Book One

Shadows of Insanity

June.

Month of Kukul'kan, the Raptor Loa, Gonk.

Summer has come to Northrend, though you wouldn't know it. The Icecrown still lives up to its name, and the Storm Peaks are receiving another layer of snow atop their glaciers. Rezo had been summoned by the Argent Dawn to come to the Titan complex known as Ulduar. He was needed to help the keep the assaulting force in repair as their siege machines worked at delving deeper into the stronghold. His extensive knowledge of Goblin mechanics made him perfect for a spot on one of the repair crews. It was hard to imagine that before this, he had been studying in Kezan. The goggles he wore now, finally restoring his sight after long years in darkness, was the apex of his achievements, that and his motorcycle, of course.

Lanorimi, a bronze drake he had been working with, got him up there easy enough, the massive structure perched on cliff faces, but refused to take him any farther. She even went as so far as to revert to her Gnomish form just so she could fold her arms at him. She had set down his bike as she landed, and watched him mount it as he rode inside, beneath the many arches of the entrance into the temple. Once inside, he could easily see why they needed his help, dozens of machines lay in ruins after they tried to breech further in to the temple. Many on fire, or smoldering and well beyond the ability to repair, but he would use the pieces to patch up less battered ones.

Hours would go by, his red robes slowly becoming greasy and covered in mechanical filth as he crawled around fixing the hundreds of intricate pieces with in the machines. It was difficult, even by troll standards he was huge, although, his stature often made it easier to get up and into places where goblins, gnomes and dwarves might have to scramble. In truth, he wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for the Argent Dawn recruitment officers that were now scattered around the world. He had just returned from Kezan, leaving his new girl behind, which more or less put him in a foul mood to begin with. With his sight restored, he no longer had need to be there, and the Zandalari priesthood who raised him, summoned him back. They had taken him in as one of their own, finding the young troll wandering outside of the Gurubashi temple. He had been cast out, once they realized his eyes were useless, after what the Zandalari assumed were countless uses of potions and magics to cure him.

Ultimately, a blind troll was worthless to them and left to the jungle to reclaim. The Priests of Yojambo found him near the coast, took him in, expecting to be able to heal him with their powers of the light, but it was to no avail. Now that he was home, he could be sent to the Argent Dawn, to use his powers of the light to heal and restore those becoming afflicted with a new Scourge curse.

The Zandalari created the Dawntusk, a group of young troll priests who would help the Argent Crusade purge this sickness before it got too far out of control, he was sent to Orgrimmar the next day. Once the city was saved, restored to it's former state, the Lich King declared war on all the mortal races of Azeroth. No longer would Rezo hear stories of the Outland, or to work hand in hand with the races of the horde. With their soldiers and heros sent north, he was left behind. The Horde now recognizing him for what he was, a Gurubashi, a Bloodscalp, and enemy. Months later when the Argent Dawn came looking for engineers for a mission in the Storm Peaks, Rezo jumped at the chance, to get away from the glares and the sneers of the city.

Rezo blinked beneath his goggles, pulled back from his flashback by a cacophony of sound. An alarm was blaring, signaling everyone to evacuate. The scouts ahead, deeper into the fortress have seen danger and signaled back to begin removal of everyone to the safety of the outdoors. Buried within the engine of a siege machine, he wriggled and rolled his shoulders, trying to get out of the engine he had stuffed himself into. Cursing in his native tongue, he reached deeper to pick up the spanner he had drop when the voice came... speaking a language he could only hear as slurring gibberish. Making it worse, the voice was in his head, he tried to cover his ears, shoving his dirty palms against his long ears, but is was no use, the voice continued. It was like listening to a drowning cat, or a lightning storm underwater, his ears ringing with the babbling nonsense of it all. It resonated though his tusks, he could feel it in his eyes, it hurt, it burned, it seared into his flesh, something was wrong. He tossed his goggles away as he clawed at his eyes, they felt hot, as if they were boiling out of their sockets. Raking his hands over his face, he desperately tried to remove the searing eyes from himself, only to find that his hands passed through them, into his skull. Then through his skull, through his head, he couldn't feel himself, he didn't exist. The bowels of Ulduar echoed with the terrified screams of the only mortal within its walls.

