She woke, groggy, feeling like every part of her body had been beaten with hammers. She didn't want to move, but she had to. Fighting a crippling weakness, she managed to pull herself up to hands and knees. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner of the previous day came up all at once, her stomach protesting what she'd done to herself.
When she was done throwing up, she wiped her mouth and looked around. Ugh. She was still on the cliff overlooking the orcish encampment. It looked very much like a tornado had torn up the area, tents and orcs strewn about like an angry child's toys.
At the center of the camp, a shadow stood, the inky black of the void reaching out and spearing nearby orcish corpses. She watched as a ghost was ripped free of its body. It struggled, trying to escape the thing's reach, but to no avail. The void consumed the spirit like so much candy.
She shuddered. The mission was apparently a success: dead orcs could not normally get up to march, much less to attack a village.
But what had she done?
A better question was, what forces had the orc been tampering with, that his death had loosed this monstrosity.
What would happen when it ran out of orcs?
Vladik! She realized it in a panic - where was her wolf?
She breathed a weak sigh of relief to find him standing nearby, all of his fur up on end. He was growling, his attention fixed on the disaster below.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered.
The wolf nodded, an entirely too human gesture, and trotted off.
When it became obvious that she would not be able to follow at any speed, he circled back to help. She rested almost all of her weight on him, grateful that he chose to be solid for h er.
However, when they got within sighting distance of the garrison, he disappeared like so much smoke.
They both knew that if he was spotted, it would be all too easy to identify her.
Still, she only managed to crawl a few more feet, collapsing in a heap without his support.
Showing posts with label Warlords of Draenor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Warlords of Draenor. Show all posts
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Friday, November 21, 2014
The Mission
The orcs were planning an attack. Her first real mission as "Archer" was to thwart that attack. Straightforward enough.
It was a small force of Shadowmoon orcs, not really an army. How could she, alone, stop them from marching? Her instincts said "kill them all" - killing came easy, and it solved the problem. But in this case, it wouldn't be practical.
She reasoned out what she could do while scouting the encampment from above. Whatever else could be said about orcs, they were still mortal. They needed food and water to survive. They needed rest, of course, and they needed leadership. These things, she could disrupt.
Breaking the problem down like that, it was almost manageable.
The best part was, she wouldn't have to do most of it in person.
She put together packets of poisonous herbs, smiling as she worked.
Her beloved wolf would be the one to distribute the vile death she had concocted. Vladik had long since died; she couldn't hurt the ghost with her mixtures.
She explained what she needed him to do, still marveling at how smart he was. She watched as he made his way down the cliff and disappeared from view.
She was confident her wolf would take care of his task. If there was a single scrap of edible food in the camp by morning, she would be surprised - and if they had a single wolf left, or a moment of restful sleep in the entire camp, she would be astonished.
As the local wolves began to howl, loudly, she set to work on her own task.
She wasn't much of a mage; she couldn't rain fire or freeze her enemies in place. She couldn't imagine being able to reverse time.
But she had some talents.
She settled in to the shadow of the cliff, focusing on her well of power. As she closed her eyes, she felt herself slipping free of her body.
The thing she designed was vaguely humanoid, thin strands of magic connecting at a central point. It had two hands, and something resembling a head - good enough. It was also more or less invisible, which suited her purposes quite well.
The thing was also quite mindless; she would be controlling it, directing its every movement. It would take all of her focus: hopefully, she wouldn't find herself under attack, as she would be entirely helpless - most likely unaware of what was happening, until after she'd finished her work below. She wasn't stupid, though - if the orcs caught a scrawny young human in their midst, they would certainly kill him without a second thought.
Carefully, she directed the construct to pick up the poisoned knife. Clumsy, but it would do. She edged down the cliff, before realizing that without a real body, there would be no need for gravity. She flung her 'self' forward, the construct flying out over the camp proper.
One of the tents looked - strange, to her magical vision. It billowed with a kind of inky black smoke, and it beckoned her, drawing her closer. Curious, she followed the call. She slipped unnoticed into the dark-lit tent, finding the orc inside fast asleep. So much power, though - she knew for certain this would be a high value target. She slit his throat without a second thought.
