Harvest And Torment by Acherontia
Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 3:33 am
It was difficult for Acherontia to ignore the screams. At this time of night, while most of the city slept and the only sounds to be heard were the bubbling of the ever-oozing ichor and the occasional scurrying of the rats, sound traveled far. Sometimes, it was a sob of despair, or a shriek of pain that escaped the depths of the Apothecarium. Most often, though, the sound that assaulted her ears was that of another poor wretched soul who had succumbed to madness - gibbering, raging, screaming, his cries winging through the tunnels, ricocheting off cold and damp stone, echoing on top of themselves over and over again before arriving at the little alcove she now called home and arrowing straight to her ears, straight into her mind.
Tonight, though, the warlock was too enmeshed in her thoughts to give heed to those suffering in the depths of the Undercity. Tonight, she and Melchisedech had ventured again into the depths of the monastery of the Scarlets, this time with Benan and Vanis as their guides. Acherontia shuddered as she remembered slipping and sliding on the blood and slime that coated the stone floor of one of the chambers, remembered seeing the broken bodies stretched to their deaths and hanging from the ceiling...remembered the hatred that filled the eyes of her attackers...she had wanted to shrink away from those eyes, to flee, but she stood firm with her companions and did what she could to aid them.
Acherontia felt a small grin twitch the corners of her mouth as she thought about how very different tonight had been compared with the one before. Their warrior companion, the one referred to them by Grainger, had been mostly silent, but it was the other orc that had amused and perplexed her. Acherontia had seen him in her Fel-vision as a mass of dark and rolling color, all force and drive and business and killing, with occasional flashes that sprung to the forefront out of an undercurrent of...rawness.
He and Melchisedech had taken a dislike to each other immediately.
"He is boorish, Acherontia. Thuggery is the only task to which he is suited. That you have to be subjected to his barbarism..." Melchisdedech trailed off in disgust, his voice dripping scorn.
Acherontia watched from the doorway as Kromag and his pet slaughtered a roomful of Scarlet fanatics. "I think he is kind to help us as he does. He considers it his duty to help those younger than he."
"Ah. Does he also consider it a duty to eye you like a side of beef, or was that merely an aspect of his 'kindness' that escaped your notice?" Acherontia shifted uncomfortably, and Melchisedech stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "I do not know what exactly it is you see with those empty eyes, but I can tell you can see that much. 'I prefer Forsaken females to my own kind.' " Acherontia's face burned as Melchisedech quoted the first words Kromag had spoken to her. She could not meet the priest's gaze. His voice softened. "My dear, he is an orc. Remember, Acherontia, that every orc, every Tauren, every troll and elf are lower than we. Even Thrall himself could never hope to be the equal of the lowliest Forsaken. We are Her chosen people."
Kromag, for his part, had very gallantly offered to kill Melchisedech for her if she so desired.
"Will you also lay claim to this magnificent chapeau that Melchisedech has been raving about?" Acherontia had whispered to the hunter with a smile.
"I have no interest in a hat, my lady." Kromag's reply was gruff, yet eloquent. "However, for your sake, I will kill the one who wears it if you wish me to."
Acherontia had politely declined.
The warlock lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling of the Undercity, contemplating what the priest had insinuated to her about the orc. Even in the darkness, alone, she flushed uncomfortably. Physical intimacies were not something she had been...recreational about in the past. It had been a very long time since a man - not man, male-...Acherontia sighed and paused in her ruminations. Since anyone had paid her any...attentions. The corners of her eyes suddenly prickled with tears she could never shed. Simon...Simon...Simon...
No.
He was gone, lost and gone and - her throat constricted - dead, gone, lost, lost, lost forever...
Melchisedech whimpered in his sleep, and Acherontia turned her head to the side and regarded her sleeping companion as he rested across the alcove from her. She could sense a change about him, his muted, milky aura now faded, now sparking with brilliant flashes of light, now rolling as a grey ocean, now rich with color. Acherontia barely recognized the priest at times. She remembered the initial moment of panic when she awoke in Thunder Bluff after the catastrophic events that she had wrought in Arathi Basin and found herself face to face with who she thought was a stranger. His voice was unmistakable, though, and eventually she relaxed, soothed by his gentle washing of her face but confused nonetheless.
