~*~ Author's Notes ~*~
I've come to realize I dont rush things. It's painful to read fiction where everything feels rushed. Conflict between natural enemies doesn't disappear in a day or two and I'm disgusted whenever I see this in any medium.
I'm testing a theory that I can 'allude' to knowledge gained/adventures had by our heroin as she spent two weeks in the Plaguelands and readers will take my word for it
~*~ Chapter 14 ~*~
She wasn't moving. Nothing they could do would get her to go in there – nothing! All four paws were braced against the flagstone, claws ripping up the ground and dead grass as they tried to drag her up the lane leading to the large open doors. Six hands on her collar, so many fingers underneath the edge that she choked with no room to breath: all pulling to get her up the path.
She wasn't budging.
Ziltip hopped away. "She aint moving. For a skinny little thing, she sure is strong!" They had gone back to not feeding her again. The Elune-forsaken amount of time they had spent in what they called the Plaguelands had sapped her strength once more. The plague there was even worse than the Ghostlands! Though she had tried to find a Scourge to slip the last seed into the imp was watching her closely 24 hours a day now.
An old Druid trick, rooting oneself to the ground so as to become immovable, was working wonders now that they had finally left the Plaguelands for a place called Tirisfall Glades. Two weeks spent in that place was enough to make anyone wish to be anywhere else.
"This is humiliating!" Corrosa spat, "Just shock her stupid and we can haul her in on Ol' Horney." Both of her bony hands were clamped around the collar, now finding a smidgen of room since the imp had let go and gave up. Behind her the Dreadstead laughed, scales clicking like chain mail as it shook.
Kayas vowed that she was not going in here. Come fel or high winds there was nothing on the face of this planet that she loathed more than the Scourge. The huge remains of Loarderon castle stood before her, its dilapidated ruins haunting reminders of the former power of this nation. Now most of its citizens had returned to reclaim Lorderon – as Forsaken.
In her mind there was no difference between Scourge and Forsaken. Some could explain why they killed everything, while most Scourge minions could not, but it didn't make the things less dead.
Jetadiah sat down sharply, "Well if the Queen doesn't mind her being unconscious, it wouldn't be difficult for me to put her to sleep."
Angry amber eyes glowered at him from inside her feline skull. 'Don't. You. DARE. You think I'm being difficult now; you wait till I get incentive to do this all day! I certainly having nothing better to do… it's not like your even feeding me.'
"She'll be more interested in the seed," The Priest coxed, "She wont even notice you." His smile quickly removed as he dodged the ten claws she threw at his face, letting go of the collar. She firmly shook her head from side to side trying to pull out of the Warlock's grasp. Physically she was stronger than the woman, who's power lay in her knowledge of the Dark Arts.
Suddenly she was being lifted off her feet. "Roookukt!" she squeeled. The flaming steed chose now to make the Warlock look foolish, had grabbed her collar in his fiery mouth and shook her loose of the earth. The Warlocks evil demon horse was stronger than her hold on the ground, easily able to break the connection.
She choked and gagged, the collar cutting into her jaw and throat. Quickly they traveled threw the arches of the enormous ruins and into a dilapidated courtyard. Sharp claws only tickled the giant horse; its scales were made of something harder than iron and thick as her eyeteeth.
There was a crowd now: Forsaken travelers who had witnessed the scene outside and called their friends to watch. One woman who the Druid supposed was a Tauren by her size and face was belly laughing and nudging a tiny blood elf woman in the ribs. The woman had her arms crossed and was scowling.
Kayas was losing consciousness; limp body hit the ground in a plop. The horse managed not to burn her with its breath but now stood looking as if he'd love nothing more than smashing her into the earth with molten hooves. Behind her the Warlock looked please, "Well that's one way to get it done!"
Her hasty escape attempt was cut off when the Warlock threw up a wall of fire in her path and left it there. People who had been filing in to see the show were locked outside – the Priest included. Cowering from the heat, she darted to hide behind what she only too late realized was a horse-drawn hearse. And it was occupied.
A rotting hand reached threw a hole in the floor and grabbed at her. Threw the crack she could see the dry white skin of what used to be an ugly old man. He moaned and garbled, attempting to break free of the little wooden box.
Kayas freaked out, mind kicking into high gear. She had never had to fight undead before. Not the kind the posed any real threat. Now they were all over the place and she knew they wanted to hurt her. She was living and they were dead and they wanted nothing more than to fix that problem.
Leaping away she made to jump threw the fire blocking the doorway even if it killed her. Better than whatever these undead, rotten 'people' were going to do to her! Veering away at the last second, avoiding slamming into the Priest's shield and probably saving herself another bout of collar-induced pain. He had cast it on himself to step threw the flames unharmed. There was nothing that could penetrate it.
Jetadiah looked at Corrosa, who was pocketing bet money, and said, "Stay here; if she's going to do this the whole way to the Royal Chamber then it'll take all day. I'll take the seed to the Dark Lady."
