Conquest of the Horde

Marianna dropped her human load and paused to catch her breath. The man's head smacked dully against the overgrown cobblestones. Congealed blood began to leak into the cracks of the stone.

"Hate." She clutched the raw wound at her side. Already green blood had congealed around the gaping hole. She grabbed the man's collar, dragging his lifeless body the last few feet. She dropped it on the back of the wagon and sat down heavily beside it, letting her feet dangle out the back. "All I can feel is hate!"

An hour earlier the half demon had stood overlooking a farmhouse in Duskwood. The farm was dripping with raw Fel energy. It hadn't been the first time that the place had drawn her out of hiding. Even now, thinking back, the though of such raw energy for her to gorge upon made her heart ache with another feeling: Hunger.

She had had an elf with her at the time. She was a mage, a blood elf with a foolish smile and a gullible spirit. Her name escaped her now. Rebin? Reskin? Reigen. Yes, she was called Reigen. It didn't matter. The girl was dead by now. Picked apart by paladins and warlocks, she was sure. She would find her a few days later, a shambling corpse bound to some necromancer's necrophilic will. But the girl had been an ally of sorts at the time. The mage had done as she was told and hadn't complained too much. She vowed to slaughter her un-living husk as a token of friendship.

"I do this for them." The demon held out her hand. Her skin was black and hardened, like black obsidian. The flesh was covered in green cracks. She flexed her fingers slowly, admiring the polished black points to her talons. She sighed.

"A martyr." She reached down, grabbing the man's corpse by the hair. She dragged it up to stare into his lifeless eyes. "I transcend flesh. I forsake my humanity, my soul. I overcome the joke of an existence given to me by the Creators and what do you give me?"

She dropped the man. His head smacked against the wood and he was still. She folded her arms and bent over her lap. She sat there, looking solemnly at the woods as she rocked in place. She scowled, turning on the corpse.

"You shoot me in the fucking shoulder!" She brought her fist down on the back of his head. There was a dull, wet crunch and blood began to stain his blond hair.

They had come from the farmhouse when she arrived. Warlocks and priests, she noted with disgust, all dressed in those ridiculous robes and armors that the secretive and egotistical seemed to prefer. Fear gripped them. Or some madness, brought on by their wretched human task master. They had struck out against her, trying to kill her.

The audacity, thinking back now, made the Fel Sworn taste bile.

They had been inconsequential. Their Fel and Shadow spells did little to harm her. Yet before she could wring the life from their bones he had arrived.

She thumped the man's corpse with her fist. Again and again, until his head was pulp. The demon trembled with rage, her teeth grinding. The fire in her eyes rose to lick at her brow.

A Demon Hunter. A fuckin' Demon Hunter.

Marianna draped her legs over the end of the cart and pulled the corpse into her lap. She gave it's pulpy head a few more thumps before calming down. The sensation of rage never lasted with her. Quietly she began to tear at his clothing, rending his tunic into strips. Piece by piece, she plastered the bloodied rags to her wounded side.

She would have had the night elf if it weren't for the others. The miserable rabble, driven by some disease, had struck out against her. They fought Her, who would see them delivered from inanity and brougt to a glorious purpose. They fought for the sake of a night elf Demon Hunter, who would rather see them dead then put to use on any meaningful project.

The madness of these warlocks made her laugh. The laughter made her double over as her wounds re-opened and blood began to flow again. She tore the man's pants to shred and began to apply fresh bandages.

With so many distractions, it had been easy for the Demon Hunter to wound her. His glaives had cut through her thick flesh to rend her side open, the sheer force breaking a rib and sending her tumbling. Before she could flee he had grabbed her, pressing his wretched flesh to hers. And in that embrace he had stolen her essence. Her precious bodily Fel had passed from her to him, her powers drained from sheer contact. Even now the thought of such a foolish creature stealing her power made her blood boil.

Yet she had fled, clawing her way through a portal. She had surfaced three miles from them on a lonely road in Duskwood, just outside Raven Hill. And it was there that the Fel Sworn had found the group of human merchants, dragging their little cart of wares through the gloomy night of the forest.

In terror, they had shot their savior with a crossbow.

Broken in both body and spirit and saddened by their betrayal, the demon had relished their destruction. She crippled them and their animals, melting their limbs and driving them to madness. Simpering and bloodied, she had drained their life one by one.

Marianna tossed the naked corpse from her lap and plastered the last of the bandages to her side. She exhaled sharply and fell backwards. It was there, in the back of the cart, amongst the corpses and broken wares, she closed her eyes.

She did not sleep. She could not sleep. She simply let her mind wander. A plan was forming. There would be no more need for such wounds. She would kill her enemies from afar.

An old sensation washed over her. It had been so long since she had felt such an emotion. The Fel-Sworn smiled as glee came over her.

Marianna spat into her hands and wiped the blood away. She leaned back to inspect her handiwork

It wasn't hard to collect test samples. She had been ‘rampaging' through Duskwood kicking up spells and menacing people haphazardly for the last week. The heroes had bled slowly in to claim their fame. And she had watched them, selecting the weakest and most egotistical. She ambushed them as they clambered through the dense, dark wood or struggled with Worgen and Undead. She had collected twelve strong men and women, a mismatched collection of hunters, warlocks, warriors and paladins. There were three orcs, two blood elves, four humans, two night elves and one gnome.

That had been two weeks ago. Now only one remained. The rest lay in piles in her tower's cellar, dead. Their heads were shaved, their scalps covered in a spider-web of stitches and coated in thick bumps. Green foul puss leaked from their ears. Each one had a look of bland indifference frozen on their faces.

"There there..." The last subject, an orc woman, lay sprawled upon the floor. Rusty tools lay strewn at her side in a pool of blood. Her head had been shaved as well, fresh scars beginning to coagulate upon her green flesh.

Her eyes were glassy and vacant.

Marianna had kept the orc in the cellar since her capture. On by one, her fellow captives had been dragged up into the higher sections of the tower. Some returned dead, their bodies dumped against the back wall. Some came back alive but changed. They had died quietly, sitting off in a corner staring vaguely at a wall. They did not eat, sleep or speak.

She had been a hunter, a proud specialist. Her muscles bulged and scars laced across her stern face. Yet now the muscles were slacked, her mouth –so accustomed to a sneer- slack and gapping. Marianna had performed the operation on the stone floor using the tools she could find. It had been a learning experience.

