Archive of Our Own

NOTHING ‒ All is quiet. The mutterings of the traitorous world are quenched. You are dark. All is dark.

Discovery ‒ You’re asleep.

***** ‒ BUT YOU COULD BE MORE

***** ‒ YOU COULD BE LESS

Legacy ‒ Absolutely not!

Legacy ‒ Wake up, General!

Legacy ‒ We must conquer the day!

1. [*****: Trivial] Be less.
2. Wake up.
3. Ignore the voices.

Ranger-General ‒ Your people need you.

Ranger-General ‒ *She* needs you.

Affection ‒ Please, General. Do it for her.

Affection ‒ She deserves it.

Affection ‒ Wake up.

Ire ‒ FUCK THE WORLD! FUCK EVERYTHING! DON’T WAKE UP

***** ‒ SHE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS

***** ‒ SHE DOESN’T WANT TO SEE YOU

Affection ‒ If you wake up, you can see her again…

Affection ‒ Maybe she’ll even give you one of those cheek kisses! 

Affection ‒ Mmmm… cheek kisses…

Ire ‒ FUCK THE CHEEK KISSES AND FUCK HER!

Fear ‒ She must be tired of you by now. She’ll be so upset. We have to run, General.

1. [***** - Trivial] Be less.
2. [Fear - Medium] Run.
3. [Ire - Impossible] Fuck her.
4. [Desire - Trivial] Fuck her.
5. Ignore the voices.

Miracles ‒ The wind howls tortuously. It smells of ash and blood and despair. The world is gray and bleak ‒ but a beautiful woman, face etched with the lingering laugh-lines of tragedy, has tucked away a small corner for herself. She has lit a fire, she has prepared a meal, and she has brought joy and hope back to hell, if only in the shape of a brief respite.

Miracles ‒ She waits, patiently, for her partner.

1. Ignore the voices.
2. Wake up.

Deprecation ‒ Now, why would you go and do something as stupid as that?

WINDSWEPT CAVE ‒ Above, below, to the left, to the right, within you, without you. All is dust, all is nothing. As the lifeless phantoms of your senses are mercilessly ‒ and slowly ‒ resurrected, shapes come into form. Two sleeping kits, Farstrider issue. An unlit campfire. A woman, standing at an entrance.

History ‒ You’re right where you were when you fell asleep.

History ‒ As well as where you’ve been falling asleep for seven months.

Mysteries [Easy: Failure] ‒ Truly, what is a month? Perhaps you could redefine the length of time, and therefore shorten your stay. Much to consider.

Magistrate ‒ What the fuck are you talking about?

Mysteries ‒ It was just a thought. There’s no need to get so up in arms about it.

1. We really should be looking into that month thing.
2. I’ve long since come to terms with the voices in my head, but can you lot at least be civil to each other?
3. I want to talk to the woman.
4. I don’t want to talk to the woman. 

Affection ‒ Oh, but you do! You want to talk to her, you want to hold her in your arms, you want to feel her sweet caress! You want to make love to her, General!

Desire ‒ Not make love, General! You need to devour her whole! Leave her gasping and moaning! Take her apart and put her back together with your name on her lips!

Affection ‒ That works too! 

Archer’s Eye (Sight) ‒ General! She’s turning around! She’ll see that you’re awake!

1. ‒ [Deftness: Formidable] Lie back down before she notices that you’ve woken.
2. ‒ [Old Dogs: Godly] Be a Ranger. Disappear into the shadows. Be one with the wind.
3. ‒ [New Tricks: Trivial] Dissipate into shadow and flee.
4. ‒ [Unflinching: Challenging] Face her.
5. Are there any options that don’t involve rolling dice?

YOU ‒ No. This is the game. Get ready to play it.

1. [Deftness: Formidable] Lie back down before she notices that you’ve woken.
2. [Old Dogs: Godly] Be a Ranger. Disappear into the shadows. Be one with the wind.
3. [New Tricks: Trivial] Dissipate into shadow and flee.
4. [Unflinching: Challenging] Face her.

Unflinching [Challenging: Failure] ‒ You watch as she turns, and…

THE WOMAN ‒ Her expression is a mix of longing, excitement, and a steely-eyed, resolute sort of commitment. It’s incredibly attractive.

THE WOMAN ‒ “Good morning, Sylvanas.”

THE WOMAN ‒ Her voice is like the tides; her words break upon your soul and threaten to drag you out to sea.

1. Whimper, like a dog.
2. Start crying.
3. Flinch back as if you’ve been struck.
4. I’d like some more options, please.

Unflinching ‒ Sorry, General. I’ve failed you.

