Grim Views

"This is stupid"

"She's yer boss, you gotta!"

"But this is -stupid- and she's going to make me look like some sort of fel-fucking fanatic! Who goes around talking about how great and useful their demons are to people who probably don't give a damn?!"

"You do! Cuz that armored woman told you to!"

"Belpep I swear to the nether I will banish you for a month if you don't stop reminding me"

The warlock grumbled and groaned at the imp on his shoulder, waiting for the rest of the Obliterators to send word of their arrival to the caverns. It was that time, once again, for an excursion through the timestreams into a particularly recent past; The threat of the end of the world at deathwing's hands. It was dangerous work, yes, just for some magical artifacts. But the excursion team consisted of enough experienced and capable individuals to ensure that they would at least get out alive.

He'd been putting off his task for weeks, his second task to pass through supplicancy and into the full ranks of The Grim. And really, he had no excuse other than not wanting to embarrass himself, witch he was entirely convinced was the entire purpose of Bryii assigning him to do it. Either in an assault against the alliance on the battlefields, or on a dungeon or raiding venture, he had to take the time to inform a fellow member of the horde of the benefits and usefulness of each of his available demon subordinates. Witch of course, to him, sounded completely ridiculous. Why should they give a damn, after all? But, orders are orders, and as the rest of the squad began to congregate he grumbled to the large imp perched on his shoulder armor.

"Fine. But you're up first, loudmouth."

"Worthless Pups! You wont leave this place alive!"

The harsh tones of an overconfident orcess "sang" over the thick of battle. Cultists and elementals rushed in from portals left and right onto the platform, only to meet the onslaught of magic and melee might that was waiting for them. This combat heat, the dire focus of lives at stake, this is what drove the power and precision into Duroxas's fire magic. Belpep was right at his heels, as he'd been for decades now, rhythmically and gleefully hurling bright bullets of flame at whatever his master's spells were headed towards. Of course, in the thick of it all, the warlock nearly forgot that he had an ulterior goal to accomplish. Belpep didn't, though, making a concerted effort to ensure his flames were white hot and extremely visible, perhaps actually aiming so that the embers would fly right past the eyes of other onlookers. Secretly an attention-craver? More likely than one would think.

It didn't take too long for an opportunity to arise, though it may have been at the slight expense of a comrade in arms. A pair of cultist frostweavers had managed to lock on to a goblin; One of them shackling the shamaness to the floor as the other prepared the telltale magics for a rain of ice and hail above her. At his master's beckon, Belpep had sprung over in a snap, flashing the chains with a blazing magic that shattered the bindings in an instant, allowing their captive the chance to sprint out from under the ice!

"Yow, thanks!" She shouted in passing. "Yer imp got me out of that right quick!"

"He singed the magic off!" Duroxas shouted back over the tortured wailing of incinerated frostbinders. "Useful things, imps! They usually sometimes never let you down!". Belpep acknowledged the attention by doing a back flip mid-cast.

One down.

Later that evening

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The speed of the Skyfire was unmatched, one of the fastest and most reliable gunships on Azeroth. Even so, she still had quite a distance ahead of her to travel before she could catch up with Deathwing in his mad dash for the Maelstrom. In the wait, the obliterators prepared themselves for an interruption they knew was on the way on deck.

Duroxas did a mental tally. Magical wards? Check. Charged enough magic for full-power spells? Check. Delicious seafood snack made by his loving wife? Especially check. Demon?

He looked around, scowling. Where on earth was Belpep?

Without warning, the air beside him shimmered and broke as if something was manifesting from it. Wich, as it turns out, was exactly what happened. With a glimmering sheen a tall, slender succubus, taller even than her diminutive master (much to his displeasure), appeared looking far too eager to be out into the world. She clung tightly to Duroxas's arm, tail whipping hapilly behind her. "Oh GOODNESS Its so nice to see some fresh air! Did you summon me?! Finally?! I KNEW youd change your mind! By sargeras you had me worried there tha-"

"HEY HEY. HEY. GET off, first of all!" He snapped, clearly unhappy and struggling to peel the seemingly iron-gripped demon from his arm. This was -not- a face he ever enjoyed seeing, or looking up at as the case may be. He could hear snickers around him, and was entirely too thankful that his hood was on so no one could see him redden in embarrassment.

