Ancient Powers

The soft shuffling of leather rubbing on leather was a pleasing sound to the orc’s tired ears. The quiet of the library of Karazan was soothing and Bok’theg was enjoying the simple pleasure of arranging the Lak’gora’s books on the shelves. Carefully he slid each book into its place and painstakingly cataloged its location on a piece of parchment that lay on a nearby table.

As he completed his task, he allowed his mind to wander to the previous day’s events. The discussions with the Dragonmaw Vanguard were completely satisfying. Clearly they knew more about the Old Gods than they wanted to admit. And that elf mage was surely suspicious of his motives. But Felandis’ trust had been hard-won and would not easily be tossed aside. Allowing Bok’theg to copy their archives from the fight with the Cultists was a first, important step. Now the real work began.
It was time for the Lak’gora to learn much more about the Old Gods.

As if in answer to his unspoken request. His hand touched the embossed leather on a strangely familiar feeling book. He looked down at the old, torn, brown leather binding and smiled. He hadn’t seen this book in many, many years. Not since he was but a whelp studying with the best of the Stormreaver Clan. The great Gul’dan had made it required reading for any who were to participate in the invasion. How strange he had forgotten it until now.

Flipping the book open to a random page, the warlock caught the illustration of a horridly wide mouth with flailing tentacles and rows of dripping fangs. He smiled inwardly as he sat the book back down on the table and made a notation on the parchment.

Synchronicity, he thought to himself. Things were starting to come together.

No one knew the Old Gods better than the insectoids that worshipped them - the Qiraji of Silithus and the Nerubians of Northrend. Twilight cultists flocked to their ancient kingdoms in response to the call of those mysterious deities. What meaning can the maddening whispers in the wind convey? What power did they have over those unfortunate souls as to make them gather around evil so ancient, that it was already old when Azeroth was in its infancy?
Nimithriel stared intently at the mysterious puzzle box on the table before her. Created by mutliple fragments of pure obsidium, its exterior was carved with a skill yet unknown. She had almost missed it among the debris of Azjol-Nerub, but a sudden impulse made her return to the burial chamber of the Nerubian priest. The corner of the puzzle box was protruding from the wall among other crystal formations, but the blood elf's sharp eyes did not miss its faint glow. That night, under the cold Dragonblight air, she dreamt of pain.
The priestess' gaze paused upon the closed eyelid on the front wall of the box. She traced it with her fingers, admiring the craftsman's work, then wrote something on a piece of parchment. The Soul Flayer knew it was time to visit Naxxramas, a floating ziggurath situated above the ruins of sacred Nerubian grounds, that the Lich King had turned into breeding grounds for his abominations.
Nimithriel picked up the box and made a vain attempt to open it. She heard the mechanism inside click and the sound of tiny gears growing louder and louder. Bringing the object at the level of her eyes, she waited for what she assumed was the lid, to open. For a brief moment nothing happened.
Suddenly the eyelid moved, and an eye looked around the room before fixating its gaze upon the blood elf. Piercing pain shot through the priestess' head and she found herself unable to look away. Images of horrors unknown forcefully invaded her mind, and a chilling wind brought a faint, distant whisper: "At the bottom of the ocean even light must die.."

Bok’theg sat at a small wooden table just outside the door of the Ogrimmar Inn. There was nothing in the simple brown robe or the sword at his side to identify him as a warlock. Hellscream the Younger was not Thrall but neither did the new Warchief accept the old ways of Gul’dan anymore than his predecessor. A recent run-in with two other orcs who heard a few Lak’gora speaking the demonic tongue had reminded him it was still not safe to openly demonstrate one’s beliefs in the orcish city.

He winked slyly at Inkeeper Gryshka as she set out a glass, a jug of water and small plate with some boar ribs. A passing goblin caught the scent of the ribs and turned to look at the plate but a low growl from the warlock sent him quickly on his way. As he munched on the ribs, Bok’theg watched residents stumble drunkenly out of the inn and stagger towards the bank; shifty-eyed goblins watching for any opportunity to lighten their pockets. The old orc disliked Ogrimmar. It was crowded, noisy, and dirty. Even though Hellscream’s redesign of the city had been intended to impose stricter controls on residents and transients, the changes since the cataclysm seemed to have attracted more residents than it had discouraged. Ever since the problems with the Twilight Cultists, Ogrimmar had become more fortress than metropolis. Yet, despite the police controls on entrance to the city, new residents flocked in droves as evidenced by the ever passing parade of orcs, goblins, elves, tauren and undead between the inn, bank and auction house.

Bok’theg preferred the quiet of his room at Dragonmaw Port in the Twilight Highlands. At least there, he could relax among his own kind without worrying about being accosted by some light-loving tauren or snobby, former-member of the Silvermoon Court. He felt more at home there and it didn’t hurt that it was the Dragonmaw Vanguard’s base of operations. It was important he keep close relations with them now, more than ever. The Lak’gora’s recent run-in with Klaes and his small band of fanatics was worrying him more and more. The elf mage clearly hated him, and Bok’theg worried that it would taint the strong bonds he had forged already with Felandis.

The Dragonmaw Vanguard simply didn’t understand what he was trying to do. The knowledge they had gained from the copied Cultist texts was only the beginning. The journey to Ashenvale and the incident with the Doomguard Daithorus had not gone exactly as they had planned but it was still a successful venture. Even though Klaes had killed the doomguard, the Lak’gora had learned enough to lead them to Silithus and the ancient temple to the south. The artifacts they had found were powerful indeed but it would still take time to discern their uses. This was what had led them back to the Highlands. Why reinvent the wheel when the Cultists knowledge could be exploited more easily? It was in Grim Batol where he had found the opportunity he was looking for. He gulped some water down and pulled a rolled parchment from his pocket. He smiled as he re-read the intercepted letter intended for the learned teachers of Scholomance.

If the Cultists were seeking the aid of the researchers in Scholomance, then there had to be something there of value to learn. With the letter in their possession, the Lak’gora could pose as representatives from the Cult themselves. Who would know? Whatever was being developed in Scholomance could only serve their cause.

Shaddoth sat down in the inn, by the table he always sits at. He had just rescently finished training Sini'Jahl (A new Lak'gora) in the arts of shadow magic.

His palms were sweaty and he felt faint, after being taken control of so many times. She has alot of fight in her.... Shaddoth thought to himself.I'm glad to be able to train her....

The low light in the corner of the room he was in, allowed him to meld into the darkness, while keeping his aura around him, he was able to think alone for a little bit.
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*Shaddoth's journal*

So. This weekend we depart to the Scholomance, where I was trained in necromancy. How nostalgic! Apperantly, I will be acting as an emmisary for the Lak'gora to commune with Instructor Malicia...I simply hope she remembers me.

