“Broken people don’t hide from their monsters. Broken people let themselves be eaten.”
NSfW with some dark /mature themes.
There were only so many ways to kill a man. But to minimize the damage required careful planning and as Windsong quietly closed the door behind her. The soon to be dead man had several years to fix up his home. Walls had been carefully erected, sealing the elements outside and leaving a decently sized entry room to double as his relaxation area. Lit up by arcane lights the erected walls were hollowed just enough to allow for bookshelves. The books bore gold and silver lettering, looking like they were bound in leather. Leather chairs were in a circle around a dog clawed table.
A rich carpet decorated the floor. The spell that had hid her for so long broke and the feeling of dry cold water against her skin vanished as it faded away. Leaving her visible and standing in the lobby. As she stepped onto the carpet her boots made no sound. The smell of rotting flesh and the sounds of someone hard at work came from a doorway that revealed a way down. What an easy way to get to the workshop.
She allowed a grin to come on her face. It faded quickly as she noticed the too small skeleton skull on the dog clawed table next to a bright beaded bracelet. She could make the start of a name on the tiny blocks. N-A- Quickly she looked away, refusing to read the rest. Taking a deep breath she faced the only other doorway in the room. “Probably doesn’t get any visitors.”
She murmured and then took a deep breath, focusing on her magic and opening her mind up. She could never describe it well. It wasn’t anything easily described with words. Words would define it, give it limits and set walls of understanding around it. To see the countless possibilities and decisions that could be made. Everything looked different, spontaneous and heavily shaded by red. She could see the building when it was alive and thriving with Quel’dorei, when the Scourge tore through it, long-dead Farstrider’s fighting for their lives and their corpses hitting the floor. She could feel the cold when it was a dead building, exposed to the elements and feel the sorrow of the ghosts that wandered the village. She saw the building becoming a stronghold, filled with undead- all looking like porcelain dolls. Focusing on the possible future instead she breathed slowly.
She saw herself stepping forward and as she entered the doorway her foot stepped on the trap rune and recoiling as she was set aflame. She saw herself turning away and leaving. Inspecting the books.Squinting she focused on where the rune was, focusing on all the possibilities there. They ran through her mind like the pages of a book turning- all the possible outcomes. Carefully she began to approach the door, fingers twitching. She saw herself stepping through the door successfully, mimicking the possible reality where she walked through the door unharmed. Following the red possibility.
And now she would face the dark spellcaster alone.. It was a sobering thought that, even if she could see what would happen she would still die. The odds were not high in her favor. But it beat bitching and moaning how sad things were. But she had her edge: the Diviner’s sight. She followed down the stairs, keeping her steps quiet and avoiding the magical rune traps. They were everywhere- the floor, the ceiling, the walls leading down to the basement. Following each successful choice the vision’s chose.
When she entered the basement the red possibilities of the future died, fading to grey. Spiders everywhere she looked, covered in grave ashes. Wherever she looked they were at the edge of her vision. Silent and still and ashen grey as solid and real as the beating heart pounding in her ears.
The basement was decorated with the wealth of the dead- their furniture, their items, precious gold, and prized possessions. The elegance and expensive items scattered around the basement were ruined by the corpses stacked in the corner and the dried blood and gore on the floor. A sickly sewer smell that came only from the dead and their corpses.
Windsong didn’t give the fear a chance to build, gathering her courage and walking straight ahead, boots striking the stone floor. The sound echoed in the basement.
“MAGE.” She bellowed. “PREPARE YOURSELF. YOUR DEATH HAS BEEN FORETOLD.” Even expecting the mage to react she felt fear as he turned from the corpse on the table. His long brown hair was tied back in a loose tail and dressed in his black robes and shoes- very stylish compared to her dull enchanted clothing. His shaggy eyebrows and handsome features were highlighted by the dark purple light held in his hand.
A pair of blood-red candles flickered brightly next to him, illuminating the chalk outlines of the circle that surrounded him.
He stared in shock as she began to stride briskly across the room. “How dare you!” Came the shout.
“We need to talk.”
His shock transformed into anger in a heartbeat. He snatched up the wicked looking knife and send unfocused power everywhere. Trying to buy more time. She could see the spell he cast, bracing herself, just before the crates behind her exploded, throwing her against the ground. Pain rain up her leg as she grabbed at the ground. The wood had torn into her leg and she saw her own blood dotting the floor.
