Chapter 7: Induction
The way Jaina shivers in the snow after she passed out should mean something to Arthas.
It doesn't.
He should feel concerned.
He isn't.
He should be afraid for her.
He wasn't.
He closes his eyes for a long moment, feeling little but cold biting into everything that he is. He is loosely aware of growing negative feelings, of which he suspects he is intentionally being allowed to feel through the blade. He glances down at Frostmourne, his grip tight around the handle, before he purses his lips. He might not be able to feel as he once did, but that doesn't mean he has forgotten what is important to him. He cannot allow himself to lose sight of what he just sacrificed so much for.
Who he just sacrificed so much for.
For the Love a Queen, he damned them both.
"I trust, Kel'Thuzad, that you aren't going to allow her to freeze to death after going through the effort to enforce her loyalty?" posed Arthas, single eyebrow raised.
"Of course not," agreed Kel'Thuzad, the creaking sound of a meat wagon crunching over snow coming closer, "Since most of our nearby bases were destroyed, and Naxxramas needs to be... thawed out, it will be a bit of a longer trip to somewhere she can recover. Honestly, she runs herself ragged to the bone in constant conflict, fails to dress for the weather, gets her soul stolen, lashes out and then takes the Lich King's retribution, has her soul put back, and then takes the elixir..."
Kel'Thuzad huffed. "It doesn't take much to take her down, does it?"
Arthas can't feel amusement, but he knows he should smile at that, he has to force himself to. It feels... odd. "She is something else..."
"She is," agreed Kel'Thuzad, moving to so gently pick up Jaina and place her on the thankfully empty meat wagon, though not quite clean of blood and a little gore.
Kel'Thuzad takes off his outer robes and places them over Jaina before flicking his wrist, levitating Aurius and Muradin's corpses on the wagon and dumping them in the back without care. He hoists himself up and sitting down next to her. "I will see to her survival, you, prince Arthas, I believe have your first task ahead of you, a test of loyalty."
"My soul is in the blade," rebutted Arthas flatly, "I'm under the impression that loyalty is irrelevant."
"So was hers," pointed out Kel'Thuzad, "But she still managed, surprisingly, resistance."
'Those who bear Frostmourne are meant to serve willingly,' echoed the voice of the Dark Lord, making Arthas briefly startle to hear it so clearly in his head, 'They are bound to me, but have a larger degree of autonomy. If you stand against my will, Prince Arthas, I am very much capable of meting out retribution. If not to you, then to her."
Arthas is thankful, relatively, he can still feel anger. "I accepted the damn pact, Dark Lord."
"You may call me the Lich King, and in time, perhaps you will earn the right to know my true name," said the Lich King, "And yes, you accepted a pact, not the pact I desired, but you are bound to me non the less. How you give your service to me, and to the Scourge, will determine your place here."
Arthas frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Those who serve me willingly, fervently, are granted... boons," advised the Lich King, "Or small tokens of generosity. Some of my cultists requested that their families be bound to my service, living in the cult, rather than reanimated as mindless ones. For their devotion to me and the Scourge, I granted these boons. Kel'Thuzad serves me on the desire for immortality, ascension to a undying form of power all the while retaining intelligence, and I have every intention of granting him this so long as he continues to serve willingly."
Arthas glanced at the necromancer. "You didn't take the elixir?"
"My loyalty has never been in question since after the first day," said Kel'Thuzad.
"That sounds like a story," commented Arthas.
Kel'Thuzad smiled tightly. "For another time perhaps, now, its time we were under way."
The wagon starts off, and Arthas stares at Jaina's fading form for a long while.
"We both know, Prince Arthas," growled the Lich King, "That despite the elixir coursing through her veins binding her to me, she will defy me in any way she can manage. I am still so very angry that she dared strike me. How well and willingly you obey may lessen my retribution for such incidents."
In short, obey and do whatever he wanted, or Jaina suffered the price.
He had been grateful to feel anger, now he is thankful to feel hate.
