((This is Syreena's Nightmare after the Accalia battle. OOC disclaimer - except for the first paragraph, all characters were used without permission, because none of it happened for real--only in Sy's nightmare.))
The first day of the fifth Darkmoon Faire of the year…..
Syreena sulked angrily as she rode through the Barrens in search of an enemy of The Grim. She should have been on Darkmoon Isle with everyone else, fighting Accalia. She would have finally gotten her revenge on Kex’ti, by turning on him and finishing him off near the end of the battle. But no….Khorvis had ordered her to head out that very morning, and told her not go near the big fight. Syreena wouldn’t be surprised if the Lasher knew, or at least suspected, that she had plans for the battle, plans other than just killing the main target, plans that would include her attacking someone he’d once saved. As she rode, she tried coming up with insults about him that were as creative as some of the offending phrases she’d heard him use on occasion.
The breeze picked up, and clouds covered the sun, casting the open grasslands in a dimmer light. Off in the distance she heard a wolf howl. She looked that direction, and she saw a prairie wolf. Odd to see one here, she thought. They were much more common in Mulgore. The wolf sniffed the air. His ears pricked up and he bounded her direction. She reached for a sword, then paused. The image of the wolf, the way he carried himself, the tilt of his ears—it all tugged at a memory of years past, of a wolf she’d hunted alongside since her earliest days as a Grim, one she had once known nearly as well as she knew her own Ber.
“Ohoye?” she inquired softy, swinging down from her horse. She walked toward the approaching wolf, stopping only when the bounding beast was close enough to tackle her. He pinned her to the ground with a wagging tail and licking tongue. “Ohoye!”
The little rogue clutched tightly at the ruff around his neck in a fierce hug. She buried her face in his fur as a wave of emotion overtook her, strong enough to bring tears to her eyes.
The earth shook gently with the footfalls of a nearby kodo, and hoofbeats, softened by grass, carried to ear on the breeze. She gently pushed Ohoye away enough to get to her feet, knowing who must be approaching, but afraid to hope it was true.
“Hello, little sister,” a Tauren hunter called with a friendly smile as he dismounted from a tan talbuk. Syreena and Ohoye together ran to the hunter. When she was close enough, the little rogue launched herself through the air. The hunter laughed as he caught her, a strong, warm sound.
“Mohan!” Syreena exclaimed as she hugged him tightly before letting him lower her back to the ground.
She turned to his brother, who was just stepping away from his kodo. Yichimet stood calmly, his smile as warm as his gaze, and he opened his arms in silent invitation. Syreena rushed into them, her fingers clutching at his shaman robes. She laid her head against him and closed her eyes, and when she felt his strong, gentle arms close around her, she felt a sense of comfort and security such as she had not known in many long years. She made no effort to stop her tears, which were now flowing freely. She was not ashamed of them here. This was the one person in the world she’d never had to hide anything from.
Everything would be all right now. Yichi always knew what to do. Syreena could almost feel the weight of the troubles and worries of the recent months sliding from her shoulders, as they had so often in the distant past. The wise shaman had never offered her anything but sound advice and encouraging words. He was the one who advised and comforted her through the Lascivious and Cessily incidents. He was the one who warned her immediately after Wrathgate that some may now intend harm to any and all Forsaken. He had always been there for her, without judgment or criticism.
The little rogue would have been content to remain like that, in Yichimet’s warm embrace with Mohan and Ohoye watching over them, for the rest of the day, and all through the night, and for as long as the shaman would allow it. She’d forgotten what it was to feel so safe.
All too soon, Yichi’s arms shifted, his large hands gripping her arms gently, but firmly, as he pushed her an arm’s length away to look down into her face. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, wiping tears from her cheek. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she realized the tears didn’t belong; most Forsaken didn’t cry. But she ignored that thought, mentally shoving it away, for if it were true, that would mean this wasn’t real--that Yichi wasn’t really here--and she couldn’t accept that.
“Mu’sha comes to An’she somewhere today, little sister,” he said in his calm, soothing voice. “They meet again, after so long separated. The Earthmother watches with both eyes, and the Spirits say she watches over a battle of great significance.”
He cocked an ear, as if still listening to the Spirits he always spoke of. Then a line creased his brow, and his eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. His grip on her arms tightened painfully.
“A battle where Grim fight, but not you. You’ve shamed us, little sister. Your plots and schemes, against loyal members of the Horde, have dishonored us. And now you hide, like the coward I always knew you to be, while they fight for the lives of all.”
Syreena stared up at him in disbelief and in horror. Yichi had never looked at her in such a way. He had never hurt her. She started to stammer explanations, excuses, but the usually gentle Tauren lifted the little Forsaken and threw her away from him. She tumbled through the air like a ragdoll before hitting the ground.
When she got to her feet, the brothers and wolf had turned their backs on her and were walking away. She scrambled after them, clutching at Yichimet’s robes. He didn’t stop his purposeful walk, and she didn’t let go, being half-dragged behind him.
“Yichi, please!” she cried. Ohoye growled at her. Mohan unslung his bow and aimed an arrow at her. And Yichimet….ignored her, which frightened her most of all. Still, she held tight, begging and wailing shamelessly. “Don’t go! Yichi! Please!”
Slowly, Mohan, Yichimet, and Ohoye began to fade. Their forms turned to fog, and then disappeared entirely, like ghosts.
No, not ghosts, she thought to herself later. Spirits.
Nightmare: Reunions
Re: Nightmare: Reunions
Syreena trudged through the tall Barrens grass and climbed up on her horse. With one last look at the spot where Yichimet and Mohan vanished, she tugged on the reins and turned Bones away.
As she crossed the border from the Barrens into Tirisfal Glades, she saw a human on the road just outside of Brill. He wore the blue and gold tabard of Stormwind. The man was dancing, and making strange gestures at her, and she got the impression he wanted her to dance with him. She mentioned this oddity into her hearthstone.
