User:Kirochi/Sisters of the Underworld
The contents herein are entirely player made and in no way represent official Warcraft lore or history. The characters and events listed are of an independent nature and are applied for roleplaying purposes only.
OK, it's rather stupid to write one's fanfic on a wiki, but seeing how many people do it and that it's a section of my page, so I'm not creating a lonely page that'll be abandoned and considered as a bulky and worthless page by other WoWwikians. I came to the idea of this fanfic after creating a Warcraft III : The Frozen Throne campaign named "Soeurs de l'Au-delà" (which means Sisters of the Underworld), and seeing how I was upset after failing to implement cinematics I decided to write the story here. I don't know what you'll think about this, I just hope that I'll give some fun to bored wiki-browsers and to fanfic lovers.
WARNING : This page contains strong references to homosexuality and violence.
Besides my mother tongue is French so I may leave errors by. If you're a horny kid, a violence-hater, a homophobe or a vandal please do not touch this page.
I have nothing against these people but I don't like to see my work wasted.
If you've seen misspellings or nonsense please add a comment, and I'll correct my mistakes and then erase your comment.
Anyway leave comments just to let me know what you think and what needs to be improved.
Part 1
Chapter 1
"SLAUGHTER !"
The Banshee almost fainted. This couldn't be. After so many years of forced slumber, after so many tortures before shortening her pain, the voice came back to hurt her again.
For the first time out of nearly six years she opened her eyes and she was conscious. She couldn't remember anything she had done for the last five years but she knew how much time had past. She tried to see where she was. She looked around her and first noticed white everywhere. Snow, mountains, huts, and hateful cries. Yes, she was in Northrend, and in the middle of a Troll village. She noticed that she was feeling warmer than she could have expected in such a land ; she was also taller and lighter, and she was standing when she awoke.
Then she heard the voice again.
"You are a Banshee. You are a mere ghost. You are nothing. You serve the Lich King and execute every order he gives you. You shall give what remains of your pitiful existence to ensure the Scourge's domination over Northrend. You will now kill the opponents of the Lich King. You are a Banshee."
A Banshee. So that was what she had been for the latest years. She was dead and she was a ghost. And she was serving the Scourge.
A blank. Maybe had the Lich King had taken over her mind again. But it only lasted for about a minute, and when she thought she had lost the last tracks of thoughts and intelligence she awoke again, in the middle of a fight between odd, Ice-blue Trolls and ghostly women. She immediately recognized the Banshees and the ghosts and sided with them, as had the Lich King commanded. While she had never learnt, she instinctively knew how to wield the same magic attacks as her comrades.
She was in the same Troll encampment but a few steps closer to the center of the village. She was among the powerful minions of the Lich King and her task was killing the Ice Trolls. The Lich King had been too busy to control her for a few seconds and then he controlled her again.
No, that was no random event.
She had her mind back.
She had no memories, no physical body and no one she knew was around, but she was able to think alone.
She looked around and saw Troll kids desperately fleeing the village, warriors driven mad by their bad luck on striking their ethereal opponents, mages gathering to kill every enemy at once and priests healing their fighters as well as they could. The battle was clearly in the Undead's advantage, and the Banshee used this situation to leave the ghostly group and try to escape. She had clearly understood that the Lich King had lost his power over her mind and body and that her only chance to enjoy this liberty was to escape the other Undead. Among the dead ones, she wouldn't be missing. She was about to get out of the village when she suddenly faced a giant white-skinned Troll with long, twisted tusks. He was holding the Banshee by her long, spectral mane and had a thick wooden club in his spare hand. The Dire Troll had caught her off-guard and she couldn't parry the first blow, which she received in the stomach. The monstrous creature seemed amazingly quick and accurate at first, but she then understood that, as a spirit, she had to remain focused on every action she did, and she couldn't think and be in combat posture at a time. Her ancestral hatred for all Trolls and her desperate will to survive (although this could be thought ironically) made her get an incredible strength and she managed to free herself from the Troll's grip. Then she gathered the remnants of energy that she still had and she hurled the mightiest shadow ball that she could. The Troll was cast back, as if he had received a cannon ball in the chest. Both opponents stood stunned for a few seconds, and then two Trolls, a warrior and a priest ran in their direction. The Banshee prepared to run away but, astonishingly, the Priest started healing her and the mage began nuking the Dire Troll.
"Don't worry sister. We're here to protect you."
