Straydog Saga
Flea 6: Sweet Dreams are Made of This
Smoke filled her lungs as the scene around the miller's daughter began crumbling into chaos. Fires burned where the great demon walked as one by one her friends and neighbors began to turn into unspeakable horrors. When her own mother crumpled onto the floor and heaved black vomit, Keesha Hazzad couldn't move. She couldn't think of the normalcy she used to know. The smell of sweet bread mingled with death as her mother's skin began to rot before her eyes. What was once dead, if only for a few moments, rose again. The pits of the creature's eyes were filled with liquefied flesh as her face began to purify. Keesha screamed but felt a pair of strong hands pull her away.
"Father, why?" She cried, unable to hold her tears back in the madness. Her father said nothing as he pulled her through the front door. More disgusting creatures began to chase them, however slowly. They ran through market row, leaving flames and the shambling mass behind. Keesha's father felt his heart leap at the sight of the main gate. Their freedom was only a few steps a head of them.
"We're almost there, come on!" He shouted over the mayhem. But just as they reached the massive gate, a blinding light rode through. The paladins and priests of the silver hand were like sunshine breaking through the darkest night. The one leading them into the hell that Stratholme had become was the brightest of them all.
"My prince, thank the light!" Keesha's father panted, with scorched lungs as he moved to pass. But the wall of light blocked his path and without warning, his prince brought the hammer at his side crashing down upon the desperate man's head. Keesha screamed as her father's blood sprayed across her face. Before his life was extinguished, he uttered a single phrase.
"The key…" he gurgled before succumbing to his injury.
Keesha screamed as she woke, covered in sweat. The Barrens nights were cool but she felt her skin burn. Though she camped with those who had known her for years there were no comforting words, no strong hands on her shoulder. Just the sound of her succubus feasting on some unfortunate animal that wandered too close. She felt herself shutter as the nightmare subsided, succumbing to the small tears streaming down her face and neck. She took some of the soaked travel bedding and began wiping the wetness from her back and side images from the horrific day still reeling in her mind. The light plagued her nightmares, not nightly, or often enough where she could prepare for them. The struck without warning, rendering her the innocent girl she used to be if only for a moment.
The approaching shadows ahead were obscured by the flowing dust of the Northern Barrens. Keesha kept her cloak drawn close and her mask closer. She arrived in Kalimdor ahead of her associates and thought she'd have to wait for her chance to stop one of the alliance's most brazen defectors. But not only did the one in question arrive at the same time, but on the same boat form Menithil Harbor. But while the trio talked, ate, and shopped in Rachet, the warlock began preparing for their encounter. No doubt the wanted poster would have been circulating for some time, so haste in her casting would be key. She also had to make the runes so specific that only one of the three travelers would be able to set off the trap. Keesha smiled behind her opaque mask as the shadows began to take shape. Three imposing figures, each head and shoulders taller than her human form approached from the south. Her plan was simple. She knew Shandori would not go down without a fierce fight and her companions were skilled in their crafts. But Keesha studied under one of the foulest mistresses of the demonic nether and her arsenal was great. The dread runes were long set and all it would take was a single step forward to initiate the sequence. She waited like a leopard, silently watching from a tall, withered treetop. The trio was chatting about something of little consequence as they came dangerously close to one of the initiate lines. Small beads of sweat formed on her dark brow as the first of the three, the troll, stepped over the initiate line.
"So actually, troll sweat jarred for several months becomes a powerful form of gold polish—" Ima gasped as she felt a dark magic surround her. It was as if a second skin made of shadow surrounded her and threatened to break every bone in her body. To her traveling companions, the curse made it appear as if she'd turned to stone. Chris could feel the fel magic behind the spell but could not determine the source. He stepped on one of the initiate lines and in an instant he too was trapped in stone. Shandori pulled out her sword and shield just as the sound of demonic breathing crept up from behind. She turned, wide eyed, to the sight of a massive demon. Strange chains made of searing violet magic bound it to someone hidden but its intent was evident in its slashing claws. The beast roared and brought its fist down in the direction of Shandori's head. She avoided the blow and brought her weathered shield to slam across its fanged face. But the demon was fast and Shandori quickly found herself on the defensive.
She could feel herself straining to keep up as the taste of blood in her mouth seemed to restore her resolve. With a guttural scream she brought her sword down on the demon's arm, severing it at the forearm. Screaming, she slashed several large holes into the beast, rendering it innate and in several pieces on the ground. She panted, as a howling fog seemed to form in her ears. But through the muffled noise and sound of her own breathing she could hear a faint chuckle.