Brann Bronzebeard stood outside with his men, leaving the machines behind, knowing full well they would be relatively safe from the twisting insanity that lived with in. They waited outside for hours, monitoring the temple, waiting for the place to settle down before reentering. Once it began to look safe again, they moved to open the enormous doors, a thin purple fog slowly curled over the snow as it spewed from within. They had evacuated many times before, and this fog was not something any of them had seen before, something new had happened. Before they could enter to investigate, a figure emerged though the fog, it was impossible to tell where body ended and clothing began, let alone where clothing ended and fog began. The glowing white eyes peered around, its long nose framed by two enormous tusks, which now seemed less rigid then they should be. The 'hair' looked as if it was made from a squid, tentacles flailing behind its eyes. Strapped to its back was a staff, its apex points limp and wriggling slowly, much like an anemone waiting for a meal to pass by. Purple smoke rolled off it's 'clothes' as it moved forward, stepping onto the air itself before screaming out in a low bellow then exploding into the chasm below, quickly fading into the shadows within.

Days would pass after what would be known among Brann's men as the 'Shadow Incident' but nothing was seen or heard from the creature again. They would ask around when they would see a traveler come in from afar, but with no success. Little did they know, that the creature had already taken up refuge, and was slowly regressing through it's insanity. It slowly would become aware of the world around him, recognizing the tribal masks of his homeland on the walls, along side the pictures of scantily clad women his former form appreciated so. This was his home now, in the bowels of the Dalaran Underbelly, in among the shadows of the other shady characters.

Another few hours would pass, he could recall more now, and was sitting half naked on his floor, tinkering with his tools and the scraps of machines he had managed to collect over the years. Slowly, his new creation plodded along the floor, its little eyes glowing brightly, his feet thumping against the floor, the shiny bomb casing reflecting the torch light around it. Standing up, and once again looking far more troll like then before, he lights the little wick on the walking bomb and grins at it.

"Gonnah call cha Harold" he said, his eyes now glowing bright white, despite the loss of his once shadowy form.

Rezo emerged from his home after nearly a week, he kicked aside a few mushrooms that had grown at the foot of his door and adjusted himself. Eyes darting around, half expecting something or someone to leap from the shadows to consume him again, but there was nothing. No movement, no activity, nothing for his new eyes to see that was anything less then normal. Lanorimi didn't need to know about this, not yet, he'll contact her some other day, explain whats happened. The Outriders, on the other hand, needed to know now. He'd never been silent for so long, he vaguely recalls trying to use the communicator a few nights ago, but cant recall what was said. The Outriders were a small patroling party he was assigned to when not at work for the Argent Crusade. They were a mixed group of people, spanning all sorts of personalities and characteristics. Most of them, had come to accept him, despite his appearance of a long recognized foe. He really should report to them, or had he already? Oh well, another meeting with them wouldn't hurt, besides, they're his friends.

Pulling his motorcycle out from around the back of his house, he hopped on and started the engine. The bike itself was filthy, and he has no idea how if got back here, he had parked at the base of the Ulduar Temple. Trying not to think on it, he rode out, up the ramp and heading for the portal complex upstairs. The ride there was the most exciting he could remember, his eyes, he could see so much more.. the women.. so much more beautiful and curvaceous, the men.. were well.. men... He scowled and wrinkled his nose, this thing was hideous, how had he not noticed? he had disliked them before, but dear lord...he called out and pointed a thick finger at a male Night Elf 'Chu look like chu just fell out'ah Tuesday! Get chu nose back on!" he sneered a grin and rode off, leaving the elf to question what he just heard.

Rezo woke up, blinking furiosuly, looking around, once again at the surroundings of his home in the Dalaran Underbelly. He was unsure how he got home after the meeting with the Outriders, he couldn't even remember much of the meeting itself. His mind reeled, he was losing it, he could tell, less seemed real, he had a hard time forming sentences, his mind faded in and out of the void of insanity. Knowledge, he needed information, he needed to stop the sway on his mind, else he would be destined to lose it completely. The more he thought on his situation, the worse it seemed to get, fear shot though his body, the shadowy smoke soon following.