Deprecation ‒ You’re good at that, aren’t you?

Deprecation ‒ Failing.

Deprecation ‒ You’re such an abject failure that you’re even failing *yourself*. Belore, you’re pathetic.

History ‒ You do have a poor track record, I must admit.

History ‒ Still, though, you’ve had your successes.

****** ‒ THE FRIGID WIND SCREAMS AT YOU AS YOU FALL. THE HARSH METAL TEARS YOUR BODY APART. FOR ONE BLISSFUL MOMENT YOU ARE AT PEACE

****** ‒ YOU COULD BE AT PEACE AGAIN

****** ‒ YOU COULD MAKE THIS RIGHT

****** ‒ YOU COULD BE LESS

Legacy [Challenging: Success] ‒ Fuck that. You’re a goddamn *Windrunner*. You can do anything! You can succeed at anything!

1. [****** ‒ Trivial] Be less.
2. Whimper, like a dog.
3. Start crying.
4. Flinch back as if you’ve been struck.
5. [Legacy ‒ Impossible] Greet her back.

Legacy [Impossible: Success] ‒ I have not failed you, General. And I never will.

YOU ‒ “Good morning.”

YOU ‒ “How did you sleep?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman laughs. She laughs easily, as if humor grows on trees. As if letting joy out into the world, instead of keeping it locked up inside, where it’s safe, is possible. Is *preferable*. You wonder if you ever laughed like that. A long, long, long time ago, you think you might have. But not anymore.

Miracles [Godly: Success] ‒ Four children, born to a people that no longer exists, scions of a family that no longer exists, play together in a land that no longer exists.

Miracles  ‒ Once, they laughed.

THE WOMAN ‒ “Superbly. The litany of the damned makes for excellent white noise.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “Next time I visit Azeroth, remind me to look into some silencing wards, yeah?”

1. “Don’t leave me.”
2. “I didn’t ask you to be here.”
3. “Remind yourself. I’m not your servant.”

Affection ‒ Ouch. Are you sure you want to be that rude? You know she’s trying to help, right?

Ire ‒ YES! BE RUDE! BE NASTY! THE LIVING HOLD NO PURCHASE IN YOUR BROKEN AND BLASTED HEART, GENERAL!

Fear ‒ Push her away, General. Make her hate you. Dictate her betrayal on your own terms.

1. Why am I like this?
2. “I hate you and I wish you were dead.”
3. [Insight: Challenging] “If I ask really nicely will you let me fuck you?”
4. “Apologies. I didn’t… that was rude.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman looks at you fondly. How can she still be so fond, after all that has happened? How can she still find joy? How can she still find joy in *you*?

THE WOMAN ‒ “Don’t worry about it. I like your snark. It’s very endearing.”

1. Cry.
2. Cry some more.
3. “I never asked for you to like me.”
4. “If you stop liking me I’ll die.”
5. “Then consider the apology as covering the lackluster quality of the insult.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman laughs again. It highlights her excellent lips, by the way. Excellent ‒ and very kissable.

Desire [Trivial: Failure] ‒ Imagine how nice they would look wrapped around your cock.

Discovery ‒ ??? You don’t have a cock, General.

Discovery ‒ Also, gross.

Deprecation ‒ Yes, gross. How *dare * you have desires? You, a pitiful husk of a corpse ‒ you, who couldn’t even get *dying* right. If she knew that you were thinking about her like this she’d turn you into a pile of arcane dust. And she’d be right.

Ranger-General ‒ Intimacy can be a great boon, but it can also create weakness. Mind who you gift your heart to.

Ire ‒ What she means is: don’t you even *think* about fucking that bitch. You’re better than her.

Ranger-General ‒ That is not what I meant.

Archer’s Eye (Sight) [Trivial: Success] ‒ General, she’s staring at you.

Fear ‒ You must speak to her; else she begin to suspect that you’re not quite right in the head. 

Fear ‒ In fact… she probably already knows. She knows you’re weak. She’ll use it against you, you know she will.

Insight [Medium: Failure] ‒ There’s no chance that she knows you have voices in your head.

Insight ‒ None at all.

Insight ‒ Trust me.

1. Ignore her. We need to get to the bottom of this lips thing.
2. [Fear ‒ Challenging]: Get the fuck out of dodge.
3. “Do you know that I have voices in my head?”
4. “Out of curiosity ‒ would you be opposed to wrapping your lips around my cock, if I had one?”
5. “We should get a move on. We’re wasting sunlight.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman snorts. “I don’t think sunlight exists down here.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman looks at you suddenly, as if a new and terrible revelation has just been revealed to her. “Is that… hard for you? To be without the sun?”