"Didn't think it'd take you THAT long. This will be easier than I thought." The voice, which seemed familiar, mocked from behind. Shandori turned to see a fully cloaked figure gazing at her with deep brown eyes. She could smell fel energy all around the woman, denoting her loathsome profession. Shandori didn't have a chance to assault the figure before she felt the searing pain of a shadow bolt to the chest. She was knocked back but managed to stand. Keesha muttered a quick spell, cursing Shandori with a crawling pain all over her skin. Shandori fell to one knee, clutching her seemingly burning face. Keesha took a triumphant step forward. One more traitor would see her dark justice, it seemed. She pulled her fel-bathed sword from the sheath at her side. She raised it up, ready to bring it down through Shandori's exposed throat. But her smiling expression quickly morphed into one of abject pain as she felt her stomach burn. Keesha made a sickening noise as her shocked gaze fell to see the edge of a rogue's poisoned dagger protruding from her stomach. The vicious wound began to churn and rot around the blade as its wielder withdrew. No blood came, as the energy that enchanted the blade cauterized the wound. Shandori blinked to clear her vision. As Keesha fell Shandori saw a fel-bathed Christoffel grinning madly behind her. The blood elf had consumed the spell that bound him, and his body seemed to be wracked with pleasurable tremors. His eyes were wide and seemed to glow three times as brightly. He slowly turned and began consuming the energy that surrounded Ima. Her freedom came at the price of Christoffel's deteriorating condition. Veins nearly burst from his temple and neck, his hair seemed to bake, and he felt as if his heart would explode in his chest. He laughed as the delightful pain stabbed every nerve, every inch of him. Ima looked to her master and rushed to his side. His laughter gave way to pathetic cries.
"He's overdosing on the spells. We need to get him to an oasis, I can conjure a salve with the local plants, hurry!" Ima spoke as she used some of her trollish strength to lift the blood elf up and over her shoulder. "Can you walk master Dori?" Shandori blinked and nodded though her legs looked as if they would crumple at any moment. But her legs held and they trio found themselves rushing towards one of the contested oasis hoping that they would not emerge a duo, leaving the paralyzed warlock to her fate.
The priest pulled his pale blue hood further over his fair face with one shaking hand. The gentle Quel'Dorei steed he rode needed little steering, which suited her rider well. Only one hand could grip reins as the other was severed along with the rest of his arm and shoulder long ago. His weary and often wandering steps now took him in the direction of the fabled Mydrassil, tree of many wonders. The sun at his back seemed to push him on despite the rumble in his belly and dryness on his tongue. Those who visited the great tree spoke of its incredible magic and ability to heal wounds seldom seen but felt all too often. His fellow priests told him it would do him well to visit the great tree and conduct his meditations there. With little to do since his forced retirement and the walls of his room all too much like prison bars, Hanariel found the thought of traveling to the great tree like being out on parole. His clouded thoughts were interrupted by his companion's call and back trot.
"Shh, calm down Melissa. What is it?" Hanariel's almost feminine tone soothed his mare as he squinted to see what was a black spot in the road ahead. Melissa would not move at his urging causing him to sigh and carefully dismount. He slowly approached the figure, lying face down and blanketing by a long black cloak. He uttered a small prayer, bathing his form in a bubble of light before kneeling beside the figure. He nudged the fallen warlock gentle, finding her to be ridged. He was about to offer a prayer of final absolution when the sound of labored breathing came to his long, pointed ears. He moved her, though with some effort on to her back where the woman gratefully gasped. The effects of the paralysis wore of just enough for her to hiss the word "poisoned" and motioned to her wound with her eyes. Hanariel gasped at the sight of the rotten wound and quickly quieted his mind. He could do nothing for the poison but his skill at healing even the most horrifying wounds was note diminished by his injury. The wound closed, leaving a small but visible scar. The light would keep her alive long enough for the poison to pass from her system but the priest took no chances. With all the strength his willowy bones would afford him, Hanariel dragged the unmoving Keesha to a small patch of grass, out of sight. He watched over her, setting wards and other manifestations of prayer in a small perimeter around them just as the sun began to dip into the shivering night.
Ima ended up with two bodies on her strong but straining back. While she carried the tremor-stricken Christoffel, Shandori's legs gave out. Visible burns began forming on her skin and Ima had a spare shoulder. When they finally reached the oasis Ima rested the pair against a smooth-barked tree before doing a few quick stretches. Christoffel turned a sickly white as small, but ever growing green runes began appearing on his flesh. Shandori would suffer more scars if Ima didn't act fast, as small blisters on her neck began to grow. Ima offered soft-voiced assurances as she dug around in her reagents bag. She had all she needed to make a weak salve that would somewhat neutralize the fel energy. Even if the mixture failed, it would at the very least bring the energy in his body down to less toxic levels. But in order to make any sort of stronger salve or burn cream, she would need to obtain the soothing cylix of the peacebloom plant. The Barrens was a good place to find the plant but Ima hesitated to leave the two alone in their condition. Shandori struggled to speak but managed to croak: "What's up?"
