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Grips with Power

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Ul-Rezaj placed his Dimension-Ripper's Staff on a counter at the enchanter's booth in Dalaran. It had become increasingly more difficult to control as of late, and the worst part was... he began to hear... voices? No, that was insane. Ul-Rezaj shook his head, thinking no better. The staff sometimes broke into floating pieces, dismantling the faceless headpiece at the top, into tentacles that squirmed desperately to partake in reality. Yet, those were all weak, weaker than Yogg-Saron's minions.

Still, ... echoing from the dark space that the tendrils of darkness created, Ul-Rezaj thought he heard a voice.

Kosumoth. N'zoth.

These sounds resonated with him in much the same way Hakkar had. He touched the piece at the tip of the statue, it divided itself into pieces, crackling with lightning and energy—desperately wailing like an animal caught in a trap. 

Ul-Rezaj stared at the piece; it behaved in ways unlike the necrolyte's natural talents. It behaved like a separate entity, feeding itself into Ul-Rezaj's mind. Was it stolen enery, he thought contemplatively. 

No, the voice replied coolly, consider it a gift. We share a master, and I expect you to continue to feed us.

Ul-Rezaj stared as the portals opened. The shopkeepers fidgeted uneasily, "Sir," an elven vendor asked, "Please, take it outside, you're scaring the customers." Ul-Rezaj scowled at the elf and turned around, people were not actually worried about him, but rather fixed in obsessive fascination on the ethereal who imbued enchantments on older garb that called himself "transmogrifier."


Ul-Rezaj carried himself into the sewers; his staff exerted enormous pressure on his back. We... are... not... finished

Ul-Rezaj pled, "What is it, then?"

The staff broke into fragments again that hovered in the air, releasing the pressure on his shoulders. The air shimmered and opened up black holes. A path must be cleared, ... if I am to manifest myself in reality. Your enemies threaten to block that path. Look out! Plumes of void energy crackled with lightning and opened up gaping fissures. Warped chaotic energy shot out across the sewers, lighting up the caverness hall and exposing grueling, eye-twitching vagrants with knives. A crash and a whip of hot air stole Ul-Rezaj's breath as the collision wiped out the petty beggars. A shack crashed down on top of their bodies, forming a small bonfire that puffed out smoke in thick ash clouds. 

"Why," asked Ul-Rezaj. 

They are not as innocent as you know. From now on, I will go out before you and destroy your enemies.

"I can take care of myself," Ul-Rezaj retorted. 

No, I will go out before you and destroy your enemies. I will break their bows and shatter their swords. I will--

"Enough," the troll snapped, now seemingly barking at nothing in the darkening halls. The shack fire dwindled.

The voice grew silent. A cool darkness that could be felt swept around him. Panic started to overtake him as the void itself complied with his request for silence. Ul-Rezaj experienced stomach-churning fear, unsure of what was going to happen. He folded his arms and shivered, looking around him for something, anything, to grant consolation. 

I hope that it is clear now... that I am on your side. Here in these sewers, you have the perfect reality. Without me, you have no vision. With me, you can plainly see what you must do. Nothing is what it seems. Those beggars acquired wealth at the expense of others, exploiting the above-grounders who move into these sewers to buy overpriced, stolen goods. These halls have no justice, no law, no order, and we must put that down—in order to build a strong, organized society.

"What's in it for me," the troll asked. 

The glory of your cause will shine. 

The idea blinked into Ul-Rezaj's mind with enthusiasm. For too long, he had fought what felt like in vain. Sure, the Legion had invaded, but that wasn't his problem. He had scurried through the streets of Suramar to keep the Nightborne locked in infighting, yet the satisfaction of doing so had not wrung any sort of grand satisfaction. The Grim pursued the same ends as normal. The Alliance had largely perished, reducing the need to fight as often.

Let me stop you there. The voice cooed. You have your achieved your reality, one in which the Alliance's ranks dwindle as they continue to protect fringe outposts across the world. What you must now do is raise up your own people. Descend from Dalaran and build your livelihood, pursuing honor and strength.

"Right," snorted Ul-Rezaj. My first order of business, he told himself, is to put some restraint on this talking stick.

You might resist now, but you were never in control. The sooner you relinquish that notion, the sooner you will be free.

"I would rather die," Ul-Rezaj scowled.

No, you would not. Your fledgling grasp on reality is so strong that your greatest fear is death. I have shown you that I can prevent that. You must grant me my freedom in order for you to thrive in this world.

Ul-Rezaj was not about to let that happen, yet he knew of a way to pit the beast against itself.

Edited by Ul-Rezaj
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