The fel-sworn hunched down beside the green woman. She pressed a hand to the orc's cheek, tilting it till she was staring up at the demoness. Those green eyes seared into the hunter's.

"You can hear me, can't you?"

The orc said nothing. Then, slowly, she nodded.

The demon's smile widened.

"Let's keep it that way, darling."

With a shudder the earth yawned open. The verdant grass of Stranglethorn Vale ruptured, the earth rending open beneath it to form a deep pit. A plume of green filth belched forth from the glowing green hole. Green flames boiled over the edges to lick at the grass, scorching the matted jungle foliage.

With a spit and a hiss the Fel-Sworn sunk her talons into the rocky lip of the pit and hoisted herself up. She clawed her way out of the chasm, kicking and fighting for every foothold. It was a few moments before she finally rolled out of the hole and onto the grass proper.

With one last plume of green smoke the earth closed back up, leaving only a black scorch mark and a panting warlock.

Marianna lay on the grass and caught her breath. She stared up through the dense foliage of the Vale at the slowly darkening sky. A few birds wheeled over head, glowing as they spread their crimson plumage to catch the retreating light. It would have been picturesque if it weren't for the howling, screaming and unholy racket of the jungle itself.

Wretched jungle. Wretched port. And wretched girl! The demon lapsed into her thoughts, those green eyes closing as she reflected upon the day's trials.

First there was her disguise. Shabriri. Oh, the pang of loss in her heart over that form. Beautiful, beautiful Shabriri. It had taken her hours to take on that form, to weave the spell to cloak her hideous form in Shadow. She knew the illusion would last only for two hours. Yet it would still allow her to put her plan into action.

After the rites had been performed and the illusions strengthened, and she got the first look at her new form in the mirror, she knew that it had been worth it.

Marianna hated Draenei. She found them ugly, impractical and a useless race of zealots. They were self-righteous, had annoying accents and always lorded their morality and age over the ‘lesser' races. Yet the looks she received when she strode into Booty Bay, hips swaying and hair streaming behind her…Marianna noted with a touch of longing that she had never received such looks, even when she was human.

And oh, the fun she had! She had never known the strength of her sex. She had always thought of her human femininity as a frailty, a weakness to be overcome with muscles and cunning. Yet men were drawn to her. Looked at her. Fawned over her. And one odd Night Elf woman who talked rather oddly. But she ignored her. She looked like she was new to the bay anyway.

And then Paul showed up. Sweet Paul. He didn't trust her. Thought it was rather odd that this pretty woman had drawn him over with a look and a crook of the finger. So he had asked her to prove that she was a Draenei. Had cut his fingers and held them out to her, telling her to heal him. And so she did.

She had taken his hands into hers. Held them tight in the hands that she knew he would think felt warm and silken. Had let the illusion flare, letting a flash of white light cover their clasped hands. When she pulled away his hand was whole.

And then Annabelle had arrived. Sweet Annabelle. She asked him how he felt. Asked how he was doing. He showed her his hand, swearing that the pretty Draenei who was getting up and walking away had healed her.

Ten minutes later the contagion had crept over his entire hand, covering it in festering boils. Necrosis had begun to set in, causing the skin to blacken and crack. The pretty Draenei had giggled softly to herself as she walked away.

Shortly after she stumbled across a pale little human and her dead-loving friend. Friends of her enemy who weren't all too friendly. The Draenei had concluded business with them quickly enough. Even now, the demoness made a mental note to get working on her end of the bargain. She would send her elven friend to pick up the materials and secure a proper alchemist.

The day should have ended on that note, with her skipping out of the bay content in the knowledge of a day well spent.

And that was when Annabelle, that wretched paladin, returned.

She accosted her on the road out of the bay. Waving her mace and shield, the picture of child-like innocence. She had blustered and heaved, demanding penance from her.

With a little smirk Marianna remembered the look on the girl's face when the Shadow Bolt struck her in the chest.

Yet she couldn't win the fight. She couldn't hurt the girl. So she held herself in her new form, turning her energies to maintaining the illusion then slaughtering the paladin. And she had suffered because of it. Bloodied and beaten, the Fel Sworn had to drag herself through the portal and flee.

And that, she noted with bitterness, was how she ended up with a giant centipede crawling slowly along her leg.

"Mithril and a Red Star Ruby." She kicked the insect off and picked herself up. "Shouldn't be too hard to find."

The Fel Sworn dissolved into the shadows, her form dissipating into nothingness. The forest was still –relatively- once more.

Deep in the depths of the Catacombs, Marianna poured over her work.

She had sequestered herself in a small side-chamber, barring the door and lashing it shut with dark runes. Thus protected, she had turned herself to her private reflections.

Kneeling in the dirt before her desk, Marianna lifted up the last Truesilver Bar from her pile. With care the Fel-sworn swung it around and placed it atop the sparkling silver pyramid of ten Truesilver Bars she had erected on the wooden table.

It had been difficult finding the Truesilver, yes. But gold bends even the highest of figures. And Marianna was not short of stature to begin with. She had stumbled across a powerful mage in the Catacombs and managed to draw him into her chambers. And there, with the promise of gold, did Aroes change her useless Mithril bars into beautiful, glittering Truesilver.

But that was only half of the difficulties.

Marianna braced herself against the table and lifted herself up. From the depths of her robes she pulled out a small velvet bag. From the bag she pulled out a crimson stone. Delicately she placed it atop the Truesilver pyramid.

The Star Ruby had been less tricky, but no less expensive. She had ordered it a week prior from a goblin in Booty Bay via mail. The gold she had slipped into the letter had enticed him to the offer and he had sent off for the fist-sized gem. He had shipped it to her forwarding address as per her instructions. While in Booty Bay under disguise she had picked the gem up, slipping it into her robes and secreting it away.

All in all, both operations had cut far too deeply into her limited purse.

Marianna ran her fingers along the silvery pyramid, letting her gaze glide along its polished surfaces.

Tomorrow she would work more on the relic. After all, she had promises to keep.

Metallurgy was a mystery to her. Her uncle had tried to teach her the art of smelting once, before he had left. She had toyed with it as she had with all of her toys, leaping on it with a wide-eyed intensity before growing bored. After two days her passion had fled her and contented herself with simply hitting bits of red metal with a hammer. Her uncle had stopped the lessons when he caught her bludgeoning her brother with the bit of deformed slag metal.

