World of Warcraft®

It began as whispers. Trembling words told to one another in the dark dwellings of Darkshire. Terrified residents told of a creeping malevolence slithering its way through the forest. People were scared to travel once night fell, unless in groups larger than three, and even then it was only for matters of the utmost importance. Whatever the evil was, it resided in the shadows. Denizens of Duskwood told how shadows seemed to take on an almost sentient quality, stretching farther than they naturally should, subtly curling around the limbs of those who might linger too long in their gaze...

"They say if you stand in the darkness too long past dusk it starts to... pull on you. Like something in your mind is tugging you further into the night." A rough and fearful voice from the back of the Darkshire tavern called.

"Aye, and they say the wolves howl an unnatural song to the moon." A plain farmer's wife added.

"And there are reports of restless undead wandering the forest in packs." Another terrified citizen said.

"Come now, the best thing we can do is stay indoors and wait it out. It can't be nothing too important." Suggested a farmer.

Immediately there was an uproar, the entire crowded pub rippling with calls to defend land, home, family.

"What can we do?" Cried one.

"Well we can't do nothing!" Yelled another.

The ruckus lasted late into the night. By the time anyone realized what time it was, it was far to dark for anyone to venture out to their homes, unless they were within sight of their front door. Needless to say, the inn had full rooms and lots of coin for the evening.

Come two weeks later, circumstances had only worsened. A debilitating paranoia gripped the town, even the Night Watch, to the point that torches were set up to erase any trace of any lingering shadow, no matter the time of day. Citizens carried torches with them wherever they went, and no one left their homes past six in the evening. Life had ground to a standstill, Darkshire was silent. And then that silence was shattered with a single, blood curdling scream.

It took several hours for the villagers to discover what had happened. But finally, after a headcount, they found that one of them had gone missing. His name was Jebbidiah, an older farmer that owned a plot of land on the outskirts of down. They found his home in disarray, claw marks marring the door frame and the floor, belongings strewn across his dwelling.

Several nights of sheer terror passed, with some even saying they could hear old Jeb's shrieks pierce the night, and then one evening, Jebbidiah returned...

"Did you hear about old Jeb?"

"Yeah, wasn't he the fella that disappeared a few nights ago?"

"No no, did you hear they found him... rather, he found us?"

"Nay, do tell?"

By now the conversation had sunk into hushed, frightened whispers.

"They say he came into the town square, dripping blood and babbling incoherently. They say he then collapsed right in front of the Town Hall, dead as a door nail, and when the Night Watch followed the trail of his blood it stopped right at the edge of the square, as if he had just shown up there instead of walking from whatever light forsaken place he was..."

The man telling the story gulped, trembling.

"And they say there was something carved deep into his chest... that's where all the blood came from..."

Indeed there was something cut with a wicked instrument into the poor man's chest while he was still breathing. It was an omen of misfortune, of things to come, of chaos to occur and a threat to all of Azeroth. And it read:

THE END IS NIGH
LIKE AN ECHOING CRY
YOUR FEARS ARE ALIVE
AND YOUR DOOM ARRIVES

((And so begins my plans for an epic plot spanning a month or more. If I get the involvement I am hoping for, I am hoping to make it server wide.

This event is going to be pretty open ended, with many routes to the same ending. Imagine a spider web of plot. That's why I encourage everyone to approach in their own way, with their own RP. Who knows, you might just get a letter from a mysterious individual asking for your help, or a hint sending you on an epic quest into a dungeon.

As such, this is going to require some forum posts to get it kicked off, so I may read your work and weave it into the plot. But please, if you have questions or simply wanna hop in, don't hesitate to post!))

Passing through Goldshire as the raven haired gnome returned from her recent excursion into Westfall Lilith overheard a dark rumor. It caught her ear and peak her interest, but she was in no condition to make detours. She would have to wait.
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Some time later, long after her return to Stormwind, those very rumors caught up with her.

Sitting the commons of the local Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences, Lilith flipped open her most recent copy of the local newspaper with a flourished pop. "Psh," she scoffed, turning the pages of the paper. "Page five. A man dies having a sinister message carved into his chest and the story gets buried on page five." She shook her head as she turned to page five.

"What is this world coming too?"

Remembering medications, Lilith paused only to swallow a few refined pills and chase them with a specially brewed tonic. Thanks to the blessing received upon her return to the city by a skilled priest her bleeding nose had ceased. Yesterday her random but light fits of coughing had subsided due in large part to the different remedies she had been taking, prescribed by a trustworthy alchemist. She would live.

The gnome turned back to her reading, carefully scanning the column for details. Fascinating, visceral, gorey details. As they say, within them hides the devil... or something of that nature. This particular devil interested her.

She mused for a moment that this might be the same responsible for the catastrophe that recently befell Westfall, but she quickly balked at the idea. No, the two incidents were completely unrelated. She was certain. Still, she wondered. What sort of darkness could be behind such a deed? For what purpose? Why that man? What does that message mean, the end is nigh? Sounds like the ravings of a lunatic. A lunatic she would very much like to meet. Preferably not as a victim, but rather as a colleague.

A colleague? She laughed at herself. Really now Lilith. Plotting to consort with lunatics now? Rediculous. He'd be just as likely to victimize me as he would offer any enlightenment. No. It was decided. Lilith tossed the folded paper onto a nearby table and sighed. Best to just let this one go. She had far too much on her plate as it was. Research of her Academy assignments to conduct and papers to write. A backlog of work to sort out on her part-time evening hours at Cordell's Enchanting. Social appearances to make. And on top of it all she needed to keep her Master happy with her dark progression. She couldn't possibly find the time for this matter.

She giggled. Dark Progression. Sounded like the bad tagline to a serial novel. The raven haired gnome eyed the paper. But still. What is his agenda?

An imp. A wild imp.

Sprinting through the darkened woods alone and terrified, a heavy leather envelope bound with a chain attached to its neck. Searching for somewhere to hide, the green flames of its feet shining brightly in the contrasting midnight dark.

A messenger to the darkness it seemed. A promise of aid written and bound to a living sacrifice, on the condition that the works continue, and anonymity and deception continued.

The terrified imp kept sprinting. Unaware that you cannot outrun the night.

While all this occurs, other strange happenings begin to occur throughout Duskwood. Regions of the wood that have reported progress in reducing the local feral Worgen populations begin to report increased sightings of shadowed figures stalking the woods, and the local spider populations begin to surge...

Are these events connected, or coincidence? For now, none can say.

It had been some time since the murder of old Jebbidiah, and seemingly the gaze of the shadowy evil had turned elsewhere. No further deaths were reported, and it was guess that whatever the presence was had retreated back into the darkness from whence it came.

That fact didn't prevent the paranoia of the villagers, and the hysteria continued for quite some time as panicked individuals barricaded their doors in a effort to repel the same creature that had killed old Jeb.

Neither did it prevent the capturing of a single imp. While the presence had waned, it still inhabited the dark recess of Duskwood. As such, that poor little was quickly and easily dragged into the darkness, kicking and screaming in terror. Surprisingly, though, the poor creature was allowed to return to it's master a babbling, insane mess of a demon.

Lashed about it's neck was a leather pouch, dripping blood, and containing the imps own lidless eye and a single note written in blood that simply read:

"BRING ME THE ESSENCE OF DEATH"

The smothering silence among the woods was broken by the relatively soft steps of a large, dark-furred beast. Turrick bared his teeth in annoyance as he reduced the weight to his left foreleg; the years with his organization had left him soft, he decided, and the burning of the envenomed bite to his foreleg acted as a painful reminder to pay more attention.

Hmph. See if he tries to stalk his way into a nest of venom web spiders ever again. Still, there was definitely something off; he saw nothing natural to explain the sudden flourishing of spiders, nor anything to cause the agitation of his feral brothers, though he supposed rabies might well be spreading through them again.

He grunted, and continued to track through the woods, shaking his scarred head to ease some of the pain caused by a stray nip when passing through. Well, he certainly hoped it wasn't rabies.

(blah, hope this fits in)

The wagon pulled to a stop.

"This is as far as I go little missy." The gruff wagon driver grumbled. "Are you sure you want to go in there?"

Specialist Rachael Read descended from the wagon. She stood a short while gazing past the treeline and into the darkness of Duskwood. It was a clear afternoon in Elwynn beyond the river making their ride from Eastvale a delight. Here even the light from the sun seemed to be swallowed by whatever darkness lurked within.

Rachael lifted her hand flat, shielding her eyes from the sun. "As I see it mister," She glanced up at the driver. "I don't have much of a choice."

The man balked. "Of course you do. Get back up here. Sit with me. We'll all go back to Eastvale together." Rachael glanced at the man, noting the earnest in his eyes. Regardless she moved to the rear and pulled on her thick woolen vest.

She lifted a weighty shirt of chainmail bound to a custom tailored leather coat and slipped her arms through each sleeve. She drew on a pair of leather pants similarly clad with studded chainmail, slipping her feet into similarly armored boots, fastening on a drape of mail lined leather spaulders, placed the armored helmet on her head, and drew on a pair of armored gauntlets. The fingers of which were cut short allowing for finer manipulation of her weapon of choice. Over it all she slung a lightly packed duffle bag onto her back and hefted up from the wagon bed her long bore custom modified rifle, resting it over a shoulder. She walked to the head of the horses and paused.

"You look like you think you know what you're getting into. Lets hope that's the case." The gruff driver grumbled. Rachael gave the man a nod. "Lets hope." She let out a loud whistle that startled the horses and proceeded on foot toward the dark forest's edge. From the wagon bed a large wolf's head peeked up, ears at attention. The wagon rocked a little as the animal lifted its frame up and over the ledge and with an energetic grunt it bounded to Rachael's side, also startling the horses as it past.

The driver turned the wagon around and slowly trotted off into the distance. Rachael paused at the dark treeline. The wolf stopped next to her, standing just under hip height at the shoulder, and panted. She lifted her arm to scratch behind an ear. The beast squinted and moaned with appreciation then bumped its shoulder into her to return the affection.

"What do you say Reily?" She glanced around the dark forest ahead. "Wana go find what's been causing all the fuss?" The beast perked its ear high and took a statue's posture glaring into the darkness ahead. Its thick ash fur coat looked almost white in the remnants of the afternoon's sunlight. The extra thick mane around the large wolf's powerful neck gave the animal a rather fearsome appearance, as well as a natural type of armor. Peering into the darkness it released a low menacing growl.

Rachael patted the beast hard on the side. "Yea. Me too." She grinned, shouldering her rifle. The pair confidently made their way further down the road toward the hamlet of Darkshire. The darkness swallowing them whole.

Treading through the darkness, the shadows were as prevalent as they always were. The darkness of the shadowed forest did little to match the similarly garbed man who strode through the trees without so much as a whit of hesitation. Fel green flames licked at his fingers, and behind him trailed a strange retinue of Demons, each carrying or dragging sacks, jars, and magical artifacts.

As the man walked, his hood gazed back and forth, a mental puzzle going on in his head. The 'essence' of death this claims to desire. A truly strange request, as there is no deathly essence outside of the dead itself. The gap, or void left by death.

The man stopped at a particularly dark grove in the forest, his hood peering around. Without warning, from the boughs of a tree that towered above him, an insanely large spider descended on a silken cord, legs scuttling to move quickly. As it silently neared the man from above, the venom drenched pincers of its maw clicking in anticipation, it didn't slow as the man's hand raised in the air.

"Burn."

With a brilliantly blinding flash of green, the Felgreen flames engulfed the arachnid, coating its entirety. The flames crackled chaotically, and a sickening scent filled the air as the spider landed with a crunch next to the man, the shrieking death cries echoing around the grove before nothing but a pile of ash remained.

"Leave them here."

As the command was said, each demon set down their cargo. The Voidlord carried a jar, inside dark swirls of void magic, taken from its very being. The imp carried it's deceased brethren, the messenger to this darkness, now a sacrifice. The Observer's tentacles uncoiled around several midnight black orbs, that even in the dim light of the forest, seemed dimmer. The pure essence of shadowmagics, made manifest. The Wrathguard grunted as it set down two human carcasses, each dripping blood from the large cavities in their torso. Failed students, with bodies and lifeblood intact. The Doomguard carefully placed the wooden box of soul filled gems next to the bodies. Souls taken from sentient beings and animals alike. Much to the ire of the Druidic guardians of that forest. Finally the Shivarra spat in disgust as it let the rope go on the crate it dragged. A crate filled with vials of the Scourge's deathly essences used for re-animation.

A truly wicked collection, each item dangerous in its own right. Together, in the wrong hands, catastrophic. The man dismissed his demonic followers, and his black hood and bone mask peered around at the shadows. Hopefully this will appease my conveniently timed distraction, he pondered.

With a flash of green, the man vanished. Leaving only a ring of burnt grass, and ashes.

While other, larger events progress in Darkshire, the woods continue to grow ever more hostile. The still-inflating spider populations are beginning to blanket entire sections of the wood in thick webs, while the local undead are being riled. In some areas, they show unusual aggression as they move further from their usual sites of congregation, while explorers in other areas have shown someone has been assaulting them as well; large groups of them have also been hacked apart... apparently by a very large blade.

Meanwhile, the unidentified shadowy figures continue to move, as sightings continue.

The raven haired gnome packed the last item into her small back pack.

She stepped away from her bed and ran through her mind all the things she would need. A basic change of clothing. A few rudimentary supplies and sundry items. A small purse of coin with enough for her needs. Word had been given to her professors and to her part-time job at Cordell's Enchanting explaining the need for her short absense. She lied, citing family business. Well, it was about family... of sorts. A small set of knives she began collecting rounded out the supplies in her pack.

Not the sort of knives for combat, but for cutting and carving flesh. Not as refined as say those of a butchery, but they would serve for her purposes for now.

Next to her pack sat her open book satchel. Her typical school books were left behind, she took only her journal, an enchanted ink quill with a cap, and her most special tome. The thick black grimoire. She placed a few linen bandages, her coin purse and a dagger on top. The very dagger she obtained from the worgen slaver she had the pleasure of meeting near westfall, back before the sickness took hold.

For an added measure she also carried on the back of her belt a few small pouches, large enough to hold a few finer reagents used for her spell crafts and summoning rituals. Minor curses were all she had. For the moment at least. She felt confident enough to use them but only as a defense should the need arise. Were she ever pushed into a corner where her life depended on it, she could swiftly draw up a summoning circle sufficiently accurate enough to call upon an imp. A dangerous wild imp completely out of her control, but perhaps it would be enough.

She quietly hoped that it would never come to that. She had no idea what a single wild imp could do if left to its own devices. Part of her wanted to find out, but only after she could confidently dominate them at will and not before. Learning this would take some time.

She closed her bags, latching them tight. She donned her purple work vest with the gold filigree and finer wear complete with a long cape and her gray hat. Not too fine, but just enough to pass as a simple traveling merchant. She even packed a few simple enchanting supplies to complete her ruse. Perhaps, she thought, those that might do her ill would be more likely to give her leave if she looked mildly important. Then again, it just might make her the much bigger a target.

She sighed, mildly frustrated. This was all so new to her. She really didn't know what she was stepping into, traveling on foot to Darkshire. She really did have business there, discovering that a copy of a book on her list, a list given to her by an imp, had been preserved among other town hall records. She needed to get her hands on that book. Find out what possible secrets its pages might contain and copy them down into her own.

While she was there however, she would also sate her curiosity. She had been following events as they unrolled, as printed in the local papers, and they only served to deepen her interest in this darkness that befell the Duskwoods.

Slinging her pack over her shoulders and her book satchel across her chest, Lilith exited her student dwelling. Thus beginning her trek toward Darkshire. A shiver of both excitement and fear pulsed through her.

Now, to find a wagon or rider she could hitch a ride with....

((I haven't abandoned y'all, this week was just super busy. Expect great things soon!))

A small wagon of provisions and trade goods arrived in Darkshire. Lilith was fortunate enough to catch the man as he left Goldshire. A straight shot by way of the red mountain's tower near Lakeshire. Passage along the road through the Duskwoods was surprisingly uneventful, but largely due to the two horse team pulling the wagon and its driver. The raven haired gnome was certain that had she been alone the beady little eyes that watched her from the dark bushes would have tried to make a good meal of her.

She repaid the man for his kindness with a jar of strange dust, a common enough enchanting agent, then made herself at home in one of several vacant rooms upstairs in the Scarlet Raven Tavern. The place had been silent since the Cabal had left town. She wondered for a moment on where they might have gone.

She promptly entered the town hall and sought permission from Lord Ebonlocke, through the town historian Sirra Von'Indi, to have a look at their libraries. No small feat that. Being a stranger in a rather strange land, she decided to dedicate most of her time doing all she could to befriend both Von'Indi and Clerk Daltry as well as several other council members. Many were still wary of her sudden appearance and interest in their records, but she was slowly winning them over.

Three days later, she was no closer at finding even one of the several books on her list. She was, however, beginning to put the town clerk and historian at ease with her presence. She was even able to venture into the woods and follow a few Nightwatch on their patrol. Nothing too far from Darkshire, but enough to understand more about the mysterious darkness that was threatening the small town.

The first few nights passed well enough. Other than the occasional creeks and being a bit drafty, the Scarlet Raven was very homey. Then the nightmares started again...

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[Edit]
Follow the nightmare here: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11674227517#1

((Rhoest, if you're around at all and checking the forums, you've got a question waiting in the mail when you get a chance to take a look.

Thanks!))

A few nights had past since the nightmare. So much had happened in such a seemingly short time. Thinking back on it often boggled the raven-haired gnome's mind to the point of getting headaches.

Lilith closed the black grimoire of her Dark Master and rubbed her temples. She sighed heavily, glancing around her lonely room.

Where the devil? She asked herself, peering through her opened window.

She had sent the Imp out on a simple errand into the dark forest. Stories from the locals tell of spiders practically large enough for a gnome to ride. If that were true then they should be relatively easy to spot, or so she had thought.

Retrieve the fang of a Black Widow. That was all it need accomplish. She inquired of the imp, checking and then double checking to make certain it was up to the task. Chomat reassured her that the generous application of copious amounts of Fel Fire would solve just about any issue. Not its words exactly, but that was the idea. The last thing it said before leaving was that "Its a simple matter".

She was beginning to have her doubts.

She would have gone with but her attention to her studies have been diverted of late, and she really needed any time she could find to try and get caught up. Now that she had a handle on summoning and dominating her imp, she needed to start to master the basics of her spellcraft. Namely curse work. The fang from a large Black Widow spider would help her immensely.

Lilith snapped the black tome shut.

Chomat has been gone far too long and she needed that fang. She would have to venture into the woods herself and find the imp. She tossed her dark cloak around her shoulders and pulled on her gray hat. Lilith paused for a moment next to her book satchel and concentrated. She focused her mind on the link she shared with Chomat. Her ability to utilize this link to its fullest potential had yet to be realized, but she was gaining a handle on it.

She could pick up only vague senses. Judging by them she was confident it wasn't in any sort of danger. At least, not immediate danger. Her thoughts suddenly wandered and she wondered for a moment. If Chomat is killed, what would that mean for it? What would that mean for me? Would I have to go through choosing another Imp all over again? What if I choose poorly, and I can't dominate it?

Her chest filled with panic and her heart raced. She couldn't lose her imp. Not now. Especially not after all that she had gone through to get him here! Him. Her thoughts lingered. I've gotten attached. That's likely a bad sign. Warlocks probably aren't suppose to get attached to their demons. It's likely a bad idea.

She pushed everything in her head aside. None of it mattered right now. She had to find Chomat and discover what's been holding him... holding it up. And it had better be a good reason.

Book satchel on her shoulder and armed with a small assortment of dissection knives, the raven-haired gnome slammed the door to her room and bolted down the stairs. The annoyed scowl on her face masking the urgent worry growing in her breast.

In a small dark pocket of trees a dark furred wolf stalked. It had only just came across a small dark figure making its way cautiously through the darkened glen. The wolf followed its prey at a reasonable distance, ensuring that its cover were in tact. Confident that its curious prey was oblivious to its presence, the wolf advanced through the tall grass hugging low to the ground.

Nearing its prey the wolf could tell by the smell and the line it cut in the darkness that it wasn't human, yet it walked on two legs like one. It smelt familiar enough however that it wasn't going to change its mind. This would be his dinner tonight.

The small dark figure moved closer to the ruins of what was once a home, but not only a skeletal remnant. The grass was getting taller, thicker, in this section of the glen. A perfect chance to ambush. Its muscles clenched as it advanced ever closer. At the proper distance the wolf confidently unleashed its power and leapt at the small helpless creature.

The prey turned. Their eyes met. As the wolf flew through the air horrific visions tore through its mind. It flinched and fell short of its target, but that no longer mattered. Fear gripped it. The beast couldn't move. It dipped its head down, scratching at its ears whimpering. Where was it coming from?! What was it?!

There was something there. Something else. It was being hunted! IT was coming! RUN! Panic surged through the dark wolf. If it knew where it was running too then its limbs would have carried it there swiftly. Confusion flooded its mind, clouded its vision. It had to go, but go where?! Any where! But not THERE!
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The darkly cloaked gnome stood in the shadows, darkness growing around him, watching. The wolf that thought to make him its dinner was having a change of mind... of sorts. From beneath the darkened cowl tips of a long gray beard and mustache escaped. The mustache turned upwards as if in a grin amused by spectacle.
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The wolf spun in circles, crying, yelping, calling out, growling, sniping, attacking something that wasn't there and at the same time cowering from it. Froth poured from its mouth. Spinning in a tight circle it neared and tree and slammed hard against the trunk. Dazed, the animal could only lie on the cool earth as its mind slowly slipped away.
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The dark figure grunted and turned to make its way further into the darkness. "A feast for the spiders." He mumbled. His voice harsh and deep.

His own matter was progressing well enough. Soon he would have sufficient strength within the shadows for his needs, but there was no harm in encouraging the situation along. However, to do so he needed an ally. Someone keen in the workings of the shadow. Someone who could understand his situation. Someone who could offer the shove he needed to get the ball rolling faster in his favor. His dark intuition told him that just such a someone might be found here, within the ever growing darkness.

There would be perils, for certain. But he was not without his own particular skill set, and the potential reward was well worth the risks.

Ardevon sat atop the branch of one of Duskwood's many trees. From his position just beneath the canopy he could see some distance down the road, while keeping himself modestly shrouded in leaves. He sat rather lazily, suggesting that he had previously held a position of better concealment with his limbs kept close together. Though now he let one leg freely dangle off the branch as he chewed on a few tea leaves tucked in the back of his jaw.

He hated Duskwood. He hated the darkness, the mysteries, superstitions and such. Which seems rather odd for someone of his life choices. Afterall a land that aids in shrouding things would seem logically appealing to an SI:7 agent. Though Ardevon preferred other methods; using aliases and changing his appearance to hide in plain sight. However this was not an option in Duskwood since the population was so low; everyone knew almost everyone who lived here and the wandering adventurer was growing to be a tiresome alias.

He dismissed these thoughts when a small flicker of flame caught his eye. It was small, very small, and moving not down the road but across it. Ardevon peered at it carefully, the woods' shroud making it nearly impossible to identify it from this distance. He hopped down to another branch, having to steady himself as the branch almost snapped. As he made his way down further he was careful not to get caught on one of the many sharp, wooden appendages of the tree which was a difficult task as his brown leather tunic was covered in pockets and buckles.

As he hit the ground the figure was across the road and heading into the treeline, moving slowly but methodically. Ardevon could make-out no discernible features other than that it was even shorter than he estimated, smaller than a gnome, and that the flame centered around its feet.

A really, really, really small satyr? Baby Felsteed? No, probably an imp. But a wild Imp would be acting differently than this one who seems to be set to a task, but what? Nevertheless where there are bound imps there are Warlocks.

He ducked across the road and slid behind a tree, peering his face around the rough bark of the trunk to watch the figure go deeper into the woods; spider or worgen territory ahead no doubt.

This little guy is gonna' die in there.

He began climbing the tree he hid behind, seeing a path across the lower canopy of connected branches; his movement to the top impeded only once by an almost-mishap of a slip on a branch half-way up. Once at the top he moved towards the figure, now plainly seen as indeed an imp, staying as quiet as possible for a man skulking about tree branches.

The imp stopped in a clearing only several feet wide; more of small space between trees than a clearing, really. Nevertheless Ardevon took the chance to strike. A puff of black smoke shrouded the branch he was perched upon, smoke that vanished only seconds later to reappear behind the imp. He instantly grabbed the imp by the back of the neck and pinned it to the ground.

"Alright you little cretin if you even think about casting a spell or screaming I'll cut your throat. Now tell me who your master is!"

Chomat hopped merrily along the road.

The master said to keep out of sight. To be careful. Chomat was being careful! Who in their right mind would be traveling along the road this deep within the dusky woods with all of this crazy darkness and the strange killings and such? AN IMP! Who else but an imp? Chomat giggled to itself, humming a merry tune as he hopped along the stony path.

He had much to be merry about! Master had trusted it, giving it its first solo assignment. A simple task really. Burn a spider! Burn it until it is unalive and no longer moves. Then take its fangs back to master. But not just any spider will do. No-no. A Big Black Spider with the red on its butt. But it has to be a special one! So Chomat will look deep for a perfect spider for master.

The imp paused for a moment and peered into the forest. It nodded to itself and set its path off the road. Deeper into the darkness it hopped until it finally saw its prey. A Big Black Spider! Chomat stopped his hopping and bent lower at the waste. The imp needed to ready itself. It needed the element of surprise. Without it the imp knew it wouldn't stand much of a chance, but even so Chomat had its tricks. It was an imp after all.

The moment it began to call upon the green flames from beyond a puff of smoke from behind startled it. Before it could turn a large meaty hand grabbed its neck and thrust its face into the grass. Chomat cried out, but was muffled by the grass. As the imp squirmed helplessly, realization sank in. No! No! I have failed! Frantic squirms turned to heaving sobs.

"I am sorry Master!" The imp cried out face down in the grass and was muffled. The large meaty grip spoke but it didn't hear. All Chomat could hear was how much it had failed Master....

Ardevon turns the imp over to see it face to face, maintaining his grip on it.

"Shut!" he smacks the imp, "Up!"

"Tell me who master is before I feed you to the Worgen."

He looks around briefly to make-sure no one was watching.

Chomat on his back. Chomat sees the meaty mans face. Meaty man looks around briefly. My opening he gives.

Game change...

The little imp, once looking so weak and pathetic, dons the very mantle of Demon. In the instant the man looks away the imp spits gouts of sticky burning yellow flames up at the man's face. Its dark warm flesh ignites in the same yellow flames, sticky, burning, scorching the earth in a wide circle around its tiny form. Its flesh now feeling as if he were gripping hold of the burning head of a red hot poker.

Spindled arms and legs bared sharp talons which flailed at the meaty flesh of the mans arm and hand, clawing, digging, piercing and ripping flesh where it can. Sharp teeth try and bite into the flesh of the hand around its neck. Its frail looking frame turns hard with stiff sinewy muscle. The body twisting and curling, flipping and flailing, like that of a wild ferocious cat fighting for its life.

All in an attempt to be set free. Free of his meaty paws. Free to dance a fiery circle around him. Free to burn. Free to flee. To lure him deeper into the forests... but only if Chomat could get free.