"I need to leave you two for a bit to gather some plants I need. Do you think you'll be ok for a few minutes? I won't go far." Ima said, grasping Shandori's shaking hand.
"You…don't owe…shit. You…could leave."
"But I'm not going to leave. I'm going to come back and make you better, ok?" Ima said, placing Shandori's hand to the night elf's side. She stood and took of at a run towards the open grass, hoping the dry plants sheltered her quarry. The sparse knolls held very little in the way of flowers or other roots. But the small, white plant seemed to persevere despite the vast changes in landscape. Ima's eyes hastily scanned for the tiny plant but with a huff she found herself drifting from the oasis. Finally a single peacebloom plant caught her ember-colored eyes. She quickly moved to pick the gentle flower but just as her blue, pudgy fingers moved to pluck, a great drooling mouth beat her to it. A wandering kodo with tufts of deep gray fur snorted at her as it chewed the little white petals into oblivion. Ima felt an immediate heat flush across her face.
"I don't have TIME FO DIS!" She roared, voice slipping from perfect common back to her native troll dialect as her eye flashed red. Entering a rage few creatures lived to see twice, Ima's aura became like a fiery blaze. She extended her hands, shooting balls of flame from her fat fingers. The kodo howled and charged at her, head down and pronged horn exposed. But the barrage kept coming: missiles of flame and arcane energy flew onto the animal, slowing its steps until it no longer had the ability to move. Its charred body hit the ground with a rumbling thud just a few inches from Ima's feet. Her eyes slowly returned to normal as Ima's inner flame began to smolder. Smoke carrying the smell of freshly cooked kodo rose as she felt her shoulders sink. In her frustration she did not notice the shadow stalking her, its great fangs waiting to sink its teeth into its prey. Within an instant it was upon her, leaving her no time to think of a spell. Ima, pinned to the ground, was nose to nose with a great jungle lion.
Shandori strained to sit up as she felt her weighted body begin to droop. She didn't seem to be the only one with that problem. Christoffel's sweaty-pale head now rested on her shoulder, acidic breath irritating her already burned skin. She could see his eyes frantically moving under their lids as his lips occasionally whispered words she couldn't make out. She looked around as best as her soar neck would allow. Ima was no where in sight or even earshot. Christoffel shuttered violently for a moment, muttering becoming slightly louder. Shandori did her best to straighten up as she put a weak hand on his shoulder.
"Chris…wake up. Wake up." She whispered as the sight of bright green runes started tracing their way long his gaunt cheekbones. The muttering became like a poison on his tongue. Shandori moved to sooth him as best she could, running her fingers along his soaked head only to pull back fingers full of fried black hair. "Ah, shit." Shandori hissed. She winced as her aching arms moved the trembling form beside her to rest in her lap. The shift, while painful, seemed to calm him some. Shandori's plate guards left some open space around her thighs; the leather pants were soft beneath Christoffel's aching head.
The colors violently swirled around him as what could be considered landscape melted and reformed thousands of times in the blink of an eye. He was tossed about in the tide, lungs filling with burning liquid from a crimson sea. Blood of valiant defenders filled his lungs, causing him to vomit. Christoffel could barely keep his head above the frantic sea when a hand pulled him out. The appendage quickly rotted and festered in his grip. The one who pulled him out of the sea let him fall onto the tiny island and turned away. His eyes met soft blue orbs as one by one his brothers appeared before him. The first pulled him from the bloody water only to shrink away. The next came as a pair of unrecognizable dolls of rotten flesh on bone. What used to be his twin elder brothers glared at him with sockets of, melted blue. Their eyes, or what could be mistaken as eyes, all fixed on him, their lips all formed in hate-filled frowns. Christoffel felt himself shrink in their sight, as the one person he hoped would be absent stepped to the forefront.
"Disgusting." The voice scoffed. The haunting image of Venlyn turned to the others. Blood dripped from his bruised mouth as the sight of the vicious wound in his chest made Christoffel shutter. "There is no justice if this little worm deserves to live after what he's done."
"There is justice, dear brother. He simply does not deserve life." A softer, but still venomous voice replied. The one who pulled him out of the bloody water turned to him, glasses cracked but vision unhindered, with tears in his eyes. "He took the light from me, from us all. Now look at him, he's nothing more than a pathetic wretch." He quickly turned away. Christoffel reached out to his most sensitive brother but the twins, shambling but still quick, stopped him. Christoffel, still on his knees, could feel the small black pit in his chest begin to grow.
