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.”
cue music for change of direction Nice performance of the Sara and Jon troupe in the epilogue.
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.
Yeeeah, these two characters are definitely going in a direction I never dreamed when I first thought them up. It’s a real joy when you see your babies develop 
As for “grimly”, I think you’re correct about that I’m overusing it XD I’ll try not to do that in the future. Your other suggestions are duly noted as well
And now, for completion’s sake…
Dear fic: You suck. Love, your author.
Sucks due to the fact that I don’t like writing action scenes, and this one is… raaar.
I honestly hadn’t planned anything of this caliber, but then my beta helped me get so many interesting little scenarios for this lil’ two-vs-two… oi. Specifically Sarah’s fizzling Dragon’s Breath. Ouch.
So, here’s the stuff that I hadn’t written before. Fear my attempts to get in-game mechanics to work half-decently.
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 the doomguard, 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.”
Roaring, the beast swung its arms and the sword. Standing too close to the walls of the temple hampered its mobility further, however, and both Lloyd and Rimtori managed to get out of reach. Lloyd backed, a boiling, sickly purple light rising around his fingers as he growled a spell. The same glow whipped up around the doomguard, but it didn’t seem to notice in its fury. It noticed when Lloyd’s spell changed from purple to a boiling darkness, however, and a bolt of anti-light pierced the massive, red chest. The demon howled, tearing at the ice and flailing to reach the tormentor, but it couldn’t free itself quick enough.
Lloyd’s second blast hit the doomguard and it crumbled, its body growing fuzzy around the edges – but in its last moment it looked towards Patrick’s remains, and the final expression on its face was one of triumph. Then its sword fell from its hand and its legs buckled, the ice cruelly holding it up. The demon quickly grew transparent and faded from the world, leaving only a smell of sulfur and two great hollows in the big smear of ice on the ground.
The two undead pairs glared across the ice, now that there wasn’t a demon to block the view any longer.
“Right then…” Jonathan said, looking at Sarah as she stepped up beside him. “Ready for the autumn cleaning, honey?”
The insanity had blown over, replaced by a collected smirk.
“Of course, darling,” she sweetly said. “For shame! Those carpets definitely need a beating.”
“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?” A pale, bluish glow rose up around his and Sarah’s robes, marking their raised arcane defenses.
“You killed Master Patrick!”
“And you’re not invited to the line dance on his grave,” Sarah said.
“Oh, but he and I are 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.”
He sounded distracted as he spoke, fingers wiggling against the staff.
“Pathetic,” Rimtori snapped from her corner of the temple, eying all three of them.
The fact that they ignored her probably did not make her any more pleased.
Lloyd’s hand flew towards a pocket in his robe, other arm lashing out as he snarled a magic command. Another shadow bolt seared across the temple, barely missing Sarah’s head as she ducked aside. Jonathan waved at her as they both darted in a direction each, enveloping her in a greenish, second protective glow.
“Oh shut up!” Sarah snarled, clawing at the air in Lloyd’s direction with a flaring hand.
He couldn’t duck that even if he tried, second spell abruptly cut off as Sarah’s attack locked his tongue. Clawing at his throat and shooting her a murderous glare, he clasped something in one hand and made a whipping motion with the arm. Foul light sprung from the closed fist and hit the ground, forming a circle.
It was gone in the next moment, but the low giggle announced the arrival of a succubus even if she instantly disappeared from plain view, cloaking herself in invisibility.
Fire balls sprung from Sarah’s hands as she leaped back and forth, knowing there was a whip incoming which she wouldn’t see until it hit her. Still muted, Lloyd ducked and rolled to avoid the fire, his face scrunched up with rage.
“Any time now, sweetheart!” Sarah grunted.
Jonathan’s reply was to throw out his arms with a wordless shout, staff in one hand and sparkling with blue light. At this movement the ice before his feet shattered, tearing up half of the frozen water that had kept the doomguard stuck. The shards spun through the air as if drawn by a whirlwind, becoming liquid in an instant and taking a shape. A pair of ornate gold bracers condensed around the emerging creation’s arms.
“Find the hidden succubus, if ya please!” Jonathan called over the sound of rushing water.
The water elemental’s massive arm swept out, cascading clear liquid across the entire temple – which both Sarah and Rimtori voiced protests at, and Lloyd, still with his tongue locked up, angrily grunted at. Dor’ash could only shake his head and blink, trying to get rid of the water in his eyes.
It worked, however – the succubus’ angry squeal and her invisible body catching a huge splash of water gave away her position. Her veiling spell shattered. Unfortunately, this all revealed that she was practically standing on Jonathan. Quick as lightning she changed grip on her whip, taking it in both hands and throwing it over the mage’s head, down to his throat. Softly giggling, revealing sharp, pearl white teeth, she pulled and twisted her hands over each other just behind his neck. The barbed length of rope dug into Jonathan’s throat, cutting grey skin open. He flailed, blindly fumbling for the whip - didn’t need to breathe to ‘live,’ but if he couldn’t breathe then he could not speak, could not chant the spells he needed.