But a few lessons had endured. The finer arts of smelting escaped her, but she knew enough to make her way around a forge.

And what a forge!

She had teleported to the abandoned city of Caer Darrow in the early hours of the evening. It was there, in the abandoned forge by the lake, that she had spent her night working. And now, with the sun rising into the feted, plague-streaked sky, the smokestack over the forge belched its first cloud of acrid smog.

The debris of the abandoned workshop had been swept into a pile outside. All things flammable had been shattered and tossed into the forge. Now the great furnace crackled with green fire, the debris within sizzling and popping as the infernal flames devoured them. The light from the fire bathed the dank room in an emerald glow.

Marianna reached into the flames and, with her bare hands, pulled the crucible from the heart of the fire. The Felfire had melted the bars, leaving a liquid bath in their place. Yet the demonic flame had dulled the once lustrous silver, streaking it with dark impurities. Little bubbles rose to the surface before rupturing, belching fat globs of green smoke. The vat gave off a sickly pale glow.

The demon dipped a metal mesh into the broth and skimmed out the impurities. Yet no matter how much she cleaned, the taint of the Fel would remain buried in the metal.

She let the crucible heat up in the fire for a few more seconds before bringing the bowl of liquid metal over to her workbench. Spread over two anvils, the slab of metal that served as her bench was covered in odd little tools and precise instruments. Sitting in the center of it all was the mold. Marianna had carved it into the metal workbench herself, using her magic and claws to peel away the metal and form the indentation.

Set in the mold were twenty little slivers of gem. They had been part of the Star Ruby before she had warped it, infusing the stone with Shadow. Now the shards of the once deep crimson stone were a glossy, sooty black.

Marianna upturned the crucible over the desk. The molten slag washed over the tools, sloshing over the edge and splattering across the table. It flowed into the mold, setting into the little furrows and grooves. When Marianna dropped the empty crucible the entire table was coated in a pool of glittering, quickly drying Truesilver.

"A name…" The woman purred, watching the metal cool. "You need a name, darling."

She upturned the table when the metal had sufficiently cooled. It fell to the floor with a hideous crash, sending the room shaking. She wrenched the table free from the Truesilver mold and marveled at her work.

Set in the very center of the pool, amidst the petrified tools and half-submerged calipers, was the finished artifact. It was a circular amulet, dome-shaped with symbols etched into it. The runes were demonic and already beginning to warp and shift beneath her gaze. There were two smaller domed amulets to the left and right and slightly below the central one, connected to the central dome by two thick metal bridges.

Each of the two smaller pendants had a black gem set in the very center. But the central fixture held the rest. They were arranged in a pattern, crudely but firmly set on the flattened top of the domed pendant. Two silvers formed a skull's eye-sockets, another one the disembodied head's nose. Five formed its grinning teeth. And ten slivers laid side to side formed dark, dagger-like wings that enveloped the skull in a circular embrace.

Marianna ran her fingers along the crown of silvery metal and purred softly to herself.

"You shall be called Shadow Law." She said sweetly. Silently she turned, looking at the far wall. Resting against it was another large metal table. This one had dozens of little circular holes indented into its metal surface.

"And the rest shall be called Dread Stones…"

Shadow licked her fingertips as she pressed her palm against the crown. Dark purple light laced between her fingers as she finished her craft.

She needed to work quickly, after all. She had so many more trinkets to make before she could return to the Catacombs. she had a meeting lined up, she believed.

The Karazhan Guard Tower had served as Marianna's home and keep since she had come to live in Deadwind. The razor-sharp rocks that rose from the earth about it ensured few visitors. A deep, fetid marsh ringed the walls.

Marianna adored the place. There was something oddly comforting about the tower. Perhaps it was the commanding view. Maybe the cold stone and biting wind reminded her of her childhood home. Or perhaps it was Karazhan itself. There was an odd aura emanating from it that filled her rancid soul with warmth.

Whatever her reasoning might have been, when she fled from Raven Hill it was the Karazhan tower that she had crawled through the Nether to reach.

Green blood pooled around the smoking crater, seeping into the burned stone's cracks. A little trail of green blood led across the tower's roof and to the rickety stairwell that led into the chamber below.

"Wretched maggots…" She pulled herself down the wooden steps, wincing and spitting whenever she put weight on her wounded leg.

They had ambushed her in Raven Hill. How had they known she would be there? Ten minutes prior even she hadn't known she would be there! Yet they had been there, waiting for her. They knew she would be there. And she knew how.

"Ignorant fool!" When the attack came the elf in white had turned upon her. The traitor elf. It was he who had told her to come to Raven Hill. It was his suggestion to go into the inn! And it was him who, when the fighting started, had turned upon her and allied himself with her ambushers.

His time would come. She would squeeze what usefulness she could out of his miserable frame before she fed his blackened soul to the Nether.

"They can't slay me…" She staggered down the last step, her momentum carrying her past the door and across the landing, her load dropping as she stumbled. She slammed into the guard rail and doubled over it. She hung there, clutching the wooden strip, staring out over the edge at the ground hundreds of feet below.

For a moment the world swam out of focus. Beneath her the darkened land of Deadwind stretched far into the horizon. The mountains and hills choked out the sun, leaving only a black, sooty light. This was her home. This was her domain. This was her empire.

She wrenched herself from the guard rail and staggered over to her burden. She grabbed it by the collar and dragged it inside.

Her load was the elf Astus. Or what was left of him. During the ambush he had been decapitated, rather comically, by the Demon Hunter Falathorei. She was still unsure in which state he was more useless, living or dead. The Fel Sworn grunted softly, hefting the corpse in one hand and pitching it into the room. It struck the far wall and quietly slumped into a corner.

He was more useful alive. At least, alive, he could walk himself around. She would arrange for an imp to retrieve his head tomorrow and then send his body to the Catacombs for resurrection. Later, though. Not now.

“Falathorei…Navren…Annabelle…" She fell to her knees, the last of her strength bleeding out of her wounded leg. She was a twisted, mangled caricature of her former self. Her face was slashed in three places. Her left wing had been torn out from the root. Her right thigh had a gaping hole in it. And the rest of her…

To get Astus' body she had needed to return to Raven Hill, to collect it before the Hunters carted it off for incineration. Or consumption. Or for fertilizer. She hated the purple elves, Demon Hunters or no. Who knew what perverted rituals and animal orgies that went on in that wretched tree-house they called a city?

