#like someone will end up with fused feet that look like hooves or someone will be completely white

[rcseadorned]

ya’ll wanna see something that’ll make me cringe

first drawing i did of sofi back in 2008 when i made her for cirque du freak i needed you guys to see this

[justavulcan]

Make Your Tieflings Fiendish (3)

The final part of the project, for now.  Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes gave us a huge assortment of fiends to work with, so what if your grandparent was one of them?  I’m leaving off the demon lords and unique or archdevils on the basis of their being unique individuals, but that still leaves an absolute bestiary’s worth.  So, what if your fiendish grandparent was a…

 Akilith Demon? You’re either weedy and thin or absolutely massive, bulky like you grew to fill the space around you. Your skin looks greenish and mossy somehow, and always seems to glisten with a thin sheen of sweat that leaves a sharp chemical smell in the air.  If you’re lucky you’re proportioned like the mortal side; if not, your limbs might be different lengths as though they grew until they couldn’t fit.  Your eyes are likely stark red, and you may have a useless extra one or two spotted about.

 Armanite Demon? You might be easily mistaken for a centaur; if you are, your lower body is tawny and hardy, and your hooves seep with something dark and ichorous; you may or may not leave a trail wherever you trot.  If you haven’t your grandparent’s hindquarters, your legs are certainly still equine, powerful and muscled through the thigh and ending in a dark hoof.  Your horns curve out from your temples and back to meet near the crown of your head.

 Bulezau Demon? Your face is likely goatlike, with some mix of long pointed ears, horizontal pupils, a thick ruff about your neck, and a billy’s beard and horns.  You’re wiry no matter your strength, and your cloven hooved feet find natural purchase on sheer surfaces.  If you got the worst of your grandparent, you’re given to taking ill, and often show the marks of some illness or other- boils, scars, pox marks, and other such features mar your greyish, pallid skin.

 Dybbuk Demon? You’ve the look of a rotting corpse about you, or worse show your grandparent’s true face.  If you’ve the corpse, you look dead walking, bloated or shriveled to nothing like a body well on its way to decomposition, with the coloration to match.  If you were less lucky, you look like your grandparent in their own form- a ghastly pallor tints your skin, which might even be translucent to show the working parts beneath.  Your hair is long and grows thin and tangled, forming natural dreadlocks or tendrils. You’re far too flexible in either case, with hypermobile joints all over your body.

 Maurezhi Demon?  Your skin hangs slightly loose on your frame, as if it were too large for you.  While this is strange to look upon at rest, you can pull and contort it into shape, giving you a fair range of flexibility with your features.  Your teeth are hard to hide, though; stout, bone-cracking things, and too many for your mortal parent’s side to account.

 Molydeus Demon? You tower over your mortal parents’ kind, with skin the red of fresh blood or new red earth, and you’re solidly built, thick through the trunk, thighs, and shoulders.  Below the neck, you’ve little hair; above it, your face is nearly hidden behind a thick gray wolf’s coat of fur, and you might even have the snout and nose to go with it.  The beginnings of a second head sprouts from one collarbone- either the barest peek of a snake’s snout, or the whole first foot of a serpent body, long enough to wear tied as a necklace and withered to uselessness.

 Nabassu Demon? Your inky-black skin is scaly and lustrous like an oil slick.  Glowing yellow eyes and short horned nubs leave little doubt of your heritage, and your shoulders are thick with the muscle to support the vestigial wings or remains thereof.  You have a hunger in you for something hard to name, and demons and some other tieflings feel a momentary chill looking upon your face.

 Rutterkin Demon? You were a mistake, and you look it. While your body isn’t as twisted, random, and nonsensical as your ancestor’s, it’s still just wrong to look at- arms with extra joints, mismatched limbs, odd lumps and twists in your skin and bone, and misplaced fingers, teeth, nails, and non-functioning eyes tell the tale of your abyssal heritage loudly.  You grow little hair, and your skin varies wildly in color across your body, as if your sculptor couldn’t decide what would be the most fitting tone.

 Sibriex Demon? Your head is the best-developed part of you, and that’s not a good thing.  Your mouth is uneven, your nose crooked, and your eyes heterochromatic if they’re not even more distinctly differentiated by mismatched size, shape, or pupil type.  Bloated and misshapen, you bear the marks on your flesh of chains that you’ve never worn. Boils, spurs, discolorations, and random patches of thick, coarse hair litter your whole body randomly, and below the neck your body feels like an afterthought, added on after the artist’s work was done on your head.  Fused fingers and toes, uneven limb lengths, loose flaps of skin, misplaced bits of nail or scale, and a generally varying skin color mean that even if you have siblings of the same ancestor, you look little alike.

 Wastrilith Demon? Your most striking feature are the spined fins sprouting from your head like a lionfish in place of hair.  They’re scattered across your body, down your spine especially and perhaps at your elbows and knees.  Your skin is hairless, scaly and a sick lavender-maroon shade, and your hands have thick yellow nails that run to claws if you’re not careful to keep them trimmed.  You might have webbed hands or fused fingers.  You’re built long and lithe, with bulky back muscles and shoulders that make you a natural swimmer.

 Abishai Devil? You could be mistaken for chromatic dragonborn, but your arms are too long, almost to your knees, and you’re far too lean to be a full-blood dragonborn.  You have bulky back muscles as though you were meant to have wings, but if you do, they’re useless for flight, and mostly get in the way.  Your tail, if you have one, is long and active.  Rather than proper hair, you might have a head full of tendrils forming a messy mop about your shoulders.

 Amnizu Devil? Your rubbery pea-soup green skin is the greatest mark of your ancestry.  Your mouth is perhaps a bit wide for your mortal parent’s side, and you can’t grow any hair at all, but otherwise you could easily be mistaken for any other mortal. It’s your bearing that sets you apart- you radiate authority like someone in a position of power, and your demeanor seems effortlessly, seemingly supernaturally charming.

 Merregon Devil? You’re built like a soldier, tall and sturdy with a straight spine and dark gray skin.  Your face is oddly ill-defined, as though someone didn’t care to give you real facial features, but it sits well because you have an instinctive urge to cover your face.  Your voice is soft and may be ill-used- your grandparent’s blood leaves you with a distinctly nonverbal tendency for communication.

 Narzugon Devil? You were born to the saddle, and your body tells the story ably.  You’re small and light like a jockey, and you likely have bow legs and have since you were born.  Your skin is an ashen color and your eyes the red of flame, and if you’ve a tail or horns, they’re stubby and ill-defined.  When you ride, you draw the eye, a subtle hint of your grandparent’s command.

 Nupperibo Devil?  Your grandparent did you few favors by managing to reproduce.  Your head is tiny in proportion to your body, and you have the kind of broad, clumsy bone structure that makes it difficult to move.  Flies and other buzzing insects find you appealing, and so you are constantly bothered by them.  You’re nearsighted, hard of hearing, or both, but your senses of smell and taste are sharp as a blade, which helps you fill your endless hunger.

 Orthon Devil?  You are built like a barrel, with a thick torso and matching arms and legs- indeed, you are almost as wide as you are tall, with thick, elephantine legs and arms like tree trunks.  Your skin is ashen or sallow but basically a normal human skin tone, and you grow little hair.  Your most dominating facial feature is your tusks- your lower canines are long enough to protrude from your jaw when your mouth is closed, and you have an underbite.

 Howler?  Your face is fairly skeletal; naturally lighter skin covers your face, making your eyes and mouth stand out.  Your eyes are like as not black through the sclera and red in the iris.  Your throat is a dark, sullen red and you may even have a throat pouch you can use to make your voice really boom or carry.  The rest of you is top-heavy, with stout shoulders, a narrow waist, powerful thighs, and a short, naked tail it’s best to wear wrapped around your waist. You’ve no hair, but may have a line of thin spines from the crown of your head down your back.

 Canoloth Yugoloth? Your features are fairly bestial, from back-bent knees like a dog’s to a distinct snout and thick jaw full of stout, sharp teeth.  Your most distinct feature is your tongue, which is at least a foot long and is covered in small thorny protrusions; your sense of taste is supernaturally acute. Your skin is stark crimson, a muddy yellow, or somewhere in between.  Built like a bulldog, with a thick neck, stout shoulders, and barrel-like body, you’re not large so much as you are wide, almost as wide as tall.

 Dhergoloth Yugoloth? You have more arms than you ought to. Not working ones, mind, your fiendish blood doesn’t run strong enough for that, so arms three through five are an encumbrance rather than a blessing, and must be worn under clothes or lopped off to keep them out of the way.  Your shoulders and torso are oddly shaped to account for the extras, sort of a lumpy, squashed pentagram.  Your skin’s an olive-green color and faintly iridescent if not chitinous.  While you’ve no horns and little hair, hiding your pure red compound eyes is a challenge. Thankfully you probably didn’t end up with mandibles.

 Hydroloth Yugoloth? Your skin is pebbled and rough like a toad’s, and that same look marks your face, which is wide and set on a neck that seems too short and wide.  The effect overall is that you have no neck, and your wide mouth and broadly-set eyes add to the toad-like look.  Your fingers and toes are webbed and long, and your thighs are thick as tree trunks to spur long jumps.  Your memory is excellent, bordering on photographic, and you sometimes wake from dreams of lying on the bottom of a dark river, feeling comforted.

 Merrenoloth Yugoloth? You’re a gaunt one, and pale too.  Your face is sunken, with hollow cheeks, deep-set eyes, and drawn lips, giving you a profoundly skeletal look.  If you grow hair, it’s only around the sides, never on the top of your head, although a long but thin moustache or beard grows naturally.  You never get seasick, and the feel of planks under your feet, swaying gently with current or tide, feels more natural than the motionlessness of solid ground.

 Oinoloth Yugoloth? Your skin, already an unhealthy bruise color, is often pocked with boils or buboes, which while harmless to you are unsettling to others.  You otherwise always seem ill somehow, with a persistent cough, constant sweat, or low fever.  You have horns that curl out and forward slightly from your temples, and your nails are long and a natural crimson color- they also grow like weeds, forcing you to chew or clip them constantly.

 Yagnoloth Yugoloth? You’re distinctly lopsided to look at- the fact of the matter is that one arm is much larger and stronger than the other.  Curiously, it’s not the one you use for writing- that hand is small and delicate, slender for fine work like writing contracts.  Whatever the case, your shoulder and pectoral on the larger side are similarly bulkier, which may lend your torso a bit of an unnatural twist.

 See the original post here and the second post here.

[dandelion-wings]

I am definitely never writing this whole fusion/AU because trying to figure out how the Heralds and the Knights fuse and fit together would be a nightmare, never mind the archons and the other nations and so on, but Mom was listening to a Valdemar audiobook this evening while I was doing the dishes and it was giving me thoughts. In particular, a very strong image. That I ended up having to sit down and write, just to get it out of my head.

