You know the drill. DROP AND GIVE ME... well.
---
Undercity. The elf sighed, one of pleasure, as a limp figure sagged against her form. There was a knife in his back.
She pushed him off of her, rummaging through his robes until she found his purse, bulging with coins. She pocketed a few other items as well; a small silver necklace, a signet ring, and a dagger chased in silver. She tucked that into her new boots, soft, worn leather, but still usable. A perfect pair, well broken in. The purse went onto her belt, plain, and the ring and necklace tucked safely into the folds of her robes. They shimmered in the half-light softly, speaking of hidden finery. Her cloak was made of the same material, if a shade darker.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, leering at the corpse as she kicked it into the sewers. Turning away, the elf glanced at her hands. She needed gloves.
Drips, steady and incessant, followed the soft rustling of her robes as they glided across the cobblestones. She ignored the grime, and… other unmentionables that collected on the hem, making her way steadily to the Magic Quarter, where there was bound to be tailors.
As she reached the shoddy, torch-lit stalls, she sniffed disdainfully at the wares, but picked up a small pair of gloves nonetheless. “How much?” she questioned, picking at the dark cloth. They were threadbare, but she would make do.
“I have a better pair, that would better suit your attire,” the merchant said, grinning sickeningly at her. His voice was rough, that of decayed gravel. “If you would be so interested, Lady..?” The question hung in the air, and the elf glanced sharply at him, before turning to the pair of gloves he held out for her. “I used to be called Xelena, once,” she told said. Her eyes glazed over with memory.
That face. She would never escape it… Lady Eyones. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the image… the blood. Growling a curse that would make Arthas himself blush, she pulled a silver crown from her newly acquired purse and paid for the gloves. They were obviously made for the Undead, cut off at the second knuckle to allow for talon-like fingernails or protruding bone, but were still made from the finest cloth available—in a rotting city, that was.
Picking up her skirts, she climbed the small bridge leading to the true Magic Quarter. It was full of Warlocks, Shadow Priests, and the occasional Mage. Her breath caught in her throat as she found what she sought, the portal. It glowed dimly, and she hurried toward it, looking around with an icy gaze to see if anyone was following her. This small portal would take her to one much, much larger, and darker.
She crossed into the portal, enjoying the warmth that spread throughout her lifeless body. Time slowed to a crawl, and she snorted. As if time mattered to her now. The elf passed through the portal fully, catching herself before she fell. She took a deep breath, and promptly coughed. The arid, dusty air of the Blasted Lands clung to her nose and mouth. She started off towards the huge portal that loomed over the charred valley, dwarfing it in comparison. An ominous crack of lightning split the sky, a peal of thunder sounding just behind it threateningly. But, however threatening, in never rained in the blasted lands.
This portal was always the worst, the one she hated the most. Instead of warmth, a chill crept into her bones, seeped into her flesh, trickled down her spine, and stayed there. It was dark too, and not the comforting darkness of the first portal. This darkness moved, just beyond sight.
She took another deep breath, never mind the dusty air, and stepped forward, into the portal, vanishing like the very night before her.
Dusk had come to Azeroth.
September 22, 2010
Xelena - Western Plaugelands
Old. Again. Like your grandma.
---
“The law is hard, but it is the law.” The elf leered at her captors, bedraggled hair strung about her face. Her ears twitched, and a mad gleam shone dully in her eyes. One of her captors made the mistake of getting to close to the cage. She spat at him, roaring with laughter when she hit her target. “The law be damned,” she snarled, face half-twisted with rage and that mad grin, “I’ll do as I please; I’ll murder you bastards with my bare hands!” She laughed again before lapsing into silence, broken only by her mutterings and shifting about in her cage.
The elf, in and of herself, was dead. She was a Death Knight, raised by Arthas himself to serve in his army of Scourge. She had been “his most trusted knight”, never mind the others, and had willingly slaughtered thousands for him. Until that one. The one damned Blood Elf that had turned her world upside down. Oh, she remembered. Lady Eyones.
Remember Silvermoon, she had said. Called forth flickers of memory. A shadow of shadow’s past. But it didn’t matter. He had betrayed her!
She growled, her mutterings growing as she shifted restlessly within her cage, pulling at the snarls of hair that were barely distinguishable as blonde. The guards, most of them, stepped back, wary of their prisoner.
