#yes this is low quality on purpose heheheh

[lemonitenite]

GET BOOPED PEOPLES

[lordrethandus]

Mourn Not the Penitent Pt 3

Out of everyone in the Oathguard, Eristel had the best arrangement in the entire operation.

As Quartermaster, it was his sole duty to ensure the Oathguard was properly equipped and prepared for their time on Argus. Every two weeks he would have to count every crate of supplies they had to make a comprehensive list of what they needed to last them another fortnight. He then would establish a secure connection between Felfathom Keep and the Amber Glade to deliver the goods; during that six hours of transitioning he was free to visit his family, watch Jaeras’ progress with her pyromancy, and most importantly, spend some quality time with Tyrasam.

Until the next fateful encounter, Eristel decided to keep himself occupied the best way he knew how. Channeling spellflame was now as easy as breathing, and he worked to improve his pyromancy at any given time; his last encounter and his second true battle against the Burning Legion proved he was still too overzealous with his incantations. Despite engulfing any demons he came across with molten vengeance so hot it would make Ragnaros blush, no pyromancer worth their weight should ever exhaust themselves of mana minutes into a battle. He needed to pace himself and exercise restraint if he wanted to be of any use to anyone.

“Quartermaster!” One of the few remaining soldiers left to defend Felfathom Keep called, interrupting his training. “There’s a demonic gateway in the storage room!”

“What…!” Eristel hissed under his breath; his first thought were of wyrmtongues sneaking into Felfathom Keep to steal as much as they could get their grubby little hands on. “Stay here. I’ll handle the thieving little bastards.”

Fear of a Burning Legion ambush happening right under their noses hastened his steps. If Felfathom Keep was destroyed while the Oathguard was away, it would be a crushing blow that could threaten their presence out here; even worse, they could lure in the returning forces and lead them to slaughter. Eristel wasn't about to let that happen. Not on his watch.

The gateway was just as sinister as he imagined. Two long curved prongs of twisted metal and rock stained purple with foul magic, emanating a swirling vortex of sickly green energy. None of the crates around the room were disturbed, but that didn’t matter to Eristel; any trace of the Burning Legion must be dealt with extreme force. Fire sprouted from the palms of his hands, and vengeance burned in his flaring green eyes. The Pyromancer took one quick breath before dashing forward, ready to stumble upon any atrocious horrors the demons had in store for him.

What he found was something… else. All he saw was a single altar sitting on a flat empty landscape when he stepped through the other side of the gateway. The earth beneath his feet - if you could even call it that - was soft and sticky, clinging to the soles of his boots not quite unlike mud or gore. When the Pyromancer looked up, all he saw was the vast empty of the Great Dark Beyond, but devoid of any stars, planets, or nebulae. Only a tangled mess of asteroids spinning around what had to be the remains of a planet caught his eye, until he turned around to look over the gateway; a colossal aberration of flesh and tendrils the size of a planet filled Eristel with dread. It was the unmistakable visage of an Old God, easily the largest one he would ever see. It’s very presence was overwhelming, so much so that he didn’t even notice someone walking up from behind.

“Enjoying the view, Quartermaster?” Istrys called out from a healthy distance away from the Pyromancer. He whipped around to see her fiendish smirk, with Zolaar standing hunched over beside her; it looked like he could no longer stand up straight, and his hands were covered in felblood. “I’m surprised you got here so quickly. Perhaps you have the awareness needed to properly defend yourself against the Legion’s dirty tricks.”

“What is this place…? Why are you two here…?” Eristel couldn’t sound any more confused and bewildered if he tried. “And what the fel is that?!”

“This place is was once a world called Vivi… Vivith… viv- something retarded. Zolaar is convinced a powerful and advanced race once ruled supreme from here long before the Titans created Azeroth. Then that thing in the sky came, and destroyed everything.” Istrys was vague with her answer as expected; she never seemed the type to be interested in long forgotten history, unless she could benefit from it.

“That being floating high above is called A’zthoth.” The Harvester continued, but he kept his head low and his mask facing the ground. “It is one of the first Old Gods coughed forth from the Void, or so its whispers claim. I would avoid casting magic here… if A’zthoth awakens from its slumber… it will be very unfortunate for us.”

Eristel wasn't about to plague his sleep with nightmares imagining what unspeakable evil would befall him should the Old God awaken. “And the altar…?”

Zolaar turned to gesture toward the black spiraling metal spikes that seemed to stretch out toward the dark abyssal sky before pointing back down to the altar. “This is where I betrayed my master… and where I was justly rewarded for my defiance…” The Harvester and sounded like he was in an incredible amount of pain; judging by how warped his spine looked through his filthy robes, how he was even able to stand at all was a mystery.

Eristel didn’t know what to say. He was mentally prepared to face a swarm of demons when he ran headfirst into the gate, hoping he would be able to disable it from the inside to thwart their vile plans, but this was something else entirely. The world - what was left of it - was so foreign, from the muck beneath his boots to the hideous Old God sound asleep overhead; a part of him was still in disbelief any of this was real. “I…” he managed to squeeze out, blinking at Istrys and Zolaar during his meager attempts to make sense of all this.

“Come, Zolie. We don’t want people getting the wrong ideas about us.” Istrys commanded, startling the Harvester. Within seconds she was beside Eristel, firmly grabbing him by the wrist and shoulder to escort him back to Argus. “The longer you think about this place, the less sense it will make. Let’s get you back to Felfathom Keep, hmm? Would you like that Mr. Lord?”

