AN: My characters need vacations from me, I think. I don't exactly enjoy tormenting them as I'm prone to doing, I really don't. I'm sure one of them will snap and try to kill me one of these days. You know. In my dreams.
I have to take a moment to do a little happy dance here. 50k words and counting. Couldn't even manage that for NaNoWriMo. Anywho, I've stuck in my favorite race/class combo into these next few chapters. I'm saddened Blizzard has not yet incorporated them into the game, but all things in good time I suppose. Doesn't stop me from dragging them out of the RPG kicking and screaming!
Feel free to R&R, I do love the feedback. Otherwise, I hope you are enjoying the story!
Brinella ran with all that she had, and still never managed to catch the felcaster. Twice she was forced to retrace her steps to find Mixie, who had been struck from her back by a low-hanging branch. Both times she had been told to continue on without the little humanoid, but Brinella had no desire to leave anyone behind. It did not matter to her what 'side' that the goblin might have been on, or what others might think of her running through the woods with the woman riding her like the Kaldorei did their sabers. It mattered only to her that no one was harmed, and she felt that the best way for that was to stay together.
By the time they reached the area that she was sure Kalthor's friend had vanished into, the warlock was nowhere to be seen. Dropping her body down for the goblin to dismount, Brinella waited patiently before letting herself release the spirit of the cat and become worgen again. What met her senses made her stomach lurch. "We're too late," she rumbled, her ears laying flat against her skull. Kalthor's scent, the sickening fel-taint that followed him, wound around the grass and shrubbery before vanishing into the warped archway.
"Long-ears said to keep him out of there, yeah? How do we keep him out if he's already gone in?" Mixie plopped herself down on the ground, rubbing at her thighs and calves. Riding a cat was not nearly as easy as it looked, and she was more sore from the brief ride than from the endless trekking through the woods that Kalthor had forced her to do. "So you know, I'm not going in there." She stabbed a green finger at the archway, her long nose wrinkling.
"Neither of us are." Brinella crouched, running her clawed hands over the grass. "Lydros told me not to let him go in. I failed at that. I will not have us both wander like that. We will wait until the others get here."
"Awful obedient, aren't ya?" Mixie grinned, revealing a gold tooth and a gap beside that. "Just like a dog, ya know? I'm surprised they haven't given ya some stupid pet name and feed ya all the treats your good little doggie self might want." She propped herself back on her elbows, watching Brinella closely. The goblin wasn't fooled by the woman's silence, her ears betraying all of her emotions. Easily readable, just like a pooch.
Despite the lack of sharpness in Mixie's tone, Brinella was stung. She couldn't tell if the funny little thing was simply trying to get under her hide or was pointing out the truth, but it felt like a little bit of both. Just a little. Kalthor had been kind, despite Winnie's constant needling and Lydros' distant distrust. He had treated her with respect, had been unafraid to look her in the eye or even let his guard down around her. As heartening as it was to think about that, it still rang hollow. He may not have been scared of her as a monster in his eyes, but that only meant that he had seen far worse than her.
That did not sit well with her. If she had owned a tail, it would have been flicking in irritation. For a moment, she considered becoming feline just to vent her frustration in such a way. Her eyes focused on the archway, seemingly delving deep into her thoughts. She could go, fetch the warlock and his companion, and be back. Perhaps Kalthor had only wandered a few feet into the grove and stood waiting? What could possibly be inside that would have made Lydros pale so quickly?
Brinella wished that she had paid better attention to the Druids. Tipping back until she fell to her rear, her eyes wouldn't leave the arch. Mentally, she went through all of her knowledge. She recognized the scent of demons and the feel of their taint in nature. Kalthor smelled of them, but not as deeply as those who had completely succumbed to the taint or even become demons themselves. His magic did not warp the area around him as others did. The magic in this grove was not demon-taint, then.
Nor was it the odd tingle left behind after the summoning of a great spell cast by a weaver of arcane. That one left a strange smell, like the air after the strike of lightning. There was no fire, no frost. No latent runes that could have been left to trap the unsuspecting. Brinella broke her gaze from the grove to look towards Mixie, who had turned herself back the way they had come. No, nothing like her.
Sharp claws dug into the dirt, furrowing holes that left soil to wrap around her fingers. It was no magic but her own, that undying bond between her and the woods. Nature, pleasant and peaceful in one spot, and then dark and tempestuous only a few feet past. The darkened hollow that has heard one too many secrets, and the light glen that has seen so much laughter. Until now, Brinella had only been privy to the damage of demonic corruption and the scream of the woods when cut beneath an iron axe. This new corruption set her fur on edge. It frightened her.
