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90 Goblin Mage
I'm not the best writer but here goes nothing.
A goblin strode down a beaten path in the Arathi Basin. He was just in the heart of a vicious battle but he paid it no mind. He stepped over corpses of friend and foe alike. Some mauled by magic and some split open by steel. His footsteps left a trail of blood away from the pile of corpses. He whistled a jaunty tune as he went on his way.
After a lengthy walk, he sat himself against a rock and spread what was left of the blood trail to his palms and abdomen. His breaths became slow and heavy, they sounded like he was in immense pain. After a few minutes, a human in a bedraggled set of guards' armor confidently strode over, sword in hand. He said something, the goblin couldn't understand it, it has been a long time since he spoke common. Probably something about valor. That's all the humans seemed to care about.
He walked forward and swung his blade, a bit too slowly. The goblin slammed his fist into the ground emitting a frost nova before he teleported through and to the other side of the knight. They're always too slow. Too confident that the kill is theirs. The knight was hacking away at the ice on his legs that locked him in place.
The goblin rummaged through his bags and pulled out a flask of viscous red liquid. He put his palm on the base of the flask and his hands glowed. The liquid bubbled and boiled and it's prison became hot. It was now charged with magical energy. The goblin lobbed the newly made bomb at the helpless knight and watched as it broke and the liquid poured over it's target.
A moment passed and the seemingly worthless concoction burst into a violent inferno. The goblin's grin spelled cruelty while he watched his victim burn and scream in agony. The knight's armor was punctured by the initial blast and his flesh sizzled as the flames poured through the cracks. The bursting flames and horrid screams were soon replaced with smoke and the scent of burnt flesh.
The body crumpled to the ground and the impact shook off ash and chunks of scorched flesh. It couldn't even be identified as human anymore. The hair was burned to nothing. The face now a sickeningly twisted mass of features, or lack of features. The eyes were melted from their sockets and the lips were sealed together by broken and cauterized flesh. The upper chest was burned through and through, exposing several ribs from what was left of the blackened body. The goblin admired his work and snickered, "Smells like profit. I love it." He leaned over next to the charred corpse, "Tell yer friends about me, will ya, pal?" He placed a card near the knight's remains and walked off, whistling as he went like nothing happened.
The card reads: Korgit Blastpotion, Alchemical Professional
"Come to Blastpotion's Post if you want your war to have results like these!"
I'm not the best writer but here goes nothing.
Nice grammar, vivid descriptions, well-written monologue.
The only thing, IMO, that was wanting is what was going through Mr. Blastpotion's mind.
Crove stumbled out of the bar, his new home since the disappearance of the leader of the Elenari Corp. As he turned down an alleyway in Murder Row, he bumped into a solid being. His single eye focused on the armored elf, horror surged forth as he recognized the Death Knight. "You!" He cried as the Death Knight swung his rune sword, removing Crove's head from his shoulders. As the corpse fell to the ground, the Death Knight dropped a dagger onto the body.
"Thats for leaving that in my neck," muttered the Death Knight as he walked from the alleyway.
Crove burst from his rented bed in the inn, gasping and grasping at his neck. As realization kicked in and he set back down into the bed, a cold sweat breaking out. "Only a dream..." He whispered and sighed.
I'm a bit rusty with writing... Very rusty... Don't judge to harshly, it was spur of the moment and I was bored.
Edit: I forgot how to use the space bar... And how to spell...
Edited by Knives on 5/14/2013 12:15 AM PDT
“Oh how cute. But when does the real help arrive?”
Frostgage lifted up the brim of her pointy hat, just enough so that the clockwork eye could peek out beneath it, pinning the human man with its dead-eye sapphire stare. Her lips were already pressed into an unforgiving thin line, not quite a scowl. She was easily four times the man’s age - if not more - but gnomes hid their true age well.
“You requested assistance because you weren’t good enough to handle this job on your own. I can just as easily leave.”
The human frowned slightly, but his “jovial” attitude did not wane much. “Someone’s made a mistake, but no matter. Perhaps you’re more suited to the smaller tasks, eh?” His laugh set the gnome’s teeth on edge. She let the brim drop, to hide her expression.
“Here, you can carry these. I guess I’ll just have to do the real work for this reconnaissance.” Frostgage didn’t protest when she was handed the knapsack. It was full of light supplies and maps. She kept silent, following the human through the wooded terrain of Silverpine.
“I think I see something over there.”
“Do you now, little one?” Frostgage’s mouth twitched. “Are you certain you didn’t mistake it for a bear or a worg? I don’t want to waste my time -”
“Fine. Ignore me. You’d sound better with a knife in your throat.” She kept trudging ahead. The man stopped.
