World of Warcraft: RP Fiction: Only Memory Remains Ch 11
This is a work of fiction based on a character I role-play in the popular MMORPG, World of Warcraft. All the rights to the World of Warcraft names and locations are property of Blizzard Entertainment. All intellectual rights to the character concept and story are property of me.
Icecrown
Northrend, Azeroth
The Den of the Masters was bone-chillingly cold, it bit through armor and flesh, down to the very marrow. Amelia gathered her cloak about her, walking down the hall with firm, confident steps. The Masters could smell weakness, like a hunting hound scents the hare. Now was not a time for fear; it was not she who failed, but Lightscourge. She had succeeded where the Death Knight had not.
A living paladin captured. A living paladin broken. A living paladin ripe for the horrific experiments that they would perform against her.
Amelia was grateful that she only held control of this body in order to bring it here to the Masters. She did not want to be here when they performed their dark rituals; carving their terrible runes into the paladin's ivory skin, violating her, mind, body, and soul in order to bring her to their will. No, it would not be a time Amelia wanted to linger for. She wanted only to gather the souls of her children, like a motherhen would her chicks, and go back to the Afterlife in peace.
:: You're making a terrible mistake, Amelia, :: came the tired voice in the back of her mind. The voice of Gospel Lightfaith-Ravencrest, the paladin whose body she'd been commanded to steal; a body that, once, should have rightfully belonged to her through right of reincarnation, but something had gone wrong.
"There are no mistakes, Lightfaith," Amelia replied quietly, though even her softly-pitched voice echoed through the vast hall. "You were Chosen, because of all that we have surveyed, your purity, your Light, your veritable Goodness, makes you a triumph that exceeds all others."
:: I am Chosen of the Light. There is nothing you can do to me. :: Gospel replied, though her voice lacked the conviction she once had.
"No, Lightfaith. The Light has abandoned you. Your friends have abandoned you. Your own husband has abandoned you. There is nothing left for you, in the whole of Azeroth." Amelia intoned, her words echoing around them with an eerie, hollow ring of truth.
Within, Gospel recoiled from Amelia's consciousness, recoiled from the cold, unshakable truths that the ghost-turned-woman dared to utter. Truths that, until now, Gospel refused to acknowledge. Yet, here in this cold, dark place, there was no Light; there was no salvation. Nothing and no one.
"Yes, you are quite alone, Gospel Lightfaith..." A new voice hissed from the darkness; a bent old man in frayed, indigo robes stepped down from a raised dias. He materialized from the shadows, as if made from the very air itself. "Or should we call you Gospel Nofaith? For the Light has forsaken you, my lady, I can assure you."
Once, Gospel would have rebelled, would have defied the notion that the Light would ever leave her. She would have gloried in her Powers and make this dessicated husk of a man kneel before the strength of the Light. She would have driven the shadows back and illuminated this voluminous tomb with the amber rays of her faith. Yet, now... now there was nothing. Not even the smallest, whimpered prayer, nor the faintest spark of power. It was all gone, bled dry after months of subjugation, pain, and suffering.
Where was the Light now? Where had it been? She who had once been one of the most favored of its children, the staunchest of followers... where was it now? Why would it no longer answer?
"Your faith is broken, my lady. Quite broken, indeed." the old man murmured, extending a hand toward the silver-haired lissome form in the center of the hall, "Come forward, Amelia. Bring the paladin to me."
Amelia took the first step forward, her boot heel ringing against the dark obsidian floor. She kept her eyes on the Master of Souls, the one man who could free the souls of her children from eternal torment. She would sacrifice one paladin to save them. One life.
"Give me my children, Master," Amelia said quietly as she knelt before the dias, "I've done everything you asked. Now release them."
The blast of raw Shadow power that exploded from the old man's hand threw Amelia back, raining her with sharp, broken shards of stone. Cuts blossomed on her face and hands; the only parts of her that were unprotected by plate armor. She leaned against the wall, this mortal shell refusing to answer her urging to get up. She sagged back, sliding down the wall, leaving a smear of blood from the shards that had cut the back of her head and neck. Inwardly, she could feel all the broken, bleeding places; the impact of both the shadow bolt and the wall itself simply too much for this fragile body to take.