For context, if you are not me and did not grow up on the Heralds of Valdemar series, Companions are big shiny white magic horses who Choose people with Gifts (psychic/magic talents) as Heralds, who basically run around the kingdom of Valdemar being do-gooders and representing the crown and such, except they’re Always Lawful Good because the Companions are and compel them to be. Companions can repudiate Heralds, and I am dimly extrapolating that perhaps it could happen the other way around, since I’m apparently mirroring them to Visions here?

Everything hurts, and terribly so. Diluc can feel the wound on his very soul, the breaking of his bond with Immerich. It hurts no less because it was his choice to do it, to repudiate his Companion, to close off the connection between them and throw away the twin to his soul along with the Heralds of Favonius. Though he supposes that it does hurt *less* than it could have. Those whose Companions repudiate them often go catatonic, or mad, and he is neither still.

Though he wishes that he was mad, that in his madness he had created this moment as an illusion within his head. Only the rain hammering down on his shoulders and back, slicking his hair to his scalp and turning his jacket to a heavy weight upon his frame, confirms for him that all of this is real. Kaeya's confession a real one, not one he has invented, their fight a true battle, and not a dream within his head.

Diluc swings again, plowing forward, driving Kaeya back, and back, and back. They've gone out the door of the mansion by now, are out in the streets, both of them struggling on slick wet cobblestone. Diluc's Firestarting is not quite useless in this weather, if he focuses hard enough, but right now it feels weak and thready when he reaches for it--he's always leaned before on Immerich, had his Companion helping him guide his Gift--and so he sets it aside and focuses on beating Kaeya back with his blade alone. Better not use a Gift with such a chancy reputation for murder, anyway.

He'll do it with his blade.

Kaeya steps back into a puddle, slips, stumbles, falls down onto one knee, with his sword upraised to guard him. Diluc brings his blade down, metal screeching on metal as he forces Kaeya's thinner sword to give, to bend before his blow, Kaeya's arm shaking with the effort of trying to hold him off, his elbow buckling and giving way. To dodge the rest of Diluc's sweep, he has to toss his sword aside and fall all the way back onto his rear, catching himself with his hands, one leg bent beneath him as he lands.

He looks up at Diluc, unarmed, unguarded, his eye wide. Afraid, and not hesitating to show it, but there's resignation there too, and he doesn't try to plead for his life. He knew what would happen, just as he knows what he's done.

"So this is why you've never been Chosen," Diluc grates out, taking a step back and bringing his claymore up for another, final, fatal swing. He's killed one of his family today; he's ready to end the life of another, too, and one far more deserving than the first. "The Companions must have seen the treachery in you from a mile away."

There's a distant chiming sound, like bells, though softer and lighter than the bells of the Cathedral. Like the bell-chime of a Companion's hooves on hard ground or stone. Maybe someone saw them fighting and has sent out the cry for a Herald, to come and stop them. They won't be here in time. Diluc looks down at Kaeya, resigned, frightened, *still* not crying, despite the rain streaking his face, and brings the blade down.

And then back, twisting away, as a huge white form flings itself between the two of them, hooves chiming loud now against the cobblestones. He recognizes the shape in an instant.

:Immerich!:

The silent call goes unanswered, the mind he had torn himself away from still a bleeding blank to his own. Diluc's shoulders sag, his claymore slipping from suddenly slack fingers, as he sees where his Companion--the Companion he had repudiated--turns.

***

As Diluc's blade comes down, all Kaeya can think is that he deserves it. This will be his punishment for lying for all these years, for worming his way in among the Ragnvindrs, who were so kind to him, and the Heralds--the Heralds of Favonius, who should surely know a traitor in their midst!--who were, by their Companions' natures, *compelled* to be good to him, plotting treachery all the while. This moment has been coming for years, his guilt building up until it finally broke free, and if it's done so at this unlucky moment, well. It's only fair.

He sees fire flickering around Diluc's hands, along the edge of his blade, and doesn't think Diluc even realizes he's doing it. His Firestarting was always a bit out of his control until Immerich Chose him, and it's no surprise that it's starting up again. Kaeya won't be able to subtly help him with it anymore.

And then there's chiming, the ringing of bells coming closer. Kaeya doesn't look up. He prays they won't come in time, that Diluc will be in his right mind enough to pull off a lie and say it's in self-defense, that he won't have to deal with a murder charge on top of everything else-

Immerich is there. There, between them, a long-legged, long-backed white horse-shape, one hoof pawing at the wet cobblestone, his long neck arched in a graceful curve that Kaeya knows what it feels like to touch. Relief rushes through him, relief for this momentary reprieve and relief for Diluc, who might have been stupid enough to be the first Herald to repudiate his Companion but who is going to *need* Immerich, need his control and his companionship, after this betrayal.

Then that graceful neck turns towards him, bending low, and Immerich looks him dead in the eye, his pure-blue doubled gaze meeting Kaeya's singular, cloudier indigo. He feels like he's falling into those azure pools the way he felt like he was falling into the sky, as a boy, when he first left Khaenri'ah and looked up at it. And Kaeya hears a voice ring in his head in the way no one's has since he was a very small child, learning to MindShield so well that not even the Heralds and their Companions would be able to break through.

:Kaeya, I Choose you.:

:You can't!: is the first thought through Kaeya's mind, a tumbling wave of shock and horror that washes any other feeling away before it. :You can't Choose me. I'm from Khaenri'ah!:

:I know. It does not matter. I choose you, Kaeya, if you will have me. You can turn me away.: A deep sorrow in those words, a wrenching current of it that dwarfs Kaeya's rush of shock like the ocean dwarfs a stream. Because Immerich knows, as no other Companion living does, how possible that is, and how painful it is, to tear apart those two joined souls. He is baring the wound of his heart to Kaeya and inviting him to tear it deeper, if he wishes.

Kaeya can't. Of course. He's known Immerich since Diluc was twelve years old, even if they've never spoken. It was a joke for a while among the Heralds that he'd Chosen both of them, for Diluc never hesitated to drag Kaeya along to his lessons, or pull Kaeya up behind him on his Companion. He's groomed Immerich and picked his hooves and rubbed him down after he pranced out of the middle of a fire storm just as often as Diluc has, if not more often. It's as close as he'd ever thought he'd get to a Companion.

Immerich has his head bent down low, and Kaeya knows what it's for, has seen him do it for Diluc when he was calling or quieting a fire and spent all his energy controlling his Gift. He's unsaddled, unbridled, clearly didn't ask anyone to tack him up before he came--probably felt what was happening through whatever remained of his bond with Diluc, and knew there wasn't time--but his mane is long and loose and flowing. Kaeya winds his fingers through it and lets Immerich pull him to his feet.

On the Companion's other side, Diluc is standing, slack-jawed, staring, his arms limp at his side and his claymore fallen to the ground beside him. The pain in his eyes makes Kaeya rock on his feet. He feels it echoed in Immerich, and through him to Kaeya, the last shadows of a bond that's already fast fraying down to nothing as the one between Immerich and Kaeya grows stronger every moment.

"I'm sorry," Kaeya tells him, his voice hoarse with three people's emotions. "I'm sorry, but I can't- I can't say no."

:Let’s go, Kaeya.: Immerich nudges him with his nose, hard enough to make him stumble sideways, and starts to walk away. Kaeya, his fingers twined in the Companion's mane, walks along beside him. Away from his brother, and towards whatever lies ahead.

[inudaughter]

My Daughter Part Two

Okay, Here is part two to My Daughter. Thank you again to @thetravelerwrites who helped edit. :)

It had been a month since my father sacrificed himself.  Ryu and I were making it together, day by day, we’d had our ups and downs. Some days I’m pushing him to go on, and there are days he’s pulling me. Then there are days, like today, were we both fighting to function.

I had started putting up the tent at night, instead of sleeping in the open like I had been doing. The rainy season would be starting soon I didn’t want to get caught in it while I was on my own. I had just finished rolling it up and was trying to put it on Ryu, but I was five-foot-one, and his back is a foot and a half above my head, which didn’t make packing up camp easy for me. It especially didn’t help when a particular horse wouldn’t hold still.

“Will you stop that!” I finally yell as Ryu yet again moves his back end away from me. “We need to get going. It’s already mid-day! All I need to do is put the tent on you and we can go.”

Ryu huffed and stomped one foot on the ground and moved his head up and down.

“Stop arguing with me and let me finish!”

Ryu neighs while trotting in a circle around me. I tried grabbing his reins, but he would dodge me. I growled low everytime he got away.

“Fine, I'll carry it. Now, can we get going!” I screamed at him, throwing it on my back with my sword. Ryu nodded his head then walked up to me. I sighed,  patting his head as I looked into his red eyes. I grabbed his reins and turned to get going.

I stopped when I saw five human men coming up the path on horseback. I looked them over; they were wearing ragged looking clothing and identical evil looking grins on their faces. I felt my stomach knot up. Thankfully I was wearing my cloak, so they couldn’t see me grabbing my dagger with my free hand. I stepped back when they dismounted from their horses. Ryu became agitated as they walked closer to us.

“Well, look what we have here boys. It looks like we've got ourselves a damsel in distress,” Said one of the men. “Should we help her, men?”

“Well, it would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Laughed another. “And she might even repay us for our kindness.”

“We’re fine,” I said sternly, as I tried to walk past them, but one of the men stepped in front of me. Ryu started to stomp his hooves and put himself between the man and me. I watched as he looked up into Ryu’s eyes.

“Hey Boss, I think this is a demon horse,” The man said as he eyed him harder.

“Really?” said the first man, as he walked over, and looked into his eyes. I pulled Ryu closer to me, so I was standing under his head.

“Well, it seems you’re right.” The boss looked at me. “Looks like we got two prizes today boys.”

He started to reach for me but I lunged forward an stabbed him in the stomach with my dagger, withdrawing quickly. I dropped Ryu's reins as the boss fell to the ground. Ryu charged at the men in front of us. I watched as he scared them off.

SNAP

I quickly turned around to see a man lunge at me with a knife. I dodged him, but his blade caught my right side. I look up to see Ryu running full force into the man, knocking him back several yards away. Surprisingly, he managed to stumble to his feet and run.

I watched as they all took off, leaving their dying boss on the ground. I groaned and hobbled to sit on a nearby rock. As I sat down, Ryu started to pace around me, pawing the ground, showing signs of concern and distress. As I examined the wound, Ryu began to nudge me and neigh, over and over.

“Hold on boy,“ I fussed. The wound was deep, but thankfully, far enough to the side that it mostly hit fat, but the problem would be keeping the wound from opening more. However, I know we would need to leave this spot before I could adequately patch up the injury. I hiss as I took off my top, and wrapped it over my wound and slowly got up. Ryu was in front of me in an instant, laying down so I could get on.

“Good boy,” I said as I carefully got on top of him. I whined a little as he lifted himself off the ground. “All right Ryu, let’s get away from here before more men show up.”

