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Birth of Hatred Index (Completed)
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Post by
Skreeran
See before.
******
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 1
Dag’rema stood there, shaking in shock and joy and terror and shame and relief. There, before her, lay her mother, Kal’rema, in an ever-growing pool of blood. Dag’rema dropped the knife to the floor and fell to her knees sobbing.
There she remained for several minutes, her tears mixing with her mother’s blood as she cried and cried. Finally she stood, still shaking from the adrenaline rush and shock of the act she had just committed. She looked back down at her mother, a startled expression still on the corpse’s face. The throat was cut wide open in several places, all clumsy in their execution. The blood had stopped flowing now, for the most part, but it still covered the bed and the floor and saturated the dead warlock’s clothing. Dag’rema bit back another sob as she pulled the blood-stained sheet over her mother’s face.
She had to escape. The orcs were already wary of spies and were precious few in number without the addition of murder. With Orgrim Doomhammer as Warchief, she’d most certainly be executed immediately if they found out what she did. They didn’t understand what she had been through. How much she had needed to do what she had. They didn’t understand at all. They’d been imprisoned like animals, but she had been forced through hell. She had to get away.
She was about to leave the tent and run when she had an idea. Doomhammer hated warlocks. Perfect. She could use that. Kneeling back down, she dragged her finger through the pool of blood and quickly began drawing runes all over the body, the tent, the clothes, anything she could see. She placed the dagger in the body’s hand and forced it to cling onto it. Now all that remained was the blood on her fingers. She looked around, trying to determine what to do. She could not rub it off. It would leave a stain. At last, seeing no alternative, she took a deep breath and licked the blood from her fingers.
The coppery taste of blood was not foreign to her. She had had the stuff forced down her throat many times. She hated it. She hated the taste and the stickiness and the color and the smell. And yet she had been forced to swallow it more times than she could count as part of this ritual or that.
Finally, her ruse was set. She stepped outside, feigned horror, and called the guards. The Grunts looked inside and didn’t know what to make of it. Eventually, the Warchief himself was summoned over to give his judgment.
“Hmmm… That one was a warlock, right?” Doomhammer asked grimly, gesturing to the body. One of the Grunts nodded. “Then I think I’ve seen enough. Burn the body. I don’t want whatever foul purpose she killed herself for to come to fruition.” The Grunts nodded and carried the body away to be burned, and Doomhammer returned to his business.
Dag’rema finally exhaled. She was free.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 2
Dag’rema shivered in the corner of her tent. It was not from cold, for the new land of Durotar was quite warm. No, she needed something.
She needed magic.
It had been nearly two years since she had killed her mother and renounced warlockism. She had attempted to simply quit altogether, but found it to be nearly impossible. Once the cravings came, she could only resist for so long. Sooner or later, she had to give in.
She closed her eyes and tried to make the longing go away, but couldn’t think of anything else for very long.
Squeak.
Her eyes snapped open to find a small rat nibbling on a crust of bread nearby. She stared at it for more than a minute, and it at her. At last, she couldn’t take it anymore, and her arm flashed out, quickly catching up the rodent.
She could feel it writhing in her grasp as she drained it. She pulled every last scrap of life from its small body, moaning with miserable pleasure as she did.
Finally, she fell back, defeated, and began to cry. She angrily hurled the dead rodent out of the door of her tent, before returning to her self-loathing. She hated herself. She hated being a warlock. She hated her mother for making her this way.
She contemplated killing herself. She didn’t want to live this way. She couldn’t live this way.
“No,” she muttered to herself, still teary-eyed. “I need help. There must be someone who can help.”
She stood and exited her tent, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She had to find someone who could help. She looked around, seeking a shaman. Many of the shaman had once been warlocks. Perhaps they could help. There was one in particular that she knew, Garg Blackblood, a shaman from her own clan, the Blackrock. He’d know what to do.
She looked through the budding city of Orgrimmar, finally spotting him near the Great Hall.
“Garg…” she muttered, moving close to him. “I need help…” she whispered pathetically.
“This I know, child,” the shaman nodded. “It is good that you have finally chosen to come to me.”
“Can you help me?” Dag’rema pleaded, wiping her eyes again.
“I will try,” Garg answered. “Come with me.”
Dag’rema followed the shaman into a cave in the back of the city, where a hot spring bubbled quietly.
“Sit,” Garg commanded, himself sitting cross-legged by the pool. Dag’rema obeyed, feeling rather unsettled as she sat down. The shaman busied himself with the crushing of various strange smelling herbs in an earthen cup, finally filling the cup from the steaming pool. “Drink.”
Dag’rema hesitated for a moment, before taking the cup and drinking deep. The taste was bitter and hot as it went down, and she couldn’t help but cough. The shaman waited anxiously, looking Dag’rema in the eyes through his wolf mask. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.
“Hmm…” he muttered with a sigh. “It is as I feared. You are not destined to be a shaman.”
“Then what do I do? How do I handle… this?” she asked despairingly.
“There is not much I can do,” Garg sighed. “The Need requires great spiritual strength to overcome. Many warlocks were once shaman, and were able to find peace by returning to that path. It is a shame that you took up this cup without the gift of Shamanism.”
“I didn’t take it up!” Dag’rema snapped, her voice cracking slightly. “I never wanted this!”
