Grim Views

Undiscovered Affliction

Lilliana - April 17, 2006

Lilliana sat outside of her mother’s large living quarters in the
great city of Orgrimmar. Warneshi had not spared extravagance for
her mother, although Lilliana thought it wasteful. The young
priestess seemed occupied with something small within her taloned
hand. A tiny vile filled with a red liquid rolled from slender
talon to slender talon. Her dark eyes studied it carefully, a
look of worry creased her delicate features….she should go speak
with her mother...but something held her back, and she merely
continued to study the vial..

Struggle and strife was not something that Lilliana was used to,
at least, it had not been before she was allowed entry into the
fearsome ranks of the Grim. She had been raised in strict
protection under the guidance of her shaman mother, Bloodshine,
and beneath the gnome mage, Tranquility’s teachings. Her beliefs
were different from the masses of the horde, although many of
them did not know what they were. Even Warneshi, whom she kept
close contact with, was not privy to everything that the little
priest kept herself occupied with, or where her approaches in
what she did stemmed from. She kept many things hidden, one thing
especially….

The priestess hissed as what seemed to be a tiny spider pressed
against the side of the vial, swimming in the blood that lied
within. The little creature expanded, and gently broke apart,
only to be made again into a miniature, yet still gruesome eight
legged creature that danced within the vial, lost seemingly in an
endless cycle of destruction and rebirth Whoever owned this blood
was cursed indeed, and that was what worried Lilliana...she had
seen enough of the cursed, just earlier today…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Vuudu had requested that Lilliana come to Syreena’s aid that
late night in the Apothecary, Lilliana had seriously contemplated
slaughtering the sweet tempered forsaken. The wound that
inflicted the forsaken rogue had been deep, and the infection
that lied therein was not something that could be halted by
Lilliana’s touch. She pondered it a mercy to end the forsaken’s
unlife then and there, but, the Grim would need Syreena. The
rogue had grown immensely in her prowess, and Lilliana herself
had grown impressed when fighting alongside the rogue. Instead of
slaying the forsaken (after a moment where Lilliana had raised
her hand, threatening to rake her talons through the forsaken
after a failed healing attempt), Lilliana had sealed the little
rogue’s fate by laying her hands upon her, allowing the healing
light of her gentle touch to wash into the rogue, sparing her
death at this point in time.

Warneshi had sneered at her later, commenting on Lilliana’s
choice of closing the wound, prolonging Syreena’s torment.
Lilliana felt that the King was questioning her decision. In fact
he was, but only to probe at Lilliana’s reasoning. Lilliana did
not question her choice, the Grim could use Syreena and so she
took part in keeping the little forsaken alive. Syreena would
have to learn to use her curse to the benefit of those that she
served.

Lilliana had a brief reprieve that evening, when, by the aid of a
specialized wand she had kept during the Halloween celebrations
months ago, she turned Warneshi into a wisp as a joke. The Grim
that were present to hear his roars of indignance over the
hearthstones was more than enough to provide Lilliana with
laughter. Although Lilliana was not pleased with being hoisted
into the air by a frustrated king as a result of her wispy
insult, she was rather pleased with herself. It seemed that she
could always keep a bit ahead of Warneshi, and truth be told, it
made both of them laugh in an age where laughter was all too
scarce.

Lilliana came back to the present. Her eyes were still set upon
the wretched vial. What rested within the contaminated blood,
Lilliana feared, could destroy what she fought for, all that she
desired. But, if she invited her mother’s help, it could very
well end it all despite her best intentions. Her mother served
Warneshi now, as did Lilliana in her own way, and outside
problems would not be welcome, a problem that could prohibit her
duties for the Grim, and for the Sandfury.

Clouds rolled in from the sky above, thunder echoing with a
booming voice across the streets of Orgrimmar. Lilliana looked
up. It had been so long since the rains had fallen here. It was a
welcome sight. When the downpour came, slick tendrils of liquid
falling hard against the dusty ground, Lilliana found herself
rising to her feet, and entering Bloodshine’s quarters. She would
speak to her mother about the dark curse that rested within this
vial, she would call upon her mothers prowess as the great shaman
Warneshi had ensured the young priestess that she was born
from…..