The Banshee had a thrill when she heard the Priest helping her and calling her 'sister'. To her surprise, the Troll showed an almost kind grin.
"Looks like you don't understand, sister. I have possessed the Troll's mind and body, and I am now a flesh creature instead of a ghost."
"But why don't we all reincarnate in flesh beings ? And why is the other Troll attacking the monster ?"
The Troll finished her healing spell and sighed.
"What's wrong with you, sister ? Don't you know that we're a million times mightier and worthier in a ghost or Banshee form ? I, along with a sister, wasted our existences by possessing these Trolls. But we did it only to help you, because you're a Banhsee. Didn't you feel stronger after the beast's blow ? We had just strengthened you".
The Banshee was beginning to understand what she really was. She was a mighty phantom, a soldier of the Scourge, able to possess sentient beings and to command ghosts and the creatures they possessed. As the Priest glanced at her suspiciously, then turned and started attacking the Dire Troll and healing the Mage, the Banshee was overrun by thoughts and mental threats. She had been spotted and reported as a peculiar person, and if she escaped now she would be tracked and killed after the battle as a traitor. She thought that helping the Trolls who had become the aims of the creature would show them her power. She felt she, after all, was safer in the Lich King's army, earning ranks and defeating easy creatures. But instantly another voice in her head violently denied this possibility. She had escaped the Lich King's control and she would do anything to recover from his brainwashing. And she thought that, as a Banshee, she was able to recover a real body. And, concerning the witness of her mind-recovering, if she possessed the Priest now, this wouldn't be a problem, as she would then control both the Troll and the ghost. She was about to decide to capture the Troll in her mind's webs when the Dire Troll, suddenly in Bloodlust, rushed to the Priest who had wasted his actions on the Mage (a very common situation). The Priest cursed in Gutterspeak ("Ag'graw !") and healed himself. This was the ideal situation for the Banshee. She willingly missed an attack on the creature which eventually struck the Priest, killing him. Then she helped the Mage casting a spell that terminated the Dire Troll. Now she would be a Banshee like the other ones in everyone's eyes. But her inner self knew that she was in fact much much more. Her memories were coming bit by bit. She knew that she had been an Elf years ago. And she almost recalled her name ... She was ...
Chapter 2
"You are truly a stupid little ghost !"
The Mage could not understand. She had abandoned her most precious and only possession, her spectral form, and she had lost a sister to aid such an ungrateful bitch. She couldn't realize that any Undead, Banshee or not, could reproach her with it.
" Of course I could've killed this stupid fat-pile alone ! Didn't you see that you've wasted a sister's life for nothing ! And, moreover, you haven't even been able to protect the her !"
So this was why the Banshee was angry. The Troll shook his head and muttered something that would have caused further anger of the Banshee if she had heard it, but luckily the latter kept insulting the ghost who had done nothing but her duty.
"... and nothing justifies your actions ! Remember that we, Banshees, never need help from you weak ghosts for such an easy fight ! Now obey and return the sisters' positions while I take care of the survivors !"
The Mage complied with the order, touching his body on the way. So that was what having a physical body again and, even more, being independent felt. She felt as she had become some totally different thing. She belonged no more to the ghosts, not even to the Undead. She was living and she didn't have to take orders from anyone. She still worshipped and served Ner'zhul, but now she had her own mind to think what had to be done. In fact, she was almost happy to have this body, although she would rather had possessed a female one. Happiness. A feeling she had forgotten long ago. She felt warm despite the snow and she wanted to tell her sisters the pleasure being alive created. She ran to the group, a wide smile on her face, yelling like a child and wielding her staff as a baby would play with a toy.
The Banshees and their minions had killed all the remaining Trolls with rather few casualties. This had been such an easy raid, and the Lich King would give them at least a break for the following days. They were about to decide to leave the camp when a clumsy Troll Mage ran toward them, shouting nonsense Drakkari words with a sadistic grin and casting spells in all directions like a mad cow. The Undead did not need to think twice about what to do and cast a deadly group spell. The Troll fell dead as the giant shadow ball almost reduced him to shreds. On the snow the dried frozen body still smiled widely, with a joyful expression and empty orbits.