She had been caught by the Demon Hunter before she could complete the teleportation ritual. His spell had caused her to spasm and activate the incomplete circle. To her terror, she watched as the portal formed within her. It had drawn her and the corpse, bodily, into the Nether.

It was a miracle she survived the botched teleportation. But it had been a pyrrhic miracle. Vast segments of flesh had been flayed from her body, creating bloody windows for her muscles and bones. She reached down and felt the flesh around her waist. It was puckered and twisted, as if some great force had tried to twist her in half. Ever breath caused the broken bones within her to shift about and cut new wounds.

She fell to her hands and knees on the stone floor. It had been a miracle that she had survived. That she had managed to even make it back here alive.

"You cannot kill Bisen…" She dipped her talons into her bloodied wounds and began to scrawl upon the stone.

"I endure. I survive. I thrive." The demonic circle slowly took shape. Her own blood fed the runes, the dripping green pool at her feet washing over them. They drank her blood greedily, their lines thickening and swelling.

With a hideous shake she collapsed onto her side. The circle before her, completed, began to pulse. From the portal it formed a Felguard clawed his way into the mortal realm.

"I…" The soundless demon dropped its axe and lifted its mistress up. It carried the half-demoness towards a bed of straw in the corner.

"I am eternal." Her talons sunk into the demon's throat. It grunted softly, its footsteps faltering. It stumbled the last few steps, collapsing with the human onto the mound of straw.

Greedily the Fel-Sworn dipped her fingers into the blood and began to drink. It would take days of feasting before she could regenerate to her full power once more.

But for an immortal, what was a few days?

Marianna had met Lily at an unspecified location at an unspecified time on an unspecified assignment. She was a pale woman in a simple black dress, a mortician and petty healer with long red hair and quiet blue eyes. She always wore the tiniest little half smile whenever she spoke. She had passion for wearing black robes and a penchant for a sarcastic tongue and a placid tranquility that reared itself often. They were two traits that had made Marianna grab her and slam her head into a bookcase four minutes after meeting.

Despite it all the mortician had remained the only woman Marianna would ever consider a friend. And despite her hatred of her laziness and lack of motivation, Marianna still called on her at times to share a chat.

They weren't friends. Not since Marianna had completed her transformations. It was a difficult partnership, fueled more by one-sided fear and a begrudging need for civil human contact then any love or comradery. And it was this fear that Marianna often called up when she wanted to meet with her erstwhile companion.

The little imp chattered at Lily's feet, giving the hem of her dress a rough pull. He had found the woman in the Catacombs and, using its skills for annoyance, herded her to the Karazhan Guard Tower.

With one last chitter it pointed her towards the door and dragged her the last few inches, pulling her out of the rain and into the ruined room.

"So let's make a list of things. A list of things I dislike! This list will include things like being thrown into bookcases and perverted imps. Are you too busy to get me yourself?" Lily kicked at the little creature as it tried to crawl under her black robes. Her ankle caught it across the back and it skidded away to skulk, dejected, in a corner.

Lily wore the same black robe that she always preferred, the dark fabric hiding any form or features. She had a dark cowl pulled low over her face, the shadow masking all but her chin and mouth. Marianna noted, with a hint of a smirk, that it was the same robe most Necromancers and Cultists preferred down in the Catacombs.

"Mmmh…The bookcase was a necessity." Marianna let out a low, languid sigh. She lifted the drop of Fel Blood on her fingertip to her lips. The bead rolled off her claw's tip, splashing against her tongue. "Ad dear girl, do I look like I am in any state to be out frolicking amongst the corpses to get you myself?"

The Fel-Sworn didn't. The room was nothing more than a long corridor, its stone walls choked with broken furniture and piles of straw. Shoved to one side, diagonally from the door, was a half-broken table. Above the table, chained to the ceiling with glowing green chains, was suspended a Felguard. There was a gash along his chest and from it the precious green blood was slowly dripping down onto the table. The demoness lay atop the table, limbs dangling languidly over the edges. She was situated so that the blood dripped slowly past her lips.

It had been three days since she had crawled back to the tower and already the wounds in her arms had begun to heal, the wounds scabbed over with a thin veneer of fresh, pink scales. The removed wing was regenerating slowly. Already it was skeletal, the muscles and sinew slowly forming atop the charred black bones.

"Sure! You look nearly dead so why not? And why is there a demon suspended from the ceiling?"

"Oh, don't mind him." She sighed, turning her head back to face the Felguard. She rolled her black forked tongue out to capture another emerald droplet. "He is just helping his dear mistress. He really is a darling for being such a good sharer."

"I hope that's not an offer because I regret to inform you that I shall have to decline." The human girl drifted slowly over to the table, keeping her gaze on the half-dead warlock. "So Why did you call me here?"

Marianna held out a hand, lifting her head to fix the girl with a shark's smile. A drop of blood struck her chin, but before it could roll away her tongue snaked out to lap it up. "Do I need a reason to see a friend?"

"You threw me at a bookcase last time! I figure that's not gotten you a lot of friends." She smiled brightly as she came up beside the table.

The bolt of violet fire caught her squarely in the chest. It plucked her off her feet and flung her against the far wall. She struck the stone and slithered down, hitting the wooden floor with a whimper.

The Fel-Sworn lowered her smoking hand, her smile replaced now with a scowl. A shadow passed over her gaze as she stared at the girl.

"Hold your wit for someone who will appreciate it. I will teach you the proper tone to use before me even if I must burn it into your soul."

With a groan the mortician picked herself from the floor.

" proper tone? What kind of proper tone?" She winced but her smile returned to her as she casually tip-toed back to stand beside the table. Carefully she lowered herself down, sitting with her back pressed to a table's legs. She folded her legs against her chest and stared at the far wall.

The scowl drained from her face and Marianna put her head back against the table. With a sigh her mouth snaked open to capture the next few drops of blood. “Awe-inspired. It is not often that I suffer the weak in my presence. You should be grateful."

Te girl laughed at that. "How about that.. You burn my robe and insult me yet I'm fine with all that. Was the awkward banter all you needed me here for? If so..""

