Hell on Hellscream

The Hellboar charged with a sound like a squealing imp, its misshapen hooves digging clods of corrupted soil from the already disfigured landscape. Flabby, scarred lips flapped loosely around the creature's yellowed tusks, throwing globs of thick spittle into the air. The demonic swine bellowed with what might be triumph as it bore down upon its prey; a thin, pale Night-elf in dusty, dented plate armor. Victory was assured. The aqua-haired girl clutching the huge double-bladed axe wasn't even moving, and the Hellboar was ravenous to the point of dementia. Sky-blue eyes narrowed, delicate looking fingers tighten upon a much-bound hilt as the unholy monstrosity thundered forward. Muscles in those supple, shapely arms stood out like cords beneath her whitish skin; tensing as she swung the huge weapon in an upward arc. A sickening sort of ripping noise follows the weapon's path, accompanied by the Hellboar's dying squalling. Blood the color of tar hits the ground with a hiss, geysering out of the neatly decapitated torso of the creature. Flecks of the gory end dot the cool-eyed elf's cheeks and arms, but the majority is splattered across the wicked blade of her axe. The body twitches once. Twice. Shudders into stillness one hopes is death. Still, the girl does not move, her look one of calculation. Finally she lowers her weapon, letting the blade sink into the red ground like a hot knife into butter.
"Score one for Miiesha, zero for the Outlands..." Are the muttered words the warrior speaks as she kneels to inspect her kill. Boar intestines? A quick slice into the thing's stomach proves them useless. The thing must have had colon cancer, no vendor would take these. The snout? Miiesha reaches out, grabbing the severed head by both ears and tugging it to her with a grunt of surprise; it was a tad heavier than it looked. Inspection proves the snout and one cracked tusk salvageable, and she quickly gets to the messy business of butchering her kill. A couple minutes of sweat, blood and stink later see her shoving two chunks of boar meat into a worn netherweave pouch, along with the creature's disgusting snoz and tusk. Silently the night elf thanks whatever mage constructed her wonderful bags; they took items that would never have fit under normal circumstances, yet still remained light and compact.
The girl draws one bloodied hand across her sweat-soaked brow, a streak of red plastering itself to her cool-colored skin. Rocking back on her heels, Miiesha pushes her lithe form to its feet, stretching. The parts of her that showed beneath the battered plate armor were fair, almost bluish-white, as with many night elves. Standing fully, she appeared to be slightly taller than most males of her kind, though without the disgusting bean-pole mentality that blood elves seemed to possess. Her curves filled out her armor nicely, with only the tiniest hint of baby fat around the stomach. The deceptively delicate fingers curl about the haft of her axe, hefting it easily with a practiced motion. Strapping the monolithic axe to her back, the night elf glances about her with a sinking sort of feeling. What was one hellboar in this sea of madness? Off in the distance, she could see the foreboding peaks and spires of Hellfire Citadel. A glance in the opposite direction brings the Dark Portal into view, beleaguered as it was with untold demonic invaders. They pushed at the Portal's defenders, striving to break free into Azeroth to spread their corruption. The girl shivered visibly, her look haunted. Her kind had seen what those being could wreak upon the world, and she wanted no repetition of that experience. Then why was she here, wasting her time with the mindless slaughter of only mildly dangerous beasts? Her look of lingering horror transforms into one of sullen frustration. Because, her armor and weapons were not suitable for dispatching the more lethal of Outland's inhabitants. She must earn gold for better gear that would allow her free range of her adventurer’s spirit.
"Mii-chan!"
The cry came from behind her, and she turned swiftly, one hand half drifting to the haft of her axe. It was just a reflex. She knew who had spoken to her. Relaxing and allowing her arms to drop to their sides she smiled ruefully at the human who puffed up to join her.
"Ty, you should really stay on your horse around here. The creatures would take you for a bedtime snack, if they caught you."
"I Knooow..."
The human girl exhaled, half bent over and puffing from her jog across the cursed terrain. Purplish-red hair fell loosely across her lilac eyes; it was cut short at the chin, framing her marginally pretty face. She wore a set of dusty, once-fine robes that were obviously hand-made. A staff was strapped hap-hazardly to the girl's back, mostly un-used. Her cheeks were rosey from exertion; obviously she wasn't used to rapid movement and strenuous exercise. Hold up a hand, she waves it dramatically before her, exclaiming all the while.
"Orcs, Miiesha.. They, *cough* they charged me while I was on Chronos... Knocked him clear into the Demonic plain! I ran... And I kept running.. I-I guess they just gave up after a while.."
Tyronda finished lamely, slumping to the ground before her friend, sending up a cloud of blood-red dust that made her break out in a coughing fit. Miiesha bent over, thumping the young warlock on the back. Normally, the elf wouldn't have anything to do with a 'consort of demons', but Ty was different. The girl had a childish sort of innocence and shyness that made Miiesha question her chances of survival from day-to-day. She almost felt sorry for the girl, bullied into her path by her parents' selfish wishes. Her Demons even seemed to pity her. Pity her, but not make life as a reluctant warlock any easier for her. Curling one slender arm about the human's middle, Miiesha hefted her to her feet, setting the unsteady warlock upon firm ground.
"They might have. But I think we should head for Honor Hold, just incase. They're known to be relentless."
Putting two fingers to her lips, the tall elf gave a sharp whistle, the sound echoing across the rocky plains. A roar answered the inquiry, and a gray streak of fur tore across the distance to skid to a halt before the two women. The gray Mistsaber tossed its head in an irritable sort of way, as if irked to be called from its hunting. Placing at hand upon the purple, battle-worn saddle, Miiesha vaults her body into the seat, glancing over at her still panting companion.
"Mount up, and we'll make tracks for a safer haven. We don't want anything to catch us in the open like this."
Nodding miserably, Tyronda begins chanting the spell that would pull forth her Felsteed from the Nether. The harsh demonic syllables spilled from between her pale pink lips, leaving an almost acidic taste in her mouth. With furl of flame, the fiery steed appeared, screaming angrily at his imprisonment to her will. Snorting, the inferno-like horse butted his head roughly between Ty's legs, practically hurling the girl upon its back. Squeaking, and more than a little unbalanced, the young girl held tight to the felsteed's neck. Obviously, Chronos believed himself to be more capable of taking care of his mistress than she herself was. It pranced, restless, hooves scorching the already fire-red soil beneath it. Glitter, the mistsaber, looked sideways at it with a warning sort of snarl. The cat hated demons. Any kind of demons. Miiesha shared his sentiments, her lip curling at the ungodly creature. But she was used to him by now. She had to be, for Tyronda's sake. Wrenching her reins gently southward, she called over to her companion.
"I'm pretty sure this is the quickest way back... But we have to cross over the road to the Citadel. Stay close, alright?"