Grim Views

((The following is a collaborative effort between myself and Pugg. If it gets to a point where your character is actually involved in the story, feel free to contribute a bit of yourself. This should have been posted around 6/30/08, but...well, real-life happens sometimes.))

Subject: Discovery...


A few months ago...

"Agamand Mills" Pugg thought. Maybe Tohmas is up there, helping to clear out some of the walking dead and wraiths. Mounting up, he heads out of Brill and up to Agamand Mills...or what's left of it now. The walking dead and the wailing wraiths are weak here, needing only a blast from his wand to destroy them.

Pugg sets to clearing out the place and searching for his lost foster brother.

"Tohmas!" Pugg cries out as he searches the abandoned buildings. Cellars, attics, windmills, anywhere and everywhere he could get to. There was no sign of him, or that he was ever here. Walking toward the north, he spots what looks like a crypt and proceeds to investigate. It seems to be the Agamand family crypt, now crawling with living dead and more wraiths. Again, Pugg puts his wand to work, not wanting to waste the mental effort to rid the place of these weak creatures. Gradually, methodically, working his way to the bottom of the crypt, he sees no signs of Tohmas.

Something else catches his eye, just below a torch set in an alcove...little more than the size of a pinhead...but shining like a beacon to his sight.

Shadow magic! So stong to shine through like that, he thinks. He looks closer at the pin-point of shadow magic, curious at what could be causing this.

"Oh shit! Grolish needs to know about this!" Pugg says to himself as he activates his Hearthstone.



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"Grolish!"

Grolish jumps with a start from his sleep when he hears Pugg call him through the hearthstone. "What is it, Pugg? You find Tohmas?"

"No, but I found something else. Are you alone?"

"Yes, I'm alone." Grolish responds.

"We need to speak privately, very privately. Can you meet me in Mulgore, the
usual place?"

"I'll be there within the hour." Grolish says as he begins getting dressed.

As Grolish rides up on his Frostwolf, he spots Pugg waiting for him. He seems excited, anxious, and even a little frightened. "Hello there, Pugg! So what brings me to the plains of Mulgore in the middle of the night?"

"I found something extraordinary, Grolish, something I've never seen before...pure Shadow! And what seems to be a portal into it." Pugg says quietly, but excitedly.

"Hmmm, this is interesting. Tell me more." Grolish pulls out his pipe and lights up a bowl of peacebloom, as he normally does when deep in thought.

"I found it at the bottom of the Agamand family crypt in Tirsifal Glades. You know how I can see the Light and the Shadow, and mold it to my magics? I saw a pin-prick of pure shadow coming from the wall under a torchholder. Pure Shadow! I've never seen 'pure' shadow before...it's always intermixed with some light, or tainted with something else, but this was PURE."

"And that's not all," Pugg continues. "There's a portal, it seems, to some other dimension. I can't tell if the Shadow is coming through the portal from the other dimension, or if it is what the portal is made of. The portal is too small to tell."

Grolish draws on his pipe and thinks for a few minutes, occasionally looking up to the stars. "Pugg, I want you to investigate this further. Learn all you can about this thing...what it is, how it works, why it exists. This thing is but a stones throw from a Capitol city of the Horde. If it's an invasion point, it could be disasterous."

"However," Grolish continues, "It could be a source of great power to the Horde and the Grim. You must find out if this thing is to be destroyed or harnessed. You must do this with the utmost secrecy. Nobody else can know what you are doing, not fellow Grim, not even the Dreadweavers... including Acherontia, understood?"

Pugg looks down sadly at the mention of Acherontia's name. "Yes, I understand."

"Good. If word of this discovery gets out, our enemies will expend every effort to take it into their control. The Horde, Alliance, and Legion armies all fighting outside the Undercity is not something I want to see at this point. I will inform the Artificer of this discovery of yours. You may speak to him about this, if necessary, but no one else."

"Learn of this thing, Pugg, and soon!" Grolish says as activates his hearthstone.

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Pugg returns to the crypt and the tiny portal. It seems to be right in the wall shining through the stone. The torch...he looks closely, as he tries to move it. It seems to move slightly. Up, down, it seems like it is designed to move, but something is holding it. Looking around, he sees a small stone set into the wall slightly diffent than the others. He pushes the stone in and it moves a half inch or so. It returns to it's normal position when the pressure is released.