"Of course not…" The demon closed those burning eyes and took a low, rasping breath. "I brought you here to ask: What do you wish for?"

"Mmmh...Can I have a moment to think?"

"If you ask for immortality you can have eternity to think. Tell me, you are a Shadow Priestess, yes?"

Lily nodded carefully. "I am. Yes...Did you even need to ask? I thought it was apparent to.. Nevermind.”

"One does not go down the path of Shadow without desires and convictions. What do you believe in? What do you wish for?"

The girl shrugged. "Aside from the usual like world domination and a pet shark? I suppose.. Let me think. Hrm.. Oh, maybe trying to unite the Light and Shadow.”

This brought pause. Marianna turned her head to stare at the back of the girl's head. A drop of blood struck her in the cheek and trickled down to wet her lips. Absentmindedly she reached a finger up to scoop the drop up and devour it. "And in your perfect world you would see them kissing beneath the cherry blossoms? Ha!" She turned her head back and laughed. The blood dripped steadily into her yawning, bear-trap of a mouth.

"Heck yes! Who doesn't like cherry trees? On a more serious note. This perfect world isn't something existent and neither is it viable. The followers of the Light and the Shadow do seem to like futile bickering while the Light and Shadow are two halves of a whole."

Marianna calmed her laughter after a few moments. She reached out, curling a finger around the girl's cowel and inching it back. Her red hair flowed out from beneath and onto the table. "Indeed! But they would need to be untangled. Uncluttered. Wrangled."

"Yes! Why don't I just go up to a Paladin and put my ‘shades' on? I'll have about half a minute to get out of there before some random torch and pitchfork wielding mob is after me, they're too ignorant. Whereas the followers of the Shadow have lifetimes of suffering to avenge. I don't see it happening."

Marianna barked a word in demonic and the Felguard wrenched a hand free of its bonds. It clasped its fingers to its wound, stemming the flow for a moment. Thus freed, the Fel-Sworn slowly rolled onto her side. Her hands fell gently upon the girl's shoulder, the claws dragging slowly along the cloth. Those dry lips brushed against her ear as she spoke, "The Church of Light can be toppled. They are but stone and timber."

One of her claws traced along her collar bone and up to drag along that pale throat. She found the crook of her neck, where shoulder bone met spine. She dug the point of her knuckle, grinding the nerve against the bone. The woman shivered beneath her. "You find the right spot. You put the right amount of pressure. You press for long enough, and everything shall fall."

"The forehead! Or the eye.. So that would be the Church of Light taken care of. What about the darker counterpart?"

"They would need a leader. The would need a messiah to walk amongst them, to humble their cries of dissent..." The woman's blew stale air through the mortician's hair. It smelled of corruption. "To give them purpose."

“Shouldn't you be pointing at me and then I'll gasp and tell you it couldn't be so? I would believe myself if I was in that situation right now. On a side note: did you mean me?”

"My dear…"Her grip on her shoulders tensed, a sly smile spread across the demon's face. "You can be anything I set my mind to."

"Now, let us discuss my fee. Turning you into a Shadow Messiah is no small task…"

The chamber was choked beneath a miasma of rot and purification. It had been a crypt once, its darkened earth packed down and its dark stone walls carved and ornate. But time and will had converted it to a new purpose. Supports had been added and a second level erected. Corpses, raw materials for undead making, choked the lower level, while Necromantic books cluttered the second level. A large vat sat against the back wall, the green bile within bubbling and frothing.

It was the abode of the Necromancer Redis.

Marianna stepped through the chamber's door and into the center of the crypt. The undead who guarded the door shut it before shuffling slowly back into place, their lidless eyes staring blankly at the woman and their master.

“Redis, my dear!” A week of rest had done wonders for Marianna's disposition and health. Her wounds had healed completely, the lesions and gaping holes now covered in glossy grey scales. Her wings, both of them, were folded neatly upon her back. A portly little pug followed in her wake, a little green bow wrapped around its head. Attached to its leather harness was a box, wrapped in green paper and done up in a blood red bow. “I am here to share the holiday spirit.”

Redis was tucked away at his desk beside the green vat. He kept his gaze fixed on the book spread out on the desk. His ghouls stared wordlessly at the woman and her miniature beast. “Really now. I see you've brought your dog.”

The Fel-Sworn frowned at the Necromancer. She tuted softly. “Dear…”

She held out a hand and flicked her wrist at the man. A dark tendril slithered out from her palm to grab one of the legs of his chair. She yanked the tendril, wrenching the chair and its occupant around to face the smiling demon. “It's rude to read when company is here.”

The Necromancer barely shifted as he was brought around. He wobbled slightly in his seat but recovered quickly. “I do not need to look upon you with my own eyes. I have constructs for that, you see.” He sighs, shutting the book. He ran a dark gloved hand running along the spine of his tome. “You have my attention then.”

Marianna held up a calcified finger. “Your eyes will want to see what my hands have to give.” She reached down, plucking the small box from her dog. It snuffled happily, scooting away to sniff at the corpses in the crypt's corner.

She tossed the gaudily wrapped green and red box to the necromancer. “Consider it my gift, from one enthusiast to another.”

He caught the box and set it down in his lap atop his closed book. “Shall I open it now?”

Marianna giggled softly. It was a dry, rasping sound. "Well...Have you been a good boy this year, dear?"

Redis raised an eyebrow at the question. “As long as we don't count morals…of course.”

She clasped her hands together, sweeping over to the man. “When have we ever bothered with those?” The demon knelt down beside his chair, a dark hand winding around his neck. With her head propped against his shoulder she looked down at the package in his lap. “Open it, dear.”

Redis grimaced at the contact but said nothing of it. He undid the bow and peeled away the paper.

The demoness let her smile widen slowly. Her talons drummed incessantly upon his collar. "I do hope you like the color. It's so very hard to shop for men..."

Redis opened up the box and lifted up the Helm of Shadow Law.

Marianna had hammered the flat amulet into a half-circle to fit upon a man's forehead. She had rubbed down the edges to make them smooth. The dome-shaped central ornament would sit squarely in the center of a man's forehead. It had symbols etched across its slopped sides, runes whose form shifted and twisted maddeningly beneath one's gaze. Two smaller domed amulets were connected to it by two thin bands of metal. They wound around the wearer's head to press against their temple.

