas' body that purified him and forced the crown to reject him as a host—Arthas died as a result, forcing Bolvar Fordragon to become the new Lich King.

Most people are unaware of this knowledge; unaware that yet another one of their great heroes had fallen to the darkness.

But I'm not most people.

And now, one of the greatest foes the world has ever had to face has arisen.

And I find myself caught between a need for vengeance on my former people, for imprisoning me and later banishing me for doing what needed to be done to save our homeland and nothing more.

The need to keep a strange woman, with a mysterious black substance for blood and an even more mysterious past. That I possibly care for, from needlessly throwing her life away for a people who rejected her—just as mine rejected me for basically just the same reasons… its strange how life works out isn't it?

Chapter One

Faster! Must run faster! Their almost on top of me! she thought wildly, as she sprinted towards the portal. The seething mass of undead behind her howling for her blood. The horrible, strange call of the ghouls and abominations sent chills up her spine.

She paused, briefly, to launch a single green crystal arrow towards the ranks of the Scourge. She didn't pause to see what would happen, already knowing the result from experience.

There was a huge explosion, a flash of green light, a pulsating of Chaos magic, and suddenly the Undead were short a few hundred in their ranks.

She grinned wolfishly.

Almost there now, just a little further! she thought

The woman had almost reached the portal, when a single, black, rune engraved crystal arrow entered through her back and exited through her chest.

She gasped in pain and sorrow and fell to her knees. The offending arrow pulsated with ugly purple ethereal energies.

"Did you really think you could get away, using one of my own tricks on me and my newfound army?" he asked, grinning down at her.

"I have to say, I'm surprised at you dear, I'd think you of all people would have been grateful for what I did for you."

She spat thick bloody phlem his way, but only a few faint drops hit his boot, and he gave it no notice, he considered himself above such puny things.

"Damn you!" she hissed, but the strength and adrenaline were rapidly leaving her, while the pain was only just starting to fully hit… she'd forgotten how much of a bitch it was to be alive.

"I mean after all, I gave you the arrow, and that gave you the power to eliminate one of this world's greatest enemies. I after all, was the one who gave you and your sisters this gift of existence, a… sort of life. Granted, it's not quite the real thing, but still."

He tisked in mock disappointment. "Its as close to the real thing as you'll ever get, considering all that I've imbued into you, all the masterful work I've put into you, I think you'd be a lot more grateful than this."

He sighed, "But then I suppose that is what I get for turning an undead harpy into a real living breathing person again. I mean seriously, the living do have tendency to bite the hand that feeds them at any given opportunity, just part of why so many beings want this world dead and conquered I suppose." he smiled beatifically down at her, and she wanted nothing more than to crush that stupid aristocratic nose of his flat down to the skull.

"But, you still appear to want nothing more than to fight—to fight for your people," He paused to consider his new words, then spoke them aloud. "And for that little diminished, ravaged, corrupted thing you call a soul… I suppose. I guess I can't be too surprised; I mean after all, once a traitor always a traitor."

The woman on the ground coughed delicately and placed a hand to her mouth—smiling when it came away black with the strange substance the man standing over her had pumped into her veins.

"You really like the sound of your own voice, don't you?" she asked, pushing herself up on an elbow.

He grinned. "Wouldn't you like to go on long, rambling speeches like this if you had a voice as glorious as I?" he cackled, arrogantly sarcastic. "Nice knowing you. Time to do die like the traitor you are, and always will be. Have a nice eternity in hell; give my best regards to Arthas."

She turned her dark violet eyes up to meet his, even as he drew an arrow out of mid-air and loaded it into his crossbow.

"You think I've given up this easy? Apparently you've never fought elves before!" She laughed and broke the tip off the arrowhead protruding from her rather impressive chest, "And just for the record, I wasn't a harpy. I was Banshee!" then threw it towards the teleportation alter twenty yards away.

