Grim Views

The Mandate's Discipline

Northdale's trees whistled as the wind shoved through the branches, cracking and breaking a few limbs off of the grub-infested-nigh dead logs. The Inquisition had gone west, in defiance to the wind, but it was all to symbolize defiance against the newfound Coalition. Ul-Rezaj bit his tongue repeatedly as a form of self-inflicted punishment. This week, he refrained from the Inquisition of the Mandate to study the terrain. He regularly searched the village to find some exploit the Alliance had garnered to push back the Grim's forces. Nothing. No hint of extravagent magic, no trace of N.U.K.U.L.A.R. technology, it was all done through maneuvering and deception. Ul-Rezaj sighed, disheartened.

Stepping through Northdale, Ul-Rezaj stared into a distilled pond, which was actually more of a puddle. An engorged carnivorous fish lay flop on its side at the surface. Moss and mosquitoes alike began to converge on the distilled water. Ul-Rezaj killed the bloated fish with draining magics to spare the gluttonous monster of a self-inflicted demise from eating all of the life in the pond. The Grim, like the carnivorous fish, had tasted too much victory, too much glory, to know what was good for it. Proper Mandate exercise required discipline. A chill coursed through Ul-Rezaj's spine. If the Grim lost the Mandate's vision, its discipline, it could be dead like the fish. Ul-Rezaj contemplated the wisdom in advertising to the Coalition the execution of Skylah Mackenzie. Now the prisoner escaped. A diligent revisionist tact needed to be applied. He stepped backwards steadily and leaned against a pine tree. The wind renewed its strength and broke off a branch that landed at his feet. Ul-Rezaj poked at the dirt beneath absentmindedly. Broken, he thought, but not shattered. He turned his head around the tree and stared at the maggot-festering bodies of Grim and Coalition forces alike. An indignant vein popped in his temple.

Determined Resolve

Pine limbs snapped. Along the northern border of the Eastern Plaguelands, Ul-Rezaj found himself sliding back-first down a tree trunk. His legs split during the fall and both feet caught separate branches just in time. Toes curling tightly around the tree's limbs, Ul-Rezaj took a moment to catch his breath.
Off in the distance, the Amani fortress of Zul'Mashar came into view; a monument that now resides as little more than a relic to outsiders. Ul-Rezaj knew better. He wanted to know about their fate. He peered at the gray crater in the ridge, but nothing could be seen. Ul-Rezaj gracefully descended the branches with a hint of caution. A grunt beneath him exerted itself. Ul-Rezaj froze and stared at the base of the tree. A moss-covered Amani'shi Peon stepped out. This peon resembled something a little less than coherent. The creature, covered in moss typical to Amani stealth tactics, wore white bandages that kept the appendages attached. Ul-Rezaj mustered his full strength to keep from gasping. A mummy had been attached to the tree all along.

As the mummy shifted, Ul-Rezaj realized its preservation gauss attached to the tree itself. The aberration struggled to break free. For a moment, this opportunity seemed like a free kill, though he refrained. Zul'Farrak's wardens used to keep necromancy as a communal event. If one dies, then the master or others became aware. This type of alarm made it inconvenient to do any more maneuvering. Most importantly, fear flitted in Ul-Rezaj's eyes at the thought of this creature being alerted to earlier noise from sliding. A moment passed, the mummy almost seemed like it had given up, then one final jolt broke the whole figure free. It stumbled back and landed flat on the ground. One of the arms detached in the forceful process, but no blood flowed. Ul-Rezaj nearly felt a tinge of sickness knot his gut. This discovery indicated the creature had been bound to the tree for some time.

Evidently, Ul-Rezaj's presence held no bearing on the movement of the mummy. It rose to its feet, then buckled under its knees and crawled desperately towards Zul'Mashar. Something odd must have been going on. Ul-Rezaj waited a few minutes to view the mummy climb further away before descending. Once landed, he crouched and moved cautiously towards a ridge.

Troll huts and caravan movements could be seen in the land below. Zul'Mashar's braziers lit up with blue and green flames. Ul-Rezaj peered at the congregation. A white-robed figure stepped through the central ravine that from the entrance along with a caravan of camels and raptors. The frontward figure could clearly be recognized as a Zandalari Hierophant. Descending the steps, Ul-Rezaj saw a smaller, blue-green robed figure descend the steps and stopped halfway. This must have been the chief witch doctor who took responsibility for the local necromancy. The supposed witch doctor stared at the hierophant and both engaged in dialogue that Ul-Rezaj could not hear for a while.

