The bathwater was hot.
So hot that it would likely be uncomfortable for most people. To
Kerryann it was wonderful however; it temporarily drove away the endless
chill she felt from the Frost Fever that forever plagued her body. She
sank into the tub, letting the scalding hot liquid rise up to her chin
and reclining her feet, letting the bubbly suds float around on the
surface of the steaming water.
She didn't know why she bothered; there was little point in washing the blood and gore off her flesh if she was just going to go out the next day and get covered in it again. It didn't bother her in the least, and she was using valuable time that could be spent doing something more important; like drinking or perhaps regaining some lost energy.
Still, Alaindia's badgering always ended up getting under Kerryann's skin. The elf was insistent that she act and look the proper lady, or at the very least make some attempt to not look like a gore-spattered ghoul. The death knight smirked as she submerged her head beneath the water, letting the burning hot water wash through her hair, cleaning a day's worth of battle out of it.
None of it mattered to Kerryann. She was far past the time when she thought about such mortal delights. It had been a very long time since she'd picked up her runeblade, since she'd been forced to use it on the one man that had kindled more than a fleeting ambition in her heart. She smiled to herself, bringing an arm up out of the water to examine a small black heart tattooed on her wrist.
He'd given it to her, or rather, they had both given one to each other a long time ago, in a place that would never be the same again. When Lordaeron was whole, and he was her prince and she his princess, at least in their own minds. The thought almost made her laugh out loud; they'd been pretty young and stupid back then. Of course he'd been part of the little coven of nobles that she'd fallen in with, and naturally it would be him that would first kindle her interest in the dark arts as well as a fire in her heart.
With a sigh the death knight let her arm trail lazily back into the hot bath. Such thoughts were a waste of time. EMOTION was a waste of time. It got one no where, and Alaindia should know better than to chide about appearances when there was actual work to be done and power to be obtained through mutual cooperation. Still, it was the elf's nature; a nervous habit perhaps or maybe something that she focused on when the shadows didn't whisper to her. Kerryann didn't really care, it was just annoying. And yet here she was, getting cleaned up after the elf's chiding. Clearly the death knight needed to spend more time in the field and away from people. She was definitely getting soft, there was no doubt about it.
She sighed and looked across the room at the armor piled in the corner. She'd spent some time meticulously cleaning each piece after she had parted with the elf. This was more important to her mind; the weapons and armor had to be functional, which meant they couldn't be gore covered BEFORE she started using them. Besides, there was something to be said about distracting the enemy with the tiny pieces of plate that she used on her torso. The thought made Kerryann smirk.
Everyone has a weakness. How fun it is to find and exploit them.
She frowned as she realized that Alaindia knew just how to expose hers. Perhaps that's why she kept the elf around though, maybe Al gave her something valuable with her words; she pointed out how Kerryann could improve herself. The death knight shook her head and sighed, letting her eyes close as she enjoyed the heat around her.
The noise of the door creaking open interrupted her relaxation. The door was, after all, supposed to be locked. The bathing room was a public space used by many people, and Kerryann had taken care to ensure that no one disturbed her. Cold blue eyes opened and examined the man that had entered. A human, middle aged with a hint of white in his hair and wearing an unkempt robe. He stared at the woman in the tub with a crazed half smile on his face.
"The Master does not like you asking after him," the man said, cackling a little. "He said that if you want to know of Him, then He would be more than willing to teach you. You have ruined enough of His plans."
With that the man brought a hand up, displaying a strange orb that he'd been holding. It pulsed with a sickly yellow light, and immediately Kerryann felt her mind assaulted by whispering voices as the cultist tried to overwhelm her. She could feel the disgusting, clawing thoughts of an Old God flickering in the space around her as the artifact was used against her. Clearly the cultists had used the object on many victims, and it was designed to incapacitate and potentially capture enemies; something they'd want to use on the elf. As her consciousness began to slip away, Kerryann muttered a string of words in the Language of Death.
To the cultist's surprise, Kerryann began to rise from the tub, turning to stare at him. Except for her unnatural eyes, she was beautiful, her body unmarred and displayed for him to see. Water ran down her skin and glistened in the candlelight in the room. Despite all of this, something seemed wrong about her; an unnameable wrongness about her person. It was in the way she moved, in the stiffness of her limbs, in the way her naked chest didn't rise and fall with the cycle of her breathing.
That was because she WASN'T breathing.
The man's eyes widened in horror as Kerryann took an awkward, stiff step out of the bath. Behind her, the steaming hot water had instantly frozen into a solid block of ice, and a chill emanated from the woman that made the cultist shiver. As Kerryann lunged at him, he realized what had happened; she'd used some foul spell to become truly undead for a moment, her body giving in to the natural state that she belonged in.
Making her immune to his artifact. Her mind was beyond its grasp.
