#ranathan

A small pool of glowing Fel green blood mixed with a reddish tint lay under him as the blood dripped from his head. Taking a moment to diagnose the damage, he deduced that he had only taken a minor blow to the head. Grunting loudly he tried to pull himself up and failed every time. His entire body was locked to the position it was in. Every joint wanted to scream but he couldn’t move a single portion of his body aside from his head. Before he could get a further glance of his bindings bright light flooded the room making him turn his head quickly away. Cackling loudly, Ranathan entered the room this time with a glass of what looked to be wine.

“This is a sight many would pay to see oh yes . . . the mighty Red Storm, chained to a wall and barely able to move at all. Come come.” Ranathan gestured to the door way. “He saw you before we knocked him out, show yourself to the boy.”

Rasmot grit his teeth as he looked to Ranathan and looked to the door way as a female figure passed through. The first thing he noticed about her was the eyes, they glistened and shone like emeralds. As he watched her enter the room several other hints about her features struck her as familiar to him. The curvature of her face, the way her brows were set, even her royal posture was enough to tip him off. His only problem was believing his own eyes. Looking down, his mind whirred and clicked until he leveled his gaze at Ranathan. His eyes were blue, something that wouldn’t be possible if you remained in Silvermoon after the Scourge tore through the streets.

Grunting loudly he managed to find his voice. “You’re a Lich?”

“Aaaaaaah he’s quite resilient, we keep him down here for days and he finds his voice.” Ranathan grinned wildly and approached Rasmot. “But nice try. I wouldn’t dare bow my soul to that Arthas, the pompous prince, nor would i give myself to the burning legion or drink from the cup that fool Kael’Thas would’ve had us quaff. No i took a different approach.” He raised his glass with a smirk. “Did you know, the blood of a person is as every bit as potent a magic as any other source? Oh we balk at it perhaps, but if you distill the blood just right . . . with just the right amount of pressure and coercion. That’s when you get something truly special.“

Rasmot growled out gesturing to the woman. “And her?”

“I had some help with that one. Sure i didn’t trust Arthas, but that didn’t mean i was against the idea or practice of dark magic. Quite the contrary. I was born on Dark magic. Did you know that the Sori’Thas family had links to the Cult of the Damned before the second war? Oh it was a very long distance relationship i assure you but there has always been one family member with ties.” Ranathan walked to the woman with a wide grin. “As for her? well . . . it seemed a shame for the Lich King to abuse such a noble body. I left your father for his scourge of course. No doubt they turned him into a ghoul or ghast or some such. But for my sister? well i wanted to make sure i had someone to take a blow for me should push come to shove. Schala? if you would be so kind?”

Rasmot watched in horror as the woman walked towards him gracefully before slapping him across the face. The slap left a large red mark where she hit before she back handed Rasmot on the other side. Ranathan let her get five more slaps in before he called her off and whispered to her ear. Schala walked mindlessly away to do his bidding while Ranathan gleefully sipped his cup of supposed wine. The man walked over to Rasmot and bent down to grab his head by the hair and lift his face up.

“That, pup, was for thinking you could weasel something out of me. As for your mother? i had the Cult of the Damned preserve her. It was a tough task let me tell you right now, but as a Blood mage? anything is possible.” Taking another sip from his cup, Ranathan walked to Rasmot’s side and examined the wings at his back. “I do have to say though, this is an interesting addition to the family record . . . one member part of the dark arts, another dead and risen by the Cult of the damned using a bit of Fel energy, and then there’s you. A Fel-touched Mutt.” Ranathan looked to the doorway and grinned. “But we have plans for you boy. And we’ll start with something a little familiar.”

Standing before him, the woman held one of Rasmot’s revolvers and clicked back the hammer. “Is this your gun?”

“. . .” Rasmot looked away from her, gritting his teeth.

The woman slapped the barrel across his face to get Rasmot’s attention back on her. “Is this. Your gun?” She asked again.

“You tell me. Or is your master limiting your higher levels of thought?” He growled out the words towards her. “Or do you think that you’re scaring me? That i think you are my mother?”

She stared blankly at him, before her lips opened again. “It is a simple question. Does this gun belong to you, yes or-”

“OF COURSE IT FUCKING BELONGS TO ME!” Rasmot managed the strength to push himself forwards towards her after he yelled out the words. “Are you blind, deaf, or stupid!? Because the Schala that wrote me that commission was NONE of those things!”

The woman smiled and placed her finger on the trigger before pressing the muzzle of the gun against his right shoulder. “Thank you for the answer.”