The elf stopped dead, tilting her head slowly to the side, as an animal might inspect something. It was one of the guards she stared at, holding him in her gaze. Her eyes flashed in the half-light.
“Damn you, Thomas, snap out if it!” One of the elf’s captors stepped forward, but was barred by one of the other guards. “He is lost, Baine,” the guard said, his voice hollow and eyes empty.
They both jumped, as did everyone in the room when the Elf began to speak. Her voice was as hypnotic as her eyes, although in a chilling way that crawled up your spine. “I can boil your blood, then freeze it your very veins. I can stop your heart, rip it out of your chest with the crook of a finger, rip it apart with a flick of my wrist. I can cast a bolt of shadow into your body, make you rot from the inside out. All in the matter of heartbeats.” Her eyes gleamed with a frenzied light now, her grin wider, madder, as if she was taking some twisted, masochistic pleasure in torturing this poor man’s soul. And she was.
Without warning, the guard grew flushed, turning fiery red and writhing in agony. His mouth was open in a silent shriek, but he made not a sound, albeit his twisting on the floor. He turned deathly pale, and began shivering uncontrollably, until his movement became sluggish. “Thomas!” the guard from before screamed, trying to get at his friend, who was now frothing at the mouth. Two guards were holding him back and he struggled against them at first, but he soon became limp, tears streaked across his face. “Damn you,” he muttered, “Damn you the pits of hell!” he screamed, breaking free of the guards and launching himself at the elf’s cage. And above it all, she was laughing.
No one had noticed the man on the floor, as shadow embraced his form and sunk deep into his skin, turning it grey. And without warning, he exploded, sending bits of acrid, smoky flesh everywhere. And where is hit bare skin, cloth, metal, any surface, it burned and sizzled, melting that which is touched. The remaining guards scattered, except for poor Baine, who had taken a hit to his face, which was now largely misshapen.
She touched her forefinger to the metal bars of her cage, speaking quickly and low. There was a brief flash, and the incantation was over. The metal of her cage was now covered with a brief sheen of frost, and when she leaned back and punched it, it shattered with the sound of smashing crystal. She leapt down, landing neatly amongst the fragmented bits of metal, and stood, slowly. The room she was in was a sort of metal lean-to, and she pulled herself up and out into the cold, clear night air. A small breeze lifted up, shifting her tangled mass of hair and tattered rags of clothing. She was in a small clearing, in the Western Plague-lands it seemed, within a run-down camp.
Her eyes, now a glowing ice blue, scanned the camp briefly before alighting on her sword, and belt. Loping over with the casual grace of a wolf, she chuckled as she hefted the weapon, strapping the belt and sheath around her. She off into the misty forest, not minding her bare feet, chuckling along the way.
---
“The law is hard, but it is the law.” The elf leered at her captors, bedraggled hair strung about her face. Her ears twitched, and a mad gleam shone dully in her eyes. One of her captors made the mistake of getting to close to the cage. She spat at him, roaring with laughter when she hit her target. “The law be damned,” she snarled, face half-twisted with rage and that mad grin, “I’ll do as I please; I’ll murder you bastards with my bare hands!” She laughed again before lapsing into silence, broken only by her mutterings and shifting about in her cage.
The elf, in and of herself, was dead. She was a Death Knight, raised by Arthas himself to serve in his army of Scourge. She had been “his most trusted knight”, never mind the others, and had willingly slaughtered thousands for him. Until that one. The one damned Blood Elf that had turned her world upside down. Oh, she remembered. Lady Eyones.
Remember Silvermoon, she had said. Called forth flickers of memory. A shadow of shadow’s past. But it didn’t matter. He had betrayed her!
She growled, her mutterings growing as she shifted restlessly within her cage, pulling at the snarls of hair that were barely distinguishable as blonde. The guards, most of them, stepped back, wary of their prisoner.
The elf stopped dead, tilting her head slowly to the side, as an animal might inspect something. It was one of the guards she stared at, holding him in her gaze. Her eyes flashed in the half-light.
“Damn you, Thomas, snap out if it!” One of the elf’s captors stepped forward, but was barred by one of the other guards. “He is lost, Baine,” the guard said, his voice hollow and eyes empty.
