Demonic Embrace

It was morning, Dareum up surprisingly early. He wasn’t a big fan of morning, but had wanted to get out of his room desperately. Plus, he’d been able to get to the main deck without crossing paths with Orran. It was perhaps half an hour past dawn, the ship still swaying at sea. In all directions was nothing but endless blue. Amidst the expanse, Dareum felt tiny; insignificant. The sight was quite humbling.



His legs hung over the edge of the boat rather dangerously. A single good lurch would send him sliding overboard, were it not for a set of three parallel ropes which had been strung across the gap in the deck wall used when docked. Both legs were actually below the bottom rope, the thick cords catching him in the chest whenever he happened to lean against them. Dareum rested on his palms, placing them on the wood behind him and leaning back. He seemed to be absorbed in his thoughts, staring out over the horizon.



As could be expected, his mind insisted on drifting to thoughts of the night before. The warlock had come to terms with his sexuality long ago; the fact that a naked Night Elf could arouse him was something he understood and accepted. Being attracted to a teammate was a different story entirely. Dareum had vague feelings for any attractive body, but didn’t want to step over boundaries and potentially further confuse the situation. Orran hadn’t shown any actual interest in him, after all. It was entirely plausible that the elf’s sex drive had kicked in and taken over, urged by the desire for sex rather than care about whoever was on the other side of the wall. Dareum wanted the whole issue to be swept away and forgotten about.



“Hey…” Orran’s voice sounded softly behind him, and Dareum flinched in response. He was immediately pulled back to reality, drawn away from his reflecting. Dareum twisted his neck about to find Orran standing above him and slightly to the side. The druid was uncomfortable in comparison to his posture the day earlier, but Dareum knew that he couldn’t show the same level of embarrassment. Orran didn’t know that he’d been watched, and Dareum didn’t plan to tell him. Keeping his poise, he responded coolly.



“Morning. Did you already eat?” Small talk could ease the situation. It was Dareum’s only real hope.



“Yeah, I had something in my room.” Orran glanced down, eyeing an area on the deck next to Dareum. “Can I sit here?”



“Why couldn’t you?” Dareum responded sarcastically and ended with his half-smile. The combination seemed to relax Orran, who returned the gesture and sat next to the warlock, letting his feet slip under the ropes and hang against the ship’s hull. The two sat in silence for a minute, both looking at the massive ocean before them. “Amazing, huh?”



“Truly. Things like this sea, they’re why I became a druid. The magnificence that not everyone can experience or relate to.” Orran sighed, and then drew in an obscenely deep breath. He filled his lungs with salt air, and finally exhaled slowly, drawing out the sound he made. Dareum watched him inquisitively, rarely meeting people that were such ‘outdoorsy’ types. All Night Elves had some connection with nature, but Orran’s seemed uniquely deep. Orran noticed the human watching him and seemed to grow self conscious, at which point Dareum looked back out over the water.



“You know…this is going to be an awfully boring day if we spend the entire time looking at the ocean. Pretty as it is, it’s not very exciting.” The warlock began drumming his fingers against the deck of the ship, making small clicking noises. The wood was quite hard, however, and Dareum soon stopped. Small talk was not his strong suit by any stretch of the imagination, but this was a special case. “…why don’t we get to know each other?”



“That sounds alright…who should go first?”



“I will. My life has doubtless been shorter than yours, and is probably not nearly as amazing because of it. Let’s get the boring part out of the way.” Dareum spoke in his typical manner, leaving Orran unsure about how serious he was. He had little time to think as Dareum quickly cleared his throat and started to speak.



“I was born in Stormwind, into a fairly well off family. They were both mages, so of course, I was tested for magical affinity early on. Even as a little kid, I had a decent grasp on the arcane and some rough ability in the divine, but neither really interested me. My older brother was better at me in both those fields, so he received a lot more early training than I did. I didn’t really care, since the magic I’d been introduced to hadn’t enticed me. I knew how to do a few basic spells, but no more.



When I was the right age, I did the whole ‘school’ thing, but we were wealthy enough to afford a more private education. All the kids there were children of nobles, or the elite, or merchants, and all them were petty, inane, and annoying. I was able to glide through the schoolwork assigned, but unable to be friendly to the other students.



