#saney

[sketchyprinki]

¿Master and pet?

Zircon by @iamboombox

Saney by me

[sadanpatel]

otp Saney, all questions <3

What was their first impression of each other? "I am not certain what Ney's first impression of me was, but I remember when I saw her... I thought she was too pure and lighthearted for this world. That she... she was a light."

What is their ship name? Saney? or perhaps Neydan?

Describe their relationship dynamic. Sadan is rather strict and aloof, not showing her emotions easily but super protective of Ney. In turn Ney is far more energetic and seems to be able to tell what Sadan is feeling or what she means with her small, sometimes snark comments and isn't afraid to translate for her to others around her.

What was their relationship like before they got together? Sadan wasn't sure what she was feeling for Ney, having not had many serious relationships in the past. Actually caring for a person and not just finding them attractive is a foreign feeling to her. Instead of jumping to intimacy, she wanted to observe Ney and find out just what about her made her feel the way she did. Ney on the other hand seems not shy at all about saying she liked Sadan and liked that she always seemed to be around when she needed her.

How would they describe each other? Sadan- "Well I describe her as a ball of sunflowers and spring light. And the buzzing of the bees with her energy and the softness of satin. How she describes me I am uncertain... Ney?" @cidbirb

What do they love about each other? Sadan "I love her openness and positivity, even as she struggles and has hard times she is always smiling. I feel, or at least hope she loves that I will both kill and die for her."

What do they have in common? "Hmmm I wonder that myself... Well we both love spicy food. And we both enjoy walks with Titan and Kratos....and it just feels right when we are together"

What are some differences between them? "Pfft" the guard scoffed, "take your pick:: Our outlooks on things, our mannerisms, our ways of expressing ourselves- the list goes on"

What made them realize they were in love? "I would have to say... I knew it was love when I first saw Ney hug a man and this stabbing pain filled my chest. I wanted to rip him apart, but also I wanted to vanish because if he made her happier than I could, I wanted her to have that instead. Thank goodness when I found out it was just one of her older brother's and not a suitor"

What are their love languages? "Touch. Especially when I pick her dainty body up and have her sit in my lap."

Do they get married? Who proposes and how? Sadan would definitely marry Ney! And she would be the one to propose on one of their walks, late at night on the beach.

What would happen if they never met? Sadan would have just continued to be a guard in the shadows watching over Nadia, perhaps found love or perhaps only sought out others to satisfy and sate the needs of her and a partner. But she would have always wondered if there was someone else there for her (Which is what AU's and Multiships are for ;) )

Who dies first? How does the other one react? Sadan would at least be the one to want to die first, risking her life to save Ney's. If Ney died first, Sadan would become utterly hollow.

Are there any love rivals? Only other person that Sadan currently (Always subject to change/more)is in love with is Reidunn owned by @vikinglumberjack but that be what Au and multi-shipping is for <3 I don't like the idea of romantic rivalry,I ain't about that drama

Describe your favorite moment of that ship! Probably in Modern AU, when Sadan took Ney for her first motorcycle ride and she saw how happy Ney was with the wind in hear face and riding the back country roads.

What do other characters think about this relationship? "I know her brother Iwel is fine with us.Her other brother Zack seems cautious of it. He even tried to say no when I first showed up at their door....Like literally tried to say no and close the door in my face"

Describe or write a really fluffy scene! Sadan would take Ney on a big vacation to anywhere she wants to go, at no expense, even if it was just to be Ney feeling tired some days and cuddling in bed in the hotel or resort. "Anywhere I am with you is a paradise"

Describe or write a really angsty scene! Ney has been hiding her medical condition and vanishing at points for her treatments. And Sadan always worries that she is either seeing someone else, or what else the big secret is. When she finds out Ney's truth, Sadan falls to her knees hugging Ney to her and crying into her stomach, "Y-You could have told me... I... I feared...Ney I love you..."

Talk about a headcanon you’ve never talked about before. Hmmmm....I don't think we have talked about if Sadan were ever to be sick how Ney would take care of her... Or Sadan marching up to Ney's family to say she is gonna propose and how that would go down.

What does a typical date look like for them? They walk the markets looking at things that things from the traveling merchants, and Sadan buying Ney anything her heart desires, followed by a spicy noodle dinner and then a relaxing time laying out to watch the sunset.

What’s a really significant moment in their relationship? "I would have to say when Ney first let me attend an appointment with her. Going through the process and talking to her doctor about her treatments.. it really showed her trust in me and how close we had become. And let me show that I was in it for the long haul no matter what."

Ask your own question! @cidbirb XD

[lenorasaney-blog]

The Crypt Keeper

Originally published 1/31/2017.

