Grim Views

((Semi-closed, feel free to have a brief interaction, but nothing great, at the moment. I'm posting this on the TNG (http://www.wow-tng.org) as well, closed, however. I ask if you post here, you copy your post there as well. Not great writing, but enjoy.))



Itwas almost a second home to the Dread Magus. He spent the vast majority of histraining within the Undercity, but little of it in the Apothecarium. TheWarlock was an enchanter by training and a tailor out of hobby, potions andtransmutions greatly interested him, but his skills at such were Novice atbest. Though, alongside the aid of his fellow Grim and the bright minds of theRoyal Apothecary Society, many of his creations ranged from exotic, to vile anddeadly. Such exotic, yet frightening was a rare mix of herbs which Lupen dubbedonly as "The Gift." Such a gift was rarely used, and he spoke rarelyof it. He was hardly proud of its creation, but by the same token, it was auseful device. Sterility upon entering the bloodstream, a powerful weapon and commodity.This eve, it was dark business indeed, something the Magus was not adverse to,but he was being forced to harm one he cared dearly for.

Hepreferred to travel in the Undercity by foot, the sights were grand, if twistedto most. Entering the inner halls of the Apothecarium was a privilege, not aright, to those outside of the Society. Each footfall upon the stone ground waschilling to any within earshot. The boots were light, but their echo resonatedbrilliantly throughout the halls. The silence of the night was broken only by afaint breathing and repeating steps. The Warlock entered the inner rings of theApothecarium, stopping if only briefly to stare into a cracked mirror that wasleft discarded and useless upon the street. He peered deeply into it... Ahorrid, yet familiar face stared back. Its hair, a light green, unnatural, hisface, lithe yet still similar to that of a human, bodice, bent and twisted totime, but intact. The figure breathed slowly, it brought its hand to its chest,and paused. It was listening to its black and bitter heart beat within itsbosom. The Warlock closed his eyes slowly as he walked by the beaten reflection,he knew the truth that she could never feel the same, especially not to a figure so destroyed,a mind so corrupt. Lupen looked down to his palms, rune-scars remained everpresent, but indeed fading.

Hewas greeted by a strange, but familiar face. The alchemist nodded to theWarlock, a harsh and brittle voice came shallow from its core, "Keevergreets Warlock, specimen is prepared. Keever assures Warlock that the privatechambers are ready." Lupen nodded slowly and continued to walk. ApothecaryKeever's insanity was odd to most, even for the Forsaken; Lupen had come toaccept it, his voice no different from you and I, despite the horrid thoughtsthat echo through his skull. Lupen turned his head to glance over his shoulder,Keever was leaving the private quarters. The Warlock grinned. He hoped for abit of solitude before he was forced to include his comrades in this grim, butnecessary business. His eyes burned with exhaustion, he fails to sleep anymore, not since his capture. He spends the eves studying and reading, thatprovided rest and release enough. Lupen was far too distraught the past feweves to concentrate on his studies, he was burdened greater than he had felt inages, but this burden was self-imposed. His breath shuddered, and his feetstumbled as he grasped upon the dank walls of the tunnel. Each eve was painbeyond that of the previous, it must end. The steps further underground werewelcome, but a fright indeed, it must end.

