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*A flier is posted in every city of Azeroth and Draenor by goblins and gnomes wearing Hello Maggy tabards*

********************** Wedding of the Century!!! *********************************

Hear yes, hear ye! To all gentlebeings, monsters, horrors, paladins, and maggots! The Maggot Lord, Abominus, announces his intention to wed Gentyl of Pia Presidum Friday the next, at 5:30. The place is the delightful Altar of Storms located in the scenic Burning Steppes, just a dragon's flight from Blackrock Mountain. The Blackrock Orcs have graciously consented to allowing the eager couple to hold the ceremony there, and volunteered some of their acolyte's for the sacrifices needed to ensure a proper future! Come one and all! Formal attire required, be it social or warmongering. Let the Doom Bells Toll Forth the Hours! Everyone is invited!

***************************************************************************

What: The Wedding of the Century
Who: Abominus the Maggot Lord and Gentyl of Pia Presidium
When: Friday the 20th, 530 PM
Where: The Altar of Storms, Burning Steppes, Azeroth.
Why: (scratched out) because!

Abominus scurried about madly, his minions working at a fever pitch. The delivery of his new Plague was imminent. He would have to up his timetable, as this was Phase 101 of the flowchart labeled "Get Your Suit Pressed and Cleaned", right after "Secure Mint Sword" and before "Attend Maggot Spa, Order 4 Billion Massages", with 2 lines leading to it from Section 2, one being "Avoid Worgen Interdiction Squads" and "Secure Fresh Gnome Cutlets for the Dinner Party". Reams of paper littered the floor, with diagrams and incantations scribbled on them, as well as cost overruns and finacial assessments.

Outside the Grim Maw Clan fortress, lines of wagons were seen arriving and leaving, bearing all manner of products and goods, as well as chattel and animals for the feast. Merchants lined up at the postern gate with invoices, queries, and pitches, all being fielded by harrassed Grim Maw Clan recruits. Rumour had it that Abominus would also be made the leader of the Maw, in an unbroken string of Forsaken leadership stretching back to Souleater himself. Orgrimmar city guards had tripled their numbers at the arroyo entrance to the Grim Maw demense, with increased fly by patrols added as well. Securty was tighter than a Dwarf's clenched fist around a tankard's handle.

The Maggot Lord paused at an embrasure of the wall, overlooking the bustling activity in the courtyard. Things were proceeding to his satisfaction.

"We hope we can arrange our meet with Tyrexusss sssoon, yesss. We wisssh to ply Gentyl with the experimental Plague we have formulated, yesss. Our ssstudiesss ssshow it ssshould take 5 daysss to incubate in her flesssh, before ssslaying her and risssing her asss Forsssaken, yesss. We will then wed her, yesss! And if that worksss, we will have a new weapon on hand, yesss! We hope Doctor Wolfe got the admixture right thisss time, yesss. We alssso need to arrange the catering, yesss! Maybe the gobbo-thingsss can aid, yesss..."

Abominus skittered off into the depths of the fortress, his cackle slowly fading from the air.

Dree'jin scowled as he read the flier. He would much prefer Gentyl dead and in little itty bitty pieces, perhaps scattered about the Echo Isles for the crustaceans, but the troll couldn't bare to see Abominus disappointed. Still, he would keep an exceptionally close eye on Gentyl at this ridiculous ceremony, and if the weak, soft little human so much as stepped one toe out of line...

((Note: This post is written from the view point of a very terrified Tarpit))

"BELAN RAKIR DAZ RAKKAN ASJ AMANARE GUL OK DAZ!"

I had to duck behind the desk just to avoid another blast. Fel fire was flying everywhere; Goddess was furious, so so furious! I cowered behind the barely standing wood, trying to reason with her.

G-Goddess, please, I'm sure that he will allow-

"DAZ RAKIR!"

ACK! More Fire! Another duck behind the now ashen table!

"THIS! IS! UNACCEPTABLE!" She howled in frustration, tearing through more of the cavern. Her souls were dancing and flowing about her in that same fury, lashing at the cave we hid in. Since she didn't have her citadel it was the best she could do, but I was kinda afraid that she'd attract half of Outland at this point!

Goddess, please, if we reason with him he'll-

ACK! FEL FIRE! OWWWWWWWWWW Damn it that hurt!

"BE SILENT TARPIT!"

I shut up pretty quickly at that.

