THERE are some qualities -- some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
-Edgar Allan Poe, Silence
“Damn you!”
Melchisedech lifted the heavy, hide-bound tome and hurled it across his room in the Gallow’s End, watching it smash the washbasin with a satisfying crash. His clawed fingers flexed in impotent frustration, but he resisted the urge to bolt across his chamber and tear the offending grimoire to shreds.
Stymied. At every turn, no matter what resources he tapped, no matter which books he read, he could find nothing helpful. Even his journeys into the Scholomance had yielded up precious little information. His time was growing short.
Acherontia was fading, he believed. The signs of her fel taint were more and more apparent. Her voice had cleared, become less gravelly. Her eyes evinced an almost constant glow. The middle fingers of her hands had grown to the same length. She was corrupted, and he needed to purge her infection.
And yet, he could find no way to do so. Even books stolen from the laboratory of Ras Frostwhisper had revealed only the name: The Rite of Thirteen. Melchisedech had discovered that its origins lie in the ties between the world of the dead, better known to shamans as the spirit world, and the Twisting Nether, home of the demons, but he had gleaned no more information.
His eyes looked to his satchel, and his fingers twitched. No, he couldn’t. He found himself moving across the room, running his claws over the corners of the book-shaped bulge in the bag. He could almost hear it calling to him.
The Book of Names.
He unclasped his satchel and removed the book. It was bound in human bones, etched with the acid from the stomach of a dragon, and filigreed with gold and mithril. The runes were ancient. As the priest looked, they seemed to crawl and shift on the cover of the tome. He tried tracing them with his fingernail, felt his head begin to ache.
Melchisedech had liberated this book from the clutches of Darkmaster Gandling, headmaster of the Scholomance. It detailed summoning rites, invocation rituals, and conjuring incantations used by the members of the Twilight’s Hammer, the cult dedicated to the Old Gods. Melchisedech had only opened it once, and he had closed it when he heard the voices from within.
And yet, surely the power of the servants of the Old Gods could free Acherontia. Melchisedech knew his history. He knew that Emperor Thaurissan of the Dark Iron Clan had used this very book to summon Ragnaros, the Firelord, elemental servant of the Old Gods. He knew, as well, that Ragnaros had been summoned but not bound, and that Thaurissan had become his slave.
Melchisedech did not need one of the elemental servants. There were other slaves of the Old Gods that were more biddable. Thaurissan had been a desperate fool, trapped in a volcano by his Bronzebeard and Wildhammer cousins. Melchisedech was desperate, but not trapped. He had choices.
The priest clutched the book to his chest and left the Gallow’s End Tavern, mounting his warhorse and riding for the Undercity.
Desperation by Melchisedech
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Keeper Of Lore
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Re: Desperation by Melchisedech
“Make unto thyself a square, and let it be writ in blood, and let it be bound within a circle such that all points are contiguous with the arc. Let this circle be bound within a larger circle, and let both be concentric. Between these circles, scribe thyself there the three-hundred and sixty-nine names of the Oghdrim. At the points of the square, place thyself four candles. Let thy first candle be made of human flesh and lit from a brazier of copper. Let thy second candle be made of beeswax and lit from a brazier of iron. Let thy third candle be made of bone softened in water from the sea and lit from a brazier of mithril. Let thy fourth be made of tallow soaked in thine own blood and lit from a brazier of bronze. Light then incense of lavender and sage and speak the incantation with the name of the Oghdrim thou wouldst command.” -The Book of Names
Melchisedech stood in the Magic Quarter of the Undercity, staring at the summoning circle he had scribed. His fingers flexed into claws as he stroked the cover of the Book of Names, going over every step for the hundredth time. He had crafted the circles and square as described, using the blood of a human he had found outside the Scarlet Monastery. He had painstakingly scribed the three-hundred and sixty-nine names of the Oghdrim, the bastard children of the Old Gods, formed from droplets of their blood when they did battle with the Titans. He had crafted four candles, as commanded, and he had five braziers lit, the four of copper, iron, mithril, and bronze, and a fifth of steel in which he held incense of lavender and sage.
He took a deep breath. He would summon one of the Oghdrim, Srethoth by name. It took him a moment to remember why he was summoning Srethoth, but Acherontia’s name floated to the top of his mind, and he remembered. Srethoth would sever her connection with Kel’Thuzad. The whispers from the Book of Names drowned out his thoughts, and he ceased wondering why.