The priest shifted fitfully, and Acherontia was puzzled as she regarded him with her sightless eyes. As usual, reading him was difficult, but something was amiss. Melchisedech rested quietly, sleeping only rarely, but he seemed deeper tonight, wandering in visions only he could see. Alarmed, she rolled to her side as her companion let out a strangled whimper. She hesitated briefly, then reached out a gloved hand towards him...
...with a start, the priest awoke.
Tonight, though, the warlock was too enmeshed in her thoughts to give heed to those suffering in the depths of the Undercity. Tonight, she and Melchisedech had ventured again into the depths of the monastery of the Scarlets, this time with Benan and Vanis as their guides. Acherontia shuddered as she remembered slipping and sliding on the blood and slime that coated the stone floor of one of the chambers, remembered seeing the broken bodies stretched to their deaths and hanging from the ceiling...remembered the hatred that filled the eyes of her attackers...she had wanted to shrink away from those eyes, to flee, but she stood firm with her companions and did what she could to aid them.
Acherontia felt a small grin twitch the corners of her mouth as she thought about how very different tonight had been compared with the one before. Their warrior companion, the one referred to them by Grainger, had been mostly silent, but it was the other orc that had amused and perplexed her. Acherontia had seen him in her Fel-vision as a mass of dark and rolling color, all force and drive and business and killing, with occasional flashes that sprung to the forefront out of an undercurrent of...rawness.
He and Melchisedech had taken a dislike to each other immediately.
"He is boorish, Acherontia. Thuggery is the only task to which he is suited. That you have to be subjected to his barbarism..." Melchisdedech trailed off in disgust, his voice dripping scorn.
Acherontia watched from the doorway as Kromag and his pet slaughtered a roomful of Scarlet fanatics. "I think he is kind to help us as he does. He considers it his duty to help those younger than he."
"Ah. Does he also consider it a duty to eye you like a side of beef, or was that merely an aspect of his 'kindness' that escaped your notice?" Acherontia shifted uncomfortably, and Melchisedech stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "I do not know what exactly it is you see with those empty eyes, but I can tell you can see that much. 'I prefer Forsaken females to my own kind.' " Acherontia's face burned as Melchisedech quoted the first words Kromag had spoken to her. She could not meet the priest's gaze. His voice softened. "My dear, he is an orc. Remember, Acherontia, that every orc, every Tauren, every troll and elf are lower than we. Even Thrall himself could never hope to be the equal of the lowliest Forsaken. We are Her chosen people."
Kromag, for his part, had very gallantly offered to kill Melchisedech for her if she so desired.
"Will you also lay claim to this magnificent chapeau that Melchisedech has been raving about?" Acherontia had whispered to the hunter with a smile.
"I have no interest in a hat, my lady." Kromag's reply was gruff, yet eloquent. "However, for your sake, I will kill the one who wears it if you wish me to."
Acherontia had politely declined.
The warlock lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling of the Undercity, contemplating what the priest had insinuated to her about the orc. Even in the darkness, alone, she flushed uncomfortably. Physical intimacies were not something she had been...recreational about in the past. It had been a very long time since a man - not man, male-...Acherontia sighed and paused in her ruminations. Since anyone had paid her any...attentions. The corners of her eyes suddenly prickled with tears she could never shed. Simon...Simon...Simon...
No.
He was gone, lost and gone and - her throat constricted - dead, gone, lost, lost, lost forever...
Melchisedech whimpered in his sleep, and Acherontia turned her head to the side and regarded her sleeping companion as he rested across the alcove from her. She could sense a change about him, his muted, milky aura now faded, now sparking with brilliant flashes of light, now rolling as a grey ocean, now rich with color. Acherontia barely recognized the priest at times. She remembered the initial moment of panic when she awoke in Thunder Bluff after the catastrophic events that she had wrought in Arathi Basin and found herself face to face with who she thought was a stranger. His voice was unmistakable, though, and eventually she relaxed, soothed by his gentle washing of her face but confused nonetheless.
The priest shifted fitfully, and Acherontia was puzzled as she regarded him with her sightless eyes. As usual, reading him was difficult, but something was amiss. Melchisedech rested quietly, sleeping only rarely, but he seemed deeper tonight, wandering in visions only he could see. Alarmed, she rolled to her side as her companion let out a strangled whimper. She hesitated briefly, then reached out a gloved hand towards him...
...with a start, the priest awoke.