Grim Views

Vision of Shadows

Clys - November 9, 2005

The acrid smell of smoke woke her, and she coughed softly as she
sat up, pushing herself upright with arms that felt strangely
light. It was dark, and she swiveled her head, trying to get a
glimpse of her surroundings. It seemed as if something were
covering her eyes, for all she could perceive were shadows, yet
the shadows were very clear. She reached up a hand to her face,
to pull away whatever it was, and gasped as her fingers touched
the places where her eyes should have been. There was nothing
there but emptiness.

Her heart thudded in her chest briefly, as the shock of
realization ran through her brain. And then she received a
greater shock, for her heart ceased beating as suddenly as it had
started. She could feel it laying there dead in her chest,
unmoving. But there was no pain, and her consciousness did not
fade, so she sat up further. Turning her head, she surveyed
herself as best she could. From the pattern of shadows she was
able to make out her form and position, although it was odd to
see only the shadows and not the objects themselves. She licked
her lips, and tried to speak. Her voice came out whispery and
gentle, and she did not recognize it.

"What the hell happened to me? I don't...remember."

She sat for some time, turning her head this way and that,
getting used to her strange new vision that somehow worked
without eyes. At last, she arose, cinders and ashes falling from
her body. She ran her fingers over her arms, finding that they
were shriveled and leathery and the flesh was missing completely
from her elbows. She put a finger into her mouth, and it felt
bony and hard, yet still strong and agile.

She considered what to do next, and counted on her fingers the
things that she understood about her situation. She was alive.
She had apparently been badly burned, and her eyes destroyed. She
could, even so, still see shadows. She could move. There was no
pain.

She reached to her belt and was reassured to find both her
daggers still sheathed there. At least that was familiar. Well,
she thought, I suppose I'd better have a look around and figure
out what's happened, and decide what to do next. As she turned,
she noticed a leather harness hanging from a nail on an unburnt
part of the wall.

"I better cover my eyes, or what's left of them, before I go
anywhere. I don't want to scare away anyone who might want to
help me. I must look absolutely frightful. Gods, this is too
weird," she muttered.

Taking the harness, she adjusted the straps so that they more or
less fit across her face in an X pattern, and buckled it there so
that two of the straps covered both her eye sockets. She noticed
with some bemusement that the straps did not interfere at all
with her new shadow vision. It was all very strange, but she
could think of nothing to explain it and so she decided to just
start moving and exploring and figure things out as she went.

Turning toward the front of the smoldering building, she stepped
out into the night.

"My Lord, I have some fairly bad news," said the elegantly
dressed servant, bowing deeply before the tall figure seated in
an ornate chair.

"What is it this time? Your cake has fallen?" the seated man
replied, waving his hand dismissively.

"No, my Lord, it is your spy, Clys. She was caught in an
explosion while investigating that Forsaken town you sent her to.
Apparently the Scarlet Crusade attacked the town, and she was in
the wrong place at the wrong time. She perished in the blaze, my
Lord."

"Oh. Well that is too bad. She was quite skilled. I shall have a
bit of trouble replacing her, I suppose. Ah well, an assassin's
life is a dangerous one. Another will appear to take her place
soon enough."

The noble picked a bit of lint from his sleeve, frowning
thoughtfully.

"Summon Marisa. I need to speak with her," he commanded.

"Of course, my Lord," the servant replied, bowing deeply before
leaving the room.

Clys was laughing, a strange gutteral sound which seemed to
bubble up out of her thin chest. The young man shackled to the
wall was screaming, long and loud, a scream of deep and
unbearable agony. Clys stood back, withdrawing her dagger from
the flesh of his thigh. Blood oozed rapidly from the wound,
running down into a pool at his feet.

"What...what do you want? Why...are you doing this?" he gasped,
peering urgently into her face. Clys' empty eye sockets held no
expression, but she grinned slightly and her two small fangs
glittered in the dim light. She gave no answer, instead stepping
close and placing the tip of her dagger against his chest. She
moved it slowly down, slicing open his skin. He groaned and
struggled against the shackles, to no avail.

"Undead whore," he said, and spit at her.

She giggled, sounding almost girlish, and carefully licked the
blood from his chest. He closed his eyes, sickened by the sight
of her, loathing her touch. She pressed her body against his, her
skin smooth and hairless, like tanned leather. The bones of her
joints were exposed, and he could feel their cold hardness where
her knees touched him.