A moment later, a heavily armored orc astride a huge wolf came into view at the top of the hill. He didn’t even pause as he crested the hill and rode by her. He just rode at the human. As he lifted his arms to swing his great axe, Syreena saw the familiar black and red tabard on his broad chest.
Bloodscream, the little rogue thought fondly, remembering her first encounter with the warrior. My protector. He’ll ride over and slay that dirty human, just like before.
But in this nightmare version of the scene, when Bloodscream reached the human, he swung down off his wolf and started dancing himself. Syreena stared at them in confusion, as the human’s dancing steps brought him closer and closer to her. She was on foot now, and Bones was off in the field somewhere with her swords strapped to his saddle. Syreena backed up slowly, away from the human, who was swinging his dagger as he neared.
“Blood! Help me!” she called to the dancing orc.
“Sorry, Sis,” Bloodscream called back. “I’m busy eatin’ my pie.” And sure enough, he was now eating a piece of cherry pie as he danced. The human was only a few steps away.
Syreena looked around, desperate. A short distance away, she saw a group of Grims, led by her sister. They were fighting a giant abomination. Syreena screamed at her sister and the other Grims. They all stopped fighting for just an instant. Even the abomination paused. Grims, past and present, turned to look at her in annoyance. Then all the Grims-- among them Guduk, Canai, Skash, Coyotl, Malstrom, Greebo, Emmons—all turned their backs on her. Even Anaie only glanced at her briefly before turning back to the abomination to continue stabbing it with her daggers.
The human leaped as part of his dance, the move carrying him through the air to collide with the little unarmed rogue. She crashed to the ground, nearly crushed beneath him and his heavy armor. She squirmed, trying to get free, but the man straddled her to hold her down. One of her arms was pinned between her side and his knee, and her other arm was held tightly in his gauntlet. His blade was at her neck. She tilted her head away from the blade and stared up at him defiantly.
It’s only a dream, she assured herself. It’s not real. It’s just a nightmare.
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers. The words were so quiet, that she wasn’t even sure she really heard them.
The Shadowblade tried to look to where the voice came from, but she saw no one. She felt the human shift his grip on his dagger. She waited, still and quiet. The dagger moved away from her neck, just slightly, as the man prepared to slit her throat. In that instant, the little rogue struck like a snake. Her head darted forward, mouth agape. She felt the sting of the blade on the side of her neck as she moved past it, but she ignored it. Her teeth closed on his face.
The man cried out in surprise and disgust more than pain. He dropped his dagger to defend himself, wrapping his fingers through the hair on the back of her head and pulling her off his face. Half of his cheek came away with her. Before he was able to put his free hand to his face to cover the hole, Syreena noticed she could see his teeth through the side of his face now, even as she squirmed in his grip.
As she struggled, her hand brushed something in the grass, something that felt familiar and comforting. She closed her fingers around the hilt of the man’s fallen dagger, and brought the blade up sharply at the soft fleshy part under the man’s jaw. He let go of her head and reeled back, dislodging the dagger from his jaw but not from his would-be victim’s hand. While the human grasped at his bleeding wound, Syreena planted the dagger into his eye.
The man stopped struggling and became still.
The little rogue looked up with an accusing glare meant for Bloodscream, but the orc was gone. Anaie and her team were also gone.
“Keep moving,” the voice from earlier whispered. “You must find your way out of the Nightmare.”
As she crossed the border from the Barrens into Tirisfal Glades, she saw a human on the road just outside of Brill. He wore the blue and gold tabard of Stormwind. The man was dancing, and making strange gestures at her, and she got the impression he wanted her to dance with him. She mentioned this oddity into her hearthstone.
A moment later, a heavily armored orc astride a huge wolf came into view at the top of the hill. He didn’t even pause as he crested the hill and rode by her. He just rode at the human. As he lifted his arms to swing his great axe, Syreena saw the familiar black and red tabard on his broad chest.
Bloodscream, the little rogue thought fondly, remembering her first encounter with the warrior. My protector. He’ll ride over and slay that dirty human, just like before.
But in this nightmare version of the scene, when Bloodscream reached the human, he swung down off his wolf and started dancing himself. Syreena stared at them in confusion, as the human’s dancing steps brought him closer and closer to her. She was on foot now, and Bones was off in the field somewhere with her swords strapped to his saddle. Syreena backed up slowly, away from the human, who was swinging his dagger as he neared.
“Blood! Help me!” she called to the dancing orc.
“Sorry, Sis,” Bloodscream called back. “I’m busy eatin’ my pie.” And sure enough, he was now eating a piece of cherry pie as he danced. The human was only a few steps away.
Syreena looked around, desperate. A short distance away, she saw a group of Grims, led by her sister. They were fighting a giant abomination. Syreena screamed at her sister and the other Grims. They all stopped fighting for just an instant. Even the abomination paused. Grims, past and present, turned to look at her in annoyance. Then all the Grims-- among them Guduk, Canai, Skash, Coyotl, Malstrom, Greebo, Emmons—all turned their backs on her. Even Anaie only glanced at her briefly before turning back to the abomination to continue stabbing it with her daggers.
The human leaped as part of his dance, the move carrying him through the air to collide with the little unarmed rogue. She crashed to the ground, nearly crushed beneath him and his heavy armor. She squirmed, trying to get free, but the man straddled her to hold her down. One of her arms was pinned between her side and his knee, and her other arm was held tightly in his gauntlet. His blade was at her neck. She tilted her head away from the blade and stared up at him defiantly.
It’s only a dream, she assured herself. It’s not real. It’s just a nightmare.
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers. The words were so quiet, that she wasn’t even sure she really heard them.
The Shadowblade tried to look to where the voice came from, but she saw no one. She felt the human shift his grip on his dagger. She waited, still and quiet. The dagger moved away from her neck, just slightly, as the man prepared to slit her throat. In that instant, the little rogue struck like a snake. Her head darted forward, mouth agape. She felt the sting of the blade on the side of her neck as she moved past it, but she ignored it. Her teeth closed on his face.