“Calm yourself, my child,” Garg answered, raising his hand calmly. “There may still be hope. There are some among the Darkspear tribe that are learned in the ways of arcane magic. Those who have taken that path know the same thirst that you possess, but slake it in a less destructive way. Seek them out, and you may save yourself.”
“I’ll try,” Dag’rema nodded. “I just hope that they can help me.”
“I hope so too,” Garg sighed, watching Dag’rema leave. “I hope it is not too late, my child.”
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 3
Dag’rema walked slowly, looking at the strange looking trolls in the Valley of Spirits. One of them could help her, or so she had been told.
“Who you be?” a voice asked.
Dag’rema looked up to see a massive troll towering over her, blocking out the sun.
“I am Dag’rema,” she answered meekly. “I s-seek to become a mage.”
“Hehe,” the troll chuckled turning to some other trolls that were crouching nearby. “Ya ‘ear dat? Liddle orky wanna behcum a mage,” he laughed, turning back to the small orc before him. “Listen ta Gan’ji, liddle orky: go back ta ya own people. Ya orkies ain’t got no biznis playing in da arcane.”
“I have to,” Dag’rema answered flatly. “I don’t know what else to do otherwise.”
“Cumeer,” the troll beckoned, slouching over to look into the orc’s eyes. “Hmmm… Dis be some bad juju ‘ere. Ya got evil spirits behind ya eyes, mon. Joo be sum kinda wahlock a sumtin’?”
“I was a warlock, yes,” Dag’rema answered with a sigh. “But not by choice! I need help. The shaman said I might become a mage to find release.”
“Hmmm…” the trolled pondered, tapping his tusk thoughtfully. “Mehbe. Mehbe Gan’ji ken make you learn. But it ain’t gunna be easy, mon. We’ve tried learnin’ ya kind befo’. Ya always tink dat joo know betta. Ah joo willin’ ta learn, mon?”
“Of course,” Dag’rema nodded enthusiastically. “Anything to make the hunger stop.”
Gan’ji let out another hearty chuckle and rested his hand on Dag’rema’s shoulder.
“Da ‘unger neva gunna stop, mon,” he laughed. “Ya jus’ gunna ‘ave ta get used ta dat. But ah ken show ya betta ways ta feed it. Come wit’ me.”
Dag’rema gulped and followed.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 4
Dag’rema wiped her brow and returned to her tent. Mage training had been taxing, both mentally and physically. She was not easily taking to the training. It was hard, stressful, and worse, the stress made her crave the Fel even more.
Still, she had pressed on. She had battled her hunger and done the work. She was slowly unlearning her lifelong habits of warlockism and tediously replacing them with a foundation of safe magery. Frost hadn’t been too difficult to get used to, but fire was where she was struggling. So often she would instinctively call upon warlock flame, and she had had to work very hard just to make the fundamentals of arcane fire take root.
She lay on her mat, sweating, and wished that she could fall asleep. Soon the pangs would come. Every night they came. She felt like she was starving to death. It made her body ache, and she feared it would drive her mad. So many nights she had spent lying awake, knowing nothing but pain, until she finally succumbed to lack of sleep.
Even in dreams she knew no peace. Her dreams were haunted by blood and suffering. Things she had done and seen throughout her life... Visions of dead animals plagued her, and ever she heard her mother’s voice taunting her.
Some things she was even sure that she hadn’t seen in waking life. Strange blue figures screaming in pain as Fel flames enveloped them. Children younger than her with their throats cut. Not only did she fear the dreams themselves, but she cringed in horror at what they might represent.
Despite that, she thought, even the dreams were preferable to the pain of being awake. Hours felt like years during the hunger pangs. She’d much prefer terror in dreams to unbearable physical pain. At least she got sleep with the dreams.
“It will get better...” she whispered to herself. “I will beat this. Mother really screwed me over, but I am stronger than that. No matter how much it hurts now, it will get better.”
She rolled over onto her side and suddenly whimpered as the first wave of pain hit.
“Well, there goes any hope of sleep,” she muttered bitterly.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 5
"You're weak."
Dag'rema looked around. She realized that she was dreaming again. Sleep deprivation had finally beaten the pain, and now she was dreaming. She sighed painfully, having heard the voice and knowing exaclty to whom it belonged.
"You will never amount to anything..." the voice continued. It was Kal'rema. Her mother. "What a failure."
"I hate you," Dag'rema answered, her violet eyes glossy with tears. "I hate what you did to me. I hate what you've forced me to be. I wish that I had never even been born."
"The feeling's mutual," Kal'rema answered, grinning. Dag'rema blinked and shook her head as Kal'rema continued. "I wanted a strong child. An heir. You're not even adequate. You are a failure."
"Better to be a failure than to be like you," Dag'rema answered, baring her fangs in hatred. "Already I'm working to be free of you forever."
"How do you hope to undo what I've done when you're so weak?" Kal'rema asked with a laugh. "How can you possibly hope to be free of me when you possess not a fraction of my power?"
"I'll do whatever I have to!" Dag'rema screamed, lunging at the apparation, but somehow not getting any closer. "I won't be weak! I'm a stronger person than you ever were."
"Prove it," Kal'rema grinned.
Dag'rema suddenly found her dream body racked by crippling pain. She screamed and woke up. It was morning.
