The Gift

[Cessily]

"Fire is beauty and power. From afar it's alluring, but if you ever reach for it you'll burn. Won't matter if you are friend or foe. Fire can't help it. It's unstable and unyielding. When it stops consuming it is not because it's tired, it's because it's dead."

The lone sin'dorei repeated those words in her head one more time before her fel-hazed eyes locked to the candle's fickle flame, it's light revealing only a small portion of the enourmous dark room where Cessily had locked herself into.

Fire consumes. Her Fire consumed all those around her, and soon it would enable the curse to burn her flesh and soul. The flickering candle-light shone over her naked body amid the great darkness, numerous scars marking her once-perfect skin, her right hand rotten and twisted, blackened and decayed. She had changed so much. Evolved. Her eyes, once full of innocence, now shone with the unnatural fel-taint of the Corrupted Moonwells. Her body, once so soft and unmarred, was now battle-hardened and marked. She had changed, and her Fire still burned hot.

Every morning was the same thing. Her deadened nerves had to be awoken somehow, but more importantly, this ritual served as a form of enlightment to the young rogue. She no longer feared her addiction to mana. She embraced it. But her obsession with Fire was unending. The Fire that fueled her people to live on, to 'Rise Above' everything else. That made them superior to other races. The same thing that she hated to see wasted on many of her weaker brothers and sisters. They took that gift for granted: the ability to survive, endure, change and evolve. The essence of a Phoenix.

Placing the palm of her deformed hand over the candle's flame, Cessily bit her lip, feeling the heat bite her charred skin, as her flesh came to life in a burst of pain. Once again, after hours of sleep, she could feel her arm. She needed it to fight. She had to do what, apparently, nobody else would. She always did, because of Fire. It reavealed the weak, it woke things up with pain if needed, but it always changed things. Made them stronger. Be it herself, or her beloved Grim.

At the first whimper she would force herself to take the hand out. The pain was always worse after the flame had stopped burning. The woman doubled over and shut her eyes, groaning as she slowly got used to the stinging agony. It always took some time for her to adjust, as it took time for everyone. Pain was the same for all races. The difference is that she would get over it. Remember it, but get over it nonetheless. She would Rise Above pain and this curse. That was His gift to her.

Prince Kael'thas' gift to his people.

(( Sooo... crazyness aside, I would love if you people appointed any mistakes in my text, since... well... I may have sucked at writting. Not only grammar, but better ways of saying things! =) Thanks! ))

[Yichimet]

(( I'm fairly certain you've nailed it here, lady. It's pretty awesome. ))

[Frain]

((Enjoyed the read. It flowed right, and was a nice length. Well done and keep it up!

[Anaie]

((great work cess!!! Now we demand more!))

[Cessily]

"Energy. Power. My people are addicted to it."

And for this addiction, the sin'dorei as a whole were shunned by their Alliance peers. Humans and their 'logic'. Stupid creatures bound to roam the land in flocks unable to understand the beauty it is Power. That sometimes one has to take chances and face impossible odds in order to rise above his peers, seize control of his own destiny. Humans and, to be honest, most of other races, failed to realize that sometimes the hand of fate must be forced. And those blood elves, training under the overwhelming presence of Varedis, understood that. And for this reason alone the rogue watching them respected their struggle, admired their tenacity. But it was not because of respect that she stood there, silently, over one of the Ruins' many walls, taking mental notes of their habits, words and methods. She wanted what they were persuing. Their power would be her escape from the encroaching darkness.

Shadowmoon Valley was, as always, welcoming for those who knew what, how and where to hunt. New, inexperienced, recruits from both Horde and Alliance reinforced their factions operations on the region daily, always so sure of themselves from victories in Terokkar and Nagrand. So few ready to face the dreaded horrors that populated this Valley, packed with demons from all sorts. However, Cessily Suntouch felt at home. The clouds never let much light into those lands, letting the shadows envelop the young rogue in such a way that she could evade even the most perceptive demons, even when her health failed, and her legs gave up under her. Her time was running short, she knew, and even when she refused the assistance of her fellow Grim, she still didn't want to die. She wouldn't go down without a fight.

