The Burning

Chapter One

The sky was broken. The jagged shards of starry night, and sunny days, were mixed in with the dark of the deepest ocean, and the blazes of Hell. Planets could be seen flying around insanely above, as green and purple clouds flew inwards, vanishing into some central point, and in other places did the opposite. The ground below was no more pleasant or sane. Massive, twisted, metallic blades protruded from the earth, snaking upwards like the warped talons of a great leviathan. The ground was dark, flecked with small crimson stones, and strewn with the corpses of tens of thousands of recently living beings, now quite deceased. On the horizon was a mammoth spire of glowing green stone stabbing hatefully at the sky, and casting an omnipresent emerald hue upon the land for hundreds of miles around. The scent of smoke, burning flesh and death, all chokingly thick, hung over the terrain, in the form of a miasmatic green fog that made sight behind a couple feet nearly impossible. Here, in the Twisting Nether, a mighty battle was raging on.

The endless tide of demons had been pushed back repeatedly by the armies of powerful warriors, mages, priests, and others who had ventured here, to end the war once and for all. But again, and again, the tide of monsters crashed against the attackers, and neither side made any headway. Felguard, the brute forces of the Burning Legion, numbered more than could be counted, as islands of flying rocks swarmed with the twisted fiends. Felhounds, just as numerous, raced among the dead and dying, aiming for spellcasters almost to the point of excluding other targets, their hunger for magic never being sated no matter how many they sucked the life from. Infernals rained down out of the insane sky, slamming into friend and foe alike, though primarily aimed deep in the midst of the enemy. The green flamed boulders would crash and bounce along, crushing and burning any who got in their way, before unfolding, getting to their feet, and acting as living battering rams, trying to break through the lines of the enemy.

Eredar Warlocks unleashed death in gruesome and cruel forms, many of them inconceivable by any except these twisted fiends, on those below, as they swarmed in the sky like bloated, evil, flies with horns and hands and hooves. The Nathrezim, Vampiric Demons, wrought illusions and trickery to deceive and confound the invaders, so that they could not coordinate themselves.

These and more, with even greater power and evil, battled against the invaders, and above them all, standing on the very top of the demonic spire of green stone, was a slender form in flowing red robes, with a voluminous hood concealing its head. It looked on as this bloody struggle went on before it. The figure held in one black-gloved hand a staff with a sphere of midnight stone resting atop it. Shifting its grip, and flexing its thin fingers around the shaft, the figure waited until it was clear which side was winning, before taking any action.

It only had to wait one more hour before it was evident that though the demons were numerous, those who would throw down the Burning Legion forever were both more numerous, and more powerful. They had been preparing for this battle. Each fighter possessed incredible strength in a certain field, whether that be magic, spiritual gifts, or direct combat, and though Demons were certainly no pushovers in magic or combat, the swarms of lesser Fel monsters were just not a match for what they now faced. The Elite minions of the Burning Legion were prepared to join the fray, but only if they were certain that they would win. Otherwise, they were prepared to flee to other locations at a moment's notice. Even the most arrogant and confident of demons had been thrown off by races that they had thought weak breaking into the most heavily defended portion of the Twisting Nether, and taking the battle to the infernal creatures.

Before it became necessary for the Elites to step in, by which point it would be far too late, the figure in red decided it was time to act. Deep within the core of the sphere atop the staff, a light sparked. The light swirled within the stone, growing larger and brighter, turning the black orb to amber. The light continued to expand, like a galaxy seen from a distance, arms of bright motes spinning around a central point as it went beyond the boundaries of the orb, and begin rotating in the air itself. The light grew and grew, sweeping over the spire, and the figure holding the staff, gaining speed and intensity, until even those engaged in combat below took notice of what appeared to be a small star having sprung up in the distance.

The Demons realized what it was, and some of the mages sensed the immense magical power and knew what was coming, but though both tried to flee, only those nearest to the gateway leading into the Twisting Nether made it out in time. The figure in red traced a line across its field of vision with its index finger, and gargantuan domes of fire sprung up where the finger pointed, enveloping the Twisting Nether's denizens and the intruders alike. The intensity of the heat was such that all caught within the flames were instantly reduced to ash, and that ash obliterated. As the light and the fury of the explosions deafened and blinded even the mighty Elites, the figure in red merely looked on, threw its head back, and laughed.

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The light streamed in through the window of the inn, dappling on the shapely female form lying on the bed. Long red hair spread out over the pillow and the blue sheets, as the sizeable chest of the Blood Elf rose and fell steadily with the breathing of one sleeping, though nearing wakefulness. Arsika indeed was twitching her long red eyebrows, and shifting about as she struggled with some dream. After a few more moments, she bolted upright, causing the azure covers to fall away from her light-toned flesh, revealing she was not wearing very much. The cold morning air was having a rather predictable effect on the peaks of her chest, but the Blood Elf was less concerned with the chill, and more with the dream she had just had.

Already the details were slipping away, as her brain became less connected to the dream world, but she knew she had just witnessed a scene of terrible destruction, wrought by someone familiar to her. The rest, though she calmed herself and focused her thoughts as she had been taught at the academy, in an attempt to reclaim those fleeting dream-thoughts, rapidly fled her mind, and she was left troubled and frustrated, sitting there and looking out the window at the town of Tarren Mill. Well, perhaps the word "town" was generous as a descriptor for this place. It was a run-down Undead-ruled place, and the only reason she was here was because she had been told Advisor Duskingdawn had wanted to see her about something of great import.

