A Struggle

He watched as they spoke by the fire...and she let him fall asleep in her lap. She didn't even...she wasn't even bothered by it. They talked for a moment, conversing as though...like friends.

"N-No...No Bal... I can't tell him...he can never, EVER find out about this. Do you understand? We can't be seen together by anyone that could get back to him, we can't..."

He raised his finger to her lips and sat up and looked into her eyes his face just inches from hers. "It's our little secret..."

He heard the voice again. "Do you remember...when you were captured by the ogres...trying to save that impetuous Draenei? Corki? This is where your wife was...while you were trapped inside of a cage waiting for the ogres to make you their dinner. She was fraternizing with this blood elf...behind your back, keeping him her dirty little secret. And then the very morning after you escaped, after you'd come to her for comfort...and she had simply had a laugh at your expense. Look where she runs to after your safely asleep..."

Lance saw them...Mags and Bal sharing drinks...having a smile and a laugh as she retold his experience. And...her smile...that smile as Bal rode off.

Then they were riding on the back of Bal's mount, flying through the air over Shattrath. She...she was joy riding with this...this blood elf scum.

They were standing in front of the tavern, sharing an embrace before he lovingly took her hand and kissed it. Lance vaguely remembered this...when he'd been dead drunk...right around the time that Aria had attacked him. Mags had been no where to be found and a druid, one he knew from Virtue, had had to save his life.

He saw her...lying with Bal...snuggled up to him with her legs...intertwined with his own...It was apparent what had taken place...what had happened. She was shocked by it at first, but then slowly warmed up to him again...warmed up to the blood elf...to the creature Bal.

Lance felt the floor beneath his feet, felt his bonds loosening and felt his insides escaping through his mouth. He was retching, hands and knees on the ground as he vomited, coughing and heaving until their was nothing left to heave. His body felt weak and he felt like he was truly going to die. After everything that had happened, after all the lies, all the suspicions...Magdalia had betrayed his trust...and done so...in the most outrageous way possibly. He felt his body shivering and then could see...see where he was...

Lance pushed his charger harder, its pace appearing to exceed its previously determined maximum speed. Perhaps it was the increased sense of urgency and the power of his crusading aura that moved him along. Of course, the fact that Lance had not eaten, slept, or stopped since his vision, since the past was shown to him. . . as well as the future, played into it and also mysteriously caused him to lose about 20 lbs. of healthy weight.

Lance had left the realm of Kirin Tor in search of Ariadne and Bal. No word or sign of them had been heard, no clue, nothing. Tiber, the traitor, had been slain. When the mage showed him what the man, the person who he had respected as a friend and stood by in the eyes of the Light, had done . . . worked with the very individual that Lance had vowed to destroy . . . and worse yet . . . tried to kill Magdalia . . . it had been an easy task to take his life.

The portal between realms had been impossible and Lance now realized neither the Light or Elune, Arthas or Illidan were powerful enough to create such a gateway. Some other force, one more powerful than any of the four, had imbued the mage with its power and sent him to another place, one that the mage and warlock had seemed confident Aria and Bal would have escaped and fled to.

Lance felt exhausted. He was hungry, he was tired, he was thirsty, and he missed Magdalia. The pain he felt knowing that he might never see her again shredded him to tatters. It didn't matter. Magdalia was worth more to him than the entire universe, but she had to be protected and her life had to be spared, her safety ensured. Lance was confident that in his absence, when news of his departure from her life reached her, and when she realized that this time . . . it was possible he would not return, that she would go to one of the beings she felt safest with: a young night elf warrior. And the likelihood that he would willingly accept her and protect her as zealously as Lance would have, was something Lance was willing to bet her life on.

When Lance had awakened from the vision, he had found himself in the catacombs of Stormwind with a mage and a warlock standing over him. There was no hunter . . . which confused him. How had he misconstrued the mage's frost nova with a hunter's trap? The catacombs of the Cathedral of Light were dimly lit, the torches all around illuminating the scene. In front of him stood a warlock, his red raiment of the corruptor covering his form, save for his head. He turned to see a mage also, his Aldor Regalia reflecting meagerly in the dim light.