She struck him hard, their bodies colliding together as she forced him backwards. He lost his balance and his grip on the orb, falling into the door and then through the thin wood with the death knight on top of him. In the hallway they landed, shattered wood skittering across the floor as the naked woman pinned him to the ground. Several of the inn's guests in the hallway turned pale and backed away in alarm as Kerryann snarled at the terrified cultist.
"So you actually thought you'd come and take me out right here in the middle of the city?" she said in a deadly whisper. "All you've done is put yourself in my hands now."
The man under her stammered, struggling to throw her off. It was far too late for that though as the sickness that she carried in her started to set into his flesh, her nails digging painfully into his arm as she leered down at him. "You're going to tell me where you came from, so I can go and visit your master personally. I'd LOVE to have a chat with him."
The man whimpered and shook his head before he began chanting. Kerryann scowled, one hand reaching out behind her. A tendril of dark necromantic energy shot out, wrapping around the hilt of her runeblade and snapping it across the room into her waiting hand. She smiled down at her victim with a cold grin.
"Now now, none of that. Your last friend managed to slip into the power of your masters before I could really question him. You....you're going to have a very interesting and different experience."
Before the man could respond or finish his spell she plunged the blade down, piercing his heart. It flared with magic, the runes on it glowing brightly as it drank in his life energy. An unearthly wail could be heard as his spirit was torn from his flesh and drawn into the blade. As his life fled, she pushed herself up and off his corpse, looking it over critically with a hint of distaste on her face.
"I've had better minions than this, but you will do for now," she purred. With that she spoke a few more words and the body suddenly jerked, rising slowly to its feet and standing patiently near her. She paused, looking it over to make sure the necromantic construct was stable before shooting a glare at the people gawking at her in the hallway.
"See something you like? If not, get the fel out of here."
The people in the hallway, rather than being cowed by the words, simply gave her a rude gesture before walking back down the hallway. Kerryann shook her head and smirked; the Pig and Whistle had clearly been a wise choice for accommodations. There were enough ruffians and people who would look the other way in there to fill up half of Old Town. No one would care what she did with a cultist that was too pathetic to even kill a woman in her own bath.
She smiled again, leading her undead minion back into the bathroom to fetch her things. She'd get her armor on and then perhaps get some answers from her unwilling victim about where his orders had originated from. All in all, the night was turning out to be profitable after all. With a casual gesture she brought the tip of her runeblade down and shattered the orb the cultist had dropped on the floor; it wouldn't do to let someone else play with it and become infected with it's power. She'd have to kill them too if that happened, and she had so very many things to DO at the moment.
A short time later the armored, although only partially covered, woman exited the bathing room, no sign of the creature she'd made of the cultist. The smile on her face kept anyone who had witnessed the scene from asking her about it.
No one really wanted to know.
She didn't know why she bothered; there was little point in washing the blood and gore off her flesh if she was just going to go out the next day and get covered in it again. It didn't bother her in the least, and she was using valuable time that could be spent doing something more important; like drinking or perhaps regaining some lost energy.
Still, Alaindia's badgering always ended up getting under Kerryann's skin. The elf was insistent that she act and look the proper lady, or at the very least make some attempt to not look like a gore-spattered ghoul. The death knight smirked as she submerged her head beneath the water, letting the burning hot water wash through her hair, cleaning a day's worth of battle out of it.
None of it mattered to Kerryann. She was far past the time when she thought about such mortal delights. It had been a very long time since she'd picked up her runeblade, since she'd been forced to use it on the one man that had kindled more than a fleeting ambition in her heart. She smiled to herself, bringing an arm up out of the water to examine a small black heart tattooed on her wrist.
He'd given it to her, or rather, they had both given one to each other a long time ago, in a place that would never be the same again. When Lordaeron was whole, and he was her prince and she his princess, at least in their own minds. The thought almost made her laugh out loud; they'd been pretty young and stupid back then. Of course he'd been part of the little coven of nobles that she'd fallen in with, and naturally it would be him that would first kindle her interest in the dark arts as well as a fire in her heart.
With a sigh the death knight let her arm trail lazily back into the hot bath. Such thoughts were a waste of time. EMOTION was a waste of time. It got one no where, and Alaindia should know better than to chide about appearances when there was actual work to be done and power to be obtained through mutual cooperation. Still, it was the elf's nature; a nervous habit perhaps or maybe something that she focused on when the shadows didn't whisper to her. Kerryann didn't really care, it was just annoying. And yet here she was, getting cleaned up after the elf's chiding. Clearly the death knight needed to spend more time in the field and away from people. She was definitely getting soft, there was no doubt about it.
She sighed and looked across the room at the armor piled in the corner. She'd spent some time meticulously cleaning each piece after she had parted with the elf. This was more important to her mind; the weapons and armor had to be functional, which meant they couldn't be gore covered BEFORE she started using them. Besides, there was something to be said about distracting the enemy with the tiny pieces of plate that she used on her torso. The thought made Kerryann smirk.
Everyone has a weakness. How fun it is to find and exploit them.
