DWC Day Three: An Alternate Universe... Romance?
Enter the ruins of Azeroth: The Ashlands.
In the years following the Legions defeat, the heroes of Azeroth had forgotten about the immortal demons that still clawed at the edge of reality. Too focused on a war being fought in the realms of death, no heroes remained to stop when the forces of Tormaaz the Gargantuan broke through the barrier between realms and washed across the continents. Just like hundreds of worlds before, Tormaaz had reduced Azeroth to a pit of salt and sand.
Many of the planets people were sacrificed and slaughtered to fuel his war machines. Those that weren’t were made into slaves. But one stood out from the crowd. One that Tormaaz could not ignore.
“You there! Elf!” his bellowing voice boomed out. His great sasumata pointing in her direction, “Come to me!”
The woman, a sin’dorei with snow white hair looked up at the great demon lord. But she did not cower. She wore the face of pride and confidence in the wake of his gruesome glory. Despite being left with nothing but scraps of linen to clothe the people, this elf had managed to create beauty out of poverty like no other. She was the queen of rags.
“What do you want, vile demon?” she spat, wholly argumentative until the very end.
“What do I want?! I, the great Tormaaz, demands you become my Empress!” he roared.
“Only a woman with such a defiant stare could ever be the wife of Tormaaz the Gargantuan!”
The woman was shocked. A demon? In love with an Elf? Could such romance be true?
“What is your name, woman?” Tormaaz asked as he lumbered forward, a great reptilian hand reaching down to scoop her up.
“The people call me Sana. You can call me that as well, Great Tormaaz,” she replied. Despite his disgusting image, she could sense the heart of a poet beating beneath his scaled breast.
Tormaaz pulled her up towards his face. The glow of orange hellfire reflecting off her pale skin as she was sat on his tusk. Crossing her legs at the knee, she looked down at the slaves of Azeroth. Her life would forever be changed.
The legions of Tormaaz mached forth. Fel flowers and bells chiming. Bilescourge chirping on the winds. Sayaad Torturers' forced slaves to scream in a cacophony that eerily sounded like the Bridal Chorus if one tried really hard to hear it.
Down an isle of lava and black stone, Sana walked with her chin held high in a dress of black and red. adorned with the skulls of the dead and glowing with the souls of the damned weaved into it’s very fabric. Sana herself had designed the dress, with the hands of a dozen shivarra to tailor it to perfection. Running behind her, the flower imp tossed felweed pedals in her wake.
Under a massive stone arch, Tormaaz watched her approach as a reverend Inquisitor demon waited. A single tear of lava rolled down the great Pitlords cheek. Sana looked up at him upon her arrival and smiled.
“Do you, Tormaaz the gargantuan, take Sana to be your unholy empress for all eternity?” asked the felfire priest.
“And do you, Sana, take Tormaaz the gargantuan to be your glorious emperor?”
“Then by the power vested in my by the dark titan himself. I now pronounce you Pitlord and Pitlady. You may kiss the bride.”
A great hulking hand reached down to pick up his new bride, pressing his sulfur stinking lips against her whole face.
The who looked out over their demonic and slave attendants and smiled.
“HAIL EMPRESS SANA! SANA IS GOOD! SANA IS GREAT! ALL MOAN THE GREAT, GOOD, SANA!!” Tormaaz bellowed out.
The demons cheered, and the people lamented.
Thus the two returned to his throne room... to consummate the marriage properly.
@twosidedsana @daily-writing-challenge
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