“Alright, alright. Show me what you saw.”
Frostgage walked back, then picked her way through the brush and past a small copse of trees. It didn’t occur to the human there was no way she could have seen past these obstructions, because in his mind he was too busy dismissing her significance due - to all things - her size.
She pointed vaguely with her left hand, which made muffled, out-of-place clicks and whirs.
“I still don’t see --”
“Step to your right. Yes, right there. Now look down …”
The frostbolt hit him square in the lower back, driving him face down into the ground with a yelp. It was followed by a particular sharp lance of ice, point blank to the head. He tried to stand up but his legs wouldn’t work. If he’d been able to see himself from above, the way his lower torso turned unnaturally would have clued him in about the broken spine and paralysis. The simple act of breathing blew out blood bubbles from his nose and mouth.
A gnome-sized boot planted itself on the side of his head. The man was outright crying. He might have been begging for his life, but Frostgage didn’t care. Humans weren’t worth the time, she thought, as she balanced a mithril blade in her hand.
“Chin up, son. Since you can’t take us seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, right?”
The slit throat didn’t allow him the luxury of a reply.
Shal Un’e was careful to choose a Taurahe expletive common enough to be understood. He was happy to see the locals filing uneasily out of the Half Hill inn, and happier still that the orcs got the message. Shal heard the rustle of armor as the three orcs stepped forward. The uniformed woman in front seethed, disturbing his meal with a firm fist on the table. He could practically feel the daggers her two friends stared into his back.
She shouted in his ear, "Miserable cow! If you get down and beg, I just might forget what you called me."
The tauren scoffed. "I was referring to your sisters back there."
That did it.
In an instant Shal Un'e's face hit the table, held there by one of his horns. "And I thought tauren was supposed to be polite!" boomed a male voice from behind him. "Don't worry, we'll teach you som-" Shal Un'e's free hand had found his antlered face guard, which now found the cocky orc's face.
The giant druid threw his weight into the orcs, stumbling them back as he whirled to his feet. He had enough time to see one man trip backwards over a bench, before a blinding cloud of dust thrown by the rogue in back took his vision. It was Shal Un'e's turn to stumble. Blinded, and swearing under his breath, the old druid violently forced the air in the room forward. Bottles, and pots, and what sounded like at least one orc flew into the inn's wall.
Shal frantically cleansed his eyes. The deep male orc voice yelled, "No, I want that druid alive!" followed by the woman swearing, and heavy clatter of a weapon falling. On the positive side, the druid could now see well enough to make out the gauntleted fist that slammed into his stomach as he doubled over. He bellowed a roar, running straight into his attacker, driving her back into the wall, and forcing the second orc to dive out of the way.
As he raised a meaty fist to pummel the pinned warrior, Shal found it suddenly numb. He shoved the woman aside to face the hooded orc and remove the small dagger in his now-limp arm. The orc smirked from a distance, readying something larger in his hand. Shal Un'e kicked up and grabbed a table, shielding himself. There was an explosion against it, and thick smoke billowed around it as the druid struggled to clear the poison from his arm. He was struck from behind in one kidney, and then the other. Another strike came but it met a hollow, wooden "thunk!" as bark crept over Shal Un'e's body from below. The rogue looked down, shocked to find a thick root breaking the floorboards and wrapped around his ankle. He was yanked harshly downwards into the floor.
Shal was facing him now. The air around the rogue mimicing the druid's hand as it spun over his head. Before the spell could be complete, the air thrust violently into Shal Un'e, knocking the wind out of him, and clearing smoke to reveal the mail-clad orc at its source. The woman was back too, grappling onto his back and kneeing him in the side. She was dogged. The druid elbowed her in the face, pulled a lantern from the ceiling onto her head, and it only made her swear up a storm and kick harder.
Shal ran backwards, using the orc to crash through the light wooden wall. A few steps more and he stumbled off the high, back terrace of the inn. There was a sickening crack, and a howl of pain from the orc as they landed. But the stubborn, battered pair weren't done. Murder in her eyes, he fiery woman rose first, striking Shal Un'e's face with her boot. He fell again, but found her leg and dragged her down too. They exchanged only a few punches before the druid's body froze in pain. He collapsed, and rolled over, his body still dancing with electricity. Above, the shaman glared down, and simply watched as the warrior rose.
Half her face was covered in blood as she layed into the druid. Blow after vicious blow flew to the tune of obscenities that were impressive even by orc standards.
"Mogarah!" Shal Un'e was no longer conscious to hear it as the shaman's voice boomed once more. "What?!" she shot back indignantly. A tense silence set in as they stared the other down. She turned, ready to strike again. "MOGARAH!"