They both jumped, as did everyone in the room when the Elf began to speak. Her voice was as hypnotic as her eyes, although in a chilling way that crawled up your spine. “I can boil your blood, then freeze it your very veins. I can stop your heart, rip it out of your chest with the crook of a finger, rip it apart with a flick of my wrist. I can cast a bolt of shadow into your body, make you rot from the inside out. All in the matter of heartbeats.” Her eyes gleamed with a frenzied light now, her grin wider, madder, as if she was taking some twisted, masochistic pleasure in torturing this poor man’s soul. And she was.
Without warning, the guard grew flushed, turning fiery red and writhing in agony. His mouth was open in a silent shriek, but he made not a sound, albeit his twisting on the floor. He turned deathly pale, and began shivering uncontrollably, until his movement became sluggish. “Thomas!” the guard from before screamed, trying to get at his friend, who was now frothing at the mouth. Two guards were holding him back and he struggled against them at first, but he soon became limp, tears streaked across his face. “Damn you,” he muttered, “Damn you the pits of hell!” he screamed, breaking free of the guards and launching himself at the elf’s cage. And above it all, she was laughing.
No one had noticed the man on the floor, as shadow embraced his form and sunk deep into his skin, turning it grey. And without warning, he exploded, sending bits of acrid, smoky flesh everywhere. And where is hit bare skin, cloth, metal, any surface, it burned and sizzled, melting that which is touched. The remaining guards scattered, except for poor Baine, who had taken a hit to his face, which was now largely misshapen.
She touched her forefinger to the metal bars of her cage, speaking quickly and low. There was a brief flash, and the incantation was over. The metal of her cage was now covered with a brief sheen of frost, and when she leaned back and punched it, it shattered with the sound of smashing crystal. She leapt down, landing neatly amongst the fragmented bits of metal, and stood, slowly. The room she was in was a sort of metal lean-to, and she pulled herself up and out into the cold, clear night air. A small breeze lifted up, shifting her tangled mass of hair and tattered rags of clothing. She was in a small clearing, in the Western Plague-lands it seemed, within a run-down camp.
Her eyes, now a glowing ice blue, scanned the camp briefly before alighting on her sword, and belt. Loping over with the casual grace of a wolf, she chuckled as she hefted the weapon, strapping the belt and sheath around her. She off into the misty forest, not minding her bare feet, chuckling along the way.
Xel and Vyn
So. Old, again. But. This is about Xelena and Vynstaedis. Obviously.
---
His eyes gleamed in the flickering half-light. He passed a ball of flame back and forth in his palms, reclining on the plush couch of Silvermoon’s Royal Exchange Hall.
Vynstaedis casually leaned back, aware of his rough jerkin and cotton shirt, his patched breeches and rugged boots. The clothes were dusty, travel-worn--threadbare, but they served their purpose. His russet locks, however, gleamed and shimmered like gossamer silk. It was the only hint of finery about his person; it did not stop the whispers and stares. A peasant in the Hall! Outrageous.
He grinned wolfishly and extinguished the flame, kicking off his boots as he relaxed, placing his hands behind his head. He was waiting. Sooner or later an official would come sniffing, hounding him out, red as a cherry and puffing as they tried to shoo him away. And when he did not leave, they would bring her.
Xelena.
His grin grew wider as he closed his eyes, appearing to relax further. Inside, arcane energy built up, shimmering, flashing a blue-silver. The colors were different for every person, but the outcome the same.
The energy, for now, was hidden, but if an Arch-Mage stepped into the room… it was a chance, a dicey one, but hadn’t his whole life been a gamble before this? Betting higher as the stakes grew larger?
Vynstaedis chuckled, hearing footsteps. Then she was there, in full plate armor, cloak thrown over one should, tabard exposed as she gripped her sword-hilt. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed almost immediately as she clasped her hilt tighter, almost reflexively. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke, words hanging in the air. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, swinging himself off the couch. Her eyes glowed purple briefly—something he could detect, being a Mage—and he knew a message had been sent. More were coming. Good. She feared him.
The wolfish grin was back. Standing, he rose to his full height, a towering 5’9”, jade eyes glowing. “This and that,” he said casually, flicking his cloak back.
“I know you’ve been following me. Across this world, and others.” He knew she was speaking of Draenor. “Why?”
He shrugged again, beginning to circle her, eye flicking up and down her form, taking in her armor. She sent another message, and he laughed as he shook his head. “Why indeed?” he asked, continuing to circle her. Stalk her.
