Wroaan Helmsworth
folder
+A through F › Dungeons & Dragons
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,211
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
+A through F › Dungeons & Dragons
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,211
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dungeons and Dragons or the concepts thereof. No money is being made off of this fic.
Wroaan Helmsworth
Wroaan Helmsworth
We find our hero tied to a chair in the Cogs; gagged and bound by her Daask interrogators and living out what she is convinced is her last hours of living. She has no illusions of escaping the claws of the goblinoids and ogres that are holding her prisoner; only the release of death.
“Tell me who you serve,” says the squeaky voice of a goblin.
Lifting her head slightly though uselessly as her eyes are hidden beneath a heavy piece of cloth, she finally relents, hoping only to end the days and nights of constant indescribable pain. “Undying… Court.”
She knows that the transgression will not be forgiven, in this life or the next but she doesn’t care anymore. “Simple, isn’t it?” A pain from our hero’s leg tells her of a small blade cutting the muscles of her knee – she’d be furious at the House Jorasco bill, if she would be alive to pay it – and she held in a scream; her throat was sore enough already. “Now, tell me more!”
“Unseen… I’m unseen… Not official…”
The malice of the goblin was almost a physical force, “How, how?”
“I… look… their eyes…” her tears finally reached her voice.
“Show me!” the goblin was insistent and eager, “show me!”
“I can’t… the cloth… please…” a small hope of escape crept into her voice.
With a powerful pull the cloth was pulled from her eyes and she spent her last energy lifting her head ever so slightly to meet the goblins gaze. Their eyes met for just an instant and Wroaan wreaked her vengeance upon the weak-minded Daask. The face of the goblin went blank and uncomprehending as its mind was overwhelmed by the power of the Undying Court. Our hero finds hope once more, as she calls upon the power of her undying patrons to help her escape. Her body mass changed and shifted, as she assumed the form of the goblin before her. As her body settled into its new form the goblin looked at her, its comprehension of the situation slow without alert but still sensing something wrong. Jumping from her bonds, our hero sends a mighty fist into the face of the goblin offender – using holy energy, power, speed and impeccable knowledge of anatomy to turn the goblins face into an unrecognisable mess of blood.
“‘tis a simple affair to escape Daask when they want to believe you’re one of them,” the Deathmasked priest didn’t answer, “but still I regret my capture. I have recovered the artefact and managed to deposit it to House Orien before my capture. Our master will receive it on time.”
The priest met her gaze through the mask, though his features were naturally unrecognisable through the emotionless silver surface, but his aura told of his pleasure of the accomplishment. “Had the Great Ancestors of our homeland not told me, I would’ve believed you were a full-blooded elf. Yet, you are not even Khoravar,” the priest said with a bitter aftertone, “you have sworn yourself to our cause, but the elven blood that runs through your veins is thin and tainted by the doppelganger nature of infiltrators. I am proud of you.”
“They’ll never trust me, if they knew my nature,” she said worriedly as the Deathmasked servitor prepared her outfit for the meeting. The traditional robes combined with the silvered mask of the Undying Court would obscure her features better than anything, but tradition demanded that no other steps for secrecy were taken. That would mean returning to her natural grey skin, white hair and genderless shape; a non-elf had never attended such a meeting. “They’ll be disgusted by me.”
The servitor simply said: “You have to attend.” She sighed; elves never were good at giving advice she’d learned.
“Why? Why do I have to attend this meeting?” the servitor looked up, as he was doing the seams of her robe. “Because the Elders have requested it. Surely, you did not expect that their power came without any responsibilities?” Wroaan bit her lip tightly; she thought that risking her life in their name was the extent of her responsibilities, but apparently proper attire and formal behaviour were just as important. Unfortunately.
“I am Tok, also known as Wroaan Helmsworth of Aundair. I was born and raised in Aernal to the line of Ghaërial. I thank the court for allowing me to serve them, despite my flawed nature,” she said, kneeling deeply before the withered corpses of the great Undying Councillors.