“I’m not a child…” Eristel scowled, yanking his hand away from the Necromancer; he gave Az’thoth one last look while he sharply inhaled. “But yes… I would like to leave.”

He had no idea he could miss the scorched air of Argus. Going through the demonic gateway twice within minutes was putting a major strain on his body, leaving him physically exhausted traveling light years in just under a second each time. He missed the taste of Tyrasam’s wine-stained lips now more than ever. The others stationed in Felfathom Keep were surrounding the gateway with weapons drawn; had they not hesitated to kill whomever stepped through, they would have impaled Eristel dead-center.

“Who told you to leave your posts?!” Istrys shouted, glaring wildly at them. “What did everyone need to investigate the gate?! While you gawk at us, Felfathom Keep is undefended!”

“W-we didn’t know if Eristel would return…” One of them lowered his weapons and muttered in a low tone.

“Is it a Legion trap?” Another asked, with fear lighting up in her eyes. “Did you manage to stop them?”

“There’s no trap! Zolaar created this gate so he could interrogate Ijiro’s felguard captives without risking the keep!” The Necromancer waved her hand dismissively. “It’s like Andy left me the dumbest fools to defend Felfathom on purpose! Stop asking questions and get back to your stations, before I raise a few more corpses to do your patrols for you!”

Like roaches they scattered out of the storage room, as expected. Eristel continued to take his time absorbing everything he recently learned, fearing his nights would be plagued with what that monster could do to everything he cared for. Perhaps Gonthar was right… Zolaar was dangerous. “Az’thoth…” He started, turning to the Harvester. “How did you even find something that powerful?”

“I didn’t.” He answered plainly. “The Cult of Forgotten Shadows did. A sect was drawn to Az’thoth’s power, and they almost awakened him when they tried to siphon a portion of his power. It… didn’t end well for them. For any of them.” Zolaar paused to rub at his shoulder; it looked dislocated, but he didn’t seem to want any help with it. “The Black Harvest investigated and followed their trail all the way out there. I decided to use it as my sanctuary to get away from all of this… life.”

Istrys didn’t seem too enthusiastic listening to his dreary sob story about the most powerful Old God any mortal may ever witness. “Also… I’d keep it hush-hush about that creature around the others. Let the officers know when they come back, but, these common footsoldiers are cut from a different cloth. You know how they get when someone mentions the infamous OGs.”

Eristel leaned against a crate before asking, “What about you? Aren’t you at least a little uncomfortable with that… thing floating over your head when you’re out there?”

“Just a little.” She shrugged with mild interest. “I’ve got nothing to worry about while it’s still asleep. Us undead are incredibly resistant to all forms of shadow magic, including Old God hysteria. If it wakes up then, well… heheheh… that’s going to be a problem.” The Pyromancer swallowed hard, suddenly looking nauseous. Before he had a chance to speak again, one of the guards came rushing back into the storage room.

“Mistress! Ijiro’s team has returned!”

“Blegh!” Istrys’ groan was almost as exaggerated as it was obnoxiously loud. “A whole day of peace and quiet… now that chuckling cyclops is back. Fantastic.”

Audrey was already dragging Kaarst into the infirmary by the time Eristel and Istrys walked outside to greet them; the Necromancer was about to ask how he nearly got his arm torn apart before the hulking corpse Ijiro and his team were surrounding shattered her concentration. Seeing the twisted Draenei grins permanently stained on the multiple heads was just horrific enough to push Eristel over the tipping point, and not a moment later he was expelling his last meal onto the ground at his feet.

“Nice.” Ijiro chuckled, causing Istrys to roll her eyes out of habit. “Hell of a welcoming party, yeah? Are you feeling alright Eristel?”

“He's had a rough day without his b- hey!” Istrys was halfway through her snide remark before spotting the survivors of the slave pits huddling in the corner. “What’s with the kids?”

The Hunter glanced over his shoulder at them with a weary eye. “They’re the only ones we managed to save in the pits. The Burning Legion was using slave labor to mine this stuff,” He raised his hand to reveal a small crystal veiled in a dull purple hue. “Don’t know what it is or what it’s for, but if demons want it, can’t be good, yeah?”

“Certainly can’t.” Istrys turned to speak with Zolaar, but he was no longer at her side; when she looked around for the twisted warlock she didn’t have to look far. The Harvester was hunched over the strange demon with his hand pressed against its wretched flesh. “And what is that supposed to be?”

“One of the rescued kids called it an Ur’zul, but I have no idea what that means. None of the folks we rescued want anything to do with it, and judging by the many faces, I can see why.” Ijiro grimaced while he gazed down at the demon. “Took a lot of firepower to take it down too… truly the stuff of nightmares.”

“I’ll need to dissect this demon immediately.” Zolaar looked over his crooked shoulders to see all three elves staring blankly at him. “T-to learn more about it, of course…”

Ijiro, fearing Eristel was going to vomit again, began rubbing his back to help him regain his composure; he definitely remembered telling Eristel how traumatizing war can be. “Right… cut it open and learn what you can. If these demons are rolling off the assembly line, we’ll need to learn and exploit any weaknesses, yeah? Else this war just got a whole lot worse.” Eristel wiped his chin with his sleeve while he slowly rose back to his full height.

“You have no idea how worse this war could become.”