The Ruins of Karabor were the place where she would find a cure for her illness. While the waters from the Tainted Moonwells in Felwood helped her to stay in one piece, their effectiveness and the rush they provoked on Cessily were fading fast. She had to find another source, and it was not until she fought Leotheras that she was reminded of Altruis' words, of how Varedis had become as powerful as Illidan by memorizing the Book of Fel Names. She had sacrificed many pages of that book to defeat the same demon hunter before, and reading the remaining ones could have unpredictable results, so for now she just watched, entranced, at the martial discipline all these sin'dorei sported. The proof the full-fledged demon hunters were more gods than mortals was that she could take on the trainees by the scores, but she couldn't face Alandien, Theras or Netharel in true combat. Fighting was her life, and she would have to overcome them all if she were to defeat her curse.

Fighting in the Black Temple was nothing more than pure greed from her peers part. Stormrage would be more of an ally than enemy, most likely, and her leaders failed to give her real reasons why to strike him down. However, fighting in Illidan's fortress was a matter of life and death for the young sin'dorei rogue. She had heard of the rituals of binding practiced by demon hunters, how they could tap on fel power from the Legion and use it in their favor. These rituals, however, didn't happen in the Ruins. They were all conducted inside the Temple, some say that before Illidan himself. Varedis had surpassed his Kaldorei teachers. And she would surpass him, and anyone between her and her desires. Her desire. Something she couldn't persue right now. Not like this.

This was her last chance. Most sin'dorei didn't survive the rituals in the Black Temple. But she was not like most. She was sure she could take their power for herself. She wouldn't die or become another Leotheras. But for now, she would just wait and watch, avoiding Varedis and his Kaldorei bodyguards, and learning what she could from their practices, every now and then capturing one of their demon guards for her own sustainance.

Those sin'dorei in training were sent there by Prince Kael'thas, and they were his best.

This is where she was meant to be.

[Amaurn]

((Ahh the plot thickens! Liking the story! And yes you sure have rejected the help of fellow grim! hehe))

[Cessily]

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he doesn't become a monster."

Cessily Suntouch had always been a daredevil. She had never accepted her own limitations, taking them as weaknesses and fighting to purge them out. She had always taken pride in this fire of hers. It was the same fire that made her an intense lover and so willing to fight gargantuan Dragonslayers and Tide Lords.  The sin'dorei woman was unforgiving with herself, never letting her own body tell her what she could, or couldn't, do. However, when someone flirts with the abyss for so long, living on the edge of her own limits, like the rogue did, this person is bound to look at herself in the mirror at some point and wonder if there are lines that shouldn't be crossed.

And such was the moment for Cessily Suntouch, Servant of the Mandate. She had just returned from her last visit to the Apothecarium where she had promised to herself to change things. She wasn't alone this, though, and even if her pact could be a source of worry for some, she had dealt with demons before. Or demonesses. The rogue had her eyes locked to her reflection in the mirror, those orbs full of fel staring back at her. Her eyes were never so green, so full of magic. She had never been so tainted before, and yet, she craved for the demonic even more, at each moon. Maybe Nymare was right, maybe she was slowly descending into darkness, not to die, but to become something else.

For a brief moment the sin'dorei allowed herself to gaze at her cursed hand, it's blackened skin now so dry that it would break easily at touch, oozing blood and impurities. Was this really evolution? Was she really breaking her own limits? Or was she forsaking everything it meant to be sin'dorei for power? If so, could anyone really blame her? People she respected the most changed horribly as time passed, fading and becoming shells of their former selves. The High Inquisitor, The Mistress, Sunfire... Kelven. The four of them, all but lost. The High Inquisitor claimed it to be a necessity. The Mistress sold herself in a moment of weakness. Nymare changed, and Kelven was her own fault. She looked back at herself, narrowing her eyes, as if daring the reflection in the mirror, taunting her. She had seem people around her descend far too much.

"Do you want to be like them?"

She knew the answer. They walked a path she couldn't follow. She didn't want to. More taint would turn her into something that her Prince would not approve of. If she lost control of who she was, of what made her "Cessily Suntouch", everything else in her would soon follow. Those without control cannot have power, for their power is not their to begin with. Her Thirst was out of control, and she knew who she had to talk to. His teachings had been lost to her, but she would seek him again, as she did, so many years ago. For now, she just would just let a simple smirk paint her lips, as she whispered to herself:

"Control your thirst for magic. It's a thirst unending."

