Nightmares

Prompt from http://toomanyannas.com/feature/friday-ficlet-nightmares/

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Kestil Ravenoak screamed as the agony took hold of every movement, every breath, every thought. Her arms were pulled behind her, contorted and bound, and with a deft pull backwards, the hand that gripped her wrists together pulled her arms from their sockets with a sickening tear. Another cry was forced from her mouth accompanied with sobs as she fell to her knees. Her arms fell limp to her sides as the hand that bound her released its grip, and their weight pulled downwards and the pain continuously shot up to her head, each pulse like a knife in the base of her skull.

"Oh god ohgodohgodohgod please no--"

The figure stepped around her convulsing body, kicking her limp hand as it passed. It stared down at her, its black, shadowy form like ink, and it kneeled in front of her. It whispered something, but she heard nothing, saw nothing; the pain commanded everything. The figure seemed to frown, and reached out its hand to her forehead. Her eyes shot open and her vision cleared.

"That's better," she heard from the figure, but the voice was in her head now. It stretched out a claw now, and it traced down her the center of her chest, past her breasts, over the space between her ribs and over her stomach. A line of blood started to appear before the skin tore open. She wailed in agony as her organs pushed their way free and spilled out from her body, and before her she no longer saw the figure but Myrra, with a hunger in her eyes and spit dripping from her jowls. Myrra snarled and pounced, tearing her teeth into Kestil's insides and skin, her claws into her chest and back, digging them in to the hilt of her paw...

Kestil awoke with a scream, her voice sore and raw, her hair matted to her face and back, her entire body dripping with sweat and fear as it soaked the sheets beneath her. Myrra worriedly nuzzled into Kestil's arm, quietly mewling and panting from stress. Kestil looked down at her lynx companion, and, with the dream still fresh in her mind, she yelped and jolted out of bed, falling to the ground.

She took in her surroundings frantically, checking herself and finding bloody scratches over her arms and chest that she had made herself. She could no longer hold back, and tears spilled from her eyes.

"Oh... god, oh Elune," she managed to whisper as she started to sob hysterically into her hands.

Friendly Fire

A knock at the door.

I muttered a curse, arms and legs working to untangle themselves, and a giggling from below. I blindly reached to the bed and pulled off the sheet, wrapping it around my torso and nearly tripping as I made my way to the door.

Saeil’s face greeted me. “Well there you are. I’ve been looking for you – Kaz told me to check here first.” She trailed off and took in my appearance. “Oh, goodness, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, of cour—yes, yeah, you kind of are.”

Her grin only widened. “Well good for you. I’ve been telling you to go out and—”

“Saeil, why are you here?”

“I brought you a visitor.”

I sighed. “Sae, I’m not really prepared to receive visitors at the moment.”

A wark! at my feet caused me to look down and see a baby hawkstrider looking back at me with perfectly round eyes. His rump wagged in recognition and he waddled past my feet into the room.

“I thought you said you could take him for the week!”

Saeil shrugged her shoulders in apology. “I know, and I’m sorry. But Shif was called away to the battlefront and I’ve been requested to accompany her.”

My eyebrows furrowed at this. “That’s odd; they’ve never asked you to do that before.”

“That was before the night elves started torching the healing tents.” She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Look, I’ll make it up to you.” And with a smirk she added, “Just promise me that you’ll teach to whomever’s in there those moves I showed you a while back – you know the time.”

“Sae!”

She laughed and patted my arm. “Don’t worry, he’s not much of a starer,” she reassured, referring to the ball of feathers who was now gorging himself on uneaten bread and jam.

"He just likes to burrow under the sheets. Watch out for your toes."

Brand

I winced as the writing brush made its way over my hip, slowly and deliberately, the power-infused ink fusing itself with my skin. It felt like lightning.

“Sorry,” Närcyssa whispered as she made the final stroke. She set the brush down on a cloth next to the ink well and gingerly brushed two fingers over the rune she had drawn, whispering a healing word.

The pain subsided in an instant, and I whirled my head around to look at her, eyes wide, speechless. “How did–?”

She gave me a small smile. “The Light forgives more easily than you, sister.”

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Note: The rune that Närcyssa drew can be seen on the major glyphs for paladins.
Picture here: http://twitpic.com/14uohk (Half-nudity, semi-NSFW)

Curiouser and Curiouser

Joint RP with Quaunaut of http://www.quaunaut.com/

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My breath quickened in anticipation. She wasn’t like any of the other competitors I had seen today, this Draenei woman with a wild look about her. She eyed me once over from the top of her Wintersaber, and craned the large cat’s neck, turning him into position. The hawkstrider beneath me flapped his wings impatiently, adrenaline from the past three fights rushing through him as it did me, but hardly exhausted. He crowed -- a sharp, brittle sound piercing the silent air.

My opponent charged.

I instinctively raised my shield, its weight on my arm barely noticeable from years of training, and with my lance raised I kicked the sides of my mount and shouted, “Hyah!”

She thrust out her lance in a jab, a low grunt escaping her lips, an attack full of strength.