Melchisedech opened the Book and placed it upon a wrought-iron lectern, paging through until he found the proper incantation. Closing his eyes, he whispered a brief prayer to the Old Gods, asking for vision and guidance. Then, he began.
Carefully, Melchisedech lit each of the candles, carrying the braziers of coals delicately, careful not to disturb the sigils of the Oghdrim. From the steel brazier, he lit the incense, breathing deeply of its sweet smell. His eyes began to glow softly with a pale radiance.
The priest returned to the lectern, let his clawed hands rest on the Book of Names. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Azeroth itself could not stand to hear the words he was speaking, words never meant for mortal tongues. Nevertheless, he continued. The Oghdrim, and no other, could hear these words.
As he spoke, a filmy, shadowy cloud began to grow in the center of the circle, a malefic black radiance that seemed to draw light into itself. Azeroth could not stand the sight of the Oghdrim, and so it fought to occlude the being. Melchisedech continued: he did not need to see the Oghdrim.
As he spoke the last word of the incantation, his voice sounded with a sharp thunderclap that blew out all four candles and sent the incense scattering. Melchisedech felt his heart strain against his ribs, pounding furiously, and he clutched at his chest. A blow seemed to stagger him back, and a second drove him to his knees.
He was paralyzed, unable to breathe. A presence lingered in his mind, a foul stain that seemed to spread like a disease through his thoughts. He thought he was screaming, but he couldn’t tell. He felt the fingers of the Oghdrim’s mind worm into his, shredding and tearing, violating his mind. For a brief instant, he understood exactly what he had done to his many victims, the many Alliance he had ravaged, and he felt a sense of pride, knowing he had caused so much pain.
Then, he knew no more.
Melchisedech stood in the Magic Quarter of the Undercity, staring at the summoning circle he had scribed. His fingers flexed into claws as he stroked the cover of the Book of Names, going over every step for the hundredth time. He had crafted the circles and square as described, using the blood of a human he had found outside the Scarlet Monastery. He had painstakingly scribed the three-hundred and sixty-nine names of the Oghdrim, the bastard children of the Old Gods, formed from droplets of their blood when they did battle with the Titans. He had crafted four candles, as commanded, and he had five braziers lit, the four of copper, iron, mithril, and bronze, and a fifth of steel in which he held incense of lavender and sage.
He took a deep breath. He would summon one of the Oghdrim, Srethoth by name. It took him a moment to remember why he was summoning Srethoth, but Acherontia’s name floated to the top of his mind, and he remembered. Srethoth would sever her connection with Kel’Thuzad. The whispers from the Book of Names drowned out his thoughts, and he ceased wondering why.
Melchisedech opened the Book and placed it upon a wrought-iron lectern, paging through until he found the proper incantation. Closing his eyes, he whispered a brief prayer to the Old Gods, asking for vision and guidance. Then, he began.
Carefully, Melchisedech lit each of the candles, carrying the braziers of coals delicately, careful not to disturb the sigils of the Oghdrim. From the steel brazier, he lit the incense, breathing deeply of its sweet smell. His eyes began to glow softly with a pale radiance.
The priest returned to the lectern, let his clawed hands rest on the Book of Names. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Azeroth itself could not stand to hear the words he was speaking, words never meant for mortal tongues. Nevertheless, he continued. The Oghdrim, and no other, could hear these words.
As he spoke, a filmy, shadowy cloud began to grow in the center of the circle, a malefic black radiance that seemed to draw light into itself. Azeroth could not stand the sight of the Oghdrim, and so it fought to occlude the being. Melchisedech continued: he did not need to see the Oghdrim.
As he spoke the last word of the incantation, his voice sounded with a sharp thunderclap that blew out all four candles and sent the incense scattering. Melchisedech felt his heart strain against his ribs, pounding furiously, and he clutched at his chest. A blow seemed to stagger him back, and a second drove him to his knees.
He was paralyzed, unable to breathe. A presence lingered in his mind, a foul stain that seemed to spread like a disease through his thoughts. He thought he was screaming, but he couldn’t tell. He felt the fingers of the Oghdrim’s mind worm into his, shredding and tearing, violating his mind. For a brief instant, he understood exactly what he had done to his many victims, the many Alliance he had ravaged, and he felt a sense of pride, knowing he had caused so much pain.