The Warlock removed a small keyfashioned out of the bones of an unfortunate Eredar the Warlock had come acrosssome time earlier. The door cracked open as the key was turned, the latch ajar.The room was incredibly small, cramped even. A small, straw and linen bed wasagainst the north wall, stained with a bit of blood. The east wall was gracedby a wooden desk with a mortar and pestle, alongside an alembic. A small,rusted lockbox sat beside the alchemy tools. A wooden stool was overturnedbelow the desk. The ceiling was just less than 6 feet above the floor, a singleoil lantern hung from the center, roused to flame by the Warlock's touch. Thewest wall was bare, save for a rather large cage that was fused to the stone.Within the cage was a bare nude Night Elf. She was horridly thin, on the brinkof starvation. She was covered in her own vomit and vaginal fluids, it mustend. The Warlock looked emotionless over to the elf, her eyes were bare andvoid, she was slowly dying in the once dark cell. Lupen looked her over, herhair, blue as the sea, reached just below her shoulders, he was enthralled byit. He paused for a moment, and finally spoke in broken common, "How...Are... You?" each word was uncertain and stuttered. Elves had always beenhis favourite, their biology was fascinating, and they came out of Shadowglenlike breeding rabbits. The elf began to hysterically sob at the sound ofLupen's voice, her eyes were dry, tears did not fall any longer, it must end.Lupen looked the elf over, she was disgusting, stained by her own fluids, vile.He eventually repeated his inquiry, as the sobs became less frequent. The elflooked again to him, her eyes no longer barren, but filled with fear andrevulsion. After all, how could she love that wretched beast of a half-mortal? The elf shifted herposition in the cage from laying on her side to begging on her knees."Please... Please..." She reached out slowly, her gentle but bruisedfingers curled around the cold steel. She extended them briefly to touch theskin of the Warlock, but were instantly retracted back to the bars. How could she willingly touch such noxious flesh and findecstasy? He stared coldly back at the nameless elf and motioned for her tostand. The elf averted her eyes, perhaps as a weak act of defiance. Lupen hatedthis tongue; "Stand." He whispered to the elf, gentle in his mind,abrasive to any other. How could she coo at the sound of that vulgar voice? The elf staggered a bit, andcautiously rose to her feet. The Warlock turned to the lockbox, opening it withthe same key he entered with, and removed a small, pronged tool. Its dual andprodding tip was barren, but hardly clean. Lupen turned once again to the elfand gestured for her to move closer. He quickly grabbed her left wrist, whichrested against the bars. She immediately jerked away, but quickly realized herefforts were in vain. Lupen rubbed the tool in and around the soiled elf'spubis and vagina, assuring a positive sample. She squealed in pain as the probemet with the infected area. The specimen squirmed and writhed at the coldtouch. Lupen returned to the lab table and dipped the wet probe into asolution, which became slightly translucent and discoloured. The Warlock thenproceeded to pour half of the diluted substance into a second phial. How could she tolerate his diabolical acts? The Arch-DreadMagus eyed the first phial, while remaining blank in his expression, gruntedslightly, perhaps pleased with the results. He corked each container and placedthem in a small wooden rack beside the other tools. He stretched up andunhooked the hanging lamp from the wall, placing it beside his two corkedbottles. He began to mutter, the words were completely lost upon the elf, buthe spoke only to himself. The lit lamp was to act as an incubator to the twoactive samples.

Lupengrinned at his minor success, but was careful not to show his prisoner suchemotion. He returned to the elf, caged like a pet, trapped like a rat. Lupenremoved a bundle of silk cloth from his packs and placed them on the groundinside the cage. With a motion of his hand, he revealed it to be a small bottleof chilled milk, fresh bread, and an apple. At first, she seemed apprehensiveat the Forsaken's sudden change of heart. The feeling didn't last, as hungerpangs wracked her once more, she slowly crawled to the food lain before her.How could she find thetruth? Lupen bent over and corrected the stool, and sat. He removed twoparchments, a quill, and a bottle of ink from his bags. Two simple, individualletters were penned, first, to his dearest comrade Syreena:

"DearSyreena,

Amatter of urgency calls for you and your alchemistic skills. If you will meetme in the Apothecarium, I will be in the open research areas, beside theoperating tables. I trust you know the way. Please, I ask that you make haste,as this cannot wait for quite too long, and do not speak of this to anyone. Mythanks.

-Lulu."

TheWarlock smirked at the pet name Syreena and Chavie once gave him, in honesty,he found it charming, but forbade The Grim to speak of it, aside from Syreena,of course. The second letter was just as dire, to Jabiba, a guildmate ofLupen's who was eager for a chance at revenge:

"Jabiba,

Youhave expressed interest in gaining retribution. I will grant it. Meet me in theUndercity, the Apothecarium. Be quick about it, and do not tally. Speak of thisto no one, I cannot afford to have word of this spread, at all. Failure tocomply with my requests will not only result in failure for you and I, but youshall never learn the true meaning of vengeance.

-Arch-DreadMagus Lupen Vakov."

Hestood and placed the letters in their respective envelopes, and returned themto his pack. He turned to the lamp, to assure it was burning brightly, and thento the elf, who was nearly finished with her meal. Again, in broken common,"I will... Return. More food... Clothing." The elf did not respond,but merely looked on, perhaps not fully understanding the newfound kindnesswithin the vile Demon.

Afterall, how could she love a Demon?

Two nights had passed.

Two long, dark, and cold nights.

Lupen returned to the Undercity, his heart racing, his mind spinning. The world he had crafted was collapsing upon him. Sickness was rampant, each step was akin to walking upon smoldering coal. He rode quickly to the Apothecarium, and deep into his quiet study. He passed Keever and the Master Alchemists, who paused only to look at their Forsaken comrade, a panic upon his face. Lupen ran down the hall as fast as his broken feet would take him. His sweating hands fumbled clumsily with the Skeleton key as he drove it into the lock. Turn, tumble, crumble, vile thing! Rusted steel grinded slowly and horridly, the sound forced Lupen to writhe in pain. He entered, the Elf rose to a start; the flame still burning brightly beside his experiement.