[Syreena]

Vuudu had told her to get the wound closed by a priest she
trusted. Chavie was off researching somewhere, so Syreena chose
Lilly. The thought that Lilly might kill her instead of heal her
never crossed Syreena's mind, and she wouldn't believe it if
someone told her. She was confused when Lilly drew her hand back
as if to slash her talons across Syreena's stomach, but she made
no move to defend herself against such a blow, other than an
instinctive tightening of her stomach muscles. She trusted Lilly,
and if the priest saw fit to cut her, then there must be a good
reason for it. But the blow never came.

Syreena was surprised to see Vuudu's arm in Splintertree as the
Grims gathered for the slaughter of the elves. All this time, she
thought she was the only one affected, and she didn't tell anyone
about it, although quite a few people suspected something was
wrong with her. When they asked, Syreena just told them she
missed Chavie, but that was only part of the reason. She was
afraid to tell them though. She felt guilty for keeping a secret
from them, but they might think she was weak, and not fit to be a
Grim. Luckily, the few people she wouldn't be able to bring
herself to tell half-truths to, didn't ask, and nobody who did
ask pressed the issue after she told them she missed her friend.

She showed Vuudu her wound later that night. The open gash on her
side was surrounded by scales that covered her right side from
her spine to the middle of her stomach. Vuudu explained what she
knew about it, and Syreena was comforted by the knowledge. Things
started to make more sense now--the blackouts of missing time,
her growing strength, and her sudden interest in dragons. She
felt drawn to the beasts, especially the black ones. Mostly, she
was just relieved that she wasn't alone in dealing with this
curse, and that she wouldn't be banished from The Grim because of
it.

So as she sat on a table in the Apothecary, she ignored the inner
voice urging her to run before the wound was healed. She had
placed her fate in the hands of Vuudu and Lilly, with Warneshi as
an observer, and in doing so, had removed a great weight from her
shoulders. She wondered for a few moments though, if Lilly would
refuse to heal her. She had seemed to be stalling, asking a lot
of questions. But Syreena waited patiently for Lilly and Vuudu to
decide what to do with her.

Finally, Syreena felt a searing flash of light on her side as
Lilly hovered her hand over the wound, and the gash was closed
completely. The scales remained; no amount of healing could
remove them. Syreena wondered how long she had before the curse
consumed her completely. She had to find a way to stop it before
then. She would use its strength, but she couldn't let it take
control of her. If it did...well, she'd made her wishes known to
Vuudu if that happened.

[Zuru]

Zuru shut the door to the Undercity inn room carefully behind
him, before turning the latch to lock the door. The rogue
withdrew several metallic implements from secret pockets sown
into his clothing, amongst them a spring, some silver wire and a
small needle. Dipping the needle into a small jar of colorless
liquid, he trapped the lock that feebly protected him from
unwanted visitors. The task he had before him would leave him
incapacitated for a brief amount of time; the poison that coated
the needle would incapacitate significantly longer.

Shadows and light pantomimed their eternal struggle against the
dank stone walls of the room. Green mold crept threateningly down
the grey stone, slimy tendrils reaching out as if to choke the
tenant while they rest. Zuru hated the Undercity; he hated the
twisting spirals and labyrinthine corridors, he hated the
horrible stench of undeath and decay, and he hated the residents
of its haunted halls. But the Forsaken could provide, much like
any resource, and because of that he had not neglected to develop
ties with them. If anything, they provided easy marks for
manipulation. While the undead frequently boast of their
abilities to deliver naught but death and destruction to their
enemies, many among their number still held great sympathies for
their human families, both those still living and those claimed
by the Lich King’s Scourge. The acquisition of trinkets and other
relics of their past was typically a fairly easy errand, and had
earned him a boon or two amongst the Sylvanas’ new faction

These favors had come in quite useful as of late and quite costly
as well. Zuruzuru’s ally within the Apothecarium knew as much as
anyone could about the troll’s affliction, and thusly knew he
could turn the situation to his advantage. Zuru’s last attack was
particularly devastating; the trip to the Sunken Temple, while
lucrative, may not have been in Zuru’s best interest. Still, the
coin gathered from that run had helped Zuru pay the outrageous
sum of coin the Forsaken apothecary had demanded for the supplies
the rogue required for his alchemy, and the ritual which would
provide him temporary respite from the enemy within his blood.

