01-18-2012, 04:43 AM
When you wish upon a Prancing Star…
Darkness, encompassing darkness. This is all the woman could see, all she could feel about her barely-clothed skin. With her back pressed to the small pile of hay that lay as a bed for her, the priestess would look to the ceiling and wonder why this had happened to her. Getting kidnapped was not a new concept to the woman, sadly. She had already been captured a number of times before, all of them as if not more frightening as the last, though all of these times she would find herself asking why. Why was she taken? Why do people care for her? Why must -she- be the one tormented? Somewhere in the myriad of questions and prayers the woman would find herself enthralled by sleep, though even then peace did not come…
Silvermoon City was as grand as ever, and she had the pleasure of seeing it from a bird’s eye view… yet even as a semblance of peace took over, the horrors would begin.
In a flash of light she suddenly viewed as the scourge came marching. Another flash. They were all the closer. Another flash, she watches as the gate was torn down, how the noble blood of her kin was spilt so easily.
Once more, a flash of light. She stood in the midst of her family’s abode, watching on as the scourge pillaged and burned everything she once valued. She watched as her father and brother all fell to the floor by an abomination’s hook. Watching on as a ghoul would come from behind and kill her mother and sisters in one foul swoop.
Before she could step forward, the scene faded in a flash. In rapid succession, the visions would come. Arthas and the legions of the undead he controlled, Illidan and his massive force of demons, Varian Wrynn and the men she once called allies now pointed their blades at her throat. Every soldier, every demon, every wretched looked to see her dead… and she could not raise an arm to stop them. As they would draw all the nearer, the woman would snap awake.
She jolted up from her makeshift bed, panting heavily as she stared into the darkness. Luckily amongst the myriad of images, she had not woken her ‘Master’ who, quite loudly, snored in peaceful sleep. Even as she crouched up, her back against the wall, the visions refused to fade.
Her vision was swallowed in light, once more fading to reveal all the demons, scourge and enemies about her… However something seemed different. The representation of her stood; fearless, strong, unwavering. As the first of many blades rose to slit her throat, she cast them all back with a surge of light.
The light was blinding, bringing upon another vision as she saw a blade hovering in mid-air. Once more the visions would come in a torrent. She could see, the blade impaled upon demons and scourge alike, though as quickly the vision would snap to a figure riding through the town being hailed as a hero as it bore that same blade. She saw as the same blade that was used to inflict pain was the same to inflict justice.
Next she saw a shield presented all the same as the sword was, bathed in light as it danced in mid-air. And just as the sword, she would be assailed with visions of such a shield guarding the lives of the innocent and the weak from the world’s onslaught. The shield kept them safe, kept them strong.
The final vision came in pure white all about her, detailing her every feature as she could hear the gentle song of wind chimes clattering in the air. All at once she was horrendously confused, though she also knew what she must do.
The vision faded and she once more found herself huddled into the corner. She would tip her head, lips muttering Thalassian prayers as her ‘Master’ snored on. Once her prayers were complete, the woman would crawl forth, her hand feeling about gently for the door. This was not all too hard as she found herself positioned not two feet from the heavy concrete slabs that guarded her. Sounding in unison, the door grinded along its hinges as her Master let out a bellowing snore which could probably challenge a dwarf’s own. As soon as the concrete found itself opened just a crack, the lithe woman would slide through and out into the open catacombs. Next came the real challenge. She looked on, seeing two bonfires crackling away into the dark caverns, a few shady figures encircled about as they shared drunken tales.
The priestess would remain low, using her small stature to remain hidden in the darkness. Once more her mouth muttered silent prayers as her mind sharpened on one single blessing she rarely recalled. Never the less she would mutter it, the blessing ringing through as if she had never forgotten it, and as she would mutter her form began to fade. The woman found herself cloaked in ethereality, and that would prove to be enough as she stalked through the forsaken halls of the catacombs. Using the late night’s darkness in turn with the natural darkness of the cryps, the priestess slowly crawled her way through the twisting halls up into the inn.
Once more she was blessed, seeing as the bartender had long hence fallen asleep at his station which in turn gave her an open shot to freedom. She scurried past the tender and through the overly-spaced gate before breaking into a full out sprint. She would pause at the steps of the crypt, looking to the midnight sky with a deep breath.
