~* Author's Notes *~
In honor of Dorothy (my car)
Who's latest temper tantrum
Just ran away with my savings account
I bring you a short chapter
About "free" mounts
And what happens
When they don't like you anymore.
Corrosa's dreadstead used to have a real name,
Though I don't remember it anymore :(
~*~ Chapter 65 ~*~
Kayas was doing something she never, ever thought she'd do.
Bargain with demons.
They faced off, dreadstead and druid, across the clearing. The green, glowing imp sat on the flaming horse's shoulder and translated Demonic to Common and back again. The horse had no interest in letting a living thing get it's hands on her and the imp was forced every few minutes to remind the his fellow fel-bound creature of how much it would irritate their hated mistress if they just ran off and never came back. Especially if they took all of the Warlocks things in the process. What did they need with the Druid's packs?
The little druid didn't bother to ask where the warlock or priest was, did not care, or why the demons were running around Tirisfal Glades, loose but unable to do damage. The thing of it was, the imp said, that only a living thing could get the bridle off the dreadstead. The bridle is what bound it to this plane and prevented it's release into the Nether. It also prevented it from disobeying the Warlock. The Warlock obeyed the Priest (right?) and the Priest cried over trodden flowers. So the Priest had ordered the Warlock to order the Imp to order the dreadstead not to harm a living thing. They had no choice but to obey because if the Priest wept, they all did.
The druid very much agreed it needed to go back to the Nether and bother the physical world no more. They had tracked her down because they knew this much about her. It was the imp's scheming and somehow the dreadstead was convinced to go along with the plot. They really hated that Warlock, hoofing the dirt every time she was mentioned and shooting cursed green fel-balls at the trees.
"So," the imp's high pitched voice screeched, "we got a deal? You get your bags and take the bridle off and we go our separate ways?"
"You'll not try-"
"-to kill you, destroy plants, hurt the ground – as if the dirt has feelings, sheesh!- or harm any living thing in any way, shape, form or fashion. No. We're headed for Dalaran. Somewhere inside is someone who can send up both back. Never you mind about it." The imp was very honest, wanting to get these fears put aside as quickly as possible. The understanding that Dalaran would always be plagued by at least one warlock with demonic arts was just an understood thing. Everyone knew it. The glowing beings genuinely were not interested in her at all, and even if they were set loose on this continent, they would be the problem of the Scourge and the Forsaken, and not the Kaldorei.
Good enough.
"Fine then. My things?"
The imp unsnapped the bag from the rump of the horse and tossed it on the ground. It was just one of two bags which belonged to her. The other was on the priest's horse, who lay in a pile of smoldering ash some few feet away. The demonic circle around it gave the druid great hesitation in crossing. Something vile had befallen the creature, but as long as the bag was untainted it was, again, good enough.
"Bridle first," the imp said, "then I'll get your other bag."
The demon horse said something deep and angry, to which the imp replied in kind with something that made them both laugh. A demon laughing sent goose flesh along the druid's arms, but she approached them slowly. The dreadstead was absolutely still, tense, as if just moving might run the girl off and ruin their plans. The imp's sharp fingers were tangled in the red-hot mane, pulling back as if it's tiny body could prevent the massive fiery demon from ending the druid in one kick.
As many times as she had seen the warlock pack and unpack the demon, she had never seen her her remove the tack, saddle or armor. There weren't even fastens to remove it, the plates either welded to the black scales or the armor were part of the body. It took the imp jumping down, digging through her bag and coming out with an elvin dagger before she got the idea to cut the straps.
The heat radiating off the nervous demon rolled over her skin, as did the occasional flickering flame from the nostrils or the hair. Simple command of healing magic – at least that's what she told herself – prevented burns. The first strap she cut was the nose strap. As soon as it was loose the beast began throwing it's head. The druid started and ran. The imp chased after her, calling her back in Common and commanding the dreadstead to be still in it's own language. Finally the flames of anger burned so bright they lit up the clearing like a campfire but it admitted it could not get the bridle off with just that one strap cut. It held still, waiting for the druid to return.