He was expecting several things, but he was not expecting the bullet to come so quickly. The gun fired with a loud “BRAMM!” and tore through his right shoulder. Had he been moving or jerking the bullet would have shattered his bones, instead it tore through his shoulder and through the flesh of his right wing. Rasmot roared loudly with pain as he sunk down on the chains. The woman turned and walked towards a table in the room before looking back at Ranathan. Grinning from ear to ear he made a motion for her to put the gun down before he rolled his hand for her to continue. She walked back over and with intent curiosity pushed two fingers into the hole the bullet made in Rasmot’s shoulder. Roaring loudly he thrashed his head into the Woman’s knocking her away. The ground down plate of where a Horn used to be smacked into her cheek.

She stared at him for several minutes, wiping her cheek out of some unregistered sense of pain. Slowly the Woman got up and gripped her hands around Rasmot’s throat forcing his head back with a slam against the stone wall. Her hands forcefully gripped his neck as she choked the man in front of her glaring directly into his fiery gaze. As she choked him, some sort of emotion started to well up in her body and came to the top in an unexpected sweep of agony. Regret. She let go of his throat and bit back the tears before she looked back to Ranathan with her usual cold look. He gestured to the door and she strolled away slowly, glancing back to the man in chains with confusion. Her eyes glanced down to her hands as she stood to the side of the door watching them tremble and couldn’t contain the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Ranathan walked towards Rasmot with a sadistic grin before he tipped the remains of his glass on Rasmot’s wound. He convulsed as the wine burned and brushed against the wound on his shoulder and looked at the noble with venomous hatred. It wasn’t long before the woman returned with a red hot poker, her face clean of any tears that may have been there. Ranathan smiled and pat Rasmot on the head as he watched the woman go to work. First she slashed across his chest with the hot tip of the poker, the searing metal cutting a gash along his chest. Rasmot barely contained his roars of pain as she cut another slash across his chest in the same direction. When the hot tip of the poke touched the back of his shoulder he screamed loudly.

“All i want of you pup, is to serve my purpose and needs. You see, i want to storm the great keep of the city and take over the leadership from that bumbling fool Lor’Themar. And then i’ll bring things back to the way they should be . . . with me as king and everyone else follow-”

Rasmot spat to the ground. “Fuck you.”

“ . . . You see i don’t think i quite got that, Schala . . .” Ranathan looked over to see Schala jam the red hot tip into the hole of the wing.

He screamed in agony and shook violently against the chains. “I . . . Hhhhhrrrrnnnnghhh said . . . . Fuck. You.”

“Again.” Schala jammed the red hot tip into the back of his shoulder again as Ranathan watched.

Rasmot grit his teeth and shut his eyes. “Ffffffffuuuuuuuck . . . Y-You!!”

“. . . my, my, you are rather bothersome Mr. Rasmot. Had i known it would be this hard to convince you i would have just shot you with your own gun long ago.” He waved away Schala. “I however have a better idea. You see, you may disobey now . . . but. After this.” Ranathan held up a clear orb, the same size as the drug he’s been giving out on the streets. “You won’t say no ever again . . . it would be such a simple choice. Just open your mouth.”

Tired and out of breath, Rasmot’s mouth hung open as Ranathan’s hand approached and he quickly bit the fingers, hard. Using his fangs to pierce skin and cause Ranathan to drop the orb. “I said. And . . . i quote. Fuck. You.”

“HHHhhhhhrrrrrrrrgggggh!!” Ranathan recoiled and stood up in anger, glaring at Rasmot. “You WILL change your mind, pup. Schala, come, we’ll try again later.”

The two left the room and slammed the door behind them, leaving Rasmot in darkness. Fresh Fel blood oozed from his wounds and dripped across his body to the ground. The light from the blood shun against the walls and floor as he hung there. His entire being was exhausted and he felt completely drained. It wasn’t long before his eyes shut and he drifted into sleep. What seemed like hours passed before he felt the touch of hands on his face and the sounds of silent sobbing. His eyes slowly opened to show a small glow to the room and the woman in front of her, looking at him with pained eyes.

“Nnn . . . F-fuck y-”

She shook her head before he could finish. “No, please, listen. I didn’t want to hurt you . . . i have no choice.”

“Only . . . slaves . . . have no choice.” Rasmot replied looking away.

Nodding sadly the Woman placed her cold hands on his chest. “And i am a slave to him . . . He rose me from the dead just for that sole reason. But he doesn’t know . . . doesn’t know i’m still here. Or maybe he does, and he keeps it sedated with his drug.“

“When . . . when was my birthday . . . only my mother would truly know that.”

There was a small smile as she pat both hands on her chest. “Oh . . . look at you . . . you were born on the harvest moon my little Rasmot . . . at Hallow’s End. You would always get excited because everyone would come to our little village. They would always say happy birthday and laugh and sing . . . but It wasn’t for you-”

“It was . . . for the celebration . . . for the harvest festival.” Rasmot looked back to the woman before knitting his brows in confusion. “Why don’t you fight back?”

