I will just...disappear. This is best for me, right now.
Mika looked around her cabin as she removed her armor, her ears drooped as the memories came back to her. She had, at one point, bleached certain blood stains from the deck of her ship, but she couldn't bear to have them removed in her room. Mika couldn't let go of Dallahan's presence that lingered in the room, even when she had Reijon put his things in there to fill the empty spaces. She even kept the small box that had all the letters her first love had written to her, though soon they wouldn't mean anything. She pulled on a random outfit, then grabbed a thick length of Mageweave cloth and tied her clawed gauntlets tightly to her hip. She realized she would have to abandon her suit of armor, but she refused to be without her claws. It was time to go. She walked up onto the deck.
I will return to Northrend, somehow, and my soul can be hollowed out by the loneliness. I will be better off that way.
Mika Mistwalker had the idea of "retiring" from the mercenary business, and being around in general. She had told Miruka, Vyndus, and a couple of others that she was going to fake her death and flee to Icecrown to live out the rest of her days in a land that is good at hollowing out your soul. She got Vyndus to supply her the dynamite. Mika sent a letter to Miruka telling her the real truth of what was transpiring. She made sure nobody else was on the ship after the dynamite was placed, and set sail to a safe distance away from the Bay and dropped anchor. While the one fuse that combined them all was slowly being burned out, Mika walked to the edge of the ship to what should have been leaping into the water and swimming down to safety...but her thoughts flashed to Ilerothes, to Dallahan, to Thelviron, Thelrovin, Reijon...and everyone else that touched her life and whose lives she touched. She blinked both her eyes, realizing the tears, and smiled this strangely calm smile as she looked out onto the water. She always said the sea was her home...
Perhaps I can simply return to the sea.
Then a face flashed in her mind; a disappointed, scolding look of someone who had gone above and beyond what was needed to help her. Someone that made her promise to take care of herself. Her eyes widened. How long was she standing there? How much time was left on the fuse? She cursed to herself and scrambled onto the railing, her hand reaching for a potion that would give her a boost in swimming speed. No, she wasn't going to let the sea take her. She defied it all this time, why should she give up now? She couldn't let her down, not like this.
Ant--!
Unfortunately Mika didn't have enough time before the blast had gone off. There was a sensation of excrutiating heat against her back, and as her life slipped away her body was flung from the ship and into the water. The ship exploded far enough so as the flying mess of wood, iron, and whatever else never reached the Bay to harm anyone, however whoever was there was able to hear and possibly see the Frozen Spearhead (formerly the Bloody Arrow) cease to exist.
Months had passed since the sea claimed the Kaldorei's corpse. By the time that fickle mistress tossed the body away after growing tired of such a plaything, little more than a skeleton with tattered clothes and a pair of gauntlets still tied to the hip bones gently settled onto the shore some distance from Booty Bay.
The Anchorite was miles down the beach when she spotted it. The slice of gilded crimson that peeked over the horizon illuminated the thing halfheartedly, casting disproportionately long shadows in the sand. It was low to the ground, whatever it was, and angular; the harsh jaggedness seemed strangely obscene against the smooth dunes.
She continued on with a deep breath, skin still uncomfortably slickened by the clammy stickiness of nightmare-sweat. Her robe clung to her, stubbornly; its hem gathered the salted sand as it dragged beneath her. She had earlier half-wondered, absentmindedly, why she had chosen to come here, of all places: Stranglethorn Vale was by no means a safe or nurturing place. The Bay was a veritable cornucopia of classless loathsomeness, full of foolishness and greed, rife with pointless cruelty and intoxicated decadence. The surrounding jungle was little better; savages, pirates, and the occasional bandit roamed with impunity, outnumbered only by the wildlife and their own victims. Looking back, she understood.
The Vale was a harsh and dangerous place, and upon cursory consideration seemed an ill-suited place to free oneself from the clinging horrors of maddening dreams, yet she felt drawn here. Nostalgia, perhaps, she thought. Now she understood. The dangers of Stranglethorn were present, undoubtedly--ubiquitous, even--but they were, by and large, very real. A desperate animal might attempt to maul her, a misguided pirate attempt a robbery, but these threats were tangible and could be fought or reasoned with. There was no defense from the clawing, faceless things in her sleep, monstrosities with too many eyes and slithering tongues that whispered blasphemous secrets and giggling assurances of oblivion. Wildlife and brigands she could protect herself from. The vigilance she was forced to maintain allowed her some degree of solace from her own mind.
The sun climbed higher in the clearing sky, and even through the morning fog it burned uncomfortably; idly, the woman wished she had brought a hat. She was much closer now to the anomalous object, or rather objects: she could see them more clearly now, only a stone's throw away. A skeleton lay in the sand just above the high-tide line, bleached almost white by the sun and twisted terribly by the tide like a toy broken by a spoiled child. Her heart missed a beat.
