Conquest of the Horde

When you turn crops with a sword you lose some of the yield. Force cut many prime souls free before Marianna could capture them. But any passion for a gentler method had long since left the woman. For her, the sin of harvesting all wasted life was slowly, inexorably, drawing further and further to the foreground of her thoughts.

By the time Marianna had harvested six more souls it was a thought that nearly consumed her.

She had come upon the camp in the afternoon, a pale wraith of a creature in elegant robes. The guards who had tried to stop her had melted upon themselves, crumpling and twisting in hideous agony. She strode into the midst of the cluster of tents. She waited. Ten bandits came out to greet her.

An hour later Marianna was back on her way to Deadwind, her cargo slung in the back of a stolen wagon. Five bandits. One prisoner. Their names were Erice, Jacobson, Erica, Dodger, Swiss and Carter. She knew their reasons. Knew that they ‘had families', that they were ‘good people', that they were ‘just trying to make things work'. They had screamed their fallacies to her incessantly as they were carried back to the tower. Yet pity could not pierce the warlock's clarity of purpose.

"Wasteful..." She muttered as she dropped them into place. The circle was already glowing, its hunger positively bathing the walls in light.

"Wasted life. Wasted purpose. Waste waste waste…Is that all lesser beings can think of?” She heaved the last one into place, dropping the unfortunate captive into the center of her ring. "Go to the Void knowing that your souls' fuel the engine of change."

She stepped into the center of the circle and watched, placidly as the sinners descended into the starry, frozen nothingness.


“Every life has…Value."

The demon stood before the circle, watching as his disciple fed. Marianna had long since torn her robes apart, dragging the scraps of linen across the freshly filled pool. Every few moments she lifted them up and wringed them out, pouring the fetid blood down her throat. Her face was a mask of filth.

“A soul…Can be traded. For magical tools. Skilled labor. Favors…" The demon took a ponderous drag upon his pipe, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling a cloud of acrid sparks. It hung in the air for a moment before fading. “They are…Quite valuable in bulk, mortal."

Marianna wrung out the rags again, a stifled moan coming from her torn lips as she drank down another mouthful of ambrosia. She rocked back onto her haunches and gasped for air, staring dimly up at the ceiling. Her eyes were luminous.

“But bad souls cannot purchase…Good help." The demon clapped two gnarled hands together and the warlock's head snapped around. She stared intently up at the creature.

“A…Decade ago I entered into a…Mmmh…Business agreement with a member of your race's magocracy." The Tothrezim let out a rumbling sigh. “In exchange for...More magical trinkets I gave the mage…A powerful orb."

Marianna blinked. Slowly she reached down and began to collect more blood again, licking the last few morsels from her blistered lips as she listened.

“He...Has since proven to be an…Unworthy business associate. Yet I…Cannot reach him to enforce our contract." The beast pointed at the woman. “Go to him….You will get me back my orb…And you shall…Kill the whelp."

“I have…Impressed upon his dreams…A sense of impending doom. That he must…Leave the safety of Dalaran if he is to keep his…Trinket. You will find him in a ruined tower in…Azshara. There he is guarded by his…Blind puppets."

The woman simply let out a vapid little sigh. She was smiling now, bearing rows and rows of those long, delicate teeth. She was sucking on the end of the rag, her gaze waxy and distant.

“You have…One week, my dear. Drink well…Grow strong…" With a hiss the demon closed up his wounds and left the pool there.

Marianna surfaced from her haze and nodded. Her tongue darted out between little gasps as poured another few drops of that blood past her lips.

"Y-yes…My Lord."

“You have…One week." The circle opened once more and from the depths staggered a small imp, doubled over beneath the weight of thick iron shackles. The demon picked the creature by the scruff and dropped him before the warlock.

“So let us begin your…training, mortal." He snapped two worn fingers, stepping back. The imp skittered, trying to flee. He dragged his weights by a few inches before sinking under the burden.

“You will pay me…Extra for these lessons. Now, begin to channel the power into your hands…”

For the rest of the night the dull glow of fel surrounded the tower as master and servant trained.

The warlock sunk her talons into the soft rock and paused for a moment to rest. She swung there quietly, latched to a cliff face, dangling hundreds of feet above a roiling sea. The cold ocean air swept across her brow and she sighed softly. Her breath came in slow, windy gasps, every lungful of cool air making her gasp for more. For a time the discomfort of her new body felt like a distant memory. Even the intermittent stabs of pain that came whenever the flesh over her chest tightened and pulled upon the withered burn over her heart seemed only a distant ache. She felt whole. She felt young. She felt fresh.

