They sure were selling (apparently) in the Harlequin novels I read for class.
Yeah.
One of them (set in Victorian England, normal world, no fantasy or anything) began with the phrase, “What could be so important that someone called upon Ethan, the Demon of Alsatia?”
I was dead sure it would be a parody from there. No such luck.
Ethan, the Demon of Alsatia. I’ll keep that one in mind.
On the other hand, the Victorian era could be considered a self-parody. Virginia Woolf has a nice segment in Orlando describing the sudden “onset” of the Victorian era, compared to the freer eras Orlando had so far lived in.
Ew, the plot description in that link is rather shabby.
Hmm, some Victorian age fantasy might actually be interesting. The Middle Ages are fun and all, but some variation would be cool.
Only thing I ever read by Virgina Woolf was To the Lighthouse. Talk about a never ending afternoon!
Anyway, time for another cliffhanger, yay! 
And Patrick gets to have a lot of fun (BRRR!). I hope he’s creepy enough.
Dor’ash unceremoniously dumped Rimtori’s body on the ground, only taking care not to let her head smash too hard against the ground. Somebody had closed her eyes, but that was the only service done to her. Blood still glistened around the wound in her chest, and thick, black coagulated cakes of it weiged at the tears in her ruined robe. The swordsman who killed her had certainly not been gentle, and the uncaring treatment of the bodies afterwards had only served to smear her further in blood. Some of it might not even be hers.
Apart from the other undead men, a second priest joined the group in the temple and he and his companion kneeled down on either side of Rimtori as Dor’ash backed away to give them space. A few of the Forsaken soldiers stood along the slope, making sure that nothing would disturb the strange rites and the elf mage would have nowhere to go once she moved again.
Sarah laid further inside the ruined temple, eye sockets staring up at the ancient ceiling and arms gently stretched down along her sides. Her smashed torso had been repaired, and only the stains on her robe witnessed what had happened. With her mouth slightly open, she almost looked like she was just sleeping.
Looking at Sarah’s body while the Forsaken busied themselves with Rimtori, Dor’ash wondered what she had been like in life. The soul gave no real clues. Had undeath given her a new personality or had she always been that cheerfully sarcastic, not overly pleasant woman?
And, he wondered, now that her soul had been “set free” of her decaying flesh, might her old memories return to her, or were they still locked away? Impossible to say until she was restored. If she did recall having a brother named Simon, Dor’ash knew he would have to notify Thomas Southstone and warn him about it.
A hoarse voice called him out of his thoughts, and he turned towards the undead men.
“Normally, Lady Sylvanas is the one who raises the dead to join the Forsaken, if they have been known to be exceptional in life,” the first priest said. “I cannot guarantee that she,” he touched Rimtori’s bloodstained, cool forehead with his raw bone fingertips, “will not be under the Lich King’s control when she first awakens.”
“What of Sarah, then?” Dor’ash asked, frowning.
“She is already in control of herself, as you know,” the priest assured. “There should be nothing to worry about, as long as we get her out of the orb.”
They waited for him to slowly nod in reply, although he wasn’t sure how exactly to behave in front of something so vile. Necromancy, really now…
The things he got involved with for Sarah’s sake.
Patrick and Lloyd moved up behind a kneeling priest each, spreading their arms like a pair of dark-robed scarecrows.
Someone who already was a Forsaken was easier to call back to ‘life’, their body already wracked with unholy, animating magic. However, Rimtori was not undead (yet), and she had been dead for too long to be salvaged by the magic Dor’ash himself could use. Those shamanistic spells could only jolt somebody back to life if the body was still warm, and the brain had not suffered too much damage from a blow or loss of oxygen.
“Begin,” Patrick said.
The first priest raised his hands and held them out, palms down, over Rimtori. His companion mimicked him, one of his thin hands hovering between the other priest’s. As they began to murmur, a warm, golden glow rose up around their fingers and swept down over Rimtori’s body like an ethereal curtain. That first stage looked perfectly innocent, but then Lloyd and Patrick added their chanting to the spell.
From their hands blasted writhing ropes of darkness, sparks in unclean colors dancing around them as the foul magic joined with the priests’. The snakes of dark power tore through the healing magic, although the priests didn’t react, and wound around Rimtori’s limbs and neck.
Dor’ash stepped backwards, unable to subdue a sound of disgust. The air filled with a scent of rusted metal, a dry, sour tingle. Those energies reached invisible strings towards anything they could entice – Dor’ash sensed it as an oily feeling across his (discolored by corruption) green skin. He glanced at Jonathan, finding that the mage too had half turned away.
One of the priest’s murmuring rose towards a growl, and his hands twitched away from its position above Rimtori’s chest. One sharp motion at the time, the priest pushed the woman’s full, stained lips open.
The dark ropes dove into her mouth, tearing the frail curtain along as they forced themselves into her – not a sound left the elf’s lips, but her body violently arched upwards so far that she almost touched the priests’ hands.
The tail of the last black snake disappeared between her teeth, and Rimtori flopped back down with a hard thud.
Silence fell over the temple.
Slowly, Dor’ash cautiously lowered his arm. He hoped that the unclean feeling in his chest would fade, but suspected that it would take quite a while. Seeing such a resurrection, sensing the powers at work, was something he could have lived without.
Lloyd sunk down on one knee, bowing his head in a mirror of a living person’s exhaust. Patrick, however, remained standing.
“Need water,” the second priest rasped, holding a hand to his throat.
Patrick waved them both aside and they both staggered down the hill. Nobody else in the temple looked away from the elf for a second, however.
Rimtori’s eyelids twitched. It was easy to see when she opened her eyes, as a crack of dirty, yellowish light appeared beneath the dainty, dark eyelashes. For what it was worth, she was supposedly cured of her magic addiction.
“Uhh…”
She moved sluggishly, lifting a heavy arm to her face as she groaned.
“I’ll take that,” Lloyd said, clamping a cold, hard hand around Rimtori’s pink wrist. As easy as if she weighed nothing, he dragged her up in a sitting position.
Her eyes shot wide open and a half-strangled cry escaped her. The weak, kittenish attempts to tear herself free may have evoked sympathy in Dor’ash’s heart, but the sight left him utterly cold.
She blurted something in Thalassian, raising her other hand with an obvious plan to blast Lloyd’s head off with a magic spell. Jonathan grasped that arm and wrenched it up against her back. She winced, then a flash of confusion passed her face as her brain caught up with that it didn’t hurt as much as it should have.
“Orcish, if you please,” Lloyd said, showing of two rows of rotting teeth in a grin. “We don’t speak Prancing Fools.”
“Get your hands off me, you filthy beasts!” Rimtori gasped, twisting against the bony fingers.
“She seems to have her mind intact,” Jonathan grimly commented.
Smiling, Patrick hunched down in front of the struggling elf.
“Do you remember your name, Miss?” he asked in a silky voice.
He certainly looked like he was enjoying himself – and Dor’ash was fine with that, and watching. He might feel bad about that later, but not right then.
“I have no reason to tell you!” Rimtori snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The last was a panicked snarl, coaxed by Patrick reaching towards her chest. His thin fingertips picked at the ruined dress, and a strange sound fled from deep within Rimtori’s throat as she looked down and stared at the blood. Mouth open, she threw a wild gaze between the warlock, the wound, and back again.
“Silly girl,” Patrick murmured, “a scratch like that must have hurt a lot.” As Rimtori crumbled, ceasing all attempts to fight against the men who held her, he added, “enough to kill a pretty little thing like you.”
“No… no, no…”
The hoarse whisper received no empathy in reply.
“You get used to it.” Jonathan paused, then sneered. “Well, you might not have to get used to it.”
Patrick rubbed his fingertips against his robe to clean them of the blood. Why he bothered remained unexplained. Either way, the robe was already so dark and dirty that the new stains hardly could be seen.
“Now then. Magus Rimtori, I presume?” he said.
She numbly nodded, head rising just slightly to stare at the warlock. He reached into a pocket and withdrew the orb, holding it towards her.
“Excellent. Perhaps you would be so kind as to mend this problem you caused our little sister?” He tilted his head slightly, still smiling as he leaned forwards while lowering his voice. “We would… truly appreciate it.”
Rimtori’s head snapped up, her red lips drawing back from pearl-white teeth in a growl.
“And if I refuse?” she asked. Her voice, however, broke.
“I would be delighted to discuss any of your inhibitions, Miss,” Patrick said, leaning forwards still, slow and steady as a tide.
He was so close now that she wrenched herself backwards, gaining about an inch before Jonathan’s grip stopped her. Patrick smiled, stroking the orb with his thumb.
“You see, there happen to be several people here who care very much about our little sister. Including him.” He motioned at Dor’ash, then looked back at Rimtori. “And he is already very, very angry with you, I’m afraid. I am quite anxious to gain your cooperation.”
The back of his bony hand brushed her cold, blood-stained cheek. She threw her head aside, gasping sharply through her teeth – a habitual reaction.
Was there any reason at all for her to feel half as scared of the angry orc, as of the smiling warlock? Dor’ash highly doubted it, having to suppress a wish to scratch his arms to fight the crawling feeling as he watched and listened.
Patrick watched Rimtori for a moment, then nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss,” he said.
She swallowed hard. Another habit.
“And- and then what?” she croaked, the hand above Lloyd’s grip clenching until it shook.
“Then… oh, I don’t know,” Patrick said. He shrugged. “But since you’ve managed to make so many people angry, well… we haven’t settled on whether our orc friend should decide what to do with you, or if we should.”
When Rimtori’s glowing yellow eyes met his, a dry sigh escaped between his lips.
“I have to admit, Miss,” he said, and the smile faded, “I’m annoyed.”
The pink, clenched hand opened, clenched again, and finally slumped. As did all of Rimtori, her head hanging and heavy, black threads of hair dangling over her stained face.
“Wonderful,” Patrick said, smiling again. “I’m pleased we could reach an understanding, very pleased indeed.”
At his wave, Lloyd and Jonathan roughly dragged Rimtori to her feet and pushed her over to Sarah’s body. Though they let go of her arms, they stood close and watched her every move as she absently rubbed her wrists.
She looked up when Patrick’s hand moved within her sight, offering the orb. With a furious, but just as frightened glare, she took the transparent ball between both her trembling hands.
“Don’t try anything,” Jonathan murmured in a hoarse whisper, close to her ear. “I’m more annoyed than he is.”
Rimtori recoiled from him, which caused her to bump into Lloyd. Snarling a curse in Thalassian, she straightened up and avoided the warlock’s amused grin. She took in a few more unnecessary breaths and then raised the orb to her chest and closed her eyes.
“Good argumentative technique, there,” Dor’ash commented to Patrick as the undead man got a little closer. He looked at the warlock with a mix of fascination and disgust.
“Why thank you.” Patrick symbolically brushed his hands off against each other, causing a dry, jangling sound. “I don’t like to raise my voice,” he added, letting out a hoarse little chuckle.
Dor’ash simply nodded to that, although he could not shake off the feeling that his entire race had just been gravely insulted by that innocent remark. There was just something about Patrick’s faint smile.
