Queistor
05-17-2008, 03:49 AM
Twilight
She's not like us, JQ. She can't understand the power she has. She may never. You and I, we must keep her safe from those that would hurt her. It's important for her to feel safe...
JQ didn't know agony until he dug his nails into the dirt to pull himself out from under his screaming horse. Its weight ground his legs into the road, and even before he got sick he wouldn't have had the strength to pull himself free. Through the smoke and flames he saw a robed figure cradling Lydia. She cried softly, lost in confusion and fear. Nearby a house gave in to the fire and collapsed, but JQ hardly heard it. He reached with his mind to soothe his sister, but the link with their mother had been severed and now a stranger was touching her and taking her away and she didn't understand what was happening.
"I'm not infected!" he shouted towards the robed figure. "Help me! She needs me!" The pain in his legs meant his spine was intact. He dug his elbows into the ground, grit his teeth, and pulled. The pain was nothing. Lydia couldn't survive without him. "Bring her back!"
A human woman in plate approached him. He brushed her mind and felt pity. She had lost her helm, her face bruised and blackened. JQ extended his hand to her, a golden healing spell forming on his fingertips. "Here, yes, help me. I'll help you."
Her sword dripped with blood, and he realized she'd pitied the others she'd slain, too.
Midnight
The farmer stopped blubbering and finally died. Queistor felt along the man's body for keys. His fingers closed on hard metal, tied to a belt loop with string. He yanked it free and stood. The door was nearby. He crept slowly to the nearest wall and felt along it. A cabinet, a rack of pots and pans which he was careful not to disturb, the open doorway that faced the garden, a corner, and then he banged his shins against a water pump. He squeezed between it and the wall and continued.
The door to the basement was on the third wall he felt. He found the keyhole and unlocked it. Below he felt her sleeping. Odd that she still lived. He groped for a handrail and let it guide him down the steep stairs.
Her consciousness stirred. It unfurled and found him.
"Johnny!" she started screaming. "Johnny Johnny Johnny!"
Hush.
Despite the years between them, she was responsive to his mental touch. More responsive than before. He'd improved. She fell into a deep sleep. He kept her there long enough to carry her out of the basement.
First he'd find a safe place to explore her mind and see what had transpired since he last saw her. Based on that, he'd decide if he would let her live.
Dawn
The alarms rang out: Tranquillien was under Alliance attack. The strength went out of Queistor's swing and his pick glanced off the copper vein without effect. Lydia's tower was not near Tranquillien, but once the seasoned soldiers arrived to defend the town the Alliance were like to scour the rest of the Ghostlands in search of easy prey.
He needed to get back before it was too late.
His quick pace upset his pet, who clambered inside his ribcage. The silk he'd encouraged her to spin would keep the egg sac safe for now, and if not he'd find another. Spiders were plentiful. There was only one Lydia.
The run took ten minutes. Trees and ruined Sin'dorei architecture passed in a blur of awkward colors. The path to the tower was overgrown and lynxes prowled the area, thick as fog. He shielded himself against their attacks and ignored them. Mental fingers reached out to the tower when he got in range.
Too late.
A small portion of the Alliance raiders had found the tower. Two had died to Queistor's protective machinations, having triggered the traps he'd set for any intruders. He trod over a Draenei woman cleft in two and pushed aside a Dwarf that dangled by his broken neck just inside the doorway.
Too late.
Lydia hung from her ankles, tangled in her hammock, her soiled dress fallen up around her shoulders. Her tumble of matted brown hair surrounded the gnome like a cloak. Blood pooled on the floor beneath them.
Too late. She held the gnome by his head so his feet didn't touch the floor. The gnome's skull was shattered, cracked open; Lydia's teeth sunk into the pink-grey matter and swallowed a chunk of it.
LYDIA.
She shrieked and dropped the gnome. "No no no no no!" She flailed her arms and tried to jerk free. If she fell she might break her neck. Queistor went to the rounded wall and pulled a sequence of levers. With a clak-clak-clak of gears and chains, her hammock lowered. She put her palms out to take her weight and eased herself to a sitting position. The hammock settled over her like a net. She looked at Queistor and cried.