"This, is likely how it will be for some time," said the Lich King, sounding sour about it, before his voice turned... almost seductive, alluring, "But understand, Arthas. The choice is ultimately both of yours. Whether this is damnation, or paradise. Whether you serve as slaves, or as champions. Learn to accept your places within the Scourge, and when the world is ours, you may yet still become a king and queen..."
There is a dark chuckle of promise after that shifts something uneasy in Arthas's gut.
"Now," said the Lich King sharply, "The gate must be closed. Your first task is to kill the men who followed you here and seal access to the Frozen Throne. Anub'Arak will assist..."
He pauses. "No, no, you will do this on your own. The numbers have been culled small enough for you to manage, and I wish to see if you have it in you to take all of their lives on your own."
Arthas should be horrified...
But he feels nothing at the prospect of betraying and murdering his men.
He glances down at Frostmourne once more. Being souless is... truly an awful thing, isn't it? It would be so easy to just kill and not care, because he can't care, even if he knows he should. He could easily become such a monster...
What is he saying?
He's going to become one no matter what, willing or otherwise.
"I don't know how to seal an obelisk," says Arthas, keeping any thoughts of conflict in his mind where they belong.
"You will be trained, once this is done, on how to wield the power of death," advised the Lich King, "But for now, when you stand in the circles of power, I will guide you."
Arthas nodded and moved, feeling nothing about what he was about to do, the howling chilling wind not even a bother anymore. He heads east, and finds Marwyn still alive, a few of the reinforcements Jaina teleported there standing with him.
Marwyn sighs with relief. "Is it done M'lord?"
Arthas regards him for a long moment before striding forward, his heavy footfalls crunching in the snow.
"Where... are the others? Jaina? Muradin? Aurius?"
He reaches forward and places a hand on his shoulder.
"Prince Arthas, is... everything alright?"
"I'm sorry."
Arthas drives Frostmourne right through his captain's armor like it isn't even there.
Marwrn gasps, clutching at Frostmourne's blade as a ghostly hue is pulled from him right into the blade, before he leans forward, dead over the blade, arms dropping. Arthas grasps his captain and gently lowers him to the ground as the other survives gape at him in horror. He sees, briefly, Captain Falric's corpse hidden behind the obelisk, likely by Marwyn. He pulls Frostmourne free and turns to his men.
"Defend yourselves," he orders sharply, charging at them.
Only one manages to even raise their sword in time to block a single blow. Arthas has never felt so fast, so powerful before. He regards their bodies for a moment, before he notices ghouls approaching, the undead beginning to drag the corpses away...
"I have a request," asked Arthas, glancing at his captains.
"Already you demand of me a boon?" asked the Lich King, darkly amused, "After so boldly challenging me prior?"
"I... wish for my captains to retain who they are," asked Arthas, "They served me well in life."
The Lich King considered him for a moment. "So they did, and so they shall forever more. I will grant you this boon for your readiness to kill your men in my name. But you do understand, they are not likely to thank you for this, especially if I do not... alter them... to enjoy their service."
"I will accept the consequences of it," said Arthas, not liking what 'altering them' implied.
"Very well, but you will be the one to raise them into service once you learn how," warned the Lich King, "Now, seal the Obelisk."
Arthas moves infront of it, into the circle of power...
And then its like he is a puppet, his body no longer moving under his will, something so dark and filled with malice jerking his limbs around. He is engulfed in a dark aura of so much power it makes him choke in shock to feel it. The Lich King raises Frostmourne, and points it at the Obelisk. Blue energy pours out of the blade, engulfing the Obelisk, and snuffing out its flames. Above the gates to the Frozen Throne, one of the symbols winks out. But curiously, the gate doesn't close.
"It requires all symbols be activated or deactivated to close it," advised the Lich King.
Arthas nods as the Lich King returns control, and Arthas stares for a long moment at the gateway.
"We will meet face to face one day, Prince Arthas, but that day is not today," said the Lich King, "Now, finish your task."