She shifted her stance, loosing her sword in its sheath. She said nothing, just watched him coolly, her ice-blue eyes following his every movement.
He stopped in front of her. “I loved her,” he said simply, and then struck. He feinted with a burst of fire in her face and then loosing an icy bolt at her exposed side. She parried with an anti-magic barrier, drawing her sword and sweeping towards him in the same move. He dodged the blow neatly, waiting impatiently for her shield to falter, tossing a ball of fire around carelessly.
Elves scattered from the scene, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Vynstaedis shook his head as regarded them, muttering “fools” under his breath.
It was the chance she needed. Xelena raised her sword, flipping it expertly and catching him with a paralyzing blow in the shoulder with the haft, then flicking the blade up towards his face. He turned, the sword cutting across his cheek. Blood formed a thing line across the wound, trickling down his cheek, and he cursed, casting a frost nova. With a shout, Xelena stumbled an fell, cursing her own stupidity as her sword clattered to the floor.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Xelena turned to look at them, the glanced back, searching for her quarry. He was gone, stealthily as a Rouge. She groaned, falling back. “Damn it all.”
The ice shattered loudly, and Xelena gratefully took the hand that was offered to her. As if that day hadn’t haunted her enough… And now this Rouge-like Mage was after her. Damnation, she had enough on her plate with Northreand and Arthas, bringing down the citadel.
She groaned again, folding an arm underneath her breasts and cupping her head in her palm. “Blood and ashes.”
And elf curtsied beside her, ignoring her foul language. “Milady,” she said, offering a bowl of rosewater and warm towels. Xelena took them with a nod of thanks, wiping the blood and sweat off of her face, enjoying the warmth. She handed the bloodied towel back to the attendant with another nod of thanks before turning to regard the city throught he gauzy hanging. Ruibarra, Sayedrian, and Luike needed to be informed, the guard put on alert.
This Mage would do anything for her blood.
---
His eyes gleamed in the flickering half-light. He passed a ball of flame back and forth in his palms, reclining on the plush couch of Silvermoon’s Royal Exchange Hall.
Vynstaedis casually leaned back, aware of his rough jerkin and cotton shirt, his patched breeches and rugged boots. The clothes were dusty, travel-worn--threadbare, but they served their purpose. His russet locks, however, gleamed and shimmered like gossamer silk. It was the only hint of finery about his person; it did not stop the whispers and stares. A peasant in the Hall! Outrageous.
He grinned wolfishly and extinguished the flame, kicking off his boots as he relaxed, placing his hands behind his head. He was waiting. Sooner or later an official would come sniffing, hounding him out, red as a cherry and puffing as they tried to shoo him away. And when he did not leave, they would bring her.
Xelena.
His grin grew wider as he closed his eyes, appearing to relax further. Inside, arcane energy built up, shimmering, flashing a blue-silver. The colors were different for every person, but the outcome the same.
The energy, for now, was hidden, but if an Arch-Mage stepped into the room… it was a chance, a dicey one, but hadn’t his whole life been a gamble before this? Betting higher as the stakes grew larger?
Vynstaedis chuckled, hearing footsteps. Then she was there, in full plate armor, cloak thrown over one should, tabard exposed as she gripped her sword-hilt. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed almost immediately as she clasped her hilt tighter, almost reflexively. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke, words hanging in the air. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, swinging himself off the couch. Her eyes glowed purple briefly—something he could detect, being a Mage—and he knew a message had been sent. More were coming. Good. She feared him.
The wolfish grin was back. Standing, he rose to his full height, a towering 5’9”, jade eyes glowing. “This and that,” he said casually, flicking his cloak back.
“I know you’ve been following me. Across this world, and others.” He knew she was speaking of Draenor. “Why?”
He shrugged again, beginning to circle her, eye flicking up and down her form, taking in her armor. She sent another message, and he laughed as he shook his head. “Why indeed?” he asked, continuing to circle her. Stalk her.
She shifted her stance, loosing her sword in its sheath. She said nothing, just watched him coolly, her ice-blue eyes following his every movement.
He stopped in front of her. “I loved her,” he said simply, and then struck. He feinted with a burst of fire in her face and then loosing an icy bolt at her exposed side. She parried with an anti-magic barrier, drawing her sword and sweeping towards him in the same move. He dodged the blow neatly, waiting impatiently for her shield to falter, tossing a ball of fire around carelessly.