Now she understood how awkward her situation was. She had been a High Elven ranger in her past life and she had been killed by Arthas' Scourge, like many other children of the Quel'dorei. She had given her last moves to protect the King Sunstrider. She had been her personal guard and she had been arisen as a Banshee by a necromancer to see Anasterian being killed. How miserable had she felt at this moment ! Not because she died, but because she had let her King being assassinated by a filthy horde of Ghouls and Abominations ! How puzzled had she been for entire days because of Arthas' treason, the beautiful human prince she had loved in secret ! How many times had she wished he would stop by her, look at her and say her name ! She had repeated a million times her own name, just to be ready if Arthas would even notice her among the beautiful and mysterious human women. But then, she had just watched her beloved king dying, unable to do anything, and then ... nothing. The Lich King had turned her into a mindless minion. Her last thoughts had been for Arthas and for her King.
But then she was weak. Now she had passed through death and she was a powerful Banshee nothing would ever stop her. She would uncover her past, her whole story, and she would somehow find a way to find a new body. And then she would be able to come back to Quel'thalas and help rebuilding it. She was absolutely sure the survivors would already have begun it, with their Human allies' aid.
She travelled to the Banshees group, proudly holding the Dire Troll's head she had cut with a broken spear blade she had found next to him. Something new was beginning.
Chapter 3
"Would you please come with me, Alana ?"
The Banshee awoke from her unwilling slumber. She had slept for almost four hours, something very uncommon among the minions of the Scourge. She was on the ground of her cell in the nearest necropolis. She remembered that, after returning from the encampment, she suddenly fell and she had heard panicking Banshee voices and cold hands holding her until they reached the necropolis, where she had been directly warped to her cell. A worried ghost was leaning over her, trying to catch her sight. As every ghost she seemed immaterial and as cold as the eternal snows of Northrend. But there was something particular over her face : she looked almost living. Despite her frozen features there was something very human in her worried expression. Alana could feel her tension, as they could feel the same addiction to the thought of living again. Alana felt astounded as the person she was facing was actually the first sentient being she had met since the stupid Dire Troll. Alana felt that with but a smile she could reassure the tensed ghost and maybe make her feel they could talk as if they were equal. But she didn't smile. She was a Banshee and, although she had in project to run away from the Lich King's army, she still had a role to play. She'd call the ghost "sister" and make her think she was mindless until she was sure of the lesser Banshee's real mind. That's why she felt totally puzzled when the human-looking ghost asked:
"Are you fine, forest lady ?"
After a few seconds she tried to answer properly, but her voice betrayed her.
"Watch your language, sister ! How dare you call me a High Elf ?" Alana blurted out.
"I didn't, until now you told me, High Elf" the ghost said, with a kind smile.
Alana would have flushed entirely if only she had any blood drop left. So the ghost had recognized her elven features and she was not repelled by life. Alana opened her mouth to ask a million questions, but the ghost calmly hushed her and instantly answered everything.
"So you also feel the way I do. Call me Lynn, it's the only part of my name I can remember. I have some people to introduce you to."
"Who are you talking about ?" Alana whispered, afraid of enemy ears.
"I, along with other sisters, have suddenly awoken from the unending possession of the Lich King. We felt that this was chance not to be missed. We were in our cells so we weren't noticed, and we gathered to speak about what had to be done." Lynn followed, also whispering.
"Well ... And what are your projects ?"
"First of all, we want to escape this place. It's no good for us. Then ... then we'll think again."
"And have you planned when and how you're going to leave ?"
The ghost startled. She suddenly took a fearful expression and she didn't follow. Alana understood that she had frightened her by saying 'you'. She said with a voice she wanted to be calming :
"I mean ... Of course I'll come with you. But first I want to see the other sisters. Can you lead me to them ? We'll be safer anywhere else than in my room, seeing how they reacted to my passing out."
Softened, Lynn spoke again.
"Of course. Could I please know your name, by the way ?"
"I am ... the Banshee had a thrill when she remembered Arthas' voice in her head. I am Alana"
The two undead walked in the blackened stone corridors, crossing through walls and other ghosts. Each time Alana's gaze came across another Banshee she felt like stopping everything, as if she had been spotted. But eventually they arrived in a small cell where two ghosts were anxiously playing with their untouchable hair. Other life-addicted ones, thought Alana. But when she and Lynn arrived, they immediately froze, asking themselves millions of fear-driven questions. They didn't 'breathe' until Lynn calmly told them Alana was a friend.
"Greetings, High Elf. We are all on your side. This current condition is but an ordeal. The sisters and I have discovered that we were able to possess living bodies. If we find ones that match our corpses it'll be enough to start life anew. But now we've got to escape the Necropolis" the most human-looking ghost said.