Ryu started to walk but stopped to lean down. When his head came back up, In his mouth was the tent. He leaned closer to me so that I could grab it. I tied the ends together then put it over my shoulder, so it didn’t sit on the wound.

We needed to find somewhere to hide. I needed to dress the wound as soon as possible, or I was going to fall off Ryu from loss of blood. I was already feeling dizzy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We had made it about a mile or so from the camp when I heard the sound of thundering hooves in the distance.

Roar!

I jumped in alarm. Had those men brought reinforcements already? I asked myself in a panic. Or is it a predator that’s picked up the scent of all the blood?

I kicked Ryu's sides to make him go faster. I knew riding hard was going to hurt and make the wound bleed more, but I had to risk it. I had no intention of being captured or eaten today.

Ryu took off, and I wheezed as I grabbed my side in pain. It hurt more than I thought it would, so I focused on Ryu to ignore the pain.

“She’s close!” I heard someone yell. My heart began to race as I urged Ryu to go faster.

ROAR!

That roar sounded way to close for comfort. I turned to look behind, only to see an enormous sabertooth tiger quickly catching up to us. I turned my head back around just to become dizzy. I started to lead to my right side. I gripped Ryu's mine tighter trying to keep myself from falling.

“I see her!” said a male’s voice. “Fangs, get in front of them!”

I heard a growl coming from the opposite side of where I was leaning. I looked over and saw the tiger running next to us. Ryu reared out of fright, which gave the tiger a chance to get in front of us.

“Do you have her?” yelled a female voice.

“Almost!” I heard a male’s voice coming up on my right side. I felt a large hand grab mine. When I looked down to it, my world went black. I felt Ryu slowing down and heard talking, but I couldn't make out any words. I then felt myself being pulled off Ryu, right before the darkness completely took me.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mind began to wake before my body. While I laid there, fighting to open my eyes, I could feel something soft under me and something warm over me. I stopped fighting with myself and listening to my surroundings. I heard horses walking, some low conversion, and the sound of carts moving. I groaned when I felt my body bounce a little.

“Be careful, Arob. Her wounds are still healing.” fused an older female’s voice. It sounded like she was sitting next to me.

“I'm trying, Love, but the road is rocky. I'm trying to avoid them, but I promise nothing.” said a rough male voice. I turned my head and fought with myself more to open my eyes.

“Tell Kog to get Frug. She’s starting to wake,” said the female voice. I felt something wet brush over my forehead as she spoke softly to me. “There, there, Little One. Don't force yourself to wake, if you're not ready.”

I growled as I forced my eyes open. They stung and watered at first as they tried to adjust but the sensation went away after a couple of blinks. When my eyes focused, I saw an older, lightly tanned orc female sitting to my left side, wearing simple traveler's clothes. Her gray hair was in a long braid with beads in it and hung over one shoulder. Her two large tusks had silver rings around them, meaning she's one of the horde’s elders. Which I could believe, seeing as she was starting to wrinkle.

Father once told me Orcs aged slower than humans. Orc’s hair didn't gray until they were in their seventies and didn't start to wrinkle until almost a hundred. If they got to live that long, that is, so if I ever met an orc with both, I was to treat them with the utmost respect. It was likely they had lived through many hardships.

“How are you feeling, Little One?” she asked. I looked up to make eye contact with her. Her eyes were emerald green and reflected nothing but kindness.

“Uhn….” I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry it hurt to talk.

“Here, drink this,” She said, pulling out a water bag and lifting my head to place it to my lips. The water felt wonderful as it ran down my dry throat. As she pulled it away, she asked again, “How do you feel, Little One?”

“Dizzy and … tried," I said.

“Tried is normal, especially when you were riding with a wound like that on a demon horse.” She leaned in to help me sit up.  However, being dizzy is not good, that means you need more water.”

I hissed when I sat up fully, my body aching.

“Do you feel like a gargoyle when it wakes?”

I nodded and she smiled. “How long was I out?” I asked as she put the leather water bag back to my lips.

“Only three days, Little One.” She said. “The horde was worried about you.”

“Why would you be concerned about me?” I asked confused.

“We’ve been about a half a day behind you for a week now, and we could smell you traveled with an orc at one point.” She held my hand as she spoke. “So we decided to see if you wanted to travel with us since you were traveling alone through bandit forest. So the chieftain and some hunters ran ahead to see if they could catch up to you. Frug said they found a man's dead body, your blood on the ground, and signs of a fight. How many were there?”

“Five. The dead one was their leader,” I said.

I heard horses galloping closer to us.

“Elder, is she--”

I turned my head to the other side of me to see an open window, but no one was there. I heard an orc fussing before he appeared on a horse beside the cart. He had broad body, from what I could see of him. His whole left arm was covered in a tribal tattoo but had a long scar running through it. He has two sets of tusks and a cut on the left side of his lip. The larger tusk on the right side had a gold ring around it and a piercing going through the smaller. I could see he was trying to keep a second horse under control, but the horse wasn't having it.

“Stop, demon!” He said peevishly.

I realized the horse he was struggling with was Ryu. Ryu was far larger than the orc and his horse and I knew Ryu would hurt someone if he didn't stop.

“Ryu,” I said sternly. “Settle.”

Ryu stopped fighting and then looked to me, neighing.

“I'm fine. You need to behave until I get better.”

Ryu huffed but picked up the pace a little, so he was walking side by side with the other horse.

I sighed. “I love you, Ryu.”

He huffed again and I smiled. I knew he was mad at me, but that was no reason to misbehave while I was recovering.

“I don't believe it.” said the male orc riding next to me. He stared at me. “I have never seen a demon horse obey anyone before.”

“Well, he’s not really obeying me. He knows that I care for him, so he listens when he wants to,” I said.

The orcs looked at me, confused.

“What do you mean, Little One?” Asked the elder.

“We’ve formed a bond. I’ve cared for him, and he's cared for me. We've been together for the last nine years,” I said taking a deep breath to hold back the tears. I remembered the last nine years with my father.

“Are you all right? Are you in pain?” Asked the male orc next to me, panicked. I turned to look at him. Concern is written on his face.

“I'm okay,” I said. “I'm a little tired, but okay.”

“Then you should get some sleep. It will be a while before we make camp,” he said. He rode off with Ryu keeping pace. I went to yell for him to bring Ryu back, but the pain from my side stopped me. I slowly laid back down with the help of the elder.

“Sleep, Little One. We will talk more when you wake again,” she said while patting my head. My eyes got heavy quickly as she did that, helping me fall into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I woke again, I didn't feel the cart moving, but I heard a lot of movement outside. I slowly opened my eyes as I tried to sit up. I failed a couple of times, but when I  finally managed to sit up straight, I could feel a weird pain in my legs and rubbed as much of them as I could reach. Once the pain subsided, I slowly started to get out of the makeshift bed. I stumbled a little but finally made it over to the door and opened it.

I looked out to see orcs of all sizes, colors, and age helping set up camp. I slowly sat down on the steps to watch, knowing I could do nothing to help, but I didn’t want to be in the cart. I stayed quiet as I observed every one. I’ve never seen an orc horde. Everyone worked so well together. I saw adults teaching Little Ones how to set up camp. I smiled remembering how Father taught me.

“Mama, she’s up!”

I snapped out of my daydream when I heard a child yell. I looked down to see a young orc walking up to me. He looked like he would come up to my hip but was much broader than me. When he looked up at me, he had one crystal blue eye and one wood brown eye.

“Are you okay?” I heard him ask.

“Miss, you shouldn't be up.” I heard a female voice say. I looked up to see a pregnant orc walking over to us. She was short for an orc but still looked like she could take on a small army with ease. “Here, let me help you back inside.”

“Please,” I said, putting out a hand to stop her. She stopped reaching for me and looked me in the eyes. She had the same miss-matched eyes as the boy. “Please, may I sit here a little longer? I don’t like being in the cart all the time.”

She didn’t look happy about it but sighed.

“Fine. Son, don’t leave her side. If something happens, call for help, understand?” She said, looking down at the boy.

“Yes, Mama,” he said climbing up next to me.

“I’ll be back with some water, and I’ll let the elders and chieftain know you’re up” She walked off. I suddenly notice everyone staring at me as I spoke to the woman, but went back to work when she left.

“So are you okay?” The boy asked again.

“I'm okay. Still sore and in pain when I move the wrong way, but for the most part I'm okay.” I said, watching everyone.

“You scared everyone when they saw you.” Said the boy. I looked down at him as he spoke. “I’m glad the Elder was able to help you..”

“Why is everyone so concerned about me?” I asked, know a child would be more forthcoming then an elder.

“We've been traveling behind you for a while now,” He admitted. “The elders were concerned about you traveling alone. Then a couple of days of go, someone smelled the faint scent of an orc in your camp. So the elders decided it would be best if you traveled with us.”

I wondered for a moment what on me would have the scent of orc but thinking back, that was when I started sleeping in the tent. It must have still smelled like Father.

“Oh, my names Zog, by the way,” The boy said suddenly. “I’m the eldest son of Mug and Bula. What's your name?”

“I'm Zora, youngest daughter of Derthag,” I said as I watched his face turned to one of confusion.

“Derthag? The orc warrior Derthag?” he asked. I nodded. His face lit up. “Derthag is one of the best warriors in the history of orcs! He tales are the best! My favorite one is where he fought beside a human king, and they won without losing a single man.”

“Yes, father told me about that one. My favorite one is about the dragon and the sword made of dragon's flames.”

“Yes, and all the things the dragon made him do before he could have the sword!” he said enthusiastically before rattling off his favorite parts of the tale. I was smiling and doing my best not to laugh. However, I failed once he started acting it out. It hurt, but it felt good to laugh. It had been too long since I'd done it. The last month has been hell.

“Zog!” we heard a voice yell. Zog stopped his story and sat back down. I looked over to see the six elders, the male orc from earlier and Zog's Mother approaching us. I saw the elder from this morning holding my father's sword. Everyone's faces were expressionless, which made me feel a little queasy.

“We need to ask some question, Little One,” The female elder said. “And you must answer truthfully. But first let me properly introduce ourselves. I’m elder Gharol. I am the oldest of the elders. Next would be Arob, my rough looking mate here.” She pointed to the male on her right. Next to Arob was a female named Rulfim, and the two males to her right were named Frukog and Gnorth. After introducing them, she turn to her left and gestured to the younger male from earlier who’d been fussing with Ryu. ”And this is our Chieftain Frug.”

I tried to hide my shock. He nodded to me and I nodded back, appraising him with a better eye this time.

“Now for the questions,” she said, “Where did you get this sword?”

“It was given to me by my father--”

“Liar!” yelled elder Gnorth before I could finish speaking. “That sword belongs to a great orc warrior. Not a human.”