1. “The sun has long since turned her gaze away from me.”
2. “Quel’dorei aren’t sunflowers.”
3. “I’m not Quel’dorei. I haven’t been for a long, long time.”
4. “I’m not Quel’dorei. I haven’t been for a long, long time. Also, Quel’dorei aren’t sunflowers.”
5. “Yes.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “Right, sorry.” She smiles at you, her expression knowing. Perhaps she, too, can hear the voices? Perhaps she’s listening in even now. Something is special about her. Something is *very* special about her. 

Insight ‒ Of course she’s special. Would an unspecial woman follow a war criminal into hell just so she could have a friend?

Fear ‒ She’s not here to be your friend. She’s here to be your warden. She hates you, General. She despises you.

Insight [Formidable: Success] ‒ That’s not why she’s here.

Admiration ‒ Look at her. Look at the way she carries herself. Look at how powerful she is. She is quite possibly the most special soul ever to exist.

Admiration ‒ Nice rack, too.

Desire ‒ Oh, SUCH a nice rack.

1. Objectifying women is wrong.
2. Am I special?
3. She’s special.
4. She isn’t special.
5. I want to go back to sleep.

Legacy ‒ Of course you are, General. You’re the specialist girl in the entire world.

Depreciation ‒ Do I even have to tell you? Of course not. You’re no better than the tortured, torn souls that you’ve dedicated yourself to in penance. It’ll never be enough. You’ll never atone, General. You know this to be true.

Discovery ‒ What makes one special? You’ve lived a long, long life, General. You’ve accomplished much. Many would call this special.

Mysteries ‒ Do you think she thinks you’re special?

Ire ‒ Why the fuck would you care what she thinks? She’s beneath you.

Insight [Challenging: Failure] ‒ It’s impossible to know. She’s inscrutable. A thousand Generals studying her for a thousand days each would not be able to divine her motives. She is beyond you, General. Utterly and completely.

1. I think I’m special.
2. I don’t think I’m special.
3. “Do you think I’m special?”
4. “Do I think you’re special?”
5. “We must be on our way. The poor bastard souls are waiting.”

THE WOMAN ‒ She nods, although a brief shadow falls over her face. Have you done something to offend her? It’s very possible.

Affection ‒ NO NO NO NO NO NO SHE CAN’T BE DISAPPOINTED IN YOU I WILL CRY!

Deprecation ‒ You’re such a desperate little moron.

Deprecation ‒ It’s clear she’s finally realizing how uncivilized you are. How despicable you are. How sharp, how wild, how *regardless*.

Mysteries ‒ On the other hand, have you ever seen a good regard?

Deprecation ‒ …

Deprecation ‒ What?

Ire ‒ Good regards are a lie they tell children to keep them weak.

Ire ‒ We all hate each other. We all cleave each other apart. Rip and tear, my General!

Deprecation ‒ I have no idea what either of you are talking about.

Miracles [Impossible: Success] ‒ A sister, aged beyond her years by war and strife, carries two necklaces. Another, warped almost beyond recognition by years well within her, carries none, but the weight of the memories she holds makes up for it. A third, cast into hell, carries dreams of reunion and the burden of past sins.

Miracles ‒ There are worse things in the world than to be irregardless. But there are also better.

1. Commune with your thoughts some more.
2. Start the day. [Leave]

WINDSWEPT CAVE ‒ The miniscule shelter of the cave, so slight as to be indetectable, nevertheless fades away as you emerge into the wider world. A gray sky casts shadows over gray fields, a chorus line of misery pounding a drum beat throughout the oppressive smog.

THE MAW ‒ Welcome back to hell. Population: one living mage and an unending repertoire of damned souls.

THE MAW ‒ This is where you should be. This is where you *belong*. The thought is inescapable, clawing out of the ashen ground and threatening to digest you into a masticated pulp. You are not but a worm, desperately trying to escape the soil.

Deprecation ‒ This is where you’ll end up. When you finally fuck up so bad that you can’t weasel your way out of it.

Deprecation ‒ Drink it in, General.

Magistrate ‒ Possible, but very, very unlikely.

Magistrate ‒ The Shadowlands are much kinder, with the Jailer gone and Pelagos at the helm. Only truly, *truly* awful souls get sent here now. Souls like Garrosh, or Kael’thas.

Magistrate ‒ Or Arthas.

Deprecation ‒ And do you really think, General, that you’re better than Arthas?

1. Yes.
2. No.
3. I hope so.
4. I don’t know.

Insight [Trivial: Failure] ‒ *She* would know.

