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Shoth, Quel'dorei

 Post subject: Shoth, Quel'dorei
PostPosted: Fri Oct 07, 2011 4:45 am 

Joined: Wed Sep 21, 2011 10:11 pm
Posts: 16
The hunger was upon him again. He could feel it twisting in his bones and sinking deep into the pit of his stomach, as certain and as desperate as the need for food or water. He was Awake, and his head hurt and his vision was blurry. Abruptly, his stomach churned, and he bolted upright, vomiting thin liquid into the gutter he had awakened in. Something -stank-, and he gagged again when he realized that it was HE who smelled so foul. Retching, he pulled himself to his feet, clinging heavily to the brick wall of the Murder Row sewer he'd finally collapsed in the night before, and took an account of himself.

Night time. Moon's out. No knife. One shoe. Pants torn, shirt stained. No hat. Covered in oozing scabs and purple scars. Stinking of sweat and puke. Itchy. Hands shaking. Head pounding. Eyes bleary, and flicking blue light. Shoth. No surname. No family. No wealth, no prominence, no magic. Gotta get some magic. Sunwell. Breathe.

Belore. Anar'alah. By the Light, it was sooo good. Shoth's eyes opened fully. Felt good to be alive. It was springtime - it was always springtime. Warm. Need to eat. Need bloodthistle. He crawled his way down the alley, clinging to the bricks. Need to--


The world tilted crazily, and the reeking quel'dorei was sent sprawling to his knees. He vomited again, and the deep breaths he took sent his mind reeling. Power. Incredible power. Something, somewhere, was Happening, and his mind was on fire. This must be what the mages feel.

The city was alive. Shouts from every window, and sparks of arcane energy racing from parapet to parapet like lightning between steel rods. Lights of all colors - red and green and blue and deep, shadowy violet - stained the starry sky. Shoth stared at the moon in wonder. Oh, it was so good. Oh, it felt amazing. Raw, angry power from something.

The door in the wall opened, and the fat barkeep came pouring out, jabbering some nonsense. Inside the pub, screams of ecstasy and rage, the sounds of a riot, an orgy, a thaumaturgical carnival. The end of the world.

"The end of the world!" screamed the bartender. He'd dropped a carving knife. Fat purse. Fat jowls. Blue eyes flaring almost white, streaming tears. Staring at Shoth, not really seeing him. End of the world for you, friend.

Blood. New knife. Fat purse. Drag the body, hide him behind the barrels. End of the world. Power. Power. Shoth was Awake, and his stomach churned.

Food. Wine. What the hell was going on?

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