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.”
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