Friday, June 11, 2010

Out Of The Frying Pan

Fulguralis's eyes snapped open as the tent flap slapped shut.  His wife had just gotten up in the middle of the night, again, leaving for unknown reasons, again.  The Warlock had tried following her on other nights, but he could never seem to keep up.  He blamed it on the hindrance of long robes.  Paladins always seemed to be just a hair swifter.  Also, quickness was not his style.

Where was she going?  Fulguralis sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily.  It was always the same thing.  She'd wake up with a jolt in the dead of the night, get up, and wander away.  Had he not known as much as he did about magic, he have thought her bewitched.  Priests were always doing that sort of thing to the unsuspecting or unprepared.  Not the good Priests, mind you, the more shadowy ones.

Fulguralis had no problem with that; he preferred the shadows himself.  Fear was a useful tool when used appropriately.  Still, if one of those bastards was preying on his wife, they would be in for a world of slow, agonizing pain.  If there was one thing Fulguralis knew, it was how to make the pain last.

More likely she was sleep walking, but she had never exhibited the tendency before.  The Warlock was certainly puzzled.  Ever since taking that locket from her with its strange inscription on the back, Fuubaar's stability had seemed to continue to erode.  Fulguralis wasn't sure he even knew who she was any more.  She was distant and sullen in her more lucid moments, crazed and, frankly, scary on the battlefield.  The Warlock desperately wanted to bridge the chasm forming between them, but he had always been far better at burning bridges than building them.

The fear that corrupted Fulguralis most inside was that she was seeking comfort in another's arms.  That she had totally given up on him.  That he was not enough.  Though he kept up his facade of confidence and control, on the inside Fulguralis was warring with more demons than usual.  Self-doubt was a festering sore in the mind of a Warlock that, if left alone, would eventually weaken the barriers that kept minion from being master.  It wasn't only his marriage that was at stake here, but his very sanity.  Without the woman he loved, he wasn't sure he'd survive.

If only he knew how to start the conversation.  If only he had some sort of clue.

Wrapping his cloak around himself, Fulguralis slipped quietly out of the tent grimacing at the cold, crisp Northrend air.  Perhaps he would get lucky tonight and stumble upon his wandering wife.  Maybe that would be the break he needed.

*  *  *

More than a world away, Decedereful stepped out of the inn at Honor Hold and walked with purpose towards the barracks.  The hot air buffeted her like a furnace.  The Death Knight thought that if she stayed here long enough, the chill of the grave itself might leave her bones.  It had been a very long time since she'd felt truly warm.  

Even so, she strode quickly towards the large stone structure.  She needed to find a battlemage and get a port to Northrend.  She needed to find her brother.  The information she had was hotter than anything this peninsula had to offer.  Decedereful knew her brother was hurting, suspected his confidence was eroding.  He needed to hear what she'd learned, if only to save himself from himself.  Family was hard to come by in Azeroth right now.

Loud shouts stopped the Death Knight in her tracks.  Around her, the hold suddenly became a beehive of activity.  Soldiers were running around haphazardly, shouting as if the world were breaking about.  The cracked ground trembled beneath her feet as she stared as the disorganized soldiers.  Decedereful wondered if a simple earth tremor always caused such commotion.  Surely soldiers serving in the Outlands should display more mettle than this.

"Look out!" A fresh faced young soldier called from several paces away.  He was staring directly at her with wide eyes and pointing towards the sky.  

Decedereful felt a chill for a moment as her eyes fell on the young man's panic stricken baby blues.  It was cooler in the shade here.  

Shade?  Decedereful realized with a start that she was standing in the middle of open ground.  Why am I in the shade?  Alarm cranked her neck skyward.  Directly above, rocketing towards her at an alarming rate was a rather large hunk of rock.  What was worse, green flames appeared to be dancing joyously on its surface. 

That can't be good, were the last thoughts Decedereful had time to think before the world went dark.

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