"This will not do, belan thoraman... revos, he's ruining everything! Those souls are meant to be mine, ESPECIALLY her's! Pia dared to challenge me, and their lives belong to me because of it! I will not, NOT allow this! Nraaaaagh, asj thoraman karkun!"

I had to duck out of another blast of fire, panicking now.

Goddess, what do you sugges-

GAH!

"Suggest? SUGGEST?! Not suggest, ORDER, TARPIT!" She stepped out of the cavern, and let out one loud, resounding wail.

It was her cry, her command, her call. I had to cover my ears from the sound, I could almost feel them bleeding at this... slowly one of them came into view; the diminuative, small, child-sized soul hunters, fed with at least ten souls each, riding atop their just as maddened nether drakes. Each leapt off their mount and kneeled before her, always greeting her.

"In your name, Goddess." "By your will, my Queen." "We hear and fight, great Goddess."

She paced in front of them, her eyes dancing with chaotic fury. There were at least twenty of them now, and she was impatient it seemed.

"Find Abominus. Find the Grim Maw Clan. Find ANYONE associated with this wedding. Kill them. Burn their homes. Destroy their families. Everything of them. Dies. And if you find Gentyl among the wreckage, she is to be brought to me personally, but your first and foremost mission; the Maggot Lord dies. No one challenges the Goddess."

They saluted in unison and shouted "Yes Great Goddess!" before taking to their mounts and flying off for the hunt.

I was silently glad that Goddess doesn't give them any uniforms... well at least no one's seen her army yet, they wouldn't make the connection.

... Yeah, they won't. I'll jus- AH!

Goddess!

"STOP MOVING TARPIT!"

Gah!

((Post script: angry Mial is angry at Abominus. Sucks that I'll miss the wedding through, damn work))

((Pfft ain't no belf ho gonna kill abom on my watch))

Thelinna glances over the notice, a slight grin over her lips. She had heard of Tyrexus' role in the matter. While she would have preferred the paladin to be dead, since the only useful paladin's are the male ones, she had to chuckle in delight over the notion of going to a wedding. She clasped her hands together. "Oh, how romantic! A wedding! We'll have to go shopping, find an appropriate present for the happy couple."

Edi was wandering around in Thel's background. She smiled lazily. "Perhaps we complete the set, put the rest of pia into the same state of undeath, hm?" She smiled sweetly, and began to file her nails.

She was expecting the visitor to her sickbed. despite the increased security here, it was relatively easy for one in Fordring's good graces to slip into the medical ward. It was well past midnight, only a solitary nurse half dozing at the end of the hall as Cypher Three slipped in, holding a rolled up scroll with the invitation on it.

"I didn't wake you did I?" Three asked.

"of course not, as if I could get any sleep sitting here like a lamb waiting for the slaughter" Emma replied, her legs plastered, and held immobilized so the bones could in theory, knit together again.

Three came up to the bedside "how bad is it, maybe I could help?"

She shrugged "if you can regenerate damaged spinal tissue it would be appreciated. I was warned after the first incident that if I went back into combat this was possible. Even if they heal straight they're not exactly useable at the moment. Anyway you didn't come back here again at this late hour to inquire on my health, what do you have for me?"

The agent handed over the Wedding invitation "they've announced a date, and a time and place for this monstrosity."

"Indeed, it's a pity that the Skybreaker is too badly damaged from it's last mission to launch, it would be nice to fly over and bomb the entire wedding party into oblivion. "

Three chuckled "that would end a lot of problems for all of us. So what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing."

"what? But-"

"you've already personally warned Gentyl of the plot, which I still think was a mistake. An anonymous message sent from Booty Bay would have been less risky for your cover."

"But I couldn't just stand by and let this happen to someone else!"

"I'm not arguing your motives, just your tactics." she smiled reassuringly a bit through the pain " you have already helped to foil their plans by getting advance notice to Gentyl. That's about all we in the intelligence community can do. We get the information, it's up to the ones who do the fighting to make use of it."

Three just shook their head sadly "Damn it Macnee, I'm a doctor not a spy, I'm not used to not being able to do something to help. But I guess your right, besides, If I did stand directly in their way, I'd be just a speedbump to them, Horde or not."

Emma nodded "Just keep your eyes and ears open, anything that might help stop this, just pass the information on." she said, slipping a small rune carved stone out from under her pillow. "this will help you get word out, but by the Light, do not let anyone in the Horde see you have this." she said, passing over the hearthstone " the password to let folks listening know who you are is rubber weasel"

"Rubber Weasel?" what kind of password is that?" Three giggled as they put the stone in a belt pouch.