Arsika had arrived late last night, and had been so tired from the journey, that even if Duskingdawn had been prepared to meet with her, she would have had to politely request that the meeting be postponed until the next day. Luckily, Duskingdawn was equally as polite as Arsika herself, having been raised in the same Blood Elf society, and being taught the value of manners, and thus she had not insisted or even suggested that they speak that night beyond the perfunctory greetings, and the suggestion that Arsika get some sleep.

Now it was morning, judging from the way the sunlight slanted in through the window, and troubling dreams aside, Arsika was curious why she had been called back here. She had done some services for the Forsaken here in Tarren Mill in the past, but she had already been recompensed for those tasks, so she imagined this was not about a reward.

Arsika was so involved in her thoughts, that the red-headed elf didn't notice she wasn't alone until she heard a male voice cheerfully say, "Good morning, lady Arsika!" She whipped her head around and pulled the sheets up over her exposed chest, though it was doubtlessly too late to keep the intruder from seeing her. She scowled when she saw who it was. Shay, the innkeeper, had been eyeing her ever since she first arrived in this disgusting little camp of Undead. She had politely pretended not to notice, but finding the rotting ghoul standing there in the doorway tested even her ability to retain her composure.

She was tested further as the Forsaken man commented, "Perhaps you should wear something a bit more substantial when you go to bed. Being as close to the mountains as we are, it gets very chilly, especially in the morning." Arsika glanced down quickly, seeing that her hardened nipples were tenting the sheets out slightly, and shifted one arm down to cover them. She looked back up at Shay, her pure-green eyes narrowing as she coldly and formally responded.

"I will take that under advisement. Thank you for your concern in my well-being. However, I am afraid I must inquire as to why it is you felt it your personal responsibility to enter my room to greet me this morning, particularly without knocking first." Arsika watched as the grinning half-skull/half-flesh of Shay's head seemed to grin wider, the twin shocks of wild yellow-brown hair on the sides of his head shifting with the movement of his jawbone, shedding all over the floor. She managed to keep most of the disgust off her face, but apparently what showed only amused Shay further, as he did not seem at all concerned about annoying a Mage of Arsika's caliber.
"It was requested that I awaken you by your Blood Elf colleague. She wishes you to join her for breakfast, and says that the matter she wished to speak with you about cannot wait until after the meal."

One long red eyebrow twitched upwards in slight surprise that Duskingdawn would break from the tradition of postponing business discussion until after a meal. 'This must be quite important indeed.' Arsika thought briefly, before waving a hand dismissively and saying, "Very well. Thank you for informing me." Shay didn't move from the doorway, and seemed to be prepared to stay there and stare at her with his empty eyesockets while she got dressed. Arsika glared at the innkeeper and distinctly said, "You may LEAVE now." Shay nodded his head, his skeletal grin still affixed to his face, and without protest, turned and left. However, he left the door wide-open.

Arsika muttered to herself and made an off-hand gesture as she slid out from under the sheets, the door closing seemingly on its own, before anyone could see her. She walked over to a wall-length cracked mirror standing at one side of the room, and looked herself over. A medium-height Blood Elf with long red hair, light skin, a slender frame, and an above-average chest, large and well-rounded. Her rear was tight and firm, as, regardless of what some might think, Mages were not physically inactive, and Arsika spent much time hiking around to various places when she couldn't or didn't wish to fly or teleport to a given location.

Her black panties concealed her mound for the most part, though red fur was starting to peek out the sides. Making a mental note to find the time to shave herself again sometime soon, she went about the business of getting dressed, but only after making sure a Mage Lock was placed on the door. No one but another magic user, and one with considerably more power and skill than herself, would be opening that door until she decided otherwise. With that safe-guard in place, she searched through her backpack for her clothes.

A few minutes later, Arsika was dressed in intricate red and black robes with draping sleeves, black elbow-length gloves with enchanted silver tracery, leather boots of the same type, a gold filigree belt about her waist, and a cloak of purest ebony silk, with a ruby clasp at her collarbone. She left her hood, rings, and similar things behind. She would not be travelling far, and had little use for magic-enhancing tools during breakfast. She even left her prized staff, carved from the bone of a Red Dragon, with the scale of such a beast at its top, reflecting like a jewel, in her room. She didn't wish to insult the Advisor by bringing weapons to a simple meal.

However, on the other hand, one never knew when trouble might pop up, so Arsika took her wand with her, concealing it in her belt. An Elemental of Fire was bound into the wand, and should serve as a suitable tool for defense if there was a problem.

Examining herself again in the mirror, and noting with satisfaction that the fabric hid any sign of erect nubs, though still clinging tenaciously to the curves of her body, she smirked slightly and turned to head downstairs. Arsika had never been particularly gifted in the realm of mental powers, and beyond being able to resist magic used against her, she had had to work hard to obtain the level of psychic talent she had now. Even with this talent, she had never had any lucky with prophecying or Second Sight. Yet even now, as she stepped out of the darkened inn, and looked out at the morning sun beaming down upon her, she somehow knew there were big things lying in wait for her in the near future.

---------------End Chapter One---------------