The power did not dissipate. If anything, it expanded, for a moment, before contracting into a vaguely humanoid shape. The darkness hungered - it was impossible for her to look at the thing. It was impossible not to. Ultimately, she found herself staring at it in awed fascination.
The darkness hungered, and before she realized what was happening, her construct was engulfed, consumed. She hastily broke her contact with her creation, cutting her losses and snapping suddenly back into her body. The monster she'd unleashed had stolen almost all of her magic - but at least she was still alive. The backlash of her actions caught up to her quite quickly. She'd expected to be weak after her working.
She was unconscious before she could realize the full of her mistake.
It was a small force of Shadowmoon orcs, not really an army. How could she, alone, stop them from marching? Her instincts said "kill them all" - killing came easy, and it solved the problem. But in this case, it wouldn't be practical.
She reasoned out what she could do while scouting the encampment from above. Whatever else could be said about orcs, they were still mortal. They needed food and water to survive. They needed rest, of course, and they needed leadership. These things, she could disrupt.
Breaking the problem down like that, it was almost manageable.
The best part was, she wouldn't have to do most of it in person.
She put together packets of poisonous herbs, smiling as she worked.
Her beloved wolf would be the one to distribute the vile death she had concocted. Vladik had long since died; she couldn't hurt the ghost with her mixtures.
She explained what she needed him to do, still marveling at how smart he was. She watched as he made his way down the cliff and disappeared from view.
She was confident her wolf would take care of his task. If there was a single scrap of edible food in the camp by morning, she would be surprised - and if they had a single wolf left, or a moment of restful sleep in the entire camp, she would be astonished.
As the local wolves began to howl, loudly, she set to work on her own task.
She wasn't much of a mage; she couldn't rain fire or freeze her enemies in place. She couldn't imagine being able to reverse time.
But she had some talents.
She settled in to the shadow of the cliff, focusing on her well of power. As she closed her eyes, she felt herself slipping free of her body.
The thing she designed was vaguely humanoid, thin strands of magic connecting at a central point. It had two hands, and something resembling a head - good enough. It was also more or less invisible, which suited her purposes quite well.
The thing was also quite mindless; she would be controlling it, directing its every movement. It would take all of her focus: hopefully, she wouldn't find herself under attack, as she would be entirely helpless - most likely unaware of what was happening, until after she'd finished her work below. She wasn't stupid, though - if the orcs caught a scrawny young human in their midst, they would certainly kill him without a second thought.
Carefully, she directed the construct to pick up the poisoned knife. Clumsy, but it would do. She edged down the cliff, before realizing that without a real body, there would be no need for gravity. She flung her 'self' forward, the construct flying out over the camp proper.
One of the tents looked - strange, to her magical vision. It billowed with a kind of inky black smoke, and it beckoned her, drawing her closer. Curious, she followed the call. She slipped unnoticed into the dark-lit tent, finding the orc inside fast asleep. So much power, though - she knew for certain this would be a high value target. She slit his throat without a second thought.
The power did not dissipate. If anything, it expanded, for a moment, before contracting into a vaguely humanoid shape. The darkness hungered - it was impossible for her to look at the thing. It was impossible not to. Ultimately, she found herself staring at it in awed fascination.
The darkness hungered, and before she realized what was happening, her construct was engulfed, consumed. She hastily broke her contact with her creation, cutting her losses and snapping suddenly back into her body. The monster she'd unleashed had stolen almost all of her magic - but at least she was still alive. The backlash of her actions caught up to her quite quickly. She'd expected to be weak after her working.
She was unconscious before she could realize the full of her mistake.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
50 Word Thoughts - VII
Swarm
The silly little flower men had sharp teeth. She discovered just how sharp when one of them latched on to her arm. She did not scream - she had endured worse. Instead, she bashed its skull in, green goo flying. She shook the dead thing off, before resuming her vicious slaughter.