Two things happened all at once. One, the portal used the blood on the arrowhead, and the magic in it as well, to transport the owner of the blood from this world and to another. And two, even as the alter was doing this, the dark energy in the crystal was overpowering it to such an extent that shortly after the person it was teleporting left this world…

The alter exploded in a great blast of ethereal energies that were virtually certain to suck the life out of and incinerate almost anything in existence within two miles of the alter.

Between these two instances, the man with the arrow had only one thing to say. "oh damn it… I really should have taken the boss' advice about evil speeches, their just not worth the trouble." before he was engulfed in flames.

Chapter Two

Illidan Stormrage, POV.

I knelt before the well in the middle of the courtyard. Basking silently in the pure radiance of the arcane energies within the waters of the waters beneath me. I felt the arcane magic begin to work its mystical and forbidden powers on my most recent injuries—healing me in a matter of minutes, rather than days or weeks.

I sighed gratefully. For a few pleasant minutes, I enjoyed feeling flesh knit itself back together and the broken bones meld into one piece again. Age scampered off to hide in the corner sulkily, pushed from my body by the magic absorbing in.

I drank a handful of the wonderful sparkling liquid, enjoying the tingling warmth it caused in my extremities. Slowly, I undid the knot at the back of my head that held the black silk scarf over my eyes… or rather, where my eyes used to be.

I traced the edges of the horrible burns, where my eyes once took up residence. Now, only cinders and smoke remained—even to this day, ten thousand years since I made that deal.

However long ago, I could still remember the pain, great ripping, searing agony that had raged inside me when the demon scorched my eyes from their sockets and replaced them with small chaotic orbs of energy, to help me develop even greater powers than I already had—in addition to helping me develop the Spectral sight.

And now, my blind eyes saw what others could not.

I saw the beauty the wonderful, delicate intricacy of all the different types of magic.

I saw the delicate opulent shades of the Arcane; saw how they whirled around and spiraled out into great and splendid arches across the universe, then around the world and inside the spirit.

I saw the evil, anarchic whirlwind of the Demonic Chaos magic, saw how it reached into the soul of the wielder and blacked their hearts and minds; saw how it would corrupt their bodies just as it did their souls.

I saw the purity of the Earth magics. How splendid and restorative they could be to the spirit. I saw how beautiful and amazing and powerful they really could be.

I saw it all. All its glories, all its downsides, all its weaknesses, all of its living breathing emotions.

Arrogant Arcane.

Hysterical Chaos.

Brooding Earth.

And so many more.

I splashed some of the mystical waters into my face, sighing softly as the fluid that struck my eye sockets almost instantly evaporated. You'd think after ten thousand years, it'd get easier having two flames burn where your eyes used to be… but it didn't. You just kept on feeling it without any diminishing in the terrible burning, absolutely nothing could alleviate it, even when everything that could possibly be burned away by now by the twin flames—after ten thousand years—had burned away. I still felt it.

And it was driving me insane.

I felt a crackling in the air and I looked up.

I saw the crackling of energy, the miasma, of dark power really quite unlike anything I had ever seen before—save for the time I had the eye of Sargaras within my possession.

And I knew, someone or something was coming through to this side, and it wasn't normal.

"Lord Illidan," hissed one of my Naga from nearby. "Prince Kael has just called in to report a great disturbance in the barriers between our world and the other one; something is coming through and the prince would like to take a platoon of demon hunters and Fel warlocks to investigate."

"Always stating the obvious, that fallen Prince Kael," I murmured softly as I retied the scarf around my head. I turned to the Naga. Silently noting the roiling seething mass of tension within his warrior's aura, which was a deep shade teal with all sorts of intricate whirlpools and tornados of energy, just like the sea as I remembered it.

"Tell him that his request is denied and that I will personally go to handle this one."

"B-but my lord, there are still a few remnant parties of Raiders and Druids; and we don't know what that mass of energy that's coming from Azeroth is! You only just got over your most recent injuries, it could be a trap my lord!"

I chuckled. "If it is, I will see it. I see everything I need to see, even without my eyes. I will see any sort of trap with the energy required to take me down, and as you know, I am well capable of taking care of most anything on a physical level."