"We had to show you, paladin." he had said, "you had to know the truth. Your quest for power...and for death...would inevitably destroy you...and your wife." When the mage spoke, his words had been kinder, not condescending like the warlock's.

"But-" He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath, relieved that he could finally speak. He'd felt a sudden urge to run away...but he hadn't. He wanted to know more...to hear what the casters had abducted him for and why they were so concerned with him and Mags...and how they'd managed to help him look into the past. Had what he'd seen really happened? Was it real...or was it another lie?

"Of course it's REAL! You stupid paladin! Why would we lie to you?! What would we have to gain by deceiving someone who means NOTHING in the grand scheme?" The warlock, it seemed, would never submit to uncallous words or kindness of any kind.

Lance looked towards the warlock from his place on the floor. He furrowed his forehead. "Why should I question a warlock and a mage, two beings who abducted me, bound me, and refer to me by my class title as opposed to my name?" Lance's "you must be joking" expression gazed first to the warlock and then more skeptically to the mage. "Are-are you serious? You can read my mind and look into the past...yet you are incapable of answering such an easy question?" He glared at the warlock. "I think a better place to start might be something along the lines of...why did you feel the need to attack me, abduct me, bind me, and then throw me into the past ALL without any kind of explanation and then hide out here in the catacombs?"

"Because it is the only thing that will save you and save her. Do you want Balthurian to kill Mags and maybe more? Do you want Ariadne to rally an army of darkness and come for you...or worse? You have to find them. You have to travel beyond this world into a place unknown even to us. It is the only place they could be...we have searched everywhere else."

"Why should I trust you?"

The mage looked at Lance intently, holding up his hand. "Because..." and then he saw it. It was Nagrand...near Halaa. He saw himself, saw the armor he was wearing. His eyes almost bugged out of his head...and then the emotions nearly overcame him. It felt so recent, so new, and it was so terribly unnerving. He saw her with him...the other him from the past, the only other person he'd ever known who could actually make him feel this way...

Lance came to a stop in the clearing. He had been riding for days or maybe it had been weeks. He didn't know. What he did know was he was lost. He did not know how to return to Kirin Tor. He didn't know how to find Bal, or the mage, or the warlock...or find Magdalia.

In the last few hours, he had begun to come to terms with his fate. His fate was solitude, to be lost. He did not have Vergere or Mags or Virtue. He would be forced to live out his days in the place that he had been lost to. He was truly devastated about his rash decision, about leaving Magdalia and about trusting the strangers of magic.

He was certain what would happen and slowly, he was accepting the future. In time, Magdalia would move on, she would forget him. Someone else, he knew, would take his place and be the one she needed, the one to hold her and protect her. Eventually, Balthurian would resurface. Magdalia, with the help of her new warrior, would vanquish him and perhaps his deluded minion as well.

She would find happiness without him and eventually, she would move on and take vows with another. He thought on this, and while he was truly sad, he realized there was nothing that he could do. He would never see her again. He would never be able to avenge her, and he would never be able to have closure, or the truth. He remembered something Grayson had told him in his early days. "Even when you think you're alone, lost, helpless, and distraught, you need only remember that the sanctified Light is with you and that because of this, you are never alone."

He smiled weakly an closed his eyes, lying down in the shade, his charger standing near him, waiting for him to return. As he relaxed a little, the overwhelming exhaustion that he had felt, began to return to him. Though he fought it, fought to stay awake, he couldn't overcome his weakness and fell into a deep, nightmare-laden sleep.

Magdalia sat on a fresh patch of grass overlooking the sprawling landscape before her watching the daylight fade over the horizon. She combed her wavy black hair back behind her ear, untied the eye patch she was wearing and sat it beside her. She breathed in deeply through her nose closing her eyes before opening them. She sat on a small floating piece of land that hovered over the land of Nagrand. Her golden gryphon Vicent lied beside her in the grass, falling asleep. She smiled over at him before leaning back on her hands to relax.

