Author's Note: I do not own anything affiliated with the world of Warcraft (though I wish I was making money off of WOTLK; that would be sweet).

Prologue:

Northshire Abbey, Elwynn Forest

Blood. So much blood. Agnes was bathing in it. She was equally repulsed and elated.

Swirling darkness. Plagued forests growing, spreading. A child screams.

"No, by the Light, no!" The abbess stared down at her screaming charge. She gestured silently and a young acolyte ran over with a fresh damp cloth. He placed it on the woman's brow, his face tense. Victims of physical injury or illness he could handle; it was the mentally ill who brought back ugly memories of his childhood.

"Restrain her, John," Priestess Jocasta whispered. The woman was tearing out her own hair with one hand and scratching her face with the other.

"You betrayed them," the voice cackled. "They will die because of you. They will be torn limb from limb, their bodies feasted upon by maggots and mongrels. All because of you."

What have I done? Oh gods, tell me. Laughter, shrieking peals of it assaulted her ears like a swarm of wasps.

Acolyte John gave the poor woman another sleeping draught. She was laughing now, her eyes rolling around madly. Spittle flew from her gaping mouth. "Gahuoht aie yamaeu kaluae hinguorht et waedahs et foyelaev fo taehaed!" she shrieked.

"What is she saying?" John whispered. Jocasta shrugged, her eyes wide.

"My child, please, it is alright," she cooed softly. The woman's thrashing subsided slightly, though John figured it had more to do with the sleeping draught than anything.

"Tell me now, where is the scroll?"

"The scroll? I know of no scroll."

She knew of many scrolls, but why this one? Why did they want it? She found it in the very back of the Alterac library, forgotten.

Demonic symbols swirling. Not the regulated runes of Demonology students' texts, but the marks of a true, terrifying evil. Her eyes burned.

Another acolyte rushed over to Jocasta and John. "Mother Abbess," she gasped. "Two people are here to see you about the woman."

"Stay here," Jocasta ordered John. She followed the acolyte out of the infirmary.

The scroll. Oh why did I take it? I mustn't tell where I hid it. The Light preserve me, but I am so tired. I think I'm in pain, but I forget what that feels like. I must be mad, to forget such a thing.

A very grave human man and woman were waiting for the abbess. "Yes?" she asked.

"I am Agent Ronika Sloan," the woman said. The man remained silent, and he was not introduced. "We are here about a certain patient of yours."

"SI:6?" Jocasta asked. Agent Sloan declined to answer, but her bearing and steely gaze gave away at the very least some connection to Alliance intelligence. "Why would you want to know about a mad young woman?"

The pair exchanged glances. "We believe she may be a missing person," Sloan said cautiously. "You may have heard of Agnes Marian."

"The missing mage? Of course; everyone's heard about that story." Jocasta didn't bother to ask why SI:6 was concerned with a missing persons case.

If I close my eyes it will all just fade away.

John glanced down at the young woman. She was finally asleep. He was reminded of his mother; after her fits ended, she was just as calm.

I will leave them with something to remember me by…

The room was beginning to become very warm. John rolled up the sleeves on his wool robe. The patient stirred. John felt uneasy. Sweat continued to pour from his face. The woman whispered something. John leaned closer. "What did you say, ma'am?"

I fear no evil.

Jocasta, Sloan, and the unnamed man all jumped at the sound of anguished screams. "John!" Jocasta shouted. She made to run into the infirmary, but Sloan grabbed her arm.

"Mage fire!" the man yelled. He crooked his fingers and crossed his arms. A shield of arcane energy formed around the three just before a wave of flames burst out of the hospital room. Above the roar of flames Jocasta could hear distant alarm bells. After what felt like an infinity, the inferno abated, and the mage dropped his shield.

The three wary survivors crept into the burnt infirmary. "John?" the abbess asked tentatively. All that remained of her favorite acolyte was a pile of charred bones, and the unpleasant scent of smoldering flesh. Oddly enough, the woman responsible remained untouched, though the bed she once laid on was no more than a pile of ashes. However, upon closer examination, it was clear that she was dead. Her wrists were bloody messes. To Jocasta's horror, she realized that the young woman had torn open her own veins with her fingernails.

"Agnes?" the man whispered. He burst into great gulping sobs.

"Agnes Marian's father," Sloan muttered by way of explanation. "One of the lead Kirin Tor representatives in Stormwind. His daughter was somewhat of a prodigy. Fire, as you can see, was her specialty."

Jocasta didn't hear any of this, for she had slumped over in a dead faint.

xxx

Somewhere in the Twisting Nether

The mage was dead. The demon Itz'azhi felt her die. Felt it, and savored it. Her death spelled for him victory. Now the Scroll, the tool to this lesser demon's domination, was no longer protected. Once some foolish mortal uncovered its new location, the scroll would be easy to locate and claim. That is, if the mage hadn't sealed it in another manner.

"And they thought the Scourge plague was hell," the demon chuckled.

xxx

The Arathi Highlands

"Hey, Dr. Copperbrew, get over here! I think I might have found something!"

Brennan Copperbrew hurried over to where his excited crewman was digging. "This better not be another empty whiskey bottle," the dwarf grumbled.

It was not a whiskey bottle, or, for that matter, a bottle of any kind. Rather, the crewman had uncovered a small pewter casket elaborately decorated with a series of runes and elaborate seals. Copperbrew picked it up (it was surprisingly lightweight). For some reason, the box made him uneasy. He recognized one of the seals as belonging to the Kirin Tor. "Huh," the archaeologist said. He turned it around, searching for a way to open it. It appeared to be magically sealed. One of the runes he recognized, though he wasn't sure why. He had the urge to hurl the casket into the deepest reaches of the ocean.

"It's not proof of an ancient Gnomish enclave, but at least it's something." Copperbrew decided that today would be the last day of excavation. He suddenly felt the need to seek shelter within Ironforge's ancient, impenetrable walls.

A/N: I hope the flashback sequences weren't too muddled.