It has been such a long time since I had seen her, I wonder how she is. I also wonder if she still finds me as an ally....

You see journal, I wasn't the...best student....oh of course, I listened to instruction and did everything for her (I was a scourge after all!) but I believe I didn't move fast enough, and she developed what we'd call a...."Lets make this student my apple for a little while and make him feel special, then take the title away from him, not that he'd care of course" with an evil laugh at the end....

In all seriousness though, I will do my best to make sure I can get on her good side...I would love for this all to go swimmingly without all this Dragonmaw Vanguard business...

*An arrow points to the last page stating how much he loathes Klaes for what he had done, and how he is acting towards him*

Bok’theg’s Journal
Entry: 12 April

The meeting with Instructor Malicia could have gone much better. Perhaps it was a mistake to have sent Shaddoth as our emissary. She was clearly not fond of him and poor disposition made her quite difficult to deal with. It was only sheer luck that Shaddoth was not killed during the altercation and any hopes we had of working with Scholomance are now gone. It is unfortunate since being able to access their resources would have greatly improved our position, however, not all plans succeed and therefore we must adjust accordingly.

The fact that Klaes was there and attempted to interfere, yet again was an annoyance but it seems to have terminated in our favor. The fact that he did not tell his fellow Dragonmaw about his plan to infiltrate the Scholomance has angered his colleagues and has sown the seeds of suspicion in their minds. With any luck, the Lak’gora liaison with the Dragonmaw will not be adversely affected. I must also note that there were a few members of the Shadows of Lordaeron with him as well. They were typically closemouthed about the event but they seem to have their suspicions about Klaes as well. Hopefully we can keep them pitted against one another and out of our business.

*Shaddoth's Journal*

Useless. That is all I am. I failed the Lak'gora, on something that should have been easy. I was injured, and am still injured. I could have killed her....couldn't have I?

She got me so fast...ugh. I am nothing but a disgrace. I used to think I had learned something....but clearly, I had not. That altercation shouldn't have happened. There shouldn't have been a fight. It might have been the question yes, but in hindsight, I see how it looked from her point of view...

*A big black stain of what looks like dried blood covers 1/8th of the page.*

-To be what, rather, as it has been....I am weak, and should be a much lower rank, I do not deserve praise.

Damn Malicia to hell...but as you can tell by looking at me, She has done so to me.

*The page ends with Shaddoth's Human Signature: "Seth Kran"*

Post-Message: I shouldn't Mope about, journal. I am past that. this injury I have sustained....burns so much....but Must I happen? To with what....if.....ugh.....

The scholomance. I'll just take the information myself. No one will know but you and I. Let us hope we get better enough to make all of this worthwile.....to.........go...........j....l...f..

A flap of mighty wings, a whirling screen of sand, and as the dust settled a lone form. In the darkness a tiny light sparks. Malosuerte exhales the fragrant smoke from his pipe and looks around warily. “Where am I now” the thought flies through his mind and is ripped away in the cool night breeze. He stands surrounded by rolling dunes. It is the apotheosis of all deserts. Tanaris? No, that doesn’t seem right. Further south? The whispers tickle at the back of his mind, they are always with him now, he has stopped trying to fight them, opting instead to triumph through apathy. It may be the reason he doesn’t recognize the whisper of chanting figures until he is surrounded. The moon passes behind a cloud and it is hard to make them out. Their chanting swells, and Malosuerte stumbles as a sudden and violent tremor runs through the ground. His pipe falls to the ground as the dune before him shakes, coming to life and rising, spreading wings and turning towards him. He tries to transform, but it doesn’t work. Tries to cast a spell, but his throat feels dry and rough, and no words come. The Moon moves out from behind the cloud, and in the sudden, nearly blinding reflection he sees the cultists faces. There is Boktheg, Thuugom, Nimithriel! These are the Grin not the twilight cult, but what truly catches his attention is the leviathan in front of him. The great Wyrm turns to him, and he sees recognition in its face, the same recognition he can feel dawning on his own. The moonlight reflects off of bronze scales, broken and cracked by bright golden stone. It is broken and disfigured, extremely powerful, yet full of madness.

The Beast is him.

Malosuerte turns to run, but the chanting grows louder, reaching a feverish pitch and he feels hands drawing him back. The whispers assure him this is the only way. He tries to scream, but he chokes as a stream of sand issues form his mouth. He coughs and more sand pours forth. The hands grab him tightly, and throw him into the jaws of the Wyrm. As the maw closes, Malosuerte is blinded as he feels sand pour through his eyes. All is black as the chanting continues, merging with the heartbeat of the beast, himself, as he is devoured “The sands, the sands, the sands, the sands…”
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Malosuerte sat bolt upright, clawing at his throat, a throat raw from screaming. He cast about, he was in his rooms, the silk sheets knotted and tangled around him, the soft salt air blew in from the sea, cooling the perspiration running down his chest. He jumped up and grabbed a robe, he synched the belt around his waist as he hurried to the door, throwing it open and nearly crashing into the servants who stooped near the door, obviously having peered through the keyhole to see what could cause their master such horrible distress. The usually composed mage roared at them “Out of my way if you value your lives!” He gestured and knocked several of them back with a burst of harmless energy, rushing on past without a second glance.

Into his library he rushed, calling forth the flying carpet and soaring up to one of the topmost shelves. The whispers pounded in his head, “the sands, the sands…” The nightmare had sparked a memory. When he had been a mere whelp, and the land of Azeroth barely cooled. A powerful artifact, primordial magic, a power that was ancient even before the old gods were put down. He had thought it a legend, nothing so powerful would be allowed to exist. But if it were, what better place than hidden by the bronze dragonflight? Malosuerte finally found the tome. An old purple leather volume. He flew to a small table and lit a lamp with a gesture. He opened the book, and with a gesture the pages turned to the back, the rough papyrus covered by hieroglyphics. The ancient artifact had been separated, its many parts distributed throughout the ancient kingdoms of the south. It would merge him with the time stream, he would be all that he was, all that he had been, and all he ever would be at the same time.

But it was guarded. Malosuerte’s hand drifted over the page and hovered over the seal of Nozdormu. If he were to attempt to search for these implements, the bronze dragonflight would certainly sense him. The whispers tickled at the back of his mind almost comfortingly, and the mage smiles. Here too the nightmare gave him an answer. Malosuerte found a blank volume and enchanted quill, and set about making an exact replica of the tome, making only a few minor changes, referencing the old gods and disguising the nature of the power hidden under the dunes.
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Malosuerte watched through his scrying orb as Thuugom closed a book and replaced it on the shelf of the library in Karazhan. He turned to walk out. The death knight paused, glancing around, possibly sensing some presence, then he shrugged and left the room. Malosuerte promptly turned and opened a portal, leaping through into the sanctum of the Lak’gora. He glanced around, ensuring he was alone, then scanned the shelves. The mage found a shelf that was out of the way enough to avoid suspicion, yet close enough to a high traffic area to be unhidden. Placing his specially prepared tome on the shelf, Malosuerte muttered a few words, enchanting the spot to subtly draw the eye of any who passed. With a gesture, the mage disturbed the dust around the shelf and book, so when it settled it left no trace of his presence. Satisfied with his handiwork, the mage leapt back through his portal and shut it with a snap.