Reluctantly, the battered warrior abandoned her vendetta, pausing to spit mostly blood on the tauren before trudging off.
Zaburzek- wicked. I love how your hatred of dwarves was expressed, in juxtaposition to his pride for his own heritage. The manner in how he dispatched them was also very devious, as was how he funneled them to their doom so easily. You painted a very vivid picture of Stranglethorn and showed how there are more ways to kill your opponent than just outright confrontation. The visual of those dwarves, marching along wearily, starving, and filled with a growing dread at their misfortune was really cool, as was the idea that your own blood was their silent doom.
Vesreltha- very creepy! It was a pretty direct little scene, but I enjoyed both the killer's relentlessness and how the fear in her prey was evident. Her enjoyment of being cruel was expressed well, and the ending left me wondering! Why did her sister need blood? Why was this victim's blood special? It was a nice little cliffhanger, and overall, a great job showing your toon's personality in a brief amount of time.
Sgatha- Really nice twist! At the beginning you captured her weariness very well. The line about her exposed skin only meant new bugs wanted to munch on it was one of those lines that didn't really say much but said a lot at the same time in terms of describing her surroundings. The confrontation with the rogue was described in a vivid way- you managed to take only a few actions and capture the different styles of both combatants; the grit being thrown at the eyes was a nice touch for a shady rogue. Then towards the end, the eventual reveal of her being a half-orc, along with the clues leading up to it, was a cool little surprise- for both readers and the enemy. The last line was a great finish to bring it all back around to the beginning.
Reshuv- yikes! His rage was evident, and the way you manifested his warlock abilities into the writing was also well-done. The battle with the enemy was delightfully gruesome, as was his enjoyment of it. You could tell that he was a man possessed by emotion and the last line was a creepy epilogue- it was just enough to let the reader imagine the horrors he was unleashing, and sometimes that is scarier than outright describing it. Thank you for sharing.
Traleda- RIght off the bat, the first person POV was a nice touch. So was the struggle she endures to control her powers, how it is more of a fight for her to keep it inside than to actually let it loose and destroy her enemies. A battle of will, so to speak. It reminded me of the Hulk, and not in a lame way- how she would rather use the Light but how sometimes when she is overwhelmed by her emotions, the Shadow takes control despite her best efforts, and when it does, good luck to those unfortunate to be around. I am not too familiar with MoP and thus the Sha, but from what I understand that was a nice touch to throw in as well.
Tydremar- That was really cool! I like how his personality came through, like his whistling despite the gory setting, and his obvious enjoyment of the human's pain. The way you incorporated mage abilities combined with your own alchemical spin was a nice touch as well. Your description of the human's demise was appropriately gruesome. The business card at the end made me laugh, because who else but a goblin? Glad to read about your little sadist.
Knives- first off, great name for a rogue. Secondly, for a very brief scene, you had a lot going on! Dream sequences fascinate me, and the meaning of this one was intriguing. The mini-story within about how this DK was obviously someone Crove killed and how that particular death still haunts him during sleep is very interesting.
Frostgage- Your gnome is a mean mofo. I like how she played into the human's underestimation, and how she leads him into a trap was particularly devious. Your depiction of his demise was chilling, not only due to the extreme violence but at her demeanor- with that kind of coldness, she is appropriately specced/named! It was interesting how she was so explosive in attacking, but how once the man had been appropriately broken- almost punished for his insolence- that she just snuffed him out. It showed that she COULD have finished him quickly... but where's the fun in that? It says a ton about who she is. The hints about her mechanization were also nice; subtle little touches like that are, to me at least, much more interesting sometimes than just saying "OH BY THE WAY HER HAND IS CLOCKWORK." Also, I hate humans and every time you guys have been depicting them as cowardly dogs tickles me to no end. He cried! Really nice job.
Edited by Borgg on 5/15/2013 8:13 PM PDT
Shal Un'e- that is by far the worst piece of garbage I have ever- no, I am obviously kidding. It is really nice to see him in action again- like with Anyaka, it's almost cheating for me because I know him pretty well already, but to see you put him in action was a real treat. First off, I was immediately struck/reminded of his deceptive intelligence. The first line itself says so much, as does his witty comeback about his assailant's sisters. Clever. Secondly, the battle itself was so intense! I could SEE this in my head, your ability to capture the motions of all the combatants was really easy to follow, and the actions themselves- you could picture the place getting torn apart as they brawled. The building shook in my head watching them. I really like how you incorporated both his druidic abilities and his physicallity, and even the way the enemies used their own abilities was really cool. Magic flying through the air, blood spilling, tables breaking, etc- this was a hell of a fight. Your knowledge of lore was evident in how each race was shown, and even though you never said why the fight started, one can imagine just from the tone/setting of this piece. Finally what was almost the most impressive to me, and not really surprising, is how you had the balls to actually LOSE the battle. Yes you were outnumbered and you gave almost as good as you got in the end, but as a writer it was a bold move to have your toon fall in the end. This entire story reminded me of why you are one of my favorite RPers , and also, one of my favorite people on WrA. Well done, buddy, thanks for sharing. Praise be to the All-Druid!
