No Good Choice

*Corin's Crossing, Lordaeron, at the height of the plague of undeath.*

The hacking cough echoed through the room, Serephel Delange's body shuddering as she struggled to draw in breath only to expel it again violently. Her vision spun crazily as she leaned forward, coughing harder and harder, bright red, foamy arterial blood staining the linen sheets of her bed as it came up from deep within her.

The fit subsided after a time, the dark haired woman staring in wide-eyed horror at the blood now soaking her sheets, her thoughts spiraling into darkness as she realized her fate was sealed, her mortal shell about to fail her.

"It's the plague..." she whispered to no one, for no one was there in the deepest part of the night, no one could hear her suffering. The estate grounds where she worked and lived just outside of Corin's Crossing were sealed now; the iron gates around the property locked and guarded. The plague had come to Lordaeron, and as its effects became known and the dead began to walk in ever greater numbers, those few who were uninfected had begun to either flee or shelter in places where they thought they would be safe. Serephel's employers were amongst the latter, believing their noble line was secure behind fences and private guards.

Except Serephel had brought the plague into the estate.

She hadn't meant to of course; she hadn't know at the time that a bite could be infectious. One of the other servants had fallen ill at their home in Corin's Crossing proper, and she'd gone to visit her friend on her sickbed. The girl had risen of course, her teeth clamping down on Serephel's arm and leaving a bloody gouge. At the time, she had thought nothing of it, and had hidden it away for fear that such a wound would cause her to be turned away from the estate grounds and sent to fend for herself in a land that was now teeming with undead creatures.

Creatures like what she would soon become. The blood staining her sheets told the tale quite well, although if that was not enough evidence the pox that she had developed in the past few hours and her raging fever would have been additional damning evidence. Serephel Delange was as good as dead, and no one and nothing could save her from her fate now.

Another coughing fit took her, this one much worst than the last, her vision graying at the edges as she spat out more blood. She would die in her room and then rise, attacking the others in the estate, turning others as she had been turned. It was happening all over her nation, and she knew with grim certainty that the days of Lordaeron had come to a close.

"You do not have to dieeeeeeeee...." a voice seemed to whisper to her.

Serephel looked wildly around the room, peering into the darkness of the night in an attempt to spot the source of the sound. She had heard such voices before, malefic whispers talking of unspeakable things. They had been there for years, either a figment of her imagination or perhaps the consequences of some casual studies into darker tomes that others had warned her not to touch. Either way, she usually ignored them and hearing one now on what was to be her death bed only irked her.

"Go away whatever you are, I'm busy dying," she said sullenly to no one.

"Why perish from this world when you can live on? I can help you, for a price," the voice replied.

Serephel looked up in alarm now, her eyes wide and her ever-weakening heartbeat pounding in her chest. The voices had never answered her before, had never sounded so real, so close before. "W-who are you...show yourself!"

The darkness of her room gave way to a spec of flame at the foot of her bed, the light bleeding into the night as if it were a part of it rather than fighting against it. Green fires spurted furtively around a tiny form, an impish creature perched on the edge of the bed. It grinned at her, sharp, evil looking teeth making the gesture look more a threat than anything else, and it gave off a little hiss before speaking again, "I am known as many things, but I shall not give you my Name. Instead, I will offer you a bargain."

Serephel swallowed hard, fighting to hold back another coughing fit as she stared at the creature. Her voice was weak and unsteady when she replied, "W-what kind of bargain?"

The imp, for it was certainly a demonic imp, grinned at her, "Your life for the completion of a task. I have the power to save you, to spare you from this fate you so fear, but there is something I need you to do for me, for us rather."

"W-what favor? And how can you p-possibly spare me?" Serephel said, hope surging in her even as a part of her warily recalled that she was speaking to a demon.

"There are two in this estate who will live through this plague, if nothing is done to change that," the demon hissed. "Two who made bargains for power, who can use that power to shield themselves. They have not upheld their side of their agreement, and cannot be permitted to live. Slay them as a sacrifice, and I shall offer you a respite from this death."