The whispers teasing his mind, Malosuerte sank into a divan in his rooms and lit a pipe, chuckling to himself. Now he had but to wait, if the Lak’gora were anything like the power hungry ones he knew them to be, they would leap at the chance for the hidden relic, and after gathering the pieces all signs from the book would point to consulting the humble mage who was raised in the sands of Tanaris to identify them. As he exhaled the fragrant smoke, the whispers seemed congratulatory. An evil gleam settled in his eye as a gazed out across the ocean. Yes, all he had to do now was wait, and Malosuerte el Tridor Delamuerte, who in another time was called Malosdormu, was nothing if not patient.

Bok’theg’s Journal
Entry: 19 April

Klaes is mine. How simple it was to have corrupted the mage. Perhaps it was his innate fanaticism that made him so susceptible to the draw of fel-magic. Or perhaps, deep down, he secretly yearned for what we possess and detested himself for not being able to achieve it on his own. Whatever the reason, his soul belongs to the Lak’gora now.

The letter that Maycie was so easily able to coax from him led us to Ironforge where certain relics were kept. The foolish Dragonmaw sought to take them from the Explorers Hall and give them over to the Reliquary. How naiive of them to think we would not know of something so important. It was simple to follow them into the dwarven city, letting them clear the guards while we pressed ahead to the Dwarven Library. There we took the artifacts while the Dragonmaw beat back the guards. The shocked expression on Klaes’ face was priceless when he found that Maycie was one of us and he himself had led us there. The fool. It was merciful of Thuugom to knock the elf unconscious and spirit him off to Uldum. The rest of Dragonmaw were certainly upset that he had led them to folly yet again.

It wasn’t until we had reached the Obelisk of the Stars that inspiration struck me. To advance our cause and punish the mongrel at the same time…it is only my genius which allows such clarity of purpose. Taking a portion of his soul’s essence allows us to experiment on this energy. The sample may be necessary when we find all the pieces of the artifact. Perhaps we will later find some use for it in battle. But the most unexpected result, was that it left Klaes a bit maddened. The emptiness within his soul now consumes him and he craves fel-magic. The power of the nether which he hated and railed against for so long has now become his vice. It is a fitting punishment for the dog.

Although she denies it, I believe Maycie may still have some concern for his well-being. I do as well, for his survival may be necessary for our experiments. Within the depths of the Black Temple I infused his soul-essence within the Shrine of Lost Souls. By binding this part of him to the Black Temple, the draw of the nether impregnates his very being. He now belongs to the Lak’gora.

Nimithriel had no recollection of what had happened during the night she spent trying to figure out the properties of the Nerubian box. Naxx had provided little information regarding the origins of the obsidian object. She was exhausted from her constant trips to Northrend and blamed her blackouts on the lack of sleep.
Bok'theg's letters urged her to come back home, as important matters were to be discussed. The growing tension between the Lak'gora and the Gol'kosh could no longer be ignored as threats were made on both sides and the Gar'mak's interests had clashed with the newly appointed Sythegar's. She couldn't quite understand why Hakumen was so determined to destroy all their efforts. Was it perhaps another hand pulling the strings of the paladin? She remembered that while arrogant, the blood elf was never unreasonable. Nimithriel pondered on the motive behind this unrest between the Gol'kosh and the Lak'gora. Another was behind this, and the priestess was more than determined to find out who. And more importantly - why?
Obsessed with the Puzzle Box, Nimithriel paid little attention to Bok'theg's news of the Ironforge artifacts and Klaes' sudden change of heart. She did not trust the Dragonmaw lunatic and knew his presence in Black Temple would eventually lead to trouble.
She decided to stash the box far from sight as her gaze was constantly drawn to its strange glow. It was time Nim found out what this mage was really hiding. She grabbed the still unpacked bags from her bed and made her way out of Karazhan, where her Hippogryph was restlessly waiting for his next trip. She ran her fingers over the smooth green feathers before tightening her grasp on them and with one swift move hopping on its back.
The sun was setting over the Dark Portal, but Nimithriel did not stop. She knew Maycie could be in grave danger if Klaes wasn't honest about his sudden "enlightenment". Hellfire peninsula greeted her with the scorching heat of thousand suns. Knowing she had no time to lose, the priestess decided to travel the dangerous paths of the Twisting Nether in order to hasten her arrival at Black Temple. She whispered her destination to the obedient hippogryph and stared into the Nether ahead before her mind sunk into darkness once more.

Thuug’s Log
22 April

I am concerned for the Soulflayer, she has been acting strange as of late. Staring off into space as she did in the Old Kingdom is something of concern and the new Sythegar Hakumen being there was no help. Why was he there anyway? To spy on us, no doubt. The Gol’kosh has no business being involved in Lak’gora business; they need only worry about when Stonard is attacked! I fear that the Soulflayers’ state is caused by the Gol’kosh and Hakumen “made peace” to keep an eye her, although Lord Bok’theg says otherwise, I still not trust this sudden change in Hakumen’s attitude towards us. Definitely not like him, and to show no respect to Lord Bok’theg by not kissing the Ring of Blackhand is a sign that he has not made peace.

I believe he still listens to Margar, only if he would grow some and take charge of the Gol’kosh fully, then there might be peace within the Clan. He has been acting like a police force, probably to impress Margar, demanding that he be allowed into our rituals. Hakumen needs to be shown that he can take the Gol’kosh further than Margar ever had and that he can trust that we, the Lak’gora, do what we do for the good of the Clan! But there is another concern with the Sythegar, he has been talking like Kreatcher as of late and this has me worried that maybe Hakumen isn’t the right choice to lead the Gol’kosh, unless he can get rid of whatever is in him. Maybe his “make peace” is for us to help him find and remove what ails him. Lord Bok’theg will know what to do.

As for me, the soul prism within me has seem to stop hurting for the time being, but the Icecrown citadel still calls I must deal with that.

Being recently promoted to Felblade within the Lak’gora is a great pride for me and a new weight lays on my shoulders, leading the guard unit to new heights, while protecting Lord Bok’theg and the other magic users.

