Achaena's Diary, Page One

Hello.

That's how these things begin, right? A greeting, an introduction, and then I spill my darkest secrets.

But the healer says that this will help. So, let's do this properly.

My name is Achaena. I am a half-elf. I am twelve years old. And I am a monster.

Oh, not like the Worgen, or the San'layn. No curse has made me to be what I am. But I bear no illusions: I am a monster.

But I'm only twelve, the astute observer will remember. What could I have possibly done?

Let's begin at the beginning. An elven woman deposited her newborn baby on the front doorstep of the orphanage. I remember neither my mother, nor the orphanage. I was too young. But I know what happened next.

A group of assassins, my family, adopted me. They raised me, trained me. I learned to fight with all manner of weapons, including my own magical talent. I also learned to brew potions and poisons.

I made my first kill when I was only ten. I've never felt any guilt. Why should I? This is what I was raised for. I was proud; Master was proud of me. He presented me with a set of ten perfect knives, which I carry to this day. They're a part of me, and more importantly, they are my last reminder of him.

You see, it was less than a year later that their scheme was uncovered. I returned from a job to find the house - my home for my entire life - crawling with guards. Everyone I'd known and cared for was dead.

But time moves on. I escaped the guards' notice easily enough, kept out of their way. I pursued legitimate work, even looking after a hunter's pets for a time. That was interesting. One of them was dead - killed long before I met him. I made fast friends with the ghost wolf named Vladik. He is a supremely loyal companion; he rarely leaves my side. The hunter ultimately let me keep him. If there is one person I trust implicitly, it is him.

I've met a lot of people - some of them were even good, I imagine. But mostly ...

There was that warlock who tried to kill me in Dalaran, because I wouldn't kill someone for free. Stupid - no gold, no blood.

He didn't succeed, obviously. Neither did the dwarf who tore a chunk out of my leg.

I'm still alive, but that one was close. I still have scars from those encounters - the leg healed with the help of magic, but nothing can cleanse fel taint permanently.

Even my own friends are - many of them - awful, horribly cruel people.

I think the dwarf, Kelgrim, is probably the best person I've met, and all I do is anger him. Maybe I should try to listen to him - he's old, he's supposed to be wise. But the things he says are so unrealistic.

People are mostly bad. It takes work - hard work - to care for anyone other than yourself. Even those who claim to be altruistic are only doing it to feel better about themselves.

Now I'm feeling bitter.

Maybe I'll burn this page - that's supposed to make you feel better, too.

Crushing Defeat

(('nother li'l in-character post-dealie. I'm having fun writing these. In other news - why the hell does my computer keep going on these eight-hour-plus updating sprees? Seriously? What the hell? I know I need to clean it out (maybe reformat, but I'd have to look up how t'do that proper) but this is just silly.

Still don't really buy into the storyline going on over here, but it's interesting and I like Mystery. The bits about magic and charms speak to me a bit, too.))

Or: To Die A Dozen Deaths

She learned later that both of the enemy summoners were much stronger than she was - they'd completed their training and were soon to begin ranked matches, with hundreds of victories each.

That didn't really help her now, though.

She felt fuzzy around the edges, the world fading in and out around her, washed with gray.

"I don't want to die again ..." She wasn't really sure if she'd sent it, spoken the words aloud, or just thought it really loudly inside her own skull.

She was shaking, and it was all she could do to keep herself standing. She covered her mouth with one hand, heedless of the danger, to keep herself from throwing up her last three meals.

"Let's surrender, okay?" The other woman's words came in yellows and golds, like sunshine and warm honey melting into the cracks of her fractured mind. The pain was making her delirious.

Fire and hard stone followed, the man sounded confident despite their impending defeat. "We can do this, we'll catch up."

Warwick regained consciousness, his body regenerating completely from its ravaged state. Neither Olaf nor Cassiopeia were visible - Their base hadn't been invaded yet. She urged Him out to defend, shocked to note Their defenses were still standing.

"You're weak," he growled softly. The battle had taken a lot out of both of them.

