World of Warcraft®

[connected in small part to Cruel Words, Cruel Intent http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18132724884 ]

The fel-scorched figure of a gnome once known by another name sat in the center of the demon-runic circle. Denude of every article, she crossed her legs beneath her as best as she could physically bare and simply meditated. Wisps of fel energies drifted into the air all around her from the magic coursing through the sigil engraved into the floor. The energies licked at her deformed figure inflicting a greater momentary sting that served to lessen the dull pain she carried constantly.

She urged her mind onward, through the pulse of fel energies and into the greater nether. There it remained for a time, touching upon various threads and strands of assorted energies as though she were a lurking spider able to sense the world around her through her gentle caress.

Her charred lips twisted to a smirk. There was chaos unfolding. Something has stirred a rather dormant emotion, or so it feels. Old hate, anger, frustration. Things are tense in and around Stormwind. Perhaps the focus on her misdeeds has finally shifted. Now that people are focused elsewhere, this may be a perfect time to resume her work.

Gradually she called back to her physical form. In what felt like moments, but in truth was merely the passing of a thought, Raven was back. She inhaled deeply smelling the musty air that lingered with a slightly putrid scent unique to fel energies. In her mind she was generally aware of all that occurred within the walls of her hidden lair. In the past weeks as her power grew so too did she annex and expand her otherworldly domain adding ever expanding wings of room, corridors, and large chambers. The number of demons pressed into service has also increased, though consisted mostly of various types of imps.

A succubus entered Raven’s rune filled meditation chamber. Unlike most others, this succubus donned a more professional, though no less scintillating, uniform befitting a creature of her regard. The first succubus, and demon for that matter, to willingly enter into a contract with this crazed little gnome, she had been there (ever on the periphery) to witness many of the trials her mistress had suffered. More than with any other master the succubus had had before, she fully understood Raven’s drive and motivation better than did the gnome herself. She had a vested interest in her master’s overall success and ultimate happiness. Raven knew this, and so entrusted and empowered her as she did no other demon in her service or under her thumb.

“Dixsia.” The small voice rasped. “What is it?” Raven demanded.

“Mistress. I have a comprehensive report for you.” The succubus produced a small green stone that shimmered between her fingers. “Several of your minions on patrol have witnessed many events these past few days. I think you will find this interesting.” Dixsia grinned.

The small green stone tugged free of the demon’s fingers and drifted across the expanse to rest in Raven’s open palm. Clutching the stone in her hand the fel life’s energies of the condensed health stone flowed into her, bringing with them also the knowledge and memories of the ones who were sacrificed for its’ creation.

The hours of the several days past ticked by as seconds. Memories of the various small imps that lurked in so many tiny hidden places for her. Their curious eyes peered out from around corners and through shadows as her witnesses. She saw the notices stolen from town post boards and read over unsuspecting shoulders. She heard whispers between vagrants and drunken complaints levied within the safe walls of taverns. She felt the fervor of the people as it was whipped up. The shouts and screams, the indignation as they hurled bottles and torches. She smelled the smoke of the fires they lit. Felt the warmth of the home that was consumed in Lakeshire.

When the memories and visions were complete, and the energy within the stone spent, it crunched and crumbled within her grasp. A breath scattered the dust from her open palm. The wretched form of the twisted gnome stood and shuffled toward the succubus.

“Shall I fetch your regalia, mistress?” The succubus bowed at her waist.
Raven grunted the affirmative.
“Might I suggest something dark and feathered? Or will you desire a more befitting blood-red attire this evening?”
Raven paused beside the succubus in thought. She turned her fiery fel-green glare up at the demon with an evil grin. Disxia returned the glare with a grin of her own understanding.

“Right away my mistress.”

Disxia stood just inside the doorway of her mistress’s armory. Every curve of her lithe figure accentuated by her snug fitting attire.

The long black dress hugged her hips and thighs hemming just below the knee. Dark stockings and leather boot tops wrapped her legs lending the demon a very human-like professional quality, which was ultimately dashed by the obvious pair of small hooves where her high-heeled feet would otherwise be. The thin shoulder straps and low neck line of her dress was covered over with a finely woven high collared silky white blouse that clung to her figure. A vest of a rich purple that buttoned up the front helped to accentuate her every curve. The sleeves of her fine white blouse bloomed down her arms to a snug cuff pinned high on her wrists. To complete the image she donned a small black tie around her neck that was tucked into the top of her vest, and a matching leather belt with a simple dull silver buckle girding her waist.

In toll Disxia would have made a very attractive business woman, were it not for the off color hue of her pinkish-purple semi-scaly skin, her piercing yellow cat-like demonic eyes, her pointed ears, the pair of long curved horns jutting from her forehead, the folded pair of leathery wings at her back and the long thin tail that usually remained hidden beneath her dress. Other than these obvious features that betrayed her demonic origins, she cut a very attractive professional figure.

She clutched in one arm a thin seemingly stone tablet roughly the size of a large book, but again only a fraction of its thickness. She traced a thin clawed finger over the tablet’s surface which came to life with demonic rune scripts and diagrams of varying glowing hues. Reds, purples, blues, and of course fel-green.

“Pouring over the many names of so-called traitors given on that pamphlet I enlisted the aid of the void walkers to help narrow the list of potential …subjects…, my mistress.”

Several imps scampered about the room picking up various pieces of Raven’s chosen wardrobe. They hurriedly brought each piece to the hands of a tending succubus. Clad in the rather scanty outfit so common among her brood, this succubus knelt behind Raven and helped the twisted disfigured gnome properly wrap herself in her dark feathery robes.

