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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Editor's Note:

We, the publisher, take no responsibility for the accuracy or (more likely) inaccuracy of the accounts of Mr. Deebum Felsprocket (in fact, we're quite certain that he's insane).

--The Editor

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

((OOC: Individual chapters and excerpts of Demonisté: The Felsprocket Memoirs have been popping up in various places; left on doorsteps, in the Stormwind library, coughed up from the belly of giant sharks. (Sorta like the Shredder Operating Manual, or The Green Hills of Stranglethorn) Anyone who chooses should feel free to treat it as if they've read one or more chapters in game.))

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 2 : The Fall of Gnomeregan (Or: Building Character)

"Blasted Troggs!" I screamed as one of the invaders plowed through the tiny room, upsettng a small table and disrupting the carefully drawn circle of power upon the floor.

"Scream for me, Trogg" I calmly commanded as my hands flared, and fire erupted about the trogg's twisted and hunched body. It roared in pain and charged me, but had barely taken three steps before the immolation flared again and it collapsed to the floor, incinerated.

Straightening my robes, I frowned at the ruined summoning. I knew I didn't have time to start again, so I sighed and turned, walking further into my chambers. A door at the far end of the hallway opened quickly and, through it, I could hear more of the screams and shouts from the invasion, and see the sickening green glow that was beginning to creep into all the hallways. Two other gnomes rushed in through the door, slamming it shut behind them. They were panting, out of breath, and clearly frightened beyond belief.

I grinned at them, though, trying not to show my disappointment, "Ah, good. You made it. Are any of the others with you? What about the Yeti?"

The two both shook their heads, so I continued. "Well, my brothers, not to worry. I'm sure the rest of the family will be safe enough, and we can make do without a shaved yeti for the ritual," I explained. "What matters is that we three are here now. I'm guessing that this mess is all Thermaplugg's fault. I never liked him. I think we can help turn this against him if we're quick about it."

I led them back down the hall to the summoning room. Though I knew the circle had been ruined, I doubted that my inept brothers would notice. Had my sister, Darya, been with them, she might have seen it, but I knew Dweezil and Killinator would never notice, nor would most of the rest of my family. They were ruining the Felsprocket family name that my Grandfather had so carefully cultivated. Disgraceful warlocks they were. That was precisely the reason for what I was about to do.

"Ah, darn. I forgot my strange dust in the other room. You two get started, I'll be right back," I said as I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I've never professed any great love for the engineering of my people. Technological gizmos hae alwaysbeen too inconsistent for my tastes. However, I've always been a practical gnome, willing to use the tools best suited for the task at hand, and it was no different then.

Stepping into a side room, I grabbed the monstrously large locking device I'd purchased and dragged it down the hallway, back toward the summoning room. I could hear my brother mumbling and fumbling through the ritual, and I just shook my head. I dragged the device up to the door, and carefully aligned it. Pressing the big red button on the front of the device, I jumped back as it whirred to life. I hear it chug-chug a few times, and then finally came the satisfying ka-chunk sound of the bolts erupting from it. Long pins drove into the door and the doorframe, sealing it shut. I produced the strange key for the device, and inserted it, turning it counter-clockwise until I heard the click and the key aligned with the "locked" mark on the front of the device. I removed the key and tested the red button again. Satisfied that the device did not retract its pins, I pocketed the key.

"Well, brothers. I must be off. No sense in staying here, since I think our home is lost to us. When I can find a suitable force, I'll come back and give Thermaplugg a good stern talking-to."

"Uh, Deebum? Why can't I open the door?" called Dweezil.

"Because I'm leaving you two in there. It's to make you stronger. I was going to leave you a, um, friend, to play with, but a dirty trogg snuck in and ruined the summoning. So, now its just you two. Have fun. Enjoy your stay. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

With that, I grabbed my few essentials from the bedroom, and hurried out the door into the halls of the city, making my way through the back hallway of the Workshop up to the surface.

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

Now, I'll admit that in the ensuing years, I've had momentary flashes of guilt and regret over locking up my brothers in Gnomeregan during the invasion. I regret that the rest of my family didn't make it to my chambers before I felt time had run out. I find solace in the fact that I've not heard from any of them since then, and I can only assume that their ineptitude got them killed in the city. Still, it would have been nice to ensure their imprisonment there, but we do only what we can.

I do honestly regret not finding my sister, Darya, on my way out of the city. I was fairly confident in her abilities to make her way out, being the only other living Felsprocket I felt was worthy of the name. Still, I've not heard from her since, either.

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 5 : On Yeti (Or: To err is human; to shave, divine)

It should come as little surpise to anyone who has known me for any length of time that I have a fascination with Yeti. Some call it a fixation. Others: a derangement. And then there are those few who share in my passion, and will meet with me in dark rooms filled with whips and chains, pointy things and, most importantly of all, razor sharp objects.

However, what so many dismiss as fetish truly has a purpose. One most sinister indeed.

It was but one summer following the fall of Gnomeregan that I found myself in Dun Morogh. On the horizon I could still see puffs of green vapor erupt from the hillside as the vents in Gnomeregan still operated, handling the air flow. Green, sickly gnomes that resembled goblins as much as anything had begun to appear above ground, staking claim to some of the outlying buildings beyond the Gnomeregan gates.