Of all the places that she was aware of across every known world she had ever stepped foot onto, Lenora Saney felt most comfortable in a crypt. It was, she felt, the place someone like her most belonged. A corpse, dead or otherwise, was meant to be in a crypt, or a grave, or in the general place of ‘under a lot of dirt’. And while her and any other undead entity’s existence spat in the face of such a notion, she still couldn’t help but at least feel somewhat at home whenever she crossed the threshold of such a precious place. The living had the rest of the world, so it only seemed proper for the damned to have a place to call their own as well.

On her worst days, she would find one of the many open crypts or coffins that littered Tirisfal and crawl inside. After closing the lid, she would shut her eyes and pretend that she was dead once more. Since her memory of the afterlife had been stripped away by both time and resurrection, she was even allowed to conjure up some pleasant image on what awaited her on the other end of her mortal coil. It was only when she decided to crawl back out that she allowed herself to remember that really there was nothing but eternal torment, or the void, or something else that was utterly awful awaiting her on the other end of the line.

She couldn’t recall the last time she had done this. Part of that was due to her keeping herself busy. Rare was the time where she would hit such a low as to want to crawl in a coffin when she kept her mind busy, even with a sizable darkness constantly gnawing at the edge of her thoughts. It didn’t help that at one point, some years ago, an apothecary had tried to resurrect her again for experimental purposes, which had meant having to scrap dry plague from her bones for weeks.

Another reason, at least at the moment, was that she felt that to crawl back into the grave defeated her current purpose. It acknowledged her current rotting state as her proper one, which she was currently in the process of attempting to refuse. An effort which thus far had proved to be completely fruitless.

Anyone she had considered a potential expert in the task had proven to be absolutely useless. Upon finding a necromancer, he had laughed in her face and claimed that his magicks could never have done the job. He had told her she would have been better off finding a priest, a cruel joke she hadn’t understood until she had already found herself sitting in a cathedral, surrounded by wielders of the Light. Who, luckily for her, had not been in a particularly smiting mood. One of them was kind of enough to humor her, and mentioned that she might be better of seeking an expert in the soul itself.

Which had subsequently taken her on a trip to find a mage, who could in turn make her a portal to Outland. While she had considered going to a similar spot on the alternate, less broken world of Draenor, the idea of returning there seemed far less appealing. So she had settled for its more broken counterpart, and now happened to be crawling through what was likely its largest graveyard. Or mass grave. Or crypt. She hadn’t really given much thought to the notion of what it actually was.

Really all she knew about Auchindoun was that at one point, it was a place for people to get buried, and eventually the priests who had been running happened to go insane. And as happened with most large groups of people who had just happened to go insane and decide to start harming people, a number of adventurers had come and cleared the entire place out some years ago.

She was certain that other things had taken to prowling the halls, but she opted not to care. Anything potentially world ending would have been stopped by other adventurers, as was the nature of the world. All she cared about in the city-sized cemetery was an individual she had heard whispers of in Shattrath City. A soulpriest who still returned to Auchindoun on a regular basis.

Lenora’s main assumption was that a person who held such a title would be one of those few individuals that she sought. Someone who could help her. Her reasons for believing this were simple. The woman was called a soulpriest. Priests were known for their potential to resurrect the dead, and a soulpriest must have been an expert with souls. She happened to be dead, and her soul was part of the problem.

Simple.

What was far less simple was actually finding the person she was looking for. The past few hours had been spent creeping around the mostly abandoned crypt, and in that time she felt as though she had barely covered any ground. Soon enough her window of opportunity was going to be missed, and she was going to have to wait for another sighting.

The thought of having to sit around Shattrath potentially being slowly roasted by the Naaru that floated there was enough to drive her forward even faster. While she still kept to the shadows where she could, she began bolting over open ground. Nothing spotted her, and far as she was aware nothing was around to spot her.

She managed to last in her frantic search for about ten minutes, before tripping over a stone. It was with a minimal amount of dramatics that she was tossed through the air, before unceremoniously crashing into the floor. At first it was only her mask and armor that dragged against the floor, but she felt the mask give way, allowing for her cheek to scrap across the stone.

Rolling herself into a sitting position, she rubbed her cheek long enough to confirm that nothing had been horribly damaged. Turning her head back upwards, she paused, making note of the pair of hoofs that had managed to appear before her. Slowly craning her head further and further upward, she blinked. Standing above her, looking down at her with one of the most judgmental stares she had ever seen in her life was a pale draenei clad in a white robe. In one hand she held a long staff, and in the other, what appeared to be a small dark orb. They stared at each other, before Lenora brought a hand up slowly, waving. 

“Uh. Hi.”

[lenorasaney-blog]

The Congregation

Initially published 1/5/2018. Direct follow-up to previous post ‘Into the Woods’.

Took a bit of forcing myself to get this one done, which I think is what happens when you don’t write for months.