The man cried out in surprise and disgust more than pain. He dropped his dagger to defend himself, wrapping his fingers through the hair on the back of her head and pulling her off his face. Half of his cheek came away with her. Before he was able to put his free hand to his face to cover the hole, Syreena noticed she could see his teeth through the side of his face now, even as she squirmed in his grip.
As she struggled, her hand brushed something in the grass, something that felt familiar and comforting. She closed her fingers around the hilt of the man’s fallen dagger, and brought the blade up sharply at the soft fleshy part under the man’s jaw. He let go of her head and reeled back, dislodging the dagger from his jaw but not from his would-be victim’s hand. While the human grasped at his bleeding wound, Syreena planted the dagger into his eye.
The man stopped struggling and became still.
The little rogue looked up with an accusing glare meant for Bloodscream, but the orc was gone. Anaie and her team were also gone.
“Keep moving,” the voice from earlier whispered. “You must find your way out of the Nightmare.”
Alts: Lirsha Deathwhistle & Ayidda
Re: Nightmare: Reunions
Syreena yanked the dagger out of the dead human and wiped the bloody blade on his Stormwind tabard. She turned away from Brill to find her horse in the field, but as she turned, she found herself in the Un’goro Crater.
A Tauren hunter was nearby, firing arrows at a devilsaur while a large cat distracted the giant beast. The little rogue, as if she were a puppet moved by some larger force, played her part. She moved in at the devilsaur, opposite the cat, and began stabbing and slicing at it with her daggers.
The previous day, Muatah had asked her to help hunt the beasts, which could be surprisingly sneaky for their size. He didn’t tell her why he hunted them, but he was a skilled leatherworker. A few days later he would present her with a fine pair of gloves and leggings made from their hides to help her prepare for their upcoming advance into the Molten Core.
In the years that followed, they would become two of The Grim’s finest killers, always in friendly competition with each other. Whether they fought in Karazhan or on the battlefields, Ulduar or the goblin arenas, they each sought to top the other’s kill count. Their contest forced them to learn to kill quickly and efficiently, both individually and as a team.
The devilsaur finally fell from its wounds, and they finished it off. The hunter moved in to skin what parts of the hide could still be used.
Syreena watched silently. She knew this was a dream, a nightmare, but it had been so long since she’d killed with him, or seen him quietly patrolling around gathered Grims at meetings, or heard his gruff voice.
“Muatah,” she began quietly, but he turned his hard, unmerciful gaze on her. His thick fingers tightened on his skinning knife. Syreena shook her head in denial. “Please, not you too. All the other Grims, they’ve all turned their backs on me. Even Yichi…and Blood...and…. Not you too. Please, not you too.”
“I told you before,” he replied. “Do not waste time dwelling on those of the past.”
The great hunter stepped over to the little rogue, his steps confident and purposeful, as always. She remained where she was. She was quite familiar with his skill, and if this Nightmare version of him was coming for her, she couldn’t outrun his arrows or his traps, she couldn’t hide from his flares or his cat, and she didn’t have the heart to fight him. Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the collar and put her up against one of the giant trees, and she let him. She simply watched him, a fleeting sense of contentment settling over her from just being in his presence once again. She grasped at that feeling. She just wanted this Nightmare to be over.
Beyond Muatah, she noticed a bald-headed Forsaken sneering at her. “You are Grim, or you are nothing,” Abric said. “Hm. Splinters in the closet, and kitten under boots. Sacrifices must be made. All will learn Truth.”
Syreena didn’t waste time trying to decipher the riddle. She’d only ever understood about half of what Abric had ever said. She’d gotten used to it. Muatah shook her against the tree, instantly gaining her attention back.
“You don’t deserve to be Grim anymore,” his gruff voice informed her. She saw the disappointment and accusation in his eyes. “You’ve failed. You lost every fight you started. You were beaten by a Sanctuary elf of all things!”
Muatah stared hard at the little rogue. She dropped her gaze. With a snort and a sigh, he released his hold on her and backed up a few steps, readying an arrow in his bow as he did so. Syreena knew what he intended. Still she didn’t move. She knew his skill. At least the shot would be true. Then the Nightmare would be over.
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers. The Shadowblade looked to the side, where she thought the voice came from, but there was no one. She looked at Muatah, but he seemed not to see or hear anyone else nearby.
He had an arrow drawn back. Just as he released it, a boney hand yanked her arm and dragged her up into the tree. Muatah paused, tilting his ears to listen to something for a moment before he readied another arrow.
“The Pestilence is coming,” Muatah warned ominously.
The rogue and the mystery girl didn’t wait to see what was coming. They disappeared into the shadows of the foliage. They took a roundabout, non-obvious path, hopping to a neighboring tree before dropping to the ground, then crossing the quickly to the river, where they swam a while before getting out on the opposite bank. When Syreena finally stopped for a rest in a small cave, the other girl was gone.
Syreena huddled against the wall near the mouth of the cave, peeking out to keep watch. She heard something. Footsteps. Very big. Must be another devilsaur, she thought.
The Pestilence is coming.
If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real.
“My prize,” a loud raspy voice called between the booming footsteps. “Where is my little prize?”
The little rogue froze where she was, afraid to move. She simply stared out into the jungle, waiting to see what she hoped she would not.
“Move!” whispered the other girl’s voice. “If he gets us here in the Nightmare, we’ll never get out!” With an invisible push from the unseen girl, the Shadowblade darted out of the cave and ran.
A Tauren hunter was nearby, firing arrows at a devilsaur while a large cat distracted the giant beast. The little rogue, as if she were a puppet moved by some larger force, played her part. She moved in at the devilsaur, opposite the cat, and began stabbing and slicing at it with her daggers.
The previous day, Muatah had asked her to help hunt the beasts, which could be surprisingly sneaky for their size. He didn’t tell her why he hunted them, but he was a skilled leatherworker. A few days later he would present her with a fine pair of gloves and leggings made from their hides to help her prepare for their upcoming advance into the Molten Core.
