Vinguld: A Shattered House

I am not a masochist. And I am not a sexual creature. I am not friendly. But even I still have a heart.

A pretty vase to be smashed. A pretty face to be slashed. She spills my secrets, spews them for fun ... drapes herself on the collateral damage, and twists as though in ecstasy at my suffering.  And then the truth begins to leak, here and there, warm spots on a cold desolate field.

In my heart it should always be winter but never winter's veil.

She has broken me before ... And now, in the warmth that has been hiding for so long... the feeling I smothered like a babe asleep in the bed ... now it roars anew. Runesword and Lord alike, destroying me on the outside, and on the inside as well.

And soil my hands I must too, or else suffer the same fate as he.

But first... I bring back the bottom feeder, kicking and screaming, to the top of the food chain, and into the den of the beast.

Hallow’s End. A time for monsters in full guile walking amongst the unwashed masses ringing in cheer. The darkness creeps like a hooded school child beneath mask and wand banishing their fear of the macabre by familiarity. We dress in masks of our making, talismans to ward off our horrors.

Terenius wandered the streets in simple garb enjoying the feeling of cobblestoned civilization beneath his feet, a welcome change from the wilds he’d frequented as of late. He danced amongst the peasants a thief stealing from one house to the next aimlessly without purpose or design.

It wasn’t that he was lost, a flash of a fake smile here a false modesty there and all would be lightened, but the warlock hesitated. All had come to naught and for not for the first time of late, his strong stomach ripened with bile.

My Lord,

You may not be familiar with this one Tol'vir, but we are familiar with your name. In what little of the words we understand of the death knight we removed from the sands, this and a few other words were intelligible. Your assistance to us is known, and so we sought to contact you about her whereabouts.

We came upon her, in the desert, after the latest attack. Whether your state is in insult to the gods or not is not truly known to us, but what is known is that the knight we found had been injured critically. These wounds would be mortal on a normal person, yet she persists in continuing on, for now.  We also found a strange melted box, and are unsure of what to do with it.

"If you wish. I will be in civilized territory by week's end." The leaves rustled as I focused my concentration on the box. She watched as I shut off the box after a moment, slipping it into my bag, pushing disheveled hair from my eyes. No sooner did my attention return to the path ahead, the air around me became silent once more. Silent, even in the depths of the woods. The birds knew what seemingly more intelligent creatures did not. That I may move carefully but it does not hide what I am.

I have been too honest with him. He has grown softer, and I do not know how this will effect the situation that is at hand. There will be no mercy for one who would take a loved one from me. Two daughters lost to me. The pain would almost be unbearable ... but we have pushed it down, for now. It will not serve me, this pathetic weakness that is succumbing to my own grief. Embrace only the cold.

Thienna Fen'Relah Vinguld stood in the doorway of one of the two bedrooms in her apartment, above her store. The room was painted in soft pastel shades of blushing rose, sunbeam yellow and powder blue. Where once there might have been a crib there was now a small bed of an amber wood, the down mattress covered in the softest spun rainbow coverlet. She had made that bedding herself, during her months of self-imposed imprisonment under Fortune Velstand's care, when he had protected her. Chests of matching wood for clothing stood against the walls, and a trunk of the same sat at the end of the bed, full of varied toys that could entertain a four-year-old child. Rainbow curtains fluttered at the small but present window.

The only thing missing in the room was a child. Thienna pressed her hand against her stomach, despair tinging the bright room in shades of grey. Eventually, she was forced to close her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall.

“This is your fault, you know. You gave her to the paladin.”

“Silence,” Terenius hissed between clenched teeth. The wind ruffled the warlock’s cloak as mist obscured the procession.

“Stealing the Light. Good one. Ever wonder if you so weren’t obsessed with your experiment, you’d have been able to do something? Just a thought.” The imp prodded and tormented.

“Begone,” Terenius whispered and dismissed the wretch. He bowed his head and shook the damp from his robe.

When the moment’s fury broke, he was forced to agree. Not that he’d give his servitor the satisfaction, but Terenius recognized he owned blame. Not that he handed her over. He remanded her to the mansion for her own…no, for the family name. 

He didn't kill her, but he didn't help her.

Steam rose from his cloak as he turned his back.

***

“Fitz-“

Gentle breezes wafted through the narrow, grassy pathways of the Mage Quarter, dancing through Vanassa's long black tresses. She swayed her hips as she walked, keenly aware of the icy eyes following her.

Marquis Ythgar Vinguld. I knew we would meet again. I didn't imagine it would be so soon after my return.

It had been a scant three days prior that she had set foot in Stormwind for the first time in over three years. Three days to reacquaint herself, and manage the flood of memories found in every sight, smell, and sound dwelling in the city. She had thought of Ythgar several times as she roamed the familiar, yet alien streets. She was reminded of how regal and handsome Ythgar had seemed. Even their first chance meeting was imprinted in her mind.

I hate you.

You reek of a pungent odor, sickeningly sweet pasted over something vile, in order to hide what you really are. The sight of you, a shrunken and reduced perversion from what you once were makes my stomach turn. Your glowing green eyes betray you for what you lust after and what you would become ... a demon. Sated temporarily by demonic energies, you have turned your focus entirely on curbing the hunger ... but you too ignorant and twisted to realize that the hunger you have is something that by being fed, takes on more power. You continue the cycle and care not who in the way suffers for it, only that your own suffering ceases.

Once I might have had pity.

The clocktower in Stormwind towered above the city. Streaked with soot from the recent cataclysm and worn from time, it seemed like a perfect place for me to consider all things. Filth flocks to filth, and looking out over the city at night, that tenuous corrupt undeserving city, I felt surprisingly comfortable. More at ease than I had been in a long time, but still with things to consider. As my hands passed back and forth over the crumbling barrier standing between me and an excruciating trip to the ground, my thoughts drifted to some of the things I had seen, the dulled murmur that was Stormwind fading into the background for a time.