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deidratatterbell-blog · 8 years ago

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Blue Gloom

Three rings of the bell, Deidra cocked an ear, staring up into the distance of Stormwind. Three rings, it was three in the morning, and she was still up. Still active. Still not asleep.

She sighs, shaking her head and running a hand across her stitched ear. She didn’t know how long it would take before the stitches could be removed. Or... for her face to look the same as it did days ago. Forsaken... crazy worgen... seems everything was out to harm her face. The hand sinks to pick at the scab on her neck a few times, stopping herself before she actually caused it to bleed.

Sitting up from the bench, she adjusts her armor. Serrated, yet sleek, several ‘fangs’ adorn it’s red and black theme. It was designed to be designed to be worn easily, perfect for if she decided to summon the shadows to conceal her.

...the shadows. She’s called upon such magics too much as of late. Her mind brought to the topic, she takes her right glove off, using her claws to expose under her fur. Her fears confirmed, the veins started taking a different hue. Her eyes close, knowledge that the more she uses such magics, the more her own soul becomes damaged, perhaps irredeemably.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a voice cuts through the silence, not from a nearby voice, but from within:

Deidra opens her eyes, the sound of Rhea’s words echoing within. “Where you come from, were people damned for using shadow magics. The kind you used?”

“Yet, you’ve told me how you almost turned on your own allies.”

“...from what you’ve told me, you make it sound as if you were about to go down a route akin to Scourgelord Teyron. Believing yourself in the right, yet harming those you called allies.”

Silence is her reward. Deidra’s eyes turn to night sky, looking up to one of the moons circling Azeroth. “We can’t keep fighting. Not like this. Every time we repel him and his allies, he gets a step closer to inflicting more harm. Command almost burned. Private McCree almost died. ...we lost Stabby...” Hands cover her eyes. She saw it happen, she had the power to have at least gotten in there. At least attempted to stop the blade before it gored the warsaber’s throat.

“You mean flail aimlessly. ...I don’t think I did anything worthwhile against the Pale Rider. Yes, I stopped him from attacking the Commander... but he got away. They -all- got awa-”

<Yes. But we are forming plans this time. You pushed for plans to be put into motion, plans that may have already been on the move, but you did what you could to provide information. Further it, and as Commander Davry noted, communication will win this fight.>

Deidra unsheathes a dagger at her side, staring at the fire elemental core within the center. She attempted to commune with the fragment of the elemental within, but was greeted to silence. ...perhaps she didn’t try hard enough.

“I did what I could, what I was able-”

“Who’s side are you on? Mine, or the devils trying to force me into the ground?”

<I’m playing devil’s advocate.>

“You’re playing at nothing, your confusing me, contradicting yourself within your own points.”

Deidra sheathes the dagger, shaking her head. Why her? Why was this spirit forced into her body of all things? Yes, the spirit knew how to fight, and took control to do so with success, but in the end the beast on the other spectrum is a colder version of herself, with knowledge of a different world.

“We haven’t seen Russ in some time.”

<He’s either gone, or in hiding. Or being productive. Whatever that infers.>

“Detail your thoughts.”

Deidra is reminded of how the last encounter went, moving her feet to move along the edges of Lion’s Rest. No one was around, she felt comfortable talking into the wind and having Rhea answer in her own mind. Heh, effectively she could write it off as narrating to herself, except an actual entity was writing the other side of the story for her.

“...you mentioned once before how Rus- Ailment, was tasked with combating and learning about the Elder Dragon of Death. And he succeeded in his task to a degree. Ultimately the Pact killed Zhaitan, but Ailment speared several developments on how to fight the undead.”

“The undead on Tyria, how different are they from the Scourge?”

Deidra thinks to herself, eyes flicking to the dagger at her side.

“You were focused on fighting the Elder Dragon of the Forest.”

<Yes.>

“So. Would it be a bad idea to seek Ailment for advice, on how to combat the Undead Scourge?”

Silence impales the night, the spirit unresponding for several seconds.

“Aye.”

“I had a feeling, considering his affinity in this world is -blood magic-.”

<...I can sense for him. But know he may be hesitant to aid you. To aid me.>

“I’ll do the talking to him this time.”

“Exactly.”

