Satisfaction

Beckyann closed the door to her quarters behind her as she entered, throwing the wooden bolt into place to seal herself in. She paused, reaching back and removing her runeblade before setting it gently against the wall. Leaving it there, she walked into the center of the room, her hands already at work on the buckles that kept her gauntlets in place. As each came off, she dropped it on the stone floor with a loud thud, her now-free fingers moving to undo additional straps, buckles, and laces.

Piece by piece her heavy saronite armor dropped to the floor, each piece haphazardly thrown into a growing pile of silver and black that took up a good part of the center of her floor. It didn't quite dwarf the massive pile of clothes laying next to a hamper nearby, but it certainly attempted to rival it. As the last piece of armor fell to the floor and Beckyann stepped away from it in the full body-stocking she wore beneath her armor, she sighed in relief. While her undead state kept her from feeling tired, it still required more necromantic energy to move the heavy metal and it was easier to walk around as she was now.

With a smile, Beckyann walked over to the newest addition to her room; a wash basin and water cistern that she'd had installed. After the little 'argument' she'd had with Cheree, the room had required masonry repairs and she'd summoned up a few extra ghouls to haul enough stones for the small cistern and the much larger wash basin. Now she could wash her face or even bathe if she felt like it in her own quarters, letting the water simply drain out of the bottom of Acherus. The amount of effort it took to cart buckets full of water up to Acherus was irrelevant to her; that was what undead minions were for.

She leaned over the wash basin, letting some water into it and cupping it in her hands before bringing it to her face. Blood and ichor ran off her skin, the brackish ooze a result of her entering the chapel at Light's Hope. It had damaged her skin and face again and made her feel ill, but it had been worth it. With another smile she flicked the remaining water from her hands, dried her face on a left-over shirt that had been laying on the floor nearby, and walked over to her vanity.

She sat on the stool in front of the vanity, crossing her legs and studying the reflection in the mirror. As always, her skin had cracked like porcelain from too much exposure to the Light. The damage was not that bad though as she had tarried within the structure only long enough to ensure that Lewin was well cared for. The thought made her grin, and Beckyann glanced down to a little notebook she'd left on the vanity. She opened it, turning the pages until she arrived at a list of names. With a smirk she picked up a quill and crossed 'Lewin' off the list before making a few new entries and updating some other information. The cultist had told her enough information about his little friends for her to begin hunting them next.

After she'd finished writing, Beckyann picked up a bone-handled brush and began to brush her hair, looking at herself in the mirror and humming an old tune from Lordaeron as she worked. She let her thoughts wander back to what she'd done to Lewin, and another smile crept across her face.

Beckyann fed on violence, on pure fury and the agony of wounds inflicted in battle. It was the sweetest feeling to her to know that she'd mortally wounded someone or maimed them and that they were aware of that fact before they perished. It was how she fought, and that brutality had been with her since the moment she'd been raised. When she was alive, she'd have been aghast at her behavior, but this was a different time and place, and it was part of who she was now, as much as it might disturb her former self or even her current friends and allies.

She remembered the moment of her wakening very clearly, and the scene replayed in her mind as the brush stroked golden strands of hair. She recalled her eyes first opening, first taking in the sight of Acherus as she pushed herself from the floor. She recalled how her body had been whole again, or at least not as damaged as the Cult of the Damned interrogators had left it. Likely they'd stitched up the wounds before performing the raising ritual; it wouldn't do to create a Death Knight with all of her organs outside of her body after all.

Above all else, Beckyann recalled the feeling she had inside, the insatiable need that she could not identify. It was not for food, or wealth, or earthly pleasure, but something else that she couldn't place. It wasn't until her new trainers had instructed her to kill a failed initiate right then and there with a rusty old sword that she came to realize how it was she would feed for the rest of eternity; through the suffering of her foes.

Had her will been her own then, Beckyann would have destroyed herself on the spot. The Kirin Tor mage that she once was would have abhorred her new form. The icy grip of the Lich King's will overshadowed her own though, and Beckyann recalled being content, or rather, satisfied after the kill. It was that feeling of satisfaction that would tell her when she needed to feed again as it faded, an ebb and flow that was similar to hunger pains in the living, and one that brutality would feed over and over again.

Beckyann set the bone-handled brush down, satisfied that her hair was in perfect order and smiling at herself in the mirror again. She chanted a few spells, fingertips tracing runes on her face that surrounded the damaged areas. After this was done, she uncorked a vial of ointment that she'd been given and applied that to the damaged areas, watching as the skin immediately began to knit itself back together. Satisfied that the spells and ointments would restore her flesh once more, she rose from the stool and headed towards her bed where she would regenerate for the rest of the evening.

The feeling of satisfaction was strong in her now, and she lay on the soft silk that she could no longer feel with contentment. Although her will was her own now, the training she'd received while it was not combined with simply getting used to her existence had allowed her to overcome her natural inclination to hate herself for what she had to do to exist. She was content to know that she would continue on like this, eternally young, eternally beautiful at least on the outside and from a distance, until the world itself came to an end.

With an uttered word of magic, Beckyann snuffed all of the candles in the room, allowing her own magic to fade as the regenerative spells began to take effect. As the green glow surrounded her and her own consciousness faded to its lowest point, she whispered into the darkness.

"Sweet dreams, Lewin."