"it's not exactly easy to think of dignified codes when you're half foggy from pain medication" grumped the worgen.

"well I can help on that end at least" replied Three, handing over a small bundle "it's battleweed, the Kor'kron chew it when wounded. It dulls pain, but not the senses."

"I've heard of that, how did you get your hands on some?"

Three winced a bit remembering "I didn't know he swung that way to be honest..you probably don't want to know the details..am gonna be sore for days as it is."

"your right, I probably don't."

Three just grinned then quietly crept back out of the ward. Mounting up and taking off, the agent flew off towards the Undercity, muttering softly. "can't just let this happen...even if I have to kill Gentyl myself and make sure there's not enough of her left for them to raise..."

It had been an interesting day. Congratulations, death threats, importunings, rambling diatribes, and gifts were pouring into Grim Maw HQ. Recruits and guards were exhausted, and not a little wary as the last batch of exploding squirrels were caged up. It would take months to clean the stables alone, not to mention the main pub.

The Maggot Lord cleaned his sword, the spine sword gentlly undulating under his ministrations. He could not remember whose spine it had been, but his smith work had transformed it into a powerful weapon. He looked down at the floor of the roof, where the last of the bodies of the latest round of assassins lay in a heap. The last nether drake was being chased away by the Orgrimmar Flying Circus. Homes and businesses around the main fortress were still smouldering where that gnomish burrowing device had surfaced.

"Thisss meansss only one thing, yesss! Time for chocolate milk, yesss!"

Thousands of maggots perked up at this. Chocolate Milk Time was cherished in the maggot communities. Wars had been fought in Abominus' intestinal organs by maggot nations over less.

The sky overhead darkened as another bolt of magical puissance was diverted by the shields erected by the Grim Maw mage coterie. Yes, all in all, an interesting day.

((Oh, god, Abominus...the laughing is making my sides hurt...xD I STILL can't stop giggling at this.))

((It's GLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORIOUS!))

04/14/2012 09:40 AMPosted by Mira

((It's GLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORIOUS!))

((There are not enough O's possible in the 5000-character limit to describe how glorious this is.))

((Pure excellence, Abom! I can't stop laughing at this thread! In a word-- oh, Mira said it already... who cares!

GLOOOOOOOORIOUS!))

Saavedro saw the notice posted in Stormwind while he was leaving for Hearthglen to speak with Highlord Fordring. He shakes his head, chuckling, thinking that maybe this was why Gentyl could not meet with him yet...if she's playing along with this to humor the rotter, maybe the Presidium doesn't lack a sense of humor, after all.

Stepping into his flying machine, he took off and headed north.

"..."

"..."

"...What?"

Nobody was in Kaeev's immediate vicinity when he spoke as he read the notice tacked on the board near the Thunder Bluff bank, but his incredulity at the announcement was great enough to find a voice, even if only a word. Almost instinctively, he searched both the Lodge and the guild's vault for any signs of maggot infestation, fearing the notice wasn't the only thing left here.

The lack of any such findings brought the new Patriarch of Ishnu Por Ah some relief, though only temporarily. The shaman was skeptical, and even a little worried at this news. The undead's rotten heart had been after Red Earth for years despite her refusals; it now only seemed odd after such persistence that Abominus could have simply "given up on her", not to mention be after another so quickly.

Kaeev generally regarded the putridity that accompanied (and was often left by) Abominus more seriously than the undead himself, with few exceptions. Ironically, the fact that the announcement sounded so beyond ridiculous was the merit to its authenticity. Only he would dream up something like this.

The shaman rolled his eyes as he closed and locked the vault, producing parchment, ink and quill from his satchel. "Couldn't have picked a better time to leave, Sister," he thought out loud in jest as he left the banking area and settled himself on the edge of Woofer's Wallow and began to write. "Can't believe I'm not only doing this, but feel like I should..." he muttered. He wrote in Taurahe, figuring the language of choice would not be an issue for the undead, given what he knew of him.


*******************
To the Maggot Lord Abominus,

Word of your announcement has reached me, and I feel congratulations are in order. I wish the best for you in this endeavor, and hope all goes well. Unfortunately, my duties--both current and new--deserve my utmost attention at this time, and so I say with regret--*The shaman snorted with a chuckle and a shake of the head as he read over what he wrote thus far, before resuming.*--that I will likely be unable to attend the event. I hope you will find the gift that will follow soon after this letter a suitable substitute.