And so he does.
He feels no guilt...
He feels no remorse...
...as he betrays his men one, by one, by one, until there is no living person left in Icecrown who doesn't belong to the Lich King.
Jaina gasps awake, blinking a few times, to find herself laid in a bed in a ghostly lit room, blue candles illuminating it. She lays under a blanket, and... and there is a wet washcloth against her head.
"So you've awoken, mistress," comes a female voice.
Jaina blinks and jerks back at the sight of a hooded acolyte leaning over her with the washcloth.
Jaina makes a choking sound, closing her eyes and laying back in bed, teeth grinding. It happened... it really... really happened... light no...
"Ah...," mused the cultist, "So you are indeed an unwilling one. Curious that you were made to drink the elixir rather than simply being killed and reanimated, but it is not my place to question our master's will."
Jaina opens her eyes and glares at her. "Spoken like a true lap-dog."
The cultist shrugged. "I make the best of my service as I can, young one."
Jaina squints, seeing an older face under the hood.
"I was... tricked into service myself," admitted the cultist, "But I have embraced what I have become. Trust me, its better than the alternative."
Jaina scoffed. "Right."
There is silence for a moment before the cultist resumes dabbing at Jaina's head.
Jaina scowled. "Who are you, and why are you here?"
"I am Amara Deathwhisper," answered the cultist, "And I have been assigned as your... chambermaid I suppose. I am to watch over you while you recover, and introduce you to life as a member of the Cult of the Damned."
Jaina slow blinks. Deathwhisper? As in Lady Deathwhisper? Eventual Lich and Supreme Overseer of the Cult of the Damned?
She can kill the cultist, here and now, and starts to call on her power to rid the world of...
Jaina seizes briefly, gasping as her vision darkens with pain.
Then the icy dark presence of the Lich King comes to her, fills her mind. "So you've awoken, Proudmoore, and already you plot against me? The elixir that runs through your veins prevents such action. Regardless, such defiance deserves PUNISHMENT!"
Jaina screams as a lash of pain splits down her head, her spine, all the way to her toes, her entire body enflames with pain.
Then its gone.
"Let this be the only warning you need," warned Ner'Zhul harshly, "Continue to defy me, and the punishments will escalate."
Jaina grits her teeth, but doesn't answer.
The Lich King pulls away from her mind, going back to whatever he was doing.
Deathwhisper tsks. "You do yourself no favors, young one."
Jaina glares at her in helpless fury.
Deathwhisper sighs, sets down the washcloth, and places a gentle hand against Jaina's shoulder. "Your old life is over, young one. You can accept your new life, embrace it and make it your own, or resist and suffer for it."
Jaina bats the hand away. "I will never willingly serve the Lich King."
"Then it is unfortunate for you that he does not need your consent," rebukes Deathwhisper sharply, "If you wish to be paraded about under his will at all times, then by all means, he will do so if you so childlishly defy him."
"Childishly?!" exclaims Jaina, sitting up, "I've been made a slave to a monster that wants to wipe out all life on Azeroth! There is nothing childish about this defiance!"
"Not all life," disagrees Deathwhisper, "If all life ends, then no new members may join the Cult or the Scourge, eventually there will be no new dead to raise, and we will stagnate. The Lich King will keep the cult alive to continue to thrive and produce more subjects at least."
"How thoughtful and caring," mocked Jaina.
Deathwhisper leans down to whisper, "You saw the flame that holds our chains, what is to come is so much worse than you can imagine. So long as the demons control our lord, we cannot become what we truly could be. A marvelous, wondrous, eternal empire. Kel'Thuzad has spoken of the concept recently, and I do so find it enticing."
Jaina had seen what the Scourge had become after the Third Ward, there had been no wondrous empire. "And anyone who doesn't 'join' is crushed under foot? You can pin the blame on the demons all you want, but you're not much different."