The wind died down and the battered beast turned back towards the cliff. With a grunt she sunk talons into the stone and began her ascent once more. High above her the vast stone tower glowered, a grim stone temple worn down beneath the ocean's breeze and nature's tangle. Time and war had abandoned the once great pillar of safety. And now, with its city gone and its guard's molden dust upon its floors it was quiet.

A single light smoldered from a window at the top of the tower, outlining a single dark speck on a high stone balcony.

With a heaving, wracking cough she swung up to a higher hand hold and continued climbing.


Tiffany Gernpart had dedicated his life to the Arcane. Through tireless research he had lifted himself above his peers, attaining accolades from even the loftiest of souls among the Kirin Tor. At the height of his power he had been a visionary without peer. Yet fame was fleeting. Soon time caught up with him and the children that he once lorded over were becoming the men who now controlled the decrepit mage's future.

The taste of ungracious defeat and the thought of a humble life did not sit well with the distinguished Gernpart. Age and time had brought him down from his lofty peek yet his mind and skills were as sharp as ever. His bargain with the Tothrezim had given him a dark token, a piece of a demon's soul that he had wanted to use to amplify his power and secure his return to fame. He vowed that, in exchange for his new-found power that he would provide suitable compensation.

When it did not provide him with the limelight he craved he abandoned the demon and their contract. But he would not abandon the orb. It was a chance, no matter how slight, to rise back into favor. And through this trinket the Tothrezim had whispered dark thoughts into the leper's mind, twisting him with paranoia and doubt until quiet madness consumed him.

“You've come to kill me.” It was a sad voice, quiet and hollow. The gnome turned, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. The very top of the tower was his abode, a circular stone chamber with a bed thrust in the very center with an assortment of books and desks orbiting about it. She stood just inside the doorway to his chambers, a frail, filth-encrusted wraith wrapped in mottled green robes.

"This is true…" Marianna paused. She had expected a bloody battle, clawing tooth and nail as they tumbled over a cliff. She had planned for a demented wretch of a mage. Not this somber little figure balanced quietly on a pile of spell books smoking his way through a box of cheap cigars.

"Yes…You're rather late on your contract. As such I've…Come to collect." She stepped into the light and for a moment her figure was outlined in bronze relief. Every breath she took was followed by a soft wheeze. Her cheeks were sunken and pale, the flesh so paper white that the little spider webs of green veins beneath were visible. Her lower lip was caked with blood and lacerated, her hair greasy and mottled with silt. The skin around her hands was drawn and puckered, each fingers' flesh beginning to slowly peel back to expose long black claws.

The gnome sighed softly and exhaled, letting a little tuft of smoke billow from a crevice in his beard. He glanced down at the floor. There, balanced between his feet, was a small red little stone. “Thought so.”

"I will take it from you by force if need be…" Marianna took a few more steps forward, circling around the gnome. Those yellow eyes darted about, waiting for the torrent of Arcane to fall.

“I'm sure you will…Yes.” The gnome regarded the shadow before him and took another puff. “Yes, I'm sure you will.”

The two regarded each other patiently.

“Would you…Prefer if I fought back?”

"I would." She sighed, the suspense finally sleeting quietly off her shoulders. She even let a little smile play out across her face.

“Well then…” The gnome hopped off his pile of books puffing away on the cigar, smoking it down until it was just a smoldering wad of embers in his hand. Reverently he dropped it under his heel and snubbed it out. With a flourish he produced a wand and looked up at the goliath before him.

“After you kill me…”

"Which I will."

“ Yes. After you kill me, would you mind terribly carving my name on a piece of jewelry or something? It would be awfully romantic to have that on your person when you are finally vanquished. ”

Marianna paused at that. It was a long, quiet silence before she spoke again. "Why?"

“Life's all about what you leave behind.” The gnome's spirit was returning in fits and bursts. Already he was flicking little sparks from his wands, limbering up with a few good deep knee-squats.

"And you want to leave behind jewelry?"

The gnome shrugged his shoulders grandly. “ I'd rather be known as the chap who had his name on a piece of jewelry then the chap who sold his soul to a demon for a chance at power.”