Then, he knew no more.
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Keeper Of Lore
- Lost
- Posts: 1749
Re: Desperation by Melchisedech
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.
—Abdul Alhazred, The Necronomicon
Everything was red. Nothing made sense. Strange figures moved about with shifting, jerking gaits, speaking in gutteral moans and whispers. The floor seemed to shift, undulating like a living being. The inhabitants of this bizarre world rode about on squamous beasts, some on four legs, some on two.
Melchisedech huddled in a corner, clutching the tattered rags of his robes tighter about his skeletal frame. The peregrine dwellers in this place ignored him for the most part. Sometimes, however, one would leer toward him with its grotesquely mutilated features and gibber incomprehensibly. He would then scream and back further into his corner, and the antagonist would go on its way.
He tried to remember what had happened, but he could not. He remembered nothing from what had come before. All his memory was this, huddled in this alien metropolis, cowering in terror from denizens he could neither understand nor bear to look upon.
He looked down at his rags, as if seeing them for the first time. Embroidered upon them was an odd symbol, a strange design. He traced it with a finger, like an idiot child toying with something shiny. It prickled at his mind.
Grim.
His eyes flared. He remembered.
Acherontia followed Apothecary Zinge into the depths of the Apothecarium, Bargrave oozing along beside her with its typically dour expression. Into the lightless gloom they walked, both silent. Zinge had an air of impatience, while Acherontia seemed merely untouched.
Zinge led the warlock into one of the prison chambers of the Royal Apothecary Society, where rusty iron cages hung from hooks in the ceiling. Chains dangled like macabre entrails, clinking and swaying as the pair brushed past them. Acherontia walked past cages holding corpses in various states of decay, but the worst were the cages that held living beings, mostly humans, moaning and wailing.
Acherontia remained untouched.
To the back row of cages Zinge led her, pointing to the last in the row. Acherontia looked upon a Forsaken, ragged and skeletal, even moreso than most of her brethren. His eyes glowed a baleful red, and his tongue dangled from his maw, long and serpentine. His fingerbones had been sharpened into dangerous claws, and they were stained with blood.
Acherontia lifted a hand to her mouth. It was Melchisedech.
When he saw Zinge, he lunged toward her, slamming against the bars of the cage with enough force to send it swinging. He roared, stretching his claws through the bars, clawing wildly, but Zinge stepped back, out of the madman’s reach.
“He has been like this since we found him. He is out of control. He slaughtered a dozen citizens and killed a guard before we managed to bring him down. We would have him executed, but both of you are well-known throughout the Undercity. Lady Sylvanus personally visited him and ordered that he be kept instead of killed.”
Acherontia stepped forward, and Zinge lifted a hand to stop her. As she approached, Melchisedech calmed, looking at her initially as if confused, his head cocked to the side. He crouched low in his cage, staring intently. She placed her hand on the bars and, after a moment, he slowly placed his atop hers.
She turned back to Zinge. “He will not harm me. What happened to him?”
Zinge shook her head. “We do not know. We found no trace of a cause.”
Acherontia looked again at Melchisedech. He smiled crazily, his eyes wide.
“I will always be there.”
Acherontia smiled sadly. “Let him go.”
Zinge shook her head. “Are you mad? He will kill more, and we will be forced to put him down.”
“He will do no such thing. I am here, and he will remain calm.”
Melchisedech looked to Zinge with eyes wide, as if he did not recognize her. She sighed and stepped forward with the keys. The pair watched one another warily as she unlocked his cage and stepped back. Acherontia opened the door, and Melchisedech hopped out. He flexed his shoulders and laughed a little, almost to himself.
“Take him and leave, warlock. You are both revered among our people, but we will not tolerate murder.”
“We will leave, Apothecary. I know where I can take him. In Outland, he will not harm you or yours.”
Acherontia… she looked, to his eyes, as everyone else in this place, as twisted and misshapen as the other denizens of this horrid place. And yet, he recognized her. He recognized the symbol on her chest, but moreover, he recognized HER. He knew her by the way she moved. He understood the sound of her voice, even if he could not make out the words. He knew Acherontia.