He kicked the gnome out of the way and pulled Lydia up by her wrist. He grabbed her jaw through the rope netting and wrenched it open, then jammed the fingers of his other hand into her mouth to trigger her gag reflex and make her vomit.
Transmissible spongiform encephalopathy. Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. How many times did he have to remind her? Don't. Eat. The brains. Most girls didn't have to be told that twice.
"I can taste his dreams!"
Hush.
She collapsed to the stone floor beside her snack. Queistor cleaned up the mess. If he let it linger she would become ill, and the corpses and vomit would attract insects that would happily eat Queistor as well as the dead raiders. After he had cleaned he would repair the traps he'd set to keep Lydia safe while he roamed the world.
Her legs were streaked with blood, but not from any wound. She'd grown into womanhood since he'd found her. That was why he had kept her alive: her womb. Whatever affection he'd had for his half-sister in life had been, thank the Darkness, purged from him by the Scourge. She was only useful to him as a breeder.
The McLeod family were clairvoyant. It came through his mother's side. They couldn't see the future or so much as attempt to predict it, but they were born with a natural connection to the shadow world of psyche and dreams. Now that Lydia was all the living remainder of the bloodline, Queistor must see that it continued.
All he needed was a suitable sire.
When the corpses had been removed and the floor and walls scrubbed, Queistor set his half-sister back in her hammock and raised it up near the domed roof. Muddled as her mind was, she understood enough not to fall. He'd built scaffolding up there, with toys to keep her entertained. The gnome, even with his comrades dead, must not have been able to resist the curiosity to see what would happen if he pulled the levers to bring the girl down.
A suitable sire, and a small brood of children. Queistor had an idea of where to find her a mate.
He remembered the final conversation he'd had with his exasperated mother on the subject. I can't tell you, dear boy. Your grandfather would know the secret from you and hunt your father down and kill him. When your mind is stronger I'll let you know. For now be content with this: He was an elf who had a gift like ours, but not inborn. We promised if we had a son I would name him Queistor. He'll know you by that, if I don't get to introduce you two.
Queistor watched his half-sister sleep a while longer, then stole out quietly before dawn came.
She's not like us, JQ. She can't understand the power she has. She may never. You and I, we must keep her safe from those that would hurt her. It's important for her to feel safe...
JQ didn't know agony until he dug his nails into the dirt to pull himself out from under his screaming horse. Its weight ground his legs into the road, and even before he got sick he wouldn't have had the strength to pull himself free. Through the smoke and flames he saw a robed figure cradling Lydia. She cried softly, lost in confusion and fear. Nearby a house gave in to the fire and collapsed, but JQ hardly heard it. He reached with his mind to soothe his sister, but the link with their mother had been severed and now a stranger was touching her and taking her away and she didn't understand what was happening.
"I'm not infected!" he shouted towards the robed figure. "Help me! She needs me!" The pain in his legs meant his spine was intact. He dug his elbows into the ground, grit his teeth, and pulled. The pain was nothing. Lydia couldn't survive without him. "Bring her back!"
A human woman in plate approached him. He brushed her mind and felt pity. She had lost her helm, her face bruised and blackened. JQ extended his hand to her, a golden healing spell forming on his fingertips. "Here, yes, help me. I'll help you."
Her sword dripped with blood, and he realized she'd pitied the others she'd slain, too.
Midnight
The farmer stopped blubbering and finally died. Queistor felt along the man's body for keys. His fingers closed on hard metal, tied to a belt loop with string. He yanked it free and stood. The door was nearby. He crept slowly to the nearest wall and felt along it. A cabinet, a rack of pots and pans which he was careful not to disturb, the open doorway that faced the garden, a corner, and then he banged his shins against a water pump. He squeezed between it and the wall and continued.
The door to the basement was on the third wall he felt. He found the keyhole and unlocked it. Below he felt her sleeping. Odd that she still lived. He groped for a handrail and let it guide him down the steep stairs.
Her consciousness stirred. It unfurled and found him.
"Johnny!" she started screaming. "Johnny Johnny Johnny!"
Hush.
Despite the years between them, she was responsive to his mental touch. More responsive than before. He'd improved. She fell into a deep sleep. He kept her there long enough to carry her out of the basement.