I rose up to my full dominating height of nine feet. And unfurled my wings. Before I flew off, I had one last thing to say to the Nervous wreck of a Naga.

"The next time you go to see your physical therapist, take the happy ending just like everybody else is willing you; your aura's a wreck with nervous, frustrated energy."

Leaving the now thoroughly embarrassed Naga guardian behind, I flew off into the sky to seek out this strange new energy I was sensing from the portal.

Mysterious elf, POV

I gasped in pain as I fell to the ground in a heap of dusty limbs, black blood, and whiskey—the latter from the now broken flask in my leather deer wolf hide satchel.

"Damn it," I gasped softly, curling in on myself in pain as the wound, which had briefly closed over, opened up again. "I've got to get away from here. Got to get to shelter. Away from here before he gets here." I moaned softly, trying to think through the fuzzy soup that was my mind currently.

I pressed a hand to the bloody wound in my chest and whimpered as new agony accompanied this gesture. "You reek of death, elf!" growled a low menacing voice.

I turned blearily to see a large, hulking, cloven hoofed, winged monster with great horns atop his head standing before me.

"You'll regret entering my realm, puny, undead elf. What's your business here? Tell me! Before I have you torn apart by my Dark Hounds and left for the nether worms."

Wings, horns, hooves… What is this Diablo? I thought crazily, madness from bloodloss, pain and fatigue beginning to set in.

"My name is Sylvanas. Sylvanas Windrunner —former ranger general of Silvermoon. Former Lieutenant of Arthas Menethil. Former leader of the Forsaken And current outcast from just about everybody. Currently soon to be unconscious. If you have any intentions of having your way with me, or killing me, or leaving me out here to die, I damn your eyes to be eaten by the worms in hell when you get there. Nice meeting you… bye!" and with that, I fell unconscious.

Illidan Stormrage POV

I stared distastefully down at the little, undead elf at my feet, currently unconscious…

She reeked of death and I could smell decay within her, very recent decay, and yet I could also smell something else, a sort of… energy. It wasn't life, not life as anything I knew. It wasn't the steadily decaying death of the Scourge, nor the existence of the Immortal Death Knights. It wasn't even that of a phantom.

It was something… else, but I'd be damned if I knew what.

My instincts said I should leave her for the Netherworms—just like I threatened—and forget all about her. My brain, and all my tutors, said I should either kick her back to where she came from through the portal, or take her in for the Inquisitors to glare at disdainfully and slowly but surely nurse back to health.

… and then to beat the shit out of her while asking impertinent questions…

My heart… that was a different story.

My heart said I should take her in. Into quarters near my own. Though heavy guard and wards and hear her story—for it sounded, from what little I'd heard from her crazed rants, like it might just be somewhat similar to my own—and after all, misery loves its company. And I had been so lonely over the last… ten thousand or so years give, or take a few decades.

As I never had been one to listen much to either my instincts… or my brain, I sighed and leaned down to pick her up.

As I was doing this, I noticed, the arrow in her back. I froze as my flesh came into contact with the crystalline shaft. My skin crawled with the feel of new unknown Etheral energy—energy unlike anything I had ever felt before. It was so dark and twisted and cold, I…

I had a horrible flash; back to that day.

When the rune blade had craved path through my torso all the way down to the bone, from my right hip to my left shoulder…

That awful, freezing coldness. That sickly, damp smell in my nostrils. That horrible, dark energy that had writhed within the blade. I still carried the scar from that accursed rune blade.

I withdrew my hand sharply from that cold, crystalline object with a shudder. Not wishing to remember the nearest encounter with death herself I had ever had—and ever hadn't wished to have in my existence.

I stared down at the object hard. I tried to see into its hidden depths; to see what energy thrived within it; what energy it was that appeared to be able to rival even that of the Lich King's blade, Frostmourne.