Each of the two smaller pendants had a black gem set in the very center. But the central fixture held the rest of the black slivers. They were arranged in a pattern, crudely but firmly set on the flattened top of the central dome. Two silvers formed a skull's eye-sockets. Another one formed the disembodied head's nose and five its grinning teeth. And ten slivers laid side to side formed dark, dagger-like wings that enveloped the skull in a circular embrace.

He eyed the circlet silently before shifting his gaze back to Marianna. “What is this?”

Marianna grins as she watches him, those wickedly sharp teeth glimmering in the dull green light of her eyes. But at his words…

“What?” She pulled away, her smile dissolving into a look of mock surprise. “You don't like it? But…I thought this is what you wanted!”

The beast stands up, swinging away from the chair to stand before the necromancer. Those green eyes fix upon him. Her shock dissolves into a grin. “You asked for a crown of dominance. And so I go out -at great expense to myself, mind you – and get you one.”

Redis stares at the crown. He rolls it around in his hands, biting his lower lip. “I see…No doubt it would be from you. It reeks of Fel.” He closes his eyes, exhaling. “However, the gift is welcomed. I did not expect you to go out and ‘find' me one. I shall live up to my end of the bargain.”

“But why stop with just one?”

The woman opened her arms to the man. The flames in her eyes swell, the green fires beginning to lap at her brow. “Why not get a little gift for that…” She coughs, scratching her brow. “ ‘Special Someone' in your life?”

“Right! I'll keep that in mind.” He rubs his fingers along one of the gems thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving the warped piece of jewelery.

She dropped her hands. She bends down, that smile stretching now from ear to ear. “Come now…I'll play Greatfather Winter…And you will play the informant.” She straightened, turning away. “All I need is a little bit of information.”

“Yes, you have a way with words…” He dropped the helm back into its box, setting it upon his desk. “What do you want?”

She turned back to the man, those green eyes sparkling with Winter Veil cheer. “I want you to tell me about a wedding.”

Marianna stepped out onto the balcony and held the blade up to the moonlight. The gloom-choked light of Deadwind caught upon the sword and it glowed gently in her hand.

The Forsaken had come to her tower the day before. He had a wretched gait and a terrible rhyme to him. The sight of him had made her physically ill. But he had a demon's heart. He had offered it to her in exchange for her assistance. Who was she to turn away such a kind, generous man?

She dragged a blackened claw along the letters carved upon the side. Green sparks rolled off the polished steel beneath her fingers. She smiled.

"I'm a facilitator. They give me a problem and I solve it." She set the blade upon the wooden railing. The green sparks melted into the letters on the blade's side. They shed a dim emerald light.

"And what a problem…"

The Forsaken had wanted to kill an Archmage with the blade. He had asked her for an enchantment, something wicked and dark to fill his target's last moments of life with agony.

She had taken the request very seriously. It had taken her a day of work to enchant the blade. She had folded the spells into the very steel, layering Fel and Shadow until the sword glowed black with the corruption. The cutting edge was ebony black with little spidery cracks of green running through it.

Her nails dragged along the hilt of the sword and up the sides. She had carved runes into the metal, pitting it with claws and flame. Now demonic runes covered the face, the symbols' furrows filled and darkened with crystallized demon's blood.

The blade held a new strain of her unstable corruption within it. A single cut and the plague would seep into their blood, tainting it and feeding upon the victim's mana for strength. In one hour, a bodily fatigue would steal over them. After four hours, they would be pale and madness would begin to creep over them. Delusions and hallucinations would pollute their mind. After a day they would be covered with festering boils and painful lesions. By the second half of the next they would be wracked with coughing, spitting up blood and bile. By the beginning of the second day their organs would melt out of them and they would die in agony.

Carefully Marianna lifted the sword up and carried it back inside. She was careful not to touch the cutting edge. She would wrap the blade up for when the Forsaken returned. After all, her Winter Veil gift deserved a pretty box.

The wood of the balcony where the blade had rested began to rot and fester quietly. Green bile frothed out of the cracks as it crumbled into a rancid slurry.

Marianna pulled a chair up to the girl's work table and sat down. She dropped a chess set between the two. "Let's play a game."

The blood elf Fal'del looked up from her work. She scowled. "Chess?"

For once, the Karazhan tower was thrumming with activity. All day Marianna's agents had been streaming in and out, busying the halls and chambers with their incessant prattle and tasks. As the day wore on their numbers had thinned. Now, with the sun setting on the fetid marshes of the Swamp of Sorrow there was only Astus and Fal'del left to keep the demoness company.

"Chess." She said blandly, beginning to set up the pieces. "With my rules."

With a sigh the elf set her work aside. The half-finished bomb could wait. He bent over her black pieces as Marianna made the first move.

"The rules are simple. I move…" She moved her pawn ahead two spaces. "Then I tell you where to move. Now, move that pawn forward two spaces as well."

Fal'del grimaced. Yet she obliged, moving the piece. Her fear of death was greater than hatred of losing.

"Move the other pawn now. Over here." She tapped a calcified claw on the board and the elf placed her pawn there. Marianna's white piece swooped in and captured it.

"Truly a wonderful move, Marianna."

Marianna's head snapped up. The elf was gone. In her place sat the demon's father.

Mensfield Bisen was a tall, dark man with an angular jaw and a vile smile. A childhood of silent brooding had left his skin pale and pock-marked, flesh tightened around his lips and sunken around his eyes. His lips were drawn and thin. His voice was hollow and dripping with venomous sarcasm.

He sat before her now in the same dark robes and crimson coat that he had worn when he was hung. She noted, with a touch of dread, that the flesh around his neck had a red, raw welt where the rope had crushed his windpipe and snapped his neck.

"Father…" She said bitterly.

"Is that any tone to use with your father, Marianna?" He said it with a sneer. And always with her name. No pet names. No terms of endearment. It was always her full name, spoken with cold indifference.

"It's the tone to use with a dead man, you wretched traitor!" She barked, bearing her pointed teeth.

"Silence." The command shook her physically She snapped her mouth shut and sat back in her chair. The child inside her cowered before the robbed man.

"What are you doing here, father…" Carefully she reached out and moved a piece.

"To play chess, my dear. Do you remember when we used to play chess?" He placed his piece where Marianna gestured.

"No."

"Are you sure? Don't you remember how I always beat you?" The elder Bisen advanced another piece.

