A muffled click-clack rang down the stony halls of the Undercity, stiff boots moving at a rushed pace from underneath rustling skirts. Annaliese was late for her meeting, having taken far too long in closing up shop in Dalaran. A sigh echoed out of her and rushed past the walls as she let her gaze scour the surroundings, taking in the smells, the dreary sight of the forlorn buttresses above, wincing at the screech of a giant bat as it whisked through the air with its transport. It had only been a week since the last visit, and she hadn’t stayed away long enough, apparently, because everything about the glorified crypt was eating away at her nerves tonight. Even as one of the Forsaken, Annaliese did not feel at ‘home’ so often in Lady Sylvanas’ castle. Perhaps it was the sneering looks of other Forsaken as they glanced her way as she walked by, or perhaps it was the shrieks and moans of the live prisoners as she passed the dungeons.
Or perhaps she was just spoiled by the magical city of Dalaran. Anna smirked to herself.
Duties were to be done, however, and Anna was nothing if not a superb trader, even when it came to her studies. Master Demonologist Lacransa awaited her in the Magic Quarter now for the delivery. Lacransa was cruel, conniving, and manipulative--the epitome of a warlock--and Anna, as a student, did not wish to earn the undead woman‘s ire. Her void walker sped quietly behind her, a large crate floating in its abyssal mass, safe. Delivering demon parts every week for the class’ study had become Annaliese’s sole assignment, and so far she performed the role well, bringing better examples of armor and limbs or horns each week for the Instructor’s inspection.
Tonight, her delivery came to a slow in front of the Magic Quarter, finding a small crowd gathered in discussion…and argument. Anna came to an outright stop when she realized that Instructor Lacransa seemed to be sparking it.
“I don’t *care* what you think, you overgrown goblin!” Lacransa spat at an armored Orc, who towered over her frail body. Some ashes sullied his helm and his face, making the guard look as if he had dark, dark circles around his eyes beneath the helm. Lacransa’s hand was wrapped tightly around he black diamond staff, the sharp edges of it cutting slices into her hand, and her other hand had the arm of another forsaken student ensnared in her black fingernails. He looked rather miserable, Anna surmised. “Any warlock is given full permission to perform their magic anywhere within the Undercity! You cannot arrest my student for practicing alone!”
“I am not taking him for practicing alone, witch! He took aim at my face and threw the embers!” the Orc snarled back, raking his gauntleted hand into the opposite sleeve of the forsaken in question. It only took a bat of the fleshy green fingers, and the student’s skeletal hand popped off, plopping down on the ground. The skeletal hand practically went unnoticed by all but the poor sop being yanked back and forth between the Kor’kron Guard and Lacransa.
“Nonsense!” the warlock instructor scoffed, and smugly smiled at the orc. “What did you do, walk right between the wooden dummies and get smarted by a few flares? Hah! Looks like your helm is a little too low on your brow, Most Honored Guard. Too embarrassed to admit your stupidity? Lets forget this and get back to our posts already--”
The Guard pointed his axe to the Forsaken student, his teeth set in anger. “Enough of this talk! Give me a reason not to take this underhanded demon-lover before I cleave him in half here and now and take something anyway! Or release him to me and let us be done with this!”
“Think about it this way, ingrate.” A slow growl uttered out from the Kor’kron Guard, but Lacransa stepped in close to the hostile orc, mere inches from his sharpened tusks. She narrowed her ochre colored eyes, the haggard, tense face suddenly seeming more hollow. “Deathwing’s flames can bring down *much* more than we could ever hope to. So while you are here wasting time trying to detain this idiot, you are keeping *me* from shaping him into a proper warlock worthy of infiltrating the Twilight’s forces.”
The Forsaken dared to smile, craning his head up to look on the Instructor, half-a step away from pride. The only thing that met him was a dangerous look from the undead witch, and a cruel smile. “Or at least as the first wave of fodder to shield the real talent.” He hung his head once more, swallowing hard.This seemed to placate the Orc, a throaty grunt rattling out of him. Still, he narrowed his eyes at Lacransa and her ward.
“Do it again, deader, and you’ll be in pieces faster than your demon-loving harpy can come save you.” And with that the Orc walked away, disgruntled, but perhaps more merciful than others of his kind. Anna nodded gently to the Kor’kron in passing, but he only sneered at her in return. The sound of something being pounded quickly drew her attention to Lacransa. There, the Instructor was beating her student over the head with her staff, enraged.
“You stupid little fel-licker! I should have let the damned orc take you. Bah!” Lacransa shrieked in front of the Magical Quarter as she continued trying to beat sense into the wayward student.
“Ahem. Lady Lacransa….?” Anna’s voice quietly flowed to the two, hesitantly unraveling from the shadows she stepped out of.
“…What?! What? Oh! Yes. The crate. Hmph,” Lacransa took a moment to resituate herself. Anna was staring at the punished Forsaken, who was still cowering, hands over his head that now sported more unnatural bruising than usual.“Well? What are you staring at? Bring it here, girl!” Anna snapped to attention and directed her void walker to release the crate, and its amorphous mass twisted, squeezing the container out of its shadowy form. The crate top then was torn open by the demon at another command, and Lacransa stepped over to inspect the wares.
“Well. At least one thing’s gone half-way decently today,” the Instructor spoke impassively, but Anna could see the glint of appeasement in her eyes. “Do not forget to attend class at the week’s end, or this will all mean nothing for your grade, Lady Annaliese!“ Lacransa gave the title of her name a sting of sarcasm, before turning to shriek at the abused student: “Derget! Get your worthless bones over here and help me unpack this!
“So goes a typical night in the Undercity, Annaliese thought to herself. Just as quickly as she came through the halls, she sped through to the nearest exit, silent as a ghost.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Collection
It was long past the witching hour in Dalaran, and most establishments within the merchant circle in the city were quiet, their proprietors using these slower hours to restock their wares, to tally up their earnings for the day. This was no different in the Hand of Fate, of which a faint glow of light could be seen from the tower that housed it even from as far as the city below. This night, Annaliese worked late, as had been custom for the past week. Carefully she arranged the set of leathery wings upon the glass counter, gently stretching the sinewy appendage, testing its strength. The wings were huge and a deep crimson in color, both color and size attributed to the rank of demon they once belonged to: an Elder Sayaad. An organic armor graced the outer edge of the wings, black as burned oak and strong and sharp as an assassin’s finest blade. She checked the metallic caps soldered to the tip of each wing--her own handiwork--and the cap of metal melted to the back of the wings, where they had been dislocated from the demon’s spine.