Today Lord Bok’theg showed me the new Lak’gora’s headquarters. It will work to our benefit, there is an alter, a building to discuss items of interest, and of course the dungeons of Blackrock mountain to the Northwest for our testing.

((this is kind of unedited- Its maycie's perspective on things, and how things have been going with Klaes in Black Temple.. And keep in mind- i'm not so great at writing.))

“I need a break.” Maycie thought to herself. “But where could I go.”

Thinking long and hard for a few, brief seconds, she decided to go to Dalaran. It was pretty empty now that Arthas was dead, there wasn’t as big of a need for troops to be in Northrend. With the shattering and all that’s been happening, they were more needed in the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor.

She packed an overnight bag, got on the zeppelin in Orgrimmar and headed towards the Borean Tundra. Shivering as the zeppelin lands in Warsong Hold, Maycie quickly goes to find a place to change into a warmer robe and catches a ride to Dalaran.

She decided to stay upstairs in the Ledgermain Lounge in the center of Dalaran. After putting her bags in her rented room, she headed downstairs to get a drink and relax. She had no more than ordered her Espresso, when Klaes walked in.

“Oh great.” she thought to herself. “Anybody but him.”

She shifted her weight, uncomfortably, to her other leg as she looked over and gave Klaes a quick smile. He immediately recognized her as one of the Grin. He did not, however, recognize her as one of the Lak’gora. He seemed frightened. He immediately warmed up to her, allowing himself to trust her. He started babbling on about artifacts and a secret letter. She got curious at the mentioning of the letter. He started talking about Shaddoth and how he put some kind of silencing spell on him. He looked around, as if he suspected someone watching and suggested they move to a more private location to talk. She agreed, wanting any information she could get out of him. She knew the Gar’mak would be most pleased at whatever she could find out. The moved upstairs, to one of the empty rooms. Klaes sat on a bed, spilling his fears to her. She nodded her head, listening carefully to him. He stood up, wrapped his arms around her, embracing her. He needed comfort. She hesitantly hugged him back, feeling for the mentioned secret letter. She quickly found it, within the side pocket of his robe. Maycie ever carefully slipped it out of his pocket, and stepped back, keeping the letter hidden. She bid him good night and headed back to Stonard, to find the Gar’mak.

There were many people in Stonard upon her arrival, so she decided to tuck the letter in a safe place and wait for a more safe location to pass the letter.

A couple evenings later, the Lak’gora met. She quickly gave Bok’theg the letter. They would go to Ironforge to intercept the artifacts.

IRONFORGE and THE OBELISK OF THE STARS

Being greeted by rather hostile guards, the Lak’gora made it to the Hall of Explorers. They had gotten what they came for, when the Dragonmaw walked in. Maycie immediately saw Klaes, their gazes met. She smiled at him, noting the shocked expression on his face.

“Maycie…no..” Klaes babbled. “I trusted you.”

He ran out, Thuugom close behind him. Thuugom knocked him out, and took him to the Obelisk of the Stars, where the Lak’gora had taken the artifacts to hide them.

Seeing Klaes knocked out cold, really bothered Maycie. She tried not to show it, but it was evident. As Bok’theg began to take a piece of his soul essence, she turned her head, not wanting to see what was being done.

“I will remain faithful to the Lak’gora.” she told herself.

The Dragonmaw had found out where they were and came, trying to rescue their precious warlord, who had deceived so many of them. After much argument, they took him with them.

THUNDER BLUFF

Down in a cave, near the warlock trainers sat Klaes. He was having withdrawals from the much wanted fel magic he had been craving. After some thought, the Gar’mak decided Klaes would be much more safe in the Black Temple, than out in the open. Klaes agreed to follow the Lak’gora, and to listen to them. They could help him like nobody else could.

Traveling through the Dark Portal, they headed straight through the Twisting Nether, down to the Black Temple. They took him to the Shrine of Lost Souls, where Bok’theg released some of Klaes’ magic into the ground. Bok’theg stayed briefly there, leaving Maycie to stay with Klaes. Soon after the Gar’mak left, Klaes withdrew a hilt from his robe. He held it in the air as it came to life. It was one of the missing artifacts. Klaes held it high, threatening to harm Maycie. She talked calmly to him, and managed to get possession of the magical sword. She took it to a safe place within the Black Temple, to give to Bok’theg at a later time. Klaes fell asleep, and she began writing some things in a journal.

A few hours later, Klaes awoke. The relentless screaming for more magic began. Maycie tried her best to keep him occupied. Later that evening, Nimithriel and Thuugom came to check on Klaes, and to try to pry some information out of him. He kept screaming for more. Maycie held in her hand, a small orb, full of the delicious fel magic that Klaes kept begging for more of. She taunted him with him, hoping it would encourage him to talk. Though, one move and it was over. He said something out of line. Maycie took the orb, smashing it on the ground at his feet, the magic seeping into the ground beneath them. The Soul Flayer and Thuugom said what they needed to say, and departed from Black Temple. Another relentless night of Klaes begging for more was ahead. The next morning, another came to relieve her of her duties for a short while, so she could have a break.

Later that night, after a debriefing from another attack on Darkshire, Maycie was standing in Stonard, when a rogue came out of the shadows, appearing beside her. He was Dragonmaw. She quickly found out what his business was and who he was. She asked him how his warlord was doing, just to see his reply. He had told her that the Dragonmaw healers were tending to him. He obviously didn’t know that Klaes was in the Lak’gora’s care. She left his mind thinking just what he thought he knew. She headed south, to the Dark Portal, and through it, back to the Black Temple. She was rested up for another long night of Klaes being difficult and begging for more fel magic. That night however, went much more calm than the previous. Klaes slept. She sat and watched him, writing more in her journal.

Malifika sat in her sparse room at the inn, her back to the bed and face to the fire, just as she always did. Sleep was illusive for the death knight, as often a curse as a boon if it came unbidden. She could push herself harder than most until bone-weary, consciousness-claiming fatigue rolled over her like fog falling down the Storm Peaks claiming the valleys below, allowing her brief moments of oblivion. To sleep deeply, without the dreams that plagued her mind in the space between asleep and awake, was the death knight's only remaining pleasure, the only remnant of her humanity. Food, drink, warmth, even pleasures of the flesh were denied her in this abominable form--that bastard Arthas!

Not that she hadn't tried! Oh no! She had tried alright. For months after she had broken free of the Lich King's control, she had wandered from town to town, heading inexorably south--away from Silvermoon and her past--glutting herself on sensual pleasures of any imaginable kind. Her favorite haunts were the goblin-controlled towns where anything could be had for a price. But no matter how much rich food, fine stout or warm flesh she devoured with manic intensity, she was left with the same hollow iciness in her chest, an iciness that never thawed and seemed only to grow colder with each reminder of what it could never again enjoy.