[Cessily]

"A shadow in life, a failure in death."

The night had fallen upon Shadowmoon Valley, but one like no other. For once the skylight didn't pierce through the veil of shadows created by the storm-charged clouds, creating a sinister veil of darkness and silence in the lands once ruled by Illidan Stormrage. Tonight demons seemed to cease their nefarious activities, no sounds besides the Hand of Gul'dan's unyielding roars being heard throughout those dark lands. The whole Valley didn't look, or feel, like itself, as if the Gods had decided that attention should be drawn somewhere else. Shadowmoon Valley was past. It's Lord was defeated.

The worg riders had decided not to patrol the lands this night, so great was the blackness. Tonight they were to stay home, taking the strange phenomena as a warning from the spirits that they should stop and rest, for the worst battle would still come. The torches provided the brave warriors with all the light they needed to take their time off and rejoice in the simplest pleasures of their battlehardened lives. Watchers remained on the few towers around the Village, safeguarding their brothers and sisters, now safe inside their huts and houses. But not all where there to partake in drink and song, however. Some were travellers, lost souls in search for answers. And one of them, alone in her hut, took this time of silence and peace to endure the great pains of her own burden.

Cessily Suntouch groaned as she bit a strip of leather to keep from yelling out of agony. For some time now she had been experiencing changes in her curse. Ever since she first stepped inside the Black Temple. Not only she had been feeling weaker and weaker, but now she didn't even cough black blood. In fact, she seemed to be losing liquid quite easily, her skin dry, the black patches of charred flesh in her arm breaking at touch, even missing saliva in some ocasions. She didn't know if it was due the curse or her sudden refusal to consume fel magic to sustain her body. The fact didn't change, however, that along with the lack of energy and health, Cessily was experimenting terrible pains all over her body. Always at night. Always at the darkest hours. And this night, after being so close to The Betrayer, and that Skull he held in his hand, things got worse.

She hadn't told anyone about it. She had kept it for herself, these past deteriorations. As much knowledge as Nymare or Acherontia possessed about it, she wasn't willing to look at them anymore. The strength in her body didn't help her to undo this curse, and begging for help didn't cut it either. So for now, she would endure her problems alone. So she sat on her bed, armor discarded next to her Stone, across the room. Her body got stiff at each new bolt of pain that shot through her, no prespiration or blood anywhere to be seen.

Time passed agonizingly slow, tears running down her flushed cheeks as she endured the process yet another night. Her skin was paler than ever, as were her eyes, and one looking at her would know it wouldn't take much time for her to face her doom. A strange bruise appeared on her stomach, however, and with it, something changed. In a particularly excrutiating wave of agony Cessily fell from her bed, her forehead hitting the ground first, as she gritted her teeth, hands comind down to hold her abdomen. She prayed for it to end.

And then it hit her. Something was terribly wrong. Her insides were burning, the pain shotting through her worst than anything she had ever felt in her life. Her scarred abdomen was quickly swelling, what started as a simple bruise now became a sickly stain of purple, as if her blood was pooling inside of her. She coughed and coughed, but nothing came out, her left hand clawing the ground, trying to drag her writhing body closer to her Hearthstone. Her hand was inches from the communication device, the nails broken and digging into her fingers, when the sin'dorei's eyes snapped open and she coiled into a tight embrace, the Stone rolling on the floor to a dark corner of her room. The pain she felt up to this moment meaning nothing to what her mind was registering now. Something moved inside of her. And it was tearing it's way through the sin'dorei.

Cessily gurgled in her own blood, now in a deep shade of scarlet, as it poured out of her mouth, staining the floor and her face. It took her a few seconds to muster the necessary strength of will to act, but as soon as the young woman could think throught the pain, she forced her body on it's back, looking down at it. The swollen abdomen and it's deep shades of purple replacing the once-pale shades of pink of her skin, the sickly sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bones were all the things she could think of before deciding to try something. Anything. Whatever it was that was now moving inside of her, had teeth, and it was gnawing on her. It had to get out. Reaching for her armor, which lay a few feet away, and taking one of her balanced daggers in her hand, Cessily acted swiftly, the blade sinking into her abdomen at the same time the sin'dorei woman let out a guttural growl of rage and pain, an action that was promptly replied by a deep, powerful roar.