Edited by Borgg on 5/15/2013 8:14 PM PDT
Sorry it took so long to get back to the posters, but don't think I haven't been reading these repeatedly when I can. It is such a joy to see so much creativity in one thread, and from the other comments it is evident that I am not the only one digging on these. Though each story is unique, it has not been difficult to find positive things to say about every one of them. All of you have shown talent in a ton of different aspects of writing, so for those of you who have disclaimers up regarding your stories, I say, "You have no more excuses because the whole realm has seen what you can do!" Hopefully all of you continue to regale us with your toons, because from what we can see here, there are some very good stories to be told with them in the future.
To the people in the wings remaining silent- feel free to comment with your own thoughts! Better yet, post your OWN stories! Creativity begats creativity, and it is only through sharing our imaginations that we can continue to make WrA an awesome place. I only ask that you keep the tone positive, and any criticisms you may have, please do so in a constructive manner. We should all be encouraging each other to strive for greatness, and as those in the thread have already shown, the first step is just having the guts to share.
Edited by Borgg on 5/16/2013 1:23 AM PDT
Aw shucks, thanks for the overly kind words Borgg. Glad you enjoyed it. The fighting style is one of the few things carried over from the original NE Shalune, and one of my favorite things about the character. I just love a good rough and tumble brawler.
I'm probably going to write a second one for Sorok. She's a fun character and been thinking over how to approach it. Also enjoying the thread now that I'm working through everyone else's stories. Got about 2/3 of the first page so far. I especially liked Topsail's so far. You did an amazing job quickly establishing a great character that wasn't even yours. That first paragraph sold me.
Anyway thanks for the awesome prompt Borgg. I get the feeling that how a character fights is something very dear to a lot of us, but that we rarely get a chance to clearly define. I'll read and write more when I'm home tonight :3
"How much longer?" he asks me.
I close my eyes, count back the minutes in my head.
Two hours since he drank the tea. One and three-quarters since he tasted the poison. One and a half since he started thrashing. One since he stopped and fell unmoving.
All but his lips.
"Soon," I say.
"It's not a precise science."
"Alchemy is a very precise science."
"Where precision fails, thoroughness will suffice."
He chuckles, weakly. An hour ago that laughter was something strong and dark, liquor in a dusty bottle. He doesn't have the strength left to laugh like that. Nor to curse, nor to lift those arms that would have strangled me if I had crept out of the shadows a few minutes earlier than I did.
Showing myself at all was extremely risky. Even with the standards set by the orcs of today's Horde, this particular green brute is dangerous. Over thirty kills to his name, four of them the assassins that came before me. It would have been smarter to just let him swallow the tea, let the poison do its work and let him die never knowing who it was that put it in there.
But I had to be sure.
"So, this is how it ends," he says. "The Alliance sent an assassin that didn't even bother to do more than dump a jar of poison in my tea. Slain by an amateur."
"An amateur that succeeded where thirty people had failed," I politely point out.
"Through cowardice. Through treachery. Through deceit."
"I hope they didn't pay you much." He looks at me through eyes quickly going glassy. "How much, anyway?"
"You don't need to know that."
"A last request," he says, grinning. "I'm owed that."
"You killed thirty combatants. You killed many more civilians. Innocents. You are owed nothing."
"No one is innocent," he says. "Not really. Everyone is born in warm blood and in pain, screaming."
I lean against the wall, stare down at my boots. "Four hundred."
His smile fades, insulted. I can see the muscles at the corner of his mouth and under his eyes twitch, like he's straining to muster some anger past the paralysis.
"I am the scourge of the Alliance," he says. "I am a name whispered in fear in the night. I am the howl of the wolf. No way they'd pay only four hundred."
"You're an orc," I say. "You aren't exactly in short supply."
At this, he flinches. "I have killed--"
"Yeah. I heard."
He eases back. Or maybe he just falls back and can't get up. He looks to his axe, lying only two feet away from him, leaning against the wall of his tent. But he can't even make his fingers twitch toward it. And the look on his face is hard to read, but pain comes through much clearer than anger.
"You're still a liar."
As a matter of course, I am. I don't deny it.
