Post by Raga on Oct 25, 2010 20:31:25 GMT -5
"So this is what it's come to--revenge."
The great cat-god heaved a judgmental sigh. Its breath warmed Mandanda's cheek and melted ice that had formed in the braids falling forward over her shoulder.
The troll priestess thought of the sapphire plumes and ruby scales of a figure lying deathly still at the top of carved stone steps. The shadows that dwelled in and around Manda had never felt stronger or more powerful than when she walked with the shadows of Quetz'lun's temple to speak to the winged serpent-god's spirit and do its bidding.
Vengeance seemed perfectly reasonable. Satisfying, even.
The Drakkari warrior refused to flee, even though plague and shadows devoured him from the inside out. He lurched toward Manda, spiked club hefted to strike.
Manda stepped back, but before she could do more, her shadows coalesced into a dark mirror of herself. The apparition moved between Manda and the rapidly-failing Drakkari, advancing across the brittle snow with the steady determination of fate. The Drakkari fell, sprawling backward onto bloody earth churned with melting ice. The Manda-shadow loomed over him.
In her mind's eye, Manda saw a different troll sprawled, unarmed and helpless, as she stood over him.
The apparition overtook the Drakkari, lunged forward and burrowed into him. He screamed, then fell silent.
Manda felt no particular regret for his death.
Regret was the years-old letter folded into a corner at the very bottom of Manda's pack. She took it out that night, in the comfort of her own warm room, with fingers still stiff from Zul'Drak's freezing climate.
Sister,
I give up. You know more than you say, but you won't tell me anything, so I stop asking.
I stop asking you. I won't stop asking myself. And I won't never forgive you for that.
"You ever gonna tell her?"
The troll behind Manda nuzzled her neck, and she leaned back against him. There in the distant north, far from Orgrimmar, with the Lich King dead and the fighting reduced to mere skirmishes in the odd pocket of conflict between some faction and another, it was easy for Manda to pretend she was happy. And she was, for the most part--she'd not only forgiven but accepted herself and her actions. Only one thing remained to prevent her peace of mind, and that was her sister's inability to find any.
"Aye," Manda replied. "Guess it's past time, ain't it?"
The great cat-god heaved a judgmental sigh. Its breath warmed Mandanda's cheek and melted ice that had formed in the braids falling forward over her shoulder.
The troll priestess thought of the sapphire plumes and ruby scales of a figure lying deathly still at the top of carved stone steps. The shadows that dwelled in and around Manda had never felt stronger or more powerful than when she walked with the shadows of Quetz'lun's temple to speak to the winged serpent-god's spirit and do its bidding.
Vengeance seemed perfectly reasonable. Satisfying, even.
~~~
The Drakkari warrior refused to flee, even though plague and shadows devoured him from the inside out. He lurched toward Manda, spiked club hefted to strike.
Manda stepped back, but before she could do more, her shadows coalesced into a dark mirror of herself. The apparition moved between Manda and the rapidly-failing Drakkari, advancing across the brittle snow with the steady determination of fate. The Drakkari fell, sprawling backward onto bloody earth churned with melting ice. The Manda-shadow loomed over him.
In her mind's eye, Manda saw a different troll sprawled, unarmed and helpless, as she stood over him.
The apparition overtook the Drakkari, lunged forward and burrowed into him. He screamed, then fell silent.
Manda felt no particular regret for his death.
~~~
Regret was the years-old letter folded into a corner at the very bottom of Manda's pack. She took it out that night, in the comfort of her own warm room, with fingers still stiff from Zul'Drak's freezing climate.
Sister,
I give up. You know more than you say, but you won't tell me anything, so I stop asking.
I stop asking you. I won't stop asking myself. And I won't never forgive you for that.
"You ever gonna tell her?"
The troll behind Manda nuzzled her neck, and she leaned back against him. There in the distant north, far from Orgrimmar, with the Lich King dead and the fighting reduced to mere skirmishes in the odd pocket of conflict between some faction and another, it was easy for Manda to pretend she was happy. And she was, for the most part--she'd not only forgiven but accepted herself and her actions. Only one thing remained to prevent her peace of mind, and that was her sister's inability to find any.
"Aye," Manda replied. "Guess it's past time, ain't it?"