Family : The Shaded Path

[Elowynne]

Ezma Shadedpath had only wished to make Ouli see that it was time to take up her birthright but what was one more failure in a short life of regrets? She coughed up a gout of blood, spitting it onto the snow. It wasn’t alone, far too much of her blood already stained the formerly pristine landscape. The young priestess knew her wounds were fatal. As she eyed the approaching scouting party of gibbering Scourge, she also knew those wounds wouldn’t get a chance to kill her. As she tried to gather what was left of her magics for a final stand, a whirling black figure seemed to come from nowhere. There was merely the scent of supple leather and the whispered swish of swords honed razor sharp. The babbling zombies soon fell in their tracks, unable to adapt to the vicious speed of the tiny figure cutting them down. Ezma smiled as she collapsed. She knew Ouli would not forsake her.

Avaryce carefully slid an arm under Ezma’s head, lifting her from the snow. One look at her gray complexion and Ava knew she had been too late to save her sister. The strip of black leather covering her face hid her expression as she merely said “You should have left well enough alone. You should have stayed in Silvermoon.” Her hard green eyes were unreadable as she dropped the bloody husk that had been the last of her family back into the drifting snow.

The voice was irresistible… deep with a cultured tone that brooked no disobedience. It wove through the tattered consciousness, slowly stitching it back together.

“You have always been the weak one. Let me make you strong.”

[Elowynne]

With cold resolve, Ezma Shadedpath pulled the cool silk of the Ebon Blade tabard over her head. She smoothed it over the glinting metal of her armor before belting it at her waist. She fussed a bit with it, straightening and making sure the darkly colored tabard sat correctly. Deep blues and purples stained the silk like a bruise but the center symbol of a large sword could be plainly seen. Ezma wore the colors of her order but felt no pride. Wasn’t that a mortal downfall? The ice wouldn’t allow such a thing.

For a moment, the ice slipped. The rigid control Ezma was held in broke ever so slightly, leaving what it held back to rise up her in a rush. The Beast, she had no other way to describe it, burned in her chest. The dark power clawed at her throat from the inside as if trying to find a way out. Ezma could taste the taint of shadow and rot in her mouth as she choked back a muffled scream. With every ounce of effort she could muster, Ezma called on the cold. Using it like a battering ram, she once more forced the wailing, writhing Beast back down into it’s icy prison. She dared not let it out.

Ezma eventually came back to herself, jaw locked and teeth bared. Her fists were tight balls at her side. The Mindless One currently bound to her was cowering in the corner, muttering in fear. She sighed deeply and concentrated on relaxing her hands and bringing back her cold tranquility. The ghoul was sensitive to his mistress’s moods. It wouldn’t do to torture the poor creature needlessly. Eventually he too relaxed, assured by Ezma’s reinstated demeanor.

Was Ezma the unholy monster Dalaran’s citizens proclaimed her to be behind their hands as she passed by? Was she a creature of evil waiting to turn on them all? Ezma felt her brow furrow in thought as she appraised the ghoul standing beside her. He cowered a bit at her intense perusal, unsure what Ezma wished of him. Ezma was so used to the ever present corpse at her side that she had never really looked at him. It was a him, wasn’t it? Ezma’s eyes narrowed. Yes, she was pretty sure it was a him. The ghoul’s hair was matted and he was filthy but that seemed his least offensive traits. At this point, Ezma could only assume the issue the citizens of Dalaran had with him most of all would be the decay. He leaked black, questionable fluids and long slashes and rents in his grey, discolored skin exposed rotting tissue, naked bone and the occasional internal organ. And oh the stench… the terrible, horrid smell that even gave Ezma pause. She had to admit, he was hampering her attempts to try to fit in.

Ezma could not abandon him though. She had been one of the lucky ones left whole. Her unnaturally pale skin and white, severely styled hair had left her with a sterile kind of beauty. Bowing her head, Ezma had to admit it was probably the only thing truly separating her from the ghoul. Had she not once been slave to another?

With a sudden snap of decision, Ezma strapped a wickedly sharp polearm to her back and straightened her tabard once more. She inspected her hair one last time to make sure not a hair dared slip out of place. With the reminder of mindlessness at her side and a chilling fear of the howling madness within, she stepped out of Shadow Vault to walk the tightrope for another day.

[Elowynne]

Avaryce grit her teeth and narrowed her green, fel-tainted eyes as she stared across the square on the northern end of Dalaran. A weltering mass of anger, guilt and disbelief lodged in her throat as she stared at the sin’dorei death knight standing on the grand marble staircase of the bank. The rogue’s hand involuntarily lifted to the thin leather mask she wore as she stared into a face that was practically the twin of her own. It couldn’t be, could it?

The newly turned death knight had her sister’s face, build and height. Her brow would furrow slightly when thinking and her head would sometimes tilt when speaking much like Ezma’s had. So much was different though. Her skin was unnaturally pale, a deathly pallor that held no hint of life. Where her hair should have been pitch black, it was stark white. Ezma wouldn’t have been able to stand the weight of such heavy plate and would have surely killed herself with the wickedly sharp and glowing polearm but this mockery handled herself and the weapon with graceful competence. No, her sister had preferred silk robes and a life of servitude to the needy. A rare confusion and even rarer uncertainty tugged at Avaryce.