Admiration ‒ Oh, the things she would know.

Admiration ‒ The things she could tell you, General…

Ire ‒ You have absolutely *nothing* to learn from an Alliance whore, General! Especially not one that opened her legs for Arthas!

1. Ask her if you’re better than Arthas.
2. If you ever refer to her in such terms again I will tear my brain out of my skull, find the miserable clump of nerves that represents your voice, and insert you into a diseased rat. Which I will then boil over an open fire. And then feed to a Stonetusk Boar.
3. You’re right. She’s a whore.

Ire ‒ Apologies, General.

Ire ‒ That was too far. I shouldn’t have said that.

1. Scold the voices in your head some more.
2. [Discovery: Godly] How many souls are there left to free?
3. [Mysteries: Formidable] Think of an excuse to go back to sleep.

Discovery [Godly: Failure] ‒ Impossible to say. The landscape warps in on itself, twisting and turning in unnatural ways, defying all mortal comprehension. Yet more, General. That is all I can tell you. Yet more.

1. Collapse to the ground in despair.
2. Try to hit on her.
3. “How many more do you think are left?”
4. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman looks at you, bemused. “You ask me this every morning, you know. My answer hasn’t changed. I have no clue.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “What I *do* know is that it would go a lot faster if you’d just let me help.”

1. “You should leave. It isn’t fair for you to be chained here as well.”
2. “Please don’t leave. I couldn’t bear it.”
3. “No. Stop asking.”
4. “This is not your crime to atone for.”
5. “You’re right. We should split up, cover more ground.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman rolls her eyes at you fondly. “I know. To be honest, I don’t really mind. I’d much rather spend eight months by your side than four months as practical strangers.”

Deprecation ‒ Your company ranks higher than four months of loneliness. Don’t let it go to your head.

Insight [Medium: Success] ‒ That’s not what she means, General.

1. “I’m glad you like being by my side.”
2. “I’m sure there are partners whose company you would much prefer to mine.”
3. “I like being by your side, too.”
4. “Has it been eight months already?”
5. [Desire: Medium] “If I asked if I could kiss you, what would you answer?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman takes your hand in her own. Her flesh is delectably soft and delightfully warm, reminiscent of the silky velvet of a sabercat’s ear. “I don’t know. I quite like your company, Syl.”

1. “Why?”
2. “I like your company too.”
3. “You shouldn’t.”
4. “Thank you. Please don’t stop.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “Really?” She gives you a playful smile and squeezes your hand. “Why’s that?”

1. “I’m evil.”
2. “I’m a war criminal.”
3. “I tried to kill you multiple times.”
4. “I’m an evil war criminal who’s tried to kill you multiple times.”
5. “Sometimes the voices in my head call you names.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman laughs brightly. “Nobody’s perfect. Maybe a year ago I would resent your company ‒ but you’re not who you are a year ago. You’re who you are now. And I like who you are now.”

1. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
2. “You shouldn’t.”
3. “Thank you.”
4. “Let’s get started.” [Continue Day]

THE MAW ‒ Lifeless fields stretch out before you like preening cats. Every direction is the same.

1. Pick a random direction.
2. Take out your compass and follow it.

ENCHANTED COMPASS ‒ You trek through gray, feverish dunes. Hours pass, or perhaps seconds, melting feverishly in the chill of hell. You walk by empty cages, once home to now-free souls, as well as shattered constructs of the Jailer ‒ all familiar territory, until the path curves around a hill and the cave you’ve taken as shelter for the better part of a year disappears from view, and you are suddenly surrounded by wrought-iron cages filled to the brim with wailing, writhing souls.

1. Open the nearest cage.

WROUGHT-IRON CAGE ‒ The cage door swings open, revealing the vague spectral imprints of what must be at least a dozen separate souls. Hell, as has become clear, has a bit of a sardines problem when it comes to packaging. The spirits screech and scream upon spotting you before one brave soul lurches forward and stares you down.

TORTURED SPIRIT ‒ “DEMON! MURDERER! BANSHEE!” The spirit, in keeping with most of its kind, seems to only be able to speak in single words. Even that is an effort, judging by the painful rasp emanating from thin air. “KILL! REVENGE!”

1. “Be free.”

TORTURED SPIRIT ‒ The spirit hesitantly pokes its way out of the cage, before turning to the others and whispering something incomprehensible. In a flash, the whole lot of them are streaking through the sky, spiraling out of hell and into the awaiting arms of Pelagos and, after that, hopefully, something better.