In the years that followed, they would become two of The Grim’s finest killers, always in friendly competition with each other. Whether they fought in Karazhan or on the battlefields, Ulduar or the goblin arenas, they each sought to top the other’s kill count. Their contest forced them to learn to kill quickly and efficiently, both individually and as a team.
The devilsaur finally fell from its wounds, and they finished it off. The hunter moved in to skin what parts of the hide could still be used.
Syreena watched silently. She knew this was a dream, a nightmare, but it had been so long since she’d killed with him, or seen him quietly patrolling around gathered Grims at meetings, or heard his gruff voice.
“Muatah,” she began quietly, but he turned his hard, unmerciful gaze on her. His thick fingers tightened on his skinning knife. Syreena shook her head in denial. “Please, not you too. All the other Grims, they’ve all turned their backs on me. Even Yichi…and Blood...and…. Not you too. Please, not you too.”
“I told you before,” he replied. “Do not waste time dwelling on those of the past.”
The great hunter stepped over to the little rogue, his steps confident and purposeful, as always. She remained where she was. She was quite familiar with his skill, and if this Nightmare version of him was coming for her, she couldn’t outrun his arrows or his traps, she couldn’t hide from his flares or his cat, and she didn’t have the heart to fight him. Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the collar and put her up against one of the giant trees, and she let him. She simply watched him, a fleeting sense of contentment settling over her from just being in his presence once again. She grasped at that feeling. She just wanted this Nightmare to be over.
Beyond Muatah, she noticed a bald-headed Forsaken sneering at her. “You are Grim, or you are nothing,” Abric said. “Hm. Splinters in the closet, and kitten under boots. Sacrifices must be made. All will learn Truth.”
Syreena didn’t waste time trying to decipher the riddle. She’d only ever understood about half of what Abric had ever said. She’d gotten used to it. Muatah shook her against the tree, instantly gaining her attention back.
“You don’t deserve to be Grim anymore,” his gruff voice informed her. She saw the disappointment and accusation in his eyes. “You’ve failed. You lost every fight you started. You were beaten by a Sanctuary elf of all things!”
Muatah stared hard at the little rogue. She dropped her gaze. With a snort and a sigh, he released his hold on her and backed up a few steps, readying an arrow in his bow as he did so. Syreena knew what he intended. Still she didn’t move. She knew his skill. At least the shot would be true. Then the Nightmare would be over.
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers. The Shadowblade looked to the side, where she thought the voice came from, but there was no one. She looked at Muatah, but he seemed not to see or hear anyone else nearby.
He had an arrow drawn back. Just as he released it, a boney hand yanked her arm and dragged her up into the tree. Muatah paused, tilting his ears to listen to something for a moment before he readied another arrow.
“The Pestilence is coming,” Muatah warned ominously.
The rogue and the mystery girl didn’t wait to see what was coming. They disappeared into the shadows of the foliage. They took a roundabout, non-obvious path, hopping to a neighboring tree before dropping to the ground, then crossing the quickly to the river, where they swam a while before getting out on the opposite bank. When Syreena finally stopped for a rest in a small cave, the other girl was gone.
Syreena huddled against the wall near the mouth of the cave, peeking out to keep watch. She heard something. Footsteps. Very big. Must be another devilsaur, she thought.
The Pestilence is coming.
If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real.
“My prize,” a loud raspy voice called between the booming footsteps. “Where is my little prize?”
The little rogue froze where she was, afraid to move. She simply stared out into the jungle, waiting to see what she hoped she would not.
“Move!” whispered the other girl’s voice. “If he gets us here in the Nightmare, we’ll never get out!” With an invisible push from the unseen girl, the Shadowblade darted out of the cave and ran.
Alts: Lirsha Deathwhistle & Ayidda
Re: Nightmare: Reunions
Syreena ran out of the cave in the Un’goro Crater into one of the satyr camps in Felwood.
A human woman in a dress was a short distance away. Mages, among others, often came to raid these camps in search of felcloth the satyrs made. Suddenly, with a cry of pain, the mage blinked to directly in front of Syreena.
She knew this game. It was their favorite, and the mages were their favorite target. They would space themselves out, twenty yards apart with the mage between them. One would flush the mage out with a blade to the back. Without fail, the mage would blink away, right into range of the second rogue’s blades.
Without even thinking, the little rogue automatically raised her daggers and eviscerated the mage. As the woman slid down out of her field of vision, Syreena saw another Forsaken rogue twenty yards in front of her.
Lucion grinned at her, and she felt herself grinning back in response, unable to help herself, allowing herself, for just a moment, to forget she was trapped in the Nightmare.
Every moment that Syreena was not occupied with Grim duties was spent with him. They terrorized Stormwind and Ironforge, traveling through the shadows of the cities at will and murdering anyone who wandered away from the safety of the guards. Hours of sparring outside of Undercity proved that they were equally matched in combat. And they also spent a fair amount of time just talking.
He never joined The Grim, no matter how many times she asked him to. It wasn’t in him to take orders from anyone other than himself. So she kept him to herself. He was her one secret she kept from The Grim. He was the one friend she’d ever had who had never worn the black and red tabard.
Now, as she looked upon him for the first time in years, she desperately hoped that this nightmare was only about Grims turning on her. She couldn’t bear it if Lucion turned on her as well.
He walked over to her, his playfully wicked grin softening to something else as he took her hand and led her to a fallen log. As they sat, he asked her about things in The Grim, and she spoke openly with him, holding nothing back. She told him how they had all turned on her, and he held her and comforted her.
After a few minutes of chatting, he raised a flower to give to her--a black lotus. He looked into her eyes, his golden gaze steady and direct. “Marry me,” he said.
Syreena looked at him, ready to laugh, certain he was playing one of his usual jokes, but she could tell by his expression that he was serious. She was stunned. Marriage, and even courtship, was never an option while she was alive. Since becoming Forsaken, she’d never even considered it. Did their kind even have weddings and marriage?