Hmmmm.... Pugg scratches his head and thinks, trying to remember some of the tricks that Syreena showed him regarding traps, locks, and things like that. Then it comes to him. Pugg pushes the stone and holds it while trying to move the torch. The torch moves to the left, and the wall begins to swing open.

Slowly, carefully, he swings the door open and looks inside.


The tiny 10'x10' room was dominated by an elaborate contraption composed of gears, levers, belts, pulleys, and other less-identifiable pieces of machinery. Deep within the device, several wheels were kept turning by undead rats running inside of them at an unbreaking pace. At the apex of the portal generator, a single pinpoint of deep violet shadow essence was being sustained, presumably by the energy produced by the machine.


As soon as Pugg had fully crossed the entrance, the door swung shut violently behind him. In the corner behind the door a wretched figure attempted to stand. An undead vagabond of great filthiness and order struggled to its feet. Facing Pugg, he made a "tip of the hat" gesture to the priest and began rasping out a bit of gutterspeak.

"You've come! Finally! I have waited here so long...." The wretch turned his gaze to the device forlornly.

"But... you're not 'im. Ya wear his colors and his shadows, but you're not the one I'm seekin'!" As the voice strengthened, Pugg found it oddly familiar though he could not place it right away.

"Who is it you seek?...and...what...is this thing?" Pugg says almost absentmindedly as he looks in amazement at the machine.

"No matter. No matter. This'll serve ya as well as 'im. This portal's to the Source. The realm in which all tha shadows're pulled from. Only yer kind can see it without a lil' helper." The Forsaken pointed to a crystalline "eye" in the left socket of his skull. "Takes sometin' extry for my kind ta see it."

"The Source?  A realm that is the source of shadow magic?"  Pugg walks around the machine as best he can, inspecting it curiously without actually touching it.  The wretch did not seem to present a threat, but experience taught him that things are not always what they seem.  There seemed to be no malice with him, though, so Pugg pressed on with his questions carefully.  "You were expecting someone who looks like me...one that works the shadow magic?"

"Oh? Me an' the old man goes waaaaay back. Y'all call's him the Artypants or somethin' now. I knew e'd wanna see this, but 'e never comes a lookin' for is ol' buddy, Shep." Pauses to twist a few knobs and pull a lever. "No sirree. So's I builts this to keep it open but keep it closed. 'Course, I can't trust the crazy deaders 'bove ta guard it, so's 'ere I sits." The portal begins to expand very slowly.

Artypants...that voice...sounds like...Artificer - Malebrignon!  "Artificer?  Is that who you wait for?  How do you know him, and why does your voice sound like his?" Pugg asks more directly as he watches the portal open to the Source.  As he waits for the wretches answer, he examines the pure shadow eminating from the portal.  Certainly a source of great power...the magics that could be molded with a source this pure is beyond imagination.  If we can control this, harness it for the Horde, the war would be over very soon...the Alliance annihilated utterly and completely.

"Known 'im since 'e first rose up, I have. Useta wear 'is colors, even, before 'e got all grimy. An' a voice? Well, 'ere's a shortage of voices if ya ain't noticed. Lotsa folks sound a-same. Anywho, this thing 'ere'll send ya to the Source. Nearly unlimited power awaits there. Since ya wear the bosses colors, I s'pose it's fine ta send ya onward. Claim it fer da Grim, fer da Forsaken, an' fer da Horde. We're a-losin' as of late and need somethin' to tip the scales. Infused wit' this power, ya should be ready to take on Kel'Thuzad 'iself!"

Those quick answers were hardly enough to satisfy Pugg's inquisitive nature; it was obvious this fellow was not all he appeared to be.

"A test from the Artificer, maybe?" he mused to himself. "I suppose to pass the powermad's test, one must act the same."

Pugg stepped into the portal.

Pain.

The undead rarely experience true pain. Harm comes to them, but not feeling for the most part.

Pugg had occasionally heard the expression "crimson pain", but never quite understood it. Now... he new violet pain. Suspended in swirling streams of purple-on-black energy, he drifted in and out of conciousness. Every waking moment was filled with the terrible knowledge that he was being devoured one mote at a time. Constant, throbbing agony shot through his arm from where his left hand used to be; now only a stump of bone slowly, painfully eroding away.