1. Keep going.

YOU ‒ The hours pass slowly and torturously. Not all cages are as packed as the first; some only have a single soul, most have only a handful. The woman hovers a few feet behind you the entire time, having long since learned that you’d rather she respect the solemnity of the moment. At night, by the fire, you sometimes allow yourself brief moments of levity, but not here. Not among the many victims of your blinded, resentful, world-shattering campaign.

YOU ‒ Time stretches and bleeds into itself. The woman munches on a conjured treat from time to time, passing her staff back and forth between her hands. She has a look on her face, like there’s something she wants to say, but she keeps quiet as the day passes feverishly by.

1. It doesn’t concern me. Ignore her.
2. [Insight: Formidable] Attempt to discern what she’s worrying about.
3. “Is something wrong?”

Insight [Formidable: Failure] ‒ Ah, General. I see what it is. It’s quite clear, in fact.

Insight ‒ She’s beginning to realize the scope of your crimes and is growing quite horrified.

Deprecation ‒ About time.

Fear ‒ And so the other shoe drops.

1. “Do you finally see how unforgivable I am? Do you finally see that you should have left me down here to labour in misery?”
2. Please do not make me say that.

YOU ‒ Sorry.

1. “Do you finally see how unforgivable I am? Do you finally see that you should have left me down here to labour in misery?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman glances at you and snorts. “Absolutely not, but I admire the dramatics. No, I just… it might… it might disturb you, that’s all. I don’t want to upset you.”

Fear ‒ This is a bad idea, General. You should keep to the solemnity of your work. The peace. The quiet.

Magistrate ‒ Fuck that! What does she know?

1. “Tell me.”
2. “Don’t tell me.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman bites her lips and then sighs. “I… well. If you’re sure.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “Vereesa would… she’s… interested in a, I guess, get-together. Here. With you. She thinks she might be able to convince Alleria to come, too.”

1. [Unflinching: Impossible] Try not to have a panic attack.

Unflinching [Impossible ‒ Failure] ‒ Sorry, General.

Fear ‒ I warned you. But you didn’t listen, did you? You just *never listen*.

Fear ‒ See how your vision narrows? See how your breath quickens? See how your skin grows numb? See how everything is suddenly roaringly loud in your ears?

Fear ‒ Welcome to Panic Attack town, darling. Population: you.

Fear ‒ There’s only one kindness I can give you now, General.

Fear ‒ A good night’s sleep.

1. No. I want to fight this. I want to stay awake.
2. Pass the fuck out.

WARTORN FIELD ‒ Wind blows harsh and vibrant through the grass, doing little to calm the furious heat raging through your body. It’s a hot summer day in Quel’thalas, and your people are dying in front of you. To the left and to the right, ahead and behind, all around, those you have sworn to defend are ripped apart by the decaying hands of the endless army of the dead. Refugees streak through the battlefield, refugees from a shelter that you promised them would be safe, refugees from a shelter that no longer exists. The dead seem to almost relish the hunt, playing with your people as if they’re nothing more than animals. You cut through ghoul after geist, a reckless whirlwind of death and defense, finally sliding to your knees before‒

THE MAN ON THE HORSE ‒ The air seems to still. He leers down at you, his grin impossibly wide, his eyes sunken and pale. He raises his blade aloft; the runes inscribed into the metal seem almost to cow the very world into submission, the air and heat cringing away in terror.

Insight [Trivial: Success] ‒ This is where you die, General.

THE MAN ON THE HORSE ‒ The sword cleaves through the air slowly, leisurely. It doesn’t hesitate or pause for a moment when it reaches your chest; all that is before it is the same in its cold consideration. Pain, worse than any you’ve felt in your entire life, writhes through your body as your soul is brutally ripped away. There is no blood, no gore, just a single ceaseless crush of agony. It is violation as none before, misery as none before, death as none before. His depraved identity smothers your own, enslaving and debasing your very self.

THE MAN ON THE HORSE ‒ This is not where you die. This is where you are torn apart, and this is where you are brought back together as *his*. It is the first of many such violations, but it is *far* from the last. Like rays of light filtering through the rain, scenes flash before you: blood on your hands, blood in your mouth, corpses strewn in front of you. The scent of rotting flesh and cold steel. It’s a systematic, nigh-universal, destruction of all that you are. 

1. But I won. He’s dead, and my people live. I’m free. I *won*.

THE MAN ON THE HORSE ‒ “You? Win?” He laughs viciously, screaming echoes through the deadened air. “You’ve won nothing. You’re still nothing more than my whore. The great Ranger-General of Quel’thalas, reduced to a plaything for my amusement.”

1. I’m more. Please, I have to be more.

THE MAN ON THE HORSE ‒ “No, Sylvanas. You’re not. You’re a bitch and a laughingstock. You’re not more. You’ve never been more. You know what you are.”