"Y-you want me to k-kill people..." Serephel said.

The imp grinned at her discomfort before whispering words of power. It held out its hand, and in it a black dagger appeared, the weapon conjured from fel power, "Use this, stab them in the hearts, and your life will be in your own hands once more."

Serephel stared at the weapon, her eyes boring into it and her voice silent. Her thoughts raged, her fear of death, of becoming the undead, pressing in on her from all sides. A coughing fit took her, her body shuddering as she coughed up glob after glob of her lifeblood, the action making her weak and almost causing her to fall backwards into the bed where she knew she would not rise again.

She reached up and wiped blood from her mouth on her sleeve, her voice shaking and almost a whisper when she replied, "I accept the bargain."

The imp grinned and handed her the blade, its voice triumphant, "Good, good. I knew you would see reason. The two who must die are your employers. They slumber now in bed. Go, go quickly, and I shall spare you."

Serephel gripped the dagger hard, her knuckles white as she nodded and rose unsteadily from the bed. She braced herself on the bedpost for a moment before she was steady enough to walk, fighting off another coughing fit that would give her away. The imp disappeared, but she could sense it near, like a lingering malice in the air.

She pushed open her bedroom door, walking softly down the corridor where the servants slept. The estate was quiet, those inside believing they were sheltered from the horrors out in the countryside, never knowing that she lurked in their midst bearing the plague. She padded barefoot down the stone corridor, making her way deeper into the estate. The guards were not present; they had been assigned to watch the gates to prevent any undead from entering the grounds and it was easy enough for Serephel to make her way to the quarters of her employers.

The door to their bedchambers was unlocked, and she pushed it open quietly, standing in the darkness and straining her eyes to see. Two forms lay together on a huge bed, their limbs intertwined as they slept peacefully in an embrace. The young Lord of the estate and his wife, newly married just months before the outbreak of the plague.

Serephel hesitated as she watched them sleep. Here were two people that had treated her well. They had provided her with employment, with food and a place to stay and a stipend to spend on herself. They had not been cruel to her, had not shown themselves deserving of the fate that she would deliver upon them. They slept in innocence, their love for one another plain to see in their embrace; an embrace she would make their last one.

She could feel the imp beside her, invisible, almost coaxing her on. It need not have bothered, for she could feel another fit of coughing about to come on, could feel the fever burning in her veins. She had no time, no options left. She had to do what she had to do to survive.

She closed the door softly behind her, determination setting in. She walked across the room with purpose, her bare feet making not a sound on the plush carpets on the floor. She loomed over the couple, knowing that she was about to commit murder and knowing she had no other choice. She could feel the imp's glee as she brought the dagger up, her arm hesitating one final time.

The blade plunged down, into the lord's back first. He cried out only once, and only feebly as the blade went deep into his heart, his blood pouring from his open mouth. Beside him the lady of the house stirred, her eyes wide in shock and horror as she saw her beloved die. She brought a hand up, a scream coming from her lips as Serephel climbed onto the bed and brought the bloody dagger up again.

"Why?! Please Light don't do this! Why are you doing this?!" the woman begged.

Serephel did not answer. Instead she plunged the blade down and into the woman. The first strike missed her heart, instead striking her in the neck. Serephel struck again and again, blood flying from the woman's wounds until finally the black metal struck her heart, ending her feeble screams once and for all. In that moment, the blade dissolved, turning into a puff of black smoke and blowing away as if on a foul wind.

Behind Serephel, the imp reappeared, the grin on its face almost fixed there as it watched the young servant girl begin to cough fitfully, her blood mixing with that of the lord and lady she'd just slain. For a moment, Serephel could not catch her breath, her coughing seemingly endless, her life flashing before her eyes as death neared. She recovered after a time, just barely, and glared at the imp, her voice hoarse, "I have done my part of the bargain. Where now, is your contribution?"

The creature laughed at her, and her mouth hung open in shock as it mocked her, pointing at her and dancing from one foot to another. In a flash it turned into a burning green fire, the force rushing up and into the air, closing the distance between them before Serephel could react. Pouring into her open mouth and down her throat, flowing into her body, into her blood.

