Starting Over

Revenge

Sophie opened her eyes slowly and rolled her head to the side. It was hazy, misty, and otherworldly where ever she was. Sitting up, she gingerly poked her ribs, and was relieved to find the dagger gone and her side healed. Actually, she felt really good, though rather puzzled.

Standing to a crouching position, she snuffed the air and listened. The air was disturbingly clean, the vision limited. But turning her head to her left, she could hear Reg shouting her name in a voice laced with anguish. Walking in that direction, the mist cleared enough that she could see Fury’s home, and the priest taunting her love who was still restrained on the wall. Tears fell down his face, which made Sophie feel guilty, and she watch his pain with sorrow. Her body was on the floor near his feet, and Devon appeared to be dead, draped across the table. To her amazement she watched him stand and walk to her, then past her without seeing, leaving his body behind. With a quick glance at Reginald, she turned and followed her guild master, leaving the scene of her death behind.

Time had no meaning in this mist filled world. Sophie followed Devon for seconds or days – she had no idea nor did it bother her. But eventually they came to the familiar form of the Spirit of Death. The dwarf watched her guild master speaking with the angelic specter, though she could not hear what they were saying. When they were finished, Devon melted away into the surrounding mists, to resurrect Sophie assumed. Hesitantly she walked up to the mysterious winged woman.

“You have come!” the spirit spoke with surprise – the most emotion Sophie had ever heard out of the being.

The dwarf stood self-consciously before her, and smiled weakly. “Hey Lassie,” she greeted, “long time no see.” She scuffed her toe on a ground obscured by the ever present mists. “How come I can talk with ye – I was quite sure Fury got me with a Soulbinder.”

“It didn’t work Mum, because she made it with me blood,” came a voice from behind the hunter. Sophie spun around, her heart filled to bursting. There stood her son Flint, smiling and living, his arms held out to her. With a sob she ran the few steps and grabbed him, caressing his hair and crying her eyes out.

Eternity of bliss passed before the dwarf mother could speak coherently. “Flinty love – where is Spark – is he not here with ye? And ye Pa?” Guilt filled Sophie’s breast – her concern for so long now had been for Reginald – did she want to face her dead husband - would he be angry at her for falling in love again?

The silver-haired young man patted his mother’s hand. “They ain’t here, but look around ye, Mum,” he smiled. Sophie looked up from her son’s face, and saw six strangers standing around, looking miserable and lost. She turned back to her son with a questioning look. “We seven are the victims Fury murdered to make her evil blades. But it dinnae work with ye because it dinnae work with loved ones or blood relations. You now have the ability to free us to move on.”

The six turned and looked at her with burning hope. There were women and men, dwarves, humans and a night elf. Sophie blushed thinking that Fury had to have satisfying sex with each of them to kill them like that. “Are ye stuck here, Flinty?” she asked. Grasping his hand even more firmly, she took a deep breath. “Flinty, why did Fury kill ye? What was up with that?”

The young man sighed, combing his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture he had inherited from his father. “She’s a bitter and evil lass, mum. Aye – I was taken with her. She was pretty and sexy and bold. I think she envied our family – her mum abandoned her young, she never knew her pa. But Pa and ye could see the anger in her, and dinnae welcome her with open arms like she wanted.”

Sophie flushed with shame. If she had welcomed a child who had all the indications of being evil, would she have turned her from the path she chose?

“Nay, mum,” he smiled softly, reading his mother’s expressions like a book. “Ye can stop thinking that – she wasn’t a nice girl, and it twas yer duty as a parent to voice yer disapproval. Ye could nae of changed her – she was already twisted in the head.”

She gave a sigh of relief at the absolution her son had given her. Sophie nodded for him to continue.

“I supposed she loved me in a way, but she be really screwed up,” the dwarf mused. “We wrote each other frequently – I asked her to marry me when I had avenged me Pa.” At this Sophie sucked in her breath, but did not say anything. “Somewhere in the time me and Spark were in Hinterlands, she found the Blood Elf Deathrage. Totally fell for him head over heels, mum. He recognized her power, and how insecure she was, and got her wrapped around his finger.”

The hunter and mother’s eyes flashed with anger. “So she found her a new man – why did she kill ye?”

Flint shrugged. “It be complicated – our motives never be straight forward. Part of it be revenge – she was jealous of our happy home life, and put out she wasn’t welcomed like she wanted in her dreams. Another part – she had to find victims for enchanting the blade – and was a touch nervous for her first one. She felt safe with me, and could have her climax easier. After me, she had no problems – fed off the power to get off.”