Schala frowned and looked down. “I tried for a while . . . he did the same thing to me after he raised me. Chained me to a wall and tortured me. It was less severe though . . . he didn’t shoot me in the shoulder or slash at me with a hot poker . . . but i gave in before any of that.” She looked straight at him. “And i’ve regretted every day . . . listening to him in the background as he would always dream of grandeur and torture any who came near him. Those that he couldn’t turn? . . . he had a worst fate in store for them.”

“His addiction . . . how does he-”

She shrugged. “I don’t understand it myself . . . but he drips them dry of all of their blood and begins to distill it . . . boiling away all the blood until it’s nothing but Mana. And then he mixes that with his own wine . . . it’s disgusting the way he laughs about it.”

“. . . fight him . . . fight back.” He looked at Schala in the eyes as he groaned from the strain.

Schala shook her head. “I’m not strong enough . . . but you are.” She smiled warmly and rubbed the side of his face gingerly. “Oh my sweet Rasmot, i read about some of the things you’ve done . . . how you’ve been the sharpest gun in Azeroth. People respect and fear you. Even your deeds in Draenor have come all the way out here. You need to be set free from here.”

“How? . . . if you uncuff me now . . .”

Nodding slowly she looked to Rasmot in the eyes. “I know . . . he’ll send all of his minions after you, but there’s one thing you have that he doesn’t my dear sweet Rasmot.” Her smile was soft and warm as she pressed her thumb against his head. “You have my gift . . . the gift of the shadows. You can sneak past them . . . get far away from here.”

“Perhaps . . .” Rasmot shook his head and looked to his body. “But . . . not in this condition.”

Laughing, Schala cupped his head in both of her own. “That’s why i am here . . . to help you regain your strength. I can’t heal you . . . i don’t know how.” She moved away from Rasmot before reappearing with a bottle. “But i do have potions . . . enough to get you back on your feet and some food for strength.”

“. . .” Rasmot looked at the bottle before opening his mouth. “Mix two potions together . . . take the glass case of the lantern off and put it aside and use the flame as a burner. Dump half the contents of one potion and fill it with the other . . . burn it over the flames until it comes to a boil . . . then half over the wound and let me drink the rest.”

Schala moved to do as he said before glancing back to Rasmot. “Why not drink it all?”

“Blood loss . . . if the wound is not closed by the properties in the potion, then i will bleed out. I was lucky you got a clean shot . . . and that you cauterized the exit wound.” Groaning loudly, he strained against the chains. “Hurry, you probably don’t have much time.”

Returning to him, she did as he asked, pouring the red liquid over the entry wound and let him drink the rest. “Your equipment is in a chest down the hall . . . after you get it, go down to the end and then go left.“ Schala pulled the empty bottle away as she brought some food to his lips to eat. “Once you’re up the stairs you’ll probably need to act quickly . . . they’ll more than likely know you’re gone by then.”

“What about you . . . ?” Rasmot looked at Schala with worry as he ate. “You need to come with . . .”

She shook her head with a sad smile. “He won’t kill me . . . not yet, and if i did leave he would send someone to kill us both. No you need to escape from here. I can take his punishment . . . and i know you’ll come back for me later.” Schala smiled warmly and placed her forehead against Rasmot’s. “I never thought i would see you all grown up . . . but now? now i can’t imagine anything else. Go my son. Before he takes control of me again.”

The cuffs clicked and released Rasmot from their iron grips. He fell to his knees, his entire body shaking and unable to move at first until he mustered the strength to get back to his feet. Rasmot wanted to hug the woman, hug this person that he could now call Schala but he knew that their time was limited. Moving as quickly as he could, Rasmot went to the table and grabbed his revolver and worked down the hall of the empty door way. The chest was right where she said it was. He pulled out the Trauma kit first and plucked out a small vial of Fel Energy looking at it long and hard.

Voices were screaming at the back of his head, demanding that he inject the energy into his body. His hand trembled around the vial as he held it. Shutting his eyes he took out an injector and plugged the vial into the housing at the back. He wasn’t sure how long he had been down here but his body was screaming for the energy and if he held out any longer then he doubted he could even escape with the hunger. Rasmot plunged the needle into a vein in his arm and pulled the trigger of the pneumatic injector. The loud his was all the verification he needed as he exhaled a cloud of bright Fel green mist to the air.

Putting the injector away he placed a temporary bandage over his right shoulder on both sides and wrapped it around tight with gauze as he started putting on his clothing and gear. He reloaded all of his weapons and made sure everything was ready for his escape. Rasmot put the hat back on his head and pulled a pair of goggles from his bag and a face mask. He placed the mask over his jaw and the goggles over his eyes. The ports in the side of the mask showed wisps of air escaping as the goggles clicked and whir. The entire hall became bright in his eyes as the goggles illuminated the hall just for his eyes. A night vision that was sorely needed.