At first, it was pleasure like she had never felt. It was energy, power, renewed life flowing through her veins. She writhed on the blood soaked bed amongst the corpses, feeling the fel power coarse through her body, burning away the plague, burning away her fear of death in a second. And then the heat grew, the flames within her a searing fire that mixed pain with pleasure and made her arch her back and scream up at the ceiling as it burned her to her very soul. Her eyes glowed green and flames spurted from her mouth, her scream falling silent as the last of the illness was seared from her flesh.

And then it was over, Serephel's limp form falling onto the bed, a puff of smoke exiting her mouth as she exhaled, a smile playing over her lips. For she knew in that moment that she had been cured, that her health had been restored. The bargain was sealed; she would live through the plague, her life was her own.

If only it were to be that easy.

*******************************************************

*Stormwind City, present day.*

Serephel sat at a table in the small cafe, a travel journal in front of her in which she made a few notes. Wearing a simple dress and sturdy boots meant for walking long distances, she little resembled the young serving girl that had been through so much all those years ago. If not for the pock-marks that dotted her skin here and there, there would be no indication that she had ever set foot in Lordaeron or seen any hint of plague in her life.

She finished writing, reaching down to grip the handle of a cup of hot chocolate and bringing it to her lips. She sipped it slowly, the warm heat of the liquid running down within her and warming her inside. She set the cup down, reading over her notes before beginning to write another line in the journal.

The coughing fit came suddenly and unexpectedly, as they always did. One moment she was writing, the next she was doubled over, sounding to all the world like she'd had the worst chest cold of all time. She coughed miserably into the sleeve of her dress, flushing pink with embarrassment as the others in the cafe stared at her. After a time her coughing subsided, and they looked away and back to their own business.

Serephel sighed, looking down at her sleeve, her eyes taking in the sight of three drops of fresh blood on the white fringe that made up the end of the garment. A sight she had become all too familiar with over the years as the death she had avoided in Lordaeron stalked her still.

She would need to heal herself soon, to re-energize her body lest it succumb to the fate that had been allotted to it. She would need a source of demonic energy and, as always, would need to absorb that source even if it meant summoning and killing a very live, very angry demon and potentially corrupting herself further.

Such was life, for if she failed to do so, she would surely perish and face the consequences that her acts had wrought for her. For Serephel, there was only darkness ahead, unless she could keep it from her eternally.

Such was her damnation.

A New Cycle

The Draenei shaman eased herself into a chair beside the small writing desk that was included with the room she'd rented for the evening, carefully tucking her tail out of the way so as not to whack it against anything (a lesson she had learned from numerous encounters with human furniture in the past!). With a smile, she pulled out an old worn pouch that clattered as she placed it gently on the desk. Beside it she set down a worn, battered old journal that was bound with a bit of twine. Carefully she undid the tie, opening the journal and flipping past pages that were covered with neat rows of script written in the Draeneic language. Finding a fresh page, Mariskka grabbed a quill and ink from the desk and began to jot some notes down.

Tonight was a very interesting night! I encountered two humans in one of the many inns within Dalaran. When I looked more closely, I noted that one of the two had a mechanical construct that was familiar to me. To my surprise, it was the very same one that had been described to me long ago by a mutual friend, Olow Domin. 

I stopped to speak to the woman, and it was as if the elements themselves wished for this to occur, for she was indeed the same woman that Olow had mentioned. She had known him as well, and in all the world it seemed we two had this in common. I have traveled many places, and across many worlds, but the chances of meeting someone whom I share such a connection with is incredibly low given all that my people have been through.

I performed a reading both for this woman, Ilhedith Knox as well as her guide, Kaiden. I think they enjoyed the readings, and the elements gave them good fortunes if I am any judge. Those two will do something important together, BE something important if my guess is correct. Neither of them have yet to fulfill their true destiny, and when they do it will be a great boon to all I am sure.