Kayas was panting, twirled her body against the Priest's legs and looking up at him with huge wet eyes. 'You cant leave me here with these Scourged people! The moment you leave they're going to hurt me!' "Mrooowww… Mroooowwwwhhh…"
"Fel no!" Corrosa threw a whole hand full of Orgrimmar currencies on the ground in rather dramatic display; "I'm not babysitting your pet while you go make the grand presentation!" She marched up to the Blood Elf and crossed her arms. Even standing tall as she was able, it still didn't compare to an imposing High Priest dressed neck to deck in his finest and obviously in command of the duo.
He is in command, right?
Kayas twirled around the Warlock's legs now, enduring the sickening sensation of pressing her bony body against another bony body. This one with cold, hard necrofied flesh. The disgust was hidden very well she though, and hoped the Priest understood this meant she and the Warlock both agreed on something finally.
"See, even Meatsack agrees with me!"
Having expected their reaction, he drew his hands from sleeves, where they had been replaced Old-Wizard style, and held the glowing seed out to her. "Then by all means, carry it yourself." Corrosa's hand was halfway up to take it when she stopped, scowled and would have smashed anyone else's head clear off their shoulders.
"Scarlet Crusaders." Corrosa bargained, locking eyes with the taller man. There was a war of wills for a second; Corrosa won.
Hanging his head slightly he yielded, "Fine." She took off for the door- he grabbed her sleeve. "After!"
The Warlock fumed but sat down smartly on the top step leading out, arms crossed, hood up and ankles locked together. There was no way past her; she was sitting in her own wall of flame and completely immune to it.
The Priest glided away into the black depths of the ruins, taking all Kayas' hope with him. She raced after him but the Warlock set up another wall of fire that prevented her passing into the depths of the Undercity. Calling after him had no affect except to hear him say, "You'll be fine. I'll be back soon," in a dismissive fashion as he continued walking
More than anything she wished he wasn't leaving her alone with the Warlock. Not just one Warlock, but several that surrounded her and others she didn't recognized. So many rotting faces, torn limbs, exposed bones, missing bones – one man didn't even have a jaw for Elune's sake!
The little Druid looked around for some kind of high ground, tail firmly tucked around one leg in fear and belly hugging the ground. But each time she found a new place to try and gain altitude the Warlock sent up more walls of flames. Kayas was sure she was doing it out of spite and boredom. If the woman wasn't sitting in the infernal wall of fire the Druid might have entertained the idea of diving threw it again.
The Forsaken were all gossiping in Gutterspeak or Orcish and she couldn't understand a word. Her hearthstone had to be tuned to a language before she could understand it; the Priest and the Warlock were quite fluent in Common. Not surprising since the Priest was a fallen High Elf it seems, and kept the wretched creature for company.
Spotting an open door, she made a mad dash for it. Up the steps, around a corner – someone grabbed her tail and hauled her backward clean off the staircase.
Pain.
Tearing ligaments.
Claws made white lines in the stones, her spine dislocating in the process.
She never screamed so loud in her life.
The next instant, before she could see her attacker and before her shrieks had done echoing off the walls, she was wound like a toy on the end of a string and slammed into the ground. Everything went numb. The world went white, red and then gray. Ringing. Blackness. Cant breath. Stomach splitting.
Pain: so much pain.
Corrosa's voice was the first recognition she gained, then the feeling. There were broken bones and tears and organs that bled. It hurt to move, to try to crawl away; prayer for swift death were all she could muster. Her whiskers quivered as her feline mouth shrieked again and again.
But she was being half picked up by the scruff of her neck, clawed nails digging into her flesh, bone and sinew, and drug across fresh graves and pitted flagstones.
"You have some nerve," A harsh voice cut into her world of tears and air-less gasping, "to come here, where your kind are not wanted." Her heart, which had stopped beating for a moment, took up the terrified rhythm once more. Body shook.
She cried. So much pain. So much agony. Never had anyone felt this kind of pain. Tail broken in several places, three ribs on the side that hit the ground and jaw as well her spine. Hipbones were shattered, one leg joint pushed into her pelvis. There was blood dribbling from her mouth. Her eyes rolled back, one lung filling with liquid and unable to work; the other paralyzed.
Corrosa was speaking again, hastily in that trashy tongue of hers. Kayas didn't realize this was a new voice: Panic. The stranger who had the Druid by the scruff silenced the Warlock without words. The Forsaken woman knelt down obediently and stayed there.
Gaining a little of consciousness, Kayas realized that this damage was very bad but that it would be hours before she died from it. The drawbacks of being a former-immortal race were how resilient elfin bodies were. Especially the Druid, who wove spells into themselves to make their skin thick as irontree bark and fight death. Her heart picked up the pace, panic and adrenalin causing the pain to worsen.
Moments latter she was hanging over a river of green glowing liquid. "The Royal Apothecary Society undertake a great many experiments; these are the 'failures'. I use the term loosely of course. I'm always interested to see the endless variations of things that stumble out after they…stumble… in."
She was falling, weightless, only too late to realize what this meant. There was no way to stop her decent into the muck. No way to prevent the inevitable plunge into the mire. 'Elune help me! Cenarius!' she screamed into the heavens, her unusable voice wailing out as a hiss. The angle of decent turned her a fraction of an inch before she broke the surface of the river of failed Plague experiments.
Elfin. Swords. Hood. Black lips. Red eyes.
Lady Sylvannas Windrunner.