She made it.
When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you
Darkness, encompassing darkness. This is all the woman could see, all she could feel about her barely-clothed skin. With her back pressed to the small pile of hay that lay as a bed for her, the priestess would look to the ceiling and wonder why this had happened to her. Getting kidnapped was not a new concept to the woman, sadly. She had already been captured a number of times before, all of them as if not more frightening as the last, though all of these times she would find herself asking why. Why was she taken? Why do people care for her? Why must -she- be the one tormented? Somewhere in the myriad of questions and prayers the woman would find herself enthralled by sleep, though even then peace did not come…
Silvermoon City was as grand as ever, and she had the pleasure of seeing it from a bird’s eye view… yet even as a semblance of peace took over, the horrors would begin.
In a flash of light she suddenly viewed as the scourge came marching. Another flash. They were all the closer. Another flash, she watches as the gate was torn down, how the noble blood of her kin was spilt so easily.
Once more, a flash of light. She stood in the midst of her family’s abode, watching on as the scourge pillaged and burned everything she once valued. She watched as her father and brother all fell to the floor by an abomination’s hook. Watching on as a ghoul would come from behind and kill her mother and sisters in one foul swoop.
Before she could step forward, the scene faded in a flash. In rapid succession, the visions would come. Arthas and the legions of the undead he controlled, Illidan and his massive force of demons, Varian Wrynn and the men she once called allies now pointed their blades at her throat. Every soldier, every demon, every wretched looked to see her dead… and she could not raise an arm to stop them. As they would draw all the nearer, the woman would snap awake.
She jolted up from her makeshift bed, panting heavily as she stared into the darkness. Luckily amongst the myriad of images, she had not woken her ‘Master’ who, quite loudly, snored in peaceful sleep. Even as she crouched up, her back against the wall, the visions refused to fade.
Her vision was swallowed in light, once more fading to reveal all the demons, scourge and enemies about her… However something seemed different. The representation of her stood; fearless, strong, unwavering. As the first of many blades rose to slit her throat, she cast them all back with a surge of light.
The light was blinding, bringing upon another vision as she saw a blade hovering in mid-air. Once more the visions would come in a torrent. She could see, the blade impaled upon demons and scourge alike, though as quickly the vision would snap to a figure riding through the town being hailed as a hero as it bore that same blade. She saw as the same blade that was used to inflict pain was the same to inflict justice.
Next she saw a shield presented all the same as the sword was, bathed in light as it danced in mid-air. And just as the sword, she would be assailed with visions of such a shield guarding the lives of the innocent and the weak from the world’s onslaught. The shield kept them safe, kept them strong.
The final vision came in pure white all about her, detailing her every feature as she could hear the gentle song of wind chimes clattering in the air. All at once she was horrendously confused, though she also knew what she must do.
She had to escape… she had to survive…
The vision faded and she once more found herself huddled into the corner. She would tip her head, lips muttering Thalassian prayers as her ‘Master’ snored on. Once her prayers were complete, the woman would crawl forth, her hand feeling about gently for the door. This was not all too hard as she found herself positioned not two feet from the heavy concrete slabs that guarded her. Sounding in unison, the door grinded along its hinges as her Master let out a bellowing snore which could probably challenge a dwarf’s own. As soon as the concrete found itself opened just a crack, the lithe woman would slide through and out into the open catacombs. Next came the real challenge. She looked on, seeing two bonfires crackling away into the dark caverns, a few shady figures encircled about as they shared drunken tales.
The priestess would remain low, using her small stature to remain hidden in the darkness. Once more her mouth muttered silent prayers as her mind sharpened on one single blessing she rarely recalled. Never the less she would mutter it, the blessing ringing through as if she had never forgotten it, and as she would mutter her form began to fade. The woman found herself cloaked in ethereality, and that would prove to be enough as she stalked through the forsaken halls of the catacombs. Using the late night’s darkness in turn with the natural darkness of the cryps, the priestess slowly crawled her way through the twisting halls up into the inn.
Once more she was blessed, seeing as the bartender had long hence fallen asleep at his station which in turn gave her an open shot to freedom. She scurried past the tender and through the overly-spaced gate before breaking into a full out sprint. She would pause at the steps of the crypt, looking to the midnight sky with a deep breath.
She made it.