Barely resisting the urge to charge, Ava pulled further back into the shadows of the Ledgermain Inn. It wouldn’t do to let the abomination see her until she was sure of her plan of attack. The death knight was going to die, Ava was sure of that, and this time she would see to it that she stayed dead. No, she just needed a plan… and to be sure the abomination was Ezma. Once she had the information she needed, she would strike. For now though, Ava watched and tried not to remember the pale, dead husk she had left behind in the snow.

[Elowynne]

No rest for the dead, it seemed.

Ezma paced through Dalaran, tracing a circuitous route through both the upper streets and the sewers of the great, floating city. A restless energy had filled her since coming back from the campfire in The Barrens. Hakael had been quick to inform her of Kelehal’s defection from their order, the orc both curious and amused by what her reaction might be. Ezma was becoming familiar with these feelings. She was angry and The Beast gnawed at her throat as the ice slipped.

Such weakness! Kelehal stood for nothing and ran from everything! Maybe she should destroy him. Maybe it would be a mercy…

Ezma continued to walk, absorbed and unaware of watching eyes.

[Elowynne]

Avaryce grit her teeth and held back a snarl as the pale, undead woman passed through the arches of the sewer where the rogue had concealed herself. It had been a couple of hours of constant walking but the abomination showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down. Ava sighed to herself, she was merely putting off the inevitable at this point anyway. She did not know how much of her sister remained within the Death Knight but it was clear that the abomination had once been Ezma. The unfamiliar sensation of guilt tugged at Avaryce once more… if only she hadn’t followed Avaryce out of Silvermoon City.

With a frustrated huff, Ava checked her gear once more. Her mask was heavy leather tooled into a grim looking skull. The matching heavy cowl was pulled low and covered her fire red hair, leaving not a glimpse. Thick black leather covered every inch of exposed skin, heavy enough to protect her from some damage but light enough to allow her to avoid more. Avaryce had sharpened her swords to a razor’s edge and they now hung at her sides. She slowly exhaled, she was as ready as she would ever be. Death of a Sister, Scene 2.

Ava heard the ringing of Ezma’s metal shod boots on the cobbles of the sewer long before she became visible. The blue glow of the undead woman’s eyes was intense but far away as she passed. Avaryce stepped behind her, quietly unsheathing her swords as she made her final approach on silent footsteps.

With a snap, Ezma came alert, brought to herself not so much by a sound as the whisper of moving air. She threw herself to the side, turning her back against the wall and barely missed being cleaved by a wicked looking sword. Ezma spotted the tiny, black figure, a faint trace of familiarity tugging at her before the black, unholy rage broke loose and took over. Ezma ran on instinct, her weapons finding her hands and her spells weaving chains of ice around the rogue’s feet. Held in place, Ava parried Ezma’s sword easily but left herself open to the mace traveling towards her head. Ava’s last thought before it connected with her skull was that maybe, just maybe, she had underestimated the Death Knight a tad. This wasn’t the same old Ezma…

The universe exploded into fractured light before growing dark.

[Itanya Blade]

((Oh damn))

[Elowynne]

The sewer tunnel was silent save the ambient sound of distant running water and Ezma’s jagged, harsh breathing. Weapons still raised, she kept a wary eye on the unmoving rogue while struggling with the wave of hysteria attempting to take over. Her control shaky, Ezma slowly lowered her mace and sword while creeping closer to the black figure. “Why?”, she breathed. Only more silence greeted Ezma as she noticed the blood starting to pool on the cobbles beneath the rogue’s head. Ezma slowly pulled back the cowl, frowning at the blood smearing onto her fingers. So much of it coated the woman’s cropped fire –red hair…

She froze, memory sliding into place like a peg that had just needed a push to fit in it’s intended hole. Ezma frantically tore at the gruesome skull mask, pulling it from the injured woman’s head. Ouli…

Her sister’s blood streaked into Ezma’s silver hair as she tore at it, screaming as the hysteria roared through her at full force.

[Elowynne]

The Night Matron of First To Your Aid knew she had never seen so much gold in her life. She was also pretty sure she may never well see such an amount again. The bag hung from a heavily plated fist, the glove’s craftsmanship hinting that such an amount wasn’t a problem for this Death Knight. The eerie blue glow from deep within the cowl was hard to meet so the Matron stared at the still, wounded woman brought in instead. The blood… the location of the injury… the Matron wasn’t sure she would last the night.

“For her care.” came the soft, cold whisper. There was a gentle clink as the Knight shook the bag as a reminder. The Matron held out her hands, as the heavy weight settled there.

“Your donation is generous.” She stated as she bowed. When she rose, the black figure was gone.

With concern marring her features, the Matron nearly threw the gold on the counter. She grabbed her worn book of prayers as she headed towards the injured sin’dorei lying on the cot. Her hands started to glow as she whispered prayers. She took her time cleaning the wound and evaluating the damage. She suspected the greater harm was deep inside. A cracked skull of this magnitude was never good. Should the elf remain breathing come morning’s light, the Matron would have her transferred to Shattrath City. It was said A’dal and his Anchorites could work miracles.

The Matron glanced at the gold spilled out onto the counter. There was certainly enough there to buy a miracle. Someone was desperate and, most likely, guilty. She put the dark figure from her mind as she turned back to the wounded woman and her prayers.