paranoidnobody

[paranoidnobody]

Genedara short story

              The moon was just beginning to rise, casting eerie shadows across the decimated wasteland that had been called the Broken Shore. Puddles of Fel sludge bubbled and popped, throwing flecks of Fel taint in every direction. The earth sizzled where it encountered the sludge, wispy plumes of green smoke drifted lazily into the air, smelling of Sulphur and brimstone.

              In the safety of the Deliverance Point encampment, a group of Trolls were setting up a handful of drums, both large and small. They were speaking to each other in their native tongue, smiling and thumping each other on the back. Every night, the same group would pray to their respective deity to bless the soldiers fighting for their world.

              Once the drums were set into place, a Troll stepped up to a large bonfire and tossed a handful of powders and ashes into the fire. There was a loud whoosh, the flames doubled in size and took on a bright orange hue. The Trolls threw their arms into the air and let out whooping cheers as the drummers began to beat on their instruments.

              The commotion could be heard inside one of the many tents that were hastily thrown together, many of which were simply a roof to protect the users from the elements. Inside one of the few tents that had four walls and a flap that acted as a door, a Sin’dorei Illidari sat on a cot. She sat facing a large mirror, her armor lying in a neat pile on the floor.

              Her hair was thrown into a hastily constructed bun, locks of her stark white hair sticking out at random. Thick scales covered almost every inch of her ordinarily pale flesh. Her stomach, chest and head the only places untouched by the demonic corruption that the use of Fel magic caused. The bright red of her undergarments clashed with the dark gray scales, a futile attempt to keep any onlooker’s attention away from the scales.

              A deep breath was sucked into the Illidari’s lungs, the night air cool and crisp. She shivered and took in another deep breath, readying herself for the battles to come. Her sightless gaze was locked onto the mirror before her, each hand gripping the ends of a small length of leather. The fabric was pulled taut, stress marks beginning to form.

              From outside, the Trolls beating on the drums began to chant, calling out to their gods and spirits to offer protection for the Horde warriors fighting against the Legion. Their cries rose in pitch, their drums playing out a simple rhythm.

              Genedara let out one final long breath before channeling a surprising amount of Fel magic into her runic tattoos. The sound of the drums seemed like a mile away as more magic was pumped into the Illidari’s magical ink. It seemed as if the world outside the tent ceased to exist, dead silence hanging in the air.

              “What’s this?” a disembodied voice called out. The reflection of the Illidari vanished from the mirror, a massive Doom Lord sitting in her place. He flashed the woman a sharp toothed grin, his fingers interlaced with each other. “You are actually calling to me, Genedara?”

              “I have called to you, yes. But it is not for the reasons you are expecting,” came her reply. “I have a message for you.”

              The demon let out a loud guffaw, slapping a knee with a giant hand. He leaned forward, his body rocked by the sudden burst of emotion. As suddenly as the laughter had started, it was cut short. The giant demon edged his face closer to the mirror’s surface, a wicked grin plastered on his face.

              “Please! You act like I can’t read your mind, you insolent whelp. You seem to have forgotten how we both share that pathetic excuse of a body. I know every nook and cranny of that little mind of yours. I see what you’ve seen, and I feel what you’ve felt.”

              Genedara’s body went rigid as a wave of grief swept through her mind. It was an overwhelming sensation and impossible to simply pretend it didn’t exist. She hunched forward, crying out as an image of a man lying dead on the floor flashed through her mind’s eye.

              “See? You crumble so easily over the memory of a dead man. Your defenses are pathetic, Genedara!” the demon bellowed out as he leaned forward. “You are as pathetic and weak as your husband was.”

              The Illidari slowly rose her head to look at the demon before her, scowling at him. She bared her teeth, which seemed to mirror the demon’s. This display of aggression caused another burst of laughter from the Illidari’s personal demon.

              “Go to hell, Olvan. You will never defeat me when it comes to a battle of the wills. I’ve already bested you over half a dozen times. You might as well give up,” Genedara replied through bared teeth.

              Leaning forward on the cot, Genedara stared into the demon’s eyes, her own alight with the fel fury known only to the Illidari. She pulled on the strip of leather until it was torn in two, the sudden noise breaking the silence between the two. The scraps were dropped to the ground and Genedara rose to her feet, hands balled into fists.

              “What am I to do if I want to speak of peace and understanding, Olvan?”

              “Hah, you only understand the language of the sword, Illidari. Do not lie to me. We both know you want nothing more than to paint this pathetic ball of mud red with the blood of your enemies.”

              Genedara pointed at the demon with a trembling hand and asked, “What if I told you that the path you chose leads to your downfall?”

              “You think I chose this path, girl? You imprisoned me, not the other way around. You chose the wrong path, Genedara, not me. Remember, you only remember the language of the sword!”

              “What if I were to tell you to leave me and my beloved ones in peace?”

              “What, you and your little Goblin friend? What about the Orc you befriended? Or the two Paladins? You have no real friends, little one.”

              Genedara took a step forward, her finger outstretched, pointing at the demon in the mirror. Her face contorted into a fierce glare, the fel fire in her eyes burning with a primal fury.

              “I will let my blade do the talking!” she cried out, throwing her arm to the side in a dramatic sweep.

              “Then my tongue shall become iron. You seem to forget that my only weapon against you is my words. Words that cut deep into your pathetic excuse of a mind!” Olvan bellowed as another image of the dead elf flashed through Gene’s mind.

              “And my words will carry the roar of war, revealing my divine anger’s arrow strike. All my action is for the good of all!”

              “I see my reflection in your eyes, Illidari.”

              Genedara drew close to the mirror, bringing her face to the demon’s. She brought a fist and pummeled at the surface with all her might. Despite this, the mirror remained whole, Olvan grinning back at her as he shook his head.

              “Beloved brother enemy, I will sing my sword song for you. The lullaby of obliteration so that I may wake up with a smile and bliss in my heart. I see a grey gloom on the horizon that promises a powerful sun to rise. It will melt away all moons and make the fires of purification look like dying embers.”

              With a mighty roar of rage, Genedara lashed out at the mirror again. This time, the reflective glass shattered into a million tiny shards, falling to the ground with a loud crash. The demon was gone and the noise from the tribal ritual could be heard once again outside the tent.

              Genedara fell backwards onto her rear, grasping her head. She rocked back and forth where she sat, letting out a soft sob. She remained like this for some time, recovering from the intense magic that was required to silence her inner demon.

              Outside, the ritual went on, the Trolls dancing in unison around the fire, their bodies moving to the beat of the drums. Their voices carried out into the night, overpowering the cries of the warriors and demons who were forever locked in a war for Azeroth. The song bolstered the spirits of the Horde warriors, a renewed sense of vigor pumping through their veins.

              It took some time, but Genedara eventually stepped out of her tent. She wore a tattered set of fel infused armor, a set of warglaives held tight in her hands. She had a look of determination painted onto her features, feeling the effects of the blessing the Trolls were casting on their brothers and sisters.

              She stood and listened to the singing and watched the dancing for a few minutes before walking away from the camp. She came to a halt at the cliff that overlooked the Broken Shore and took a deep breath before vaulting off the edge and vanishing into the night. Her battle may have been won, but she was far from being declared a victor in the war for her body and spirit.