She glared malevolently at the Master of Souls, a curse coming to her lips in a froth of blood. It merely made him laugh, the sound echoing through the chamber with dark amusement.
"Foolish girl! Do you really think we would exchange carefully harvested souls for the body of one defeated paladin?"
Defeated. The word echoed through the room, just as it echoed through the soul of the paladin as she lay there, bleeding.
:: I told you they would play you false, Amelia. Darkness knows no truth. :: Gospel observed with a strange feeling of detachment.
Yes, you warned me, Lightfaith, and I refused to listen. I was a blind fool who did not see this wretch for what he was. I wanted only to save the souls of my children, but I see there is no saving them now. They are lost, as I am lost.
"She may be defeated, sorcerer, but she will never die as long as I draw breath!" Another voice echoed through the chamber, the deep baritone resonating along the hall and filling the soul of the broken body of the paladin slumped against the wall.
Amelia turned her head, the end of the hall now awash in golden hues. A trickle of blood polluted her left eye, but her right focused blearily on the figure bathed in light. A paladin wielding a massive greatsword pointed menacingly at the Master of Souls. It was a face that seemed familiar, but one Amelia could not place in the fog of pain and fading consciousness.
Yet, it was one Gospel recognized instantly. :: Corran! ::
The Lord-Commander strode down the hall, his greatsword clenched in a mail fist, "Lirima, Silverdawn... Make sure there aren't any more of this toad's filth lurking in the shadows."
From the doorway, a tall Night Elf and another paladin entered the room. Their weapons were slick with the ichor of the demons and Scourge that guarded this place. The Night Elf's glowing eyes regarded the Lord-Commander with wry amusement, "Hopefully, they offer more fight than outside."
The Elunite paladin and the Death Knight broke to either side of the Lord-Commander, probing the shadows for any lurking guardians. It was to both their disappointments that there were none. They flanked Corran as he reached the dias.
The paladin hefted his greatsword, one-handed in a feat of strength most would envy, leveling the deadly blade at the Master of Souls' chest. The old man merely folded his arms before himself, gazing at them with overly-large eyes. "Do you think we did not anticipate this, Ravencrest?"
The old master continued, "Now, instead of one paladin, we have three... and a rogue Death Knight besides. The Nine will be pleased."
Originally posted at Writerholic's Anonymous, my writing blog.
Icecrown
Northrend, Azeroth
The Den of the Masters was bone-chillingly cold, it bit through armor and flesh, down to the very marrow. Amelia gathered her cloak about her, walking down the hall with firm, confident steps. The Masters could smell weakness, like a hunting hound scents the hare. Now was not a time for fear; it was not she who failed, but Lightscourge. She had succeeded where the Death Knight had not.
A living paladin captured. A living paladin broken. A living paladin ripe for the horrific experiments that they would perform against her.
Amelia was grateful that she only held control of this body in order to bring it here to the Masters. She did not want to be here when they performed their dark rituals; carving their terrible runes into the paladin's ivory skin, violating her, mind, body, and soul in order to bring her to their will. No, it would not be a time Amelia wanted to linger for. She wanted only to gather the souls of her children, like a motherhen would her chicks, and go back to the Afterlife in peace.
:: You're making a terrible mistake, Amelia, :: came the tired voice in the back of her mind. The voice of Gospel Lightfaith-Ravencrest, the paladin whose body she'd been commanded to steal; a body that, once, should have rightfully belonged to her through right of reincarnation, but something had gone wrong.
"There are no mistakes, Lightfaith," Amelia replied quietly, though even her softly-pitched voice echoed through the vast hall. "You were Chosen, because of all that we have surveyed, your purity, your Light, your veritable Goodness, makes you a triumph that exceeds all others."
:: I am Chosen of the Light. There is nothing you can do to me. :: Gospel replied, though her voice lacked the conviction she once had.
"No, Lightfaith. The Light has abandoned you. Your friends have abandoned you. Your own husband has abandoned you. There is nothing left for you, in the whole of Azeroth." Amelia intoned, her words echoing around them with an eerie, hollow ring of truth.
Within, Gospel recoiled from Amelia's consciousness, recoiled from the cold, unshakable truths that the ghost-turned-woman dared to utter. Truths that, until now, Gospel refused to acknowledge. Yet, here in this cold, dark place, there was no Light; there was no salvation. Nothing and no one.