“Are you really more annoyed than I am, Schiller?” Patrick asked, looking at the mage.
Jonathan pursed his lips, a strange look flashing over his features. If it was unease, it disappeared just as quickly without a trace.
“I’m rather fond of Sarah, master Hartwell,” he said. “I was one of the first Forsaken she befriended.”
“Ah yes, of course.”
Jonathan completely ignored Dor’ash’s raised eyebrow at the “rather fond of” explanation of their relationship.
Could it be that such things were something the Apothecary Society looked down upon?
“Might I have a moment of silence to focus?” Rimtori said in a chilly voice, glaring down at Sarah’s body.
“Certainly. Go right ahead,” Patrick said.
The elf didn’t reply. Her lips moved, voice a papery whisper of strange words.
For a moment nothing happened, but then tiny dark sparks danced from her fingertips and across the smooth surface of the orb. Voice growing louder for each word until she snarled, Rimtori threw out her hands, and the ball, above Sarah’s unmoving chest.
The sparks flared up with anti-light, crackling loud enough to almost drown Rimtori’s voice. Dor’ash raised his arm cautiously, but the Forsaken stood firm.
A familiar voice howled, and a pink shadow fell from the orb – miniature at first, but rapidly growing as it plummeted. When it tumbled into Sarah’s carcass and faded into it, the soul had the same size as the body. It went past in a flash, leaving only a quick vision of flailing limbs and thin, blonde hair.
The black sparks faded to nothing, and Rimtori flung the orb aside with a disgusted sound. That was all she had time to do before Lloyd grabbed both her upper arms. Jonathan, meanwhile, dropped down and gently took hold of Sarah’s shoulders. Frowning concern at her lack of response, Dor’ash sunk down on the other side of her.
“Sarah?” Jonathan said, giving her a light shake.
In the background, Lloyd dragged Rimtori closer to the sloping hillside, as if to move her closer to the rest of the troop. He stayed within the temple with her, however.
“Urgh…” came a groan from Sarah’s lips.
She didn’t have eyelids to flutter open, so she simply awoke with a start. That mumble was just the warning before she drew in breath to snap.
“I’m not amused!”
Jonathan and Dor’ash grinned wide.
Sarah pushed herself up to standing, swayed but brushed Jonathan aside while waving a finger at Dor’ash’s nose. He just rolled his eyes despite her angry tone, too relieved to see her back into her body to be rattled.
“It was you who didn’t hold on to me hard enough when I went through the portal,” he retorted and stood up, smirking as both her hands balled to fists and waved at him.
“I oughta-”
“As lovely as always, I see,” a third voice cut in.
Another bony hand closed around Sarah’s right fist and she stiffened, turning sharply towards Patrick. His fingers visibly tightened around hers the moment it looked as if she would pull away. With a firm tug he brought her up against his chest.
“You had me worried, my dear,” Patrick said to her thunderstruck expression.
Dor’ash blinked at the display, at the air of familiarity the warlock seemed at ease in with Sarah. The orc had never heard her mention this man, and he glanced at Jonathan for an explanation. However, the male undead mage just stared at the thin couple, jaw set tight.
Confounded by all this as he was, Dor’ash didn’t notice Lloyd whispering in Rimtori’s ear. Neither the way she tensed, and whispered back after a moment.
Sarah finally found herself again, placing her free hand against Patrick’s chest and shoving hard. They moved apart, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“Don’t you get friendly with me!” she snarled, and the next words underscored once and for all that they did know each other. “I’ve told you-”
Her free hand cleaved the air to emphasize her words, but he caught that too by intertwining his fingers with hers. Bone violently scraped and she furiously tried to wiggle free.
“I came all the way out here just to help you,” Patrick said, smile hardening. “The least you can do is say ‘thank you’.”
As much as Sarah snarled throughout all of this, her attempts to fight back were oddly weak. Just physical struggling, not calling on her usual ability to burn anything that irritated her. As if she either couldn’t, or didn’t dare to – judging by the look on her face she certainly wanted to.
The scales towards too disturbing tipped, and Dor’ash raised a hand, scowling. He didn’t understand, but he definitely didn’t like it.
“Am I missing something here?” he sharply said.
Sarah managed to squirm one hand free, moving as far away from the chuckling Patrick as she could and the still trapped hand allowed.
“Not much, no,” she snarled, “just a sleazebag in a dark robe.”
“Oh, come now.” Patrick shook his head and glanced at the frowning Dor’ash. “Well, perhaps all that sounded a little odd. Terribly sorry.”
He didn’t sound sorry, however, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to explain their strange behavior. Jonathan still hadn’t moved, but his hands clenched at his sides.
Dor’ash opened his mouth to ask just what this was about, when there was a sudden, flapping sound. Between the pillars making up the simple temple, the air shimmered. A shout of warning came from one of the guards on the slope, but it was cut off in the middle, leaving only silence from outside. The faint glow in the air solidified into smooth walls, glowing in a dim yellow.
“What the-”
Dor’ash was about to reach out and touch one of the barriers, but thought better of it. By the time he reached that conclusion, the others had gotten over the very brief surprise.
“What did you do now?” Patrick snarled and whirled around.
“Not my fault!” Rimtori snapped, recoiling from Patrick as much as Lloyd’s grip of her allowed. The frantic tone in her voice was unmistakable. “All your magic triggered one of my experiments.”
Lloyd growled and shook his head.
“Then it is your fault, lady,” he said. “I’d like to ask you to do something about it, but somehow I feel like not letting you move a finger.”
“Have fun trying to get out, then,” Rimtori snarled, mouth twisting into a wild sneer.
“We’ll have fun alright…” Lloyd growled, giving her a rattle to which she only smirked wider.
Focusing on this pair now, Dor’ash didn’t notice Patrick whispering in Sarah’s ear while Jonathan grimly looked on. She tensed, hands clenching. That look she cast off, however, as Dor’ash looked around at the trio.
“Well then, now what?” the orc grunted.
“It’s a mage’s spell,” Patrick replied, inclining his head towards Sarah and Jonathan.
The two of them exchanged glances, nodded to each other and shuffled over to the shimmering wall. No sound came from their hands knocking at the barrier.
“Huh, this is pretty odd,” Jonathan said, pressing both palms against the magic.
“Whaddaya expect, I don’t even want to know what goes on in an elfie’s purdy little brain,” Sarah commented in a distracted tone.
The annoyed sound from Rimtori went completely ignored. Thoughtfully, Sarah ran her hands across the silent, glowing surface. After a moment she looked around, studying the pillars.
“There’s some kind of connection,” she said, face turned upwards. Then she turned her head towards Dor’ash. “Would you be a dear and put your hand against that pillar there?” she said and pointed towards one of the pillars on the opposite side from where she stood.
When he raised an eyebrow, she added with a faint smirk:
“No, I don’t think it will hurt much.”
Letting out a grunt, he moved to obey. Not sure what good that would do, but if she said so…
Afterwards, he would remember that there had been an odd tone to her voice.
Lichen crept up the ancient pillar, and he could hardly feel any marble at all as he pressed his hand to the sun warmed surface. Only the bumpy, dry vegetation under his palm. Sarah muttered on the other side of the small, enclosed area, and Jonathan joined her after a moment. Difficult to tell if they were managing anything.
Then something flared up in the corner of his vision, and he sharply turned his head to the side. A grey blur hung in the air, shifting, trying to take shape, and the weak spirits of the land howled.
An outline, more a shadow than anything, but for just a second the image cleared – a huge wolf, its teeth bared in a growl towards something behind Dor’ash. It flickered, as if somebody was using some foul magic to block the vision.
‘BEWARE!’
He spun around as the spirit guardian shattered, ducking just in time to avoid a demon’s sweeping, crimson blade. But the creature’s other hand smashed into Dor’ash’s stomach, knocking all air out of him. With black spots dancing before his eyes he stumbled aside, grasping for his war hammer and struggling for breath.
The demon grinned down at him, a red giant of muscles in golden bits of armor. A doomguard, its huge leathery wings folded against its back and horned head almost touching the ceiling – where had that thing come from? A backup plan of Rimtori’s?
The others-
A blast of searing pain flared through Dor’ash’s hand and he roared, losing grip of the war hammer. It thumped into the grass. Through the veil of rage and pain Dor’ash looked past the demon, and saw Lloyd standing there, smiling, finger still stretched to point at the orc’s hand. In a flash, Dor’ash took in the rest of the Forsaken, all unmoving – apart from Sarah. She raised her hands behind Patrick’s shoulder, but froze in the middle of the motion.
She did nothing to help.
Dor’ash didn’t even have time to think, no time for drawing breath to curse the treacherous undead. He ducked another punch from the demon, but an unseen power suddenly trapped his arms, forcing them up against his back. The force of it and his own momentum threw him off balance and he crashed on the ground. Immediately the doomguard slammed its foot down on Dor’ash’s chest, snarling in vicious triumph. Struggling desperately, the orc could only watch the huge sword rise above him, sharp edge aimed at his heart. Something blocked him, muting his call to the forces of nature-
“Hold.”
The sword froze at the simple word. A growl left the demon’s throat as it turned around and gave Patrick a disappointed look. The undead man lowered his hand.
“There’s no need to waste a perfectly good shaman,” Patrick said, smiling.
There was originally going to be more to this chapter, but there’s a lot going on in it already and it’s long enough.
That, and I love leaving cliffhangers :mwahaha:
Oh, okay, I have to say that was deliciously pulpy. That’s what happens when you give the right spin. It begins when Rimtori is raised and while there’s a small break where the tension subsides (you could keep it up with a few hints here and there or by making Dor’ash appear even more confused, as he can’t share their communication) and then, when the yellow barriers rise it has a Conan-like feeling, minus a labyrinthine temple. Triggered experiment, hidden demon, and I laughed at the wolf before I remembered we’re talking about orcs. Indiana Dorash and the Temple of Doom. XD Well done!
edit:
Hmm, some Victorian age fantasy might actually be interesting. The Middle Ages are fun and all, but some variation would be cool.
I think steampunk’s got these bases covered. /edit
Some of it might not even be hers.
Why not “have been”? Keeps it in the past.
With her mouth slightly open, she almost looked like she was just sleeping.
Dunno if it’s intentional, but that’s a nice description for an undead 
Necromancy, really now…
While this was a chuckle-worthy phrase in the first reading, seeing the way the fic progresses it does seem a bit out of atmosphere. Then again, I’m possibly projecting.
his (discolored by corruption) green skin
Discolored by corruption? You mean, considering the browns the normal color?
Dor’ash blinked at the display, at the air of familiarity the warlock seemed at ease in with Sarah
Punctuation? Rephrasing?
Why thank you, Rig 
Too bad I wasn’t born in the golden age of pulp, eh? Then again, then I’d be old and wrinkly by now, at best. Haha, I haven’t even seen the Indiana Jones movies, truth to be told. ducks I’ll go tweak the things as per your suggestions, as usual.
Nooow, ah whatever, have at ye! First part of the next chapter. I can’t be arsed to write another battle scene right now. Man, this is all happening in just one day… ouch.
