#World of Warcraft Fanfiction

[calebdumes]

“Zara’thea was keenly aware of just how precarious of an edge her people balanced on. If it weren’t for Lady Windrunner, the Church of Light would have unleashed their powers upon her people and erased them from existence in one sweeping smite. They had to fight tooth and nail simply to keep the ever present whispers of the Void at bay, let alone win the approval of their new, tentative allies. If one of the Ren’dorei were to fall in battle, well, the mighty golden heart of the Alliance would not break for a child of the Void.”

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Characters: OC, Magister Umbric, Alleria Windrunner, (more to be added as the fic progresses)

Rating: T+ 

Read on AO3 

CHAPTER ONE || CHAPTER TWO ||

Zandalar was hot, humid, and all around uncomfortable. Even shaded by the massive palms and towering kapok trees, Zara’thea found herself sweating through the thin clothing on her body. She picked absentmindedly at the bandage around her torso while gazing up into the thick canopy above. Her side burned with a dull, throbbing pain and her skin itched from countless bug bites. The Alliance outpost on Xibala was small, understaffed, and under supplied. With the war raging all across Azeroth, there weren’t enough healers to go around and those that were available were busy healing the wounded 7th Legion soldiers at Talanji’s Rebuke.

One injured Ren’dorei was hardly enough to consider pulling a priest away from the Alliance’s finest.

But the outpost on Xibala did have one thing that Zara’thea found interesting: Dwarfs. She had been on the battlefield at Hillsbrad during the second war where she had seen the mighty Wildhammer’s with their graceful gryphons swoop from the sky, lending their aid to the young Alliance. But her time in the thick of the fighting was short lived, not giving her the chance to meet any of the heroic dwarves in person. 

The dwarves at camp were a rambunctious bunch, with gruff but kind personalities.They seemed to be split into two separate clans, the Ironforge of Dun Morogh and the mysterious Dark Irons who seemed to be under the same watchful eye as her own people. They had both been kind to the Ren’dorei when they first arrived at the outpost and while none of them had any formal medical training, they had done their best to tend to her wounds after her mission had ended in disaster. 

You failed and let the goblin scurry away. You’ll never be good enough for them. The Alliance will never accept you.

“Ye doin’ alright there lass?” 

Zara’thea tore her gaze away from the swaying canopy to find a kindly dwarven face standing over her. He had a long tawny beard that trailed to his knees and big bushy eyebrows that probably did more to shade his eyes than the weathered hat on his head. 

“Quiet fine, thank you.” Zara’thea responded, attempting to push herself up into a sitting position and failing. She fell back on her makeshift cot with a wince, a hiss of pain pushing past her teeth. 

Callous, rough hands touched her shoulder, helping her ease into a comfortable position. “Easy there lass, don’t be injuring ye self any further.” the dwarf said, his thickly accented voice heavy with concern. 

Zara’thea nodded and let the dwarf fuss over her for a moment. He was surprisingly gentle despite his gruff exterior, taking great care not to prod too much to cause undue pain. Every once and a while he would tsk under his breath and mutter a curse but he always followed it up with a reassuring smile. 

“So what’s the prognosis doctor?” she asked with a slight smile as he sat back on his heels. “Will I live?”

“Aye.” he nodded, taking off his hat and wiping at his brow. “But ye need a healer. There nae be anymore I can do tae help ya.” 

“I appreciate the effort all the same.” 

The dwarf smiled. “Ye a good lass, it’s da least we could do fer ya.”

He’ll kill you in your sleep. He hates the very sight of you. Kill him.

“I’m Zara’thea Dawn - Duskthorn.” she said, stumbling over her freshly minted surname. It hadn’t felt right to keep her family name. She wasn’t that person anymore, not after everything that had happened. Zara’thea had to embrace who she was now, even if that meant leaving the last connection to her family behind.

She extended a hand to the dwarf, looking hopeful. Making friends with the other races wasn’t as easy as she had hoped. The Alliance had done their best to be welcoming but even she knew leaving the relative safety of the embassy meant exposing herself to less than hospitable conditions. If it wasn’t her appearance, then the shadows that clung to her form would find her in a less desirable position with the citizens of Stormwind. 

“I realized we’ve never been properly introduced.”

“Ye can call me Balen Hammercraig.” Balen shook her hand, sitting down next to her on the hard ground. “Please tae meet ya properly.”

She watched as he dug through the small satchel on his hip, pulling out a well loved leather book and a quill set that had seen better days. He flipped diligently through the dog eared sheets, the parchment yellowed with age, before he fell on a half filled out page and began scratching away. 

“What is it that you are working on?” Zara’thea asked curiously, squinting at the nearly illegible scribble. Balen wasn’t the first person she had noticed taking notes around the encampment. In fact, the longer she was stuck here waiting for a healer, the more she was starting to believe that this camp was more for research than for the war effort. It would certainly explain why there was more excavation gear as opposed to weapons and bandages or why the camps’ inhabitants were mostly civilians, rather than soldiers. 

“This?” Balen shrugged at his notebook. “Aye this not be much. Just some notes on the Island. Job requirement ye understand.”

“Job requirement?”

Balen tugged at his beard. “I keep forgettin’ ye new tae all of this.” he sighed before placing his book in her lap. “We’re part of the Explorer’s League.” he said. “The greatest expedition ye could find on Azeroth.”

