Post by Monday
((
Storybook))
Gorgron, Forndar, Ironbeard and Avery stood and faced the gate. The Hellbringers were still pressing against the gate as hard as they could, and the Stormwind Guard’s lines were starting to falter.
“We need to get that pillar down as soon as we can,” Avery said, watching as the pillar grew a couple of feet. “But… I’m not sure how.”
Gorgon glanced at Forndar. “We could do it,” he said to the priest. “Forndar and I. That pillar is a corruption of Earth itself, and I can feel Its rage at the usurpers.
Avery nodded seriously. “Very well. Walker and I will guard your path.”
“But what about th’ ‘ellbringers there?” asked Ironbeard, unconsciously running a hand along the haft of his axe.
Avery grinned. “Why don’t you hold them off our backs?”
Ironbeard smiled in return. “That I think I can do,” he replied, and started off at a run towards the gate.
Forndar motioned to Gorgron and both jumped onto his gryphon. “Wish us luck, priest!” he called, and the two took off. Avery and Walker ascended the stairs on the wall of the Cathedral District, and stared out over the city, specifically to the gigantic stone pillar. Lifting his hands, Walker employed the Light, and a barrier formed of interlocking symbols and pure light formed around the gryphon.
Several bursts of hellfire smashed against the shield, but Walker held steady, and they were deflected. Avery extended his right hand, and a lance of pure Light struck a cultist in the chest, blowing out his internal organs. The cultist sank to his knees and collapsed, but Avery was already concentrating on another target.
Ironbeard dashed towards the gate, stopped, knelt, and shot a cultist through the neck. Standing, he ran forward, stopped, knelt, and did the same thing. Standing again, he drew his axe from his belt, and charged into the fray.
By now the cultists had broken through the gate, and several shattered rocks lay to either side. One cultist held out a hand, and the rock lifted itself. Brow furrowing, she thrust her hand forward, and the rock struck a good dozen soldiers, smashing them against the cobblestones.
Ironbeard cried out in horror and leapt forward, slicing at her with his axe. The first blow was deflected from her skin, and in shock he realized it was covered in mud, which hardened into stone when he struck it.
She grinned and backhanded him, as he staggered backward, another blow struck him again, knocking him backward. Dazed he pushed himself up slightly, and saw a rock laying next to where he was standing. Blood leaked from his hair, and as he stood, a whoosh of nausea flowed through him, and he collapsed.
Fordnar steered the gryphon into a dive, dodging a huge chunk of stone sent to them from below. Gorgron held out a hand, and a burst of wind lifted the geomancer into the air, severing his connection with the Earth, and blowing him away. He flew for several seconds before impacting a wall, and slid slowly down it, leaving a bright red smear.
Another huge chunk of rock flew towards them, and Forndar urged the gryphon into a dive. It shrieked and started diving, but was too late. The rock got dangerously close, and was deflected by the shield of Light. Forndar sighed in relief, and they arrived at the pillar.
He landed, and both jumped off. The pillar stretched above them, and the symbols etched and painted on it stood out in a blaring red. Grimacing, Gorgron took a step towards it, then another, and placed his hand on it. Immediately, a voice flowed into his mind.
Your world will fall… a voice murmured absently, and it seemed to echo inside the orc’s head.
You cannot stop our victory. We’ve contented ourselves with playing the races of this world, but the time has come for you to acknowledge the true masters of this world.Visions forced themselves into his mind.
Gorgron stood upon a pillar of ice, stretching far above the cold, dead wastes below him. With a start, he realized that it was the Frozen Throne. A head, a blasphemous, abhorrent head, reared out of the ice in front of him. Greetings, Gorgron, murmured Yogg-Saron. You knew this was coming. Who else but us, the Elder Beings, who resisted the Titans themselves, be masters of this world? Gorgron shook his head and stumbled backward, and the eldritch being in front of him laughed. Mouths opened upon its face, mocking him with their laughter, and the head opened its eyes, which stretched into huge mouths.
A tentacle lifted the Shaman, and every mouth on the horrifying visage broke into a grin. Yogg-Saron opened his true mouth, and dropped Gorgron inside.
The Shaman screamed, and suddenly the freezing temperatures and the oppressive storms above vanished. Instead, a brooding heat settled upon him. Opening his eyes, Gorgron saw an endless desert stretch around him. Behind him, the ancient walls of a huge city stretched. Ahn’Qiraj…
A dismal buzzing noise barely heard permeated the air around him, and Gorgron shivered.