These were the moments that Malifika turned to the one thing she could still satisfy: her need for the intoxicating draught of death. She and her skeletal steed would fly through the darkness to nearby Alliance encampments or towns, murdering as many as she could find. Her favorites were those sleepy little towns on the outskirts of Ironforge; fleshy little gnome babies let out such a satisfying squeak as she stabbed them. In the empty darkness amid the blood and gore, Malifika would rage against her fate, against the frozen wastelands of Northrend that still whispered to her, against Kael'Thas and his empty promises, against the corruption of the fel demon blood that had filled her body like nothing else could, pulsing with a warmth and power that wrapped one in a glowing green blanket of absolute ecstasy matched only by the aching despair and emptiness it left in its wake as the power waned, leaving one's body, mind and flesh screaming madly for more.

By the time she headed for the swamps of Stonard seeking the Blacktooth Grin, the cold within her had become so intense she could think of little else. Addiction, craving, emptiness, loss--these were the things that defined Malifika… both the person she was in life and the monster she had become in death. And such were the things that occupied her mind in moments like these, as she sat in her room and waited for sleep's sweet oblivion to wash over her.

As she poked at the fire, Malifika mused on the recent confrontations between the Lak'gora and Gol'kosh. She was preparing to travel back to Northrend, that cursed, frozen wasteland, to complete her research in Dalaran, and anything was better food for thought than that awful place. She jabbed angrily at one of the logs as if to punctuate the thought, setting off a mini firework display of sparks in the otherwise dark room. The Gar'mak seemed more convinced than ever that these artifacts he was seeking were the key, but the key to what exactly? The Lak'gora were scattered across continents and worlds at his bidding, pulling together pieces of an ancient puzzle that might best be left buried. The blood elf paladin certainly seemed to think so.

Malifika let out an audible sigh and prodded the logs absentmindedly, following the flow of her thoughts. She held little respect and less love for those holy hypocrites, yet something about this conflict nagged at her. Even the chieftain was suspicious of Bok'theg's actions of late, if the paladin's words were to be believed. She had tried to approach the Gar'mak with her concerns, she recalled with rising agitation. She, more than most, understood the lust for power, just as she understood the dark side of such promises, and she had no intention to return to the abject slavery such addiction demanded in return. No damn it! Her free will was far too hard-won to sacrifice it now.

Malifika willed her mind to calm and focused on the soothing dance of the flames before her, allowing her breath to become slow and even once again. Bok'theg had heard her out patiently, of course; she had expected nothing less of the Gar'mak. She turned their conversation over in her mind once again in the darkness of the room, searching for clues, but he had let little real information escape amidst his attempts to reassure her that he would be no one's puppet. A sardonic smile spread slowly across Malifika's lips at the thought. "Time will tell all things," she whispered to the darkness.

It was late and he was tired. His eyelids were heavy…so very heavy. He tried desperately to read the words on the page in front of him but each time his drooping head awoke him with a start and he had to start again from the top of the page. Finally, he pushed himself away from the table and stood up. He walked to the window and looked out as a cool night breeze blew in the window and caressed his face. The cold air invigorated him and suddenly his eyelids didn’t seem so heavy.

The orc stared out the window for a few more moments scanning the pathway that led up the mountain to the tower where he sat. Nothing. Far below, he could see the water and the tent flaps of the centaur settlements. Still nothing. No sign of enemy approaching. Slowly, he allowed himself to relax. He was safe for the moment. He would sleep here tonight when he finished his studies. He had many such places scattered throughout Azeroth but this one was unknown even to his own Lak’gora. It was a place he could rest and study without fear of prying eyes. A bed where he could sleep well without worrying a dagger was coming for his throat while he dozed.

Reenergized, Bok’theg returned to the table where the book rested and he continued to read. He had to absorb as much knowledge of arcane magic as he could this evening for tomorrow he would see Klaes again and he had to be ready. The mage was nominally under their control but his spirit fought against the corruption and Bok’theg worried that he would break free before his work was completed. The consequences of that could be disastrous. The removal of Klaes’ essence and the corruption within him, tied him forever to the Lak’gora but it was no guarantee of control nor of loyalty. Before that happened, Bok’theg had to know Klaes’ mind. The elf mage desired to gain the artifacts not to help the Reliquary but to help himself work with the blue dragonflight. That much Bok’theg knew already. It meant that Klaes knew of a way to increase his arcane power and if that was true…then the Lak’gora could use that power themselves. In the days to come Bok’theg would need all of his Lak’gora as strong as they could possibly be. They were beset by enemies from all sides….Alliance…Dragonmaw…even their own clan. But with faith in their cause, he knew they would overcome all obstacles in their way.

Nimithriel was too busy to recognize the dangerous situation the Lak'gora was in. Obsessed with her puzzle box, she spent over a week locked in her room, oblivious to her surroundings, staring into nothingness among piles of books.
The papers on her desk were filled with meaningless scribbles in a language unknown even to her. Drawings of grotesque creatures filled page after page of her diary. The exquisite meals her slaves brought in and out of her chambers had remained untouched.
The blood elf had faint memories of Thuugom expressing concerns for her wellbeing only to be escorted out of her room by her yells. Her restlessness and explosive nature kept her clanmates and friends away, leaving her undisturbed with the strange object.
When Boktheg walked in her chambers he was greeted by a low growl of discontent and an impatient Nimithriel turned towards the Gar'mak, her attention obviously wandering between the warlock and something else. "Soul Flayer, we have a lot to discuss" he said in his usual professional tone. "Klaes may have given us a source to great power.." Nimithriel stared blankly at the orc "Go on.."
Boktheg made himself comfortable on her large sofa and continued with his story. As he revealed more and more of his plans, a sly grin appeared on the priestess' face. Could those artifacts be the key to opening the damn Puzzle box?
Nimithriel sat beside the warlock and brought the box before him. It was the second time he'd seen the object, but he remembered how much it peaked his interest the first time.. as if something drew his attention to it. A faint breeze brought upon its wings almost inaudible whispers,but the blood elf was certain the Gar'mak heard them as well, for his gaze shifted to the open window.
Nimithriel grinned once more at the warlock and said "I have an idea.."

He reached the steam pools in Feralas to relax a bit before heading to Camp Mojache. He changed into his Beach Bikini Thong and went towards the water. As he slipped in and became relaxed, the warm water soothing his aching bones, he thought of the events of the past few days. He pulls out his log from his bag and begins to write in it.