Dark flames poured from her wounds along with a fist that cracked her rib cage open, inside-out. A twisted, leathery hand that belonged to a creature way too big to fit inside the slim elven woman held some of her organs in it's hand, an elaborated circle of summoning now showing itself under the rogue's corpse, revealing patterns devised long ago, and fed by the woman's vital energy. Cessily was overwhelmed. She was not there anymore. She wasn't aware of the shuddering demon stomping over her cursed arm, reducing it to a pile of ashes and rotten flesh. She wasn't the same woman whose's blood now filled the room. The creature that had just been born had no idea of what the woman wanted when she reached for nothing specific with her remaining hand, her eyes lost, drool escaping her lips. She had no conscience anymore, fantasies and lies taking reality's place, taking the girl somewhere else.

In this dream she was not alone. In her dream she had all she wanted. She was free of her own deficiencies. She had what she needed. She would feel his hands wrap around her as she whispered sweet nothings to him, not expecting a reply. A smile would grace her lips, and a tear would run down her cheek, as if she knew nothing was real.

Back in Shadowmoon Village, in a night when orcs and trolls celebrated their own freedom, nobody heard when the demon's hoof came down to silence the sin'dorei. With the room burning hotly around it, the creature took flight, leaving behind the charred remains of another lost soul returned to Fire.

[Greywarrior]

((great work cess!!! Now we demand more!))

((Be careful what you ask for, eh?))

[Greebo]

The slow and inconstant flapping of a wyvern's wings could be heard, followed by a dull thump as the beast landed clumsily. Angaroth hopped of its back and waited impatiently for it to gather its breath. He glance around in distaste at the squalor of the location, he was in a hurry to reach the Black Temple and examine the corpse. The Grim had beaten back Illidan a few hours earlier and he was intensely frustrated to have missed it. He stared east but could see nothing through the burning haze.

A strange demonic form burst out of a nearby hut, it's lean body hunched over, ready to launch in any direction. Its taloned hands dug into the crumbling soil, a wickedly spiked snout sniffed the air and its eyes flashed a dull green as it scented the wyvern. It hunkered down and spread its wings slightly for balance as it prepared to spring on the panting beast of burden. Its muscled coiled and released but it stumbled at the last minute as a fireball spattered into its cheek. It turned to face the stream of invective, foul curses in a fouler tongue uttered by a groteque capering figure. A toothy grin split its face and a tongue slid over the fangs in anticipation of the tender and mana-rich snack it hoped to enjoy. It began to stride in a slow, deliberate cat-like pace toward the imp. It was young, apparently, and the sensations of the world were overwhelming any thoughts of safety. The last thing it ever saw was a gaunt figure behind the imp, its hands sketching eldritch runes in the smokey air and a coruscation of green fireshards knifing through the air. The chaos bolt hit it squarely on the nose and it ignited, the flames dissolving not the simple chemicals that made up its form but the patterns behind them. Thin purple whisps began to flow from the demon to Angaroth's outstretched hand. It let loose a keening wail as it was unraveled, unmade and then the sound was cut short as the fire reached its neck. The wail and the fire guttered out and there was a brief pause before the body thumped to the ground and the cacophony of Shadowmoon Valley intruded once again. Angaroth looked a bit puzzled as he examined the soul shard in his hand. He held it up to the bright glowing light of an incoming infernal to examine the pattern. There was something familiar about it, a taste, a taint that he knew but could not place. He strode over to the hut the demon had come from and peered in. Flames were licking at the base of the walls, illuminating a crushed and deformed figure lying in the middle of the room. The exploded torso, the charred flesh running up the arm and over, the broken skull left nothing of an identity but he recognized the tabard. Kneeling before the body he tasted the pooling blood, examined the knives, the immaculately maintained leather armour and at the last held a strand of blood red hair in his palm.