“Gnorth! Calm down and let her finish.” Said elder Rulfim. She then looked to me. “Finish what you were saying, Little One.”

“My father was not human,” I said after he a moment, allowing my heart to slow. “My father is the warrior Derthag, the great hero of the last orc war. I was told to give you this.”

As I reached for the necklaces, my heart stopped. I didn’t feel them around my neck. I panicked, fumbling for them and jumping to my feet.

I felt two sets of hands on my shoulders and someone holding my arm. “Don't do that, Little One. You'll open your wound,” Gharol said.

I saw Zog's mother and Frug holding my shoulders. I looked down to see Zog holding tight to my arm.

“We have all your things. Just tell us what you're looking for?“

“My father's necklace is a string of teeth from the dragon Glaurung. The one my great, great grandfather defeated over a hundred years ago. I was told to bring it to my brother, Brugo. The other necklace is an old orc coin,” I said.

“These, right?” said Chieftain Frug, placing them in my hand. I nodded. “They fell off when you slid from your horse. I was keeping them till you woke up.”

I held them out for the elders to see. Gharol took them and examine them.

“She's telling the truth; this is Derthag's necklace.” She said “How did you meet Derthag, Little One?”

“He was the guard for the prison I was being held in. I don't remember a lot about the place, only that there were women and children there. He took me from there and raised me as his own. Everything I know he’s taught me. He was the only one I had to trust. Until a month ago,” I said, looking down. “Whoever was looking for us had found us. He gave me the sword and necklace, then sent me off on Ryu. He sent me to find my siblings.” I started to cry. “I heard his war cry as we ran away.”

“You’re safe with us now. The horde will protect you,” said Gharol, placing the necklace on my neck. She took my hands in hers. “We will take you to your siblings, but you must tell us the whole story of how you meet Derthag. We need to know more about you.”

“I can tell you the story, but you’re going to find out there are holes in it I can not fill.  There is much I can not remember, and father refused to tell me. He would always say I couldn’t handle it, so... I’m not going to be able to give you all the details,” I said regretfully.

“As long as you’re honest with us, we will understand,” said Rulfim.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. As I searched my brain for my earliest memory of our meeting.

[mrslittletall]

Title: Beast Exploration Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar/Ludwig the Holy Blade Word Count: 2.138 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18350912

Summary: After Laurence and Ludwig have found each other again, they explore what their bodies have become.

(Author's note: Oh look, it's my first lemon fic. It was the most difficult thing I have ever written and I felt like sweating, throwing up and cringing at the same time while I did it, but in the end, I managed. So, uh, I hope you enjoy and I can't believe that my first lemon is actually beast x beast! My innocence!)

“So, why do you look like a horse?”

Laurence circled Ludwig with this distinct walking of his beast form, hunched over, but still only on the hind legs, face turned to inspect Ludwig's new body and occasionally sniffing on him.

“...Unfortunately I don't remember how I became a beast.”, Ludwig replied. “I can only assume that when it happened, I was on my horse and we fused.”

“Understood, that probably made you more into some kind of centaur beast unless the more dog like beast I have become.”, Laurence crossed his arms and nodded at his words. “And a bit too much insight you had too, or how do you explain your eye neck?” Laurence squinted at the horrible neck which was aligned with eyes and had the feeling, Master Willem would had liked that.

“I know I am not the most pleasant sight nowadays.”, Ludwig said, head hanging low and Laurence felt awful for teasing him like this immediately.

“Oh, come on, look at me, I am in flames.”, he said and grinned or what felt like a grin, he was sure for any outsider seeing this his snout must have looked like he bared his teeth and would devour them immediately.

“And I don't think everything is bad.”, Laurence continued to circle Ludwig, observing his lower parts. “These legs look strong, you probably can run 50 miles in an hour like this.” Laurence stopped his pacing in front of Ludwig and took Ludwig's hands with both of his ones. “And look at these arms, feeling even more muscular as before. You surely can easily lift me up with those.”

Laurence could see how Ludwig's face twisted into a smile, as good as possible with the horse snout he now possessed. “Your arms are looking nice and strong too.”, he said. “Although I wonder, why is your left arm so much bigger?”

“I don't know, maybe because that was the arm I usually used for handiwork.”, Laurence answered with a straight face.

For a second they could feel the atmosphere drop at Laurence completely spontaneous joke, then they both were on their backs on the floor, wheezing from laughter. Laurence couldn't help but notice some beastly screeches in his and he could sworn he heard some whickering in Ludwig's.

Once they calmed down, Laurence turned himself over and got up, laying on his stomach, arms crossed. “But seriously, is my dick still there?”, he wondered. “Have you checked? I bet it is the size of a horse! It almost was like this earlier anyway.”

“Laurence, we have regained our consciousness only a few hours ago! Do you really think checking our genitals is important right now?”, Ludwig scolded. Laurence knew this tone. Ludwig had always been the righteous one. Despite him being able to destroy Laurence in the bed room. Laurence couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to take Ludwig into him right now.

“Aren't you curious?”, Laurence asked and got up on his feet, bending down to take a look at his crotch. He couldn't see anything so he twisted himself even more and used his beastly claws to comb through his fur.

“Laurence, please, you have regained consciousness two hours ago and you are already looking at your own crotch!”, Laurence could hear Ludwig say, but he didn't pay attention. He continued combing the fur to the side until he managed to find his member buried into it.

“Oh hey, it actually is still there.”, Laurence said. Satisfied with his discovery he relaxed and laid back down on the ground, but stared at Ludwig.

“What about yours?”, he said and grinned, being aware that he showed far too much teeth and got up, slowly approaching Ludwig.

“Laurence, what are you planning?”, Ludwig said and backed away, the sound of clawed hooves echoed on the ground. But Laurence already had jumped and knocked Ludwig over, eager to take a look at his private parts. Although, it seemed Ludwig wanted to have a say in this and so Laurence was pinned down by not only Ludwig's arm but also the two horse front legs, now his extra limps seemed to come in handy.

“Reee...”, Laurence complained when an idea stroke. He concentrated on his flames and managed to ignite them, make them burn hotter and Ludwig quickly let go of him, muttering: “Laurence, that was cheap.”, under his breath, rubbing his arms. This moment of distraction Laurence used to slip sideways at him and lift the horse tail that covered Ludwig's private parts and what he saw made his jaw drop and he forgot to close it for a good while.

“It really is the size of a horse now.”, he said after he had regained his composure.

“Well, are you happy now?”, Ludwig said, trotting away from Laurence in an offended stance.

“Yes.”, Laurence grinned. “Come on, that wasn't that bad.” Laurence laid down back on the cathedral floor again, arms and legs crossed, staring into nothingness, when he felt some long, slender fingers caressing his butt. “Reee...?”, escaped his throat in confusion.

“You have been a bad boy, Laurence.”, Ludwig said and Laurence could feel sweat form on his forehead, only that he was pretty sure that sweat was actually scalding hot lava. “Wouldn't it be a shame when something happened to your nice, firm butt?”

Laurence could feel how the long, slender fingers of Ludwig trailed down his rear and then one of them carefully entered his hole, probing around a bit. Laurence shivered and his first instinct was to ignite his flames but when he was about to turn up his body heat, Ludwig said: “Don't you dare flaming up, Laurence, you are at my mercy now.” Laurence could feel how a second finger got added, but actually, he didn't mind anymore. He felt turned on. How long had he stayed abstinent in this form, only searching for a thing that probably didn't even exist? He could allow himself to have some fun.

“Oh Ludwig, why do you think I would mind you fingering me?”, Laurence said, a moan escaping him from Ludwig's constant probing, even after all this time, after all the changes their body did go through, Ludwig still knew exactly where his sweet spot was. Laurence could feel how this tiny bit of fingering already prompted him to get an erection.

“Oh my, Laurence, have you been that starved?”, Ludwig apparently had noticed it too. And he didn't intend to stop cause Laurence could feel how a third finger entered and before he knew it, he already had came.

“Oh fuck, Ludwig...”, Laurence just said, his arms and knees on the ground, rear still up in the air, being painfully aware that he just was sitting in his own cum. And when he managed to turn his head to take a look, he...

“Laurence, did you just jizz out lava?”, Ludwig said in a flabbergasted voice. Laurence didn't answer, he had to process this for himself first. “That's it, I will never let you top.”, Ludwig continued and Laurence could feel like the horse man raised his two front legs to find a position to sit comfortably on him.

“As if you have ever let me top.”, Laurence whispered and concentrated on turning his body heat down, which turned out to be very difficult, because he was feeling so aroused that his flames wanted to blaze brighter on their own.

With his back still turned to Ludwig, Laurence only was able to feel what he did and the next step was Ludwig putting both of his hands on Laurence shoulders and Laurence prepared himself for what to come, closing his eyes but when he felt it actually enter, Laurence couldn't help but scream the loudest “Reeee” he ever produced. Or at least it had been the loudest since he had regained his sanity. He was aware that Ludwig's member had been huge already in flaccid form, but now that it was in erected form, it felt like someone had plugged a cork in his hole.

Squirming on the ground from the sheer pain and arousal, Laurence could hear Ludwig asking in a very concerned voice: “Laurence, are you still there? Was it too much?”

Laurence gasped for air and answered: “I am still there, I am just astounded because of your... size.”

“Well, then I will continue entering you now, alright?”

Laurence, gasping on the ground, supporting his whole weight with his arms, cocked his ears at this.

“What do you mean, it isn't in completely yet?!”, he screeched and finished with another “Reeee” once Ludwig had managed to completely enter his entrance. It felt like the most painful and simultaneously the most arousing thing he ever had witnessed.

“Are you sure you are feeling alright, Laurence?”, Ludwig asked.

Laurence, with his front lying on the ground, tongue hanging out of his snout, hind legs up in the air, just answered: “Never felt better.”

Laurence felt how the thrusting began. Each thrust was a painful delight for him and he could feel himself getting an erection again, such aroused was he at his boyfriend taking him, that they were both beasts didn't even bother Laurence anymore. He tried to get his front up, supported his weight one the large, left hand and with his right, smaller ones, his fingers searched for his cock. He found it, what wasn't an easy feat with his body being shaken by each thrust and closed his fingers around it, gently paying attention that his claws didn't touch it and started to stroke with quick, tight rubs.

While Laurence was taking care of his own member he felt the thrusting from Ludwig increasing and the pace go faster. And his body temperature rose. Shit, he was so aroused, he probably wouldn't be able to hold his flames cool any longer. He could feel more sweat forming, see the lava droplets sizzle on the ground, increased his own pace around his cock, intending to finish quickly before Ludwig made him double over, by the great ones, he was so huge. Even though Laurence was at the point where the pain completely vanished in favour of pleasure, he wanted to squirm and cry on the ground and so he was relieved when he felt the familiar throbbing of his cock and it spurted another pool of lava beneath him and Laurence just let himself fall, arms outstretched on the ground, head on it, moaning from the arousal that still was within his body, trying to keep his body heat low, but he felt like he would fail.