Antia drew nearer still, and at last she could see clearly. The Draenei stood with her back to the sea, the sunlight already burning insistently at the pale skin on the back of her neck. She cast a blurred shadow over the ruined body, curved horns drawing a halo about the silhouette of her head. The skeleton was humanoid, either a human's or elf's by the shape and size of it. Kaldorei, she decided, looking up and down its considerable length. A woman, likely; the shoulders were broad enough for only the most frail of their men. Tatters of paled cloth still clung to it desperately, a cruel pantomime of modesty.
She could not help but feel a longing pang of sadness at the lonely spectacle; a Child of the Stars meeting her end unattended and naked to the sky, picked bare by fish or by seagulls. Had she been unmourned as well? Lying like this, she no doubt met her end alone. The Anchorite wondered what befell the woman, dropping to a crouch and analyzing the desiccated wreck with clinical impassiveness. The bones were cracked in many places, but it was impossible for her to tell if that was part of what caused the Night Elf's death, or simply one of the many ravages of the elements.
A strip of salmon cloth near the bony waist caught the Anchorite's eye. It was dirtied, yet unrotted and almost completely whole; mageweave, she decided. A hand stretched forth, sheathed in velvet to the elbow in spite of the heated glare of the sun. The cloth did not yield to a light tug; it clung to something beneath the sand. Antia frowned mildly in irritation, and pulled sharply. The strip of pink gave way, bringing with it a badly-rusted pair of armored gauntlets. The woman knew little of metalwork, but she could tell at a glance these were well-crafted; the fingers seemed mobile despite the grating coat of rust that covered them. Her eyes narrowed a bit in what might have been recognition: these seemed familiar to her. She prodded the tip of one of the clawed fingers with another measured frown, thinking back...
Antia's eyes widened, color draining from her face and leaving her already pale complexion worryingly white. She fought desperately against the twisting knot that grasped at the base of her stomach, and was dimly aware of a growing feeling of crushing nausea. The make of the gauntlets, the size of the skeleton, the unexplained and worrisome absence...
She lurched to her feet, swaying drunkenly; one hand gripped the hair at her forehead as she stared unseeingly forward. She suppressed the urge to wretch, ruthlessly fought back against the sudden, stabbing wetness of welling tears that had already found her cheeks. This was not the time for grief.
Mika.
Her voice of seasoned encouragement, font of prodding humor; the ever-present smirk and knowing glint in her eyes as they discussed playful frivolities. Chaotic emotions swelled in Antia's mind, clamoring, pleading, screaming at her to do something. She wrested control, and the maelstrom fed the icy fires of reason. She had work to do.
Carelessly wiping her dampened face with the back of a hand, she stooped. Taking care to secure the gauntlets to her belt (for once she was glad she was not wearing pants; the weight may have pulled them down) she lay a hand on the crown of the skull, cringing just slightly upon the thought of what she was touching. Her free hand had procured a tightly-rolled scroll, and her thumb flicked the wax seal away with a practiced gesture. Peering at the symbols engraved on its surface, her lips moved silently as if in prayer.
The woman and the remains basked in a sudden eldritch glow, an eerily sterile whiteness shining brightly about both. It grew steadily with a sound oddly like a humming bell; the light became almost blinding.
There was a pronounced snap, a flicker of pseudomotion obscured by a flash of light, and both priestess and corpse were gone.
This is Antia. There was the sharp whooshing sound of air rushing to fill unoccupied space.
My sassy gay friend.
Unending darkness surrounded Mika. No obvious ceiling, no obvious floor, just floating in place in what seemed like eternity. Alone in her memories, her self-pitying thoughts. "I-I am alone?" she whispered, becoming terrified when she was given no response. "No! This wasn't supposed to happen!"
"I believe I told you that once before."
Suddenly, Mika found herself standing inside a familiar room filled with Kaldorei decor. She turned to see her first mate, Ilerothes, sitting on a bed and holding a bloodied rag in his hand. Haggard and obviously ill, he quickly pulled the rag to his mouth just as he began coughing. Mika stood, frozen in surprised. Was this an illusion? A hallucination? It had to be. The male struggled to stand, but managed to come face to face with his former mate.
"This all could have been prevented if you had just stayed with me."
Anger flared in Mika's eyes. "You wanted me to be some lonely house slave, tending to a body that might as well be dead to me. I refused to be just like my mother."
Ilerothes frowned. "Is that what you thought it was all about? You left me to die alone. I loved you! Why did you leave my side?!"
Ilerothes succumbed to another coughing fit, blood and some darker color trickling past his fingers. Mika frowned and closed her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, when another male voice interuped.
"You're a fool."