He doesn’t care about you, not like us. Give into us, we will give you all your hopes and dreams.

Zara’thea’s eyes lit up with excitement.“An expedition league? Really? Like the Reliquary?”  

“The Reliquary?! Bah!” Balen huffed in disapproval. “A bunch of over stuffed elves lookin’ for fancy baubles. Nae, the Explorer’s League is more than a measly hunt for magical objects. We research the past tae help the future.”

She carefully turned the pages in Balen’s notebook, taking in his extensive notations from his many dig sites. He had been everywhere, from Northrend to Kalimdor, exploring ancient ruins and fabled sites of history. He dug in the dirt and researched artifacts. He traveled to new and distant places, working to discover the truth and uncover the past. It was all she had ever dreamed of as a child locked away behind Silvermoons’ walls. 

She had gotten a taste of that life on Telogrus for a few wonderful months, creating research sites all over the broken world. She had been able to discover some of the planet’s history that had not yet been lost to its slow decay into the Void but there was so little left, that her research never got very far and Magister Umbric’s obsession with the Void cube took precedence over all else in those early days.

Now, here, back on Azeroth Zara’thea had a glimmer of hope that she could make her dream a reality.

Balen watched her closely as she skimmed his notes. “Ye interested in that sort of work lass?”

“Very much so.” Zara’thea responded looking up from the book. “Can anyone join the Explorer’s League?” 

“Aye, though I didn’t take ye tae be interested in gettin’ ye hands dirty.” 

Zara’thea smiled. “There are many of my fellow Ren’dorei would would happily spend their days with their noses in a book. But what good is research if it’s not ever applied out in the field? Ever since I was little I wanted to travel the world and explore. This,” she tapped Balen’s notebook, “is all I have ever wanted.”

“Well then, how would ye feel about join’?” 

Just as she was about to express just how much she would love to join the Explorer’s League, a moth landed in front of the pair, hovering just inches away from the edge of her makeshift cot, startling her. Zara’thea gaped at the insect, taken aback by the sheer size of the flying creature. It was roughly the size of a small dog with beautiful, intricate purple and blue designs on its soft, fuzzy wings. But it wasn’t just  the creature’s size that rendered Zara’thea speechless, it was the eyes. There was intelligence behind its dark gaze, intelligence that was carefully assessing her and Balen with unabashed interest. 

Then in a blink, the moth vanished and in its place stood an elf. 

She was tall with pink skin, thick ears, and glowing silver eyes. She had long, lilac hair that was tightly braided against the left side of her head and fell in soft waves over her opposing shoulder. Two fang-like markings, a deep and rich mauve color, fell across her shimmering eyes, and across the bridge of her nose, there was a scar, faded and pale from age. She regarded the pair for a moment, the corner of her mouth lifting, like she was pleasantly amused by something only known to her. 

“Elune adore.” the elf finally said in a melodic voice, bowing her head in greeting.

Balen pushed himself to his feet, bushing his hands on pants. “Ye be the healer then?” he said, nodding to the elf.

“I am.” the elf said with a kind smile before turning her silvery gaze to Zara’thea. “You are the one who is injured?”

Zara’thea nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. She had heard stories of the night elves, passed along through the generations of her people. Once kin, now enemy; the distant cousins that shunned her people for their use of magic and exiled them from their ancient lands. 

It had been centuries since then but her people had always harbored a distaste for their distant relatives, often looking down on them with disdain. Zara’thea of course, had found them fascinating and had hoped to one day get a chance to meet one and learn about their once shared culture. But as much as she disagreed with the prejudice her people harbored towards the night elves,  Zara’thea now found herself wanting to keep her distance.

The distrust her people felt for the night elves went both ways after all.

She is a threat. Kill her. We will give her corpse a new purpose.

“Aye,” Balen said, casting a sidelong look at Zara’thea. “We’ve done what we could with what we had but the wound’s not healin’.”

A somber look crossed the night elves face as she gracefully dropped to her knees. “May I take a look?” she asked Zara’thea. 

“Uh…yeah. I mean, yes,” she managed to croak out, setting aside Balen’s notebook. “Alright.”

She let the elf help her lay down and held still as she pulled back the thin shirt and bandages that covered her torso. 

“Goblin machinery.” the elf said mostly under her breath. “Infected, no doubt.” her long, slender fingers probed at the edge of the wound, causing Zara’thea to flinch from the sudden pain. The elf smiled apologetically before continuing her examination.

“Well?” Balen asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can ye heal the lass?”

“I can.” the night elf said calmly. “It will hurt but it can be done.”

Zara’thea looked down at the dusky purple skin of her torso and held back a sardonic smile. She was no stranger to pain. “That’s fine. Whatever you can do to get me back in the fight, I can handle it.” she replied instead. 

The night elf looked stricken by her words but nodded solemnly. “Try to relax.” she responded as her hands began to glow with a soft golden-green light. Warmth flared out from her fingertips, racing to Zara’thea’s side like wildfire, burning away the damaged flesh. 

Zara’thea closed her eyes and waited for the pain to pass. 

She awoke sometime later to a sky full of stars. Silver moonbeams danced among the tree branches and insects conducted a symphony to the rhythm of the waves crashing against the shore. The last embers of the camp’s fire glowed faintly in the darkness as her companions slept out in the open, taking advantage of the cool night breeze. 