"It would be best if you did it yourself." Venlyn coldly spoke as he pulled a rusted sword from his hip. The instrument began to glow a sickening green as became a formidable weapon once more. The shade of Venlyn turned the sword so that the hilt faced the sunken blood elf. The four waited with snarling faces as the inner demons that created them began to shift and hiss in anticipation. Feeling all light sucked from him into the dark pit, Christoffel slowly accepted the blade. The walls of his mind seemed to scream for the release. They cheered as he raised the blade to the base of his throat. But just as he was about to satisfy the urge something jarred him. The small island on which he knelt began to shake. The images of his fallen brothers looked around in confusion. Then another great tremor wracked the red world. The swirling clouds above seemed to crack like painted glass. The water rippled uncontrollably as he felt a gentle grip pull him from the scene. His body began to turn to vapor as two fuzzy lights cracked through the sky. The sight of blue and violet was all that was left of the scene, as everything faded and reality came back into focus.
"STOP IT DAMNIT!" Shandori cried through the pain. Her legs burned, her muscles felt as if they were tearing under the pressure. She used every bit of strength she had to pin the raving Christoffel against the smooth-barked tree. She had gentle stroked him, even as he turned and vomited on her legs. But suddenly he seemed to wake up and start tearing at himself with clawed hands. It took everything she had to keep him from taking the dagger he pulled from its sheath beside his hip and slashing his own throat. Shandori struck him in the jaw as hard as her weakened arms would allow. As suddenly as the terrible event occurred, Christoffel's body was still. He dropped the fel blade as the pair sank to the ground. His eyes frantically looked for blood skies and endless churning seas but there were none. There was only the tranquil oasis and sounds of birds. He moved his arms around Shandori who could no longer move. He did his best to prop her up, allowing her to rest her head just beyond his shoulder, giving her room to breathe. He could see fresh cuts on her skin and bruises forming where he bit her.
"D-Dori?" He hissed, voice still altered by the amount of dark energy in his system. The sound of rustling in the tall grass made him lazily lift his head. The form of a troll riding on the back of a great horned lion made him wonder if he was still in fact dreaming. At once the world began to spin again and everything went black.
"How are you feeling?" Ima asked while dipping her fingers in the burn cream. A sleepy grunt was her reply. When Ima finished applying the cream she found Shandori couldn't stay awake. Ima helped the night elf into a fresh sleeping shirt just before she fully submerged into the gentle sleeping tide. The night air chilled them all, save for one newcomer. A massive form hauled a large fallen branch to where the group sat and cracked the great limb like a toothpick. Fur covered his entire body and where a man's head would be was the visage of a bull. His dark fur camouflaged him in the spotty night sky but his imposing size and the light from the roaring fire he helped create kept him well in sight.
"How are your friends, Imajin?" He asked, tossing the branch pieces onto the fire.
"Resting peacefully thanks to you." Ima smiled. When she killed the great woolly kodo she had actually done the druid a great service. Potan Stonehoof had been tracking the beast for weeks as a rite of passage. At first, he thought his travels from Mulgore would be for nothing but once the troll explained her plight he was more than happy to trade his cache of herbs for the beast's horn. He also helped neutralize the access of fel energy within Christoffel with his novice but well studied druidic talents, though he was more often in the form of a lion or bear than a silly tree. When he sat Ima could feel the earth beneath her tremble.
"So what brings you all so close to the Ashenvale border? It's not safe there you know." He rumbled, pulling what looked like a pita filled with grass and cabbage from his knapsack. He took a bite and began to chew.
"We're going to northern Ashenvale to look for the Dryad's Delight plant. I need its seeds for my spell work." Ima informed, poking the warming fire with a small stick. The druid chewed his cud a little more slowly.
"You do know that is a nearly extinct plant…" He rumbled with a visible scowl.
"Yes, but I'll only need to use three seeds of the ten. We were going to sell—er donate the rest to the Cenerian Circle. That is if we find one." Ima's voice trembled a little. She turned from the druid to check on her masters. The pair of elves slept beside each other, as Shandori's presence seemed to make the healing blood elf sleep a little quieter. She smiled a little as she turned back to Potan, poking the fire a little more with her stick. "So will you be heading back to Mulgore in the morning?"
"Yes, as soon as I turn in this horn I will begin a fast and a greater study of meditation and astral channeling." Ima smiled, eyes and ears intent on the switch in conversation.
"My best friend growing up is a druid now. I haven't gotten a letter from her in a while though..." Ima yawned. Her eye lids seemed to droop closed as the night wore on. As the fire smoldered and the first beacon of sunlight came over the horizon Potan took his leave, leaving the three to rest and plan their next move in the morning's gentle rise.