"You wouldn't have taken the job for four hundred," he says. "You wouldn't come to the middle of a camp full of Horde warriors in the night for four hundred. You wouldn't give me a poison that takes two hours to kill for four hundred." When he looks at me again, it's with genuine curiosity, as much as he can muster. "Who was it?"
I had hoped he wouldn't have guessed, not so soon, anyway. But then again, I had hoped he would have slipped away a lot sooner than he did. I won't lie, it irks me a little that he realized that this wasn't a job, like any other. But I'm more irked at the words that come out of my mouth next.
"I can't remember her name," I say.
"But you'd kill for her?"
For what little I knew of her? Yes. I'm not going to tell him that, though.
"For the way she went out? Yeah. I would. I had a lot of friends in Theramore."
"Of course, Theramore." He shrinks with his sigh. He stops looking at his axe. "When I came to fight, to rescue the spy and drop the bomb, I thought myself brave. I thought this would be a good place to die."
"What is the orcish obsession with death, anyway?"
"Something I picked up from my father, like all orcs, who picked it up from his father, like all orcs. We repeat it a lot, the words, 'victory or death.' Somehow, though, I don't think I understood them until now."
His eyes are turning to glass. His lips are going numb, his words are slurring. A thin trail of drool comes out the corner of his mouth.
"The greatest death I ever knew...and it wasn't even mine."
They found his body the morning after, I'm told. A dozen orc warriors swore on their deaths-of course--that the assassin would be found.
Maybe she would, if they had been on a hill in Dustwallow Marsh. Maybe they would have seen her taking a flower she purchased on the streets of Dalaran from a windfall of four hundred gold. Maybe they would have seen her lay it on a gravestone.
But only for a moment, before she disappeared.
Edited by Enekie on 5/15/2013 10:31 PM PDT
(( So, I'm not a very good writer... But I love to give more info on Kurshaw through stories! Here goes nothing... ))
Thrill of the chase, or the panic of being chased, the Matriarch could not tell the difference. Both were enough to get her blood pumping and her mind focused on the battle. The loud bang of a gun firing was muffled and the sharp pain in her shoulder dulled after only a second. The world narrowed and all she saw was the rush of trees, a passing hole to avoid, and a cliff up ahead.
"Get her!" The commander fired another shot.
Twenty more feet. The Shu'halo kept her pace and ripped her totem off her neck. Twirling it like a slingshot, it produced a strange low hum. The ground was running out, and she could hear the desperate calls to kill her before she killed herself. The shots were ringing out faster now, more had arrived.
Fifteen feet. Another shot, this time it connected with her side, the pain rang in her ears. Panting now, she mustered all her strength and her hooves bit the ground picking up speed. The adrenaline pumped through her giving her clarity and her vision narrowed further.
Half way there. The druid spoke to the trees and asked for their help. Roots began to shift and grapple the humans. She could hear their curses and smirked at their struggles to keep up in the dense forest.
Five feet to go. The Matriarch just laughed as she took the last few steps to spin herself around. She launched herself off the cliff, and the world slowed. She saw the bullets fly past her muzzle and catch strands in her mane. The commander sneered at the female, he was upset that the prize was not his, but happy she would soon fall to her death.
As her form vanished, a streak of blue and green flashed in full dive past the cliff.
She did not fear the fall. The feeling of freedom was enough to keep her alert as her mount caught up speed and matched her fall. She drifted over to his form and grabbed the saddle. They leveled off as they reached the swiftly approaching ground. Giving the command, they started to climb again.
Grabbing one of the spears from the side of the Hippogryph, she readied herself as they peaked over the cliff. The shots rang forth renewed as the humans realized what had happened. Shifting her weight, she guided her mount towards the commander. Hoof and wing hitting the foot soldiers and knocking them down as they raced along the ground.
The commander readied himself, but the spear was heavier than human made weapons. The speed of the mount multiplying the strength of the throw as Kurshaw let it fly. The lance flew at the human and pinned him to the trunk of the tree behind him.
The hippogryph took flight and they vanished in the canopy.
The spear held the corpse against the tree. A decorative gray ribbon held the tip to the staff. Three hippogryph feathers shifted with the ribbon, covered in blood.
'..and they whisper prayers, winds carry them along,
Gently, slowly flowing, comfort in such peaceful song..."
Oh, how funny it was that even now, even after what felt like times centuries past, such flowery words could still slip past her lips. Her voice was no longer so sweet, so kind, as it had been when she drew breath however. Now, it gave these verses such a terrible mocking quality. The next verse was just as sing-song, but still not as bad as all that-
"Be silent." The low, rumbling voice that clearly lacked appreciation for her tune made her pause.