"I'm not weak," she whispered, sobbing. "I'll prove it to you. I will beat this. I'll beat you. I'll be the strongest person in the world if I have to, but I won't let you beat me."
She stood and left her tent, shaing off the pain and preparing to go resume her training.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 6
Sweat poured down Dag'rema's face as she hurled fireball after fireball at the wooden target dummy. Very little was left, of it at this point, and it had caught fire. Gen'ji looked on, interested. He didn't want Dag'rema to tire herself out, but she really had seemed to have a new grasp on the technique, and he didn't want to break her streak.
"Hey!" a wolf rider yelled.
Dag'rema looked up angrily, a small flame still in her hand as she waited for the rude orc to explain his interruption.
"Put out that flame!" the rider yelled. "It's dry season. No one wants a wildfire because an ember flew off your burning dummy."
"Sorreh," Gen'ji chuckled, flipping the orc a gold coin. "Didna wanna stop 'er jus' yet. She was on a roll," he grinned, looking back at Dag'rema. He quickly conjured a blanket of snow to extinguish the fire, and turned back to the guard. "So wha' joo come 'ere for?" the troll asked. "Not often weh see a raida in dis paht o' da city."
"I have a message," the orc nodded, satisfied that the fire had been dealt with. "For her, actually."
Dag'rema raised an eyebrow and walked over.
"What's this about a letter?" she asked. "Who from?"
"Garg Blackblood, actually," the raider nodded. "According to him, it's news about one a recently discovered pack of orcs somewhere on the Azerothian continent. Neeka Bloodscar found 'em, Warlord Goretooth sent the report, and Blackblood wanted me to relay this to you," the raider finished, taking out a folded letter.
"I... don't understand," Dag'rema answered, taking the letter. Her eyes ran over it quickly, as her expression changed from one of confusion to one of surprise.
"What it be?" Genji asked, scratching his head.
"Apparently..." Dag'rema began, looking up at the troll, "I have a sister," she paused, blinking. "Half-sister, but if this is right, we share the same mother."
"Dat's... good?" Gen'ji nodded. "Mehbe joo ken 'elp eachudda out."
"That's a good idea," Dag'rema nodded. "I think I'll pack my things and head over there as soon as I can."
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 7
The first thing Dag'rema noted about the Badlands as she rode through on wolf-back was that they were aptly named. The land was bad. That's where the name had come from. She wiped her brow, panting. She had heard stories about Draenor that reminded her now of the area, but she couldn't imagine her people ever living long in a place like this.
The heat was the most obvious of tormentors. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun steadily baked the land as she and her group rode on. She'd found that her darker colored apprentice robes were simply too hot to wear on a journey of any real distance through this harsh land, and had found the need to pack them away in favor of simple leathers of much thinner nature.
The next most obvious problem was the lack of water. Dag'rema wanted to wet a rag to shield her head from the oven-like heat of the land, but the group barely even had enough water to drink, and they wouldn't find another well until Kargath--the settlement where her sister resided.
Lastly, and perhaps the most subtle way that the land cruelly attacked her, was the wind. The soil in this area was loose and grainy, and the furious wind whipped it up into what seemed like a solid wall of sand to those travelling the land. Many times Dag'rema's group had been forced to take a long and circuitous route just to avoid one of the large sandstorms that had formed in their path. It was not impossible to go straight through if necessary, but it was extremely uncomfortable and left soil in every place imaginable, from in the eyes to under the toenails, and with no source of water in which to bathe in sight, the sand would cause terrible chafing soon after.
Dag'rema couldn't imagine how anyone could travel through this land, let alone live in it. Not even the beasts seemed to enjoy residing in the area, and she had spotted several carcasses of desert wolves and other animal life being fought over by vultures and the few other carrion birds that could survive in the region.
She thanked the ancestors as she spotted the camp at Kargath growing in the distance. While the village hardly looked inviting, a village meant water, food, and shelter from the heat and biting wind.
As she rode in, she spotted a female figure standing and waving, a broad smile on her face and a huge rust-colored dire worg standing behind her.
"Greetings!" the woman yelled as they rode in. "Throm-ka!"
"Throm-ka!" Dag'rema yelled back, smiling as her grey wolf trotted towards the other orc. Dag'rema noted that her half-sister had black hair, unlike her own red-brown, and that she was several years older, in her early-to-mid-twenties, compared to her own eighteen.
"It is good to see you, sister!" the orc woman smiled, embracing the mage-in-training affectionately. Dag'rema sensed a brief hesitation in her half-sister as they hugged, and hoped that the smell of fel magic did not still linger on her. Her mother had trained her well in the art of hiding the fel that radiated from a warlock, but she had stopped doing so after a few weeks of mage training, believing it no longer necessary.
However, whether her sister smelled the scent of demons on her or not, the smile was still evident on her face as she drew back and led her into the village.
"I am Kitanga," the black-haired woman nodded. "Daughter of Gorn," she added.
"I am Dag'rema," Dag'rema answered, looking down at her sister's skin. It was much lighter green than one would expect from one of Blackrock parentage. She suspected that her sister had gotten her skin-tone from her father, a Burning Blade orc, while her own skin was darkened by the blood of her own Blackrock father, whom she had never known. "Daughter of no one..." she added, shaking her head slightly.
