Love Hurts by Thrysta
Posted: Tue Jul 05, 2016 10:35 pm
Love Hurts
Thrysta - February 22, 2006
Part 1
This had been her homeland.
This plague-ridden, dying land…this land that now belonged to the
Scourge.
Thrysta strode through the barren crop fields of Gahrron’s
Withering, her shadow magics lashing out at the Scourge Spirits
that infested the ruined farmstead. She hissed prayers of pain
and death for her hated enemies, for these vile perversions of
her own dark gift, a gift bestowed upon her by Lady Sylvanas. The
creatures tore and raked at her in return with dark talons, but
she was unmindful of the small wounds, intent only on killing
each and every one of the Scourge who tainted her homeland.
Shaking with rage, Thrysta screamed catechisms of loyalty to the
Forsaken as the last Scourge Spirit in front of her gave up its
existence with a haunting wail. Her inner reservoirs of precious
mana almost completely spent from the combat, Thrysta knelt,
pulling from one of her small bags a vial of morning glory dew.
The substance tasted horrible and reeked of elf, but its
consumption helped her to regain her inner mana. She put the vial
to her lips and began to drink.
Thrysta had barely quaffed half of the vial when she heard the
ghostly hiss from behind her. She whirled to her feet, turning to
meet the threat as the newly materialized Spirit’s claws raked
her face.
Necrotised flesh ripped and flew, dry bone scraped as the Scourge
creature tore at her. Her wide-brimmed crimson felt hat flew from
her head to land in the dirt of the field as Thrysta desperately
shrieked a word of power to shield herself from the Spirit’s dark
attacks.
The shield popped into existence around her, giving Thrysta a
momentary respite from the Spirit’s rending blows as it continued
to batter away at the magical barrier. Her face was in tatters,
with dry ribbons of dead flesh hanging from her left cheek and
scalp. One of her arms had taken a fearsome blow, the exposed
bone cracked and chipped.
Thrysta focused, drawing on what little mana she had left to
curse the creature with a dark word of wracking pain as well as a
devouring plague that sapped the creature’s strength, slowly
transferring it to Thrysta. Her shield weakening, she used the
last of her inner mana to cast a spell of renewal on herself,
feeling it starting to work as her flesh and bone began to
slowly, slowly knit itself back together.
As her shield finally collapsed under the fury of the Scourge
Spirit’s pain-maddened attacks, Thrysta drew her dark wand, the
Woestave. She screamed her hatred for all Scourge and lashed out
with a dark, shadowy bolt as the creature’s claws again found her
flesh.
The two undead danced in battle through the fallow field of the
ruined farmstead, dark bolts of shadow meeting rending ethereal
claws. Thrysta howled her devotion to the Dark Lady as one her
bolts finally blasted through the creature’s dark body,
destroying its hold on existence. The creature wailed in agony as
its form came apart and it disappeared.
Thrysta wearily collapsed into the dirt of the field. She sat
slack with exhaustion, her body torn, her inner mana almost
totally spent. Summoning the last reserves she had, she again
cast the spell of renewal, fumbling in her pouch for another vial
of the cursed elf brew that would help her to recover as her
flesh slowly began to knit back together.
Uncorking the vial, Thrysta again began to drink, feeling her
mana regenerating within her faster as she consumed the liquid.
Finishing the vial with a quick tilt, her mana well on its way to
recovery, she spied her crimson felt hat lying in the dirt near
her.
Rising unsteadily to her feet, her wounds still troubling her
movement as they slowly healed under the effects of her renewal
magic, she walked over to it, bending over in dull pain to snatch
it from the dry soil of the field.
“Agol lo magis!”
Thrysta froze as she heard the shout from a few steps behind her,
still bent over in the act of picking up her wide-brimmed hat.
“Lo landowar sturume bur!”
Thrysta slowly straightened up, hat in hand, her back to the
owner of the voice. Slowly, she brushed the dirt from her hat and
placed it back on her head, feeling the flesh of her face and
body still slowly regenerating its way back to her normal ruined
rictus and frail but still feminine form. She was still weak,
however, and to top it off this Common-speaking bastard had
gotten the drop on her.
