Jarel Moor, the owner and tender of the Slaughtered Lamb of Stormwind, was absolutely elated tonight. The tavern was brimming with company, and he happily passed the drinks along. He snickered to himself, knowing that the group probably had nowhere else to hold their little soiree, for the Lamb was usually among the last establishments in the city to receive such gatherings. Though the dwarf seemed to care less where he was as long as he had ale, the others, twelve of them, all showed their different levels of disapproval of his tavern. The night elves in the group especially amused him. He watched them sneer at the creaky boards and whisper to themselves in their native tongue, until at last, they wandered out of the Lamb and sat about in the grassy courtyard. Elves: predictable to the last.
The gold was still good.
The Barkeeper’s more permanent patron was nowhere to be seen, however. Finding the crowd both irritating and disruptive, Anisse found the quiet below the Lamb to be what she needed. The bones of the catacombs were hardly as noisy, neither did they tend to drink themselves into idiotic stupors. Picking through her leather satchel, she sighed at what little she had within it. The last of the silver pieces she had were spent on the lamb stew specialty (she really did quite like the dish), and her quick abandonment of the Twilight camp hadn’t exactly left her time to pack anything important. She wondered where the Abyss Child might be by now, and how the creature was faring.
Her fingers swept against something smooth and hard, pocketed in the bottom of the satchel. Ah, an obsidian sliver, touched by the Old ones themselves. The obelisk it had been carved from stretched deep through far off deserts, touching the secrecies kept beneath the earth for so long, she was told. Some had heard the otherworldy voices whispering from the obelisks, and Anisse remembered how much she wished to hear them speak their secrets to her. For so many nights she had gripped so tightly to the ancient sliver to hear the voices become her will. Now…? What was it to her now?
Footsteps echoed down from the tavern and out onto the cellar steps, suddenly. Her thoughts cut off at the sound, Anisse quickly threw the sliver back into her satchel and stuffed it into a half-open coffin. Scrambling to her feet, she put her hands together in front of her, and turned her head low, acting as though she were just making her way up. The woman she passed smirked at her as she passed Anisse, and she caught the scent of cheap perfume, and felfire, the smallish demon skipping just behind her.
“Oh, right. I won’t need you anymore!” the warlock said with a laugh. At the snap of her fingers, the small, fiery demon disappeared before Anisse’s eyes. Was it so easy to control them? A snap of the fingers, they would appear, submitted completely to a warlock’s desires? As the warlock turned the corner, Anisse was helpless to follow, wishing to see more of what this Demon-tamer could do. She stayed a distance away, sliding along the wall as the warlock walked down, down into the bottom rooms, passing stacked coffins.
A circle was scrawled upon the floor, glowing magically, with what seemed to be etched runes in the midst of it. Such things were commonplace with the Twilight’s, and this warlock seemed to immediately know what to do. Anisse saw the warlock in plain view now, her cowl having hidden the face of most standing before her. Coppery curls of hair toppled down the young warlock’s back, as she almost skipped around the room, lighting candlesticks. Her red dress sloped down a voluptuous body, breasts peeking up out of the frothy corset she wore. It was apparent the woman was flashy, by the many rings she had, and the circlets of necklaces that rested upon her squeezed bosom.
“At last!” the warlock exclaimed under an excited exhale of breath. Her hands twitched upwards as she focused upon the circle, and Anisse held her breath as she felt the warlock’s spell begin to crackle in the air. “Come to me!”
Lights flickered around the catacombs, setting the room aglow with hues of violet. The warlock’s whispers were low and soft, with an edge of demand. Anisse could not understand the words, but she knew it was a calling, a summoning. Upon the pulsing circle, a creature appeared, akin to a woman, but with the hooves of a goat. A long tail protruded from the creature’s buttocks, leather clinging to the most private areas of the curving body. She was a wicked beauty, her horns sharp as the lash she snapped upon the cold stone. The warlock bounced up and down in her spot, absolutely stricken with…joy?
“Yes, yes! I did it! I did i---hkkk!” the celebration ended quickly as the whip came coiling around the rather ditzy warlock’s neck. The warlock’s eyes flitted to the dark figure, recognizing that she was standing there, watching. She tried to signal that she needed help, her fingers twitching at the leather coiled around her neck, but no help came, or was offered. Anisse watched in rapt fascination as the goat-woman kicked down the lady sorceress, letting her slam, belly first into the ground. She died silently, her neck broken with a tight pull of the whip.
…oops.
A grin split the demon’s face, a tongue slipping out from between her white, sharp teeth. The wicked thing knew Anisse had stayed the whole time watching, knew she was fascinated by the kill. The demon shimmered out of existence then, her grin burning into the mind. Was this a gift then, this kill? Anisse doubted it, and knew the body needed to go, lest she herself was accused of the “accident.” There were plenty of coffins lying about, unused. How convenient. Perhaps the organs could be harvested for a few spells.
Jarel would appreciate the service.
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