The spirit within her thought further, Deidra crossing into Cathedral District before the spirit graced her with an answer.

Deidra didn’t know the path she decided for herself. But, she knew an answer is better than no answer. If it had the potential to combat the Undead Scourge, she would take it. She would not let any other lives be ruthlessly ended. And she knows if she were presented with the choice to take the hit for someone else. To protect someone else with her own body.

She would not hesitate to think.

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deidratatterbell-blog · 8 years ago

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Trial and Anticipation

The long hours of the night bore into Deidra, her mind entirely elsewhere as she bid farewell to fellow guardsmen and friends that celebrated the release of the Guard Commander back into service following the trial. As she walked Dwarven District, she veered towards the path leading to the Tram, pressing thoughts on her bed and her mate coursing through her eyes. She halted at the entryway, admiring the Gnomish design of the hallway, her silent feet tilting to and fro. A minute passes, before she turns heel, turning not back to the Golden Keg, but rather in the direction of Old Town.

Stormwind was a city she’s learned to become use to. The smoke billowing from Dwarven was no longer alien after months of seeing the same sights. It became a small comfort to her as she passed into the white stone archway that lead to the canals. She was at the very least thankful her eyes were able to adapt to the dim lights, though the ever present reminder of lamps and tended candles meant her eyes never truly adjusted to the darkness blanketing the city. She willed her feet to hurry along, not wishing to stay alone for too much longer.

An odd reality hit her as she ducked into the second archway of white, the reality that she didn’t enjoy the silence, the ability to glide through the night alone. A tiny grin crept to her face, perhaps her time with her mate has skewed her thoughts? Nevertheless, passing by the Pig and Whistle, she didn’t deem that it was a bad change. Having someone to support her and help with the pressure of everyday life was indeed nice.

Command came into view, and she was thankful it was still intact. She approached it with silence, knowing full well who was still within. The door was locked, but she held a set of keys to allow her access within. Fiddling with the lock a little, it gives way to allow her to creak the door open. Stepping inside, she would quickly lock the door, eyes peering within. A sigh passes through her, “Good,” she thought, no spooks, no unpleasant surprises.

She would be more in a joking matter on such a subject had it not created countless headaches in the past. Some lone pickpocket using the shadows to blend in, sneaking into Command and making out with some valuable drug or possession. Or leaving something instead, those were usually worse. Her mind began to creep towards the feral worgen that... unpleasantly... exploded the other day. She ended up with a rib lodged in her shoulder, but nothing worse than that thankfully. She shakes her head to free her of excess thoughts, putting the keys away. She wore little on her in her off duty attire. Dark colors, with hardened leather on places where she was to likely be struck in a skirmish. Over her armor was several nooks were a potion of health lied. It was better to be safe than dead, she constantly reminded herself.

She presses further into Command, moving forward and heading down to the basement. It was a well divided place, but it held everything necessary to their needs. Medical Bay, an Armory, once before this was also the place where Fenril Moonshadow worked the forge, until that was moved to Westbrooke Garrison. Deidra moves over to the Armory, finding where her armor and weapons were kept. She kept her on-duty uniform presented and firm, but it wasn’t the armor she was looking for, rather what else was kept with her belongings. Fiddling around, she would pull a small piece of parchment from a pouch, bringing it to her eyes.

What was detailed was something she still barely understood... or rather, she herself didn’t know. Another part of her did. It was a drawing with an ink quill, details of a race of creatures held firm. An anatomy alien to that of anything she’s seen on Azeroth, and Deidra would like to believe she’s seen almost all the fauna of the planet. She came back for this to consult about it back home in Ironforge, not here when there was little time to remark on such details.

That was her plan for the night, until a voice barked from behind her. A voice that was unfamiliar, yet still sent chills down her spine; as a part of her knew whom the words came from.

“Checking in rather late Rhea. I hope we can chat tonight, unlike when I had to tend to the Private.”

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Deidra didn’t dare move, eyes still glued to the parchment in her claws. Instead, her body moved for her. Her feet moved with weight uncharacteristic of them, eyes pried from the parchment and staring at the source of the voice. Eyes that no longer held their green hue, but shifted red. Deidra could feel her grip over her own body slipping, instead being replaced by someone else’s reigns.