"Big voice, no heart." he snorted as he turned away. Inside him, within the now unlocked cage, another voice whispered to a glowing sphere. "You are free to leave, or to stay, the choice as always is yours."

[Amaurn]

Amaurn arrived too late. His demonic spies that he had set to watch Cessily were only able to report what happened as events had unfolded quickly.

"hmmm, I knew the girl would come to a bad end... Haatom! Drag the two corpses to my lab, Syrah, make sure he doesn't forget anything!"

Searching the area Amaurn came to  realise that an echo of Cessily still existed, it was anchored to both of the bodies yet the core was missing....

"hmm it seems that meddlesome warlock took more than he suspected...*sigh*"

As Amaurn set to work, he knew three things:

Cessily could be saved

A knew body would have to be made

And that The old bodies combined with the soul energy Angaroth had harvested would be sufficient to raise Cessily.

------------------------------------------------

In his laboratory Amaurn put the final stitches on the prone body before him......

"Better than the first I would say... Male elf muscle tendons, reinforced bone structure, yet externally she remains.... *Amaurn puzzles a moment* that shape that living people seem to find so attractive"

The last touches were the demonic rune tatoos about the  arms and neck of the body.

"She will be brimming with Fel energy of course, but nothing wrong with that! t will increase her healing and general disposition, just like a demon or a forsaken"

"Will that not make her a demon or an undead" Syrah asked

"Errrrm.......... you know I have no idea" *shrug* "She will certainly be better than she is now"

Amaurn then cast the spell that would preserve the empty vessel until the time was ready.

-------------------------------------------------


"We shall have to gather then in the village of Shadowmoon and I will tear her soul fragment from you and the bodies and I will begin the soul repair"

*Angaroth grunted over the stone* "Very well, you will need my assistance I assume"

"No your presence will be sufficient, do not try and intervene as you may ruin the ritual, we shall gather when next we can. All is ready"

((Yes my prose style sucks! SUE ME BITCHES!!!))

[Greebo]

Angaroth knew that the old man had finally succumbed to dementia. His attack on the demon that had hatched from the rogues' belly had both succeeded and failed - the corpse was a corpse, the beast certainly slain but no shard had crystallized from the fel energy that has swirled in his palm, nothing but a faint trace of her could remain, as likely to recreate her whole as whiff of blackening flesh could be used to make basilisk meat palatable.

"I'll be there whenever you want - but don't blame me if the ritual fails. I know the taste of her soul and I did not trap it."

** A pulsing, swirling ball of coherent green energy hums with amusement. Do not ask too many questions of yourself, it hummed happily, this you know even if you do not know how you do. Another bundle of light traverses an irregular path around the confines of the cage, spikey and impatient. When you first started to observe it, it was black, closer examination revealed it to be the colour of dried blood, streaked faintly with deep red. As it spins and shifts the black is fading, the red expanding, growing. It hover near the doorway, spins and extends a fractal swirl in the direction of the other, pleading, questioning.

"Soon. A few more hours.  I hope your second life will be ... ahh I shan't hope, your life will be your own to shape."

The crimson spirit spins back to face the bars and resumes its probing and pacing. The black is almost all gone now. **

[Greebo]

The slow and unsteady beat of his wyvern's wings served as the perfect irritant to his already petulant mood. The war in Northrend was interfering with his plan to spend some quality time alone with his family, a certain blacksmith, the no-doubt fat and shrill red head, and his newly acquired neural needler. And now this pathetic and doomed to fail attempt to bring back a suicide. "She spent all of her energy on her blades and arrogance. If she had just come to me instead of the Inquisitor and the other ignorants I could have solved her problem." Muttering and grumbling Angaroth flew low over the smoking rocks of Shadowmoon Valley. The heat, the noise, each deviation to avoid an incoming infernal stoked his bad temper.

He saw the old warlock standing in a demonic circle ahead and thrashed his strangely impotent riding crop harder against the wyvern. Landing on a smooth granite outcropping he glanced around, pausing for a second to take in the awesome presence of the Black Temple looming out of the fog of the war that still raged below. He strode up to the edge of the inscription, calculated insouciance belied by the precise care he took to avoid stepping on the carefully drawn dust trail.

