The blue light faded away, leaving Ketyru heaped on the floor of DV's detention block. She stirred feebly, unable to shake the effects of the various potions and poisons given to her at Clinic. And whatever the FEL Harmarth had sprayed her with.
DV guards rushed forward to aid her, one brave soul retrieving the note from between her breasts. Happy would pay for that later. Someone, presumably one of her Worgen bodyguards, lifted her into his arms and carried her down to the containment cells. She could hear orders being passed through the ranks, but understood nothing.
Heavy chains were placed around her waist and wrists, keeping her upright but not hanging. Runed cuffs were secured to her neck and ankles, wrists and forehead, to prevent the demon from causing further havoc. Several priests were called and Ketyru could feel their healing Light brush her consciousness. But she couldn't wake up!
Something darker brushed against her mind and she suddenly understood. Possession. A tincture of Bruiseweed and Gromsblood was poured down her throat. It burned. A lot. Somewhere in the fog she wondered where and how she'd contracted a demon.
Ketyru stood alone in the Underbelly, facing down a huge Orc assassin. Her father lay before her, dead. The rage built inside her and before she could control herself, there was nothing left of the Orc but a wisp of bloody mist in the air. The elements sang out in despair and pain.
Dark laughter rang in her ears. The memory was gone, swallowed by a growing Darkness.
She crept beneath a timber wall, pushed by weak hands. Urged onward by rasping, weary voices. "Flee!" they said. "Flee and find refuge in this strange land!" Tears streamed down her face as she looked back at her true father. His lightless eyes and tuskless snarl were the last thing she saw before she fled into the night. Alone. So alone.
And then that memory was swallowed too.
On and on the Darkness crept, like a rising tide in her mind. Ketyru let it creep on, unabated, too consumed by the raw emotions brought back by her memories to stop it, until...
"Get up!"
"Papa! I want Papa!"
"GET UP!"
Zatia knelt in the waving grasses on Nagrand. Her scrawny frame was bent over the body of a talbuk calf. It had died in the night, too weak to keep up with the herd. Too small, like her. A runt. Worthless and repulsive.
"Get up or I will make you get up, daughter of my son!"
Azati Nighthowl stood by, like a roiling thunderhead on the horizon. Her rage showed in every line of her aging face. Her muscles were tensed with it. All of this she directed at the weeping halfblood child before her.
"Child of my blood, rise! You are not this weak creature. You have no herd to run with. You have no predators to fear. You are alone in this life, alone and without rival. So get up! Show me how strong you are! Get up and show me my blood in you!"
Darkness crept into the grasses and rose behind Azati. But there it stopped. That moment. That place of rage and fear and pain held it back. This was the first moment Ketyru truly realised that she would forever be apart. Alone. So she would have to be strong. Fearless.
Never alone.
The image of Azati smirked. That was not part of her memory.
'Listen to me, child of my blood. There is a taint within you. You must fight it! Push back the Darkness and reclaim yourself. This and more I know you can do. There are others, beyond you, that do their utmost to draw out the demon, but YOU must be the one to drive it out completely.'
Ketyru looked up. "I am not like you, mother of my father."
'No,' Azati nodded. 'No, you are not. But you are still of my blood and of my spirit. But there is something you must know, now. A secret I have kept from you unjustly, thinking your strength should come from my people, and not your own.'
"I have no people. I am alone."
'Silence, child. You know better.' Azati turned, and walked into the wall of Darkness. 'You are never alone.'
And in a flash of white light, she was gone. With her went some of the Darkness, and a shuddering wail echoed through Ketyru's mind.
'So this is the child of my blood and dishonor.'
Ketyru spun, and the world changed around her. She was in Karabor, but it was different. There were no scars of war, no fear or turmoil. Everything here was peaceful, relaxed. A proud Vindicator stood before her, and beside him, a tiny female dressed in white robes.
'Child, I am Jeb'uul, father of your father.' He said. 'In this time of great need, you have unwittingly called out to me. To all of us. You are never alone, my child. Just as your father was never alone. Through us you will find sanctity. And truth.'
"No," Ketyru protested. "I am not a Draenei!"