“Why Spark though!” Sophie cried out. “And why isn’t he here so I can see him too!”

Her son smiled sorrowfully. “Fury moved to Hinterlands, I thought to be near me. It was a good place to hide while learning more advanced enchanting and how to make those blades to please her elf.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “When she got there, me and Spark went to see her. She put something in our drinks, and I woke up chained to the wall. I thought she was wanting to be kinky, and she killed me, making her first Soulbinder. She kept that one – a bit o’ a trophy I suppose. That was the knife she used on you.”

“And Sparky?” Sophie asked in bewilderment. She didn’t want to think of her boys having to watch each other fucked and murdered.

“He was drugged upstairs while she had her way with me. Once she made her knife, she was kinda disgusted with herself, and freaked out a bit. She chained him to the wall, grabbed her valuables and abandoned the house. Left poor Spark to starve to death.” Flint put his arm around his mother’s shoulders. Spark and Pa are beyond – I cannae see them. But I’m sure they have no problem with ye and Reginald – he be a fine man.

Sophie looked around the misty land – there were no trees, no landscape, nothing but the seven miserable people, the Spirit and herself. “Ye cannae talk to the Spirit, I take it?” she asked softly.

Flint shook his head. “She can sense we are here, but she cannae see or hear us. Its torture for her – she be quite lonely. Its torture for us – we are bored and lonely too, though we can see through the haze and watch our loved ones when emotions run strong.” He looked at his mother with love and pride. “Ye have become the mighty hunter, mum! I’m so proud o’ ye. And you can free us – speak to the Spirit, will ye?”

The mother turned around to face the Spirit again. The sad and wispy voice, as mist-filled as the air around them, spoke to her. “I know you are speaking with one of the trapped souls here. They grieve me, Sophie Flintmaker. My only joy is speaking to those traveling through this land – whether to pass on to their reward, or to return to their earthly dwelling. The one you know as Fury has offended me. By using an accursed knife enchanted with your son’s blood on you, she has unknowingly given you the power to end her evil doings.”

“End her evil doings?” Sophie repeated, puzzled. “I mean I really, really want to kill her – is that what you mean?”

The Spirit smiled – sad and erethril. “Use this knife on her – it has been woven from the hairs of her seven victims and yourself. Killing her thusly will force her soul to pay for its wicked deeds.”

Flint handed his mother a dagger that looked like the Soulbinder, but its runes glowed blue where the red ones would be after a fresh enchanting. A closer glance showed that it was not forged of metal like a typical blade, but created of fine, dense weaving of different colors of hair. It hefted in her hand like steel, she found it sharpened and deadly with a hesitant brushing of her thumb over the edge, and Sophie knew it would cut like any normal dagger. “It will be my pleasure, Lassie. I’ll give her what coming to her for ye,” the silver-haired dwarf promised soberly.

Mother turned to son for the last time. “I can sense I must go, Flinty darling. I love ye – I hope you know that, my son,” she told him, hugging him strongly, tears falling down her cheeks. “Please tell Spark and yer Pa the same for me.”

“Ah Mum – and I love you. You were the best and are the best.” He pushed her shoulders back and gazed into the blue eyes. “And thank ye for what ye are doing. Do not taunt Fury – she be dangerous. Stab her in the back like she would have done to ye.”

“Will you be all right, me son?” Sophie asked with worry as she felt a pull toward the mists.

The young dwarf smiled longingly. “Yes Mum – once Fury is dead, we will be able to speak to the Spirit and move on. Spark and Pa will be waiting for me, as will all my friends who passed on. We will see you again, but I hope it will be many happy years with your Paladin, and many years beyond before that happens.”

The pull away was now a tugging, then a yanking that Sophie could not ignore. With one last kiss and wistful look, she ran from Flint and the Spirit, back to her lifeless body.


-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Reginald stopped thrashing against his restraints. His training kicked in and he assessed the situation with logic that spoke of his inner strength. Fury was slowly disrobing in a pathetic attempt to arouse him. It was obvious she was insane. A wooden box sat on a table where she put it – most likely she was going to seduce him to enchant another of the evil Soulbinders. There was no way he was going to get an erection at the sight of the naked humanized dwarf who had murdered the woman he loved, but there was a suspicious pink potion sitting next to the box – if it was what he thought it was, he wouldn’t have any control over his body’s reaction.

