Tormented Soul

The sky was a crystal clear blue, with only a single white fluffy cloud in the distance. The sun shone down across the grassy plains of the Barrens, making it what some would call the 'perfect day'. Beckyann sat in the grass, looking out over the scenic view of the endless plains stretching off into the distance. Scourge-blue eyes took in the beautiful scene, studying the way the land folded and seemed to stretch with each rise and fall, the way the animals roamed in herds across the landscape, and the way the sun painted the colors of the different grasses in stark relief.

She felt nothing.

That wasn't entirely true of course, there was a vague sense of satisfaction, of being full that one might get after enjoying a good meal. She shifted in place, the sunlight glinting off her dull black armor that had skeletal bones outlined on it in silver relief. The form fitting armor was covered with such markings, making it look like she was encased in a skeleton and the accessories to the set were inscribed with skulls, additional bones, and various symbols of death; the perfect outfit for a Knight as far as she was concerned.

Behind her, a thin trail of smoke worked its way up into the blue sky, the pop and crackle of flames as they consumed the burning Kor'kron supply wagon and the many corpses strewn about it fighting against the sound of the wind blowing over the grasses. Behind Beckyann her deathcharger moved lazily across the battle site, edging closer to her. She could sense where it was at all times, and knew that it would soon attempt to bite her when it thought she wasn't looking. Somehow, sitting there with only her thoughts, she couldn't even work up the energy to get up and brutally beat the creature to put down such rebelliousness at the moment.

Something was bothering her, stirring deep in the back of her mind. She'd been trying to fight it off for so long, but the conversation with the spirit the other day had set her thoughts down a one way track. Over and over again she brooded on how she was feeling, on what the revelations the spirit had given her told her about herself.

I actually cared. I still do care, don't I? I looked at him like he was my father, even though we'd never met before we joined each other in undeath. I look at the others as my family I think. I've called them brothers and sisters before, but I didn't realize how deeply it went.

Emotions were the bane of her existence. Positive feelings burned her as if she were Light-touched, and to feel them sitting in the center of her chest like a mass of writhing blood worms set her on edge. And yet, deep within, she could feel it bubbling up, despite her best efforts to clamp down on it. As if she were regurgitating something unpleasant, it rose and burst in her mind, and suddenly she felt something strange. Tears ran down her cheeks in two dirty little trails, the black, diseased fluid staining her face. She reached out with a gauntlet, touching them and look at the wet metal on her fingertips with awe. She was crying.

It hurt very much to feel like that, to feel love and the bond of family. It burned and yet it was also enlightening and empowering. For months she'd brooded, building up anger and resentment inside that she couldn't place or properly release. As she was a creature designed to deal in death and pain, it was incredibly difficult to sort out delicate feelings inside and release them in a constructive manner. She'd been bottling it up for so long and now it was finally bursting out of her like a river. She began to sob, the sound a mournful wail on the wind.

I'm so sorry I couldn't stop them. I'm so sorry I blamed you for leaving me when it was my fault for failing you. I'm so sorry I left and didn't tell you why, didn't tell the others why.

As the emotion built up, the natural reaction of her twisted undead form was to convert them into anger and rage, to bottle them back up so that she could continue to be the perfect killing machine she'd been designed to be. She viciously clamped down on it though, wrestling with her anger in an effort to experience the pain of feeling that she'd denied herself for so long, that had been taken from her when she was raised. And then a simple thought slipped into her mind, allowing her to divert all of her focus into one spot.

When my parents died, I was angry. Angry at myself for how I'd acted before their deaths, for the things I said and the things I could never say. When Red died, I was mad at him for leaving me, but also at myself because I didn't do enough to save him, because I'd failed him. And yet, it wasn't my fault. It wasn't his fault.

It was THEIR fault. The living. The humans that struck him down. Those gods-damned scarlet pieces of filth. The Light-worshiping bastards that thought they could pass judgement on us.

Around Beckyann, necromantic energies began to seep into the air. They floated on the wind, twisting around her with eerie green and purple flickering light. Behind her, her deathcharger backed away slowly, deciding to feast on the flesh of the dead orcs in the grasses rather than bite its Mistress. The grass around Beckyann began to blacken and curl up as the ground was desecrated by her seething anger and energies.

She rose, her eyes flat and her face emotionless now, seething magic flowing out of her, wrapping her in darkness as her runeblade flared to life. She drew it from where it had been planted in the soil, watching the twisted spirits trapped in it as they contorted around the blade, nothing but pounding, unending hatred in her mind.

It will never happen again. Never. Again. I will see them all dead before I let them take any of my brothers and sisters from me. I will see to it that Red never has to suffer as he did again. The living will all die by my hand if need be, if that is what it takes to see that it is done. How long have we suffered for? How long must we pay for what we did? If it is my lot to suffer penance for what happened to us, then so be it, but I will NOT be alone again. They will NOT take from me again. 

As the thoughts solidified and anger and rage pounded through her as they were meant to do, her inner thoughts were interrupted by the impact of an arrow striking her armor. The arrowhead plunged through her breastplate, lodging in her chest cavity. She stared down at it for a moment, scourge magic almost flowing from her blazing eyes. She looked up to see three Kor'kron wolfriders nearby, eyeing her warily.

When the woman didn't fall dead they began to shift in their saddles, looking at one another nervously. Unfortunately they had chosen the absolute worst possible time to interrupt Beckyann's thoughts, as one of them learned almost immediately when a tendril of death magic reached out and plucked him from his saddle.

As his death howl echoed across the landscape, the other two wolfriders turned and spurred their mounts, retreating quickly. Behind them, an enraged Beckyann Eastberg stalked after them, her hateful glare boring into their backs as they fled across the plains.

Coming to terms with her emotions had been a difficult and painful process, one that required that she attend to her other needs. Fortunately, it appeared that there would be many volunteers to assist her with that. She grinned as she walked after the fleeing orcs, seeing another Kor'kron supply wagon in the distance.