And finally, after what felt hours but surely had only lasted a few minutes he could feel the throbbing from Ludwig's dick in his butt and the wetness of his load. To his surprise, Ludwig withdrew immediately and Laurence whined at the sudden emptiness.

“Oh dear, sorry Laurence, you were too hot inside, I had to finish this early.”, he said.

Laurence, just flopped on the ground, too exhausted to move a single muscle, panting, just whimpered: “What do you mean, you had to finish this early? I am utterly destroyed!”

Now that the arousal had completely left him, only pain and exhaustion was left. He saw Ludwig laying down next to him, he had buckled his legs like a horse.

“Look around you, Laurence, you are literally lying in lava.”, Ludwig said. “You were becoming burning inside, actually, I think there is some lava trickling down your hole.”

“Well, after this it doesn't surprise me that I am bleeding.”, Laurence growled. “You have already noticed that my fluids turned into lava.”

Laurence was expecting a lot, but not Ludwig suddenly hugging him tight, he didn't even seem to be bothered by the still hot flames singing him a bit. “I missed you.”, he said. “I missed you so much.”

Laurence couldn't help but smile, inside the atrocious horse body was still the sweet Ludwig, the man he had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“How about we celebrate with some blood?”, Laurence suggested. “When I know anything about me, than that I have hoarded it even while being a mindless beast.”

“That is so you and that is what I love you for.”, Ludwig said, hugging Laurence even tighter.

“Even though it brought us into this mess?”, Laurence asked.

“We can talk about this later. For now, let's stay like this a little bit longer.”

Laurence couldn't complain about that. And while they stayed like that, he felt his flames cooling down, feeling like maybe, maybe they had deserved this second chance. (Author's note: So, when I fought Laurence, I was totally fascinated by his beast butt and also so pissed at his cheap one-shots that I wanted to have a fic where his butt got utterly destroyed. Surprise surprise, I didn't find anything like this! So yeah, I had to write it myself... I hope you enjoyed... Playing around with Laurence body temperature is loads of fun btw.)

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Wishing Vault

A green-skinned monster clad in crude armor pounded on drums of war with mighty swings. Metal clanged against metal on the war-smith’s field anvil. Iron blades screeched from being ground against grindstones. Ferocious, rhinoceros-sized beasts with huge toothy maws roared from their pens. Savage warriors shouted at each other as they rallied at the edge of the camp.

Despite this cacophony, the thick hides of the tent muted the noise outside. Inside this tent stood the fearsome orc warlord, Roghath. Taller than his peers but more lithe in stature, his figure might have appeared strange to those whose skulls he had crushed to take the spiked armor of the clan leader—he knelt before a hideous altar. An effigy of monstrous shapes made entirely of bones, covered in fresh blood and entrails draping down from it, surrounded by a circle of stones and embers to cordon off the sacred ground where he knelt. Burning coals rested at the feet of the altar, emitting a sweltering heat and a glow that barely illuminated the tent’s insides.

“Blood Lord,” he shouted emphatically before hunching over.

The warlord bashed his head against the largest rock between him and the crude shrine. And then again. And then another time, till blood trickled down his forehead, dripping off of his brow and flowing into his eye, blurring his vision and forcing him to blink. His other eye had been fused shut long ago—he had lost it in battle and a hideous scar where red-hot iron had seared it shut was all that remained. With one mighty hand ending in claws, he smeared his own blood down over his face, drawing lines across it like vicious war paint.

A violent gust of wind blew through the cracks of the tent’s walls and sent embers flying through the air. Someone approached the tent amidst this torrent of air. Just when it died down, this someone abruptly opened the tent’s front flap and stepped inside.

Roghath blinked again and his eye adjusted to the sudden glimpse of bright light that turned the figure into a mysterious silhouette. Then the flap was closed again, and he saw Shandrach, the highest war-priest of the Gouged Eye clan, standing in the tent before him. She was hunched over in the tent, garbed in furs of beasts as well as human skins and skulls. She peered at him through a face covered in old scars and a dried bloody handprint on her forehead.

“Come with me, Roghath,” she snarled in the guttural tongue of these orcs. “A herald of the Blood Lord has shown itself! It will speak with you. It will fulfill your wishes,” she continued.

He growled in response. Then he rose to his feet with thundering steps and grabbed a battle axe of absurd proportions off the ground next to him. His motion carried such swift routine and tremendous force that a small cloud of dust rose only after he had pointed his weapon at the war-priest’s head.

“Where was he ten years ago? Where was he ten weeks ago? Where was he ten days ago? We will crush the pathetic pink-skinned cowards on this day. By our strength, we will shatter their bones and spread their blood in all directions. I have ordered the troops to march already. I will soon be joining them in the field, to slaughter the two-legged swine,” Roghath replied through another angry snarl.

“To the fires with your pride, fool. The stone colossus will not march against the city of walls, for some meddlers have destroyed it. The thousand-legged burrower wyrm is dead and the mithral mines are collapsed. And the sleep-eater rests eternal after warriors put it to the blade. Now all that are left are you and Karragh. Even with the illusions, the enemy artillery will thin our ranks before the forces can enter through the breach or create new ones in the walls of the human city,” she countered, striking the ground with the metal-tipped end of her skull-covered staff.

Even with the noise of rhythmic shouting and marching outside the tent, a deafening silence ensued and draped itself over the two people inside the warlord’s quarters. Roghath could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He could barely contain his bloodlust and some part of him wanted to rip the war-priest apart. He blinked again as more of his own blood seeped into his remaining eye.

“Then show me this herald, and we will test his mettle,” the warlord finally said.

Shandrach’s cracked lips curled into a grin revealing sharp teeth until she broke out into a hideous cackle. Once done expressing her amusement, she began to recite an ancient spell. Her empty hand weaved symbols in the air, leaving trails of fiery magick to linger for split-seconds before disappearing. The words of power she uttered were alien to the warlord’s ears and he observed in anxious anticipation.

His hands gripped the handle of his axe so tightly that the leather bound around it audibly cracked. The fire that appeared and vanished from her fingertips turned from a bright red to a sickly green until her hand was engulfed in a bright green light. Then she pointed behind her, upon which a disc-shaped portal opened out of thin air, turning into a glowing green ring that ripped a hole in the fabric of reality and displayed a dimly-lit cavern beyond it.

Roghath knew of such magic, though he had never seen it with his own eyes before. He wondered why she had never used this spell before, he wondered what they might have accomplished with it in past battles.

Quelling his wonder, he hoisted his axe to rest it against his shoulder, and walked through the magical gateway she had created. A sickening sound like the tearing of flesh followed, and a flash of greenish light erupted on both sides of the magickal portal.

On the other side, he found himself elsewhere entirely. The smells of dirt and blood from the camp and his tent were wiped away instantaneously, and the smell of sulfur and rotten flesh filled his nostrils. The sounds and flash repeated themselves as Shandrach followed him through the gate to this strange cavern. She stood behind him, and the portal between locations collapsed behind her again.

In the center of the cavern was a strange boulder—almost perfectly spherical, as if sanded down—and surrounded by a ring of unnatural fire, burning perpetually without any visible source. The shape of the boulder was lined with perfectly geometrical struts that kept it in place, but despite its perfect shape it was riddled with cracks out of which a blue light poured, contrasted by the fires that illuminated the cavern in an eery red. The rocky walls of the cavern were jagged like spears and all pointed inwards, toward the boulder in their center.

And against the cavern walls stood four awful statues all facing the stone sphere in the middle. The statues were only vaguely humanoid and not even orc in appearance, with unnaturally long limbs and extremities, horned heads, and standing in poses that looked like they were shielding their unspeakable faces and unknowable eyes from an even more awful sight where the rock stood in the center of the cavern. The dim light cast faint shadows that made it look like the statues were jittering and fidgeting in the corners of Roghath’s eye. He was ready for battle, but sensed no threat from these shadows.

Shandrach cackled again behind him but he ignored it and stepped closer to the weird boulder in the middle of the cavern. A plume of smoke suddenly erupted from its blue-glowing fissures and took on tangible shapes, swirling and spiraling around the rock. Another drop of blood plunged into the warlord’s eye and he blinked.

Out of nowhere, a towering monstrosity stood upon the boulder. It had hulking muscular arms that ended in crab-like pincers, which looked like they had charred in an infernal fire. Another set of more human-like arms were connected to the creature’s lower torso, with fine hands that now curiously steepled their fingers together. It stood upon equine legs ending in cloven hooves. A thin tail whipped around menacingly, cutting through the plumes of smoke, distracting Roghath from its face, which he beheld last.

Its head and snout was like that of a vicious-looking hound, and adorned by two fine black horns like those of a goat. And its beady, black eyes glistened—they shined. They shined with a devious intelligence and depraved cruelty the warlord had never beheld before. They stared directly into his soul, pried and laid his darkest secrets bare. Was this the same evil that he carried in his own eyes? He wondered, rather than acting—an alien moment for the hardened warrior.

“Speak your wish, and it shall be granted, mortal,” spoke the creature in a surprisingly silky voice. The way it pronounced every syllable was soft and contrasted with the powerful booming volume of it echoing throughout the cavern, lending it an air of ancient authority.

Roghath’s mind raged, his thoughts swept up in a storm of curiosity and doubt. He had never seen a herald of the Blood Lord. This thing looked nothing like what the legends spoke of. Nothing at all. He felt rage welling up inside him, a wrath upon his enemies and even upon this creature that betrayed all he had known and believed thus far. He hesitated for moments that melted into what felt like minutes.

“While my time is plenty, your time is fleeting,” the monster calmly spoke again, crossing its humanoid arms in front of itself, imitating a gesture of impatience. Its tail ceased whipping around, and slowly coiled and unraveled in smooth and unceasing motions behind it.

Finally, Roghath stepped forward, ignoring the next cackle to escape from Shandrach’s lips. He gripped his axe and lifted it high over his head before whipping himself into a frenzy with each word, with each wish he expressed. “I wish for our enemies to bleed and suffer. I wish for their artillery to fire uselessly as we roll over them like a crimson tide, drowning them in their own blood. I wish for their holy warriors to fight at the wrong fronts, and their champions to be dispersed in all winds. I wish to live forever and strike fear into the hearts of all who behold me, from here on evermore!”

The canine face shifted and its mouth displayed a hideous smile, and rows of sharp teeth. It opened its arms and spoke again, “So many wishes, and I will be pleased to grant them. Though I cannot awaken the Beast you call the Blood Lord, such is the old covenant. I can, and will, however, grant your other wishes.” It began to emit a throaty laugh, and Roghath heard Shandrach cackle again behind him, together forming a chorus of mockery.