Eventually, his disciplined mind was able to compartmentalize the pain and take stock of his surroundings, enough to realize he had been fooled. This was no plane of Shadow; certainly not the Source it appeared to be. As he swirled within the shadow vortex, he was able to determine the finite nature of this demi-plane. It appeared to be little more than an extra-planar cage. After many cycles he began to catch glimpses of others trapped within the vortex, though never more than a fleeting glimpse.

Isssss Awaaaaake.....

The sudden voice shocked him from his observations and he turned towards what he perceived to be the center of the vortex. Black eyes, somehow darker than the rest of the shadows, returned Pugg's gaze and the pain amplified beyond his consciousness threshold. A coccoon of inky darkness formed around him as he swirled limply in the storm.

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"Nine hells..." the Malebrignon muttered as he smashed the delicate crystal globe in front of him. It was the third such item he had ruined this day. He admitted defeat and replaced his inscription tools within their pouch upon his workbench. Retreating to the other end of his shop, he made a gesture to light both candles near his stool and began to peruse the leanest shelf on his library.

"Underdeveloped Azerothian nonsense..." he continued to mutter to himself as he carefully examined each book. After much deliberation, he selected a tome he had collected within the Dire Maul, the works of Zhevrim Thornhoof. More than once, the Malebrignon had lamented the satyr's destruction. He had been on the verge of a brilliant discovery that may have bridged a gap between nature magics and necromancy: undead treants. However, this was not the information he sought to review. Zhevrim's earlier works on dream manipulation were the target.

Several hours and even more books later, the Malebrignon was no closer to a solution. Someone was trying to get into his head; someone wanted him to dream. He had heard that some Foresaken chose to sleep, but he was not one of them. Instead of the desired nightmare effect, whoever was assaulting his mind was causing him to startle and waste valuable time and resources.

No closer to his goal, he left his workshop in the Lower City of Shattrath and ventured up to the portals. No Grim kept the sort of library he needed, so the next best library would be Gandling's. He chose the portal to the Undercity and found his steed waiting for him. Almost immediately upon mounting, an explosion came from the Apothecarium. While this was not incredibly unusual, it was often worth investigating.

He arrived to find only a bit of charred stone, some smoldering boots, and a few minor arcane elementals bobbing about near said boots. It was easy enough to surmise what had happened: an apprentice had failed their test. Looking across the canal, the Malebrignon noticed a place he'd not been for quite some time. His, or rather his host's, old office was just as he'd left it. Even the journal his host had kept prior to their separation was intact, albeit moldy and dust-covered, on the shelves where he'd last seen it. Almost absently, he picked up the journal and began to thumb through it.

Much to his surprise, the book had been hollowed out. Inside was what at first appeared to be an age-blackened wishbone. Careful inspection proved it to be an item of some small magic. An obsidian divining rod, of sorts. A litany of curses began to spew from his mouth in Gutterspeak. This was a trap. An unsubtle and obvious one, at that.

"Slow down, Spike!" The Malebrignon thumped his horse on the head with his riding crop.

"No need to rush into things..."

The lich refocused his attention on the scrying crystal he'd stolen from Aran. It was normally quite reliable but was not giving him proper results this day. After much deliberation, he'd decided to take the bait and see who or what was trying to trap him. Never one for heroics, he left strict instructions for his dog, Grooda, to come looking for him should he be gone for more than a few days. Now, the rod had led him north from Lordaeron into the cliffs where he was attempting to explore the crypts with his crystal.

"If only I'd had Lupen teach me about that Eye...."

He startled. He'd caught a fleeting glimpse of something within his crystal. A flash of light? No. A reflection? Maybe.... a dagger! Yes. It was torchlight off a dagger blade that he'd seen. A familiar blade, too.

"Come on out, Braeg. I know it's you." He spoke with barely a whisper.

As if in answer, fireworks lit the sky above a crypt built deep into the cliffside to the far north. He kicked his horse to a trot and sped towards it. Minor minions of the Scourge sprung up from all sides to stop him but were easily cleared with a twirl of his staff.

"Braegor." His mind raced. "Braegor whom I was. Braegor who shows pity. Braegor who... feels. Braegor...who is destroyed."