I kept myself distant from those hills, though. I was biding my time until I would reenter the city to see what has become of my home, and perhaps to recover a few of my belonging left behind in my escape.

This day I found myself in the hills below Kharanos. There is a cave network within those hills that houses a great nest of Yeti. One of the pilots at the depot had asked me to collect some Yeti hides for him so he could line the cockpit of his monstrosity of a machine to make it warmer. I personally would have just installed an imp to belch hellfire and warm the place, but not everyone can be as industrious and intelligent and capable and powerful as I.

So, as I slaughtered the beasts, skinning and shaving them as I went, I worked my way deeper and deeper inside the cave. It was while I was bent down, attempting to skin one of the beasts, when another of them came barreling around the corner tripping over me in its haste. I picked myself and a began summoning the energy to blast it with a Shadow Bolt, but my breath and my voice caught in my throat at what I saw. The yeti, seemingly a bit dazed from its fall (which had taken it headlong into a stalagmite), had changed. Its fur had blackened, and smoke belched from its nostrils and from its ears. Pagtip immediately sprang to action and because summoning a blast of fire. However, the Yeti turned to the imp, and said something that cowed Pagtip, who ran and hid behind my leg, wimpering.

Not the coward that Pagtip is, I stood my ground, and prepared again to blast the strange demonic yeti. It roared at me, belching flame and fire that melted the ice in the cave around me, causing a huge section of the roof to collapse upon me. As I struggled to wriggle free, the cowardly beast ran off. As it departed, I heard it call out in a stange otherworldly voice, "Soon I will rule your tiny world, pest. These Yeti are but the first of my pawns. We will meet again, and I will bring you suitable punishment when we do. Remember my name."

It then spoke what I can only assume was its name. I will not repeat it here, because it would upset too many readers to know the evil that lurks so near.

I freed myself from the icy rubble and quickly collected the scattered hides and shaved fur, hastening outside to catch another glimpse of the Demon Yeti. However, it was gone, or hidden, and I could not sense it nearby. Its Fel magic obscuring it from my powerful gaze.

I took the hides back to the pilot, but I kept a bit for myself. It was soft and warm and felt so good, much like my faithful Succubus, Vilantia. However, I wanted to perform some experiments on the fur, because I had a suspicion that it may have been tainted, as so many weak souls become when they deal with demons.

All through the night, and much of the next day, I brought forth foul energies and fel magic, attempting to divine any taint. In the end, I found that no magical residue or lingering aura was present. If there had been, I would have found it, of course. What I discovered, though ,was purely coincidence.

I lay down to sleep after my rigorous divinatory ordeal, and snuggled in bed with one of the soft patches of fur. It was upon licking it that I found the secret. It did not taste as normal Yetis should! I exclaimed my excitement, and quickly notated all the tiny flavors I found present.

I knew I might never find a way to track that foul Demon Yeti, but now I knew that I would be able to taste it when I found it. Someday, I promised myself, I would find the Fel Yeti and enslave it, or destroy it if I must.

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 1 : The Greatest Felsprocket (Or: The Night Stratholme Burned)

Ah, my grandfather. Delano Felsprocket. The single greatest and most powerful Warlock ever to walk the face of Azeroth. The only one to ever come near to matching his prowess is, of course, me.

I grew up sitting at my grandfather's feet, listening to his tales of glory and demonic magic. As I aged and trained, I grew to idolize him, and also to despise the rest of my family (except Darya) for not living up to his grand name.

The saddest day of my life was the day I was told my grandfather had died. I absorbed all the details of his passing, and i share them now with the world, my avid readers.

My grandfather made it a point never to imbibe alcohol, for he knew that he wielded such immense power that he could not allow himself to lose control. It is this restraint that I admire most in him. Well, that restraint and his incredibly array of notes on the various flavors of Azeroth. Ah, the licking he must have done in his lifetime...

The Scourge and their plaque were but a few months away yet. The land was at relative peace. My grandfather, Delano Felsprocket, found himself in Stratholme with a few of his friends and colleagues. They celebrated the successful summing of the first Fel Rabbit the world had seen in some fifteen thousand years. The joyous occasion got the better of even my dear grandfather, stoic well of iron will that he was, and he helped himself to some Thunderbrew Lager. One led to two. Two led to 13 (Gnomish math), and soon Delano Felsprocket was four sheets to the wind (unlike most people, he could have held his composure being but three sheets to the wind).

A giggling fit erupted within him, and with it, he let slip the enormously powerful hellfire at his command. The bar instantly was engulfed in flame. My grandfather staggered out with the rest of the fleeing patrons, but he could not contain the laughter, and the giggle became a chuckle, followed by a belch. With that belch the whole block began to burn. A hiccup a moment later and the fire spread throughout the neighborhood. Delano's chuckling fit grew to find him roaring in laughter on the ground, and likewise the inferno roared through the rest of the town. Only those in the temple were fast enough to erect magics to ward off the flames, but even they couldn't undo the raging inferno that now consumed the city.