Lupen stood in the doorway, covered in sweat, blood, and even a tear. He looked to the Elf, quickly moving to the door of the cage. The very same key in his twisted hand allowed the lock to slide open. Lupen looked at the naked and dazed elf. He could not see her dark skin, nor her long and beautiful hair, he could only see the face of his love and his hate. There he stood, panting slowly, out of breath, out of time. He looked onto the elf, who stared back. The Warlock raised a bloodied hand to strike her, her face making hard contact with the stone floor. He paused, standing over her, he watched as she remained silent. She was all he had loathed and lusted for. She still breathed, but remained immobile. Lupen only saw what he had come to desire more than the next breath.

...

The deed was done. The Warlock sat, disrobed; his clothing scatted onto the cold ground. He looked to his love, his lust, his hatred, and saw a nameless Night Elf dead upon the ground, fluids dripping from her. Her throat had been cut after climax. Lupen looked up, calmly, to the experiment he had incubating on the table. He then looked down to his own body, covered in scars and runes, blood still fresh. The Dread Mage stood and clothed himself, leaving the cage door ajar. He would occasionally look back to the elf and see the face that he hated, the face that he loved.

He moved to the table, and with a clean sweep of his wrist, he wiped the phials, the lantern, and the lockbox onto the floor. Glass broke, liquid spilled, bronze met granite. He found a blank parchment in his packs, along with a blade. He casually rent the flesh below his jugular vein, carefully collecting all the blood onto his fingers, and placing it on the paper. He wrote her name, he wrote it once small, once larger, and hundreds of times over. The Warlock closed his eyes for just a moment, just enough to breathe, and reopened them. Her name was changed. It was something different, it was his friend, his comrade. Lupen stared intently again at the paper, it was clear in the black blood which wrote it. Seven letters written over and over. Two fingers met the paper once more, and incinerated it without a thought.

The Half-Demon closed his eyes and whispered, "Ered'nash ban galar, nathrezeros, ba'thrin, Xi da'rul'ul" <Mistress of the Nights, you have forsaken me, my prayers.> He stood from the table, the lamp now burning slowly, embers dancing and crafting wild shadows on the wall. He spoke, louder still, "Ered'nash ban kiltho's! Xi rikk'yzil!" <Lasher of Pain, you have given me madness! You have given me love!>

The shadows upon the wall died faster still, Lupen fell to the sullied ground and felt the embrace of the Nether.

The stench of burnt flesh wafting off his armor, the young troll dropped a gnome. Electricity still charging through their bodies as a stream weakens between them. *Thud--Bzzt* He looks at the gnome again, uncommon such a noise comes from the dead ones.. *Bzzt!* His eyes perk up as if the answer to life has just been answerd. Looking at the modifications to his hearthstone,"Oooh! Da Biba's got mail!" The goblin inspired troll begins twisting his being through the nether, back to the nearest mailbox he can find.

Speaking aloud to himself, excited that Lupen has responded, he says, "Hmmm, I dunna nodda tink he be realizin' what I be askin. Da request outta him innit bein' givin'. Buuuuut.. 'E be seein' us as'a team? Dats different. Jus' tink mon... Da Biba an da Lupen. AAAAANNNNDD.. Maybe iffan he dunna tell ja how ta do it.. he be doin' it infront of ja.. Yeah Mon, Maybe he be showin' ja instead of jus'sayin' it!" Looking around him suspiciously upon realization it was all out loud, he grabs a small trinket and infuses it with energy. It begins whirring, sparking, catching flame? "Too late now! Tank ja fer makin' me a troll!" as he clenches the gizmo and slams it into his chest.

Partcle Explosion. Flame erupts, a blast wave ensues, the ground where he was once standing is now charred beyond recognition. The troll... reappears in a distant everlook. The townsfolk being speaking of fire elementals, some wondering why they would come to a frozen land, others screamining and running, "Da wha? Whe-eh heh heh.. " Earthly magic is cast, speeding up his natural regeneration and continues on toward the undercity, melting snow with every step until the fire is finally put out. Even being on fire was not enough to deter him, not for the moment. He felt fire within, and wanted to find a way to put it out.. no snow was going to fix this one.