Yet, Kalthor had run headlong into it to save someone that Lydros had all but claimed gone. Without caring about the danger, without wondering if he might never walk free again, he had gone. She felt guilt deep in her heart, and shame pushed around it to fill the holes. He was kind. He was gentle. He was in love. The very same as she had been before everything had gone so horribly wrong. It wasn't fair.
"Stay here." Her voice was hoarse, more from emotion than from the natural sound that went past her canine features. "I'll come back with both of them." She stood, her stride taking her to the arch in only moments, and she threw a glance back at Mixie.
The goblin returned her look with remarkable neutrality. Insane? Yes, the girl was insane for wanting to go into a place like that. It was no business of hers if the whole lot of them wanted to traipse off into blissful death. Or perhaps not so blissful, Mixie wasn't sure. If they all went off, she'd loot their bags for valuables and then be on her way. It was a win-win. Still, she couldn't manage even a smile for the worgen. Smiling seemed... superficial. Even to her.
Brinella took no offense to the lack of even a reaction. Somehow, she knew that the tiny humanoid would still be right there when she returned. She was no judge of character, but there was the feeling that Mixie wanted to see if someone really would walk back out. While Mixie had never said anything to validate her thoughts, Brinella felt that the goblin was used to walking away, or watching others walk away. Perhaps that was normal for them. "I'll come back." With that, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Her eyes closed, and she took the single step needed to pass the gate...
… and walked into a field of green. For a long moment, she expected an attack. When none came, she opened one eye and then the other, releasing the deep breath she had taken. Around here, there was nothing. Brinella saw no trees, no plants, and there was no sign of the archway she had just stepped into behind her. All there was, coating the ground at her feet in a rippling wave, was fog.
Green, glistening, ethereal fog that swirled in invisible eddies of wind that she never felt. Somehow, Brinella felt as disappointed as she was curious. Surely no one was afraid of simple vapor, no matter how odd it might seem! She found her respect of Lydros dropping just slightly, cutting below their uneasy friendship. For the first time, she found herself truly annoyed with the man. Annoyed with all of them.
Her curiosity pushed her further into the endless world, watching the fog coil around her padded feet and dissipating only to come again in thicker waves. For long minutes she walked, wondering how such surroundings could be kept as they were inside of a forest thick with trees and the sound of life. There was nothing here, nothing but her and the endless sea of green. Frustration began to mount in her mind. This was a trick, a foolish prank played by the others. It had to be.
Brinella turned to leave, to go back the way she had come, and then remembered that there was nothing. There had been no way back, no sign that anything had ever existed, and she had been wandering aimlessly with her head facing in any direction. No scents to follow, nothing to use as a marker. She was lost in nothingness with only the fog to help her know ground from sky. A sound from her left made her turn, and as she did, another sound came from behind.
She turned again, whipping around so quickly that she almost twisted herself into a heap of limbs. Steadying herself, she caught sight of something small beneath the foaming fog. A line of things, dark and creeping. With nothing else to do, Brinella crept closer to the moving things, only to find that no matter how close she felt she had gotten, they were out of reach again. Already lost beyond remembrance, she broke into a run...
… and nearly tripped over something large that appeared at her feet. Before she could take it in, the stench of death hit her and made her retch, bowling her back with both hands clapped over her muzzle and her eyes squeezed shut. Fetid, weeks old and molding, marked by a hundred animals – the scents kept coming, and one beneath them all that brought horrified tears to her eyes. With her stomach still turning, threatening to disgorge what little food remained, Brinella opened her eyes and forced herself to look at the source of her distress.
Her eyes took in the sight of mangled flesh and bone, great tears of skin gone from an animal that she had a hard time placing in its current position. Weeks had gone by, letting nature's creatures continue what always must be done; feeding on what once fed on them. Dried blood stained the grass around it, and the pelt was coated with grease and droppings. Only one thing remained untouched, only one thing had seemed to escape what the rest of it had not.
Brinella's legs went numb, and she fell to her knees. Sickness overtook her, and she spent a long minute retching on the ground before throwing her head back into an agonized wail. Her fur melted, tears splashing her palms and knees as she alternated between rocking back and forth like a child and holding her head in her hands. All for naught... this had all been for nothing!
She found herself unable to be sickened by the writhing beneath the once-white pelt, the scent that had assailed her before nothing more than a dull annoyance to her shock and pain. All she had hoped for splintered and crashed around her. Her fingers reached out, sliding against the broad feline forehead before dropping down to close the blue eyes that stared, unseeing, through her.
Darkness enveloped her senses, closing off sensibility and logic behind a curtain of loneliness and pain. She reached, took the massive head between her hands and pulled, ignoring the crack of bone and sinew as the thing came free. The last, untouched part of the one who had given her hope that all things would be tolerable, even as a monster. Her love and her life, the one who helped her feel as though life was worth continuing, even as a monster. Brinella's agony was muffled in his white fur, her tears staining Cor's pelt.