I don’t joust linearly. The birds of the Sin’dorei are bred for agility, a swiftness of speed. It would be a dishonor to their nature not to use it to one’s advantage. I quickly squeezed the sides of the bird beneath me with my thighs and leaned to the left, strafing out of the way of the frontal assault. Her lance grazed my shield, and I inwardly cursed. She was faster than I had anticipated. I rounded, the hawkstrider’s talon digging into the dirt, and faced her once more, sending my mount into a full gallop, wind catching my hair and throwing it behind me.

My opponent barely had time to turn around. The Wintersaber was fast, but it was lumbering trying to turn around, and I knew I had the advantage. I grounded myself in the saddle, putting my weight behind my right arm, and I thrust out my lance, hitting her shield squarely. The adrenaline pumped through my veins, and as I felt my lips spread into a grin, I realized that I hadn’t had this much fun in weeks—

She forced back her shield and knocked my lance to the side. Taken off-guard, I knew I wouldn’t be able to counter her attack. I kicked my mount into a side run to gain distance, bringing my lance up to my shield to create a defensive wall, but she was catching up. Fast. In seconds she was parallel with me, and she swung out her shield. I blocked with my own, but her speed gave her strength, and I felt my right boot slip from its stirrup. A swear fell from my lips, in Common, a habit I had picked up from the goblin sailors.

I tried to throw myself back upright onto my panicking mount, when I felt the saddle slip sideways and underneath the bird’s abdomen and drug me down with it. I hit the ground, left foot still caught in its own stirrup.

“By the Light-damned Well!”

I pulled my boot free in time to see my opponent riding up to my side. “I... well, sorry then. I don't usually let the fight get to my head,” she apologized in Common, smirking as she said it and wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her light blue complexion was flushed with exertion, and her long, grey-blue hair was as tussled as mine.

I pushed myself off the ground and brushed off my pants. Embarrassed, but certainly not giving in completely, I looked to the mounted Draenei and smirked back. “One should be humbled now and then,” I replied. “Well done.” She may have won the joust, but I would be damned if I let her embarrass me further. I deliberately set my lance and shield on the ground and patted the beak of my unhappy hawkstrider who was fidgeting and picking at the slipped saddle with his beak. I unhooked the straps and started to fit it properly between the bird’s wings.

The Draenei started to turn her mount away, but hesitated. “You... you speak Common fairly well. You don't see many Blood Elves who still do.”

I glanced towards her. “I was raised a member of the Church of Light. We attended often.” I refocused on the saddle, setting it square on the bird’s feathered back. “At least, until the war in Lordaeron.”

I gave a small laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. “I am sorry, I did not mean to tell you my life history.”

“No, no. I ask about your history, you tell me about your history.” She dipped her head and took a deep breath before dismounting from her own saddle. “I’m Israia,” she offered softly.

For the second time today, this Draenei woman—Israia—had caught me off-guard. It was true, at the Tournament we were all fighting towards a common goal, but we certainly wouldn’t be considered allied…

Unsure of her intentions, of my intentions, of everything in this moment, I felt myself lower my eyes and make a slight bow. “Luisette,” I heard myself reply, “of the Dawnrise family.”

Israia offered her hand to me, the faintest of smiles upon her lips. I offered my own hand in return. “A pleasure,” I said in Thalassian, a customary greeting.

“I’ve never heard of the Dawnrise family,” Israia suddenly said, “though I’ll admit, most of the High Elven literature that was in the Keep has mostly been… burned.” Her eyes broke away from mine.

I shook my head reassuringly. “No,” I said with a soft laugh, “a small priest family from an even smaller town might not be referenced much.”

Israia nodded. “Ahh, right.” She hesitated, and I bit my lip, suddenly nervous and feeling hesitant myself. “Well, uh, good fight,” she said abruptly. But quietly, she added, “I hope to see you out here again,” and before I could say anything else, she swung herself onto her mount and started back towards the stables.

Suddenly remembering where I was, I took in my surroundings, and caught another combatant looking my way. My face flushed, feeling hot, and I pushed back my hair again and grabbed my provisions and setting them on top of the saddle. I was in no state to ride.

I was… curious.

Investments

“Närcyssa, sweetheart, it’s been ages!”

The death knight startled at the pet name and turned in the direction of the voice. A petite elf with copper hair smiled when Närcyssa’s gaze met hers, and she strode in the direction of the blond.

“…Letitia,” Närcyssa stated, recognizing the family banker.

Letitia nodded once and beamed—was that smile false? “Good, good! I had worried you had forgotten me. After all, you haven’t sent me anything to invest or to sell recently.”

“I’ve nothing of worth to invest at the moment.”

Letitia’s smile faltered, and her gaze had cooled. “Oh, indeed. I understand you’re living with Shifgrethor at the time being, are you not? Income must be slow, forgive my presuming.”

For a brief moment, Närcyssa lost her composure and gave the elf in front of her an incredulous stare. Letitia took advantage of this silence, smiling once more and taking Närcyssa’s hand, patting it.

“Every little bit counts; I'm sure you understand. You’ve recently taken up the art of inscription, correct? Just send me your extra herbs, dear, and I’ll fetch you a good price. Help me to help you, sweetheart.”

