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Wrest

Even Gods Can Die ((Closed, pm for an invite.))

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Months after the assault on Stormwind, the Plaguelands cried out as the sounds of preparation rang through the site. The state of Lordaeron stood in an an eternal haze of death but not inactivity. Warped trees grew from tainted soil as mindless undead traversed the forsaken lands, ever seeking a potential meal from any living creature yet foolish enough to enter the Plaguelands. Overgrown bats soared overhead, spreading their webbed wings to ride air currents above the scarred landscape, looking down at the pitiful number of growth yet pressing from the ground to be forced into a mockery of what it would have stood for in life. Mountains riddled with Plague jutted from the surface of the soil, breaking into the red sky to mar the few clouds that pushed into so dead a place. Throughout the death and chaos that riddled the land, a form of order still remained. A single Forsaken sat on a frost wyrm, overlooking the growing numbers of undead that amassed in Plaguewood, with a small, victorious smile lingering on his lips.

Meatwagons carted their loads to the necromancer, dumping bodies haphazardly about the dead ground. Siege smiths worked without tiring, forging blades and armor from Saronite on par with that of the Scourge's craftsmanship. Blight launchers and catapults were rolled into position about the forest of dead and dying trees, their loads ready to be launched as soon as the battle commenced. Plague cauldrons were also set into place by hulking wights, boiling Blight into a fine mist that slowly spread throughout the Plaguelands, summoning all that did not breathe to Wrest's service. Slowly, all undead marched to Plaguewood, eyes smoldering a searing blue, akin to Wrest's glowing orbs.

Ranks upon ranks of mutated avatars of death and destruction gathered before Wrest, as skeletal necromancers below continued to resurrect more soldiers from their Plague cauldrons. Plumes of Blight seep from the cauldrons across the forests of fungus, limbs pressing up from the ground in reply to its unending call. Ghouls marched into lines to await their orders alongside skeletons and geist, each decaying body standing rigidly at attention gazing upon the necromancer above patiently. Behind the front ranks stood a smattering of abominations and Plague-spreaders, hulking behemoths of decaying flesh with no thought but the destruction of those before them. Plaguehounds and wraiths danced between the rows of undead, easing themselves into positions at the flanks. Overhead, Frost Wyrms battled gargoyles for airspace as each tore across the sky, pressing their limmits while overseeing that the troops assembled properly, while Death Knight Calvary await the orders to march from the rear. Flesh giants, Val'kyr, all matter of undead arranged themselves into their position, each beholding the necromancer flying above. A ghoul singles himself out from the army, and bows before Wrest with a soft 'Mazztterrrr.' emminating from his decaying lips, the troops ceased moving and all was prepared to march.

A curt nod ends the Forsaken's stillness, followed by a soft voice carried only due to the silence of the undead before him, "The time achieve my goal is at hand, let it be known that even 'gods' can feel undeath, even 'gods' can be controlled, and that even 'gods' will bow before mortal flesh." A rotting talon raises, as though to cease nonexistent cheering, "Today, we move to see my ends met. We march to slay and raise a god." A curt gesture sets his army in motion, each rotting corpse marching into gates set before them by necromancers in Wrest's service, and exiting before the gates of Ulduar.

"My time is at hand."

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A lumbering abomination stood watch over the undead army as they marched forward from a distance. It was not apart of the army it was just lingering in that particular area. Plaguewood was its home anyway. Ranavos sighed, its been months since he had met Wrest…He hated every moment of it. He dare not return to Stormwind in his current form. So he stayed home in Plaguewood only to see Wrest form an army on his very doorstep.

The bag of flesh sat down. He hated his body, wished he should just carve it away which he had tried, but the pain was too much to continue. Too much pain for Taram to see…Taram… Him and Taram had been living in exile for the past months in Plaguewood in Ran’s home, staying clear from any contact from the living.

The abomination takes up his sword and tried desperately to carve flesh away from himself only resulting in him roaring in agony . Ranavos dropped his sword on the ground and he tended to his self inflected wound.

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Urivial yawned as he woke, he was in the Eastern Plaguelands, not more then a few hundred yards from Ranavos' "home". He packed up his camp and strolled towards it at a leisurely pace.