It had been a messy process, the trophy, but all the more worth it for Annaliese.
Anna had never been one to hold a particular hatred for demons, like so many others. There had always been a large difference between ‘dislike’ and ‘hate’ for her, and while she noted quite a few human warlocks that seemed to develop personal relationships with their own minions, she herself knew this was a line she could not bring herself to cross. Ever. Despite a few instances of using pain as a tool to put her succubus, Elernia in her proper place, Annaliese felt she had always been a fair mistress, tolerating all of her demon’s presences when the situation called for it. She was also not the best demonologist at any point of her living existence, and even now as one of the undead, the uncanny focus she developed didn’t effect her own demon’s outlook of her. Wraa the Felstalker knew it was by her hand that he would get his daily treat of soul essences if he obeyed, Zigham the imp still had his ridiculous paranoid notions of her, and Elernia…well. Annaliese always got the uneasy feeling that the demoness saw her as some ‘pet’ secretly being molded into something else. With the succubus, Annaliese could never be too sure.
Ever since her days of apprenticeship in Northshire, Anna knew the troubles of the Legion. Even before this, her tormentor, Bastion Delaurac made it quite clear how completely the Fel could corrupt, how easily a soul could be twisted to madness--he’d certainly made good work of staining her own spirit by example. Her days among the Scions of Darkness had given her a great insight into the Legion’s forces, and while their practices had varied between taboo and deplorable, through the familial cult she had learned the greatest lessons of what it meant to be a warlock. The ongoing fight against the Legion’s corruption had been more a duty for her than anything, a personal penance for all the wrong she had done. Yet, she could never say she knew the hatred of demon kind, the sort of hatred a vengeful paladin felt burning so hot in his heart that he would smash his hammer in the face of the nearest fel-creature just to lessen the burn.
In one moment of rage, this all had changed.
Perhaps it had been her own fault for stepping into Karazhan so heedlessly, cursed as the place was. Nothing in the place could threaten her as it once did, and with the help of the crew of Dalaran Magazine, Annaliese was given the freedom to explore the fortress in no time. Walking the Maiden’s hall like it was a glorified treasure trove, Anna had found the orb and remembered the sheer excitement of the discovery--who knew what secret of magic it hid? With all the arrogance of the haughtiest mage, she dared even take the artifact to her own home. A paperweight? Really? Who would place such a cursed artifact so carelessly? Silently, she berated herself for her own actions again as her mind went back to the moment when the orb shattered, releasing the energies of the contained spirit. How easily it took control of her, infected her! Sickening it was to remember the feel of the the demon’s spirit twining with her own, to know what it would use her body to do. How she hated it for violating him…her love, breaking what was precious to her…
She clicked the ruby containing the Sayaad’s blood roughly into place upon the trophied wings, and let out a pleased sigh--it would make a beautiful piece. Though the demon concubine’s spirit had been exorcised from her weeks ago, Annaliese knew that this trophy would only be the first of many. There was no greater sense of peace she felt now that did not result in the dismemberment of a demon, and she could only hope her love would understand this little…change. With every greater demon she took down, a new decoration would grace the Hand of Fate.
And Instructor Lacransa of the Undercity’s Demonology class would be thrilled to have a surplus of demonic reagents.
It had been a messy process, the trophy, but all the more worth it for Annaliese.
Anna had never been one to hold a particular hatred for demons, like so many others. There had always been a large difference between ‘dislike’ and ‘hate’ for her, and while she noted quite a few human warlocks that seemed to develop personal relationships with their own minions, she herself knew this was a line she could not bring herself to cross. Ever. Despite a few instances of using pain as a tool to put her succubus, Elernia in her proper place, Annaliese felt she had always been a fair mistress, tolerating all of her demon’s presences when the situation called for it. She was also not the best demonologist at any point of her living existence, and even now as one of the undead, the uncanny focus she developed didn’t effect her own demon’s outlook of her. Wraa the Felstalker knew it was by her hand that he would get his daily treat of soul essences if he obeyed, Zigham the imp still had his ridiculous paranoid notions of her, and Elernia…well. Annaliese always got the uneasy feeling that the demoness saw her as some ‘pet’ secretly being molded into something else. With the succubus, Annaliese could never be too sure.
Ever since her days of apprenticeship in Northshire, Anna knew the troubles of the Legion. Even before this, her tormentor, Bastion Delaurac made it quite clear how completely the Fel could corrupt, how easily a soul could be twisted to madness--he’d certainly made good work of staining her own spirit by example. Her days among the Scions of Darkness had given her a great insight into the Legion’s forces, and while their practices had varied between taboo and deplorable, through the familial cult she had learned the greatest lessons of what it meant to be a warlock. The ongoing fight against the Legion’s corruption had been more a duty for her than anything, a personal penance for all the wrong she had done. Yet, she could never say she knew the hatred of demon kind, the sort of hatred a vengeful paladin felt burning so hot in his heart that he would smash his hammer in the face of the nearest fel-creature just to lessen the burn.
In one moment of rage, this all had changed.
Perhaps it had been her own fault for stepping into Karazhan so heedlessly, cursed as the place was. Nothing in the place could threaten her as it once did, and with the help of the crew of Dalaran Magazine, Annaliese was given the freedom to explore the fortress in no time. Walking the Maiden’s hall like it was a glorified treasure trove, Anna had found the orb and remembered the sheer excitement of the discovery--who knew what secret of magic it hid? With all the arrogance of the haughtiest mage, she dared even take the artifact to her own home. A paperweight? Really? Who would place such a cursed artifact so carelessly? Silently, she berated herself for her own actions again as her mind went back to the moment when the orb shattered, releasing the energies of the contained spirit. How easily it took control of her, infected her! Sickening it was to remember the feel of the the demon’s spirit twining with her own, to know what it would use her body to do. How she hated it for violating him…her love, breaking what was precious to her…
She clicked the ruby containing the Sayaad’s blood roughly into place upon the trophied wings, and let out a pleased sigh--it would make a beautiful piece. Though the demon concubine’s spirit had been exorcised from her weeks ago, Annaliese knew that this trophy would only be the first of many. There was no greater sense of peace she felt now that did not result in the dismemberment of a demon, and she could only hope her love would understand this little…change. With every greater demon she took down, a new decoration would grace the Hand of Fate.