Silence once more. Marianna let out a low, rumbling sigh. “Should we decide on who begins? I have some dice on me…"

“Ladies first!” The gnome beamed madly, his joy returning now in gushing spurts. He finally straightened, brandishing his wand with a grandiose flourish.

“May we see each other again as comrades in the Twisting Nether.”

Marianna laughed softly at that. She stepped forward and, with the greatest care, batted the gnome aside. He sailed backwards, twisting gracefully in the air before tipping up and over the balcony. He hit the ground a hundred feet down with a quiet, delicate crunch. There was silence.

"Such a flamboyant sinner." She plucked up the orb and wound it in a sheet of linen, slipping it away into her robes. She leaned over the railing, watching the still corpse for a time.

She chuckled softly, turning back to the steps. “Little knit…”

It was only when she was halfway down the mountain and on the rambling road to the gryphon master that she realized she hadn't asked for the man's name. She sighed, shifting the heavy sack about. Such little inconveniences…

"One albino dwarf's hand clasping a..." Marianna scratched at the waxen stick in the withered limb's grasp. She sniffed the rubbings before making a face. "Candle made of sulfur and brain drippings."

“Runes?"

"Yes."

“I shall…" The beast lifted its iron-bound ledger and, carefully, added a few runes to the cramped page. “Take it."

With a quiet nod the warlock dropped the wretched item into the portal. It spun into the void, fading into the darkness.

"Floating candelabra?"

“Useless. You may…Dispense with it."

It had shocked Marianna at first to find so many useless trifles in the gnome's tower. There had been mountains of magical weapons and trinkets, billowing from crates and chests and cluttering up the floors. The walls were cluttered with shelving, each holding rows and rows of grimoires bound in unusual skins. They flapped and quivered even now, shedding light every time their pages crackled. The room had reeked of broken dreams and nostalgia, the depression hanging thick over the trophies of a long-dead career.

It was their saving grace that the gnome no longer required such reminders. So the warlock had packed them up and carried them back. If a magical orb was so important to the demon then arcane books, evil medallions and enchanted dolls with unsettling eyes would surely fetch something.

Marianna had not counted on her associate's insatiable hunger for such things. That had been her boon. Neither had she foreseen how tedious sorting magical items could be. That was her bust.

"This doll is oozing…"

“Smell?"

"Like a Fel-Hunter's arse."

The Tothrezim let out a rumbling chuckle. It wasn't unlike the sound of skulls striking a gravel road. While two hands worked the ledger the others palmed the dark orb slowly, twisting it back and forth between its gnarled fingers. “Toss it in…Such trifles are…Oddly valuable."

”Now, about this book… " Marianna lifted up a large wooden tome. Its cover was lashed a dozen times over with lengths of thick purple chain. It was hissing at her.

“Open it."

The woman exhaled sharply and rooted around for a pair of thick gloves. She wasn't sure, but she swore she had seen either a satin bookmarker or a tongue dart between the pages…


“There is…No sin greater than the sin of being a…dishonest business associate."

The basin had already been filled and drained. It had been a week since she had emptied the gnome's coffers into the Twisting Nether. It had been a week of gorging, of training in the dark recesses, of quiet reflection and –more and more- of bitter brooding. Every day alone with the demon's bitter whispers in her mind and the blood's caustic taste on her lips made her more withdrawn, more resigned and determined. She thought only of the glory of her slowly unraveling purpose, of her own purity and strength of will.

"Every sin is worthy of death, My Lord."

A week of slow growing and metamorphosis had rendered her robes and disguises useless rags. As such she now sat on the mound of silt before the demon naked. Whether it was the blood or the gloom but her skin was now almost translucent. It was nothing more than a thin sheet of paper stretched tight over the new, darker flesh that was growing beneath. Her claws had finally formed, her fingers now thick, charcoal black daggers. Her eyes were now illuminated completely, her gaze shedding a pale, sickly yellow glow. She had grown three inches since in the last week, what little muscle she had left melting into a thin, sinewy frame. The burn upon her chest had begun to expand, swallowing up every inch of skin from her breast to her collar and leaving only a withered patch of sinewy, puckered flesh. Little green veins ran through the dark divot.

She lifted the last goblet of blood to her lips and took a little sip.

“Mmm…" The infernal craftsman grinned darkly. Despite the soot and filth upon him his smile was as white as snow. “Very true, my…Darling. Such sins of weakness are…truly criminal."