He looked at Devon’s body and knew he should be rezzing soon – the typical amount of time had passed. Most likely his spirit was standing there, waiting for Fury to move away so he could reclaim his body and attack her by surprise. The priest was still doing a slow strip-tease, shooting seductive looks at the ensnared paladin. Reginald glared at her and turned his attention to Sophie’s corpse, still laying on the floor across the room, cradling her gun like she was simply asleep. A tear ran down his face – all the things he never had time to say to her, and now she was gone.

Fury was now naked, and grabbed the small vial of pink potion. “I won’t insult your intelligence, Reginald – you know this is a lust potion. I have wanted you for a long time – you are handsome and popular. I have wanted you even more ever since you took up with that slut,” and she gestured rudely at Sophie’s crumpled body. “Take this and make it easy and quick on yourself.”

Reg looked at her in disgust and disbelief. Fury had set the potion back down and was fiddling with the buckles and straps holding his large shoulder plates to his body. Telling the priest how he truly felt about screwing her could make her angry and turn the situation even more dangerous. But it pained him so deeply to dishonor Sophie’s memory with not reacting to her vicious slights toward his love. But the man chose to pretend and act the part to get out of danger and pray that Sophie’s spirit, where ever it was trapped, would understand and forgive him – Fury had to be stopped, and he couldn’t stop her when chained to the wall. “Perhaps the potion is not necessary,” he drawled in what he hoped was a seductive voice. “Wouldn’t it be a shame to kill me just to make a knife when there are so many enjoyable things we could be doing?”

Fury jerked back in surprise. She had gotten one of his shoulder plates off, and was fumbling with the second one. “Hmmmm,” she pondered for a moment. “You are sexy, and I really would love to stick it to Sophie. But Deathrage wants another Soulbinder… I don’t know.” The priest looked in his eyes, and glanced over his body, weighing the advantages of keeping the human alive. As she struggled with an inner debate, Reg noted that Devon’s broken body had turned into a ghostly skeleton – obviously he had resurrected and was somewhere in the area waiting to help him.

The other shoulder plate fell to the floor with a clang, causing Reginald to wince. Fury ignored the sound, and probed with her fingers looking for the way to remove his chest piece. She continued to mutter to herself as he paladin forced himself not to pull away or show disgust in his expression. The priest found one buckle on the side and unlatched it, but paused a second to look at his tear-streaked face.

“Why are you crying?” Fury asked, dazed and puzzled. The tears still ran down his face, as he fought with trying to fake interest in the crazed woman who had killed his love, who lay on the floor in front of him. All he wanted to do was hold Sophie’s body and get her out of there, and yet he was helpless and most likely going to join her soon. Reginald looked at her in helpless anger, unable to pretend any longer.

Startled by the change in attitude, Fury took a step back. She looked at him with a bewildered and crazed look in her eyes. Reginald snarled sharply “Why do you think, you insane bitch!” And while he had her full attention, he was relived to see Devon run through the door, sword raised and poised to strike the priest. Then he noticed where Sophie’s body had been, a dwarven skeleton was laying on the floor. A skeleton? Could she have rez’d? But how! He let out an involuntary gasp of hope.

The priest spun to see what had brought such a reaction out of Reginald. She didn’t notice Sophie’s missing body – it was difficult to see when you have a furious warrior swinging a two-handed sword aimed for your skull. With a screech of anger, she side-stepped and grabbed a wand off a nearby table, aiming frantically for her guild master.

The interference was all Reg needed – Fury’s attention on Devon weakened the spell trapping him to the wall, and with a heave he broke loose, grabbing his sword that had been tossed to the side and leapt into the fray.

The priest backed against a wall, facing two very angry and betrayed men. Reginald and Devon split apart, working on the priests two sides, attempting to drive her into the center of the room. It worked, as Fury wasn’t prepared for the driving force of the paladins vengeful attacks, a man bent on either revenging or protecting the woman he loved – which one he didn’t know at the moment.

Fury was an excellent fighter. Not many spellcasters could hold off two angry plate-wearing and highly trained men. She dodged and parried and threw dark spells with grace and agility, keeping her own for a while. Her skill, however, wasn’t enough, and soon she was bleeding, wounded, and dangerously low on mana. The fact she was still naked hadn’t helped her. It was then that a familiar dwarf ran through the door. “Soph!” Reg breathed almost reverently, joy surging through his chest.

The crazed priest spun and gaped in disbelief. “But, but, but!” she sputtered. “That was a Soulbinder – how can you be here?”