Snowbound
Northrend was notoriously cold, with biting winds and harsh snows. She had not fully anticipated staying the night in a tent that was completely buried. She dug a small vent up to let air in and what little smoke her heater gave off out. It was a long, grueling night.
Colorful
She smiled as she worked. To a human, the splash of color on canvas was meaningless. The idea that she could craft her own art was an incredible thought. She did not try to capture the image of something that existed - why would she? Instead, she painted pleasing patterns.
Jaded
She sighed. She wanted to believe in the good of the world, and then this happened. It was two of the woodworkers - she did not know their names. "You know this is not tolerated," she said evenly. Rage gave her punch strength. No one deserved to be hurt like that.
Knight
"Commander!" The man snapped to attention. She had been recognized for her efforts in the previous wars, but honestly, she had no idea how to lead. She had run mostly solo campaigns, because of her "gifts." The idea of running a fortress was terrifying. What if she failed her people?
Translate
With how many years the Alliance and Horde had been fighting, she would have thought that a translator would be superfluous by now. Still, she served as well as she could, for basic confrontations. The others around the garrison got together, cornering her to demand lessons. Of course, she obliged.
Chosen
Once again, she found herself traveling to strange lands a t the beginning of a new war. She was not chosen as part of this mission, but her employer was. She was not one to abandon a job because it got dangerous, and so she demanded a position in their company.
Bird
She swung the 'copter around, firing at the massive skeleton below. There were still a number of free roaming undead after the fall of the Lich King, though not nearly so many as during his reign. She did not mind clean up: it gave her time to think.
The silly little flower men had sharp teeth. She discovered just how sharp when one of them latched on to her arm. She did not scream - she had endured worse. Instead, she bashed its skull in, green goo flying. She shook the dead thing off, before resuming her vicious slaughter.
Snowbound
Northrend was notoriously cold, with biting winds and harsh snows. She had not fully anticipated staying the night in a tent that was completely buried. She dug a small vent up to let air in and what little smoke her heater gave off out. It was a long, grueling night.
Colorful
She smiled as she worked. To a human, the splash of color on canvas was meaningless. The idea that she could craft her own art was an incredible thought. She did not try to capture the image of something that existed - why would she? Instead, she painted pleasing patterns.
Jaded
She sighed. She wanted to believe in the good of the world, and then this happened. It was two of the woodworkers - she did not know their names. "You know this is not tolerated," she said evenly. Rage gave her punch strength. No one deserved to be hurt like that.
Knight
"Commander!" The man snapped to attention. She had been recognized for her efforts in the previous wars, but honestly, she had no idea how to lead. She had run mostly solo campaigns, because of her "gifts." The idea of running a fortress was terrifying. What if she failed her people?
Translate
With how many years the Alliance and Horde had been fighting, she would have thought that a translator would be superfluous by now. Still, she served as well as she could, for basic confrontations. The others around the garrison got together, cornering her to demand lessons. Of course, she obliged.
Chosen
Once again, she found herself traveling to strange lands a t the beginning of a new war. She was not chosen as part of this mission, but her employer was. She was not one to abandon a job because it got dangerous, and so she demanded a position in their company.
Bird
She swung the 'copter around, firing at the massive skeleton below. There were still a number of free roaming undead after the fall of the Lich King, though not nearly so many as during his reign. She did not mind clean up: it gave her time to think.
Friday, November 14, 2014
50 Word Thoughts - III
Flight
They danced, twirling, spinning. She delighted in showing him the miracle of flight. She tucked one wing in, rolling. He was clumsy, but he mimicked her movements, chasing her across the starry night sky. Her love, her mate - he was everything she could have wanted. He worked hard - for her.
Grave
There was no grave for her to spit on, no practical way to display her newly kindled hate. And a large part of her, a traitorous part of her, did not want to. She channeled her rage into strength, throwing herself into her training. For all her hate, he won.
Ominous
She crept through the dim corridor. She did not know where she had come from, nor where she was going. All she knew was a deep sense of dread. She was not a coward; she kept moving forward despite her fear. But it was hard. Her dream trembled in terror.