Tilting the brim of her hat at a rakish angle, a recent
affectation, she turned to face the owner of the voice, intent on
selling her unlife as dearly as she could in her diminished
state…
Thrysta - February 22, 2006
Part 1
This had been her homeland.
This plague-ridden, dying land…this land that now belonged to the
Scourge.
Thrysta strode through the barren crop fields of Gahrron’s
Withering, her shadow magics lashing out at the Scourge Spirits
that infested the ruined farmstead. She hissed prayers of pain
and death for her hated enemies, for these vile perversions of
her own dark gift, a gift bestowed upon her by Lady Sylvanas. The
creatures tore and raked at her in return with dark talons, but
she was unmindful of the small wounds, intent only on killing
each and every one of the Scourge who tainted her homeland.
Shaking with rage, Thrysta screamed catechisms of loyalty to the
Forsaken as the last Scourge Spirit in front of her gave up its
existence with a haunting wail. Her inner reservoirs of precious
mana almost completely spent from the combat, Thrysta knelt,
pulling from one of her small bags a vial of morning glory dew.
The substance tasted horrible and reeked of elf, but its
consumption helped her to regain her inner mana. She put the vial
to her lips and began to drink.
Thrysta had barely quaffed half of the vial when she heard the
ghostly hiss from behind her. She whirled to her feet, turning to
meet the threat as the newly materialized Spirit’s claws raked
her face.
Necrotised flesh ripped and flew, dry bone scraped as the Scourge
creature tore at her. Her wide-brimmed crimson felt hat flew from
her head to land in the dirt of the field as Thrysta desperately
shrieked a word of power to shield herself from the Spirit’s dark
attacks.
The shield popped into existence around her, giving Thrysta a
momentary respite from the Spirit’s rending blows as it continued
to batter away at the magical barrier. Her face was in tatters,
with dry ribbons of dead flesh hanging from her left cheek and
scalp. One of her arms had taken a fearsome blow, the exposed
bone cracked and chipped.
Thrysta focused, drawing on what little mana she had left to
curse the creature with a dark word of wracking pain as well as a
devouring plague that sapped the creature’s strength, slowly
transferring it to Thrysta. Her shield weakening, she used the
last of her inner mana to cast a spell of renewal on herself,
feeling it starting to work as her flesh and bone began to
slowly, slowly knit itself back together.
As her shield finally collapsed under the fury of the Scourge
Spirit’s pain-maddened attacks, Thrysta drew her dark wand, the
Woestave. She screamed her hatred for all Scourge and lashed out
with a dark, shadowy bolt as the creature’s claws again found her
flesh.
The two undead danced in battle through the fallow field of the
ruined farmstead, dark bolts of shadow meeting rending ethereal
claws. Thrysta howled her devotion to the Dark Lady as one her
bolts finally blasted through the creature’s dark body,
destroying its hold on existence. The creature wailed in agony as
its form came apart and it disappeared.
Thrysta wearily collapsed into the dirt of the field. She sat
slack with exhaustion, her body torn, her inner mana almost
totally spent. Summoning the last reserves she had, she again
cast the spell of renewal, fumbling in her pouch for another vial
of the cursed elf brew that would help her to recover as her
flesh slowly began to knit back together.
Uncorking the vial, Thrysta again began to drink, feeling her
mana regenerating within her faster as she consumed the liquid.
Finishing the vial with a quick tilt, her mana well on its way to
recovery, she spied her crimson felt hat lying in the dirt near
her.
Rising unsteadily to her feet, her wounds still troubling her
movement as they slowly healed under the effects of her renewal
magic, she walked over to it, bending over in dull pain to snatch
it from the dry soil of the field.
“Agol lo magis!”
Thrysta froze as she heard the shout from a few steps behind her,
still bent over in the act of picking up her wide-brimmed hat.
“Lo landowar sturume bur!”
Thrysta slowly straightened up, hat in hand, her back to the
owner of the voice. Slowly, she brushed the dirt from her hat and
placed it back on her head, feeling the flesh of her face and
body still slowly regenerating its way back to her normal ruined
rictus and frail but still feminine form. She was still weak,
however, and to top it off this Common-speaking bastard had
gotten the drop on her.
Tilting the brim of her hat at a rakish angle, a recent
affectation, she turned to face the owner of the voice, intent on
selling her unlife as dearly as she could in her diminished
state…