As Zuru had requested, the room was kept bare, save for a small
table, a bed and a bowl of cold, fresh water. The troll laid down
a tanned beast skin, lined with arcane symbols prepared by the
apothecary, cupped his hands into the cool water and washed his
face clean of his traditional face paint. Taking several jars of
clay from his backpack, Zuru mixed new paints together, both in
bone white and deep crimson. Dabbing his talons into the paint,
he touched them to his nose, and drew two opposing lines,
traveling outward until they reached his high cheekbones, and
then arching sharply upward until nearly meeting at his hairline.
A second set of lines crossed his cheek to bend upwards to his
temple, while the third and fourth traveled south and terminated
at his chin. He outlined the design with the red paint; the Mark
of the Spider was complete.

Zuru dashed the remaining water against the floor of the room and
dried the bowl with his cloak. Stripping off his gear, he looked
disdainfully at the risen scar on his chest. Twice had his
mentor’s blade kissed him there; the first time, the old goblin
had near mortally wounded a young Zuruzuru and given him a
mission to prove his worth as a pupil. The second time, during
Gabricci’s betrayal of The Green Cutlass, he had spared Zuru’s
life only to curse him with a poison that could claim him at any
time. Running several inches across over his heart, the scar only
revealed itself during Zuru’s episodes, a pale white line shot
through with vulgar black veins against the troll’s blue skin.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the rogue returned to the
task at hand. Taking a small red gem from a satchel, the rogue
drew his dagger and ran it along his tongue, coating the blade in
his blood as he spoke an incantation to the Spider totem in the
language of the Darkspear. With the bloodstained edge he tapped
the gem, which began to vibrate, almost howling in satisfaction
as it ignited in bright red flames. Small tongues of fire began
to fall from the jewel, splashing into the bowl beneath and
burning out, leaving only a sickly scarlet liquid in passing.
Next he took out several glowing strands of spider silk, and
carefully arranged them in a web-like pattern over the fluid.
Unfolding a leather bag, Zuruzuru withdrew an alchemical poultice
he had prepared in advance, a mixture of herbs designed to clean
the blood of impurities. The rogue chuckled to himself. At the
very least, these he could gather himself, and save a few
precious gold.

The ingredients complete, Zuru placed the herbs atop the mixture
and took flint and tinder to them, setting the concoction ablaze.
He drew back from it, and steeled himself for the rigors that
would soon be set upon his body. Again, he found amusement in his
plight…Poison is the cure, thought the rogue, as the cloying
smoke filled the room. His thoughts turned to Gabricci, his
sometimes-loved, mostly hated goblin mentor, then to
Lilliana…sweet, deadly Lilliana, who had sat by him tenderly the
last time he had performed this ritual. Even as his flesh began
to crawl as though a thousand tiny spiders skittered beneath it,
even as the noxious green vapor that rose from the bowl starved
his lungs for air, he could not help but crack a faint smile as
he thought of her. Zuruzuru made few promises in his life, a
freebooter to his very core, but he kept to the ones he had and
should this one thought be his last, it would be of her.

Pain gripped the troll’s body as all color left his flesh. Zuru
growled animalistically, holding back the urge to cry out in
agony. His eyes sank deep into the back of his head, and his
heart raced, beating angrily against his breast, seeking release
from its prison of bone. His scar burned, and all sense left the
troll. In his delirium, he could see his body, an anonymous
spectator to his own torment, writhing on the grey stone of the
room, the black veins of the scar twisting themselves into eight
barbed legs and sinking themselves into his chest. He gasped for
air and found only blood, spilling like a river from his mouth.
From the dark pool of his heart’s blood, a brood of ruby spiders
arose, swiftly covering his body, sharp fangs taking apart his
flesh bit-by-agonizing bit. His mouth opened, and at his lips
came the last words he promised to ever speak, but no sound
emerged; only the taste of his own blood, and then nothingness.
Zuru awoke to the sounds of the bustle of the Undercity, merely
another day for the armies of the Horde as they waged war against
the new enemies of the Silithid while struggling to maintain a
foothold against the Alliance. No smoke lingered in the room;
only a golden bowl filled with ash and a pool of thickening blood
marked the ritual Zuru had just performed. He traced his finger
across his bare chest. The scar had receded, now only a barely
perceptible line of pale blue against his skin. Throwing back his
head, the troll laughed hysterically. He had survived one more
day...one more day to plan his revenge.