"What's the matter, don't you like me?" she said in a whispery
voice, as she dragged her pointed nails across his shoulders.
"You don't really prefer that gawky night elf to me, do you?" she
asked, motioning toward the unconscious female form that lay in
the corner of the room.

"You're a monster," he said, his body quivering with a mixture of
fear and anger. "If you hurt her, I'll..."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Clys interrupted. "If you're still
alive. Which, sadly, you won't be."

The man pulled again at his shackles, desperate.

"Shh," said Clys, running a finger along his jaw.
"She's...dessert."

"Fiend!"

"Me? Oh no, my dear. It's you who are...heartless!"

As she spoke the last word, she suddenly thrust and sliced with
her dagger, the incredibly sharp blade cutting through his flesh
and bone like butter. She twisted the knife, rotating and
levering the handle, and his still beating heart slithered into
her boney hand. The action was so swift, he remained conscious
long enough to see her take the first bite.

Clys turned and sat in a small chair, savoring her meal,
regarding the girl laying nearby. Although Clys had no eyes,
undeath had compensated her, giving her the ability to sense the
shadows, and so she was easily able to discern the shapes and
forms of things, in an odd sort of backwards way. Her senses of
smell and hearing were inhumanly acute as well, and she could
read emotions and intent from scent and sound. The elf girl still
gave off the scent of fear as she lay there, and Clys breathed
deeply of its perfume.

"Actually, I'm not really hungry anymore," Clys said to the elf.
"I don't think I'll have dessert, after all."

Clys arose and went to the door, opening it. The rusty hinges
squeaked mournfully as she swung the door open and stepped into
the hallway. An undead woman crouched there, and stood quickly as
she saw Clys emerge.

"Dispose of the human, will you?" Clys said, finishing the last
of the man's heart and smacking her lips. She wiped the blood
from her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Yes, mistress. In the usual place?"

Clys nodded.

"And the girl?"

Clys smiled gently and ran her fingers through her servant's
straggly hair.

"You can have her," she said.

"Oh, thank you, mistress!" the servant said, clapping her hands
together and bouncing happily.

"Just be sure to clean up afterwards. I will be displeased if
there is a mess left behind, and you know what happens when I'm
displeased."

"I will be very thorough, mistress!" the servant exclaimed,
bowing her head.

"Yes. You will be," Clys said, a wicked grin spreading over her
thin face. "You will be."

A page from Clys' journal:

Something happened today that troubles me a bit. A client had bid
me to journey to Booty Bay, to talk to a goblin in the Inn, name
of Kazek. I took the usual precautions, slipping unseen onto the
boat at Ratchet, and then cautiously navigating the docks of
Booty Bay, keeping alert for members of the Alliance.

Booty Bay always has a tense air about it. The peace there is
fragile, enforced to some extent by the Goblin bruisers, but it
is a dangerous place. After obtaining the information I required
from Kazek, and having his response, I made my way back along the
docks to wait for the return ship.

As I stood there, cloaked in shadows behind a piling, a young
night elf druid also came to wait. She was tall and slender, as
all her race, and I watched her as we waited. Her body was very
sensual, her bosom full, and she was filled with so much life
that she could not contain her joy. She literally bounced with
energy.

Now, normally, when I see any member of the Alliance, I have no
other instinct but to attack. At any other time, I would have
simply waited until she boarded the ship and was out from under
the watchful eyes of the guards, and then slipped up behind her
and slit her throat. I am still wondering why I did not.

Instead, I watched as she assumed the form of a panther and
attempted to hide in the shadows as she boarded the ship. I could
see her looking around, and she seemed to relax when the boat
appeared empty. I myself kept to the shadows and boarded the ship
after her.

Her ability with the shadows was not as developed as my own, and
I was able to detect her as she went to the front of the boat to
hide. I followed, not allowing her to see me. After the the ship
had sailed, I then stood before her and stepped out of the
shadows into full view. I grinned at her, showing my fangs.

She cowered away from me, naturally, and tried to slip away
again, but I easily followed her. Finally realizing that she was
at my mercy, she reassumed her elven form and hesitantly waved at
me, smiling and then saluting.

I should have sprung on her. I should have sucked the blood from
her throat as she lay dying on the deck. But something...some
vague memory that I can't quite put my finger upon...stayed my
hand.

