Overreacting
Ceryna - December 16, 2005
"I will NOT become a Scourge!"
Ceryna huddled in a corner of her room in the ruins of Lordaeron,
clawing frantically at the oozing, pustulent bite on her arm that
simply refused to go away. Nothing, not her healthstones, not
draining the life from the Alliance, not even a priest's magic
made it heal. She could feel (or imagined she could feel) the
infection spreading up her arm like a black vine, slowly creeping
up toward her brain. She knew, when it got there, that she would
be dead, that Ceryna would be as dead as Allison, and that only
the mindless hunger of the Scourge would remain.
"I will not..." She lowered her head into her hands and tried to
sob. After all she had accomplished, all she had defeated, she
was going to be done in by her Brother's ravenous bite. She could
remember with frightening clarity the nights spent in Scourge
camps, squabbling with her fellow monsters over the last gobbets
of warm flesh torn from a still-screaming captive. She could
remember the never-ending hunger that drove her to eat until she
was bloated, until she felt her stomach would tear open, until
her stomach did tear open, and still not be sated. She clutched
her stomach, and could feel the pangs already beginning.
"No!"
She leapt to her feet, grabbing up all her belongings and leaping
for the goblin mailbox. Her mind was a frenzy, as she sent
everything away. She wasn't even sure to whom, just to someone
who needed it. She didn't.
Her "will" executed, she donned her last clothing, a black shroud
of a dress and the tabard of the Grim, and clutched her
hearthstone.
"Brother... come to me."
They stood together in the crypt of Deathknell, Ceryna with her
arms tightly wrapped around herself. His face was unreadable.
Maybe... he wanted this?
"I have killed many warlocks... felmages, demon-callers, whatever
they wish to name themselves. They all squealed when they died,
and in the end, that was all they were: pigs. Will you make a
sound when you die, Ceryna?"
"I... do not know, Brother. I hope not."
"You are sure then?" He moved around behind her, wrapped his arm
around her waist almost tenderly. She closed her eyes, shivering,
and nodded.
"I will not become Scourge again."
"So be it."
His blade came up and around her, slamming up under her jaw. She
jerked, her eyes flew open wide, and she whimpered slightly,
before going limp in his grasp. He gently lowered her to the cold
stone floor of the crypt and knelt, gently closing her eyes. He
cleaned his blade and sheathed it. Lifting her in his arms, he
carried her to the nearest slab of stone in the mausoleum and,
brushing away the remains of its previous occupant, laid her
gently on the cold stone. He sighed, shook his head, and, with
one last, regretful look, stepped out of the crypt and closed the
large slab behind him, sealing her lifeless corpse inside
forever.
[Laughing Crow]
Laughing Crow growled.
Every night, he sent his senses through the Hearthstone, and
every night, She was no-where to be found. At first, he thought
she was avoiding him, having picked up wind of what he intended
to do, or else, some strange trick of time had assured that they
had no attuned themselves to the Hearthstone in some time.
Now, he was starting to believe something was wrong with her. She
was always fanatical in her devotion, she would not be away this
long. Unless this was some sign of madness, the same one that
would cause her to threaten a fellow Grim with Death.
So be it. He would waste little time searching for her.
But if she showed herself again, she would answer for her threats
to Snowfeather.
[Lupen]
Lupen, hearing this information later than the others.
"Goodbye, my Warlock sister." He uttered as he drew dark runes
upon the ground, and spilling some of his own blood upon it.
"May your soul rest in the Nether... I will meet you there in due
time." Lupen clenches his bleeding wrist and walks off to sleep.