"I'm ignoring you, father." Marianna took her turn to capture another pawn.

"You could never understand the subtleties of manipulation. On how to draw out your opponent…"

"Why do you keep harping on this?"

"You'd get frustrated after I captured the first pawn. You'd bawl and scream. It was embarrassing."

"This is me ignoring you."

"You were an embarrassment. Your brother…Even your sister had better skill in the game then you."

"Can't you shut up?"

"But you did show some promise…"

"I'm going to find you and kill you again, father. I'm going to dig up all four of your graves and quarter each of your parts again."

"I was proud when you finally did manage to beat me. When you reached out, grabbed my king and held it up. You looked at me, crowing with pride as you used a spell to incinerate the piece to ash."

"I hate you."

"And that's when I knew you were a fool. But a powerful fool, a fool who wouldn't be suited for subtlety and tactics. You were my pride and joy: My ogre of a daughter."

Marianna began to shake slowly. There were no tears. She couldn't summon up tears. She couldn't even feel sorrow. There was only a quiet emptiness in her. "You are a fool."

"And what are you? What has this new strength brought you?"

Marianna was silent. She stared blankly at the board.

"You are still a clod. Still a cretin, wielding the club of power blindly. There is no subtlety and tact to your movements…"

"Wrong…" Marianna hissed. She reached out, plucking up her father's Queen. She swapped it out for her own, placing the pearly white Queen right beside his king.

The demoness sat back. She smiled smugly. "Check Mate." Deep in the heart of enemy territory, the king was trapped with the changed Queen. There was no place to move.

The man hunkered over the board. He inspected the corrupted piece. After a quiet moment he looked up at her. His deep brown eyes glowed a deep purple "My wonderful corruptor…"

Marianna blinked. Her father was gone. The elf Fal'del was on the other side of the room, bickering with Astus about something or other. The opposite seat was cold.

She could hear a dull, fading laughter in the back of her mind. She winced, burying her head into her hands.

Why couldn't she sleep? Why couldn't she be given a few moments of mindless escape? Why couldn't she escape this demon?

Marianna floated in the Void. She was without shape or form. She was just a mote of energy, an essence of power swirling within the twisting maelstrom.

Demons pressed against her consciousness. They swirled around her, green balls of energy twisting in the darkness. Fibers of their minds pushed against hers, sinking their hooks into fragments of thought. She heard their whispers, felt their madness pressing upon her like a tide.

This is the madness of the Legion… She clung to her thoughts, drawing them in and enveloping them. Protecting them. She would not let the madness fracture her. Thoughts…Swirling. Mixing together. Blending. No forms…No individuality…The madness of free thought, free expression, building upon itself…

Her thoughts ground to a halt. She felt a pressure upon her then, stronger and more incessant then the scampering hounds and imps. She resisted, trying to reject its entrance. Yet it swept closer and closer. It bore through her defenses and, with a surge, shattered her mind.

For a moment she was one with the Void. Her fractured thoughts were carried greedily across the cosmos, leaping from infernal to infernal. It was the ultimate simpatico. She was stretched across the abyss and, unthinking and unfeeling, she let the Great Darkness envelope her. She floated that way for eternity, soaking in the enormity of the abyss.

“Ten souls.” She felt the voice rumble in her consciousness. And she felt her consciousness. She was whole once more, her mind encapsulated in a single psychokinetic mote. For the eternity she had been stretched out, only two seconds had passed.

I… Her thoughts were sluggish and dulled. She scrambled for a name. For something to attach herself to. She had been stretched so thin…Her history, her body, her very name escaped her.

The voice seethed in her mind, its hollow voice straining her thoughts, “It is not negotiable. The fee for your return to Azeroth shall be ten souls.”

A name rose out of the fog. The voice was that of the Tothrezim's. Memories rose in the name's wake. The beast had fed her blood. Had changed her. Whispered to her. Made her…A freak.

You made me this…

“No.” The word slammed into her mind with finality. She whimpered.

“You killed yourself. Your mind has been clouded with power. Your invincibility is your folly.” She saw her death. Saw the glaive slice into her throat. Felt the agony as her soul and body was dragged back into the Void.

“You are not demon. You are not human.” The words struck her min physically. She felt clumps of reason and thought break away and swirl into the maelstrom. “You are corrupted.”

Corrupted… And with that word memories of her form returned. They were memories of her body, of her broken and twisted form. I am corrupted…

“You are a magnificent cretin. You are a muscle-bound brute. You wish to force your will upon others with might and magic. You rely too much on your own strength and abilities."

I am corrupted…I can't…

“You do not deserve that strength. Thusly, it shall be taken from you. Your new body will be weaker. Softer.”

The mote floated in silence.

"You have work to do. You have been sent to Azeroth for a purpose. Recruit others. Corrupt them. Twist them. You will complete your half of our contract."

“Now return to Azeroth. Ten souls you will send to me by the end of this month. If your debt is not repaid, I shall collect your soul in their steed.” The mind retreated from Marianna. The mental spike withdrew and her wounded mind began to heal, withdrawing into the gaping hole.

I am corrupted. I am unfinished…Imperfect. I am the corruptor…

The green mote of energy faded from the Void. Yet the madness remained.

Marianna sat upon her throne and looked out across her dominion. There was little to look at.

The great chair had been one of many pieces of rotten furniture that she had dredged from the outer ruins of Karazhan. She imagined, at one time, that the chair's deep mahogany and gilded ornaments might have graced the main dining chamber of the great tower itself. Yet now it sat at the far end of her private chambers, its gaudy ornamentation and elaborate façade for the demon's pleasure only.

Toys… She rose from her throne. With slow, pained steps she moved over to her workbench.

Toys for my pleasure. Toys for their pain. Toys to make more toys and toys to destroy others' toys. She ran a hand along each of the laid out items, letting her claws glide along their features.

"I had such a terrible childhood, dear." She lifted up the blood elf's stunted staff. The bits of wood lashed together were not yet treated. It would be a few more days before she delivered this staff to Reigen as a terrible weapon for vengeance.

"That's why I'm a kid at heart." She set it aside and plucked up a small, black little rock. The smooth, obsidian oval was warm in her palm. Little green cracks laced along its surface. It would be a week or two of intensive research before this corrupted healthstone would be completed.