“Excellent.” Raven’s small voice rasped. “Tell me of them.”

Disxia scrawled her finger back and forth along the width of the thin stone tablet in her clutches. The demonic runes and diagrams danced across the surface, altering their composition. The trusted succubus proceeded to describe in great detail the location, circumstance, family, and lives of each person named on her short list. Raven listened patiently as her attending succubus and imps brought her each piece of her dark feathered regalia that mirrored so much the eerie decrepitly grim visage of her own dark master’s. The attending succubus finished fastening the feather adorned shoulder spaulders just as Disxia finished describing the final name on her list.

Raven raised a hand to halt her attendant’s progress. She stood a moment and pondered. “Three.” She muttered. “Three will, work nicely to, fulfill my ends.” Each pause mid-sentence was followed by a painfully raspy breath.

Disxia smirked at her mistress’ words. “I see. Any subject in particular.”

“One rural.” Disxia tapped the stone tablet as Raven dictated. “The second, near town, but remote.” Disxia nodded as she tapped on her stone tablet.

“Lakeshire has already lost one home to an arsonist mob.” Disxia continued tapping as she spoke. “Moonbrook is far too remote. I have a name near Goldshire that might burn nicely.”

Raven nodded. “The third will be, in the city.” Disxia nodded with a devious smirk as she scrawled a clawed finger across the stone tablet. Raven turned slightly as if to peer over her shoulder. “Syesta. The Conclave theft?” The deformed gnome asked more as a statement of fact.

Disxia frowned. The memory bitter. “Yes.” Syesta, a promising young newly contracted succubus eager to prove her worth was sent to seduce Father Denholm and steal his research. Needless to say she failed miserably, drawing the attention of both Conclave and the Watch.

“Send her.” Raven rasped. “Make it public. Make it, gruesome.”

Disxia understood her mistress very well.

There was much that Raven left unsaid. It was time for Syesta to pay for her mistakes and redeem herself. Disxia scratched the clawed finger down the length of the stone tablet and the demonic rune script disappeared. “It will be handled, my mistress.” The succubus bowed, bending at the waist.

Raven nodded her head. Her gloved hands lifted the deep hood over her head. One of the imps lifted the long bird-like bone mask over its head. Raven took it up and fastened it in place while reciting a binding spell. A wave of green fel energies wafted over her person from her feet to her head, down the length of the long charred bone mask, expending itself as small gouts of green flames along her entirety. The diminutive figure breathed deeply as if emerging from the deepest end of fel-tainted waters.

**Reports began to trickle into Watch ears by word of mouth.**

In Elwynn around the twilight of evening the previous day a young teenage boy and his two younger brothers mysteriously wandered out of the house. Their petrified mother told how her boys suddenly left the dinner table.

"They were entranced." She muttered in shock.

She ran after them of course, as any good mother would, but as they crossed their fields the woman thought she saw devils standing in the distant tree line. She could hear them whispering sweetly to her boys. Though she cried and cried they never turned their heads. At hearing her hysterics her husband came running from the barn with his rifle in hand but he was also entranced by the voices, and knelt in the fields beside her. The last thing she remembered before passing out was a large shadow swallowing her boys and taking the devils with it.

* * *

The same hours of twilight in the same evening along the coast of Westfall a man also falls to his knees in a field of dry grass.

His tattered clothing marred and blackened by fire, the flesh beneath red with fresh burns. His face a mixture of anguish and disbelief as he watched his home and half-built barn being consumed in an inferno. In the distance his few neighbors rushed to his aid with buckets to form a fire brigade but it was all too late. All that could be done was ensure the fires didn't spread. The horrors of how it all happened as fresh in his mind as the deep scratches and claw marks crisscrossing his arms, legs, chest, and face shredding much of his thick shirt and overalls.

Kneeling in the grass the images of the flurry of impish needle-like teeth, tiny horns, and razor claws danced in time with the flames. The flames reminding him of their beady little eyes. The searing pops, crackles, and moans of the consuming timbers were like their cackling laughter. Even now they mocked him.

Eyes brimming with tears he cupped his hands over his ears fighting desperately to quiet their voices. "Make them stop!"

* * *

As the bells of the evening of the same day tolled in Cathedral Square, Stormwind a young child was in danger of being spirited away from his family. What happened next swept through the communities of Stormwind like wildfire…

Their only connecting thread: All were among the many named on the "Rememberists" pamphlets as horde sympathizers.

Arlston Cross sat atop one of the battlements of the wall that separated the Cathedral district from the canals, looking down at every traveler that passed by, few ever looking up, and if they did, they'd see only a dark silhouette against the twilight sky.

It had been years since he felt, anything really. But now, he felt something that was as foreign to him as the Draenei had been to Azeroth, so many years ago. Beneath the frosty edge that covered his behavior, beneath the ice that coated his heart, a fire blazed. A roaring inferno of rage beneath the frozen crystal prison of his heart. On the outside, few, if anyone could tell that something was different deep down inside of him. That this man who had spent so long hardening himself, distancing himself from emotions and ties could allow feelings to sway his actions instead of cold, simple logic. No. Now was not the time when someone he considered a friend, was being branded a traitor for keeping the peace, for braving bridges no one else had the courage to cross.

