Gibet - Letters from the nether- Part deux

((An epilogue of letters to tie off some of the loose ends. This is the first. A little out of order as I haven’t gotten around to that last session with the Doctor. That will be a complex one))


Dear Doctor Faranell,

Greetings, my old colleague. It has been a while now, hasn’t it? I must forgo the usual pleasantries, as I must bring an important discovery to your attention. No, I am not coming out of retirement. I’m too set in my ways for that.

This is regarding a former pupil you recommended I take special interest in; Forsaken identification “Gibet Gallowsborn.”

As per our previous correspondence concerning Master Gibet, she continues to be an anomaly among Forsaken; and that is saying a lot.

She recently came to visit and discuss many of the recent events in the new order of things; congratulations on making the council, by the way. I’m sure it thrills you being forced into the spotlight.

Forgive my sophomoric attempt at humor. I believe you can understand why I prefer a more private life.

Back to the topic at hand. Master Gibet had come for historical perspective and opinions of these events, but during our discussions, I witnessed several latent memories from her past manifest, and they concern me profoundly.

I do not know now many of your records survived the blighting, but I could confirm many of my theories concerning where Master Gibet grew up, although the exact nature of her condition is much more shocking.

She was one of a group of children sold to the Alteraci. This was not just for slavery, that alone has my contempt as can imagine. The evidence suggests that the Argus Wake was involved in this… transaction.

As you may recall, something heavily imbued Master Gibet with the fel to the point were demonic attributes manifested early in childhood.

She also stated one chilling detail; that she and the others had no names. I’ll let that sink in. She may be one of the few who are truly… nameless.

If you recall my thesis on the effects of the fel (I can have it delivered via imp if you request), one of its major properties is its corrupting effect on the living; physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. This effect is… insidious and seems to have a greater effect on those ‘grounded’ in their life.

One of those grounding elements is one’s name. The creators of our lives, our parents, give this benediction. It binds us to our present and past so that we can find our future; much like a lightning rod.

What makes the fel so corrupting and dangerous is that it rides that grounding force and corrupts it from the root.

Not having a name provides… insulation… from this effect. This is much harder than it sounds. Parental love, especially a mother’s, is a complicated and powerful thing. Even if instructed not to name a child, it often happens anyway subconsciously. Mothers especially will often ‘Try names on’ while pregnant and that could be enough.

To be truly nameless would be akin to a perfect orphan. The names we collect in life (nicknames and those given by the Forsaken), are not powerful enough for this level of spiritual grounding.

So, Gibet’s feeling of betrayal is beyond personal. It is elemental. “Mother” is the prayer on the lips of all newborns. To have that prayer denied in such a way cuts one spiritually adrift. They float above this life rather than be part of it.

It doomed most to a hard life in this situation. Gibet is unique, however.

To the point!

My current theory is that the Argus Reach was using the Alteraci to hide this group of nameless children. The reason for this still eludes me completely, but here is what I know and can infer:

The Argus Wake has the fifth Bloodstone Artifact!

I believe they are using it to infuse these nameless children with incredible amounts of fel. Being truly nameless means the fel does not affect them the same way. I’m guessing the fel consumed many who were not truly nameless.

I also believe they were using these children as incubators. Master Gibet recalled a rather disturbing little rhyme the children sang that described a ‘seed.’

The fel would be in a constant loop trying to feed on the life energy but with no way to consume it; like trying to start a fire with no air available.

I believe they were trying to grow something and once the Bloodstone artifact reacted a certain way, she would be… harvested.

Among the Alteraci, the mistress of the late Aliden Perenold singled her out. It looks like our intelligence was correct that she was trying to help children escape the Alteraci, but this additional detail puts a unique spin on it. It is doubtful that many of the nameless reacted to her offer of help, like our Master Gibet.

She kept her horns filed down, so it looked like the seed was not growing. At some point, I think they singled her out to be harvested, and either escaped or someone helped her.

I am certain that the rabble responsible for her execution was not the Alteraci. They would want her returned intact. On the run and most likely starving, I’m guessing she reached out with the fel within her and unconsciously fed along the way. That, and her horns, would not go well with most of the ‘metabolically active’ folk. Her ultimate demise was most likely written in ‘scarlet.’

And now we come to my last revelation concerning Master Gibet. Recalling your notes, she had found a cache of original plague outside of Stratholme where she was in hiding and had broken the seals when captured.

When she died on the rope, they inadvertently destroyed the seed before the Argus Wake could harvest it. When the life energy left her body, only the fel remained. That, along with the properties of the plague, is why she rose the way she did. It is unique.

One final, critical, note. As part of the little rhyme Master Gibet recalled, it seems one of the rumored properties of the fifth bloodstone artifact concerning controlling the undead may be true.

I cannot emphasize the danger of this to our kind. I do now know if you could recover the other artifacts from the ruins of Lordaeron. If not, I implore you to recover them as soon, and as security, as possible.

Yours in undeath,
Alorik Badillion Volkenborg

P.S. By this time, I’m sure that if you look up from this letter, you will see Master Gibet. She most likely expected me to write to you after our encounter. I would let her read this to avoid any… disagreement on the matter. Trust me on this.


Faranell looked up from the letter to see the slight form of Gibet leaning against the far wall, observing him. She pushed herself off and approached.

She gave a small bow and extended a hand. Faranell’s jaw was too damaged to smile, so he just handed her the letter with a slight nod.

Her hands trembled slightly as she began reading. He observed her reading its contents. Her expression was blank till then end and she then let out a lop-sided smile.

“Bloody mind reader,” she rasped.

She folded up the letter and gave it back to Doctor Faranell and turned to wander the grounds with her thoughts.

She saw Lady Menethil and Derek Proudmoore talking as they often did. She considered approaching, but decided against it. “Not yet,” she rasped to herself with a wan smile.

