"Have her brought to me. Unharmed."
Sylvanas Windrunner, former Ranger-General of Silvermoon, Banshee Queen of the Undercity, Dark Lady of the Forsaken, did not hesitate when she heard the news. Contemplating in her throne room with her various Forsaken advisors, the Queen knew that her guest was a special one.
It was not fair to call Sylvanas truly undead. When one considered the word, they expected cold necromancy; black-eyed Death Knights, shambling skeletons, putrefying abominations. Sylvanas was more than that. Despite death, she had control of her natural body once more. That form was a former High Elf of Quel'Thalas, one of the famous Windrunner sisters.
Her Elven beauty persevered through death, corrupted, muted, but still visible. A cowled hood shadowed shining red eyes, the ornate breastplate that bore her ample bosom baring a slim, tapered midriff. Few of her subjects would have cared to judge her beautiful; few of her enemies had had the opportunity to behold it.
Sylvanas had led the Forsaken away from the control of the Lich King, being among the first to escape her role as a mindless undead. As a result, she was independent above all, enforcing a cold iron will to pursue her own interests as the leader of the Forsaken.
As an abomination, preceded by his stench, dragged in the prisoner by chain, Sylvanas regarded one who had yet to be similarly cursed by death, but had an indomitable will of her own.
Disastrous experience had hardened the spirit of Jaina Proudmoore. As if to mark it, her hair had gone white, a visual symbol of her transition from youthful idealism to disenfranchised adulthood. Only a streak of blonde remained to mark her tormented youth.
Jaina had rarely been fortunate. A lover turned traitor and brought to justice, a fanatical father killed with her assistance, a desire for peace broken by endless resistance, and finally the destruction of Theramore and many she cared about. All this featured into the life of this persevering young woman, aged before her time by hate and circumstance.
One could hardly say that Sylvanas had been fortunate either. Fighting valiantly for her people, struck down in Arthas' bloody rampage through Quel'Thalas, tortured and raised into a Banshee spirit. Both women were souls who had suffered much in the history of Azeroth, but here they were now, together. Perhaps that joint misfortune, a connection, was what made Sylvanas bring Jaina before her, alive and unharmed.
"Leave us. Now."
Sylvanas' rule was law in the Undercity. Her advisors and the abomination left without comment, leaving the two alone in the throne room. Sylvanas sat back into her seat, holding Jaina's chain as she did so.
"We meet at last, Jaina. I've heard much about you."
"Go to hell." The young blonde sorceress spat the words out defiantly, heedlessly. "Your pathetic Horde may have won this time, but I'll be damned if I have to linger. Kill me and be done with it."
The words echoed in Sylvanas' mind. It reminded her of Arthas denying her the quick death she sought, and then her subsequent attempt to do the same to him. The Banshee Queen regarded the furious young woman before her without expression.
"If I wanted you dead, you would be," she finally said. "On the contrary, I have quite a bit of respect for you."
Jaina gazed suspiciously at the Banshee Queen. "Like hell. Release me or kill me, but do not toy with me."
"I quite like you just where you are." Sylvanas stroked her bow propped up against her dark throne. "However, you have been quite a nuisance to the Horde over time. You must be at least taught...a lesson."
A glimpse of fear entered Jaina's eyes but the rage quickly returned. "Screw you, bitch."
Sylvanas laughed. Her burning red eyes gazed into the blazingly defiant blue ones. Beneath the fierceness Sylvanas could still see the youthful beauty that had caught the eye of a young Crown Prince of Lordaeron, and that of Quel'Thalas as well.
"I have a problem you can help me with. You see, my body is still quite...alive, unlike most of my subjects. As a result, they are woefully ill-equipped to address my needs. I think you can help me with that."
The Banshee Queen tugged on the chain with sudden strength, sending Jaina staggering forward a few meters.
"Not that I'm giving you a choice in the matter, either."
Sylvanas rose as Jaina coughed at the cruel way the chain had dug into her neck. The Dark Ranger undid the clasp of her cloak and cowl, throwing them aside, unleashing long locks of blonde-white hair and the two long thin ears of Elvenkind. "You are going to help me, whether you like it or not. But this does not have to be so unpleasant for you. I hope you may even find joy in this."
Jaina could still not reply between coughing. Her head bowed, she heard the sound of Sylvanas undoing yet another clasp. As she looked up, she saw the final stages of the Dark Lady of the Forsaken removing her breastplate with both hands behind her back. Sylvanas grinned at her captive seductively as the garment dislodged from its lodging on her bosom, then tossed it to the ground onto her cloak, the sound muffled.
Sylvanas Windrunner was bared from the waist up, her breasts, the same pale blue colour of her skin, were large and proud. Hard nipples protruded from dark blue aereolas. The sight was mildly unsettling but immensely arousing. Against her will, Jaina felt a faint stirring in her loins.
"Do you like what you see?" The Banshee Queen asked her captive in a seductive tone.
"You are a twisted bitch, Sylvanas."
"I am what circumstance made me to be, Jaina," Sylvanas said. "Just like you, whether you choose to admit it or not. We have more in common than you might expect." When Jaina did not reply, Sylvanas shook her head. Her sizable breasts jiggled with the movement. "I guess you aren't impressed yet. Maybe if I showed you the whole package..."