The cackle turned into a melodious laughter of a completely different person. Only now did it dawn on Roghath that everything was wrong. He swiveled and in Shandrach’s place, he instead saw a strange pointy-eared elf with short brown hair and of fine, almost frail stature, clad in ceremonial plate armor and orange robes inscribed with alchemical glyphs, laughing at him. In less than a split second, the warlord had already wound up with his giant axe to cut the elf down where he stood. But it was already too late. It was even too late for him to scream in agony. Roghath crumpled to the ground. All his strength failed him now, rendering him powerless and incapable of doing anything but undergoing a crippling agony and listening to the sound of his own skin tearing and bones breaking.

The elf stopped laughing as he stepped closer to the demon atop the rock and clapped a naked hand with a gauntlet-covered one. He then spoke up to the demonic creature above. “He is going to regret the whole ‘forever’ thing once he realizes what he just wished for. I could fetch you a mirror and leave it here so you would have another source of amusement when he sees himself in it later on. But I didn’t want to do you too many favors at once,” said the elf with a sadistic smirk.

The monster roared but remained where it stood. “Why have you come out of hiding now, traitor?” asked the creature, snarling at the elf. Its pincers snapped shut with a loud noise, signaling contempt that underlined the last word.

“I see you are still a sourpuss over old matters from the Blood Wars. I, well, I was not hiding, just—indisposed, I will have you know. And to think that I gave you a new toy to play with, with no strings attached,” said the elf with a chuckle.

The demonic creature’s eyes narrowed and stared at the evil elf with malice before responding, “You would not bring me morsels without ulterior motives. What do you want?”

He chuckled again and wagged a finger of the hand clad in a spiked gauntlet. “No-no-no, not falling for that one. I am—,” he began, interrupted by the deformed mass of transformed limbs on the ground nearby, slowly crawling towards him—the thing that Roghath used to be before his own wish had disfigured him.

The warlord’s head was missing and a huge toothy maw had opened where his chest cavity was, snapping and biting pathetically and ineffectively at the elf’s calf. The elf had a deep-rooted disgust written on his face and he cautiously pushed the orc away with his foot before wiping the bottom of his boot on stones in the cavern.

“I have some old scores to settle. It will be fun,” he said, still observing the mutated orc warlord. “I cannot wait to see how this idiot’s wishes turn out.”

He stepped away from the orc whose body was still undergoing hideous and agonizing transformations and he heard the creature atop the strange rock growl at him again.

“Oh, don’t play tough now. I know you’re too weak and too smart to trifle with me, you ugly bastard,” the elf mused while opening another gate between dimensions. Beyond it was a wooden-walled chamber that had the appearance of a luxurious bedroom in an inn.

The demon gave the elf no more response. The elf stepped through the gate and smirked one last time at the demon before the portal between places collapsed behind him and vanished into nothingness.

Roghath, or whatever was left of him, still writhed on the ground, but the greater monster paid little attention to him.

“Perhaps you’re not a traitor, after all,” murmured the demon after the elf before rearing its horrible head to look at the former warlord. “I wonder, orc. How long will you guard my Wishing Vault before I am free?”

The creature that had been Roghath now scrambled up onto its feet and wobbled, like a toddler learning to walk, but accompanied by revolting sounds that would turn even the most callous person’s stomach. This thing resembled very little of who it had been just minutes before—and shuddered with that realization.

The orc warlord’s mind still remained, trapped in this hideous husk.

It then emitted a ghastly shriek from a huge mouth spanning its headless torso, a maw lined with several rows of giant teeth. Its upper body flopped around like a fish on land while it stumbled to keep its footing, and then it shambled off into the labyrinthine, pitch-black tunnels leading out of this cavern, and away from the demon.

Roghath would soon learn that there was no way out of the Wishing Vault. Worse, the lesson to follow was that his wishes had come true. He had been cursed with eternal life.

An eternity to contemplate how he should have worded his wishes with more care.

—Submitted by Wratts

[wandering-chronicler-blog]

Draecember-Prompts 8 & 17:  Facing a Fear and Overcoming an Obstacle

And another one!  Know I did facing a fear earlier, but that kinda popped up here again with Vylia having to handle her little bit of hydrophobia.  Fun fact: the underwater base was partially inspired by the Great Bay Temple from Majora’s Mask!

-Previous Pieces:  Letter, Losing Someone, Memory and Dimensional Ship, Discovery, On a Mission, Feeling Left out and Facing a Fear, Working with The Horde, Family, Reunion With a Loved One, Relaxing  -

Her head broke the water as she scrambled for the edge of the pool.  Kicking hard as she could, she started to tread water.  The glow of Vylia’s magic lantern on her belt illuminated the ruined and submerged barracks room.  She struggled and grabbed at the edge, slowly pulling herself out.  Soon as she was, she rolled onto her back and pulled off the breather mask Ryant had assembled for her.  Slowly she caught her breath and sat up.  Even with a lighter set of armor, it had been near-exhausting. Her heart pounded as she got to her feet.  

 “Gotta get out of here,” she said quietly, holding the lantern up as she put her map on a ruined table.  She knocked a couple candles over along with a book.  Her finger drew along a path to the old turtle bay.  The Dozen had agreed to work their way there if separated. That was a way out as well if she needed it.  Vylia didn’t relish the thought of going back into the sea, but knew the Golganneth was above and would spot her in the water with the magic lantern.   Onyxien would probably dive down from the airship’s deck and pluck her out of the waves with his talons.  Her mind turned to the others then.  She remembered the shout from Vadralis as the gantry gave way and she fell into the vortex. There were the naga who had tried to grab her and drag her further down into the depths, but she’d gotten free and the current of the pipes before ending up in the flooded barracks.

  From what Ryant had said, this place had likely been used by the Stormreaver Clan as a staging area before heading for The Broken Shore during the Second War.  It was buried and along the coast as to avoid shelling from Alliance ships and once granted the old Horde navy a hidden place to resupply their raiding fleet.  It felt like history was repeating itself yet again here with what she’d read.  Even moreso now that infernals were raining from the skies all over the world.  She couldn’t help but wonder if this place would be repurposed by the forces preparing for their assault against The Legion.  Or worse, a way they could get behind their lines.  Every now and then she thought she’d see a ghost of that old war. Hear the orcish shouts of The Horde’s warriors as they fought off demons and their own.  She soon came to the command room.  Leaking pipes dripped above her slowly and there was the groan of the pressure against the metal outside.  A great set of shutters were to her right that had pieces of shattered glass along some of it.  There was a ruined Stormreaver banner hanging on one end with rusted axes under it. Checking her map again, she headed out and down the hall to the cross that would lead her to the bay, stopping only to see a skeletal orc shambling along.  It turned then, glowing eyes of magic locking on her as it hefted its rusted axe.  

The sword and shield left Vylia’s back as it rushed her.  Steel sparked as the axe connected with her shield.  She swept the sword into its spine with a swing of holy light.  In return, the undead grunt grabbed for her shield to pull it away.  She kicked hard, her hoof dislocating the thing’s knee and smacked her sword’s pommel into its jaw, knocking its head off.  Even without it though, the axe still swung, clattering against her armor. With another strike, she made it collapse.  A howl echoed through the halls as it returned to death for the moment.  Vylia quickly started down the tunnel towards the bay, sure the sound would attract trouble.

 Her hooves clattered along the steel until one panel creaked and the floor gave way.  Vylia screamed as the current pulled her under the water into the flooded chambers below.  She struggled to keep her head above water as she started to panic.  Flashes of The Cataclysm and her time at Auberdine appeared in her head.  There was the chaos and darkness in her mind as the current pulled her under.    Her hands went to her neck and pulled the mask back up over her nose and mouth.  Blowing hard, she cleared what water had been caught in it and tried to breathe normally.  Her panic didn’t allow it, but she soon was able to right herself as the current seemed to slow as she was pushed into a great pool.    As her vision adjusted, she saw overturned tables and drifting bones of dead orcs, forest trolls and even a couple ogres.   Carefully she found her footing and looked for a way out.  She put a hand on her chest, trying to calm her heart.  Alone and underwater was one of the last places she wanted to be.

  “Okay,” she said, eyes darting about the room.  The light above looked like it was exposed to another room, so she kicked off the floor and made for the surface and there were a pair of shuttered doors.  In moments her head broke the surface and she could see the remains of a bridge that’d lead her into another area.  The water was too low though for her to reach it. It looked sturdy enough that she could crawl up it if there were just a few more feet of water in the room.  With a small sigh of frustration, she let herself sink back onto the floor.  Air bubbles burst out form her mask as the panic started to fade with remembering her training and time before a paladin.  She looked for a rope, grabbing a spear that drifted by when she spotted something in a ruined chest.  She just hoped they weren’t cracked.  Behind the mask, she smiled a little.  They were goblin-crafted bombs, designed to work underwater.  In place of a fuse, there was a keyhole.  There was no sign of the key, but she could probably still trigger the mechanism with her lockpick.  She found some rope next to it and tied it to the spear after stuffing a few of the bombs in a belt pouch.  There were two plans in her head of how to get out now.  If one didn’t work, she would have another option.

 Kicking off the floor, she swam for the surface again.  Once she had her head out of the water, she threw the spear as hard as she could before slipping under the water again.  She kicked and saw that her throw had done what she’d hoped and the rope was wrapped around one of the metal girders.  With a tug, the bridge bent down, creaking as it did.  She began to pull herself up with the rope as the bridge creaked further.

 There was a snap of metal and the bridge gave way, dropping into the water.  Vylia let go and kicked away, reaching the other side of the room as the bridge remains sank.  With a sigh, she dropped back to the floor.  She was sure someone or something would’ve heard it and the last thing she wanted was more naga.  Her hooves touched the floor once more and she headed for the shuttered door. Carefully she planted two of the clockwork bombs before taking the third from her belt and picking at it with her lockpick.  A few bubbles spouted from the hole and she heard a dulled sizzling in her ears. Knowing how unpredictable any goblin tech could be, she dropped the bomb and swam back behind the fallen remains of the bridge.  She ducked under it before there was an explosion.  Air was briefly vaporized by the blast and smoke sank in the water, followed by two more blasts.  In a heartbeat, she found herself clinging to the ruined bridge as it was pulled by the sudden change in pressure towards the hole.   For a moment, her head was out of the water before going back under and her grip fading on the bridge.  She was thrown out into the corridor that was quickly flooding.  Her armor scraped the floor as she forced herself to her feet. She walked as quickly as she could to the next archway in the hall, finding a wheel on the wall.  Seeing part of another shutter she prayed the wheel would close behind her.  With a cry, she forced it to turn.  Sure enough, the shutter began to fall from above, but the water kept coming. Another twist and the shutter fell further.