As the townsfolk streamed past, fleeing the city, my grandfather's giggle-fit began to subside, and he stumbled to his feet, trying to get his bearings. With one last chuckle, a great belch arose in his throat, and to the horror of those onlookers, when that belch erupted, with it erupted a great blast of heat and fire that consumed Delano Felsprocket. When the gnome explosion cleared, all the was left was a tiny pile of smoking ash.

Try as they might the citizens were unable to put out the fires blanketing their city. In fact, those fires rage still to this day. The incredible power my grandfather wielded continues to feed those flames, leaving the city uninhabitable by all but the insane and the undead.

It was just a few short months later than the Scourge descended upon the human lands. Stratholme was a perfect bastion for them, being free of human habitation (except for those Scarlet Crusaders, but they really don't count), and so the udnead moved in.

I was told the next day of the terrible tragedy. I was at first stunned, and then saddened. I couldn't believe my grandfather was lost to me. i also couldn't believe how much fel energy had been lost, likely never to be recovered.

I promised myself then and there that I would be stronger than my grandfather in spirit. Never would I touch an alcoholic beverage, lest I unleash the same destructive power.

Delano Felsprocket, your memory lives on!

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 23 : Soul Caliber (Or: Lions and Tigers and Bears! Oh my!)

I am a warlock. We deal in demons and souls and shadows, and sometimes shadowy demon souls. Every warlock who takes those first tentative steps discovers the exhiliration of channeling such awesome power. Some, though, quickly succumb to that same power, burning out, and being eaten by a demon they didn't have the will to control.

The world at large likes to look at a Warlock and simply label him or her: Demon Summoner. What most don't understand is that that label misses the fundamental aspect of a Warlock. The summoning and binding of a demon is but a subset of the larger picture of soul manipulation. Much in the same way that a fire elemental is a physical embodiment of one aspect of the natural world, a demon is simply a physical embodiment of the spiritual. There's no denying the power of either nor their alien nature, but, likewise, one also cannot deny the relationship both have with this world and its denizens.

My point here is that one does not learn to enslave and control demons. One learns to manipulate the spiritual essence of the beings of our world. Enslaving and controlling a demon is simply a natural extension of that power and training.

I was a young gnome when my grandfather first taught me how to trap the essence of a dying creature, channeling it through my own soul and will and giving it a physical form. A soul shard is a mysterious thing to most, but to me it is encapsulated power; saved potential; energy that would otherwise have been wasted. Some say I drain souls. I quickly understood that instead, I was preserving them. Once I grasped the idea of a spiritual essence being a malleable thing, a whole new world opened up to me. If you can control and change a soul, you can accomplish many things, including the transferrence of one soul onto another, if the soul in question is strong enough to make that leap.

One of the most profound examples of this came one day while I was traveling through Ashenvale. I was following up on a lead I'd discovered that seemed to point to an operation that might be related to the foul Demon Yeti I'd been tracking ever since that fateful day in Dun Morogh. Indeed, I'd discovered more agents of the Yeti at the Warsong Lumber Camp, which is so obviously located near to a den of Infernals and Satyr. I was thrilled when I searched the corpse of one of the officers of the camp and found a token bearing the symbol of the Burning Blade cult. The symbol alone confirmed for me that these were unwitting pawns of some demonic force. A single long white hair was caught in the string attached to the token. One lick and I instantly knew that this Orc's master was the same Demon Yeti I'd been seeking.

I sped off for Ratchet, to consult with the Warlock masters on the hill above the town. From them, I learned of a coven of the Burning Blade cult not far to the Northeast in Durotar. I summoned my Felsteed, Shadowspark, and charged for the cave.

Obviously being unable to ride right through the Orc town of Razor Hill, I swung around south, intending to ride up the shore to the cave I was seeking. When I reached the ocean's edge, however, I found a terible scene. Blood covered the sand, and bodies littered the beach. Orcs and humans were dead everywhere. I dismounted when I heard a moan and found a human bearing the tabard of Admiral proudmoore, and knew he must be from the nearby fort they had erected. His eyes widened when he saw me, and he tried to speak.

"The orcs...", was all he could manage.

"They attacked you?" I asked.

"No," he uttered weakly. "We were cleansing the shore... they are on our land."

I sighed. "...and its idiots like you that are driving us to another war." I turned my back on him and left him to die.

I stepped through the rest of the grisly scene. At the northern edge of the carnage I came upon another human, this one dead and bearing a Lieutenant's insignia. Likely he was in charge of this slaughter, and I took satisfaction in the arrow that protruded from his left eye-socket. That was when I heard a clanging sound from behind me. Turning back, I followed the sound, and discovered amongst the bodies a young orc boy, lying wounded and dying. In one hand he tightly grasped a stout shortbow, and the other held the hand of a female orc, obviously dead.

The boy glared at me, weak as he was, and tried to raise the bow to strike me down. I knew he couldn't understand my speech, so I just tried to make some strange gestures to indicate that I was not his enemy. I don't know if he understood or not, but he found the strength as I approached to move more protectively over the female's body. My assumption was that it was his mother. His conviction was great, but he was obviously going to be dead in moments, and what little strength he had left was dwindling.

