Thursday, August 15, 2013

Anoukisse Machiavelli

It had been too long since her last visit to the ruins of Gilneas. Anou was looking for something to do after leaving the Undercity on business, and the ruins called to her. There is simply nothing like hearing the pathetic howls of distress from ugly Worgen muzzles as the Forsaken burn their villages to the ground.

Anoukisse climbed to the top-most tower, and called Pitch, her faithful Red Proto Drake. Mounting with confidence, she watched the drake turn his scaly head to the west and off they flew.

As she walked through a vacant village, peeking into empty houses as she went, Anou noticed what appeared to be a furry little pup laying by a roaring fire. She stepped cautiously over the threshold, the house's door fallen away long ago, and sure enough, a worgen youngling slept peacefully by the heat of the flames. Anou stopped, a pang of pity sweeping over her at the thought of this abandoned little creature, alone, fending for himself.

Awwww. <3

She could hear his soft snores as he lay there, oblivious, while the rain drizzled outside and the dampness licked at the stones under his tiny body. Standing there, watching him, Anou felt the stirrings of a very good idea... Without any remorse whatsoever, she knelt by his side, clipped a silver chain around his scrawny neck and gave him a light shove.

Rude Awakening


With eyes round as saucers, the little worgen cub quickly stood, realizing what had happened. He howled for help, but the passing guards made too much noise in all their armor to hear his miserable squeals. Anoukisse grinned at him and cackled maniacally. Tugging the leash, she mostly dragged him to the door, mocking his meager attempts at resistance and escape.

"Stop being such a baby."

"This mulish little thing will certainly fetch a good price. Someone has to be looking for him after all," Anou thought to herself. "Come along, Ransom, I'm going to set your house on fire the old-fashioned way in case someone comes looking for you." The wicked warlock gave him her most evilest, vilest grin ever and yanked the leash viciously, pulling the bedraggled pup out into the mist and pushing her lit torch into some dry wood by the front steps.

Together they stood for a few minutes, watching the fire catch, listening to the whispering flames creep across what the young fellow knew as "home", as he moaned with despair. Then Anou scooped him up by the scruff and stuffed him in one of her emptier bags, and whistled for Pitch who was probably nearby devouring an ugly Gilnean hound.

Again she mounted, and they took off with a mighty whoosh, her bag bulging with squirming loot.


Matty said...


Elisa said...


Anonymous said...

This is driving me crazy, I'll try one more time. Let me in Blogger! My Warlocks salute your truly evilness!

Elisa said...

I hate when the internet at its cronies are uncooperative. As warlocks, we are one. Except, you know, Anou, being on the Horde side, is slightly more evil. /cough


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