#augustday2025

She had claimed 6 so far. Six individual kills that were her own for the first time in over two decades. Six had been carefully selected throughout Azeroth, six mortal parasites targeted, studied, planned. Each of incremental gathered power, challenging herself to one more experienced than the last. And in turn she’d acquired six trophies, etching the names of her found Sisters upon rings she had made for them. They would have freedom, as she did.

And Elernia would have her fun along the way.

Booty Bay was an old stomping ground marked by the memory of her former ‘owner’, and it felt right to bring a little ruin back to it. It had been all her quarry’s idea, and she was thankful for the opportunity. This one garbed herself in the power she had dared to command, wore all her vanity in dark silk and dangled, jeweled skulls aglow in fel magic. And she crowned herself with horns that were not her own, another element stolen and transfigured to fit her garish fashion. Subtlety was not the warlock’s lifestyle, certainly. 

Felcaller Lozella Vith made sure she was known. Powerful and respected among her tribe, and dominant in her circles, and partners.  Driven by lust by multiple avenues. And absolutely disinterested in mortal trysts that could not provide her more power. She had given both her body and soul to the demons she had subdued – Elernia could smell the latest conquest of the Felguard on her  – and still believed she was in control. Elernia meant to show her differently. 

Her Sister was called Anthirella, and she awaited the severing.

Though many eyes were in the den of sin, she made sure it was the Warlock’s burning eyes that found her. Each step measured and weighted, as if carved like the destiny prophesied by the tribal mystics Lozella was raised by. Elernia let her glamour slip around her eyes as she engaged, meeting the troll’s captured gaze with the demonic sliver that cut through her own pupils. Her plush lips pulled as she bowed, deep, letting the warlock’s eyes feast on what could be had.

“I know what y’are,” Lozella whispered, leaning forward with a narrowed gaze.

Elernia reached with fingers aiming to titilate, and the troll sat as if throned, eager to be appreciated. Her digits were weapons of a wicked sort, inspiring blood to flow, evoking fantasy of what could be, the unsung erotic imagery that all mortals dreamed but could not explain. A weakness always for those enslaved to libido. Tracing circles on the heightening pulse at the troll’s wrist, she slid in to an invitation they left open at the ear, cheek pressing to cheek. The warlock blushed a new color, beyond interested before the seduction even passed her lips. “Well, sweetness. Come for me.”

She felt the troll’s delicate tusks scrape against her throat, taking in her smell, and then hands, roaming. Elernia let herself groan, rubbing her face deeper into the troll’s face like a tiger in heat. “I’ve waited so long, mistress,” she whispered into the curving lines of Lozella’s ear. “Bring me into your power, make me yours…I need it.” Her fingers curled into the troll’s, leading her from the bar as coin was left, and paid for their small, humble room.

An hour into their tryst, and Lozella had expired, choking on her own bile, every organ in the warlock’s body shutting down slowly, painfully. The serpentine poison in her earrings had also performed perfectly, the delicate jeweled fangs injecting their ‘gift’ slowly when she had first offered her throat to the troll. It was a new way of a kill, each murder a different method than the previous. It all kept investigative efforts mired in confusion. And this one had suspected nothing, for pleasure and pain were one in the same.