Conquest of the Horde

Lend me your ears and I shall tell you a tale, one woven of love and kindness. Latter marred by pain and heartfelt sorrow.
Fine parchment with gilded edges does not befall my pen as I write, and my penmanship might be slighted by the shackles that rest around my wrists. Furthermore, the lighting of my cell is not complimentary, and it may be that blood and tears stain my words.

Still, if you will but listen it would strengthen my hand as I write.

Ã¢Â„Âhapter:Ã¢Â…Â

If one ventures along the path of Elywynn Forrest one soon may come upon the great gates of Stormwind. A beacon carved in sturdy stone, witnessing of the great resilience and determination of humanity. As one threads down the valley of heroes great feats of past remind themselves, bringing awe to one's mind.
As the sun rise over the rooftops, seeping through the humble alleys of the various districts a sense of pride may blossom within one's heart. Against all odds, the last bastion of humanity stands firm in defiance of those who seek to destroy it.

Yet, our tale does not begin with honoring of heroism or knightly feats. It is but the song of an everyday boy, one which makes his path over the crude cobblestone in restless labor.
Born into a loving family, this boy grew up well and safe, protected from the harsh malevolence of the world beyond the gates of Stormwind. He had been bestowed with the name Marcus, after his loving father.
As a child he would play fair and pray regularly, always honoring the modest values his parents had passed onto him. Marcus grew, but never was a man of imposing stature nor commanding traits.
He was gentle and soft spoken, always valuing modesty and kindness above greed and selfishness. A hard worker, shouldering more than his share when it came to the lively-hood of his family.

The tiresome ventures up and down the cobblestone and through the narrow allies was a price he gladly paid, without any qualms about taking odd jobs and aiding strangers in their predicaments.
Verily, Marcus grew into a man with a pure heart and the townsfolk would come to know of his good will and modest ways.

He drew strength from the light and his loving parents, and soon his hard work would come to present him with a great opportunity. The coin he had earned, combined with the generosity of his parents would grant him a place as a squire under a noble paladin of the Stormwind court.
Gladly, he would shine his masters blade and armor. Always tending to his commands, awed by the possibility of he himself rising to be a just defender of the light.
Had this been a tale of triumph, light had made it so. Sadly, as I have learn of late, there is compulsion within a man which leads him astray.

There was a lady of the court who saw that he was good. She would watch as he went about his duties, and he would lie if he said that he did not notice her. Her black hair bound in soft scented tresses, her dark sultry eyes seeking out his as their paths crossed within the court.
She always donned intricate dresses, the fine silken threads outlining her lithe frame.

Marcus desire would grow with each glance, each coveted moment when their eyes met. These moments where dear to him, the constant figment of his dreams as he laid himself to rest at night. Soon, his duties would be succeeded by his fantasies. The modest values which had guided him through life faded, the longing for her touch poisoning his mind.

Her lingering gaze would feed his desire, yet his courage faltered as he could had approached her. Weeks of restless yearning tormented him, if only he had not let himself be led from the light. If only he had not come to approach her.

The hour grows late now, the flame of my lantern has died. I hide this paper within the cracks of the stone, so that she may never look upon it. Tomorrow, I pray my hands are steady still so that I may write. I pray, that my mind withstands her.

My will grows ever weaker in the dim lighting of my cell. Little sleep was bestowed upon me as I laid myself to rest, and as my mind began to drift thoughts of her seized it. Torturous screams can be heard through the solid metal of my door when I listen, the frenetic scribble of my pen seems to be the only noise blocking them out. I find myself sickened by her, yet I cannot help that my eyes wander to her in awe. Her smile is weakening, each glance she casts undeniable bliss. Even when the blood of her victims stain her lips, I cannot rip my eyes off her. I endure only to tell you of how this came to be.
The writing is my only refuge.