This continued until I decided to ditch one day, ending up near where the one of the cheaper schools was run. Even at that age, I looked a little…better than the commoners just because I could afford enough food and shelter and doctors and things, but I didn’t have that complete aura of elitism that tends to follow rich kids. These new kids, I could stand them and liked several of them. I started ditching regularly to hang out with them, until my parents found out and made sure I stayed at my own school. I was forced to go to the school I hated, but each day I would quickly run to the other school and play with those kids. It was fun.



That’s how I met my best friend, who wanted desperately to be a paladin. He wanted to defend people and issue justice and protect order and all of that. Whenever he spoke to me about it, I was shaken by his passion. Unfortunately, he didn’t really have the money to pursue his dream. Paladin training involved a lot of things, and they weren’t all free. The more we got to know each other, the more I wanted to help him…so I did. I funded his paladin schooling out of kindness and friendship, which he was more than happy to give to me. He’s the one who urged me to find something to make of myself and offered to help me find what that was.



The two of us knew that I should put the magic ability I had to use, but I didn’t like the prospect of being a priest, a mage, and certainly not a paladin, much to my friend’s disappointment. We stumbled upon rumors of the occult, and then of stories of strange magic-users who might be lurking in Stormwind. It took awhile, but with luck, we came across the warlock group in Stormwind. I was instantly enthralled by what being a warlock meant. A blacker magic than the arcane or divine, plus the idea of commanding loyal demons. That’s how I became a warlock; almost in secret, with only my one friend knowing.



I learned my craft as I grew, becoming one of the most advanced acolytes in Stormwind. When the Third War hit, I was still considered too young to fight, and thus didn’t have to leave the city. My brother…he was not so lucky…” Dareum’s gaze lowered and his eyes half-closed. Both hands had begun to grasp the edge of the boat tightly as if trying to crush the wood to pieces. Orran reached out his hand and placed it on the warlock’s shoulder.



“Dareum, you don’t need to speak of it if you don’t want to. That’s perfectly fine.”



“No, it’s not. I need to get used to saying it out loud.” Dareum’s mouth became a small smile, a lie by his body to keep from falling apart. “He’s dead. Rothan went off to war and the Scourge killed him. They probably didn’t even do that. My brother might be a ghoul or a skeleton somewhere for all I know.



No matter what actually happened, my parents spiraled through depression. The thought that their first son was dead was devastating. I started to take care of them as they attempted to come to terms with it, but I knew that they never would. There is nothing as full of sorrow as a parent who outlives their child. They got sick from the grief and passed as well.



And I became bent on eradicating the Scourge. My training in the demonic arts intensified until I became the strongest warlock in Stormwind under twenty. The war ended before I got a chance to fight, but that has only allowed me more time. I’m still going to destroy the Scourge, mind you. I can just use the extra time to amass more power.” Dareum was done talking, clear through his voice. He felt like crying, tears building up behind his blue eyes, but willed himself to remain calm. Dareum didn’t want to trouble Orran any more than he already was.



Orran remained silent, having left his hand on Dareum’s shoulder. The human had made no attempt to remove it; his subconscious wanted someone near to keep him stable and his consciousness had likely forgotten about it. The elf had guessed at part of Dareum’s history long before. The warlock was quite young, definitely in his early twenties, and no normal warlock would [i]ever[/i] need to kill an Infernal at that age. He was skilled and driven, and had been greatly affected by the Third War, as was common among the adventurer type of the day. Orran had not expected Dareum’s psyche to be quite so tender, which had been made apparent through his near breakdown. The warlock was as snide and dry witted as they came, but Orran sensed a wounded core.



It was clear that now was not the time to talk about his own, relatively easy life. Instead, Orran knew that he had to be the kind of friend Dareum needed. He wondered why the paladin he mentioned wasn’t around. A paladin was not the type of person who’d leave such a traumatized warlock alone, especially not a childhood friend. It was all very puzzling, not to mention disturbing, but Orran pushed it all aside.



“Dareum…I’m truly sorry-“



“Don’t be. It’s not your fault, and you couldn’t have done anything to change it.” Dareum’s answer was almost a snap, the aggression of which caught Orran off guard. Orran blinked in surprise, having not fathomed how easily irritated Dareum had become. The human was quick to realize what he’d done. “That wasn’t fair of me, Orran. I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t apologize for something you can’t be blamed for.”