He had watched the situation develop over the past months through Taram's eyes, finding it intriguing enough to let it continue without his interference.

He looked forward to seeing Ranavos, and being his savior when it came to that flesh suit he found himself currently trapped in. Urivial grinned as he looked down at the glowing vial on his belt, clearly infused with the light. The Elixir would target the necrotic flesh and disintegrate it, leaving nothing but Ranavos' boney self.

Humming quite happily to himself, Urivial strolled up on the back of Ranavos' house, and arrived in time to watch the Abomination take his sword to his flesh.

"Hello Ranavos! Miss me?"

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Ranavos’ heart skipped a few beats upon hearing a familiar voice coming from behind him, the abomination turned around looking at Urivial with his deformed fleshy face a hint of sadness and embracement in his eyes. He coughed up bile, covering his mouth with his hand trying to be polite as he can, at least his coughing fits weren’t as bad like the ones he had a few months ago.

“I-I am sssorry ssir. I do not know you. You must have the vrong persssson.” Ran turned his back on Urivial, hoping that wouldn’t know who he is. His gaze returned to Wrests army.

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Dismounting from his drake, Wrest peers across the trampled land at Ranavos and the strange man approaching him. Slowly walking over, the old Forsaken was defenseless as he left his forces behind as curiosity propelled him forward. A frown spread over the necromancer's features as he warily eyed the vial, his instincts reeling at the threat it posed to him, though he stubbornly pressed on.

"Hail Ranavos, is this a friend of yours?" Wrest nods at Urivial with a false smile plastered on his face, "It is so rare that guests come into the Plaguelands, to whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

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Fear washed over Ranavos as Wrest approached him, he cursed as the forsaken used his name when Urivial was near, but perhaps this small bluff can still work chances are not so high. “Vo? I think you are mistaken asvell.” The abomination blinks and he looks to Wrest then back to Urivial.

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Taram kept herself to a back room, she tried to keep with Ranavos while he was like this, after all it was the least she could do, the business with the cult forced her from Stormwind anyway. She took to working with machinery and attempting to learn how to draw, her results were laughable, she hoped the poor excuses for art would amuse Ranavos at the least, he seemed to be beside himself with pity, she hated it but she smiled and tried to keep spirits high. Wrest was still... a mystery to her, her demon side was fascinated by him, rather what he knew, but she didn't really allow her control, something she despised greatly. At times it felt like she was else where... On occasion she thought she could hear Urivial Beckett in her mind, a lot clearer than before. It was odd but as usual the demon kept it hush hush.

Smearing bright colors onto the paper she laid on the floor she tilted her head this way and that, she did a lot better when she didn't actually try to draw things. Everything she painted came abstracted, much like Ranavos. She wiped her forehead with the back of her head, sighing a bit and flinching hearing Ranavos' cry. Her head tilted towards the doorway, her pony tail whipping with the motion. " Not again." She gasped, no doubt he tried to skin himself, every day or so he got that idea into his head. Snagging the pack of bandages on the dusky floor she went out to the main room. Pausing, seeing the paladin, then in the doorway, Wrest himself. Taram ducked back, no doubt too late, having already been seen, she could keep the other part of her heart jump, a voice in her head breaking through the silence. ' Urivial!'

Taram closed her eyes and shoot her head, the man was a menace... Still she moves out, her hands coated in splattering of paint, much like her dress, a red dot on her cheek. Ignoring the men she went to the small water basin and took a wet cloth to wash herself off a bit, a pointed glare aimed at Urivial. Taking a fresh, well as fresh as they got around here, cloth to Ranavos she dabbed at the blood and pus, trying to clean up up so she could apply a paste and bandages to the abomination. " I'm afraid the demon has told him everything..." There was some venom in her words and she closed her eyes tightly, her heart was racing, said snitch bouncing in her mind, wanting control, she wouldn't get it. Not right now.

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Urivial chuckled at Ranavos for a moment, "Now Ranavos, lying won't get you any-" with that Wrest landed and spoke.

"Ah! You must be the neutral Forsaken I heard so much about! It's a pleasure to finally meet you!" Urivial walked over to Wrest and held out a guantleted hand to shake.

