Grim Views

Her Beautiful Birds

Thrysta - January 10, 2006

“The Darkmoon Faire, an odd…event,” Thrysta murmured to herself
while wandering through the collection of garish tents. Hawkers
shouted out their wares, drunken sots clashed mugs together and
revelers rejoiced. Members of the Horde were all around
her…eating, drinking and shouting by torchlight and the glow of
fireworks overhead in the night sky.

She had come to look after some of her more...spirited…brethren
among The Grim, but it was too much…she needed to leave, to find
quiet, to continue her Dark Lady’s fine work.

“I found you, Thrysta!”

Thrysta was snatched from her reverie by the gleeful shouting
voice, just as its owner came bounding through the crowd.

Wadjet, the young troll shaman, happily crashed to a somewhat
unsteady stop right in front of Thrysta, towering over her. In
one hand she held a large mug full of some sort of
potent-smelling spirit, the other grasping the remnants of some
sticky sweet confection…most of which liberally coated the area
around Wadjet’s mouth and small tusks.

Before Thrysta could utter a single word, Wadjet reached out and
slapped a candy-covered hand against Thrysta’s robed arm, almost
knocking the frail Forsaken from her feet.

“You’re it! I found you hiding and now you’re…*hic*…it!”

Wadjet twirled happily, almost falling down in her drunken glee,
a wide smile on her face as she looked triumphantly down at the
diminutive priestess.

Wadjet’s constant child-like wonder and mirth were infectious,
and Thrysta couldn’t help but smile slightly, despite the rather
large candy stain now taking prominence on the sleeve of her
robe.

“Yes dear, you found me. Well done!” Thrysta murmured, “Now run
along and enjoy yourself, Wadjet. There is work to be done
later.”

“Okay! Bye bye nice lady!” The troll giggled happily, bounding
off again to play and enjoy the Faire.

Watching Wadjet recede through the crowd, Thrysta shook her head
slightly. She felt an almost matronly affection for the young
troll girl, a feeling she had not ever needed in her service to
her Dark Lady. So innocent, she thought to herself, and then
quickly banished the thought from her head. She had seen that
“innocent” girl gleefully slicing her enemies apart in combat,
humming children’s rhymes to herself as she drew screams from her
foes.

Nevertheless, despite Wadjet’s dualities, Thrysta could not help
but care for the young troll…she was a fine Grim, eager to serve
The Cause and slay those who would defy them. Thrysta quietly
murmured a prayer of victory and slaying to keep her safe.

As Wadjet disappeared into the throng of fellow Horde, a flash of
golden movement out of the corner of her eye caught Thrysta’s
attention.

She turned toward it and found herself all alone...

There were no revelers, no hagglers, no tents…no Faire at all.

A beautiful green hill was laid out before her and the spring day
was bright and clear. Two golden-haired children, a boy and a
girl, scampered happily over the crest of it toward her, waving
and shouting, jumping and flapping their arms as they gleefully
tumbled down the front of the small slope.

Thrysta stood, dumbstruck, gasping as she caught sight of
herself. Her flesh was ruddy and tanned from days of honest work
in the sun. Long golden hair hung down over a simple white
blouse, her blue skirt moving slightly in the soft breeze.

She was whole again, she thought incomprehensibly, just as the
two children crashed happily into her legs, clutching at skirts.

“Mama, Mama! Did ya see us?! We was flyin’!” the boy screeched
happily.

“We was like birds, Mama!” the girl giggled, a large grass stain
apparent on her homespun blouse.

Thrysta tried to recoil in panic, but her body did not respond.
Her hands moved against her will to stroke the golden hair of the
two small children. She tried to cry out but a soft voice, so
unlike her own dry rasp, passed from her lips.

“Oh, my!” it exclaimed as Thrysta tried to wail, unable to make
her lips form the mournful sound. “You were flying, just for me?”

“Yes, yes!” the two children giggled as they hugged her legs.

“Well, then fly, go! Go my beautiful birds!” her own voice
happily exclaimed, even as Thrysta tried in vain to scream. At
the joyful words, the two children took off laughing, chasing one
another back up the hill just as something crashed against the
back of Thrysta’s shoulders.

“Gotcha again, nice lady!” squealed Wadjet merrily as she
drunkenly bounded by, losing herself again in the crowd of the
Faire.

The sights and sounds of the Faire crashed down upon Thrysta’s
senses as a wracking sob escaped her ruined mouth. Her hands flew
to cover it, but more followed as Thrysta stumbled through the
crowd, pushing revelers out of her way before falling to her
knees in the small space between two closely-staked tents.

Thrysta tried to remember the catechisms of hate and fear as
great shuddering sobs wracked her frail form, but they would not
come to her. She threw back her head and wailed, all thoughts of
composure gone, her cries lost to the din of the Faire.

Her birds…her beautiful, beautiful birds…how had she forgotten
them?! How?!

Thrysta struggled to her feet with an incredible pounding ache
welling up in her hollow chest. She shook with juddering sobs…but
she knew.

She now knew where they were.

Finding the strength to summon her undead steed as she stumbled
out to the area behind the tents, she fell limp in the saddle
with anguish and exhaustion, guiding her steed away from the
Faire with what was left of her tattered mind.

She would find her beautiful birds.

Dark mists swirled through the corrupted air around Thrysta as
her undead steed plodded up the overgrown mountain path. She
swayed in the saddle, her frail form hunched over, her overtaxed
mind lost in rediscovered memories.

…A cottage…on a high ledge…overlooking her home town…tilled
fields spread out behind it…a small green hill where the children
play…

Her mount came off the steep path onto level ground. In front of
her lay the charred foundation and remnants of a small cottage.
Set further back, muted with the corrupted heavy air, a small
brown hill, studded with tufts of dead grass.