Ã¢Â„Âhapter:Ã¢Â…Â¡

Marcus grew ever frustrated by his own cowardice, as well as the social value the working class lacked compared to those of noble stature. As a squire, even speaking to a lady of the court was frowned upon.
Each day would soon grow into but a hollow measure of existence, the never ending duties bestowed upon him soon descending into a farce rather than a privilege. His desire towards the lady of the court tainting his motivation, the yearning for her touch suppressing the modest values that had guided him through life, replacing them with forbidden lust.
His obsession would soon lead him to inquire of the lady's name from the paladin he served under.
Marcus was told that her name was too clean for him to speak, her nobility too great for her to be addressed by a lowly squire.

As I ponder, she must have poisoned their minds as she had Marcus. The malign fiend resting within her lithe form remaining hidden.
Still, each coveted glance she shot at Marcus would pierce his heart. Day by day, week by week. Soon enough, he could no longer uphold restraint. His existence fueled by a single compulsion, the now unbearable need that had grown within him.

He had to have her.

[left][/left]
As darkness seeped through Stormwind Marcus rose from his cot, threading softly over the creaking boards of his room and made his way out into the night. A vague mist rode low over the courtyard as he skulked across it, clad in shadow as he sought himself beneath her window. The vague light of a lantern omitted through the intricate glass, shielding the lady's chamber from the cold air that he breathed.

An old wooden grate had been hammered onto the crude stone wall before him, a lush gathering of leafs and vines having climbed to the very base of her window. Marcus casted a wary glance over his shoulder before his obsession fueled his wavering gait upward. The vines held thorns which stung his palms as he climbed, yet the possibility of looking upon her rendered it but a slighted pain to endure in his mind.
Finally, his fingers gripped the base of her window, their crude tips pressing against the stone as he pulled himself upward. Carefully peering through the intricate glass in hope of looking upon her.

The lady stood by her bed, her back turned to him as her petite hands struggled with the bindings of her corset. Marcus held his breath. his eyes widening as he clung to the base of the window, his feet struggling to find support in the grate which he had climbed. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she laid her corset aside, her supple shapes shielded only by a thin shirt serving as an undergarment.

Marcus watched, hypnotized by the bliss her exposure brought to his mind.
Yet suddenly, she turned. Her dark, sultry eyes locking with his. Panic soon followed as her sharp gaze dug deep into his.
In haste he climbed back down the grate, his descend a hasty one which caused him to loose his footing. He fell the last meter, landing below with a heavy thud.
His fingers dug into the gravel below as her silhouette appeared in the intricate glass above, watching as he fearfully stumbled to his feet and ran into the dark cover of the night.

Marcus knew fear like no other that night.
For she knew, and soon.. Marcus life would come to change.

[left]My deprivation grows too strong for me to fight my dear friend. I lay myself to rest now, the gray stone of the ceiling my final view before I drift off into a troubled sleep. I pray the light my mind to keep, for her hold on me grows ever stronger. Lend me a though of kind intent, perhaps it will lessen the pain as I righteously hang for my deeds. Verily, that would be the only way to save what is left of my soul.[/left]

My cell is cold at this hour, clad in remorseless darkness. I am left unable to tell if it is night or day as I awake, my lantern being the only source of light and warmth.
You are a good listener, my friend. Always there to lighten the burden that rests on my shoulders, to sooth the sickly guilt tainting my soul. When I ponder. I realize that we are yet to be introduced. Yet, what I have become is not worthy of a name.
I am sorrow, grief, servility and shame. To my own I am betrayal, to myself I am disgust.

How I wonder what defines me in your eyes.

Perhaps you pity me, my friend. Yet know that I do not seek to be forgiven. Only death could spew out the taint that have claimed my soul. This tale will serve as a testament of what I was. Verily, that is how I wish to be remembered. Upon completion, I shall place the noose I've bound with care from the garment of my clothes around my neck and attach it to the bars of my cell before leaning forth into the unknown.
For the sake of clarity, you may call me Karkun. That is how she speaks to me, in words older than the sky beyond my cell. The sharp, lashing tongue of the ancients.

Ã¢Â„Âhapter: Ã¢Â…Â¢

Petrified, Marcus climbed onto his cot after having charged through the night, wishing that he would sink through the firm madras into the earth itself. Left hidden below the crude coverings, so that he would never be looked upon again.