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

Entering the Undercity he makes his way to the Apothecarium, no need for directions, it is where he was sent when he asked about the green water days long ago. "I'm here fer da Lupen" he says, seeing the dreadmage no where. Being asked why he responds of words saying he is unable. Unable to speak, means unable to get directions. He only knew that the place was right, and to stand at the mere entrance would get him no where. A new trinket in one hand, whirring a soft hum, and a flask in the other, swashing with some sort of liquid. Den we do dis da easiah way. *Click-Click* and the trinket hums in perfect silence. The troll now unseen to all dashes within, until he finds himself quite inside the section of the city. He finds a chair and relaxes in it, hearing the clacking sound of bones beneath him.. around him. *Click-Click* The trinket stops working and a young forsaken is shown, with traces of the liquid in the flask where his lip would be.. if there was still skin. The skeletal creature sits quietly, thinking.. both of what is to come, and... what else would one do in a place such as this? Thinking helped the disguise work. He sat in wait for the dreadmage to scurry about.

by Syreena

When Syreena arrived at the Apothecarium, she looked around for Lupen near the operating tables like he said. But she knew she was late, detained by other business, and she wasn't surprised that he was nowhere to be seen. The little rogue saw only another Forsaken sitting on a chair. She walked to the other end of the room.

"Keever," she called as she approached the alchemist. "I'm looking for Lupen. Have you seen him?"

"Keever saw Warlock go to private chambers," he answered. He gave her what he obviously meant to be a stern look, which she found rather comical. "Warlock is not to be disturbed."

"Of course," Syreena answered, bowing her head slightly in compliance before turning away. She took a few steps towards the other Forsaken on the chair, then glanced back at Keever.

Keever was busy again with his work. Syreena faded into the shadows and made her way through the tunnel to Lupen's private chambers. She knocked on the door and called out softly to him. After a moment with no answer, she tried to open the door. It was locked. A quick glance behind her assured her she was still alone, so she pulled a small tool from her pocket and picked the lock.

She closed the door behind her and looked at the mess in the room. She saw the scattered alchemy supplies, and the dead night elf, and then she saw Lupen, lying on the messy floor.

"Lulu?" Her whisper carried the concern she felt as she knelt beside him and rolled him onto his back. She shook him lightly, and when there was still no response, she dug in her bag for two small vials. The little rogue carefully tilted his head up and poured a healing potion and a small vial of thistle tea into his mouth. What dripped onto his chin, she dapped with the edge of her tabard. "Lulu, wake up."

Lupen remained silent, though his chest expanded and contracted slowly, he was breathing again. His eyes were closed, though something within him stirred slightly. His fingers curled and his right ankle moved to and fro. His respiration gradually returned to normal in the silence. A slight wheezing came from his open mouth.

Minutes passed like this, minor movements, no speech at all until...

"... Syreena."

"Yes, Lulu, I'm here," Syreena answered. She looked around the little room again at the dead night elf and the room's scattered contents.

"What happened? Did your pet attack you?"

Lupen's mouth hung open as he wheezed painfully. He opened his eyes and allowed them to scan the room. This was a disaster, this was horrid... He was showing weakness, he was showing mortality. He began at a loss for words, he lied silent, attempting to move his feeble arms to pull himself up. He failed a number of times and slumped back, but finding enough energy to sit slightly upright.He looked again to Syreena, his voice weak, "The Nether, once again... Sister..." His eyes were cold, dark... Almost frightened.

Fear, something the Warlock only felt once before, it was now a horrid memory returning to him.

Syreena stared at Lupen for a moment, then slowly shook her head. She remembered that day in Brill when Lupen was first taken by the Nether. She remembered all of The Grim traveling to the Dark Portal to bring him back. Warneshi led the rescue attempts. He knew about the demons there. Syreena knew nothing about such matters. She felt helpless to protect Lupen.

"No, Lulu, don't let them take you again," she frowned. "What do we need to do?"

((Slow Lupen is... Slow.))

Lupen's thin arms twitched violently as he attempted to brace himself. His right claw-of-a-hand placed firmly on the floor, his left beside Syreena's shoulder. The Warlock looked up to his Grim Sister, and, like many a-time before, he had attempted to smile. The "smile" was hardly such at all, it was really a twisted and deadened mouth cracking upward into a half-grin, without showing teeth. His eyes were as warm and kind as Lupen could suffice (which, was colder than a Lich's touch by mosts' standards.) He only ever "smiled" toward Syreena, as he found such a display of emotion a mortal vice.

The "smile" stayed on his face for a few moments, even as he spoke, "Heart of Darkness... Dear Sister." The Warlock pushed back a cough. "I... I know... Where." Lupen stuttered and moved his gaze to the cold earth. He thought for a few moments, he contemplated the events to come.