Conquest of the Horde

WARNING: The following scene might be disturbing to some, read at your own risk!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMqXj-eVCjI

Sangreala idly stood to herself. Clutched in one hand, was a large metal goblet, which she was idly pouring red wine into... Followed by a small, green pill. She turns around with an idle cold glare. "Ah, and so they come, the vanquishing heroes... I'm surprised there's only -one- of you." She motioned to him. "Ah well, a party of two is better than a party of one..." She stirrs her drink with a claw. She could see him, in her eyes... Standing besides him, frowning at her... Looking at her, the same way he always did. With loath, with contempt. She couldn't bear that gaze. She felt the need to sob, but choked it back and hid it from the priest in front of her.

"Not feeling for a tea party, dear? A shame, because I brought my favorite honey from home..." The High Priest called out to the woman, even flashing out a small jar of honey in his own joking fashion... Oh bitter irony, she thought in the back of her head. She felt her eyes cloud a bit with tears, so well hidden in the unpenetratble veil of the black they bore... She saw the green pill dissolve in the wine, sinking its essence into it... Soon. She told herself. Soon. Was this what she wanted? Did she really care? She stopped to think.

Eventually, she merely shrugged as she sighed tiredly, looking upwards towards the man ahead of her. "No, I don't think I'd give you that pleasure... For the last six months, I gave you tea. Tea. Ha. Never once did I poison it..." She smiled bitterly, remembering at every insult tossed at her... b***h... Monster... Demon... Oh how she smiled and shrugged it off, but now it has taken root... Oh how it reminded her of what she was... A wretch. A mistake.

Shouldn't have been born.

"I figured you enjoyed the company more than the murder. Perhaps a bit of both. Twisted by evil, alone with no friends except for an only son... it wracks the mind, I'm sure." He said with his usual jesting fashion to her, merely having no clue... Oh the ignorance... It was bliss. How she wish she had it. Merely growing up to be, a tailor... Maybe wife to a safe working arcanist, or something simple? She wondered how she would look in a wedding dress.

She merely smiled... She couldn't fake it anymore. She just stretched her lips, just a little longer, she thought to herself... "No, it was because... Well, who am I to fool anyone? It made me feel... Human, again. Alive." She laughed coldly, bitterly so. "But oh, sadistic? No, I won't give you the pleasure of that... I won't." She nodded her head to him. Hate... Love... The line blurred so greatly between these two teetering emotions she felt. But in the end, it was Hate that won, didn't it? Yes, a cold merciless hate which devoured her very being... "No, High priest. My mind was long wrecked... I won't give you the delight, of some cackling winged mastermind to kill. Of some maniacal demon, to make you sleep well at night, and feel like heroes... I'll give you what I really am. I'll hold no illusions. I'll give you a broken woman, at the post of execution, with nothing left... A woman who sacrificed -everything- just to make the pain stop, just to make the tears end at night... I won't give you the villain you desire, High priest. I'll give you what you really are."

The tears were getting so hard to fight and resist.

"You presume that is in fact what I want." He proclaimed. "How sad you make my heart, Sangreala. A girl who destroyed her humanity, and then in turn after losing it, does all she can to cling back to it. It is true that you never know what you have... until you lose it. This much, we have in common." He remarked to her... Loss. What did he know, of loss? Of vain sacrifices?



With a silent laugh, she slowly began to relax... She felt the wind, for the first time in so long, soothingly whispering at her back... "Oh cut me the horse crap, my dearest Aryeon..." She takes her cup and raises it. "And so, I deny you this one last pleasure... Consider it, an act of villainy... Funny... All these months, to keep your drink pure... Only to poison mine." It was time. She gulped back, swallowing the poisoned wine with a heavy gulp and tossing the cup aside. The rest of the wine splashed besides her in a light dirty puddle and a dull clink.

Aryeon blinked out in surprise, suddenly trying to reach the cup, only to realize the woman was too far... She had already ingested the poison. "Sangreala, don't..!" He tried calling out to her, to no luck... It was done. And oh, now she felt them... The tears, rising to her eyes... It all began flooding back to her, every memory... Love, hate, sorrow, joy... A thousand distant faces stared at her... It felt like time had stopped still, before she heard a gentle thump, dull. Her heart. She would force it to beat, one last time... To spread the poison in her veins...

