I couldn’t think of anything I really wanted to post about, but in the excitement of Blizzcon and the upcoming expansion, I decided to tell a little story today that has been poking about in my mind now for a while.
Originally, I had intended to keep this blog as anonymous as possible, but in order to tell the story the right way, I had to keep the names. So, meet Lelissa, the Pixelated Executioner herself.
Hope you enjoy it.
Lelissa looked around at the landscape, shaking her head slightly to keep her long, white hair out of her face. Blinking away the dust blown about by the chilling wind, her luminescent eyes squinted against the burning red sun in the sky, adjusting to the harsh light. The wind was disconcerting since the day was warm; then again, the expanse of land beneath the shadow of Naxxramas was always caressed by the cold winds of death. Shivering slightly with the chill, she thought about having to clean her armor later. The dust that might work its way into the cracks between the bladed plates would be a pain to clean out, and despite her slender fingers, Lelissaâ€™s hands were meant for swinging a sword, not delicate work.
She wasnâ€™t sure why she was here, but her intuition told her that something was waiting for her in the Plaguewood, something that she needed to see. Stopping briefly at Lightâ€™s Hope Chapel, she decided that a prayer would be appropriate for her journey. Though never quite as devout as her sister, a well-known paladin among the Draenei, Lelissa still followed the Light and held her faith. Standing by the chapel, she reached out a gauntleted hand toward the stone, fingertips spread slightly, bowed her head, and closed her eyes.
â€śMay my blade strike true, may my armor hold strong against the enemies of the Light.â€ť
Her ritual complete, Lelissa opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached back to unhook her greatsword from the custom shoulder lock that held it strapped to her back. She didnâ€™t expect much trouble on the road to Stratholme, but it never hurt to be prepared. The road didnâ€™t reach to the Chapel, however, and there would be a short trek across the open, dying land, littered with gargoyles and plaguehounds. Lelissa wasnâ€™t worried about them. Though certainly not the greatest Warrior in Azeroth, she was still quite powerful, and the creatures of the Eastern Plaguelands would keep their distance, or face a swift death.
Lelissa suddenly found herself standing before the great arch that spanned the road before the Plaguewood, not really sure how she had gotten there.
â€śMust have been lost in thought,â€ť she mused, shaking her head. â€śTime to focus now.â€ť
Stepping through the arch, right arm extended, blade held loosely in her right hand, Lelissa walked quickly into the heart of the Plaguewood. Passing the ruined homes and ziggurats, she quickly realized something was amiss; the undead were disquietingly absent. To confirm her suspicion, she carefully approached one of the ziggurats, and was shocked to find it without a guard. Unwilling to step inside, she returned to the road, and quickly continued on her way.
The cold wind suddenly rose, whipping around her like a tornado. A shiver raced down her spine, not because of the wind, but what she heard on it.
â€śMy dear Lelissaâ€¦ just a little farther, now.â€ť The voice was cold, sinister, with an echo inside it, almost a voice within a voice.
â€śWho is out there?â€ť she shouted, not caring who was alerted as her rage slowly began to build inside her. She was ready to fight, no matter what came at her. After a few minutes, no enemy appeared to fight, and the land was deathly silent once again. Her brow furrowed, mouth turning down into a scowl, and she resumed walking, venturing further into the Plaguewood. As she approached the fork in the road just south of Stratholme, she discovered just why the land was so empty and defenseless.
Lelissaâ€™s spine stiffened at the sight before her. It seemed as though the entire host of the Scourge lay between her and Stratholme. It would be impossible to fight through so many, and she warily stepped backward, sword raised in a ready stance.
â€śI do not think you want to do that, Lelissa.â€ť
Lelissaâ€™s eyes opened wide as a figure strode out of the mass of rotting flesh, stopping to stand in front of the host like a general. There was no mistaking the stance, the horns curving out of the helm, and the claws at the end of the slender fingersâ€¦ this was another Draenei, or worse, an Eredar. Lelissa took another step back, uncertain now, her rage fighting with her fear as they both built up inside her.
â€śI really think you should look before you take another step.â€ť
Warily, Lelissa looked behind her, and found her path to be completely blocked by another tremendous undead host. Casting her glance all around, she found that she was completely surrounded, and the only way out of this mess would be to fight. Turning back to face the apparent leader, Lelissa spoke with all the courage she could muster.
â€śWhat do you want?â€ť
â€śNothing more than a little family reunion.â€ť Lelissa could hear the sneer in that sinister voice, mocking her, as though she should know more than she did.
â€śYou are no relative of mine. You keep the wrong company.â€ť
Lelissa readied her sword, and the figure drawing closer to her seemed unconcerned by the threat of steel as she began to casually unbuckle her helm. As the helm opened up, Lelissa caught the glimpse of dark bluish-green hair, and felt her heart hammering inside her chest, her rage being quashed by pure panic. The helm came away, revealing a face all too familiar to Lelissa, and her sword dropped to the ground next to her hooves in shock.
â€śWhat is this? No hug for your loving sister, Lelissa?â€ť
â€śMinessaâ€¦ noâ€¦â€ť Lelissa was shaking her head, denying aloud what her heart and mind clearly saw: the face of her fraternal twin, the Paladin who so believed in the Light.
â€śMinessa no more, my dear sisterâ€¦ you may call meâ€¦ Malyss.â€ť Malyss smiled cruelly, eyes glowing ice blue, and Lelissa screamed in denialâ€¦
â€¦jolting upright in bed, shrieking at the top of her lungs. The sweat-soaked sheets of her bed clung to her body, her mind was filled with panic, and her heart was full of dread.
Death was approaching Azerothâ€¦ and Malice would herald its coming.