Urivial then turned as Taram walked out, "Ah! The gang's all here! Yes, yes, the demon has been very informative. And YOU'VE been rather rude to her don't you think Taram?" he pointed an accusatory finger at her, "I have half a mind to let her out!"

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Ugraz was sitting at his new throne in Stonewatch. The last few months have been boring for him; commanding people around the keep, rebuilding it, working out trade lines and more. All boredom until a Blood Elf came with a letter.

"Hail, Warlord." The messenger bowed.

Ugraz nodded, "Yus?"

"A report from Sir Daar." The messenger handed Ugraz a decorated envelope, the red seal had arrows engraved in it. Ugraz opened the letter and read it.

Dear Warlord,

I have found Wrest. My scouts spotted his large army in Lordaeron. I do not recommend trying to face him...Perhaps we can work out an agreement with him? To avoid the downfall of our wonderful faction, I am sending one of my greatest diplomats to talk to the Forsaken...she will have guards, of course.

Your Grateful Servant,

Daar Dawnarrow

Ugraz ripped up the letter, and threw it at the messenger. "Get out!" The messenger nodded and ran out of the keep, avoiding Ugraz's anger. Ugraz got up and started pacing around the keep, before walking outside and commanding, "GET ME MY BATTLE ZEPPELIN!"

____________________________________________________

The small Elven diplomat walked down the road into the dreaded Plaguelands. She had been told Wrest was now at some house, (via radio), and slowly made her way there. She motioned for her guards to wait, and walked up to the home. She spotted the small crowd and spoke up, "Why hello there...I am Vyndria Sunsong."

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Ranavos threw glances at Urivial and Wrest, this defiantly wont end well. He tried to move away from the two when he caught a glimpse of Taram walking towards him, arms filled with bandages. It broke his heart to see Taram like this, she deserved a better life than this ‘slavery’ held by Urivial. The abomination sighed deeply which threw him into a coughing fit, bringing up small amounts of bile which he quickly wiped away with his arm. He smiled a bit upon seeing Tarams robes splattered with paint, her art was…unique, abstract at best, it always entertained him, but he always saw a deep meaning behind the spatters of paint. It was almost like she was painting their current emotions and endeavours.

Ranavos watched Taram tend to his recent self inflected wound, his heart breaking for putting her though this almost every day. He perked up as she spoke. “The demon told him?…Ssso, he knowssss” a quick glance was directed towards the paladin. He tried to nudge Taram closer to him, no doubt Urivial will want to release the demon, he wouldn’t let that happen, she was doing so well.

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Wrest smiles and takes Urivial's hand, "I am flattered to see my reputation precedes me. Yes, I am Wrest, High Necromancer of the Rippers." Warily the Forsaken eyes Ranavos and Taram, his gaze especially lingering on the Plaguespreader's damaged arm. Releasing Urivial's gauntlet, Wrest raps his cheek with three fingers and regards the figure before him. Ranavos obviously did not care for the paladin, who in Wrest's opinion, was far too informed to be neglected. Rolling his shoulders in a half-shrug, the undead chooses to aid in the ex-lich's lie. Slowly moving his eyes about Urivial, Wrest begins to open his mouth before he is interrupted by a new arrival.

"Why hello there...I am Vyndria Sunsong." A Blood Elf girl wanders away from the soldiers behind her towards the small crowd ahead. Wrest sighs and rubs his face, mentally kicking himself for leaving all his troops behind. He turns and offers short bow to Vyndria, which rustles the Forsaken's robes and presses dried blood from the fabric.

"Greetings, Elf. Can I currently assist you? I'm afraid I had mistakenly identified one of my creations as an old friend of mine..." He gestures to Ranavos airily, "And seem to have encountered a Paladin with the same error." Issuing a curt nod at Ranavos, he mutters in Gutterspeak, "By all means you may keep watch on the homelands, or you can join the ranks of the invaders if you so desire 'soldier'."

Backing away from the crowd with another, lower bow, Wrest smiles and addresses them all, "I would so love to offer to entertain and oblige you whatever I could, but you see I am in the process of a rather big operation and lack time to spare."