Deathwhisper drew back, scowling at her. "Perhaps, perhaps, but know this, Proudmoore. The demons would burn Azeroth, turn it unto ash, leave nothing remaining. We might be monsters to you, but we are Azeroth's monsters, we champion this world in our own way. Once we win, we will turn this world into a fortress world that the demons will never be able to breech."
Jaina says nothing, because she's not exactly wrong if the entire world is under Scourge control...
Jaina scowls and banishes the thought. "So, pick your poison then?"
"Well, you made your choice already when you stepped foot on Northrend," mused Deathwhisper, "So truly, the only choice now is if you support the Scourge willingly, or are dragged along, but I know from experience, young one, that having your body puppeted around, the Lich King speaking through you, is... unpleasant. If you wish to keep your pride, to make your servitude your own, then embrace it."
"Pride is pointless," said Jaina bitterly.
She hadn't felt pride for herself or anything she had done in a long time. Recently, she had felt pride for Arthas... but not so much after he damned himself for... for her.
Dammit Arthas...
Deathwhisper hummed, seemed pleased. "Well, I suppose I don't have to slowly wean you off it then if you've already learned a lesson it takes many servants a long while to learn."
Jaina raises an eyebrow at her.
"When the Lich King can force you to grovel and crawl on the ground at will if you irk him, pride really falls away swiftly."
"Know from experience?" mocked Jaina.
"Yes."
That makes Jaina snap her mouth shut.
"I've played the part of the unwilling slave," said Deathwhisper tiredly, "Had him use me to fell my village with deception, murder, and a single vial of the plague to show me just how easy it was. Screamed praise for himself through my mouth in the middle of my village making it seem as if I were an insane lunatic cultist, ruined my reputation and slaughtered my village in a single night. There are still a few cultists and intelligent undead from home that haven't yet realized it and shoot me dark looks in passing."
Deathwhisper leveled her gaze on her, and two voices speak you, "Would you like that I do the same of you, Proudmoore? Kul'Tiras could fall so easily, they would welcome you in and I would slaughter them through you all the while singing my own praise from your lips. Your entire people, your family, enslaved to my will and hating you forevermore for 'willingly' delivering them into my hands, and I would never let you tell them otherwise."
Jaina snarled, hand pointed at Deathwhisper, at the Lich King, but a flash of pain spikes through her head before she can call forth any magic. She hissed furiously and lowers her hand.
Deathwhisper smirks and leans forward, eyes glowing blue, the Lich King speaking softly, "Serve me at least somewhat willingly for the time being, Proudmoore, and Kul'Tiras will be saved for much later, and perhaps if you earn my favor, you will be allowed to determine their fate."
Jaina's hands shakes in helpless fury, and fear for her family, spitting out bitterly, "What does my willingness even matter?"
"Less energy that I have to waste reigning you in, and less irritation having to do so, I have enough to do without needing to direct you," the Lich King answered simply, "In addition, the undead do not forget, Proudmoore. The scourging of the world is the pathway to eternity. Future politics within what is to come will not forget what role you played and how you played it."
"I was under the impression there wouldn't BE politics," said Jaina flatly, "If everyone served you."
"There will always be politics," said the Lich King dryly, "Those trying to elevate themselves, to earn my favor, to better themselves in the eyes of the damned. Your standings in the future depend on the now. And you, Proudmoore, have great potential that could so easily be elevated within the Scourge, potential that I would rather serve me willingly. For all that you have angered and defied me, I am not ignorant of your capabilities. You could become one of my greatest servants."
Jaina just shakes her head. "You're going to die, as am I, the future you speak of is irrelevant."
The Lich King huffs, and then releases Deathwhisper, returning to a dark voice in her mind. "So doubtful are you Proudmoore? Then go with my servant, and see firsthand the strength of the Scourge."
"You mean the strength we nearly broke through?" snapped Jaina, "With a small strikeforce?"
A growl rippled through her mind. "The only reason you breached so far is because over half of my forces were stolen away to lay waste to the Kingdoms south of Lordaeran."
Jaina froze.
What...?
What did he just?
"What do you mean?"