The beast cleared his throat and watched the girl over the top of his steapled fingers. “But the lazy associate is truly the…Most reprehensible."

“You are not the first who has sought me out to fuel your…Righteous cause. There was another…A Blood Elf by the name of…Bema Levourax. Like you, darling…She proved a very useful partner. Yet her…Own desires clouded her sense of duty."

Marianna hummed thoughtfully, watching the man over the brim of her goblet. She gave him a delicate little smile.

“You will go and…Un-cloud her vision. Her blood…Will be your next compensation."

"An egotist…"Her voice was a soft, rumbling monotone, every syllable dripping with a sweet, placid calm. The anger she once wore so proudly, the fury of life and limb that had been her badge was gone. The woman now wore a mask of calm, smug certainty.

“She is…Hiding in the Swamp of Sorrow. A fetid prison for a…Wretched girl. You will go to her and prove which is stronger…" The beast rose slowly, unfolding himself from his throne of rubble and filth. “The blind hunger of an…Egotist."

"Or the righteous fury of a savior."

“You will not…Be such a disappointment as she." The demon descended once more into the circle, sinking slowly into the Twisting Nether. “Now go and…Let me erase her name from my ledger."

The woman downed the last of her goblet and rose, lifting her vessel in mock salute. From her bare back two large, leathery wings unfurled, beating the air in slow, ponderous strokes. "Yes, My Lord."

Marianna had never flown before. It was, she would admit, a ponderous affair. Her new wings were flimsy webs of flesh. To keep aloft she had to thrash them about constantly, an exercise that strained her back and half-blinded her in pain. It had nearly taken all of her energy to just clear the mountain ranges of Deadwind Pass. It was in this state that she set about covering the swamp; a half-blind beast, naked, thrashing about so low near the tree-tops that the branches scratched her thighs.

At nightfall she collapsed by a stream, too weary to steer clear of the water. She sunk into the filth with a slick sound, half submerging herself in the cool mud and warm waters. Spitting bile and swears the warlock wadded through the brackish filth, dragging herself into a cage of gnarled roots. It was there that the filth-covered creature dropped her head and fell into a dreamless sleep.

She would plan tomorrow. She had seen much in the darkness. There were corpses out there, bodies charred beyond recognition and left to rot in smoking circles. Yet no matter how immolated she found them they still shared two defining traits: They both reeked of Fel and were completely disemboweled.


The crocolisk rammed against the root cage, its great body thrashing as it tried to get at the delicious morsel within. It was a vast beast, its scaled hide thick with scars and fresh wounds. It reared back and slammed against the roots again, its jaw sinking a few more inches in.

Marianna took another breath and screamed.

She had been wailing her head off for an hour now. To be completely honest, the surprise at seeing the vast crocolisk had slipped away long ago. After all, she had been expecting it; you don't fall asleep in the swamp without some beast trying to eat you. But she would remain religious to her ploy and continue her caterwauling.

It was another ten minutes before there was a rustling from the opposite shore and someone finally came to her rescue.

"Alah dor'ano fulo neph'o."

Ah, and there were those sweet Thalassian words she had been so wishing to hear. And the voice which spoke them sounded so warped and venomous…Oh, this was the girl she had been looking for.

The crocolisk snapped its jaw one last time, thrashing its head about before it was dragged away. A tall, slender creature held it by the tail, her gnarled fingers digging into the knotty flesh. With a grunt it twisted around and pitched the giant beast up and away. The vast reptile soared a few feet through the air before smashing against a tree. Its corpse rolled into the riverbed and began to sink slowly into the silt.

"You are….Safe, my dear…" The stringy creature dipped down, her face swimming into sharp focus as she slipped it into the cage of roots. It was a blood elf's face, sinewy and gaunt. Her skin had been discolored and turned a dark violet, little patches of filth spotting her cheeks and brow. There was a long gash running along her throat, freshly stitched with animal guts. Her hair was bone white and hacked down to the scalp, leaving little clumps oddly dotted across her head.

"Now, come on out…"

A plume of fire engulfed the blood elf's head and she staggered backwards. For a moment her figure was frozen in relief; that rail-thin frame, wrapped in rags; that violet flesh, sickly and covered in boils; spikes, emerging from her shoulders and covering most of her arms; eyes, glowing bright green and rimmed with raw flesh. She was an emaciated skeleton of a creature, a half-demon with her entire right side covered in glowing green runes.