And Instructor Lacransa of the Undercity’s Demonology class would be thrilled to have a surplus of demonic reagents.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Ruins
It had been a long trip, alone to the Gilnean countryside. Forsaken and worgen alike seemed to be at a standstill over the contested territory, and it had been relatively easy for the drake to land out near the rocky cliff sides, unbothered. Annaliese peered out over the stormy oceans for a long moment, watching the waves crash up against the rocky precipices. Gulls cried out from above her, but her eyes gleamed like lanterns over the dark waters below her, stuck to the waves and all their mysterious glory. Could she still perhaps feel the cold of those depths crashing against her flesh in this state? Or was the water a numbing blanket, lulling one such as her into a comatose sleep?
Her enthrallment almost caused her to tip over the cliff side and into the deep blue, but the strong wing of her drake came forward, ushering her back gently to safety. The forsaken woman let out a quiet chuckle. She must have seemed like she could be carried off by a wind to the Netherdrake, so small she was by comparison. The small, white hand that reached up to stroke his muzzle seemed to glow in the low-light of the pine trees.
“I am glad you are here with me, Onin,” she called softly, and began to walk past the drake. The ruins of the manor before her stretched up and up ahead as she walked nearer, the garden long withered in front of it. The lattice gate was knocked off of its hinges---she was sure it was whole the last time she visited. Broken pieces of furniture, dirty drapes, and now unrecognizable antiques lay in a scattered trail on the walkway, and yet another window was smashed, more recent additions by way of desperate vandalism. She was like a ghost here in both thought and appearance, silently mourning what once was. It was a sad sight. Slowly, she picked her way through the ruin, gathering up what remained of her childhood.
Piecing it all back together, if only for her mother’s memory.
How many times had she been told to scrape the memories of life from her mind since her fall to the Forsaken? Too many too count. It was a natural stage in the Dark Lady’s war machine, to carve perfect soldiers out of her people. Perhaps being bound in service and duty to such a cause alone was a satisfactory way in spending the rest of one’s unlife, but Annaliese’s own ideals on the matter fell…short. High Instructor Lacransa could scream about the power of a ‘true warlock’ until all the black diamonds in her precious staff shattered, if she wanted, but Anna could not simply, forget.
More than that, she did not want to forget.
It was like swimming through wreckage, when Annaliese stepped through the broken doors of the manor, wooden utencils and glass pooled at her feet. Past the large, mahogany dining table was the stone fireplace, and scoping its mantle, she found something to be missing. From the inner pockets of her garments, she pulled out the small wooden picture frame. She smiled down at her handiwork, having restored the piece with a pane of new glass, so that the wrinkled picture inside could be looked upon just a bit more clearly. It made a solemn scraping sound as it was put in place on the mantle, as solemn as the photographed eyes that stared out at her now. She managed to smile in return at the small picture frame, feeling she had done something right for the first time in a long time. Perhaps her young sister Charlette would never forgive her for the loss of the man in the picture frame, but Anna could see in his gentle, sad expression, that he might have.
“Welcome home,” she whispered to the picture of the brother she never got to know.
And with that, Annaliese took the old, wooden broom in hand, and began to sweep.
Her enthrallment almost caused her to tip over the cliff side and into the deep blue, but the strong wing of her drake came forward, ushering her back gently to safety. The forsaken woman let out a quiet chuckle. She must have seemed like she could be carried off by a wind to the Netherdrake, so small she was by comparison. The small, white hand that reached up to stroke his muzzle seemed to glow in the low-light of the pine trees.
“I am glad you are here with me, Onin,” she called softly, and began to walk past the drake. The ruins of the manor before her stretched up and up ahead as she walked nearer, the garden long withered in front of it. The lattice gate was knocked off of its hinges---she was sure it was whole the last time she visited. Broken pieces of furniture, dirty drapes, and now unrecognizable antiques lay in a scattered trail on the walkway, and yet another window was smashed, more recent additions by way of desperate vandalism. She was like a ghost here in both thought and appearance, silently mourning what once was. It was a sad sight. Slowly, she picked her way through the ruin, gathering up what remained of her childhood.
Piecing it all back together, if only for her mother’s memory.
How many times had she been told to scrape the memories of life from her mind since her fall to the Forsaken? Too many too count. It was a natural stage in the Dark Lady’s war machine, to carve perfect soldiers out of her people. Perhaps being bound in service and duty to such a cause alone was a satisfactory way in spending the rest of one’s unlife, but Annaliese’s own ideals on the matter fell…short. High Instructor Lacransa could scream about the power of a ‘true warlock’ until all the black diamonds in her precious staff shattered, if she wanted, but Anna could not simply, forget.
More than that, she did not want to forget.
It was like swimming through wreckage, when Annaliese stepped through the broken doors of the manor, wooden utencils and glass pooled at her feet. Past the large, mahogany dining table was the stone fireplace, and scoping its mantle, she found something to be missing. From the inner pockets of her garments, she pulled out the small wooden picture frame. She smiled down at her handiwork, having restored the piece with a pane of new glass, so that the wrinkled picture inside could be looked upon just a bit more clearly. It made a solemn scraping sound as it was put in place on the mantle, as solemn as the photographed eyes that stared out at her now. She managed to smile in return at the small picture frame, feeling she had done something right for the first time in a long time. Perhaps her young sister Charlette would never forgive her for the loss of the man in the picture frame, but Anna could see in his gentle, sad expression, that he might have.
“Welcome home,” she whispered to the picture of the brother she never got to know.
And with that, Annaliese took the old, wooden broom in hand, and began to sweep.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Comfort
Annaliese stared at her image in the full mirror, the darkness of the bedroom not keeping her from seeing the scars curving up her jaw. She winced at the sight of it as she opened the scarf off of what she‘d been hiding. At least her husband’s salve had soothed the pain of the burns, miraculous as the cream was. The Medic was the king of miracles. Seated upon his throne of bandages. The amusing image of it all filled her with a smitten feeling that momentarily staved off the pain of her sister’s betrayal.
Being loved by a medic with necromantic talents had many perks.