Carefully, she pulled back the thin blanket that someone placed over her and reached under her shirt to touch her side. To her surprise, she found nothing but smooth, soft skin. The wound that had torn at her flesh was gone and so was the constant throbbing pain. Relieved, she let her eyes slip close and inhaled the sweet smell of peacebloom and salt. 

“Thank you.” She said to the night elf that was sitting beside her. To the elf’s credit, she did not startle at being addressed but instead continued to sway slightly side to side, like a blade of grass in the wind. 

“You are most welcome.” the night elf said softly. “My only regret is that I was not able to make it to you sooner.”

Zara’thea opened her eyes and turned to look at the elf in surprise. “There’s a war on. I hardly expect the Alliance to make haste to send a healer just for me.”

The night elf frowned, “Do you not think yourself important?”

Give in to us and we will care for you, we will show you the true power of the Void.

“To the Alliance?” she laughed hollowly pushing herself up into a sitting position. “More likely a ticking time bomb if some are to be believed. I am - my people  - are a liability. An abomination. We are not the kind you spend precious resources on in the time of war.”

She clenched her fist, allowing a wave of shadow to coalesce around it, slithering whispers seeping into the cool night air. The Void was not a friend or an ally to take lightly. It was a constant threat, a weapon she had honed her body and mind to control lest it devour her. It was a risk far greater than any arcane addiction or fel dependence but it was powerful and it was that power that was needed to keep Azeroth safe - or at least that was what her people believed. Convincing others was not an easy task to undertake, especially during a war. 

The night elf watched her with thinly disguised horror but said nothing. Zara’thea dismissed the shadows with a flick of her wrist, the unsettling sensation of madness slipping as she released her hold. She closed her eyes, disappointment settinging in her mind. She had been hoping that maybe she could establish an accord with the night elf healer, pave the way for a learning opportunity but judging from the look on the night elves’ face, that wouldn’t be happening.

“You are not like the other Quel’dorei.” the night elf said slowly. 

Zara’thea opened her eyes, her brow arching with sarcasm. “Is that so?” she questioned. “And what gave you that impression?”

“You lack their arrogance.” the elf replied simply. 

Zara’thea blinked in surprise. She was half expecting the night elf to point out the obvious, her purple skin and Void touched hair; not the frank words she spoke nor the kind look she was giving her now. 

“Thank you? I think?”

“Indeed.” The night elf smiled. “You may call me Athenril.”

“Zara’thea.” she offered.

“I think I will stay here for a while.” Athenril said, her gaze falling over the sleeping dwarves in camp.

“You aren’t needed elsewhere?” Zara’thea asked. “Surely a healer of your talent would need to be with the front lines would they not?”

A spy, a thief, she will kill you and take all that is yours. She is the enemy - kill her and be rewarded.

Athenril shook her head. “Officially the Circle is neutral in this war so I choose to go where I please.” her fingers twitched against the lush fabric of her pants, as if irritated by something.

Zara’thea studied the night elf closely. She was striking in the moonlight, almost otherworldly with her clothes seeming crafted from nature itself and startling silver eyes but there was a sadness about her that spoke of a great loss. It would be easy to assume the Horde’s burning of the world tree that so many night elves had called home to be the cause but Zara’thea didn’t think that was the case. The sorrow that was etched into the gentle lines of her face was centuries old.

“I’ve mostly been helping my people relocate.” Athenril continued. “But I came to Zandalar at the request of a friend.” 

“And you just happened to stumble upon me?” Zara’thea questioned with an arch of her brow.

A flash of guilt crossed the night elf’s face, confirming Zara’thea’s growing suspicion. Athenril wasn’t sent by the Alliance, it was just by chance she came across the dwarven camp. She couldn’t say she was surprised but the disappointment was palpable.

Zara’thea was keenly aware of just how precarious of an edge her people balanced on. If it weren’t for the famed Alliance war hero Alleria Windrunner, the Church of Light would have unleashed their powers upon her people and erased them from existence in one sweeping smite. They had to fight tooth and nail simply to keep the ever present whispers of the Void at bay, let alone win the approval of their new, tentative allies. If one of the Ren’dorei were to fall in battle, well, the mighty golden heart of the Alliance would not break for a child of the Void. 

“I overheard two guards discussing the situation.” Athenril admitted. “There has been so much death already in this war. So much senseless, preventable death. I would not let that fate befall you if I could help it.”

“But you knew nothing about me. Why would you rush off to save a stranger if even the Alliance wasn’t going to send someone?”

“You don’t need to know a life to save it.” the night elf said with conviction. “Whether it be orc or human, killer or friend, life offers the possibility of renewal and second chances for change. What right do I have to deny anyone of that?”

In the end, all will succumb to us. Give in.

Zara’thea nodded, toeing at the crumpled sheet around her feet. “Well for what it’s worth, I’m thankful you came and if you wanted to stick around, I’m sure Balen and the others wouldn’t mind.”

Athenril smiled. “And you Zara’thea of the Void?”

Zara’thea blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Would you mind?” the night elf’s silver eyes bore into her violet ones, her question tinged with endless possibilities. She couldn’t say for certain what was the driving force behind the night elf’s desire to remain with the dwarven camp but whatever it was sparked a flicker of hope in Zara’thea’s chest. 

“Not at all.” 

.