"The only thing we should do now is precisely nothing" the other ghost replied. "My belief is that we will have much more chances to run away when we are out of the Necropolis, sent on a mission for instance - they will take our absence for casualties. But if we leave while we are meant to be inside, they will know we have escaped, and they will track us to death" the ghost sighed. "To definitive death."
"Wait a minute" Alana said. "We've just awoken as undead abominations, from which condition no one has ever escaped, and you're acting as turning back to living and normal beings will be as easy as feigning death during a mission and then travel back to our countries ?"
"You're mistaking, Alana. A maid of you Elves has managed to save herself. And she's become the leader of the free Undead of Azeroth, known as the Forsaken. The Dark Lady was formerly the Captain of the rangers of Quel'Thalas. Her name is Sylvanas Windrunner"
Alana gasped.
As she recalled the painful years she had spent following the disappearance of Alleria Windrunner and the promotion of her sister, dozens of images of various Ranger humiliations because of Sylvanas' will. She remembered how twistedly the latter had grinned after she had known about Alleria's decision to come through the Dark Portal. Sylvanas had always been ambitious, and as Lynn had said, she hadn't stopped her frenetic race to power : she was now ruling over a whole people. An army of revengeful zombies, working along the Horde and led by a betrayer Dreadlord and the past General Ranger, turned into an Evil shade of herself !
Of course this couldn't mean much to a Banshee, but she felt completely stunned and she had to sit down. She wouldn't listen much to Lynn's story, fearing it would cause further disorder in her already troubled mind. Fortunately, Lynn didn't know about the Blood Elves' rise so no information about her now-evil prince reached her at this painful moment.
The three ghosts watched silently as the Banshee was recovering, and then the other human-looking one opened her mouth as she was about to say something but if so she couldn't even begin her sentence, as an ear-shattering alarm-like Frost Wyrm yell shook the entire necropolis. This meant immediate gathering and the four Undead knew it. They took the shortest way to the central room -through walls and closed doors- almost twice as large as Silvermoon's widest square. The head Lich, known as Cho'Nammoth -an Ogre name, thought Alana- ordered to all the contingent (three liches, a few necromancers, dozens of ghosts and hundreds of zombies and skeletons) to leave the Necropolis and head for the Dragonblight, where they should meet two more contingents, to take the final assault for Ner'Zhul's glory. The four sisters of the Underworld looked each other with a determinated expression. That was their chance.
Chapter 4
The march was totally wasted. The zombies, who hadn't had seen the lights of the sun for days and whose rotten eyes were utterly burnt to ashes by the reflection on the immaculate snow. The Banshees, the Necromancers and the Liches had most difficulties to gather the disorderful decomposing army and to lead it between the invisible traps of the wild Northrend. Roars sprang from the bottomless icy pits of the frozen earth while mindless ghouls fell and finally found peace, away from their deadly comrades. The Ogre Lich was boldly walking before his contingent, leading it through the way to the last Dragon graveyard, eager to defile some holy and powerful tomb.
Alana tried not to speak at all, to hide her newfound intelligence. She merely kicked a zombie or two to keep them on the right way but her only occupation was not to lose sight of her ghost allies.
They walked -or floated- for around two hours and then stopped before a large cave entrance. Five ghosts and a few soldier skeletons entered the grotto along with a Necromancer. They stayed for half an hour inside, while all the Necromancers outside looked for corpses to raise in Undeath. As the last bear-like fury cries were choked by the unmistakable sound of a possession, Alana understood that the Scourge had had just gained a dozen more fighters, living or not. She saw she had been right when four polar Furbolg warriors, one shaman and six Undead or skeleton members of the ursine race came out of the cave.
The army marched again, walking back on their steps from the nearly warm cave to the main way to the Dragonblight. It was another couple of hours until Alana risked a few words to Lynn:
"I think now would be great."
Lynn looked puzzled for a few seconds while she kept walking, and then shook her head.
"Look at the plains ahead. We'd be spotted in no time if we left now. Just wait until ..." Lynn couldn't finish her sentence, because a loud hateful cry escaped from a necromancer. He was fighting against a Banshee who had just tried to possess him. Two Banshees then started to assault the necromancer, who was later joined by two more fighters. The whole army stopped and Cho'Nammoth ran to the fighters. He tried to freeze them (literally and not). Then ten ghosts attacked the Head Lich himself, and finished to bring pandemonium. Half of the army obeyed the necromancers while the other half couldn't move because of the lack of orders. The first rebel ghosts were being slain when Lynn whispered:
"All things considered, it's a good time to leave. I'll gather our friends, get ready to flee !"