"I - "

He cut off her reply. "You're weaker than they are, Summoner. I can smell your fear, girl."

The berserker and the Noxian temptress appeared down the lane. Olaf raised his massive axe, cheerfully reducing the horde of purple-clad minions into chunky red paste. Cassiopeia contented herself to watch, slithering through the spattered gore with a rather bored expression painted on her admittedly beautiful face.

"So," the wolf-man began, flexing his talons. Lux and Veigar walked up beside Them, waiting for the battle to resume. "Are you going to give up?"

"I - no!"

He grunted, but didn't reply.

The enemy reached the base of the stairs.

Veigar raised a mystical barrier there, temporarily halting their advance. A rain of magical turret-fire slammed into the barbarian, who barely seemed to notice.

They flung Themselves forward, claws splayed, intending to at least shred the snake-woman's scales. Blood ran freely from a multitude of cuts, but Cassiopeia managed a gurgling laugh despite the damage They inflicted.

There came a flash of pain, and then nothing.

Their body half-turned as it fell, allowing Them a glimpse of Their legs - His legs - and the axe that severed Them, before the world went dark once more.

"You have been slain."

She screamed, clutching her sides as the pain wracked her form.

"An ally has been slain."

One of the other summoners flinched.

"Ace!" 

First Summoning

She glanced at the other two hooded figures in the dim-lit summoning chamber, reaching up to adjust her own hood, nervously.

She'd just purchased the right to use the Eternal Nightmare in her League matches, and this was to be her first session with it. The summoners standing near her were her friends and classmates, long-time companions who wouldn't care if she made a fool of herself.

It was only a simulation anyway. Save their three champions, they would be sparring with pre-programmed constructs. They couldn't respond as people did, wouldn't talk or laugh or think as people did. Useful training dummies, but ultimately non-sentient. They wouldn't laugh as people did, and she was sure that she was going to make a fool of herself for this first match.

She always did, when trying out a new Champion.

The countdown began after all three of them made their selections. She wondered how people like Katarina felt, being dragged in to trial matches like this. What about Twisted Fate?

She might ask that of them directly, if she ever scraped together the influence to purchase the right to their presence.

Reaching for Nocturne, she steadied her own mind, calling to his unique signature. "Embrace the darkness ..." His voice murmured in her ear, tingling in the back of her mind. Calling ....

She pushed her mind outward, speaking the words of summoning. Every Summoner's ritual was at least slightly different, because every Summoner was different. It naturally took some Summoners longer than others to complete their rituals. She liked to keep hers short and to the point. It was almost effortless, flinging her mind outward like this - for her, the trick was keeping an "eye" on her physical body.

"Welcome to Summoner's Rift."

It had no legs. Odd that that should be her first disoriented thought, as she examined it - it floated, almost incorporeal, heavy blades hanging from its 'arms.' "Do I scare you, summoner?" She gave a headshake that only it could perceive, stretching her mind to try and fill the space it occupied. It was foreign, strange, but not any more so than Cho'Gath. She had mastered the Void Terror, and she would master this Nightmare.

 - awash with blood, the body in pieces, manic, dizzy laughter -

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.

She covered her physical mouth, almost thrown out of the link. Her left hand held steady on the glowing image before her, holding its edge physically to reinforce it.

"You arrigh'?" One of the other Summoners asked it, gently, his mind pressing the words into hers. She responded with a sense of affirmation, tamping down the nausea.

"Drip, drop, the sound of blood ..." The Nightmare taunted, her full attention upon it again. She directed him, wordlessly, to collect the basic necessities - she'd done a bit of research on how to use his abilities properly. Dark 'hands' closed around the scythe purchased from the merchant. Just a symbol.

The scythe glowed brilliant for a moment, then evaporated, strengthening the Nightmare's own weapons. Its attacks would steal the very life from the constructs they would be fighting today.

"Yesss ... bring me more fleshbags to slice up." Anticipation, raw and eager, filled her mind, mingling with its. No - the other way around ... wasn't it?

The announcer's voice called out, dragging her attention to the upcoming match. "Thirty seconds until minions spawn."