 “COME ONE!” she shouted at it as she fought it.  Inch by inch, the door was lowered, but the water was already up to her waist.  One more turn and there was a clunk as the shutter collapsed and slammed shut.  The roar of water crashed against the other side and Vylia hung on the wheel, panting and shaking a little from the adrenaline.  After catching her breath, she dug out her soaked map and checked the path.  She folded the map back up and stuffed it into her belt before wading through the water down the corridor for the turtle bay.

[dameahalin]

Something Important

Purplish muck oozed up into the crevices of his hooves. Each step brought the scent of water, mold, and rot to his nose. Easily he found purchase with his cloven feet, and balanced himself carefully with his tail as he climbed the hillside. Stopping to turn; he took in the view of the Zangarmarsh. Blue and purple mushrooms, many with some sort of colorful phosphorescence, rose overhead and as far as the eye could see. Their glows reflected in the murky blue shallow lakes and coulees. A faint warm mist fell from the ever grey sky, causing his cloak to cling damply to his armor. It reminded him of his childhood, what little joys he had found, while exploring the edge of the marsh near Shattrath. The stories of elders about sailing the great sea it had been, and the strange, dangerous, native plants that once thrived - oh, and still lurked - eager to snatch children who strayed. He shook his head slightly, clearing the memories and turning from the view. He was not here on any innocent, childish exploration today. This was his first dangerous mission alone; his mentor had sent him here with a serious purpose, and he was determined to prove equal to the task. Looking up the hill side, further above, highlighted by the bloom-like glows of the mushrooms was the dark mouth of the old system of caves in the hills north of Shattrath.  Eaten out years ago by the seas the marsh had once been.  Not ten or so years ago these caves had been overrun with the sort of bog plant monsters the elders told tales of.  Now, though, he had found no sign of the creatures.  The sporelings in the area told tales of an old vindicator that chased the bog monsters out a few years ago, but the little fungi always had a very sketchy understanding of the Light, and those in its service. A few of the purple creatures harvested their favored glowing mushrooms lower in the foothills, near the warm pond below.  As he climbed, he noticed none higher up near the caves.  All was eerily quiet up here, just the squelch of his hoof steps and the endless pitter pattering of water finding its way through the canopy of mushrooms. Too quiet.  He endeavored to silence his steps, choosing the spongy blue fungal growth to walk upon.  He approached the cave with all caution.  It smelled strange - damp, yes, but not as it should.  The air seemed oddly clear of common mold, and sweet perhaps?  The words of his mentor echoed in his mind, “Something has taken root deep in the caves…”   His teacher had been speaking of the Legion and their new powers with Vindicator Zatrell before he was given this mission.  Was this a demonic trick?  A sweet, seductive smell?  His tentacles quivered as he took in the cave air.  He breathed out quickly, and uttered the cleanse spell in case of poison.   Perhaps worse than demons, were the old tales of the beguiling spores that could infect a mind to violent madness.  He covered his mouth and nose with the cowl of his cloak. His light was hardly needed when he entered the cave.  The glow of the colorful mushrooms lit the caverns where they grew on the cave floor and cracks in the walls.  How deep and far back did they go anyhow?  He drew his crystal blade, and it gave a pinkish light as he continued into the dripping dark.  “...find it, and bring it to the Light.”  That was what his mentor had requested of him.  His mission; his chance to prove himself.  By himself.   He heard a crackle and stopped suddenly.  No, it was nothing he’d stepped on.  Cautiously he removed the cloth from his face, and tentacles twitching, caught the scent of a new smell.  Something burning - char, smoke; along with the strange sweet, cloying, scent of before.  The crackle of fire echoed in the cavern.  What manner of creature or person would have a fire down here?  Nothing native to the marsh, that was certain.  He tilted his head, and listened.  A chanting?  Something with a honeyed voice repeating alien words of power.  It was not guttual enough to be orcish, though he’d never actually heard any orcish rituals before; however, it wasn’t Eredar, either.  He had the crystal blade balanced easily in his grip, ready, though his palm felt damp.  Sticky.  His nervousness annoyed him, or was it the heady, sweet, smell?  He tried to focus on moving quietly down the tunnel, so as not to disturb whatever it was. He could see ahead into a round chamber.  Aglow with the flickering orange light of a fire; he could see a tall, dark shadow of a humanoid projected against the wall, and the surrounding shadows of horned and spiked implements.  It was chanting, maybe in a female voice, something, he could not make it out.  Flattening himself to the wall, he took a breath and tried to get closer without being seen or heard.  Finally, he could see around the bend, and into the cavern proper. A dark hooded figure held a grimoire covered in the skin of something.  The person was tall, but shorter and massing less than he.  It wore either a horned helm, or had horns itself, for the points caused the hood to tent over them.  A dark skinned hand, probably a brown orc, turned a page in its - her - tome.  Strange symbols decorated the page.  Some seemed familiar, yet contorted and alien.  Piled on a makeshift old driftwood shelf were trophies, devices, and objects of the Legion. An orc warlock, like the villains from the stories, like those that had broken this world.  He’d never have a better chance.  He could end this now. Lunging forward, he prayed and called on the Light, yet it was like everything was moving in marsh water, haltingly slow.  Already the figure turned, dropped her spellbook, and moved swiftly out of the way of his attack.  He whirled around at the new angle to approach, certain of his training and the Light, but once again his pink crystal blade met only air and a muttered foreign curse. Dark eyes burned deep in the hood, flickering orange in the firelight, and the woman drew, swiftly. She had the confidence of someone who knew their blade, and had killed with it.  More than he.  Much more; the air of an old warrior.  Though, orcs have short lifespans.  Short and bloody. The sword itself was a surprise to him.  Apexis crystals, forged and fused into a white, glowing, blade.  The shape was that of the swords favored by the humans who came through the dark portal years ago.  Such a thing was expensive - rare - and he wondered who she’d killed for it.  Letting out a wordless cry, he moved on her again, and she deflected the blow with the sword lazily.  Not daring to stop, he tested her up, down, and slipping to this side and that, his hooves dancing easily around her.  Her crystal blade met his own each time with a singing clink, and each time more forcibly, demonstrating an unnatural strength behind the blade.  Shifting his stance, he went for her left, and met with a strange buckler forcing his blade to the side.  A red disc, with lights and pathways to channel a magical current of energy.  He had no time to contemplate it; through his armor he could feel the sting of her strike at his momentary distraction. She continued to watch him, like how a warp stalker watches prey, testing and playing with it before the kill.   “Stop toying with me!”  He cried out,  “The Light will judge you!”  He called the light down upon her, and here, finally, was a break in her defenses.  The opening between that eerie crystal blade and strange blinking shield he needed, and went for it.  At the same time as he moved to strike, his pink blade like light itself, he knew she must be baiting him.  Still, it was his only chance, he needed to end this now, as she was clearly his better, and he might not get another chance.  He called to the Light and prayed as he awaited the counter attack on the opening he had left her in turn.  It did not come. The Light filled him as he called.  It lit the entire chamber around them, and he felt its glory, power, and a musical, massive rush of energy.  It was indescribable, euphoric, and it burned!  His pink crystal blade was not blocked by shield or sword, but neither did it strike the warlock.  It shattered as a backlash of energy shot through it.  He felt the shards of the blade, like tiny bits of glass, ripping into his exposed skin and face.  The Light traveled up his sword arm and through his body, blinding him and throwing him back into the wall of the cavern.  He crashed into a brazier of incense as he came to a final rest.  The surge shocked him, and he now knew a terrible truth.  He’d made a horrible, fatal, mistake.  He’d done everything wrong, failed his mentor, and the Light.  He was utterly unworthy of the trust and mission he had been given. He tired to see, but all there was to be seen was the bright figure before him.  Huge, glowing, winged, and terrible to behold in its fury.  He tried to get up, but could not feel his hooves, or anything except the sting of his crystal pocked skin.  The glowing blade of his opponent was raised, and slowly the Light dimmed and collapsed into the woman in front of him.  As it did, it revealed not an orc, but a dark-skinned human, her short black hair shot with silver.  Tall for her race she was, but had been made to seem moreso when hooded by the gold crystal circlet that hovered over her head like a halo.  The three yellow crystal points of the magical protective headgear marked it as a design popular in Shattrath a couple of handfuls of years ago.  The dark cloak simply matched her black tabard that was emblazoned with the sun shape the denizens of Azeroth who were dedicated to hunting evil wore when they came through the Dark Portal.  She was clad in golden armor, decorated with the shapes of dangerous beasts from her homeworld.  It was a style commonly worn by human vindicators and warriors. Her eyes glowed, and finally, sword ready, she spoke to him in his folly and defeat.  “Are you going to beg for your life?”  Curiosity, amusement, consideration; all were in her calm, warm, voice.  It completely confused him in his state, and while moving his tail out of the incense brazier’s smoldering remains, he stared at her, hopelessly, and stuttered.  “I…  I made a horrible mistake.  I accept what the Light brings.” The Light left her eyes, but not entirely.  The dark brown eyes still remained lit in the flickering firelight of the cavern.  “More than one mistake.”  She observed, standing over him. He kept his silence, misery did not begin to describe his shame.  She did not leave him long to contemplate his litany of mistakes in his head, but asked in a brisk tone of one used to answers, “Tell me, why are you attacking me, unprovoked, in this cave?”   Was she a vindicator?  Why was he fighting her?  What was she doing here?  There were many questions he did not dare voice in his position.  He was undeserving to ask, and took a breath to answer hers, “I… my mentor said something had taken root here, and I was to find it and bring it to the Light.” She mouthed the words “taken root” and then made a grunt, maybe it was in amusement, because all she said aloud was, “Cute.”  He failed to see how that word fit the situation.  Maybe it made more sense in the native tongue, or she was being facetious.  Was she going to kill him?  The sword sheathed, but somehow her menace did not abate as she demanded of him,  “Why did you assume your master sent you to kill an evil thing?” He’d been so stupid, but answered her truthfully, “I overheard him speaking to another vindicator about the Burning Legion prior to being given the mission.  That they had new powers and tricks, and I thought they wanted me to find them here.” She nodded there, clearly interested in that topic, and never taking her dark eyes from him, she moved to the shelf and took a demonic device from it.  The evil power, he could now tell, cleansed from it.  “That is true,” she continued speaking to him, “and you are fortunate.  I could have easily mistook you for an Eredar come seeking vengeance.  And unless you learn to govern your pride, well, it could be a tough call.”  The truth stung, more than the crystal shards in his face.  She tossed the device towards him, an easy toss that he fumbled slightly as he caught.  He could read clearly the marks upon the item - it had come from Argus itself. “Are you alright?”  She asked, but did not wait for any answer, as she called the Light, and he felt its grace fill himself again.  This time gently, cleansing, singing, healing, and the pains he had, but been unable to name, vanished.  Save for his shame.  That came rushing back to him as the Light finished its work.  “Hrm, may scar a little.  I never was much of a healer.”  The woman offered in a poor apology. “I’m sorry, thank you…” he blathered stupidly, still feeling like she deserved some explanation, but really, there was no excuse, “I… thought he meant.. no.. I wanted it to be a challenge, a quest, a mission I could do on my own.”  His shame filled the damp cavern like a thick cloud.  It sounded so stupid, and so arrogant to hear out loud.  He’d never thought of himself as arrogant, but in his doubt, his eagerness to prove himself, he was.  Finally, he concluded, “I wanted a chance to do something important.” She simply looked at him with the same patient look one gets from an elekk when you speak to it.  One is never sure if the animal understands or not, but it seems sympathetic.  “Maybe you have, Brother.”  She spoke quietly, and sighed, looking over her shelf of assorted Legion paraphernalia.  “Help me pack these things,” came the command, as a master to a student.  He must of looked confused, but found he could stand, and help pack the various demonic trophies into a provided sack for travel.  The woman retrieved her tome - libram - and tied the dusty, old, leather bound book to her belt with golden cords. “We are going to meet with your master,” she explained.  “‘Go to the cave north of the city and tell the old human paladin in the bottom of it to come out and meet with me…’ it is not a glorious task, as slaying an evil at the bottom of a cave, but perhaps we can make it an important task, nevertheless.”  There was a pause, and she continued, kicking out the fire with steel and Light called foot protections, “If you learn anything of this: do not ever trust vague, prophetic, hero mongering, mumbo jumbo.  Knowledge will guide you to right action.  Always.” It wasn’t like being a vindicator in the stories; if only he’d asked what his mentor wanted.  What about the Prophet, and the Narru?  Certainly their mysterious words should be heeded.  The advice shocked him a little, and he felt like he was waking up, as he hefted the travel sack over his shoulder he asked, “Who are you?”  The question long overdue. “Dame Paynifier Ahalin, Knight of the Silver Hand.  If human titles matter in a cave in the Outlands.”  She quirked a wry smile and asked him, “and you, Brother?” “Xalhotir, a student of the Aldor.” He answered, and asked, unable to keep the awe and bafflement from his voice, “Why are you here in this cave?”  It was hard to gauge her age, humans did not live much longer than orcs, but the silver in her hair, and the scars and lines upon her face made her look venerable. She paused, and her expression set to something harder, then she answered, “A fine time for you to learn the value of curiosity.  It is a long story, and matters little now.  Come, lets go.  I will need your escort to the terrace.” He looked at her blankly, he knew, but what was she talking about?  She was a vindicator, of course she would be welcome.  The woman fished into her cloak and brought forth a wallet of alien badges of causes she must have championed in her short human life on her homeworld, and beyond.  She offered an explanation with a wry, apologetic, smile, “I’m with the Scryers.”  A badge that he did recognize - a Scryer of some respect - dangled from the wallet before she shoved it back into the folds of her traveling cloak. Escorting a Scryer to meet with his Aldor masters seemed like the least of his sins today, so he simply answered, “Yes Dame,” and followed her out of the caves, out of the dark, and into the light of the purple blue marsh, back to the ruins of the grand capitol city.  She never looked back.