She let drop the death knight’s hand and took a step back, half-turning. “I must take my leave; I have auctions to attend. But do take care to remember my two rules: no loans for slackers, and no private enterprising—undercutting is not looked well upon, you know! Al diel shala!”

Letitia gave Närcyssa a fleeting smirk, her friendly façade all but gone, and she began to stroll in the direction of the auction house.

Speechless for the first time in months, Närcyssa could only watch as the distance between her and the family banker grew, briefly wondering how her father could have left financial meetings with his limbs and pride still intact.

Reparation

Närcyssa lifted up a corner of the fabric of the parcel, and her eyes darkened with recognition. Her eyes snapped towards mine and she sneered, “I do not accept; I will not be indebted to you.”

I slid the bundle back closer to me and slowly unwrapped it. “I am not giving this to you, Närcyssa Deathsong,” I countered, not meeting her eyes. “I am giving this to my sister of twelve years age whose viol was tossed into the firepit.”

I met her gaze then and saw the suspicion in her stare. “Now take it; my debt is repaid.”

Rituals

The air was crisp as I rode south towards Tranquillien, the distinctive smell of death and of the Scourge still lingering. The same as last year. And the year before. And the year before that. Six years since the day our world was ripped in half, and the land still refuses to heal, the air refuses to change.

Stagnant.

The broken spires of the village came into view, and I urged my talbuk faster. The woods were still unfriendly, and although I did not travel unarmed, I did not wish to stray from my purpose of visit to embark on a holy crusade against remnants of the Scourge still festering across the Ghostlands.

As I neared Tranquillien, I saw a black shape running swiftly towards me, and upon recognition of it, I smiled, bringing my mount to a gentle stop. The large, Darnassian cat quickly closed the distance between us, and affectionately made circles around the legs of my talbuk – the latter of which was none too pleased, for he started to lightly stamp his hooves impatiently as he kept watchful eyes on the cat below.

“Greetings, Ivan,” I said softly to the purring cat as I reached down to lay my hand against his head. “Let’s go find your mistress.”

I clicked my tongue and my talbuk – all too happy to begin moving again – started walking once more in the direction of the village. Ivan ambled at our side, but his eyes and ears were alert for any possible threat. As we passed the first building of the town, weary and broken, I couldn’t help but mourn the beauty of what once was. The town’s namesake, its once peaceful and tranquil ambiance, was now felt in the current atmosphere for all the wrong reasons.

But there, in the center of the square, sitting of the base of the toppling statue, were the only two that could convince me to traverse once more through the Ghostlands. Ivan, content there was no immediate danger, broke away from the feet of my talbuk and ran ahead to rejoin his mistress. Saeil softly smiled, bent down, and reciprocated Ivan’s nuzzling with her own, burying her face into his white-spotted, midnight fur. Shifgrethor stood up, brushed off her robes, and walked forward to meet me.

“Sinu a’manore, cousin,” she said, beaming, as she took my hands and helped me dismount. She patted the dark muzzle of my talbuk affectionately before she took my hand within her own one more. “I’m so very glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” I said, returning the smile as she linked my arm around hers and led me towards the statue.

Saeil left the affections of Ivan and stood up to meet me. She kissed my cheek, embracing me close. “Thank you for coming.”

I sadly shook my head. “You needn’t thank me. You demanded nothing of which I could refuse.”

We broke the embrace, and I took hold of my talbuk’s bridle and led him towards the inn. The building could hardly be called such at first glance, but it was still standing, and that’s all what mattered. I tied his reins to a post outside by Paniar, the stable master. He assured me my talbuk would be well-taken care of, and I bowed to him for his services.

I rejoined Saeil and Shifgrethor, and we took the road heading south out of Tranquillien. It was a silent journey to our destination: a short walk to a debris-filled clearing southeast of the major town. The closer we arrived, the more distinct the pain on Saeil’s face made itself known. Shifgrethor gently took her Other’s hand and tenderly kissed her fingers. We are still here, she seemed to say, and Saeil gave her a sad smile in appreciation.

Once, this clearing had been the site of a proud ranger’s Lodge, a small outpost with a large love of their duty and community. But once, this clearing had been the site of a massacre, rangers old and young alike slaughtered by the unforgivable and unstoppable might of the Scourge.

Those caught in the battle didn’t stand a chance.

Saeil walked ahead and knelt before one of the larger, fallen stone columns that had once proudly been at the forefront of the building, her bright red hair falling forward and blocking her vision even more than her tears were starting to. She reached into her bags and pulled out a small bowl filled with flowers, herbs, and fruit. She sat down and gently set the bowl on the ground in front of her, a small offering to those who, six years ago this day, lost their dreams and lives unjustly. Ivan, familiar with this annual ritual, lied down at Saeil’s side. A shuddered sigh escaped her lips, and Saeil reached down to stroke the fur of the cat that had been with her during that nightmarish day.

She remained silent, mustering up control over her voice. Finally, she smiled, hot tears rolling down her face, and she began to speak:

“Dad? It’s me… happy birthday.”