The Descent

Clouds of steam filled Nimithriel's large bathroom, seeping through the cracks of the door. The blood elf stood closely against the large mirror, looking at the reflection that grinned back at her. She thought of Bok'theg's words about the artifacts and the whispers that disturbed her sleep. She knew those artifacts were mere fragments to an ancient item - a key, the one that could open the mysterious Puzzle Box. The box had told her many secrets, but the key fragments had been lost in time, some destroyed forever. With the help of the azure dragonflight, the Lak'gora could retrieve the lost pieces from a time when they still existed.
The priestess removed a strand of damp hair from her forehead and took a step back. She admired her nude body for a moment, the red color of the drying blood that covered her completely was giving off a strange irrdescence to her pale skin. The puzzle box wanted her to be strong for the days to come, for before her lay a task never attempted. It had shown her the locations of the fragments. It revealed to her a piece in the possession of Medivh, that had been destroyed at the time of his demise. The voices echoed through her mind, reaching an unbearable crescendo.
Nimithriel's gaze traced the bloody footsteps leading to the tightly shut bathroom door. A flashback reminded her of the frightened servant running for the door. No screams escaped the gnome's lips. The prying bitch! The blood elf had caught her going through her notes, probably trying to sell information to Hakumen and his Gol'kosh. The priestess would teach her an unforgettable lesson.
The Soul Flayer stood still for a moment trying to recall the events that took place in the bathroom. She had heard the damn gnome walk in the bathroom and was overtaken by an as yet, unfamiliar fury. Nimithriel's ferocity knew no limit at that point. The Qiraji sacrificial dagger had sliced the gnome's throat open without hesitation. The poor thing tried making it to the door in vain, only to have it shut in its face by an unnatural force. Nimithriel had stepped out of her bath and was slowly making her way towards the struggling gnome.
The priestess looked down on the floor before her where the body of her servant lay lifeless. It was arranged in a grotesque position, as if every bone in its body had been broken. The gnome's abdomen was cut open and the insides arranged in a circle around the corpse. The place on its throat that had first met Nimithriel's blade had been gnawed on and the lower jaw of the servant was missing. The Soul Flayer's face remained expressionless as she lifted a hand to her own face and felt the small mandible against her chin.
The blood elf's mind shifted to the arrangements she made to travel to the Caverns of Time. Her reputation with the Bronze dragonflight would grant her access to the Black Morass at the time when Medivh was opening the Dark Portal. She knew she could gain his trust and steal the fragment while he was too busy to notice.
A throbbing pain in her palm and the familiar warmth of dripping blood returned the priestess' attention to the present. She lifted her hand to inspect it. There, clutched tightly between her fingers was her most precious possession - the obsidian puzzle box.

“You have committed treason…”

The accusation was left to hang in the air like an ominous storm cloud on the horizon. The last rays of sunlight filtering in the window seemed to spotlight the trembling, hooded figure in the otherwise gloomy chambers as his raspy voice broke and stammered out an excuse.

“..but the Soul Flayer is none the wiser and besides, … the gnome is dead.”

The fear in the eyes of the accused was evident and the color drained slowly from his face as he awaited the sentencing that he knew must soon be forthcoming. The accuser said nothing but simply stared at the fearful creature. The narrowed slits of ember eyes seemed to burn a hole through the trembling figure and grasp his soul in a fiery grip.

The silence was deafening. He could hear his own heart pounding like kodo drums. The grains of sand that fell in the hourglass on the nearby table seemed to mock him with each fall, as if to say ‘You fool! You ignorant whelp! You deserve what’s coming to you!’

“M-m-master….” He stuttered “She will never find out that…”

His explanation was cut short by a raised hand that meant there was no more point in pleading. A decision had been made.

“This is too delicate a matter for you to have any further participation.”

The hand dropped as if sentencing the pitiful figure to death. Long shadows fell across the stonewalls which now seemed to close in on him like a coffin. His eyes grew wide as two of the shadows detached themselves from either side and materialized to grip his arms. Vainly he whimpered for forgiveness but saw no mercy reflected in the eyes that stared back at him.

