Two weeks ago…
With the Lich dead, the Vol’kar leaves behind a trail that ends in their sure defeat. Their guide, unable to assist in anything but pathfinding, runs his fingers through the pile of ashen bone-dust. He murmurs to himself, whispering an incantation. Boughs of magic rocket hundreds of feet above, expiring in grandiose fashion. The Legionnaires stand, bewildered and perhaps suspicious. Among themselves, they schemed and wondered if they should cut their losses - leave the blind one now while he channels his strange magic.
Without reaching a conclusion, several ghoul-like figures trail from the mountains around them. Shambling up to the guide, their figures growing recognizable by the moment. No bone skewed out from skin, no decayed flesh, no rotten organs. These were living - or perhaps, at least, “undead” in another sense - beings. They shambled on all fours, or hunched like misfigured cretins of Azeroth’s underworlds. One clad in dark leathers with a blindfold tightly wrapping his skull skittered to the Vol’kar’s guide.
“Sun. Sin. Son.” it whispered.
“One. Kin. Won.” their guide replied.
The tense standoff soon turned to a release - the suspense lifting from the figures and Legionnaires both. The shamblers quickly made their rounds on this battlefield- battering themselves with the dust, hiding amongst the dead, and vandalizing other structures.
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Their guide, now known as “Brokentusk”, moved through the compound as if he lived there. The many buildings of the compound are dizzingly similar - each beset with their own sounds, visions, and stenches. The horrors never cease, a bottomless maze of torture. It intensifies with each square footage. The Constructs populace was on high alert with the death of the Lich. The General in question was led to a safe zone - one that his handlers suspected would not be breached. Unfortunately, all three would fail to catch to this ploy.
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The assassination of General Xhe’ciq was an intense, brutal skirmish. Several Legionnaires nearly fell to their last breath - Vanguard Cleavefury’s breastplate broken with several shattered ribs. Vanguard Magrakka scored a heavy blow to her thigh. Stone Guard Lara’s tail became amputated, and a mace to the jaw sent her to Vol’dun.
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Sergeant Summerveil’s aim was true, ending the General forever more - or at least, until his soul was retrieved for another construct. Their guide inspected the corpse just as he did with the Lich, then ushered them away from the House. Much protest was had, for several Legionnaires were still missing, perhaps dead. Chief among them being Jan-Mak, as well as Fleetfoot and Legionnaire Tegorick. With leadership thrust firmly upon her, Stone Guard Lara made the difficult, but obvious call to head back to camp.
Last night…
With no sun to be had on this dead planet, the arduous trek back to the sludge-pool lake left many longing for the simple Barrens heat. Several injured and incapacitated Legionnaires changed hands, as Deylinna grew quite fatigued from being the defacto body-mule. Upon reaching the camp, their guide wandered - bleak and aimless. After several moments of staring at nothing, the figured trekked towards the nearest pair: Deylinna and Camsaen. While his shaken hands inspired no confidence, his boots marched with steadfast determination. His axe sunk into the corpse-ground next to them, and he fell to his knees. The figure produced what appeared to be a birdcage, or latern, and removing the side of the compartment produced a dark red flow of power. The energy pulsating with the same glow that did the rest of his body. Fingers realigned, bones regrown, skin sutured, and life sustained. With give, there must be take - and their friend withered steadily for their benefit. To each soldier he went, dispensing what he could, mending flesh and rejuvenating his allies. When there was none left to give, he seated himself several feet away.
His talons reached for his helm. Painstakingly, he unlatched what kept the piece of armor pried to his face. Perhaps, some thought, this armor wasn’t entirely fused to his body like previously thought. Below was a twisted figure - a skull long since rotten. Well beyond decay, and with no trace of similarity to any figure - beast, humanoid, or demon. Horns stretched out in obscene, and two jagged spikes poked from his maw.
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“My true name is lost to time.” one talon traces at the splintered chippings of those tusks. “I serve many. You are mortal, and I saw your strength, your will, your ability. I used it, until it no longer had use. You will die here, your names forgotten, your shells withered, if you do not leave this land. The powers you seek for your homeland - I have heard it many times before. There is only one that controls many in the manner you describe. His domain is impenetrable. His will unstoppable. Some try, and they too, shall fail. Only one may defeat him - and none of you shall be this one.”
“I warn you: do not give in to the curiosity that bubbles in the prison of flesh. Shall you enter, you face eternal damnation. It is of little regard to me. For some time, an innumerable many have entered his domain. There was once one who judged all souls - and now, all are condemned.” The vibrant red power that once flickered in his skull now burned out- the skeletal maw of Brokentusk slack-jawing. “There is much I do not know, just as much as I do. Your world is under threat, similar to many others. I say once more: you must leave. You must go to where your strength can be used, your power be matched. This is no world for the living. Those you are missing may yet be found, but not today. Not now. Not by you.”
With much deliberation and ire, ultimately, Stone Guard Lara heeded this one’s words. It pained her, just as it pained many others: to come so far, and leave with so little? What would they say when they returned? What would be done to them? Would they be sent right back? Does Orgrimmar still stand?
These questions would have answers soon. Surely, the scourge has been curved somehow. The damned couldn’t possibly be in every corner, if the Afterlife has its own problems…
The Warlord missing, the General unrecovered, and still no true match for Champion “Goldenhair”…
The fun never ends.
The Maldraxxus arc is over! Shaken, beaten, and spooked, the Vol’kar’s return to Azeroth is imminent. Maybe Brokentusk’s words were true: mortals could only produce change in the mortal world. But so many questions still have no answers.
Next week: a return home?