-----

If someone had told her that the very Light itself flowed through the cathedral, not a single doubt would have escaped her. Everywhere she looked seem to positively radiate the holy source, from the priests and paladins who wielded it, to the sun as it glared through the various windows that dotted the enormous hall. Each window lovingly carved to depict a verse from a holy text, or at least so she had been told. Far as she could determine, they mostly appeared to be people performing miracles, or fighting off the forces of evil. The latter of which, happened to include the Scourge. Which, unfortunately, she happened to bear a striking resemblance to. Namely because, far as any of the holy individuals gathered, she was little better than them, if she was any better at all. She carried the same taint, was cursed by the same plague, and smelled of the same rot as any of the Scourge soldiers they had valiantly slain in the name of the Light. Her bones may be better cared for, and better covered by what skin she had left, but she could feel any number of them forcing away the idea of simply smiting her where she sat. An ironic twist of fate, she believed, considering that they had taken up residence in a cathedral that had once housed the Scarlet Crusade. None of them would want to admit it, but at least some likely agreed with the Crusade's lust for the eradication of the undead. To rid the world of the abominations of nature, as they considered them to be, via the method of holy fire. But, to keep themselves from that image, they were forced to act pleasant, and keep their distances. In return, she had kept her distance, back against a wall, seated lazily on a bench. When one of them stared at her in disgust, she stared blankly back. Once they realized that she had no need to blink, they would relent and return to whatever they had happened to be doing. At some point, she told herself, she was going to determine just who exactly it was she wanted to speak to. That moment had yet to come. On the recommendation of a necromancer, she was seeking out a wielder of the Light. Someone who could perhaps help her with her terminal problem of being undead. In a way that didn't end with her being dead once more, that is. Except knowing absolutely no one made it impossible to decide on who was worth bothering with any details. Any number of races were prowling about, ranging from humans and elves to Draenei and Tauren, and each and every one of them seemed like poor ideas to approach. The longer she sat idly by, the more she considered the fact that the entire suggestion had likely been meant as a joke at her expense. Something to send her off on a journey that was going to end with her being a smoldering pile of ash being danced upon by a number of individuals dressed in matching golden armor. On the one hand, she considered that immensely cruel, and was silently wishing she had maybe put at least a couple of holes into the necromancer. In this situation though, now that she thought about it, there was no other hand. At first she wanted to believe she could respect the macabre nature of the joke, but by this point was more frustrated than anything. Each minute that passed seem to find her slouching more and more. To the point where her shoulders appeared to be folding straight into her knees. An uncomfortable sight to behold, she presumed, and a pose that would have caused her back problems if her spine wasn't hunched and deformed as it was. Forcing herself to sit up, she could feel individual parts of it pop and crack and they settled back into place, and took the moment to appreciate the fact that the entire process was painless. The same could be said for her the rest of her, her bones scraping and grinding against each other in a symphony of horrible noises as she returned to a standing position, making for the cathedral's grand exit. So distant were her thoughts that she barely noticed as a priest growing gradually closer to her. It wasn't until they collided that her attention returned to the area around her. In an instant she had skittered back against one of the hall's many pillars, crouching low, hands hovering over her daggers. Her beady eyes bored into the priestess she had rammed into, who herself had already retreated a good distance away, her pale hands coming up to cover her mouth. When it became apparent that there was no need for her blades, Lenora straightened herself, hands dropping lazily to her sides. Eyes darting away from the priestess in an awkward fit of embarrassment, she let out a hoarse mutter. "Sorry." The priestess blinked at the noise, taking a moment to be sure that it had actually come from the undead woman. Or perhaps she was more surprised by the fact that she could still manage to speak Common. Regardless of the reason for her surprise, the priestess managed to overcome it, returning herself to something resembling composure. Brushing off what dust had gathered on her robe, she shook her head dismissively, "Don't worry about it. I am at least partially to blame." Lenora allowed her head to bob up and down at the prospect of sharing the blame. Anything to keep from having to be too apologetic, and to end this quicker. She wanted to leave, and this had only extended the entire ordeal of her departure. "If you don't mind me asking," the priestess said, taking a step closer, "I am curious about what it is you're doing here." She blinked once, then twice, turning her attention from the exit to the priestess. Another set of blinking didn't exactly do anything to help her confusion, but she proceeded to do it anyway. There wasn't so much surprise in the question, she assumed most everyone else had been wondering why an undead had crawled into their halls and sat herself down there without saying a word, but rather the suddenness of it. There was supposed to be conversation leading up to such a brazen question. Something about manners, and dancing around an issue before it could be fully address. And here it was being simply ignored. Inching ever so slightly closer, her eyes narrowed, darting left and right to confirm that there wasn't some paladin waiting in the wings to burn her in holy flame. Deciding the coast was clear, she allowed her shoulders to roll, "Uh. Just. Just looking for some help." It wasn't the response the priestess was expecting, made clear by the way her eyebrows knitted together, and how long it took her to process. Her hands rose and dropped as though she were about to start making a point, but said points appeared to die before they could ever leave her mouth. Taking yet another step closer, she eyed the undead woman over once more. Had Lenora been standing straight up, they likely would have been similar in height. But hunched over as she was, that involved the priestess literally looking down on her. "It sounds. Sounds really. Uh," Lenora said, looking away again, "Sounds really stupid. I. I know." A short chuckle escaped from the priestess, "I am inclined to agree." Once more Lenora turned, eyes narrowing at the bluntness of the response, but she didn't say anything more. Slightly taken aback, the priestess brought her hands up defensively, offering a soft smile, "I can't imagine what sort of help you imagined you could get, especially from anyone here." Lenora's shoulders shifted up in a shrug once more, "I. I don't know. Just. Maybe. If anyone. Seeing if anyone could. Fix. This." She made a weak gesture to herself. A more serious expression took over the priestess's face, "There's nothing here to fix that, save having one of the senior members give you a merciful death." "I. I figured. I figured that out," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, "Still. Still thought I. I thought I should. Find out." The priestess gave her a questioning look, to which the undead huffed, "Just. Just think about. Think about what you'd. You'd do." It surprised Lenora to find that the woman's already pale face could go a few shades lighter. All it took to reach such a point was for the woman to imagine the curse of undeath. If anything, Lenora wondered if she wasn't going to throw up from the thought, with the way she started swaying, but she steadied herself, shaking off whatever had just possessed her. "Yes, well," she said, idly bringing her hands together, "I suppose that makes sense. But you'll find no solutions here. The Light has the power to return the dead to life, but only in the state that they left it. Or so I have been taught." Lenora's eyes narrowed as she considered that. "So were you resurrected, you would only be returned as you are now. Or worse, given how the Light might sear you." Her eyes once more scanned the room, considering that. And again, all she could bring herself to do was shrug. Even if she hadn't know it for certain, she had know that hoping for some sort of miracle cure was insane. Not that she had stopped hoping. "Guess. Guess I'll just. Start. Looking somewhere else." The priestess blinked, head tilting at the prospect, "There isn't a cure for undeath. Nothing about you can be fixed. Your body is." She paused, biting her lip for once to prevent herself from making such a clear statement, "Obviously not well. And I doubt that your spirit has done any better for being tied to such a thing." As Lenora opened her mouth to make some final statement, she continued, "But there if there was someone who could help in matters of the soul, there might be individuals trained for the task. My instructor once told me of her sister, beyond the Dark Portal, who had trained to be a 'Soulpriest'. Though last I heard, they weren't welcome to outsiders." Letting her eyes drop to the floor, Lenora stared at the white tile. Without another word, she turned to begin shuffling towards the door. Behind her she could hear the priestess scuffling along after her. Still saying things that she couldn't be bothered to listen to. She pushed herself past the heavy doors the moment she reached them, giving no regard for the cold beyond. Nor the snow, with her bony feet pressing on without missing a beat. At some point her little sabbatical was going to have to end. She knew was much, tried to convince herself as much. In fact, if she were wise, it would have ended before now. Before going to the ends and edges of the known world, and now beyond, for the sake of a solution that didn't exist. The answer to her question was well known, and she simply refused to heed it. Everyone else seemed to have gotten with the program, and settled into the fact that this was their normal, or at least had convinced themselves to play the part. Once more her eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched. An eternity awaited her. Either one of darkness when she had her final death, or an uncountable number of lifetimes spent falling to pieces and struggling to keep herself together. And since that was the case, who was to say she was wrong in spending all of it searching for the ever illusive third option.

