The portal sprang open and Malosuerte tumbled out into the foyer of his tower. He quickly regained his footing and shoved past the servant who stepped forward to take his cloak. Blinked up the stairway and burst haphazardly into his rooms. His face a grimace of pain, the mage tore open his robes and scrabbled at his chest. With a sickening tearing sound he ripped the devices from his chest, a patch of skin coming with it, and flung it to the floor. Almost in slow motion the device glittered in the evenign sunlight filtering through his balcony door. Light shimmered off the gold filigry and single darkened jewel at it's center, before the force of the throw shattered it against the floor.
Malosuerte stood over the wreckage, catching his breath and blood flowed freely down his chest. The soul stripping spell the Lak'gora had cast was more powerful than he had anticipated. He would not make the mistake of underestimating them again. The mage finally settled on one of his divans and clapped. He accepted the pipe offered on a tray by one of the servents, while a female night elf attended his chest wound. The thudding in his ears finally subsiding, they were replaced again by the infernal whispers. He tried to push them away, but as his thoughts drifted back to the events of the day, they seemed to rush forth, assaulting his sanity as never before.
The night had only marginally been a success. He had been accepted into the ranks of the Lak'gora, and his place in the Blacktooth Grin was cemented. But it had been a close thing. First, that damnable Death Knight. Malosuerte had gathered as much information as he could about the shadowy group before their ritual, he had anticipated the sould stripping, but the blasted orc had attempted to skin him. He glanced to the shattered remains of the device on the floor, where the tatters of his own flesh were slowely shifting back to scales. While he had barely escaped the ordeal without arousing too much suspicion, it had at least been educational. He appeard to retain some symblance of his old self, but only when the flesh was harmed. Then, the soul stripping. While the device had preformed admirably, it had also partially melted. The pain was excruciating, and he was afraid the smoke and scent of burning flesh would give him away, but he had made it through.
The dressings on his chest complete, Malosuerte dismissed the servants and lit his pipe with a gesture. He walked out onto his balcony and stared out at the ocean. The events in the cave had been a complete dissapointment. He had come to believe that, while these creatures were beneath him, the Lak'gora might be something of kindred spirits. Unfortunately, the encounter with Klaes and the other members of the Dragonmaw only served to show that they had hardly any abilities of subterfuge whatsoever. Boktheg had seemed like such the promising individual, yet he made little attempt to disguise their prescence or motives, and when Malosuerte himself attempted to lay ease to the situation he was silenced like some child. Perhaps these dark magic users were not the instruments that he had originally believed them to be.
Malosuerte tunred to go back to his chambers, he was tired. Seemingly sensing his wearyness, the whispers flowed into his mind, tearing at the edges. You will have power, such as you have never known. Set aside these silly mortals, scrabbling in the dirt. Serve us, and the world will be crushed beneath your heel. Your father-
"NO!" the excalmation carried with it a massive arcane force, all the fixtures of the room whirled through the air, a brief and vicious torrent of energy flinging them about like scraps of paper. Malosuerte glared into the ether as everythign came crashign down. The voices were gone, and only the echoes of the throat tearing scream was left to comfort him, but they would return. "Never" he whispered, but even to his ear the proclomation sounded hollow and unsure.