Elves scattered from the scene, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Vynstaedis shook his head as regarded them, muttering “fools” under his breath.
It was the chance she needed. Xelena raised her sword, flipping it expertly and catching him with a paralyzing blow in the shoulder with the haft, then flicking the blade up towards his face. He turned, the sword cutting across his cheek. Blood formed a thing line across the wound, trickling down his cheek, and he cursed, casting a frost nova. With a shout, Xelena stumbled an fell, cursing her own stupidity as her sword clattered to the floor.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Xelena turned to look at them, the glanced back, searching for her quarry. He was gone, stealthily as a Rouge. She groaned, falling back. “Damn it all.”
The ice shattered loudly, and Xelena gratefully took the hand that was offered to her. As if that day hadn’t haunted her enough… And now this Rouge-like Mage was after her. Damnation, she had enough on her plate with Northreand and Arthas, bringing down the citadel.
She groaned again, folding an arm underneath her breasts and cupping her head in her palm. “Blood and ashes.”
And elf curtsied beside her, ignoring her foul language. “Milady,” she said, offering a bowl of rosewater and warm towels. Xelena took them with a nod of thanks, wiping the blood and sweat off of her face, enjoying the warmth. She handed the bloodied towel back to the attendant with another nod of thanks before turning to regard the city throught he gauzy hanging. Ruibarra, Sayedrian, and Luike needed to be informed, the guard put on alert.
This Mage would do anything for her blood.
Vyn's Backstory
Another old story, this with Vynstaedis (another toon I deleted.)
---
“I cannot imagine life without you.” The words were choked, grief-stricken. A limp body was held in his hands, long russet hair spilling onto the blood-stained cheek of the woman he so dearly loved. And that love had been taken, forcibly. Violently. Ripped from his hands. And she had never known. Not until the day she had left. Even then, she was promised to a Rouge. A Rouge.
He placed the body onto the snow before him tenderly, then sat back, fists clenched. This could not be forgiven. Her damned sister, whom she had been looking for, had murdered her in cold blood. But that could wait. For now, something else had to be done.
The sun peeked out over the treetops of Winterspring’s forest, but did little for warmth; Vynstaedis’s breath still frosted in the dawn air. He grimly set to work, stripping the corpse of his beloved until she was in nothing a simple cotton shirt and leather breeches. Vynstaedis laid Jir next to her, gently, being as careful as he had been with Visyna.
Smoothing out her hair, he began to speak fluidly and with little emotion. “Anu belore dela’nah. Anar’alah belore, al diel ronae. Diel shala’thas, sin’dore.” He repeated these words over and over again, running his hands along her body as he did so. Sweat formed upon his brow as he concentrated. The sun’s light shone brighter as a lone raven crowed in the distance.
Vynstaedis staggered back, collapsing against a tree and gulping air as the body of Visyna Sub’Rosa burned alongside that of her cat. He took a small mana biscuit out of the leather pouch that hung from his belt, wolfing it down. He licked the last crumbs, sorry that there wasn’t more. Using arcane energy was tiring, to say the least.
And then, he let it all go. He slammed his fist into a tree, sobbing. She didn’t deserve to die. Not like this. And all for what? A walking corpse, devoid of emotion? The corpse that had slain her, nonetheless? HE screamed with fury, the tree he had struck erupting in a ball of flame. Doubling up, he sobbed like a child, tears streaking down face. He let the tears fall for love, love that was lost; for a Hunter, a Hunter that was forever gone; for a pain, a hole of agony dug deep into his chest; for a heart that was a black as night.
When it was over, he relaxed, becoming limp as he stared at the cloudless sky. It wasn’t fair. Life could not be so beautiful on a day such as this. “I’ll be damned if I let that bitch get away with this.” The words fell out of his mouth, empty as his heart.
And so it began. Searching, exploring, digging for information. And when he found it… the only emotion he showed was surprise. “The Kingdom of the Sun, eh?” Vynstaedis commented, looking at the parchment in his hand. And so it began.
((Okay, backstory for Vyn. My poor wittle Mage.
Ah, I take such delight in tormenting my toons. <3
But enough of that. The language he spoke was Thalassian, and here is a rough translation. And I’m not sure if I got the grammar entirely correct, either. But oh, well.