Her lips almost quirked to a smile.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" She asked, tilting her head to the side slightly as she watched his back. "Certainly you see the irony, don't you? Considering...circumstances."
She would've made a gesture with her hands, but alas both wrists were firmly tied behind her back. Were this any other time and were she not regarding an enemy, she'd have had a vague lamenting for the knot-work. The gesture of course, would've simply been indicating the bolt that was jutting out of her chest, currently.
"You know, since I'm the one sitting here with what I assume is a high-quality armor piercing arrow sticking out of my chest." Selynth looked down at it, the feathered end was almost pleasantly decorative, very carefully made it seemed.
"I imagine this sort of aim is admirable, were I still alive, after a few minutes with this in me I doubt I would be!" She said, laughing, but without meaning too, shuddering slightly. Her laughter made the arrow shift some. "Certainly damaged -something- in there..."
As a forsaken, this would not 'kill' her, no, but it didn't make it any less irritating, now did it? She rather wished her hands free to at -least- wipe back some of the ichor likely seeping from the corner of her mouth. Well, that and perhaps working the arrow free from her chest was also quite high on the list.
The priestess sighed, or feigned such at least even if the action made her chest shudder slightly still.
"Mh. Ruined my dress, too. Most unfortunate, but it's unlikely it can't simply be mended and brought back to it's original-"
Her words were interupted by the other's footsteps approaching.
"I said to be silent." The words were a barked command, the orc's face distorted in what was either frustration or the usual contempt she was accustomed to seeing.
Selynth smiled sweetly.
"Ah, but my dear orc I'm dreadfully bored." She sighed heavily. "Perhaps as bored as you are, keeping an eye on me while your commerade is off doing who knows what."
"I assume, finding and alerting whomever asked you to detain me out here."
"...because I'm no authority on customs in Pandaria, but I am fairly certain shooting someone in the chest is frowned upon within the Shrine, which I suppose is why I wasn't approached while I was there. You orcs certainly have odd ways of getting a person's attention and requesting audience with them!"
He was glaring at her now.
"I could gag you."
She still smiled.
"You could, but that requires you getting closer to me than you seem comfortable doing. Don't think I didn't notice your -partner- being the one to actually bind my wrists."
The orc looked, as orcs often did, about a moment away from either throttling her or shooting her a second arrow in the chest to accompany the first. He stomped a few steps closer, but still kept a slight distance.
"You think you're smarter than you are."
A slight shrug.
"I may not be the smartest around, certainly, but I'm clever enough to get by." Idly, she tried her wrists again. "Now, considering the fact that -technically- we're on the same side, I do wonder if this counts as a hostile action against my person so that I would be justified in pulling your guts out through your throat. This is of course assuming you -have- aforementioned intenstinal fortitude, what with you attacking a priestess while she's alone, unarmed, and rather than confronting her directly you shoot a bolt at her from yards away while she's doing little else but crossing the Vale."
This was still said very, very sweetly.
Before the Orc could respond, another voice was heard.
"You're never simply 'doing little else' anywhere you haunt, undead." Another growling tone, this orc strode up to her, past the hunter, and crouched to look the priestess in the eye.
Selynth looked to the orc, the serious expression and distaste on his features not surprising. She tilted her head slightly, watching him, pale lips quirking to a half smile.
"I'm flattered, does my reputation precede me?"
He didn't answer her at first.
"You think you're clever."
Likewise, she didn't miss a beat.
"I know I'm clever."
The orc snorted a laugh.
"Then how is it you're the captive? Not as clever as you think you are, then."
Selynth just smiled, shrugging.
Her smiling seemed to irritate him more.
"You should've just come when summoned, foolish undead." He said, moving to grab her upper arm and hoist the priestess abruptly to her feet.
"Is that it? Oh, so I'm this awful, terrible thing that must be stopped when you all know my methods of interrogation. I'm a perversion of the light and an abomination...until you want answers from stalwart secret keepers, is it? Then it's all official summons and 'for the good of the Horde'?" She said, balance faltering slightly when pulled to stand.
Selynth finally glared at him.
"At least I know I'm a monster. What's your excuse? What's all this make you, hm?"
There was no point in pretending still, was there? She was secure that what she did, she always did for the good of Lordaeron, for her home, for the place she lived and died for. However...she also knew that if her dear Quentin were to see her now, he would not recognize her and what she had become since her death. Not when she used the light as she did, not when it simultaneously drove little bits of her sanity away in exchange for a brief reminder of what it'd been to -live- so she could selfishly remember it while maiming and torturing for information...