I saluted her in turn, and we rode together to Ratchet. I doubt
very much that she made it out of that town alive, since it was
busy with Horde activity, but I left her there untouched by me.

I was struggling with my feelings. Why did I not kill the girl?
She is an enemy, and allowing her to live will only allow her to
grow into a strong enemy. Why not defeat her now, while it is
easy?

As I headed out of Ratchet toward the Crossroads, I topped a
small rise and spotted a human warlock ahead on the plains. He
was in the midst of some kind of summoning ritual, probably
preparing to enslave a demon to his will, so that he might slay
some of the "evil" Horde.

This time, I had no doubts. I faded into the shadows, stepped up
behind him as he concentrated on his spells, and cut him down
before he could even cry out. I stood there, watching his blood
seep into the sand, and the image of that druid came back to me,
resonating again with something in my past, something I cannot
recall.

A page from Clys' journal:

I'm upset, I guess. The other night I was in the tavern with the
others. Danlily was there, with her cheetah, Kitsu. I was sitting
with them. I feel, or felt, comfortable with them for some
reason.

A new Forsaken was there, blundering around with her gravecloths
still over her eyes and rambling on about Quel'thalas. Danlily
got a funny look in her eyes, and after a bit she leaned over to
me and whispered:

"You used to be a bloodelf, too."

I spit my drink out, shouting, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I USED TO BE A
BLOODELF, TOO?" and she was trying to shush me and I was just
freaking out.

And then she told me. She and I and Kitsu were once a threesome.
A happy little trio of lovers. And Kitsu is a druid, stuck now in
cheetah form. And I'm a rotter. Ain't life grand?

And this upsets me, because I don't remember, and it reminds me
that I had a life that I've lost and forgotten.

So last night, when a bunch of The Grims went fishing together, I
could see Danlily giving me these little sad looks, and I didn't
want to think about it. I'm not ready to remember. If I remember,
I might start wanting it all back and I can never have it back.

So I acted silly. Snowfeather gave me a stupid human pirate
costume, with this insane cleavage, and I danced around in it,
wiggling and flirting with poor Gluush who was so nice about it
all, and all the time I was watching Danlily out of the corner of
my eye and inside I was just crying.

Crying, for what I've lost and don't remember. Crying for what I
had and can't recall. Crying without tears.

A page from Clys' journal:

"I'm beginning to remember, just a little. Tonight we attacked
Menethil Harbor. A great group of the Horde came along, in
retaliation of the Alliance attack on the Undercity. Their attack
was tiny and useless. Ours was large, and we laid seige to the
place, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. There was much
bloodshed, and I was happy.

Many of my friends were there, and I felt part of whole, part of
a family. Maybe this is part of what pulled the memories to the
surface. Danlily and Kitsu were there, and as the battle raged I
would catch sight of them, Danlily with her bow, and Kitsu with
her sleek fur and sharp claws. It was as though I saw them with
real vision, not shadow vision. I could see Danlily's golden
hair, and my fingers twitched.

A memory came back to me as I watched them, of my hand grabbing
hold of that golden hair and pulling it back, and Danlily lifting
her head to gaze at me, her eyes submissive. In the memory, I
looked down at her slightly, and I realized that I must have been
much taller then. But that was a fleeting thought. What grabbed
my attention and held it was Danlily's attitude toward my
remembered self. I suddenly understood at least a small part of
what I had been to her, and she to me.

I was the leader. No, I was more than the leader. I was the
master. And she was my slave. I am convinced of this, even though
I know that elves do not keep slaves as a rule. Perhaps it was
not true slavery, and I did not own her. But she acted toward me
in that fashion. She was mine.

I looked then at Kitsu, but the memories there are fainter. I am
sure she was a part of us, the third part of our trio, and that
she also followed me without question. But I have as yet no
memory of her as anything other than a cheetah. Maybe it will
come back to me in time.

In the meantime, however, my purpose is clear. I intend to take
back that which is mine. Death is not sufficient to separate us.
I am still here. And Danlily and Kitsu still belong to me."

---------------------------------------

After writing, Clys arises and goes to find Danlily and Kitsu.
The pair are asleep in their small but comfortable room, and Clys
slips in silently, surrounded by the shadows. She steps up close
to Danlily's sleeping form and breathes deeply, inhaling the warm
scent. Another memory floods back and Clys sees Danlily for a
moment in a vision. Danlily is breathing hard, her eyes closed in
ecstasy.

