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Of Love Lost

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PostPosted: Fri May 29, 2009 8:17 pm    Post subject: Of Love Lost Reply with quote


A deep reverberating voice called out from the single figure on the great ship’s fo’c’s’le. Twenty cannons answered his command, raining scatter shot into the screaming men not a hundred yards off her stern. The burning wreck across the waves had once been the pride of the fleet, a swift, powerful Elven destroyer; her sails were now holed with grape shot, her crew was in panic and she lay lifeless in the water.

Duke Gorthas, captain of the Plaguewind, reaver of the Northern Seas would add to his fame, the flagship of Silvermoon would soon be his.


His eerie voice rang out, carrying over both cries of agony and shouts of triumph. Like a swarm of locusts his crew covered the enemy ship, eating and cutting the once proud crew to chum for the sharks now below them.

It was then that his world changed. Huddled behind a barrel an auburn haired beauty stared at him, shaking, eyes wide in terror. Gorthas reeled as if stricken a fatal blow.


He cried out, his once powerful voice cracking. Bile rose in his throat as he saw the look on her face, she was terrified of him, he was a monster!

His head wiped about and his damned crew shrieked as their bodies wilted then blew away, leaving nothing on the deck but the steel they once wielded.

Walking to the woman, he swallowed hard and slowly removed his helm. Alas, this was not his Imogene, although she was her spitting image. The scourge had taken her as surely as it had him.

Herb farming would never make them rich, but they were young, happy and head over heels in love. Married less than a year, Delandre and Imogene couldn’t help but smile every time they thought of one another. They had a few animals, enough crops to feed themselves and were able to even buy a few luxuries with the lemongrass, basil and saffron they grew. They both came from generations of farmers and their land, albeit small, was rich.

It was early evening when it happened; they both heard the plow horse nicker outside and thought it odd they had visitors. Although big and strong, Delandre had no skill in weapons and Imogene was quick but had never even picked up steel.

Returning to the moment Gorthas turned his attention to the survivors.

Take what foodstuffs you need take the Plaguewind back to your port, use her well.

He left the startled crew by leaping over the rail.

Imogene was strong, if he survived then she had as well and he was going to find her.
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PostPosted: Sat May 30, 2009 12:09 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The memory is gone, but the despair of that night lingers. The frustration of knowing and not remembering lends strength to her arm as she causes terror and destruction wherever her Lord points her. A vague hint that she had another life, a better life angers her. If she isn’t allowed to have such a life, then neither should anyone else and their audacity of thinking they could live free angered her further. Her pleasure was their death. Or better yet, turning them to her Lord’s whim. Her special attention was saved for farmers. Why they should anger her more than any other, she didn’t know, but seeing one always set her eyes blazing.

Her latest mission set her onto the seas. Merdinvlak doesn’t like boats, the motion of the open water confused her senses, and the horizon didn’t seem to stay in its proper place. But He told her to go and so she went, her own thoughts and desires wiped away in an instant by his command. One of her Lord’s sea captains, one of his best, had suddenly vanished. The Plaguewind had pulled into a town with a living crew aboard her and strange, unbelievable tales of the captain slaying his own crew and giving the boat to the survivors of the Elven destroyer.

Merdinvlak was to investigate, find out what really happened, and kill all of the survivors from the sea battle. Her Lord would brook no deserters and any who turned against him were destined for True Death. Finding the survivors was ridiculously easy as they hadn’t even bothered to leave the port town they had pulled in to.

Merdinvlak and the fodder given to her to use and discard as she saw fit were more than a match for the town guardsmen. While she wasn’t able to cause the incredible damage many of her Lord’s minions could, after her transformation, Merdinvlak became extremely hard to actually damage in any significant way. She wore her Lord’s armor, the clear sign of his favor in her demeanor and visage, and recognizably in charge of the troops, so she was the mortals’ obvious target. By the time they realized they were unable to harm her, it was too late and her troops swarmed over them, overwhelming them in a matter of minutes.

The rest of the townsfolk didn’t even put up a fight, merely a lot of tears and pleading, both of which were easy to silence with a single swipe of her huge blade. Finally, all that were left were the Elven crewmen and a woman who had been on the destroyer for some reason. The woman died first, the very sight of her sending Merdinvlak into a nearly incoherent rage, for some reason she couldn’t explain. Her blade dripping with the woman’s blood, she pointed it with a strong, steady arm towards the sailors, offering to spare them from death should they tell her everything. They couldn’t talk fast enough, each struggling to speak loudest and spare their pathetic lives.

Finally, she held up one hand, silencing them, and reached into her cloak to remove a green vial.

“You swore to spare our lives, if we spoke!” one particularly brave soul cried out, gesturing to his mates.

“Wrong,” Merdinvlak replied, her soft lilting voice reverberating with the power of her Lord, sending chills down their spines. “I swore to spare you from death. And you shall not die. Instead, you shall become as them, servants to my Master.”

The crewmen glanced at the pathetic half-dead creatures ranged out behind her, their shambling forms barely reminiscent of the living people they’d once been. As one, they leaped to their feet and snatched up their discarded weapons, but it was far too late. Merdinvlak threw the vial at their feet, shattering the thick glass, allowing the acrid vapors to flow freely through the air. The dozen sailors clutched their throats, falling once more to their knees as their lungs failed, the transformation already beginning. The sea breeze sent tendrils of the poison wafting through the town and the corners of Merdinvlak’s lips lifted slightly as she heard those who had hidden away thinking to survive her visit cough and gag. She would convert more fodder than she’d lost quelling this town. While it wouldn’t be enough to offset her Lord’s displeasure finding definitive answers about his wayward captain, it would be enough to preserve her own half-life.

“Report!” the voice snapped in her head, loud enough to cause an immediate headache.

“The rumors are true. Your captain did kill your troops and spare your enemies. But none here know why.”

For nearly a minute, silence was her only answer and she began to think that would be the end of it. Then, “Search him out. He did not perish. He turned from me. I must know why. And then you will kill him.”

“I understand, my lord. I shall not rest until I have found Duke Gorthas for you.”

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