She turned to her faithful razorwing. It surprised her the beast still tolerated her as most living mounts did not react well to her condition. “I guess it has seen much weirder in the Shadowlands,” she mused.

As she was about to mount up, she noticed another imp approaching from the shadows, holding a letter. She took the letter and examined it. It was addressed to her in the Professor’s immaculate script.

“Bloody hell,” she rasp-sighed.

((To be continued…))

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Epilogue 2 - Letter to Gibet.

Gibet examined the letter from the Doctor. Alorik sealed it in plain wax and only her name was on the front. She went to break the seal, but halted. She peered closer to the letter, extending tendrils of power, and noticed dense runes etched in fel energy scrawled around the plain-looking seal.

She let out a soft sigh. Runes were not her specialty, but she recognized enough to know she was holding a rather nasty bomb of sorts. Careful to not disturb the seal, she turned the letter back over. Beneath her name, she could make out additional words rimed in fel energy. They said:

Open at the crossroads of your birth.

Yours,
ABV

Gibet stared at the letter for a moment more. She looked up and noticed the imp was still there. “No, I will not blow myself up for your amusement. You can go,” she rasped. The imp gave a sour look and vanished.

She went up to the razorwing and rummaged a clay bottle of Brackenwall Reserve out of a saddlebag. “Think I’m going to need this,” she rasped, trembling slightly. Gibet took a pull, winced a little, and waited till the powerful spirit calmed her nerves before swinging onto the razorwing.

The razorwing launched into the air and wheeled east toward the Plaguelands. It had been many years, but she instinctively knew where to go. She would always know. As she continued, the air seemed to thicken with mist and… memory. It felt odd soaring above where she hid and shivered so long ago. Banking north, Gibet continued toward what the locals now called ‘Terrordale.’

Gibet landed at the new Argent Advance outpost close to the Plaguewood. She stabled the razorwing and continued on foot. As she approached the ruins, she could still hear the creaking wheels of the cart where she clawed her way out of the pile of bodies stacked like cord-wood for the Apothecarium. She shook her head to clear the memory and took another sip from the little clay bottle.

She approached the remains of the inn where the mob finally caught up to her; hiding in the cellar. It was there, in the back of that hovel, where she discovered the old clay jar. Gibet clearly remembered the sound it made when she broke the seal once she heard their feet hit the stairs. She put up a fight so they wouldn’t notice, leaving her little knife in one of the fanatic’s eyes, she recalled with grim satisfaction.

Gibet stopped suddenly, realizing that she was beneath the large tree that was the only mother she ever really had. After staring at the branch that had been death’s cradle, she walked up to a small mound nearby, sat, and retrieved the letter.

When she touched it, she felt it pulse as the powerful warding reacted to her location. Gibet broke the seal and carefully unfolded the letter. The Professor wrote it in a type of shorthand he drilled into his students. Few used it anymore; another precaution, it seems.

My Dearest Gibet,

I must start with an apology. I did not mean to keep my recent revelations from you… Well, maybe I did… but only for a short time. You experienced so much in so little a time; you had to recover. I also needed to put together what I discovered so I could begin investigating the implications of what we now know.

Do you still have it?

The question hit Gibet like a drunken Tauren. She started suddenly realizing she had withdrawn into herself again. Gibet found she was clutching at her chest… where a pendant might have rested. She took another shaking sip of reserve and continued reading.

I always wondered how you could make it so far into the plague lands on your own, so young and untrained. Now I can deduce that you must have had the amulet with you.

Gibet paused again, struck by the Professor’s relentless logic. She could feel… pressure… as if some memory was resisting her efforts to bring it to the surface. It was ‘slippery’. She eventually gave up for the time being and continued.

If you do, you MUST return it to the council. In the wrong hands, it could undo all of us. Either way, at the bottom of this letter is a sigil in wax. If you break it, you will summon an imp for your response. Do not trust mail on this. It is that important.

Be wary of old Faranell. He may seem aloof, but he is extremely smart. He may puzzle out what I did. I knew him in life. He was one of the most… inquisitive men I’ve ever worked with. In undeath that nature took some dangerous turns. You do not want to be on the hard edge of his curiosity.

Take care, my dear former pupil. I hope my little parting gift is serving you well.

Gibet glanced down at the living staff laying beside her; the fel blossoms wreathing the Shivarra skull, giving off a faint greenish glow. She got an odd look on her face and went back to finish up the letter.

No, there is nothing on the staff to track you or serve any other nefarious purpose. That would be… rude.

Yours in undeath,
A

Gibet stood, retrieved her staff, and stood in thought for a moment, trying to retrace her last steps. She would have to keep it near her to keep the undead away. She quickly made her way to the decrepit inn.

Slowly, Gibet crept down the dark stairs to the cellar. She channeled some additional fel into the staff and the fel blossoms glowed brighter, lighting the scene in an eerie yellow-green glow. “Convenient,” she thought to herself.

By the stairs, Gibet could see the vessel she broke before they dragged her to the rope. She was drawn to the far corner behind the large decaying barrels. She stared hard at what served as her last bed. The area looked as if it had been ransacked a long time ago. A section of the wall had several rotted boards missing. Gibet peered in and saw the dried dessicated remains of the piece of suede she used to wrap it.

It was gone.

Gibet sat down hard, her back against the wall, softly knocking the back of her head against it. She took out the small clay bottle and finished the last of the reserve. She then threw it against the opposite wall.

Outside of the inn, Gibet pinched the seal at the bottom of the letter till it broke. Looking down at the imp before her and rasped, “No… it’s taken…”

She jerked her head at the imp who quickly left, not wanting to test the warlock’s mood.

Gibet turned back toward the outpost, wanting to escape this place once again.

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