Behind her, something moved in the shadows.
Blazing heat met him first, stealing the moisture from his skin and making it ache when he moved. The ground beneath his feet shook menacingly, forcing him to brace his stance or fall. Above him, the sky rippled with colors as the day wore on; green stark against purple and black. Kalthor turned on his heel and was greeted with a sight that amused and confused him all at once.
Hellfire Peninsula stretched before him, brilliantly colored. Speckled beneath the cliff he stood on were the camps of the Legion, teeming with succubi and tinkerers who serviced the menacing fel-powered cannons. In the far reaches of his keen sight, he could see the outline of the Alliance stronghold they had dubbed Honor Hold, and closer than that were the horde buildings that comprised Thrallmar.
"I've never heard of a portal in the elven lands," Kalthor mused to himself, drinking in the sight before him. It had been so very long since he had been here, so long. The demon taint he had become accustomed to was far stronger here, where demons had long turned the world to their own uses. "No wonder the worgen was so frightened." A sound from behind him made him turn, looking at the rise where a slender figure stood tall. His heart leapt into his throat, and he nearly shouted with relief and joy.
Vryn'dell smiled, her hands held out to him in welcome. Her voice was soft and warm, a voice he remembered from times long past. "My son. I was so worried for you." The distance between them was closed quickly, her hands brushing through his golden hair and framing his face for a few moments before she seemed to realize that he was a grown man, and not the child she had doted on for years.
"Me? It was you who worried me." He looked her over, and frowned just slightly. The runes that marred her skin were more pronounced, glimmering eerily along her body. The robes she wore were those that were worn by the very highest of the Felblood, and – how had he missed them! - horns curled up from her forehead. A quick glance showed that the wing-like appendages had shown up as well. "You've..."
"Changed? No, my precious boy. I'm still your mother. I'm still the person I was. Simply more powerful. All the things I've ever wanted, I have been granted." She smiled again, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Come, my love. See what Kil'jaeden can bring to you as well. Everything you've ever wanted! He'll forgive you the anger you've shown him before."
He melted beneath her look, entranced by the love that she showed him. Something nagged at him, deep in his core that wouldn't break free. Determined to make certain his mother was truly fine, he shoved it away and closed the door on it. It was nothing that mattered. All that mattered was here with him, now.
Content with his obedience, Vryn'dell turned to guide him from the plateau they had been standing upon. Her steps left no mark in the loose dirt, no trail marked by the sweeping hem of her gown. The ground darkened from it's technicolor brightness and became the dusky gray and green of a demon's influence. In this case, many. She side-stepped the militant figure of a Wrathguard, the enormous demon showing no notice of her or the man who followed like a lost pup.
Kalthor knew this place. The ground cracked under his feet, fine dust puffing around his slippers and clinging to the ornate robes he wore. His eyes, burning bright so close to the source of his addiction, took in the scene of the Throne. Nothing seemed to have changed in the time he had been gone. The burning pyres still held the suspended Terrorguards, and around them were still those who were gifted with that prey.
His skin tingled, remembering vividly how it felt to drain the demons. A rush that no magic could ever compare to, that bloodthistle could only dream of giving the one who imbibed of it. Fel was power. Fel was life and joy. Distantly, he heard a howl and paused in his walking, lengthy ears trying to pinpoint the sound. Not one of agony or torture, but of anguish.
"The unfaithful, Kalthor. The rubbish beneath our boots, and no more than that." Vryn'dell glanced back at him, waiting patiently while her son seemed to work out his own confusion. "So many of our brethren they have slaughtered. You could have been one of them, precious. Not anymore. You've come here to be where you belong. With those who love you. Leave the damned to their fates."
Again Kalthor was forced to hold the door against an unknown feeling. The cry died and became only sobs, soft words uttered that he couldn't quite catch. That was not physical pain. It was emotional anguish, whispered pleas for something that had gone wrong to be taken back. In a realm of torture and death, why was someone crying like that? It disturbed him, his brow furrowing a moment. The sobs died, dissolving into whimpers that were soon lost on the wind.
He shook off the sense of unease, quickly catching up to his companion and looking around once more. Close beside him, one of the sacrifices bobbed in the air, all but devoid of life. Unbidden, Kalthor licked his lips and felt that surge of desire swell again.
As if sensing his silent question, her hand went to the small of his back to guide him closer. "Go ahead. Take what you deserve." Her voice was coaxing, wheedling without pushing him directly. Vyrn'dell smiled behind his back, this time a grin of malice and triumph. "Take it, my son..."