Sincerely,
Brother Kaeevanrash
Patriarch of the Ishnu Por Ah

*then written in Orcish*
P.S. Please let me know if you require translation for the above message.


*******************

He stowed the ink and quill, folding the parchment as he stood and made his way to the nearest mailbox.

Rumors the shaman had once heard of a peace offering made by the groom-to-be to the Alliance, that went horribly awry, nagged from the back of his mind. And there was the source of his worry. "I wish the best," he sighed, "for your sake, and everyone else's, for that matter." Slipping the parchment into the mailbox, the thought then came on what gift he should send Abominus.

The thought alone made the shaman groan.

A copy of the flyer had been brought to Westfall by a messenger, sent by who Cray hadn't thought to ask. He had simply stared in shock at the notice.

He hoped that they would find Gentyl before this.... madness... came to pass. If not... at least he knew where and when to go to break some skulls and mash some maggots with his hammer.

If he were being polite, he'd need someone to RSVP for the whole of the Pia Presidium -- and any allies he could muster in the meantime. But he was past the point of politeness.

He scowled, crumpling the flyer and tossing it into the fire pit. He began thinking of the layout of the land near Blackrock Mountain, plotting and scheming a battle plan. And, absently, he wondered if there would be cake.

((No, but seriously.... cake? :D))

((there will be cake-and you will be baked. :D ))

Mira had been assisting Cray in searching Westfall desperately for any sign of the missing Gentyl. So far, they hadn't found her -- much to Mira's immense regret. But they were following the trail -- Horde had been seen flying west, overhead. The trail had led to the western coast of Westfall, and there it had gone cold.

Now, there were these notices. Mira read the notice in silent shock, her blood going cold and her face even whiter than it already was. "Elements..." she whispered, the word a curse.

Turning to Cray, Mira said firmly, "I'm going with you."

Mira didn't even think about the possibility of cake.

But she did happen to be partial to chocolate...

The simple fact that this plague, similar no doubt to the scourge, exists should be more than enough reason for all sentient beings both horde and alliance to destroy this clan. Even Garrosh, the hotheaded being that he is, has stated that turning living beings into undead is unacceptable. Anyone who thinks this is a good idea should be cleansed along with everyone involved in the creation of this new plague.

Caro'thel Vendross cursed as he teleported from Hearthglen's courtyard back to Dalaran. Ever since the Kirin Tor had taken him in, he had learned from some of the most powerful sorcerers in Azeroth - and admittedly, he was no slouch himself, but there was only so much Lord Evenshade could teach.

He wondered idly to himself if the unknown manifesto author had the right of it. He had spoken that possibility, in his mother tongue, to the druid who'd come with news from the tauren. It seemed that all these Presidium knights were doing was talk. All they did whenever anything - Genevra harboring a spy, or Lord Devaneaux betraying the Presidium, for instance - came up was talk. Make plans, make threats, make promises. Nothing ever seemed to come of them, and when the situations resolved on their own accord, they acted like nothing happened.

When the talk had gone to possibly enlisting the aid of daemomancers, he had bolted from his chair, shouting curses. Though his opinion of "everyday people" had raised somewhat thanks to the lessons learned on his long pilgrimages to Winterspring and across the continent of Lordaeron, his opinion remained the same when it came to warlocks - and he had expected far better of someone in this "Holy Guard". Generations of tales about Azshara and her Highborne nearly consigning the world to hellfire echoed in his mind.

Still, he was concerned; Gentyl, for all that she was overly zealous for his taste on certain things, did accept him, even with his being the "arrogant little jerk" people seemed to think he was. The talk about possibly killing her if she were corrupted, and it seemed to him that the others had only accepted that possibility (he found it ironic that he would be considered the optimist) and ruled out any chance of rescue, not even knowing (or - worse - not even caring) where she was held...he had wanted to be optimistic, and fervently hoped she could be found alive and relatively unharmed. But in the dark corners of his mind, he did fear the worst...especially with talk of this foul abberation of a marriage ceremony.

No good will come of this, he thought as he settled within the library of the Violet Citadel to continue his studies, until such time as he was recalled to the southlands. Nothing good ever comes from the City of the Damned...