Fingers wrapped around Ul-Rezaj's turban and began tugging at a tuft of loose hair. Ul-Rezaj flinched and shifted away to stop the sudden invocation of pain. "You asleep wit' de dead," asked the newcomer. Ul-Rezaj stared for a few moments. The figure kept no visage that alluded to the Amani. Tall and slender, slouched and bound in loose chain mail, Ul-Rezaj recognized the troll to be a Shadow Hunter. The figure clicked his tongue, "You dun recognize me, huh?"

Ul-Rezaj stared for a moment. A faint memory stirred in his mind, but it resonated with a time long since passed. A name, only one, came to mind. "Kathater," he spoke lightly. The fellow troll nodded slightly, affirming the assertion. "Ah-hah," Ul-Rezaj's voice raised more enthusiasm at a supposed ally. Rising to his feet, he clapped the Shadow Hunter's back. "Kathater," he began, "It do be s'long time since we met, eh? What brings you here?"

Kathater shifted. "Uh, dun it be obvious," he stated flatly, "Look around'chu, don'chu think de perimeter'd be secured by Amani Shadow Huntehs o' some'tin?"

Unfamiliar with Shadow Hunter customs, Ul-Rezaj only knew about long night watches from spiritual journeys that proved a Farraki Shadow Hunter's mettle in Un'goro Crater. Ul-Rezaj immediately looked towards the horizon, the mountain ridge, and then back towards the troll. No words came to mind in response, it seemed rather obvious that defenses had been deliberately lowered.

"'Bout time fo' you now to finally be catchin' on," teased Kathater, "Ah saw your debacle wit' de mummified sentry. Figures. Ah think it woulda been more fun to watch de grass grow."

Ul-Rezaj shifted closer and clapped Kathater's shoulder. He gave a firm death stare before saying, "Den why didn't you?"

Kathater's expression broke out into a grin. "Ahh, s'you still got'chur sense o' humor! Good, good. You'll be needin' it fo' de festivities. Abas'jin gonna make dis place good fo' trolls. De otheh races, ah was here to pick dem off," he explained. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder and jabbing Ul-Rezaj's elbow with the tip of his bow, Kathater added, "Go down, really. Ah know you be curious. Perhaps ah'll join you when ah be done here."

Climbing down the mountainous ridge, Ul-Rezaj reached the central region of Zul'Mashar while bypassing many onlooking living and unliving Amani. First, he noticed no guards approached him with any questions. They either assumed Kathater's hunting skills would have disallowed threats from coming in, or they did not presume Ul-Rezaj to be a threat. Second, the advertised festivities held no festive fervor. Instead, it seemed like an alignment for some sort of crude justice. A dark discussion, seemingly hostile, had been going on.

The Zandalari Hierophant, laced in white robes with golden lining, spoke angrily towards Zul'Mashar's witch doctor, "You saw it yourself. You knew the stakes. And, even then, you chose this?" The hierophant stepped back and held his hands out towards the shambling, barely self-sufficient mummies and Amani alike.

The witch doctor shrugged, saying nothing for a long moment. He crouched on the stairs, but the tension grew more agonizing as the silence carried on. Finally, he answered, "Mebbe I thought you was on de right track. Mebbe I changed my mind. I saw how you dealt with de things of old, pathetic."

The hierophant, who Ul-Rezaj now presumed to be Abas'jin, replied, "You traveled the black road on your own. You clung to old magics, a crude form of self-enslavement. You could have had the blessings of your ancient patriarchs, who we know and you do not, in all of this."

"Bah," mocked the Amani, "Who are they that they should benefit our kind?"

"Listen," rebuked Abas'jin ferociously, "And hear the words of the Zandalari! Our people have been preparing for a great war, a war that can reassert our proper place. We do not simply fight like a scoffer or foolish race, taunting the main threats on this world to attack us. Look at the Mogu, Garrosh Hellscream, and the so-called Iron Horde, we dedicate little, if anything at all, to them due to their short-sightedness, asserting their dominance against the most powerful threats for all to see how arrogantly they can taunt."

Ul-Rezaj cringed at the thought of taunting the most powerful threat on purpose and losing. It seemed cyclical to him now, as a routine function of the world, and not as an abnormality.

Abas'jin continued, "The mobilized armies of the Horde and the Alliance may have suffered serious losses, but they have not, by any means, decommissioned. Yet the Prophet has surely foreseen that they will. They are, after all, running out of enemies. In years to come, our sacred duty as firstborn of this world must be fulfilled as an example to the lesser races."