----
Thuug’s Log:
25 April

Klaes, that stupid mage, at least he is no longer a threat to the Lak’gora. What a fitting end for the mage, being thrown into the lava pit, makes me chuckle on the inside. It does upset me, being detained elsewhere doing the Lord’s deeds, but at least we won’t have to deal with him. Knowing that mage he probably devised a way for himself to be reborn in the event of his unlikely death, stupid mage. I’ll have to keep an eye on anything strange involving the Dragonmaw for that matter. Now will they be more open to us now that Klaes, a traitor to them, is gone or will they close up shop and go about their own business. We will find out soon…

The other day I discovered ruins in Southern Tanaris where the Explorer League and the Reliquary is fighting each in other in search of something. I showed Lord Bok’theg the area and he told me it felt like it was calling him. A place that he said he should know, but didn’t. Inside there was a chest that held enormous power, we will need the might of the Lak’gora to investigate this further. There was another room filled with machinery, will need to investigate this further as well.

An infiltrator in the Lak’gora, I have not thought it possible but Malifika came to me with the possibility. With the Grot Melraudius of the Gol’kosh asking about what we had done in Uldum and Ironforge is of concern. There are two possibilities how the Grot found out, one is that there is an infiltrator or the other is that Dragonmaw informed him, highly unlikely for them to talk straight to a grot, or they talked to Hakumen and set the Grot forth to ask questions. This will no doubt pit us against one another, maybe this is part of Hakumens “Make Peace” plan and to divide us. This must NOT happen, we are one, this has to be a plan set forth by Hakumen and his police force the Gol’kosh.

I also mentioned the concerns that Malifika had about an infiltrator within the Lak’gora to Lord Bok’theg and this agitated the Lord as it had myself. We discussed a few possible ways to find out who the infiltrator is and decided the best way without causing hatred against one another is to search the souls of each member. But now after much thinking on the matter, this must be conspiracy between the Dragonmaw and Hakumen, or just Hakumen, to eliminate the Lak’gora to make us think there is an infiltrator and to fight amongst each other. I KNOW there is not an infiltrator. We must gather the Lak’gora soonest and hold a discussion on the matter. Hakumen, what a conniving little pawn of Margars, trying to pull something like this off. We will turn it around on him and destroy his precious little Gol’kosh in the process, if need be.

He returns his log to his bags, grabs a skin and writes what he has just thought of on it. Afterwards he summons his familiar, “Take this to Lord Bok’theg, the Soulflayer, and to Shaddoth, save Shaddoth for last as we had not seen him in sometime and reaching him might take a bit. I only wish Malifika had a familiar, but I will have to search her out, this is too important to use the Horde mail system.” As his familiar disappears, he sets back into the steam pools and a grin forms on his face. “Hakumen, you are wise enough to run the Gol’kosh, but you are still a puppet of Margars. Soon your destiny will take place, but which fork in the path will you choose? Death as a puppet of Margars or Margar out of the way and you truly lead the Gol’kosh, as you are born to do!” Thuugom said as he closes his eyes with his mouth forming into Grin.

Dark fire flew through the air in the Ruins of Lordaeron as Shaddoth casted spell after spell of fel magic. He has been training for 6 days straight, honing his skills to be usefull instead of in the way.

Suddenly, A medium-sized arcane familiar appeared in front of him, holding a letter on some sort of skin. Hmm. probably from Thuugom.... Shaddoth thought to himself.

As Shaddoth read through the parchment, his heart started to race.An infiltrator? But...who....Hakumen....Klaes?

Shaddoth still hasn't heard about the little debacle involving Klaes, and still believes him to be spying on the Lak'gora.

Shaddoth burned the skin as to not leave evidence of anything.He went back to firing bolt after bolt of shadow into the air.

A rat hmm...?

Much had transpired while Malifika was in Dalaran, though it seemed she'd been gone only a short time. Her head was still reeling with all the information that had been thrown at her the moment she'd stepped off the zeppelin from the Borean Tundra. The priestess's mouth had been moving a mile a minute, strange words and names tumbling forth like so much water over a fall. Despite their apparent differences, the two blood elves had formed a rapport over just a few short months, and Malifika felt the first twinge of kinship in as long as she could remember. She remained observant of the unfamiliar emotion, quelling her first instinct to snuff out the relationship as quickly as it sparked. She wasn't entirely sure why… only that it could prove useful down the road, or that it was, somehow, important not to do so.

Her sparse belongings already tucked neatly away in the spartan quarters, the death knight pushed the bed against the wall and set about making her customary fire in the hearth. Kneeling, she blew softly into the kindling one last time as it sprang to life before she pulled the bedding to the floor, arranging it so that she could lean comfortably against the bed and watch the flames as she waited for sleep to overcome her… if indeed it would this eve.

Malifika settled into her usual routine and began to replay the events of the previous week as she poked at the fire, attempting to fit together the minute puzzle pieces that had been accumulating at an ever-increasing pace. She wondered briefly just where her trip to Dalaran fit into the puzzle but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came--the answer would make itself known in due time. The wizards of the Kirin Tor had been as tight-lipped as ever, but that was to be expected. Her summits with them were merely pretense, providing subterfuge for her real mission: to uncover potentially useful texts rumored hidden throughout the city. Not that gaining an audience with Rhonin wouldn't have been advantageous. Having a chance to speak with the wizard so intimately connected to the Demon Soul would have been a major coup! No matter if there were little chance he'd let slip something useful about the power of the old gods, there were more modes of communication than language and Malifika was adept at reading. A small smile curled the corners of her lips as she considered fresh tactics for her next and hopefully final trip to the floating mage city.

A small pocket of boiling sap in one of the logs sent a small explosion of sparks into the air, catching Malifika's mind and sending it spinning in another direction. Her meeting with Thuugom had gone well and served to ease her concerns slightly now that safeguards were being put in place against the possibility of a spy infiltrating the Lak'gora. Ever since their meeting in Deepholm when the Gar'mak raised such a possibility, Malifika had been unable to shake her concern. Sleep had been particularly illusive during these days, the growing agitation driving her search for Thuugom, Felblade of the Lak'gora, throughout the continent of Kalimdor. She had some ideas brewing but wanted the chance to discuss them with the orc, knowing his cunning and head for strategy. Besides, moving through the proper channels within the Lak'gora was more important now than ever; Malifika wanted a clear record of her actions and redundancy never hurt.

Although her worry had been assuaged somewhat over Lak'gora defenses, Thuugom had piqued it from another angle. His observance that both the Gar'mak and Soul Flayer had been acting strangely recently did not sit well with Malifika. She prodded the logs forcefully, shifting their position to allow greater air flow and sending up flames of renewed vigor. She sighed her trouble into the quiet room, unsure how much stock to put into the Felblade's observations. Although she did not doubt what he had seen, she was hesitant to arrive at a similar conclusion. That the leaders of the Lak'gora could be corrupted by some unknown force was not beyond possibility, but she shuddered to think of the ramifications. "No," she thought. "Ever since the soul prism, Thuugom has been quick to jump to this conclusion. Still…." Malifika's mind trailed off mid-thought as illusive sleep enveloped it, her delicately pointed chin slumping down to meet the slow rise and fall of her chest in the faint light of the dying embers.