Someone was smearing his beloved military with bias towards insanity, using patriotism as an excuse to seek unnecessary bloodshed. Whoever it was placing these pamphlets was too cowardly to place themselves on the front line, too busy placing ideas that were clearly not that important enough to fight for, for the perpetrator to be here themselves. No, this was where Arlston's kind came in, people who dove into the shadows to fight the monsters and cowards who thought themselves safe in the dark, away from the light. NO. This person was about to learn that monsters live in the dark, that violent men and women stand hidden in their own hells, waiting to drag those foolish enough to think themselves safe at any moment to their grave.

As he sat watching for any signs that seemed out of the ordinary, any person carrying pamphlets or flyers, he heard something strange. It sounded like a woman laughing lightly, somewhere far below. The sound danced in his head, alluringly, teasingly, like a call on every one of his senses, slipping him into its crooning sound. With the mental defenses of years of training, days of having his mind torn apart by Othmar, walls shattered by the Sha, he was not going to be influenced. Silencing the sound in his mind, he slid over the wall, landing easily thirty feet below on a crate with no more sound than a dropped leather ball. Edging to see around the corner he saw a curious sight of a demonic succubus slowing pulling a small boy toward her through innately seductive and compelling magics.

"Come here boy, that's it.... Oh I know you'll be perfect," the demon cooed at her prey, the young boy's blonde hair danced in the evening breeze as his dazed look in the eyes carried his tiny feet closer. "Now I won't be punished, this is good, very, very good... Raven Hill awai-Who are you?" The demon was cut off mid sentence as she noticed the leather armored man standing suddenly four feet away. An icy green stare transfixed her, made the demon meet his gaze and the demon realized he was not under her sway, and that caused something she was unused to feeling. Fear.

"No witnesses!" The succubus cried out suddenly, as her whip was in her hand in a bright flash, it's deadly tip lashing towards the man who stared. A heartbeat before it struck home, the man was gone, as if he had never existed. Before the demon could return her whip to her side, she felt something cold and sharp slide across her throat slowly, as an even colder voice whispered in her ear from behind.

"A blink is all I need."

Falling forward, Syesta the demon clutched at her throat, blackened blood coursing between her fingers to fall to the stone. The boy, his eyes returning to focus, looked down at the demon dying before his eyes, writhing in agony as it sputtered and gasped, then up to a tall, imposing silhouette holding a bloodied dagger, took no hesitation before running off screaming.

As he turned to look back however, all that he saw was the demon's final dying throes on the paved street, with the man nowhere to be seen.

((Lead in to this next section: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18300181455 ))

None of the other ghouls gave the small creature any noticed as it scampered its way across the cemetery. Several of the more lucid monstrosities even moved from the small things path as it neared the open barrow to the catacombs bellow Raven Hill. To say it was in good company would be an understatement.

A few quick steps on two legs.
A nudge and push on four, then back up on two again for a few more steps.
It certainly didn’t move like anything human.
It’s broken pace was certainly not as fast as a typical animal but its gait gave the small thing an unnatural haste for its size.

Draped in a mismatched ruin of brown and gray robes that fell the creatures’ full length, little detail as to what it could be was discernible. Too round and large to be a child. Its proportions were far too human to ignore.

Hopping over small stone dividing walls and weaving between various sized headstones the diminutive creature hurled itself atop a tall-wide sarcophagus. It planted its feet firmly on the stone shield the weathered knightly image on the lid clasped to its chest, halting its progress.

Its hooded head peered upward.

[1/3]

Standing on the other side of that sarcophagus was the finest, most nauseatingly perfect, image of a woman.

Dressed in her most expensive merchant-styled refinement this human woman radiated beauty and confidence. An aura shimmered around her that was imperceptible to most, with power enough to enslave the minds of (almost) any mere mortal man and woman that might lay eyes upon her. Those who were bewitched would never question (nor remember) her existence.

Her straight black hair shimmered in the night, framing perfectly the porcelain face. Sapphire eyes bemusedly watched the diminutive wretch gaze up at her. The corners of ruby red lips curled in a slight smirk, parting to gift the world with her silken voice.

“You are late.” She groaned. Her tone a weave of lust and bitter disappointment. The small hooded creature tilted its head to the side. Its cold harsh voice rasping as if from another plane of existence.

“Spare me your indignation, harpy…” It spoke slowly, distinctly, drawing out its vowels in a sinister fashion. “Your glimmering tricks and lustful traps are wasted on me.”

“Utterly. Yes.” The woman quipped. Sensual undertones notwithstanding, her voice turned dark and menacing. “Mmm it is done then? You have what we desire?”

“What she desires.” The harsh cold voice corrected. “Yes. All will be prepared as promised…” The creature hesitated. “…so long as she honors her end of the bargain.”

The woman sneered at the diminutive creature. “Mistress is nothing if not honorable. How dare you insult...” She heaved with anger.

Cutting her accusation short, she instead raised a slender arm and snapped her fingers. A pair of imps, just a bit shorter than the robed creature, appeared in green tinted bursts of flame. Each clasping a sealed sack in their clawed hands. After clamoring atop the sarcophagus each placed their sack before the creature who in turn appeared to be rubbing its hands together hungrily.

[2/3]

“Precious.” The cold harsh voice whispered.

A bony leather gloved hand reached out from a long sleeve and clasped one of the sacks, pulling it near. The diminutive creature appeared beside itself with sinister delight.

“…and this is everything?” Its tone betrayed a twisted impish glee.

“Of course everything is there, you vile little thing.” The woman sneered in a manner most unattractive, yet the shimmer of her aura masked such unpleasantness. “We followed your every instruction to the finest detail.”