Lloyd hoarsely chuckled agreement to Patrick’s last comment, and Rimtori glared down at Dor’ash with a hungry smile on her cooling lips.
“Trai- mmph!” The orc’s enraged snarl got cut off when Lloyd waved his hand. A flash of darkness closed around Dor’ash’s mouth, and all feeling drained from his lower face.
Behind the warlocks and the elf stood Jonathan and Sarah, her hands still half raised. But now she let them sink and folded her arms across her chest. It was Jonathan who spoke, rolling his head in disbelief.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Change of plans.” Patrick patted Rimtori’s arm, and though she clenched her fists she didn’t move away from his touch. “She has wisely agreed to meet with master Varimathras. Lloyd and I both think that her research shouldn’t be wasted.”
“That out of body experience was really uncomfortable!” Jonathan said, thumping his chest in annoyance. But when Patrick looked at him he made a calming motion with his hands. “No, no, Sir. I see your point.”
“Bah!”
The last was Sarah. She jabbed a sharp finger at Rimtori, and the blood elf glared at her.
“Don’t think for a moment that I’m done with you,” Sarah snarled.
Patrick waved her hand aside.
“Take your complaints to the dreadlord,” he said.
“Oh, you’re a riot!” she snapped, lowering the remains of her eyebrows at him.
He just smirked.
Dor’ash furiously thrashed under the weight of the demon’s foot, which caused them all to look down at him again.
“Ah yes,” Lloyd said, smiling. “Most unfortunate, master Coldbane. I’m afraid that you’ll just have to disappear.”
Dor’ash snarled against the magical gag, but beneath the rage his blood ran cold as ice. He twisted his face towards Sarah, and she turned away.
She turned away.
For a moment, everything he saw was red. Then the demon kicked him over and his head slammed into one of the crumbling pillars. Slumping and cursing in his mind, he tried to catch his breath.
No, no, no…!
“Not that unfortunate,” he heard Patrick say. “My associates have been complaining for a while about not having a shaman to dissect.”
“And how are we going to make this look for everyone outside?” Jonathan asked, stretching a finger in the direction of the slope beyond the magical wall.
“Rimtori summoned a demon, and in the confusion made a portal and fled through it. Coldbane and I chased through just before it closed.” Patrick smiled, showing off two rows of chipped teeth. “It’s not too far from the truth, now is it?”
“Fine,” Sarah said, looking back and folding her arms. “But I’m not opening any damn portal.” She turned her face briefly towards the trapped orc, then looked back at her brethren. “He collected some of those people out there to help me. I owe him that much.”
Dor’ash stared up at her emotionless face. She didn’t even glance at him.
“How cute,” Patrick commented. When Sarah snorted, he throatily chuckled.
“You’re excused,” Lloyd agreed. He reached into one of the bags by his belt and drew out a rune of portals. “Society basement, Schiller. We don’t want anyone from outside seeing the orc.”
Bowing his head, Jonathan took the rune.
“As you wish. One moment.”
He raised the stone plate in both hands and began muttering under his breath. Patrick turned to his demon and signaled at it. Grinning with its entire face the giant warrior let its sword flare out of existence. It bent down, grabbed Dor’ash’s arms and hauled him to his feet, preparing to drag him through the portal as soon as it opened. Dor’ash furiously fought to break free and tried to kick at the demon, but its arms were too long. It could easily hold him at bay.
“Your orcish body count is getting impressive,” Lloyd said, almost all his teeth showing when he grinned at Rimtori.
Sarah touched Jonathan’s arm and he glanced at her. His nod was almost too tiny to notice.
She did not need to take in a deep breath, but she clenched and unclenched her hands.
“Foolish brutes, the lot of them,” Rimtori said, smirking although she tilted her head further away from Lloyd’s smile.
Dor’ash snarled, only earning sneers from them.
“Go ahead and show off all your teeth, greenskin,” Rimtori added, waving at the ground where the heap of skulls had been. “It’s what they did too.”
You blasted little-!
The doomguard dug its claws into Dor’ash’s arms, so deep he thought it reached to his bones. He writhed, hissing against the gag with white blotches dancing before his eyes. Blood trickled down over his skin, dark and hot. He felt the demon’s delight like a stench in the air, how it hungrily lapped up this simple, first taste of agony.
From far away, above his own growling, he heard Sarah say something in Gutterspeak.
“Hm?” Patrick said, turning his head towards her.
Sarah grabbed the rune from Jonathan’s hands and flung it into Patrick’s face as he looked around. He staggered backwards and nearly fell over with a surprised snarl, the carved stone clattering over the ground by his feet.
“What the hell?” Lloyd snarled, both him and Rimtori spinning around.
The red glow from Sarah’s hands sent shadows dancing over her hollow face.
“I just wanted to say,” she said through her teeth, “I don’t like it when people mess with my pet orc.”
“You little traitor!” Lloyd growled, crouching as his hands flared up with darkness. Behind him, Rimtori cautiously backed a couple of steps, but she watched these events unfold with more interest than anything else.
One mage against two warlocks, another mage, and a doomguard? Unless Sarah had a plan, and Dor’ash could only fervently hope she did, there was no way she could last the minute. At least the demon didn’t move, only watched.
Jonathan stumbled aside and Sarah sidestepped, circling further away from Lloyd without returning his taunt.
“No.”
Patrick’s voice cut through everything, low and dark. He leaned against one of the pillars, and at this one single syllable Lloyd’s spell faded on his fingers. It did not escape Dor’ash that Sarah tensed, but her magic light turned crimson.
A bony hand reached out, finger stretching towards the lone, decaying woman.
“That little rat is mine,” Patrick said.
Dor’ash hit the ground hard, squinting desperately through the mist of pain to see the doomguard rush Sarah. She never had a chance. The two fireballs she threw simply burnt the huge creature’s armor, but they didn’t halt its charge.
Ducking aside she saved herself for about one third of a second before a huge hand snapped around her waist and sent her crashing into another pillar. There the doomguard stopped, holding her squirming form against the stone, her feet kicking pathetically. The hands scraping against the demon’s gauntlet sounded like nails on a chalk board, and a second volley of red light frantically flared around her fingers.
Until Patrick closed the distance and grabbed Sarah’s right wrist, his hand coated in darkness. Like a candle blown out the magical glow died and she slumped, a groan escaping her lips.
He grasped her by the throat with his other hand, forcing her head up against the pillar.
“You… for what, that?” He nodded in Dor’ash’s direction, rattling Sarah’s neck.
Like a cat she scratched at his arm, but it did about as much as against the demon. The only difference was that she managed to tear open Patrick’s long sleeve.
“Burn in hell!” she grit between her teeth, digging her fingertips into his arm when he squeezed her thin throat.
“You little orc whore. And that’s laughable- what?”
He furiously looked around with a snarl as a thin hand landed on his shoulder.
“Excuse me, that’s my girlfriend you’re messing with,” Jonathan said, jabbing his thumb at Sarah.
The warlock spun at him, fingertips slicing the skin on Sarah’s neck and arm as he let go of her.
“To hell with you, she’s-!”
Too late Patrick noticed the white glow beside him. Hissing he tried to duck, but with the most hideous smile Dor’ash had ever seen on her lips, Sarah let loose her spell. Patrick’s furious shriek turned into a loud bleating.
A skinny, balding sheep staggered aside, eyes glowing unnaturally and naked ribs showing through a tear in its side.
Normally, this would of course only have evened the odds momentarily, leaving Lloyd, Rimtori and the demon to fight against. Still no good odds for Sarah and Jonathan. Also it would not have taken more than a hit or small spell to blast Patrick out of the enchantment, if he did not manage to free himself first.
However, it took about half a second for the doomguard to realize that its master had been reduced to a rather helpless shape. It flung Sarah aside and spun around, ducking the dark spear Lloyd sent flying at it.
The huge sword fell. Patrick had no chance to duck it, staggering on his cloven feet as he was.
PWNED. XD
Next: Undead catfight! :kissy:
Seems like this time we have comedy and drama (er, soap opera) seems to be next. Branching out is a good idea, as that fic didn’t seem to have an initial focus, meaning all’s well.
Why thank you, Rig
You can always begin the Swedish Pulp Revival.
Nooow, ah whatever, have at ye! First part of the next chapter. I can’t be arsed to write another battle scene right now. Man, this is all happening in just one day… ouch.
Like your beloved Virginia Woolf:ulty: Anyway, I don’t have many suggestions for today. Short for time.
Soap opera, this? Just wait until Sarah bumps into Simon. That has her setting Jonathan on fire and calling Dor’ash a “goddamn greenskin”, which he doesn’t take very lightly :mwahaha: And then Jonathan learns of her in-life romance and oooh what a soup.
(“No, I’m not jealous! I just want to know if he’s dead or if I can brutally murder him.”)
But yeeaah, this one really doesn’t have much of a plot-focus, apart from one battle after another
<3
In-life romance, heh. edit:Does this mean WoW is the poster boy for necrophilia?
Cless:
Naw, I mean the guy she was dating when she was alive XD Then again, does Forsaken romance count? Though technically, -philia means one of the parties doesn’t want to.
Yes, but in-life also suggests er… outside-life. I don’t know about the technical uses of -philia, but it’s nice making up words and thinking the party described by the first word fervently objecting.
e.g. laophilia (popularity): hey, no one asked the people
Wouldn’t “laophilia” be “politics”? 
Anyway… I’m trying to set up a chat-date with my beta, who has experience playing warlocks (which I utterly lack, and reading up on their skill trees just don’t cut it), so we can RP our way through the next battle scene against Lloyd and Rimtori. In the meantime, here’s the tiny bit before that.
Patrick had no chance to avoid the sword, staggering on his cloven hooves as he was. The hoarse “baa!” ended in a wet smash, and a half cleaved, half crushed heap of wool and rotten flesh crashed into the ground. It faded into a miserable heap of black cloth, and thin, broken limbs as soon as it landed. The smashed in skull ascertained that Patrick would not get up on his own again.
The brief, shocked silence shattered when Sarah giggled. Just a brief, high-pitched sound at first, but then she did it again. Then it poured out of her in an unsteady, breathless stream, rising to a hoarse cackling. She shook, pressing loosely parted fingers against her mouth, like a cage to hold in her hysterics. For a moment it looked like she would fall to her knees, but Jonathan slipped an arm under her armpits.
“Now you’ve gone and done it, luv,” he said, grinning.
She couldn’t reply, only nodded without for a moment turning her no-gaze away from the dark heap on the ground.
Dor’ash watched, unable to move, eyes thin and a greatly disturbed feeling filling him.
That was when Lloyd started swearing in Gutterspeak. And that roused the demon from its triumphant stupor, as well.
The now masterless doomguard threw a very quick glance around, seeing one undead couple close by – out of which the woman wasn’t even looking at the demon, busy as she was staring at the remains of Patrick with an insane grin on her face – and a second couple a little further away, the woman’s hands glowing blue and the man snarling about traitors. There was the orc too, but as he seemed unable to move he wasn’t much to bother with for a start.