She crashed into the water just as Marianna emerged. The human was covered head-to-toe in muck, bugs and water shedding off her as she stepped out and into the deep water.

"As you wish, my dear Levourax." She flexed her claws before plunging them into the water. She fished around for a moment before she pulled the girl up by the scraps of her mane.

"Now, let's get you out of that skin of yours and into a ni-"

"Too close!" The elf's gnarled hand swung up and closed around the warlock's face, her claws drawing blood. Her hand burst into green flames, engulfing the human's face. Marianna's grip loosened and she screamed as she began to claw at the elf's hand. That tiny frame lifted the larger human up effortlessly, dangling her by her skull as her face cracked and burned.

"Boastful wretch!" The elf hissed, bearing a mouthful of discolored, miss-matched fangs. Her grip tightened and Marianna writhed, clawing at the woman's arm as the entropic flames continued to lick across her face.

Marianna finally managed to close one of her hands around the woman's forearm. The flesh was withered and flaking, the muscles beneath roiling and twisting beneath her hide. Her claw grazed a boil and it ruptured, spilling tainted blood. It made the girl sick to touch her. The warlock's hand grew black and her curse burned into the blood elf's flesh. With a howl she dropped the human and twisted away. Her arm began to shrivel, the bones and sinew warping until her limb was a useless lump of bent flesh at her side.

"You b***h…" Marianna picked herself from the water and rose, shakily, to her feet. The pale flesh over her face had been completely burned away, little wisps of green flame still smoldering on the seared edges of her features. Yet beneath the sizzling scraps of flesh there was a fresh hide of pale gray flesh. The demoness dragged her claws along her cheek, scrapping off the last of the flesh from her face and bearing the scabrous hide beneath.

She regained herself and scowled, flashing her rows of shark's teeth. "How prideful you are..."

Locrevaux scowled, clutching her withered limb as she glared at the girl. "You're a Fel-Sworn."

"And you a withered b***h of an elf." Marianna lobbed another flame at the girl. The elf staggered backward,s barely twisting out of the way. She collapsed against the side of the river, scrambling backwards through the mud. She croaked out Thalassian insults as she tried to claw her way to her feet.

"You're the Tothrezim's dog…"

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" The warlock dropped her foot on the woman's withered limb. She learned down at the elf, blood leaking from around the ragged edges of her face and across her fresh new visage. "A hint of desire?"

The blood elf wheezed, letting out a hacking laugh. "You'll…You'll see, soon enou-"

Marianna ground that withered arm into the dirt and cut her monologue short, the elf dissolving into wretched wails. "I detest your loathsome personality. Isn't your race supposed to be above such baser addictions?"

"You little b***h…!"

A shadowy bolt erupted from Marianna's hand and sunk into the elf's chest. She arched up, her eyes glazing over and her lips parting as she gasped for air, her soul withering within her breast.

"I jest! Of course, I jest…" The human leaned forward, drawing that leering face closer and closer until those fangs were clicking away just an inch from Levourax's face. "Will you not allow me the pleasure to see one so proud succumb to such a common addiction?"

"Tel'karma!" The blood elf slammed her forehead into the warlock's. Her nose crunched with a wet sound and she staggered backwards, releasing her hold of the girl's limb. With a howl the elf grabbed the woman and dragged her down into the muck.


"Why?"

"I wanted power. Is that so hard for a human to fathom?"

There had been no dignity in the fight. The two women had clawed and spat for half an hour in the muck and filth, lobbing fists and spells in equal measure. Yet it had been a week since the elf had taken her first drought of Fel blood and she was weak. She fought like a wounded animal, ravenously and without thought. It was only when Marianna slammed her head against a rock half a dozen times was she finally subdued.

"A lust for power? In a Sin'dorei?" The human chuckled softly, burning the jagged stumps that had been the elf's hands. She had her bound to a stump in a clearing of the swamp. The warlock had taken great pains to secure the elf, hacking off her hands and feet before melting much of her flesh to the gnarled wood. Once the screams had died down she had struck up a dialogue with her sister-in-arms, more out of ego then any feelings of remorse.

"It's the same lust that you have, human." The elf sneered, craning her neck to watch the naked girl as she paced about.