She began teetering on the brink of a cackle and a sobbing, maddeningly entwined as she called out bitterly, sobbing and laughing. In the end, she was still as she was... A small frightened creature, with the tiniest flicker of a candle to light her dark heart... Only now, the candle was blazing... Its last breath of life, roaring... "They never loved me... He never did! Look at this, they didn't even bother to show!" She cried out, tears streaming down her scarred cheeks. She smiled, and cried. Cried for her misery. Cried for her mother. She cried for the life, she could have had. Black veins began spreading at her body, the venom seeping its fangs into her as she began swaying left and right. The sun looked... So bright, above her... A great, big burning ball of flame... Churning in the heavens themselves.

Aryeon grit his teeth and ran to the side of the woman, looking to her. "Damned woman! Are you so blind to think I'd have destroyed you for my own gratification?!" He called out in anger and shock to her. Slowly, Sangreala looked to him, only to tumble back softly, falling to her rear as she laughed and sobbed, her body writhing and clenching in pain... A gripping pain, that would not relent of her. "No more.... N-no more..." She just sobbed out. It was so close. The ending.


Aryeon gawked at the sight, gripping at his staff with sweaty nervous hands, muttering incoherently to himself as he raised his staff, trying to slow the poison... And then, the light struck her. She writhed and screeched in agony, her soul too corrupt to accept the purity of the holy power seeping into her. He said something, but she couldn't understand...

She fell to her back, writhing and letting our dying spasms as she felt her mind slowly fading, alongside her body... She felt light... The pain beginning to dull... Slowly, she began feeling only tired... Like it was time to sleep. Yes, sleep... That sounded nice... For a moment, her reality altered... She was at bed, asleep, a woman singing to her until she peacefully dreamed until the sunrise... Then that image shifted, back to reality... She managed to slowly, weakly raise a hand towards Aryeon, his own grasping at hers... She looked at him, with black eyes, which showed for the first and last time, a single clinging emotion... Regret.

Aryeon knelt besides her, gently taking hold of the woman's hand in his own, biting at his lip. "...What was it all for? What did you live for? Do all this for? Just do die so wretchedly?" He asked her, seeming so confused, so astounded by the act of the demon... But she didn't felt that way... She felt, that for the first time in her life... She did something right. And it felt, right... So right.


Sangreala laughed lightly, blood splattering past her lips and unto her mouth messily. "...I did it... To make t-the pain stop..." She writhes and cries silently, a deformed smile rising to her worn cracked lips. "I d-did it... F-for m-me... T-the only...
Thing...-I... E-ever had..." She stuttered out. The priest looked to her in disbelief. Seeming just plain unsure what to say.

"... ...You've lived your whole life engrossed with fear and pain. Your father. The shame of your mother's death. The demon that came before you. The followers that you met...." He said slowly, looking down to her... And in the end, it was only him... Her only solemn... Sangreala laughed lightly, another spaszm of pain wrecking through her body... "I-it hurts... I-it never stopped hurting... B-but now... I-it finally stopped..." She began laughing gently, her eyes clouded with dripping tears. "I-it's finally over... Finally..."

"... I wish I had some words to help you, Sangreala, but they all escape me. What is there to say? To repeat what you've done in life? To condescend you for your villainy? No... I can not..." Aryeon swore in Thalassian and dropped his staff down. "... for all the horrors you've done, you die like a scared child. Even now my soul is pierced by your suffering." He cared... He really cared... She felt those tears, change... She was happy... Truly happy, for the first time in her life...

Sangreala slowly looked up, vision blurring... She began bleeding from her nose, two drops of crimson red blood, dripping down her face as she laughs, holding up a hand towards the tainted sun. "I'm sorry... Mo... Moth..." She tried spitting out the final words in Thalassian... Only to have her head thud back in a dull fashion... Her chest stops heaving up and down. The death spasms stopping. The woman, still... Following her, an even more still silence. At those final moments, everything turned dark. She was in a dark hallway, alone... She was young... Still unscarred... Before her, stood a ghostly image... She did not know how, but it was so... She ran over to her, hugging at her embrace, crying out incoherently in sobbing tears of joy... The ghostly figure just hushed her, humming to her in Thalassian, an old children's song... "Come, my daughter..." She whispered to her softly. "Let us go... It is time to sleep..."

Aryeon stood to his feet silently, leaning on his staff. "And the rest, is silence. Utter... silence." He muttered in almost disbelief... The woman, laid dead in front of him... Still silent, upon her bed-throes, the spilled wine besides her... And at her lips, a gentle, true smile... Almost a silent thank you... To a cold, bitter ending... "Light grant you mercy..." Aryeon mumbled in pity for the woman... Slowly, the body burned in his cast holy flames, leaving behind to the eerie silence, padded only by his footsteps...

A single metal crown, adorned with green cracked gems... Near a cup of spilled wine...

And like that. It was over.