"You comin'?"

"Solo mid?" She asked, distractedly.

"If you wan'." Three Summoners in a link - it was easy to forget who was talking. Easy to lose herself to the link. "Sure y'can handle it?"

"It's bots. I'll be fine." She waved a hand, dismissively, sending reassurance his way as well.

It came to rest just in front of the blue tower, staring at the human female just across the way. Images came unbidden in her mind - the female in pieces, just how He was going to end her pitiful life. Given His choice, it would be slow and painful. It would take days of unending nightmares. She'd heal up, in the dream, but only so that He could cut her open again. He would take any hope of escape and slowly rip it away - with his bare talons, even. Only in this world had He any need of true blades, after all - and those formed of His will.

It took a long moment to realize that the woman they were examining was a child - Annie. Annie had always been one of her favorite Champions, and she was briefly glad that this version was just a construct, with no Summoner behind it.

Amusement at her discomforted realization, a sinister laugh. "Weather forecast for tonight: dark, with a chance of pain."

She snorted a little bit at the joke, even as the Nightmare filled her mind with more images of death and dismemberment, sending back: "Only a chance? I had been given to understand you were better than that." Even minions felt pain. The constructs that wore Champion skins were little different.

"Minions have spawned!" The announcement cut off any possible response.

She drew first blood, the blades an extension of Their arms as They destroyed the golem in the image of a young girl. "Annie" screamed her agony, blood staining her stuffed bear as her golem was sliced in two. A blast of energy slammed into Nocturne's all-but-incorporeal back, pushing him toward the ground as they slid through a shroud of darkness, phasing through minions, into the woods, and out of the tower's wrath.

"Worth it." She grinned to herself. They hadn't even died this time.

Twenty-eight kills later - better than Katarina's twenty-seven! - and having sliced through an entire army of minions, her companions finally destroyed the constructs' Nexus just to end her fun. She found herself disappointed, pouting a little bit as she stared through his 'eyes' at the enemy's Soraka longingly. They hovered inches away from the kill, one blade pinning the ex-goddess to the destroyed inhibitor. The other hovered, magically paralyzed, just above her navel.

"That's right ... people are flames to be blotted out." His voice was soothing, contented from the slaughter, and she found herself nodding in agreement as she pulled away, finding her true body had fallen to its knees without her attention on it, an almost-lifeless ragdoll.

They both knew she'd be back.

Dragon Mage: Origins

Entry #1

My first night in the Circle Tower as a full mage. I finally understand why my - no, our - confinement is deemed necessary.

I still feel it. As though the demon hovers over me, waiting to seize control again no - not again, it was never ... my thoughts are my own, my mind is my own. I cannot sleep at all - worry I may never sleep again. In the darkness of my bath this evening, I imagined I could see its eyes above me, watching ... waiting. Waiting for my guard to slip even an inch.

Jowan was there, when I woke from my Harrowing. He wanted to know what it was like. He's been on edge for days now, and I suspect this didn't help any. He said he wanted to speak with me, said it was important. I can't imagine why, truly. He knows I cannot tell him of the Harrowing. Maybe it's his "secret lover." Ha. Jowan is my friend, but sometimes I think he gets jealous of me. How easily I take to magic, how the First Enchanter himself has taken an interest in my learning. I never knew my parents. Sometimes, I suspect Irving thinks of me as the daughter he never had. I'd like that, I think. He is like the father that I never had, as well.

Oh! Two odd things happened today, besides my Harrowing, that is. I nearly forgot.

There is a Gray Warden staying here at the Circle, a man named Duncan. He seems like a good and upright fellow. I think I expected him to be ... bigger.

Astride a Griffon, perhaps?

Also, there is a Templar here who seems to have taken a shine to me. Edgar ... Edwin? Cullen, anyway. A Templar and a mage ... how silly.

Best not dwell on it.

Who Am I?

Back in the game again, and the game is so very, very pretty now.