The lady had caught him red handed as he had indulged in a shameful act of voyeurism, his mind running rampant of the beckoning punishment. Perhaps his master would rightfully beat him, or lash his back to the entertainment of the court.

Perhaps he would be made an example of, and hang from the gallows erected in the courtyard while humiliated for his sinful ways. More so, his thoughts where with his parents and the shame that would be bestowed upon them as result of his behavior.
Each minute of casting wary glances about while he tended to his duties the coming day felt like an eternal torment. His hands unsteady, his breathing growing rapid each time the approaching thuds of steps could be heard down the narrow corridors of the keep as he ran his errands.

Fearful shudders began to wreck his frame as he moved swiftly for the stables which laid beyond the massive gates of the keep, unbearable hours having passed without neither a beating nor being seized by the guards of the court.

His masters steed grunted impatiently as she caught sight of him, Marcus threading swiftly over the hay littered ground of the stable to tend to her. He fed and watered the steed hastily, brushing her thick coat down as his mind stirred with chaotic paranoia.
Suddenly, the until then seizeless chatter of his mind was pierced as the old wooden door of the stable was pushed open with a loud creak. In panic, he slowly slid down the wooden fence to the hay clad ground below. Gripping his hands over his mouth as his heart skipped a beat.
The sound of lithe steps could be heard, threading over the ground. Each filtered thud striking terror into Marcus as they grew closer. He held his breath, finding himself praying for the light to keep him safe.

Suddenly, there was only silence which consumed the stable.

Not even the steeds dared break it, nor the wind which would playfully wander between the old wooden beams. It was as if time had frozen in place, and the indescribable fear it brought to Marcus would soon wreck his frame yet again. His body shuddering as he carefully pulled himself upward to peer over the edge of the fence.
The old wooden door stood open, and there was no one to be seen standing in the hay littered aisle which would guide him to freedom. Urged on by panic he charged out of his hiding, sprinting for the exit as fast as his legs could carry him.

His escape was only inches away as it was ripped away from him, the door slamming shut just as he was about to charge out of it. The lithe steps could be heard behind him now, piercing the silence along with his wheezing breaths.
Petrified, Marcus found himself turning against his will. As if his body acted on the thoughts of another.

Dark, sultry eyes burrowed into his. Thin, cherry lips parting to reveal a row of pearl white teeth.

She stood before him in the the middle of the aisle, her lithe frame held in place by a dress from blackened silk. A corset outlining her supple shapes, her hair bound in soft scented tresses.
Marcus knees buckled, his arms hanging limp down his sides as she drew closer, inch of inch. Fear transcending into a heightened bliss. She reached out, trailing a soft hand over his cheek. Her touch, a hypnotizing wish fulfilled.
[left][/left]
Powerless, Marcus eyes wandered back into his skull. She had leaned forth, and she had locked her lips with his tenderly. A poisoning kiss, an orgasmic sensation claiming his mind and sating his compulsion.

Soon, there was nothing. And what took place after he drifted off I do not know.

Marcus awoke in a cell, the first sight greeting him being the dark stone of Its ceiling. A shackle rested around his wrist, joined with a rusty chain that had been joined with stone in turn. His eyes swept the cell as he rose, its only source of sunlight having been bricked up and confined behind bars.
He would scream and plead, yet his echoing laments where smothered by the thick steel door which had confined others for decades judging from the rust and the mark of nails it held. There was grief and panic, denial and prayer.
As the hours passed, he found himself standing upright. Staring at the door which confined him within the cell. There was a vague hint of steps that could be heard from beyond it.

Torturous fear seized him.

It wouldn't be long now until Marcus became but a distant memory.

It wouldn't be long until he became me.

Steps grow closer yet again, my friend. And as you now know who I was, it won't be long until you see what I've become. Yet maybe, my deepest wish will be answered, and I will awake.. Will I wake up to find that this is but a nightmare?

Jacula

Jacula

Jacula