Sundown (Lorish's First Story) - in progress

Heresy · 04-07-07, 04:52 AM

Sundown

In the dead and violated lands south of our beautiful city, I see them walking - the mindless dead.

I wonder if he is one of them. I wonder if I would know.

Even if I did, I doubt I could do anything to save him. I was never a very good priestess, at least I never thought so.

It was Orodreth that had made me believe enough in myself...Orodreth that lifted me out of the place I had been.

The shadow of what I have been - and done - and what my addiction drove me to is only lifted by his memory.

But he is gone now. The shadow remains still.

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

A bloom only recently faded still carries its scent and colour; a sort of spent beauty, waiting for the inevitable.

Lorish wasn't young anymore; but lingered instead on some fragile age where a woman's life story begins to play out on her features. Flaxen-blonde hair, nearly white, tumbled to pale shoulders. Lips as red as strawberries and glowing jade eyes should have made her beautiful. But addiction and time, and the skeletons that rattled both within her closeted memories and before her eyes took their toll each day, each week, each month that passed since she had murdered Andene and fled to the darkest corners of Silvermoon.

Quite by chance, Father Orodreth had found her years ago, eking out an existence deep in Murder Row, feeding her addiction on scraps of soul shards and the odd minion let loose by careless warlocks. Lorish's addiction had driven her to darker ends, closeted away in rooms with rogues, quick with gold and in immediate need of a specific pleasure, living in shadows where perhaps that odd black eye or nasty scratch would be hard to see. Eyes that should be beautiful were instead shrouded with fear and exhaustion; lips that should be full and red were dry and cracked from poor nutrition and exposure. Even in the magnificence that was the rebuilt Silvermoon, Lorish stood as a testament to those that still could slip through the cracks, in countless ways, the small stories swallowed by the monumental ones.

And it was Ordoreth who plucked her from the dire and bleak fate to bring her into the world he had known, of relative luxury and stature, as a Priest, a follower of the Light. It was he that showed her a different power, and helped the woman with the shadowed past build some sort of future for herself. And so Lorish Sunspire, a tailor, then wife of an abuser, then murderer, then addict and finally survivor, had come to the priesthood quite differently than she had left it.

But the memories would always be there, of what she had been, of what she had to be to survive. No matter how far Lorish walked into the Light, it seemed the shadow would never let her go. Not entirely.

Orodreth had loved her; of that she had some vague certainty. Why else would he have risked some degree of credibility in plucking the little tailor - who came from no real name, or family - of merchant's caste and of no consequence - from the streets and into the seclusion and safety of the priesthood? And despite his older years she had grown deeply fond of the one who had saved her from some uncertain fate, and had married the elder man only to learn of his death some weeks later during the Scourge invasion; for despite his own advanced stature and power, one thing Orodreth had never been, was a coward.

On hearing of his dissapearance and assumed death she took the name Sundown, and would speak of no other.

"I think it is only this that keeps me here, my love...your strength." she whispered one sunny afternoon, standing near the Dead Scar, gazing out at the seemingly endless Scourge still sniffing at the city's flanks like brutal hounds. As long as she remembered Orodreth's resolve, she would tap into her own; she would not give in to her past, to those acts of shame and destruction that had nearly ended her life.

The determination he had given her, the faith he had shown to her, the love he had given so freely had bought Lorish a little more time - for herself, and for her people.

With a weary sigh, she shielded herself and ran forward, her slippers slapping against bare feet as she begin to strike the undeads down, one by one, averting their blows and crushing them under the weight of invisible holy power. This had gone on for some time before she realised two of the undeads were clothed, albeit in tattered rags, and seemed to be trying to speak to her.

"Missusssss...." one hissed, his head bobbing slightly, he appeared to be sizing her up, small daggers in her hands. "Brains..."

Lorish stepped back uncertainly, before backing into a second figure. "We need purposssee...pleasssee"

She moved to smite them before something inside her made her hold back; something about their movements, though they stood too close, their undead forms inches from her own, sniffing her, one even reaching out and pinching her before she yelped and jumped backwards, glaring angrily, wand outstretched before her.

"Get back, now, unless you would prefer to die twice!" She pointed the wand at one, and then the other undead man.

"But we need purposeeeeeee.." the one in the ragged robe lamented, hands outstretched. "hungry..." the other, with the daggers looked around for a moment before eyeing her once again.

"Are you our master?" The first one, slightly more coherent, questioned her.

"I'm..what? No..I..I'm a priest. What do you want?" Lorish began glancing around her nervously, trying to place a guard in her field of vision. It wasn't too far. If they did attack...she could shield herself and break away from them...probably.

"We tolds you...purposeeeeee!!!!" they wailed, almost in unison, an inhuman sound, coarse and wet at the same time,

"Are you Scourge? No.." she spoke to herself, peering at them, regaining her composure. "No, I don't believe you are.....so what are you?"

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

Heresy · 06-07-07, 10:38 AM

“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))