An unearthly serene tone melted over her irritation. “It wasn’t easy, but your methods proved effective. To that end, Mistress extends her gratitude and wishes to seal our arrangement with this second gift.”

The diminutive creature glanced excitedly up at the woman and hastily pulled the other sack near. Bony fingers fumbled to unwind the silken ties. When it finally opened the robed creature groaned with an eerie delight.

“Perfect. This is perfect.”

Its small hood shrouded head turned up to the woman. “She may keep the tome.” Its head dipped to peer into the sack a second time adding, “…for now.”

“I will convey your pleasure at our offering.”

The small creature hastily resealed each sack and unceremoniously heaved each backward off the stone sarcophagus. They were never heard hitting the ground.

“Her offering.” The creature corrected again.

“You dare mock me?” She raged, fists clenched at her sides.

“Warn you, sssucubus.” The harsh voice taunted. A leathery finger raised. “You and your ilk will never be anything more than pawns. It is a reality your kind all too eagerly forget.”

The woman quivered with such anger that her shimmering aura threatened to dissolve. The cold creature continued. “Your role is no more important that these imps’. In the end, your retirement will only be to her advantage.” Robed arms spread wide in a mock bow.

A loud -tink- sounded, as if a tiny stone had just fractured a pane of pristine glass. The shimmering illusion surrounding the woman fell like so many magical shards to reveal the snarling twisted features of the succubus demon beneath. As she howled fiercely a clawed hand wheeled out to one side the length of her devilish whip. In a single fluid motion the snarling demon cast the whips' tail at the small robed creature.

The demonically barbed tail cracked upon its mark!

The robes of the diminutive figure exploded into a fine blue ethereal mist. Tattered remnants feel upon the stone lid sundered in pieces. The same cold harsh voice chuckled as the blue mist faded into the darkness of Duskwood.

Chest heaving with anger, the succubus coiled her whip. Her horned head turned this way and that, glaring into the tree lines with fierce yellow eyes. She turned to glare beyond the headstones, checking for witnesses.

None but the shambling ghouls stood witness.

Satisfied, she breathed a composing sigh and regained her shimmering aura. The beguiling beauty of the porcelain skinned woman from before returned. The demon turned her exquisite illusion and sauntered back toward the open barrow to disappear into the catacombs below.

[3/3]

Raven stood upon a small circular stone riser upon which had been carved an intricate demonic rune circle, the which glowed a sickly green hue.

Before and below for several feet stretched a sizable pit from wall to wall of the chamber the twisted gnome occupied. A vat that bubbled and churned with a thick viscus liquid. A similar eerie green glow emanated from the pit.

"It's... not mixing." She growled, sounding more demon than gnome. Behind her stood a rather sizable fel imp that wore a long stained apron and a pair of arm length thick leather gloves. A pair of spectacles rested near the end of his long pointed nose. A jagged maw grinned up at Raven's back.

"My mistress. We've been throwing imps into the vat for the past few days now and the mixture just doesn't seem to hold it's potency."

"What alchemical mixtures have you tried."

"Several, my mistress, but sadly my own resources have grown thin. I've never encountered an issue quite like this."

"Mistress." A silky smooth voice called across the room. "Your guest has awakened."

Raven nodded. "Good, Disxia. Have Kreefun and Juk'rath examine her before the lid is opened. Make sure she doesn't possess any latent magical signatures, and if she does neutralize them. When they're finished, and if she's in the clear, have Keegozin open her sarcophagus."

Disxia, Raven's personal succubae assistant, nodded her head. "Anything else, mistress?" She asked. Her tone soft and scintillating. Raven turned slightly, peering over her shoulder. "Yes. Send two of your finest sisters. I want to know everything there is to know about our Watch Officer guest."

Disxia bowed at the waist and exited the room.

"Istasillin." The imp squirmed at hearing his own name spoken so casually. "As imp master I expect you to figure out a solution for this." The imp gulped and licked its lips, dreading the question he would have to pose. Raven turned to peer down on him from her platform.

"What, uhm, what is our time frame... for this... my mistress?"

Blackened lips twisted into a hideous grin from the gnome. "No rush." Her hoarse twisted voice groaned a demonic warning. "But soon."

Istasillin, the imp master, bowed his head and backed away. It was everything the short imp could do to not turn and run, lest he become the next ingredient in the vat's mixture.

Raven turned back to the bubbling mixture some feet below. It's smell was rancid, rank, and utterly exquisite to her senses. She could tell it was nearing completion. With any luck this would be the final hurdle she'd have to pass over.

Perhaps Master Grim's Grimoire contained an answer.

The vile little gnome turned sharply, her long dark robes flowed as she stepped from her pedestal. Near the center of the room stood a squat stone circular altar. Its center bowl swirled with a dark red inky mixture. Above floated a thick tome. It's cover oozed darkness. As she neared its intense searing heat made her quiver with delight. After all this time the Grim Grimoire still welcomed her.

Standing just outside of arms' reach, Raven gestured with an arm and the massive book opened. Thin leathery pages fluttered as she used her demonic link with the tome to ask of it the knowledge she required. A pulse of heat told her she neared her desire. Spreading her fingers wide she halted at the particular page and read.

Esoteric sigils covered the pages. Lines crisscrossed forming shapes, connecting runes with other sigils. Across, over, and between was instructive demonic text. Eyes that glowed a bright fel green widened as she read. Blackened lips parted with a jagged toothy grin of delight.