An onlooker stood not too distant from the High Priest. His dark robes covered his twisted form, crooked shoulders and arms clenching a darkened staff with claw-like hands. What little of his face that was visible twisted in anger. He was far too tired to do anything. The trip with the other Priest had worn him to simply stand and watch. To be useless and watch the one he hated kill herself. "And so the beast... Is finally slain..." he managed to say through his wheezing breath, "And yet... I am not satisfied."

He came for revenge. The twisted elf let out a hissing sound as he looked to his hand. His fel tainted eyes narrowed, "And to think... I even considered," he clenched his hand into a fist as a sickly grey Light washed over it, "Using... The damned Light..." He moved his hand back to his staff, the Light fading almost as fast as it appeared. His gaze shifted back to where the body once was. He stood in silence for a while. He remained well after Aryeon had left. He enjoyed the silence. Then it finally hit him.

His lips curved into a grin with the faintest of laughter. He began laughing more and more. It hurt his ribs to laugh like this, but he simply couldn't help it. He hadn't felt a joy like this in so long. His laughter was cut short by a violent coughing fit, however, causing him to hunch over as he shook from the coughing. Once he caught his breath he looked back to the spot where a body once lay, "You thought you were... So damned smart... Even if I didn't kill you... With my bare hands... You gave me what I want," he grinned once again, showing all of his sharpened teeth, "You dumb b***h... All I wanted... Was for you to leave... My brother alone... To ensure... You never try to harm... Dalah'surfal or my children... You thought you could... Spite us by not letting us end... Your pathetic and useless existence?... You did us a favor... By allowing us to not waste... Our time and effort."

The grin faded from his face, "I shall ensure... You name is removed from history... A pointless smudge... Cleansed from the stories of others," e turned slowly, walking off with his awkward gait and the aid of his staff, "I shall tell my brother... Dalah'surfal... And my children... They have one less... Demonic whore to worry over." And with that, Aendron Moridi Eranu'endal departed with his usual scowl.

Aryeon stood over the collapsed body of Sangreala. Time slowed to a crawl, then seemed to altogether stop. For one as aged and experienced as the elven high priest, this was an unexpected moment. He felt... utterly empty at what just transpired. Was there anything for him to have learned? He had the dusty old journal for that. Did SHE learn anything? Ultimately everything she did was just a useless attempt at overcoming pain. Pain she had felt her whole life, from the death of her mother, to the death of her old life, and now, her true death. At the end of it all, after all the suffering she caused, all the fighting, the scheming, the flamboyant speeches, the threats of his own family, there was... nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

What was he expecting, in the end? Did he want some big grand battle of good and evil? Did he wish to save her soul? It was all too late, now. Too late he learned the demon's heart, too late he learned her story, and too late he acted on it. The whole ordeal felt as one big waste of time, a meaningless lesson in pain. Perhaps this is why the death of someone so consumed by evil leaves a gaping hole in his heart, remorse for someone who should be given none. Such a disgusting waste.

Aryeon lingered around no more. Illuminating his staff and waving it over the corpse, holy fire burned from within it. Soon, she incinerated into simple ash, save a crown whose gems were broken and cracked. A stale breeze came through, blowing the remains and scattering them across the nearby lake, which waters stayed still and quiet.

Dalikan Godford, Grand Marshal of the Order of the Lion Hearted, stood before a table in his order's monastery home. Strategists of his order surrounded the table, and they idly rose concerns to each other on the issue of an assault on the keep of the demoness Sangreala.

"Men to the left flank, a distraction force on the bridge. Siege weapons here, here, and here." One of the men said as his finger pounded roughly against the paper chart.

Dalikan appraised the chart with his old eyes, and idly scratched at his chin. He sighed gruffly, and then looked to the door of the chamber at the sound of a knock. "Enter." He spoke up, wondering who it could be.

The doors to the chamber parted to bring in the young corporal Garonir, a courier and brave soldier of the order. In his hands was a parcel, and on his face was plastered a triumphant smile, burning past his usual jittery expression. "Sir, news from the front." He spoke without a stutter. Dalikan wondered why and how. He knew the boy to only speak without a stutter in victory or firm speeches. Then it hit him.

"News from the front? We haven't sent the men out yet." Dalikan's calloused hands clasped the parcel and unwrapped it, bringing out a small envelope. One of his strategists enthusiastically brought him a letter-opener, and he soon found an unfolded parchment in his hands. His eyes darted across the surface. "Sangreala has been defeated?!" He cried out. His strategists looked to him with confused praise. Dalikan stared up at Garonir. "Who the hell sent you with this?"

"The High Priest Aryeon, sir." Garonir's lips curved into a victorious smile. "Sangreala has been slain by him."