“Take him away.” The voice said with authority. “…and send me the goblin when you’ve finished. I need someone to clean up this mess.”

The shadows grinned, mouths showing rows of razored fangs dripping with ooze, blood and bits of flesh. The poor underling hadn’t even the strength to scream as he was dragged out of the small chambers and down the stairs to face his fate.

Delivered via a trusted messenger, bearing the seal of Nimithriel.

Bok’theg folded the letter back neatly and laid it carefully on the desk. He stared at the folded parchment as if willing it to speak to him, but of course it said nothing. The information it contained was certainly intriguing and it had confirmed his expectations; the Lak’gora was close to discovering the secret they had been seeking. Despite the Dragonmaw’s reticence and Gol’kosh’s interference, the veil was begin to lift and soon the Lak’gora’s eyes would be opened to a world of knowledge and power heretofore unforeseen.

…and yet, something niggled at the back of his brain. The Soul Flayer’s recent changes were worrisome. Her odd behavior coincided with her discovery of the Puzzle Box but until recently it had not been an issue. Now however, there was cause for concern. Nimithriel would often drift off in the middle of a conversation and then speak gibberish. Upon their arrival at the gates of the Old Kingdom she had quite obviously gone into some sort of trance. The gruesome murder of her servant was only the most recent indicator that there was a problem.

Now the warlock faced a dilemma. Picking up the folded note he tapped it on the desk as his mind raced. Should he confine her and seize the puzzle box? It was probably the safest course of action but it could push her even further to insanity…and thus far, apart from the killing of one gnome who wouldn’t be missed by anyone, what had she really done? She had caused no harm to the Lak’gora or any Grin. In fact, she had advanced the cause tenfold. No, he would wait. He would speak to her about the possibilities and about his concerns and then he would make his final judgment.

Nimithriel smiled contently. The conversation with the Gar'mak had gone better than anticipated. He was a wise orc and she knew he'd understand the importance of the gift bestowed upon them. The whispers had been growing louder and the priestess was almost certain that Bok'theg would hear their call soon enough. The box now lay hidden from all eyes, as Nimithriel knew Hakumen would soon discover its existence. She knew he had a spy among the Lak'gora. A traitor. She would make sure their head greeted the Gol'kosh on their next visit to Karazhan.
On her desk lay a list of her most trusted Lak'gora, the ones she deemed worthy of traveling through time and retrieving the key fragments. A letter had been sent to the Guardians of Time, for they owed her a favor. Provisions had been neatly packed and the tower servants were getting the mounts ready for the long trip to Tanaris. The Gar'mak had been most generous, and Nimithriel knew the Ancient Ones would reward his generosity. The Box had told her so..

The last rays of light crept into the chamber and illuminated the tiny figure that knelt before his Master.

“It’s done Lord.”

The voice was perfunctory yet professional. The orc listening, nodded in simple acknowledgement.

“..and was there any evidence to lead back to us, among the gnome’s personal items?”

The goblin nodded and kept his eyes lowered.

“Yes Lord. There was a scrap of a letter that hadn’t been burned. It had the idiot’s name on it. I took the liberty of destroying it as soon as I left the residence.”

The orc breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It had been a long week since he had learned of the initial failure. Now that the problem had been resolved he could rest easier.

“That will be all.” He waved a hand at the goblin who bowed and turned quickly to leave the chamber.

The door closed with a satisfying thud as Bok’theg stared out the window at the sun dropping behind the mountains. It was unfortunate he hadn’t received the Soul Flayer’s letter before he had the gnome turned. It would have saved him the trouble of investigating and having almost been discovered inadvertently in the process. But Nimithriel’s mental state was too important to ignore. With the Felblade still harboring a Soul Prism, he simply could not afford to have his most trusted advisor corrupted by outside parties. Had the goblin not been so efficient, things could have become quite embarrassing rather quickly. He allowed himself a smile as he thought of the crisis narrowly averted. His conversation with the Soul Flayer had given him some solace. Although she did not seem aware of her odd behavior, at least now she knew he was aware of it. With the problem in the open, it would be easier to spot and resolve should the situation degenerate.