[Lilliana]

A Mother's Discovery

"Mother...." Lilliana's sweet voice danced into her mother's
quarters, alerting the shaman of her daughter's presence here.
Her mother had delved deep into some old dusty tomes, which she
looked up from to greet her daughter. A strange, green glow
eminated from the old pages, and was only extinguished when
Bloodshine closed the book to give her daughter sole attention.
Lilliana had only spoken her mother's name when the shaman rose
to her feet and came to greet her daughter with a loving hug,
special only to mothers who truly cared for their daughters. The
bond between the two Sandfury was strong, probably stronger than
Bloodshine's desire for power within the Sandfury's returning
empire.

The shaman's raspy voice spoke to Lilliana, tickling her ears and
compelling the young priest to pay attention to every syllabel.
"To what do I owe this visit, my love? I don't think that you
have completed your duties yet today, my dear, sneaking away to
see your old mother?" The shaman laughed, but swiftly stifled her
cackle when she observed the expression her daughter held, a look
of concern. So rarely seen on the lovely features of her
daughter's delicate face, such a cause for her daughter to have
worry in her life brought the shaman to invite her daughter to
sit with her. "What's wrong, Lilliana?"

Lilliana shook her head, her mother may not be able to read her
mind and direct her actions like she could with so many others,
but her mother as well as any could read an expression on a face.
Lilliana took the vial of blood from her pocket and showed it to
her mother, "The blood of a friend, mother, it's infected, with
something.....I want you to help find out what, and how, to fix
it up, and stuff."

The shaman took the vial into her slender talons, and she watched
the death and rebirth of the little spiders that Lilliana and
been studying earlier, as they danced within the dark red liquid.
Bloodshine arched a delicate brow at Lilliana. "Oh?" The shaman
questioned. "And I'm sure that there are many within the Grim
that could cure this, and surely if this poor beast is a
Grim...."

Lilliana interupted her mother, "He's not a Grim, mother. This is
not a Grim matter."

"Sandfury, then?" Her mother questioned, studying the vial
closer.

"No." Lilliana replied.

Her mother was quiet for a long while, studying the vile for what
seemed an eternity. Well, an eternity for a rather anxious
Lilliana. She was nervous for what she was doing. Although
Warneshi was aware of the pirate troll and where Lilliana stood
with him, she did not want to bring him into the fray of
things...for she did not wish to push the troll king she cared
for with Zuruzuru's involvement Lilliana knew she could trust her
mother to remain quiet, at least, she thought she could. The
addition of the historical sword that Warneshi now welded brought
in something to consider, for it was within all of their heads,
calling to them for obediance, screaming at even keen Lilliana,
who was brave against such mind attacks, to open her soul and all
of her heart to it, for the purpose of the Sandfury. If her
mother could simply study the blood and give Lilly an answer,
then she would be assured that her secret would remain a secret,
as it should, as what Lilliana did with her time free from the
Grim was to be her time and hers alone.

"I want to meet this troll." The mother put the vial down and
Lilliana shifted uncomfortably. Her mother was too clever,
Lilliana had not said the blood belonged to a troll, yet still,
it took her but seconds to discern! "The blood will do little for
me, if I am not able to see the essence of the soul to which it
belongs." The shaman was lying through her fangs. She could very
well work with the blood and the blood alone, but something she
sensed about it, the presence within it - it called to her, as if
this blood was part of her kin, part of her people. Since the
ressurection of Sul'Thraze, the great sword that was part of the
Sandfury trolls, she felt much more connected to her people than
ever before, able to sense them in far away areas. These
abilities were nothing compared to what Warneshi could now sense,
for his powers were almost limitless regarding such, well,
dependent on how well he could control the voice of the sword
that is. "Bring him to me, tommorow, Lilliana, and we'll see
what, if anything, can be done."

Lilliana moved to argue. This was the last thing she wanted to
do! Bringing him here....bringing him before her mother....her
mother would surely see behind the casual mask of friendship for
the forbidden..... "But can't you....."

"No no, love." Bloodshine placed a slender talon across
Lilliana's lips, hushing her. Lilliana slumped her shoulders and
sighed, but agreed. Bloodshine tilted her head, this was a new
record for gaining Lilliana's obediance. Often her daughter flat
out refused her mother's requests, despite the shaman's clever
weaving of words, and even threats, when she felt them necessary.
This was important indeed. Her dark eyes fell to the vial, where
little spiders spit and twirled within. Yes, very important
indeed....