Magdalia is a highly skilled rogue, trained to kill, poison, and attack anything that comes in opposition to her. Of course, she always fairs better in battle when she has someone to distract the enemy while she slices them from behind. She recently attained the skill level of 70 and was very proud with her accomplishment. Her gryphon is a status symbol. With skill level comes the privilege of learning to ride a flying mount.

She sat thinking about recent occurrences in her life. It had been over a month now since she got a letter in the mail from her husband. He had written to tell her that he was leaving and probably never to return. This saddened her because he was a great part of her life but she knew she had to find a way to live without him or she would never make it day to day. She wasn't sure if his letter meant that he was freeing her of vows of marriage or not -- so she assumed not and kept her heart true to him. She could never get out of her head what happened the last time she saw him.

They had met up to complete some tasks asked of her and he was being very callous and short with her. When she approached him and asked him about his attitude he began asking questions about her relations with a blood elf named Bal. This blood elf plotted against her to win her heart and then torture her for days. She never found out why he plotted to do so and he has disappeared since he tortured her and left her for dead. Her husband was questioning what acts she had committed while this Bal was 'winning her heart.' She refused to even discuss the matter. The torture had left her with horrible scars all over her body, forcing her to cover her body at all times. Something came over her, though, when he was relentlessly questioning if she had cheated on their marriage. She became enraged and before she knew it she had her hand around his throat, squeezing it, and holding a dagger pointed at the base of his neck -- ready to plunge through. The only thing that stopped her from murdering her husband was an intense pain searing her skin.

Once the pain subsided she was remorseful for what had happened and tried to beg his forgiveness. She never really got it. The moment was too preoccupied with the fact that after becoming so enraged, and the pain that had occurred, her scars had receded and nearly disappeared, at least to the naked eye. She was convinced the poison that caused the scars had finally subsided and been cured but her husband thought otherwise and theorized that the poison had moved internally. Mags was just thrilled that her scars were gone and she could now show her beautiful face and skin once more.

She touched her face, feeling where the scars had been, and smiled. She had felt no other side effects from the poison in the past month and it seemed as though whatever Bal had done to her was finally gone. She cracked her neck and rubbed it. She yawned slightly and patted Vincent's neck to wake him. She climbed onto his feathered back and flew to the inn in Telaar where she could rest for the night.

A dagger blade spins on its tip against a stone surface. It sends slight sparks into the air around the tip as it spins. On a stone wall sits a hunched figure in the dark spinning the dagger between tightened fingers. A tall, slender figure approaches, the footsteps unheard. The female blood elf stops and turns towards the figure tilting her body over to lean her face down and peer into the glowing green eyes of the hunched figure.

"Won't tonight be the night you come to bed, Bal?" The figure of the male blood elf stops his movement of the dagger. He slowly tilts his head up to look at the female, his blond hair glistening in the slight light coming from the moon. He merely looks at her with a solemn expression. "Why don't you just come to bed...get some sleep for once...it's been months." She stands up and cocks her hip to one side and looks at him putting her hands on her hips. "I bet if you got some sleep you would come up with a brilliant plan to appease your spirit that aches so."

He looked back at her for a moment, letting his eyes fall over the curves that her figure made and the shadows that surrounded them. "Not tonight Eth..." he shook his head and looked down once more, "Not tonight." She sighed in frustration and took a step passed him. She stopped and turned around. She reached her hand out and rubbed it over his closest shoulder and down his back. She opened her mouth to say something but she stopped herself, drew her hand away and turned and walked away from him.

After quite a few moments, he tucked his hair behind one of his ears with his hand and turned to look in the direction that she left in and let a slight smile draw across his lips. He gripped the hilt of his dagger and sheathed it in his belt. In one quick movement he dismounted the wall and hurried off in her direction...

