Contra Mundum : Dark Beginnings
The stars shined dimly against the sky, barely casting light upon the cold earth below. The moon was nowhere in sight, adding to the blanket of darkness that covered everything. Silence hung in the air, being broken only by the sounds of a bonfire and chanting. Hidden between two cliff sides, a small group of humans stood with hands raised around the bonfire that glowed with an unnatural green light. Each figure chanted together in a rising and falling cadence in a language that would cause fear in the hearts of grown men. Affixed to a stake near the fire, a man struggled in vain against the bonds that kept him tightly against a stake. It was here that these Warlocks had chosen to do their summoning, safe from the prying eyes of those who might interfere with their plans. What they didn't know was that the eyes were already there. Far above, on the cliff, a lone figure crouched silently, observing the ritual. The small amount of light that reached him showed very little, only a short person draped in a heavy hooded robe. The figure looked up next to him, and nodded into the shadows. Standing erect, the figure took one step forward, and leapt off the cliff ledge. Air rushed by him as he fell, causing his robes to flutter, giving him a wraithlike appearance. Silently he fell, until it seemed he would come to his end on the rocky ground below. However, just before his feet reached the group, it seemed the shadows themselves coalesced around him and slowed his fall down. The figure calmly stepped onto the ground as if taking a step down on a staircase. Sensing the intruder, the warlocks spun around and shouted alarm. The nearest Warlock raised his hand and began muttering a spell. Fire licked around his hand, growing more intense with each incantation. Before the spell could come to its completion, the figure threw his hand out, hurling a purple ball of shadow energy into the Warlock. Taking it directly in the chest, the Warlock fell back a few steps, forgetting his spell, which backfired and ignited his clothes on fire. Another warlock drew a jagged sword and charged. The figure took a step towards the fire, and again raised his hand. Instead of a bolt of shadow, his hand glowed green for a moment. The warlock fell in mid run, clawing desperately at his clothes. His skin was turning a shade of blackish green, and it was spreading rapidly. The warlock was in obvious pain, screaming in agony, matching the warlock already on fire. The figure, now in the full light of the bonfire, watched this with complete detachment. The other warlocks stopped in the tracks, fear suddenly overcoming their senses. The face of their intruder was nothing more than a skull, with empty sockets where eyes would have been. The hands were skeletal as well, with rotting flesh still attached. It was then they realized that their opponent was a Forsaken, one of the walking dead. Regaining their senses, the two remaining warlocks slowly began to circle around the Forsaken. The undead, however, did not even turn his head to track the progress. Perhaps he was blind, the warlocks thought hopefully. Finally, one of the warlocks positioned himself behind the Forsaken's back and began to quietly cast a spell. However, in mid cast, the Forsaken's head turned slightly and said "Take him." The shadows behind the warlock suddenly grew yellow glowing eyes, and reached for the caster. The doomed warlocks companion cried out in alarm, but he knew it was too late. The voidwalker grabbed the warlock in its massive claws, and proceeded to tear out his throat. The warlock had only enough time to look at the blood running on the ground, absently wondering whom it belonged to, before he fell dead. The remaining warlock, all sense gone from him, ran blindly into the night. His legs pumping madly, the warlock ran until he legs burned, all the while feeling the sensation of something warm running down his leg. Gasping frantically, the warlock ran until his legs gave out, falling to the ground. Scrabbling desperately on the ground, the warlock found shelter among a small copse of trees. Looking about wildly, it seemed that the Forsaken and his pet had not given chase. Leaning against the tree, the warlock struggled to catch his breath, all the while thanking his good fortune. Closing his eyes for a moment, the warlock managed to calm himself down, reminding him that he still had what mattered. The artifact was safe in his pocket, and his Master would be pleased. Chuckling softly to himself, the warlock stood up, brushing the dust off his robes. Who was that Forsaken, and how did he know of their ritual? It didn't matter he thought, his Master would deal with him soon. Turning west, the warlock took a step, feeling better already. Suddenly, to his right, the shadows moved, and the void walker silently sliced through the air with its claws. The warlock suddenly felt confused, had it missed? But then he felt something running down his leg again, but it was different. Reaching down to his abdomen, he felt a large gash in his stomach, and it was his intestines he felt. His last thought in this world was it was a most curious sensation. Curious indeed.
The Forsaken still stood silently at the bonfire. The cries of the warlock had ended a little while ago, with their passing. The man tied to the stake watched the proceedings in terror, fearing his "savior" more than the warlocks who captured him. The Forsaken seemed to regard the man silently, but it was hard to tell with the undead having no eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, the man saw the shadows move again, and the voidwalker appeared. The undead turned to the voidwalker and asked, "Did you find it?" The voidwalker held out his hand, and the small artifact that the warlock had run off with gleamed dully in the light. Taking it gently from the voidwalker, the Forsaken walked over to the man and pulled the gag out of his mouth.
"Did they do anything to this trinket?" the Forsaken asked in an almost whisper. The man nodded his head fearfully. "Th-th-they cut themselves and put some of their blood on it." The Forsaken nodded thoughtfully. "THEIR blood…. interesting." The Forsaken nodded to the voidwalker, and walked a few steps away from the man. The voidwalker moved silently towards the man, and it was at that time the man knew he was doomed. Closing his eyes and saying a prayer to the light, he prepared himself for the death that was to come. Feeling a whoosh of air, the man assumed he must be dead. But the man felt nothing; in fact, he felt the pressure on his hands and feet. Opening his eyes, he found that the voidwalker had cut his bonds, freeing him. Laughing hysterically in relief, the man stumbled towards the Forsaken. "By the light, thank you for saving me, whoever you are." The Forsaken turned to the man and replied, "My name is Kuelleur, and I did not save you." In a blur, a dagger flashed out, cutting a thin line into the man's throat. The man staggered back, but was held fast by the voidwalker." Why?" was all the man could say, his eyes wide. "I need to see what they were doing, and your blood is the reagent I need." His eyes rolling up in his head, the man expired, with blood running down the front of his shirt. Taking the artifact, Kuelleur held it under the stream of blood, coating its surface. A dark rune suddenly flashed, temporarily lightening the entire area. When it was dark again, all that was left of the artifact was ash. Kuelleur brushed his hands clean, and turned thoughtfully to the fire.
Did you find what you were looking for Master? Kuelleur felt his voidwalker ask. Kuelleur nodded. "Yes Graznos, I did. It's worse than I thought, and the Horde is going to be the target." Looking around at the carnage around him, Kuelleur sighed and said, "We need to report this to Lady Sylvannas." With that, Kuelleur walked off into the darkness, the shadow of his voidwalker close behind him.