Life after Death

Another attempt at the Friday Five RP challenge. This time the task was to write about "If your char died and was resurrected as a Deathknight, what would happen?"

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The sword felt heavy in her hands, so cold and so hungry. Swinging it experimentally she almost decapitated a passing ghoul and the voice in her head murmured its approval.

Outside her head was clearing now, the voice so calming so seductive whispering through her foggy thoughts. Turning her blood to ice, inciting her to violence. Telling her all about those Scarlet insects, how she had to crush them beneath her black boots. Images flashed through her fractured mind, women screaming as the sword descended, children cowering behind their parents. All superimposed against a fiery red burning sky, so real she could almost taste the acrid smoke.

Never before had she waded in the blood of the fallen, never before had she seen people run screaming from her. It felt so alien but so so right. All the time, the voice was there, tutoring, encouraging, suggesting. The battlefield was a symphony of loathing, the screams of the dying, the singing of the blade and the grunting of the ghouls as they ran about their grisly business.

With time came the hate, these pitiful creatures didn't deserve their lives, their beating hearts. Merely a pestilence on the face of the land, vermin to be purged once and forever. Where once she had brought succour to the wounded, nurtured and healed, now she stormed through the lines bringing her Master's message of death and destruction.

She learned fast, a quick eye and a swifter blade brought passing praise from her instructors, not that it mattered. Whether they rewarded her or flogged her meant nothing. All that mattered was the voice, when it was silent she felt hollow, an empty vessel serving no purpose. Desiring it, craving it, she took to worse and worse acts of depravity. Slitting the throat of an infant in front of its moaning, mewling mother, ripping flesh from bone and crushing skulls under foot.

Then, came that fateful day at Light's Hope. One minute she had been facing off against a young paladin, circling him, enjoying the dance. Then the next, a sudden burst of pain exploded in her mind. The voice.... the voice was gone, leaving a void of nothingness. It didn't stay empty for long though, memories blood soaked and horrible swam through her consciousness burning her. Her armor felt too big, too heavy and her head spun. Slumping to the ground, her scream echoed through her whole being, bringing back haunting memories of women, their mouths open in frozen, gaping screams, women she had slaughtered, wives, mothers, daughters.

Desperate, like a cornered rat she begged the voice to return, nothing. Closing her eyes she threw herself at the throat of the nearest paladin, hoping either his death would return her one true master to her or failing that someone would end her misery by killing her like the rabid and diseased dog she was. Instead, gauntleted hands caught her wrists, disarmed in seconds she was forced to her knees. A cool hand stroked her forehead, voices talked over her, calling her feverish, saying she needed to rest, that it would take time, others, mostly those with a pulse suggesting it would be better to end it now, cut her down like a mongrel cur.

One voice, louder than the others spoke, "enough blood has been shed tonight. She lives". All arguments ceased. Arms lifted her, loosened her armor and carried her away from the muddy field into the chapel. Losing consciousness, her last thoughts were first of all of loss and loneliness, but as her mind faded into blackness, that voice... the man who saved her, who gave her yet another chance.... perhaps there was still some hope.

Of fishes and fog

I've always loved reading Anna's friday 5 and the responses people give. So after weeks of procrastinating, here is my first attempt that I've got around to posting somewhere. Ok, I rather failed at the first hurdle (500 words was way to short once I started to write), but I really enjoyed doing it.

The fog was encroaching faster now, half the dock was already shrouded in its damp embrace. The young priestess sighed and pulled her cloak tighter, whoever named Mist's edge had certainly been accurate. How naive she had been when her instructor's at the temple had told her, "its time to move on", dreaming of Stormwind's golden spires or Ironforge's dark caverns. Instead of an exciting metropolis, they sent her to Darkshore.... "to learn" they said. What could she possibly learn here, there wasn't even books, just picking mushrooms in the woods and fishing. That was obviously no job for a Priestess of Elune, she wasn't a peasant, a cook or a fisherman. Everything was so sleepy, the worse injury seen in the days since she arrived was a tiny scratch a sentinel had received whilst out bear hunting, there wasn't even any blood. Dinner, every night was exactly the same, bread and fresh fish... hence the reason she was out in the freezing cold about to be swallowed whole by the fog.

She fished for another 5 minutes but the weather worsened, Auberdine was completely veiled from her and all noise even the sea was muffled, but faintly, carried by the salty air a sound caught her attention. It sounded like screaming. Grabbing her bucket, she picked up the hem of her gown and ran for the town. Storm lanterns were burning bright and the sentinels were running around, orders being yelled and obeyed. Watching from the misty shadows, she watched one of the younger sentinels lead three horses from the docks, sweat was pouring from their flanks as they rolled their red eyes in panic.

Her sharp intake of breath revealed her position to one of the sentinel commander's, "Priestess come", the urgency left no room for argument. She was lead to the Inn where a sailor was lying on the bed, his shirt soaked with dark blood. He was human, young but his skin was clammy like the fog. There were two other humans in the room, an older woman, veiled and another man, a warrior who raised a thick black eyebrow when he saw the priestess. "No disrespect but is the best you can do?", he turned to the Sentinel "she's a slip of girl, I doubt she could cope with a nosebleed". "Perhaps", the Sentinel replied "but she's the only healer within a days travel and you don't need to be a priestess to know he needs help now". "What happened", the words slipped from the Priestess's lips without thinking, as she stared down at the injured boy. "Shipwreck", the warrior grunted, "can you help him?", "I don't know", her honesty surprised her, earlier on the beach had someone provided this scenario to her whilst she dreamed her way through the fishing, the answer would be have been a fast, aggressive yes, but now, with the smell of blood hanging thick in the cramped room, the two humans and the sentinel all watching her and the boy, the dying boy staring up at her silently begging for help, her mind was empty of spells. She wanted to run back into the fog, perhaps she was destined to be a fisherwoman after all.

Then the woman, silent for so long spoke, her Darnassian was poor but the emotion in words as she pleaded for someone to save her son, brought tears to priestess's eyes. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to block everything out, focusing just on the light, imagining it rising inside her, filling her with its power. Nothing, she tried again, still nothing. Just when she was about tell them all what a fraud she was, that there was nothing she could do, she heard a faint intake of breath and opening her eyes, to her own amazement her hands were encased in golden light. Power was streaming between her and the boy, the ragged edges of his wound were closing up in front of her eyes. Tired, she sank to the floor, only to be enveloped in the elder woman's gown, kisses reigning down on her cheeks.