The warlock tutted softly, raking her fingers slowly through her hair. She dislodged a few creepers and wads of filth. "Once? Yes. I was consumed by only wickedness…" She swept her arms back and beamed, standing proudly before the woman. "How corrupt was I to lower myself to the level of the common elf! To want power only for the sake of my own glory!"

The elf leered as she dropped her head back against the wood. She would let the wretched woman continue her dialogue. Her only regret was that she would have to hear her blithering in the last minutes of her life.

"But now I am humbled. I have found my place in this wonderful world. Now I am motivated only by purity." She tapped her shark's teeth with the tip of her claws, smiling expansively down at the woman. She added one last sigil to the woman's flesh before stepping back. "I have spilled blood to get here."

She swept her arms back, darkness lancing from finger to finger. "I have no choice but to spill more blood. Yet let only the wicked suffer the justice of death…"

She tapped her finger to her brow and assumed a thoughtful pose. "Judged by the god and savior upon this earth." She paused, her eyes slipping shut as she dissolved into quiet thought. A few moment's past and her eyes opened once more, glowing now with a burning intensity.

"He is using you! These thoughts are not your own! They are the taint of the blood! Once tasted you'll be a sl-!"

"I deem ye guilty."

He elf screamed as the runes glowed and the blood surged from her body. It poured out from every pore and orifice, the fetid green filth swarming forward and into the waiting warlock.

Soon the screams subsided and Marianna was left in silence. She drank the blood and took cares of disposing the body. She wrapped the empty husk in the tatters of the elf's robes, a makeshift sack to transport the corpse back to her tower.

She had been wicked once, yes. But she was wicked no longer. She would do good in this world. But to do so she must first eliminate a great evil.

The Tothrezim was waiting for the corpse. She would meet him. And she would fulfill her own contract. She was not a slave. She knew that she was strong enough now to break the bonds of her contract and become what she had envisioned: A god.

[left]Part Seven
The Places You'll Go![/left]





“You're…Hardly on time, darling. You brought my…Dissident, yes?" The Tothrezim laughed as the warlock drew the hatch open and set her bundle at the top of the steps.

"Enjoy." The warlock's voice was strained. Even after her supper of Fel her wings still made flight an exhausting affair. She had no more energy to carry the body; she simply booted the corpse down the step, letting the sack of elf slap and crunch its way down till it finally hit the stone floor. The burned, butchered body rolled out and into the muck where it set about gradually decomposing.

“Ah…" The demon stepped out of the gloom to regard the wretched elf's corpse. He wrapped a thick hand around the bodies shoulder and lifted it up to scrutinize it.

“But you can be…Forgiven. This is the body of your sister…The dissident elf." The beast let out a rumbling laugh. He idly licked his thumb and rubbed a scrap of filth from the corpses cheek, uncovering a patch of wrinkled flesh and a few inches of runes. “There is a…Reward in order…"

"Yes, My Lord." The woman picked her way down the steps. Already the skin had begun to peel from her body, radiating outward from her charred face to her chest and shoulders. The pale, translucent flesh hung in tatters off her thin frame, bearing the pearly gray flesh of her new hide.

“Hmm…" His brow furrowed as he lifted the corpse even higher. Through the calluses of his hands he could feel the warmth of the elf's flesh. That alone was a fact at odds with the general state of decay and atrophy her body had undergone.

The mud had already begun to flake away from the elf's face. The filth had hidden what Marianna had made of her body; the warlock had put a wax stopper in the elf's mouth and stitched her lips and eyes shut with jungle vines. Yet through the melting wax and burning twine he could see flames burning deep within this hollow body.

“Benthaldoom!" The demon pitched the corpse at the woman just as its head exploded. A gout of flame rolled from the corpse, enveloping the snarling Tothrezim and grinning warlock in an infernal fire.

"Fool!" Marianna leaped before the flames could suitably settle. She was confident in her strength. Yet she held no illusions that such a simple trick would put out such a strong creature. The flames enveloped her hands as she leapt at the Tothrezim's smoldering shadow.

“No." A gnarled hand caught the woman by the throat in mid lunge. The demon strangled out the woman's howls, his other hands swinging up to bind her wrists while the last began to quietly pummel her.

“I…Expected this sooner…"The demon's grip tightened upon her throat. With an artist's touch he gave her wrists a twist and pull, easing her arms out of their sockets. His fist reeled back, black shadows curling between his fingers as he put another blow to her chest. With a burst of stabbing pain the warlock's heart stopped and she went limp.