"Yesss." She hissed. With a gesture the great black tome slammed shut.

"Kupnam!" She howled. A small imp scampered into the room. Before it could offer its greeting she barked her commands. "Fetch me my feathered raiment and shadow tainted staff. Immediately." As the little creature scurried back out the door she howled anew.

"Metarax!" The room darkened for an instant. A deep moan filled the room. On the other side of the altar the darkness gathered. Two large metallic wrist bindings emerged from the darkness followed by a large set of dark pauldrons. The darkness formed an amorphous figure beneath. Two dangerous glowing eyes opened at what could be considered a face.

"Whhaaat. Doo yoouuu. Requiire?" The deep voice droned.

"Void lord. Find me a rift to exploit. I have need to travel to the alternate Draenor." Her twisted features grinned with creepy childish exuberance. "We're going on a relic hunt to Gul'Var in Shadowmoon." She lifted a finger with a thought. "Have Akkrithal standing by when we arrive. I may have need of the Doomguard."

"Asss yoouuu wiishhh." The deep voice faded along with the swirling darkness.

Northwest Shadowmoon Valley, Draenor.

At the foot of the mountains in a darkened corner shadows swirled. A deep soft groan heralded her arrival. From behind the shrubbery at the foot of a tall bare tree stepped the twisted figure of a gnome warlock known to few as Raven.

A brazier fashioned from the bones of alien creatures crackled madly nearby with fel fire. Rising close enough to the peak of a gentle hill the blackened bone mask and dark feathered cowl admired the view.

The green haze of a corrupted fog drifted over much of the fel-tainted orc settlement. "Gul'var." A deep evil voice growled at her back.

"Akkrithal." The gnome groaned back with a vile taste. "My sweet."

From the darkness on the other side of the brazier stepped the hulking form of a fearsome demon. His wing spread wide and his terrifying visage, forever twisted into an awful scowl, held her.

"Do not play games with me, lesser creature." The doomguard growled. Behind the bone mask a twisted impish grin formed.

"Ah," She admired. "Always a delight, Akkrithal. Come now. There's work to be done."
---------------

Draped in his finest blood red robes, baring the skull ornaments of his vile craft and hefting what would seem to be a heavy staff that brandished a large green tinted crystal, the proud green-skinned orc marched along his patrol route. He paused at a junction of paths and watched for a time. At his side snarled a thin vicious felhound. Its twin tentacle arms swinging back and forth sniffing the fog laden air.

Abruptly its arms twitched, swinging to the left. The snifter nodes at the ends of each arm flared wide. The movement caught the orc's attention.

"What is it?" He grumble through his mask. Out from the midst of some distant bushes, stepping heavily through the thick green fog, approached a hulking demon the likes of which he'd only seen the masters command.

"Demon!" He shouted. "Where is your master!?" The orc turned square to the demon. Its approach steady and unrelenting.

"Have you no master?" When no answer came the orc smiled behind his mask.

"Well then! You shall bow to ME!" Darkness swirled at the orc's every gesture, shimmering with fel-green corruption like oil tainting water.

He howled, continuing his conjuration. "I. Comand. YOU!"

The demon gestured with his large clawed hand. Straining to maintain his channeled conjuring, the orc grunted and cried out in frustration as his spell-work was so casually snuffed like the wick of a candle.

"YOU CAN NOT COMMAND ME." The demon's deep voice rumbled.

The orc's felhound stepped from his side as if to flee. "No!" He commanded. "Defend me!"

The felhound grumbled and growled. Against its truer instincts the felhound charged forward, its toothy maw snarling. It leaped and almost as a child with a play thing the large demon grasped it with a single massive clawed hand and with the other pulled it in two. The large demon halted its advance and dropped the two parts of the lesser demon to the ground where its massive hooves sank into the soft soil.

Panic stricken, the orc turned to make an escape. Gouts of green fire like fel-tainted phlegm encircled him, cutting off his paths. Turning again to the demon he spotted a much smaller creature standing by its side. Draped in dark feathered robes, a charred bone mask, and stopped forward like a greedy little imp.

The orc stood a moment in surprise. "Wh-what is this..."

"Uai'ly rissilod alp zhyon ez baid sa ty. Pafjylzy qesw uail fosilod safriy, bedsw."
[You're guttural orc speak is foul to me. Converse with your natural tongue, filth.]

The orc shook himself and regained his defiance. He stood firm.

"Qwa uai ka swefn oly dessdy? Byd Eth."
[Who are you to command one such as I? Little imp.] ...is what he intended to say.

The small feather robed creature stood silent a moment. It's head twisting to the side in consideration. Slowly it began to shuffle closer. One hand tightly gripped a small dark cane that appeared crudely fashioned from a branch while the other curled close to its side, as if afflicted by some malady.

"[Your Eredun is sloppy. Your accent weak. No wonder all you can manage to command is a single, weak, fel creature such as this hound. You have no idea just how pathetic you are, lesser warlock.]"
--------------------------

Raven stood just out of the orc's reach, craning her neck to peer up at the green-skinned beast. She loathed the very sight of him. In turn the orc merely stood, defiant and dumb trying to process all that she had just said to him. Before her insults could resonate, she continued.

"[I am sure there are some among you that may rival me, but it is the likes of you that give us our bad name. Weak and pathetic. Nonetheless I will grant you this one chance. Hand over that staff, you hapless oaf, and present me your robes. Do this and I may consider prolonging your existence as it suits me.]"