"Boldly spoken," interjected the witch doctor as his fingers curled into balled fists. "But, due to your prior incompetence, I'm afraid you don't have that in you. You have no reason to preserve a world that does not belong to you."

Abas'jin grinned, "Our ancient traditions and way of life shall reign in the coming era."

The witch doctor lowered himself to pick at a yellow toenail, disinterested.

Fury built inside Ul-Rezaj for the apathy of the witch doctor's part.

The hierophant tilted his head and studied the witch doctor before sighing. "Very well," he stated, "Zul shall know you give no answer."

The witch doctor rose to his full height. He declared, "It not be de case I say, 'no.' It be de case you make which be insufficient. You say, 'Let us preserve our tradition,' yet you mock our own. You assert a superior design over us, a design we do not view as necessary. Our traditions," he paused to motion towards the crowd and the mummified sentries, "Are all around you."

At this gesture, Ul-Rezaj notice the fervor of the Zul'Mashar crowd shift from tense to excited. This provoked a deeply uncomfortable sensation all throughout his body.

"Then," spoke Abas'jin, "You chose the path that will be trampled on by the first militant group who detests you. Only the Zandalari can offer you peace." Extending out a staff with the emblem of a serpent with golden eyes, the hierophant dictated towards the camels and raptors of the Zandalari caravan to turn back towards the ravine's entrance.

A grim laughter trailed behind the crowd. Ul-Rezaj and the rest turned to keep an eye on what the witch doctor intended to do. "Let us see, truly, if de Zandalari can live up to der word," he spoke ominously. The witch doctor flicked his wrist towards Zul'Mashar's crowd.

Frenzied, and in a hurried panic, Amani'shi warriors and hunters rushed to block the exit and dot the mountainside.

The caravan shifted to respond. The Zandalari Hierophant Abas'jin withdrew his staff and clung to it with both hands. The snake's golden eyes glowed. The hierophant's eyes turned to a bright white light. In a majestic boom, he yelled, "Loas be with us! Show these mongrels your power!"

The ground shook. Ul-Rezaj anticipated that it must have been the hierophant. A few of the caravan's defenders looked towards each other in glee, anticipating the loa's wrath. All at once, something unexpected happened. A multitude of grimy hands thrust out of the ground and reached for the ankles of the Zandalari Caravan's group. Screams echoed through the whole mountainside.

The witch doctor laughed.

In furious indignation, Abas'jin roared, "Break off these animate appendages. Do it quickly!" At once, warriors began hacking at the elbows of the grappling hands. Rogues who utilized a maneuverability to avoid them in the first place craftily pried off the fingers of the limbs from the Shadow Hunters. The warriors, despite their efforts, still had a problem. Once the limbs severed from their bodies, the hands still clenched to their hosts with a death grip. Zandalari Firebrands expelled intense flames that danced around the feet of the struggling caravan members. A foul stench arose as the death-animate figures relinquished their grips and fell to the ground.

Amani forces rushed to converge with the caravan. An intense battle took place where a din of clashing steel and dancing flames moved swiftly. For a moment, the Zandalari appeared to have a reprieve. Ul-Rezaj relaxed himself and took a few deep breaths. He leaned against a camel and began to utter a word of dark intent. Shadows imbued those all around him. He diligently searched for his old Farraki friend, Kathater.

Riding through the fray on a raptor, Kathater fired barrages into Amani'shi dissident warrior's backs. His resolve, thick and determined, prevented him from hesitating to take another target and pierce another Amani'shi's back with arrows. "'Ey, Ul-Rezaj," he shouted, "Did'chu really desert de Farraki campaign to hide behind othehs?" His question came as a challenge of integrity, though he knew he would get no answer with the ongoing pitch of the uproar.

The ground shook once more. The camels launched their feet up on two hind legs, clapping their round front hooves into the muddy dirt. A few groans and sighs heaved as perished Amani once again heaved to push themselves out of the ground. "Behold," cried the witch doctor, "Our greatest tradition!" This time, instead of grappling appendages, whole Amani bodies attempted to come out of the ground. Warriors immediately began hacking at the heads. At first, the strategy appeared thwart the raising of the fallen, but when dozens tried to emerge initially, hundreds took their place. The caravan found itself quickly overwhelmed.