Clys leans over Danlily and touches her face, running a finger
gently along Danlily's cheekbone. Danlily awakens, her eyes
opening in surprise as she realizes Clys is standing over her.

"Clys?" she whispers? "What are you doing here?"

In response, Clys grabs Danlily's hair with one hand, and pulls
it back, her other hand coming to rest on Danlily's chest.

"I have a job for you, Lily," Clys says, and Danlily's eyes widen
further as she hears the words, the tone of voice. This is the
old Clys!

"Yes, mistress?" Danlily replies, lowering her eyes for a moment.
"What would you have me do?"

Clys grins and lets out a girlish giggle, scratching Danlily
gently under the chin.

"I want you to be...bait."

Clys stood quietly, hidden in the shadows, as Danlily strode
openly into the clearing with Kitsu at her side. A small hunting
lodge was nestled into the surrounding hills, and an elven guard
stood watch on the platform. Clys waited as Danlily fitted an
arrow to her bow, and took careful aim at the High Elven female.
They had stalked this elf for some time, seeking the perfect
specimen. There were so few High Elves, it had taken some time,
but Clys was adamant. No other type of elf would do.

Danlily let the arrow fly, and it whizzed through the air,
passing just over the elf's shoulder and impaling itself with a
loud whack in the wall behind. The elf girl startled, whirling to
face Danlily, who was calmly fitting another arrow to her bow.

"How dare you attack me, troll!" the elf shouted and flung
herself toward Danlily, unsheathing her sword as she ran.

Danlily pretended to be afraid, dropping her bow and turning as
if to run away. But as the elf neared Danlily, just before she
made it into striking distance, Clys stepped from the shadows
behind the elf. A quick thrust of Clys' dagger stunned the elf
female, who dropped her weapon and slumped forward. Another jab
and the deed was done, the elf girl sliding to the ground as her
blood seeped into the soil.

Clys crouched over the dead elf, and examined the ears.

"Perfect!" she exclaimed, smiling up in approval at Danlily, who
had retrieved her bow and now stood nearby.

"I did good?" Danlily asked.

"Yes, you were marvelous, my dear, and I shall reward you later."

Danlily giggled with joy, watching as Clys carefully cut the ears
off the dead elf. Clys wrapped them in cold cloths and put them
carefully into a small pouch at her belt.

"But first, I must get these to Master Faranell. They won't keep
very long."

Danlily nodded, and fell in behind Clys as they made their way to
the Undercity.

--------------------------------------

"So, can you do it, sir?" Clys asked, bowing reverently before
Master Faranell of the Royal Apothecary Society.

"Child's play," replied the Master in his usual terse way. "Get
on the table."

Clys obeyed, lying down upon the cold stone slab which was
stained with the blood of many experiments and operations. Master
Faranell examined the elf ears for a moment.

"I can't make yours as long as these, you know. They'd just flap
in the wind if I tried that," he said.

Clys nodded. "That's ok, just so that the ends are pointed
instead of all rounded off like mine are now."

Master Faranell examined Clys' ears, tugging at the flesh with
his fingers. Her ears appeared to have been mostly burned off,
and they were somewhat shriveled and leathery. If they had ever
had pointed tips, those tips had been burned away, leaving only
rounded and lumpy edges.

The Master grinned rather wickedly as he grasped a scalpal. "Try
not to scream too much," he said.

Actually Clys didn't scream at all, even as the Master cut away
the flesh of her ears, matched up the new tips, and sewed them
together. Danlily did, though, turning away at last, unable to
watch.

When he was done, Master Faranell stepped back and gazed for a
moment at Clys.

"Well, that's the best you're going to get, I think. They should
attach themselves fully in a week or two. I'd stay off any
fast-flying mounts for a bit, though."

Clys sat up, and gingerly felt her ears with her fingers. They
were much shorter than elf ears, and would still be mostly hidden
by Clys' hair, but the tips were pointed and melded smoothly into
the lower part of the ears.

Clys bowed to Master Faranell again.

"Thank you, Master. You are an artist," she said, grinning, her
small fangs glinting in the light.

Master Faranell smiled, and reached out a finger to touch the tip
of one of her fangs.

"Those bat fangs holding up ok? I was wondering if they'd stay
sharp, the way you use them."

"Yes, not bad. I think I will have to replace them at some point
with something larger and stronger, but they do the job for now."