[lenorasaney-blog]

Into the Woods

Initially posted 11/24/2017. Direct follow up to previous post ‘Reward’.

-----

The forest of Val'sharah crawled. In its southern portions, forest life skittered to and fro, acting out their proper place in the food chains as intended. Tree branches swayed in the wind, their leaves fluttering to the ground. To the north, the very ground itself pulsed red with corruption. Even with druids seeking to cleanse it from the face of Azeroth, with its source dead, the task appeared to be ages from completion.

She stared down at it from the top of a hill. Peering through twisted branches and decaying foliage. Somewhere in the dead section of the words, according to a mage in Dalaran, lay a necromancer. A powerful, dangerous necromancer. One who had taken advantage of all of the chaos of the emergence of the Emerald Nightmare, and hidden themselves away from the busy druids of the forest. All in the pursuit of conducting experiments in his chosen school of magic, away from prying eyes.

Except a pair of prying eyes had arrived, searching specifically for him. A task that was going to take some time, she realized, upon taking in just how large the actual area of corruption was. Some of it could be ruled out. The rough and ramshackle huts were no place for a proper necromancer, she assumed. People like that wanted their own space, confined, and well protected from the outside. Which narrowed suitable locations to caves and proper housing. The latter of which she restricted to the elven structures that still had their roofs and walls.

Her days and nights were spent creeping through every inch of land she could cover. Avoiding druids and the beasts that followed them in the process proved easy enough, especially given that their focus was elsewhere. The corrupted creatures that skulked about the woods were her true foe. One she did her best to avoid contact with, lest she give away her presence to anyone who came across the corpse.