The medicine, at best, made the reddish marks lighten into veins…or fine vines that ran up the skin below her collar. They were turning violet now with the aid of the shadow-infused salve, and they had not received nearly enough attention as she should give. She opened the high collar, tucking it down to spy upon her sister’s handiwork. Gently, she slathered her throat and shoulder with the salve, the twisted look of hatred on Charlette’s face gleaming through her mind. No words, no explanation, only the cold taste of betrayal delivered by fire.
Anna flinched, jumping back slightly from the mirror as the bedroom door opened. The light of the hall pooled in from the dining area to chase away the soft darkness that surrounded her.
“Why are you standing alone in the darkness, beloved?” The Medic’s voice came, soft and tender, glowing eyes watching her from the doorway. She looked down and away, hearing the sound of his robes rustle as he stepped in.
“Just…taking care of things.” She felt him slip his arms around her from behind, taking the jar of salve from her fingers. Her body reacted appropriately, seeking a small comfort from his embrace, but she halted herself. He had been working hard, and she was tired of being an incessant burden on him when he needed to be resting for another day. Too often, she felt like she strapped herself around him like a satchel, unable to do anything for herself without his consent, or his advice. When she reached for the jar of salve however, he pulled it from her reach, and held her hands at bay.
“You should be letting me apply it, love,” he whispered into her ear, turning her back around gently to face the full mirror. The door was half-closed, the quiet light from the hall setting a warm glow about their reflections. It was something he wanted her to see, clearly, sensing her depression.
She was beyond beautiful in his eyes, no matter what the scar.
“I…I’m almost done. I should be tending to Laelah,” Anna answered, trying to pull up the collar of her robes. His hands came again for hers again, pushing them down with light touches. She felt his fingers trek up her sleeves, flattening the collar around the length of her shoulder to eye the scars. Yet another time he took it upon himself to fix her wounds.
“….asleep. What about the rest of you?” She tensed as his hands investigated her. The doctor was in. “Let me help you.” His urging words were complimented by tender little kisses, decked against her scarred throat.
“You don’t have to do that. You’ve been working all day…hh…” Her voice halted as his fingers quested beneath cloth with different intentions. The door was closed completely with a slight push of his boot, sending them both back into soft darkness.
“And you have been thinking all day. I can tell. Let me ease your mind. Let me…”
“Nn…wh…where did you put the papers Charlette sent me? ….zam…”
“Shhh…let me take care of you.”
Being loved by a medic with necromantic talents had many perks.
The medicine, at best, made the reddish marks lighten into veins…or fine vines that ran up the skin below her collar. They were turning violet now with the aid of the shadow-infused salve, and they had not received nearly enough attention as she should give. She opened the high collar, tucking it down to spy upon her sister’s handiwork. Gently, she slathered her throat and shoulder with the salve, the twisted look of hatred on Charlette’s face gleaming through her mind. No words, no explanation, only the cold taste of betrayal delivered by fire.
Anna flinched, jumping back slightly from the mirror as the bedroom door opened. The light of the hall pooled in from the dining area to chase away the soft darkness that surrounded her.
“Why are you standing alone in the darkness, beloved?” The Medic’s voice came, soft and tender, glowing eyes watching her from the doorway. She looked down and away, hearing the sound of his robes rustle as he stepped in.
“Just…taking care of things.” She felt him slip his arms around her from behind, taking the jar of salve from her fingers. Her body reacted appropriately, seeking a small comfort from his embrace, but she halted herself. He had been working hard, and she was tired of being an incessant burden on him when he needed to be resting for another day. Too often, she felt like she strapped herself around him like a satchel, unable to do anything for herself without his consent, or his advice. When she reached for the jar of salve however, he pulled it from her reach, and held her hands at bay.
“You should be letting me apply it, love,” he whispered into her ear, turning her back around gently to face the full mirror. The door was half-closed, the quiet light from the hall setting a warm glow about their reflections. It was something he wanted her to see, clearly, sensing her depression.
She was beyond beautiful in his eyes, no matter what the scar.
“I…I’m almost done. I should be tending to Laelah,” Anna answered, trying to pull up the collar of her robes. His hands came again for hers again, pushing them down with light touches. She felt his fingers trek up her sleeves, flattening the collar around the length of her shoulder to eye the scars. Yet another time he took it upon himself to fix her wounds.
“….asleep. What about the rest of you?” She tensed as his hands investigated her. The doctor was in. “Let me help you.” His urging words were complimented by tender little kisses, decked against her scarred throat.
“You don’t have to do that. You’ve been working all day…hh…” Her voice halted as his fingers quested beneath cloth with different intentions. The door was closed completely with a slight push of his boot, sending them both back into soft darkness.
“And you have been thinking all day. I can tell. Let me ease your mind. Let me…”
“Nn…wh…where did you put the papers Charlette sent me? ….zam…”
“Shhh…let me take care of you.”
Friday, November 26, 2010
Student
Tucked up high in the Aldor balcony, a forsaken woman stood, overlooking the City of Shattrath. She might have been a ghost there to most eyes, pale and willowy in the sunlight, her long hair like an incessant shadow refusing to give in to such rays. She was an oddity surely in the city of Light, though these days it received little company. Even the lower pavillion of the city was beginning to rebuild, more refugees piling out every day to find their place in the rest of Outland. The peace was a vast difference from the cluttered streets of Orgrimmar, but she found herself missing the view from the wooden loft, watching so many pass below her to attend to their own business.
It had grown too peaceful.
Annaliese twitched as she was bumped in the back by a very large dragon nose. Onin, the netherdrake she'd befriended years ago, nosed her again to fully gain her attention. Surprise lifted her brow, finding the juvenile drake in his normal form. He'd taken a liking to a smaller, elven form, granted to him by her own Orb of the Sindorei, seeing the world through the eyes of the dual-legged. The orb had taken the extra tinkering well, prolonging the time of its illusion much longer than the initial five minutes at a time. The Consortium were quite industrious when well compensated, she knew.
Between their shared hoarding of soul essences, an ethereal and a warlock could find quite a common ground.
'You are thinking of flying, I can tell,' Onin's deep voice slid into her mind. The cold discomfort of Northrend often kept the drake away--his fragile skin could withstand the blast of fel energy, but to ice Onin seemed to falter. Even in their distance, Anna found their mental bond to be as strong as it ever was. She curled her pale fingers over the drake's muzzle, petting gently as he continued to send his thoughts. 'Let me take you through the forest, like I used to. You used to love our flights over the river.' Onin ground his teeth, shaking his head at the tickling of her shadowy hair. 'Your changes have not taken those joys from you too, have they?'