The Master nodded, and waved his hand dismissively.

Clys and Danlily walked out of the Apothecarium, and back into
the dark of Tirisfal Glades.

A page from Clys' journal:

It is late and I am tired. Danlily is asleep. We traveled far and
killed much this day, and afterwards I rewarded her with a long
session at the table. It relaxes me to spend time focused on her
pleasure and pain, and she craves the submission, so I took
special care this evening to press her to her limits. I am
pleased with myself that I was able to do so without leaving so
much as a mark upon her soft warm skin. It was a delicious time
for both of us. It makes me smile as I write this, remember the
way she cried out one moment in pain, the next in ecstasy, as I
played her body like a fine instrument.

These times with her are bringing back my memories, little by
little. Even though I am much changed on the outside, and
certainly my status in the world is now completely different than
it was during my former life, on the inside I am still just me.
And a big part of who I am is my relationship with her. She is my
slave, in a way, my possession, and yet she is more than simply
that. She is also my anchor, and no matter how far I drift she is
always the chain that keeps me connected, even though she is the
one that wears the chains.

As I look at her now, asleep on the large soft bed she so loves,
the sight of her naked form stirs bits and pieces of my past and
breaks them loose. They swirl and spin in my mind, as if seeking
a place to stay. At last they come to rest behind my missing
eyes, and I can view them, sort through them, and then tuck them
away safely.

Just now I had an image of Danlily and Kitsu, standing near a
bridge, somewhere. This is the first time I've remembered Kitsu
in her previous form. I had forgotten that she was a night elf,
and yet the memory when it finally returned did not shock me. I
realize now that this memory must be the reason I felt such
softness toward that other night elf druid I saw on the docks of
Booty Bay a few weeks ago. I did not slay her, and now I realize
that she looked very much like Kitsu.

I am a bit distressed to find that I have loved a night elf. They
are nothing but enemies to me now. But life is full of twists and
turns, and nothing is ever simply black and white. This is ok. I
grieve, not because I have loved a night elf, but because she is
now out of my reach. Even as I thrust out my hand to ruffle the
fur between her ears, I know that the night elf is being consumed
by the cheetah, and it may be that she will never regain her true
form. In time, perhaps, she will be only a cheetah, as loyal to
Danlily as Danlily is to me. Maybe it is better this way. As a
night elf, she could not stay with us here.

Another memory has just come to me, of an evening the three of us
spent somewhere, in some city I can't recall the name of. I can
see them both, their bodies entwined with each others', and I am
standing over them. I am smiling, and I see my hands reach to
caress them both. They both turn toward me to allow me the
freedom to touch them as I choose, and my hands are warm with the
feel of them. My nose is filled with the scent of them. I am
happy, knowing that they are mine.

But, that was then, and this is now, and I am still Clys. I go
on, and I take them with me, and they will do as I bid. We have
survived my death. We will survive, even my undeath. So it is up
to me now to decide where we will go.

And who we will kill.

Kitsu pads over to Clys and bumps her head into Clys' hand. Clys
absently ruffles the fur between Kitsu's ears. Kitsu isn't
satisfied, however, and leans her whole body against Clys' legs.

"What is it, Kitsu?" Clys says, a trifle annoyed.

Kitsu responds with a strange, gutteral mewling, and Clys
crouches down, taking Kitsu's head between her hands.

"Ok, you have my attention. What's wrong?"

The shadows that surround Kitsu begin to dance in an odd way, and
Clys watches with her shadow-sight, fascinated.

"Are you doing that, Kitsu?" she asks.

Kitsu growls, and the shadows begin to coalesce into an image. As
Clys watches, a tall male, seemingly an elf, seems to form out of
the shadows. He is waving his arms in excitement, or anger. Then
another figure emerges from the shadows, a female. The two seem
to be arguing, or at least discussing something emotional. The
female waves her hands as if casting a spell, and the male folds
his arms. Then the image fades.

"I didn't know you could do that, Kitsu," Clys says wonderingly.
"Are you trying to tell me something? I don't understand the
message."

Kitsu opens her mouth and gently bites Clys' fingers. She nuzzles
Clys' hand and then pads away toward the bedroom where Danlily is
resting.

Clys scratches absently at the straps that criss-cross her face,
covering her empty eye sockets.

"I wonder what that's all about?" she mutters to herself. "I'll
have to ask Danlily if she understands it."