Nearly a week had passed before her search bore fruit. Upon approaching one elven hut, she found herself unable to take a single step closer to the building. Looking to her feet, she found a skeletal hand extending from the ground, grasping at both of her ankles.

"Huh," she muttered, to no one in particular, bending over to pry one of the hands bony fingers away from her similarly bony ankle. A single step forward only prompted a new hand to emerge and take hold.

Looking back up at the house itself, she noted a light flickering from window to window. A curtain being pulled back here and there as the person inside peered outside to examine their intruder. She stood there, arms blandly at her side, mid-stride, and waited. It was another minute before someone emerged from the structure.

His black hair was slicked back against his head, both with what looked to be some sort of gel, and with sweat. The tip of his beard almost reached his stomach, the rest of it a mangled mess of hair that looked as though it had never been maintained. Dark lines created the outline for his eyes, which were narrowed firmly in her direction. A tattered robe, which was covered in muck, completed his look.

Her right hand lingered close to her dagger, ready to pull it free should he attempt to get close. The other drifted behind her cloak, preparing to pull from the belt of blades that wrapped around her back. Neither proved to be necessary, as the man kept his distance, grimy fingers slowly stroking his beard.

"A member of the Scourge," he murmured, to no one but himself, "No, wait. A member of the Forsaken. Wandering in my neck of the woods." He slowly approached her, but never within arms reach, eyes scanning her down to the most minute detail. "I have always appreciated the Scourge's work with your people. A bit sloppy in terms of construction, perhaps, but the sheer ability for mass production is incredible. Incredibly difficult to recreate as an individual. Not quite as strong as the death knight, but not as difficult to create, either."

She glanced around, as though to some set of unseen onlookers, before looking back to him, "Uh. Thanks. I think."

A small grin was visible behind the beard, "Yes, you're welcome. Short lived as the praise may be. You've daggers at your side, and a will of your own. And an assassin on my doorstep means so many things. All inevitable." He took in a sigh, looking back towards his current place of residence, "I shall have to take to packing after I've taken care of you. What an ordeal that will be."

"Not," she said, drawing his attention again, "Not. I'm not here. To kill you. Or anything. Unless you. You try to kill me."

He blinked, turning back to her, "Not here to kill me." His hand came up to stroke his beard, "Then what could you possibly seek with someone like me."

Sharp fingers rose to rub the back of her neck, "I. Uh. Want." She paused, staring at her surroundings for a moment, "Want. You to make. Uh. I guess. Just. Make. Bring me back to life."

His hand dropped as he drew closer once more, "Ah. So you wish me to raise you from the dead. Again."

She shook her head, "No. I want. Want you to. To make me alive."

Once more he took to stroking his beard, trying to grasp onto her meaning. Eventually he shook his head, chuckling, "You wish me to return you to...To a state of actual life. Not undeath, but life." She slowly nodded her head, and in turn he shook his, "Oh my dear corpse, all my magicks can do is reproduce your current state. Perhaps improve it, but in the end, you are a corpse. Your vessel is a rotted thing, and your soul corrupted by the magic that ties the two together. Practitioners of the type of magic that could bring the dead back to life are those who work with the Light."

Behind her mask, her lips sank into a frown. Her shoulders slouched more than usual, "Okay. Thanks. I guess. Need to find a. Priest or something."

A dark laugh escaped him as he nodded, turning to approach his hovel, "Oh yes. You do that. Do tell me how that goes for you, working with that priest."

Soon enough he had departed, and with him, the skeletal hands that had held her in place. Staring down at the ground, she frowned again when she noticed that they hadn't drawn back into the ground, but rather hand simply slumped against the dirt. Bringing her hands up, she compared her sharpened fingertips to the pair settled into the dirt. Sickly green flesh still stuck to sections of her fingers, one of the few differences she could identify. Clinching her fists, she dropped her arms to her sides, and turned to depart the area. A dark thought lingering over her the entire way back towards civilization.

[lenorasaney-blog]

Reward

Initially published 11/23/2017, loose follow-up to the post ‘Eternal’.

-----

Burn it.

He nodded slowly, grip tightening around the orange staff. Yes. He would do as told. As he must do, as he was destined to do. Before him was a grand expanse of lava, an entire ocean of fire that emitted the heat of a thousand suns. Behind him were the corpses of countless Dark Iron dwarves. The defenders of Blackrock Mountain, who had put up a pitiful fight.

Burn it all.

A sigh escaped him as he approached the edge. Without even considering the motion he was nodding, agreeing to every word as it resounded from the back of his brain. Parting his hands, staff still clinched in his right hand, he called to the depths of the lava, and then commanded the call to travel even further. Until his very will pierced through the flame and called to a being from beyond this realm. Demanded the presence of a creature from one of the elemental planes.