Annaliese drew in a breath to sigh, stealing in air that she no longer used. "I am dead, Onin, not mindless. There are things I still enjoy as much as I used to." She gently scratched the leathery tuft of skin that dangled beneath his chin. "I came to terms with my state a while ago. Why can you not, my pet?"
The drake stared down at her with twin violet eyes, and then relented. 'Perhaps you are right. I am not of the natural world either, am I?'
A chuckle left her now, and the ghostly woman nodded. "True, true. Now go. Take Laelah with you and keep watch over her. She will love a flight."
Onin snorted indignantly, though half-way amused. 'The child-elf? Are you sure? She may fly off of my back like a passing twig! So small!'
"She is much stronger than you credit her for. Go. Perhaps she will like to take her little friend Alundria. A picnic in the Skethyl mountains, hm?"
'You would like it too, matron. Come join us.'
Annaliese smiled at the affectionate term, but she shook her head. "I have other plans tonight, I am afraid."
Onin canted his great head at the forsaken woman. 'Something calls you away where I may not go?'
"...somewhat, Onin. I'll return by the midnight hour."
*******
Deep beneath the Undercity, Annaliese walked down the canals, on past the Apothecarium--she could almost overlook the smell of death and poison wafting from its putrid laboratories. The air was cleaner as she passed on down the Royal Quarter, where only the sound of chanting banshees haunted her. The chill flowing out of the twisting inner passages bluffed her as she passed them, but she remained undettered. Eyes followed her from those dark passages, unknown things skittering around in the shadows, climbing over walls to watch another "deader" wander by. She remembered times when she would look over her shoulders by now, or stop to make sure no one was truly following after her.
Those days were gone. She now fit into the architecture.
What did unnerve her were the rumors floating about outside of the city, the occasional tremors of the earth that she'd felt as she had traveled to the ruins of Lordaeron. Talks of armageddon set so many on edge, sent so many into flurries of shopping for essential goods. Were cultists really attacking Ogrimmar? Even further her mind went, and despite her trying not to, she wondered about Stormwind. Those she once knew as friends...how were they faring during this insanity? The soft taps of her boots came to a slow stop. Her thoughts were getting out of hand. She turned, looking down a torch-lit corridor, whispered voices traveling down it.
Sometimes the most one could do was to be prepared.
"If you do -not- have an inkling as to what a demonic circle is, then you certainly do not belong my class!" The sharp, cold voice of a woman snapped down the corridor, and Annaliese followed it until it opened up into the study hall before her. Students sat behind a multitude of desks, all their attention upon the pacing Instructor, her sharp heels clicking against the stone floor. When she stopped, she struck the ground with her staff, the black pieces of diamonds encrusted to it shining in the torchlight. Her unearthly eyes ran down the rows of the seated students, and her lips opened wire tight against her face as she grinned viciously.
"Of course, you may choose to stay in my class, but I will not be surprised if you are lost within portal. Or ripped to shreds by something beyond the veil. You knew the risks when you signed the contract." The demonic circle at the forsaken's feet dissipated, and her eyes took a sharp turn to Annaliese's figure which lingered in the darkness of the hall.
"I see you there, girl, and you are late. Come here."
The podium held both a dagger, and scraps of parchment as Annaliese approached at the Instructor's beckoning. "You will sign this contract before entering this session. Understand that neither I, nor the written instructors, nor the Undercity will be held responsible for your safety. Signing this contract will also bind you to the Exchange." Lecranza smirked, her eyes piercing through the newest student. "The terms of the demonic tithe will vary from warlock to warlock, and that, my dear, will be for you to figure out on your own. As always. Hold out your hand."
A path of blood was cut into the pale skin of Annaliese's palm, and blood was made to dribble down upon the parchment. "Sign." She had done it before, signing away her name, etching the certainty that a weight would be placed on her soul for something owed. There were no second thoughts as she scraped her name into the piece of parchment, no flinching as she felt the heat of magic drive through her, cementing the magical contract. This was the process for attaining new demonic knowledge. The contract was rolled up into the Instructor's hands, and thus vanished in an array of glowing pink light.
"It is done. Welcome. Now..."
The Instructor raised her arms, spitting out words in demonic, forceful. Lacranza made no secret of her will over the dark arts, summoning a demonic portal right behind the podium. With another fling of her hands, she bade the doors open, and the portal hissed its magic into the cold air of the classroom. Each student was lining up before the summoned doorway, and Annaliese fell into order.
"I hope you have brought your Shards of Offering today! The altar inside of Nechniabain will take much more from you without the proper offering! You will learn the upper echelon of spells that will truly test your will as a warlock!" Another rap of the staff, and the first student entered the demonic portal. "Next! Hurry it up people--every moment you stay here dawdling is every moment your friends are endangered! Get in there!"
Lacranza quickly shoved the students in, cackling at the faces of two blood elves who she'd just pushed into the portal. Now Annaliese stood at the front of the line of students, looking on into the swirling abyss. Lacranza's splitting smile was aimed at her now.
"Are you ready to earn your place in my class, Annaliese? You will succeed here, or you may not come back."
Stiffening up her body, Anna eyed the Instructor for a moment, and then nodded silently, before stepping through into the darkness.
It had grown too peaceful.
Annaliese twitched as she was bumped in the back by a very large dragon nose. Onin, the netherdrake she'd befriended years ago, nosed her again to fully gain her attention. Surprise lifted her brow, finding the juvenile drake in his normal form. He'd taken a liking to a smaller, elven form, granted to him by her own Orb of the Sindorei, seeing the world through the eyes of the dual-legged. The orb had taken the extra tinkering well, prolonging the time of its illusion much longer than the initial five minutes at a time. The Consortium were quite industrious when well compensated, she knew.
Between their shared hoarding of soul essences, an ethereal and a warlock could find quite a common ground.
'You are thinking of flying, I can tell,' Onin's deep voice slid into her mind. The cold discomfort of Northrend often kept the drake away--his fragile skin could withstand the blast of fel energy, but to ice Onin seemed to falter. Even in their distance, Anna found their mental bond to be as strong as it ever was. She curled her pale fingers over the drake's muzzle, petting gently as he continued to send his thoughts. 'Let me take you through the forest, like I used to. You used to love our flights over the river.' Onin ground his teeth, shaking his head at the tickling of her shadowy hair. 'Your changes have not taken those joys from you too, have they?'