“The sun guides us. By the light of the sun, peaceful travels. Travel to the Safe Home, Blood Child.”))
---
“I cannot imagine life without you.” The words were choked, grief-stricken. A limp body was held in his hands, long russet hair spilling onto the blood-stained cheek of the woman he so dearly loved. And that love had been taken, forcibly. Violently. Ripped from his hands. And she had never known. Not until the day she had left. Even then, she was promised to a Rouge. A Rouge.
He placed the body onto the snow before him tenderly, then sat back, fists clenched. This could not be forgiven. Her damned sister, whom she had been looking for, had murdered her in cold blood. But that could wait. For now, something else had to be done.
The sun peeked out over the treetops of Winterspring’s forest, but did little for warmth; Vynstaedis’s breath still frosted in the dawn air. He grimly set to work, stripping the corpse of his beloved until she was in nothing a simple cotton shirt and leather breeches. Vynstaedis laid Jir next to her, gently, being as careful as he had been with Visyna.
Smoothing out her hair, he began to speak fluidly and with little emotion. “Anu belore dela’nah. Anar’alah belore, al diel ronae. Diel shala’thas, sin’dore.” He repeated these words over and over again, running his hands along her body as he did so. Sweat formed upon his brow as he concentrated. The sun’s light shone brighter as a lone raven crowed in the distance.
Vynstaedis staggered back, collapsing against a tree and gulping air as the body of Visyna Sub’Rosa burned alongside that of her cat. He took a small mana biscuit out of the leather pouch that hung from his belt, wolfing it down. He licked the last crumbs, sorry that there wasn’t more. Using arcane energy was tiring, to say the least.
And then, he let it all go. He slammed his fist into a tree, sobbing. She didn’t deserve to die. Not like this. And all for what? A walking corpse, devoid of emotion? The corpse that had slain her, nonetheless? HE screamed with fury, the tree he had struck erupting in a ball of flame. Doubling up, he sobbed like a child, tears streaking down face. He let the tears fall for love, love that was lost; for a Hunter, a Hunter that was forever gone; for a pain, a hole of agony dug deep into his chest; for a heart that was a black as night.
When it was over, he relaxed, becoming limp as he stared at the cloudless sky. It wasn’t fair. Life could not be so beautiful on a day such as this. “I’ll be damned if I let that bitch get away with this.” The words fell out of his mouth, empty as his heart.
And so it began. Searching, exploring, digging for information. And when he found it… the only emotion he showed was surprise. “The Kingdom of the Sun, eh?” Vynstaedis commented, looking at the parchment in his hand. And so it began.
((Okay, backstory for Vyn. My poor wittle Mage.
Ah, I take such delight in tormenting my toons. <3
But enough of that. The language he spoke was Thalassian, and here is a rough translation. And I’m not sure if I got the grammar entirely correct, either. But oh, well.
“The sun guides us. By the light of the sun, peaceful travels. Travel to the Safe Home, Blood Child.”))
Krizyn's Backstory
This is not new. In no way in hell is it new. In fact, it's a couple months old. And I deleted this character. But here it is anyway.
---
Krizyn watched as her father struck her mother. “You devious slut,” he snarled, light streaming around his hands. Krizyn’s mother looked up at the Paladin defiantly. Blood welled in a cut on her cheekbone.
“You’ve touched me for the last time, Alenjon. I’m leaving. With Krizyn.” She spat on the ground, sneering at as she drew up her hood. “And I’ll be damned if a Light-blinded wretch is going to stop me.”
She turned for the door behind which Krizyn was hiding, but was stopped by Kriyn’s father. He had grabbed her forearm. “I knew I should’ve never married a Ranger,” he snarled.
The next few moments seemed to last forever. Krizyn watched her mother say “let go” in slow motion, and reach behind her back with her free arm. There was a flash of silver and time snapped back into place with an agonized cry. A dull thud was heard, and Krizyn found herself staring eye to eye with her mother. Krizyn’s mother’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened into a warming smile. Blood bubbled from her lips as she spoke her last words. “Anu belore delah’na, daughter.” Light faded from her eyes, the grotesque smile frozen on her face.