Drawing his hands skyward, a manic smile took control of his lips. The lava headed his every whim, rising as though pulled by unseen strings. At first it was a small stream, which soon became pillars of fire that reached to the ceiling. Eventually they converged, and intersected. One pillar began to act as an arm, defying gravity as it suspended itself in the air. That first pillar connected to a second, a torso. Soon enough the others would follow suit, and a grand fire elemental would stand before him, waiting for its first target to put to the torch.

Yet just as quickly as the lava rose, it descended. What once held a solid form soon became chaos again as fell back into the pool from which it had come from. His hands dropped, as did his jaw. His thoughts searched for the voice, for anything, but found nothing. Peering down at the staff, he found that it had left his hand and was busy clattering against the ground.

There was a pain in his lower back. Something had pierced his flesh, and likely any number of his organs, and had left. Leaving a gaping hole for his blood to rush out through in the process. His thoughts raced as he struggled to turn, stumbling backwards at the sudden appearance of another face. A masked face, with beady yellow ears peering from its darkness. This creature of undeath had crept up behind him and stabbed him, with the weapon still in her left hand, dripping with his blood.

With what force he could muster, he pushed himself towards the thing. If he could just get on the other side of it, perhaps he could push it into the fire, and continue the ritual. Force the elemental to cauterize his wound. To cleanse him in fire. But it wasn't meant to be. It brought its foot up, and pushed him.

Little more than a short stumble preceded his descent. He watched in horror as the ceiling of the cavern grew in distance. Searing pain overtook his entire back as he met the fire below. Above him he could see the creature bend over the edge, to examine its work. Then it plucked up his staff, for which so many had died for, and departed.

==========

It was with a relieved smile that the mage accepted the staff. He allowed the item to turn over in his hand, slowly, examining it for any damage. When he was satisfied, he looked up at his contractor and nodded approvingly.

"You have no idea how grateful we are for your work today," he said, offering the undead woman a smile, "Something truly terrible was prevented, and for that, you have our thanks."

She stared at him, small yellow eyes peering deep within his. Her head bobbed up and down somewhat, before her gaze drifted to the item in question. He held it up, to emphasize its importance of it to her, a smile still radiating from his lips.

"Okay," she said, looking back up at him, tone bland.

For a moment his smile faltered. Surely she understood the weight of the entire matter. The potential fury of the fire that could have been unleashed with the staff. The number of individuals who had died in the process of its acquisitions, or the story drenched with blood that was attached to the staff itself. Yet there was nothing in those eyes that told him that she cared.

"Yes, well," he said, doing his best not to stutter the words, and to hold true to his congratulatory tone, "If there is anything we can do to repay you, name it."

"Uh," she said, eyes flicking any which way for a moment. He nodded slowly, waiting. The valiant hero, considering the possibilities that such a promise could lead to. Eventually she refocused on him, and he could tell. She would decline, just as those truly worth would. "I'd uh. I'd like. Like my payment."

To say his entire demeanor dropped was an understatement. His smile fell into a resigned frown. Both of his shoulders slouched forward, and a sigh escaped him. "Of course," he muttered, producing a sack of coins from his belt, which she promptly took.

Without another look, she turned, and began making her way for the door. Clenching his fists around the staff, he steadied himself. Stood taller. He stepped forward, and called out to her. She paused, twisting her body to peer back at him.

"Surely there is something else we can do for you, beyond just payment, my lady," he said, almost pleading. Surely this story, the one he would go and tell his instructor, would not end as nothing more than a paltry exchange of coin.

She stared at him for a moment, and he felt a fear grip him. One that whispered in his ear that she was going to continue with her departure. But instead she turned slowly to stare at him, unblinking. Taking in a long breath, she released it in an even longer sigh, "Know uh. Do you. Do you know any. Uh. Really good necromancers."

His jaw went lax at the question. At first he debated answering it. To so much as direct someone to a practitioner of such dark arts could be considered a crime. But he ignored his first instinct, to deny any knowledge.

"Yes," he said slowly, "There are words of someone deep in the forests of Val'sharah. An individual who has used the threat of the Nightmare as cover to conduct horrible experiments and rituals. A person to be approached with extreme caution. Does that help?"

Her head bobbed up and down, "Yep. Thanks. Helps a lot."

With a small raise of her hand, she turned, and left him there. Sighing, he turned, debating how he was going to properly explain and document this entire encounter. Whether to tell the truth as it happened, or add some sort of dramatic flair. A matter to be decided later, he decided. For now the staff needed returned to its proper places in the vaults of the Kirin Tor. After that, and of course a fine meal, he could truly consider the repercussions of his actions. And even that could perhaps wait until tomorrow.

Or maybe the day after.

