The Messenger

[Araun]

{ I was actually going to do this in the raid last night, but it was late and everyone was tired so I decided to spare folks.  So I'll do it here instead! }

Yogg-Saron howled, a chorus of death threats echoing from its dozens of mouths, as its body twitched and shuddered and finally collapsed.  A great whoop of triumph came from the assembled Grim and First Light as it splashed down into pool of blood surrounding it.

While the others gathered around to celebrate, Araun strode forward towards the gaping maw of the dying god, taking a deep breath. The flickering shadows that had surrounded and protected him during the fight still shrouded him, his expression unreadable.  "Ah'jxl ipxtli n'yarlga ze," he muttered to himself, gathering his courage - somehow this was more frightening than the battle had been.  "Zjen ze var zjen, azenatl x'tlu yogg-saron."

He passed Greebo as he walked towards the corpse; the warlock eyed him suspiciously and muttered, "I am watching you."

Araun smiled widely in the shadows that surrounded him, replying evenly, "Listen instead, and you may be educated."  He moved close to the ruin of Yogg-Saron's body, reaching out and stroking one of the god's fangs delicately.

Behind him, Dree opened a portal back to Dalaran.  Perhaps people left, perhaps they stayed - Araun did not notice.  It wouldn't matter after this moment.

He stripped off a glove and raised his hand - the shadows around him swirled and dissipated, revealing the signet ring of a Twilight Lord glimmering on his finger.  He bowed low before the body of the Old God, kneeling down, the pool of blood staining his robes.

"Holy Yogg-Saron," he intoned, projecting, his voice filling the room, "I come bearing a message from the Dreamer in the Well, the Maw of the Maelstrom, your dark brother: Nazjahotep, the great and terrible."

A fanged mouth twitched; a tentacle stirred.  Something, withering away within the corpse of the god, listened.  Araun slowly got to his feet, sleeves dripping with the glistening, greenish-black blood of Yogg-Saron.

"The message is this: you will not be the first to rise.  You will not escape, this day or any other."  A cruel smile spread across Araun's face as he spoke. "You will remain here, in the tin cage the Shapers made for you, until the final days - then will your brother come to release you, and for ever after that you will squirm at the feet of the true Master of Azeroth."

The mouths of Yogg-Saron burbled wordlessly, a few gnashing their teeth.  The sound of what could be laughter, wet and strangled, filled the silence between Araun's words.

Araun bowed again - shallow now, from the waist - and saluted the Old God's corpse.  "I am glad it pleases you, lord.  Gul'kafh an'shel."

Shadows crawled from the corners of the chamber to surround him, and Araun turned to leave, pleased with himself. 

Two down, one to go.

{ Obviously, this being Araun, nothing he said is necessarily canon.  Or true.  Or not part of some greater deception in which the Old Gods are merely red herrings.  I'll leave this open in case anyone wants to do something like catch him in a flying tackle and beat him to death, or spit on Yogg-Saron themselves, or whatever. }

[Leyujin]

Leyu'jin trudged somewhat wearily towards the portal the First Light mage had conjured, hoping that the future would not bring him back to this house of nightmares. He had gained and he had lost, but that which was lost was the more deeply felt. As he walked, slime still dripping from his face and heavy armor, he spotted a brief altercation between the warlock Greebo and that blood elven priest, Araun. Not hearing the words but the intent, the troll paused briefly in his stride to observe the scene. The priest continued past Greebo and knelt before the Old 'Un, mouthing syllables too far away to decipher. Leyu'jin shook his head wearily and made his way to the portal, stepping through the rent in space into the clean, bright, but insufferable magical citadel. He cast one last look through the portal at the kneeling figure. "Not ma' problem," the troll muttered to himself, as he prepared himself for the battles still awaiting him.