The Legion - Lyelleth & Orannis

Author Notes:



Fawnheart: *bow* Thank you very much, your review left me speechless! (the fiancé will attest this is a rare feat)

Ileyna: *giggle* Update or I hold the next chapter to ransom *sticks tongue out*



Also – I’d like to recommend www.warcraftlegends.co.uk – my fics are on there too (just in case anyone thinks someone walked off with them).



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Nahdeer of the Claw Tribe was meditating in her quarters when Orannis knocked on her door. The Druid welcomed him warmly, noting the conflict and concern etched on his features as he took a seat opposite her, idly perusing the vast array of herbs and reagents spread across her table.



“Lok’Tar Nahdeer,” The Shaman said quietly, “I apologise for interrupting your meditation but I need to avail myself of your knowledge on a most… sensitive subject.”



The Tauren smiled. “Would this have anything to do with that silver-haired Night Elf?” She teased, raising an eyebrow as she doused the incense burner.



“Aye,” Orannis sighed deeply, “You, of all I trust, know the most about them, dealing so closely with them as you do.” He searched about for the words, “Nahdeer, what do you know of the Moontouched?”



Eyes widening, shock flew across the woman’s face. “Oh Ori…” Nahdeer said softly, “I… They swore me to silence on a Druid oath, the knowledge is too dangerous, but if your Elf is Touched...”



“It was full moon last night my friend.” Orannis said gently, hardly meeting her gaze.



A nod, “How badly…”



“Full paralysis, glowing brightly enough to light several rooms, and she knows nothing of her power, believing it a curse.”



The Druid shook her head sadly. “She’s never been trained, nor had this explained to her? By the Earthmother Ori, you do choose them.” A trace of humour sparkled in her eyes, “Right. Firstly I need to consult my notes, and speak to someone. I’ll have to take her to Moonglade of course…”



“She won’t go there Nahdeer, that I can assure you.” Orannis sighed again, rubbing his forehead with one hand as he continued, “She won’t go near her own kind any more, and Druids? Out of the question.”



“What was his name?” She asked in a moment of startling clarity, causing the Shaman to look up with a confused expression. “Who did she lose to the madness Ori?”



“Her father, Dashkern NightBlade.”



“Hmm,” Nahdeer looked thoughtful, “I knew a Dashkern, but not NightBlade. He was arrogant, proud and megalomaniacal, his calling was not to his goddess but his ego most of the time, and he let it show.”



“It would not surprise me if the Night Elf took her mother’s name,” He conceded thoughtfully, “I will check.”



“Aye? Well, I leave it in your hands Ori,” She rose, offering her hands to him.



“I’ll speak to her Nahdeer but I make no promises,” He clasped her arms, “Come to my suite in a few days. We can speak to her then.”



--



When he re-entered his quarters after placating the wards, Orannis was met by a fine sight; Lyelleth clothed only in the emerald green shift she had been given upon arriving at Ratchet, wielding her two swords, crouched in a battle stance glaring at him. Recognising the Shaman she relaxed, but kept her firm grip on the blades.



“You found the chest I see?” He observed dryly, noticing the slit she had slashed into the dress to increase her freedom of movement, “Why no leathers?”



“No time,” The Night Elf admitted, laying the swords reverently on the table, “It took me an age to pick the lock on the chest without my tools,” She pointed to a small pouch on the table, “That was the first thing I sought out in there, I will not be kept prisoner by locks Orannis, not if *he* returns,” Fiery anger danced in her eyes as she continued, “I appreciate I may be killed if I leave here, but death is preferable to a repeat performance.”



Orannis held his hands up defensively, “I would not blame you Night Elf for fleeing if he did return, but the suite is warded now, it will register anyone who enters, and the list of those allowed is few. Only Thrall could break it…” He paused, watching for a reaction from the Rogue, seeing none he continued, “Should there be a need, which I doubt.”



“It is an elemental ward?” She asked quietly, curiosity piqued even as she lifted her armours from the chest.



“Of sorts,” The Shaman replied, settling himself on one of the larger chairs, watching her unpack. “They are normally dependant upon totems, but the majority of the contents of this room are highly personal items, I can bind the wards to them.”