The orc stood silent a moment. She could see the large gears of his dim mind turning. His eyes darted to his staff, then down the length of him. She knew then that he'd understood her. The orc glared defiantly at her and began muttering something in his filthy language.

"Katra zil shukil!" Raven growled.

With a sudden burst of supernatural agility, the squat feather-robed figure leaped into the air closing the gap in nearly an instant. Like a mad fel-tainted animal the small darkly feathered form whirled, twisting and turning, clawing at the orc's face and neck.

The large brutish orc fought as hard as he could, grabbing at, slapping, and punching at the diminutive creature but to no avail. Any semblance of advantage he gained was swiftly lost as it skittered around his defenses to latch onto its face once again. After what seemed was a long terrifying ordeal, the orc fell backward. He squirmed for another moment but eventually his body went limp.

Raven skittered to the side and stood like a wild little demon panting at her exertion. Fel heat radiated from her, drifting from the dark feathers like an eerie green haze. Noxious fumes spewed from beneath the bone mask with each labored breath.

"What happened to your friend?" The doomguard quipped.

When finally Raven began to relax and the heat of the moment began to fade (literally and figuratively) she began to cackle softly. "It seems this one is having a very bad day, Akkrithal. A very bad day." Lifting her hand the twisted dark branch she used as a cane soared to her. Leaning upon it once again her gaze drifted up at the huts of Gul'var, knowing they were just on the fel-settlements outskirts.

"A beautiful sight to behold. I wish I could linger longer, but I doubt somehow I'd be as welcomed. Pitty." She gestured to the corpse at her feet. "Be a dear and deliver this one to my lair, Akkrithal."

Spying the orc's large green crystal staff she considered it. "I will be along shortly. And thank you, Akkrithal. Your service has been invaluable, as always."

The large doomguard seized the orc's leg in a single meaty grip. He turned and began to march back toward the darkened corner behind the shrubbery where awaited the Void Lord, dragging the corpse behind like a child's rag doll.

Raven mused as she passed a gnarled-blackened hand over the green crystal staff. The crystal glowed brightly in response, resonating greatly with the fel energy that coursed through her. Sounding quite impish, Raven chuckled gleefully.

In the middle of the large chamber was etched a circle. Cut into the flag stones were a maze of lines and other shapes, crisscrossing throughout. Mostly contained within, several lines and shapes pierced the circle from the outside.

At the far end of the chamber was an open pit. The viscus liquid within pulsed with varying hues of green, illuminating that end of the chamber with its soft glow. Metal braziers burned bright with fel green flames along the walls, illuminating the rest of the room. Still, deep shadows were cast throughout. Around the etched circle stood three tall torches whose flames burned a deep purple hue. Their shadowy flames cast the ritual area in an eerie light.

Laying atop the etchings, on her back, a succubus stared up at the ceiling. Outside the etched circle stood several imps grasping hold of a metal staff. Pointed sharply on one end, a large green crystalline shaft curiously fastened to the other. At the hoof feet of the succubus stood the twisted figure of the gnome warlock, Raven.

"Are you prepared?" She asked, her voice rough and hoarse.

"I am, my mistress." The succubus answered.

Draped in the crimson robes of the lesser orc warlock, Raven entered the circle and stood beside the succubus. Her voice deepened, straining with demonic undertones. "Do you believe?"

"Yes, mistress." The silky smooth voice whispered back.

The demon-woman spread her wings over the floor. She rested her hands on her pelvis and pulled a hoof up the side of the other leg, allowing her bent knee to rest out at her side. Raven pulled from her robes a long dagger with a wicked curve. A jagged dark green gem formed its pommel. She held it aloft in both hands while chanting a verse in the demonic eredun.

"Ered'nash havik yrthog xi ante maz-re.
Ered'nash havik yrthog xi ante maz-re.
Ered'nash havik yrthog xi ante maz-re."

Turning the dagger swiftly and gripping the hilt with both hands Raven thrust the blade deep into the demon's chest. Stepping backward outside the circle, the warlock gnome continued chanting, altering the verse slightly. As the thick black icor of the succubus's essence drained out onto the floor the green gem of the dagger's hilt flickered to life, burning a bright fel green. The dark blood filled the etched lines, but only particular lines, all while Raven chanted. As the dark icor flowed to the outer ring its hue shifted to a thick green that glowed gently. Completing the outer circle, a demonic rune appeared near where the imps held the staff.

"Now." She commanded. As one, grunting with tremendous effort, the imps hefted the heavy crystal-staff and touched the sharp metal end to the glowing rune. Fel energies surged through the artifact, lifting the item from the imps grip, into the air to hover gently over the rune.

The impish grin returned as Raven chuckled. It would take many more demonic sacrifices yet before the staff were ready, but once it was attuned to her the energies it stored and channeled would be hers to command and she could wield it with great ease despite her diminutive stature.

"A formidable weapon but priceless tool." She groaned proudly.

There was no time. No time to stand still.
The winds howled, though the world remained unmoved.
Day blended with night blended with day.
Light and darkness were as one. Existing, but all at once not.

She looked at the walls that surrounded her. She knew their names, but those names meant nothing. What was a Tirisfal? An ageless second passed and she found herself gazing out from a stone tower window. Below her the ruins and remnants of a kingdoms long gone but not yet built. It stood at the height of its power, glory, and prestige amidst its own ruin.

Confused? What is that without clarity? What is clarity? Ghost of a fragmented mind drifted here and there. All pointed to each other from their different places with their backs turned and eyes covered.