Thrysta dismissed her mount with a thought, standing, turning to
look down from the high cliff to the town below.

It was a ruin.

She could just make out the remnants of the town below.
Occasionally, she would catch small glimpses of movement that
marked the mindless filth that stalked the wreckage of her
homeland.

She turned from the cliff’s edge and the haunting view, making
for what was left of the small cottage.

…talk of a plague…the children scared…feeling feverish…her
husband laying her down in their bed…oh gods, her husband…feeling
sick, incoherent…the sounds of yells and hoof beats from
outside…the children crying…men in clattering armor…her husband
yelling, screaming…her children…crying, wailing…then
nothing…nothing but the crash of a splintered door…the yells of
armored men…the blades cutting flesh…hammers destroying bone…the
sound of crackling, raging fire…

Thrysta found the four graves near the burnt foundation.

One of the larger graves had been disturbed in time past, but the
other one and the two small ones next to them lay unblemished,
save for an overgrowth of dry, dead grass. There were no
headstones, nothing to mark the graves at all.

A passing kindness by a refugee, Thrysta raggedly pieced
together, someone had shown them one last kindness after the
terror. She fell to her knees, trying to contain the sobs, as she
ran her hands over the three undisturbed graves.

“I should be here with you…I should stay…yes, I should…” Thrysta
rasped to herself as she could contain her shaking sobs no
longer. She collapsed heavily on top of the graves, wailing, her
frail, ruined, wasted body shaking in her grief. One of her
taloned hands reached out for the churned earth of her own grave,
the other tried to clutch at all three of the resting places of
her loved ones at once. Her sobs and pleas to her children and
husband went unanswered.

The only sounds in response came from hooting howls in the town
down below and the snapping of one dry twig nearby.

Her body still shaking and wracked, Thrysta came sharply back to
focus. Someone was coming to take her loved ones from her, again.
She reached out with her mind, using her gifts from the Dark Lady
to find any unguarded thoughts from the threat closing in upon
her and her family. With a mental sweep, she closed in on the
unprotected musings of her stalker.

…can’t see me...too dark…I’m too quiet…an easy kill, this fallen
bag of bones…I’ll take her head for bounty and loot this sorry
ruin…probably nothing left, anyway…

Thrysta tensed slightly, her body still prone, her head still
down. She could feel the young rogue creeping in behind her. Oh,
there is great treasure left here, Thrysta thought to herself.
Three great beautiful loving treasures, in fact, and they are
mine.

Just as the rogue leapt to strike, Thrysta threw back her head
and screamed into the hazy night sky, her hate and anguish
channeled into a Psychic Scream of enormous power. The rogue
cried in terror, dropping a sword and dagger to the dusty ground
as all higher thought was obliterated by the terrible sound. The
hooded figure tried to run like a frightened animal, blind with
horror, but Thrysta raised a hand.

An azure flaying bolt reached out for the rogue, burning and
guiding the sobbing figure back to the enraged Forsaken
priestess. The rogue, still crying in fear, added screams of pain
to the cacophony. In that moment, Thrysta found her enemy’s mind
completely and simply took it in her possession.

The rogue’s cries and screams abruptly stopped as the figure
dropped to its knees amongst the dead grass and dusty ground.
Channeling her dark powers into the rogue’s mind, Thrysta bade
the rogue to rise and approach her.

Lurching like a zombie, the rogue stumbled into place in front of
Thrysta. Exerting fine mental control, Thrysta kept the rogue’s
mind firmly trapped as she reached slowly forward and brushed
back the figure’s hood.

The rogue was a young woman, barely more than a girl.

Her eyes were blank, a slight trail of drool moving down the
corner of her mouth. Her dull brown hair fell in lanky waves
around a dirt smeared face. She swayed in front of Thrysta like
an idle marionette…and I have the strings, thought Thrysta idly.

How old, she thought…how old would mine be now? Would she be as
old as this slip of a girl in front of her? Yes, just about.
Thrysta shook her head, the dull ache in chest growing. Her
daughter’s future had been snatched away. She would never grow
up, never be a woman. Yet this one has had her chance. A chance
her girl would never have.

Cupping the girl’s chin with a cold, taloned hand, Thrysta slowly
turned her head, looking at the girl’s profile. A fair one, she
thought to herself, at least without the dirt covering it all up.
Such a waste in one like this, she thought. Releasing the girl’s
chin, Thrysta spoke.

“Child?”

“Yes Mistress?” the mind-controlled rogue flatly responded,
barely making it a question.

“Child…you are very fair.”

Yes Mistress…”

“I must ask something of you, child…something I want.”

“Yes, Mistress…anything…”

Thrysta reached out, slowly taking the girl’s head in her taloned
hands.

“Will you fly for me, child?”

“Yes, Mistress...”

Thrysta placed a kiss on the grimy forehead of the young woman,
then exerting control of her mind, turned her to face the sheer
drop of the cliff.

“WELL THEN FLY, GO! GO, MY BEAUTIFUL BIRD!”

Thrysta’s ruined face, locked in a savage rictus of hate, watched
as the young rogue stumbled, running for the ledge, no hesitation
in her form as the girl took to the empty air.

And fell.

Thrysta held the girl’s mind for just one more moment, and then
released it. She fell to her knees, crying softly with the
rogue’s quickly distancing screams of terror and the muted wet
crash of impact.

After many moments, Thrysta slowly and shakily rose to her feet.
The Dark Lady had given her purpose. Thrysta was a priestess of
Her Will and one of the spiritual guardians of The Grim. There
was work to be done. She knew in her dry husk of a heart that
there was a reward at the end of her work; three beautiful
wonderful treasures that would be hers again once the Alliance
were all culled.

Hate and love warred within her. She would keep the love for her
three treasures. The hate was all for the Alliance.