World of Warcraft®

((I will be out of game for a while, might continue this series of posts however. Personal issues.))

Blood. The liquid of life.
Demons blood. The liquid of death.

Aethelgyth roared, the demons blood flooding through her body, there was always the pain the blood brought, but the power, it was overwhelming. The urge to use the power was even more so. She grins and smashes her hands through the table, before walking through the debris. She had 5o find something to kill. Something to maim, something to destroy.

She strode from the tavern, and called her proto-drake. Deftly she jumped on it, and it pulled, and attempted to escape her, before she snarls and hits its side. It can smell the demons blood, and it is unnerved. Her flight takes her to the remains of Camp Taurajo, and though empty now, the acts of the humans are blasphemous, are .... evil. Aethelgyth knows what she must do, as she flyswatter south, towards the humans, and lays waste to several groups of humans, before tiring and returning to the tavern. She sits there, In a corner for a long time, as the blood burns its way from her bloodstream, as she shrinks in size and turns green once more.

Vectus. Claviger. Forsaken. Modas.

Aethelgyth admired his prowess, yet he unnerved her, and possibly rightly so.

She was talking with Kagran, apologizing for arguments past, as she watches the forsaken walk into the tavern, as she seems him walk right up to her. Here! In front of those who's trust she has so hardly earned. And so she was angry.

"I thought I could find you here." He says,

she looks at him, eying him. "Yes, it is a good place to drink."

"Why are you here? Are you questioning my loyalty? Or my competency?!"

"No, it is nothing like that." He grins wickedly at Aethelgyth,

She growls. "What then?" As she is talking to Vectus, Kagran slips away, this is Modas business of course. Vectus sits down.

"What is it like?"
"What? What is what like?"

Vectus leans in, whispering. "The demons blood"

Her eyes widen. What does Vectus want to really know? She rummages in her bag, taking out a single small vial, tossing it to Vectus, who catches it easily. "Try it yourself"

((OOC note: this conversation is altered a decent amount due to me being a bit lazy and not doing Dreejins accent... which is really thick))

Its been a week since the attack on the Pillar of Honor, and its been quiet.

Aethelgyth sighs as she steps foot into the Sanctum, and she sees Dreejin, another Claviger. He grins as he sees her "how is that addiction coming?"
She glares at him, growling as she speaks. "I have no addiction"
he laughs, "sure you do, the demons blood"
her eyes widen, and she snaps back "I have no addiction to the blood!"
"Then why did you go hunting for it?"
"Power."

Again, the damned troll laughs. "Your entire clan was addicted, were they not?"
"The Warsong Clan has no addiction!"

A sly smirk cross his face. "Sure they do"
She yells. "Keep talking and I will make you taste some damn blood"
Dreejin laughs once more.. "You've got blood on the mind"
she growls as she promptly turns to leave.

((Still really enjoying reading up on this. Awesome work, Aethel!))

She sat in the Tavern, in what was generally known has her seat, with a bunch of small vials in front of her. These vials contained the demons blood, and the table was covered with the vials. Aethelgyth had more, though she kept that elsewhere, and these were what she carried with her.

Am I addicted? I don't use it, often...

Of course there is no answer that comes to her. The trolls words ringing a terrible truth. She had searched for this Pit Lord, and had bled it for... power?

Power. She realized, it's all for power. She was addicted to power. The blood is just a catalyst for the power.

Absentmindedly she shifts a vial across the table between her hands, thinking. What else can provide her with power?

The Modas Il Toralar.
What kind of organisation was it?

She had witnessed and participated in much, some would call her a cruel brute. Others that knew her would call her an honorable warrior. What was she? The organisation she saw as an honorable "old horde" was as such, and had proven with the blow to the Pillar of Honor. Was she the partial owner of a brewery, a drunkard, an old war vet, and and honorable warrior? Or was she that crazed creature who cut down her enemies, and who tortured Vazraka.

Her concentration breaks, and the vial she's been moving falls to the ground and breaks, the blood seeping into the wooden floor. She puts the rest of the vials back into her bag, frowning. A single vial was worth a fortune. A single vial was power for hours.

she hurriedly leaves, nobody could see her with the blood. Especially Kagran.

She was decided. She must speak with the ancestors. She would have to find a powerful shaman, an orc of course. And she could think of only one, Bralox. She would seek him out, or rather request him as a courier... to the ancestors. She needed to know her path. She needed to know if she was wrong.

((So... Bralox, if you're reading this, Ill be contacting you asap!))

She still hadn't been able to contact a powerful shaman, though she had realized something else. That Mok'Ruhk was insane. And that Kagran, the Black Tooth Grin, was more important to her than she ever imagined. She felt like a fool. Growling she cleaves an alliance soldier in two, her anger and humiliation being spent upon the battlefield, in ashenvale, with her clan.

How could this happen? Why? Kagran was an honorable orc, one of the most honorable she ever had a drink with... she was a monster, a cruel, sadistic orcess. Nothing could ever work out between them. Right?

She roars out, pulling her swords from another carcass. Order through Atrocity. Peace through Fear. Faith in Modas Il Toralar.

She needed a shaman, and badly. More and more questions kept presenting themselves. Things were starting to look grim indeed.