“Have patience.” Athenril said, placing a placating hand on Zara’thea’s shoulder, keeping her from lifting herself up on her toes to see over the crowd of people. The night elf looked out of place, surrounded by the shorter stature of the humans and other races working the bustling Stormwind docks, but she carried it with ease, as she did all things. 

The war was over, the last of the Old Gods defeated and a tentative peace had blossomed between the Horde and Alliance. Zara’thea found herself, once again, at a turning point in her life. But this time, she wasn’t alone. She had friends, people beside her that would support her no matter what. It was a stark difference from the life she had lived thus far, one that she wasn’t sure she would ever get accustomed to.

“He’s late.” Zara’thea said, biting her lip with thinly veiled worry. Around her, the throng of people moved and flowed like a ceaseless river. Boats filled with passengers and goods, bound for Kalimdor and beyond. The air was thick with the scent of salt and fish and the shouts of the sailors as they readied themselves to embark on their next journey. It was a far cry from the peaceful port of Silvermoon and Zara’thea loved it. What she didn’t like was how close her missing companion was cutting it.

“He’ll be here.” Athenril replied in her soft, melodic voice. “Just as he always is.”

True to her word, a stout looking dwarf with tawny hair and a long braided beard marched towards them. Behind him there was a flurry of movement, as dwarves raced to a boat to store their supplies. The bearded dwarf continued marching towards Zara’thea and Athenril, a wide smile breaking across his face as he grew closer.

“There ya are!” he cried. “Well met lass!”

“It’s good to see you again, Balen.” Zara’thea smiled, leaning down to hug the dwarf. 

“Aye, glad to see ye lasted the war.” his eyes crinkled. “The both of ye.”

Anthenril nodded her head gracefully but couldn’t hide the sly smile touching her lips. “She didn’t make it easy on me. This one certainly likes to get herself into troubling situations.”

Zara’thea rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to hang around, I never said it would be easy.”

“Indeed I did.” she said humorously, her grin widening. 

Balen chuckled at their bickering, gently ushering the two elves towards the boat. “Good work gettin’ your people tae agree tae this lass. It cannae have been an easy feat.”

“Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are.” Zara’thea said, climbing the gangway onto the ship. Balen was right, it hadn’t been easy trying to get Master Umbric to agree with her plan. The Ren’dorei had suffered great losses during the war, he wasn’t too keen with letting his people out of his sight. She had spent hours explaining the the benefit of working with the Explorer's League, how they could expand their research into the Void by traveling beyond Telogrus and across Azeroth but finally he had conceded, allowing a small group of void elves to work amongst the dwarves.

“And ye? The Circle can spare ye for this?” He addressed Athenril. 

“For a time, yes.” the night elf responded, tucking a strand of lilac hair behind her long, pointed ear. “I cannot say that I will be present for the full duration of the expedition but I will remain as long as I can.”

“Well I’d never turn down an extra set of hands.” Balen smiled. 

The boat beneath their feet bobbed on the waves, the crew scurrying about their duties as they prepared to make way. Zara’thea stood at the railing, looking down at the port, her excitement growing with each heartbeat. 

“Where are we heading?” she asked Balen, who had come to stand beside her. 

“Uldum.” 

Zara’thea closed her eyes and let the cool sea air brush over her skin. 

Adventure was about to begin.

[celenacallaghan]

Hello all. So, I have some news to impart along with this latest chapter.

"Toward the Dawn" is going on indefinite hiatus.

I'm not abandoning Izzy's story. Not at all. I love Izzy, as much as I love Desi, Kav, and all the other OCs I've made. And of course, I still love the canon characters and the world of Azeroth itself. It's just....things happened over the past couple of years. Things that left me "creatively injured."

Think of it like breaking a hip (or ankle or wrist or whatnot.) Instead of getting PT and staying off my feet, I've gone right back to forcing myself into training for a marathon. It's sucked all the joy outta something i love, and it has for a long time. My productivity has tanked and I do everything to avoid writing. So now, I'm forcing myself to treat the injury before it becomes permanent.

Thank you all for reading and commenting, leaving kudos, and following along on Izzy's journey. It's been a wonderful few years and hopefully, someday, there'll be more years to come ^^ Stay safe and sane, everyone.

[ladymischievous]

A Twist of Fate: An AU Khadgar and Medivh Fanfic

Not an update, will do so eventually just currently stuck. Just posting for some fun and comfort given some of the Khadgar stuff I've been seeing floating around. Title: A Twist of Fate Rating: PG-13 Pairing: RavenTrust (Eventually, don't like? Then don't read), Slowburn Type: Alternate Universe/Alternate Timeline, A version of the setting and characters based off of parts of the MMO, The book 'The Last Guardian', the Warcraft Movie, and Hearthstone's 'One Night in Karazhan', with some original ideas. Sounds like a mess, but this has honestly been a lot of fun. Warnings: Mentions of past abuse and manipulations from institutes of power and personal connections, eventual moments of horror/psychological horror. Medivh's moods. Medivh and Khadgar clash occasionally. Friendship and eventual romance is a slow burn.

A Twist of Fate can be found on AO3.

[wolfandwild]

Summary: Azeroth has recently enjoyed a period of relative peace, with the  Alliance and the Horde having put aside their differences to forge new  bonds and look towards a brighter future. But dark storm clouds are  already beginning to gather on the horizon. Despite Archmage Khadgar’s  best efforts, the treacherous Gul'dan remains elusive. A mysterious cult  of warlocks emerges in the Eastern Kingdoms. Doomsayers start to sing  portents of the end of the world… and closer to home, High King Varian  Wrynn and his Queen, Auriana, must face challenges of a far more  personal nature…

Chapter Eleven now updated.