"Mal'Ganis was but a petty underling," answered the Lich King, "Who served much higher powers. He answers to a demon called Tichondrious, who initiated the Scourging of Ironforge, and of Stormwind, with my forces."
Jaina chokes.
No...
No no no no no!
What had she done?!
What foolishness had possessed her to enter into that pact with the demon?
She had been so focused on Arthas, she hadn't given the wider picture any thought. But the demon had. It takes her only a moment to recognize that Tichondrious was going after the Heroes of Azeroth, slaughtering them before they could reach their peak. If he culled a large chunk of them, or light forbid even managed to wipe out Stormwind and/or Ironforge...
She...
She just doomed the future.
She's not even going to be in a position to challenge the Legion, not as a slave to the Scourge.
Jaina swallows thickly.
They had defeated Sargaras, ended the Legion...
She had ruined everything...
She wilts, depressed, and stares up at the ceiling.
"I am not one to let my servants waste their and my time wallowing in self-pity," said the Lich King, "Get up."
Jaina's legs moved without her consent, and her depression turned into irritation and fury. But her mouth was kept firmly closed as she was forced to follow Deathwhisper out of the room. Cultists and undead move through the hallways, some nodding to Deathwhisper, others regarding Jaina with expressions she's not sure she understands, or wants to understand...
Respect.
Fear.
Awe.
Hunger.
Desire.
"They know," she murmured to herself, finding her lips working again.
"It would have taken an effort in ignorance not to have felt your mental attack reverberate through the Scourge with your presence attached to it," snapped the Lich King.
"Don't you have anything better to do then hound me?" she asks snidely.
"You have little comprehension of what I am, Proudmoore," answered the Lich King, "While I speak to you, I am speaking to countless others, preforming and guiding many different tasks, plotting future plans. I am not a limited being like yourself, I have countless focuses and perspectives. I may have a primary focus, but I can create many lesser focuses to deal with other duties. One will always be paying you at least some attention."
Jaina startles a bit at that. That... was new information to her that she hadn't known before. Ner'Zhul wasn't an orc anymore, he wasn't a being like anything she understood anymore. She wonders if Arthas had kept that as the Lich King, or had lost it either in part or in full. "I see."
Then she startles at something else, a cultist leading young enthusiastic children through the hallway. "What in the..."
"I did tell you," said Deathwhisper, "That the cult would live to continue producing subjects. They are raised in devotion to the Lich King, the future of the Cult of the Damned."
Deathwhisper chuckles, "Kel'Thuzad often complains about paying child care."
Jaina slow blinks. What?
"Why does the Scourge even bother with money?" asked Jaina slowly, complete sidestepping the ridiculous notion of Kel'Thuzad... doing that.
"A leftover from the living," mused Deathwhisper, "And we haven't really had the time to come up with a new, better system while the Scourging is under way. Currency is such a greedy, living concept, the Scourge will have no need of it eventually. For now, it pushes the greedy, and teaches responsibility to the young. Serve fervently, get rewarded in coin and knowledge."
Deathwhisper greets the cultist children as they draw near. "Good evening class, what are you up to this night?"
"Wewre cutting open a sowdier and miss Molly is gonna show us all the owgans!" answers one of the children cheerfully.
Jaina stares in horror.
Deathwhisper nods. "Good, proper reanimation does require knowledge of anatomy."
The cultist hums as they go and then glances at Jaina. "I'd have you sit in and watch, but you need basic lessons in shadow and necromantic magic first before it has a purpose, these children are more advanced than you are in such regards at the moment."
Jaina hates that the comment makes her bristle. She never wanted to learn either school of magic, but she can admit a weakness in that she likes being knowledgeable about magic, and anyone, especially children, knowing more grates. She's studied the magic from an outside perspective picking it apart, but never as the caster.
Deathwhisper gives her a knowing smile. "Archmages, all the same."
"I'm not a member of the Kirin'Tor," Jaina mutters under her breath.