"Don't be so glum," Kitanga smiled. "There are many joys in life, and you can be quite happy in any circumstance if you choose to look for them."
Dag'rema grinned. "I suppose that is true..." she chuckled, shaking her head as she looked around the camp. "How do you live in this land? It was all I could do just to travel through it..."
"It is not easy," Kitanga shrugged. "I suppose that you just have to do what you have to in order to survive," she chuckled, patting her palm against one of the reddish clay buildings nearby. "See these mud brick homes? Those are all new. The Alliance only stopped trying to hunt us down in the last few years, and we used to have to sleep in tents so that we could move the camp if needed," she chuckled again, looking at her sister. "Between the Blackrock orcs down in the Spire, the Alliance up in Loch Modan, and the desert itself, life here has been hard, but the only other option is to lay down and die," she shrugged, still smiling. "So we grin and bear it," she paused.
She smiled and looked up at the sky. "It is a beautiful land, though," she nodded. "Beautiful and terrible, but beautiful nonetheless," she smiled softly as she looked back down to Dag'rema. "Life exists and flourishes even in these harsh lands. We do not tame the land, but adapt to it, just as the beasts do..." she nodded. "Ah, but I forget myself," she paused with a chuckle. "You must be thirsty and hot. Let us get you some water..." she smiled again, leading her younger sister over to the well.
Kitanga looked down the well and frowned, seeing nothing but mud. Dag'rema frowned as well as she peered within. "Has the well gone dry?" she asked. "What does this mean for the village?"
"No, no, not dry," Kitanga answered, lowering the pail down into the mud below. "Someone just took the last of it, is all. Happens every month or so."
Dag'rema noticed small children running over to them with glee as they noticed Kitanga standing over the well, and they stood eagerly waiting for something to happen.
"I don't understand," Dag'rema answered, looking back up from the children and down to the bottom of the well.
"You will," Kitanga smiled, closing her eyes and beginning to whisper into the depths of the empty reservoir, her half-intelligible words echoing down into its depths.
Dag'rema raised an eyebrow, wondering if her sister was mad when suddenly she heard a strange sound, not unlike a cup being filled from a pump. Suddenly, clear, pure water spilled over the edge of the well's stone walls and onto the dry ground below. Children squealed with glee as they played in the mud that was forming, and dozens of adoring eyes looked up at the black-haired orc woman.
"Thank you," Kitanga whispered to the water now filling the well. "I shall honor you again tonight, and we will waste not this gift."
She turned back to the village, where many of the older orcs stood smiling, not least of which was her father, whose pride was palpable. A few were cheering for the display.
Kitanga smiled and waved away the praise. "I only do the work of the spirits. Thank
them
for their continued blessing, not me," she smiled as she turned back to her sister.
Dag'rema's eyes were wide. She'd never thought her sister would be a shaman, of all things. She couldn't help but feel envious of the praise and love her sister was receiving, but she quickly suppressed that thought.
"Amazing..." she muttered, looking up at her sibling in admiration.
"The spirits are amazing," Kitanga nodded with a chuckle. "They amaze me every day," she added, shaking her head. "But come, drink! Surely you must be thirsty. This is the only spring for miles and miles."
Dag'rema nodded and drank deeply from the well, splashing water on her scorched skin as well.
"So," Kitanga nodded, leading the darker skinned orc into a shaded hut once the mage had finished drinking. "May we speak? There are so many thing I'd like to ask you."
"Of course," Dag'rema answered eagerly. "I'd be happy to answer your questions."
"If you don't mind my asking," Kitanga began, looking down, hoping she wasn't stepping too far, "what was it like in the internment camps? Did you have enough to eat? Were the humans unkind to you? I only ask because I heard tales of them from an early age and they always sort of... mystified me. I couldn't imagine growing up like that..."
Dag'rema felt her stomach lurch as old emotions were dragged up. "It was terrible," she shook her head. "The humans were not unkind, that I can remember, but there was never enough food. I was always hungry," she sighed, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose slightly in distaste. "And it stank. That was probably the worst part of actually living there. It stank all the time of dung and unwashed orc..." she added, spitting on the ground. "And then there was Mother..." she paused, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about her."
"Understandable..." Kitanga nodded, shuddering at her own memories of their mother. "I apologize if that was unpleasant to remember. I was merely curious..." she finished.
"Can I ask you something?" Dag'rema asked, her violet eyes staring into her sister's blue.
"By all means," Kitanga answered. "It's only fair."
"How do you deal with the withdrawal?" the orc mage asked, wincing at the thought of the aches she felt each night. "The hunger for darker energies?"
"Huh?" Kitanga asked, seeming confused. "I never feel that. Mother did try and shape me into a warlock when I was young, but I never felt any sort of hunger or withdrawal from it..."
Dag'rema was shocked. "Never?" she asked, in disbelief. "I feel it every night! Aches and pains all over my body..."
"Really?" Kitanga asked, also stunned. "I'm so sorry..." she answered. "That must be awful..."
"It is!" Dag'rema answered. "Terrible! I've been training as a mage to try and dull it, but it's not working very well."