Demons generally don’t even consider gratitude. However, perhaps this one at least felt a bit of kinship with Sarah, as her hateful glee of Patrick’s state made her face a mask of depravity.
Most probably the hellbeast only figured it would kill the helpful little gits a minute later than the others. What it thought did not matter however, because the important thing was that it launched itself towards Lloyd and Rimtori instead of Sarah and Jonathan.
And just for fun… here’s just after they manage to toast Lloyd (they manage to banish the doomguard before that). I bet you thought I was kidding about the undead catfight. Why, I’d NEVER joke about something so serious!
Sarah looked up at Rimtori, and her greenish lips drew back from her yellow and blackened teeth. Sharp, hard finger bent like claws.
Rimtori’s expression, on the other hand, wavered between fury and disbelief. She narrowed her eyes at the much skinnier undead woman, obviously thinking something along the lines of “she wouldn’t…”. Her hands rose to call on more magic.
Dor’ash could only watch, with a (half-guilty, because in all honestly it was plain [i]stupid[/i]) pang of vicious amusement. He knew Sarah. He knew she would.
And she did.
With a shriek she launched herself at Rimtori, shattering the elf’s focus and spell. The two of them went down cursing and clawing at each other. The fierce, if clumsy, wrestling left little room for focusing enough for spells, apart from fizzling sparkles of red and blue singeing one or the other briefly.
“Girls, girls! Play nice!” Jonathan cheered in the background, though he did so while casually leaning against a pillar with his arms folded across his chest.
Though Rimtori put up a fairly good fight, it showed that she was not at all used to direct combat, while Sarah knew every nasty trick anyone had ever invented. The undead catfight ended with Sarah sitting on Rimtori, pressing the hissing and twisting elf’s wrists into the ground.
“It’s not nice to call people ‘greenskin’,” Sarah said, smiling a few inches from Rimtori’s snarl. “Why don’t you be a good girl and take it back, hmm?”
She didn’t give the elf time to reply, but wrenched her over on her stomach and grabbed her dark hair, forcing Rimtori’s head so far back her neck might have snapped. Dor’ash looked on, with a mix of smugness and apprehension as the fine, but by rage and pain distorted face was forced in his direction.
“Apologize, I say!” Sarah hissed, giving Rimtori a shake for good measure.
A thick, almost black drop of blood slithered through the elf’s hair from where Sarah’s fingertips dug into her skin, sluggishly continuing down the brittle jaw and throat.
Rimtori winced and squirmed, but her face twisted further with an obstinate sneer.
“Go to hell, you ugly lich,” she snarled, yellow eyes rolling.
Sarah reached down and rapped her fingertips against the exposed throat, causing little red pinpricks on the skin.
“Last chance to die pretty.”
“Orc whore!”
“Yeah well,” Sarah said, moving her fingers to Rimtori’s cheek. “It wasn’t I who slept with one of them just to get hold of a few skulls.” She clapped her dirty, ravaged hand over the full lips to silence the snarl, smiling only a little less nastily than she had done when turning Patrick into a doomed sheep.
Ya know, part of this is because I read so many complaints about nice Forsaken, and thinking about it Sarah hasn’t actually given proof of being that nasty. So now I’m doing something about that :mwahaha:
Doomed sheep? I wanted to make one or two comments, but they were swallowed by the catfight and the “doomed sheep” spell. Heh, doomed sheep.
I suppose the spell could be renamed that, when used in such a way XD
Ahh, lesse. I’m still waiting on my beta to help me write the battle scenes here. However, some of us could use something entertaining after all the stuff that’s going on in the world right now, and in celebration of Rig’s final exam… I’ll go ahead and post.
The warlock and the mage leapt in one direction each to avoid the assault, and the doomguard aimed its blow towards Lloyd. It probably didn’t like the dark robe, reminiscent of its ex-master’s clothing. He managed to avoid the blow however, by throwing himself on the ground and rolling back up to his feet with surprising agility.
Rimtori launched a blast of magical ice from her hands. It hit the doomguard’s right hoof and splattered onto the ground, instantly freezing. Furiously snarling, the demon struggled to free itself and the ice let hear a worrisome, cracking sound. Behind it, Jonathan gently pushed Sarah aside and threw out his hands, rapidly muttering. A second blue flare shot through the air and caught the left hoof as well, leaving the doomguard violently trying to pull both its legs free.
“Sorry about that, mate,” Jonathan said when the demon turned its head and snarled at him, as the ungrateful little git he had turned out to be. “You’re just too big and angry for my tastes.”
Lloyd cleans up.
The doomguard crumbled, fading from the world by the second – though in the last moment it looked towards Patrick’s remains, and the final look on its face was one of triumph.
Cease fire OVER.
“Do you even understand your situation?” Lloyd snarled, pointing at what remained of Patrick.
“Yes,” Jonathan said, grinning and pulling his staff from his back. The crystals adorning the long, twisted cane flared up with magic. “Do you?”
“You killed Master Patrick!”
“And you’re not invited to the line dance on his grave,” Sarah said.
“Oh, but I’m going to have a ball, for all of us,” Lloyd said, voice lowering to a hiss, “telling Master Varimathras and Lady Sylvanas that you’ve betrayed the Society.”
“Really?” Sarah replied, slowly sidestepping together with Jonathan. “I’m going to tell Lady Sylvanas that there were a couple of bootlickers wanting to give Varimathras a pretty unpleasant spell.”
“No one likes a tattletale, girl.”
“Well, no sane person likes to dance to a dreadlord’s finger snapping, either,” Jonathan retorted. “I know I don’t want to do that again.”
Lloyd gets toasted, or at least broken up and beaten down.
“Wonderful job, princess,” Sarah said, clapping her hands. It sounded like a bunch of castanets rattling.
“Aw, you haven’t called me that in ages.” Jonathan rolled his shoulders and grinned.
Sarah gave him a sugary smile. Then she looked up at Rimtori, and her greenish lips drew back from her yellow and blackened teeth. Sharp, hard finger bent like claws.
Rimtori’s expression, on the other hand, wavered between fury and disbelief. She narrowed her eyes at the much skinnier undead woman, obviously thinking something along the lines of “she wouldn’t…”. Her hands rose to call on more magic.
Dor’ash could only watch, with a (half-guilty, because in all honestly it was plain [i]stupid[/i]) pang of vicious amusement. He knew Sarah. He knew she would.
And she did.
With a shriek she threw herself at Rimtori, shattering the elf’s focus and spell. The two of them went down cursing and clawing at each other. The fierce, if clumsy, wrestling left little room for focusing enough for spells, apart from fizzling sparkles of red and blue singeing one or the other briefly.
“Girls, girls! Play nice!” Jonathan cheered in the background, though he did so while casually leaning against a pillar with his arms folded across his chest.
Though Rimtori put up a fairly good fight, it showed that she was not at all used to direct combat, while Sarah knew every nasty trick anyone had ever invented. The undead catfight ended with Sarah sitting on Rimtori, pressing the hissing and twisting elf’s wrists into the ground.
“It’s not nice to call people ‘greenskin’,” Sarah said, smiling a few inches from Rimtori’s snarl. “Why don’t you be a good girl and take it back, hmm?”
She didn’t give the elf time to reply, but wrenched her over on her stomach and grabbed her dark hair, forcing Rimtori’s head so far back her neck might have snapped. Dor’ash looked on, with a mix of smugness and apprehension as the fine, but by rage and pain distorted face was forced in his direction.
“Apologize, I say!” Sarah hissed, giving Rimtori a shake for good measure.
A thick, almost black drop of blood slithered through the elf’s hair from where Sarah’s fingertips dug into her skin, sluggishly continuing down the brittle jaw and throat.
Rimtori winced and squirmed, but her face twisted further with an obstinate sneer.
“Go to hell, you ugly lich,” she snarled, yellow eyes rolling.
Sarah reached down and rapped her fingertips against the exposed throat, causing little red pinpricks on the skin.
“Last chance to die pretty.”
“Orc whore!”
“Yeah well,” Sarah said, moving her fingers to Rimtori’s cheek. “It wasn’t I who slept with one of them just to get hold of a few skulls.” She clapped her dirty, ravaged hand over the full lips to silence the snarl, smiling only a little less nastily than she had done when turning Patrick into a doomed sheep. “Now then… shall I string you up and play for a while, like you did to me? Hmm… nah.”
She changed her hold in an instant, plunging the fingers of both hands through Rimtori’s cheeks. The scream ended when Sarah changed the torture to a grip, and twisted hard. The elf slumped to the ground, bleeding flesh ripping free of Sarah’s fingers by gravity alone. Wide open eyes stared at nothing, the delicate face wrecked and bloody.
Whatever magic animated the undead, it had its strange similarities to life. Unless of course, Rimtori’s mind was still perfectly functional, but the twisted neck made it impossible for her to move her body for the time being.
But then she should have been able to move her eyes at least. Even so, a broken neck would only keep an undead down for a little while.
Dor’ash didn’t know whether to feel disturbed at Sarah’s sadism, or be grateful that she had not done anything worse.
Letting out a disgusted sound, she climbed off of Rimtori’s remains and rubbed her sullied hands against the grass. Jonathan took a few steps closer and leant over her, tilting his head curiously.
“What’s the matter? It’s just blood,” he commented.
“No,” Sarah grunted. “It’s blood and elf saliva.”
“Ah. Ew.”
He moved aside as she stood up and briefly turned to him.
“Burn the ‘locks,” Sarah said, waving at Jonathan while heading towards Dor’ash. “We still need Rimtori’s head. Keep an eye on her in case she starts moving again.”
With a grim nod Jonathan hunched down in front of Patrick’s remains, hands glowing deep red. Still, Dor’ash noticed how that look changed into a satisfied smirk just a moment before the orc’s full attention turned to Sarah.
She knelt beside him and felt around over the gag, causing a rattling sound as her dirty fingers tapped against it.
“Damn warlocks and their damn, damn- hmph…” She snorted and turned her head slightly, empty eye sockets staring straight into Dor’ash’s eyes. “Just a minute. I’ll have you free in a second, I promise.”
He laid still and bore her sharp fingertips against his cheek, relieved but still feeling a sizzling unease at what he had witnessed. He needed answers, to questions he could not voice yet. In the background two fires flared up, and a stench of burning, rotten flesh filled the air. Dor’ash pinched his eyes shut and tried to keep his stomach from turning. The flames faded after a few seconds, leaving only two piles of ash and the lingering stench. Even bones were easily and quickly destroyed in magical fire. Nodding, Jonathan stood up and looked towards his allies.
“Aha…” Sarah muttered.
She slapped lightly at the gag, and it dissipated. While she reached forwards to remove the spell holding his arms, Dor’ash worked his stiff jaw. A moment later the pressure on his arms disappeared too.
“Are you alright?” Sarah asked.
He grunted, watching the two of them warily as he climbed to his feet, carefully massaging his wrists. His right hand still stung from Lloyd’s spell, and he had troubles moving the fingers. Not to mention how much the wounds from the demon’s claws throbbed and burned. A healing spell should take care of it, but he was in no mind to work one. For now, he settled on trying not to move too much.