Annaliese drew in a breath to sigh, stealing in air that she no longer used. "I am dead, Onin, not mindless. There are things I still enjoy as much as I used to." She gently scratched the leathery tuft of skin that dangled beneath his chin. "I came to terms with my state a while ago. Why can you not, my pet?"
The drake stared down at her with twin violet eyes, and then relented. 'Perhaps you are right. I am not of the natural world either, am I?'
A chuckle left her now, and the ghostly woman nodded. "True, true. Now go. Take Laelah with you and keep watch over her. She will love a flight."
Onin snorted indignantly, though half-way amused. 'The child-elf? Are you sure? She may fly off of my back like a passing twig! So small!'
"She is much stronger than you credit her for. Go. Perhaps she will like to take her little friend Alundria. A picnic in the Skethyl mountains, hm?"
'You would like it too, matron. Come join us.'
Annaliese smiled at the affectionate term, but she shook her head. "I have other plans tonight, I am afraid."
Onin canted his great head at the forsaken woman. 'Something calls you away where I may not go?'
"...somewhat, Onin. I'll return by the midnight hour."
*******
Deep beneath the Undercity, Annaliese walked down the canals, on past the Apothecarium--she could almost overlook the smell of death and poison wafting from its putrid laboratories. The air was cleaner as she passed on down the Royal Quarter, where only the sound of chanting banshees haunted her. The chill flowing out of the twisting inner passages bluffed her as she passed them, but she remained undettered. Eyes followed her from those dark passages, unknown things skittering around in the shadows, climbing over walls to watch another "deader" wander by. She remembered times when she would look over her shoulders by now, or stop to make sure no one was truly following after her.
Those days were gone. She now fit into the architecture.
What did unnerve her were the rumors floating about outside of the city, the occasional tremors of the earth that she'd felt as she had traveled to the ruins of Lordaeron. Talks of armageddon set so many on edge, sent so many into flurries of shopping for essential goods. Were cultists really attacking Ogrimmar? Even further her mind went, and despite her trying not to, she wondered about Stormwind. Those she once knew as friends...how were they faring during this insanity? The soft taps of her boots came to a slow stop. Her thoughts were getting out of hand. She turned, looking down a torch-lit corridor, whispered voices traveling down it.
Sometimes the most one could do was to be prepared.
"If you do -not- have an inkling as to what a demonic circle is, then you certainly do not belong my class!" The sharp, cold voice of a woman snapped down the corridor, and Annaliese followed it until it opened up into the study hall before her. Students sat behind a multitude of desks, all their attention upon the pacing Instructor, her sharp heels clicking against the stone floor. When she stopped, she struck the ground with her staff, the black pieces of diamonds encrusted to it shining in the torchlight. Her unearthly eyes ran down the rows of the seated students, and her lips opened wire tight against her face as she grinned viciously.
"Of course, you may choose to stay in my class, but I will not be surprised if you are lost within portal. Or ripped to shreds by something beyond the veil. You knew the risks when you signed the contract." The demonic circle at the forsaken's feet dissipated, and her eyes took a sharp turn to Annaliese's figure which lingered in the darkness of the hall.
"I see you there, girl, and you are late. Come here."
The podium held both a dagger, and scraps of parchment as Annaliese approached at the Instructor's beckoning. "You will sign this contract before entering this session. Understand that neither I, nor the written instructors, nor the Undercity will be held responsible for your safety. Signing this contract will also bind you to the Exchange." Lecranza smirked, her eyes piercing through the newest student. "The terms of the demonic tithe will vary from warlock to warlock, and that, my dear, will be for you to figure out on your own. As always. Hold out your hand."
A path of blood was cut into the pale skin of Annaliese's palm, and blood was made to dribble down upon the parchment. "Sign." She had done it before, signing away her name, etching the certainty that a weight would be placed on her soul for something owed. There were no second thoughts as she scraped her name into the piece of parchment, no flinching as she felt the heat of magic drive through her, cementing the magical contract. This was the process for attaining new demonic knowledge. The contract was rolled up into the Instructor's hands, and thus vanished in an array of glowing pink light.
"It is done. Welcome. Now..."
The Instructor raised her arms, spitting out words in demonic, forceful. Lacranza made no secret of her will over the dark arts, summoning a demonic portal right behind the podium. With another fling of her hands, she bade the doors open, and the portal hissed its magic into the cold air of the classroom. Each student was lining up before the summoned doorway, and Annaliese fell into order.
"I hope you have brought your Shards of Offering today! The altar inside of Nechniabain will take much more from you without the proper offering! You will learn the upper echelon of spells that will truly test your will as a warlock!" Another rap of the staff, and the first student entered the demonic portal. "Next! Hurry it up people--every moment you stay here dawdling is every moment your friends are endangered! Get in there!"
Lacranza quickly shoved the students in, cackling at the faces of two blood elves who she'd just pushed into the portal. Now Annaliese stood at the front of the line of students, looking on into the swirling abyss. Lacranza's splitting smile was aimed at her now.
"Are you ready to earn your place in my class, Annaliese? You will succeed here, or you may not come back."
Stiffening up her body, Anna eyed the Instructor for a moment, and then nodded silently, before stepping through into the darkness.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Family
Overlooking Orgrimmar’s main trade area, summer heat rose up to the loft, the air stifling. Thankfully, Annaliese didn’t need such things as air anymore. The heat didn’t bother her the way it seemed to when she was alive, either. Undeath had become comfortable for the Medic’s wife more and more now. The small pain of disconnection from her former life seemed less a heavy burden and instead an annoying buzz (like Charlette). Leaning over the balcony, she found an amusing sight. An orc was driving his Mechanohog clear over the Auction House hut, and with another rip of the heavy engine, he landed upon the dirty path in front of the building. Despite this sudden obvious show-off, he had little in the way of an audience. It was surprising, really, the way everyone below seemed to take the rider as just another standard of Orgrimmar life. Anna smirked as he roared the engine once more, and sped off.