The water elemental gave a bubbling roar and tumbled towards the succubus to save his master, but she dove aside, dragging the struggling Jonathan along to the ground.
Though cursing, Sarah didn’t let her boyfriend’s troubles distract her as she kept sending waves of fire against Lloyd, who despite his ducking and soaked state had gotten quite a few burns by now.
Unfortunately, focusing on trying to burn him to a cinder made Sarah forget to count the seconds of how long the counterspell would last. Black tendrils burst through her attacks, swept down and then up around her before she could duck. The protective glow around her desperately intensified but her attacks ceased as she shrieked in fury, clawing at the black, corrupting taint digging into her skin.
“Now then…” Lloyd growled. At his wave the dark snakes faded, but a misty glow remained, connecting the stains on Sarah’s face and arms with the warlock. He made a grabbing motion, and then flung black bolt after black bolt after her, forcing her back as she had done with him moments before – but with a lot more force.
Sarah stumbled as she tried to avoid the attacks, the corruption in her body draining her while granting Lloyd even more power for his dark magic.
“And are you going to help or will I have the delight of slowly killing you as well?” Lloyd snarled at Rimtori.
She snorted, sneering.
“You seem to be doing wonderfully on your own,” she pointed out. However, perhaps deciding that it might be wise to not anger a furious warlock even more – especially as it seemed he would still be quite powerful at the close at hand end of the battle – she raised her hands and sent a volley of flames into the water elemental.
The aquatic creature roared again, distracted from its attempt to drown the succubus with a rotating torrent from its arms. It spun around and sent a blast of water towards Rimtori instead, but she froze the attack in midair with an ice spell. The force of the impact sent the block of ice crashing onto the ground.
Behind the water elemental, however, the succubus had gotten half-drowned enough to be so disoriented that her grip relented. Jonathan squirmed free, fighting his way up on his knees even though his drenched robe pulled him down. The succubus struggled as well, spitting water and gasping for air, until Jonathan slapped his hand towards her chest and snarled. An icicle as thick as his arm flashed into existence and bore into the female demon’s chest. She screamed, arching upwards and writhing for a moment before slumping down. Like the doomguard had done, she faded out of existence.
Lloyd snarled in rage, his blasts of shadow magic slowing as he twisted his face towards Jonathan.
“I see we’re going to have to take turns killing you two!” the warlock hissed, then sneered at the sight of the male mage struggling to get to his feet, trembling and supporting himself on his staff.
The warlock’s attention was called back as Sarah leapt towards him, hand lashing out. Flames whipped across his chest and he recoiled, raising his hands instinctively. A mad sneer touched her face as she planted her face firmly on the ground and threw up both arms.
Above her head, a huge, transparent dragon’s head appeared, white hot fire flickering around its teeth as the great maw opened.
Lloyd chuckled, and Sarah’s triumphant grin turned into the shock of horrible suspicion. The dragon spewed forth its fire, searing the ground and blackening the pillar behind the warlock. It was so hot that that the chained Dor'ash felt it despite his distance. But as the flames died and the apparition hovering above Sarah vanished, Lloyd stood there untouched, enclosed in a fading, felfire-green shield.
Sarah swayed, rasping out a curse – that last attack had taken almost all she had left by the look of it. The black spots on her skin pulsated as she stumbled back.
“The Nether is stronger than you, little mage,” Lloyd said.
Jonathan staggered towards the two of them, growling and picking up speed as he raised one hand. In the background, the water elemental was still keeping Rimtori busy – or rather, she was keeping it busy.
Lloyd was quicker than Jonathan. He straightened, drawing in breath. What left his mouth had nothing of his voice – it was an unearthly howl worthy of a demon, filled with mind-numbing shadow magic which momentarily colored the very air dark.
Even though he wasn’t even in the direct path of the spell, a wave of unnatural, aimless dread poured onto Dor’ash’s already very real fears and he uselessly writhed against his bonds, unable to help himself.
Sarah held up for a second before she shrieked, not in rage but fear. The howl continued until she fell to her knees, clutching her head and trembling like a leaf in the storm. Lips moving and forming broken words that didn’t make sense in any language, only a frantic, mad murmur.
“Hmph.” Lloyd snorted, raising his hands to finish off the terrified mage.
Water sloshed over him, throwing him aside and breaking his focus. The water elemental continued the attack, but aimed its second blast towards his own master instead, sending Jonathan out of his magic-induced, fearful recoil. He reeled towards Sarah instead, falling over just in front of her pathetic curl.
Scrambling to his knees, Jonathan looked around just in time to see his elemental take the full brunt of Rimtori’s next huge fire ball right in the back. Gurgling, the water creature twisted, boiling apart. It broke with a huge splash, bracelets hitting the ground and shattering. Lifeless water flooded the frozen, scorched ground.
But though he was down, the blow had apparently knocked sense back into Jonathan. With a snarl on his lips he got to his feet, facing Rimtori and the cursing Lloyd.