[lenorasaney-blog]

Eternal

Initially posted 11/17/2017

-----

The goblin looked up at the oozing burlap sack with the same casual look he would have given a sack of potatoes. Granted, behind that look was the abject horror at the sheer amount of coin he was going to have to count and document for himself, as well as how much of his vacation fund it was going to fill, the likes of which a simple sack of potatoes would have never succeeded in fulfilling. Pulling the thing off the counter, he held it open to peer inside, nodding slowly with approval. One severed head, human, male, long blonde hair, scraggly beard, and facial features to match. Just as the request had ordered.

Tossing it behind him he looked up at the true terror that filled the room. The decayed corpse, whose beady little yellow eyes had never ceased staring at him. Nor did they seem to blink. Instead they bored right into him. The creature they were attached too was easily his most undesired part of any particular contract. Not because her very body was as rich in decay as he was about to be in coin, but for the simple fact that her mouth still functioned.

Exceedingly well.

"So. Uh."

She peered down at him, expectantly. The rest of her face, eyes aside, was hidden by a hood and mask combo, both black, which went with the rest of her dirty leather armor. With a short nod of approval, he bent over, reaching under the counter to produce a large sack of coins, from which he began counting. Each click on the counter rang out with a beautiful sound, of weighted metal falling upon weighted metal.

The fact that her gaze never lingered from him was a source of unending disturbance. How anything in the world, be it man or murloc, could look upon such a sum and not care to check it was beyond him. Halfway through the count he had to pause and look up at her, letting out a long sigh, "Is there something else you were needing?"

Her bony shoulders lifted in a shrug, beady eyes shooting elsewhere for a moment, as though she had been found out in some ruse. Eventually she looked to him again, just as he had started clicking through the coins again, meticulously counting every single one of them, "What. Uh. What do you do with. With all of this stuff."

He blinked, peering up at her. For a moment he considered the question. What it pertained to. Was it the head? No, of course not. She knew exactly what became of the head. It was turned in to whomever had set up the contract, and he was paid in kind. Perhaps she meant the knick-knacks that lined the shelves of his shop, each of them covered in layers of dust. But that she knew the answer to as well. They were there in case tourists came in. To distract anyone who might not know that the place's main business was in matters of death. Which meant she had to be speaking of the coin itself.

Exchanging his focus from her to the coins and back again, he frowned, "Whaddya mean what do I do with it? I shove it in a vault and save it. Or I spend it. The stuff I get from this job is gonna be goin' ta my vacation fund, for instance. Got a pal who says he can get me tickets to Gallywix's palace on the cheap."

Nodding her head slowly, she shrugged again, "Oh. Yeah. I guess. Guess that makes sense." Each of the various fragments of her sentences came with its own sort of stilted delivery. Not an each of her speaking was consistent. At points she repeated herself, at others the sentence just seemed to pause. Sometimes a new idea would begin entirely.

"Well what the hell do you do with it then?" he said, suddenly crossing his arms, feigning offense. Not so low was he as to allow himself to potentially be insulted by a walking corpse. Granted, he had been insulted by worse than a walking corpse, but at the very least that individual he could and had divorced.

Once again her shoulders creaked up into a shrug, "I don't know. Stuff. Repairs. Travel. Stuff like that." A single finger came up to awkwardly dig into the counter, "Not. Not much else to. To really spend it on."

His arms were flung up into the air at the sound of that. Never in his life had he heard such nonsense, and in that moment he believed he would never hear anything sillier. Tapping the coins on the counter, he shook his head, "This stuff is for everything. Literally everything on this freakin' planet. And a couple of other planets. Or completely different realms of existence. And you're gonna tell me that you can't find anything to spend it on. If that's the case, what the hell am I even givin' it to you if it's just sittin' somewhere and gatherin' dust?"

He neglected to let loose the fact that he himself was sitting on a fair sum. Granted, it was stored away as a just in case. And as a means to brag to his relatives, as well as an opportunity to laugh in their faces when they requested money from him, but that was beside the point.

"I. I use it," she said, voice croaking the entire time. "Just. Don't have. A lot to. You. You know. Use it on."

Bringing his face into his palms, he turned around, and hopped down from his pile of stools. Wandering into the back room, he retrieved yet another one and added it to the pile. Once he was certain that the now towering structure was enough to hold him, he clambered up it, and tossed himself onto the counter itself. Staring the rotting woman right in the eye, he put his hands on his hips, "The hell's wrong."

Her eyes shot around for a moment, trying to focus on anything in the shop. She wouldn't find anything to focus on. He knew that, because she never did. And loathe as he was to have to have some sort of heartfelt conversation, it was best to get this out now. There was no way he could sell her services in good conscious knowing that something might be bothering her on the job. In bad conscious, certainly, but to sell something in bad conscious meant running the high risk that the entire deal would fall through in the chance she screwed something up because of it. Which would have meant a nasty relocation and change of identity, a process he wasn't going to go through yet again.

"It's. It's nothing Buzz. Just. Just asking is all. Nothing's wrong."

The goblin brought a hand to his face, pulling his eyelids down for a moment out of frustration. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, "Except there obviously is, 'cause you're giving me a funnier look than normal, so if you don't mind, let's just get it out now and be done with it."