She opened her eyes quickly, finding herself sitting on a small rock in the middle of endless water. She remembered these moments, utilizing Stewart's consciousness sharing potion to have private conversations with...Mika bit her lip, recognizing that voice, and turned her head to see Dallahan sitting with his back pressed against hers. "Dallahan...?"
"You were a petulant child, indulging in your madness because it was easier than fixing yourself. And yet you were surprised when everyone got tired of it and walked away? Foolish." he said in bitterness. He turned to glare at her, which made her feel so small. "And you squandered your chance to make things right, even if your last chance was slim. It was just easier for you to run and hide, wasn't it? You didn't pay attention to anything I told you. You heard, but you didn't listen." He then resumed staring out at the water.
Mika flinched and covered her face with her hands. "I truly loved you..."
"I know you did."
Mika pulled her hands away upon hearing a different man's voice. She found herself sitting in the snowy fields of Icecrown, staring up at Reijon. He gave her a soft smile as he helped her stand. "I know that everything you felt for me was true, even as I was, and that only made me more captivated. It's just..." Reijon placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's just that you wouldn't let me help you, or maybe I wasn't insistant enough. I tried getting you to understand that you can't cling to your false sense of security." Reijon leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, causing Mika to close her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"You were the closest thing to a kindred spirit, Reijon. I still miss you." she said in a hushed tone.
"Then what the f**k does that make me?"
The chill of Icecrown's frozen winds abruptly shifted to a surge of heat that made Mika cringe. She opened her eyes to find herself in a dank, dungeon room with scorch marks scarring the floor around her. Thelrovin stood before her, his face twisted into a glare. His trademark fire whips were held tightly in his hands. "I begged you not to leave me, and what did you do? You died! How is that keeping your promise?!" Before Mika could say anything in response, a flame whip cracked across her right side. She cried out in agony and fell to the floor, and could only continue her cries as one strike after another assaulted her body. "Can't handle the fire anymore?! Why don't you say so, then?! Just like a damn Succubus!"
Finally, she was able to yell, "Stop!" Thelrovin looked at what he had done in horror, then rushed to hold Mika in his arms. Her eyes closed again as she heard his frightened apologies and pleas for forgiveness, but she shook her head. "I tried to help you, when I couldn't even help myself. We were both poisonous for each other. It had to stop. I'm so sorry."
Mika shuddered and stared up at the ceiling of her ship's cabin. She rolled over in bed, noticing the full-length mirror she could have sworn she broke into pieces a long time ago. She stood up and walked toward the mirror, resting a clawed gauntlet against the glass. The mirror shimmered against her palm, and she was treated to a rush of memories flashing across the mirror. It made her feel ill. She snarled and punched the mirror enough for it to crack. "Stop it! This isn't me! I'm better than this!"
An image of a Sentinel, her younger self, flickered onto the mirror. The image frowned in disappointment. "Then," it said, "show me the real you."
A bright white light began engulfing Mika and her surroundings, and suddenly she began falling. She had to clench her eyes shut to prevent herself from being blinded. In the back of her mind, she could have sworn she heard a strange chorus and...was someone just calling her name? A sweet smell invaded her nose, which made her open her eyes to briefly see her body being reformed. A bright runic pattern rushed up to meet her as she continue to fall into her physical shell.
Her eyes flashed open, the right glowing dimmer than the left, and she took a pained and desperate gasp of air. Her hand clutched above her heart, being sent into a coughing fit. Eventually the fit subsided, and she looked up at her friend as she continued to breathe weakly.
"An...tia?"
Killer(s): Technically Vyndus for supplying the dynamite and Mika herself for being stupid and not getting out while the gettin' was good. Essentially, it was an accident.
Resurrector(s): Antia
Temporary Drawbacks
-Mika will, for a while, be too weak to do much physical activity. Until she recovers, she will have to walk with the assistance of a cane or another person. Fighting is also not in the cards for the time being.
-She will have to go on a plain diet while her body recovers. Alcohol is right out, poor dear.
-Her since-recovered eye (the right) will glow dimmer than the other one for a short period of time.
Permanent Drawbacks
-Why did you leave my side?!: Mika will suffer nightmares, mostly focusing on the tragic events that she experienced through life. These nightmares will always come to her when she sleeps alone, and she will only get a full peaceful sleep if someone is in the same room as her.
-You didn't pay attention to anything I told you. You heard, but you didn't listen.: Mika's hearing will be somewhat diminished due to being so close to the blast. She will no longer have the super hearing elves usually have.
-I tried getting you to understand that you can't cling to your false sense of security.: Mika will no longer be enduring and strong enough to constantly wear a suit of armor as long as it is Plate or Mail. She can only don her usual armor of choice for short bursts of time. Leather and Cloth is fine, though.
-Can't handle the fire anymore?!: Mika has now developed a heavy phobia of fire. Fighting Warlocks and Fire Mages will be very difficult for her, and blazes larger than a candle will make her nervous.