First he'd find a safe place to explore her mind and see what had transpired since he last saw her. Based on that, he'd decide if he would let her live.
Dawn
The alarms rang out: Tranquillien was under Alliance attack. The strength went out of Queistor's swing and his pick glanced off the copper vein without effect. Lydia's tower was not near Tranquillien, but once the seasoned soldiers arrived to defend the town the Alliance were like to scour the rest of the Ghostlands in search of easy prey.
He needed to get back before it was too late.
His quick pace upset his pet, who clambered inside his ribcage. The silk he'd encouraged her to spin would keep the egg sac safe for now, and if not he'd find another. Spiders were plentiful. There was only one Lydia.
The run took ten minutes. Trees and ruined Sin'dorei architecture passed in a blur of awkward colors. The path to the tower was overgrown and lynxes prowled the area, thick as fog. He shielded himself against their attacks and ignored them. Mental fingers reached out to the tower when he got in range.
Too late.
A small portion of the Alliance raiders had found the tower. Two had died to Queistor's protective machinations, having triggered the traps he'd set for any intruders. He trod over a Draenei woman cleft in two and pushed aside a Dwarf that dangled by his broken neck just inside the doorway.
Too late.
Lydia hung from her ankles, tangled in her hammock, her soiled dress fallen up around her shoulders. Her tumble of matted brown hair surrounded the gnome like a cloak. Blood pooled on the floor beneath them.
Too late. She held the gnome by his head so his feet didn't touch the floor. The gnome's skull was shattered, cracked open; Lydia's teeth sunk into the pink-grey matter and swallowed a chunk of it.
LYDIA.
She shrieked and dropped the gnome. "No no no no no!" She flailed her arms and tried to jerk free. If she fell she might break her neck. Queistor went to the rounded wall and pulled a sequence of levers. With a clak-clak-clak of gears and chains, her hammock lowered. She put her palms out to take her weight and eased herself to a sitting position. The hammock settled over her like a net. She looked at Queistor and cried.
He kicked the gnome out of the way and pulled Lydia up by her wrist. He grabbed her jaw through the rope netting and wrenched it open, then jammed the fingers of his other hand into her mouth to trigger her gag reflex and make her vomit.
Transmissible spongiform encephalopathy. Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. How many times did he have to remind her? Don't. Eat. The brains. Most girls didn't have to be told that twice.
"I can taste his dreams!"
Hush.
She collapsed to the stone floor beside her snack. Queistor cleaned up the mess. If he let it linger she would become ill, and the corpses and vomit would attract insects that would happily eat Queistor as well as the dead raiders. After he had cleaned he would repair the traps he'd set to keep Lydia safe while he roamed the world.
Her legs were streaked with blood, but not from any wound. She'd grown into womanhood since he'd found her. That was why he had kept her alive: her womb. Whatever affection he'd had for his half-sister in life had been, thank the Darkness, purged from him by the Scourge. She was only useful to him as a breeder.
The McLeod family were clairvoyant. It came through his mother's side. They couldn't see the future or so much as attempt to predict it, but they were born with a natural connection to the shadow world of psyche and dreams. Now that Lydia was all the living remainder of the bloodline, Queistor must see that it continued.
All he needed was a suitable sire.
When the corpses had been removed and the floor and walls scrubbed, Queistor set his half-sister back in her hammock and raised it up near the domed roof. Muddled as her mind was, she understood enough not to fall. He'd built scaffolding up there, with toys to keep her entertained. The gnome, even with his comrades dead, must not have been able to resist the curiosity to see what would happen if he pulled the levers to bring the girl down.
A suitable sire, and a small brood of children. Queistor had an idea of where to find her a mate.
He remembered the final conversation he'd had with his exasperated mother on the subject. I can't tell you, dear boy. Your grandfather would know the secret from you and hunt your father down and kill him. When your mind is stronger I'll let you know. For now be content with this: He was an elf who had a gift like ours, but not inborn. We promised if we had a son I would name him Queistor. He'll know you by that, if I don't get to introduce you two.
Queistor watched his half-sister sleep a while longer, then stole out quietly before dawn came.