“Rise.” Her body reacted to the command before her body registered it; she was theirs to obey.
“What is it, Great One?”
What came next shocked her.
We find our hero tied to a chair in the Cogs; gagged and bound by her Daask interrogators and living out what she is convinced is her last hours of living. She has no illusions of escaping the claws of the goblinoids and ogres that are holding her prisoner; only the release of death.
“Tell me who you serve,” says the squeaky voice of a goblin.
Lifting her head slightly though uselessly as her eyes are hidden beneath a heavy piece of cloth, she finally relents, hoping only to end the days and nights of constant indescribable pain. “Undying… Court.”
She knows that the transgression will not be forgiven, in this life or the next but she doesn’t care anymore. “Simple, isn’t it?” A pain from our hero’s leg tells her of a small blade cutting the muscles of her knee – she’d be furious at the House Jorasco bill, if she would be alive to pay it – and she held in a scream; her throat was sore enough already. “Now, tell me more!”
“Unseen… I’m unseen… Not official…”
The malice of the goblin was almost a physical force, “How, how?”
“I… look… their eyes…” her tears finally reached her voice.
“Show me!” the goblin was insistent and eager, “show me!”
“I can’t… the cloth… please…” a small hope of escape crept into her voice.
With a powerful pull the cloth was pulled from her eyes and she spent her last energy lifting her head ever so slightly to meet the goblins gaze. Their eyes met for just an instant and Wroaan wreaked her vengeance upon the weak-minded Daask. The face of the goblin went blank and uncomprehending as its mind was overwhelmed by the power of the Undying Court. Our hero finds hope once more, as she calls upon the power of her undying patrons to help her escape. Her body mass changed and shifted, as she assumed the form of the goblin before her. As her body settled into its new form the goblin looked at her, its comprehension of the situation slow without alert but still sensing something wrong. Jumping from her bonds, our hero sends a mighty fist into the face of the goblin offender – using holy energy, power, speed and impeccable knowledge of anatomy to turn the goblins face into an unrecognisable mess of blood.
“‘tis a simple affair to escape Daask when they want to believe you’re one of them,” the Deathmasked priest didn’t answer, “but still I regret my capture. I have recovered the artefact and managed to deposit it to House Orien before my capture. Our master will receive it on time.”
The priest met her gaze through the mask, though his features were naturally unrecognisable through the emotionless silver surface, but his aura told of his pleasure of the accomplishment. “Had the Great Ancestors of our homeland not told me, I would’ve believed you were a full-blooded elf. Yet, you are not even Khoravar,” the priest said with a bitter aftertone, “you have sworn yourself to our cause, but the elven blood that runs through your veins is thin and tainted by the doppelganger nature of infiltrators. I am proud of you.”
“They’ll never trust me, if they knew my nature,” she said worriedly as the Deathmasked servitor prepared her outfit for the meeting. The traditional robes combined with the silvered mask of the Undying Court would obscure her features better than anything, but tradition demanded that no other steps for secrecy were taken. That would mean returning to her natural grey skin, white hair and genderless shape; a non-elf had never attended such a meeting. “They’ll be disgusted by me.”
The servitor simply said: “You have to attend.” She sighed; elves never were good at giving advice she’d learned.
“Why? Why do I have to attend this meeting?” the servitor looked up, as he was doing the seams of her robe. “Because the Elders have requested it. Surely, you did not expect that their power came without any responsibilities?” Wroaan bit her lip tightly; she thought that risking her life in their name was the extent of her responsibilities, but apparently proper attire and formal behaviour were just as important. Unfortunately.
“I am Tok, also known as Wroaan Helmsworth of Aundair. I was born and raised in Aernal to the line of Ghaërial. I thank the court for allowing me to serve them, despite my flawed nature,” she said, kneeling deeply before the withered corpses of the great Undying Councillors.
“Rise.” Her body reacted to the command before her body registered it; she was theirs to obey.
“What is it, Great One?”
What came next shocked her.