Ripples of Shadow
Chapter 10 - Whirlpools of Light and Shadow

The night crept in on darkened tendrils. The clinking and clanging of scraping metal and chains echoed from beyond the light’s reach, mixing with the gurgling of unknown chemicals, the dripping of leaking fluids, and the muffled cries and howls of now inhuman residents. The light seemed like it would be consumed by the lapping tongues of the growing blackness wavering above Moria’s head. She sat against the cold, damp mortar of her proverbial cell - it did not have to be a cell; not in this place, not in the heart of death - her knees pulled to her chest, her ragged head hung heavily. What little hair remained dangled in oily, tangled strands.

It did feel like night, but to Moria, night and day made no more difference to her than life and death. Long since had she lost any sense of time, and sense of meaning. To her, the darkness was everything, and only the flickering candlelight that shown from patinated bronze brazier gave her any form of reprieve from the living nightmare she had spiraled into. Any sort of hope.

No more tears shed from her eyes. She was unsure if she had lost the ability to cry or not. Perhaps her all her tears had finally rotted away, or maybe she just did not care anymore. She wasn’t sure. All she knew, all she could remember was pain. She had given up the name of the one she cared for, and in that moment of weakness, all of her will, all of her strength had left her. In the brief moments that Malkalor - the name her captor had claimed; a name that left a sour taste in Moria’s mouth; what little she could taste at this point - left her alone, she felt only hints of emotion. Fear towards her next death. Anger at her own weakness. Mourning at Rash’s fate. Hope that this all held some meaning. But all were only hints, mixed together and drowned by a pool of pain and regret.

For so long Moria had tried to hold in her belief in the Light. That somehow, her torture had meaning, that she would be saved. That hope, that belief was her last vestige of humanity. The last thing the remained hers and hers alone. But now, even it too was dying, and unlike her naked shivering body, that would not come back.

Groggily, she lulled her head upwards, not particularly looking for anything. She was searching. Though there was nothing but blackness, her eyes searched. It began quietly at first, but from the somewhere within those cavernous shadows she could make out a faint hum. Slowly, the sound grew, warm, like an effervescent orb of magick. Straining, Moria forced herself to her feet. Her decaying legs buckled under her weight as she fell back to her knees, catching herself with both hands. Strands of hair covered her face and frustration. She forced herself upward again, her stance wavering slightly.

The hum was joined by a the melodic chimes and charms of a bell. No. A sonnet of bells; the kind you might hear in a Chapel of the Light or in the household of a lord or lady. It was warm and soothing. It felt… safe. Moria basked in it, outstretching both arms slightly. For a brief moment, she was at peace.

The creaking, rusted hinges of an unseen door swung open, crashing into the shrouded wall. The hum and chimes were gone. Moria didn’t need to look. It was him again.

Out of the shadows, crept the pale, tight, leathery face of Malkalor dragging a squeaking cart of tools and instruments. His jaundice eyes smoldering with contempt. A contempt that lightened when he rested his eyes on Moria. Yellow teeth formed a grin as he spoke, “It would seem, my dear, that your dear Rash has eluded us.” Moria could not help but let out a small sigh of relief. Malkalor turned his back to her as she turned her head to look. He began fiddling with the metal tools that littered his cart. Moria had not seen these tools before, but her current state left her empty and uncaring. She looked back to where the sound had come from earlier. “It seems he knows where you are now, yes. It also seems that he is making his way to Icecrown as we speak. Probably looking to team up with those fools at the Argent Vanguard.” Moria gasped shortly and quietly, but Malkalor had heard and let forth his gurgled chuckle. “He is coming for you,” he said as he looked over his shoulder to smirk at her with is rotting face. “And when he comes, we will have him then, and you will tell us everything you know. Everything you’ve learned about His plans.” A gruesome looking grin crossed his face. “You know he is not strong enough to save you, and there is little, at this point, that your other collaborators are able to do to stop the Master’s plan.” Malkalor’s grin vanished. “All of you are the same. Hoping in empty prophecies. Foolish nonsense written by ancient fools….” His mutters were inaudible as he went back to his cart.

Moria remembered something of prophecies, but it was faint, on the edge of her mind. Something. Something from many years ago that she had studied. She let it go. It didn’t matter now.

Malkalor had finished searching for tools and turned back to face Moria, walking casually toward her. Moria only stared passively. “Frankly, I don’t think there is much they can do anyway, but the lord of this house wishes to ensure the Master’s plan goes unhindered, so here we are. Though I don’t see the point, I do at least love my job.” Moria could see the glint of twisted black metal the length of a dagger, ornated with thin barbs and coated with a corrosive substance that hissed when it dripped onto the floor. “Even if we don’t capture him, I will learn more of your plans some other way, to keep my lord pleased.” His wicked grin returned as he looked to the dagger-like object over in his hand, turning it over candidly. “What you have felt thus far is little compared to what I have in store for you now, yes.”

Moria stood silently and with each step she said nothing. She made no attempt to flee or fight back. She only stared back at where she had heard the humming chimes; praying for them to return.

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