'So you are not. But neither are you an Orc. Or a Human, whom you love so dearly. And yet, you carry our blood and our spirit. More than you know.'
DV guards rushed forward to aid her, one brave soul retrieving the note from between her breasts. Happy would pay for that later. Someone, presumably one of her Worgen bodyguards, lifted her into his arms and carried her down to the containment cells. She could hear orders being passed through the ranks, but understood nothing.
Heavy chains were placed around her waist and wrists, keeping her upright but not hanging. Runed cuffs were secured to her neck and ankles, wrists and forehead, to prevent the demon from causing further havoc. Several priests were called and Ketyru could feel their healing Light brush her consciousness. But she couldn't wake up!
Something darker brushed against her mind and she suddenly understood. Possession. A tincture of Bruiseweed and Gromsblood was poured down her throat. It burned. A lot. Somewhere in the fog she wondered where and how she'd contracted a demon.
Ketyru stood alone in the Underbelly, facing down a huge Orc assassin. Her father lay before her, dead. The rage built inside her and before she could control herself, there was nothing left of the Orc but a wisp of bloody mist in the air. The elements sang out in despair and pain.
Dark laughter rang in her ears. The memory was gone, swallowed by a growing Darkness.
She crept beneath a timber wall, pushed by weak hands. Urged onward by rasping, weary voices. "Flee!" they said. "Flee and find refuge in this strange land!" Tears streamed down her face as she looked back at her true father. His lightless eyes and tuskless snarl were the last thing she saw before she fled into the night. Alone. So alone.
And then that memory was swallowed too.
On and on the Darkness crept, like a rising tide in her mind. Ketyru let it creep on, unabated, too consumed by the raw emotions brought back by her memories to stop it, until...
"Get up!"
"Papa! I want Papa!"
"GET UP!"
Zatia knelt in the waving grasses on Nagrand. Her scrawny frame was bent over the body of a talbuk calf. It had died in the night, too weak to keep up with the herd. Too small, like her. A runt. Worthless and repulsive.
"Get up or I will make you get up, daughter of my son!"
Azati Nighthowl stood by, like a roiling thunderhead on the horizon. Her rage showed in every line of her aging face. Her muscles were tensed with it. All of this she directed at the weeping halfblood child before her.
"Child of my blood, rise! You are not this weak creature. You have no herd to run with. You have no predators to fear. You are alone in this life, alone and without rival. So get up! Show me how strong you are! Get up and show me my blood in you!"
Darkness crept into the grasses and rose behind Azati. But there it stopped. That moment. That place of rage and fear and pain held it back. This was the first moment Ketyru truly realised that she would forever be apart. Alone. So she would have to be strong. Fearless.
Never alone.
The image of Azati smirked. That was not part of her memory.
'Listen to me, child of my blood. There is a taint within you. You must fight it! Push back the Darkness and reclaim yourself. This and more I know you can do. There are others, beyond you, that do their utmost to draw out the demon, but YOU must be the one to drive it out completely.'
Ketyru looked up. "I am not like you, mother of my father."
'No,' Azati nodded. 'No, you are not. But you are still of my blood and of my spirit. But there is something you must know, now. A secret I have kept from you unjustly, thinking your strength should come from my people, and not your own.'
"I have no people. I am alone."
'Silence, child. You know better.' Azati turned, and walked into the wall of Darkness. 'You are never alone.'
And in a flash of white light, she was gone. With her went some of the Darkness, and a shuddering wail echoed through Ketyru's mind.
'So this is the child of my blood and dishonor.'
Ketyru spun, and the world changed around her. She was in Karabor, but it was different. There were no scars of war, no fear or turmoil. Everything here was peaceful, relaxed. A proud Vindicator stood before her, and beside him, a tiny female dressed in white robes.
'Child, I am Jeb'uul, father of your father.' He said. 'In this time of great need, you have unwittingly called out to me. To all of us. You are never alone, my child. Just as your father was never alone. Through us you will find sanctity. And truth.'
"No," Ketyru protested. "I am not a Draenei!"
'So you are not. But neither are you an Orc. Or a Human, whom you love so dearly. And yet, you carry our blood and our spirit. More than you know.'