CRACK!
The wicked looking steel blade buried itself in the tree just as Bok’theg ducked. Seeing it’s wielder trying desperately to unhinge the sword from its new home deep within the tree’s bark, Bok’theg jumped back to his feet and kicked the draenei square in the gut. The space-goat doubled over in pain letting go of the blade which gave the warlock the split second he needed. He bellowed a single phrase in the eldritch tongue with a force that rose from his core as it was spoken. Almost instantly draenei’s face turned a horrible looking pale color and blood began to seep from his mouth, nose and eyes. The Alliance soldier fell to his knees and began vomiting uncontrollably as a satisfied smile crept across Bok’theg’s face. Not only did the spell replenish his own strength, but it pleased him to see that it was killing a draenei. He hated draenei. Worthless, world stealing wretches who deserved nothing less than total extermination. That the dying soldier wore a tabard identifying him as a member of the Knights of Dusk, only made the spectacle that much more enjoyable. Unfortunately, the warlock’s rapture was cut short by a scream from behind him.

He turned to see one of his newer Lak’gora, a troll priestess being hit on the back of the head by horribly large human. Chanting a low incantation, the warlock summoned an ancient evil which crept into the mind of the pink-skin and sent him fleeing in terror. Relieved of the pressure of the relentless attack, the priestess regained her footing and stretched out a hand, gripping another member of the Grin in an invisible vice, yanking him from the midst of three other Knights.

“Hit ‘dem now!” the troll screamed at the top of her lungs.

The warlock rained balls of fire on their heads while a Grin mage nearby pelted them with razor-sharp shards of ice. The knights fell in a bloody heap, their lifeblood draining into the dark grass of Duskwood as a massive tauren death knight waded into their midst and began hacking at any of the limbs which continued to move in the pile of bodies.

Finally, the screams died down to low moans of the soon-to-be departed and Bok’theg approached the tauren. Pulling off his hood the orc watched as a lone nightelf’s arm quivered and fell in final death spasm.

“Not so much hate for the Lak’gora now, eh Boss Grunt?” sarcasm dripped like acid from the orc’s voice.

The tauren didn’t even turn to face him but the scowl on his face had nothing to do with the battle they had just fought. The rift between the Gol’kosh and Lak’gora had spread and even in a skirmish in Duskwood, the two clansmen would barely glance at each other with anything but mildly concealed hatred and mistrust.

“Back to Stonard for debriefing Grin!” the death knight shouted, ignoring the warlock.

Bok’theg watched as the Grin mounted their drakes and wyverns. He saw the mangled bodies around him and looked up into the branches of the glooming trees which hung over his head like a canopy. The familiar soft voice echoed in his mind as he stood motionless. Like the return of an old friend, the voice soothed him and gave him wise-counsel. He nodded slowly to the unheard advice and grinned in silence as he whistled for his own drake. Hopping on the dragon’s back, he lifted silently off the ground and soared away south toward the Swamp of Sorrows.

Busted

Arriving at the address she had scribbled down on a small piece of paper, Maycie pulls her hood securely over her head and enters Klaes’ quarters. She quickly looks around the small room, ensuring nobody else is there. Maycie begins to look in drawers and in the closets for any artifacts that Klaes may be hiding. She briefly stops to check for the hilt she had recovered from Klaes the previous week. Noticing that it was there, she stands up. She turns around to leave, when a figure appears in the doorway. She gasps, startled. The figure casts a bright beam towards her as she falls to the floor unconscious. The figure motions for someone to enter. It was a large man, perhaps a guard. He leans down, picking Maycie up, carrying her out of the room, and towards the Violet Hold.

The Trial

The man drops Maycie’s limp body onto the stairway in front of the prison doors. The figure, an agent for the Silver Covenant, stands beside her body, waiting in anticipation for her summoned visitors. A couple of minutes later, members of the Dragonmaw Vanguard walk in. They immediately asked why they were being called for a trial. The Silver Covenant Agent told them they were responsible for their Warlord’s actions. Confused, the Dragonmaw asked what Klaes had done. The agent told them he had wrongly opened a portal to the Caverns of Time, by his authority, without permission from Dalaran. The agent called a priest, Araku, to testify. Araku told them of Klaes’ actions, and of the past few weeks events with the Lak’gora. He then looked at Maycie’s limp body, pointing, stating that she was one of the Lak’gora. The agent cast the bright beam at Maycie again, waking her. She sat up confused. The agent demanded Maycie speak. Maycie told her no, if she wanted information, she would have to speak with the Gar’mak. The agent strongly disliked Maycie’s decision and told the Dragonmaw that they were banned from Dalaran. She forced the Dragonmaw to take Maycie, that she was their concern now. They hesitated, then took her with them. They had plans for her, information to be gotten…

Bok’theg’s Journal
Entry: 5 May 2011
So much has happened in such a short time. Klaes initially made good on his word. Taking us through the Caverns of Time back to the Sunwell where we assisted the Blue Dragon Kalecgos. Klaes proved correct in his theory that Kalecgos would aid us in his thankfulness for our assistance. And even as we speak we are preparing to create the ley line keys that Klaes spoke of. Such keys, should they work, will enable us to not only empower our own mages with greater arcane energies but also sap that of the Alliance mages. It is simply a matter of bending the energies through the lines.

There is however, a small problem, Klaes kidnapped one of my people. I made a serious error in neglecting the possibility that his treacherous nature would show itself more clearly once we had completed his transformation by fire. When he leapt to his death in the magma of Blackrock Mountain, he was still the haunted shell of an elf we had left at the Obelisk of Stars. When he returned from the molten depths he was something else entirely. A new species of creature as yet unstudied. Even did not realize how much he had changed. His kidnapping of Maycie was a problem I had not anticipated and I am certain he blames all on the Lak’gora when he speaks to the rest of the Dragonmaw Vanguard. It was only by brute force we were able to force him to produce her to us. The presence of Slaenesh with him must now be noted. We can no longer trust the death knight either.

Now the only remaining question is what to do. Continue to string him along? He begged me to give Maycie back to him in order to appease the Dragonmaw but I will not give over one of my own to his ilk. The dolt could not even think of a logical excuse for her disappearance. I had to tell him to let the Dragonmaw know I had taken charge of her once again. The fool…I think the molten lava burned away the cognitive portion of his brain.

The only course now is patience. Wait for Klaes to construct the keys…and meet with the Dragonmaw to attempt to salvage some sort of peace with them.