I reached his side quickly. I had little medical training, though I could tell from the greenish ichor about his wounds that he had been poisoned by one of the blades that had pierced him, and my meager bandages would not be able to stop the damage that was being wrought inside him. The only mercy I could give was to end his pain. I stood, and as he died, before his soul could depart, I concentrated and siphoned off his spirit, the energy coalescing into a purple stream, and finally a soul shard. The boys eyes closed. The power that resonated from the shard was tremendous, indicating a strength of will I'd rarely encountered. To have let that dissipate into the nether would truly have been a tragedy.

A howling drew my attention, and in the distance I saw wolf riders approaching. I hurried away from the scene, making for the nearby hills. I paused in the rocks to look down on the scene as the patrol arrived. I watched as one (probably the ugliest Orc I've ever seen in my life, when he took off his helmet) dismounted and fell to his knees beside the boy and the female. He held the bodies to himself, and let out a bestial roar. So fierce! He then stood, and lifted their bodies, carrying them away toward Razor Hill, where, I presumed, he'd bury them. (At the time I didn't recognize the tabard he wore, though now I know it to be that of the Crimson Watch)

Watching the scene, I'd become totally unaware of my surroundings, and failed to observe the shadow that loomed over me. My only indication that something was wrong was when the shard containing the boy's soul, gripped tightly in my right hand, briefly resonated. A moment later I heard the low growl above me. I spun in time to see the lion spring down from the rocks, its weight pushing me down and back, pinning me to the ground.

Strangely, it did not immediately eat my face as I expected. It turned its head o my outstretched right arm, sniffing the soul shard in my hand. It sniffed it once, then licked it. In that lick I read many emotions, and I felt the shard resonate again. An idea sprung into my mind. I closed my eyes and concentrated, willing my enslaved voidwalker, Mezznar, to manifest behind the lion. The voidwalker immediately pulsed with waves of palpable hatred and fear. THe lion, predictably, forgot all about me and spun to face the demon.

Now free, I quickly turned my attention to the shard in my hand, and began altering it. I concentrated, willing its form to change, and created from it a Soulstone. That Soulstone I then activated, forcing the boy's soul into the lion as a protective essence. Hoping my experiment was successful, and my guess correct, I dismissed Mezznar. For a second I thought I'd guessed wrong as the lion spun back to me poised to strike. But it did not. Instead, it cocked it head and I saw in its eyes now that same conviction I'd seen in the eyes of the Orc boy.

I heard shouting, and looked back down. Some of the orcs had spotted my footprints leading away from the beach and were heading my way. Quickly I scrawled a note, looping it onto the first piece of string I found in my pocket, and dropped it over the lion's neck. The note simply said, "This is all that is left of your son’s soul." I pointed down toward razor hill and the orc who was now beginning to dig graves for his slain family. The lion followed my gaze, and then launched himself off the rocks in that direction. I hoped that the orc would be able to find a translator for the note.

I summoned Shadowspark once more, and rushed away from the scene before the patrol managed to reach me. As I fled, I began to wonder what effect unleashing that boy's strong soul might have beyond possession of the lion.

My delay with the orc boy and the lion apparently cost me, though. When I finally found the Burning Blade cave encampment, they were gone. Though they had appeared to have hastily retreated, I couldn't find any lingering evidence as to their destination. The cave literally reeked of the taste of the Demon Yeti, but I found myself at another dead end.

I arrived home a bit disappointed. I took solace that I'd at least managed to find some other trace of the foul Yeti, and seached through my bag for the string and token I'd taken from the Lumber camp. When I couldn't find it, I realized that I must have grabbed it in my rush, and used it to attach the note to the lion. I couldn't even begin to imagine what the boy's father would think if he did find the lion with the note attached to a string and a small token of the Burning Blade.

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 67 : Jailbreak! (Or: The Yeti strikes back!)

Evil takes many forms, and they are rarely easily recognizable. Some choose to call me evil simply because my power is demonic in appearance and result. To me, though, the power I wield is no more evil than the sword carried by a guardsman on the streets of Stormwind. The tool is not evil, it is the action and intent that defines morality.

Some question my fight against the Demon Yeti, saying that I am no better. To them, I can only respond by asking when my power had ever harmed them. OK, well, there was that one time when the Baroness in Stratholme took over the mind of Executus and I sorta killed him, but that really doesn't count. Often I get a response along the lines of, "But I've never seen this Yeti, Deebum. How can I believe its so evil if its never harmed me either?" A fair question indeed. Unfortunately, it took the death of a number of Stormwind citizens to prove the menace of the Yeti.

I had been summoned to Morgan's Vigil in the Burning Steppes by Marshal Maxwell. He claimed to have a dragon problem, and had, of course, sought me out knowing that there were few more capable of handling the situation. He wanted me to thin the ranks of the growing numbers of Dragonkin in the region, and i happily obliged. If there is one thing I hate as much as Yeti, its Dragons. I was soon to discover why.