“Sarah!” he snapped, then unceremoniously knocked his staff against her head and shoulders.
“Agh!” On the second smack she shot up straight, gasping.
That ought to prove to all involved that the Nether, while strong, has severe limitations as well. Pretty sad not being strong enough to withstand a few baps to the head.
“Shield me!” Sarah snarled, climbing to her feet. Her voice was high-pitched, but the rage was back in it.
Lloyd was already drawing his hands back to start with the hail of shadow bolts again. Grunting, Jonathan stepped up in front of Sarah, raising his staff in both hands. As he quickly muttered, the air condensed in a bubble of ice around him, spreading far enough to offer some protection to the woman using him as cover. She raised one hand and turned the other palm towards the ground, moving her feet apart. A wind with no natural origin fluttered her hair, already dried by the heat of her own magic.
“Stop her!” Lloyd shouted at Rimtori, who bared her white teeth but cautiously moved along the walls of the temple to get at Sarah.
Jonathan’s head turned back and forth, the glow of his hands illuminating the ice around him as he tried to be prepared for both opponents at the same time. Behind his back Sarah seemed blind and deaf to everything, the wind fluttering her hair with more strength. Then the air shimmered around her, indigo wisps weaving out of nothing and whirling into Sarah’s body in a desperate gamble to siphon magical stamina right out of the very atmosphere.
Seeing that Rimtori was just about in position to have an open shot at Sarah, Jonathan –although he knew that it was probably not a good idea, and also that he would feel whatever came next in the morning, provided he survived – sent a bolt of ice right through his shield without harming it, and at the elf’s feet. She leaped backwards, casting her own spell but missing spectacularly as she slipped on the spreading ice and stumbled against one of the pillars.
Ice shattered, water hissed and Jonathan winced as he spun to see a growing hole in his defense, magical, undying fire eating a hole in the barrier. He raised his hand to mend it, only to be struck with what tore through the opening. The staff fell out of his grip and he tumbled against the inside of his shield, scratching at it, howling in pain of a sort even Forsaken could feel. A sickly green, twisting rope dug right into his chest, pulsating like a vein as it sucked the life right out of Jonathan and into Lloyd. The warlock straightened, the burns visible under his tattered robes melting away.
And then there was a twinkling sound, and Sarah appeared out of thin air right behind the warlock. With a shriek she grabbed his hair and wrenched, tearing handfuls of the meager locks free but managing to force his eyes and focus onto something completely different. The foul drain spell snapped, the ends twisting as if alive for a second until turning to smoke and dissipating. Jonathan tumbled against his barrier and onto the ground, clutching his chest.
Rimtori hesitated while Lloyd and Sarah cursed, wrenching at each other – finally she stepped back, hands half raised.
Flames flared around Sarah’s hands, searing Lloyd as much as her – Stranglethorn Vale flashed past in Dor’ash’s mind, of that time when she set herself on fire as a distraction. She would do it again.
“Jonathan!” she shouted, locking her arms under Lloyd’s armpits and blindly scratching at him with burning hands.
A trembling hand rose inside of the ice barrier, shaking until Jonathan grabbed his wrist to steady himself. Searing winds bearing razor sharp icicles churned from his palm, crashing in full force into Lloyd who howled – not like a demon, but with his normal voice filled with rage and pain. His body took the brunt of the attack, shielding Sarah.
Daggers of ice dug into his throat, and he slumped.
Sarah wrestled him aside and sent a fireball flying into his back for good measure. He twitched, groaning, and laid still. Scrambling to her feet, she aimed a kick at his neck, but Lloyd didn’t react.
Forsaken don’t fall unconscious.
Jonathan’s barrier cracked and fell apart around him, and he almost fell forwards but caught himself on his hands.
“Wonderful job, princess,” Sarah said in a hoarse voice, clapping her hands. It sounded like a bunch of castanets rattling.
“Aw, you haven’t called me that in ages.” Jonathan tiredly rolled his shoulders, but grinned.
I think you’re grimly returning to writing more. Lloyd doesn’t look like a push-over now; nice joke about the Nether.
It was so hot that Dor’ash felt it despite his distance.
If you said “that the chained Dor’ash” the story would benefit twofold. First, the reader would remember where Dor’ash is. Second, you’ll be replacing the chained princess in bikini-chainmail with an angry, chained green orc, and that’s fun.
Ahh, excellent that Lloyd came out looking a lot tougher than before, he was supposed to be a badass. Just like Patrick, except he fell for a rather stupid trick. Well, SOMEBODY has to die when a doomguard is summoned XD
If you said “that the chained Dor’ash” the story would benefit twofold. First, the reader would remember where Dor’ash is. Second, you’ll be replacing the chained princess in bikini-chainmail with an angry, chained green orc, and that’s fun.
DONE. :mwahaha:
Hold on, my love! Aunt Sarah’s here to save you!
Great, moving on to the next one.