Another bolt of eldritch lightning descended in a jagged arc across the deep violet sky. Blinking in response, Vhares tilted his head slowly towards the shattered ruins of Manaforge Ultris, chuckling to himself. Nearby, ethereals and corporeal agents of the Consortium continued their varied tasks, ensuring another profitable day at Stormspire. Stretching languidly in his lounge chair, Vhares attempted to pour himself a drink from a faintly glowing decanter, growling quietly as one meager drop of luminescent liquid dripped into his glass.

"More felwine, sir?" asked the now-nearby ethereal, seeming to appear beside the elf's chair before he could set down, or perhaps hurl, the empty bottle. The ethereal placed a fresh bottle upon the short table within Vhares' reach as he spoke, making the question more than slightly rhetorical.

"You read my mind.." the elf murmured around a smirk, nodding while he uncorked the bottle, his eyes drifting closed as he inhaled the greenish vapors that wafted from the opened vessel.

"Will we be needing to procure another crate?" wondered the spectral waiter, a tinge of nervousness in his usual suave tone. "Sincerest apologies for the question, but...we were not expecting you to grace our eco-dome for such a...wonderfully prolonged duration, you see, and our stock, meager as it is, was affected by-"

"I shall be returning to Azeroth soon enough, honored associate" sighed Vhares as he interrupted the ethereal, waving a dismissive hand at him before refilling his glass. "Soon enough, indeed..." he whispered, his eyes flashing a brighter shade of venomous green as he raised the glass to his lips.

Malifika wandered the streets of Dalaran scowling. It had been more than two weeks since she'd arrived this last time, and she was no closer to completing her tasks. "Curse these damned tight-lipped wizards," she thought. "They're good for nothing but gutting! Pathetically soft-bodied and spoiled," she snorted as a green-haired gnome toddled by.

She'd heard little from the Lak'gora since regular channels of communication had become too dangerous to trust, and she'd been unable to get her hands on a Kirin Tor familiar for more immediate and secure communication. The last thing she'd seen of the Lak'gora before departing for Northrend was that addle-brained twit, Klaes, jumping into a lava pit. "Mages!" Malifika scoffed aloud as she climbed the stairs to the Violet Citadel where she would renew her attempts at gaining an audience with Rhonin, the head of the Kirin Tor and the one wizard with first-hand knowledge of the old god's power. There was a book here, too, that she was still hoping to get her hands on-- maybe today would prove more successful than her previous attempts. Malifika sighed with exasperation at the thought. She couldn't take much more of this sedentary research-- Bok'theg and his secretive quest be damned!

Shaddoth wandered aimlessly through Stonard. No one has talked to him since he has returned, and he has seen no hide nor tail of Bok'Theg.

Maycie has also been absent, and a lot of the grots seem more hopeless than usual.

=================================================

Dear Journal:

I have the worst feeling in my stomach. The clan is very quiet, and i haven't even heard from anyone since I got back from lordaeron.

I was filled in on the whole Klaes incident, and it troubled me...until I learned he died or something. As long as he's gone, it makes things easier..right?

And where in the hot flamed nothingness of the nether is everyone!? Everything is so..quiet....So sad.... like someone took the livelihood of every clansmen.

On another note, I completely forgot to make my way to Dalaran. Bok'Theg is going to have my behind for this, I just know it. I can feel him staring....Speaking of which, where in hell is he?

*The page ends in a stupidly ordered list of people Shaddoth has seen today with a frown on their face...it takes up the rest of the page.*

Bok’theg’s Journal
Entry: 23 May 2011

The chill in the air of the Borean Tundra was biting. I hate the cold. As the assembled members of our various clans congregated in the great hall of Warsong Hold. We awaited Klaes like the coming of a spoiled prince. Not only were the Dragonmaw Vanguard present with Slaenesh and Rain looking predictably dour, but a few members of the Thunderlord Clan were there as well. I had my suspicions about the intentions of the Thunderlords as I watched them laugh and joke amongst themselves. There was already an uneasy tension between my Lak’gora and the Dragonmaw since the previous incidents and I wondered what Klaes must have said to get these other members of the DreadHorde to show up to what was, at best, an unauthorized mission. The Dragonmaw Paladin, Rettribution was polite but he made his dislike of our mission and arcane magics plain to all assembled. Still, he went along with the plan, presumably because somewhere inside he knew it would benefit the clans. Finally, Klaes descended the stairs like royalty, clearly basking in the attention of his waiting co-conspirators. He announced we would fly to Coldarra and conduct the ritual there. There were no arguments as we silently mounted our drakes and flew off into the frigid Northrend skies.

Once we arrived in Coldarra, Klaes reveled in detailing his plan to construct the Ley Line keys. Keys that would not only allow us to travel along those lines to points within Azeroth but would presumably also empower our mages while weakening those of the Alliance. High above, on the summit of the Oculus, we prepared for the ritual which would power the keys and although I was hesitant to use the artifacts we so painstakingly gathered, I must admit now it was a worthwhile risk. Klaes’ ritual lived up to his boasting. Only the opening of Dark Portal eclipses the raw energies that I witnessed in flux today. The artifacts pulsed with a power I have not seen in years as the swirling energies filled the empty space surrounding us high atop the Oculus. The artifacts combined allowed us to access the arcane energies of the Ley Lines as we felt ourselves being pulled into the magical vortex only to reappear in the heart of Stormwind. Such a feat was even more impressive considering the size of the group and the fact that we weren’t using the normal methods of summoning.
As we entered the Keep it was clear Klaes was on a mission of his own. It wasn’t until we reached the Keep that we realized his true destination. The ferocity with which he assaulted the Silver Covenant mage Caledra was astonishing. The elf’s eyes grew wide with realization that an assassination party had suddenly and with warning been summoned into her midst. That we were came along the Ley Lines without her knowing can only have added to the High Elf’s fear and shock. As Klaes ignored the attacks of guards in order to kill Caledra, I realized it had been his plan all along. This new creature…this fel-mage appears to have been crazed by the rituals we forced upon him. A truly fascinating study.

Our savage attack rang alarm bells throughout the city as curious Alliance began to carefully arrive to see what the fuss was all about. Although Klaes at first attempted to extort the enchanted hilt from me in order to portal us out of the increasingly dangerous room, the demands of his own clansmen forced him to provide us a secure exit and once we had been safely deposited in Ogrimmar his leverage was lost. It was a simple thing to convince him that Maycie had deceived him once again.

The hilt…why would he want it so badly? It must be far more important than I at first realized. Now that he believes Maycie responsible for duping him as to its whereabouts it is imperative the item remain safely hidden until Nimithriel and I can make use of it. Its destiny is as yet unforeseen but I am certain it will lead us to the buried secret we seek to finally unlock.

<<CLOSED>>