The countless possibilities continued to move in front of her but she focused soley on the dark mage.So many red visions moving and changing, all of them the same shade of color. But as the dark mage began to choose an action they faded and the outcome became solid just seconds before his hand lifted and he cursed her. Fire washed over the basement towards her and she tugged her shirt over her head as it washed over her. Flames licked at the back of her hands.
The corpse on the stone coffin coughed and let out a pathetic groan. Alive. The mage looked behind him but there was nowhere to run, no traps in here. The visions keeps moving. So many possibilities, so little time to find the next action and react.
“Using fire to defend yourself? Real cute, eh? All mages learn that in their first month. I’ve been watching you for weeks and what do you do with your talent? Wasted it.”
“Who are you?” His hands begin to move, making arcane gestures. “Death.” To many mages relied on magic, to used to thinking about it. The solve all, end all to a problem. Relying on the speed the enchanted boots gave her she lurched forward, driving her shoulder into his chest, slamming him against the stone coffin he’d been working on. His spell hit her, breaking the enchants that made her clothes as good as real armor. It was all he needed so his dagger could cut through her clothing, leaving a burning red line where it touched.
He moved as she went to knee him in the gut and she caught him in the groin instead. It would have been so much easier just to watch his heart explode or to call for one of her demons to deal with him. Kowlnash would rend him into pieces. Selneri would charm him into killing himself and Hakuum would drain the magic from his being while Naltal would burn him alive. Mezznak would simply wait for her orders.
As she struggled her diviner’s sight left her and it suddenly became much harder to avoid the furious blows the mage threw. Managing to get her hands around his throat she pressed her thumbs against the skin and then up and pressed. She just needed to hold out for a few minutes.
“Die.” She hissed between her teeth. She’d lied to the Magisters for weeks about him. If she’d said anything maybe the owner of the bracelet upstairs would have been alive. He grabbed her wrists to try and pull her away but she leaned forward, putting her weight into it as her hands squeezed.
It was two minutes and a stabbing pain later before his hands began to let go and slow. Three minutes in and the snarling anger and desperation became confusion and gasped sounds. She wasn’t suffocating him but she was. She was causing brain death rather than damage anything else. To much anyway. When he finally gave up his last gasp and the light left his eyes she kept her hands in place for another minute more, unwilling to have the mage wake up.
It was with stiff hands she pulled out the dagger that had buried itself just beneath her flesh at her hips. She leaned against the coffin, breathing heavily and looking around. “-please.” The weak voice came from the corpse on the table. It sent her heart into a rapid thudding against her chest. “Help me. Please.”
Slowly she rose up, using the coffin to help herself up.
The elf on the table was badly abused, bruises and cuts covered his body. His eyes were gone but still he searched for her. “Please.” Came the pitiful sound. “He has my daughter- Nailia.” He kept on. Nailia. There had been a bracelet upstairs that started with an NA. She wasn’t fond of children and lacked that parental instinct but the realization brought bile to her throat.
“Hold on.” She gasped when she could breath. Between the pain and the realization her stomach had no interest in trying to keep calm. “Nailia-” The elf began. “Is fine. With the guards. Sunwell! Just give me a minute.” A soft sigh from the table. “She ran for help. Good girl.” Windsong pressed her hand to her stomach as relieved rambling came from the elf. Maybe the lie gave him some comfort and strength and talking to her as she recovered herself helped him.
“Her mother and siblings are at the house. We were on the way and-” He inhaled slowly. “Thank you, thank you so much. Can you-” The chains clinked. “Nailia- I need to see my children, my wife.” Windsong rose up, grunting at the pain. “Yeah, yeah. It’s probably gonna hurt though- looks like some of those chains dug in.” A happy nod from the elf on the table. “Just stay still.” Another nod though it was weaker than the first.
When the rusted stiletto buried itself in the man’s lower abdomen he didn’t make a sound. Blood slowly began to leak from the wound. She didn’t need any witnesses to this. “Go to your child.” She whispered before turning towards the body. “Mezznak.”
A flicker in her mind responded to the name. “Mezznak.” The shadows wavered, shifting as the voidwalker began to come into the world. “Mezznak.” The darkly glowing eyes looked to her for orders. “The body on the floor, take it. You know where. Clean it. Then stasis.”
Tyleril Silversword 