The one thing that anchored the woman was a single point. This is not life. This is not death. It was something between the two. The space that existed between the lines of text. Between the letters of the words on the page. She was somewhere within the void.

...whatever that meant.
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((edit: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18300739156 - up to post #7 brings you 'current' on Banshee so far.))

Mirror Lake, Elwynn. Nearing dusk, as the light of day failed, a small darkly cloaked figure crouched by the waters. Nearby the same waters fed into a babbling stream. Not far away was the road that led to Westbrook Garrison and Westfall beyond. She'd heard the occasional distant noise of hoof or wagon wheel, but they were of no consequence. They did not bother her and she did not bother them. That was the tenuous arrangement they'd brokered. ...for now.

For now she merely wished to linger alone and in relative peace, such as it was with her. A body wracked in pain, tormented endlessly with the burning and twisting of corrupted energies. A will that was endlessly tested and stressed. A mind that was like a ball room full of dancers that screeched and wailed to the tune of their own horrendous madness. It was a wonder some days that she was able to keep from being consumed by the immensity of it all. She was fairly certain that she had reached the frontier of her own limitations, but she could not afford to know them. Not now. Not at a time like this.

One could understand then that even a creature such as she would want to stop every now and then to simply admire the peace and tranquility of her surroundings.

Inevitably, it would be crushed. The serenity of the moment would come crashing down all around her in a torrent of panic and fear, accompanied (usually) by weeping and wailing of some sort. She expected it. Part of her even relished the moment, sick as it was. These denizens of the kingdom had nothing more to fear from her (for the time being) but her mere presence was an affront to the natural order of things. She did not belong. Not here. Not anywhere.

As she traced a clawed finger across predestine calm waters of the lake's shore a creature approached from behind. Low. Slow. Tender paws inching closer and closer. Muscles tensing. Heart beat racing to an adrenaline dump that exploded into a ferocious flurry of violence... that was short lived.

As the large forest wolf pounced, the small dark figure turned casually and caught it at the throat. The size of weight of the beast enough to topple and crush such a small an insignificant shadow, but this was no ordinary shadow. The instant that the clawed arm grasped the wolf its life force began to siphon out through that mutual contact. With little more than a grunt and a growl the beast toppled to one side, twitched, and then was still.

Raven released her grip on the wolf's thick neck. Peering from beneath her deep darkened hood she admired its figure and form, knowing that had she been the gnome she once was this creature would have easily over powered her and she'd be dead. Strange now how tables have turned. Things are no longer as they seem. Not even for herself, as horrible and wretched as she'd become. Flexing her will she pulled the beasts soul free from its corpse and contained that priceless essence within a small gem which she condensed from the very soul she'd drawn. Raven clutched the gem in her palm a moment to feel the bold life force trapped within, and admired it.

Slipping the gem into a hidden pouch within her robes, she turned back to the placid waters for one last gaze. As the moonlight illuminated the forest floor and the Shore of Mirror Lake, the shadowy figure standing along the water’s edge turned and stepped into darkness.

The time had finally come. All her many preparations were at last complete.

In a clearing of the Forgotten Grove, at the foot of the Tomb of the Forgotten Soldier, in the midst of the twin shrouded sentinels, she drew her circles.

The center rune circle spread six feet in diameter and was divided into geometric quadrants. She marked each quadrant precisely with a group of high-demonic runes fashioned in the Eredun script. Gathered at her side were her company of demons. Entities summoned into this plane, conjured and conscripted into her service. Among them, a small army (it would appear) of imps of all shapes, colors, and temperaments. Raven had gone to considerable lengths devising (and preparing) a method involving a great sacrifice of pure innocence to keep so many in her service. Though taxed to the brink and spread thin as she was, these still bent to her iron will to faithfully gather around her legs. So many imps surrounded her, sides and back, for four and six imps deep. Such were their numbers.

Two fel guards kept vigil over the grove entrance. Raven's pack of fel hounds roamed the surrounding forest. Her harem of succubae lingered unseen to witness a truly unique event.

The head of the rune circle pointed to the foot of the sarcophagus. Raven stood at the foot of the circle facing the sarcophagus. Into a small rune circle connecting to the larger she planted the large fel crystal staff she'd collected from Draenor, which she had charged continuously with demonic souls, bathed again and again in an especially foul ichor created of fel tainted demon blood. It was very much the crown jewel of this twisted endeavor.

Draped in long tattered rags Raven, the wretched little gnome warlock, appeared very much as a small featureless wraith. Two thin gnarled arms raised from beneath the robes. The skin of each blackened, cracked, and charred; appearing as if they were reaching forth from some fresh hellish plane. Clawed fingers splayed into the air. The air that waivered from the unnatural fel heat her little body expelled. A great gout of fel flames blossomed at her side from which appeared the Dark Grimoire of her beloved Grim Master. Its pages fluttered open and prominently displayed. Eerie runes betrayed unimaginable secrets of darkness and horror skittered across its surface. Her harsh raspy voice recited the well-rehearsed incantation in the high-demon Eredun dialect. Each phrase perfectly spoken. Each phrase summoned with it a hellish aura which gradually warped the realm around her as the power of the ritual increased.

At the head of the sarcophagus appeared a squat figure, one with whom she'd had many clandestine dealings over the year. Much a kin to how Raven appeared, it hunched its back and moved toward the rune circle with an eager shuffle-gait, dragging his right leg behind. Its features obscured by a collection of brown tattered rags from various other garments. The tattered creature paused at the foot of the sarcophagus' lid and perched, listening quietly to Raven's incantation. The small featureless figure swayed gently at each recitation, admiring the warlock’s composition as though it were a graceful operatic performance.