Ten seconds later, the four life-addicted Undead were escaping the army with as much stealth as their ghostly bodies allowed them. It was ten more minutes til they heard the last feminine roars, meaning the Liches and necromancers had finally won.
But the challenge was not over. They were now chased by three enormous Furbolgs, presumably among the possessed ones. They had seen how the ghosts had escaped and had abandoned they brethren and, although they had lost the fight, they wanted to make them pay. Far away, Cho'Nammoth and his army were moving again towards the Dragonblight ; they were late enough to leave three disobeying ghosts who were probably to die because of the cold, and they had not seen Alana and her acolytes.
The Furbolgs, who were now running like mad creeps, were suffering from both the cold and the physical effort they were not used to. One of them had cast a bloodlust-waking spell upon them and their eyes burned with hellish hatred flames. They were about at a ten-meter range when the Shaman started the fight. The four sisters of the Underworld kept running as Lynn avoided the first ice blast, but the second one stroke her and she was cast four meters ahead, nearly on one of the two other ghosts. The latter let escape a surprise cry which astonished her, as she was as cold-blooded as as water elemental. Then a terrifying expression twisted her face features and she yelled as loud as a ghost could while the characteristic green hazes erupted from her hands. She floated at an amazing speed and shot the Shaman with her whole body. But she didn't reappear behind him.
The Furbolg roared as if a terrible pain had entered him. A spectral shape emerged from the Shaman's chest, yelling and sharing with the latter's voice, and then exploded. The Shaman fell and the two other Furbolgs looked, concerned, at their sister's death. Now fear was present on their faces and they were taken between a Banshee with two ghosts and a Furbolg who would attack them if they didn't act quickly.
"Our sister might be lost, but she might as well be sleeping somewhere in the beast's brain. What shall we do ?" the first one quickly whispered.
"I don't know !!" the other yelled in panic. "What happens to an already possessed body's ghost when it gets possessed again ?"
The answer came with but a glance. The Shaman caused bloodlust on his three renegade friends and then attacked the two bears along with them. The Furbolgs couldn't even react and were immediately torn.
The Shaman looked sadly at his friends.
"I'm sorry for them. They deserved better than being killed a second time by another ghost in another Furbolg body. But the one who had struck Lynn had me doing it" he said, with a miserable face.
"You don't have to worry, friend. You have saved us all, and the only thing I'm worried about is how you will live in this fragile body while we carry no food and nothing to heal you in case you get ill" Alana replied immediately.
"I think there's no problem here" the Furbolg said after thinking for a few seconds. He sat on the snow and closed his eyes. Minutes later, while the still-unnamed other ghost was getting impatient, a colder-than-ever breeze thrilled them. Then a totally odd heat appeared and became unbearable. The snow melted on a few meters radius and the rocks and frozen ground appeared. And then a small earthquake frightened the two ghosts and the Banshee, whereas the Shaman kept calm and concentrated. And then boiling water sprang from where the snow had melted much. But only then the Shaman opened his eyes. The spirits had answered him, and speaking from spirit to spirit showed them that, despite his knowledge of nature and elements, the ghost that was in the body did not fit in there. Therefore the spirits decided to grant the fallen Furbolg the peace of death, and to release the ghost from its body. The mortal body lied on the ground peacefully and the ghost quit it softly, like unwearing a heavy cloth. Then she turned to her flabbergasted sisters. She smiled and simply said :
"I am back".
Chapter 5
After having slept for a few hours inside a damp cave, the ghosts slowly awoke.
Alana looked briefly at her new three friends. The one named Lynn was obviously emerging from a long nightmare. She had without doubt begun the painful processus that frequently applies to amnesic people, the memory retrieving. As her blue veils rose in the cave and floated around her body, she didn't look anymore like a ghost, but she was now much closer to a human. Her eyes opened and she stared at Alana for a few seconds before saying :
"Good morning Alana. It seems that we're discovering again our old habits." She waited and then said "Last night I had a dream about my past life. I remember now my full name, and I know who I was."
"You ... you do ?" the dark-skinned ghost said, emerging from her slumber.
(Pending end)