Deathwhisper pauses, her eyes going distant, before her eyebrows climb. "Oh ho? They banished you?"
"How do you..."
"The Lich King speaks to us all whenever he so chooses," answered Deathwhisper, "As your caretaker, such things are relevant to me."
The cultist huffs. "Honestly, the ignorance and foolishness, a person of your power and ability? And they cast you out? Ridiculous. You will find far more acceptance and encouragement here if you can look past your... bias against the Scourge."
"Bias," repeated Jaina in perhaps the flattest tone she had ever taken in her life.
Deathwhisper gives a crooked smile before resuming the walk down the hall. When Jaina's body doesn't immediately follow, she hesitates before doing so on her own. If only so she doesn't have to suffer the awful feeling of the Lich King's foul presence jerking her limbs around. She follows Deathwhisper into a large circular room with a ritualized area in the center. A flat stone alter with dried bloody runes around it. The room is dimly lit with blue and green candles flickering. Next to the alter is a small basic of water. Kneeling around the circle are more cultists, hoods up. Two however stand at the ready.
She also vaguely recognizes both of them.
Lady Blaumeux.
Grand Widow Fearlina.
Or well... not so much the grand widow yet. The insane redheaded cultist looks to be in standard cultist clothing, though she is standing and her hood is down.
"Welcome, lady Proudmoore, to your initiation into the Cult of the Damned," said the Death Knight, "I, am Blaumeux, High Cultist of Naxxramas."
Jaina slow blinked. High Cultist? Not... oh. The Four Horsemen haven't been made an official thing yet, have they? In fact... Lady Blaumeux is in cloth clothing, not Death Knight plating, nor are her eyes glowing. She wasn't a Death Knight yet. Jaina... she's so early, isn't she? This is still months before Arthas returned to kill his father originally. The Scourge is still an infant compared to what it will become. She wonders how much of the horrors of the Scourge she knows about don't exist yet. Its likely Naxxramas wouldn't be half as dangerous as she thought it would have been.
Jaina brushes the thoughts aside and swallows. "What... am I supposed to do?"
"Strip," answered Blaumeux, "And lay on the alter."
Jaina sighs and peels off her clothing, shivering as the cold presses in on her naked flesh. At least she's somewhat protected inside compared to Northrend's true cold. She lays down on the alter, twitching at the cold stone. "So... everyone does this?"
"Oh no," answered Blaumeux, "Only our most valuable members go through this, those with the most potential, those who proved worthy. I went through this ritual, as did Deathwhisper, as will my young apprentice here, Fearlina, once she has proven herself. The hopefuls taking part of this ritual may one day earn the right as well."
Jaina frowned. "Why am I having this now then if I haven't..., she spits out, "Proven myself?"
"Oh but you have young one, you have," said Blaumeux, honest admiration in her voice, "You and your prince carved a brutal path into the heart of the Scourge, and make no mistake, you were the driving force behind much of it. I doubt Prince Arthas could have breached Icecrown without you, gone half as far as he did. Then, lets not forget, that you challenged and struck our Lord."
A crooked smile appeared. "It of course did no true damage to one so beyond death outside of the shock, the startlement of your audacious challenge. Pain is fleeting after all, and he punished you for it, we all felt your screams."
Jaina grits her teeth, but doesn't answer.
"Now, are you a virgin?"
Jaina flushes. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Blaumeux raises an eyebrow. "It determines if we need to have it taken. This ritual isn't for the pure."
Now she finds she's rather glad for the Winter Veil mess she had with Arthas.
"No," answered Jaina flatly, "I'm not."
Blaumeux nods. "Good, now, cleanse her."
The acolytes and Fearlina move to the basin, reaching in to pull out wet cloths. Jaina grimaces, but keeps herself still, when they begin to wipe her down. She eyes the cultists, their robes, and determines that, thankfully at least, they are all women. She doesn't think she would have been able to tolerate an unwelcome man putting a hand on her breasts and between her legs combined with all this that she's woken up to. Its still mortifying in itself. She's had chambermaids before who have helped wash her. But honestly, she's not infirm, she can wash her damn self.