Vengeance
The orc's axe drew blood, opening a thin gash across her cheek. She was not especially vain, but she took offense to that. She moved with unnatural speed and magically enhanced strength, smashing the greataxe aside and kicking him squarely in the soft bits. He doubled over; she struck again.
Flowers
She ground the delicate petals down, mixing the herbs together into a mushy paste. The herbs were worth their weight in gold, but they were that effective. Already, she had set aside a wealth of liquid magic: healing potions and elixirs to enhance every aspect of herself. It was necessary.
Preparations
She punched, piercing the dummy's "eyes" with the spikes adorning the handguard of her axe. The girl stepped back, panting slightly. Long practice had given her endurance - she could keep going just short of forever. She did need to work on all her talents, though, so she had to stop.
They danced, twirling, spinning. She delighted in showing him the miracle of flight. She tucked one wing in, rolling. He was clumsy, but he mimicked her movements, chasing her across the starry night sky. Her love, her mate - he was everything she could have wanted. He worked hard - for her.
Grave
There was no grave for her to spit on, no practical way to display her newly kindled hate. And a large part of her, a traitorous part of her, did not want to. She channeled her rage into strength, throwing herself into her training. For all her hate, he won.
Ominous
She crept through the dim corridor. She did not know where she had come from, nor where she was going. All she knew was a deep sense of dread. She was not a coward; she kept moving forward despite her fear. But it was hard. Her dream trembled in terror.
Vengeance
The orc's axe drew blood, opening a thin gash across her cheek. She was not especially vain, but she took offense to that. She moved with unnatural speed and magically enhanced strength, smashing the greataxe aside and kicking him squarely in the soft bits. He doubled over; she struck again.
Flowers
She ground the delicate petals down, mixing the herbs together into a mushy paste. The herbs were worth their weight in gold, but they were that effective. Already, she had set aside a wealth of liquid magic: healing potions and elixirs to enhance every aspect of herself. It was necessary.
Preparations
She punched, piercing the dummy's "eyes" with the spikes adorning the handguard of her axe. The girl stepped back, panting slightly. Long practice had given her endurance - she could keep going just short of forever. She did need to work on all her talents, though, so she had to stop.
Through the Dark Portal
The feel of her axe slashing through flesh, slamming into bone, was intensely satisfying. This was what she was meant for. This was what she had trained for.
She ripped her axe free of the dead orc's skull, lashing out and tearing through another orc's throat.
She wasn't alone out here, by any means - Alliance and Horde alike fought the crushing might of the Iron Horde. But it wasn't like she could hide behind the others, not that she'd want to. She had come to fight, and it was glorious.
A new wave of orcs stormed through the portal. Somehow, she found her efforts had brought her to the front lines, a position that she hadn't intended to occupy. Still, as the strongest warriors of every Azerothian race poured forth to meet this threat, she felt - confident. That was the word.
The orcs largely didn't focus on her, either, at least not at the start. She was small, and she had a trained talent for blending in. She slipped through their ranks unnoticed, ducking a wild mace, and began to wreak havoc.
Her knives had been displayed prominently, not for intimidation, but for easy access. They glowed blue-green as her power freed them from their sheathes. The blades began to dance around her, almost as though they had minds of their own. Blood spattered as sharp points found soft flesh. Her knives fanned out around her, while she herself laid waste to every orc that came before her. Limbs fell, heads rolled, and the orcs suddenly viewed the small half-elf as a threat. This fact, she realized too late.
She drew her blades in close to her body as one particularly large orc turned to face her. He grinned as he smashed his own axe down against her block. Another bone-jarring attack, another - this one was followed with a kick that knocked the wind out of her and sent her flying.
She felt the magic swirl around her as she rolled through the portal.
---
A heavy kick to her side woke her up. She attempted to lash out, tried to fight whatever - whoever - had thought to capture her. Her hands were bound behind her back, so she thrashed, wielding her magic like a club and blasting outward with raw power. She was stunned as her own magic was reflected back at her.