Standing there he glowered. "Here I am. Now what." Amaurn ignored his childish temper and simply held out a half-formed soulshard, the failed result of an attempt to drain a spirit too weak to power the spell.

"A sunfury minion," he whispered harshly. "It is important that the container be compatible with the contents. Release her now."

"I have *told* you old man, I do not have her. She died, in failure, just as she lived." His mood began to lift as the thought of someone else suffering a set back instead of him.

"She was seen to be drawn to you, fool. Stand still." Angaroth stiffened at peremptory tone but didn't disobey. Amaurn began to draw indigo runes in the air and flicked a streamer toward Angaroth. The young warlock winced as he felt his soul being drained and dumped into the broken gem in Amaurn's hand. A few seconds passed with no change except for the odd grunt of pain and the spell was dropped. "I ... I don't understand." Amaurn sounded worn and puzzled.

"Perhaps next time you will listen to me." scoff Angaroth. "I am done here. As are you." He pulled out his hearthstone and whispered the commands to use its strength to draw him back to Dalaran.

Amaurn stood silent, deep in thought, ignoring Angaroth now that he was of no further use.

**
the glowing leaves and swirling green energies are closing in on the still figure. a black lock clicks on a black gate, forged with black power. the gate swings open.
"Go now, girl. Live!"
a whine keens from the crimson ball.
it slips out.
the cage locks again
the ball spins, orients itself, and stretches out, sliding through non-space to a delicate tracery of facets that promises a future
**

Angaroth stretched as the now familiar walls of The Filthy Animal swam into view around him. The chill northern air cooled his ardour.  Far away, in a direction that makes little sense to a mind schooled in only 3 dimensions an old warlock glances down with a start at a gem in his hand. It pulses warmly, the normal purple colour tinged with blood red.

[Amaurn]

Amaurn pondered the situation for a few moments as Angaroth hearthed.

"Hmmm, I got only the dust of a soul from him but that may be enough,.... something odd about him... his soul is like fragments swimming in a sea..." Amaurn shrugged, "Ahh no matter"

Focusing once more at the task at hand Amaurn drew from the four sources of soul energy: The demons remains. Cessily's old corpse, the essence from Angaroth and the "glue" of souls gathered from sunfury elves...

He draws all this energy into himself and then unleashes it in a blast of purple light onto the assembled body he had prepared.


After what seemed like an age but was only a few moments... her eyes opened.


"Awake my dear, you live once again. I hope you find the new body sufficient, your equipment is over there I will leave you to gather youself"

As he turns to leave he looks back a moment and says

"The condition that destroyed your other body should be cured, but ensure that you let me know of any problems either related to that or your new body"

In the green hearth flash as Amaurn leaves Cessily gets to her feet and walks to her equipment...

[Cessily]

"Come to me, Blood Child... Come to the Craddle of Winter's Cold, the lands where even the timeless go to rest forever..."


Everything happened too fast. With a sharp intake of air, Cessily breathed once again, the hot and aggressive nature of Shadowmoon's atmosphere burning inside her body. Broken memories flooded her mind, blinding the naked elf, her heart beating way faster than it should. Falling to the side, her legs too weak to provide any balance, Cessily supported herself on her elbows, and threw up as Amaurn spoke, her whole body shivering uncontrolably from the sensations she was getting. Every muscle burned as if it ready to burst from under her skin. Several minutes pass, the Rogue using all her martial discipline to keep from yelling too loud, her dim senses aware that she if she drew too much attention, she could be defenseless to fight against anything that might find her.

After the initial shock, and almost a hour of tense concentration and whimpering, Cessily manages to get back to her feet, the woman's eyes locking on her apparently healthy, even if shivering, hand. Frowning, she doesn't gives it much thought, proceeding to put her armor on and sitting down, trying to relax, her body unlike anything she has ever felt before. She felt dizzy and sick, before falling yet again into unconsciousness. Hours later she would wake up, Snarthas' warm tongue coating her face with the worg' saliva and the foul stench that came with it. Throwing up once again, she now had a better grasp at the reality that surrounded her, mounting up and clumsly riding to Shattrah.