Standing, Sarah raised her hands towards his arm but stopped and drew back.
“Don’t give me that look,” she said and stuck up what would have been her nose if she’d had one, “I had to wait for an opening to see if Jonathan was in on helping me, before I could make a move.”
“So you waited until he had called his demon, and I was tied up,” Dor’ash coldly said.
“I’m not psychic, you know.”
She turned away as he kept watching her.
“How should I have known what they planned?” she added defensively, kicking at Rimtori’s stained chest. “And there was no way that I would let her get a career leap after what she did. Good riddance!”
Dor’ash’s shoulders cautiously sank.
The lady didst protest too loudly about her reasoning. However…
“What did you think they planned? To just knock me out and run off?” he sharply asked.
For a moment she glared at him, quite a feat with no eyes. When she finally spoke, the first few words came out grudgingly, then the rest poured from her lips.
“Patrick ordered me to distract you for a few seconds. I didn’t know he would summon something like that. Well, you smashed my chest in. We’re even.”
That was the closest she would ever get to saying “forgive me”. He was about to let out a skeptic snort and leave it at that, when her face scrounged up in a grimace.
“I would never have let them kill you,” she grumbled, looking away.
Alright, so she [i]could[/i] apparently allow herself even closer to actually asking forgive. Huh.
Slowly, Dor’ash shook his head.
“Crazy girl,” he muttered, and Sarah gave him a weak, wry smile.
But he was far, far from at ease.
“Does lady Sylvanas support members of the Horde ‘disappearing’?” he asked, voice deep inside his throat.
Sarah’s smile died. She and Jonathan exchanged glances, but even as they did so, the latter was speaking. There was no pause for silent agreements.
“Lady Sylvanas, no,” Jonathan said. “I’m quite sure she would not be amused over the jeopardizing of our alliance with your people.”
Dor’ash began to speak again, but this time Sarah did put her hand on his lower arm. When he looked at her, she pressed a finger against her lips.
“We do not speak of it,” she said in a low voice. “I have not told you. There are those amongst us who serve Lady Sylvanas, and those who seek to gain Varimathras’ favor.”
After a moment he slowly nodded. Fools would always be drawn to dangerous power, and it was not as if the dreadlord was generally believed to be completely tamed. But that information hardly made him feel much better.
“And have there been disappearances of this kind before?” he demanded.
“I’ve been in the Apothecary Society’s research labs many times,” Sarah said. “There are test subjects, yes, but they are Scourge and monsters. I’ve never seen another member of the Horde there. Believe me, Dor’ash.”
“That doesn’t mean that there aren’t any,” he darkly said.
“True. But Lady Sylvanas is no fool,” Jonathan said. “If there are those who keep any of our allies as guinea pigs, they are to us what the Burning Blade is to you people.”
Dor’ash looked between the two of them. Deep down he suspected that there was something they didn’t want to tell him, but the first bit of relief had allowed the dam of exhaust to burst. Now it hit him in full force, when the most pressing things on his mind had been offered answers. Deciding if he believed those answers in full or not would have to be a thought for later.
He leaned against one of the pillars, wanting to rub his forehead but deciding not to due to his wounds.
This day had just been too much.
“I hope you don’t expect me to carry you down from here and all the way to the Barrens, now,” Sarah said, leaning forwards and gazing up at his face. “Dear me. Grema will rip my head off for letting you get this ragged.”
Grema…
The name promised a haven where he could forget all the stress and pain of today, but he pushed it off his mind for now. Thinking of that, when it was so far away, would only make him feel even more drained. There was still so much to do here before he could even allow himself to think about leaving Azshara.
He looked up at the sound of steps and watched Jonathan walk along the magical wall, running his hand over it as he headed for the part where the ground dipped towards the mainland.
“Not shabby,” Jonathan said, stopping by the beginning of the small path. “As I understand it, it can only be opened from inside. My guess is that she didn’t use it during the battle because she didn’t have a chance to stand still and focus long enough.”
“Can you open it?” Dor’ash asked, trying not to sound as tired as he felt.
Jonathan nodded.
“Just give me one minute,” he said. “But…” Grimly shaking his head he looked at the two of them. “We don’t know how many of the Forsaken out there were loyal to the warlocks. We better not let them know exactly what happened.”
Dor’ash rubbed his neck.
“True,” he said. “And if the non-Forsaken find out about this, they might decide to try to clear all of you out here. Let us say that Rimtori killed the warlocks and did something we need to report directly to the Warchief and Lady Sylvanas.”
“Agreed.”
Jonathan turned back towards the magical wall. He moved his feet further apart and pressed his palms against the barrier.
Straightening up, Dor’ash heard a few joints pop and winced. He was in dire need of a healing spell, but still thought better of casting one of his own. Not in his current state. Somebody else could do him a favor once they got outside the barrier.
But that did remind him of something.
“Sarah,” he said, looking around to see her still watching him.
“Yes?”
Knowing what would be next, he even managed to grin.
“Remember that bear, Fuzzik?” he said.
She tilted her head curiously.
“What about him?” she said.
“He’s down there, healing people.”
In the background, Jonathan chortled while Sarah raised her eyebrows.
“The bear? He’s a tauren too?” she said, suspiciously glancing at Jonathan.
“He’s a night elf.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open.
“No,” Dor’ash added. “You can’t kill him. He’s being helpful.”
“A goddamn nelf?”
“Serious faces, everyone,” Jonathan said, clearing his throat to seize control his own snickering. “I think I’ve got it…”
Dor’ash coughed, forcing his mind back on the more unsettling facts of the day. The grin faded. Sarah merely changed from disbelieving exasperation to grim exasperation by lowering her eyebrows. Jonathan nodded and faced forward again.
He muttered something, then slapped the barrier in front of him with both hands.
The walls shuddered and then faded away, revealing just about everyone in the entire troop standing on the slope and staring at the temple. The nearest ones lowered hands and weapons – some just inches from Jonathan’s face. Apparently they had not stood idle while the barriers were up. Even Fuzzik stood there, though a little bit behind everyone else, looking up with worry and confusion.
“What-?” one of the Forsaken priests, standing by the front, started.
Dor’ash opened his mouth, but Sarah stepped forwards, face set in stone.
“The blood elf witch fired off a trap,” she said, fists clenching at her sides. “Master Patrick and Master Lloyd are dead.” She motioned at Dor’ash, speaking loud to be heard over the growling from the other Forsaken. “And Master Coldbane needs a healer.”
The Forsaken priest stepped forward, scowling as he looked quickly between Sarah’s hard face and the wounds on Dor’ash’s arms. The uneasy snarls continued, glances exchanged all through the troop.
“What happened?” the priest asked, warmly glowing hand rising towards one of the rows of circular, bleeding wounds. “What stabbed you?”
Dor’ash firmly shook his head.
“The Warchief and Lady Sylvanas must hear about this before we can tell anyone else,” he said, letting all his fangs show. “I must ask all of you to believe us when we say so.”
The growling turned to an agitated murmur, but he silenced them by raising his voice.
“Somebody cut off the elf’s head,” he said, nodding at Rimtori’s unmoving body behind him. “She’s more dangerous than any of us anticipated.”
It took a moment, but then one of the trolls stepped forwards past Dor’ash and the two mages, drawing his sword with his face set in grim determination. It took a couple of swings, but then three blue fingers lifted the severed head by its blood smeared hair.
“I need somebody to go to Orgrimmar and deliver that to Belgrom,” Dor’ash said with a nod.
Hugg stepped forwards, though still looking concerned over the suspicious secrecy.
“I’m wounded, anyway…” the other orc said, studying Dor’ash. He got no clues from that.
“Allow me.” Jonathan walked back into the temple and picked up the rune of portals which Lloyd had given him. “She did want to make use of this one.” He added the comment while nodding at Rimtori’s head, sneering.
Moments later a shimmering hole opened in the air, displaying the orange and sandy brown colors of Orgrimmar, as opposed to the autumn orange of Azshara. Uncannily reminiscent of the portal Dor’ash had gone through only to lose Sarah – spirits, had that really been on this same day? He felt so tired that he could have fallen down right there, but pulled himself together. The pain in his arms steadily ebbed under the undead priest’s spell, at least.
Hugg grabbed the severed head from the troll’s hand, and walked through the portal. It closed behind him on Jonathan’s soft command, and the rune crumbled to sand in his grip.
That was the final end of Magus Rimtori.
Dor’ash looked around at the uncertain, grim faces around him.
“Well?” he said.
Murmuring amongst themselves, the troop moved apart. Many went down to the simple camp (Fuzzik did so quickly after catching the look on Sarah’s face), but the priest scurried over to Sarah and Jonathan as soon as Dor’ash’s wounds were closed. Some more of the Forsaken joined the three, and they muttered to each other in Gutterspeak. Many times agitated gestures were aimed at the temple and the two heaps of ash, which the wind was doing a good job on even as the Forsaken spoke.
By the tones, one could guess that there were questions asked, but they did not seem to receive satisfying answers. Dor’ash caught Sarah’s no-gaze and she nodded. She and Jonathan would deal with this.
Worrying took too much energy. Dor’ash walked down towards the camp, his legs feeling like they were made of lead.
‘-‘
It was about an hour later, that a very sheepish looking tauren approached the camp. By then the soldiers had regained their organization after the last shock, and the new project amongst those who felt like it was to snoop around the dead blood elves’ tents and packs for anything valuable or interesting. The smell of burning flesh had long been brought away by the ocean winds, and nothing remained of the blood elves themselves apart from a big, burnt patch on the ground some ways away from their belongings.
Dor’ash sat on a rock, staring out into space and resting his mind in a blissful state of no thoughts at all. Right then he felt as if a shaman’s training in meditation was the most valuable teachings he had ever received.
The sound of two hooves against the ground roused him however, and seeing who it was he stood up with a cold look on his face.
Deran stopped a few, cautious steps away and cleared his throat.
“I very much apologize for the trouble I caused.”
“Bah.” Dor’ash didn’t feel like saying anything else. Even if they had managed to save Sarah, get rid of the treacherous elves, and also killed a couple of turncoat warlocks, he was in no forgiving mood when it came to the idiot tauren.
“Uhm, well…” Deran looked around uncertainly. “I realize it’s uncouth to ask a favor, but have you possibly seen Fuzzik anywhere?”
Dor’ash was about to just grunt, but as he looked towards the simple camp he saw no trace of the purple-skinned man.
“He was here just now…”
“Oh, that silly bear,” Deran said, scratching his head.
Slowly, Dor’ash blinked twice. To hell with it, he had to know.
“You do know that he’s a night elf, I hope?” he flatly said, dreading that the answer would be yet another proof of the world’s stupidity.
Deran coughed into his huge hand. Tauren aren’t very good at being subtle.
“Of course I do,” he said, then winked with one eye. “But he doesn’t know that I know. Let’s avoid hurting his little elf pride, shall we?”
“Ah.”
Dor’ash tried to decide whether to just be relieved or laugh, though the latter would give the stupid calf a sense of having done something right. Right in that moment, however, a familiar looking bear bounded out from the bushes on the other side of the camp and quickly crossed the space. Since most of the soldiers were busy elsewhere, and not many other even bothered to look up, there was no comment – much to Fuzzik’s relief, certainly.