"Well, I commend you for your effort," Kitanga nodded, patting her sister on the shoulder as they sat. "The one piece of advice that I can give you is to never, ever,
ever
let it take you back. You must never again taste the Fel. It is a slippery slope, and it will destroy you."
"Oh, I know," Dag'rema nodded, shaking her head. "I don't ever want to be what Mother was... And I swear on the ancestors, I will never go back."
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 8
Dag’rema awoke from her troubled sleep, feeling bruised and sore, but otherwise well. She had noticed a slight reduction in the severity of her withdrawal episodes in recent days. Being able to quench the thirst slightly with arcane magic helped a little, though it never went away completely.
She sat up on her thin pallet, made of a few animal hides layered on the ground, and looked out the window. The sun was lazily creeping over the horizon, and the desert was uncharacteristically quiet. Dag’rema went ahead and threw on her robes, wanting to get a drink and watch the sun rise. She liked the quiet of the morning, and it gave her some time to be alone and think.
She stepped out the door, and was surprised to see Kitanga nearby, cinching down the straps on her ruddy dire wolf.
“Oh, hello,” Dag’rema said quietly, not having expected to see her sister up so early. “What are you doing up so early?”
Kitanga chuckled and turned around, smiling to her sister. “Morning is the best time to go hunting. It’s cool and quiet and easy to find prey. Besides,” she paused, grinning, “I like the morning. It’s nice to feel the living warmth of the morning sun on your face after a night of cold darkness.”
“I suppose,” Dag’rema shrugged, filling her ceramic cup from the well and drinking. “Do you need any help?”
“You can come hunting, if you like,” Kitanga replied. “We have a lot of mouths to feed here, and one trip is rarely enough to fill them all.”
“Alright,” Dag’rema agreed, smiling at the prospect of a hunt. A hunt would give he the opportunity to flex her magical muscle and vent a little of her frustration. “Let me get my wolf.”
Kitanga nodded an climbed atop her own wolf as she waited for Dag’rema to return from the kennel.
“Alright, let’s go,” Dag’rema nodded, riding to her sister’s side.
Kitanga nodded and spurred her wolf, taking off into the desert. Dag’rema was quick to follow, drawing the hood of her cloak over her eyes in an effort to keep the dust out.
They rode for several miles, looking for any signs of prey animals in the dusty desert soil.
“So... What is Durotar like?” Kitanga asked, decided to break the silence. “From what I have heard, it sounds not much different from my home here.”
“It is certainly similar,” Dag’rema shrugged, still keeping her eyes out for any signs of life. “It is next to the sea, so it’s not quite as arid, but that’s not to say that it isn’t dry. It is a desert, but perhaps not quite as harsh as this one.”
“What about Thrall?” Kitanga asked, a shy grin on her face. “From what I’ve heard, he must be impressive.”
“You could say that,” Dag’rema shrugged. “I haven’t really met him up close, but I saw the Battle of Durnholde, and what he did there was certainly impressive. I’ve heard that he led the Horde to a resounding victory in the Battles of Hyjal and Theramore, as well.”
Kitanga smiled, but then frowned, looking conflicted, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to say something.
“What?” Dag’rema asked, noticing her sister’s confliction.
“Well, you mentioned Durnholde, and I was just curious... about what happened to Mother...” Kitanga asked, looking down quietly. “I still have nightmares sometimes. Does she live in Orgrimmar?”
"She's dead," Dag'rema answered flatly, not wanting to pursue the topic any further.
"Oh..." Kitanga answered tentatively, seemingly unsure of what to feel. "Well what happened?"
Dag’rema frowned. She didn’t want to talk about Mother. She didn’t want to think about Mother. But Kitanga had obviously suffered too, and she had a right to know.
“Well...” she began, stopping her wolf as she looked around to make sure that they were alone. “We lived in the camps for a long time, like I said before. She was very bad and made me do horrible things every day. Finally, Doomhammer and Thrall came to free us. Later that night... I...” she paused, unwanted emotions welling up inside her. “I killed her. I slit her throat and made it look like a suicide,” she finished at last, taking a deep breath. She had expected for her sister to be relieved, but was surprised to see shock and a twinge of horror in her eyes.
“You killed her? H-how could you do that?” Kitanga asked at last. “She was a living person, you can’t kill her.”
“She deserved it!” Dag’rema answered, thrown off guard by Kitanga’s reaction. “She was an evil witch that tortured us both. How can you defend her?”
“I’m not defending her,” Kitanga answered angrily. “But it’s a simple fact that killing is wrong, except for food or when your own life is threatened. It’s not our place to use it as a punishment!”
“What do you know about my place?” Dag’rema demanded, growing angry. “You were with her for four, maybe five years. You were rescued. You have a loving father who treats you well. I, on the other hand, spent my whole life with
her
. Every day was pain and misery, and there was no way out. Killing her was the only way I could escape. Who are you to judge me?”
“It doesn’t matter what she did. She was a living, breathing orc like you or me, and you killed her. That’s wrong,” Kitanga answered flatly. “It is the responsibility of the spirits to judge the actions of mortals, and to dole out punishment accordingly, not ours. By taking another life, you are playing god. And that’s dangerous.”
“I wasn’t punishing her!” Dag’rema growled back, growing angrier and angrier with her sister’s delusion. “I was doing what was necessary to save my own life. If she was still alive, I’d still be a warlock! I’d still be using Fel magic, consuming life for power!”
