Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodstained Shadows - Chronicles of a Lost Soul ❯ Memories of the Twilight - Prologue ( Chapter 15 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Calystea
After his death to the minions of the Lich King, our protagonist manages to escape his ice cold grasp and is revived as a Forsaken of the Banshee Queen.
Now drawn to the shadows, he embarks on the quest of becoming a warlock seeking only one thing - his personal freedom. Sadly his intentions drive him down the wrong path.

*A dictionary for the eredrun sentences is included at the end, the page numbers refer to the pages in the original document*

Non Anime: Warcraft Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Fantasy / Drama / Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.21.2010 | Updated On: 06.21.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 131 | Status: Completed

Memories of the Twilight
Prologue
 
 
Pain.
That is all what is left in his life, or more precise - existence. He surely is not among the living anymore.
Agony.
But he still can feel the pain. He can still suffer. His body and his spirit were rendered after he had died, poor soul.
Wrath.
The ongoing agony feeds his rage. Anger dwells in his spirit not leaving a single clear thought. He wants to end this torment.
Hunger.
His wrath makes it easier for him to overcome the pain and the agony. He can ease the suffering by eating, eating living flesh and drinking warm blood.
If he does not give in to the hunger, the ache grows endlessly within only a few hours. It is an unholy existence, cast out from the light, embraced by the shadows to devour the living. His very existence is mocking nature, his vitals stopped their work inside the body, leaving his flesh to rot.
He does not fully know who he was or what he did, only a few things remain. His personality was overcome by the rage, the pain and the hunger.
His feelings are numbed by the agony, nothing left except for endless suffering. Is there no way to end all this?
He does not hear the voices anymore, not the gentle and calm voice nor the furious one driven by rage. Where are they? Didn`t they promise to make him strong and more powerful than ever before? Or did he refuse them too often. Did he refuse at all? He can`t remember.
He is drawn to somewhere. He has been walking for days or even weeks. He is not too fast as it is hard for him to move his limbs, they sometimes stiffen. He does not know where he is going to. He is just following his instincts, nothing more and nothing less.
Other creatures fear him. As he walks directly through the woods, even the wolves and bears of the plaguelands try to avoid him, but he does not pay any attention to this. He just keeps on walking.
His eyes are dull without the slightest sign of life in them. He is oblivious to his surrounding. His body is still in a rather good shape, he did not suffer many wounds. He still wears the clothes that he died in, a long, severely damaged, crimson robe with the emblem of the Scarlet Crusade on it, how ironic.
He comes closer and closer to the place he is drawn to. He does not know why, but he can feel it.
The pain slowly becomes unbearable again, he needs to eat.
The creatures in these forests are too fast for him so he just keeps on walking.
But he senses that at his destination he will find something to eat, something to ease his pain.
The Tirisfal Glades are dark as usual, the trees not letting a single ray of light to the ground. The wind is cold. The full moon is shining brightly from the sky.
Slowly step by step he crosses through the woods. He avoids the streets, you do not know whether he is still able to think enough to do this on purpose or not. He reaches a hill side. A small town is lying in front of him, the lights of torches are glowing everywhere.
Brill.
Something tells him that his journey comes to an end here.
He makes his way down the hill, hatred growing in his shattered mind. Hatred for the living. You can not tell if he really feels this emotion nor if he realizes the reason why.
It is envy, the reason for his hatred is envy. Envy that they can still choose their way of life freely. He had died full of regret, regret having been as useless as he was. He could not achieve a single thing he wanted, even a friend was killed by his own hands.
The hatred he once felt for himself, he now reflects on others.
Yet, most of these things have vanished from his mind, the memory eradicated.
His spirit is restless, he wanders further towards the city.
The place he wants to go to is somewhere there.
He is standing directly next to the inn. Somebody is talking inside. You can hear footsteps coming from the town hall to his right.
He just stands there for a minute, swaying a bit back and forth. A wagon is standing between the town hall and the inn, he draws closer. He stops behind it. Now he is almost at the street. From the point where he is standing he can see two guards in front of the town hall.
Hatred is pushed aside by hunger. His only thoughts left in this moment are those that he wants to end the pain at all cost.
All of a sudden he takes a leap at the guard standing nearest, who is paralyzed by the shock.
Without a single moment of hesitation he sinks his teeth into the neck of the guard.
The man is screaming in pain. By now the other people around them realize the situation. The other guard charges at him trying to take him down.
He tastes the blood of his victim. The pain diminishes, but not as fast as he had hoped. Something is wrong about his victim. He is still lying underneath him. The other guard tackles him.
As he falls backwards he sees that the flesh he was eating is just as rotten as his own.
It is hard to say if he really is able to feel something like this, but a feeling of despair creeps up into his mind. His rendered spirit is in fear of the pain awaiting him if he would not eat. But this rotten flesh does hardly any good.
A pair of bony hands seizes him at his shoulders. His mind explodes in rage, he tries to shake the hands off by all means.
Another guard comes to aid, now he is pinned down by two men. His mind is consumed by the rage, he is trying to escape. He writhes like a wild animal being pushed into a corner.
A third guard appears in his sight who is holding a sword.
His mind overflows with rage and fear. He shouts out something incomprehensible, it sounds like a beast roaring.
The guard takes the sword with both hands and raises it into the air over his head.
Is this feeling really despair? Isn't this the moment he always wanted, he always longed for in life as in death, being able to rest in peace? Yet his instincts tell him that he wants to survive.
The sword cuts through the air digging deep into his chest. He does not feel anything, not the cold steel nor his flesh being ripped apart.
He feels pain.
The pain from not having been able to eat properly.
His existence has been cursed, cursed since the first day of its unholy subsistence.
His rage is fading. Slowly everything grows blurry around him. His muscles relax, his movement die away. Is this the moment his soul is set free?
His eyes close.
Now he is just lying on the ground, the guard pulls his sword out with one swift act of strength. They want to dispose of the body as soon as possible. The injured guard won't suffer from anything more than his loss of blood and the pain of the wound.
Now there he lies in his robes that have been torn to shreds. His body and soul once claimed by the Lich King, he fell to the sword of a Forsaken.
Slowly the icy grasp around his soul is fading more and more.
He is not dying. A scar from the sword will surely stay on his chest and try to tell the tale of this day.
His mind comes to ease. The pain slowly disappears.
It seems as if he would fall asleep rather than be dying..
He is able to dream again.