Fanfiction.net

Archive Of Our Own

[mothervvoid]

1/1ch | 1.2k wc

Diane tells a ghost story.

[newtthetranswriter]

If you saw the now deleted posts about a Kalecgos fanfiction I made do not worry I am actually working on one. It's not my original idea but a better one I had last night. I just have to figure out how to start it without it sounding like I'm writing an essay about W.o.W.

[khadgars-little-imp]

(( I went back and fixed up the color. I’m liking this a lot better ))

[zenithangelic]

Requests are open!

I write for a lot of fandoms, including but not exclusively:

asoiaf/got

baldur's gate 3

dead by daylight

elder scrolls

fallout

horror characters (request any)

mass effect

overwatch

resident evil

saints row

shameless (US)

silent hill

vampire: the masquerade - bloodlines

the witcher

world of warcraft

& many more! If there is a fandom not on the list that you would like me to write for, please ask me if I write for that fandom along with your request :)

[calebdumes]

“Zara'thea's life had changed, yet again, but one thing was clear. She was the only one who got to decide how to live her life; not her mother, not the scourge, and certainly not the Void. Whatever might come from this change, there was one thing she knew for certain. She was in control.”

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Characters: OC, Magister Umbric, Alleria Windrunner, (more to be added as the fic progresses)

Rating: T+ 

Read on AO3 

CHAPTER ONE ||

Zara’thea Dawnthorn screamed in pain. It was an inescapable, all consuming pain that licked her insides with violent fire, charring her organs and splintering her bones. Her skin bubbled with it, her veins filling with molten lava, her very mind melting from the searing agony. She screamed and screamed until her voice gave out, her throat raw and bloody but there was no relief. Life ceased to have any meaning, the world condensing down into the singular torment that had become her existence. 

And then suddenly it stopped. The affliction that had overtaken her ended in such an abrupt manner that Zara’thea struggled to catch her breath. Her tortured lungs struggled to find purchase as a new panic began to flood her damaged body. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move - suspended in time and space, a vast darkness holding her in its grasp. The pain had ended but something far worse had taken its place. 

She could feel herself fall apart, little by little. A cold, empty pit began to spread insidiously through her, eating away at what little she had left. It hungered for more, it wanted to consume her, it wanted to consume everything and there was nothing Zara’thea could do to stop it. 

Give in. Whispers slithered into her battered mind like a soothing balm, washing over the festering wounds that plagued her body and soul. Embrace us. Let go of your suffering. With us you can be free.  

The words promised comfort, an end to her hell and Zara’thea listened. 

Yes, yes give in. Let us carry your load. Follow us, listen to us, we will help you.  

More whispers filled her mind, overlapping one another and growing louder with each pleading word. The pit inside of her grew faster now, hunger tearing at her with cold fingers, seaking something to devour.

Give in, give in to us. Let go . 

Let us consume. We hunger.  

The clawing grew more intense, the cold hunger becoming unbearable with each hushed promise.

Give in. The whispers screamed.

Let go.

Zara’thea felt herself unraveling. Gnawing desperation enveloped her as the pit inside of her became a gaping maw. Pains of hunger warped her body as blood filled her mouth, her teeth cracking from pressure. The Void hungered and it would stop at nothing to be fed.

Let go.

Let go.

“Do not give into the whispers.” a strong voice commanded, shattering the cacophony raging in her mind. It bloomed like light all around her, like the sun on a soft spring afternoon, golden and warm. Zara’thea longed for it, to feel its comfort banish the cold doom that had taken control. She tried to struggle against the hunger and the strangling tentacles of the Void that gripped her and pulled her down, chasing after the voice. “Fight.” the voice demanded again. “And be free.”

With what little strength she had left, Zara’thea pushed back against the Void, clawing and kicking her way up from the darkness. The pain was unbearable but she pushed through. She had not come so far, given up so much, to fall like this. With a cry, Zara’thea broke free from the Void’s grasp and fell to her knees with a crash. 

Air rushed into her starved lungs as her body convulsed with tremors. She felt hands on her, burning her frozen skin, causing her to cry out. 

“Move her with the others.” the voice said again, softer than before but no less commanding. Zara’thea flinched at the words, her senses overloaded and raw. There were more hands on her, each touch a fresh wave of agony. She attempted to open her eyes but was greeted with only darkness. Zara’thea cried out again in fear. She could hear them, the whispers, like a dull roar in the back of her mind, slowly creeping closer, taunting her. 

“Hush now belore’dorei.” said the voice. “The Void will not have you today.”

There was the faint brush of magic against her skin, a touch of cool water and then Zara’thea knew no more. 

It was a beautiful day in Silvermoon; the sun was shining brightly in the cloudless sky, the gentle breeze, light and cool. It was perfect, just as it was everyday. Zara’thea wished, just once, that it wasn’t. 

She pulled her knees closer to her chest and bit back a sob, her bare toes digging into the soft riverbank. From under the bridge she couldn’t see the perfect blue sky or feel the temperate warmth of the sun. It was cool and dim and smelled of dirt. It was ugly, imperfect, and most importantly - it wasn’t her home.

