Maw of the Maelstrom

[Araun]

Three months ago...

The rain lashed against the rocks of the island as the Araun's boat slid gently towards a wooden dock. It was not much of a boat - little more than a small hull and a miniscule shack with a chair - but it glided over the water without sails or oars. The island it approached also didn't look like much, at least not in the dark with the rain pouring out of the storm-black sky. It was a rough peak of rock, perhaps the summit of some mountain drowned long ago during the sundering; further in, firelights glimmered in small windows, suggesting the shape of a great dark tower rising over the jagged cliffs.

Waiting on the dock, sheltering under a wide umbrella and watching as the boat approached, was a tall human man in a black robe. He had a patriarchal look, just crossing the line from fatherly into grandfatherly, with a short sharp-trimmed silver-grey beard, streaked occasionally with black.

The boat bumped up against the dock, and Araun tossed a rope ashore - the rope writhed and slithered, grasping like a tentacle, until it found purchase and tied itself securely to a stanchion. He waved a hand over his head, and a shield shimmered briefly over him; he stepped out of the shack and onto the dock, the rain beating against the magical shield above him.

The robed man approached, greeting him in a grave voice: "Welcome home, Lord Messenger."

Araun smirked at the title, and executed a brief bow, "It's good to be back, Lord Fathomless."

"Let's stick with 'Bauglir' if we're going to insist on codenames," replied the man, grinning in a friendly way, "Fathomless makes me sound simple." He paused a bit, raising an eyebrow at the shield protecting Araun, "I see you're still not above abusing the powers you've been given."

Araun shrugged, and waved a hand nonchalantly as he said, "I've faced down demon princes, lich kings, and bathed in the blood of an Old God. I don't see why I have to put up with getting wet when it rains."

Bauglir snorted and turned, walking down the dock towards the stony shore. Araun quickly caught up to him and the pair walked together onto the island and up the path that wound its way up the cliffside. Bauglir heaved a dramatic aggrieved sigh and said, "Young people these days, you have no respect for tradition. When I was your age -"

Araun cut him off, saying in a pleasant tone "- which was about six hours ago, since we have the same birthday."

"Ah yes, but while I have acquired wrinkles and grown a stately, respectable beard," the human stroked his silver-haired chin, "you still look like I should be reporting you to the truant officers. So now I get to boss you around, it's how things work."

Araun put a hand to his heart, hanging his head in shame. "You're right, I bow to your bearded wisdom, o' my elder. The next time it rains, I will put a newspaper over my head like everyone else. Also, the next time I need to leave a building, I will take the stairs instead of jumping out a fifth-story window and floating into the street."

Bauglir gave a snorting laugh and clapped Araun on the back as he said, "I am so glad you're back, everyone else here is so damn serious all the time. Especially the new guys."

Araun arched an eyebrow, looking over at the human, "New guys?"

"Yes, look." They crested the top of the cliffs, and Bauglir pointed into the centre of the island; lamps and sputtering cookfires illuminated a small tent village, full of bustling soldiers. "Cho'gall sent in some troops," he explained, "they actually outnumber us now. I don't know what he's protecting us from, but he's worried about something. Damn good thing the fishing's been good this month, otherwise we'd never feed them all. Although we've caught a few strange things."

Araun frowned, looking out at the roiling ocean, "Let me guess - deep sea fish we never get out here, yes?"

Bauglir nodded, moving the umbrella to his other hand as they continued to walk, following the cliffs towards the tower that dominated the island. "Yes, exactly that. Something's scaring them up from their usual homes."

"The same thing was happening back on the coast when I left," Araun said, nodding to himself, "but nobody could explain it. I take it -"

"- the Master has kept his dread and terrible, many-fanged maw shut, yes. Not a word of prophecy for months. Nothing we do can tell us the future," the Bauglir clenched his jaw, looking frustrated as he spoke, "it's like someone's drawn a curtain over what's coming."

"Wings," Araun said, distantly.

"What?"

"Wings. Not a curtain, wings." Araun spread his hands, illustrating spreading wings, "Great, black wings and dark smoke. I see it sometimes, when I dream deep enough - but I could simply be imagining it."

"Hm," Bauglir stared at the ground, thinking for a moment before speaking, "that could mean anything. Still, we'll mention it to Lord Dreamer when we see him."

The pair reached the base of the tower - it seemed to come in two parts, one old and one new. The base of the tower was formed of a single piece of stone, shaped out of the island itself - the sort of seamless magework common to Highborn ruins the world over. But halfway up, it became jagged, as if something had grabbed the tower and snapped it off - from that point up, the tower was built of stone blocks and masonry no more than fifty years old. Torchlight glimmered in many of the windows, although most were shuttered against the rain.

An enormous archway stood before them, the heavy wooden doors of the citadel left open. At the peak of the arch there was a plain carving of a human eye, lidless and staring, surrounded by indecipherable characters. Both men bowed their heads and muttered a prayer before striding across the threshold: "Gul'kafh an'shel."

