Feeding the Beast
Hunger. One of the most basic mortal experiences, inspiring lesser creatures to great deeds – and terrible deeds. Not that immortal beings were immune to such a sensation. Surely hunger played a part in Sargeras' tortured mind as he embarked on his crusade against all that was ordered. Hunger indisputably motivated the ancient Queen Azshara as she made her fateful pact with the Burning Legion, trading the fate of her world for the power that could satiate her.
And, of course, when the Undead Scourge fouled the waters of the Sunwell so thoroughly that it could no longer be used, hunger drove Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider to rename the survivors of Quel'thalas the Blood Elves and follow Illidan the Betrayer through the Dark Portal into Outland.
Each and every Blood Elf was victim to the same hunger that could not be satisfied – the hunger for the Sunwell's magical energies that were stolen from them. These days, one either learned to master the hunger or one was consumed by it, with consequences too severe to be believed. The fouling of the Sunwell left a hole in each Blood Elf every bit as profound as any lack of physical nourishment. The magic that had filled their lives in every way was diminished so greatly, it might as well have been gone entirely.
The transformations of those who gave in to their craving for more magical energies were nothing short of appalling. Cheeks sunk until the face took on an emaciated look, eyes hollowed out until no sign of intelligence behind them remained. Noses seemed to disappear entirely from the face, leaving a universal look of blankness, totally lacking in personality or even sentience. All that remained of them was their desire for more magic. Wretched in truth as well as name.
Deonius knew better than most how dangerous the creatures could be. Several times now he'd found a missing magister's apprentice literally torn apart by the Wretched in their desperation for magic. The Blood Knights had started sending initiates on regular patrols, which was Deon's duty this day, and occasionally even they did not report back.
In part because of the Wretched, the rebuilding of Silvermoon City was going very slowly. And with the most important part irretrievably lost, why not? There was a growing sentiment among the rebuilders that it would be better to simply abandon their longtime homeland and join their Prince in Outland.
Deonius heard the grinding of metal and the clanking of heavy footsteps, and drew his sword. These automated guardians, built of metal and powered by magic, were another reason why he was here. In the parts of Silvermoon not yet reclaimed, the guardians had resorted to attacking everything they saw. So much was in chaos, even these many years after the Scourge invasion.
"Protect the innocent," the magical construct boomed. A laughable statement, since any innocents in this part of the city had long since been killed by the Wretched, if not by this "patroller" itself. As if to punctuate the absurdity of the declaration, its huge right hand swung viciously at Deon's head before he could make a witty reply.
He found the time after ducking under the clumsy swing. "A rival competitor, eh?" He gripped his sword in both hands, momentarily regretting his failure to bring a weapon more suited to smashing this thing. As it stepped toward him, he crouched low and the guardian leaned down to try to grab him. Leaping over its grabbing hands, Deonius brought his sword up and smashed its pommel down on the construct's head.
As sparks flew from the caved-in metal, the guardian wobbled and crashed to the ground. The Paladin summoned a beam of the Holy Light and blasted the Arcane Guardian while it was down, then watched impatiently as the construct twitched and sparked for several moments before finally lying still. He approached the metallic guardian and searched for the panel he had been told would be on its back. If he needed special tools for this job after all, someone in Falconwing Square would pay dearly for the misinformation.
Almost disappointingly, the panel was fairly easy to find and easier to open. He still had a hard time believing that these Arcane Guardians could be at all effective if it was this easy to remove their power cores. "Efficient maintenance be damned," he muttered as he tucked the power core in a satchel. Did no one believe in functionality anymore?
The scuffle had taken him near a building, and he stopped for a moment, startled. There it was again – a soft sound, muffled and barely audible, coming from within the abandoned home. Any wretched who might have heard the struggle would have come running, either to kill the victor and drain what mana they could, or to obtain magic from the vanquished. He kept his sword ready as he approached the building. Had he found one of those wretched who retained enough of their minds to try to be clever?
Even mindless wretched could be dangerous to the unwary, but some few managed to handle the transformation with a degree of grace, retaining enough sentience to express themselves, boss others around, and in some cases even make plans and develop tactics. It was those "ringleaders" who were responsible for most of the losses suffered by those still struggling to restore order to the whole of Silvermoon City.
In this case, however, Deonius' caution was wasted. He found only a perfectly normal Blood Elf huddled against a wall. Her sobs could only be those of a commoner who had wandered down the wrong path and now found herself nothing more than a living mana-well, drained and drained by the wretched until she was starved to death. He shuffled his feet rather loudly as he approached, hoping to avoid startling her. She did not seem to notice his presence in the least. A cough also produced no reaction, her head nothing but a mass of red waves resting on her arms as she sniffled and sobbed and wept.
"Madam," Deonius finally said, and nearly jumped himself as the elf's head snapped up.
"Oh!" She cried.
"Madam, quickly!" Deon reached out his hand to help her to her feet.
She stared at the hand, then looked up at his face. "Who… who are you?"
"My name…"
"What are you doing here?"
Deonius couldn't help noticing that she seemed to be growing more frightened by the moment, but it only added to his impatience. "Trying to get you out of here, silly girl!"
She stared at him with eyes as wide as they could go, then glanced over to a nearby doorway. "But…"
"Quickly!" He grabbed her arm and tried to drag the woman to her feet.
"No!" She slid along the floor as he pulled, trying in vain to free her arm. "Wait, wait! He needs me!"
Deon's brow furrowed. "There is another victim?"
The woman's words poured out of her, almost too quickly to understand. "He can be studied… brought back… I know he's not all gone… still in there, he's still in there!" The last words came out in a shriek as Deonius finally managed to pull her to her feet. Weary of the sound of her voice, he put his hand over her mouth and leaned forward to meet her eyes. He spoke slowly and clearly, as if to a child. "If I remove my hand, will you tell me your name?"
She nodded, eyes wide.
"Calmly and quietly?"
She blushed, her eyes glancing down, and nodded once more.
"Excellent." He removed his hand, but kept it up in case a slap was needed.
"Ailithera."
"Well, Ailithera, now that we are communicating like civilized creatures, allow me to introduce myself. I am Deonius, a Blood Knight."
"I can tell what you are, Deonius," the woman snapped.
"And I can tell what you are, Magistrix Ailithera."
"Then you should know enough to listen…"
"No, you will listen, unless you want scandal to bring you so low even the least trained novice would laugh at the very sight of you."
The woman's eyes flashed dangerously, but her pouty lips stayed shut for once.
"I am going upstairs, and once the Wretched scum are eliminated you are going back to Falconwing Square with me, where I will make my reports of how you were ambushed and held hostage, yes?"
"Please." Her mouth twisted at the very word, but Deonius was impressed that someone of her standing forced it out. "Please don't kill him."
"Still you protect these Wretched? My vow of silence only counts for myself. Leaving loose ends only invites discovery and humiliation."
"There has to be a cure! No one's bothered to study, only to reject!"
"The safety of our few remaining citizens must be paramount. He is Wretched; he must die."
"He's not Wretched, damn you! He's my brother!"
Finally Deon understood. "He's Wretched and your brother."
"Promise me!"
The Blood Knight sighed. "I will do what I can to spare him. What does he look like?"