1. [******: Trivial] Be less.

NOTHING ‒ All is quiet. The mutterings of the traitorous world are quenched. You are dark. All is dark.

Discovery ‒ You’re asleep.

1. Keep sleeping.
2. Wake up.

YOU ‒ Ashen winds scream by, chilling and shredding, but you are safe. Not just safe ‒ you’re *warm*, which wouldn’t be too much of a surprise if it weren’t for the fact that you haven’t been warm in three decades.

YOU ‒ And, as your senses slowly flick online, sluggishly clocking into work, you realize that you are not *just* warm. You are being *held*. And not just held ‒ *caressed*, as if you’re something special, something precious. As if you’re more than a rotting carcass who hasn’t yet realized she’s dead.

1. Fuck, she’s holding me, isn’t she?
2. Wait, I’m dead?

YOU ‒ Yes. The woman has picked you up ‒ likely an impossibility back when you were alive, but being a decaying corpse certainly sheds a few pounds ‒ and is carrying you, princess style, somewhere.

Fear ‒ To an execution.

Discovery [Trivial: Success] ‒ Actually, probably back to camp.

Fear ‒ Back to camp. To be executed.

1. Go back to sleep.
2. Pretend to go back to sleep so that you can enjoy being held some more.
3. Call her name.

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman halts. Maybe she glances down at you, maybe she doesn’t; your face is tucked into her body, resting in the crook where her shoulder meets her neck. “Sylvanas? Are you alright?”

1. “No.”
2. “Yes.”
3. “Why are you holding me?”
4. [Deprecation: Medium] Ask for her to put you down.
5. “If you’re going to hold me anyway, do you think I could get a kiss, as well?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman laughs warmly. “I’m trying to bring you home. Do you want me to stop?

1. “No.”
2. [Deprecation: Medium] “Yes.”

Deprecation [Medium: Failure] ‒ You form the word, it’s on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t manage to say it. As much as you hate yourself for it, that hate cannot overrule the sheer warmth seeping into your every nook and cranny.

Deprecation ‒ It’s pathetic.

1. “Please don’t stop.”
2. Fuck, do I actually have to say that?

Affection [Formidable: Success] ‒ Worry not, General! I have devised an alternative utterance!

1. “The light of the sun could not possibly compare to my blinding love for you. I do not want to spend a single miserable second outside of your embrace, my darling.”
2. That’s worse. Do you see how that is worse?

Affection ‒ Ah, General. You are wise indeed. *You* would appreciate a sun metaphor, but she has no such connections. Here, I’ll fix it:

1. “The light of the sun could not possibly compare to my blinding love for you. I do not want to spend a single miserable second outside of your embrace, my darling.”
2. “My love for you is as overwhelming and all consuming as the tides. I do not want to spend a single miserable second outside of your embrace, my darling.”
3. I changed my mind. Let me say the first thing.

Affection ‒ Hmmph. As you wish.

1. “Please don’t stop.”
2. On second thought, take me back to the love confessions.

THE WOMAN ‒ “Of course not.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman holds you tighter. One of her arms is under your waist, the other under your knees. If you focus, you can feel the rippling muscles in her arms, her shoulders, her back. She’s a lot stronger than you thought. Especially for a human.

Magistrate [Easy: Success] ‒ Because she’s *not* fully human. Kul Tirans have interbred with Drust for so many generations that she’s at *least* twenty percent Vrykul.

Desire [Easy: Failure] ‒ Mfmnmm… hot lady… strong… 

Magistrate ‒ Sure, yeah. That too.

1. You’re right. Hot lady.
2. Curl into her. Hold tight, hold close, hold her so violently close that she’s incapable of letting you go, even if she wanted to. Even when she wants to, which she inevitably will.
3. Curl into her, but, like, in a normal way.

YOU ‒ You tuck your face deeper into the linens of her shirt. The warmth of her skin, undaunted by the chilly apocalyptic air, seeps through, sinking into your very bones. The smell of the sea washes over you, brine and salt and sun, tantalizing, *delicious*, cradling you soft and close, the care so deep, so strong, it’s borderline *religious*, the smallest cathedral, just you and her everlasting, eternally.

1. The smallest cathedral?
2. This isn’t normal. We need to stop.
3. I think I’m in love with her.
4. Does this mean she likes me?

YOU ‒ Yes. The smallest cathedral in the Great Dark Beyond. 

1. I would often go there.

YOU ‒ To the tiny church there.

1. The smallest church in Lordaeron.

YOU ‒ Though once it was larger.

