Heresy

“We do not know, master. You will show us?”

“I can’t show you anything, look..I’m…I’m just a priest.”

Lorish had started looking over their shoulder, back out across the Scar, to the work that was being left undone in the face of these two unusual undeads. They had to be Forsaken; their behaviour was, however primitive, still certainly not that of the Scourge.

“I’m sure if…” her voice was semi-distracted, “If you need something to do, there’s plenty of work in the city for you.”

With an inward shudder she imagined the two of them, tattered and smelly, ambling their way through the wide boulevards of Silvermoon. Lorish had pushed past the two men and made her way back into the fray, sidestepping dead tree limbs to release the tortured souls that wandered the charred earth around her.

But she had not been moving a minute when the voices were heard again, following her as she tried to continue on her mission.

“We will help master!” the one with the daggers shrieked and lurched forward, racing towards three ghouls with mindless abandon.

Lorish had fought them before; persistent, hard-hitting creatures, foul-smelling and diseased, they were unpleasant even if you were prepared. This creature however, was not…

The other undead had remained closer to her, and out of the corner of her eye Lorish saw him casting bolts of ice at the ghouls, trying in vain to slow their progress.

A mage. He was…or had once been, a mage…mindless as he seems now, he learned that from somewhere…at some point.

She blinked as the realisation dawned on her before the shriek of the one wielding the daggers brought her attention back around to the moment.

“Wait!” protective instinct overtook the better of her judgement and she rushed forward towards the Forsaken, casting her shield around him and drawing the ghouls back towards herself.

“Protect master!” the mage nodded and began casting the bolts again, hearing the crack of bones as the force and temperature of the ice tore their forms apart. The little dagger-holder had hopped behind one as it weakened, hacking and slashing at its ribs like…

Oh, you know just exactly what this is like, don’t you….

Memories don’t fade even with six years to soften them.

Memories of drunken breath and violent hands.

They’re not all this way though. No, but enough had been.

Rogues.


For a moment as Lorish watched the undead rogue her face grew blank, her hands felt cold and for a horrible moment the shadow words lingered in her mind focused on his cracked and scarred face. “Easy to kill”, a part of her whispered internally.

Stop it!!

Bitch!!

The slaps continued stinging, even when they were only a memory.

Her throat went dry; whatever was in front of her, she had stopped seeing.

“Master?”

Lorish’s thoughts broke off like a snapped twig. The ghouls were dead and the two undead men had now knelt at her feet, their faces upturned, tugging at her robes.

“Give us purposssssse.”

They can’t hurt you, Lorish. Not if you don’t let them.

Orodreth….



As her eyes flew over their haggard features she wondered who they had been. What death they had faced to bring them here, and why she – of all the residents of Silvermoon – had to be the ones to find them.

But it was the nature of a priest to aid, and aid them she would – at least, she’d try. A desire to help, to comfort, overtook her earlier frustration and fear as she touched one of the men on his upturned face, carefully.

“Look at you, in rags..” she sighed. “I can make you some things. If you wish, you can help me, there’s work to be done as you can see. In exchange I can craft some warmer clothes for you…”

One undead had nodded eagerly – the mage. The rogue had stood once again and had extended a bony hand towards her right breast.

Lorish slapped it away hastily; the undead man recoiled.

“No more pinching, though! I won’t stand for it.”

“Ssoorry, Master.”

Lorish sighed and smiled tiredly. “My name is Lorish, do you think you can manage to just..call me that? I’m nobody’s master. And you …are your own.”

“Yes, Lorish Master.”

“NO..just…Lor…never mind. Come on. I have some work to do at the shore. You can help, allright? Just…where are you going?!”

A nearby bloodknight was walking with a female troll; with horror Lorish realised both undeads were headed towards her with glittering eyes and meaningful intent; the roguish one had daggers extended, the mage held back slightly.

“Hungry…!!!” the rogue shrieked, as the pair of passerby stopped in the road.

“What is the meaning of this?” the male elf had belllowed. Lorish gauged, by his clothing and stature, that he was probably some sort of magistrate or marshal. Though it was..odd..to see him with a Darkspear as a companion, it certainly wasn’t against the law.


“I’m …sorry….” Lorish stammered, unsure as to why she would even apologise.

“You!” he shouted. “Priestess, get your minions away from us this instant lest you face my wrath.”

“Minions!!” Lorish felt the blood rush to her face at the accusation. As if she were a warlock….a deep insult indeed, she knew her face had gone red with the man’s unkind words.

“They seem to obey you?”

”They do no such thing! I’ve never even seen them before today! How DARE you spe……”

“AIEEEE!””

The troll shrieked as one of the undead’s daggers slashed her arm. With a sickening twist in her gut, Lorish smelled the faint tinge of blood on the air as the troll woman cried out.

“I’ll have you incarcerated!” the marshal shouted, striking the undead back with a fierce blow and knocking him to the ground with a dull thump.

“Hungrrrryy….!” The fallen figure wailed, mournfully, curled up on the pathway, his bloodied dagger still in his hand.

Lorish didn’t see that part though – she had already fled the scene, before screaming once into the afternoon stillness…” Stay away from me!!! Just..stay away!!”

((to be continued))

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"I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it." - Mae West
Fireflower's Words of Wisdom: http://i200.photobucket.com/albums/a...ompilation.jpg