Abas'jin, glowing and full of energy, levitated and became infused with fiery wrath. A beam of light funneled through the plagueland's toxic clouds and illuminated the hierophant. He stretched out his staff with both hands and plunged it into the soil. An explosion of light immediately encompassed Abas'jin and spread in a radius outwardly. Immediately, reanimated Amani crumbled in forms of dust. The only trace of the mummified ones came from a pile of bandages and glued material. The caravan's defenders cheered. This time, the turning of the tide came as truly authentic. Abas'jin proclaimed, "Don't get choked up on ole Hethiss, yeah?" Coils of light energy swirled up, out of the ground, and then left the Amani smitten. Shadowy avatars of snakes took life from the emitting staff's shadow and ferociously bit into Amani defenders and constricted the hunters and firebrands.

Even with the clear advantage, risen Amani continued to keep the caravan busy. Kathater no longer taunted. Instead, he loaded mummies like pincushions to no avail. The shadow hunters began to slow down their defense. The firebrands expressed weariness and began to be more sluggish in their control over the fires. The warriors fell to the endless hordes of risen dead. Ul-Rezaj turned towards the central fortress. He noticed that the witch doctor began to climb back up the stairs, though he stayed close enough to have a supernatural effect on the fallen.

"Kathater," Ul-Rezaj yelled into the crowd, "Kin you shoot up de witch docteh oveh der?"

Exhausted and weary, Kathater stared for a moment up at the steps and made his call. "No," he answered, "He be too fah back. Ah... failed," he lost consciousness and fell from his raptor, plunging face-first into the cold ground.

Frustrated and full of contempt, Ul-Rezaj began to utter shadowy words of Unstable Affliction into the reanimated to assist the warriors. The effect took only a few seconds to visibly take shape. The shambling horrors fell over, not as heaps of dust, but as unmoving corpses. The warriors gained renewed strength as the dead's quicker toppling provided more room for movement.

Annoyed with the resolve, the witch doctor began to channel cleansing energies to purge the afflictions from the reanimated. As he acted, something dark overtook him. A powerful force of energy pressed against him. He felt his temples throbbing and his forehead lash out against him. A vessel close to the witch doctor's ear audibly thumped and added to the pressure. Overwhelmed by the onset pain, he keeled over and collapsed.

The reanimated slowed down and halted. Amani'shi attackers, with morale depleted at the sight of their fallen leader, dispersed towards the mountains or dropped their weapons and surrendered. The caravan slashed for a moment longer before realizing the battle ended. Abas'jin's glow faded. He removed his staff from the ground and searched the crowds.

The full caravan shifted towards the main fortress. The collapsed witch doctor twitched and breathed in long intervals. Kathater approached the body and felt for a pulse. "He still be alive," the shadow hunter confirmed.

"Good," remarked Abas'jin. "I have something to tell him."

A day later, towards the evening, the caravan and the dispersed Amani of Zul'Mashar regathered on more peaceable terms at the main temple. The witch doctor woke up from his coma state. Abas'jin pressed their leader against the altar's wall. "You did a great favor by sleeping for so long. Look around you, now your whole tribe knows about what the Zandalari can do. I must say I'm well pleased to have you as an example," he commented. His hand slipped into a satchel and withdrew a sacrificial dagger.

"Hey," replied the witch doctor, nervously struggling against his captor, "I was jus' playin'. Where's your sense of humor?"

The hierophant appeared not at all pleased. He turned his head towards Kathater, whose nose bent out of shape from being broken during the fall with numerous accompanying bruises, and demanded, "Get the executioner now!"

Kathater shook his head, replying, "Firebrand Rendra, Shadow Hunteh Keth, and Nekath de Executioneh all fell defendin' my body. Ain't nobody got de rites, 'xcept Ul-Rezaj, he be acquainted wit'-"

"Enough," Abas'jin interjected, raising a hand to signal silence. He turned towards the witch doctor and asked, "Suffice it to say that their lives have been treated as just a game to you?" The hierophant slapped the witch doctor and turned towards the shadow hunter, adding, "I asked for an execution, not an apology. I refuse to take a troll from outside our ranks. You will do this on behalf of the Zandalari."

Nodding, Kathater accepted the request.

The caravan's rogues bound the witch doctor's hands and brought him to the top step. Kathater stared at his target for a long moment.

"Any last words," asked Abas'jin, allowing for one final statement.

"Yes," stated the witch doctor with fear and contempt in his voice, "I be glad to be de one facing execution, Abas'jin. I'd hate it for your blood to spoil the ground."

Drums beat all around Zul'Mashar, echoing off of the surrounding mountains. A distant horn blew. Kathater pulled back an arrow.