But she wasn’t numb to her senses. Through the eyes, she could see the figure that barked out at her. A reasonably sized worgen, he stood with red and black armor, heavily weathered and dented, yet still cared for and oiled. Tattered rags contort around the worgen’s waist, forming a half kilt that didn’t completely cover his leg-guards. Where plate armor was absent, scales and mail cover, all except for his head, which was shown and presented highly. Sickeningly green eyes stare at her, the worgen’s right eye a tad dimmer than the other. His arms were crossed, he didn’t move ever since his words echoed.

She knew this person as Russ Foulmoon, but the person in charge of her body now knew him under a different name.

“You picked an odd time to corner me.” She feels her lips muzzle move to form the colder words, words Deidra wouldn’t say, but rather the second spirit clinging to her would dare. Her own spirit, Deidra’s, could only watch as the scene played in front of her, no input of her own to give. This conversation was between the other spirit and this ‘Russ’.

The male worgen shifted his head, shaking it lightly. “Healing and tending to injuries the private endured drained me, I needed time to recover.” He pauses, looking up at the ceiling. “The commander has returned I see, it will be interesting to finally meet him.”

Her teeth curl, she feels her feet take a half step back. “He’s endured a lot through his trials. I would give him time to find himself where he is. The guard breathed a sigh of relief when he was found not guilty of the crimes he was accused of.”

“And you, Rhea?” The green eyed figure raises a brow.

“I respect his tenacity. And his ability to keep the city together.” Her feet move forward, the image of the other worgen shifting closer. “So, what is it that you want Ailment? You’ve been tracking me since you found yourself here, haven’t you?” The voice speaking for Deidra held fast, but she sensed a suppressed fear.

“What I want? ...curious wording.” The armor clad warrior strides forward, circling Deidra to her right. Her red eyes didn’t falter away from his face. “I am more of having questions than demanding anything at this moment. For one, I question why you sought such volatile magics from me, then proceeded to use them in such a brash way. ...you’re lucky you ended up like this, and not lost to the mists.”

Deidra felt her claws curl, moved to her sides. She had no context on a lot of what would come, she was given warnings, but never a true answer on what this confrontation would yield. “I delved into the magics to ensure you were not a harbinger of something far worse than what we were dealing with before. I remember what the first was subjected to, being recalled forcibly to the Black Citadel to answer for where he learned such teachings.”

“Him? He may have been the first recognized, but I preceded his teachings through my time in the Priory.” He paced, calculating eyes watching her own. “As for a harbinger, it only comes to those unable to control such echoes. I have bonded with a firm echo to ensure I don’t delve into the wrong side of the magic too far. One time, I almost trekked into such. It continues to plague my once magic to this day.”

“So you indeed have lost such power, and have found yourself back into the grasp of Necromancy.” ‘Rhea’ sneered.

“I wouldn’t raise your voice louder if I were you. You know already of the secrecy on such magics on this world, furthermore you know I only would use such dark magic to heal or mend.” The male ceased pacing, hands lowered.

Rhea stared back at the male, her frown very clear cut and presented.

“You still have yet to answer why you used such magics in so volatile a ritual.” The taller worgen inquired.

“Aid.” She starts. “You and your Eclipse Warband believed Mordremoth was so easily killed. Your attention elsewhere while mine was still fixed on the Maguuma jungle. I knew after such time spent, I would need the aid of others to continue my investigations and ensure the death of the Jungle Dragon.” She pauses, looking forward for a moment before snapping her eyes back at Ailment. “The ritual ended up with me being severed from Tyria, finding myself on this planet. Stuck in this body, the most compatible soul on this entire realm. And what about you? You managed to follow me, but I don’t sense any ‘Russ’ left in you. You completely overtook his body for your own.”

Ailment was silent, careful eyes scanning Rhea. He forms the sentence in his mind before speaking. “I’ve been on this world once before, before finding myself back on Tyria. Then, I ended up on the opposite side, and the body I found myself in was incapable of me overtaking it. I was a passenger, completely lost to the whims and desires of the orc.” He paces a little further, before continuing. “This time, I found a body I could overtake. I made the decision to overtake the spirit when I learned what foul creature this ‘Russ’ was. I obliterated it’s past, carving my own in it’s stead. And when I whisk you back to Tyria, I care not for what state I leave Russ in. He’s a pawn to ensure I get you back.”