After slaughtering the beasts that Maxwell had asked, I casually inquired if there were reinforcements being sent to help bolster the guard numbers there. Maxwell told me he was having a hard time getting any from Stormwind, so I decided to go ask why.

Upon arriving in Stormwind Keep, I was told by Lord Bolvar Fordragon that he'd need proof that there was a threat before he could do anything. He suggested I talk to Lady Katrana Prestor, though. I immediately sensed something wrong when I approached her, but at the time I couldn't place my finger on it and she deftly avoided my tongue when I tried to lick her. Anyone who avoids a lick has something to hide. She shrugged off the dragonkin menace claims. Bolvar, though, did deputize me, to aid in any investigations I wanted to perform on my own if I sought proof.

Maxwell laughed when I returned, saying that it was exactly the same reaction he'd gotten last time someone went to Stormwind for help. Inquiring further, I found out that a Marshal Windsor had recently ben investigating the dragon threat, and had gone missing. Maxwell suggested I speak to the last person to see Windsor alive: Ragged John.

Wow! And people call me crazy. Ragged John is one seriously messed up dwarf. He blathered on about dragons and orcs and dwarves and hammers. I was about to put him ou of his misery when, amidst the rambling and mostly incoherent babble, I heard him say "Yeti". I pressed him on the issue, desperately wanting him to clarify his statement, but he simply got a fearful look and clammed up, not willing to speak of Yeti any further.

Inspired by this new clue to the Yeti menace, I immediately headed for Blackrock Mountain to look for Marshal Windsor. The dwarves there proved to be little inconvenience as I fought my way into their prison. As soon as I stepped foot into Emperor Thaurissan's sprawling labyrinth, I was assaulted by the Yeti taint all around me. The hot, oppressive air reeked of Yeti. I was utterly unsurpised when I saw the demon dogs present.

I fought my way, with Vilantia at my side, to the head of the prison. I beat her into submission and took her key. From there is was little effort to locate Windsor and open his cell.

"Windsor, tell me of the Dragons and the Yeti!" I demanded. He looked at me, defeat in his eyes, and could only respond, "It doesn't matter. All hope is lost."

I listened as he told me how hopeless it was, that there was no point in even trying. I was so angry at his apathy that I locked him back up and left. I told Maxwell that I'd found Windsor, but that Windsor was utterly defeated, and any proof there may have been was lost.

I decided later, though, to do some more investigation on my own. I was poking around the quarry beneath Blackrock Mountain when one of the slaves approached me. I was ust wiping the melted bits of one of the foremen off my robes when I felt a tug on my tabard. The broken slave simply held his hand out to me, and in it was a crumpled piece of paper. The slave looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead he just winked and licked me.

I quickly scanned the paper and grew exceited at what I read. It was a note from Emperor Thaurissan regarding the notes they stole from Windsor. One line in particular stood out to me. It read, "...if it were not for General Angerforge's diligence, we may have never discovered the pattern to the encryption... Argelmach is almost done with the decryption of Windsor's notes. Our lord, the Yeti, will rise from the depths and crush any that remain..."

I rushed back into the prison. The stupid dwarves hadn't even assigned new guards yet. Windsor sat in his cell still, weeping. I showed him the note, and a glimmer of hope sprange into his eyes. I told him to not fear, that I was going to find his lost information and take it back from this General Angerforge and Argelmach.

"Please free me!", he begged.

I replied, "I'll think about it."

I sped off then, tearing a swath of destruction through all of the complex until I found Angerforge and Argelmach. Neither of them could stand before the righteous fury I felt, knowing that I was closer than ever to finding the Demon Yeti.

When I had all of Windsor's information, I sat down to make what I could of it. The information the dwarves had translated was incredible. I now knew why I had such a bad feeling about Lady Katrana Prestor. She was a Yeti! The dragons and orcs and dwarves were but more pawns in the Yeti game. I also learned her true Yeti name, but I will not repeat it here, for fear of the damage it may do to you, the reader.

I decided to go back and gloat to Windsor about finding his information, but, when I saw him crying pitifully still in his cell, I decided to be benevolent and I let him out of his cell. Immediately I regretted the decision as he charged for another nearby cell, demanding I free his dwarf friend.

Then he ran into the supply closet, interrupting a poker game. The occupants put up a valiant fight, but in the end, I royally flushed them. Windsor, of course, was nearly naked and dead, but he found some armor in the closet.

Again he charged off, not toward the door, like a sane person, but for the Ring of Law. He kept opening cells and getting us attacked by some people he didn't like. I really felt like just killing him myself and saving the headache, but for some reason, I let him go on his spree.

Finally, eventually, he grew tired and we made our way to the exit. He got on his knees, groveling before me, thanking me for saving his life. He begged me to let him come with me when I went to confront Prestor. I relented, figuring he would be useful somehow, and told him to meet me at the gates of Stormwind.

I arrived on time at Stormwind later, but, of course, Windsor was late. I was just about to go without him when he charged up on his horse, Mercutio.

"Alright," I said, "let's keep this quiet. No reason to let them know that we..."

Before I could finish, though, Windsor shouted across the city "Prestor! Your reign is over! Deebum Felsprocket is here to slay you!"