The elf nodded in response, and the two sat quietly. The two would soon be hungry for lunch as the sun climbed ever higher in the sky, but now was not the time for Orran to abandon his companion just to eat. He’d stay there until Dareum made some indication that he wanted him to go. Eventually, Dareum did dismiss him, but Orran only returned with food for the two of them. As the day grew on, Dareum calmed down and they began discussing trivial things. Sunset was drawing close when the two decided that they’d head back inside the ship. Just as they were about to stand, a human from far above them was calling down to the deckhands.



“Vessel approaching from starboard!” There was a pause, where the crow’s nest man seemed to be leaning over in his basket to get a better look at whatever ship he saw. “I can’t tell if it’s Alliance!” Immediately, there was a scramble of activity. Dareum and Orran were jostled around as sailors ran across the deck, a few shouting orders to the rest.



“What’s going on?” Dareum asked no one in particular, attempting to stay close to Orran as the two were pushed around the deck. Burly sailors bumped into them until they managed to maneuver near the door to the passenger quarters. The human looked off the side of the ship, unable to see anything except a thick fog. “What the hell? Since when was it foggy?”



Orran turned his head to look, looking at the mist with a raised eyebrow. “Since a few seconds ago. I think we may be in trouble, Dareum.”



“A random ship is heading towards us, and they somehow conjured up a barrier of fog? Are we being attacked by pirates or something?”



The mention of ‘pirates’ sent the other people above deck into a frenzy, but had the most profound effect on other passengers who looked like adventurers. The strong, muscled warrior-types seemed pleased by the prospect of battle. More frail looking casters looked worried, knowing full well that defeat would likely mean death. The mages would probably begin teleporting and opening portals to save themselves or anyone quick enough to catch a ride. If all else failed, the majority of the adventurer’s could probably warp out with the fairly common Hearthstone many made their first priority to obtain.



“I’m not sure either, but if we are attacked, what shall we do?”



“We’ll fight back, of course!” Dareum raised clenched fists in front of him, smiling confidently. Pirates were usually humans who abused the element of surprise to make up for a lack of skill. There was a good chance that they might have members of other races, but still, they were likely humans piloting the other ship. Humans were easy to beat. Orran took a deep breath, trying to relax himself should a battle break out. He agreed with Dareum, but prepared himself in case something went wrong. As the warlock looked over the sea, he suddenly pointed with his left hand. “There! I see it!”



A medium sized ship was emerging from the dense fog, its black silhouette becoming sharper each second. It was traveling virtually parallel to the first ship, slowly inching closer. As it came into view, details were getting clearer. The boat was made of a gray wood that made it look sick or dead. It was propelled by a single mast which supported a large, tattered sail full of holes and obviously rotting. Dark figures moved upon the deck, with a single being staying completely still near the middle.



Without skipping a beat, Dareum was walking quickly, placing his hands at his waist with the palms pointing upwards and the fingers positioned as if clutching something unseen. Black energy began to crackle around his fingertips, eventually forming into two individual flames, one sitting in each palm. The fire gave off no heat and didn’t harm Dareum at all, but grew in intensity as the two orbs began to flicker wildly. “A gray ship hiding in the fog…they’re set up to ambush like this, meaning they can’t be on our side.”



The warlock’s logic made sense. Everyone else would have waited for some kind of offensive action before striking back, but he was going to move first. He raised both hands, thrusting them out in front of his chest. As he brought his wrists together, the two flames merged into one and launched themselves into a shadowy comet. The spell tore through the air towards the approaching ship.



The bolt crashed into a brief barrier of light, which appeared in mid-air. The shield was clear except for the very outer edge, which was quite distinctly gold in color. This defensive spell, strangely enough, was just the right size to absorb Dareum’s attack without wasting energy to cover the whole ship. Dareum was put-off; such a pinpointed defense was the stuff of highly skilled priests. Priests rarely joined pirates, so what, exactly, was going on?



His eyes glanced around the enemy vessel to determine who had raised the shield, which had since dissipated (along with the shadowbolt). Everyone seemed to active to concentrate on negating his attack, except for the one figure in the center, whose arm was lowering as if it had been raised in a spell. Dareum smiled and started to mutter something under his breath in Demonic. The next spell would be a nice curse his opponent would have a harder time simply blocking. His eyes closed as he chanted until they flashed open when he felt someone pull him backwards.



“Get down!” It was Orran, who had grabbed Dareum by the shoulders and practically thrown him to the deck. The warlock hit the hard wood, breaking his concentration and knocking his skull around. His vision faded out momentarily when he hit the back of his head, but quickly came back. Orran had fallen to the ground as well, keeping one arm over Dareum’s chest to prevent he warlock from rising. Two arrows, in quick succession, darted through the air above them, blurring into lines of brown. “Pay more attention, or you’ll get yourself killed.”