“There you are!”
Deran caught Fuzzik with an arm around his neck and playfully rubbed his knuckles against the furry head until the bear tore himself free with a huge snort. Looking Fuzzik in the eye, Dor’ash caught the please-don’t-tell-him-I’m-an-elf expression aimed at him. Using every shred of self control in his body the orc managed to keep from bursting out laughing, and kept a serious look as he gave a small nod.
Despite himself, and all that had happened, Dor’ash felt a little more kindly inclined towards Deran.
With a final apology and bow of his head, the tauren turned and walked off, Fuzzik at his side. Dor’ash watched them go in silence.
He looked to his right when he caught a whiff of dry rot. Jonathan stood a little ways away, gazing after the leaving pair. His sunken face turned towards Dor’ash after a few seconds.
They regarded each other for a while, until the mage shuffled over, pointedly returning his gaze to follow the tauren and “bear” again.
“People will tell people that you let a spy walk away,” Jonathan said as he stopped. By then the odd pair were just disappearing behind a distant hill.
Letting out a sigh, Dor’ash shook his head. It was true, he would have to explain himself more than once and face the consequences. But…
“I couldn’t, heh, bear killing him,” he said, and Jonathan snorted. “He was of great help.”
They fell silent, but the air metaphorically crackled with an unasked question. Jonathan’s fingers actually drummed against his staff, clattering on the metal. A sign of unease that was definitely rare for an undead.
Dor’ash looked around to make sure Sarah was out of earshot. He caught sight of her reclining against a tree by the slope, working her way through a loaf of bread.
“An elf disguised as a pet bear,” he finally said, his thoughtfulness so fake that it could have turned into a bat and flapped away.
Jonathan actually had enough decency to look guilty.
“Ah,” he said in a low voice, touching his own chest. “You saw that when the bitch almost ripped me out, eh?”
“And when were you planning on telling Sarah?” Dor’ash asked, smirk threatening to split his face.
“The day I feel the need to get burned alive and buried in sixteen different places.” Jonathan, utterly needlessly, cleared his throat. After a moment under the shaman’s amused gaze, he shook his head. One bony hand rose up and touched the torn remains of an ear. “I think something bit them off before I got killed. Or they rotted and fell off, I don’t know. What does it matter? We’re Forsaken now. She doesn’t need to know. Please?”
He might have been sweating, had he still been alive, as he peered up at Dor’ash. The orc nearly burst out laughing, again.
“You’re ridiculous,” Dor’ash said after a moment of composing himself. “All kinds of you.”
“My girlfriend turns people she doesn’t like into sheep and feeds them to their own demons,” Jonathan pointed out. “And she really, really doesn’t like elves.”
“True.”
“So you won’t tell her?”
“Of course not.” Dor’ash watched with much amusement as Jonathan let out a sigh of relief.
“I honestly didn’t know when I first met her,” the skeletal man said, shaking his head. “It didn’t come back to me until I went to Silvermoon.” He pulled a face. “Never going there again.”
Another thought struck, and the orc just had to ask.
“What’s your real name?”
“Medivh on a gnome walker, Dor’ash! Don’t do this to me.” A loud, disgusted sound and a slap at the air followed this groan, and the shaman laughed.
A moment passed, and Jonathan leaned on his staff. Finally he shrugged.
“Fine,” he said. “I couldn’t remember a thing at first, so I played around with some names and words until I got something that sounded alright.”
“Schiller?”
“Chilly.”
Dor’ash bit his knuckles to keep from laughing again. He saw from the corner of his eye how Sarah had stopped eating and looked in their direction. Best think of some lie to tell her about this conversation.
Leaning a little closer, Jonathan hissed:
“I swear that if you ever tell anyone I’ll rip out your eyeballs and stuff them down your throat. Galahandar Dawngreeter.”
A thin trickle of blood seeped down Dor’ash’s hand from where he bit down on his knuckles.
It ain’t quite over yet, but that’s a good place to end one chapter XD
Hey, thanks!
and the doomguard aimed its blow towards Lloyd. It probably didn’t like the dark robe, reminiscent of its ex-master’s clothing.
Are the doomguards supposed to be plain brutes? This doesn’t make him sound very sophisticated.
“Sorry about that, mate,” Jonathan said when the demon turned its head and snarled at him, as the ungrateful little git he had turned out to be. “You’re just too big and angry for my tastes.”
Heh.
Lloyd cleans up.
I imagine there description narrated by a deep voice and they sound great. The small joys of a work in progress.
She changed her hold in an instant, plunging the fingers of both hands through Rimtori’s cheeks. The scream ended when Sarah changed the torture to a grip, and twisted hard. The elf slumped to the ground, bleeding flesh ripping free of Sarah’s fingers by gravity alone. Wide open eyes stared at nothing, the delicate face wrecked and bloody.
This changes Sarah’s character once and for all. Also puts things into some perspective.
Dor’ash didn’t know whether to feel disturbed at Sarah’s sadism, or be grateful that she had not done anything worse.
But this reaction sounds a bit weak. Okay, the character knew what the Undead are like (he’s been mauling them for some time), but the reader didn’t, so you should probably decide to either have him get disturbed or be grateful.
The lady didst protest too loudly about her reasoning. However…
didst: Second person singular past tense of do. Not the right word here (not that I know the right word).
There are those amongst us who serve Lady Sylvanas, and those who seek to gain Varimathras’ favor.”
Yeah, good point. Back in Starcraft every chieftain seemed to have a group ready to die for him, while in Warcraft… well, I don’t know why but they don’t seem that convincing.
“The Warchief and Lady Sylvanas must hear about this before we can tell anyone else,” he said, letting all his fangs show. “I must ask all of you to believe us when we say so."
I guess they won’t be putting that in the updated edition of 100 Best Excuses XD
That was the final end of Magus Rimtori.
Don’t use “final end”. It weakens the impact of both words.
Did you hate Jonathan that much to give him such a name? It’s no wonder that he seeks to corrupt life and all that is beautiful.
You’re welcome
As usual, I’ll tinker some with it as per yer suggestions. I guess that thing about the doomguard can be discussed, I think they’re somewhere between dreadlord (sneaky bastards) and felguard (‘ME SMASH’).
Like I said, I felt as if I needed to make Sarah more nasty, as opposed to just being the funny lady as she’s been up until now. As demonstrated she’s not quuuite that simple, and believe you me I rub my hands in glee. That was probably the most horrid thing she’ll ever do though, even if there are a couple of more dirty secrets coming up in the epilogue. Her and Patrick’s relationship will get another level.
As for Jonathan, haha… he wasn’t supposed to be a belf at first, but then I read up on lore and realized that there are a whole lot more Forsaken belves than just Sylvanas. And since Sarah hates elves with a burning passion, it was just too perfect.
I tinkered with his name for a jolly while until I had something really, really silly to go with that dirty little secret of his. XD Aah, I don’t hate him, he’s cute.
Wrath of the Lich King SPOILER:
And in the fandom, everyone’s busy freaking out about the leaked spoilers that yes, Varimathras IS going to betray Sylvanas and the entire Horde. And following that Thrall almost gets mauled by the psycho human king, but Jaina says “HELL NO” and sends the humans packing back to Stormwind. This is gonna get uuugly! And I’M hung up on the fact that Jaina and Thrall are talking in-game. bounces except she stopped mister king’s little campaign in Undercity and he probably isn’t going to be happy about that… ick.
Where is your vanity now, little elves?
Yeah, this raises some questions about the judgement of the people hanging out with Sarah. Or perhaps there’s more to them as well ominous ellipses
Ahh, bolt it. Let’s git this ball rolling towards the goal.
I realized just last night that this story is pretty much the turning point not only for Dor’ash and Sarah’s overall plot, but their fun and games as well 
The rest of the stories about them will be a lot more serious, until the happy ending at least (I’m such a sap!).
As night fell, campfires were lit around the now better fortified camp.
Forsaken grimly patrolled the outskirts of the site, but just to be sure Dor’ash had ordered his living allies to take turns sleeping. He felt paranoid about letting only Forsaken stand guard, but hoped that they would not draw conclusions from it. Probably not. Generally, even with guards people knew better than to not be alert in the middle of hostile territory.
Dor’ash himself sat hunched by one of the fires, blinking to fight the exhaust. Though his wounds were long healed, his entire body screamed for rest. But it also screamed for food, which was why he was struggling to stay awake at least long enough to finish the bowl of watery stew.
Sarah and Jonathan sat a little to the side of him, curled up together in silence. Normally, seeing them together was unsettling, mainly because you never knew when they would start with their very disturbing flirting. They had been silent for quite a while, though, satisfied with his arm around her and she leaning against him. Cozy, except for the smell and the cruel, if relaxed, features. Dor’ash could never decide if Jonathan’s glowing eyes or Sarah’s empty eye sockets were more unsettling. Probably the latter, since she normally covered them.
Dor’ash tried not to think too much. Eat. Sleep. Think tomorrow. Oh, he would just love giving this report to the Warchief. Ugh.
Sarah shifted.
“That’s right…” she murmured, then turned to Jonathan and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for helping me back there, sweetheart.”
He grinned and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze, which clattered of bones.
“If I didn’t help, what kind of boyfriend would I be?” he said.
Dor’ash felt eternally grateful to Sarah for answering that question in murmuring Gutterspeak, which the orc didn’t understand. Her tone told him enough, as did Jonathan’s low cackle and the sound of the rest of their low, gurgled conversation.
He was too tired to think that they might just be pretending, with misleading tones of voices.
[i]“Can we tell the Dark Lady about this? That we killed two of the Society?”
“They were only talking about the dreadlord. She must know.” [/i]This was where Jonathan cackled, but he was in no way amused. “If the Legion can find a way to make us Scourge again…” He trailed off, and if he had still retained such inclinations he would have shuddered.
“I felt no demonic energies when the belf worked on me, although she definitely did dabble in those arts,” Sarah said, pressing her forehead to Jonathan’s shoulder briefly to hide her expression. “Could be that she sought something to offer the Legion in exchange for power. What of the dreadlord?”
On a silent agreement, the same that had made them take to Gutterspeak, they spoke no names – then Dor’ash may have noticed something suspicious.
“If he got hold of a spell like this, he would have a dangerous advantage if he truly plans on betraying the Dark Lady someday.” Jonathan dipped his face into a hand, feigning amusement – he could not bring himself to shape his face into a false grin. [i]“And he would force us all to follow him.”
“But if she questions him, it won’t be difficult for him to find out about the kills here.” [/i]Sarah’s lips twisted into a sweet smile in front of tightly clenched teeth. [i]“Being turned to Scourge again would be the least thing for us to worry about. Disregarding that, we can’t explain to her about eliminating two warlocks and a newly converted belf in order to save an orc.”
“Unless we claim they voiced absolute faith in the dreadlord and didn’t take kindly to us raising a question.”[/i]
Sarah relaxed just the slightest bit.
