Reset: Achaena

Achaena looked up from her work, mixing a healing potion, and staring into the mirror that sat behind her workstation.

The woman who stared back was not her own face.

She'd seen the specter around the manor a few times now - a high elf, if she was any judge.

The others didn't see the woman. She only appeared to Akkie.

"Why me?"

She asked it quietly - she didn't need her training master to hear. He'd think she'd snapped, and she knew she hadn't. She would know if she'd gone insane.

The specter reached out, her pale fingertips touching the glass. Her other hand came to her lips, pressing a single finger to them, and silencing her.

What do you want?

She didn't know if the spirit could hear her thoughts, but the ghost didn't want her to speak aloud, that much was obvious.

And ... who are you?

The mirror's surface blurred for a moment, and she once again saw herself. The spirit was there, too, however - her arms wrapped around Akkie's shoulders gently.

"They're coming."

Akkie could read the woman's lips, though no sound issued forth.

Who? Who's coming?

The spirit gestured, pointing toward the window.

It was late, the sky was dark. Akkie hadn't been able to sleep, these last few nights.

She moved, silently, to the window, looking out. The spirit's reflection pointed, and Akkie looked down. There. Movement in the courtyard. Armored men? At this hour?

Those were guards. Stormwind Guards.

Her blood froze in her veins. No, that couldn't be right. The masters were always so careful.

She heard the distant thump of a fist, pounding on the door.

No. No.

She turned toward the door, opening her mouth to scream the warning - and the spirit slid into her body, freezing her voice in her throat.

"No," the spirit whispered gently, in her own voice. "No."

Her body turned toward the window, opening it quietly. She slipped outside, onto the roof, tumbled soundlessly to the ground - and ran. No one saw her move through the streets, up the trellis, and onto a different rooftop. Her body used its training, moving without her consent.

The screaming began when the manor caught fire.

She turned briefly, her eyes fixed on her home, the only place she'd ever known.

"Run," the spirit urged, and her body obeyed, taking her outside the city walls by way of another rooftop, a tall tree, and a controlled dive. She was going to feel that one in the morning - but nothing was broken; she'd rolled just so, at exactly the right moment.

Her feet took her to a clearing in Elwynn, a small, empty space with a tiny pond in the center.

Finally, finally, the spirit let go of her.

"Why?!" She cried it softly into the wind, fists balled up with rage. "They need me!"

The spirit sat across from her, now, resting on a tree stump. "You would have died." She said it softly, her voice sad. "I couldn't bear it," she admits. "My only daughter ...."

"My mother abandoned me!" She said, denying it. "I was left at the orphanage before I could even talk!" That - was what the masters had told her, anyway.

The masters wouldn't lie to her, would they?

"Not by choice," the spirit whispered. "They lied."

The dead had no reason to tell falsehoods. She looked the spirit over, really inspected her. Her long, flowing hair was lighter than Akkie's, though Akkie couldn't say if that was because she was dead, and that had sucked the color from her, or if there was some other reason.

A line of dark blood slit her throat from ear to ear, the blood running down her front. "You were murdered," she said softly.

"In my own home," she said softly. "While my dear, beautiful daughter lay only a foot away in her cradle." No. No, the masters ...

"Your masters lied to you." the spirit repeated. "And now they are dead." A grim smile that didn't meet her eyes. "It brings me no joy," she admitted. "But it puts my soul at ease, to know that I managed this one thing. My daughter is safe - and my murderers have met justice."

The spirit began to fade from view.

"Mother - no - " Achaena reached for the ghost, her fingers brushing through the air where her mother had been, and as the ghost disappeared entirely, she knew then that she was alone. Tears tracked their way down her cheeks, unbidden.

What was she supposed to do now?

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.

50 Word Thoughts - II

Artistic:

She let the magic flow through her. It was almost pretty, the way the colors swirled together. She found the process soothing. It gave her mind a rest. The magic mixed with the metal in a beautiful pattern of light. It was always good to profit off of enjoyable talent.

Tired:

The girl called Chirp rubbed at her eyes, trying to wake up. The magic that enhanced her mind would only last a little longer. She wanted to cram just a bit more learning in before then. She just could not keep her eyes open for even a single moment more.

Haunted:

So much time had passed. The house was repaired, and ready for sale, but the word was that it had become haunted. Stormwind's forces were busy elsewhere. No one could be spared for the exorcism. The house stood empty and unwatched. She entered, quiet, in search of her beloved dead.

Purse:

She was pleased with herself, to know she was still as good as she was once. The mark was fat and easy, the coin heavy in her hand. He would barely miss the fat purse. For her, it was less about money. She had legitimate pursuits. This was just fun.

Water:

Bored. The trip took several days, and all she could see for miles in all directions was dull, boring water. At least it was not quite as scary as it used to be. That is, so long as she did not fall in. She could still, too easily, imagine drowning.

Walter:

The man was named Walter. He was a rich merchant who liked to mix business with pleasure. He was also dead. The two facts were very much related. He had tried to get just a bit too friendly, and she simply could not allow him to compromise her current disguise.

Potato:

She had never in her life experienced such a variety of flavors, of textures. The word for this one was "potato." She found that it was sometimes hard, but she liked it best when it was hot and soft and covered in "butter." This food was served with dead meat.