Dareum struggled and managed to get Orran off of him. “I can take care of myself, Orran!” The warlock tried to stand up, but was knocked back but a careless warrior. The ships had moved close enough to allow shots to be fired, and the few casters who remained had started lobbing their own spells. The majority of the magic was cancelled out, but a few fireballs found their targets. Melee experts were awaiting boarding range, so they might be able to cleave whoever was trying to kill them in twain. Dareum scrambled away from the approaching ship. Both ships would become bloodbaths when blades could clash, and anyone wearing a robe would simply be cut through.



Orran got hold of him again, the Night Elf being better able to get on his feet in the chaos. He practically dragged Dareum along, lifting the human to his feet and pulling him around a corner and out of sight. “Dareum, this is really not safe. I suggest we go back to Stormwind and-“



“No! We’re not going to run back to the city just because some punks decide they want to raid our ship. If you want to leave, fine. I’ll just find someone else once I’m in Auberdine.” Dareum broke from Orran’s grasp and went back to the main part of the deck. The druid pulled a quarterstaff from its position across his back and followed after, prepared to accompany Dareum even through his less intelligent decisions. When the Night Elf caught up with Dareum, he found the warlock stumbling backwards in fear and shock.



The two ships had collided, allowing sailors and passengers from either side to climb onto the other deck. Men and women in armor were swinging blades and blocking with shields valiantly, but everyone seemed as distraught as Dareum was. The other ship hadn’t been just a pirate ship. The crew wasn’t human like Dareum assumed.



They were undead.



True, they were not the ghouls and skeletons that populated the Scourge’s ranks, but they were still gruesome to behold. Flesh and muscle was rotting and falling from their pearly bones. Their eyes, if they had any, glowed with unholy light. Though each was covered in black capes, it was obvious that their bodies were falling apart, held together by cruel, invisible binds. The undead fought with horrific tenacity and stamina, walking into the swords that pierced them just to continue attacking.



Dareum was not engaged with one of the many walking corpses, however. The priest who had defended against his attack had crossed ships, using searing beams of light to cut away those who stood between the warlock and himself. A ball of yellow, glowing softly, rested in the hooded figure’s right hand. The hand started to rise, to point at Dareum’s head. The warlock seemed paralyzed.



Orran was about to bat the hand away with his staff when the ball of light suddenly dropped. It fell out of the air, hitting the deck of the ship, making a sound as if it was solid. The priest was smiling viciously, the only feature left exposed, though he seemed to still have all the parts of a living human under his cloak. Dareum stuttered out a “Get off the ship…” to Orran, eyeing the orb, then the priest, then the orb again in rhythm. When Orran opened his mouth to protest, the human’s hand lashed out and grabbed the front of the elf’s shirt, balling the cloth in his grip.



Dareum stepped backwards twice more. The first step brought him to rest on the small wall surrounding the deck. The second sent his foot into open air. He began to fall towards the water below, his weight catching Orran and dragging the elf unwillingly overboard. The two hit the water with a crash, plunging under its dark surface. The undead priest stepped forward to peer over the edge of the ship, unable to find neither Dareum nor Orran. With a disgruntled noise escaping his lips, the priest snapped the fingers of his right hand.



The orb, responding immediately to the signal, broke into hundreds of pieces. Each piece was actually a much smaller sphere, the size of a firefly. The lights danced through the air, leaving wisp-like tails in the air. Without warning, the lights began to speed up, whipping around with such speed that they became nearly invisible. They began to tear through the wood of the ship, charging straight through the deck, the hull, the cargo, everything. Passengers unlucky enough to get in the way were pierced as if by an arrow, finding themselves suddenly with a hole through their body that hadn’t been there before. The lights continued to blast through the ship, creating countless leaks which began to take in water. The ship was sinking.



Calmly the priest strode back to his own ship, boarding it without further interruption. He ducked under a great axe as he walked through a small battle, taking refuge below deck. The warlock and his elven friend were not particularly worrying. They were far enough at sea that they’d never get back to shore now, and they’d likely be trapped under their own sinking ship. He’d know for sure when the ship was far enough underwater to kill all its defenders, at which point the undead could plunder it all they wanted until the boat fell too far.