This was the closest thing she’d ever had to a normal relationship, even though there was no physical side to it. She should have been thrilled, but she wasn’t. He wasn’t Grim, and he never would be. The lines between Grim and non-Grim were clear in those days, and Syreena knew that to accept his proposal would put herself into a position of having conflicting commitments.
“I can’t,” she said softly, dropping her gaze sadly. “You’re not Grim.”
She felt his finger under her chin, lifting her face up so she would look at him, just as she remembered.
This is where he laughs gently and says he understands and gives me the greatest compliment anyone’s ever given me, she thought to herself. He’ll say,”You are Grim through and through.”
But when Syreena lifted her gaze at his touch, the leather clad finger under her chin had turned to hard metal, and the once golden eyes had turned to ice blue.
“You are not Grim. You do not belong with them,” he said in an oddly echoing voice. He yanked her to her feet and drew a sword that glowed with runes etched in the cold metal of the blade. The sword slid under her Grim tabard and with one twist of his wrist, the precious cloth fell from her to the ground. “You are mine.”
Her heart sank as she realized that her memories of Lucion would not be spared by the Nightmare. As she bent down to pick up her Grim tabard, Lucion’s plate covered knee came up at her face. She reeled back with the blow, but quickly scrambled to her feet. She drew her daggers as she took a step back from him to give herself some room.
“Don’t do this, Lucion,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to fight you.”
But Lucion just grinned, that wickedly playful grin she knew so well, but his ice blue eyes held a sinister gleam, and his strange voice was cold as he answered. “Since when?” He was hinting at all the times they fought in practice and play. This, she knew, would not be like those times.
They faced off for a moment. Syreena could not bring herself to make the first move, still holding onto some sliver of hope that he wouldn’t really attack her.
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers, warning her about her hesitation. The Shadowblade ignored the voice this time, and in doing so, she lost the advantage of the first attack.
Lucion lunged forward and brought his sword down at the little rogue. She crossed her daggers and caught his blade between them, but the strength behind his blow forced her to her knees. He kicked her hard in the chest and knocked her backwards. She lost her grip on one dagger, and she soon found his heavily booted foot standing on the wrist of the hand that held her other blade. He ground his foot against her until her fingers opened and released the dagger.
Before she had a chance to react, he had her by the back of her neck. He lifted her up and then shoved her face down into a narrow box. She felt the wood of the coffin under her fingers and shrieked. Then she heard him nailing the lid shut. She struggled to turn over in the tiny space, but by the time she was able to push her hands against the lid, it was too late. It was nailed firmly shut.
Panic gripped the little rogue. There wasn’t enough room in the coffin. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She screamed for Lucion to let her out, promising to marry him, promising anything, as she beat her fists against the wood. He words were incoherent through her screams, and she heard no response.
A human woman in a dress was a short distance away. Mages, among others, often came to raid these camps in search of felcloth the satyrs made. Suddenly, with a cry of pain, the mage blinked to directly in front of Syreena.
She knew this game. It was their favorite, and the mages were their favorite target. They would space themselves out, twenty yards apart with the mage between them. One would flush the mage out with a blade to the back. Without fail, the mage would blink away, right into range of the second rogue’s blades.
Without even thinking, the little rogue automatically raised her daggers and eviscerated the mage. As the woman slid down out of her field of vision, Syreena saw another Forsaken rogue twenty yards in front of her.
Lucion grinned at her, and she felt herself grinning back in response, unable to help herself, allowing herself, for just a moment, to forget she was trapped in the Nightmare.
Every moment that Syreena was not occupied with Grim duties was spent with him. They terrorized Stormwind and Ironforge, traveling through the shadows of the cities at will and murdering anyone who wandered away from the safety of the guards. Hours of sparring outside of Undercity proved that they were equally matched in combat. And they also spent a fair amount of time just talking.
He never joined The Grim, no matter how many times she asked him to. It wasn’t in him to take orders from anyone other than himself. So she kept him to herself. He was her one secret she kept from The Grim. He was the one friend she’d ever had who had never worn the black and red tabard.
Now, as she looked upon him for the first time in years, she desperately hoped that this nightmare was only about Grims turning on her. She couldn’t bear it if Lucion turned on her as well.
He walked over to her, his playfully wicked grin softening to something else as he took her hand and led her to a fallen log. As they sat, he asked her about things in The Grim, and she spoke openly with him, holding nothing back. She told him how they had all turned on her, and he held her and comforted her.
After a few minutes of chatting, he raised a flower to give to her--a black lotus. He looked into her eyes, his golden gaze steady and direct. “Marry me,” he said.
Syreena looked at him, ready to laugh, certain he was playing one of his usual jokes, but she could tell by his expression that he was serious. She was stunned. Marriage, and even courtship, was never an option while she was alive. Since becoming Forsaken, she’d never even considered it. Did their kind even have weddings and marriage?
This was the closest thing she’d ever had to a normal relationship, even though there was no physical side to it. She should have been thrilled, but she wasn’t. He wasn’t Grim, and he never would be. The lines between Grim and non-Grim were clear in those days, and Syreena knew that to accept his proposal would put herself into a position of having conflicting commitments.
“I can’t,” she said softly, dropping her gaze sadly. “You’re not Grim.”
She felt his finger under her chin, lifting her face up so she would look at him, just as she remembered.
This is where he laughs gently and says he understands and gives me the greatest compliment anyone’s ever given me, she thought to herself. He’ll say,”You are Grim through and through.”
But when Syreena lifted her gaze at his touch, the leather clad finger under her chin had turned to hard metal, and the once golden eyes had turned to ice blue.
“You are not Grim. You do not belong with them,” he said in an oddly echoing voice. He yanked her to her feet and drew a sword that glowed with runes etched in the cold metal of the blade. The sword slid under her Grim tabard and with one twist of his wrist, the precious cloth fell from her to the ground. “You are mine.”
