Consequences of Arrogance (Wide open)

[RavenReverend]

((For alt-aholics whose alts don't all get the same amount of play time. This is to sort of let people know what's happening to the alts after the coming of the Scourge--Please go ahead and let us know what they're all up to. Also getting alts settled to wait out the storm is good too :D ))


Feralmoon paced, the queasy feeling in her stomach hadn't abated since dawn when she woke to a bloodstained sky. Rosy red fingers of the dawn stretched out to caress her dark face in the cool clean air off the coast of Feralas. Her braids had come loose from the tight plaiting and holds on her hair, tusseling even more in the gentle wind that bore the smell of smoke from the pyres in Thunder Bluff... The Plague was here. The stars...the spirits...they'd all spoken of it. The past year had been filled with ill portent and she'd been too blind and caught up in her own comings and goings to see it.

Despite the nausea, gnawing at her roiling belly like a beast, she couldn't help but feel trapped in the Oaksong household. She loved Theira and Rannoch as dearly as she loved Clearwater or even...even Urs, but she still felt like a caged panther, stalking and waiting for the moment she felt well enough to strike. She swallowed uneasily, her eyes focused on the horizon hungrily. The battle raged on elsewhere and she was stuck...nursing a picky appetite and a growing feeling of guilt that while the world was falling down around her, she was readying herself to bear a child.

Staring into the growing disc on the horizon until her violet eyes watered, she furrowed her already heavily wrinkled nose and wondered...if perhaps this was the dawn of a new war.

She slipped a hand beneath the chain mail shirt and felt the hard carved muscles of her abdomen. It wouldn't be long until the chain no longer fit...and Raven's Edge would rest for a long while...gathering dust in the corner with Fool's Bane.


~ ~ ~


Tawaporah Twostrike stumbled horribly, weaving from side to side, jostled by people running past her, on mounts, on foot, and she could swear she felt the warm leathery feel of dead flesh on hers... What if...what if one of them was Abenthy?

The thought dragged a raw cry of agony from deep within her gut as she wailed. Tears matted the fur around her blind eyes as her knees buckled and she fell to the street, her hands clutching the dust and curled into a fetal position, not caring now if the few people who remained in Orgrimmar trampled her to death or not. Abenthy....Abenthy was gone.

"Two! Run!" She let herself scream outloud as she heard his voice, haunting her tormented mind.

She couldn't see, the groaning of the dead and the dying, the screams of their victims...it all disoriented her. She was effectively crippled here, lying a scant few yards away from the gates of Orgrimmar. The great city named for Doomhammer was falling...and as the Herald of the Lich King bellowed over the city that his forces were innumerable, her heart gave up.

"Love...you..." His death rattle haunted her ears.

She let out a wail from the depth of her spirit and resolved in that instant, that this particular young Tauren woman, was ready for death.

[Arnok]

Dark mists clouded Abenthy's world. There was a silence, beautiful silence, something he'd not heard for twenty years. Something tugged at his hip. he looked to see a small Shu'halo child looking up at him. She seemed familiar.

"Thank you,' she said before scampering off into the mists.

Now other figures approached him, lay gentle hands on him, some weeping, some smiling, all thanking him before vanishing. He basked in the warmth of their adulation, eyes closed and arms outstretched. Only as the mists lightened, then faded, did he stop to think why they were thanking him. Had he touched so many lives?

The spirits cleared with the mists, giving way to an image that stole from Abnethy his breath. There he was, panting, gore dripping from his fur and sword, surrounded by the carcasses of Scourge. One by one, a shade rose from each corpse and went to him, arms held to embrace him. Each came within arm's length before coming up against something cold and strong as ice, and as transparent. A whispered thank you they had time for before vanishing.

Abenthy could only look on as the image of himself stood breathing heavily, not reacting to the spirits' words. The vision faded before he could draw breath again, leaving him blinking at the now cleared landscape, all ash and stone. New figures approached, wretched bodies stepping from crags and rising from sulfur vents. They moved towards him, arms out, but not to embrace him.

He fell as the first reached him and pushed him over. They circled him, pointing and shouting, "Murderer! Widow-maker! Orphaner!" The spirits flailed at him, raining blows upon his unprotected body. He cried out, curling up and clutching at his head to block out the voices of those he'd slain.

Abenthy did not know how long he lay curled into a ball but after a time, he perceived a chill, a numbing of his mind so like the mead he used to quaff by the keg-full. He peeked out to see the figures behind an icy barrier, still battering it with their fists.

"Should you stay here, this is what awaits."

His ears heard nothing though the words clearly resonated in his mind, an austere voice, rippling with centuries of power.

"You have been here before. The ways of Death are not unknown to you. I could use one with your knowledge in my service"

He turned to see a suit of armor rimed with ice. The eyes glowed a hard, cold blue when the voice spoke. He felt compelled to kneel in honor of such power.

"I offer you a baragin. Serve me. Return to the land of the living, bound to serve me and I shall give you the power not simply to block out the mob," A gauntlet raised to indicate the howling spirits, "but to control them."

Abenthy stared, dull-eyed at the suit as the offer sunk in. Then, slowly, his mind thawed, "What would I do in your service."

"Wreak havoc upon the living, slaughter by the thousands, bathe their world in blood!"

Return to life...he could be with Two again. But to be an instrument of death. Would she still want him?

"My lord," he was surprised to hear his hollow voice sounding again, "May I have some time to consider?"

The helmet exuded an air of malicious amusement, "You may have one month to consider"

"Thank you-"

"-Without the barrier." The suit faded and with it, the barrier. The riot of souls outside fell upon him, howling their hate for him. Under their mass, Abenthy could only think of Two.

[Bishop Jagrith]

They just sort of....shambled around.

Jagrith sighed and lowered his hand in frustration. Maybe with two hands, he thought, and he raised both arms in a fierce pose.

"Your wills are mine!" The Bishop sneered.

Still they ambled. One bumped into another one, which caused a rotting hand to fall off. They seemed even less willing to follow his command.

With the invasion of the dead, Jagrith, the self-proclaimed Necromancer of the Vile Reef, had taken it as an opportunity to test out his powers in controlling the mindless ghouls. Surely a simple task, for a Necromancer of such power.

And yet, the group below him, trapped in a dried up riverbed, just kind of meandered aimlessly, bumping into one another. This was not going as he had planned.

"Nice day."

Jagrith jumped at the sudden voice. He turned to the Boss of the Vile Reef.

"Ah, oy there Boss. Nice day indeed."

Fafnir eyed the clustered ghouls, shuffling around in the riverbed. "New pets? I guess they could be like fish in a bowl, only more grabby in the presence of food."

"Ah, no. These are....well these are my new minions! Yes, my minions, being the powerful Necromancer I am." Jagrith stammered a bit, covering his tracks.

Faf just kind of looked at the ghouls, then back to the Bishop. The look on his face was not one of agreement.

"Just look. Behold! They obey my every command!" Jagrith waved his arms around in a majestic fashion. "Walk around slowly. Even slower. Now turn in place. You there, bump into the other one, yes that's it. Now fall over....See?" He glanced over to the Orc, to gauge his reaction. "Must I continue my display of power? It is awfully draining to the will..."

"I s'pose not," Faf, shaking his head with a devious grin, turned away. "Ah, keep up the good work there, Necromancer."

Jagrith waited a few minutes, and then deciding that it was futile, walked away himself with a sigh.