When her ritual neared its completion reality around the warlock had twisted to such an extent that she stood for a brief moment within two realms. The air burned around her with sulfur. The rune circle began to glow, oscillating between a deep unearthly green and rich purple hue. A pair of small fel green orbs where eyes would have been illuminated the twisted features beneath Raven's hood. As she chanted the final verse her body began to smolder. The scent of brimstone grew thick and permeated the air. Their noxious fumes choked the grove. Vegetation wilted from the sudden onset of the unnatural heat and gases.

The tattered creature that waited, perched at the foot of the sarcophagus' lid, shook in anticipation with clenched fists. IT WAS TIME! Its shaking turned quickly to convulsions. The figure collapsed to its knees, then flopped onto its side producing a puff of thick grey soot at precisely the moment Raven invoked the last of her fel rite. The dust cleared to reveal a mere heap of rags.

[1/3]...

[2/3]...

The rune circle in the clearing below pulsed and crackled with fel-twisted energies. Arcs and bolts of green tainted lightening snapped and sputtered within the circle, tearing at the earth it marred. The cadre of imps watched on with enlarged wondrous eyes while silently Raven dismissed the black grimoire and slipped backward through their ranks, away from the circle. A fair distance away. With a resounding crack of shrieking thunder the fel energies charged through the tall staff's corrupted crystal and howled as it arced throughout the small hoard of imps. It grabbed each in turn and burned their corpses from the inside out. A great sucking wind quickly followed which pulled them to the rune circles' center where the ash pile grew. The energies shifted a deep purple and the circle began to pull at itself, warping the earth. Gradually the tiniest rift into the great dark void beyond tore open just above where the ashes had fallen.

In an instant, it would seem, it all passed at once and the energies dissipated. The foul winds quickly calmed having dispersed the acrid brimstone stench. In its place however an altogether different aroma took its place. Like a creeping disease the stench of death slowly filled the grove.

The rune circle that had glowed so brightly now only scarred the twisted earth. A neat pile of ash sat at the center. The general area appeared as if it'd been placed there from some hellishly alien realm. A strange stillness fell upon the grove. Without wind the ash pile began to swirl. Twisted earth pealed itself free and from somewhere within the swirling dust and debris a thing, a creature, began to appear.

Standing no higher than a gnome, a skeletal creature emerged. When the ash and earth had reached its apex it fell over the creature like an unholy baptism, draping the thin frame in a raiment of dark ancient robes.

The small skeletal figure hovered just inches above the earth. An eerie vibrant hue of blue energy emanated from within its chest cavity. Its eye glowed the same cold deathly hue. When it moved it did so fluidly with grace as if every portion were suspended in an ethereal sea. Its long flowing ancient robes defied gravity. The smooth white eyeless skull turned slow gaze over the grove. Settling that gaze on the darkly cloaked figure of Raven. Its mouth opened, revealing a maw of pointed teeth accentuated by two large fangs.

Its entirety was supernatural, and its voice echoed eerily so. "Raven. My wretched warlock."

The twisted figure of the darkly shrouded gnome struggled with a mock bowed. One hand gripped tightly to a gnarled branch as a crutch. "Dorian. My Lich."

The small lich, no larger than the gnome, spread his arms and drew in a mock breath. "Ahhh, it is gooood to be back." He nodded slowly. "Gooood."

Raven played her best as not to appear quite as weak as she'd truly become. The ritual drained nearly every last reserve of power she could conjure as well as that which she had prepared in advance.

"My part in this is complete, Lich. Your banishment is ended, and I grow... impatient... for the reward promised."

"Ahhh." His voice growled. The figure drifted silently toward Raven. "Yesss."

Nearing Raven the Lich hovered in a wide circle around her, bathing the warlock in an appraising (if admiring) gaze. "Yesss." Dorian hissed.

"How far you have fallen, little raven, from the frightened little gnome you once were? So afraid. So alone. So... pathetic. Utterly powerless. Destined to remain in obscurity, forgotten while those you cherished became powerful. Your usefulness was soon outgrown, but you would never be content with this. Fated to remain behind. To fade into obscurity. No, you made a conscious choice that day." Dorian slowly drifted around her back to her other side.

"You could have sought out any number of other teachers. Become one of any number of other students. Other pupils... but you went to Him. You found Him. The Grim Master." He drifted silently in front of her, continuing the arc of his circling.

"Once everything was clear to you, and your decision made, Lilith became no more. You slowly murdered her." As he passed behind he gripped the air with both bony hands and wrenched them. "Strangled the life from that lesser being. Twisted her sweetness into bitterness and greed." He drifted behind to her other shoulder.

"Yesss. My lovely." Ending his circling at her front he clasped his hands together in a strangely pious manner. "The knowledge you seek is be yours. The next stage in your... evolution, it is nearly at hand." He raised a single bone finger. "...with your final task."

The hunched Raven twitched irritably. She gestured a painfully unsteady bow, biting back the harsh words that threatened to escape and berate the ominously powerful being that now considered her. Disxia, her ever faithful and adoring succubus, appeared at her side in her oddly business-like attire. The demon knelt to provide her master something to lean upon. Raven accepted, grasping the demon's steady arm. "What... Isss... My final task? My Lich."

The eternal toothy grin of the risen Lich did a seemingly impossible thing. It smiled.

[3/3]