It had been a little over two weeks since the doppelganger’s forcible … return, to Azeroth. But now looking out the window of a small house in eastern Elwynn Forest, Rythir felt they had time to think on the events that led them here.
Things had returned to a sense of normal for Rythir, after finally being able to return to their home plane the Twisting Nether; well at least it was normal for them. Finally done with Azeroth he thought no more people chasing him down for committing some light “crimes” as they called them, all he did was try to fit in, Rythir could have done so much more with that life had Zaium Duskmyre not had friends that wanted it back. So selfish. Then having their ritual so carelessly commandeered and twisted by Suni; binding their form to her command, not to mention the scar she left on their new face. But now, Suni seemed to have vanished without them in tow, and without her around the magical binding on their arms faded, and they managed to slip from this plane to the one they called home. And lived happily ever after.
Yeah, no, things did not last, eventually Rythir began to hear voices, or was it the same voice? It was hard to tell, the sheer volume and number of concurrent conversationalists made their head spin. Every day getting louder and more numerous. Over the next couple of months Rythir began to grow accustomed to cacophony in their mind and even caught the strands of cohesion in the winding words. Fel, they even had one sided conversations with it. And, it sure helped having something to talk to as they began picking and peeling away the ‘skin’ of the form they’d been trapped in, revealing a new dark energy seeping out, or maybe in? A new normalcy was being established, but one voice worried him.
“You… are not… finished.” The voice repeated it’s ominous message at first sparingly, but it slowly had gained frequency over time. Rythir was not much a fan of this voice, they had no desire to return to any form of servitude, and this master-to-be did not react to their sarcastic quips at all; that simply would not do.
Then one day the voice said something new, “It… is…time…”. Rythir found themselves surrounded suddenly by a large Netherstorm, and in a flash they found themselves making a sudden drop in Ironforge; eyes still shut the voices in their head were quiet and instead they found themselves surrounded by voices outside, head still pounding. After overcoming a slight language barrier, Rythir found themselves back on Azeroth… great this place again. On a more positive note, none of the faces seemed familiar, perhaps they could improve upon their last visit? At least, that was the original plan, then Ghost happened to walk out of the building and recognised them, telling tale of their past and leading to a rather one sided kerfuffle. Luckily Rythir believes with some acting, they have fooled the others into thinking they were dead as they reapparated around the corner and ran away to plan their next moves.
Fortune continued to shine on Rythir as they made their escape and found a small lodging in Eastvale Logging Camp inhabited by a lone old man. Even more fortunately the man seemed to be near blind and half senile. Hiding the man’s spectacles and making some slight changes to their form Rythir spent the next few weeks playing at being the man’s grandson come home to visit and take care of his dear old grandfather. It made for a decent cover as he waited for the voices to return and give him new direction.
Arthur Pendleton, as Rythir learned the man’s name, was quite the fountain of information, not even requiring any magic or manipulation to spill his entire life story; this would surely come in handy if Rythir needed to answer any personal questions in his time here. Former mage in training at the Tower of Azora he claimed, but gave up his pursuit of magic to chase the girl of his dreams, ’Fool.’ was all Rythir could think at that decision. Had a family, family grew up and spread out causing some tense feelings, wife died recently, hadn’t seen grandchildren in years, Rythir could probably just kill the man now and the town would think he died in his sleep. But then again, why mess with a plan that’s working?
The sound of some of the hens penned up outside having a squabble interrupted their thoughts. Their thoughts having caught up to the present anyway Rythir turned away from the window and the faintest glimmer of light creeping over the horizon to face the dark and quiet of the small room. They picked up a small candle from a table and lit it with a small purple flame and walked over to the bedside.
“It’s truly a shame it came to this… but it is time for me to move on.” he spoke softly to the still form of Arthur, still lying in bed where he had fallen asleep. “Too tell you the truth, I had thought of ending your life myself,” he placed the candle on the nightstand, “… I wasn’t going too, you took me in and helped me a great deal more than you realize. I suppose peacefully in your sleep is what you deserved.” Rythir stood and straightened a set of the man’s clothes on their form, slowly changing into a replica of Arthur Pendleton.
“Stormwind…”
Rythir paused and looked over at the bed, “You got out just in time.” and with that Rythir tipped over the lit candle setting ablaze to the makeshift pyre they had prepared of Arthur’s bed and several bottles of whiskey he had stored underneath. Hurrying to make their escape before the sun fully rose over the forests of Elwynn, Rythir did take a moment to let loose the now orphaned hens. “Herald… Chaos…” With those -amazingly- precise directions Rythir decided if the voices were going to be vague they might as well enjoy themselves, but first, Ghost was familiar with their tactics and knew how to recognize them… she would need to be dealt with.