“You could have run away,” Kitanga suggested. “You didn’t
have
to kill her. Honestly, I’m a little disturbed at how easily you can justify that crime.”
“Bah!” Dag’rema growled, having finally had enough of the argument. “You can’t possibly understand!” she snapped, turning her wolf and spurring it off away from her sister. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she needed to be alone.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 9
Dag’rema continued to ride, not bothering to look where she was going. She was short of breath, and tears burned in the corners of her eyes, though she staunchly refused to let them flow. This whole trip was turning out to be a mistake. She had come looking for companionship... someone who understood what she’d been through and could help her cope. She had hoped to find hope here. She had believed that by seeing her sister successful and happy, she could find reassurance that she herself could get better.
Instead, she had found that fate had spited her again. Her sister was happy, but she had a father to love her, and the gift of Shamanism to turn to. She didn’t know the constant pain that Dag’rema felt. And rather than comforting her sister, she had rebuked her, having a complete lack of understanding for what Dag’rema had been through.
But Dag’rema refused to succumb to despair. Her sister might have been no help, but she would not give up. She would climb out of the pit that life had dropped her in alone, if necessary. She would--
Whack!
Dag’rema came to her senses on the ground, several feet from her wolf, which lay limp and unmoving. She shook her throbbing head and looked up, seeing a monstrous figure standing over her, a thick wooden club in its hand.
“Orc? Yum!” the ogre smiled, raising its club to deliver the killing blow. Dag’rema was quick to get to her feet, barely avoiding the gluttonous giant’s strike. She turned and hurled a fireball at its head, causing it yelp in pain, but hardly slowing its advance. “You hurt Gug! Gug kill you, meat!”
Dag’rema cursed at the ineffectiveness of her fireball and decided to try an ice missile instead. She wasn’t quite as experienced with the use of frost magic, but she hoped that it would slow the ogre long enough for her to put together a real strategy. She conjured a ball of ice magic in her hands and hurled it at her attacker, grinning as she watched frost begin to form on the beast’s skin, weighing him down and slowing his movements.
Suddenly, the ogre fell to the ground, wailing in pain. Dag’rema blinked in confusion. The frostbolt shouldn’t have been enough to fell him on its own, she was certain of that. That’s when she noticed her sister, standing behind the body, whispering a quite prayer as she sheathed her bloody axes.
“Why did you follow me?” Dag’rema asked at first, growing quite angry with her sister’s behavior.
Kitanga was about to answer, when three more ogres came barreling over the hill. Dag’rema growled and threw several fireballs at them, but her attacks proved to be mostly ineffectual. Kitanga was quick to act as well, and summoned a pair of wolf spirits from seemingly thin air, before charging into the group, axes held high.
“Looked like you needed some help,” Kitanga finally answered, striking an ogre in the thigh with her axe. “You shouldn’t have ridden off without me. It’s dangerous out here.”
“You’re not better than me!” Dag’rema roared, hurling a pyroblast at one of the ogres, finally doing a little bit of damage to the attacking creature’s chest. “I don’t need you!”
Kitanga merely grunted as she and her wolves knocked down the ogre that Dag’rema had wounded. “That’s not what I meant,” she answered between strikes. “It’s not safe to go--”
Before she could finish, Dag’rema noticed the third ogre coming up from behind the shaman, ready to bring his club down hard on Kitanga’s head. She considered using another pyroblast to hurt it, but she had no time to prepare the attack. Fireballs and frostbolts were out of the question, as they would not be enough to bring it down before it could attack.
Without thinking, she did the only thing she could. Seconds later, the ogre fell to the ground, lifeless, thin smoke rising from the corpse. Dag’rema’s eyes rolled back in her head, euphoria pervaded her every sense as the creatures life-energy coursed through her blood.
“What did you do?” Kitanga demanded, seeing the smouldering body of the ogre and smelling the unmistakable scent of Fel. “How could...”
“Shut up!” Dag’rema demanded as she became aware of the real world again. “That ogre was about to kill you. I did the only thing I--”
“You used Fel magic!” Kitanga snapped back. “I thought you promised that you’d never go back!”
“I had no choice!” Dag’rema yelled. “Would you rather I let you die?”
“That’s not the point!” Kitanga replied angrily. “Whether I lived or died, you cannot, and must not, let yourself go back! We’re both damned fortunate that we escaped that path once, and you would go back? If I didn’t know better, I would fear that you were becoming
her
.”
Dag’rema’s face went dark with hatred, and she turned away, keeping silent. “I am not her. She would not have saved your life,” she spat, walking away without listening to Kitanga’s rebuttal.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 10
Dag’rema grumbled quietly, rubbing her aching head. The euphoria that had come with her draining of the ogre had passed quickly, and now she was in full withdrawal. She paced around the cave, feeling restless and tight-wound. Sweat poured down her face, and she tried to distract herself from it. Suddenly a powerful cramp tore through her leg, and she bit her lip hard to work through the pain, feeling the familiar tang of blood in her mouth.
She sat down, determined to fight through it. She rubbed her arms, feeling painfully cold, when she happened to spot a sickly-looking bat crawling along the cave floor.
“
I shouldn't,
” she thought, turning away from it. “
It will only make the problem worse...