"And secondly, I didn't summon you! You're still banished, now get your tail back into the nether! Bad skank!" He managed to push her back a distance, scolding her like a misbehaving dog. She pouted, whining, but obeyed and faded from reality in a shimmer.

"Lady problems there, warlock?" Someone cackled, to wich he decided to answer the best he could. "

"Eh... Don't get me wrong, they're useful distractions I guess, and they've got these nasty spiked whips. Aelrah is just flat out useless, though." he grumbles hurriedly. "Besides, I'm not into hooves, so she's doubly useless".

Never had he been so happy to hear the crushing boom of a gunship engine being blasted by twilight fire, cutting short the chances of further heckling. "OH, LOOK AT THAT, DEATHWING'S ESCORT. BACK TO WORK" he shouted, quickly summoning a snickering Belpep back out as the drakes flew overhead.

All was calm at the Arathi Basin gold mines.

The sun was setting over the cliff side behind them, casting long shadows from the base of the mineshaft entrance. Duroxas stood at his post near the recently erected horde banner, keeping a lookout for any sign of an enemy rider from the east or west. His sharp ears were able to pick up the shouts of battle from across the basin, but it didn't seem like the mines were in any imminent threat of being attacked.

At his feet was the source of the only other persistent sounds; contented growling and the cracking of bones within a set of jaws. His felhunter had plopped itself down like a focused dog behind him, hauled over the body of the mine's previous alliance occupant, and was busy devouring it.

Both the warlock and the hound tensed and looked around. The crunch of a poorly placed footstep gave away the position of someone hiding in the area. However, the mystery was solved quickly; An ally, another Grim, revealed himself for just long enough to clarify that he wasn't, in fact, an enemy assassin. He vanished again, and the demon quickly returned to it's feast.

"You should be more careful, we nearly tried to send you in crispy pieces back to your maker!" Duroxas chuckled, confident that they weren't in any imminent threat of attack and could take a moment to get another stage of his task done.

"Hah, you wouldn't have found me if I hadn't messed up there..." Came the rogue's reply from nowhere.

"Dont be so sure. Sruunum's senses are amazing, he could probably have sniffed you out from just having been -near- magic within the last month. Its more useful for stopping mages from sneaking around invisibly since he just eats their mana at the same time, but he's usually able to find a rogue-"

Those last three words, 'find a rogue', seemed to trigger a response in the dull- looking demon hound. He lunged off of his alliance chewtoy in a swift movement and dashed to the other side of the banner, charging into what would have been mistaken as thin air. However, it turned out to have been the now exposed and pinned-down rogue!

"Gah! Sruunum! Get back here! That's not what I meant!" Duroxas groaned, and the felhunter blissfully returned to it's master's side. The rogue got to his feet quickly, looking frantic at the idea of being exposed to too long before sinking back into hiding.

".. Right, yeah, I see what you mean"

Some day, Duroxas swore to himself, he was going to master a spell that would allow him to change the climate in a wide swath of land and make things consistently warmer wherever he pleased. Night was not the best time to be in the frigid Alterac mountains, even though the temperature drops hardly rivaled the worst that Northrend had to offer.

It was him, his voidwalker demon, and an old and grumpy looking orc Shaman who'm Duroxas had never met before in his life. Just the three of them holding down the fort, or tower as the case may be, until a sound demolition team could trudge its way up the mountain and get rid of the sturdy dwarven building once and for all.

With an inward sigh he looked over at the Shaman, who was keeping an ample distance and scowling. Duroxas grit his teeth; Only one more of these little 'introductions' left, may as well get it done.

"... Soooo... did you know that Voidwalkers are a valuable and efficient survival tool, and are of great worth to the horde?" He asked experimentally.

The older orc sneered in distaste, turning away. Duroxas could've sworn he'd heard a grizzly murmur of " Demon-whispering slime...".

The rest of the wait for the demolition team was carried out in tense, awkward silence.