"And kids love toys. They need toys." She eyed the other half-discarded projects. There were vials of some strange ichor that needed perfecting. There were soul gems that needed filling. And she knew, without looking, that the two fel bombs beneath her desk needed recalibration before they could be put to any meaningful use.

"But they also need a playmate…" Marianna clenched the small stone in her fist. She bent over the worktable, wrapping her calcified claws along the lip. Spread out before her, with its gnarled edges tucked down with bits of glassware and old books, was a large sheet of parchment. The gristly abomination lovingly sketched upon it glowered back up at her with its eight empty eyes.

"Isn't that right, sister?"

She laughed. It was an empty gesture. It did little to dull the pang of fear that resided deep in her heart. It was a week down and she was no closer to the debt that needed repaying. Her only hope was that her plan would meet fruition. So she hoped.

Marianna slipped off her boots and set them down on the blackened grass. Grimly she lifted her feet up and inspected her scabrous toes. Even the nails of her feet were twisted and blackened. She sighed softly and drowned the festering things in the equally fetid water of Felwood.

Even a demon required a moment's rest. It had been four months since she had last indulged in the most basic of human necessities and slept. Four months of her body never tiring, of her mind exerting and straining through day and night. And so she had taken the day off.

The woman sat in a lounge chair on the shores of the Felwood River with her feet dangling over the edge and in the green water. A black and green parasol was folded up at her side. A half-written grimoire sat open on her lap, its pages crowded with the Fel Sworn's spidery, erratic handwriting.

The woman leaned back in her chair and picked up her whittling knife. She had spent the day carving crude figurines out of the corrupted wood of the forest. Almost a dozen little pieces were lined up on a nearby rock, their polished black faces and small, beady eyes watching the woman sullenly. She had clustered them according to her appraisal.

The first group, uncomfortably, was made mostly of elves. There was Reigen the Lost Minded in the pile, a crude little staff carved into her hands. Beside her was Astus the Necromancer, his features sunken and burned down. Lily the Shadowy Girl lay on her side in the back. The wood the demon had used to carve her had begun to crack and warp. Fal'del the Slave was a little bit to the side and back, her figurine small and demure. Ashley sat half-finished to the front, the human's partial face deformed and soft.

The second group was a little larger then the first. Aragazhi the demon sat with his wings folded wrapped around himself beside Redis the Graven, a little crown chiseled onto his brow. There was Tavren and Kimee and Lucretia sprinkled in the pile.

The last pile was the smallest. There were only three figures bunched on the top of the rock, huddled together and cowed. There was Annabelle in the front, her proportions grosely swollen and obscene. Falathorei sat beside her, his face bulbis and clownish. Between the two was Demitrius, his face horribly scarred and his body weighed down with little chiseled weaponry.

Marianna bent over the final figurine. Already the elfen Demon Hunter's features were rising out of the fist-sized hunk of blackened wood. His face stared blankly up at the demon.

Marianna hissed under her breath. She dragged the chiseling knife along the elf's throat, cutting a deep gash along his neck. She set the half-finished man aside and rolled back into her seat.

She stared quietly at the wood around her. Why can't all the world look like this...?

After a few moments she picked up the grimoire and flipped to a clean page. She began to write the next chapter on her studies of corruption spells.

((Anna ----^ Spoilered due to size and artistic stone age nudity.))

"Science is just the name of the pencil-necked whore goddess of the weak-willed fool. She is a tawdry mock-up, a woman hammered by virgin hands out of gears and steel to be worshipped by the slack-jawed and idiotic as the Savior.

The fool sees sparks fly from her lips and think she breathes fire. The fool watches oil drip from her joints and thinks she has summoned forth the rains. The fool…No. No. The Engineer! The Engineer –the hateful worshipper of this false goddess of Science- sees her spit and hiss and crumble and thinks himself all the stronger for it!

Their incessant yammering of the Engineer about steel and steam, like the clucking of the doomed chicken to the approaching wolf, means nothing to the Arcanist. And in this way, as the fish eats the minnow, the stronger devours the weaker.

And yet here I am. The virgin-born invalid that is Science seeks to make me her slave, to draw me in with gold-plated promises of fulfilling that which I have sought!

Yet I would not succumb to her allures! For I beheld the deceiving whore as she came down from the heavens and knew her for what she was! I pulled the false goddess from on high and sullied her in my blackened grasps!"

Marianna pressed her palms to the vat's glass walls and caught her breath. She watched her reflection, saw the dull glint in those dark green eyes and the mad smile played across her face. For the first time, with unveiled eyes, she beheld herself as the goddess that she had become.

"Science, you are mine! You are corrupted! This machine is your tomb, and its purpose your defiled strength! Let all who see this engine of destruction know that I am master over both the might of arcane and steel!”

The ‘machine' spat and hissed. It was a crude assembly, made of hammered and lashed together bits of wood and metal. Among the structure was a small maze of tubes and wires. A control panel, wrenched off some other, more complex gnomish machine, had been hap-hazardly attached to the array to modulate the flow of fluids and electronics. At the other end sat a vast glass vat, filled to the brim with a clear green fluid.

A large pipe ran from the bottom of the green vat and into the wooden trellis. There it was siphoned through a series of rising chambers and valves, where odd trinkets and components fed evil corruption into the fluid. The control panel modulated the valves, controlling how much of and what type of corruption the water endured. At the very end the pipe fed right back into the tank, where the newly corrupted water floated gradually to the bottom to start the process anew.

"And let my twisted engine give birth to the new race of servants…Let this defiled tomb serve the Legion, and let those born from its dark waters know my truth.”

Marianna pressed her cheek to the glace. Floating within the green tank, with the stillness of sleep, was a woman. The dark water churned quietly about her, seeping into her flesh and whispering sweet darkness into her ear. Even in the seemingly stillness of sleep, she twisted and churned, as if taken by a nightmare.

The demoness turned away. There was more work to be done. The incubation period on this test subject, the first of many thralls, would take time. There was so much else to do, after all.

The woman tipped her head back and let out a peel of laughter. It continued on and on even as she wound up the stairs and disappeared. It echoed throughout the tower and carried across the vastness of Deadwind.

Quietly, while the woman was away, the Thrall Engine began to decay. The control panel fizzled and went dead. A bit of glass piping cracked and began to ooze green slime. Even in ‘death', the Goddess Science would teach this upstart how fickle her nature could be.