”
She took a deep breath and tried to relax, but was unable to concentrate as another cramp ripped through her shoulder. “
It'll be dead soon, even if I don't do anything,
” she reasoned. “
If it can't fly, it will starve, or be eaten alive by insects. Killing it is the merciful thing to do...
”
She turned, spotted the bat, and immediately pulled the life from it, letting out an audible sigh of relief as the wave of pleasure washed over her. It was a very small life, though, unlike the huge ogre, and so her pain hadn't completely vanished, and her craving wasn't yet satiated. She felt a sensation almost akin to an itch, where her body greedily demanded more of the addictive magic. Reflexively looking up, she noticed that there were hundreds of sleeping bats on the ceiling.
“
I'll just eat the old and weak ones,
” she told herself. “
That's what predators in nature do. The old and the weak eat food and don't contribute anything in return. It will be better for the population if I cull a few. Just a few.
”
She spotted a few older looking bats and began draining them, exhaling as the last of the pain faded away.
Kitanga, meanwhile, had remained outside and was leaning against a rock, looking at the dead ogre. Se hadn't seen it coming at all before Dag'rema had killed it. Was it possible that she might have been seriously injured without her sister's intervention? She couldn't help but wonder. It certainly seemed that Dag'rema had only done what she believed was necessary to save her sister's life, even after their first fight. And Kitanga couldn't think of anything else that Dag'rema could have done to stop the ogre in time. She had seen her sister casting fire and ice spells, and it was their ineffectiveness that had made her intervene in the first place.
Her sister's heart was in the right place, she decided, and she was merely misguided. With a little help, Dag'rema might be able to clean up her life and learn to cope with her addiction. Kitanga was determined to do whatever she could to help.
Standing up, she walked over to the cave where Dag'rema had entered, and entered, looking for Dag'rema. Apologizing for one's actions was an almost unthinkable thing for an orc to do, but Kitanga wanted to make peace with her sister, and if that meant humility, then so be it.
“Hello again, sister,” she began, spotting Dag'rema. “I came to apologize. I should have been more symp-”
She stopped suddenly, stricken dumb with horror as she witnessed her sister gleefully consuming soul after soul, dead bats falling to the ground in her wake. Horror quickly turned to furious anger, and she immediately charged forward, tackling Dag'rema to the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed, a murderous gleam in her eyes. Dag'rema threw her off and snarled back, pupils dilated and teeth bared.
“You don't know me!” the warlock screamed, felfire erupting from her palms and scorching the cave walls, sending what bats still remained screeching out of the cavern. “You don't know what I've suffered, what I've endured!”
“She was my mother too!” Kitanga snapped back. “I thought you could change, but clearly you do not care. You are content to remain a warlock! Mother's unrepentant apprentice!”
“Raah!” Dag'rema screamed, hatred and rage overwhelming her as she hurled a huge ball of green flame at the shaman. Kitanga roared furiously, sidestepping the burning projectile and charging at her sister.
Dag'rema growled and reached forward, seeking to burn away the shaman's spirit right then and there, but the soul wouldn't yield, despite her tugging. She grunted with pain, hitting her head on a rock as Kitanga tackled her again. The shaman's fists seemed to be covered in stone, almost like gauntlets, and Kitanga grinned as she felt a snap as her hand connected with Dag'rema ribcage.
Dag'rema hissed with pain and knocked her sister off with a shadowbolt. She uttered a few curses and smiled as Kitanga let out a shriek of pain as her body erupted in agony. The older sister managed to fight through the pain and called forth a totem of cleansing, removing the curse. She stomped at the ground, sending shudders through the cave, and whispered something to someone Dag'rema could not see. Suddenly, several large stones began to rise from the cave floor and break from the walls, assembling into something like a humanoid form and coalescing into a massive Earth elemental.
Dag'rema growled at the towering figure and let another ball of concentrated entropy fly at the monster, twisting and scorching the rock and earning a low rumbling cry from the elemental. The giant amalgam of stones cascaded forward like a landslide, picking the warlock up in a gravelly hand and hurling her into the cave wall. Dag'rema yelped as her spine awkwardly bounced off the solid stone and struggled to stand as the giant rumbled forward again.
The elemental suddenly let out a deep groan, however, as a massive stalactite fell from the roof. The groan echoed throughout the cave, growing deeper and louder as the earth shuddered, and the elemental began to collapse into its composite boulders. As it fell apart, there was a loud crack, and a deep gouge traced its way across the ceiling. Dag'rema locked eyes with her sister, an almost tangible hatred dripping from her. Then there was another loud boom, and the cave gave way.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 11
Kitanga stood shocked at the rubble in front of her. She had intended to teach her sister a lesson, but not to kill her. She had told Dag’rema that all life was precious and should not be wasted, and they had not been idle words. Dag’rema was her sister, after all, even if she was terribly misguided.
She reached out for the Spirit of the Wilds, and was relieved to find that she could still sense that her sister lived. She had to act quickly though, if it was to remain that way. If Dag’rema were trapped beneath the rubble, she would have dangerously little oxygen, and if she were injured that would further reduce her life expectancy.