The big orc grinned down at her as she groaned, looking up. She noted absently that her armor had been replaced with rags that barely covered her modesty. One more thing to take out of the orc's flesh, when she was able.
Her orcish was rusty, but she understood him well enough. "You like to fight, little girl? Then you will fight." He threw two crude-looking axes down next to her. "You will fight in the arena," he said, "Until you die."
This was not exactly what she had wanted when she decided to put her skills to use.
---
She killed, and killed again, for the orcs' amusement.
She made a point of not getting to know the other prisoners: she didn't know when she would be forced to fight against them - or worse, when the orcs would just kill them all outright.
The first time they had tried to bleed her, she bit, kicked, clawed, and punched, thrashing until they knocked her out with a swift blow to the back of her skull. The second time, she fought only until they knocked her out with a sweet-smelling herb.
Before they could attempt a third time, something amazingly fortuitous happened: fire broke out, burning the huts around them, and the cage door swung open.
Somehow, she doubted the two events were unrelated.
She ripped her axe free of the dead orc's skull, lashing out and tearing through another orc's throat.
She wasn't alone out here, by any means - Alliance and Horde alike fought the crushing might of the Iron Horde. But it wasn't like she could hide behind the others, not that she'd want to. She had come to fight, and it was glorious.
A new wave of orcs stormed through the portal. Somehow, she found her efforts had brought her to the front lines, a position that she hadn't intended to occupy. Still, as the strongest warriors of every Azerothian race poured forth to meet this threat, she felt - confident. That was the word.
The orcs largely didn't focus on her, either, at least not at the start. She was small, and she had a trained talent for blending in. She slipped through their ranks unnoticed, ducking a wild mace, and began to wreak havoc.
Her knives had been displayed prominently, not for intimidation, but for easy access. They glowed blue-green as her power freed them from their sheathes. The blades began to dance around her, almost as though they had minds of their own. Blood spattered as sharp points found soft flesh. Her knives fanned out around her, while she herself laid waste to every orc that came before her. Limbs fell, heads rolled, and the orcs suddenly viewed the small half-elf as a threat. This fact, she realized too late.
She drew her blades in close to her body as one particularly large orc turned to face her. He grinned as he smashed his own axe down against her block. Another bone-jarring attack, another - this one was followed with a kick that knocked the wind out of her and sent her flying.
She felt the magic swirl around her as she rolled through the portal.
---
A heavy kick to her side woke her up. She attempted to lash out, tried to fight whatever - whoever - had thought to capture her. Her hands were bound behind her back, so she thrashed, wielding her magic like a club and blasting outward with raw power. She was stunned as her own magic was reflected back at her.
The big orc grinned down at her as she groaned, looking up. She noted absently that her armor had been replaced with rags that barely covered her modesty. One more thing to take out of the orc's flesh, when she was able.
Her orcish was rusty, but she understood him well enough. "You like to fight, little girl? Then you will fight." He threw two crude-looking axes down next to her. "You will fight in the arena," he said, "Until you die."
This was not exactly what she had wanted when she decided to put her skills to use.
---
She killed, and killed again, for the orcs' amusement.
She made a point of not getting to know the other prisoners: she didn't know when she would be forced to fight against them - or worse, when the orcs would just kill them all outright.
The first time they had tried to bleed her, she bit, kicked, clawed, and punched, thrashing until they knocked her out with a swift blow to the back of her skull. The second time, she fought only until they knocked her out with a sweet-smelling herb.
Before they could attempt a third time, something amazingly fortuitous happened: fire broke out, burning the huts around them, and the cage door swung open.
Somehow, she doubted the two events were unrelated.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Achaena's Diary, Page Three
So I was right to check on the dwarf - to alert her father. She was no match for the titanic system she was trying to tamper with: she found herself caught by the machine. Fortunately, Kelgrim was able to circumvent the defense systems and save her.
I guess that means I did the right thing.
Elle is safe, so that's good.