1. I want to go back.

YOU ‒ Don’t we all?

1. This isn’t normal. We need to stop.
2. I think I’m in love with her.
3. Does this mean she likes me?

YOU ‒ You think?

Affection ‒ I’m confused. Didn’t we know this already? 

Ire ‒ Revolting. Disgusting. Horrific. You make me sick, General.

Fear ‒ You make *her* sick, too, General. You know you do. She *hates* you, she *despises* you, she wants you *dead*.

Deprecation ‒ And for good reason. What are you? A rotten, worm-infested old cobweb? Mulch and putrid flesh and yellowing bones? What could she possibly want with you?

Insight [Medium: Success] ‒ Well, hold on. She’s holding you right now, isn’t she? And she doesn’t seem too disgusted. That doesn’t seem to be in line with the actions of someone who considers you a *rotten, worm infested old cobweb*.

Admiration [Easy: Success] ‒ Additionally, consider what you know of her. Kind, forgiving, accepting, open-minded. She’s quite possibly the most caring soul you’ve ever met. If there is someone, anyone, in this vast cosmos that could love you, it’d be her.

Insight [Easy: Failure] ‒ Whoah, whoah, hold on there. I never said anything about *love*.

Insight ‒ Yes to the other stuff, though. 

Desire [Formidable: Failure] ‒ She wants to have fuck with you. Trust me on this.

Insight ‒ What?

1. “Do you want to have fuck with me?”
2. “Do you love me?”
3. “Do I make you sick?”
4. None of these seem like great options.

YOU ‒ And? What about it?

1. “Do you want to have fuck with me?”
2. “Do you love me?”
3. “Do I make you sick?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman stops completely in her tracks. “No. No, of course not. Did ‒ did I do something wrong? I ‒ here, hold on. I’ll portal us back, just give me a second.”

THE WOMAN ‒ Her arms tighten around your frail corpse of a body as the tell-tale surge of arcane rips through the dead air. The fabric of your surroundings seems to almost *melt*, space compressed and torn and pasted back together. A wave of nausea shatters into you, as if tearing into the very ligaments of your flesh. Hundreds of years, and you’ve yet to get used to this. When the world stops spinning, you’re home. Well, as close to home as you can get.

WINDSWEPT CAVE ‒ Welcome back, by the way.

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman, still cradling you close, tucks the both of you into the corner of the cave. With a flick of her wrist, the fireplace roars to life, scattering vague heat throughout the shelter. It’s nothing compared to the heat of her body, which by now has infused deep into your very essence.

THE WOMAN ‒ “You don’t make me sick, Sylvanas,” the woman murmurs.

Deprecation ‒ A likely story.

Insight [Easy: Success] ‒ Hold on. If she could teleport the both of you back the entire time, why didn’t she?

1. “I make myself sick.”
2. “Why don’t I make you sick?”
3. “I should make you sick, I’m revolting.”
4. [Insight: Challenging] Why did she teleport us?

Insight [Challenging: Success] ‒ The question isn’t why did she teleport us. The question is why *didn’t* she. She chose to carry you back to camp, when she could have taken a simple shortcut. Why?

Discovery ‒ Could it be because the nature of the Maw requires both parties to be awake to avoid botched casts?

Insight ‒ Good theory, but no. If that was the case, she would have teleported the moment you woke up, General. But she didn’t. She only cast the spell once you seemed to be in distress.

Admiration ‒ She likely knows the effects relocation spells can have on travelers. Was she trying to avoid discomfort on your end?

Insight ‒ It’s possible. There’s another explanation, though.

1. She was trying to save me displeasure.
2. I don’t know why she did it.
3. [Insight: Godly] What’s the other explanation?

Insight [Godly: Success] ‒ Simple. You quite enjoyed being carried, being held. Is it so impossible that she enjoyed it, too? That she wanted to spend more time wrapped up with you? Holding you close?

1. What are you saying?
2. Nevermind, I don’t want to think about this.

Magistrate [Challenging: Success] ‒ Purposefully spending time around you. Going out of her way to be in close physical proximity. Genuine distress at the thought of causing you harm. Putting up with all your idiosyncrasies.

Insight ‒ Not just putting up with them. *Enjoying* them.

Magistrate ‒ General, the evidence seems pretty clear.

1. Fuck.
2. No no no no no no no no no no no she *can’t*.
3. You’re wrong. Entirely. Utterly.

Insight ‒ Possibly.

Insight ‒ There’s an easy way to find out, though.

1. “Why don’t you hate me?”
2. “Why do you love me?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman is quiet for a long moment. Finally, she speaks, her voice quiet and reverent. “Why did you do it, Sylvanas? Why did you burn the tree?”