The Malebrignon reached the crypt, dismounted and strode inside purposely. More minor Scourge attempted to slow him but were beaten back reflexively. Down the stairs he leapt, certain that his quarry would be trapped at the bottom. He continued to dwell upon Braegor. He'd been obliterated completely. How could he be here? He'd trapped the chimney sweep's soul within a phylactery years ago. He'd destroyed the gem that held that soul himself. He couldn't be here. He...

All thoughts of Braegor ceased as the wall to his left opened up and revealed a magnificent portal. The room ahead seemed to be filled with shadow magic.

"The Plane of Shadow...... home...."

The Malebrignon heard a chuckle from behind and an all-too-familiar voice said: "Hah! Seemin' ta be unnecessary, but..."

A flick of a dagger dropped the lich's spellcloth satchel to the floor and a quick shove pushed most of Malebrignon's body into the portal. Flailing, he'd caught hold of one of the gears in the barely visible portal generator. He affixed his gaze upon Braegor.

"You! It is you. How? I destroyed you!"

Braegor began to answer, but noticed the green glow of his nemesis' hearthstone upon the ground.

Speaking with their shared voice he said: " 'allo, Grimmys. Yer artypants is in trouble." As soon as it was said, he fled the scene knowing it was too late for Brig and more reinforcements than he could handle would be on their way. Waist deep in the portal, the Malebrignon clawed for his hearthstone. He could tell by the tendrils wrapping around his legs on the other side that this was no demi-plane he could leave at will. Something much more dangerous lay beyond.

Snatching up the stone, he cried out to the Grim he trusted most and used his last Azerothian moment to speak the words that would transfer The Grim's mantle of leadership to Regnanetah. He continued to struggle against the slowly closing gateway, but continued to sink deeper into it.

By the time the troll stepped out of his own portal, he could only catch a glimpse of Brig's signet-bearing hand as it was sucked into the portal. With that, the portal disappeared and the device which had seemingly opened it clattered to pieces.

The blackness fades, the swirling streams of purple-on-black return to his vision, and the pain…the PAIN!  The excruciating pain flowed through every pore of his being. 

I must steel my mind, harden it against this assault on my sanity.  Remember your training…discipline…  I must discipline my mind against this pain...  suppress it…  put it away…  I do not serve it… it serves me.  Strength…  steel your resolve.  Put the pain away…

As the mind is disciplined, the pain is suppressed, put away where it will not hinder him.  Pugg looks down to his left arm, the conduit for the pain.  His hand was gone, and part of his forearm as well.  Time is not my friend.  I must escape this cage soon…but how?  There are others here.  I can see glimpses of them.  There was a way into this cage, there must be a way out. 

Pugg searches his extra-planar cage for what seems to be weeks, to no avail.  It seems to be cube shaped, with nothingness for walls.  An invisible barrier exists where things just stop.  No doors, no mechanisms, nothing at all to even touch.  There seems to be no way out from the inside. 

If there’s no way out from the inside, then I must escape from the outside.  How?  Help…from others…how do I reach them?  Discipline…your mind…use your mind to reach them.  The distance…the cage…must be someone close…those minds closely tuned to mine.  Grolish?  No…he doesn’t understand my magic…the shadows unfamiliar to him.  Acherontia?  Yes!  If anyone can be reached, it would be her.  She knows the shadow magic…and me…I’ve entered her mind before…certainly she would recognize it again.  I must try.  Another…just in case…Grolish said to contact Malebrignon if he could not be contacted.  He knows the shadow magic too… he knows of mind vision and control… he would recognize a message…a call for help to his mind…it’s my only hope.

Pugg reaches out to Acherontia and Malebrignon with his mind, calling for help.  He tries to place visions of him in their minds, visions of the tombs, visions of the machine and the person that trapped him here, and visions of his cage…his torment. 

He continues for weeks?  Months?  What is time here?  There is no way to know.  He only knows that his arm is gone up to his elbow now.  He knows that suppressing the pain, keeping it bound and segregated from his thoughts, and mentally calling to Acherontia and Malebrignon strain him to the limits of his endurance.  How much longer can this continue?

As long as it takes.  Discipline!  Discipline you mind and body!  They serve you.

Some time later, a loud suction noise startles Pugg.  Before he could recover from the start, a loud ‘pop’ resounds followed by black. 

As Pugg’s senses return to him, he first notices the feeling of cold stone against his face…and someone shaking him. 

“Pugg!  Wake up mon!  Ju mus wake up!â€