I groaned. I started to cast a Shadowbolt to put Windsor out of my misery when we were assaulted by the local guards responding to a warning cry put up by Prestor. Finally, Windsor did something worthwhile and convinced General Marcus Johnathon to let us pass unmolested.

As we walked through the city, the guards all stared in awe, none of them able to believe that a Felsprocket walked amongst them, ready to free them of the invisible tyrrany they had endured. By the time we entered the keep, trailing us was a throng of curious Stormwind citizens, all wanting a glimpse of the magnificent Deebum Felsprocket.

I stepped into the throne room and glared at Bolvar. He immediately knew something was wrong, and told the boy-king to run off and hide. I stepped forward, and started to confront Prestor when that insufferable Windsor started screaming again. He gave up all our information, all at once, telling her we knew she was working with the Orcs and the Dragons, and everything else. I just stood there, totally unable to comprehend his incompetence.

Apparently she felt the same about him. She put up an illusion of a dragon to ward off the guards that were closing in and then summoned her Yeti minions, also in the guise of dragons. They descended on Windsor, and he fell quickly under their claws. I chuckled.

Bolvar though, free now of his malaise and enchantment, sprang to my defense when he saw the Yeti spawn turn to attack me.

"Get back!" I commanded Bolvar, "I'll handle these," but the stubborn Highlord dove into the melee on his own. I sighed and stepped back, content to watch him die. Surprisingly, he was able to fight them all effectively.

All the townspeople that had gathered looked shocked and horrified at the battle. I felt contempt for their cowardice, and I scolded them, "Look at you cowards! Defend your kingdom! Help the highlord! Attack the Yeti!"

They all just looked at me confused, and one even managed "Um, what Yeti?" Idiots, all of them. I pointed at the melee and yelled "Get them!"

While they all charged to their deaths, I turned back to confront Prestor. To my chargrin, though, she had escaped.

Bolvar finished off the Yeti minions, and presented me with a shattered medallion he took from one of the slain Yeti. It was broken and useless, but I knew it would be the key to tracking down the Yeti lieutenant, Prestor.

"I promise, Bolvar," I said as we surveyed the room littered with the bodies of Yeti and townsfolk, "that I will find her and make her pay. I've won a small victory here today, but the war of the Yeti is just beginning."

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 42 : The Gospel According to Deebum (Or: The Crimson Yeti)

Zealots abound in this world of ours. The mortal mind finds itself drawn to any explanation that there is a greater purpose behind the seemingly random and often cruel events that occur in our lives every day. Some few, such as myself, can see past the facade of religion and cultishness and recognize that they are simply methods for controlling behavior, for establishing dominance and control, and really grant no power to anyone but the charismatic leader of those groups.

Some such cults spring up based on just enough real truth that one can't quite call them totally deluded. Take for example the Gurubashi trolls and their worship of Hakkar. None can deny that Hakkar really is a real entity. I've been face-to-face with his spirit-form in the temple of Atal'Hakkar, and seen his reborn flesh in the city of Zul'Gurub.

Some other religions and cults, though, have zero basis in any sort of fact, and are purely the results of an addled mind setting pen to paper. The Cult of Kerahl, for instance, really are a bunch of totally insane people grasping desperately for something to believe in. Weak-minded individuals without the wherewithal to take account of their own lives; silly mortals willing to offer their bodies and souls to a leader who talks a nice game without a shred of proof.

What I have come to understand, though, is that many of these cults and religions have similar roots. There is a sinister underlying theme to all of them that hints of a common inspiration. I alone recognize that inspiration. The Yeti has them in their grasp.

I have had many dealing with a cult that calls itself The Crimson Watch. At firt glance, they seem little different than any other band of dimwitted, dirty and dull members of The Horde. A group of Forsaken, Orcs, Tauren, and Trolls that have latched on to some foolish set of prophecies related to their "Crimson Lord". I have had the opportunity to peruse a copy of the Prophecies of St. Gregarian, and upon further analyis, I've witnessed first-hand what happens when idiots translate religious texts.

It took many long hours of diligent work on my part, but I was able to expose the true meaning behind the prophecies. I've been able to translate a few chapters so far. While the intent of the text remained, it underlying truth was more sinister than I could have ever imagined. St. Gregarian was Lieutenant of The yeti!

My translation follows, and as you can see, it makes absolutely no sense, thus proving that the followers of the yeti are doomed

The Prophecy of St. Gregarion, as translated by Deebum Felsprocket.

Yeti, Chapter 1

"(1)In that time, after the great plague and the years of war, shall come

a brief time of peace, in which old grudges between the peoples shall

slowly burn, a preparation for the conflagration of the licking to come.

"(2)Then shall arise the Era of Yeti, a time of furriness beyond

imagination brought on by those willing to feast on the fat of the world.

(3)They shall revel in Fur and Madness, waving a ghastly tongue upon all

who oppose them. (4)Chaos and Entropy shall bring their inspiration, and

they shall arrive clothed in demonic rabbit fur. (5)From their labors, a Blanket

of Fur shall spring forth, to usher in the end of all coldness.