Devon took the distraction to grab Fury and pin her to the floor, his sword touching her neck and his expression less than friendly. Reginald came to his senses and echoed the move, his sword at the priest’s side. She wouldn’t have dared move if she was aware of her surroundings, but was too busy staring in shock at Sophie to even try.

Sophie stopped when she reached Fury, glaring at her coldly. “Miss me, sugar?” she growled sarcastically.

The priest was losing her grip on reality, but she wasn’t stupid. Flinging her hands out, she used the last of her mana to blast both Devon and Reginald away and stunned. But Sophie could not be stopped – with one fluid motion she pounced and thrust the dagger deep into Fury’s chest. “The Spirit of Death sends her love”, she snapped, watching the life leave the woman’s body almost instantly.

An eerie scream echoed throughout the small house, and as Sophie wearily stood to her feet, the spells holding the warrior and paladin dazed broke, freeing the two men. Reginald grabbed Sophie, squeezing the breath out of the grinning dwarf, who would have returned the hug with gusto if her arms weren’t trapped at her sides. “Can’t breathe, love!” she gasped with humor, and the man gently set her down, grasping her face in his hands, drinking her in. Tears ran down their faces without shame, and Devon gave them a few moments to settle down and get their acts together.

When Reg got over his shock over losing then getting Sophie back, the three turned to look at Fury’s remains. Or where her remains had been. A scorched outline was all that remained of the angry young dwarf – there was no corpse, no skeleton, or even ashes. There was no doubt Fury was indeed gone for good.

“What was that blade, Soph?” Reg asked, kneeling with his arms still wrapped protectively around her. “And where did you get it?”

The hunter whistled for Rambler and turned toward the door, sniffing deeply. “I’ll explain to ye on the way to Ironforge,” she shook her head seriously. There was much she had to tell Devon and Reg, but couldn’t at the moment.

The paladin knew she had more to say, and respected her judgment of when and what was to be revealed of her experience. The guild master looked puzzled. “Why Ironforge?” he asked.

“We need to tell the council, Devon,” Sophie laughed dryly. “It’s obvious, ain’t it? The Soulbinders don’t work. I had no problem rezzing. What made my healing potion not work on ye, Reg, must have been poison – nothing more. Ye could have rez’d with no trouble at all.” She took Reg’s hand and squeezed it for reassurance. “The Spirit gave me that dagger to remove Fury for good – a soulbinder for real. She dinnae appreciate what the priest was trying to do – we all know how she likes to chat to us when we die.”

Reginald summoned his charger, and Devon’s horse had been left in the barn when he had come back with the paladin. That left Sophie without a mount. She eyed Fury’s pretty mare and sighed, rubbing the velvety muzzle. The horse whickered and nuzzled the dwarf, obviously as taken with Sophie as Sophie was with her. Small boned and finely formed, the mare wasn’t quite as large as most Stormwind mounts – a lovely red roan for a lady. Without thinking the hunter reached in her pack and presented the beast with an apple, then put her fingers to her mouth to whistle for Mutton.

Reginald put his hand on her arm and stopped her. “I’d say Fury’s horse come under the laws for looting, Soph. We all know how badly you’ve wanted one – take her. Mutton will be easy to sell.” Devon nodded in silent agreement. Happily Sophie saddled and mounted her new animal friend, and the three galloped off to the city in the mountain.


-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Deathrage drew back from the window with a frown. Just minutes before he had been working his way slowly to the Wetlands, keeping to the thick foliage off the roads, when a paladin and warrior thundered past with determined and angry looks in their eyes. The only house in the direction they were headed was Fury’s. Dismounting and dismissing his mount, he made his way swiftly and silently back to the priest’s house and crept up to the window to watch from safety.

Observing Fury’s death dispassionately, he pondered what he saw and heard. The Soulbinders were useless – a clear fact by the hunter’s ability to resurrect and return. The Alliance had been aware of their existence, and who had been creating them. And most disturbing was the fact the Spirit of Death did not appreciate the attempt to create the daggers and would get people to kill anyone who tried.

Backing around the side of the dwelling, he watched with disgust as the hunter took off with the men, riding on Fury’s mare. That horse had cost the Horde a pretty copper, and he would have liked to sell it and pocket the funds. Deathrage drummed his fingers on a stump, thinking deeply. As much as he would have liked to hearth back to Silvermoon, find a young boy or elf prostitute to fuck and drink himself into oblivion, he knew he’d better meet the Horde party in Wetlands that was going to escort Fury to the Undercity. They were not in his guild nor near a mailbox, so he had no other way to contact them, and they would not appreciate waiting for nothing. Summoning his stallion, he mounted and crept his way north to the Wetlands.


