Heresy

((the hardest character to roleplay or write, its one reason I rarely do.))

Fireflower's felsteed races back through the portal, from the strange red land humming with demonic energy, back into the relatively familiar mesas of the Blasted Lands, hooves clattering on stone as he canters across, eternal flames licking at his head and nose. He is a damned horse and a horse of the damned, forever cursed to serve his mistress, this pale, small rider.

But the warlock isn't thinking about him.

She isn't thinking about anything. The mind of this woman, if we can even call her that, is nothing like our own. It is inhuman, howling, empty space filled only randomly and on occasion, like flashing lights coursing across a midnight blue abyss.

This creature exists between what we know and what we fear, every day, all the time.

If she contemplates the wind in her hair it is to her as the feel of a dagger's edge in the ribs is to us.

She is in some ways sane, and yet utterly and completely lost, doomed to a fate she will never be able to understand or express, she lashes out in fury at everything around her.

Her only pleasure - the only one free of pain - is the destruction of things around her by her own small, white hand.

That - and a twisted, confused connection to a compelling and utterly fractured mage, driven by some unfocused, blind need - General Zik Darkssyllah.


hmmhmmhmm.....feldoggy...mmm
fadeleaf fadeleaf
KILL KILL WE LIKE TO KILL YES WE DOOOO LIKE TO KILLL
'kay
Send flower to misterzik cos they will make him remember yep yep
what
shut up!
what am I
SHUT UP!!!
hurt hurt hurt!!!!
We will ruule the world misterzik, misterzik!!
Cause he'll be good, won't he Cattwyn? We will make him
nice and strong, nice and strong, nice and strong strong and...ooh..
blindweed blindweed
I killed daddy...hadda do it..cos he was WEAK!
Sorry daddy
sorry
whisker, whisper whiskers
mmm....hmm, hmm....we like to kill.....a thrill to spill...kill..swill...

....a mindless giggle, then silence.

I'm scared, Zik.


This is the psyche of a schizophrenic warlock, a woman-child borne of humans and demons, whose fledgling consciousness is a source of torture to an uncomprehending demonic mind.

This is Elzebeth, known as Fireflower Azrethoc, raised by the Burning Blade, and ripped from Desolace by one undead rogue, Heresy Ma'Lanth years ago only to be thrust into the world of the Horde in a misguided effort to protect her, to keep her from becoming some tool of the ultimate enemy.


But the blinking, enrobed creature standing in the thick, boggy swamps near Stonard barely considered the rogue now. Childlike hate had been forgotten in the months that had passed; Heresy had gone to Outland, leaving the creature behind in Orgrimmar for months to make her own way, whatever that was to be.

Heresy had wiped her hands of the issue.

In the short time Fireflower had lived under Heresy's care, the tormented little warlock had managed to interfere with virtually every facet of Heresy's undead life, right down to endangering her life in her dealing with the mad elder warlock, Nashtoch. And as she grew older, the girlish games less believable, Heresy had come to realise she'd made a mistake.

It wasn't that Fireflower was evil...evil would imply some concerted effort against goodness, some..drive to destroy with malicious intent.

Fireflower was neither. She cared no more for being bad than good, neither word held meaning. She had no particular love of killing, it was simply what she was; the only thing that made sense to her, the only thing that made her..stop..thinking..thinking was what hurt the most, when the halfling's human side, choking against its demonic existence tried to express itself, to burst forth and live somehow despite the utter impossibility of it all.

Demons cannot feel. Humans can. Despite this irreconcilable fate, this creature - this warlock - exists, suffers, destroys.

The day Heresy left her, she didn't dare look back.


SHUT UP SHUT UP
we're gonna play today and say hooray
dead dead all of ya dead an' stuff
cause living people are stupid
living people are stupid
living stuff is stupid
fadeleaf fadeleaf
sorry daddy
sorry
help



The warlock blinks as a voice echoes softly from inside her pocket. Her hearthstone hums with the resonance of another being.

"I'm lonely."

"So? What for?"

"For you."

"You're weak again. You gotta be strong."

"I'm sorry."

Fireflower pouts, in a rare moment of semi-coherence.

"I oughta slap you."

"You should, if its best for me."

She dismounts, absentmindedly picking more fadeleaf as he speaks.

"Yup, it probably is."

She peers around, scrabbling in the grass for more herbs.

"Where did you get that flower you sent me?"

"Don't remember, that place with the big mushrooms."

"I like it, it..makes me feel light."

"Good. That's good, Misterzik." she nods firmly, tucking a few more precious leaves away, halfway listening.

"I need..more.."

"You ALWAYS need more, you're greedy."

She rides back to Stonard, saddlebags stuffed with herbs and elixirs.

Fireflower sighs, exasperated, strained from the moments of coherence. She knows what he wants.

"Please."

She pulls the dagger from the sheath at her waist and slides it carelessly across one forearm, letting the thick violet blood drip sluggishly forth.

She opens one saddlebag and retrieves a vial of green, glowing liquid and lets the blood drop slowly into the bottle.

Not too much..just..enough.

One.
Two.
Three drops.


She corks the vial, and prepares to mail it to him.

She snaps.

She blinks.

"Don't leave me Zik."

"I won't. I promise."

"Okay."


We will ruule the world misterzik, misterzik!!
Cause he'll be good, won't he Cattwyn? We will make him
nice and strong, nice and strong, nice and strong strong
Sorry daddy
sorry

__________________
"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