The next strap she cut was the side strap along the face. Veins in the black flesh pulsed in time to the quivering of tense muscles. Even that wasn't enough for her to pull it free. Finally she admitted she'd have to reach into the flames and cut the band around the back of the ears. Kaldorei were fearful of fire; fire killed trees and living animals. The fire did not burn her still, and she would not admit the reasons why, though she well knew. It was her healing, she told herself, which prevented the burns. Not the demon who didn't want her burned.
When the strap fell free the imp commanded the big demon to hold still for the last part, else it would be for naught. Taking a hold on the ruined bridle the druid firmly pulled the bit out of the demons mouth. It caught on a pair of fangs which would put her own to shame before sliding loose. An explosion of fel energy rippled through the clearing as the spell broke. The binding runes on the bit flashed, fled and died. The dead metal crumbled and blew away in the wind.
The imp jumped down the same time the dreadstead began kicking violently, shaking it's mane and spinning in circles. It pawed the ground, thrashed up chunks of soil and struck at trees with it's flaming hooves. The muscles bunched, the veins bulged and eyes went wide.
Something landed at Kayas feed as she backed up and watched the freed demon go wild. Glancing down she saw her other bag. Hesitantly she reached for it, snatched it up. The demons were not interested in her, the imp trying to talk the dreadstead through whatever was happening to it. Once she touched it the bags immediately responded to the magic woven into the fabric, shrinking down to the size which would allow them to be tied to a belt and worn without effort(1).
The dreadstead kicked, screamed several times into the sky, jets of flame shooting out of it's mane and mouth. The echos of some unknown pain reverberated through the trees, lighting up the hollow and drawing a tiny ounce of sympathy out of the nature-loving druid. The veins bulged on it's neck, flanks face, coursing with unknown substance. Eventually the thrashing caused lava to sweat from the pores. The scales started to flake off; the armor broke lose and fell. Where it hit the ground it crumbled to ash. The runes binding the armor to the body of the thing winked out and vanished. It shook, kicked, bucked and thrashed, rubbing it's body against the tree, flaking off more of the scales.
The imp danced back, almost getting pounded into the dirt on accident. Ziltip seemed very concerned for his fellow demon, though to what end was still unknown.
The flames drew inward, being sucked along the very bulging veins, all moving backwards towards the heart. The wide eyed druid stared in wonder as the flaming bits died out, ash and cinder falling to the ground gently as the demon's head nearly lay on the ground in effort. The metal bits of dripping tale stopped dripping, the strait bits of hardened hairs softened into a dusky gray. The mane went out, replaced by hair of flowing, curled gray locks. The exposed flesh was similarly gray, like ash. Like the druid's own skin. Soon there were no flames, no heat... just a creature which seemed to be carved from the hottest ash in black and fifty shades of gray.
It looked up at her, black eyes like glass, reflecting the dim light. The imp said something in demonic. The horse snorted. In the dim light Kayas blinked, remembered something from her childhood. She blinked again, slowly and narrowed her eyes. The beast looked at her. She looked at the beast.
She had seen this horse before. She had seen it's spirit running wild through the overgrown pastures near where she and her family had lived in Feralas. It had seemed sad, alone, but unable to cross. Anger welled in her chest when she realized the Warlock must have done something horrifying to turn what had once been a gentle equine spirit into some raging monster full of hatred. In the center of it's chest a deep red, glowing throb sent out veins of red blood to the rest of the beast's body. It's heart beat once more, finally given a body and freedom after it's thousands of years locked between realms.
Kayas' stomach turns, sick with anger to know that all this time that same spirit she had chased through the fields as a child had been trapped in the body of the demon horse who carried the Warlock around and repeatedly tried to murder her. She assumed it avoided the Priest because of the Light inside him, but never had she wondered why it never turned on her.
Before she turns to go she points the demons towards the Scarlet compound, hoping they decide to pick a fight with the Scourge. Maybe they'll destroy each other. One last look at her before the imp leaps back onto the horse's back and holds onto the withers as the freed beast thunders towards the subdued firelight.
Elune have mercy on you all.
~ End Notes ~
1). Corrosa got her mount the old fashioned way: by doing that god-awful quest. Ever afterward (and to this day) I will vehemently argue with anyone who b*tches about how warlocks and pally got "free" mounts "back in the day". She was level 45 before she saved the money for the reagents. She stubbornly refused to buy a racial mount and still doesn't have flying.