When she shrugged again, he swore that the next time he did it he was going to slap her upside the head. Not that he would. But he certainly would fantasize about doing so. "I just. Uh. I've been thinking about stuff. Some stuff. And I don't. I guess. Don't really know why to keep doing. This."

His stomach churned at those words. The matter was worse than he thought. Not only was she having some strange thoughts in regards to money, she was thinking things that put his entire business in jeopardy. A vision of the long and arduous interview process that would be required to fill her position passed through his mind, and he shuddered.

Steadying himself, he sighed, "Ya do the work, ya get paid. I don't see where the confusion is here Saney. It's simple stuff. The hell's the problem with it now."

She turned her back to him, and inched away from him along the counter. For a minute he thought she was trying to simply scoot away from the conversation, but instead she just invited herself up onto the counter. With a little push she scooted herself into a sitting position on the counter and stared out the shop's front window.

"I just. Don't. Don't see why. I guess. Not. Not much reason to. It's," she paused again, twisting herself to look at where he tossed the burlap sack. "Doesn't mean much."

Buzz's eyebrows knitted together, "What, 'cause of him? It means something to the buyer. Means we get paid. And gettin' paid's gotta feel nice, right?"

"Sometimes. I guess." Her feet began to idly swing. "But. There'll. There'll be other buyers. And there'll be other guys. So. So I guess who cares."

"Is that what this is about?" he said through gritted teeth, trying not to raise his voice so much that it would wake his neighbors, "You're gettin' bored?" She shrugged again and he imagined plunging one of her daggers right between her eyes. Letting out yet another sigh, he allowed himself to resort to one of the worst alternatives he could think of. "Well okay, maybe you need a break or something. Take a vacation for a little while. Have some fun. Be just fine after I'm sure." A chill ran down his spine at just the offer of allowing vacation time, but now was not a time to make even the smallest error.

She shook her head, looking down at him, "And. And do. What am I supposed to do." His mouth dropped open at the question. Were someone to walk into the shop at that moment he was certain they could have heard his brain sizzling with how hard it was working to come up with a solution. "I just don't," she croaked, giving him more time to think, "Don't get what I'm supposed to do with. With a lot of this. Time."

His fingers curled as he imagined wrapping them around her throat. Though, now that he thought about it that would have achieved absolutely nothing. "Go to the beach," he hissed, "Book a nice night at an inn. Whatever."

"Can't. Can't really. Go to a beach," she said, letting out a short cough, "People. People don't like. Corpses. And water. Don't." She paused for a moment, staring at her feet, "Don't want to go to one that's. Just me. Either. Or an inn. Boring. Nothing. Nothing for me to. To do."

Hopping off the counter, he removed the top stool in his stack. Climbing back up he returned to counting coins. Anything to calm himself. This was a job for a therapist, not a broker. Trying to get back into his count, he only idly glanced up at her, "Ask some friends to go with you or something." Her silence at that forced him to stop once more and look at her, "You do have friends right?"

She stared down at him, "Do. Uh. I mean. You. I guess. If you count."

"Wow."

It was insensitive, and immediately he wished he hadn't said it. But it was too late to undo, and now the word hung in the air. So long did it hang there that he wondered if the conversation had ended full stop, but eventually she piped up again.

"I just. All the forsaken I run into are all. Too. Too into the. All the forsaken stuff. Tried hanging. Just. Just being around Silvermoon and. It's full of elves and they don't really. Really like corpses that much. So."

Quickly finishing his counting, before he could be distracted again, he inched the coins into a brown pouch, and offered it to her. She hopped off of the counter and stared at it, not reaching to take it from him.

"Let me just give you some advice," he said, holding the pouch out again, "Just take this, and find somethin' you wanna buy. Hell. Buy ya some friends. Or find somethin' you wanna save for, and save for it. Just use your imagination. If you want it, you can probably buy it. Focus on stuff like that, and honestly you don't have any time to think about all of this stuff."

Her head tilted at that, "You. You mean. I can. Can think of a lot of stuff I would want that. That I probably can't. Can't buy."

"Find the right person and set the right price, and I'd beg to differ," he said blandly, once again shoving the thing in her direction.

She rubbed the back of her neck, "I don't. I mean. Yeah. Okay."

Taking the pouch, she let it sit in her hands. He stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to leave. Eventually she began inching her way to the door, just as he hoped she would. The entire process was arduously long, for some reason. At points she stopped completely to stare back at him, before looking down at the sack of coins. Even after she had made it out the door and was standing in the street she paused, staring up at the shop's sign as though she might be lost. Just when he thought she might stand there forever, she tucked the pouch of gold away, and wandered off down the road.

[itssaney]

sane or insane?

Mein Vorname fängt mit sa.. an und mein Nachname mit ne.. also wird es wohl “sane” sein. Ich bin wohl gesund und alle anderen geisteskrank :)