implied rape

 Soft ruby red hair falling about her shoulders, blue eyes shining in concentration, the seeming elf sits at the desk a slim finger gently tapping her temple.  She sits at the large mahogany desk in one of the most obscured rooms in her former "master's" chambers, one of his more dastardly books in front of her, finally open after great magical effort.  Searching for rare bit of information in the hopes of freeing herself from the rather irritating situation she now finds herself in.  Finally, she stops reading, realizing she had read the same paragraph about fifty times and in truth had read none of it.  Thoughts swirl in her mind, as turbulent as the time shifts and specters that haunted the halls of her temporarily claimed home of Karazhan.  She slams her fist down angrily on the table, a shock-wave resounding from the impact.  In the corner, Lola looks up with concern at her friend.

Some time ago…

The lynxes were restless. So, too, were the men. Like the lynxes, they were crouched upon a hilltop overlooking a troll village, a new settlement erected boldly close to the Farstrider Enclave. Such insolence could not stand. Etienne glanced at the line of rangers assembled under his command. The predawn light was just enough to allow him to clearly see each face. He was lucky to have eight. Surveillance showed roughly triple that number, mostly women and children, were slumbering in the huts below. “Arrogant pests,” Etienne muttered. He wished the Quel’dorei had never agreed to aid the Alliance. The conflict intensifying in the south drew away more of their rangers than originally promised. Thanks to the so-called Second War, those who remained to protect Quel’Thalas were spread too thin. It meant they had to be creative. It also meant they could not afford any weakness. Of the eight elves poised to attack, only one looked nervous. Private Thelryn looked even more nervous when Etienne ordered him to switch places with Corporal Vaneth, putting the raw recruit right next to his commander. Etienne threw an arm around him, a gesture that was only superficially friendly and reassuring.

“You can do this, can’t you, Private?” He whispered.

"Scorpion asks Frog for a ride across a river. Frog says "But you'll sting me and I'll die. After all, you're a scorpion."
Scorpion says, "Don't be silly, if I sting you, we'll both die."
Frog says, "Well, that makes sense. I'll give you a ride."
Scorpion climbs on Frog's back and off they go. Half way across the river,
Scorpion stings Frog and as they both begin to sink beneath the water, Frog says "What did you do that for? Now we'll both die!"
Scorpion says, "I couldn't help it. After all, I'm a scorpion."
    ~Unknown Source

    You know you're growing too accustomed to waking up from unconsciousness when you can immediately identify the sensation.

[ I had the urge to write a corresponding scene of Ythika and her mental wanderings during the Vinguld's wedding night. ( Read Vinguld's Blog Entry here! ). So you've been warned. This is also very out of sequence of the usual 55 Word entries, so I apologize for that. ]

[ Want more Blood and Felfire? Go to the Blood and Felfire blog! ]

"Look at me, girl. What do you see?"

"...Death..."

How maudlin. How pretentious. It served its purpose, I'll agree. The broken wretch began to find her feet again, and accept her fate. Her fate? Her destiny, perhaps. Reborn to be a weapon, and in her case all unwilling, she might as well turn in her creator's hand.

Yes, that served me so well, didn't it. Got me such a terribly long way...

Ah well. May she have some luck, the silly fool. And that paladin.. she seemed able to see beyond what her friend so obviously reeked of, and try and help her. How sweet. How terribly nice. I had not to laugh when she turned to me with eyes aglow, fairly burning with the Light, and offered to help me redeem myself too.

Brilliant thin gold sparkling over rippling waves of azure and sapphire. In a turquoise sky, the sun an aureoled gentle radiance casting effulgent light on the lapping kittenish sea. One night past since the caramel swirls of Tanaris' desert shore faded to purple misted dreams behind the dancing object rolling on the back of the ocean's laughing swells. Three masts rose over tarred decks, faded rust-hued sails flapping against weathered dark wood, swarming with insect men like flies on a carcass rotting in the noon sun. Behind the foam-capped waves of the ship's progress, angled lines followed, and the insect mass on the decks heaved, a shape falling from the vessel to splash among the shining crests. The angles darted toward it like vultures spiralling toward a blood-soaked mass of flesh, and crimson stained the giggling salted waves while gray shapes fought to tear and rip grime-coated human meat.