A/N: Hello. As you probably guessed from the word count, I, the author, am not Firestorm Nauragalos. I am a Bleach fan-fic writer, SuperYuuki, and Firestorm Nauragalos is my friend IRL. I'm simply writing this one-shot for her because, one, I flamed one of her stories and I want to make up for it, two, because I have so many ideas for the character I'm letting her use, Moira Moonchaser, and three, because I damned well want to, so shut up. :D My highest level character on Wizard101 is still an Apprentice (and I ve got a free account), so I don't know much, but I did a little research. So if I get some details wrong, then please don t hold it against me. I have no idea what it s like in Nightside, so I'm just going to wing it and make it like it I think it could be. I also think I'm conveying Malistaire as more cruel than he actually is. ;)
Also, I do not know how Destiny of a Fire s Song is going to end. So, do not take any hints dropped in this to be actuality.
And furthermore, I must place this here:
Warnings: Mentions and scenes of torture. Overall bad language.
Disclaimer: Neither SuperYuuki nor Firestorm Nauragalos own Wizard101. They do own their respective characters, though.
It didn't often storm in Nightside. That aspect of the place added to the eerie feeling of absolute stillness. Unsuspecting adventurers, or, god forbid, foolish heroes, that journeyed to the realm of Nightside rarely ever returned completely sane. Students especially tried to steer clear of the place except when it was unavoidable, perhaps needing to retrieve a certain rare reagent. The strongest mystical beasts roamed there, and many of them were taking a liking to their residents.
A few weeks had passed since the Death School had dropped into Nightside, the moderately sized grim fortress becoming the main piece of the dark land's unusual landscape. It was a symbol of fear, and the two wizards that dwelled within the castle had made it that way.
Cruelty, many found, had a new meaning after one gazed upon the sole female of the castle. The teen aged girl had hair the color of moonbeams, her eyes a glacial blue, eyes that looked down upon all as the lesser, the scum. Her skin was the palest of ivories, but not with flaw. If someone was unfortunate enough to catch her changing, the scars on her back and upper arms were evident, and to a knowledgeable eye, they could be easily identifiable as scars from repeated lashings- of course, those that knew of these scars were either dead, dying, or driven insane. She wore a black robe that fell to her mid-thigh, with red trimmings, and black and white striped leggings.
Her name was Moira Moonchaser. Seventeen years old, and already hailed as one of the most evil wizards the Spiral had ever seen.
She gazed into the crystal ball, its soft blue light illuminated her face as its mystic energies projected an image of a girl, a girl with black hair tied up in a ponytail, her sharp gray eyes scanning the area with apprehension, as if she vaguely realized she was being watched.
The albino Necromancer's scowl deepened as she made a sound of disgust.
"Pathetic, isn't it?" she sneered, "Your little Alex is at it again, it seems."
A sharp, cold voice resonated throughout the shadowy, high-ceilinged chamber. "I would watch your tone if I were you, Moonchaser."
She scoffed, throwing her head to the side, the action causing the small braids on either side of her face to swing. "And what are you going to do about it, Malistaire?" she challenged, "Put me in time-out?" She snorted, a rather unattractive sound coming from her, and turned her gaze back to the glowing orb, running her long-nailed fingers along the cheek of Alexandra Firesong's image, causing the girl to shiver slightly, "How I would love to have a few hours alone with her in the dungeons," she said offhandedly, "I've got that new whip that I've been saving just for her …"
Crack!
The young girl cried out at the pain of the whip biting hard into the much-abused area between her shoulder blades.
Crack!
Blood sprayed out to accompany the searing pain of once more having the harsh tendril snap against her back. She collapsed, to the ground, screaming in pain. But she knew that she would be in this situation if it weren't for one man, the one man she'd pledged to destroy. She had to endure, endure until she was strong enough to kill.
She found a steel-toed boot being slammed into her side, and she groaned in pain.
"Dirty little street urchin! That will teach you to not steal from my stall!" he shouted,
"Scum," he murmured, "If your mother was worth as much as you, she'd be living in a whorehou-" Her eyes had snapped open at the mention of the word "mother" and then narrowed in defiance. She'd jumped to her feet and immediately tackled the man with as much force as she could muster in her rage, her dainty hand closing around the man's neck.
"My mother was worth more than you, that much is for damned certain." She tightened her grip, the man struggling to get a breath, but his efforts were for nothing. When he stopped struggling, the girl stood, her bloodied cloak's hood falling back to reveal moonlight hair. She removed the man's shirt and tore it into broad strips, which she used to bandage her wounds. She'd wash them out next time it rained, which was rather often around those parts. Then she'd make her way to the next neighborhood, as she had to keep moving.
Absently, she looked at the dead man on the ground that she had just asphyxiated. How many was that now? She began to count on her fingers the number of deaths she'd caused, surprised when she realized it was more than she could count on one hand. She stared at her hand for what seemed like an eternity, the horrific flashes of blood that she had caused to spill and pain that she'd inflicted with her metaphorically blood-stained hands entrancing her.
Her brow furrowed. That was quite a bit to swallow, she supposed. Oh well.
She shrugged dismissively before continuing on her way.
Moira's eyes darkened in remembrance, but she promptly shook it off.
She heard Malistaire scoff. "Perhaps, Moonchaser, I should take that whip of yours and remind you what such an experience feels like."
The Necromancer's eyes widened in consternation as she cautiously backed up against the bookcase, gripping her wand in her hand as she felt around behind her for the ritual knife that she kept on the shelf. "You wouldn't," she gasped, the old scars on her back aching in apprehension.
Malistaire turned, quirking an eyebrow- though his stormy eyes betrayed the lack of real humor. "Calm down, Moonchaser, I was merely jesting." She exhaled in relief, slipping her wand back into her robe and returning to her perch in front of the crystal ball, switching her view instead to the dungeons- the empty dungeons. They'd be full soon. Full with new playmates- once they solved her puzzle, they'd be running into her trap. Into the dark, sadistic clutches of Moira Moonchaser.
There were many reasons why she hated Alexandra Firesong, specifically. Many, many reasons, Moira was sure. But when she tried to name those reasons, her mind went blank.
She stepped away from the crystal ball, walking over to stand next to Malistaire, who gazed contemplatively out the large window. She was at least a foot shorter than the dark wizard, who was actually rather tall.
Moira lazily unlatched the clamp keeping the window closed, and pulled in open, like a door. "Later," she said dismissively, hopping down from the high window, landing steadily on the rocky ground, and took off at a steady pace, walking briskly.
Solitary walks were enjoyable to her, as she was an unsociable creature at heart. Her eyes were caught by a dead tree, to close to her favorite spot for her liking. She approached the tree, placing her hand against the rough bark. Moira allowed the soft energies of life to flow through her, to the tree, which slowly regained its life.
Many people would think that a Necromancer with Life as their secondary was downright weird. This was not so to Moira. It made perfect sense to her. Why would one want to master Death and not have a grip on Life as well? Life was an important thing. Even she knew that.
Because really, if one would seek to master Death without a firm hold on Life, then they would drown.
They'd drown in their own cruelty.
What Moira Moonchaser didn't realize, was that she was already too far under for Life to save her.