Now he could turn his attention to other things. The Puzzle Box she held was obviously far more important than either of them had initially realized. That meant it had to take priority over their other efforts. The Lak’gora would be forced to mobilize rather quickly. He turned to the opposite wall where the map of the Eastern Kingdoms hung and his eyes fixed upon Stormwind. The Chieftain’s war plodded on but still had come no closer to reaching the city’s stone walls. If the situation demanded it, the Gar’mak might have to make a very important…and potentially costly…decision.

He was so close….he could feel it. As his eyes stared at the artifact before him, he thought of the Lak’gora and the message he had passed to Nimithriel and Thuugom, his two most trusted followers. He knew they were involved in their own planning and the rest of the Lak’gora were rudderless. Maycie’s betrayal and defection to the Dragonmaw had shocked them but not surprised the old warlock. He had forseen this and he viewed it as a necessary consequence of his war. She had served her purpose, as had Klaes…and where he was going, they could not follow. Nimithriel was still coherent but he knew her sanity was slowly slipping away from her. And Thuugom still held the Soul Prism deep within his belly. Why had he not acted sooner to remove it? He certainly could have, but something had kept him from it all this time. What was it? It was as if something old and forgotten deep within his soul had told him not to. As if it still had a part to play within this cycle. As his thoughts flowed around the artifact it seemed to hum. He closed his eyes and his mind filled with ancient images, foreign rituals and the all too familiar taste of souls torn from their bodies. Real or imagined? He opened his eyes to find the artifact still sitting on the table starting mutely back at him as the gem hanging around his neck pulsed faintly.

He held the broken piece of the hilt and it brought the feelings from his nightmare rushing back. He had only been back from Ulduar one day and the nightmares had begun. The feeling of death and the sickening sensation of failure followed him even as he woke and throughout the day. His Lak’gora were gone…scattered, lost, crazed and alone. He and Nimithriel had led the Grin to the prison of Yogg-Saron and witnessed true horror. Even the little Lak’gora deserter Razjah could not resist the temptation to attend. Bok’theg could still feel the taste of the mage’s soul as he trekked along with them through the icy caverns that led to the prison where the horrid deformed head of the Old God awaited them. Only Nimithriel seemed oblivious to what had occurred there. Even the usually calm and collected Vhares was disturbed by what he saw but Nimithriel…she was driven.
The broken piece of the hilt he had taken from Klaes glowed with strange power. He knew Maycie would attempt to retrieve it but it wasn’t the hilt he needed…only a bit of it’s magic. She hadn’t even noticed the piece of the hand guard that had been broken. Although he had randomly broken a piece of it, now as he turned it over in his hand he felt it was the final key to whatever it was Nimithriel needed to unlock the box. He wrapped it carefully in oilcloth and stowed it in his satchel as he walked to her quarters.

He felt the heavy shove at his back and he was falling. The sounds of his screams were muted by the rushing of air surrounding the tower of Karazhan. The dark ground rushed up to meet his face and he felt the instant shudder and a moment of blinding pain as the impact split open his skull. His wide eyes were frozen open and he watched as a ravenous dog approached slowly and began to pull at a tendril of brain matter that lay exposed. More pain. Why was he still alive? The fall should have killed him. Far above the sound of faint laughter carried down on the breeze to his bloody ears. The voice was familiarly haunting and it scratched at the edge of his soul like a blade across a tabletop. He saw other eyes in the darkness now. More dogs. They were sniffing and creeping closer to attempt to pull at his dying body. He wanted to scream, thrash, weep…anything. But he could do nothing but mutely watch as the dogs trotted towards him and began to gnaw at the gruesome mass protruding from his skull that was once his mind. Then the flapping of wings as a drake touched lightly down next to him. The dogs growled defensively trying to protect their food but a raging scream sent them scattering away in terror. The cloth boots slowly approached his prone form and the form bent down to look into his still staring eyes. The blood elf was beautifully familiar but when she spoke her voice was joined by another, older, more terrifying voice. It was a voice his soul knew but had long since forgotten. A voice he had longed to hear yet denied.