A tentacle burst from the ground, lifting Gorgron into the air, followed by a huge mass of flesh, covered with eyes. You know who I am… whispered the mass, and Gorgron nodded. “C’thun,” he replied. “I thought we saw the last of you in the Qiraji War. A laugh echoed over the trackless desert. No, little shaman, you did not. Your peoples’ courage failed, and I am reborn… An eye moved closer to Gorgron, and observed him closely. You see… We are mightier than anything you could ever dream… Chuckling, the beast fixed him with a beady stare, and slowly drew him into the eye.
Gorgron screamed in fear, shutting his eyes once again.
The brooding heat and psychotic buzzing faded away, and Gorgron realized he could hear nothing. Opening his eyes, the only things he could see were dark shapes, bathed in dark green light playing from an unknown source.
Gorgron’s brow furrowed, and he strode forward, deeper into the shapes, which slowly resolves into buildings of a colossal and alien shape. With a jolt, he stopped, realizing where he was. And suddenly, more than any other time, he was afraid. Ny’alotha…
The thought pushed its way before all others, and he was literally paralyzed with terror, thinking of all the stories that the Darkspear trolls spoke in hushed whispers of the terrible place.
Stories of death, perversity, torture, and madness.
In the sleeping city of Ny'alotha walk only mad things…
he thought, remembering the old troll that had whispered the phrase to him. And I am truly mad…
he thought, and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, pressed deeper into the city.
As he passed one or two buildings, he started to notice strange sounds issuing from them. Curious, he glanced into one. A Night Elf, with white hair and age lines, sat huddled in a corner, gibbering to himself. Cobwebs had collected around him, and dust covered him. Ina flash of sick realization, Gorgron realized that the Night Elf had been there for years, never moving from that position.
Staggering out of the house, he was seized from behind by a tentacle, which lifted him into the air. Raw emotions, fear, hopelessness, depression and terror pierced his consciousness, but with an absent way that made Gorgron wonder, even through it all, whether it was half hearted. He turned himself slightly in the thing’s grasp, and saw a closed eye, and understood.
It was asleep.
The Drowned God…
Somehow this was even more terrifying than the others, perhaps because they had been beaten before, perhaps because they used their intelligence in a way that Gorgron could relate. This Thing, however, slept, flexing its sleeping brain in a way that nothing ever could, except perhaps Yogg-Saron.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned, frowning, but nothing was there. Turning around fully, he still felt the hand on his shoulder, and slowly a column of fire descended from the air.
“Gorgron!’ A voice echoed from far above, and Gorgron regarded it curiously, until something clicked. Forndar. The city rumbled as Something flexed ever so slightly, and he felt an increased surge of terror, but finally, accidentally or instinctively, he touched the fire.
Warmth, hope and happiness filled him, and he looked into the air. Light flowed over him, and reaching, he floated upwards into it…He started and pushed himself upright, gasping for air. Forndar stood above him, elemental fire playing over his hands. “Gorgron, we need to leave!” he yelled, grabbing the orc and pulling him onto the gryphon.
A shield of Light manifested itself around them, blocking several bursts of hellfire, and the gryphon took off.
“What… about that… pillar?” Gorgron coughed out, and to his amazement, sea water trickled from his mouth.
“It’s too dangerous, lad! Th’ thing took over you completely, and almost got me too. With th’ cultists comin’ in, it got too hot in there fer me. I don’t think we could have even scratched it,” the dwarf shaman replied, wheeling them over the Cathedral District and down inside.
They landed, and Avery strode over to them. “It’s still there!” he said incredulously, “Why?
Forndar shook his head wearily. “That thing is way too powerful for me ‘n’ Gorgron alone. We need more people, you and Walker, to take it down, and even then I’m not too sure of our chances. Gorgron here was nearly taken by madness.”
Avery fixed the shaman with a glare. Brother Walker approached. “What did you see?” he asked urgently. Gorgron related the events to him, and Walker started to look increasingly troubled.
“This parallels the dreams of the acolytes, but with key differences. The clue to destroying it lies within, I know it!”
“Whether or not it does,” Gorgron replied weakly, “It matters not. We must hold or die. We might not be able to get another chance.” He looked around, confused. “Where’s Ironbeard?”