-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Having consumed invisibility potions, it was easy for the trio to enter silently into Ironbeard’s tomb and listen in on the meeting being held on the roof. Two Blood Elf males, a high ranking Orc warrior, and female Tauren shaman waited for Deathrage and Fury.

Sophie had filled in Reginald and Devon on the way to Ironforge – how she could smell Deathrage just outside the open window and that he was supposed to take Fury to meet an escort party in Wetlands. And how the Soulbinders did indeed work – she had intentionally fed the elf misinformation.

Devon had flushed with anger. “Why didn’t you tell us he was there! We could have captured him and forced information out of him!” he all but yelled at the dwarf.

Reginald laughed and held a placating hand up to the guild master to settle him down. “Think about it, Devon. If we had captured him or let him know we were aware of his presence, the Horde would simply replace Fury with another enchanter. Seeing Sophie return and say the blades don’t work, he can tell the Horde they have the wrong recipe! My lady here might have solved our problem for once and all!”

It certainly did solve the problem. The three Alliance members listened in smug satisfaction as Deathrage had to explain to the waiting ensemble the failure of the blades and their enchanter. They were grateful the guild had sent its members to learn the Orcish tongue so they weren’t listening to gibberish. The priest’s news was met with anger, frustration, and disappointment, and the group swiftly hearthed out to deliver the news to their superiors.


-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They got back to Ironforge and Devon swiftly excused himself to set up a meeting with the leaders of the Alliance for the next day. Reginald and Sophie wasted no time in dismissing their mounts and almost frantically ran back to their place. Frequently they met each other’s eyes, held hands and continually just touched each other as if to reassure themselves that the other was indeed still there.

At last they got home, and Reg all but slammed the door shut in back of them. Grabbing the dwarf desperately, he picked her up and lay her on the bed, more beserk than gentle. Sophie smiled lovingly as her paladin frantically tore her armor off of her. She whispered the spell to drop his armor off as well, and they clutched each other in desperation.

Perhaps some after almost losing their partner would make love slowly and tenderly. But not so with our couple – frantic, desperate, bordering on violent they devoured each other, not bothering with or needing foreplay. Reginald grabbed her breasts and bit and sucked hard, bringing moans of need freely pouring from Sophie’s throat. Pushing her legs open wide, He lowered his linen trousers only enough to free his dripping member, and entered her roughly.

“Yes!” Sophie yelled loudly in dwarven, so wrapped up in her need to be consumed by her love she forgot to speak common. The man’s eyes were glazed and unfocused, sweat dripping down his face and torso as he fucked, faster and harder, in a primal need to claim the woman of his choice. Sophie came, and came again with the merciless pounding and the release of her deeply hidden emotions. She was his and he was hers – it didn’t matter what convention or normalcy dictated – the man and dwarf were one.

With a final thrust Reg pulled his soaked cock from Sophie’s well-serviced snatch, grasped it and pointed it at her huge tits. Growling like an animal he came on her, spurt after spurt, covering her with his sticky cum and marking his territory in the oldest way known to humanoids. Her eyes widened at the raw sexuality of the sight and the large amount of spunk he had deposited on her.

There was to be no tenderness that night. Even though they were both spent and exhausted from the strength of their emotions and orgasms, Reginald grabbed her hands and pinned her to the bed, leaning over her with a delirious look on his face. “Marry me,” he demanded, his face showing no teasing, no willingness to take ‘no’ for an answer.

Sophie’s eyes widened in fear, then suspicion, then hope, then fear again. Thousands of excuses flitting through her fevered brain. Fear of losing a man after investing years of your heart in him. Fear of being stuck at home to raise a family again. Fear for the difference in aging – Reginald would grow old and pass on decades before she reached her middle age. Fear of him waking one day and understanding he had tied himself to a short, fat dwarf.

“Marry me,” he demanded again. “I will not take no for an answer. We live a dangerous life, Soph, and I almost lost you. I will not live the rest of my life without letting the world know how much I love you, making our union official. The secrecy stops now.” He held her hands above her head, keeping her helpless and submissive, and drank in her eyes with his own. The love was there, no question.

Yes, there was plenty of love. And friendship, and maturity, and willingness to work hard to overcome the problems that come up in any relationship. Sophie opened her mouth to stutter out the many arguments she had made against marriage since meeting Reginald, but the intensity of his look stopped every one of them. “All right,” she simply agreed.