Heresy

In the remote lands of Western Kalimdor lies a barren, sundered place; where sand blows, and the cries of desperate hungry animals ring out on the wind alongside the stench of rotted kodo meat.

Isolated bands of centaurs scrabble to eke out some existence here; however sparse the resources; and in the distance, alongside the well-worn dirt road, a lone orc walks slowly with a great, noble beast of a bear, his broad shoulders bent with the weight of his memories and duties.

A lone vulture soars overhead, surveying the landscape that yawns wide beneath him; the eternal optimist, perhaps. But here, such a creature need not worry; the land is littered with those not fortunate enough to fly away from their fate.

It would be all to easy to think there was nothing more than this; this place that is described as it is named.

Desolace.

And within this place they call Desolace, there is a wrongness....a tiny, private hell carved from Xoroth itself; alight on the surface of Kalimdor like an open, festering wound.

Here, the soil is a rich violet black, the waters run cloudy and fetid, tainted and corrupted by the thick, enveloping fel magic; the portals throbbing and humming quietly in the lonely twilight of this barren land.

Massive felhunters comb the earth, grunting and chittering as they strut idly across their domain; and skilled, deadly succubi stand guard, in silence, waiting for any sign of intrusion; their webs spun invisibly.

Waiting.

It is within this place that the Coven thrives.

It is within this place that her father lives; to whom, even she with so little conscience is devoted.

It is here that she has decided to go. She is confused. Father will know what to do.

"My beautiful father...

**************************************

Fireflower didn't go to the Basin because she felt noble in battle. She didn't go because of the trinkets and baubles that silly lady Snowmane insisted on handing her. She went because...

Why did she go?

She frowned. What a stupid question, why would she even care WHY....kill stuff, of course, kill it well and often because you can, because it gives you pleasure.

Pleasure?

Something in her twangs, like a badly strummed guitar string.

And what was that...Zik had said...he had caught her in a trap because she said....

..she was angry.

Anger?

And then there was the warrior attacking Shida in Stranglethorn. Why should she care what happened to a stupid silly greedy troll? And yet when he went for her...something inside Fireflower struck her, and she lashed out in rage and fury at the little dwarf, throwing more at him than she even needed to; not satisfied until his fleshy form was obliterated, thick, horrid sluggish chunks of ex-dwarf nestled among the rich green landscape, and a single violet pulsing shard in her hand.

She was confused. She felt sick inside.

Cattwyn tapped her shoulder. "Girlie.....GIRLIE!"

"HUH?" the little warlock turned with a start. "WHAT? And who said you could touch me?"

The succubus shook her head. "Get a grip, kiddo, I thought we were going to go play today."

"Oh...yeah." she shrugged and nodded in response. "Yeah, I wanna go to...that place with those trolls...that was good. Let's kill some of those, but get Mazzy cos' they got a lot of that voodoo stuff Shida won't shut up about. And then..Catt?"

"Hmm?"

Fireflower hopped up and began grabbing her potions - potions made with her own blood and herbs - and stuffed them into her bags busily.

"I wanna go see Father, okay? Sometime soon we gotta go. I got things I need to know about, I'm gettin' sick I think."

As she did the succubus watched her thoughtfully, in silence a moment.

She is tainted....he will not tolerate it.....she has been changed by them.

If we do not reclaim her soon, it may be beyond our reach.

Cattwyn snapped her fingers nervously, and in a shimmer of black light and miniscule stars, dissapeared into the nethers.

The Lord had to know - before it was too late.

************************************************** **********
************************************************** **********

Not one of us.

Not one of us.

Not one of us.

Father...you forsake me.

This is how you repay my devotion?

Then I shall destroy you.

And it had been done; as brutally and as slowly as she could manage, drawing his behemoth form to her side, and with a breathless snarl casting him away again, his huge hooves pounding the parched earth below him, as he roared helplessly in pain, at the hand of his own daughter.

"You taught me well, Mistermaster....", she murmured, tilting her head with an eerie smile as she drained her father's body dry, feeling his demonic essence weaken and fly helplessly into her own. "Tend the garden slowly, and lovingly..", she blinked, in utter and absolute calm as the final shadowbolt flew from her fingertips and struck him in the abdomen, rocking him backwards and sending lumps of flesh into the air, rich, black-blooded demonic scraps..

"Vulture food now, precious father." she sighed, her golden eyes blinking before she wobbled slightly. Ecstasy, passion, fury....sensations raged within her, all overpowering the untested consciousness of the halfling; confusing her, angering her.

A demon.

A human.

And yet, neither.

The sheer..pleasure..of...destruction...pleasure...des truction..pleasure...

An image of a mage's bent head before her flashes in her memory, of greedy lips drinking down the very thing that defined her; the demon's daughter, her very essence.

The blood of demons knows its own, afterall.

"Doesn't that feel good, Misterzik?"

And witnesses then, the upturned face....the man struggles against the thing inside of him, the dance plays out upon his tortured features, blind desire and the endless struggle; exhaustion and delight.

He agreed to betray the rogue for a taste of her.

How every good it felt..to wield such an instrument of power as this man.

Destruction..pleasure..destruction..pleasure..

Ah, to control you, my devoted one....

What is happening to me...!!?


With a raw cry she shadowbolted a centaur; unable to process what she felt, unable to express it or name it, it turned upon her. Fireflower's rage had no distinction or direction.

So it was now that an undead warlock stood alone on the hill, robes whipping around her limbs slightly in the wind, her small fists clenched tightly, and her cold, glowing gaze directed down upon the coven below where the corpse of Lord Azrethoc lay still and unmoving.

I am immortal.

For the first time she noticed the way the breeze felt upon her skin.

She fell to her knees, and screamed.

__________________
"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