Dalikan thought the news over for a moment, then his lips curled into a smile. "What did I say, lads?" He looked at his strategists. "There are yet other ways than rushing your men across a river." He looked back at Garonir. "Corporal. Go tell the men to lay off their gear and get to the stores. It's time for a celebration." He watched as his strategists hurried out of the door of the chamber behind the young corporal. Cries rang out, and then cheers broke into the halls. This was the reward of war. The Lionhearts may not have been the ones to finally defeat Sangreala and her minions, but today, they all lived to fight another day. Dalikan felt his lips form into a somber smile as he too exited the chamber. Besides, they had some old friends to aid.

              At last, it's finally over.

              Dr. Dino intended to do more planning, but upon hearing the news from Aendron, he felt no need for it any longer. At least... the demon is felled. Dr. Dino could still feel the pain on his fingers from the check-up he gave Sangreala, but even then, there was more to his connection with her than a doctor-patient relationship gone wrong. She hurt her--his little Aimee. He doesn't know how, only that it happened. He still vividly remembers her calm nonchalance when his daughter beat him with his own cane... the taunts, the haunting words and promises. A bound to a demon that never should have happened. It got him jailed. It got him nearly killed, twice. It drove him away from home. Guards were after him. Mercenaries wanted his head. He gained a reputation of a criminal when all he wanted was to see his daughter again after years of crushing loneliness and isolation.

              And yet....

              If it weren't for his bounds with Sangreala... if it weren't for the attempted kidnapping, jailtime, and escape.... if it weren't for the exile from Stormwind and the attention of the Red Glove returning as a result for it...

              He wouldn't have fled to Tanaris. He wouldn't have helped save Beaufort Bay. He wouldn't have met Annabelle... or the Argent Crusade... or dozens of other new friends like Evrana, Reigen, Tarania, Barregis, and Don. He wouldn't have found faith in other defectors like Arnaldo. And above all.... he wouldn't have seen Aimee again, grown up after 10 years of separation.

              Dino's life may have turned for the worst because of Sangreala... but it also turned out to give him the happiest moments in his life.







              A heartfelt letter was sent. Courage. He didn't fear for any intervention from the Red Glove. For once, he didn't care. He just wants to write to Aimee.

Dr. Dino Wrote:Dear Aimee,

              I have not seen you in so long... I hope things are well for you. I hope your nights are not fraught with nightmares any longer, for the demon who has tormented you is now dead. I wish you good nights and peaceful sleep knowing she will not harm you anymore.

              I pray the pain has been long gone since you were entrapped by her.


                                                        Warmest wishes,
                                                        Your Uncle Dino

              He didn't expect a reply. He really didn't. Instead, he anticipated a move from the Glove, though he felt comfort in the safety of the Hearthglen walls. He was readying himself for Sangreala, he was readying for the Glove. He anticipated the worst. But it didn't happen.

              Indeat, a small, simple letter was sent in return. And it read:

Aimee Wrote:Dear Uncle Dino,

              I'm not afraid of the demoness anymore, but I'm glad she's gone. The pain she and that orc put on me has been long gone, but the nightmares won't go away. Now I CAN sleep better. Thanks.

              I hope this would stop any pain she caused you too.


                                                        Best wishes,
                                                        Aimee

              And yet hastily written at the bottom...

Aimee Wrote:P.S. I'm sorry for hitting you with your cane. I know you only wanted to see me and I'm sorry for getting mad at you for it.

              That did it. The moment Dr. Dino read the P.S., his back pressed against the wall of his home as he would slide down to the floor. He looks up to the ceiling, his eyes to the heavens above, to the warming glow of the Light as a smile beams brightly on his face. The pain has been lifted. The torment Sangreala has caused has, indeed, brought to him a joy that would have never happened if he didn't bind himself to the demoness.

              Dino has everything to be against Sangreala as well as everything to be thankful for. Now he only regrets not being there in person to send her off and hopes it was the poison he gave her that is what brought her to her final rest.






(An IC post for Urameil will have to wait until he receives the news himself.)

She had awoken that morning with a smile. Creaking open the rust-bound hinged door from her chamber, she passed through, closing it behind her gently. Fastening her cuffs, her fingers gently grazed the irridescent clothing that bore green, fel imbued skulls. Her smile, no - her grin, never left her thin, cracked lips. She picked up the hood of her deep, royal purple garb, her thumbs running across the fel-glowing eyesockets of the skull embroided peice of material. Dagpit arrived amidst her dressing, in which she told him with a rare, gentle tone. "Message the crownmother. Tell her I've.. to speak with her. It is a joyous day." and with that, Dagpit set off to find her.