No one would judge her here or tell her how she should be living her life. It was just the shadows under the bridge and the uncaring river to keep her company. 

“I thought I might find you here.” the familiar voice of her sister said as her slender figure dropped down from the bridge above and splashed into the water. Zara’thea flinched as muddy droplets fell onto her hunched form, staining the light purple fabric of her dress. 

“I’m not in the mood for company.” Zara’thea said even as she moved over slightly to make room for her sister. 

Her sister, Kairea’a, nodded. She was dressed in her Farstrider gear, her bow strapped to her back and  her trusty daggers sheathed at her hips. She would be going out on patrol soon. She would be leaving and Zara’thea would be stuck here, trapped in a perfect city, with perfect weather, and perfect people that did nothing but perfect their perfection. “I heard what happened.” Kairea’a said, bumping her shoulder into Zara’thea’s with a gentle nudge. 

“I think all of Silvermoon heard what happened.” Zara’thea grumbled. “With how loud mother was screaming.”

Kairea’a chucked. “So do you know what you’re going to do?”

Zara’thea huffed, her bangs fluttering. “I guess I do what she says. It’s not like I have much of a choice do I?”

“Who says you don’t have a choice?”

Zara’thea huffed again and stretched her legs out in front of her, her heels digging a shallow trench in the soft dirt. Did she really have a choice ? It was an easy question for her sister to ask, her sister who was spared from following their parents' predetermined life they had planned out before they were born. Her sharp eye and impeccable aim saved her from a lifetime of playing along to mother’s ambition. She was chosen to be a Farstrider. She was free to leave the city, to even leave Quel’thalas, but Zara’thea was stuck here with no future other than what her mother wanted. Choice was an illusion, a dream. It was a luxury that Zara’thea would never be given the opportunity to enjoy. 

“And what choice do I have Rea’a? Study here or Dalaran?” she scoffed. “Not much of a choice I think.”

“Not when you think so narrow mindedly little sister.” Kairea’a said with a sly smile. “What was it mother said? You must pick an apprenticeship by sundown tomorrow, yes?”

Zara’thea nodded, watching her sister closely. 

“So pick an apprenticeship!” She cried, placing a hand on Zara’thea’s shoulder. “She never specified what kind, she just said pick one.”

“You know what kind she meant Rea’a. I can’t go waltzing back home with a baking apprenticeship now can I? Not if I want to keep my ears.”

A baking apprenticeship would be better than what her mother wanted for her. Anything would be better than becoming yet another mage in a long line of mages living in a city full of more mages. Everywhere you looked in Silvermoon there was a spellcaster. Her people used the Arcane as if it was going out of style, from regulating the weather to the simplest of everyday tasks, it was nearly impossible not to see someone tapping into the magic that sprung from the Sunwell.

Zara’thea wanted something more out of life. She wanted adventure, she wanted to leave the gates of Quel’thalas and see the wonders the world had to offer. She wanted to dig in the dirt and uncover long lost secrets. She didn’t want to spend her days in a classroom learning an overused spellcraft to further her mother’s own political gain.

“Then use that big brain of yours.” She shook Zara’thea gently. “I hear Lady Wildburn is always looking for new students.”

Zara’thea’s breath caught in her throat. Lady Wildburn was an elderly old elf that lived far from the city in a modest little hut nestled in the forest. She had been there when Quel’thalas was founded and fought alongside the humans during the Troll Wars, teaching them their magic. In turn, she had learned a bit of magic from them, teaching it to those who were curious enough to stray from the norm.

That was it! Arcane was hardly the only magic in the world and if her mother was set on Zara’thea becoming a mage, then she would be a mage of her own choosing. 

“Rea’a you’re a genius!” Zara’thea gasped before pulling her sister into a tight embrace. 

“That’s what I keep telling everyone,” Kairea’a chucked. “But nobody seems to listen.”

“Thank you,” she whispered into her sister’s hair, not wanting to let go but knowing that they both had places to be, now more than ever. 

Kairea’a squeezed her tighter. “Remember little sister, it’s your life. No matter what plans others might have for you, you are the only one who gets to decide which way it goes. No one can ever take that away from you.”

Zara’thea woke with a gasp, her sister’s words still ringing in her mind. The gasp soon turned into a groan as pain cut through the blissful fog of sleep. Her whole body throbbed with a dull pain, her limbs feeling like the full weight of the world was pressing down on them. She tried to curl into a ball, to make herself smaller so the pain couldn’t find her, but gentle hands held her in place. 

“Magister, she’s awake.” a voice said. It sounded familiar yet at the same time there was a strangeness to it, a deepness that echoed in its melodic tone that wasn’t natural. Zara’thea opened her eyes to a face staring down at her. She knew that face, she had seen it many times before but it was different now. What once was soft and peach colored was now pale and blue, hair that had shimmered like the sun was dark as night, and once playful azure eyes now glowed indigo. 

She knew this person. She was another researcher, banished from Silvermoon just as she was but something was wrong with her, she had changed. 

Zara’thea struggled against the hands that held her, wanting to get away from the shadow of the person before her. 

“Relax. The Magister will explain everything.” The woman said, her voice ringing with distorted wrongness. Zara’thea saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her gaze to the new figure that was approaching. A man had entered the tent she was housed in. She knew this man too but he was different, transformed from the person he once was. 