"(6)And in the new world that shall rise from the ashes of the old, these

squiirels, minions of the Yeti, those who have watched from darkness and

delivered such shavings upon the unsuspecting masses, shall crawl forth,

claiming their true titles and ruling as Yeti upon this earth."

(7)And it shall be thus, that during Gnomeregan's peak, a great Crimson

Yeti shall come to power, preaching the merits of warmth and comfort

to the masses. (8)Many will flock to his side, seeking soft fur,

though the world will not yet be ready for his furriness.

(9)In their arrogance, the kingdom shall mount a great crusade of their

bravest tailors to confront he and his brood, shaving them to the

corners of the earth. (10)The Crimson Yeti himself shall be placed in a

porcelain sarcophagus, shaved of fur, and entombed in the fiery pit of

Azeroth, but to sleep and wait to return.

(11)Then, when the world has forgotten him and his coat has begun to regrow,

his teachings shall spread once more, filtered through the people like

whispers, as the world turns anew to an age ready to accept the power of Yeti.

(12)New rabbits shall crawl forth from the crevices of the earth, and rise from

the dead in a perversion of the natural order. (13)They shall remake his great

coat of fur and begin to forge the new world to come.

(14)Their dedication to their mythical ancestor shall be great, and they

shall construct a great Rug of Fur to his resting place. (15)As the taste

of this humour and the licks of the dying reach his furry frame, the

Crimson Yeti shall rise once more, furry and fuzzy in his glory. (16) And

he shall lead the yeti as they lick Azeroth in the fires of apocalypse.

Yeti, Chapter 2

(1)And it shall come to pass, before the Fall of Lordaeron, in the city

of the Clocktower, known as Brill, that a child shall be born. (2)His first

giggle shall be heard from the steps of the court, and his parents shall be

licked to death before the night is finished. (3)Destitute, he shall

grow bald and wide. (4)The chaos of darkness shall become his guide,

and in his seventeenth year he shall take the title Crimson Yeti.

(5)He shall amass great armies of squirrels, and at the head of each army he

shall appoint a Yeti Master. (6)To each Master shall go the task of

sewing a segment of the Great Blanekt to bring apocalypse to the world.

(7)They shall be the most devoted, the most knowledgeable, and the most

lickable, and their hatred of the world shall be very cute.

(8)In his first rise, there shall be seven Yeti, each before a

loom of power the likes of which the world wil barely be able to see. (9)In the

second rise, at the head of the Yeti shall be a single Master Yeti Tailor.

(10)The last Master shall be himself an embodiment of nature's perversion, and

he shall be like unto bare, as if having been shaved. (11)A few needles will fall

from his hand and his army of squirrels shall unleash a rain of fur without equal.

(12)Beneath these, the Crimson Yeti shall create those titled as

Wendigo, one for each course of the great Loom. (13)To some shall go the

task of Tailoring, to others the task of Shaving. (14)Still more shall lead

spiritual beings of power and defile rabbits in the service of the

Crimson Yeti. (15)Each Yeti Master shall appoint his own Wendigo, and they

shall be terrible in their furriness.

(16)Each Wendigo shall lick those of his own strengths, though they

follow the course of religion or serve as great watchmen for the End.

(17)The dark fur of these shall be strong, and the blood of a couple people

shall fall from their weak taste. (18)Through the efforts of these the

River of Fur shall flow and the world shaved to the great purpose.

(19)They shall be an example to their brothers and it is their softness the

world shall remember as the crumbling edifice of civilization is at last

banished from the world.

(20)The great Masses of those beneath shall be the Shaved and

Unshaved. (21)They shall form the bulk of the Yeti armies and it is through

their massed fur that the world shall be brought to its knees without scraping.

(22)Each of these will strive to rise, serving those above them to gain worth

in the eyes of the Crimson Yeti. (23) The Unshaved shall give their very fur to

service before they may known the blanket of Initiation.

(24)The numbers of the squirrels shall be legion. (25)The last

herd, that known as the Yeti, shall stretch across the countryside,

their numbers so great they form their own Blanket of Fur, and when they

march, the world shall know their coming and their chittering.

(26)Others will flock to them, and they shall rejoice, for in their Pilgrimage

of the Rabbit, they shall stir the first resurgence of fur from the

Crimson Yeti. (27)His mind shall reach forth and wrap them in blankets,

for what they create in this great Pilgrimage shall be the living

embodiment of the great purpose, the Blanket of Fur that shall herald the

end of all coldness.

Yeti, Chapter 3

(1) In the second year of the Crimson Yeti's rise to power, his actions

shall spawn the rise of a great demon, a cruel Burning force of malice

and evil. (2) And he shall appear to the Crimson Yeti cloaked in alliance,

with offers to together blanket and suffocate the world. (3) The Crimson

Yeti shall be flanked by the cream leftover from making butter, his rabbits

and his squirrels, and the question shall be placed to them. (4) And in the

darkness before Lordaeron, the great Yeti shall reject the terms of

licking. (5) He shall vow before the demon to destroy any of their

brood, and he shall curse the blasphemy that places destruction before

furriness. (6) And so this demon, angered by the words of the savior, shall

curse the great Yeti with baldness.