“So now the true colors fly. You followed me to bring me back. Why? I thought you had it all handled. Or did you learn that Mordremoth is -indeed- back, and come groveling for my aid.” The female worgen growls.

Ailment continues pacing, stopping in front of his own armor and possessions. “Mordremoth is dead, I can confirm it myself. Both Jormag and Primordious are active, a dual front has been caused. I came to bring you back to aid in the fights, as we are stretched thin.”

“For once, Rhea, I am seeking your help.”

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Rhea stared at Ailment, his body turned away from her own. Conflict ran through the alien spirit, eyes unfocused on their gaze. “You need my help?” She huffs. “You’re about two months late, Ailment. I would have considered such then, but now? I have given my service to Tyria once before, and received no gratitude. Now? I care little for that home. I’ve found myself a new place to reside in, even if I am not always in control of my being.”

Ailment turns to stare at Rhea, a brow arched. “How odd, you of all people detest when your own agency is stripped from you.” Silence falls, before he prods further. “What compelled this change of heart, you don’t look the person to care for this Azeroth.”

“Several reasons. For one, my spirit is too tangled with Deidra’s. If I depart, I cannot guarantee she will survive. Her life has found purpose in another to imbibe in. She has a soulmate.” A step forward. “Two, you made it pretty clear that Mordremoth is dead. So why come back for me? I have found a new world in need of my aid, a world in constant turmoil and troubles.” A further step forward. “Finally, why don’t you torment Russ no further, slink back to Tyria and go sleep with that child you call Misa?”

Deidra knew not who Misa was, nor what Rhea was leading to. But she began to wish the other didn’t speak it. She felt heavy clawed hands slam against her neck, bringing her body against a space of stone not cluttered with armor. The male worgen pressed his hands in, she could feel her throat being crushed. Her spirit screamed in agony as her body began to have trouble breathing.

“You -dare- to mock my OWN soulmate Rhea? I have spent years with her, and when I was separated I thought I LOST her! Don’t you -EVER- bark to me about her being a ‘cub’. You know well enough she is old enough to become a Centurion. This time, I declared where I was off to, and that I would return to her. I WILL not lose her again.” The male slams the female worgen against the stone, then lets go of her throat, throwing her down to the ground.

Air pouring into her system brought relief to the spirit, but hesitance filled her form as she dared to wonder what this tension was that was spurred by Rhea. Her red eyes pry up at the male, catching her breath before gasping; “You know my answer Ailment, I am not abandoning this body to return to Tyria. Either you accept your new life here, or you can leave. My answer is final.” She coughs, checking her throat with her own hands.

Ailment towered above her, fists curling as he calculated her words. Seconds pass, before his heavy feet flow towards the exit of the Armory. The last words he spoke in the early morning, resonated in the basement.

“You have a week, evaluate if you truly are happy with this world. I won’t be coming back for you this next time.”

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Deidra slides her head against the stone, closing her eyes. Rhea didn’t relinquish her grip over the body until a few moments pass. Eventually, Deidra felt the nerves in her hands and feet return, senses once more under her own command. Her eyes open, a dull green occupying the color of her iris.

She kept curled near the pillar of stone, pondering over the encounter. Her silence is interrupted by Rhea’s voice in her head.

She exhales, shaking her head. “Why provoke him then? You said yourself he was someone to avoid.”

Deidra flows her eyes to the drawing still clutched in her hands, eyes overlooking the anatomy once more. “Your culture makes little sense to me, Rhea. Promise me next time you’ll ask me internally before you try and press for such a potential lash of a response?”

A moment of silence passes. <I’ll try to remember the next time>

Deidra picks herself up, sighing as she once more checks her throat. Light feet move towards the door, scanning for signs of Russ. None found, she strides up and out of the basement, eyes scanning the parchment in her hands as she moved to the door to exit Command.

The anatomy of a Charr still confused her, and scared her. The spirit tangled with her looked like the beast on the parchment, and she also knew, the spirit overtaking Russ’ body has a similar structure.

A heavy sigh greets the night air, and she hopes she wouldn’t have the courtesy of facing a beast like that in the flesh.

#hiddenbackstory

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