I growled. Though I could sense that there was great power within the arrow, I could not see into the arrow itself. Couldn't see past the barriers to glimpse just what sort of power it held, and what weaknesses it was that the power had… which was supposed to be impossible.

From everything I could learn about my spectral sight, I should have been able to see through any barriers—no matter how powerful. Even Kil'jaedan hadn't managed for forge an Orb capable of producing barriers I couldn't see the weaknesses of.

Okay, I thought to myself as well as at the arrow. We can do this the easy and safe way, or—I gripped the arrow by the shaft, ripped it out of the body of the fallen High Elf, tossed it through the air and opened up a portal in its path that lead through to a star a few million light years away. We can do this the very easy and very dangerous way, I finished my thought smugly, even as I tried to wipe freezing sweat off my brow from having gripped that arrow as I had.

I stared down at the unconscious elf in my arms. I really couldn't imagine how it must have felt to have been pierced by such an arrow… well, maybe I could, but still, even Frostmourne hadn't pierced my body like that—not all the way through my torso.

Why is it that I get the horrible suspicion that I'm going to thoroughly regret taking you back with me instead of leaving you for the crows? I thought silently at the peacefully slumbering elf in my arms.

I shifted her weight about in my arms, got a firm enough grip on her that I was pretty sure I wouldn't accidentally drop her, even if I was jostled… pretty sure, and with no further ado I unfurled my wings, and set flight for the nearest thing I'd been able to call a home of my own for quite some many years, other than my cell in Ashenvale Forest, The Black Citadel.

When I got back to the Citadel. I was met with several astonished looking faces… I think…. Well I could certainly see the very astonished state of their auras. I handed the Elf over to Lady Vashj, almost gently…almost
"This intruder was at the portal, I found her with a strange Obsidian arrow perforating her torso, unlike anything I had ever encountered before, take her to the healers and once she is taken care of I want her placed in a room somewhere near my own, under heavy guard and heavier wards."

Vashj, spluttered for a second indignantly, "B-but my lord, surely this menial task can be handled by someone lower, than I! and why do we care how some undead whore of an Elf dies the final death in our streets, I-"

"Lady Vashj," my voice was low and dark and menacing. "DO not defy my orders, now do as I have commanded, if you defy me once more I will have you sent to the lava mines, understood!"

When Vashj next spoke, her voice was lower, humbler, submissive. "Yes my lord Illidan." and with that she slithered off to the healers.

"My Lord Illidan," Prince Kael began, "Why do we care about Fallen Elf General?"

I looked at him, "You know the Elf?" I asked,

Kael nodded, he was fairly suffused with magic nowadays, as were most of his people, which made him quite a bit easier for my sight to see than most, the Naga I could almost fully perceive the scales on, they were so saturated with energy.

"Indeed, she is Sylvanas Windrunner, she was Ranger General, of Silvermoon in Quel'Thalas. Last I'd heard of her she was running her own undead show against Arthas, calling herself and her people the Forsaken, not bad looking even now as an undead, even if I say so myself."

I growled at him softly. Not out of some misbegotten sense of instant love or whatever nonsense it was those humans spoke of, but more out of a need to protect what was mine.

Sure Sylvanas might not be my mate, but she was still mine. My prisoner, my guest even if uninvited, my ward. And as all those things that she was to me, I wasn't about to let some arrogant lord of the High and Mighty elves that got themselves slaughtered by the Undead, encroach on MY territory.

I drew the Skull of Gul'dan, from my pocket dimension, right next to my Warglaives

I gazed into the sockets where the eyes had been and where I could see the spirit of them now, glowing with terrible power even now, that I had consumed most its power, it was still a powerful artifact.

I sighed and pressed the skull to mine, trying to think of a way I could come out of this awkward situation I had found myself in, with the least amount injury possible.

Ahh slightly more sane and well put together than i was before. I blame this partly on my new girlfriend, Goth Albino Angel... cause seriously someone has to be the sane one in a relationship like this heh, Me her and Ultravyolet, all three of us together. heh, its a recipe for disaster if ever there was one.