Friday, April 26, 2013

Pt 51 ...like a woman scorned.

The candlelight flickers as the sensual form of a woman rises from the bed and strolls seductively across the room.  Her sweat covered body glistening in the dim light as she lifts a crystal cup from the nearby table and takes a long drink.  A devilish look washes across her face as she turns back towards the bed.  Smiling contentedly, she swallows the last bit of wine.

On the bed lies the lean and sinewy form of an elderly orc.  His nude body entangled in the rich velvet blankets of the elaborate bed, he breathes heavily from the exertion of these past several hours.  His long grey hair is tied into a knot behind his head.  Strange, ornate tattoos adorn his bright green skin, grotesque fel runes and images scribed carelessly across his body.

"Dis wine is magical I tink." Felika says as she sets the empty glass down and shakes a nearby empty bottle.  "Puhaps da steword woult bring us sum more?"

Orkimedes snorts at the woman and frowns in disgust as he rolls over and plucks a small glowing stone from the side table.

"You drink too much Felika.  Why don't you go downstairs and order us some more food." he commands in a cold, flat tone.

The orc woman frowns back at the old shaman.  Her seductive playfulness is gone in an instant.  After a brief pause she smiles again and walks slowly to the foot of the bed.

"Eet is cold in ere.  Could you talk da spirits inta passin a little warmth ar way?" Felika says with a whisper.

Orkimedes glaces up from the glowing stone in his hand and gives her an angry look.  The muscles in his creeks tighten, the vein in his forehead bulges out.

"I told you woman, I am out of touch with the elements right now!  Even if they listened to me, I wouldn't ask them such an insulting task." The shaman replies with a growl.

Felika's face goes hard as a flash of hot anger lights up her eyes.  To come all this way to spend a night of passion with the one that she loves, only to have him turn so distant, is an insult that would no orc woman in her prime would tolerate.  Many an unwary orc would find an axe in his back for such a thing.

The tension in the room is thick as Felika glares balefully, the muscles across her voluptuous nude body ripple with apprehension.

Orkimedes ignores his mate as he goes back to staring at the glowing stone, rolling it back and forth in his fingers.

"Ey would make ya a deal mah love"  Felika says with a dangerous sneer "Ey weel git us sum food and more of dat wine, if you weel talk ta me about buildin us a house an settlin in Orgrimmar"

Orkimedes rolls onto his side trying to ignore the conversation.

"Comon... wit all dah gold dat Garrosh gave yah we could build a grand home on dah bluffs.  We could have servents and a few slaves."

The woman's words are like daggers to the old shaman.

"Orkimedes, ey am talkin to yah!" Felika says angrily.  "We could have a good life in Durator!  We could evin have a child of our own."

The shaman rolls back over and takes a deep breath as he stares blankly into the stone.  "No Felika...  No.  I won't be going back to Orgrimmar anytime soon.  I have to return to the Throne of the Elements in Draenor.  My work here is done, and I have a long atonement ahead of me if I ever want to get back in the good graces of the elements."  Orkimedes says flatly.

The room goes silent once again.  The woman's face gets tense and angry. 

Suddenly, and without warning, Felika lunges forward onto the bed like a lioness leaping on her prey.  In a flash she clamps her steely hands around the fallen shaman's throat.  Her eyes sharp with fury and hatred, all of the muscles across her body bulging like iron cables.

In sheer surprise, Orkimedes tries to fight back against the woman atop him.  He kicks and struggles in vain as the mageweave blankets entangle around his legs.  His mouth hangs open in a ghastly mask, he gasps desperately for air.  With a last ditch futile effort he mouths the words to an old warlock spell that would send her running in abject fear of him.  But, her grip on his throat prevents any sound from his mouth.

"You pathetik peon!  How dare yew betray me!!  Ey waitid for you!  Ey gave you mah love, for dis?  If you tink you can just walk ah way, you have anodder ting commin."  Felika growls, a sinister smile washing across her face.  "Eye am not one of those whorse you can just thro a way!  Ey am Felika of da Warsong Clan.  And ey am yer end..."

With a desperate wheeze the shaman's eyes roll into his skull and he falls limp on the bed.  Saliva rolls out of the side of his mouth, and tears wash across his cheeks.  The room suddenly goes cold, and the flickering flames of the candles dim and extinguish, as if despite his fallen state, the elements themselves give pause to the passing of the ancient shaman.

In the blankets of the bed, the glowing stone lies.  It's intensity seeming to increase with the murderous rage played out before it.  The pale green light bathes the room in a sinister hue.

A gentle tapping rattles the door to the room.  "Mastwer?" the soft voice of Orkimedes's gruntling breaks the tension.

Felika snaps out of her furious haze and looks wide-eyed around the room.  Her gaze falls on the glowing stone as she is transfixed by it's seductive light.  The inky black surface of the stone ripples gently, inside the faint outline of a luminous figure can be seen.

The door to the room creaks on it's hinges as it is slowly opened.  "Mastwer?" The gruntling says with apprehension.

Felika snaps out of her stupor and jumps out of the bed and races towards the door.

"Eets okay litle one, Master is sleepin rite now" Felika says with a nervous smile.  "Go an git dah bags.  Weez gunna go fer a walk around Daleran.  Ey weel take you to dah toy shop if yer good."

The gruntling smiles broadly and turns back to the common area of the Legerdemain Lounge to fetch the travelling bags.  Behind him the door slams suddenly.

Felika turns with her back to the door.  She stands in the dark for a moment to catch her breath and collect her wits.  Then, with a purpose she hastily puts on her clothes, and snatches the glowing stone from the bed.

"Ey bet you are werth a mountain of gold my litl purty" she utters as she slips the stone into her pocket.  With a graceful flourish she opens the door and steps out into the bustling halls of the Legerdmain Lounge and onto the streets of Dalaran beyond.