“Like a child…" His grip lessened and he cast the rag doll aside. The Fel-Sworn's body struck the far wall and toppled over, hitting a pile of rubble with a sickening crack.

”I have…Long since given up hope of humans…Ever realizing how insignificant they are…" The grip of the shadow magic subsided from the woman and her heart lurched to a start once more. She gasped, her entire body jerking as she took one long, violent breath.

“Like children, really…" The warlock staggered to her feet and tried to lift her limp, useless arms. They dangled at her side, ignoring every scream and howl to move and only giving her blinding pain in return. The demon was upon her before she could mumble the first words of her curse.

Two more heavy-handed blows and she crumpled once more, gasping for breath and bleeding from a gash on her breast. She bled a sickly, yellowy green. It was the vile ichor of a demon.

“Do you know…How many mortals…Come to me expecting…Free power?" A hand sunk into her gut and the warlock doubled over, her face violet as she struggled for breath.

“Has your errands…Taught you nothing?" He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed. Bone grinded against bone and for a moment the warlock saw only red. With a howl she doubled over and began to wretch.

The demon plucked her up by her limp arms and lifted her to his gaze. She hung there, her body battered, eyes caked shut with blood and her nose busted. A rib was sticking out of her hide and she had chipped two teeth. She had vomited up a good portion of her only meal; the dead elf's blood stained her chin and throat.

“The lesson is…Once you seek out power…" The Tothrezim grinned. “Then the power…Owns you."

He dragged the woman over to the basin in the center of the room and dropped her within. She rolled over onto her back and was still, her head coming to lay upon a stone.

“You will…Seek out ways of overcoming me. That is…Acceptable. Always. Eternally. From now to the conquest of the Burning Legion…You will seek to defeat me."

Marianna choked back a sob as the demon stepped down and over her. The beast stood above her, his ancient face contorted into a wicked grin. He held a withered chisel in one of his great hands.

“And to do that…You will need more blood. More blood…From me." The demon raised his blade and sunk it into his breast. The green blood began to slowly trickle down the warped metal and along the bone handle. Slowly, drip by drip it began to fill the basin and cover the girl.

“Blood to find blood. Sin to fight…sin. How…Paradoxical you will be, darling…" The demon bent low. Already the little dip was half full of blood. The pool had begun to envelope the wounded woman, covering her nakedness and leaving only her head above the tide.

“You have…Blood in your veins. Wickedness in your soul…You will go in whatever direction I choose..."

The blood was up to her nose now. She could taste it through her cracked lips. She wanted to drink. She needed to drink. Oh, how her wounded mind screamed through the pain for her to drink…

“ Oh, the places you'll go… There are souls to be found. There are items… to be stolen. There are good people that need killing…."

The blood sloshed in her ears and the warlock whimpered softly. Already she felt so dizzy. It was the smell. It choked her like a fog, filling her lungs and strangling out all the air. It left only a taint in the hollow of her breast.

“Today is your day, darling…So get on with it…" The Tothrezim smiled, pulling away as the blood finally closed around the warlock's head. A few bubbles rose to the surface from the depths.

“And drink."

And Marianna drank.

[left]Part FIN
Epilogue[/left]





The Titans only know what possessed the cottage's past residents to abandon it. Perhaps a famine had struck the area and left their crops –and, by extension, their livelihood- withered. Or perhaps a lottery had given them enough gold to rush off to live their dream life in Stormwind.

Marianna found it much more likely -considering that the cottage was in Duskwood- that a zombie horde had chased them off before eventually killing and devouring them at a suitable distance. In the end, it was irrelevant; she needed an empty place to prepare and the fates –or zombies- had provided.

The warlock nudged the door open with her foot and slipped inside. It was a pleasant little shack, a single, wood-floored affair. A cold hearth kept the back wall, with a bed, desk, butter churn and boudoir ranged about the walls. Cobwebs infested every inch of the drab room and, at some point, a raccoon or raccoon-shaped zombie had crawled into a corner and died.

But it had a boudoir and a mirror. The naked warlock shuffled over to it, dropping a dirty sack by the old table. There, propped up against a cracked old mirror, was a pearl-handled razor.