Mags life had changed drastically since reaching the skill level of 70 and losing her husband. She found life rather boring but enjoyed the slow pace that she never really got to enjoy before. Every day she rose to head to the camp just outside Skettis to do the tasks required of her to keep the populations at a standstill and save the people who had gotten caught. She hoped one day that the skyguard would see her as an important asset and put her up to more challenging tasks.

One day she found herself fighting in Skettis to pull pouches of shadow dust from the creatures. She stealthed through the shadows to find the weakest ones, the lonely ones, but sometimes would take on the challenge of killing three at a time. She had gained many skills and could even hold such enemies without the use of a warrior or a paladin or anything else with a shield. She grew more arrogant with every kill she made. Her spirit rose with joy at the accomplishment of taking an enemies life. Her favorite excuse to make for herself was -- "Well, it hit me first."

As she was walking slowly in the shadows she perceived the presence of another in the shadows nearby. She had not been interested in killing Horde creatures in some time but she always liked to know whom her competition was. As she moved closer she saw a glint of light from the back of his head. She grinned to herself and gripped her unsheathed daggers. It was a blond blood elf male. Her thoughts raced.

"It would be far too easy to slit his throat. Could it even possibly be him? Could I be that lucky? In this one swift movement I could take his life and repay him for all the torture he gave me."

She slipped behind a tree right next to the stealthed elf and without even thinking pulled out her Alliance colors and waved them proudly. She grabbed the blood elf by the hair and pulled back to expose his neck. She slid her poisoned dagger across his skin -- watching the blood ooze from the incision. His body went limp in seconds and she let loose her grasp to let the body fall to the grass. She was out in the open...quickly eyed her surroundings -- there was no one nearby. She slipped back into the shadows and pulled her Alliance colors back into her bag. She knelt beside the body and pulled the hair away from his face.

She frowned with extreme disappointment -- it was not Bal. It was some other blond rogue blood elf. He still deserved to die, but it was not what she wanted...what she longed for every day. As she snuck away from his body to find a place to call her gryphon. She thought about it for a moment. Did she really want to just kill him? Didn't she want to torture him? Get some answers from him? Surely, a slaying would not give her the satisfaction she needed. Her blood lust was overcoming her, she was not thinking straight. It was true...without her holy paladin to keep her eyes towards the Light; her mind sank to the darkness that was so intertwined in her training as a rogue. She whistled for her gryphon and flew off to turn in her daily report.

Lance looked around in his daze. He was unable to determine if he was awake or still sleeping. He saw a figure, not far off, slowly approaching him. He rubbed his eyes as the Shadowed form approached him. He didn't believe what he seeing. He gaped at the form and got to his feet, bringing out his Illidari Broadsword. The figure held up his hand in protest and Lance could feel his sword weighing down and burning his flesh.

"You weapon is useless against me. Attempting to harm me would be futile."

"Why, because you're dead?"

He grinned maliciously. "No, because I'm not who I appear to be. This is simply the apparition I thought you'd find most appealing. He is alive, do not worry, but it will be a long time before you see him. But I have come for you."

"For Me? I don't understand. It is not my time, it can't be."

The silhouette laughed at him, shaking his head. "I have not come to kill you, Lancesalot, I have come to save you. You do want to be saved, to be free of this place?"

Lance looked around apprehensively for a moment before his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I-...I don't even know...where here is, to be honest."

"Does it matter? Are you particularly concerned with your current whereabouts?"

Lance opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, shaking his head and sighing again. "No, I just want to return, to return to Kirin Tor. I want to find the mage and the warlock, to vanquish the blood elf...and his female companion. I want to find Ariadne and destroy her. She has ruined my life and not even the old Order could have saved her. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to get back."

"You are not ready. You are failing in your responsibility. You made a vow, Lance, a vow you have broken. You have let your petty feelings interfere with your responsibilities."

Lance made a fist as his expression grew angry. "Stop. Stop talking about her. She-...what she did...how can you expect me to-"

"Because you are her guardian, Lancesalot. You are her beacon. You are the one who is supposed to shield her in the power of the Light and keep her safe, even if it means sacrificing your own life to do so."