3:27 PM 1/29/11
The sun is so bright it hurts my eyes. I feel like I've made some kind of momentous, world-shaking decision just now ... if only I could remember what it was. Ah, well.

3:35 - I'm awful tired - since the closest civilization is the Imperial City, I guess I have to hope the guards won't recognize me. What did I even do to get arrested?

3:50 - Eugh, it's raining.

4:18 - Joking around with the guards is probably a good way to get locked up again, but it really seems like nobody else knows who I am, either.

4:23 - I meant to take a nap, but apparently instead I fell into a coma that lasted until morning. Ah, well.

4:32 - It's like I didn't even exist before I woke up in that cell. By Azura ... am I even real? "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet." Chilling, old man.

4:42 - I have memories of being a spellcaster - I remember how to use several spells, and I know what many more of them do. Maybe someone at the Arcane University will remember me? It's all I have to go on.

5:13 - Spoke to a woman named Bothiel. Have problems telling Bosmer from Altmer half the time. Bah. She handed me a list and said it was most urgent that the items on it be collected. Apparently some kind of bandits attacked the Orrery. Maybe I'll help out. I'm pretty sure Bothiel doesn't like me. Well, I don't like her either.

5:23 - Have decided to look up my own status in the Mage's Guild. I have to have learned it all somewhere, right? Starting with Bruma. Somebody has to know who I am.

$15 Social Life

So, let's play some Elder Scrolls. I haven't done that in a while, and TES5 has been announced. Glee and joy, Skyrim!

I'm playing The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. It's kind of my favorite, partially since I got introduced to Morrowind after Oblivion's release and the graphics did not age well. My $15/month goes to playing WoW as a glorified chat room, while in the foreground the character creation screen boots up. Ah, Oblivion, how I've missed you.

12:03 PM 1/29/11
Behold: in darkness, a doom sweeps the land ...

12:04 - You know, this game's facial graphics haven't really aged well, but the rest of it is still beautiful.

12:05 - Dunmer for min-maxing, or Bosmer for looks. HM.

12:09 - This persistent "staring at the sky" thing is seriously starting to bug me. Given my plans for a Dunmer to be the new Madgod, sure. She can be a space cadet.

12:16 - She looks dull, and a bit sad.

12:19 - Aha! Almost fixed the sky-staring thing. De-de-de. Looks more severe now. Blah. Sliders.

12:24 - I wake up in a corner of a cold, dark, cell. My head hurts like it's been kicked in by an entire herd of horses. I don't even remember who I am. Where am I? Why am I here? By Azura ... everything hurts. I can hear something in the distance ...?

12:34 - 'scuse me, playing with the skin color now. I made a goth! And she has a name. Amelie.


12:42 - Now what? There's a Dunmer in the other cell ... gah, I'm so confused. All this talk of destiny ... can that man have really been the Emperor? They left the secret passage open behind them. Since my options are "follow" and "Rot down here forever," I guess I'll choose "follow."

12:47 - There's no way this can end badly.


12:53 - I must have been some kind of badass before getting locked down here. I've got skills I'm pretty sure a simple commoner shouldn't. Lockpicking, swordplay, spellcasting ... I found some heavy iron armor, and it just felt right to put it on.

12:59 - My stomach is growling ... looks like grilled rat is what's for dinner.

1:03 - Regretting using fireball as a torch: vicious, murderous rats everywhere.

1:14 - Why would the goblins be standing at the bottom of a log trap? They're all greenish ... and crushed. Wonder if any of the loot is usable. (Answer: No.)


1:23 - I feel like an invisible hand is guiding me sometimes, sure. But the Nine Divines? I don't know if I believe in your human religion, buddy. Meh. Trying to remember if my birthsign was Thief or Warrior. I'm not feeling especially lucky, but maybe we'll turn that around, yeah?

1:40 - I've got a real torch now. Hooray.


1:41 - IT'S A TRAP.

1:45 - But I liked Captain Renault's sword. I guess I get to run an errand for the Empire. I do feel a bit guilty, letting the Emperor die, if I'm such a badass.

1:58 - Trying to improve graphics. Oblivion has stopped working. Dammit. Fucking crashes.