“That could work.” She straightened up a little. [i]“You’re right. The Lady must hear of this. We will have to take our risks about the dreadlord finding out.”
“Indeed.” [/i]Jonathan fell silent for a moment, then slowly raised a patch of skin that had once been an eyebrow. Reaching out, he placed two fingers under Sarah’s chin and turned her face towards his.[i] “Wait a minute, saving an orc? I thought we were killing a couple of warlocks who wanted to let that blasted belf witch get away with what she had done to us.”
“Of course we were, and getting rid of my asshole of a brother too. Saving my pet was just a bonus.”
“Right…”[/i]
Sarah scowled at him, momentarily forgetting that they were pretending to be lovey-dovey.
“Did my orc know he was my brother?” she asked.
“No,” Jonathan said, a little surprised. [i]“Your brother ordered us to call him something else than his real name, he wished not to be noticed.”
“Good. You won’t tell the shaman the truth now, either. You know how rabid orcs are about their family. I don’t want him to know that I killed my own brother.” [/i]
Jonathan watched her for a moment, then smirked.
“So you’re worried that the orc we certainly didn’t risk our souls to save would get angry at you-”
At Sarah’s shriek and the sound of wrestling – with clattering bones – Dor’ash sharply looked around. Then he just tiredly rolled his eyes.
“For the love of the spirits, would you leave that for later?” he grumbled and turned back to his meal, with no real understanding of why Sarah had shoved Jonathan to the ground and tried to rip his lips off.
‘-‘
It wasn’t until the next day that Dor’ash got a chance to speak with Sarah alone. Jonathan hovered around her all the time, until she told him to take his stalking mother hen worry and stick it somewhere painful.
Perhaps Dor’ash could have voiced his concerns even with Jonathan present, but deep down he understood that this was something he had to ask her about in private. Her strange behavior went beyond anything he had seen before, and it not so much disturbed him as honestly worried him.
She was walking somewhere, a little ways away from the camp, when he walked forwards to intercept her.
“Sarah?”
“Mh?”
Stopping, she turned an expressionless face towards him. Too expressionless. Had she been waiting for this?
Dor’ash watched her very closely as he let hear what had been bothering him for quite a while.
“The way Patrick spoke to you in the temple… ” and her fingers twitched, although her face didn’t move, “… you knew each other, didn’t you?”
Her answer was not too quick, but it sounded stilted, as if she had rehearsed the phrase inside her head.
“He was honored within the Apothecary Society. We had some business in the past.” The remains of her eyebrows sunk towards the leather straps covering her eyes, as he kept watching her. Finally she added, in a terse voice, “What?”
True that there had not been many words exchanged between the two Forsaken. Yet, the things Patrick had said, the possessive way he gripped Sarah, and her morbid glee at his death… she wasn’t telling the truth, not all of it by far.
What did he do to you?
Judging the age of an undead often seemed neigh impossible, unless they were freshly dead. Their decay caused wrinkles and folds in sagging skin, flesh sunk inwards and hair faded to grayish or oddly colored wisps to remove any sign of youth. They all looked old.
How many years had Sarah seen when she died? In Dor’ash’s eyes she would always be small and reedy, but she looked no shorter than the average Forsaken or human woman. A young adult? Or older? True that he had seen her soul trapped inside that orb, and it had shown her as a young woman – but he could not tell if that had been an accurate image.
Dor’ash shook his head and shrugged.
“Very well, if you say so,” he said, although it left a bad taste in his mouth. There was something very important here, the nervous whisper of the spirits told him so. He didn’t feel comfortable faced with secrets, especially not from somebody he regarded as a close friend. But he couldn’t force her to talk. Friendship goes two ways.
“That I do,” she said and started to walk away.
Letting out a sigh, Dor’ash watched her go. After a moment he turned and opened one of his travel bags to check on his supplies, just to get his mind off its unsettling course.
The faint smell of death grew stronger again, and her soft steps crunched the drying grass beneath her feet. He straightened up and turned around to face her once more.
Her expression was unreadable.
“Fine,” she said. “Patrick knew me when we were alive. He would have just loved to tell me all about it, too, but I wouldn’t let him.”
He watched her for a moment, wondering if she had ever been in a position to tell Patrick anything.
“It just sounded odd, the things he said,” Dor’ash finally said. “And I’ve never seen you look so happy causing somebody’s death.”
A sardonic half-smile tugged at Sarah’s lips.
“I really wanted him to shut up, for the longest time,” she said, then stepped closer and rapped her knuckles against the leather armor covering Dor’ash’s chest, smirking. “Besides, he was messing with my pet.”
“Heh.” Dor’ash chuckled, her familiar, jocular tone pushing him to relax a little. “Yes, thanks for the save back there.”
“Eh. I just figured that saving you right there would be less messy than running to the Warchief, yelling ‘they’ve got one of your shamans in the Undercity dungeons’ at the top of my voice. I wouldn’t want to ruin this beautiful alliance between the Forsaken and the Horde, just for your sake.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You would have played tattle-tale, though?” he wondered.
“Oh, bah.” She tilted her head against his chest, looking up at him in that mock-coquette way she sometimes adopted. “Let’s just say I would have seriously considered it.”
With that, she gave him a smirk and then walked off again. He watched her as she strode away.
You have a living brother who mourns you.
But no, he would not tell her that. Not even when he felt like a thief hiding something from the past, which rightfully should have been hers. Yet, if she never knew that she once had something like that…
Was it better to not know the past, really? To not be sure, and always wonder?
He still didn’t know what to make of Patrick’s actions and words, but he could brave a guess. Then, Sarah probably did the same, if she had not lied. Maybe she did know for sure, and just didn’t want to share.
Sarah crouched a little while walking, due to that bad spine she insisted on blaming on an unwise question and the Warchief. Crouched, but walked with determination and confidence.
And then, what have you forgotten aside from your brother Simon? Were you old enough to be married?
He couldn’t know, but it seemed like the most probable truth.
Epilogue
“Ah, Sarah.”
The crouching figure leaned on his walking staff, illuminated from behind by the Bunsen burners below vials and bottles of bubbling liquid. In the background, machines continued to buzz. Chains continued to creak, weighed down with huge, decaying body parts for new abominations. Thin shadows slunk across the large room on their own businesses, and discussions were held in low voices.
“Master Faranell,” Sarah said, bowing her head in greeting.
He shifted slightly.
“The news reached us quickly,” he said, studying her face. “Your brother’s death must have been a heavy blow.”
“Yes.” Her hands curled into fists. Behind her, Jonathan stepped a little closer as if to offer silent support.
The master apothecary slowly nodded.
“It was a blow to the Society as well, of course,” he said. “We will recover, but both Patrick and Lloyd were deeply involved in our work.”
Around them, some of the conversations stilled when people caught the names and realized just what this was about.
“I know that,” Sarah said. “Both Jonathan-” the other mage grimly nodded, “- and I regret that we couldn’t stop Magus Rimtori.”
“I don’t suppose you could tell me what happened, even in private?” Faranell said, motioning at the open room and the apothecaries who didn’t even try to hide that they were listening.
Sarah pursed her mouth. Both she and Jonathan shook their heads.
“You must believe me, Master Faranell,” Sarah said, lowering her voice, “what happened was something so shocking, that Lady Sylvanas must decide whether it can be known to all.”
He gave her a long, hard look.
“This elf…” he finally said, “is it true that she found a way to imprison your soul and control your body like a puppet?”
“Yes.” Sarah placed a tone of finality, but also honest dread in that single word. Dor’ash had told her that the other Forsaken in Azshara had actually sounded frightened at the sight of her animated body, and Rimtori’s attempt to draw more souls. She knew from experience that they had ample reason to be afraid of that.
Being undead had its uses – she would never sleep, and therefore never have nightmares about being trapped in that glass ball.
Some of the listeners nervously growled, and Faranell nodded. He, and they, would read into that answer and draw their own conclusions about what the elf had done, and why Patrick and Lloyd were dead.
“Master Faranell,” Jonathan said in a low voice, stepping closer, “I must confess my guilt to you and all the higher apothecaries. When I learned that Sarah had been taken captive, I sought Master Patrick out for help. I hoped only that he would gather soldiers to our aid, and I never dreamed that he would chose to take part in the fighting himself.” He bowed his head. “Not only did I fail to defend him against the elf’s trap, it was my fault that he was there in the first place.”
“Who could’ve known-”
Sarah stopped herself and touched his arm, shaking her head.
“No, that’s true,” Faranell agreed, grimly but not unkindly. “We all knew what he was capable of.” He turned to Sarah again. “My condolences, and those of the other higher apothecaries as well. I know how loyal you were to your brother.”
“Yes, Sarah, I know you don’t want to hear about our lives, but you’re going to hear me out about this one thing.”
“I owed him a great deal,” she said, bowing her head to hide her expression. “I could never repay my debt to him.”
“He forgave you, didn’t he?” Faranell said, almost softly but not really.
“He said so,” she replied, head still bowed, “but I always felt as if he never truly could, even after all he did for me after he found me awakened. I tried-” she paused and gnashed her teeth audibly, then snarled, bitterly, “and now this!”
“So that you know where you and I stand with each other.”
“A loss for all of us, indeed,” Faranell agreed.
“How great is the damage of this loss, Sir?” Jonathan asked. “They did have assistants that can take over their work, I hope?”
“Yes, do not worry about that.” The master apothecary looked at Sarah, who had straightened up a little bit. “It would have been suitable to have you pick up Patrick’s legacy, but I’m afraid your skills simply don’t support such a promotion in the Society.”
Sarah shook her head.
“No, Master Faranell,” she said, “I full well know that I could never measure up to Patrick’s talent. I’ll continue to work in the field.”
“You were the smallest and the weakest of all of us. So when the plague came, you were the one who died first.”
“Is there any poison that needs immediate testing?” she added as an afterthought, jaw clenched.
Faranell snorted, but as he did so he nodded understanding.
“I do believe we may have something,” he said. “Come back here after you have spoken with Lady Sylvanas and I’ll have the vials prepared for transport.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“And because of that, you were the first one to rise up again. I was sick too, by then, but…”
Sarah took a step back and bowed her head.
“We’re waiting for an audience with Lady Sylvanas, so we better go,” she said.
“Of course. I’ll be waiting.”
Waving them off, though politely, Faranell turned back to his experiments. Sarah and Jonathan turned too, walking towards the stairs and up the steps leading out of the research lab. Some glowing, yellow gazes followed them for a little while, but then the apothecaries all returned to their duties.
When they were out, and walking along the bubbling green slime filling the canals of the Undercity, Jonathan touched Sarah’s shoulder. They exchanged glances, didn’t dare to snicker or smile in relief in case somebody watched, but the understanding was there.
Phew.
They walked for a few more steps, and Jonathan’s hand slipped away, before he spoke.
“Does your orc even know that you’re in the Society?”
“No.” She shook her head, pursing her mouth. “There are many things it’s best he doesn’t know about.”
“You killed me, Sarah.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. A lumbering abomination passed them, each step underlined with the splat and slurp of moving, exposed intestines. It matched the lazy bubbling of the slime.
