Heavy Heart, Darkened Soul
Posted: Wed Oct 28, 2009 8:28 am
The Slaughtered Lamb. There couldn't be a more fitting name for a place in all of Azeroth, Arrens thought to himself. His buzzbox had just been turned off. He couldn't handle it anymore. Too much had happened tonight; too many words that had been left unsaid were now in the open, unable to be taken back. And he...felt relieved.
He sat at the bar, a heavy, foamy mead in the glass before him. The bartender, Jarel, stood watching him warily while cleaning a glass that hadn't seen fresh water since the Third War. "M' thinkin' ya might wanna take it easy there, professor. Ya look like you've had quite a bit already." Arrens looked up, his finest robes still shining even in the din of this run down hole. He picked up his glass and proceeded downstairs without saying a word.
"I love you, Rosie."
The words he had spoken echoed in his mind. He had not meant to say it, of course. He had not meant to say the one thing he knew she would be afraid of. But she had practically begged him, pleaded to him to tell her what was on his mind. So he told her. He told her the words that had been on his mind for the past week, consequences be damned. She had a right to know. And he had a right to not keep his tongue in check simply out of fear.
He descended further down into the darker recesses of the basement, a place few knew about and even fewer came. He thought of the words again, those four simple words reverberating in his head and getting louder every time. He was relieved he said them. He was happy to get them off of his chest.
Why, then, was he so angry?
He knew the answer to that as well.
"I love you, Rosie."
She whimpered.
He had hurt the one person in this world he could truly say he loved.
Further he went down until, finally, there were no more steps to travel. Only empty catacombs and the occasional rat were to be seen here. It was perfect. He would take his anger out down here; his anger at himself, at the whole fel-damned situation...
His anger at Rosie.
She wouldn't let him in. No matter what he tried, she still kept him at arm's length. He knew her past, or at least the important parts. At least, he thought he did. He knew she'd been hurt, both physically and mentally. But she also admitted to knowing that he would never do that to her, could never to that to her. So why the FUCK wouldn't she let him in?!
Without thinking, he opened a demonic portal. Shaaroon stepped through, his glistening axe at the ready for whatever dangers might harm his master. Arrens spoke a few words in demonic and suddenly, Shaaroon was on fire. The felguard didn't say a word, just stood there. The bond between master and minion would not allow him to attack, no matter the amount of pain inflicted. Arrens spoke more words, the old lessons of his mentor Briarthorn second-nature now. Were the demon less hearty and more humanlike, it would surely be dead as spell after dangerous spell was flung at it.
Taking a breath, Arrens dismissed the felguard and quickly summoned him back, appearing no worse for the wear. He repeated the process several times, his frustration not waning despite the sweat he had built up.
He spoke demonic once more, a summoning portal again appearing before him. Instead of the demon appearing and the portal immediately closing, Arrens allowed it to shut most of the way, but left the remaining bit open. This would allow him to slay any of the minor demons that came through while sparing the need to take a break to open it back up. The sweat would do him good, he thought.
Shadow bolts flew and magical, damning fire fell from the ceiling, bodies of demons soon starting to pile up on the floor. Arrens' mind wandered once more.
What would she have me do. Ignore her? Ignore myself? Dammit!
He side-stepped to dodge the attack of an approaching imp who fell to fire in short order.
I should have stayed in the school tonight. I should have finished up preparations for tomorrow's classes.
Another demon came. He side-stepped this one as well, but his foot grazed over the portal that he had left open. Arrens felt the dark energy course through his veins, the temperature in his body rising steadily. Too late, he cast a ward to protect himself from the shadowy energy. His hands began to change, dark claws extending from his fingertips. The shadows enveloped his arms, travelling around his torso, down to his legs and, finally, up to his head.
Another imp charged him, a firebolt forming on its fingers. The dark claws that Arrens saw snatched the demon around the neck, squeezing. With a flick of the thumb, the demon's head was torn clean off its body, the broken husk left to drop on the floor before another imp came through.
One by one, the process was repeated, words of magic unnecessary, the shear strength of the warlock/demonic entity more than enough to dispatch what crawled through the portal. Eventually, it was enough.
____________________________________
Arrens woke early the next morning on the cold, damp floor of the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb. His hands were scratched, claw marks from imps evident upon them. He glanced around expecting to see devastation and destruction that he himself had wrought. Instead, there was nothing. The demonic entities summoned had all but disappeared, as had the opened portal he had left. His last memories of the night were of seeing the claws appear before him, more frightened than he could ever remember.
