This is a VERY old piece, written during the Anger Management plotline, while Chrissinne was tracking down a Sha-Touched Hypolyta. And while my writing has GREATLY improved, even since Mists, it’s a piece I didn’t realize never made it here. But Since Chrissinne has become my main, given how perfect she is for this expansion, it’s relevant because it gives brief glimpses into why she is the way she is.
It also very heavily ties into The Bow, written during the Mirror, Mirror story line. Chrissinne has a very long history with demons. Typical of any Warden, I guess.
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Sleep in the most common sense was not a luxury Chrissinne would indulge. She would rest, and repair, allowing her body to enter a sort of semi-conscious state that performed all of the benefits of a good night’s sleep, but it was something learned; something so very different. One might have explained it as �sleeping with one eye open�.
But for once, Chrissinne allowed herself to truly sleep. It was a deep sleep, lulled by the warmth radiated from the slumbering Drician who cradled her back to his chest. Despite the soreness the chi healing had left in it’s wake, his embrace- no, perhaps it was just the heat from his body- helped her drift into that peaceful state.
She wasn’t sure just how long she had been asleep when something woke her. There was a heaviness in the air that was almost suffocating. It hadn’t been there in the hours before, and she wasn’t quite sure when it had started to settle. It was enough to rouse her to full consciousness. The warden’s eyes fluttered open, their silver glow flickering a faint light into the darkness of the Kun-Lai night.
Nothing greeted her. The fire had died long ago, leaving the pair in nothing but blackness inside the tent. All sound sunk into the snow just beyond the canvas walls, except a fine din in her ears. It was curious, perhaps unnerving, and it only intensified the weight that continued to hang.
Slowly, Chrissinne pushed herself upright. She could feel the monk’s arms tighten around her waist in protest. He muttered something unintelligible as he buried his face against her upper thigh, just shy of her hip. And she was sure there was a hint of a whine in his tone. He fell still once more, his dissent fading into soft snores.
A whisper permeated through her mind over the sound of air rushing past Drician’s lips. It was akin to a hiss, and it made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, involuntarily. It was the only reaction she would grant the invasive voice, and the stubborn weight in the air. The whisper grew louder, and the voice became coherent.
�You’re an interesting one.�
With that voice came a disembodied gaze. She could feel it boring into her chest. It almost made it hard to breathe. Chrissinne managed, showing no signs of the labor it might have caused. Even as the blackness became darker, she showed no signs of faltering, and returned that weighted, incorporeal stare with one drawn in a flat line, but of equal intensity.
�To think, I almost had you… And what a prize.�
The voice continued, gargling in the recesses of her consciousness.
There was no doubt in her mind of its origin. And it made the warden wonder if it made itself known this way to all of its prospects. Though, she was sure it had better things to do. The thoughts would not go unchecked. The chuckle that resounded in only her ears told her the Sha knew what she was thinking, and this was its reply. Take it as she would.
�You harbor so much rage, so carefully locked away. So much hatred. Yet you yearn to be great.�
Chrissinne’s head tilted ever so slightly, a bare indication of the fact she was listening.The voice mused on.
�Emotions are dangerous, they’ve taught you. Perhaps they knew how powerful you could be. They’ve always tried to contain you, haven’t they?�
The darkness began to close in. It poured forth with a wave of sensation, igniting memories with crystal clarity.
�Think of it… All of the times he’s betrayed you?�
A face came into her view, a younger visage of one she knew so well. His expression was stern, jaw set with grit teeth, framed by a mass of tangled, moss green hair. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking beyond her, even as she screamed for him, pleading. Those hard, golden eyes were fixed on the woman who dragged her without remorse. She called his name, over and over, shrieking like the banshees in the dead of night.
She hissed, and rolled, kicked, and thrashed, resisting the ropes that bound her wrists as they pulled her through the harsh dirt, and slicing blades of grass.
Please, don’t make her go back. Don’t let them take her back.
She was pleaded, and wailed, and writhed. Still, he did not come for her.
He only watched as that wretched woman stole her away. And those terrible arms seized her in an attempt to cease her struggling. She had scratched and bit until she drew blood, and tore flesh. That wretched woman would not yield.
And he did not come to her aid.