Her heart sank as she realized that her memories of Lucion would not be spared by the Nightmare. As she bent down to pick up her Grim tabard, Lucion’s plate covered knee came up at her face. She reeled back with the blow, but quickly scrambled to her feet. She drew her daggers as she took a step back from him to give herself some room.
“Don’t do this, Lucion,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to fight you.”
But Lucion just grinned, that wickedly playful grin she knew so well, but his ice blue eyes held a sinister gleam, and his strange voice was cold as he answered. “Since when?” He was hinting at all the times they fought in practice and play. This, she knew, would not be like those times.
They faced off for a moment. Syreena could not bring herself to make the first move, still holding onto some sliver of hope that he wouldn’t really attack her.
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers, warning her about her hesitation. The Shadowblade ignored the voice this time, and in doing so, she lost the advantage of the first attack.
Lucion lunged forward and brought his sword down at the little rogue. She crossed her daggers and caught his blade between them, but the strength behind his blow forced her to her knees. He kicked her hard in the chest and knocked her backwards. She lost her grip on one dagger, and she soon found his heavily booted foot standing on the wrist of the hand that held her other blade. He ground his foot against her until her fingers opened and released the dagger.
Before she had a chance to react, he had her by the back of her neck. He lifted her up and then shoved her face down into a narrow box. She felt the wood of the coffin under her fingers and shrieked. Then she heard him nailing the lid shut. She struggled to turn over in the tiny space, but by the time she was able to push her hands against the lid, it was too late. It was nailed firmly shut.
Panic gripped the little rogue. There wasn’t enough room in the coffin. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She screamed for Lucion to let her out, promising to marry him, promising anything, as she beat her fists against the wood. He words were incoherent through her screams, and she heard no response.
Alts: Lirsha Deathwhistle & Ayidda
Re: Nightmare: Reunions
Syreena’s fingertips were shredded and full of splinters. Most of her nails had broken and ripped off. The wood she continued to claw at was slippery with her blood. She was standing now, though she barely noticed through her terror at being so confined. The coffin had turned into a tiny closet with a locked door in front of her and a pile of straw on the floor beside her.
She wore a simple threadbare dress that may have once been blue, but was now so dirty and faded it was dull gray. Her dark red hair was flat and limp, and she had no weapons. She was human again, young and alive. And she sobbed when she realized it.
She heard footsteps outside the door, and fear renewed its grip on her.
I am Grim, she reminded herself. I don’t have to be afraid of him.
You don’t deserve to be Grim anymore, Muatah had told her.
You are not Grim, Lucion had said after removing her tabard from her. You do not belong with them.
She was alone. But not for long, the approaching footsteps reminded her. The door was yanked open, and a pale, wrinkled hand reached into the close confines of the closet and snatched her by the arm. He pulled her out and dragged her outside, and Syreena could smell the booze on his sour breath as he rasped, “Come, my prize.”
Aleister was an alchemist, a thief, a drunk, and a gambler. Syreena, now nearly a young woman, had lived with the old man since she was very small, ever since her father, who was also a gambler, had lost a card game. With that simple game of chance, Syreena had lost her home and family, Derrick Breen had lost a daughter he could barely keep fed and clothed, and Aleister had won himself a little prize.
Hm. Splinters in the closet, and kitten under boots, Abric’s riddle taunted her. Sacrifices must be made. All will learn Truth.
“What is that?” the old man asked harshly, giving her arm a rough shake as he stared at a spot along the wall of the rundown alchemy shop they lived in. Syreena followed his gaze to a small orange kitten napping in the sun. She shook her head, remembering what will happen here next. She twisted her arm, trying to break Aleister’s hold on her, but she was only a small human girl, and he was much stronger. Her efforts earned her a backhand across the face that sent her sprawling to the ground, stunned. He towered over her, and when she tried to get up, he kicked her in the ribs. “WHAT IS THAT? Another mouth to feed! Did I say you could have a pet? DID I?”
Aleister stalked over to the kitten, who blinked up at him sleepily. He raised his foot. Just as the kitten was stirring to rise with a soft meow of greeting, the boot came down on its head. Syreena turned away, but not before she saw her kitten’s head flattened and heard the soft, wet crunch of the skull caving in.
She heard footsteps coming towards her and opened her eyes. She saw boots coming at her. One boot had bright red gore stuck to the bottom of it. She tried to scurry backwards, but Aleister grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. He shoved an empty sack at her and pushed her away. “Now go earn your keep, ‘fore I do the same to you.”
Syreena ran away from the alchemy shop and down the road until she was out of breath. She stopped and leaned against a tree. She closed her eyes and tried to reason her fear away. “I am Grim, and he’s just an old man. This isn’t real. It’s just a nightmare.”
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers.
Syreena turned, startled, and saw herself standing beside her. The girl looked so young. Young, but not innocent. Her childhood had been stolen from her, Syreena knew, by a careless father and a dirty old man. She was looking at herself, as she’d been before the plague, before The Grim. She was looking at the waitress.
She wore a simple threadbare dress that may have once been blue, but was now so dirty and faded it was dull gray. Her dark red hair was flat and limp, and she had no weapons. She was human again, young and alive. And she sobbed when she realized it.
She heard footsteps outside the door, and fear renewed its grip on her.
I am Grim, she reminded herself. I don’t have to be afraid of him.
You don’t deserve to be Grim anymore, Muatah had told her.
You are not Grim, Lucion had said after removing her tabard from her. You do not belong with them.
She was alone. But not for long, the approaching footsteps reminded her. The door was yanked open, and a pale, wrinkled hand reached into the close confines of the closet and snatched her by the arm. He pulled her out and dragged her outside, and Syreena could smell the booze on his sour breath as he rasped, “Come, my prize.”
Aleister was an alchemist, a thief, a drunk, and a gambler. Syreena, now nearly a young woman, had lived with the old man since she was very small, ever since her father, who was also a gambler, had lost a card game. With that simple game of chance, Syreena had lost her home and family, Derrick Breen had lost a daughter he could barely keep fed and clothed, and Aleister had won himself a little prize.