“It’s good to see you awake Lady Dawnthorn,” Magister Umbric said walking up to the small cot she rested on. “I was starting to get worried.”

“What,” Zara’thea tried to ask, her voice cracked and raw. “What happened?”

Magister Umbric, or the man who claimed to be her teacher, motioned to the elf that held her. The familiar shade released Zara’thea from her hold and took a step back. Using what little strength she had, Zara’thea pushed herself up into a sitting position, ignoring the pain that snapped at her. 

“What is the last thing you remember?” the imposter Umbric said, his eerie blue eyes watching her closely. 

Zara’thea bit her lip and struggled to remember. Her mind felt so clouded, like she was standing in a market full of people, their voices overlapping one another, making it hard to hear her own thoughts. 

You should kill him . A voice whispered, dark and sinister. He is a fake, a monster that wants to kill you. Zara’thea startled at the sharpness of it. She looked around the small tent, looking for the speaker. 

“Do not listen to it, Zara’thea.” Umbric said in a stern voice. “Push the voice aside.”

He lies to you. The voice said again. Kill him before he kills you.  

“What,” Zara’thea breathed. “What is going on?” 

The man impersonating Magister Umbric held up his hands in a placating manner. “Try to remember what happened.” he coaxed. “You need to remember.”

Zara’thea closed her eyes, rapping her knuckles against her skull. What did she remember? She remembered Telogrus, the void riddled world that she currently called home. She remembered a box. They had been working on opening that box for months now. Yes, that was it - the box. They had finally figured it out. They had begun the process of breaking the magical seal when…something went wrong. 

There had been pain, a terrible, horrible pain. And then hunger, all consuming hunger that tore at every fiber of her being. 

It’s not too late. The voice cooed. You can still give yourself to the Void. Embrace us, you’re already halfway there.

Zara’thea’s head snapped to the small pile of supplies that sat innocently in the corner. She scrambled over to it, oblivious to the pain that wracked her body from the sudden movement. She dug through the supplies until she found what she had been looking for. With her heart pounding her in chest, Zara’thea brought the small mirror up to eye level and gasped. 

Blue eyes were now violet, pale skin was now dusky purple, brown hair now indigo. A tendril of condensed void hung over her shoulder like a tentacle, others like it hidden through her hair. She was like them, the so-called imposters. They had been changed - she - had been changed by whatever was in that cursed box. 

“If it wasn’t for Lady Windrunner.” the young elf woman, Falina - she remembered her now, said. “We would all be creatures of the Void.”

There’s still time , the whisper said with sinister amusement. Embrace the Void. Give in to us .

Zara’thea dropped the mirror and clutched her head, the voice echoing loudly in her mind. 

“Falina,” Umbric snapped, “Fetch Lady Windrunner. And hurry.”

It was so loud, the whispers screaming over one another, each vying for her attention, each grasping for her sanity, ready to pull her down into the Void. Zara’thea tried to drown them out, struggling to stay above the sea of voices in her mind. She hardly noticed Falina returning, another elf in her wake.

It wasn’t until warm, peach colored hands grabbed her chin that Zara’thea came back to herself.

Alleria Windrunner, a former Ranger-Captain of the Farstriders crouched before her. She studied Zara’thea with the piercing blue eyes of a High Elf. She could feel the whispers quiet under her gaze, the insanity slowly slipping away. 

“I will teach you to control the voices.” Lady Windrunner said, her voice echoing with the Void. “It will be difficult but it can be done if you are of strong will and mind.”

Kill her. The voice hissed. Kill her now.

Zara’thea pushed the voice aside. “Teach me.” she begged. 

Lady Windrunner nodded with satisfaction before helping Zara’thea to her feet. “We begin now then.” She said, “Come, let us join the others.”

With a guiding hand, she led Zara’thea out of the tent and out onto the broken surface of Telogrus where the others waited, all transformed by the Void and so few in number. Zara’thea paused, looking around at the swirling purple of the Void she had become so familiar with. She was now just as twisted as the landscape, touched by the Void and forever changed by it. What the change entailed, it was too soon to know but there was a part of her that couldn’t help but feel as if it was part of her destiny. 

Zara’thea’s eyes caught on the twisted tree that she had spent many hours studying under, pausing at the sight before her. There was a line of bodies that rested below its gnarled branches, bodies of her fellow exiles that did not survive the transformation. Lady Windrunner looked back at her with a questioning look when she noticed Zara’thea was no longer following her. Her hand twitched towards the bow on her back, a cold look forming on her stoic face. Zara’thea shivered. How many of her friends had the Ranger-Captain been forced to slay when the Void took over? Judging by the look on the High Elf’s face it was one too many but Zara’thea had no doubt she would do it again if needed.

So she gave the former Ranger-Captain an encouraging nod and followed along behind her. 

Kill her. Kill her now . 

Zara’thea took a breath, pushing away the whispers. Her life had changed, yet again, but her sister’s words from a long time ago rang loud and clear in her mind. She was the only one who got to decide how to live her life; not her mother, not the scourge, and certainly not the Void. Whatever might come from this change, there was one thing she knew for certain. She was in control.

[celenacallaghan]

As the Horde and Alliance prepare to march on the Wrathgate, Izzy is determined to foster the bare amount of cooperation between the two factions. An unexpected visitor doesn't change her plans until they meet face to face. A missive to Sylvanas Windrunner leads the Banshee Queen to a terrible choice: her people or her priestess?