Inside, the main floor of the tower was an enormous stone foyer, the ceiling supported by modern stone columns and wooden beams. Two pairs of stone stairways on opposite ends of the room wound up the inside walls of the tower, leading towards the second floor above. One end of the room was dominated by workdesks and lamps, the other by long trestle tables and the remains of a meal, and between them were scattered chairs, blackboards, and tables piled with books and papers and inkwells.

In fact, the only thing that would suggest this was the headquarters of the branch of a doomsday cult and not, say, a commune was the statue in one dark corner of the room: the area was unlit, and the true shape of the icon was unknowable. It was black stone, and a single candle sat below it, burning with an eerie blue flame. The flickering light of the candle briefly illuminated strange, disturbing pieces of the statue: an eye, a tooth, a tentacle - they appeared, then seemed to move and withdraw into the darkness again as the light moved on.

Bauglir noticed Araun staring at the statue, and said solemnly, "Almost forgot about that thing, didn't you? The soldiers wanted it moved, said it creeped them out, but Lord Dreamer wouldn't hear of it. It's important. Reminds me why we're here."

"Yes," said Araun, watching the statue still. The light moved over a carving of a cat's eye, which seemed to stare around in panic before fading away. "No matter how mundane the world around us may seem, its true face is a horror we can only barely comprehend. The real Azeroth is revealed only in glimpses and pieces."

Bauglir moved further into the room, nodding as he spoke, "Yes, and our job is to put those pieces together and see the face of the world, without its mask. We are the people who have stared into madness and come out saner for it."

"Are we?" Araun pulled his gaze away from the statue and looked over at Bauglir, "Because right now I can't think of a sane reason for why I'm back here. Yes, our plan succeeded - yes, Cho'gall is free to use resources that would've been wasted elsewhere. But I'm not finished out there yet, and someone needs to rein in Perenolde before he -"

A woman's voice interrupted him: "Your Lord Dreamer's orders come straight from Cho'gall."

Araun turned, frowning. Standing in the doorway, not far from the two men, was a muscular orc woman in the dark purple armour of a Twilight's Hammer soldier. Her black hair was pulled into a tight topknot, and tied roughly with plain twine.

"Marauder Commander Lorka," Bauglir said with all the ingratiating kindness he reserved for people he hated, "what a pleasure to see you in the tower, after we asked you to stop coming up here unannounced."

Lorka shot him a glare, and half-spoke, half-snarled, "I have my orders. They don't include trusting you. Cho'gall has given you a lot of leeway, but that doesn't mean I can't keep an eye on you."

"Commander," Araun said, smiling at her in a friendly way, "is there something about us you don't like? After all, we're all working together."

"You're too normal," she snapped in reply, "and if there's anything working for the Hammer has taught me, it's that you can't fucking trust normal. Cho'gall is a twenty-foot two-headed ogre covered in a dozen staring eyes, and he's been more true to me than anyone else in the world. So yeah," she looked around at the mundane workroom filling the tower, "when I see a bunch of pretty-boy academics working for the Hammer, with not a single fucking monster among em, I get all suspicious."

Araun's eyebrows went up as he asked innocently, "You think I'm pretty?"

A look of fear briefly shot across Bauglir's face and he intervened quickly. "Trust me, Commander, we have our monsters," he glanced sidelong at Araun, and forced a smile as he continued, "Is there something you came up here for?"

Lorka growled at Araun briefly, but answered Bauglir sullenly, "The rain collapsed a couple tents - snapped the poles. We need something to keep them propped up until morning."

Bauglir nodded helpfully, "I see, I see. We probably have some spares - let's go check the storeroom. Lord Messenger," he glanced at Araun, "Your cell hasn't been touched, go ahead and get settled in. We're due to gather for morning devotions as usual tomorrow, and the Twilight Lords will meet tomorrow evening."

Araun shrugged, "Very well. Gul'kafh an'shel, brother," he smirked at the orc woman, "Commander."

She shot him a look, but he'd already turned his back on her. He walked up the stairs that spiraled around the inside of the tower, heading up the floors. Landings opened out onto various floors filled with corridors and small rooms - storage, studies, living quarters, all the sundry nonsense required to house monks. He passed the library floor - easily identified by the musty smell of old books - and travelled up to the second-highest floor of the tower. There, he walked through twisting passages until he came to a small, cramped cell. A half-empty oil lamp stood in one corner on small desk, beneath a set of shelves. A cot with thin sheets sat jammed in the opposite corner, and a wooden chair was tucked under the desk. The room was small enough that there was just enough room for a person to stand between the desk and the bed.

Araun smiled, just a touch wistfully, and muttered, "Home sweet home." Behind him, the door politely closed by itself.

{ More to come if I have another slow day at work. As usual, nothing that happens to Araun is necessarily canon, I am just making shit up while bored. }

[Greebo]

((

Three months ago...
{ More to come if I have another slow day at work.}

Make it so.
))