She frowned as she realized that Alaindia knew just how to expose hers. Perhaps that's why she kept the elf around though, maybe Al gave her something valuable with her words; she pointed out how Kerryann could improve herself. The death knight shook her head and sighed, letting her eyes close as she enjoyed the heat around her.
The noise of the door creaking open interrupted her relaxation. The door was, after all, supposed to be locked. The bathing room was a public space used by many people, and Kerryann had taken care to ensure that no one disturbed her. Cold blue eyes opened and examined the man that had entered. A human, middle aged with a hint of white in his hair and wearing an unkempt robe. He stared at the woman in the tub with a crazed half smile on his face.
"The Master does not like you asking after him," the man said, cackling a little. "He said that if you want to know of Him, then He would be more than willing to teach you. You have ruined enough of His plans."
With that the man brought a hand up, displaying a strange orb that he'd been holding. It pulsed with a sickly yellow light, and immediately Kerryann felt her mind assaulted by whispering voices as the cultist tried to overwhelm her. She could feel the disgusting, clawing thoughts of an Old God flickering in the space around her as the artifact was used against her. Clearly the cultists had used the object on many victims, and it was designed to incapacitate and potentially capture enemies; something they'd want to use on the elf. As her consciousness began to slip away, Kerryann muttered a string of words in the Language of Death.
To the cultist's surprise, Kerryann began to rise from the tub, turning to stare at him. Except for her unnatural eyes, she was beautiful, her body unmarred and displayed for him to see. Water ran down her skin and glistened in the candlelight in the room. Despite all of this, something seemed wrong about her; an unnameable wrongness about her person. It was in the way she moved, in the stiffness of her limbs, in the way her naked chest didn't rise and fall with the cycle of her breathing.
That was because she WASN'T breathing.
The man's eyes widened in horror as Kerryann took an awkward, stiff step out of the bath. Behind her, the steaming hot water had instantly frozen into a solid block of ice, and a chill emanated from the woman that made the cultist shiver. As Kerryann lunged at him, he realized what had happened; she'd used some foul spell to become truly undead for a moment, her body giving in to the natural state that she belonged in.
Making her immune to his artifact. Her mind was beyond its grasp.
She struck him hard, their bodies colliding together as she forced him backwards. He lost his balance and his grip on the orb, falling into the door and then through the thin wood with the death knight on top of him. In the hallway they landed, shattered wood skittering across the floor as the naked woman pinned him to the ground. Several of the inn's guests in the hallway turned pale and backed away in alarm as Kerryann snarled at the terrified cultist.
"So you actually thought you'd come and take me out right here in the middle of the city?" she said in a deadly whisper. "All you've done is put yourself in my hands now."
The man under her stammered, struggling to throw her off. It was far too late for that though as the sickness that she carried in her started to set into his flesh, her nails digging painfully into his arm as she leered down at him. "You're going to tell me where you came from, so I can go and visit your master personally. I'd LOVE to have a chat with him."
The man whimpered and shook his head before he began chanting. Kerryann scowled, one hand reaching out behind her. A tendril of dark necromantic energy shot out, wrapping around the hilt of her runeblade and snapping it across the room into her waiting hand. She smiled down at her victim with a cold grin.
"Now now, none of that. Your last friend managed to slip into the power of your masters before I could really question him. You....you're going to have a very interesting and different experience."
Before the man could respond or finish his spell she plunged the blade down, piercing his heart. It flared with magic, the runes on it glowing brightly as it drank in his life energy. An unearthly wail could be heard as his spirit was torn from his flesh and drawn into the blade. As his life fled, she pushed herself up and off his corpse, looking it over critically with a hint of distaste on her face.
"I've had better minions than this, but you will do for now," she purred. With that she spoke a few more words and the body suddenly jerked, rising slowly to its feet and standing patiently near her. She paused, looking it over to make sure the necromantic construct was stable before shooting a glare at the people gawking at her in the hallway.
"See something you like? If not, get the fel out of here."
The people in the hallway, rather than being cowed by the words, simply gave her a rude gesture before walking back down the hallway. Kerryann shook her head and smirked; the Pig and Whistle had clearly been a wise choice for accommodations. There were enough ruffians and people who would look the other way in there to fill up half of Old Town. No one would care what she did with a cultist that was too pathetic to even kill a woman in her own bath.
She smiled again, leading her undead minion back into the bathroom to fetch her things. She'd get her armor on and then perhaps get some answers from her unwilling victim about where his orders had originated from. All in all, the night was turning out to be profitable after all. With a casual gesture she brought the tip of her runeblade down and shattered the orb the cultist had dropped on the floor; it wouldn't do to let someone else play with it and become infected with it's power. She'd have to kill them too if that happened, and she had so very many things to DO at the moment.
A short time later the armored, although only partially covered, woman exited the bathing room, no sign of the creature she'd made of the cultist. The smile on her face kept anyone who had witnessed the scene from asking her about it.
No one really wanted to know.
No comments:
Post a Comment