Acherontia stared in shock at the still form of Melchisedech lying prone on the ground. Her nostrils stung with the acrid stench of fumes of the machines patrolling nearby, but her attention became fixed on the rogue as she steadily advanced on her. Teeth bared, eyes glowing with an eldritch fire, on she came, backing the young warlock up against a tree stump. Acherontia stumbled, fighting down panic. Tried to concentrate. Her throat constricted, dried, she tried to croak out the words of the spell of fear, but she found she couldn't recall them. She shook her head to clear it, and suddenly, the figure in front of her was no longer Anaie, but a hulking giant of a man, flesh torn, panting, eyes glowing with that same fire and filled with the madness of ravenous hunger. In shocking, stark detail, every color crystal clear, no longer the shadows of her Fel-vision, but the sights of horrors long past. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Simon," she breathed. She turned to run and her feet slipped from under her, pitching her face down on the muddy ground covered in dead leaves. Hands she saw to be young and pink at one moment and twice-gloved against excess decay at another scrabbled in the dirt, scraping on rocks as she pushed herself up, then fell back down as a tearing pain ripped through her abdomen. Acherontia cried out in agony and rolled on her side, curled up in a ball and clenching her teeth against the sudden pain. Panting, she tried to scramble to her feet and the pain disappeared as quickly as it had come. She looked back over her shoulder as she started to run and it was Anaie, still advancing, hands curled into claws.
"Run, warlock!!!"
Visions Of The Past by Acherontia
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Keeper Of Lore
- Lost
- Posts: 1749
Re: Visions Of The Past by Acherontia
by Melchisedech
Her claws raked through his robes, and Melchisedech staggered backward, cursing. He spoke a word of pain, but the magic utterly failed to affect the tiny Forsaken. He threw a shield around himself as he backed away, but her claws tore through it like it were paper. He shrieked in her mind, but she ignored the fear.
Helpless.
She hit him again, and he fell to the ground. He wasn't in Stonetalon anymore. The dirt beneath his hands was the stone of Lordaeron, the stump against which he lay was a barrel, mostly rotted and smelling of sweat and urine and blood. Anaie was gone, and in her place stood a massive armored skeleton, blade dripping with blood. Melchisedech looked down at the gaping wound in his guts.
They say that, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. It's not true. When you think you're going to die, your life flashes before your eyes.
He shook his head and picked himself up off the ground. Anaie was chasing Acherontia, leaving the priest for dead. Melchisedech snarled and hurled a healing spell through his bones, feeling the flesh knit.
No.... he'd worked too hard.
He stormed after the Forsaken, just in time to see Baxxter leap in to save Acherontia from Anaie's clutches. Just in case, Melchisedech threw a shield around his warlock companion, and sat back to watch the fight.
Anaie was defeated, and Baxxter cradled her for a time. Melchisedech didn't know whether to be angry at the woman for her unprovoked assault, or concerned. In the end, he chose the latter. Compassion for the Forsaken was paramount, and she did seem to be suffering some mind illness.
"You rotting bastard!"
Melchisedech was startled by Baxxter's shout. He threw a shield around Baxxter, intending it for himself, and then was blasted to the ground by a shaman's spell. For an instant, he saw the skeleton's blade again, but he shook off its effects.
One can only almost die so often before it starts to lose its power.
Her claws raked through his robes, and Melchisedech staggered backward, cursing. He spoke a word of pain, but the magic utterly failed to affect the tiny Forsaken. He threw a shield around himself as he backed away, but her claws tore through it like it were paper. He shrieked in her mind, but she ignored the fear.
Helpless.
She hit him again, and he fell to the ground. He wasn't in Stonetalon anymore. The dirt beneath his hands was the stone of Lordaeron, the stump against which he lay was a barrel, mostly rotted and smelling of sweat and urine and blood. Anaie was gone, and in her place stood a massive armored skeleton, blade dripping with blood. Melchisedech looked down at the gaping wound in his guts.
They say that, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. It's not true. When you think you're going to die, your life flashes before your eyes.
He shook his head and picked himself up off the ground. Anaie was chasing Acherontia, leaving the priest for dead. Melchisedech snarled and hurled a healing spell through his bones, feeling the flesh knit.
No.... he'd worked too hard.
He stormed after the Forsaken, just in time to see Baxxter leap in to save Acherontia from Anaie's clutches. Just in case, Melchisedech threw a shield around his warlock companion, and sat back to watch the fight.
Anaie was defeated, and Baxxter cradled her for a time. Melchisedech didn't know whether to be angry at the woman for her unprovoked assault, or concerned. In the end, he chose the latter. Compassion for the Forsaken was paramount, and she did seem to be suffering some mind illness.
"You rotting bastard!"
Melchisedech was startled by Baxxter's shout. He threw a shield around Baxxter, intending it for himself, and then was blasted to the ground by a shaman's spell. For an instant, he saw the skeleton's blade again, but he shook off its effects.
One can only almost die so often before it starts to lose its power.
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Keeper Of Lore
- Lost
- Posts: 1749
Re: Visions Of The Past by Acherontia
At times, Acherontia welcomed her Fel-vision. Not having eyes made her next to impossible to read. She just pointed her head in the appropriate direction and no one knew any better.
Beneath a fragile veneer of friendly concern, the young warlock was shaken to the core. She stood back from the shaman as he tended to his friend and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. She imagined Melchisedech watching her with amused scorn - Anaie hadn't even touched her, after all - and was careful to keep her features schooled in a perfect mask. Nothing was the matter. Nothing was wrong. Acherontia slowly crossed her arms to hide the scratches on her forearms and ignored the leaves and dirt in her hair. The pain that had lanced through her guts had subsided - if it had even truly been there - and she fought the urge to place her hand over her stomach. Her jaw muscles clenched intermittently as she tried to forget the sight that had once again marched to the front of her memory.
Simon...
She'd change the bandage again once she got back to town.
Beneath a fragile veneer of friendly concern, the young warlock was shaken to the core. She stood back from the shaman as he tended to his friend and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. She imagined Melchisedech watching her with amused scorn - Anaie hadn't even touched her, after all - and was careful to keep her features schooled in a perfect mask. Nothing was the matter. Nothing was wrong. Acherontia slowly crossed her arms to hide the scratches on her forearms and ignored the leaves and dirt in her hair. The pain that had lanced through her guts had subsided - if it had even truly been there - and she fought the urge to place her hand over her stomach. Her jaw muscles clenched intermittently as she tried to forget the sight that had once again marched to the front of her memory.
Simon...
She'd change the bandage again once she got back to town.