And of Rosie, his one true love.
He sat at the bar, a heavy, foamy mead in the glass before him. The bartender, Jarel, stood watching him warily while cleaning a glass that hadn't seen fresh water since the Third War. "M' thinkin' ya might wanna take it easy there, professor. Ya look like you've had quite a bit already." Arrens looked up, his finest robes still shining even in the din of this run down hole. He picked up his glass and proceeded downstairs without saying a word.
"I love you, Rosie."
The words he had spoken echoed in his mind. He had not meant to say it, of course. He had not meant to say the one thing he knew she would be afraid of. But she had practically begged him, pleaded to him to tell her what was on his mind. So he told her. He told her the words that had been on his mind for the past week, consequences be damned. She had a right to know. And he had a right to not keep his tongue in check simply out of fear.
He descended further down into the darker recesses of the basement, a place few knew about and even fewer came. He thought of the words again, those four simple words reverberating in his head and getting louder every time. He was relieved he said them. He was happy to get them off of his chest.
Why, then, was he so angry?
He knew the answer to that as well.
"I love you, Rosie."
She whimpered.
He had hurt the one person in this world he could truly say he loved.
Further he went down until, finally, there were no more steps to travel. Only empty catacombs and the occasional rat were to be seen here. It was perfect. He would take his anger out down here; his anger at himself, at the whole fel-damned situation...
His anger at Rosie.
She wouldn't let him in. No matter what he tried, she still kept him at arm's length. He knew her past, or at least the important parts. At least, he thought he did. He knew she'd been hurt, both physically and mentally. But she also admitted to knowing that he would never do that to her, could never to that to her. So why the FUCK wouldn't she let him in?!
Without thinking, he opened a demonic portal. Shaaroon stepped through, his glistening axe at the ready for whatever dangers might harm his master. Arrens spoke a few words in demonic and suddenly, Shaaroon was on fire. The felguard didn't say a word, just stood there. The bond between master and minion would not allow him to attack, no matter the amount of pain inflicted. Arrens spoke more words, the old lessons of his mentor Briarthorn second-nature now. Were the demon less hearty and more humanlike, it would surely be dead as spell after dangerous spell was flung at it.
Taking a breath, Arrens dismissed the felguard and quickly summoned him back, appearing no worse for the wear. He repeated the process several times, his frustration not waning despite the sweat he had built up.
He spoke demonic once more, a summoning portal again appearing before him. Instead of the demon appearing and the portal immediately closing, Arrens allowed it to shut most of the way, but left the remaining bit open. This would allow him to slay any of the minor demons that came through while sparing the need to take a break to open it back up. The sweat would do him good, he thought.
Shadow bolts flew and magical, damning fire fell from the ceiling, bodies of demons soon starting to pile up on the floor. Arrens' mind wandered once more.
What would she have me do. Ignore her? Ignore myself? Dammit!
He side-stepped to dodge the attack of an approaching imp who fell to fire in short order.
I should have stayed in the school tonight. I should have finished up preparations for tomorrow's classes.
Another demon came. He side-stepped this one as well, but his foot grazed over the portal that he had left open. Arrens felt the dark energy course through his veins, the temperature in his body rising steadily. Too late, he cast a ward to protect himself from the shadowy energy. His hands began to change, dark claws extending from his fingertips. The shadows enveloped his arms, travelling around his torso, down to his legs and, finally, up to his head.
Another imp charged him, a firebolt forming on its fingers. The dark claws that Arrens saw snatched the demon around the neck, squeezing. With a flick of the thumb, the demon's head was torn clean off its body, the broken husk left to drop on the floor before another imp came through.
One by one, the process was repeated, words of magic unnecessary, the shear strength of the warlock/demonic entity more than enough to dispatch what crawled through the portal. Eventually, it was enough.
____________________________________
Arrens woke early the next morning on the cold, damp floor of the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb. His hands were scratched, claw marks from imps evident upon them. He glanced around expecting to see devastation and destruction that he himself had wrought. Instead, there was nothing. The demonic entities summoned had all but disappeared, as had the opened portal he had left. His last memories of the night were of seeing the claws appear before him, more frightened than he could ever remember.
And of Rosie, his one true love.