“I will always be there.”
She freed him from his prison, and he looked at her closely. Did he look to her as she did to him? Did she see such a wretched, miserable creature? Surely not… what did her fel vision see? He did not know, but she did not turn away from him. He would not turn from her.
If she was here, then she could lead him home again. He would protect her, here. He would not let these monsters harm her, if monsters they be. He was mad, he knew that much. Still, he knew her, and he would not let harm come to her.
“I will always be here.”
And with strange aeons even death may die.
—Abdul Alhazred, The Necronomicon
Everything was red. Nothing made sense. Strange figures moved about with shifting, jerking gaits, speaking in gutteral moans and whispers. The floor seemed to shift, undulating like a living being. The inhabitants of this bizarre world rode about on squamous beasts, some on four legs, some on two.
Melchisedech huddled in a corner, clutching the tattered rags of his robes tighter about his skeletal frame. The peregrine dwellers in this place ignored him for the most part. Sometimes, however, one would leer toward him with its grotesquely mutilated features and gibber incomprehensibly. He would then scream and back further into his corner, and the antagonist would go on its way.
He tried to remember what had happened, but he could not. He remembered nothing from what had come before. All his memory was this, huddled in this alien metropolis, cowering in terror from denizens he could neither understand nor bear to look upon.
He looked down at his rags, as if seeing them for the first time. Embroidered upon them was an odd symbol, a strange design. He traced it with a finger, like an idiot child toying with something shiny. It prickled at his mind.
Grim.
His eyes flared. He remembered.
Acherontia followed Apothecary Zinge into the depths of the Apothecarium, Bargrave oozing along beside her with its typically dour expression. Into the lightless gloom they walked, both silent. Zinge had an air of impatience, while Acherontia seemed merely untouched.
Zinge led the warlock into one of the prison chambers of the Royal Apothecary Society, where rusty iron cages hung from hooks in the ceiling. Chains dangled like macabre entrails, clinking and swaying as the pair brushed past them. Acherontia walked past cages holding corpses in various states of decay, but the worst were the cages that held living beings, mostly humans, moaning and wailing.
Acherontia remained untouched.
To the back row of cages Zinge led her, pointing to the last in the row. Acherontia looked upon a Forsaken, ragged and skeletal, even moreso than most of her brethren. His eyes glowed a baleful red, and his tongue dangled from his maw, long and serpentine. His fingerbones had been sharpened into dangerous claws, and they were stained with blood.
Acherontia lifted a hand to her mouth. It was Melchisedech.
When he saw Zinge, he lunged toward her, slamming against the bars of the cage with enough force to send it swinging. He roared, stretching his claws through the bars, clawing wildly, but Zinge stepped back, out of the madman’s reach.
“He has been like this since we found him. He is out of control. He slaughtered a dozen citizens and killed a guard before we managed to bring him down. We would have him executed, but both of you are well-known throughout the Undercity. Lady Sylvanus personally visited him and ordered that he be kept instead of killed.”
Acherontia stepped forward, and Zinge lifted a hand to stop her. As she approached, Melchisedech calmed, looking at her initially as if confused, his head cocked to the side. He crouched low in his cage, staring intently. She placed her hand on the bars and, after a moment, he slowly placed his atop hers.
She turned back to Zinge. “He will not harm me. What happened to him?”
Zinge shook her head. “We do not know. We found no trace of a cause.”
Acherontia looked again at Melchisedech. He smiled crazily, his eyes wide.
“I will always be there.”
Acherontia smiled sadly. “Let him go.”
Zinge shook her head. “Are you mad? He will kill more, and we will be forced to put him down.”
“He will do no such thing. I am here, and he will remain calm.”
Melchisedech looked to Zinge with eyes wide, as if he did not recognize her. She sighed and stepped forward with the keys. The pair watched one another warily as she unlocked his cage and stepped back. Acherontia opened the door, and Melchisedech hopped out. He flexed his shoulders and laughed a little, almost to himself.
“Take him and leave, warlock. You are both revered among our people, but we will not tolerate murder.”
“We will leave, Apothecary. I know where I can take him. In Outland, he will not harm you or yours.”
