Graysong

Lazarus' Third Trial

Recommended Posts

(This was Lazarus' third trial figured I would post it here as well)

The Mandate’s Call.

It was dark. Why must it always be dark? The lack of light didn’t truly bother him as he could generally see well enough but rather the implication of doing things in the dark bothered him. Was he ashamed? Did he not wish his deeds to be seen?

No. It was just bloody dark.
Lazarus had left the front door of his slightly decrepit manor. During the time of his absence in Arthas’ service the manor had fallen into disrepair. You could say things don’t get done when the help is busy trying to murder the living.
Was he bothered by what was to happen? He didn’t know. His emotions were ragged and conflicted ever since Lilliana had broken that vise in his mind. He remembered everything now and the memories helped him with his decision with the Grim.

She never came back. The thought rose unbidden within his mind.

It was true. He couldn’t argue it. The General never did return. 

The Grim were not perfect. But they were a family and a family who accepted him.

The past needed to be the past and so he would make it so. Not his memories – no. He would burn that which had made him what he was and given him a hope for being human.

The darkness seemed to close in around him. The silence of what had once been a manor of the living now belonged to the dead. The yard that he had once played and laughed in now lay barren of joy; the lush and vibrant greens now dull shades of gray. There had been bushes here. Bushes that produced wonderful purple flowers – he couldn’t recall what they were originally known by but they had come to be known as Arthas’ Tears. No tears christened them now. Just thorns and wilted leaves.

He began his way around the manor making notes of the many cracks and holes in the walls. The place was horrible. He was horrible. Angry. He was angry. Angry at the people he had trusted. Angry at the lies. Angry at the peace that was promised but he was denied. They would burn.

He was in front of the cellar door. It too was cracked. Like his love.

With a shriek of protest that seemed wholly unwanted in the night the door opened. The hinges were rusted and failing and he let it lay open. It wouldn’t matter.

The stairs creaked and swayed with his weight as he descended though they were remarkably clear of webs belying the false curiosity he was attempting to show of the cleanliness.You know where this leads. You lie to yourself.
At the bottom was a lab. A meticulously kept lab where the vials were labeled in a neat hand and the books painstakingly dusted. Whoever owned it cared about it greatly. Him.

In the corner of the lab in a cage was a woman. A beast. Irons were clasped on her wrists and the chains went through the cage to the wall behind it. Animal.

At the sound of his approach she began screaming. Though words they were not but rather animal noises full of hate.
“Quiet Allison”, he muttered, “I am here to release you.” 

Lazarus made his way to the center the lab and ran a hand along the table. The woman continued shrieking and now began snapping her teeth at him. Her hair was a tangle of grease and filth the color completely unknown beneath the dirt. Her eyes were sunken but glowing with unearthly light. Dark ichor that now presented itself as her spittle flew from her mouth.

The man simply sat himself down on the floor of the lab. He was wearing his usual red robes with the matching red cowl. Wrapping his arms around his knees much like a child would he began rocking himself back and forth and quietly sang himself a song that was lost beneath the inhuman shrieks from the cage.

As the song ended he rose. Looking at Allison he whispered, “I love you.” The woman, thing, screamed in utter fury at him and began trying to lunge out of the bindings. The bolts screamed in protest.

Flame erupted from his hand. It started orange and quickly changed to a fel-tinged green. The cage was engulfed in the unnatural flame and the scream elevated in pitch until finally it died out.

A scream of his own came from his mouth as he turned his hands on to the room itself. Books, tables, chairs – everything was engulfed in fel flame.

Dropping his hands he looked at the destruction and walked back up the stairs.

Outside smoke poured out of the cellar and filled the air with the scent of brimstone.

He no longer had his research on the cure, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. He no longer had his fiancé to help. He no longer had his purpose for being what he was.

All that was left for him was The Mandate.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead