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The dark little form, more demonic creature than gnome, knelt before the Grim Master. She seethed with anticipation at hearing his charge. His command.

All that she had fought for, all that she had suffered, it was all to arrive at this point. A pinnacle hard won in her dark evolution to be able to serve as an effective tool in her master's hands. Yet more than a mere tool. A fel wonder. A dark force of nature. The power was now there, she could feel it burning through her corrupted flesh. She need only loose it. Control it. Focus it. Somewhere within the darkness behind the blackened bone mask a twisted image of the weak innocent gnome she'd once been grinned gnarled teeth.

Her voice came as if from the darkness around her. Eager, full of ambition. "It will be done, as you command. The elf Moradinel, or the agent." She uttered with only a slight hesitation for emphasis.

"You will have both." The raspy voice suppressed a tortured little squeal of twisted glee at her bold declaration.

As much as she longed to bask in the eerie glow of his newly formed hallowed hall, she had work to be done. From among the runes, circles and lines already present within the cavern Raven pulled what power she needed. The green lines beneath her spread wide. Small voices, insane and angry, chattered from some far beyond demonic plane. Thick fel green flames ignited her robes, spewing forth to engulf the squat figure. Gnarled limbs of impish demons reached up, seized her in their claws and pulled her down to them. In a dramatic flash of violence the twisted gnome was gone.

Her raspy cackle drifted a moment, fading into the darkness at her passing.

As she tumbled through the chaotic abyss toward a hidden destination she strategized. It was beyond ambitious to boast capturing both her charges. Foolish even. The safer bet being to accept her master's original charge of "either-or".

When has our existence ever been safe. She mused. A twisted little gnome, gnarled and corrupted, appearing more impish, more demonic than gnome, tumbled through the chaotic hell of pain and torment.

She had a small army of demons at the ready. So many little eyes and ears, whips and chains, wicked horns and gaping maws, they would all be summoned. All would be bent and broken by her iron will and be made to serve her needs. All of these will go out and probe the darkness, the void, the nether, the legion of other demons in other realms. They will return with the information she required.

They will, or perish.

A childlike giggle grew louder, hungrier, more mad with power as she neared her destination. Poor fools. She thought, her mad cackles growing more insane. She almost felt a pinch of sympathy. Almost.

They knew not what was coming for them.

Trenetir paced his office. The new found alliance with Modas il Toralar was a careful one. Many saw it as simply a means to an end, but he saw it as something more: a chance for more, a chance to end things, a chance to gain things.

And what things interested the now dormant volcano? Why the usual things of course: money, power, and his ships. That is how he still saw them. His ships. Even though he had promised one to Yuuko should they be able to recover them.

His mind drifted to his once servant now partner Yuuko. He had not warned her of the arrangements before they were made. Nor had he warned her that he had sent the Banshee to find Grim. A wry grin found its way to his lips. Perhaps Banshee and Grim would both die in the attempt, leaving him with his Modasi allies, a Yuuko who is sated and his ships.

A man can hope.

He grinned to himself as he put quill to parchment, handling the last of the weeks orders. Business was good for the time being. War had its way of doing that, but there was always more. And he was a man who never seemed to have his fill.

Deep bellow Raven Hill within a darkened nook an eerie fel light flashed brightly. It faded slowly, lingering only a moment to cast the desecrated halls in an ill glow. Darkness reclaimed the long forgotten corner far below. A small creature draped in dark feathery robes crept from that darkness. From beneath the deep hood jutted a portion of a charred bone mask.

Through deathly silent halls and corridors the creature stalked, navigating the darkness with ease. Soft padding of feet accompanied the occasional faint -pok- of a bladed staff touching the forsaken stone slabs.

In her path a shadowy wraith coalesced. It moaned and growled. The dark visage of an unearthly being grew larger. It's arms opened wide, hands baring gnarled shadowy claws.

"The living are not welcome!"

The small creature raised a hand, flicking the wrist. "Be gone, wraith." The soft raspy voice commanded. Noxious fumes drifted from the creature, lingering along the path it took. A dim flicker of fel energy wafted into the air at the flick of the wrist. The shadowy entity howled and drew back, diminishing its form. It cowered along the stone wall as the creature passed. Other dark apparitions emerged from the darkness gathering along the walls to watch it pass. They hissed, moaned, and growled threats and insults.

"Fel creature."
"Hideous."
"Foul corruption."
"Unwelcome."
"Your kind must leave."
"Leave this place."

Reaching a large chamber where corpses shambled in their own mindless parade, the creature stood before a particular sarcophagi among the hundreds that comprised the catacomb walls. In the distance across the chamber a deep growl rumbled through the room. The creature turned slightly, its bone mask peering through the darkness. At the other end another form emerged from a pile of decay. Eyeless, it's maw opened wide bearing wicked teeth. Powerful limbs tipped with a single spike dug into the damp earth where floor slabs had been upturned. The demon leapt forward on all fours, the squat twisted beast charging the masked creature.

Drawing near the demonic beast dipped its head and slid to a hault. Though the two were nearly the same height, the beast gave a familiar and welcoming nudge with its muzzle as a hound might welcome home its master. The soft raspy voice chuckled wickedly.

"Kreefun, my favorite felhound guardian." A strangely tender hand stroked through the thick corded fur, ending with a stout pat on the side.

Returning to the wall the bone masked creature lifted its bladed staff giving a gesture. Green light shown from between the stones. The sarcophagus lid popped with a hiss of noxious fumes. From the other end a trio of imps held the slab firmly. Several more smaller imps scurried out to take the slab and move it aside. More smaller imps pulled free loose stones to widen the entrance they created. Each held their particular stone over head and grouped together forming a few steps which the creature took, climbing up into the green glowing entrance.

The felhound turned back to the darkness and barked twice before bounding up the steps and through the entrance. As the imps scurried to quickly replace the stonework behind them two more felhounds emerged from separate piles of decaying refuse. With the final stone in place the trio of imps replaced the heavy lid.

The green light faded. Darkness returned. The noxious fumes dissipated, mixing with those of the rot and decay that already existed. The felhounds returned to their piles to sit and wait as silent guardians, hidden among the dead.

The corpses shambled on, oblivious to all.

Seated within a small stone room that somehow existed between two realms, the dark twisted figure of a gnome sat. She now existed as something else completely. Not entirely demonic. Not exactly a gnome.

Her flesh appeared burnt, charred and twisted as one who had somehow survived a horrific inferno. One who was condemned to exist within that horrible moment. Hollow eyeless sockets stared into the flames of a hearth, the warmth of which she could no longer feel. Cute robust features burnt away or twisted by the fel flames that created her. Her brow sagged into a scowl. Her full pretty lips now dried and thin covered mouth of jagged teeth. Her cute gnomish nose now crooked and her large gnomish ears tapered to a point. In toll she appeared more impish than anything else. Her now twisted features alternated between scowls of hatred and physical pain.

The naked figure of Raven sat a relaxed posture in her arm chair. A small group of imps scurried around her. "Mistress!"
"News!"
"We have news!"

The soft raspy voice came now from the disfigured creature. A hint of pain in her tone as her cracked lips parted. "Speak."

"Trenetir!" Each imp alternated telling all they'd discovered. Occasionally they spoke over each other.
"Trenetir Moradinel!" | "He is an Elf."
"A bloody elf!" An imp smacked the other. "Fool, a BLOOD elf. Not bloody elf."
"He's a bloody elf!" Another howled and the rest cackled a laugh.
"Silvermoon." | "His business is there." | "Mercantile, me thinks."
"Trade!" | "Imports and Exports!"
"Estates without!" | "Outside the city, he has a mansion." | "Lonely elf."
"He spends his time there." | "When not in the city." | "The bloody city!" An imp smacks the other. A small scuffle ensues.

"Good." Raven breathed. "The void. What of him?"

A dark spot within the room drifted to her side. Inky tendrils of smoky darkness drifted to all sides, pushing a nearby table to the side. The imps quieted as a large dark mass took form. Two intricately designed metallic cuffs appeared, one around the wrists of two thick powerful arms. The scowling void creature turned its gaze on Raven.

"Mmmasterr." Its deep otherworldly voice rumbled through the stone room. "These immps sspeak truue. Mmmoradinel is alonne."

Raven's features twisted in thought. "No family. No friends. This elf simply exists? For what reason."

"Same as you." | "Same as mistress!" | "Same as you do." The imps exchanged glances, nodding between each other.

"Power." Raven thought aloud. "Power through riches." Her voice grew suddenly hoarse, tinged with a thread of pain.

The soft padding of hooves entered the room. A pair of breathy seductive succubae spoke. "As you say, mistress."
"The elf holds but one ambition." | "One ambition that we could find."
"Power through wealth." | "And control." One of the pair moaned as she slapped a coiled whip to her thigh.

"Nazlith. Eleraith. You two found nothing else?" Raven's voice cracked. Her tone raspy and hoarse with pain.

"Nothing else, my mistress."

"Juk'rath." Raven tilted her eyeless face toward the void walker. "Find the agent." The pair of succubae exchanged a worried glance as the group of imps jeered and cackled. The void groaned. "Yesss, my masster." In a swirl of darkness the void disappeared. Raven pressed herself up, standing from her comfortable armchair. The thin twisted form of the scarred gnome turned, rounded the seat and stalked toward the pair succubus twins.

The pair recoiled with worried grins. "There was an agent?" | "We found no agent."

"There is." Raven rasped. "An agent. Working to find my master."

"Gri-ach!" The succubus that spoke suddenly gripped her throat.
"Yes." Raven growled hoarsely. "But you are not worthy to utter his name in my presence."

"His name is sacred!" | "His name is hallowed." | "Stupid succubus."
"Succy-bye!" | "Succy bye-bye!" The imps howled with laughter, waving their little imp claws.

The succubus collapsed to her knees. Raven grasped hold of the demon's horn. A deafening wail filled the stone room. Green fel flames ignited the succubus, consuming her completely save for the whip, the pair of horns and hooves. Letting the horns clatter to the floor, Raven bent and took up the whip. Twisting it in her hands she turned to the other succubus.

"Failure in any measure will not be tolerated."

Raven tossed the whip to the imps. "Stash these with the other reagents." The team of imps scurried around the twisted gnome. The grabbed the pair of horns and hooves, and along with the whip they disappeared into an adjacent room.

The remaining succubus cowed in the corner looking very much like a wounded puppy.

Raven turned a sympathetic tone to her, answering the unspoken question scrawled across her features. Why? "Nazlith, your sister, will be missed. I summoned you both. We made a pact that bound you both. You were to be an effective team. Apparently neither of you took me seriously."

Eleraith glared at Raven and hissed. "We took you seriously! How can we not! You bound us here against our will..." Raven placed her hand upon the succubus' knee. A wave of pain beyond that which the demon had ever known made her rigid.

Raven's charred features twisted into a dangerous scowl. "Small. Twisted. Unknown as I may be. Never mistake me as weak, foolish, or insignificant." Her grip tightened. The succubus' knee crunched in the twisted gnome's grasp. "There is still hope for your sister. Fail me again, and there will be none for you."

Raven released her grip. The succubus gasped for air. "How..." She breathed. "We... had... a contract."

The gnome chuckled as she turned away, returning to her seat. "Who was it that drew up that contract? Me. We are not equals in this agreement. I am, and will remain, your master."

Softly she sat back into her seat and stared into the flaming hearth. Her will was iron. Far from absolute, but growing stronger as time wore on. Eventually ripples of her strength and fearsome nature would travel through the demon realms, attracting the more dependable and dangerous of their kind. Demon and Warlock alike. Some would come to serve her. Others would come to kill her. Worse yet there would be those looking to bend her to their own will, turning her into a minion and thus increasing their own power. In time her name would be know, but it did not frighten her. She looked forward to them.

"Go now. Find me that agent, without fail." She breathed. Her voice low, soft. Hoarse. "I have a pair of souls to capture."

Lounge night was always a chance to network, to see clients, to observe others and gather information. But what information had been gathered?The off-handed comment about his ships by Asimenios had not registered until days later.

Was he referring to his ship which had burned last year? Or the two which were currently stolen from him?

Subtle. Why was he being subtle? Spies, emissaries, ever since the loss of the Songstress, he realized that it was misstep after misstep, all of which were associated with him trying to be someone he was not.

No, there would be no more subtly, only war. He pulled out his hearthstone and spoke into it. "Banshee I hope you have good news you bag of bones."

While he awaited word from the Forsaken, he called for a servant to call the others, "There's work to be done, see that they are here this evening."

In the office of his textiles shop, Trenetir waited for his servants to return. they had been ineffective in his eyes and he could sit idly by no longer. Watching, was doing nothing. Watching was not returning his ships, his gold, his goods. No, watching was giving this Grim more time to plan, to plot, and to grow more secure in his holding of Trenetir's goods.

He was going through notes, obviously searching for something when the first of the recalled appeared, his servant turned partner Yuuko. He appeared rather upset. "Where is it?"

Yuuko spoke sounding a bit perturbed "What's the reason for calling me back?"

Trenetir looked back at her, his search abandoned, "What progress have you made?" he barked at her.

Yuuko stares at Trenetir "Probably more then you. I should ask you the same"

Trenetir did nothing to hide his sarcastic tone, "Then shower me with your knowledge on this Grim?"

Yuuko smirks "I need not tell you anything of him. You only need to look in the mirror. As for what I have found. His ships nor what I can find of his band of thugs don't find safe port on the eastern coast"

Trenetir laughed at her, "You have found nothing then. Why is that not surprising? I should have never let you be the one on that ship."

"My finding nothing on the eastern shores is something. No this Trenetir I search very hard. That means he can only be on the western."

"Had you not called me back I may have found his place of hiding by now."

"Or on Kalimdor, or Northrend, Or the shores of Pandaria, or for all we know he is now on Draenor!!? And you are assuming that he is staying with that ONE ship and not capable as you or I are of moving independantly of a ship. Come now Yuuko, surely you cannot be that naive?"

The Songstress would not be ready to sail by now. She could make a voyage such at that"

Trenetir Scoffed, "Yes, and ships are the only mode of transportation on Azeroth."

Their argument continued for some time. It was a familiar back and forth filled with "That is not why I got into this with you!?" and "The innocents will suffer for harboring him." In the end, It was Yuuko who would not agree with Trenetir's plan to harm innocents. The crazed look in his eyes did nothing to endear him to her.

Yuuko glared at Trenetir "I am taking the Forrest Fern. There is nothing you can do to stop me. I will find Grim on my own"

Trenetir laughed, "If you take my ship, it will be your casket."

She stormed out, offering her resignation, it was not the first time and he had a feeling it would not be the last. "Her weakness grows." He said as she departed the office. "A pity."

The coldness of Brill was always something that struck him as a comfort. It was like an old familiar ache from a bad wound. He exchanged pleasantries with Armaya, dark lady of the Modas

"That this affront has gone unanswered for this long chaffes me I have every intention of seeing that not only the offender Grim pays but that his life is made a living hell. I plan to begin executions tomorrow."

Her questions were many as the first situations with Grim occurred before their new found alliance, "Grim, is whom? Keep nothing from me. What are you planning on doing, exactly? Is Grim affiliated with any group?"

His gaze drifted to the large tree infront of them, its boughs long sinse barren, "To my knowledge he is working with a few select allies. I do not know if he holds any other affiliation.I plan on turning the Alliance against him. Give me Grim or an innocent dies each day that he is at large."

"So he is part of the Alliance? Any specific group? Pia, maybe?" Armaya questioned.

"No he is not one of the Presidium. He is a warlock after all."

"Ahh..... So any group? Or a lone warlock? Do the Alliance even care about him enough to give him up?"

"I doubt it but they care about the slaughter of innocents."

"And would these innocents be Alliance, I presume?"

"Yes of course, for as I can see they are the ones harboring him."

"And you would like the Modas to be in the spotlight for this attack? Is that why you are asking?"

Trenetir laughed, clutching the wound in his stomach, "Yes and no. I have every intent of doing the killing myself, slowly, painfully, publicly. But as our arrangement is... a new one it would seem that it is a matter of respect and import that you are aware of these things, and that they might spill over and involve the Modas."

Armaya gazes at the tree in front of them for a moment and nods. "It is approved. You may use the resources of the Modas; and I shall let all our members know. It is time for Modas to be spark back to life, and what better way then to start a fire to do it."

Trenetir grinned, "Wonderful, I will send the notices tomorrow morning if he is not delivered to me by noon the executions will begin."

Sitting in his office he smiled as he penned the letter that would appear all around the Alliance home cities throughout Azeroth, and Draenor (in Stormshield, a stone's throw from Ashran).

Alliance harborers of the one known as Grim,

The Warlock among you known as Grim is guilty of theft, destruction of property and murder. That he has gone unchecked and continues to walk freely in your midst will stand no longer.

Every day that Grim walks free an innocent member of the Alliance will be murdered.

You have until four bells today to turn him over to myself and the Modas il Toralar before the executions begin.

Worry not, I have more honor than the fugitive that you harbor and will have the decency to return your dead to you.

Ser Trenetir Moradinel

Armaya walked down the halls of the Modas. A blonde rogue, Lucillius, at her side. "Our numbers have grown. It is time. I only hope Syfka has done what I have asked. You know your role, only intercede if she tries to kill me. The woman is slightly insane." As if this explained everything. And maybe it did.

She reached the end of the hall and pressed her hand upon the brick, her words coming out in broken troll - but it would do. The wall flared purple, then black, before the bricks simply disappeared. Armaya and Lucillius, walked through, and the bricks once more appeared behind them; blocking the way.

They walked down a spiral set of stairs, flashes of light bouncing off the walls, and the familiar voice of a troll singing madly. Armaya nodded, and Lucillius disappeared into the shadow. Armaya reached the end of the stairs, and Syfka did not turn around from her table. "Da Dark Lady honors me wit her presence. But what does she wan'? Da shadow na sayin' she be comin' for a visit." The troll tsked, slamming a dagger onto the table. Armaya's voice bounced off the walls and she stepped towards the troll. "I came to see how you are fairing with the project I sent about for you?"

Syfka cackled, saying nothing; but suddenly three dark orbs flew towards Armaya; they did not touch her, but simply hovered around her; creating a circle. "Shadow magics, ya know dey always be hard ta tamper wit. Da light, howeva, be far more....arrogant." Syfka let the shadows drop from her. and instead called to the light's presence. She seemed to be concentrating hard on the shadow orbs who flickered and fell a few feet. "Ta channel both da light and da shadow, it is a hard ting to do mistress."

Armaya watched, vaguely amused; even pleased. Sweat started to appear on Syfka's forehead as she mumbled away in troll; her vision never leaving the orbs. Slowly; very slowly, the shadow orbs began to fade and pick up light. This happened gradually, and a few times it even looked as if Syfka would fail. But finally, three light orbs flew around Armaya. "Are ya sure, ya be wantin' dis, meh lady?" "Yes. Do it." It was a command, and thus, the orbs flew into the warlock, a rope of light appeared, connecting each orb together as they converged on Armaya like a cage of sorts. As soon as the light touched her skin, she winced in pain. Her command was harsh to Sykfa. "More power. You are stronger then this." Syfka cursed, walking towards Armaya and muttering in troll; light fleeing her body. The orbs around Armaya worked like a vacuum; sucking in the light that Syfka issued off herself, and grew slightly larger. It was only then Armaya started to feel the pain of the light, though she did not cry out - her station prevented that. "yes..." She muttered softly, and then Syfka was before her. Her legs gave underneath her, and only Syfka caught her fall - helping her onto her knees. "Da shadows be sayin' da Lady bowin' ta me now. An' ta take what I wan'." The lights never wavered now, it was as if Syfka had complete control. The light grew, and slowly Syfka stood back, lifting her hand up. The orbs flew up, taking Armaya with; until she hung there. Armaya now let out a scream, the light charring her skin, the pain was now far too much to bare - and it tired her. She called upon a shield, but it simply wavered the orbs, and disappeared.

"Da Dark lady be mine now. An' da blood god demands ya." Syfka cackled, and cackled more. Insanity began taking over. But then the elf was there; a dagger slammed into Syfka's shoulder, poison seeping into the wound. The pain was enough to break Syfka's full concetration. The orbs disappeared and Armaya fell to the floor in a heap. Syfka cried out, but stepped back - the insanity seeming to have subsided. "Meh lady, I'm sorry. Da blood god, he be takin' over meh. I'm sorry, so sorry." She continued to apologize and fell to her knees, rocking back and forth and muttering her apologies.

Lucillius walked slowly to Armaya, who was slowly pushing herself up to stand. Her skin burned in places, and she felt drained. She glanced at Lucillius who needed no other command. He moved to her side, wrapping his arm protectively around her.

"You shouldn't have done that. We could've found another subject to test it on."

Armaya shook her head. "No. Another warlock of decent power is hard enough to find. I wanted to see how strong it would be - if it was worth putting more efforts in."

Lucillius sighed, but said nothing more. He knew it was pointless to argue with her - of all people. And now was not the time.

Armaya focused her efforts now onto Syfka. "Syfka, please, rise. You did nothing more than what I asked. I understand your...madness. It is why I brought Lucillius with me as a back up plan. Your efforts today were not wasted, and you shall be rewarded for what you have done today. However, I ask only one more thing. I need you to craft these orbs of light, to place them in a…container of sorts. So that you need not be present for us to use them. Can it be done?”

Syfka glanced up. “I.. am na’ sure meh lady. I.. woul’ need some time..some resources, perhaps anudder associate of da light?”

“Seek out Trenetir. He is a paladin, perchance he can help you.” Armaya pulled lightly away from Lucillius, smoothing her robes out, and gaining her composure once more. “Thank you for your assistance today, Syfka. Be sure to seek help for your wound – if you cannot deal with it yourself.” She bowed her head lightly to the priestess and headed up the stairs – Lucillius following.

“Did you have to subject yourself to that? You’re spent.” He said this as Armaya’s knees almost collapsed underneath her. He moved quickly forward, steadying her.

“Like I said, it needed to be done. I needed to feel her power. I know my limits. What if this Grim is as strong as I? We needed a decent study done.”

“…And how was it, Maya?”

“Fel it hurt.” She laughed, sliding her arm around Lucillius’ waist as he assisted her up the stairs. “I would not want to be on her receiving end when she falls fully into madness. And thank you, for your help today. I couldn’t have done it without you my dear.” She smiled at him, stopping him at the top of the stairs and placing a rather chaste kiss on his lips. “Now, I need to rest. Could you assist me to my room?”

Lucillius grinned at her. “As my lady wishes.”

He sat in his offices, waiting, his gaze fixed on the clock. Time was running out and there was neither hide nor hair of a messenger, nor of the Ravenlord Grim. Trenetir watched the passing of time, a page standing anxiously at the door. As the clock finally struck four bells and it was evident that none would come, there was little left to do, save act.

"Well Francil, it looks like I've work to do." He smirked as he pulled out a small device of goblin origin. On the outside it appeared to be a metal ball with a series of dials on it. Carefully, Trenetir clicked one of the dials into place. With a flash of light and and a hiss of the air, he was gone, leaving Francil to do as he had been instructed, to bolt the heavy doors to the office.

Pocketing the orb, he took in his surroundings: the shores of Stormwind. Drawing his cloak up around him to hide his appearance, he surveyed the surroundings. Guards going too and fro, merchants unloading and loading cargo onto boats, and one young lady with dark brown hair, braided down her back. She was slight and wore simple clothes.

She walked alone and carried a small satchel of goods destined for Fel knows where. Trenetir stepped from the shadows, the low clank of his armor barely heard given the commotions at the docks: the gulls, the cargo, the guards, the people all consumed with their own goods, it was just after four bells after all, everyone was looking after their own business. What was another cloaked man striding just behind a woman.

In practiced common he spoke when he was just a food from her, "A hand Miss?" There was still an accent, but she turned nonetheless, giving Trenetir a good look at the woman. Her eyes were light brown and her lips turned up in a smile, quick to greet a stranger, not unused to such things.

With one hand he reached out to touch her arm, the other flicked the dial on the goblin orb in his pocket.

A sharp gust of air, a flash of light that may have just been a reflection of some metal off the sun, and they were gone.

Francil gasped as he saw his master appear in the office with the woman. A human woman!

Tellie was in shock, one minute she was in Stormwind set to return to the Recluse, and the next she was.... "Where am I?" The woman's voice croaked in a panic.

"That doesn't matter." Trenetir spoke. He looked to Francil, "Leave us, guard the door." The page left the room, a bolt locking the door from the outside.

Tellie dropped the package and backed up into the bookcase as Trenetir seemed to make himself at home. "I've been looking forward to this for some time." He removed his cloak, revealing himself in his true form: a tall, fit Sin'dorei, dressed in black from head to toe.

The look of panic in her eyes was nothing compared to the crazed look in Trenetir's eyes. All the pain, the fel magic that was eating away at him constantly, with no place to go but inside, always deeper, always further. Now it would have a release.

Screams of terror echoed through the halls of Trenetir's estate, setting chills to the spines of the servants in the halls. Outside the office Francil whispered a prayer to whatever deity or power might be listening, that he never know the pain of the tortured soul in the room.

The knock came from the other side of the door. The screams had stopped some minutes ago and Francil dreaded that knock, for without Yuuko, he would be the one to clean up this mess. Francil was ill prepared for the sight that met him when the door opened. Trenetir was covered in blood, was it his? Or just hers? Bright green eyes bore into Francil's very being. A cool voice spoke in Thalassian, "See that Miss Momlir of the Blue Recluse in Stormwind receives all of her packages." Trenetir left Francil in a state of disbelief, as he, himself headed to clean himself up, whistling a light tune as he walked away from the scene.

Hours past and Francil looked at the packages, the two originals that the woman had brought with her and four others, all equal in height, weight and size, wrapped up in nice brown paper packaging. He affixed the address to the four new ones, the same address that was on the two originals, "Noikona Momlir, The Blue Recluse, Stormwind."

With the aid of others, the packages were dropped off with a hefty sack of coins at an AAMS office.

Some time had passed since she'd heard Trenetir's demand come to her over the hearthstone she carried. A curiously useful device, she'd forgotten about it's ability to carry voice messages. Luckily she was busy at the time, conversing with a fellow member of the walking dead deep within the catacombs of Ironbeard's Tomb in the wetlands of Dun Morogh.

The shambling rotter divulged much information. The things one could learn from the maggot ring (as she was fond of calling it) never failed. She had a mind to relay the information to her employer but her vanity got the better of her.

Bag of bones.... She stewed on the label a moment.
The elf will wait. She paused, ...for something more substantive.

Exiting the tomb in the dark of night, the thin cloaked figure emerged. Nearest a tall tombstone she paused. Something at her feet moved. A creature broke loose from the earth and on rotted wings took flight to perch atop the tombstone. She spoke to it. A turn of her head sent the creature on its task. The desiccated remains of a sizable falcon took to the air, beat its wings three times, and vanished into the darkness.

The thin frail figure some called Banshee turned her cloaked head. The destination of her next conversation with the dead lay far to the south. This time at Raven Hill in the duskwoods of lower Elwynn Forest. Something curious has been happening deep in the bowels of its catacombs. A thing has stirred the restless ghosts and shambling corpses therein, and yet on the subject they are strangely silent.

Very soon her undead messenger (lovingly dubbed Blight) will emerge from the shadows perched on the blood elf's window sill and relay the message given it: Her next destination. That is all the elf will get to know for now.

With a gesture she drained the power from her hearthstone. No more distractions.

Light from the roaring hearth flickered yellow and orange dancing shadows throughout the small darkened room. Occasional pops and crackles of the ever burning logs flared fel green, wafting an odor of brimstone gently throughout. She sat motionless in a comfortable padded arm chair. Slouched slightly to one side, her elbow propped upon the arm rest, her head rested gently in the palm of her hand. The flames were so tremendous that the furniture nearest the hearth withered and charred from their heat, and yet there she remained. Quite comfortable.

Contradicting her rather relaxed appearance the small twisted form of the gnome warlock was tirelessly at work delving the chaotic and often treacherous depth of the incomprehensible nether. Within her own internal realm she weaved a complex tapestry of shadow and void, blood and demon magics, and of fel energies. The essence of the several souls she had to date captured, consumed or sacrificed mixed with her vile cocktail of magics, further fueling her efforts.

From a darkened corner of the small room a shadow that was not a shadow shifted. Two beady eyes opened, yellow pupils glowed dimly in the darkness. A small pathetic creature scurried cautiously toward the gnome. It paused half way and peered back to the shadows, uncertain. Similarly small shapes shifted. Tiny eyes opened and at once several of the creatures silently jeered and berated the one for its cowardice. Emboldened the little imp closed its distance. Standing just below the arm rest it nervously clasped its hands together. It's ears laid backward submissively.

"M-m-mistress." It bowed quickly. "Th-there... th-that is to, to s-say... you've..." Despite the heat and flickering illumination, the twisted form of the gnome remained eerily dark. Her head lifted slightly and turned downward to the imp. The creature choked back a squeal. "Y-you have... a visitor."

Raven casually sat forward. She twisted a glance around the back of her arm chair. At the opposite end of the small room the stone blocks of the wall shifted and a darkened corridor opened. From within her fel hound guardian, Kreefun, sauntered into the room. It's single-taloned feet clicking and clacking with each step. Darkened lips spread a wicked grin across a large maw of jagged teeth. A low guttural growl punctuated the imps assertion.

Raven's physical countenance shifted. Greatly annoyed she stood swiftly, snatched up the imp and hurled it into the hellish inferno raging within the hearth. Its screams faded as quickly as the abominable flames could consume it. Impish shadows clustered all around the room shifted and squealed, some in anger others in fear. In a violent huff she thrusted her arm outward, fingers splayed in the air. Dark fel tainted magics shifted, draping her with dark feather and skull adorned robes. She lifted a charred bone mask and placed it beneath the hood.

"Come Kreefun." She hissed. Her voice low and hoarse. "Show me thiss... vissitor."

Deep within the bowels of the Dawning Woods Catacombs, somewhere far beneath Raven Hill, the darkness stirred. A series of low guttural growls rumbled through the darkened tombs. A wince and soft yelp followed. Then silence.

The frail eyeless corpse stood in the corner of one of the larger catacomb chambers. She was indeed blind yet what she lacked in natural sight she more than compensated with her own shadow-infused vision. A rather simple technique not entirely unique among other forsaken stricken with similar misfortune, yet through her dark ties to the great void she was able to see (in a fashion) what most others could not... save fellow practitioners of the Forgotten Shadows.

Tapping into the powerful void the priestess unfurled a thick cloak of her own darkness, and waited.

The stone face of the sealed sarcophagus grated as it shifted against the brick and mortar that held it in place. The face of the stone bricks burned with an unnatural heat, singing the dust that drifted in the stale air of the catacomb chamber. The soft glow of molten fel energies cast the immediate area in a sickly hue. Noxious gases spurted as the hefty stone seal was removed. Imps scattered all about pulling loose various stone bricks and reforming them, widening a small opening and constructing a series of steps. From the dark portal the warlock Raven shuffled forth leaning heavily on a sickle topped staff.

The charred bone mask that protruded eerily from beneath the deep hood peered into the darkness. She slowly gazed side to side. From the darkened portal her large fel hound guardian emerged to stand at her side as might any well trained mongrel. Her voice was hoarse and raspy as she spoke just above a whisper.

"Impressive, your shroud of darkness. It hides you well."

The darkness rolled like a great sea. Two fel hound corpses rolled into view, thrust forward from within the churning ethereal mass. Raven didn't flinch. The charred bone mask peered downward at the nearby corpses. She tisked with a soft sigh.

"Oh," She spoke casually. "I wish you hadn't have done that. You see, Kreefun was very fond of these two." Her whispers dripped heavily with malice. "Very, very fond."

The large fel hound spread its lips to bare its wicked snarl. The demonic hound stepped to the side as two long arms curled upward from its back like a pair of scorpion tails. Their ends splayed open and in a manner imperceptible to all but those attuned to the ebb and flow of magics the fel hound began massaging the very energies that created that shroud. A subtle battle of will and skill quickly played out.

The dark shroud began to dissipate. Raven clacked her tongue again. *tsk, tsk, tsk*
"Kreefun is a fel hound, and an exceptional one at that. The odds were never really in your favor."

Blind to natural sight though she was, Raven had other means of both seeing and sensing her environment. Inspite of the utter lack of illumination (save for the soft fel glow of her portal) she could see (in a fashion) and sense vast open chamber. The myriad of rotted ghouls and desiccated corpses that shambled about were plain as day. As the unnatural darkness that occulted her vision faded a new corpse appeared. A thing gaunt figure standing cloaked in the corner.

"Ahhh." She hissed. "I ssssee yoooou."

Immediately the two magicians of the dark arts launched into a volley of checks and counter attacks, each testing the other's strength and resolve. In the darkness between them blades and spears of shadow tore at each other, ripping to pieces the unfortunate zombies caught between. In a moment of arrogance Raven over extended herself and the corpse gained the upper hand.

The cowled and feathered gnome strained under the pressure of fending off the other's attacks. She dropped her staff and collapsed to her knees. Kreefun winced and withdrew a few paces, looking very much the injured puppy.

She had her. A wry grin stretched her leathery lips across decayed teeth. Her arms spread wide as she took a confident tall posture. She warped and twisted the void to her will, wrapping the little warlock in a spell of great pain and confusion. With nearly surgical precision she began slowly cutting her way into the small warlock's mind.

"You are mine now, little one." She proclaimed. Her voice dry, raspy and monotone. Nearly void of emotion or feeling. "I have need of secrets you may possess."

Banshee flinched her fingers, working them as a surgeon might while cutting into a patient. Raven flinched with a groan. With each gesture and each passing moment she delved deeper into the warlock's mind.

"Ahhh... a gnome." She tilted her head. "Raven, is it? Very good. A pleasure to meet you Raven."

She twinged a delicate thread of shadow magic. More secrets revealed themselves.

"An imp? Chomat was his name? He was special to you, but no-no. These are the wrong secrets." She manipulated other unseen shadow threads. "Tell me of the one called Grim."

As she delved further into the gnome's mind things became confused. None of her thoughts or memories made any sense. They were jumbled. As if she'd pulled the plug on a dam a torrent of thoughts, memories, and emotions flooded her. Her own mind lost and clouded in the churning madness. Worse of all, she couldn't pull herself out of it.

A low groan slowly turned into a chuckle. "Did you really think I'd be so easily taken?" Raven slowly rose to her feet. Her chuckles turned to insane cackles. "And by the likes of YOU?" The gnome suddenly stood straight. Her figure strong and movements sure. Beside her Kreefun dropped his cowardice guise.

"Lesson number one, priestess." She spat the title. "Never dive coldly into a strange mind. You'll never know what sort of deeeemonssss you'll expose. Kreefun. Strip her clean."

Flaring its quills the fel beast rendered every bit of Banshee's defenses inert. All of her attacks and counters were made null. Had Banshee a humanity, had she emotions, she'd be stricken with panic. Void as she was of her humanity the situation was only mildly concerning. What more could this one do now but kill her. A welcomed reprieve. Of everything she was angry only that she'd failed.

"I am to bring your soul back as a trophy, but I have another use for you." Raven stalked to the corpse. A twitch of her finger brought Banshee to her knees. She'd been magically shackled by the fel hound and the gnome displayed a command of the shadows that far exceeded her own, made all the more potent that they were laced with fel corruption.

"I seek access to your master, Moradinel."

"I..." Banshee strained to speak in dry whispers. "...will never..." Raven leaned close and whispered her hiss.

"Ahhh, but the choiccce is not your own."

A dry chuckle strained from her lips. "You are no necromancer, warlock."

"Perhaps not, but I have other means of compulsion."

Raven reached toward her chest. Wisps of dark fel-tainted energies surged before, piercing deep into the corpse and rending her chest open. The gnome touched what remained of the preserved heart while at the same time extracting a strong portion of the forsaken's essence, the which crystallized into a solid shard in her other hand. Thin streams of fel energies then threaded their way throughout her body. Banshee's face twisted with a bitter-sweet agony she had not experience in a long time.

Raven held up the shard. "Insurance. I now own you. Succeed and the puppet might be spared. Fail and you're soul is forfeit in its entirety." Banshee's eyeless sockets widened. She understood. No clean death. No rest. Only endless torment beyond anything she'd ever known. She'd forever be a prisoner. A fate much worse than this miserable undeath. She' rather be turned Scourge.

Raven leaned close and whispered. "This is what you will do..."

Another day passed, and no there was no Grim. Perhaps Yuuko was right and the Alliance thought nothing of murderous thieving Warlocks. But in the end, he was a man of his word. As he returned to Stormwind he whistled to himself as sheltered in a dark cloak he slipped upon one of the vessels at the docks. It was there that he saw her: his next victim.

By the looks of her she was young, but that didn't matter. Innocence was innocence and a death was a death. His bright eyes flashed Fel green at the prospect of the violence to common. He approached her calmly, speaking the common tongue, "Come now darling you are too beautiful to be cowering just yet."

"Wh-what do you want?" the girl practically squeaked.

He stepped closer, "Just a word or two, I assure you, come now are you calm now?"

Her hands trembled as she reflexively steps back "Please... leae me alone... I-I haven't done anything..."

He breached the distance between them, placing a calm hand on her shoulder if he was able to, "Tell me miss, what is your name?"

"F-F-Felicianna... please, I-I was just coming backf from visiting my family... I haven't done anything..."

He smiled at her reassuringly, "And I am just enjoying the sea, we have a sea where I live as well... it is the same sea as this.." He spoke in calm tones.

She backed away again, until she hit the railing.

He reached a hand up to carress her cheek, his touch was soft, gentle and reaffirming. Perhaps she'd calm down. "I am just a man and you are just a woman."

"I don't think you're waiting for anyone, nor do I think anyone will be along soon." He forcefully grabbed her hand and led her down into the hull, knowing his way around ships it was easy to find a clear hold.

She tries to resist, digging her heels in... attempting to pull her hand free from his grip. "N-no! Stop! Wh-where are you taking me?"

Within the cargo hold of the vessel amongst boxes and heavy bags of flours. Trenetir threw her roughly to the ground before quickly barring the door. "Oh don't worry you'll not be leaving this place... take a good look around, this... this is where your life ends."

"Please, no, don't kill me!!!!" She screamed. She cowered. She feared for her life and it was evident in every action as she recoiled back to the stacks of boxes. The poor girl was shaking.

He laguhed a cruel laugh and extended his hand to her, "Take my hand and you will know peace." She flinched from the hand, and cowered in terror, unable to look at him. "Come now child, I have offered you a way out and you refuse it."

"Y-you'll let me go? You promise?"

He smiled at her, "I promise, take my hand and your suffering will end." Slowly, her hand trembling terribly, reaches out to take his hand, daring to hope, yet still too scared to look at anything other than the hand. The tip of her finger touched his, and she gave out a cry of pain, and fell to her knees before him. "I-I-I thought you said you'd let me go!?!?!"

He laughed his malicous laugh, reaching out for her hand, the energy that flowed through him was a mixture of Fel and the Light afforded him as a Blood Knight. As the energies fought amongst themselves so too did they try to rip her apart.

She had spirit in her defiance. She started flailing, desperately struggling for freedom. A stray shot caught him in the crotch. He doubled over, laughing as she punched him in the crotch. His laughter was boisterous, contagious. "You are quick to end things then? That can be arranged." A swift uptick of his hand , the dagger was oft unseen as it flicked across her neck.

She cried out again, and clasped a hand to the wound, trying to stop the blood flow. As it flowed from her neck he stepped foward and placed a hand forcefully upon her neck, "Beg for your life. It will amuse me."

She struggled to crawl away, while holding her hand to the wound, as blood welled around her fingers and ran down her neck, staining her snow white dress. "Please, just let me go... no more... I didn't do anything to you"

He yanked her back by the hair and forced her down, his blade hovering inches from her face, "There's nothing you can do to say to change this."

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood as she sobbed incoherently, unable to even formulate words to beg for her life. Her hands fell away, and her breath rattles one last time, her sobs choking out, then suddenly silenced. The blade falls to the ground and he looks down at the body, "Well... now the work begins."

Four packages were delivered that evening, all bearing the same note:

Deliver the Warlock Grim, or these -gifts- will continue to come.
-TM


The packages were left at the homes of:

Derscha Kettlebomb (head)
Commander Orwyn of the Stormwind City Watch (arms)
Kordrion Stoneheardt at Aerie Peak (legs)
The fourth package was sent to the Cathedral and marked: For burial.

Tyvian was tired. Bone deep, aching exhaustion of both mind and body. Too much was happening too quickly. He sat in Shadowgarde, sweating and panting from the effort he and two others had expended putting a new center beam in place for one of the professor's workshops. It had been damaged in a recent attack, so he and the carpenters fixed it. Now as he lay back in the grass, staring up at the starry sky of Shadowmoon Valley, his mind was multitasking to the extreme.

Part of him watched Everrard roaring commands across a ship's deck in windy seas. Snow slashed across his vision as his Eye followed his trio of ships as they sailed North, for the far shores of Winterspring. The destroyer was not fully repaired, but it managed slowly. The seasoned seafarer's reason for the spittle and profanities cascading from his bushy lips was the barge that the Naga's Folly and the captured freighter were towing with them. The barge had a number of makeshift shacks and hovels on it, Rise at Dawn members darting hitherto in an attempt to keep it afloat, and supplies dry. Several times a glint of metal caught the Eye and the Gnomish air defense cannons on the barge were visible. They had been hastily erected and made ready to fire per his instruction.

Good, the ships will be safe for now, offshore with the barge facilitating repairs. Everrard was a good suit to this kind of work.

Another segment of his consciousness drifted to watch over Raven, murky and dark was all that greeted his sight, but he knew very well the feeling that was coming through to him. She was quite fine. His real eyes, the ones in his head tracked Professor Sputterspark as he walked briskly to his scribe workshop, brow furrowed in thought. Tyvian lay and panted, sweated and tried to remain as unobtrusively 'normal' as possible.

After the Professor had passed, the warlock reached into his pants pocket and removed a crumpled, disheveled paper. It was a notice, posted all around Stormwind and other cities. Trenetir wanted his head it seemed. Pity, he'd have to wait in line. Shame about the poor victims. Lopped up and for what? Rev-

Wait.

The madman was actually butchering random strangers, and sending the pieces to influential leaders? Did he think this through? A blood elf, counting on the Alliance to sell out, admitted a non-amicable Warlock, when there was no 'proof' of his murdering and thieving other than the elf's word? Any good graces the elf may have garnered by this had soured the moment the first victim had been mailed. If that weren't enough, Trenetir had just unwittingly given Tyvian the perfect scapegoat and tool, all in one step! All in all regardless of how things were going, all he needed to do was not wear his robes, and he would be able to walk Stormwind a free man. No one knew Grim was Tyvian, or Tyvian was Grim.

Despite the exhaustion, for the first time in years, he laughed. Laughed from the bottom of his heart until he was doubled over and panting for breath, tears in his bright green eyes. Trenetir had no idea the opportunity he had just given the Black Harvest warlock. As the other carpenters stared at Tyvian, only one dared comment on how cold and unnerving that laugh had been.

The pain came in waves as she shambled through the brush. She wasn't quite certain where she was headed. Everything ached horribly since...

Since...

Banshee paused. Where had she been? The frail figure, cloaked and cowled, glanced at her surroundings. Was this... Was she in Elwynn? By the Void, how did she end up so far south, and here of all places? She detested this place. Too many old memories she'd much rather remained buried.

She winced, grasping at her gaunt chest. Something was terribly wrong. It wasn't the pain so much as the fact that she felt something. It was the primary reason she avoided using light magic if at all possible. The Light brought pain. Pain brought feeling. Feeling brought with it memories of the humanity she'd abandoned long ago. She was one with the Shadow now, or at least as much as she could be.

A sharp pain nearly doubled her over. She... she had to return. Trenetir. That vile bloody elf, he needed to know, needed to hear ...something. The voice in her head. It sounded like her and yet, it didn't. As quickly as other thoughts entered her mind they flittered away again.

Whatever it was that she'd discovered here was urgent. She couldn't shake the sensation that she needed to talk with Moradinel. To speak with him. To see him. Yes, only seeing him would do. If only she could see him, maybe she'd remember. Maybe... it would all be better.

"Yesss." She hissed to herself.
I am coming for you Trenetir Moradinel. I come baring gifts.

The frail cloaked figure began shambling again. She twisted her fingers and her pet emerged from the soil as she walked by. It squawked dryly, fluttered into the air and perched on her shoulder.

"Bliiighhht." She moaned softly. "Myyy pet. Tell that elf I return with news. My ...endeavors... have bore desirable fruits."

The desiccated remains of the medium-sized hawk took the skies and despite the absence of much darkness managed to disappear. Banshee carried onward uncertain of which direction she was traveling, but knowing (somehow) it would eventually carry her back to him.