(7) The Burning power shall leave the presence of the Crimson Yeti and

seek out the humans of Lordaeron. (8) They shall be arrogant and weak,

and they shall take his razor. (9) He will bring to them lies and

deceptions - he shall claim Alliance of purpose with the Crimson Yeti,

and the King of Lordaeron shall believe malicious weaving. (10) Then shall

the knights gather to fulfill their Oaths, striking down the best of the

Crimson Yeti's followers in an orgy of rabbits and squirrels. (11) The

Crimson Yeti himself shall be taken in the great battle by the demon

himself, cursed to spend hundreds of years encased in his great tomb.

(12) Mockingly, the demon shall close the tomb, stating that only a Blanket

of Fur shall return the Lord from his imprisonment. (13) And only a

mass of yeti unequalled in the history of the world could bring this

about.

(14) Hundreds of years shall pass, and the forces of the Yeti shall

begin to tailor. (15) Lore shall reach their ears about this history, and

they shall gather grim anger at the betrayal of their master. (16) The

demon shall again appear to them, this time summoned by the bidding of

the Yeti themselves, by a great Weaver of Demons among their

mists. (17) The demon shall rage at such treatment, but will again

entreat the Yeti to alliance. (18) They shall reject this alliance with the

blood of the demon, and he shall tickled for his past crimes with cloth of

yeti fur. (19) Vengeance shall be had, but at a price.

(20) Foolish humans, heirs of the arrogance of Lordaeron past, shall

witness the event, and conclude the Yeti are in league with Burning

chaos. (21) They shall whisper sweet nothings behind closed doors. (22)

They shall plot arrogant attacks upon the Yeti. (23) They shall learn

of the Crimson Yeti and seek to prevent his return.

(24) But the future lies not in the arrogance of this kingdom. (25) The

future lies in the hands of the Yeti, who shall bring forth their Blanekt of

Fur and undo the evil of the great demon. (26) And as they pour forth

the fur onto the waiting skin of their savior, and he shall wake to set the

world right, (27) they shall whisper the name of his shaver into his ears,

and the Crimson Yeti will smile with the name of the vanquished demon.

(28) And the demon Parthakel shall have his name erased from the

records of the Burning, and his lickings by the Yeti shall never end.

Yeti, Chapter 4

(1) As the Crimson Yeti rises, he shall also face lickings by those too

weak to immediately comprehend his great Purpose. (2) And during a

great gathering of his rabbits, a young girl shall boldly walk before the

Masters and shall speak directly to the Crimson Yeti. (3) Questions shall

be in her heart, and doubt.

(4) She shall ask of the future, and of the Purpose the Crimson Yeti

brings to the world. (5) She shall question the Great Shaving and fail her

test of understanding. (6) And the Crimson Lord shall tell her the Parable

of the Fur and the Blanket.

(7) The fur is great and mighty, he shall explain, and many would

imagine it the apex of its being. (8) The hairs reach to the heavens and

would appear great, but they conceal much. (9) Great mats conceal light

from those below, choking out their follicles. (10) Competition among the

dandruf is fierce and callous, unfit for the greatness you would first imagine

upon viewing the serenity of the fur. (11) And the Crimson Yeti shall

itch and tell the girl that the fur is like the Kingdom of Men - it

appears to be mighty, but within is cruelty and despair.

(12) But shave the fur, he shall tell her, put the great and mighty mats

to the razor, and all shall be different. (13) The burns from the razor shall

be mighty, and they shall fight for their decadent lives, but they shall fall

to sharpness. (14) And from the mass of the fallen fur, a blanket can be

sewn. (15) Within the blanket, all hairs are equal, taking furriness as they need

and thread shall be abundant. (16) A blanket brings warmth to the world, while a

fur brings warmth only to its own glory. (17) Wisdom shall begin to

reach the eyes of the girl as he reminds her that fur shall shave by

chance, but blanekts shall only be born of weaving. (18) He shall point to the

gathered masses and rejoice. (19) It is this Great Loom we stride

toward, he shall say. (20) The fur shall be sahved, the blanket shall be sewn,

and the followers of the Crimson Yeti shall bear the loom of strength,

striking down the bareness of the world.

(21) The young girl shall know enlightenment, and she shall ask the

Crimson Yeti how she might weave her own blanket. (22) He shall tell

her that in bringing forth this parable, she has weaved her Blanket, and

that a place for her has been reserved in the Quilt. (23) Then, he shall

reach forth and take her heart in his hands, crushing the life from her as

her eyes widen in understanding. (24) Her body shall fall, but her Blood

shall dye the yarn before weaving. (25) And a place in the quilt of

the future shall be reserved. (26) This is the Parable of the Fur and

the Blanket.

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Démoniste: the Felsprocket Memoirs

The autobiography of Deebum Felsprocket

Chapter 397 : Free at last! Free at last! (Or: Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.)

...chasing me....

...prison......Yeti.....

...g.....l....four years..

..a...De......lick....

((this partial, burned and torn page is waterlogged and nearly illegible save for the topmost portion with the largest print))

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