There was a time when wolves were the standard…
Another day followed through to another change in society, another change in her life. Her eyes caught the ornate blue rune that glowed softly along the dining room hall, emitting a cooling breeze. Her love had made it, always worrying, always trying to make things more comfortable with her stay at the Loft. Yet, since having been released from her short contract with Cartier & Company’s Fine Jewelry shop in Dalaran, Anna’s days opened up much more, and she found most of her time spent in Orgrimmar by default. The Ledgermain remained a nice break away from home on occasion, and her husband’s flourishing friendship with the dancing Chef Lecoste was charming. And the Medic bringing home a fresh batch of new recipes wasn’t a bad deal out of it either. While eating such food was more than a luxury than a need these days, Anna knew the cooking made him happy, and her eating it made him happier still.
Ah, the Medic. He’d filled up with confidence since attaining a new mount, his undead dragon a masterpiece he seemed endlessly proud of. Whether he had a hand in its creation, she couldn’t quite tell, though it wouldn’t have surprised her—he still trifled in necromancy when he could. The magic was a part of him, literally and figuratively, and expecting him to not marvel at the creation of the undead was like asking a shaman not to revere his spirits.
“We’re home!” came the voice of her love now. She turned to see the spectacle of his arrival and smiled, relieved to know he was home once again. Decked in dark blue robes, a large carton filled his hands, most likely a pre-made dinner brought from the Ledgermain. His kitten Snow came to greet him immediately--and then hissed at his feet as a black cat popped it’s head over his shoulder, black as shadow. Pinchy scuttled around the Medic, clicking his pincers, eager to help. The crawdad always remained dependable in the small chaos of dinnertime, and the curious creature had become a staple of these eager meetings. Another face peeked behind the Medic as he entered, the newest addition to the strange family.
“Hi Mother!” the elflette called out with a grin that reminded Anna of bright sunshine, the way the girl warmed her over. The elf was perhaps a girl of ten human years, with springy red hair so light, it bordered on a dark pink. It had been a hard decision to adopt her, really, a Sin’dorei child cared for by Forsaken? It wasn’t unheard of, yet the uncertainty had gnawed at her, until the Medic himself opted to turn in the adoption papers himself the past spring. Since then, days without Laelah had been inconceivable—the occasional strange look couldn’t dissuade her from being around the child.
“Oooh, whats for dessert?” Laelah asked with a dramatic flair as she poked and prodded her “father”. She was met with weak laughs, and at last with a shoo of fingers.
“You shall find out when you finish your dinner!” the Medic proclaimed, his grin shot back at her. Annaliese laughed at the exchange, watching as the girl flitted off to the bath to do as she was told.
“You should follow too, ‘girl’…” he now said, turning to his wife. The light of his eyes was soft, playful as he grabbed at her. “Or I shall have to put you in the basin myself!”
“Shh! You’re horrid!” Anna twittered with laughter, which came to her more and more these days. The playful grabs turned into a full-fledged embrace before she let him go to be the “chef” for the night. Lecoste was certainly influencing him. She watched him gather a pan and some oil, humming a little tune as he prepared to cook. How quaint their life had become, how simple, even in the war torn world they lived in, the days of an untraditional family becoming very…traditional.
It was everything Annaliese had dreamed of.
There was a time when wolves were the standard…
Another day followed through to another change in society, another change in her life. Her eyes caught the ornate blue rune that glowed softly along the dining room hall, emitting a cooling breeze. Her love had made it, always worrying, always trying to make things more comfortable with her stay at the Loft. Yet, since having been released from her short contract with Cartier & Company’s Fine Jewelry shop in Dalaran, Anna’s days opened up much more, and she found most of her time spent in Orgrimmar by default. The Ledgermain remained a nice break away from home on occasion, and her husband’s flourishing friendship with the dancing Chef Lecoste was charming. And the Medic bringing home a fresh batch of new recipes wasn’t a bad deal out of it either. While eating such food was more than a luxury than a need these days, Anna knew the cooking made him happy, and her eating it made him happier still.
Ah, the Medic. He’d filled up with confidence since attaining a new mount, his undead dragon a masterpiece he seemed endlessly proud of. Whether he had a hand in its creation, she couldn’t quite tell, though it wouldn’t have surprised her—he still trifled in necromancy when he could. The magic was a part of him, literally and figuratively, and expecting him to not marvel at the creation of the undead was like asking a shaman not to revere his spirits.
“We’re home!” came the voice of her love now. She turned to see the spectacle of his arrival and smiled, relieved to know he was home once again. Decked in dark blue robes, a large carton filled his hands, most likely a pre-made dinner brought from the Ledgermain. His kitten Snow came to greet him immediately--and then hissed at his feet as a black cat popped it’s head over his shoulder, black as shadow. Pinchy scuttled around the Medic, clicking his pincers, eager to help. The crawdad always remained dependable in the small chaos of dinnertime, and the curious creature had become a staple of these eager meetings. Another face peeked behind the Medic as he entered, the newest addition to the strange family.
“Hi Mother!” the elflette called out with a grin that reminded Anna of bright sunshine, the way the girl warmed her over. The elf was perhaps a girl of ten human years, with springy red hair so light, it bordered on a dark pink. It had been a hard decision to adopt her, really, a Sin’dorei child cared for by Forsaken? It wasn’t unheard of, yet the uncertainty had gnawed at her, until the Medic himself opted to turn in the adoption papers himself the past spring. Since then, days without Laelah had been inconceivable—the occasional strange look couldn’t dissuade her from being around the child.
“Oooh, whats for dessert?” Laelah asked with a dramatic flair as she poked and prodded her “father”. She was met with weak laughs, and at last with a shoo of fingers.
“You shall find out when you finish your dinner!” the Medic proclaimed, his grin shot back at her. Annaliese laughed at the exchange, watching as the girl flitted off to the bath to do as she was told.
“You should follow too, ‘girl’…” he now said, turning to his wife. The light of his eyes was soft, playful as he grabbed at her. “Or I shall have to put you in the basin myself!”
“Shh! You’re horrid!” Anna twittered with laughter, which came to her more and more these days. The playful grabs turned into a full-fledged embrace before she let him go to be the “chef” for the night. Lecoste was certainly influencing him. She watched him gather a pan and some oil, humming a little tune as he prepared to cook. How quaint their life had become, how simple, even in the war torn world they lived in, the days of an untraditional family becoming very…traditional.