It wasn't something she enjoyed thinking about too much these days. Coming here to Pandaria was a distraction to her, it was something else to focus on, but here were these damn orcs, pulling her back to thinking on it. Pulling her back to what she had done and would likely continue to do, reminding her and more or less shoving that 'Confessor' mantle on her shoulders once more because it would be useful to the 'war effort'.
For a long moment, none of them said a word. The orc that still held a vice grip on her arm, grumbled something to the hunter. The other seemed more than happy to nod at him, and start walking ahead, likely to scout a path for them.
Once the hunter was out of sight however, he answered her in a way.
"A good soldier. A part of Hellscream's Horde. I follow the Warchief's orders. I don't have to justify anything to you."
Selynth shook her head.
"Of course you don't." She muttered, attention off and away, towards the darkness where the other had wandered off.
Just a moment of quiet, before she spoke up again.
"Last chance." She whispered, unnatural, glowing eyes fixed on that darkness ahead.
"Don't be stupid."
"You didn't kill me because you need to take me alive though I presume you'd love to smash in my skull. You need to take me back to whomever your commander is, because apparently I have use within this campaign, right? I can't do that if I'm a non-walking corpse. You need me alive." She said, the shadows licking at the hems of her robes now, slowly creeping up her form. "But the thing is, my dear, that I'm under no such restrictions."
The shadows had fully enveloped the priestess' form now.
"You've already told me what I needed to know."
The glow of her eyes contrasted more heavily now, and the orc made the mistake of looking to her, of locking his gaze with hers.
"So I don't need you alive."
The venomous whisper was within the orc's mind, but nothing more than a feint. A distraction to confuse him for that split second she'd need. One hand slipped free from the ropes, grabbing hold of the dagger at his belt. In a blur of motion, it was in her hand and the blade's edge sliced across the Orc's eyes. A howl of pain mixed with anger, noise that would certainly call the hunter back
But she wasn't thinking about that now, and it wouldn't make a difference for this orc.
What she was thinking about, was the sudden spray of blood. The furious sound of the orc cursing her, wildly trying to land a punch while clutching his eyes, vision ruined. This mean the let go of her upper arm. She may not have been any fighter, but the clumsy, frantic motions were easy to dodge as she gripped the dagger more tightly.
"Your knots were shoddy, my friend. You were tying up a living, -thinking- being not some animal."
He swung at her again, nearly hitting her this time. She slashed again with the dagger, lower, angled at the Orc's knee and subsequently kicking that newly injured spot. His balance faltered, he was down at a kneel. The priestess kicked him again in the side, as hard as she could. Once, twice, it took a few times to get him to keel over for real onto the ground, cursing and still madly swiping at her.
She straddled him and raised the dagger, bringing it down as quickly and as hard as she could into his chest. Once. Twice. Not the same spot, simply slamming it angrily into flesh. The more he howled in pain, the more she felt compelled to repeat the action over and over. If she still had breath, she'd be winded, if she were still alive, her heart would be racing, but it wasn't that way, not for her. She twisted the dagger where it jutted out of his chest, twisting it a little before slowly, curiously leaning down.
"Not as clever as I think I am, hm?" She whispered it, down near the barely moving Orc's ear.
And then..without thinking...without planning, she moved slightly and bit him. She bit his neck abruptly, she bit down hard and pulled back just as quickly taking a chunk of flesh with her and the spurt of blood signalling she hit a major vein.
Now he moved. The gurgling sound, the convulsing and shuddering of his body nearly knocked her off. She held tightly though, clawed fingers gripping as she repeated the action. Not thinking about it, just doing it. Just feeding that strange, strange hunger that was always there, always present in any forsaken, just below the surface.
Was it really cannibalism, if an orc was not a human being?
He stopped moving.
He stopped making noise.
She heard footsteps receding.
Her lips were pulled back in an almost feral manner, baring sharp, blood flecked teeth like an angered beast. A terrible, sinister smile remained on her features.
"I don't need you alive either, little hunter." She called out, throwing the last bit of undone ropes from her wrists to the ground, climbing off the fallen orc. Staggering a moment, she got to her feet.
Grasping the shaft of the arrow still in her chest, she yanked. Hard. It jarred her, it made her shudder, but it luckily, was not barbed to stay hooked in her chest. Throwing it aside, she began walking.
Her steps were slow, purposeful.
"Come out, my dear! You only make it worse upon yourself if you make me find you."
The shadows followed her, flowing like protection against everything.
"I'll show you a monster." The priestess whispered to herself, hands and robes splattered with both the orc's blood and her own ichor.
Maybe then she could be left alone.