Though considering the faintly illuminated sheen the wash cloths are leaving on her skin, its not likely pure water.
They lift and flip her over, repeating their cleansing, before she is again turned over and laid on her back. They called it a cleansing... but honestly, Jaina feels slimy and unclean. Worse than being in her bloodied and dirty clothing...
"This ritual could be considered an... infusion, an alteration," explained Blaumeux, "And considering we don't have even the required year minimum to build you up to a proper understanding and conversion to shadow and necromantic magic, a little... boost to speed things along isn't remiss. Your training as it is will be harsh and swift."
Oh, Jaina doesn't like the sound of this.
"We have a deadline to meet, before the Scourge returns to finish what it started," continued Blaumeux, "Now, visible or hidden?"
Jaina blinks. "What?"
"Do you want the tattoos visible or hidden?"
"Tat... what?" began Jaina.
"Visible," came the Lich King's voice, "All who look upon her are to know just whom and where she belongs. She will not be preforming undercover tasks."
What in the world were they going on about? She had seen cultists with tattoos before, but they were making it seems as if...
Well...
It wasn't like every dirty secret of the Scourge had been unearthed, there was likely far more than any of them had ever known.
The cultists retreat to the outer edges of the room before returning with little bowls of what looks like ink. A quick sniff reveals a repugnant smell, like death and decay. They are set in a circle around her on the alter before the cultists return to their kneeling position around the circle. Fearlina and Blaumeux both remove the gloves from their hands, dipping them in the basin, then returning to the bowls of ink. Then, she feels the Lich King's power grip her, completely immobilizing her.
Blaumeux draws a bone dagger from her belt, then cuts open Jaina's palm, earning a sharp hiss from her. Her hand is lifted, and her blood is squeezed out into each ink bowl. Blaumeux slowly walks around the alter, drawing her dagger deeply across parts of Jaina's body, except for her arms, letting blood flow across the alter. Jaina's jaw is clenched, trying to hold back her cries, and the fear. Fearlina takes the dagger from Blaumeux when she is done and carefully mixes the ink bowls. Jaina breaths deeply, continually. Blaumeux withdraws a potion from her robes, and brings it to Jaina's lips.
"This will help with the blood loss," Blaumeux murmurs, "We must have blood flowing freely for this. You will be given a few days to eat and to rest after this is done, allowing you to recover, and your lessons and training will be less... intensive, until you are returned to proper health."
Her head is tilted back, and the potion put into her mouth. She swallows it, and Blaumeux returns the empty bottle to her robes. The cultist rolls her shoulders and briefly flexes. It takes Jaina a moment, as a faint red and blue light begins to illuminate the area, that Blaumeux is waiting for Jaina's blood to flow down and reach the ritual circle. She swallows thickly. If the Lich King wasn't keeping her firmly still, she knows she'd be shivering, afraid. She is already starting to feel a little faint, her pulse slowing as dark magic starts to press in.
"This will take time, and it will hurt," warns Blaumeux before she dips a finger into one of the ink bowls, and touches it upon Jaina's shoulder.
Jaina screams instantly, Its like sharp ice-cold daggers are being stabbed into her flesh, into her magic, into her soul. She cannot move, cannot escape, cannot shove them away or attack, she can't even writhe under the ministrations. The master and apprentice pair are slow and methodical, using their fingers, and small brushes, to lay the ink on Jaina's skin. If its even really ink, it does not run down her skin, the moment it lands, it sticks and digs into her. Light above its agony, and nothing lessens it. No one reacts to her screams, Blaumeux herself hums a small tune, a soft smile on her face. Fearlina seems only a little uncomfortable, but goes about her duty like a good little cultist. Not yet the insane fanatic she will one day be.