“Do you see now? It is not for the living. The skull of one like you has tasted what I offer. There is another who holds within him the key to unlocking my power. It is but for you to grasp it, you poor foolish imp.

The hollow laugh filled him with sorrow and self-loathing and the feelings only seemed to fuel the laughter.

“Do you wish to die here in the mud? I may leave you then. If not, do what must be done. You know what that is.”

He couldn’t answer….he couldn’t move. His mind wanted to cry out for the form to take him away. To raise him up from the dirt of the forgotten but there was no sound. The blood elf rose and began to walk away. From somewhere within the pit of his being a strength emerged and he screamed with rage to the dark skies above him. The only sound that emerged from his body was a faint puff of air escaping his collapsed lungs, but it was enough for the blood elf to stop in her tracks and turn.

“So…you have faith and strength after all, do you? Well then…perhaps you deserve a chance.”

He could only watch as the elf raised a heavy maul and with a crazed smile she brought the head of the weapon down upon his skull.

Bok’theg’s eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright in his bed in Rockard. His sheets were damp with sweat and his breath flew rapidly. As he began to become conscious of his surroundings he attempted to get his breathing under control. It was the fourth night in a row the dream had come to him but this was the first time he had been able to get the blood elf to turn back to him. He wiped sweat from his head as he pondered its meaning. Why was Nimithriel guiding him in this nightmare? He knew there was a path in front of him and strangely, he felt he was finally ready to begin.

The orc felt old. His face belied his actual age. The fel-magic he practiced granted him unnaturally long life but he could feel the toll it took on his body. He scanned the now barren room in Rockard, ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything or left any clues that could be followed by an inquisitive Grunt or vengeful Gol’kosh. As he did so his mind went over the events of the evening. Finding Thuugom’s catatonic body in the Ebon Hold had not surprised him although the rest of the Grin seemed horrified. The transfer of a soul was the final key to unlocking the artifacts in his possession and at that moment, Bok’theg understood why he had left the Soul Prism within the Felblade’s body. It was the last door before the Puzzle Box could be unlocked. But of course, the rest of the Grin knew nothing of this. They milled about, crying and wailing and gnashing their teeth as Alliance forces surrounded them below. Bok’theg ordered Thuugom’s body removed as soon as possible but it mattered little and was really done only for show. His personal effects had already been removed and his servants now awaited him, deep in the mountains of Kalimdor. His task was complete. The Grin had served their purpose.

He smiled to himself as thought of those who had made it possible. Ashenrock, the old tired druid who yearned for a peace that would never come. Yagyu, the dead warrior and once Chieftain who had allowed him to join the Grin as a mercenary so many years ago. He had served his purpose and Bok’theg’s only regret was that he could not raise the orc’s dead spirit and punish him with undeath. Even Gorfrunch, whose blinding focus on his war with Stormwind had allowed the warlock to accumulate the power and influence he needed had unwittingly contributed to the warlock’s success. Bok’theg smiled to himself as he licked his full set of teeth. How amusing, he thought to himself…the only Grin member never to give a tooth and yet become an officer in the clan. His position solidified during the tumultuous time of the Smashblade’s re-emergence following Yagyu’s fall at Menethil and the warlock had been allowed to simply slip through the cracks. Biding his time silently had been the smart play and now as he stood in the empty room, with the ancient artifacts safely in his pack, he knew he had made the right decisions. When he next met with Nimithriel, all their questions would have answers.

Very soon, all that he had worked for…all that he had sought after would be within his grasp. He pushed away and thoughts of remorse for the Felblade, the Soulflayer or his other Lak’gora from his mind. If he wanted the taste of true power, he had to take it for himself. Only then would he be worthy.

He looked down at the faded and stained black tabard in his hands. The grinning teeth stared silently back at him. Without another thought he dropped it to the floor and walked down the tower stairs and into the heat of the Blasted Lands.