The other thing I wanted to mention though - I got accosted by a dwarf. She's apparently called Mistrel Weaving, though she didn't tell me that at first. See, I was minding my own business, transmuting some living steel. It was in the mystic ward of Ironforge - that area with all that power. She took a minute to tell me how good my work was - for someone my age.
Then, she got suspicious. She pieced together what I was, not that it's exactly a well-kept secret. If the SI:7 knows and follows me around, I think it might as well be a matter of public record. I'm just not that important, especially given recent events.
But this dwarf was paranoid.
She seemed to think I was an assassin sent to kill her, for her efforts in the Siege of Orgrimmar or some such thing. I managed to set her straight - I had no idea who she was or what her organization was about. I guess being dragged around is better than having someone try to eat me.
I even got a job offer out of it. She suggested that I might be able to offer my services to the "Anvil March."
Kelgrim was less than happy about that idea. He says that they're gearing up to make an expedition through the Dark Portal, to fight the Iron Horde.
That does influence my decision.
It will be good to use my talents again.
I guess that means I did the right thing.
Elle is safe, so that's good.
The other thing I wanted to mention though - I got accosted by a dwarf. She's apparently called Mistrel Weaving, though she didn't tell me that at first. See, I was minding my own business, transmuting some living steel. It was in the mystic ward of Ironforge - that area with all that power. She took a minute to tell me how good my work was - for someone my age.
Then, she got suspicious. She pieced together what I was, not that it's exactly a well-kept secret. If the SI:7 knows and follows me around, I think it might as well be a matter of public record. I'm just not that important, especially given recent events.
But this dwarf was paranoid.
She seemed to think I was an assassin sent to kill her, for her efforts in the Siege of Orgrimmar or some such thing. I managed to set her straight - I had no idea who she was or what her organization was about. I guess being dragged around is better than having someone try to eat me.
I even got a job offer out of it. She suggested that I might be able to offer my services to the "Anvil March."
Kelgrim was less than happy about that idea. He says that they're gearing up to make an expedition through the Dark Portal, to fight the Iron Horde.
That does influence my decision.
It will be good to use my talents again.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
50 Word Thoughts
Banquet:
She knew it was a trap. She knew it, but she trusted herself. She could not, did not, anticipate how prepared he had been. The meat was delicious, even though she rarely ate it. The poison was so fast, she could not even cry for help. She was in trouble.
Frustration:
She was not doing it right. She knew it. She picked up the hammer and began to beat the training dummy in earnest. One strike, two, three - the dummy snapped in half. She did not let up. She continued until the wood was so many splintered pieces. Still so unsatisfying.
Merciful:
She stood over the orc, bloody axe in hand. He groaned, bleeding. It was not mercy that stayed her hand. The alliance needed answers. So she bound his limbs and began to drag his half-dead body back to the camp. Maybe she was wrong to hurt him back. Maybe.
Fast Food:
She settled into the dive, wings tucked in. The unfortunate cow would have no idea what happened. One moment, it was standing, peaceful, and the next, she had snapped its neck, her talons impaling its skull.
She ripped its flesh open, beginning to feast in earnest.
She had killed well.
She knew it was a trap. She knew it, but she trusted herself. She could not, did not, anticipate how prepared he had been. The meat was delicious, even though she rarely ate it. The poison was so fast, she could not even cry for help. She was in trouble.
Frustration:
She was not doing it right. She knew it. She picked up the hammer and began to beat the training dummy in earnest. One strike, two, three - the dummy snapped in half. She did not let up. She continued until the wood was so many splintered pieces. Still so unsatisfying.
Merciful:
She stood over the orc, bloody axe in hand. He groaned, bleeding. It was not mercy that stayed her hand. The alliance needed answers. So she bound his limbs and began to drag his half-dead body back to the camp. Maybe she was wrong to hurt him back. Maybe.
Fast Food:
She settled into the dive, wings tucked in. The unfortunate cow would have no idea what happened. One moment, it was standing, peaceful, and the next, she had snapped its neck, her talons impaling its skull.
She ripped its flesh open, beginning to feast in earnest.
She had killed well.
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