“You’re coddling him,” Jonathan commented.
“What he doesn’t know won’t make him think unpleasant things about me,” Sarah said, daring a disdainful sneer.
“Do you understand?”
The other mage snorted, half smirking too. Sarah might or might not believe that he was actually fooled by her talking like that about Dor’ash.
He never was.
Well that put Sarah’s murder-by-demon of Patrick into a new perspective, didn’t it? :mwahaha:
I still have to tinker with their meeting with Sylvie, then we’re done with this and can move on to the soap opera
I changed Dor’ash’s reaction at Sarah’s killing of Rimtori for the final draft - now it goes:
Dor’ash had seen far worse things in his days, and he well knew that Sarah had a sadistic streak. However, this cheerful cruelty made his stomach turn. She often spoke of horrible things she [i]would like[/i] to do – but never acted on. It screamed against her carefree nature, proved things he’d never been able to believe about her.
What had Rimtori done to her to draw that out, more than just sucking Sarah’s soul out of her body? He probably didn’t want to know.
And there’s a mental comment from him when he jokes with her about Fuzzik: “She was Sarah again.”
Aaah he’s such a sucker. I wuv him. Unfortunately, here comes the beginning of the downwards spiral 
A steady stream of messengers always waited for audience outside of the Royal Quarters. There were people of all the Horde’s races, though, of course, mostly Forsaken. Blood elves came second in numbers. It made Sarah’s fingers twitch.
The small, Forsaken cleric Jonathan and Sarah spoke with had not moved a muscle when they explained that they needed to speak with Lady Sylvanas alone. At their insistence, he had finally conceded to pass this wish on to the Banshee Queen, and she would decide whether or not it would be granted.
They could only hope.
After they returned from the Apothecarium, the two mages still had to wait for nearly an hour before they were admitted to see Lady Sylvanas. A small group of guards silently brought the couple through the large, circular room where the queen and Varimathras usually resided, and through a small door hidden behind one of the dark curtains on the wall.
The fact that Varimathras wasn’t in the audience hall either did not feel very reassuring, as the question then was where exactly he had gone.
A short corridor on the other side of the door led to another, smaller room. In a way, it was not much different from the audience hall save the size – circular and similarly designed. Lady Sylvanas stood in the center of it, on a round stone podium. Her bow and quiver of arrows hung over her back, always ready for a battle.
Cruel, red eyes gazed down from below her hood, as Jonathan and Sarah kneeled down at the edge of the podium, bowing their faces towards the floor.
“For your sake, this better be important,” the Dark Lady said. “I do not usually meet with just anybody in here.”
“I swear, my Queen,” Jonathan said, and Sarah murmured agreement. “We would never make such an audacious request unless it was important.”
“Hmm.”
The sound of feet clacking against the floor, leaving, and then the door closing announced that the guards left.
“Now,” Sylvanas said, as cold as before, “what is this crucial report you have to give me in private?”
Sarah began the story, as she had been involved from the very beginning. Only as they reached the gathering of troops and battle in Azshara did Jonathan take over, then the two of them interchanged as suited the report.
They twisted the truth as they had planned together – in this version, Patrick’s doomguard also attacked Jonathan, as he was not of the Society and when Sarah questioned this, she was branded a traitor of Varimathras’ cause. From there they only defended themselves.
Sylvanas said nothing, and for a moment after Sarah finally ended the story there was silence. The two mages still had not looked up. They could not gauge any reaction from the look on the Lady’s face.
Finally she spoke, voice expressionless.
“And this orc, who is he?”
“Dor’ash Coldbane is a shaman of the Frostwolf clan, my Queen,” Sarah said. “He is in Orgrimmar now, reporting this to the Warchief. Forgive us, there was no way to stop him from going there, not without notice.”
Jonathan nodded, silent.
“That,” Sylvanas said, voice low and dangerous, “will put a strain on our alliance with the orcs.”
“Forgive us, Dark Lady” Jonathan echoed Sarah. “For what it is worth, Coldbane seemed to accept the truth that those warlocks were only interested in Varimathras’ favor.”
“Even so, it will give the Warchief reason to doubt our loyalty to the Horde,” Sylvanas said. “Thrall can be reasoned with. However, if this Coldbane spreads this story amongst other orcs, it will become a problem.”
It was useless to claim that Dor’ash wasn’t one to gossip.
Sarah’s blackened tongue wet her cold lips. Technically needless, a nervous habit she couldn’t remember from life. As she spoke again, she bowed her head even lower.
“My Queen, if I may be so bold… if you wish for Coldbane to be silenced, please allow me to handle it.”
Silence.
None of them needed to breathe, and nobody moved.
“Why should I grant this request?” Sylvanas finally asked. There were no feelings to be read in her voice, not even curiosity.
Sarah still did not move.
“Coldbane has been of great use to me in my travels,” she said. “For that, should you desire his passing, I wish to grant him the mercy of a quick death.”
“If he is a shaman, do you honestly believe that you could deal with him alone?”
“He is fool enough to sleep in my presence.” Sarah’s hard fingertips scratched softly against the cold stone floor, only the whisper of a sound. “The spirits may warn him, but if in enemy territory I should have no problem poisoning him.”
“But he must have many friends in the Horde who knows that he travels with a Forsaken,” Sylvanas said. “You may come under suspicion if he disappears, and thus, since he has already shared the tale of what happened in Azshara, so would we all. It would only make the situation worse.”
Hesitance? Not in her voice. No. Planning for silence. How to go about it.
“I have travelled into dangerous territory with him before, my Queen,” Sarah said. She had not rehearsed saying any of this, but she had always known what to say when the need came. “If we went into the Plaguelands, or Tanaris, or even Outland or any such region, nobody would think twice if neither of us were ever seen again by any orc, troll or tauren.”
“Not the Plaguelands,” Sylvanas said. “That is too close to our territory, it would seem suspicious.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Sarah said, still as a statue.
Silence settled over the dark room once again. The two kneeling figures waited for their undead elf queen to make her decision, and they could have waited for days if need be.
Finally, Sylvanas spoke again.
“You have done well to report this possible betrayal to me. Varimathras shall not know of it.”
“Thank you, my Queen.”
Jonathan and Sarah spoke in near union.
“As for the orc, the damage is already done with his report to the Warchief,” Sylvanas said. “If he died now, even under likely circumstances, it would be a cause of distrust we cannot afford for the time being.”
Bony fingertips stroke the floor. Twitchy, tiny motions. Despite the distance, the Banshee Queen might still have seen it.
“Rather than silencing him right away, it would be wise to keep him alive for a while,” Sylvanas continued. “But you will deal with him the moment I say so.”
“On your word, my Queen,” Sarah said, voice as steady as ever. “I will not fail you.”
Though neither one of them would admit it, leaving the Royal Quarter felt like walking out of a prison. Still no sight of Varimathras’ either – later they would learn that he had been out, spying and stretching his wings. At least, that was his usual excuse. No one could say if it was true or if he had other plans.
With much lighter steps than when they had walked towards the audience chambers, Sarah and Jonathan headed away and towards the Trading Quarter and a tavern. Alcohol might not do much for them, but some things simply demand a drink.
The relief lasted, but as they sat down and drank in silence, it began to stretch and thin.
Sarah didn’t see how Jonathan watched her over the brim of his mug.
“Copper for your thoughts,” he said after a moment. When she glanced up, he had organized his face to look perfectly calm.
Shrugging, Sarah held out her hand to demand payment. He reached into a pocket and then dropped a small, brown coin in her palm, smirk on the remains of his lips.
“Just trying not to lay up a strategy,” Sarah said once she had added the copper to her bag of money. “I don’t understand exactly how the spirits work, but I better not give them a chance to read my mind.”
“They would be wise to stay far away from that, methinks,” Jonathan said.
“Heh!”
Their mugs clashed, and they drank to Jonathan’s wisdom. It was the last time they ever spoke of that business. Sarah never did realize – perhaps due to wishful thinking, or awareness of how all her fellow Forsaken normally viewed life – that Jonathan knew. Always knew. Yet he remained silent about it, never commented, never tried to talk “sense” with her.
There are simply things which a man has to realize he has no business meddling with.
Sarah relaxed after the toast, and soon they were trading nasty jokes.
Her mind, however, burned with the exact knowledge of the tactic she would use to deal with Dor’ash, the day her queen ordered her to.
Knowing that oaf, she may very well have to fight him while telling him what he needed to know. Otherwise, he might not get anything done like he should. But it should not be too much of a problem to give him space enough to smash her to bits after learning that he had to go into hiding from the Forsaken. The most important thing would be to make sure no spying extra assassin trailed them when the time came.
[i]You can’t do that. He’ll never slink away and be safe, he’ll make it to Orgrimmar and you will have betrayed your people.
I will tell him to burn my remains. I will be gone forever. It won’t matter then.
And I really don’t like[/i] any elves.
Sarah laughed at one of Jonathan’s jokes, one dipping dangerously into the not work safe territory, and shoved him off his chair when he started to dig the story even deeper. Cackling, he climbed back up and waved at the ghastly bartender for another drink.
Watching his back, Sarah let her smirk drop for a moment.
She had already decided, long ago, that she wanted Dor’ash to save her from the Lich King the day she began to fade out of her own control again. The final result was the same.
I won’t die forsaken.
The End.
Well now… that’s definitely one of my darkest endings ever. I’m such a sap that I always have to end on a happy or at least relieved note normally. Oi.
Alas, poor Jonathan… he knows he’s playing second fiddle in Sarah’s rotten little heart, but what can ya do?
I realized just last night that this story is pretty much the turning point not only for Dor’ash and Sarah’s overall plot, but their fun and games as well
I think it’s a good idea. The newly-found urgency will allow you to test your characters and show off how they react when thrown off-course. The ending augmented Sarah’s personality and there are many time bombs ticking in her relationship with Dor’ash.
As night fell, campfires were lit around the now better fortified camp.
Sounds a bit stilted for an introductory sentence. How about ‘newly-fortified’?
I wonder if you love the word “grimly” or if I’m the culprit for constantly noticing. Probably b)
“If he got hold of a spell like this, he would have a dangerous advantage if he truly plans on betraying the Dark Lady someday.”
The two "if"s are a bit close. You could use “should”.
“Good. You won’t tell the shaman the truth now, either. You know how rabid orcs are about their family. I don’t want him to know that I killed my own brother.”
After they returned from the Apothecarium, the two mages still had to wait for nearly an hour before they were admitted to see Lady Sylvanas
Why still? Were they expected to breeze through the lines by virtue of having spoken to the apothecary guy?
“Copper for your thoughts,” he said after a moment. When she glanced up, he had organized his face to look perfectly calm.
Shrugging, Sarah held out her hand to demand payment. He reached into a pocket and then dropped a small, brown coin in her palm, smirk on the remains of his lips.
Good idea showing her take the coin. Makes it more memorable.
Sarah laughed at one of Jonathan’s jokes, one dipping dangerously into the not work safe territory
I’d expect most undead jokes to be not safe for work. They are are probably safe for their lines of work, anyway.