Hm. Splinters in the closet, and kitten under boots, Abric’s riddle taunted her. Sacrifices must be made. All will learn Truth.
“What is that?” the old man asked harshly, giving her arm a rough shake as he stared at a spot along the wall of the rundown alchemy shop they lived in. Syreena followed his gaze to a small orange kitten napping in the sun. She shook her head, remembering what will happen here next. She twisted her arm, trying to break Aleister’s hold on her, but she was only a small human girl, and he was much stronger. Her efforts earned her a backhand across the face that sent her sprawling to the ground, stunned. He towered over her, and when she tried to get up, he kicked her in the ribs. “WHAT IS THAT? Another mouth to feed! Did I say you could have a pet? DID I?”
Aleister stalked over to the kitten, who blinked up at him sleepily. He raised his foot. Just as the kitten was stirring to rise with a soft meow of greeting, the boot came down on its head. Syreena turned away, but not before she saw her kitten’s head flattened and heard the soft, wet crunch of the skull caving in.
She heard footsteps coming towards her and opened her eyes. She saw boots coming at her. One boot had bright red gore stuck to the bottom of it. She tried to scurry backwards, but Aleister grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. He shoved an empty sack at her and pushed her away. “Now go earn your keep, ‘fore I do the same to you.”
Syreena ran away from the alchemy shop and down the road until she was out of breath. She stopped and leaned against a tree. She closed her eyes and tried to reason her fear away. “I am Grim, and he’s just an old man. This isn’t real. It’s just a nightmare.”
“If you die in the Nightmare, you die for real,” whispered a voice that was hers but not hers.
Syreena turned, startled, and saw herself standing beside her. The girl looked so young. Young, but not innocent. Her childhood had been stolen from her, Syreena knew, by a careless father and a dirty old man. She was looking at herself, as she’d been before the plague, before The Grim. She was looking at the waitress.
Alts: Lirsha Deathwhistle & Ayidda
Re: Nightmare: Reunions
Syreena stared at the younger version of herself. The girl was dirty and too skinny. Her hair was limp and her face was gaunt. She wore the dress and apron she wore each night in the tavern where she served. She was a skittish thing. Syreena watched as the waitress looked around nervously, seeming ready to bolt at the slightest thing.
“What are you doing here?” the Shadowblade asked. “You’re gone. Malhavik said he used you in a spell, and you’re gone. You’re not real.”
“I got away,” the waitress said. “During the fight, Accalia did something…I don’t know….but I’m here now.”
Syreena regarded the girl with suspicion. If the girl was real, then they were both trapped in the Nightmare together. And if they got out….then what?
“We’ll be together again, both of us, like before you….went away into the darkness,” the waitress answered, as if she knew Syreena’s thoughts.
“I see,” the Shadowblade answered. She spared a moment to consider the usefulness of having her soul complete again, as it was before a warlock spell severed and removed half of it. Then she shook her head and focused. “We need to find a way out of here.”
Hm. Splinters in the closet, and kitten under boots. Sacrifices must be made. All will learn Truth.
Shut up, Abric, Syreena silently shouted at the voice in her head.
“Pumpkin,” the waitress said softly, starting to cry. Syreena sighed. Pumpkin was the kitten. To a girl who could have no friends, she remembered, a pet was more than just a friendly animal companion. It was a friend, someone to talk to, and someone who could make one feel worthy and loved. Aleister took that away, as he had always taken everything away. Syreena felt a renewed wave of hatred for the monster.
“Come on. We need to find a way out of here.” She nudged the waitress, and the two identical girls continued down the road. Syreena still held the empty sack, meant for holding valuables that Aleister could sell off to fund his gambling habits. The little rogue had spent many nights prowling around farms and villages, breaking into houses to steal for him.
As had happened so often in this Nightmare, she suddenly found herself not where she expected. The two girls were still walking on the road, but now they were going back to the alchemy shop instead of further away from it.
Syreena stopped and turned around. Aleister was there, moving toward them quickly. She recognized the lustful gleam in his eyes as his hands reached for her. “My prize!” Syreena slapped his hand away, and the two girls ran. If they could get to the alchemy shop, maybe they could lock him out.
Syreena’s feet felt like they were running through thick mud. They were slow, too slow. Aleister was gaining on them. Fingertips brushed her hair. “Give me a cuddle, little prize!” Syreena shuddered as his words brought back memories from her life. She wish she had not given up when she was hunting him years ago. She should have killed him when she found him Shattrath instead of playing games with him. The horrible things he’d done to her during her youth, were unforgivable, and she would not endure them again.
Sacrifices must be made…
Syreena looked at the waitress beside her, also running slowly through the Nightmare. Was she real? If they escaped the Nightmare, could Syreena’s soul be whole again? The Shadowblade would never know. She swung the empty sack at the waitress’s face, startling the skittish thing enough to slow her for just an instant. That was enough. The waitress was now within Aleister’s grasp, and her scream filled the air as the gambler’s fingers closed in her hair.
Syreena slowed just enough to look over her shoulder and look at the waitress. She saw emotions flicker quickly across the girl’s face—surprise, anger, pleading, and finally, hopelessness. Aleister dragged her into the alchemy shop and closed the door. Syreena could hear the old familiar sounds of crying and hitting and shouting, as Aleister dragged her former self upstairs to his bedroom.
The Shadowblade turned away and continued down the road. At the end of the road, she could see a shimmering portal, and beyond that, a blurred view of the Barrens. She saw Bones, her horse, chewing a mouthful of grass, even though he didn’t require nourishment from food any more than she did.
Along the road, people called to her. More Grims.
“Hey, ‘Reena, let’s go slay some pinkskins,” Malstrom called to her. Skash held out a piece of pie in offering. Chavie waved at her, inviting her to play. Ravovich invited her to hunt with him in the Sunken Temple. Grolish held up a book to her. Cen offered her a cup of tea to chat over.
She walked past them all with barely a glance. They weren’t real. They were only trying to keep her here in the Nightmare.