Kalthor shuddered, anticipation rising until he could take it no longer. His mind reached out, twisting along the channels of power and latching onto the aura of corrupted magic that lingered about the powerful demon. With a tug, he pulled it back to himself, felt the line yield under his touch and flow into him like water that had been freed from a dam. More and more, he brought the power to join with his own, bolstering it. His eyes fell closed against the rush that not even the most carnal acts could not surpass.
His body changed, skin becoming reddened and sunshine-fair hair darkening to the color of a crow's wing. Along his arms formed runes that swirled along Vyrn'dell's own body, reaching down until he was covered with vibrantly pulsing lines and designs that burned as bright as his own eyes did. A moment of pain, blissful agony, accompanied the growth of horns and wings. When the line died, the demon drained so completely that it vanished into a cloud of ash that danced on a breeze, only then did he open his eyes again.
The power rushed through him, bringing the world into a different set of light and color that he had never thought to see before. This was true power. This was what made cities bow before the mighty, and people bend to every whim. A laugh sprung forth from him, his eyes going to his hands as they flexed and curled slender fingers. "So this is power..." His voice had deepened, almost a seductive rumble from deep within his chest. Yes, this would do...
"Yes. With it, you can do anything you've ever dreamed of. Seems foolish to have held off for so long, doesn't it?" Her arm linked with his own, leaning against him with a saccharine smile on her full lips. "Come. Show yourself just what you can do now..." Vryn'dell drew herself from him, stepping away and past the structures and spires that channeled magic and demons.
Kalthor smelled them long before he saw them. Fear and loathing, curiosity and pity. Dark emotions tangled together into a knot that he unwound with a simple cut straight through. Time and patience were nothing to him now, forgotten mannerisms that seemed like things only a child would care for. He followed behind the robed woman, standing taller and prouder than ever before. They were filth beneath him, swine for the use of the Felblood. For the Legion.
The captives they approached were penned in by a rock wall on one side, and the watchful eyes of the Wrathguard on the other. Various races, some clung together in small groups and others wailed on their own. Still others were apart from the rest, staring blankly at the fate that awaited them. Stripped of armor and weapons, chained by relics that drained them of strength and magic, they were helpless sheep among wolves.
One sat alone, her arms shackled above her head. Her robes were dirty and torn, white among the gray ash that she sat in. Her head hung, cascades of vibrant red hair hiding her face from the truth for both her and anyone who viewed her. Dried blood marred her arms, wrists rubbed raw by what must have been hours of straining against her bonds. Even as dirty and broken as she was, she was beautiful. He knew she would be.
"How? How do I know these things?" The question rang in his mind as he stepped closer to her, past the ones who cowered from him and those who stared at him as if begging him to end their misery. "Is this where she has been hiding? Playing prisoner to the very demons we cut down together?" His mind reeled with realization, and the door was flung open.
Too late.
The prisoner's head moved slightly, a groan of pain passing through her lips as he nudged a foot against her legs. Kalthor knelt, slipping his fingers beneath her chin to tilt her face up to his own. Their eyes met, and he felt a surge of elation to read fear in the hazy blue-green of hers. He watched her lips part, try to form words that wouldn't come. Instead, a soft whimper of pain was all that left. Kalthor smiled, his other hand coming to frame her face. "No more, Tria. There will be no more suffering for you. Never again, no one will hurt you or break you. Mine..."
A sound of refusal met his ears, tinged with fear-riddled doubt. The woman tried to pull her head away, and moaned in pain when his grip tightened. Anger suffused him, washing over him in a wave. "No..." The untamed wave wouldn't stop, taking up his controlled energy in a great torrent with the magic he had just filled himself with. Unable to control the mix, her felt it press at his mind, luring him into releasing it or being consumed as well.
Triadae's eyes widened as he leaned closer, breathing gently on her neck before kissing the skin there. He inhaled her scent, trailing his nose up along her jaw and then to her own, his lips pressing against hers. There was no gentleness in his embrace, his fingers digging into her skin until she ceased her struggling and cried out in pain. Kalthor seized the moment, deepening his kiss until her mouth was open to him...
… and released the fel magic that boiled inside of his body. He felt her body go rigid, her scream muffled against his lips as fire ran uncontrolled and turned her skin pink before it blistered, as ether ran in her blood and turned it hot and cold all at once. He held her, gripping her arms so tightly that his fingers began to push into skin that was liquifying beneath his touch. Triadae's screams died, but the one in his mind did not. Locked in his own mind, he watched himself end her life. "This isn't the way it happened! This isn't the way!"
Unheard to him, excited chitters and hisses exulted in the sounds of his torment.