Lyelleth cocked her head to one side, “And this is how they recognise people? Because your wards are attuned to things that are yours, they recognise those you know?”



“Not just that,” A pause, “Every class has a different magical signature, for example Priests leave either Holy or Shadow traces, Mages leave arcane fire or frost, Warlocks have hints of the Nether and demons to them… The wards pick that up, and each signature is unique to a person because of the way their skills lie.”



“But what about non-magical classes such as myself, then?”



Orannis nodded with a smile, “You’re learning. Energy and Rage have their own unique properties too, Night Elf.” He beckoned her close, and she inched slowly forward. “Your hand?” He requested softly, holding out his own.



Curiosity overcame her and Lyelleth held out her hand, palm up. “Why do you… Ohhh!”



Orannis smiled as he traced the pattern over her wrist and palm, which glowed in soft yellow light. “The elements react to the energy within you, and the reaction produces this light. In Warriors, the rage causes the light to shine red.”



“That tickles!” Lyelleth replied, squirming slightly, “But what of other Shaman? Surely they could circumvent the wards, they are elementalists too, aren’t they?” Her concern was painted on her features.



“Yes they are, but no they could not.” He answered softly, releasing her hand, “Lyelleth, I am Master Shaman of the Horde for a reason. Only my Warcheif commands the elements with more power than myself, and Thrall would not break the wards for no reason. The elements recognise each individual that communes with them, and respond to them in different ways. They know me, and thus respond by allowing me entry.”



As if in response to his words, a light breeze drifted in through the reopened shutters and teased the strands of her hair like ruffling fingers. Lyelleth sighed, slowly exhaling, her features relaxing as she did so. “Alright,” She said softly, “But I am not returning my blades to the chest.”



“I wouldn’t ask it of you Night Elf,” Orannis retorted, “But I do have something else I need from you.”



“Oh?” Her guard was slammed back up. “What would that be?”



“I promised I would help to explain your gift, did I not?” The Shaman began, standing and walking to the balcony as he spoke, “To educate you on the Moontouched?”



“You did…”



“The Druid Nahdeer knows more of this than I do. I have invited her to speak to you Night Elf, and she takes a great risk in doing so.” He heard her sharp intake of breath but continued. “She is a good friend, Lyelleth, and I trust her. But that is not my main concern. She will ask to take you to Moonglade.”



“No.” She replied before the word was even finished. “Never! I will never, ever set foot in that place, even if you could take me there unnoticed. I have nothing to say to anyone there.” Anger laced her tone, and the Orc turned to face her.



“I understand,” He said quietly, meeting her furious gaze. “But Night Elf, this goes beyond your father and your people. Untrained, this gift could kill you.”



“Why do you care?” She shot back, unrelenting, “I was supposed to die anyway.”



Quirking an eyebrow, the Shaman questioned her. “Why do you think that? The human woman and the gnome are not dead. Because of your position in the Alliance? You think highly of yourself if so.” He baited her, drawing her away from her abject refusal to consider Moonglade as an option.



“Hah!” Lyelleth snorted, “I’m an Elf, isn’t that reason enough?” She stood now, walking over to him, anger drawing her to her full height. “I killed your people, your comrades, your friends, I assassinated for money, sold the names and positions of your armies… I am a spy and a killer, yet I still live, Orc, does that not strike you as strange? Why didn’t your Warcheif order my death?”



“Perhaps he has more honour than those you are used to serving, Night Elf,” He replied quietly, no trace of the anger her words had risen in him colouring his voice, “And perhaps because he understands why.”



The purple-skinned woman turned her gaze away. “Perhaps,” She conceded quietly. “But that is another matter for another time. You will not be able to take me to Moonglade, Orannis. If the Druids of my people find me there I will be in more danger than if you set me loose in the city with my blades. They think I killed my parents, remember?”



“You did not,” Orannis replied quietly, turning her face back to his, “And I trust Nahdeer. Speak to her; hear her plan before you reject it.”



A sigh, “I will, but I will not pretend to like this idea.”



The Orc laughed, “You do not have to like it, Night Elf, for it to work.”