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.