As she walked toward the portal, she reminded herself that nothing that had happened here was real. Grims turning against her was only part of the Nightmare. Wasn’t it? She wondered that as she remembered Lilly and Khorvis helping Kex’ti, who at the time, was Syreena’s enemy, and part of a group the Commander had declared traitors. All of the Grims, herself included, did nothing to help Konro when he was possessed, and it had resulted in his death. Maybe Grims would turn on each other these days, and even she was not without blame in that. Her faith was shaken for the first time in nearly a decade of service to the Mandate.
That line of thinking made her pause as Grims along the road continued to call out to her--inviting, pleading, or even ordering her to stop and spend time with them. As she gazed upon Maledictus himself, giving one of his inspiring speeches next to the portal, she was ready to give in. That man could have convinced Onyxia to buy a box of matches with his words. He would guide her true. But then she saw a shimmer of Twilight flicker across him, and she knew he wasn't real. He was just another Grim who had turned his back or died or went away for whatever reason. They all did, eventually.
She turned away from the beckoning Nightmare Grims and stepped through the portal into the Barrens.
“What are you doing here?” the Shadowblade asked. “You’re gone. Malhavik said he used you in a spell, and you’re gone. You’re not real.”
“I got away,” the waitress said. “During the fight, Accalia did something…I don’t know….but I’m here now.”
Syreena regarded the girl with suspicion. If the girl was real, then they were both trapped in the Nightmare together. And if they got out….then what?
“We’ll be together again, both of us, like before you….went away into the darkness,” the waitress answered, as if she knew Syreena’s thoughts.
“I see,” the Shadowblade answered. She spared a moment to consider the usefulness of having her soul complete again, as it was before a warlock spell severed and removed half of it. Then she shook her head and focused. “We need to find a way out of here.”
Hm. Splinters in the closet, and kitten under boots. Sacrifices must be made. All will learn Truth.
Shut up, Abric, Syreena silently shouted at the voice in her head.
“Pumpkin,” the waitress said softly, starting to cry. Syreena sighed. Pumpkin was the kitten. To a girl who could have no friends, she remembered, a pet was more than just a friendly animal companion. It was a friend, someone to talk to, and someone who could make one feel worthy and loved. Aleister took that away, as he had always taken everything away. Syreena felt a renewed wave of hatred for the monster.
“Come on. We need to find a way out of here.” She nudged the waitress, and the two identical girls continued down the road. Syreena still held the empty sack, meant for holding valuables that Aleister could sell off to fund his gambling habits. The little rogue had spent many nights prowling around farms and villages, breaking into houses to steal for him.
As had happened so often in this Nightmare, she suddenly found herself not where she expected. The two girls were still walking on the road, but now they were going back to the alchemy shop instead of further away from it.
Syreena stopped and turned around. Aleister was there, moving toward them quickly. She recognized the lustful gleam in his eyes as his hands reached for her. “My prize!” Syreena slapped his hand away, and the two girls ran. If they could get to the alchemy shop, maybe they could lock him out.
Syreena’s feet felt like they were running through thick mud. They were slow, too slow. Aleister was gaining on them. Fingertips brushed her hair. “Give me a cuddle, little prize!” Syreena shuddered as his words brought back memories from her life. She wish she had not given up when she was hunting him years ago. She should have killed him when she found him Shattrath instead of playing games with him. The horrible things he’d done to her during her youth, were unforgivable, and she would not endure them again.
Sacrifices must be made…
Syreena looked at the waitress beside her, also running slowly through the Nightmare. Was she real? If they escaped the Nightmare, could Syreena’s soul be whole again? The Shadowblade would never know. She swung the empty sack at the waitress’s face, startling the skittish thing enough to slow her for just an instant. That was enough. The waitress was now within Aleister’s grasp, and her scream filled the air as the gambler’s fingers closed in her hair.
Syreena slowed just enough to look over her shoulder and look at the waitress. She saw emotions flicker quickly across the girl’s face—surprise, anger, pleading, and finally, hopelessness. Aleister dragged her into the alchemy shop and closed the door. Syreena could hear the old familiar sounds of crying and hitting and shouting, as Aleister dragged her former self upstairs to his bedroom.
The Shadowblade turned away and continued down the road. At the end of the road, she could see a shimmering portal, and beyond that, a blurred view of the Barrens. She saw Bones, her horse, chewing a mouthful of grass, even though he didn’t require nourishment from food any more than she did.
Along the road, people called to her. More Grims.
“Hey, ‘Reena, let’s go slay some pinkskins,” Malstrom called to her. Skash held out a piece of pie in offering. Chavie waved at her, inviting her to play. Ravovich invited her to hunt with him in the Sunken Temple. Grolish held up a book to her. Cen offered her a cup of tea to chat over.
She walked past them all with barely a glance. They weren’t real. They were only trying to keep her here in the Nightmare.
As she walked toward the portal, she reminded herself that nothing that had happened here was real. Grims turning against her was only part of the Nightmare. Wasn’t it? She wondered that as she remembered Lilly and Khorvis helping Kex’ti, who at the time, was Syreena’s enemy, and part of a group the Commander had declared traitors. All of the Grims, herself included, did nothing to help Konro when he was possessed, and it had resulted in his death. Maybe Grims would turn on each other these days, and even she was not without blame in that. Her faith was shaken for the first time in nearly a decade of service to the Mandate.
That line of thinking made her pause as Grims along the road continued to call out to her--inviting, pleading, or even ordering her to stop and spend time with them. As she gazed upon Maledictus himself, giving one of his inspiring speeches next to the portal, she was ready to give in. That man could have convinced Onyxia to buy a box of matches with his words. He would guide her true. But then she saw a shimmer of Twilight flicker across him, and she knew he wasn't real. He was just another Grim who had turned his back or died or went away for whatever reason. They all did, eventually.
She turned away from the beckoning Nightmare Grims and stepped through the portal into the Barrens.
Alts: Lirsha Deathwhistle & Ayidda