This chapter was a bear to write, but I did it anyway, haha. I even accomplished my goal of posting before the end of the month! Thank you all for your patience, stay safe and sane, and I’ll see you next time.

[luuntears]

Chapter Four has been posted! For those who are interested in reading, I have a WoW AU fanfic featuring my OC/The Slayer going back in time to Argus. It's a very slow updating process, so chapters will be posted at inconsistent times.

[wolfandwild]

Summary: Azeroth has recently enjoyed a period of relative peace, with the  Alliance and the Horde having put aside their differences to forge new  bonds and look towards a brighter future. But dark storm clouds are  already beginning to gather on the horizon. Despite Archmage Khadgar’s  best efforts, the treacherous Gul'dan remains elusive. A mysterious cult  of warlocks emerges in the Eastern Kingdoms. Doomsayers start to sing  portents of the end of the world… and closer to home, High King Varian  Wrynn and his Queen, Auriana, must face challenges of a far more  personal nature…

Chapter Ten now updated.

Fanfiction.net

Archive Of Our Own

[knightphobeus]

"...I'm so glad you're back."

Varian smiles at the woman - his sister, Adariall Wrynn. Nearby, a man about their age and a young man, slightly older than Anduin, waits nearby with a hidden incense censor.

"I wrestle with my anger every day..."

Jaina looks wistfully out a window as she speaks to Rubeus, who watches with a curious and concerned look to his red eyes, seeming to think on some half-remembered memory.

"To say we must be neutral and not remember those that created chaos..."

The white-haired former leader of the Black Moon laughs as he holds the two Silver Crystals. Kel'thuzad rises as a Lich, moving to stand next to the Dreadknight Arthas. Aethas Sunreaver laughs in his mania, the brightness around him not hiding his madness.

"...is to become hypocritical in our own way."

The four stand as Sapphire speaks, then they all smile in agreement.

"Wild Wind Blows"

A man and troll sit on a mountaintop, looking out upon the land. As the sky grows dark while they head back down the mountain, there is a sudden flash of light, and a star disappears from the sky.

[mothervvoid]

1/1ch | 805 wc

A Deathstalker places his life in the hands of another.

[ladymischievous]

A Twist of Fate Chapter 7: The Masks We Wear

Posting this again. Currently taking a break to recharge but I'm really proud of how chapters 6 & 7 turned out. Still in the sketching phase for chapter 8. It's going to take a while to write down but I hope you will enjoy the story so far.

-Snippet for Chapter 7-

Northshire Abbey was one of the most peaceful places Khadgar had ever stayed at. Which made it all the more unsettling to him. There was no doubt that the abbey was beautiful, it had the feel and charm as many old places did. The building stood tall and proud, made of stone that was carved into ornate iconography of the religion of ‘The Light’. Symbols above archways and statues of heroes and saints of the past lined the walls of corridors in niches or stood in the abbey garden. The inside of the abbey was also cool, something Khadgar very much appreciated, as the climate in the south of the continent was much warmer than back home.

There always seemed to be the lingering distant smells of incense, old books, or cooking food. Khadgar couldn’t say it was a ‘bad’ place to stay, but he certainly felt out of place. He hadn’t been to a church service since he was a child, before coming to Dalaran. It was a time he preferred not to think about.

So Khadgar kept himself busy. He was settled in a chair in the room Medivh had been laid to rest in. He worked on writing notes and sketches of the events that had happened the night before. It was hard to believe any of it was real. Khadgar would sometimes look down at his hand, the one that held Medivh’s dagger, and find it trembling. Sometimes when he dozed off, he’d relive furiously stabbing the scarecrow he protected Medivh from. Only Khadgar would end up seeing that the scarecrow was himself. His own blue eyes were glassy and dull, staring upwards at the sky. Khadgar was certain a part of him died that night, as for which part, he wasn’t sure. ‘Innocence’ didn’t exactly fit with everything he’d seen and done while uncovering secrets in Dalaran. If it was, then it may have been the very last shreds of innocence he had.

Khadgar paused in his work and looked at his sleeping companion. Medivh was still in a deep sleep. It was later in the afternoon and he had been slowly recovering. Now Medivh looked as though he had aged only about ten years. The gray in his hair had returned to its deep black color and color returned to his face. He still looked drained and fragile. It made Khadgar feel uneasy.

Looking down at his notes, Khadgar was reminded that Medivh had been targeted. The fog, the gnolls that tracked them like animals, someone had it out for Medivh. It made Khadgar eye every visiting nurse, doctor, or worker with a hint of suspicion. He’d watch everyone and what they did around or to Medivh carefully. If he was being targeted, then it surely wouldn’t be the only attempt.

Khadgar kept Medivh’s dagger close by, promising himself that he’d return it when he woke up.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew his attention towards the door. Anduin Lothar had arrived and stood in the doorway, giving Khadgar a confused look. He then noticed the cot set up close to Medivh’s bed and frowned.

“Don’t tell me the folks here weren’t able to set you up with a room.” Lothar said. “I’ll have things sorted ou--”

“They did.” Khadgar spoke up, cutting him off. “I turned them down and asked to stay here.”

-End of Snippet- Read the rest on AO3. Chapter 6: Night of the Wicked Harvest Chapter 7: The Masks We Wear

Starting from the beginning? Chapter 1: Lucky Number 13