Kitanga’s first instinct was to call on the Spirit of Earth to move the rubble, but when she tried, she found it to be stubborn and unwilling to move so soon after its first demonstration in the form of an Elemental. She had feared that might be the case--the elements could be fickle and unyielding--and she had to remind herself that it was the Shaman’s duty to serve the elements, not the other way around.
“Just hold on, I’m going to get help!” she shouted at the rocks, hoping that Dag’rema would hear her. Then, murmuring a quick and desperate plea to the spirits, she sprinted outside to Bloodfire, climbed atop him, and rode off in the direction of Kargath.
...
Dag’rema lay on the ground, whimpering in pain. A fallen rock had pinned her arm to the ground, and try as she might, she could not dislodge it. After another unsuccessful attempt to free her shattered limb, she fell back against the stone floor in despair. She couldn’t think, her mind a tempestuous mixture of hatred--for Kitanga; for herself; for her mother--misery, and pain, both physical and spiritual. She whimpered again, confused and hurt and wishing it would all just stop.
“
Greetings, troubled one.
”
She sniffled and looked around, but saw no one nearby.
“Who’s there?” she demanded angrily, wiping her tears away with her free hand. “Show yourself!”
“
I am a friend,
” the voice replied calmly. “
I want to help you.
”
“What can
you
do to help me?” Dag’rema hissed back, contempt dripping from her words. “You don’t know me.”
“
I know that you are pained, and that much I can solve at present,
” the voice answered, growing closer as a tall figure appeared from the shadows. He was immense, compared to Dag’rema’s slight form, and had clamy-looking pallid skin, covered in lavish-looking armor of deep-purple fabric and gold. Two long horns extended from his bald head, and a huge pair of wings were folded behind him. He approached Dag’rema and effortlessly picked up the small boulder crushing her arm. ‘“
There, is that better?
” he asked smiling sympathetically.
Dag’rema scowled with barely contained loathing and spat at the demon. “Forget it, dreadlord,” she growled, clenching her fists until her black claws drew blood. “Leave me.”
“
Oh, but I want to help you,
” the dreadlord answered with an affectionate chuckle. “
I am Diathorus, and I share your desires.
”
“What in the Nether do you know about my desires?” Dag’rema hissed again. “I desire for you to leave!”
“
You desire for an End, do you not?”
Diathorus replied with a smile. “
Or was I mistaken?
”
Dag’rema started to reply, but stopped. That is what she wanted, more than anything. She wanted it to stop. She wanted all of it--everything--to stop.
“
You want it to stop?
” the dreadlord continued, as if reading her mind. “
Everything?
”
“I... I don’t know,” Dag’rema stuttered, shaking her head angrily. “I don’t know what I want!”
“
Think about it for a moment,
” Diathorus went on. “
No more pain. No more war. No more confusion. Just simple, pure, calm oblivion. Is it not a worthy goal? My god has the power to make it so, and we want you to join us.
”
Dag’rema felt confused tears in her eyes again as she tried to think. In her heart, she longed for the vision the dreadlord gave to her. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. Nothing was peaceful. Nothing was simple. Nothing was painless. And Nothing was what she desired.
“
If you’re still unsure, I’ve been permitted to give this to you to help you decide,
” the Nathrezim grinned cunningly, producing a small violet crystal from somewhere. Dag’rema looked up into the stone with apprehension, feeling a familiar presence that made her heart race with fear and her stomach churn in disgust. Cautiously reaching out a hand, she reached out an touched it, and instantly drew back in terror.
“
Yes,
” Diathorus nodded, still grinning. “
I give her to you, to do with as you please, regardless of your decision. Think of it as a gift from friends.
”
Dag’rema inhaled deeply and reached out again, taking the soul-shard carefully. A rush of emotion flooded over her: fear, hatred, sorrow... but more than anything else was a lust for vengeance. Now
she
was in the position of torturer, and she could reenact every abuse she had ever taken upon her victim.
She clutched the stone hard, eyes closed, and seared it with felfire, grinned insanely as she was rewarded with a piteous agonized scream. "
I told you I would beat you,
" she thought, feeling a sick, wrenching pleasure in the pit of her stomach. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at the Dreadlord.
“I’ll do it,” she stated quietly at last. “I want it to End, and I will help you and your god make it End.”
“
Most excellent,
” the dreadlord chuckled, ripping open a shadowy gateway before them. “
Let me take you to the others. There are many people on our side, strong souls like you that share our vision. They will be pleased to meet you. You have great potential.
”
Dag’rema said nothing, but simply nodded and followed the demon through.
Post by
Skreeran
Chapter 7 is done! Yay! Hooray!
Post by
denjerre
Chapter 7 is done! Yay! Hooray!
Woot! Party!
Post by
Patty
She's going to be eating her words soon enough. :P
Well done on part 7 :D
Post by
Skreeran
She's going to be eating her words soon enough. :P
Well done on part 7 :DAlso, I didn't copy that female orc shaman from the comics! Bizzard copied me goddammit!
Post by
Adamsm
Heh, very nicely done man.
Post by
278900
This post was from a user who has deleted their account.
Post by
Morec0
Dag'rema: Evil in training.
My guess is: she starts to think that her sister is better then her, get's sick, leaves, goes baby-eating mad.
Post by
Skreeran
Just released Chapter 8. Gonna be working on this fic a little more to coincide with the upcoming battle with Dag'rema in Aftermath.
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