Edited by Selynth on 5/18/2013 10:58 AM PDT
She slipped off her gloves and unhooked her cloak from the mithril fastenings sewn into the shoulders of her dress. It was a new one, and as a thin blond server carefully draped the cloth over his arm, he made sure to pay her complement. She slid into her chair and smiled at the arrangement, the lemon already placed so that it balanced delicately over a steaming cup of tea – this required them to use particularly elongated lemons, which they spared no expense in acquiring (today’s came from an island off the coast of Feralas) – and her knife moved to the left of her plate. Everything in its place.
“A lovely gown, madam.”
“Thank you, dear,” she replied sweetly, her voice steady and confident and almost as high pitched as the porcelain waiter attending her. He began to walk away, to hang her cloak and place her gloves in a special box above the oven that would keep them warm until she leaves. Some of the scullions were under the impression that the winter made her more high-maintenance, but they were not outside on the porch in summer building a lattice canopy woven with vines and reflowering the tables to match her jewelry at each visit. Needless to say, it was not hard to hate her. “Oh, and I delivered my recommendation for you to the Lounge yesterday afternoon. Miss Azuregaze said she would like to meet you.”
“Oh I - thank you, ma’am!” Sometimes, however, you couldn’t help but love her.
She pinched four drops of lemon into her tea before sipping it. Suddenly, a man sat down, dressed to injure – professional and clean, but not quite deadly. Then again, most people paled in comparison to her exquisite taste. So she couldn’t help but smile as he sat, a small victory already won for her.
“Miss Blackwind,” he grumbled as he plopped himself into a chair, snapping a napkin out of its folds and dropping it onto his lap. She only nodded in reply, staring at him over the rim of her teacup, which again found her lips. “I had hoped that this breakfast would be more pleasant than it probably will be, but in the spirit of our mutually reckless candor, I will be up front with you. Suffice it to say, I hope what you ordered is suitable for a last meal.”
“This is a brunch, not a breakfast.”
“Either way, I’m afraid this will be the last time you get to enjoy breakfast or brunch. At least such an expensive one.”
“I do appreciate drama, but I would hardly consider roundabout metaphors to be particularly ‘up front.’”
“The company has gone under. All the way under. There is nothing left. The boys upstairs are actually out to kill me now. They are literally going to have my head for this.”
She quietly set down her tea and looked him directly in the eyes. She waited for him to continue, which he eventually understood and found a way to keep saying words. Any words, just so long as he could stop her staring.
“I’m not even sure what happened, there was so much at once I couldn’t stop it all. First it was a buyer dropping out and then pirates taking the fleet and shareholders pulling out and now – now we’re screwed. That’s the bottom line, there is no demand and there is no supply. All we have is a bunch of angry men screaming at us for the money they’re owed.”
“Interesting. And how can I help you, exactly? Because if I recall correctly, the last three times I offered you any sort of assistance, you essentially spit in my face.”
“I realize that in the past I have not been very courteous when it comes to…you. But I’m in a bind. I’ve lost everything and I’m likely to lose my life if I can’t fix it. I just need your help. I don’t care how it gets done, I just need your help.”
“Funny,” she chuckles, smiling up at him. She shakes her head, “I have two options here. The first: I could let you die. I could choose not to help you and leave you to figure it out on your own. You’re a clever man; there is a decent likelihood that you could evade them for a while. Why should I choose the second option? Why should I keep you alive?”
“Because even if I’m awful to you and ungrateful and rude and blind, we’re friends. We’ve always been friends, and I know that because no matter how many times I hurt you or how many times you try to detonate jewelry at weddings, you come back. And I let you come back. You can’t tell me we aren’t friends. And I need you.”
“Wrong. The correct answer was: to see your face when I tell you that I’m actually ‘the boys upstairs.’ To see how much it truly kills you to know that all this time, I have owned you. I have allowed you to carry on with your cute little life. I gave you everything you have ever had and now I am taking it away.”
His face fell out of emotion. He did not appear angry or hurt or scared. He simply stared at her, unmoving. When his words came, it was hard to tell if he had even said them. Never before was there such stillness in him. What she said was all at once unbelievable and entirely believed. There was no question or uncertainty. He understood. She was telling the truth.
“You need to be taught a lesson. You need to realize that I am a very powerful woman. Not because I have some physical strength or fearful magic or even because I am richer than you could probably conceive, but because you never had any clue about who I am. I am strong because I am wildly underestimated. I hope you see that now. I’ll tell my men to stop looking. You’ll be dead in time for lunch. Eat quickly.”
As she stood to leave, a waiter returned with a silver platter and her belongings. While she slipped on her gloves and twirled her cloak over her shoulders, the lid was removed by a gentle hand.
“Florentine benedict with a hashbrown casserole. Enjoy.”
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