�He gained your trust and forsook you.�
The pain of that betrayal became suddenly physical. The burning twine about her wrists manifested into heavy, metal shackles, forcing her arms upward. Deafening cracks brought on wave after wave of agony. Each lash was more excruciating than the last until her screeching whimpers faded, and she became so numb. That numbness never seemed to fade.
�Even now he betrays you,� The voice returned, cutting through the haze of memory, �Sending someone to watch your every move.�
Chrissinne felt Drician shift again, as if on cue. One hand idly slid up her side, before falling limp behind her.
Does is make you angry? The question nagged at the back of her mind, under the hiss of the invading voice.
�Did you forget how it feels? The strength your rage gave you?�
Her mind sparked again, and the flames roared before her eyes. They licked at the night sky, consuming the stars. But even the stars would not sate their hunger, and they stretched outward to destroy everything in their path, everything the child had held dear.Laughter filled her ears, full and with a sort of glee that caused her skin to crawl. How it paralyzed her with fear, and she could only watch as that laughter rose above the din of fire. She could only watch as her birth father withered before her, pinned in place to fall prey to the eager flames. She could only watch as her home tumbled to the ground in piles of ash. The priestess held her there, her grip crushing on her small wrist.
A cleansing, the priestess had said, Elune’s bidding to purify this corrupted world.
Grow well, she cooed in a sickening voice, grow well and change the world as she had done.
The priestess’ laughter continued to ring a bell that fueled a different fire. It was a fire of rage, swelling from deep within Chrissinne’s gut, and poured into the very muscles of her body with reckless abandon, signaling the change to a far later memory. And that laughter continued as she tore the priestess limb from limb until there was nothing left but an indiscernible gurgling noise that fell to silence.
�They underestimated you. You proved them wrong. And your anger fueled your purpose. How good it felt…� The voice lilted, amused with what it found in the back of the warden’s mind. �But they had to put you back in your place, didn’t they? Your next charge. They forced you to kill him for what he was, didn’t they?�
Does it make you angry?
The blinding green of fel fire seared her vision. It coupled with a series of screams that were not of the world Chrissinne knew. The demon thrashed about the holding cell, mercilessly felling any one who dared approach him. It took hours to subdue him, and so many hands.
It had to be her hand. He was her charge. It was her duty. Her job.
He had gazed at her with those eyes, still so strangely silver. The moment they landed on her, all venom contorting his expression was lost to those eyes. Those eyes said everything to her in that one, brief glance. They pleaded and begged to to end it all. The man he once was still lingered within that twisted mind and form, and he wanted release. But not before he reminded her of what she meant. It was a gaze that lingered far after his body had gone still.
And it was a gaze that continued to haunt her waking moments.
�You loved him, didn’t you?� the voice sounded almost concerned.
�They underestimated you now, too. I could make you great. We’ll defeat her, and together, we’ll remind them who you are.�
Does it make you angry?
Again, the darkness threatened to engulf her and drag out yet another memory she had locked away. Though it was thwarted, and she could feel the presence recoil as something it didn’t intend filled her senses.
She was cradled against a warm, bare chest. Large arms enveloped her small frame, and a curtain of matted, moss green hair became her shield. A soft song filtered over the nagging, and the man’s chest hummed from the deep tones of his voice. She felt safe here. Safe, comfortable, and wanted.
The song did not fade, though his large hands stretched down her arms. They were longer now, a transition to something that happened far later. They worked diligently to wipe away the thick blood and some other substance she did not care to think of what it might be, aside from its fel origin. Gently, he cleaned her arms, and tended her wounds, even as she shook and sobbed uncontrollably in his grasp. It soothed her, and calmed her.
A kiss was pressed to her forehead, and the scene dissipated around her, falling away into that suffocating blackness.
The warden’s gaze had not wavered. No memory or recollection had managed to illicit a reaction from her carefully crafted facade. And she stared into the darkness with that penetrating expression of carved stone.
She could feel it staring back.
In the end, it was the darkness who faltered. It finally slipped away, withdrawing its angry weight until nothing remained but the warden and the soft snores of the monk still at her side.
The Sha had moved on, but it had not given up. It would try again, and she knew it. Her fight with the wayward Sentinel had just become increasingly more difficult. However, her point had been made clear. Her walls were not an easy thing to be surrendered. And Chrissinne Mudatne would not be a victory for Anger.
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