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Taram glared darkly at the paladin, she was less than fond of him, he favored the demon over the human of late, maybe because the demon seemed very willing to divulge anything and everything to her, she ignored him and continued to bandage Ranavos' arm. Neither would command her, not with others around, they might over hear and make matters worse for her. She bound the wound, making sure the rotting skin was as clean as she could muster and patted the bandages gently. After not being able to feel so long, she imagined it was hard on Ranavos, as much as she worried about him hurting himself, she could only think that she would do the same in this sort of situation.

The human rubbed the abominations upper arm affectionately, trying to calm him down, he'd been less that willing to talk to anyone or do anything since the transformation, she helped as much as she could.

" Urivial I think you should leave..." Taram stood her ground setting an even glare on him, her eyes moving to Wrest, she knew what this was building up to and had agreed to assist in exchange for him helping to ease Ranavos' flesh problem. Hopefully all of this would be over soon.

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Urivial moves to Ranavos and Taram as Wrest turns his attention to the Blood Elf.

He pointedly ignored everyone but Ranavos as he gently poked Ranavos' undamaged fleshy arm, "My word Ranavos, what HAVE you gotten yourself into here?"

He then grins and leans in to murmur something in the abomination's ear.

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Ranavos smiles as he watched Taram work on his arm, trying to ignoring the pain. He looked at Wrest as he spoke to him in Gutterspeak and didn’t reply, he simply nodded. His gaze had returned to Urivial who had just poked him in the arm. The abominations eyes glowed brighter as the paladin whispered to him, he growled softly as his face turned into a scowl. “I am ssorry, you mistake me for someone else…”

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Urivial frowns at Ranavos and then sighs, the lich was clearly adamant at hiding his already blown cover.

"Fine fine, you're not Ranavos." Urivial grins and looks to Taram, "And I suppose you're not Taram either eh?" Urivial waves a hand, clearly not caring for the answer.

"Well! I don't think I'll be leaving just yet. The neutral Forsaken's plans seem oh so fun... I want to watch them play out."

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Vyndria walked up to Wrest, completely ignoring everyone else in the house. "Sir Wrest.." She pulls out an unneeded, but elegant scroll, opening it up, and clearing her throat. "On behalf of Ugraz and the Horde Brothers, I would like to negotiate a peace treaty.." She nodded at Wrest and waited for a response.

________________________________________________________

Ugraz climbed on board his zeppelin when it arrived, "Quick! To da plaguelands! FASTER FASTER!" He yelled at the Goblins working on the massive flying ship. Ugraz allowed some of his guards to climb on, then made the Goblins start flying away. "Faster!" He growled and took out his spyglass, he was very impatient and wanted to see Wrest destroyed.

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Wrest raises his brow at Vyndria and gestures the scroll away, "I do not know who sent you, nor why, but Ugraz would never attempt at diplomacy." Rubbing his neck, the Forsaken utters an oath in Gutterspeak, and begins to turn away before remembering Urivial. Moving back around, Wrest again eyes the Paladin and moves a hand along his face.

"Ideally you would not hinder them from marching, Paladin. By all means you are welcome- in fact, I invite you to watch." Wrest smiles at the human before him and raps his rotting nose, "Though if you hinder me, I'll see you dead before you hit the ground."

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She found herself glaring at Urivial, her other half, content enough with it, there had been a week or so since she had last seen the man, yet the human despised how the demon in her was drinking it in. There was only a matter of time until the other self took over and ran to the man. Their relationship was something of a mystery to the human, she didn't care to devulge further. Knowing the demon she suspected a plot or ploy, some use for him, yet she just seemed elated.

She could have snarled at the paladin as he moved closer to Ranavos though she remained silent. Whatever reason he was here, she didn't care, she assumed the worst and would keep an eye on him.

In the back of her mind through a link between their souls, the demon entered Urivial's mind, the shimmer of her presence there as she let out an amused tone in his inner ear. " I've missed you... it's been too long..."

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Altherion spit on the floor. It had been a bad day. He kicked down the door of the Old House and exited, walking out into the Plaguelands. The Skeletal soldier followed him as he marched east, constantly hearing the voices. The voices grew louder as he headed North East, he frowned. They were always the same. "Kill, Kill your friends, Kill them before they do X and Y to you"he thought. "You know, you're an Asshole, Axe." He said aloud, having a conversation with his weapon. For once, the Blade didn't respond. This mildly troubled him, so when he came across a Human Vagabond, he quickly killed it, trying to please the Weapon. As always, he took the Soul, then continued on his way. This was very odd. The voice wasn't his Blade...? He shrugged, and continued on, reaching the Lake.