Ilhedith was very nice to me, and she even said she would speak to me again soon. It is strange to think that I could befriend one of the humans, for their lives are like a passing dream to the many years I have seen, and yet even if her life is like the quick burning of a candle it will burn like the brightest flame I believe. I have learned from my travels not to reject such an offer, for every moment is to be treasured and can enrich your life, your experiences. Who knows, perhaps this is the beginning of something new then, a new Cycle. As with all new beginnings, I will embrace this and see where the road leads me. I cannot fear the Cycle's end or I may potentially miss the most important moments of my life. 

With a sigh and a smile, Mariskka set the quill down and closed the journal. She reached out and took up the worn pouch, turning it over and dumping its contents onto the desk. A number of clear glass cubes that contained sealed water within them tumbled to the desk's surface, each inscribed on the sides with runes in the Draenei tongue. Gently Mariskka picked three of the cubes up and held them in her palm, her eyes closing as a warm blue glow leaked out from between her fingers. She tossed the cubes down, watching them tumble across the desk and finally come to a stop, three runes glowing on their surface showing her own fortune.

Destiny. Disaster. Family.

One of the shaman's eyebrows perked up as she read the runes, surprise crossing her features briefly. She rarely read her own fortune, for it was far easier to interpret the threads of the future when one's own interests and desires didn't interfere with the process. And yet...

"Is destiny to be preventing disaster, protecting family," Mariskka said aloud in Common. "Am not having family, so...vhat is meaning? Is destiny to find family and be protecting from disaster? Is disaster if am having family and is being destiny? Bah! This is vhy am not reading for self, yes!"

With a laugh she shook her head and looked away from the runes for a moment before reaching down to scoop them up. When she did, she paused in stark astonishment, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the runes before her.

Every single cube now showed the symbol for family on every face, even though it only should appear once on one of the nine cubes she had in the pouch. With wide eyes, Mariskka leaned forward and picked up one of the cubes, staring hard at it. The water within it glowed brightly for a moment, and all of the symbols faded from the surfaces except the one that had first shown, Family. 

With a shrug, she reached down and gathered up the other cubes, shoving them back into the worn pouch and not trying to think very hard about it any further. Fortune telling was a difficult business at best, and taking it too seriously would only give one a headache!

As she set the pouch aside and went to go get some sleep, she never noticed that she had accidentally shoved a crystal she used to magically communicate with others into the pouch as well. She never saw the warm glow from the magical fortune telling cubes as those in contact with the crystal pulsed again with the same rune for Family, as if to point towards the importance of those she would speak with through the device.

Mari and the Mogu

The wizened old Pandaren brought the quill across the page in one final stroke, ending the movement with a flourish as he finished the scroll he was working on. With a satisfied sigh, he set the quill down and removed the weights from the corners of the scroll, picking it up before it began to roll and could smear the ink.

As he turned, he saw a dozen eyes watching him eagerly, and he smiled and rose from his chair, holding the scroll out before him. Pandaren children as well as a few older Pandaren watched him with smiles on their faces, several looking at him expectantly.

"Have you come to hear the first reading then?" the old Pandaren lorewalker asked with a laugh. "Very well then! Sit, please, all of you, and I shall tell you the tale of Mari and the Mogu."

As his audience settled down, the lorewalker brought the scroll up before him, his voice steady as he read from it.

Long ago, our lands were hidden away by the mists, the world itself growing to become but a dim memory as we focused on our own people, our own way of life. Then, after centuries, the mists finally parted, and the outsiders came amongst us. 

The outsiders were of many shapes and sizes, many walks of life. Some were fierce warriors, come to our lands to do battle with one another. Others were healers, teachers, and scholars, come to learn of our lands and culture. Regardless of who or what they were, we opened our doors and our homes to them. We taught them of ourselves, and shared with them our tales of wonder. 

They would pass through our village, always on their way to another place or this or that battle. Always in a hurry, and never tarrying long. It was because of this, and some say because of the arrival of the outsiders, that an ancient evil awoke near this very village. Even as strangers walked amongst us, so too did the Mogu stir, sending their emissaries across all of Pandaria.