By then, Ul-Rezaj stepped out of sight through the ravine's pass. The Zandalari represented a critical ability to make decisions. He determined, either from a poor experience prior to Zul'Mashar or out of comfort with the status quo, that their cause held inferiority even though it was backed by such fervor. Fervor for the Mandate needed to be his cause, but how did it apply? The Zandalari, indeed, proved themselves. He would rejoin the Inquisition soon. Behind him, he noted, a victorious uproar from an invigorated crowd pronounced itself.

Tradition Versus Syreena

A war wolf, allotted only to the most diligent combatants, snorted as it ran miles throughout the foul heart of the plaguelands. Ul-Rezaj's mount seemed to despise the terrain, but it seemed invigorated whenever it could stop at an old human settlement and gnaw on a bone. He rewarded his mount with slabs of Talbuk meat and Gorgrond Minderal Water from his vendetta against the Draenei on Draenor. The wolf's appreciation radiated in its eyes. All it really wanted proved to be given the opportunity to exercise its legs, hop on a pile of human bones, and explore. Ul-Rezaj smiled. Inside, he mentally confessed that the vigor of the wolf energized him.

Off in the distance, the Inquisition gathered. After leaving Zul'Mashar, Ul-Rezaj had traveled for days to reach his destination. The endpoint lingered not far from his location at the bridge that divided the plaguelands in half, for his hope originally stopped at Andorhal, but the Forsaken wards closed it off to certain members of the Horde. Changing course, he ventured towards Caer Darrow by taking a more obscure path through plagued fields and scenic mountains.
Ul-Rezaj joined the Inquisitors at the gates of Stratholme. By Caer Darrow, he assumed to be at the lake's dock, but Khorvis organized right in front of the necromantic fortress' own step. The adherents to the Mandate gathered for idle chatter, discussing the chill of the site and days of old before the Inquisition started. Even then, something felt amiss.

An err, an out of place figure, stirred among the gathered Grim. Lilliana noticed first. Khorvis conducted official Inquisitorial duties and Ul-Rezaj attempted to ease his discomfort by focusing on the important matters. Gnarrdog, after all, passed his first trial. He reported on the skeleton crews guarding the Alliance's capitals; that their guard had been lowered during the conquest on Draenor.

Zanas stepped out behind the Grim. Ul-Rezaj mentally took note of his presence. It seemed strange that an outsider should come to pay attention to Inquisitorial duty. He returned his focus to the Mandate.

A flying golden serpent overhead appeared from the mountains in the south. Kex'ti descended from his mount and hastily hoveled through Stratholme's Gates, drawing incredible amounts of attention to himself. Typical, Ul-Rezaj thought. However, an unusual panic radiated around the elf. The High Inquisitor and adherents to the Mandate held Kex'ti in high regard for his resolve, utility, and trustworthiness.

Kex'ti's self-exposition began by declaring new information. Syreena, even as he spoke, was in a transference process to Stormwind's Stockades. He insisted that the Grim immediately intercede to rescue her.

Ul-Rezaj furrowed his brow. He asked, "Didju recognize dat de Mandate has currently gathehed in one o' its most important traditions?"

Zanas' indignation became immediately self-evident. He protested, "You care more about tradition than one of your own?"

Khorvis grumbled under his breath. The Inquisition had truly been interrupted from its order. He looked towards Awatu, who stood as a symbol of law and discernment, on the matter.

The response Awatu gave towards the two elves, and to reconcile with the Inquisition, was simple: Syreena chose her fate.

Perplexed by the judgment, Kex'ti declared his determination to rescue Syreena. He requested Lilliana join along.

Khorvis demanded silence. For a few tense moments, all of the gathered stared at each other. Finally, Khorvis muttered, "It was my design that got her there." He turned his attention back towards the newly commended Gnarrdog. "You," he pointed, "Go with them to the Stockades." In need of Syreena to educate the pup, Khorvis reasoned that the Supplicant needed to be responsible, in part, for her rescue.

In self-contemplation, Ul-Rezaj felt satisfied with the choice. He cheered for Gnarrdog, "You be allotted a great honor." Even though Gnarrdog had not been assigned his second trial, he knew that Syreena consistently proved to be a valuable asset in fulfilling the tradition.

Accepting his task, Gnarrdog mounted and went towards Kex'ti, Zanas, and Lilliana. "Peace," he stated in farewell.

The gathered replied: "Peace."

The headstrong band took off towards their location. Shaelie yelled a final word in respect for the mission at hand, "Peace through annihilation!"

((An indignant vein !!!!!!!!))