Acherontia… she looked, to his eyes, as everyone else in this place, as twisted and misshapen as the other denizens of this horrid place. And yet, he recognized her. He recognized the symbol on her chest, but moreover, he recognized HER. He knew her by the way she moved. He understood the sound of her voice, even if he could not make out the words. He knew Acherontia.
“I will always be there.”
She freed him from his prison, and he looked at her closely. Did he look to her as she did to him? Did she see such a wretched, miserable creature? Surely not… what did her fel vision see? He did not know, but she did not turn away from him. He would not turn from her.
If she was here, then she could lead him home again. He would protect her, here. He would not let these monsters harm her, if monsters they be. He was mad, he knew that much. Still, he knew her, and he would not let harm come to her.
“I will always be here.”
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Keeper Of Lore
- Lost
- Posts: 1749
Re: Desperation by Melchisedech
by Acherontia
Mistress, Kallindra -
Iwrite both of you to inform you of a dangerous change that has consumedthe priest Melchisedech. I was notified by a member of the RoyalApothecary Society that he had been found, raving, mad, and slayingcitizens of the Undercity. Were it not for the intervention of LadySylvanus herself, he would have been put to death for his crimes, butshe ordered him to be caged rather than executed.
He seems toknow me, but he has not yet spoken a single word of sense to me in thedays since he was released into my custody. He does not speak to me inOrcish, nor in Gutterspeak. I do not know what happened to him tocause this change, but he does not seem to be a mindless beast; rather,he seems to know the Grim symbol on the front of my tabard. It leadsme to believe that he would recognize those who wear it as friends, butI cannot be entirely certain. All I know is that I cannot talk to him,nor he to me. I do not know what happened to him, and I do not know ifhe would be a danger to others even though he has not raised his handagainst me.
I will continue to attempt to discover what hashappened to him and how to free him from this grip of madness, if it iseven possible. Until then, I accept full responsibility for hisactions.
I look to you, Mistress, for any orders you may have. Shall he continue to be allowed to wear his tabard until we can makeany sense of this? Shall I keep him from the gathering on the ninth ifthere has been no change?
*several words here have been scratched out*
I await your responses.
In service,
Atropos Acherontia
Mistress, Kallindra -
Iwrite both of you to inform you of a dangerous change that has consumedthe priest Melchisedech. I was notified by a member of the RoyalApothecary Society that he had been found, raving, mad, and slayingcitizens of the Undercity. Were it not for the intervention of LadySylvanus herself, he would have been put to death for his crimes, butshe ordered him to be caged rather than executed.
He seems toknow me, but he has not yet spoken a single word of sense to me in thedays since he was released into my custody. He does not speak to me inOrcish, nor in Gutterspeak. I do not know what happened to him tocause this change, but he does not seem to be a mindless beast; rather,he seems to know the Grim symbol on the front of my tabard. It leadsme to believe that he would recognize those who wear it as friends, butI cannot be entirely certain. All I know is that I cannot talk to him,nor he to me. I do not know what happened to him, and I do not know ifhe would be a danger to others even though he has not raised his handagainst me.
I will continue to attempt to discover what hashappened to him and how to free him from this grip of madness, if it iseven possible. Until then, I accept full responsibility for hisactions.
I look to you, Mistress, for any orders you may have. Shall he continue to be allowed to wear his tabard until we can makeany sense of this? Shall I keep him from the gathering on the ninth ifthere has been no change?
*several words here have been scratched out*
I await your responses.
In service,
Atropos Acherontia
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Keeper Of Lore
- Lost
- Posts: 1749
Re: Desperation by Melchisedech
by Kallindra
A simple scroll is delivered to Acherontia's post, sealed tightly with wax.
Acherontia,
I am most troubled by the news that you bring me about Father Melchisedech.
I would request that both you and the lost Father meet me on August 4th near the Scarlet Monastery. Until then, continue to take watch over him and ensure his safety along with yours.
If you have any need of counsel before then, do not hesistate to contact me.
K.R.
A simple scroll is delivered to Acherontia's post, sealed tightly with wax.
Acherontia,
I am most troubled by the news that you bring me about Father Melchisedech.
I would request that both you and the lost Father meet me on August 4th near the Scarlet Monastery. Until then, continue to take watch over him and ensure his safety along with yours.
If you have any need of counsel before then, do not hesistate to contact me.
K.R.