Many of the listeners began to boo or hiss at this, and the lorewalker merely laughed and shook his head, "Please! Let me finish! The story has only begun my friends!" The crowd settled and he held the scroll up once more, beginning to read aloud again.

The first we heard of the Mogu was when the terrible warriors surrounded our dwelling. Made of terracotta, they were things of legend. Earth and clay given life by stolen spirits and forced to obey the Mogu beyond death itself. They terrified us, their silent, grim faces promising doom to any who dared to disobey. The Mogu who lead them was a fierce warlord, and had his own mystical adviser with him as he stood on a rise overlooking our humble village, loudly proclaiming his lordship over us. He would make us serve, and thus we were his vassals.

Long did we tarry for him, gathering gold and food, knowing all the while that his silent warriors waited for us in the forests just beyond our homes if we dared to disobey. He grew rich and fat while we grew thin and hungry. The outsiders still came to our village now and then, but now we hid away from them, our doors barred until they left; for what would the Mogu do to them if he found them? They would be slain, and it would have been our hospitality that killed them.

This all changed on the night when Mari came to us. Months had passed, and many had begun to despair at our fate. It was late in the day when she arrived, and as was our habit we scrambled to bar our doors and shutter our windows for fear that she would stay.

She was an oddity, even amongst the outsiders, with hooves instead of feet and horns on her head. We would have thought her a demon, if not for her merry greetings as she knocked on each door, looking for someone, anyone to come and talk to her. We dared not, for her fate would be terrible if she stayed.

She was not discouraged, this sprite from the world beyond. Instead of leaving, she decided that we were simply all not home at the same time, and sat in the center of our village. She built a little cooking fire, and sang a song to herself in a language none of us knew. We dared not leave our homes, yet dread grew in our hearts as we heard her merry song, knowing that she was in grave danger.

By the time we gathered the courage to act, it was too late. The ground thundered with the sound of terracotta warriors as they marched into the village, more than a dozen of them surrounded the creature, weapons raised. We peered through cracks in our barricades, watching in horror at what our fear had wrought.

"Surrender to us, and become a slave!" the warriors shouted!

"Are being made of earth!" the hapless creature replied with a smile.

"You will die a thousand deaths this night!" the warriors roared, all charging her at once.

Our eyes closed, our hearts heavy as they converged on her. And then, they simply fell apart, their terracotta bodies cracking as they dissolved, leaving nothing more than a pile of earth where they had stood. In the air their spirits danced, free at last from their master's grasp, and with a great sigh and a pulsing light they were gone.

Our hearts grew light, this outsider had destroyed the warriors somehow! Our windows opened and our doors were unbarred, our village pouring out with great cheering amongst us. And the creature, Mariskka she called herself, simply smiled and laughed and celebrated with us, even though she did not know our cause for joy. She said she was a Draenei, a being from far away and long ago, and we cared not about such details for the moment because she had saved us.

A feast was declared, and all the village began to prepare, Mari's little cooking fire becoming a larger community effort. Ale barrels were tapped, and our finest foods that we had hidden from our Mogu tormentor were taken out and soon the entire village smelled of delicious food and echoed with joyous laughter.

Those listening to the story cheered at this, and the lorewalker chuckled lightly to himself before he continued reading.

But our joy was not to last, for the Mogu's mystic soon was spotted at the edge of the village, making his way towards our feasting. Lightning flashed in his hands and in the air around him, and all in the village drew back, terrified once more. He approached our honored guest, pointing at her and yelling loudly, "You will pay for defying the master!"

Our brave, sweet champion waggled her finger at him, scolding him as she spoke, "Lightning is being dangerous! Being more careful please! Vill be hitting people vith that!"

The mystic's eyes widened, rage claiming him as was the habit of the Mogu. He waved his hands in the air, chanting and shouting, lightning building all around him. Mari, whom some now call Mari the Brave, stood calmly near the fire, her wrist moving as she dropped a small stone on the ground.