It goes on for hours, and she's screamed herself dry, small gasps all she can manage anymore. She is dreadfully faint and dizzy, hearing cutting in and out, vision blurry. She hears... hears chanting... the cultists around the circle are chanting now. The glow from the ritual circle is much brighter, and yet darker. The shadows in the corner of the room flicker, like wraiths. She feels the presence of the Lich King all around them, watching carefully and critically as his will is done. She feels a call that's familiar to her, death so close like other times she's been critically wounded. But its not allowed to touch her, the Lich King pushing it away and pulling her feeble desperate reaches for it back. She knows deep down that even if the Lich King allowed her to die, he'd simply animate her as an undead. But she can't help the want... the need to escape...
"You will never escape me, Jaina Proudmoore," says the Lich King, his voice powerful and booming, and definitely his direct focus and not a minor one, "You. Are. MINE."
She screams as unholy blue energy briefly shines out of her eyes and mouth, the Lich King's power illuminating through her.
Then its over.
Blaumeux and Fearlina stop their agonizing touches and set aside their bowls. The chanting ends. The Lich King relaxes his grip. But Jaina doesn't move, she lays there sobbing quietly to herself. The cultists bring out a new basin, with actual water, and begin to carefully wipe her down again. Blaumeux touches each laceration she left on Jaina's body and knits them closed with dark magic. Jaina blinks rapidly as she's made to sit up, Fearlina's hand on her back to keep her upright. Jaina lolls her head to look at her arms...
From shoulder down to fingers, she has a pair of full tattoo sleeves. On her right she bears skeletal tattoos, bones running down her arms, with skull symbols near her shoulderblade almost like pauldrons, another on her elbow, her wrist, ending on pale boned fingers. She's faintly sure she's seen them before, either on cultists, etched into places within or upon Scourge buildings or ritual circles, or carried on flags. Various symbols of the undead.
On her left she bears shadowed tattooed. Black and dark purple tendrils that snake down her arm, condensing around symbols on her elbow, her wrist, into now dark fingertips. Underneath and around the tendrils she sees no bare skin, just ink, though... this ink is more subtle, black and... dark blue? Its a little hard to tell with the world spinning around her at the moment, but yes, dark blue like shadowed ice. She blinks rapidly, trying to focus on what she sees. She's not as familiar with shadow symbology as with Scourge ones... at least they're not demonic symbols she supposes.
But worse than the physical is what she feels from her magic. She still feels her arcane might, but parts of it are... tainted. At least a third of her power had become wispy and dark, shadowed and cold in a way that she can't properly grip. Another third felt like rot, like death and decay that she shies away from. She feels... sickly... defiled...
She supposes she'll stop skirting around it.
She actually feels damned.
And that...
She just stops.
She goes limp.
Fearlina and two other cultists catch her and bring her sitting again.
Deathwhisper approaches for the first time since the ritual began with clothes. Jaina barely pays attention as they put the garbs on her. Her eyes briefly flicker to the dark and purple clothing, a sleeveless tunic that keeps her arms bared. Cloth pants. An outer robe that's put on her that covers down to her wrists. The rest of the cultists begin the clean the area as Deathwhisper and Blaumeux grip under her shoulders and drag her out of the room. The halls are blurry to her... and she feels so tired...
The return her to her room, where Blaumeux leaves her to Deathwhisper's tending. The cultist brings her to her bead, takes off the outer robes, lays her down, and pulls the covers up to her shoulders.
"You did well, Jaina, I'm surprised you didn't pass out during the ritual, few are the ones who can retain consciousness all the way through it," said the cultist in a quiet tone, "I will give you time to rest, and will only wake you for food and drink. Now, sleep."
Jaina passes out not long after.
Review Responses:
Urazz: Neither Arthas or Jaina are undead as of the moment. Arthas is the same mix he was bewteen life and undeath before he took his own heart out. Jaina is not quite that, but more along than most cultists as of the end of the ritual.
Guest: Arthas isn't insane/fanatical in this compared to cannon, and as we see, Jaina is with him. It might not have immediate drastic changes, as the Lich King's will does enslave and direct them, but certain events will be altered.