Clamboring though Dalaran, he tore though bookshelf after bookshelf, his shadowy form moving fluidly from one to the other, looking for any information. The realization soon hit him, that all the text and tombs on the old gods had likely been collected and sent to Brann while he lead the invasion of the temple. Another resource was needed, one untouched or unused, one buried beneath old Lorederan, one hidden away in the Undercity.

Days would pass before he emerged again, slinking though the cold corridors, his thick purple mist following behind him, his hair and tusks , moving slowly, flailing tentacles of shadow. The search resumed, tearing though the books and tombs that were left behind, gathered and collected by the dead, yes, these books might hold the answer, the cure. Harold, silent to all others, had begun talking to him, had convinced him it was true, and he continued to 'tell him' to look harder, keep trying, don't stop. Books were tossed here and there, the forsaken that lurked about tried to avoid the shadowy figure, until two came to stop him.

They were dead for sure, one was a man, most of his face rotted away, the other a woman, of which showed little sign of age or death, save for the bony knee caps. Somehow her lips were plump and full, could have been part of the decomposition, but it gave her an alluring look, this of course caught his attention, insane or not, he was still a young, virile male. Desperately he tried to talk to them, explain his situation and all that had happened , but all that came out was gibberish, random words and babbling slurrs that they could barely string together to make any sense of him. Finally, the woman moved to offer him something to eat, an odd worm or bat-wing looking thing, but it was being offered to him by an attractive woman, dead ass she may be... he ate it.

Memories come flooding back, where he was, who he was, where he had been, how this had all happened, after weeks he knew. Shock was the first thing that struck him, that the Forsaken had a cure for this all along, temporary as it may be, he gladly took all they had, and forced it into one of his alcohol bottles that were stuffed into a bag that hung around his shoulder, then looked at them. These forsaken had his answers, he would need them close by... as eloquently as he could, he invited them to join him and the Outriders, on the condition that they would hold up their values, and help him find a permanent solution to his 'problem' Giving them brief instructions, telling them to venture to Durotar and seek out Dori'shar, and where to go, what to say, he left them to find their own way. Bigger things needed to be done, punishment, vengeance, retribution, all were to be his once he waged war on the Argent Dawn. His eyes were open.

Boom.

That's all Tirion Fording heard before he flew off the mountain ridge at Crusader's Pinnacle, his body crashing back to the earth and sliding down the mountain face towards Scourgeholm. Boom. Commander Emtari had taken cover, chunks of the mountain rained down upon him, the Argent Dawn scattered in panic. Boom, Boom...his blood red robes billowing brightly in the wind as it whipped over the snowy mountainous outcropping above the Argent Tower. Plunging his arms into his bags, hurling bombs over his head, raining them down upon the people below. Despite his eyes now being pools of glowing light, his vision was sharp, he could easily focus on targets and blow them off the mountain, or into small pieces. While in his allegiance to the Argent Dawn, he's learned one thing, blood is thicker then water. While their cause be just, their loyalties are not, while the humans, dwarves and others pledged to the Alliance remain behind and guard their bases, the Horde operatives were sent out, to face the dangers of the scourge head on,to fight and die for the Argent's 'Just Cause.' It was Horde troops in the field, it was Alliance forces in the keeps and strongholds.

After his meeting with the Forsaken, Harold had gone missing, and he started to think he might have been a figment of his imagination. Re'zo now stood beside Philip, another small machine he'd created, who obediently carried Goblin Rocket Fuel on its back. Using the bright red liquid to smother his bombs in, he launched more and more down at the fleeing groups of his enemies. The Argent has mislead him, misguided him, and put his life at risk rather then to send any of their own kind. Gazing down at the flaming ruins of the outpost, he knew it would only be a matter of time before they rebuilt it, his 'eyes' scanned the area, looking for more, looking to see if they were coming for him. They were not, and in all likely hood, they would chalk this up to the Scourge and business will go on as usual.

No.

This was not the work of the dead, this was the work of the living, the awoken, the Horde. A grin spread across his face, now seeing that there was no one left to challenge him. Alone, he had struck fear into the hearts of the Argent Dawn, into the Alliance itself, only one thing seemed appropriate to say after the devastation he had caused..

"For the Horde.."