1. Help.

Ranger-General ‒ You burned the tree because you needed to. They made themselves a military target when they began shipping Azerite to Darkshore. It was the only way to keep Orgrimmar safe from a full out assault.

1. “I did it for strategy.”
2. Keep going.

New Tricks ‒ You burned the tree to uphold your deal with the Jailer. Supply him with powerful souls, *aged* souls, juicy and tender with plenty of anima on their bones, and in return gain the strength to keep yourself alive and in control. It was in exchange for power.

1. “I did it for strategy.”
2. “I did it for power.”
3. That wasn’t why. Not entirely.

Fear ‒ You burned the tree because your hold on the Horde was slipping. You don’t know how to be a peacetime leader, you never have. You needed a fight. You needed to show them you were strong.

1. “I did it for strategy.”
2. “I did it for power.”
3. “I did it for control.”
4. Tell her the real reason, Sylvanas.

YOU ‒ “I did it for strategy. They were shipping Azerite to Darkshore. I needed to keep Orgrimmar safe.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman is silent for a moment. “That’s not all,” she says, respectfully. “I know there’s more to it.”

1. “I did it for power.”
2. “I did it for control.”
3. You can’t keep hiding, Sylvanas. Tell her the truth.

YOU ‒ “I did it for power. I had a… pact, with Zovaal. I needed to feed him anima. The Kaldorei were a convenient, and anima rich, target.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman snorts. “That one *definitely* isn’t the real reason. No amount of power is worth that many pissed off elves. The equations don’t work out.”

1. “I did it for control.”
2. Sylvanas.

YOU ‒ “I did it for control. I was terrified that the Horde would lose their respect for me, and I thought… I’ve always been better at fighting. Even before I died. I wanted to make them need me. So they wouldn’t turn on me. So they couldn’t.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman kisses your forehead, lightly, reverently. If you had a heart, it would be beating out of your chest. “I believe you. I can’t say I would have done the same, but I also can’t say I wouldn’t have. Especially after what you’ve been through. But I know that’s not all.”

1. Tell her the truth.

…

YOU ‒ There aren’t going to be any other options, you know. You can’t just keep waiting here.

1. Tell her the truth.

…

YOU ‒ Seriously, do you think there’s an easter egg if you keep waiting? There’s not. You have to pick something.

1. Tell her the truth.

…

YOU ‒ All right, all right. Here. Have another option.

1. Tell her the truth.
2. Don’t.

YOU ‒ Sike. Get fucked.

1. Tell her the truth.

…

YOU ‒ Okay, that was a little bit mean. 

1. Tell her the truth.
2. You’re right. That was mean.

YOU ‒ Sorry. I won’t do it again. Seriously, though, you’re gonna have to do it. I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.

1. Tell her the truth.

…

MIRACLES ‒ SYLVANAS

1. Tell her the truth.

YOU ‒ “I…”

YOU ‒ You swallow. The words seem to come from outside of you, like you’re casting them from some arcane spellbook, pages that you’ve ripped out of the annals of history, of your life, of your soul.

YOU ‒ “I wanted them to hurt. I wanted them to hurt *like me*. So they would stop… so they would stop telling me it was my fault. Or that I’m broken. Or that I’m… like *him*. I’m not. Please, you have to believe me. *Please*.”

YOU ‒ “You knew him. You know me. Please, Jaina, *tell me I’m not like him*.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “Oh, Sylvanas…”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman rests her hand on your cheek and turns you just so. You’re looking at her, now, peering balefully up at her face. You can’t read her expression. You don’t know if you’ve ever been able to. You don’t know if you’ve ever been able to read anyone’s expression. You’ve always been heterogeneous, haven’t you.

THE WOMAN ‒ “I wish I could tell you. But I can’t.”

1. “... what?”

THE WOMAN ‒ “I think so.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “I really do. I swear on the Tides. I think you’re a good person who’s made some awful mistakes.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “But I can’t decide for you. You have to do that yourself, Sylvanas.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “It’s up to you. Do you think you’re better than him?”

1. “Yes.”
2. “No.”
3. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here?”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman hesitates.

THE WOMAN ‒ “That’s… well. You could put it that way.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “I am, though. In love with you. But you’re not ready for that, are you?”

1. “No. I want to be. But no.”

THE WOMAN ‒ “Does it help? To know I believe in you?”

1. “I think so.”
2. “I don’t think so.”

THE WOMAN ‒ The woman smiles at you.

THE WOMAN ‒ “I think so too,” she says, and it sounds like absolution.