Lightning forked from the hands of the mystic, and we all cried out in despair for our poor champion. And yet, when we dared open our eyes, she stood unharmed, the little stone she had dropped having caught the lightning. She bent down, picking it up as if the check on the lightning before tucking it away and shaking her head. She reached into her pouch again, digging for another stone and accidentally dropping one with an 'Oops!'.

The mystic stormed towards her, his eyes blazing with fury as he snatched up the little stone she had dropped. She shook her head and said, "Do not be touching! Vas not meaning to drop that!"

The mystic laughed, greed in his voice as he sneered at her, "This is mine now. Your power is mine and you will suffer at my hands!"

He held the stone out before him, and it glowed, air gushing through it as it sparkled with lightning. He opened his mouth to speak again, and the little stone exploded, blackening his cloths and burning his flesh. He opened his eyes, soot staining him and little fires dancing on his robes before tumbling backwards. When he landed, his breath left him in a puff of smoke.

"Am being sorry!" Mari the Brave replied. "Vas being, how you say, not right one!"

Again the village cheered, our people collecting the mystic and carrying him out into the forest where we left him to sleep off the effects of the explosion. More food was brought forth, and more beer until it was set to be a feast the likes of which we had never seen.

It was then that the Mogu himself came, his thunderous tread announcing his presence ahead of his arrival. We cowered before him as he towered over us, lightning flashing in his eyes, "I am the emissary of the Thunder King. I am one of His chosen ones, and you are slaves to His will. How dare you defy me? How dare you think to hide from Him your riches?"

Fear filled the air, our people once again knowing the yoke of slavery. Our celebration died in that moment, and all cowered away from the Mogu except our visitor. She merely stood by her fire, watching the delicious food cook and shaking her head, "Am not being slave silly, am being Mariskka! Vas telling others this, but are not listening yes? Are being, how you say, not smart."

The Mogu roared at this, stamping his feet and making the very earth shake. He stormed towards our guest of honor, towering over her and yelling down into her face, "YOU DARE TO SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A WAY? YOU ARE AS AN ANT, AND I WILL CRUSH YOU! THESE LANDS AND ALL THAT ARE IN THEM SERVE THE THUNDER KING, AS WILL YOU PUNY THING! ONCE YOU ARE BROKEN THAT IS!"

And with that, he kicked over the feast, the meat falling into the fire and catching ablaze. Mari the Brave watched it, her mouth open in shock. She looked around, seeing as if for the first time how thin we were, how wretched. That he had destroyed some of our food made a tear glisten in her eye, a single drop falling onto the flame. It sizzled there, water meeting fire, her mourning for us made manifest.

The Mogu opened his mouth to gloat over her sadness, when the fire roared up beside her. It curled in the air, cracking like a thousand storms, forming into a shape that had two arms and a body and a very fearsome face. The cooking fire had become a creature of flame, towering over even the Mogu. It reached out, caressing Mari the Brave's face as if to comfort her, and though it was made of flame, she did not burn but continued to look at us sadly.

The Mogu roared, lightning flying from his hands and striking the flames. But lightning does little to fire, and the creature turned its attention from trying to comfort our dear friend Mari to the Mogu that was trying to destroy it. It roared higher, flames as bright as daylight before it crashed down upon the Mogu.

In a moment it was over, the creature burned away to nothing, the flames receding again and once more becoming a cooking fire. Mari the Brave stood beside it, looking at us sadly even as we stared in awe at the burned spot on the ground where the Mogu had once stood.

And then the cheers brought our guest to life, her smile returning as we crowded around her in celebration. In that moment, her sorrow for us was forgotten, and our preparations for our feast resumed. She had freed us from the Mogu, and for that we would throw her the largest banquet the town had ever seen, our hunger sated at last, and our fears conquered.

The lorewalker smiled, lowering the scroll as those listening applauded. He began to carefully roll it up, preserving it as a history record for his town. He had embellished the tale a bit, but it was true enough, and though he was old he could not recount a time when he had been happier, and it was all thanks to their friend, Mari the Brave, whom he had immortalized in his tale.