It was everything Annaliese had dreamed of.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Hourglass
Finding little else to do with her time (while dodging her sister’s claims of needing her), Annaliese found herself in the Medical Quarter of the Undercity. With the on-call Medic away on duty, she found herself pouring over the multitude of books that stacked his shelves. Fingers passing over the spines of different books, and a smile came to her lips at the sight of her trinket box. She had almost forgotten. Flipping open the little dagger shaped clasp, she opened the wooden lid and peered at the contents inside.
Two large crystals sat, glowing a soft pink. The swirling essences of collected souls glimmered inside of the two, a source of her power, fuel for her spells. The crystals, like her trinket box, were special creations she treasured, one for their necessity, the other for its ingenuity. She was slowly discovering ways to combine shards. Perhaps there would be a day when they would not fill her bags, where she would not have to hear the whispers of the souls she had stolen rattle in her head day by day. These crystals were silent, and she treasured them for it.
A tumbling sound caught her attention, and the rolling sound of something delicate. Expecting to find the Medic’s kitten, Snow, toying with one of her gems, she instead found the pet rolling a golden hourglass around the stone floor.
…which seemed to have rolled out of a now toppled over medical kit.
Quickly, Annaliese strode over to the small mess, and swept the kitten away from the prized hourglass. Snow made her disappointment quite known with a paw and gnaw of Anna’s fingers as she was bat away.
“Now, you…” Anna sighed, chuckling softly as the kitten wrapped itself around her hand now, gnawing on her arm playfully. “You little troublemaker.” Snow’s sea-blue eyes darted to the Forsaken, and she purred instead, giving the ghostly arm a lick instead, as if apologizing for the mess.
“I can’t believe he forgot it,” Anna murmured in thought, a bit amused as she looked down at the spilled box. There was little that had actually rolled out of the box, most of the supplies seemed secured in the never-ending expanses of the kit. Picking up a few vials and a roll of bandages, she stared at the glimmering hourglass now.
“I’m sure he’ll come back for it soon,” she added. Snow had left the room however, seeking other adventures. Tucking the vials into the box, she held the hourglass between her fingers, watching the sand fall slowly, all too slowly. It was a beautiful creation, gifted to the Medic by the Bronze Dragonflight for his efforts. Arcane magic flowed through it’s golden frame, the glass itself carved from the finest crystal. The glowing beads of sand inside flowed down into the bottom, as if they were suspended in water, drifting down lazily.
Like liquid, the feeling crept into her fingers again, a warmth suffusing them as her hands again grew pigment and color. Her grip on the hourglass tightened as she could feel the blood within her body again start to flow. She gasped as breath began to fill her lungs, taste filled her mouth, the hourglass beginning to give her borrowed life, stolen time. Steadily, her heart began to pump.
Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump….
Annaliese whimpered, and hastily turned the hourglass back over, reversing the temporary magic. The sharp pain of death took her back over as breath was stolen again, her eyes flaring back to their unearthly glow. She stood, staring at the trinket, grasped tightly in her hands, panting, as if she were out of breath, where there was none. The sands of the hourglass seemed to lessen in their glow now, its magic dispensed for the day. Tucking the hourglass tightly back into the medical kit, she slammed the box shut, and put it upon the Medic’s desk, her mind humming with times now lost to her. She understood why the Medic did not use it now, and why he had sealed it away deep inside the Kit.
It took more away from life than it could ever give.
Her stomach ached now, with the need to drain life from…something. Leaving Snow with a random gem, Annaliese hurried away from the Medical Quarter to satisfy her pang of pain.
Two large crystals sat, glowing a soft pink. The swirling essences of collected souls glimmered inside of the two, a source of her power, fuel for her spells. The crystals, like her trinket box, were special creations she treasured, one for their necessity, the other for its ingenuity. She was slowly discovering ways to combine shards. Perhaps there would be a day when they would not fill her bags, where she would not have to hear the whispers of the souls she had stolen rattle in her head day by day. These crystals were silent, and she treasured them for it.
A tumbling sound caught her attention, and the rolling sound of something delicate. Expecting to find the Medic’s kitten, Snow, toying with one of her gems, she instead found the pet rolling a golden hourglass around the stone floor.
…which seemed to have rolled out of a now toppled over medical kit.
Quickly, Annaliese strode over to the small mess, and swept the kitten away from the prized hourglass. Snow made her disappointment quite known with a paw and gnaw of Anna’s fingers as she was bat away.
“Now, you…” Anna sighed, chuckling softly as the kitten wrapped itself around her hand now, gnawing on her arm playfully. “You little troublemaker.” Snow’s sea-blue eyes darted to the Forsaken, and she purred instead, giving the ghostly arm a lick instead, as if apologizing for the mess.
“I can’t believe he forgot it,” Anna murmured in thought, a bit amused as she looked down at the spilled box. There was little that had actually rolled out of the box, most of the supplies seemed secured in the never-ending expanses of the kit. Picking up a few vials and a roll of bandages, she stared at the glimmering hourglass now.
“I’m sure he’ll come back for it soon,” she added. Snow had left the room however, seeking other adventures. Tucking the vials into the box, she held the hourglass between her fingers, watching the sand fall slowly, all too slowly. It was a beautiful creation, gifted to the Medic by the Bronze Dragonflight for his efforts. Arcane magic flowed through it’s golden frame, the glass itself carved from the finest crystal. The glowing beads of sand inside flowed down into the bottom, as if they were suspended in water, drifting down lazily.
Like liquid, the feeling crept into her fingers again, a warmth suffusing them as her hands again grew pigment and color. Her grip on the hourglass tightened as she could feel the blood within her body again start to flow. She gasped as breath began to fill her lungs, taste filled her mouth, the hourglass beginning to give her borrowed life, stolen time. Steadily, her heart began to pump.
Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump….
Annaliese whimpered, and hastily turned the hourglass back over, reversing the temporary magic. The sharp pain of death took her back over as breath was stolen again, her eyes flaring back to their unearthly glow. She stood, staring at the trinket, grasped tightly in her hands, panting, as if she were out of breath, where there was none. The sands of the hourglass seemed to lessen in their glow now, its magic dispensed for the day. Tucking the hourglass tightly back into the medical kit, she slammed the box shut, and put it upon the Medic’s desk, her mind humming with times now lost to her. She understood why the Medic did not use it now, and why he had sealed it away deep inside the Kit.
It took more away from life than it could ever give.
Her stomach ached now, with the need to drain life from…something. Leaving Snow with a random gem, Annaliese hurried away from the Medical Quarter to satisfy her pang of pain.
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