Friday, September 4, 2009

The Prodigal Daughter

Stunned into silence, Fulguralis backed up as the death knight in his grip toppled forward to the dirt floor of the tent. His mind reeled as he tried to make sense of what he'd just heard. But, Boy, it's me... So simple, so innocent, yet could it be?

He tried to force himself to see through the tin can veneer that coated the voice of every death knight he had met. He tried to put the glowing blue eyes in the face of the girl he once knew. He struggled with the obvious changes, not only from the years, but also from the transformation that the Lich King had bestowed upon her. He tried, for once, to see his sister.

He succeeded.

The shock of the revelation tore through Fulguralis' brain like a whirlwind of fire dashing malevolently through the midst of a group of adventurers, tossing random thoughts to the wayside like weightless corpses and burning him down to his very core. Somewhere deep inside, a wound he had attempted to seal rent itself open again, bleeding fresh and spilling over the walls of his heart to flow up and threaten to drown his very being. Tears sprung fresh to his eyes as the memories of his only kin, the sister he had left behind, rose to the surface of his war torn mind.

The succubus across the room raised one seductive eyebrow in the direction of her master, sensing the turmoil in him. Something was going on here that she didn't understand. Why didn't he just kill this interloper?

The death knight lay sobbing on the floor, heavy plate armor heaving up and down. No tears fell to blot the dirt floor. Still, the armor almost seemed to swallow the suddenly fragile form of the girl inside. What had once been a strong, proud knight of Arthas was reduced to a blubbering mass huddled on the floor, patiently awaiting her deserved fate.
The succubus loosened her whip at her side. If her master was bewitched by this knight, she must do what she can to protect him.

Her devotion was not out of any sense of loyalty, but merely because without his power, she would be cast back into the never ending night from which she came, and she rather did prefer this world. She took a menacing step towards the heap on the floor.

"No," Fulguralis called. "Let her be." With a flick of his arm he dismissed his minion and she faded, screaming, from the world. Fulguralis knew he would probably pay for that later.

"Girl, is that really you?" He called out hesitantly.

The memories poured over him in a deluge now, many he had thought he'd forgotten years hence. His early years in the orphanage flooded back. They'd been left on the doorstep with nothing but two notes on matching baskets: "It's a Boy! It's a Girl". Growing up, they'd been given names by the sisters, but they'd always jokingly call themselves "Boy" and "Girl", as that was the only names they'd ever truly known as theirs.

Then, at sixteen he'd run away to join in the fight that had claimed his family. He wasn't even quite sure what fight that was. Still, he'd sworn to his sister that he would go in search of power, the power to avenge their parents. It was that drive that had led him down the path of the Warlock. It was that drive that had led to his abandonment of the only family he'd ever had.

He knew she'd try to follow him, she was always so clingy like that, so he'd snuck out of the orphanage one night while she was asleep. He'd always assumed she'd grow up, taught by the sisters of the Light to sew and cook and do the other things that the womenfolk of Stratholme were taught to do.

Less than a year later, the Culling occurred, and after searching in vain through the wreckage of the city, he had assumed his sister to be dead. Five years of searching and study later, he was introduced to the ways of the Warlocks, and thus his journey began... alone. Somewhere along the way, apparently his sister had died and been born again in the service of his greatest enemy. Now she had broken free of his claim in order to return to him, to reunite the family he had thought was lost. A monster she may be, but, in his own way, so was he.

He walked over to the pile of plate on the floor and put one hand on her cold, hard shoulder. She turned and looked up at him, emotion tearing at her beautiful features. For a moment, her eyes didn't burn quite so bright and her hair wasn't so dark. She was the bright eyed girl he'd grown up with. Whatever she might be now, she was still and would always be his sister.

Kneeling down, Fulguralis wrapped his arms around his long lost kin, and felt a curious warmth spread through him. Somewhere, deep inside of the warlock, a cold, hard hole had been filled.

4 comments:

  1. Wow, I've never been much of an RPer, though I love fantasy novels ( Dragonlance most of all).

    These stories you create for your characters are wonderful, I look forward to reading more.

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  2. Thanks. I just try to have fun with it and experiment with different points of view and such. I'm not a big RPer myself either, just think it's fun to weave some of the mundane things into a clever tale perhaps. Or just make someone laugh or get some entertainment. Fridays are fun days and you can't be serious all the time :-).

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  3. I'm currently working my way through your RP stories, and they're all fantastic, but this one was brilliant. Excellently told, full of emotion - I loved it :)

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