Upon her meager breakfast of stale bread and apricots, Dagpit burst into her home in panic. He screeched fear, distress and loss, destroying the Matriarch's smile. "What is it? Speak sense to me, little fool." She spat, her pleasant mood turning sour.

"Th-the crownmother! She's.. The.. the docks! She's.." He sputtered frantically. Ikrok stood, her glare piercing his stammering face.
"I've no time for your foolishness" She growled, before throwing open the door to her decrepit, rotten wood home, storming down the poorly cobbled road adjacent to the docks that lined the small lake that surrounded her home.

She arrived in mere moments, her hood down and her frayed, charcoal hair splayed messily down her front. With sheer awe, her expression read nothing but.. shock. Fear. Denial. Her knees shook. Her strength left her. She fell hard to her knees and hands, her elbows barely able to keep her weight as her arms shivered and shook. Her golden eyes were wide as she glared down into the clothing that resembled her crownmother. Her elbows finally collapsed too - her hands clasping together as her forehead dropped into her forearms on the ground. She sobbed. Tears of pure emotional agony scorned her cheeks for the first time in years. Her gutteral and calm voice broke as she screeched - wailing even, the name of her crownmother, her only friend, her only true companion. One that accepted her, who she saw as what was effectively her sister.. Her family.

"No!" She screamed, the gravellly tone in her voice burning in the high pitch, creating an ear splitting moan, akin to the sound of prey being brutally killed by its predator. "Sangreala! You're stronger than this! A joke! YOU JEST!"

Ikrok's hands gathered in Sangreala Semurian's remaining clothing, bunching it together in despair and clutching it close to her - The huge garbs covering her knees and arms, like a quilt. Her face plummetted into the garbs, regardless of ash that may have adorned it. She inhaled Sangreala's scent sharply, exhaling in sharp sobs and sputtering chokes, followed by a whining 'No..'.

After an immeasurable amount of mourning, her gloved hand came up to roughly rub away the tears from her eyes. She glanced across the docks and out to the lake, her eyes seemed to fall distant.

"Come, little elf. I shall teach you the way of affliction.." Ikrok muttered.
"Affliction, I know very little of." replied the short bandaged elf - Her golden, dirty hair pushed back so her eyes weren't obscured.
"What is it you know of, then, girl?" Ikrok inquisited, her brows raised.
"I can summon a shadow bolt, and mistress taught me recently of the art of conjuring flame." She replied gingerly.
"Ahah. Then I've much to teach you, girl.. Who knows? Perhaps you'll be as fine a warlock as I, some day." Ikrok smiled down to her, her arms crossed. "Now let us begin.."

Ikrok glanced back down to the clothing once more, her bottom lip curling, bitten hard by her teeth as her lips quivered in sorrow.

"Do not worry, Ikrok. Even though she chose me, You and I shall always be of a kind together."
"But why, Sangreala? Why does she not give me the taste of demon blood? I have trained hard! I have shown her I am powerful enough, yet she chooses some filthy tauren!"
"She is a wicked, twisted woman, Ikrok. But I grow more powerful, and one day, with you by my side, we shall surpass them."
"I'd be honored to one day rule with you. Do you promise you'll be by my side?"
"Only if you'll be by mine, dearest Ikrok. For this exchange, I promise you.."

"I've come to claim my promise, my lady."
"Ikrok! Garm, meet Ikrok. She's a dearest, old friend. What promise is that?"
"That we'll one day rule together, Sangreala."
"Ah, but what is it you can give me, that I do not already have?"
"Faithful companionship, my mistress, and a competent hand to achieve what you will. A hand that you know shall never fail you."
"Then welcome, my right hand. Matriarch."

Ikrok stood slowly, Sangreala's garbs clenched tightly in her arms. Her hues found what was no other than the crown - The crown that symbolized her dearest friend, her crownmother's power. She leaned down, her right hand grasping the crown gently. She stood once more, looking out on the misted dock, a scowl of sorrow and anger on her face.
"I shall carry you on, Sangreala." Her left arm tightened on Sangreala's robes, "I shall fashion your robes again.." She hissed, stepping toward the dock as she slowly placed the crown upon her own head with her right hand. Her eyes burned with hatred, with malice, with anger - Emotions that Ikrok had never before expressed so outwardly. "I shall wear your crown, And I shall carry on your legacy." She screeched, her hands clenching tightly - One about the robes, the other by her side - Catching alight with a powerful green flame. "I will carry on the hand, how you'd have wanted it! I shall stop at NOTHING to find who took you from me!"