2:29 - Research online suggests SaveINI from the console. Hooray! Of course, there's no way to open the console with Vista or later as your OS ... Spell of Open The Damn Console, 'kgo.

Blind Rage

Deantha Ashenmoor was angry.

She slammed the door to her rented room shut, locking it tight as tears rolled down her face. She was so angry.

A plate had been on her table. It hit the wall, smashed to bits, a bowl and a cup following as a scream of inhuman rage tore her throat. Finally, even the table itself was overturned, rolling through the air to slam hard against a bookshelf.

Hungry for destruction, she ripped the blankets from her bed, claws slashing -

Claws ... slashing ...

Not even human.

She collapsed on the bed, shaking, a howl of grief escaping her that gradually became a wail, until that, too, faded. Deantha sobbed brokenly, fur melting away to reveal soft, human flesh.

Images flashed through her mind. Armod filled most of them. The warrior's calloused hand stroking her lupine muzzle as he softly reassured her that she'd be all right. His own face covered in wooden splinters and gore, foam rolled from his mouth. The sharp pain as his sword snapped her shield arm in a training exercise gone awry.

The confused fear in his eyes as she pried his jaw open. As she reassured him that he would be all right, her hands pouring the faintly-glowing liquid down his throat. As she violated his trust, took his free will away.

It was the only choice she had.

You thought you could trust him, came the insidious thought. Him, a Worgen. You've seen him in a rage, and you thought you could control that? Or did you think frothing at the mouth was normal?

Deantha decided to take her emotion out on her pillow, punching it with all the strength she could muster as she tried to ignore that cold, logical voice.

You thought you could trust him and he hurt you.

You thought you could trust him, and you tempted him, goaded him into losing control. How long has he been infected, even?

You don't know. Years maybe.

You thought you could trust a monster like him.

"He didn't mean it," she mumbled weakly, curled up in her bed. "He didn't mean it. He wouldn't hurt me on purpose."

He trusted you, the voice shot back. Trusted you to be strong enough for him.

But you're weak.

She didn't have a response for that accusation.

She never did. 

In-Character: Dreaming of Things

((I may have mentioned this at some point, but I am an avid roleplayer. This particular post is an in-character look at probably my most favorite new character - a Stormwind human, bitten by a half-feral Worgen. Forgive the awful accent, it makes me giggle a bit inside.))

"'Allo, Poppet."

I made a friend today, I think. Her name is Miranda, and she is nice.

I am leaning on her because I am tired, and very cold besides. I turn to look at her, and I am smiling, with my very human mouth. Only, she is not there - it is HIM, instead. I am caught, the rabbit before the wolf, and I cannot look away.

"You're real pretteh, yeh know tha' roight?"

I am kneeling now. There is blood everywhere, limbs and fingers and toes. A lower jaw ripped from a face, skin and muscle, lip and teeth, all together in my hand. The tongue remained with the rest of the skull, and that remained with the body. Although I barely know her, I realize somehow that this maimed corpse belongs to my new friend.

And I know that I have killed her.

"Kill you? Now whoi would Oi do a thing li'e tha'?"

He is above me, his long, sharp teeth sunk into my shoulder as he does unspeakable things to my body. He is not a man, although he walks upright: fur sprouts from his skin, inky and blank, and his eyes glow with crimson. Bloody crimson ... so much blood, I am drowning in it, I think. I do not want to die. With all that I am, I do not want to die.

"Oi need you aloive."

I am one of them. I can see my fur clearly. It is a muddy, brownish color, covering hands that end in claws like scythes.

I do not understand what is happening to me, the changes I am going through. I hold my stomach, as the pain is most intense there. Looking down, I see my abdomen swelled and bloated, and I am confused. The pain is intense, and with the first splash of red, I realize in dawning horror what is happening to me. Tiny teeth housed in soft, furred muzzles chew their way out of me.

"Moi children, love."

I wake up, trying not to scream. It is all a dream.

My hands come into view, and I realize they are paws.

"'Allo, Poppet."