The warlock sighed softly and picked it up. She flipped it open and dragged a claw across the bade. It barely had an edge and terribly rusted.

But it would do.

She wiped a bloody handprint off the mirror and adjusted herself. She took a deep breath and began to quietly scrape her skin off with the razor.


As a child, little Marianna had a schedule. Every morning she'd wake up at the sun's first light and do calisthenics and sword training until her arms were raw. Her afternoons were spent with a private tutor, where she endured insults and cruelty to become more educated hen her cruel brother and egotistical sister. She would then spend the evenings studying in the Bisen family library before retreating to bed when the magical spells and histories no longer could stick in her mind.

By age twelve she was the smartest, fastest and most driven of the Bisen children. And yet her father's praise was only directed on them. Whenever he looked upon his oldest child there was only emptiness. To him, she was just so much empty air.

For a little child without a mother and locked in a cold castle with gloom and dust as friends, a vacant father and emotionally distant father was just another straw upon her already strained back.

"I wish I was dead…"

Seyman Bisen was Marianna's uncle and, arguably, the saving grace of the family. In every way that her father, Mensfield Bisen, was manipulative and egotistical Seyman Bisen was not. Seyman was a tall, well-muscled warrior, a clean-cut adventurer who, even in his sixties, still had the radiant warmth of a child. He had come to the House of Bisen four months ago and had been a bright, likeable sore on Lord Bisen's side ever since.

Marianna adored her dear Uncle Bisen and had turned to him for support.

"Shh…" Lord Bisen had set his brother up in the basement's old armory. He had spent the four months sorting and sifting, turning the damp dungeon into a pleasant bachelor's abode. The large man sat on a couch with the little, square-faced girl in his lap, one ham-fist on her shoulder and the other balanced on his thigh.

"You don't mean that, darlin'." He had a thick, deep drawl, vibrant and simple that conveyed only a pleasant openness.

"I do!" She dragged her sleeve along her cheek, stemming the flow of tears. "He hates everything I do! He wishes I were dead!"

"Little Mers is a good guy…" He slapped her shoulder a few times, trying to strike out the tears. The child hiccupped but managed a smile. She always enjoyed her uncle's nickname for her father.

"Now keep off the tears, ‘kay kid? You're a good kid…He knows it. Just…Showin' it in his way."

"Mmmh…"

"So relax! He loves you. He's a good father."

Marianna smiled weakly and threw her arms about the man's neck. She held him tight, drying her tears on his sweater. "I wish you were my dad…"

"No no no…" He reached down and pulled her away, cupping her little chin and meeting her gaze. Her Uncle beamed. "You don't need me as a dad, kid. You have a good dad…A good father figure already."

"I…"

"Shh...Now relax kid. You'll be fine. Just promise me you won't cry anymore, alright?"


Marianna smiled slowly. She nodded, sniffling one last time. "I promise."

"That's my girl! Now common, go and show your father what you learned in fencing lass today. He should be in the guard house with the chief."

That had been years and years ago. But she remembered that day well. It was the same day that her uncle broke into her father's coffers and stole a hundred gold worth of documents and relics. It had been the last time she had seen her uncle. He had left and another erstwhile father figure had left her life.

For a time, she contemplated her life. Looking back, it was just a string of fathers and father figures…The warlock, the demon, her uncle, her father…Had they led her astray? Or had she herself walked right into their cruelty?

Such matters were foolish to consider now. What was done was done.


Marianna inspected herself in the mirror. Her old skin was all in a pile at her feet, just an empty sleeve burned and covered in filth. Her body was glossy and scrubbed now, her flesh a thick, scaly gray. She had washed herself in a nearby stream and cut her long, ungainly hair down to her scalp with the razor. She felt like a new woman.

She opened her sack. Before she had left the Tothrezim's had given her some parting gifts, a few ‘tools in your work'. He had skinned the elf and sown her skin into a robe, dying and tweaking her scaly hide into a serviceable armor. He had sculpted and whittled the elf's bones into ornaments and supports. He had drained the orb and sculpted it into a staff's head for the warlock to use.

Marianna adjusted the hood and slipped the staff over her back. She leaned into the mirror, dragging a dark claw along her cheek. She looked…Good. For the first time in over a month she felt whole. No more aches. No more pains. She was in a permanent state of euphoria. She felt…Like a god.

She smiled, bearing her shark's smile. She was complete.

"I am Fel-Sworn."