The Bedlamite's Wake
AzureusBunny
I do not own Warcraft or any games in the series
I.
Trickles of viscid liquid resonated on tensely strung chords.
Rich, musical inflections twisted to the demonic.
Music crafted for gods.
Because these strings were novelties, I plucked randomly to form the unorthodox. Beautiful sounds emerged - sounds lost from the days of abstract Gothics. With every touch, essence dripped seamlessly unto the vibrations.
Directly from my gaping fingers.
The sky was dark. I sat atop a shrine at the peak of a hill. Just moments ago, there rested a young kaldorei girl here.
She was no more.
Brilliant streaks of shadowed crimson smeared where she chose to oppose fate. She now slept below me, blessed with an opportunity to serve as my throne. Heavenly rays pierced barred shrine apertures, plastering the ground with streaks of light. The kaldorei's fading visage, illuminated by the moon, displayed her fair features - even in death.
How disgusting.
I clasped the sack of needles at my side, drawing one sheened blade. With the needle, I brightened her face by puncturing her utterly insipid cheeks. The blood was fresh enough to still flow. Numerous cuts bled upon her skin before I decided to engrave something with greater - haunting.
My musings passed quickly. I decided my current name would suffice.
Doctor Bedlamite.
I dropped the needle. Echoes of its collapse rang throughout the dank room.
Such an alluringly painful ring.
It all ended - shrine doors clattering open. A man stood with the presence of the lunar sphere behind him. His look was stern. I dropped my whimsical device. Wooden splinters shattered from its carved frame. Blood from the girl's cheeks mixed with that of the strings.
"Good lord! What have you done, fiend!" he shouted.
"Don't shout at the lady. She is simply serving as my mat." I grinned, gently patting the kaldorei's flowing, olive hair.
The human stepped back. An expression of abhorrent incertitude shot through his eyes.
I speculated his form, cocking my jaw. He was short. He had a mustache. He possessed barely sufficient muscular mass to support his spoiled gut; a fairly useless subject.
A simple flash of energy sealed his fate, but I couldn't end him yet.
Instead, the dirt his boots rested on turned to mush. Quickly he sunk. The mud hardened to clay.
"You will not live tonight. Scream," I insisted.
"Oh my God!" he screamed, "Guards!"
A tiny village lay at the bottom of the hill. One light flickered on at his scream.
Pitiful.
I reclaimed the needle of the floor. Dried blood caked upon its edge. I didn't bother to use the other side.
The human's cries for mercy landed on the wrong ears.
His flailing arms proved troublesome for an approach.
I sighed, tossing my needle as a spear to the man's wrist. The slight laceration bled. His blood showed exceptional fervor in its escape. The scene was complemented well by the chorus of his bawling. He fell from shock - his body very much alive.
He would survive at least a couple hours.
I grasped the kaldorei's hair. I dragged her out to the cold; she had shown greater fortitude than the human.
Droplets of blood embellished my treading. I walked down a pathway, growing further from the moonlit rivulet of blood that seeped from the shrine.
The light in the village flickered off.