[karrista]

The Wicked Flee

     Dawn’s light shown through the windowpanes of the makeshift bedroom of Karrista’s homestead.  The lump under the plain woolen covers groaned in pain as bright red hair splayed across the pillow disappeared further under the bedding.  Compared to the frost-covered Saronite paneling and sub-freezing air, the linen sheets and wool-stuffed mattress was paradise.  The sun however was not paradise.  Her eyes were the only part of her that did not yet hurt and the glaring yellow rays piercing her sleep were attempting to fix that.

     With another loud groan, Karrista extracted herself out of her bed, though remained crawling on all fours, eyes shut, going to her wash room.  By memory and touch, she filled a glass with water and added several drops of Willow extract to it.  She leaned against the wall and drained the contents quickly.  The cool glass against her forehead helped somewhat, though her bruised and battered body would take a few days to recover.

     The black marble, she could swear she could feel inside her, kept her cut off from her magic.  She attempted to recall what the Revenant had said, two days with no magic, two days to think, and to decide if she could be the monster, to be true to herself.  The rising sun’s rays crawled across the floor and filled the washroom, causing Karrista to close her eyes and groan loudly.  The light still filtered through her eyelids, the fel-tainted blood filling her vision with a dark green dull glow.

     Half-conscious and the pain-killer working on her system sent Karrista’s mind to a place, half-dream and half-thought.  The green glow colored those thoughts, dark and fel-filled.

     Karrista looked to herself the puddle of water on the floor and her face curled into a frustrated expression.  The Alliance leaders continued to bicker over Anduin’s right to rule, Genn Greymane still lay recovering from the Warchief’s poison.  Sylvanas seeking her own path to power and her Horde tasked with little more than a token resistance against the Legion.  The Elves, four fractious tribes against the Nightborne and their citadel.

     The Nightwell was the key.  The back door had been opened, she had the key.  Once inside they could bring down the time bubble surrounding the army at the front gates.  Without that army, a handful of adventurers would be little hassle for Elisande, Gul’dan, and the Legion.  In the off-chance they were, she could handle them from within.

     Her mind made up, she summoned her scythe with one hand while her other opened a gate to the Dreadscar Rift.  One step, a short walk to the gate to Dalaran, and a jog through the city streets, Karrista was on a gryphon to Shal’aran.  Once in Shal’aran, a portal took her to the overlook where she could see the time-locked Elven army.  She unsheathed her staff and started towards the staircase.

     Pausing briefly to catch a passing junior officer, she gave him orders to gather the adventurer squad and to tell them to begin their infiltration of the Nighthold.  She waited to ensure he had a suitable head start, she could feel a content rightness filling her.  She began crossing the Causeway towards the edge of the bubble when a moment of pride tickled her spine.

     Karrista spun around, Scythe raised defensively.  Her eyes took on a pure fel glow as her hands formed the demon talons.  One hand left the haft and reached out in a summoning gesture.  It seemed almost easier now to call her Shivarra.  Karrista caught the momentary surprised look on Mother Shahva’s face before she could put up her defenses.

     “Well well well, looks like you finally decided to give in to me?”  The Demon Priestess’ haughty, domineering tone washed past Karrista’s ears with no effect.

     Karrista turned her back to Shahva and let her wings extend freely.  Scythe in both hands now as she marched towards the edge of the time-bubble. “No, I wanted you to watch.”  She raised the scythe with both hands and opened her ears to the twin whispers from the demonic blade.  Ulthalesh at her right and Sataiel on her left, both instructing and guiding her how to wield the power she possessed.

     The shield was the first to fall, quickly followed by the Nightfallen forces.  The magic and life drained from the bodies left them crumbling ash where they stood.  Blood Elf and High Elf fell before the ash began to blow in the wind.  The Night Elf soldiers and their connection to Elune were the last to succumb to the Deadwind Harvester.

     Fel energy swirled around Karrista as she marched towards the front gate to meet the assault team.  The grand doors opened as if they were expecting her, a dozen and half heroes gathered for her.  She struck quickly, the Fel energy lashing out as withering seeds of corruption and agony exploding in the stunned warriors.  A paladin came from behind the door and charged her.  With a sweep of her scythe, she severed his feet at the ankles.  Completing the spin, she brought the tip of the scythe through the fallen Light-wielder’s chest, the look of pain clear on the knight’s face as it collapsed into ashes.  Now she would wait.

     Three beings proudly strode down the grand hallway towards Karrista and Mother Shahva.  The two in the back were immediately recognizable to Karrista, the Orc Warlock Gul’dan and Grand Magistrix Elisande. The Illidari leading the pair took a moment to register, Illidan Stormrage. As they approached, Karrista knew immediately it was merely the body, the soul inside was someone else.

     “A lowly human stands in my way?”  Sargaras taunted, not bothering to stop his quick pace until he was towering over Karrista.  His hand snapped out to grab her neck.

     Karrista’s hand was quick and grabbed the Destroyer’s wrist.  The fact that she stopped it told her all she needed to know.  Mother Shahva answered for her.  “She is the one who ensured your return Lord Sargaras.  The blazing fel eyes boring into Karrista should have unnerved her, but a calm lassitude filled her.  She was certain her mind was opened to him whether she wished it or not.

     “You would betray your world so easily?”  He asked not for his own sake, but for the others.

     Karrista made her choice, meeting the Dark Titan’s gaze with respectful admiration rather than defiance.  “I would save my world, not betray it.”

     “All two of it?”  He let out a low laughter, almost mocking.  “And if I would burn this world to ash, then what?”

     Her breath caught in her throat, her weakness and Sargaras knew it.  The consequences of her actions.  “Then it will burn to ash by your hand My Lord.  Though a waste in my opinion, a world as powerful and potent as Azeroth, drag it whole into the Nether.  The Old Gods will wither and die under the empyrean currents and the might of the Legion’s forces.”

     “And your beloved parents?”

     Karrista glanced down once and then met Sargaras’ gaze once more.  “Join the Legion as a demon, or serve as a slave.”

     “And you would bow before me in service?”  Sargaras’ tone was cold and clear in the implication.

     Karrista responded equally clear, fully aware these would likely be her last words.  “I will serve the Legion my Lord, but I bow to no one.”

     “Very well...Netherlady...”

     The mocking sound in Sargaras’ voice barely had time to register before Karrista’s world went sideways, blinded with pain.  She wasn’t sure how she ended up on her hands and knees, or who was screaming so loudly, but her body felt like a million burning razors whirled over her body and her soul was being ripped apart over an open flame.

     Cloven Hooves melted and boiled into talon-bearing feet once more, the barbed bristles remained like furry knee high boots, though her ankles cracked and fused in a permanent high-heel pose.  Leathery wings blossomed with feathers, green with highlights of red, black, and silver in variegated patterns not-unlike a tropical bird.  The faint aura of fel energy radiated in a luminescent nimbus around each feather.  Black crystals floated like irises in the felfire radiance of her eyes.

     Her skin took on a pale tone, while her armor melted and shaped itself into the fitted segmented armor of the Val’kyr, only instead of light-infused Titanium, it was blackened, fel-infused Adamantium.

     “Rise Mistress of the Dreadscar Rift, first of my Fel Reapers.”  Sargaras’ voice boomed, echoing across all of Suramar.  “Take Ulthalesh, harvest those who would stand against the Burning Legion.”

     Karrista used her wings to bring herself to her feet.  The Deadwind Harvester still in one hand.  Her wings kept flapping slowly, though it was fel power that let her hover two feet off the ground.  “With pleasure, my Lord.”  With that, she turned towards the Harbor and the staging point for the attack on the Nighthold.  Her scythe ready, she flew out along the causeway.

     The feel of cold tile against her butt brought her out of her daydream.  She had slid down the wall and found herself sitting on the floor.  It took nearly an hour for Karrista to process the thoughts racing through her head.  The sound of her stomach prompted her to get up off the floor and begin her day properly.