"Yes, you are quite alone, Gospel Lightfaith..." A new voice hissed from the darkness; a bent old man in frayed, indigo robes stepped down from a raised dias. He materialized from the shadows, as if made from the very air itself. "Or should we call you Gospel Nofaith? For the Light has forsaken you, my lady, I can assure you."
Once, Gospel would have rebelled, would have defied the notion that the Light would ever leave her. She would have gloried in her Powers and make this dessicated husk of a man kneel before the strength of the Light. She would have driven the shadows back and illuminated this voluminous tomb with the amber rays of her faith. Yet, now... now there was nothing. Not even the smallest, whimpered prayer, nor the faintest spark of power. It was all gone, bled dry after months of subjugation, pain, and suffering.
Where was the Light now? Where had it been? She who had once been one of the most favored of its children, the staunchest of followers... where was it now? Why would it no longer answer?
"Your faith is broken, my lady. Quite broken, indeed." the old man murmured, extending a hand toward the silver-haired lissome form in the center of the hall, "Come forward, Amelia. Bring the paladin to me."
Amelia took the first step forward, her boot heel ringing against the dark obsidian floor. She kept her eyes on the Master of Souls, the one man who could free the souls of her children from eternal torment. She would sacrifice one paladin to save them. One life.
"Give me my children, Master," Amelia said quietly as she knelt before the dias, "I've done everything you asked. Now release them."
The blast of raw Shadow power that exploded from the old man's hand threw Amelia back, raining her with sharp, broken shards of stone. Cuts blossomed on her face and hands; the only parts of her that were unprotected by plate armor. She leaned against the wall, this mortal shell refusing to answer her urging to get up. She sagged back, sliding down the wall, leaving a smear of blood from the shards that had cut the back of her head and neck. Inwardly, she could feel all the broken, bleeding places; the impact of both the shadow bolt and the wall itself simply too much for this fragile body to take.
She glared malevolently at the Master of Souls, a curse coming to her lips in a froth of blood. It merely made him laugh, the sound echoing through the chamber with dark amusement.
"Foolish girl! Do you really think we would exchange carefully harvested souls for the body of one defeated paladin?"
Defeated. The word echoed through the room, just as it echoed through the soul of the paladin as she lay there, bleeding.
:: I told you they would play you false, Amelia. Darkness knows no truth. :: Gospel observed with a strange feeling of detachment.
Yes, you warned me, Lightfaith, and I refused to listen. I was a blind fool who did not see this wretch for what he was. I wanted only to save the souls of my children, but I see there is no saving them now. They are lost, as I am lost.
"She may be defeated, sorcerer, but she will never die as long as I draw breath!" Another voice echoed through the chamber, the deep baritone resonating along the hall and filling the soul of the broken body of the paladin slumped against the wall.
Amelia turned her head, the end of the hall now awash in golden hues. A trickle of blood polluted her left eye, but her right focused blearily on the figure bathed in light. A paladin wielding a massive greatsword pointed menacingly at the Master of Souls. It was a face that seemed familiar, but one Amelia could not place in the fog of pain and fading consciousness.
Yet, it was one Gospel recognized instantly. :: Corran! ::
The Lord-Commander strode down the hall, his greatsword clenched in a mail fist, "Lirima, Silverdawn... Make sure there aren't any more of this toad's filth lurking in the shadows."
From the doorway, a tall Night Elf and another paladin entered the room. Their weapons were slick with the ichor of the demons and Scourge that guarded this place. The Night Elf's glowing eyes regarded the Lord-Commander with wry amusement, "Hopefully, they offer more fight than outside."
The Elunite paladin and the Death Knight broke to either side of the Lord-Commander, probing the shadows for any lurking guardians. It was to both their disappointments that there were none. They flanked Corran as he reached the dias.
The paladin hefted his greatsword, one-handed in a feat of strength most would envy, leveling the deadly blade at the Master of Souls' chest. The old man merely folded his arms before himself, gazing at them with overly-large eyes. "Do you think we did not anticipate this, Ravencrest?"
The old master continued, "Now, instead of one paladin, we have three... and a rogue Death Knight besides. The Nine will be pleased."
Originally posted at Writerholic's Anonymous, my writing blog.