As he walked along the lake behind Caer Darrow, supported by ice, he gave a one-fingered salute to the place where he was captive, cursing to himself as it began to rain. The rain here was the same color as the sickly green lake. Was everything so depressing, in the Plaguelands? He sighed, remembering the time this was a happy place, full of sunshine and orchards. He marched North along the river, heading towards Quel'Thalas. His Mount was far off, with his Wife in Outlands. He cursed. "Maybe one of the Magi in Stratholme can teleport me outta here..." He muttered, heading east through the tunnels. He saluted a few of the Nerubian, he was Scourge, they didn't dare attack one of their own, and exited into the dim light, looking about Plaguewood. He noticed Taram, and Urivial, and the Abomination...

Altherion crept up, looking like a shadow of darkness, glowing blue. He unsheathed his Axe and hailed the group. "Urivial! Fancy seeing a Paladin out here!" He called.

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Ranavos grunted as he stood up and gently grabbed Taram by her shoulder, nudging her towards the ruined structure that they have been living in for the past few months. He didn’t want risk Urivial releasing the demon. The abomination limped away with Taram at his side, not caring for Wrest or any other person in the vicinity.

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Urivial blinked as he turned to see Altherion walk in.

"Fancy seeing a paladin out here? You DO know Light's Hope Chapel is like... 500 yards away right?"

Urivial snorts and shakes his head ruefully, "Welcome Altherion. How are you today?"

At the same time he embraces the demon over their link, murmuring to her, "You've done very well darling."

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Vyndria frowned, "Well..that is a shame, M'lord." She whispered to Wrest. She picked up her radio, as noise started coming out of it, and spoke, "Yes?"

Daar quickly replied, in a panicked voice, "Did Wrest agree? Ugraz is almost here! I can see that blasted flying-death-trap.."

Vyndria shook her head, "No, Sir..Wrest doesn't believe Ugraz would want a peace.."

"Quick! Get him to sign it!" Daar said.

"I'm trying!" She pouted and turned to Wrest, "Sir please...this is your last chance if--" She was interrupted by the battle horn.

___________________________________

Ugraz blew into the wooden battle horn as hard as possible. The loud, deep noise echoed through the Plaguelands. "Man da guns!" He yelled, as the Goblins climbed into the mounted guns along the side of the zeppelin. "Fire!" The guns fired over and over, destruction rained down toward Azeroth. Bullets and grenades were flying toward the house, PEW PEW BANG PEW PEW BANG PEW PEW BANG Ugraz cackled, watching the chaos begin.

___________________________________

Vyndria didn't react fast enough, a small bomb broke through the ceiling and hit her, blowing her up. Her blood coated Wrest, as bits of her flesh hit him.

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Urivial blinks and moves quickly as the grenades and bullets fall, moving to Ranavos and Taram and erecting a momentary light shield between them and the explosions.

"Both of you stand back, don't touch the glowy thing. You know what happens."

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Altherion shrugged. He heard the distant whine of mechanical noises, but decided it must be coming from Stratholme, not Ugraz-Flying-Barge-Of-Bombs, and nodded silently to Urivial. "I'm decent. Headed to Stratholme to get a portal out of here..." He noticed Wrest, and a few of his Undead army, and quickly turned his attention to the Forsaken. "Hey! Nice Army you have there! Want a Scourge Death Knight to help you? As long as I get the Souls of what we kill..." His Axe hummed with Magic. Altherion smiled.

Suddenly, Ugraz assault began, and Altherion began shouting in Nerubian. "Ikh has Zub'Amna! Mahcrj!" (Any who understand the Language could hear "For the Scourge! Attack!") he jumped into the Tunnel, and pointed an Axe to the Gunship. A few of the Scourge Nerubians crawled out of the tunnels, trying to attack the Gunship with webs, a few of them with magic. Altherion didn't know it was Ugraz, just assumed Horde. He whispered into a necklace wrapped about his neck.

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