Things blurred and Krizyn heard a muffled sob, seeing a hand reach out towards her mother as she was dragged backwards. She disappeared into the shadows of the room, and the door swung open, Alenjon sticking his head out and glaring at his daughter. He backhanded her across the cheek, narrowing her eyes. “Stop whining. It’s pathetic.”
Krizyn’s cheek stung where the blow had landed, but she kept silent, jaw clenching as she willed the tears to stop rolling down her cheeks. Her face hardened as she vowed to herself to rid the world of Paladins.
She awoke with a start, bracing herself against the tree she had dozed off against, reaching for a light throwing knife that was strapped to her thigh. Sweat was pouring off her forehead, and she sighed, falling back against the tree. “Light be damned,” she cursed softly, closing her eyes for a brief moment before standing, brushing off the dead leaves and twigs that had collected on her breeches.
It was true, Krizyn Sunblade, destined to become one of the finest Blood Knights of Silvermoon, had become a Rouge. Her father was looking for her, but she wouldn’t be found. Not if she didn’t want to be.
Not until she got retribution.
She groaned, rolling her head and stretching her arms above her head. Eversong was quiet, mid-afternoon sun streaming through the golden trees. A dragonhawk cried out far in the distance as Krizyn reached for her hawkstrider’s reins, making soothing noises as she swung up into the saddle. She pulled her hood up, mask covering her mouth and nose, and whistled to get her mount moving.
“Anu belore delah’na, daughter.”
The words rang loudly in her ears as she raced along the path, dust kicking up in her wake. Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled up short in front of Silvermoon, eyeing the gates warily. The city she had left behind.
She smirk on her face grew larger as she flicked the reins, charging into the city.
---
Krizyn watched as her father struck her mother. “You devious slut,” he snarled, light streaming around his hands. Krizyn’s mother looked up at the Paladin defiantly. Blood welled in a cut on her cheekbone.
“You’ve touched me for the last time, Alenjon. I’m leaving. With Krizyn.” She spat on the ground, sneering at as she drew up her hood. “And I’ll be damned if a Light-blinded wretch is going to stop me.”
She turned for the door behind which Krizyn was hiding, but was stopped by Kriyn’s father. He had grabbed her forearm. “I knew I should’ve never married a Ranger,” he snarled.
The next few moments seemed to last forever. Krizyn watched her mother say “let go” in slow motion, and reach behind her back with her free arm. There was a flash of silver and time snapped back into place with an agonized cry. A dull thud was heard, and Krizyn found herself staring eye to eye with her mother. Krizyn’s mother’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened into a warming smile. Blood bubbled from her lips as she spoke her last words. “Anu belore delah’na, daughter.” Light faded from her eyes, the grotesque smile frozen on her face.
Things blurred and Krizyn heard a muffled sob, seeing a hand reach out towards her mother as she was dragged backwards. She disappeared into the shadows of the room, and the door swung open, Alenjon sticking his head out and glaring at his daughter. He backhanded her across the cheek, narrowing her eyes. “Stop whining. It’s pathetic.”
Krizyn’s cheek stung where the blow had landed, but she kept silent, jaw clenching as she willed the tears to stop rolling down her cheeks. Her face hardened as she vowed to herself to rid the world of Paladins.
She awoke with a start, bracing herself against the tree she had dozed off against, reaching for a light throwing knife that was strapped to her thigh. Sweat was pouring off her forehead, and she sighed, falling back against the tree. “Light be damned,” she cursed softly, closing her eyes for a brief moment before standing, brushing off the dead leaves and twigs that had collected on her breeches.
It was true, Krizyn Sunblade, destined to become one of the finest Blood Knights of Silvermoon, had become a Rouge. Her father was looking for her, but she wouldn’t be found. Not if she didn’t want to be.
Not until she got retribution.
She groaned, rolling her head and stretching her arms above her head. Eversong was quiet, mid-afternoon sun streaming through the golden trees. A dragonhawk cried out far in the distance as Krizyn reached for her hawkstrider’s reins, making soothing noises as she swung up into the saddle. She pulled her hood up, mask covering her mouth and nose, and whistled to get her mount moving.
“Anu belore delah’na, daughter.”
The words rang loudly in her ears as she raced along the path, dust kicking up in her wake. Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled up short in front of Silvermoon, eyeing the gates warily. The city she had left behind.
She smirk on her face grew larger as she flicked the reins, charging into the city.
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