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Featuring Plagos, Meridith (mentioned)


I: PrologueEdit

It was as dark and stormy a night as it could have been. Thunder crashed as the rain splattered off Plagos’ head. He paid no mind as he rode furiously along on his fiery Felsteed. Each drop of rain sizzling as they evaporated off the evil minion’s back and under its flaming hooves.

Executioner Plagos Deathweaver was charging through the Highland plains just north of Khaz Modan. Though the dark weather would have made it hard to navigate, Plagos and his dark minion could see perfectly. Each one’s eyes alight with a fiery red glow that split open the rain to the path before them.

Once again, he was heading into the crumbling walls of Stromguard castle. This time, he had a vitally important job to do. There was something in the castle he needed: a keepsake. With it, he would be able to destroy a Lich. He would find this artifact, and do exactly as his master intended, and nothing would stand in his way, no matter what.

II: Opening the Lines of CommunicationEdit

“Not quite. I have something far better in mind.”

It was a few days earlier. Plagos was still at the alter at the base of Blackrock Mountain. He was discussing his plans with Mor'zul Bloodbringer.

“Well, if not Xothor, then where do you plan to go?” Mor’zul asked impatiently.

Plagos then leaned closer, speaking in hushed tones only for the human’s ears. But it was not the first time Plagos had underestimated the long ears of a goblin, because Mor’zul’s assistant, Gorzeeki Wildeyes, perked up his eyes widening as he shouted in a shrill voice.

“You’re crazy!” Gorzeeki shouted.

Plagos turned towards the goblin and, even through the ghoulishly glowing, well-crafted goggles he wore, shot back a glare that only a Forsaken could, which caused the impish creature to immediately back away.

“I’m afraid he’s right” Mor'zul insisted. “The Legion would never listen to you. Besides, no one has spoken to an Eredar, warlock or no, since the last refugees from this world were chased back into Outland. The portals were closed behind them.”

“Then we will have to reestablish contact,” Plagos declared.

III: The MasterEdit

“You’ve done well. Your first task is complete.”

The human head of Ras Frostwhipster rolled across the ground away from the shrouded Plagos. He was mounted on a larger, and more armored steed than before, with flames curling from underneath its sleek and spiked carapace. Plagos watch the head roll to a stop outside the perimeter of what appeared to be a summoning circle.

“Thank you, Master Nrozzak.” Plagos looked up at the apparition that was silhouetted in the middle of the circle. In gold-plated armor, it looked only somewhat humanoid. It had deep purple skin, cloven feet and large, broad shoulders on which set a series of adorned tendrils growing off the creature's face. Below his flat, ridged forehead shone two eyes that blazed with an ancient, brooding evil.

Plagos looked up into the face of the Eredar warlock, and remained unflinching. With the help of Mor'zul, Plagos was able to speak into the Nether itself and summon one of these powerful sorcerers to him. Now, under the guidance of Nrozzak, he could complete his ascension as a warlock.

“With the destruction of the Lich controlling the Scourge hive in Stratholme, you shall soon have the ultimate power you desire.” It didn't take much persuasion to sway Plagos into striking the former training ground for human acolytes in the early days of the Scourge. And soon, at this perfect moment, Nrozzak would have another unwitting servant for the Burning Legion's return. But not yet...

“The coming of the Legion is soon at hand, but you must return to matters at home in the Forsaken capital. I have a feeling that the time for the power play you've desired is finally at hand.” With a wave of the phantom's hand, the circle, and the specter, vanished in a cloud of violet haze.

“As you wish.” Plagos nodded into the fog and rode off with a blaze of his own.

IV: Power PlayEdit

The Royal Chamber in the Undercity always seemed large and foreboding, as it was meant to be. Also designed was the single, grand entrance preceded by a long and winding hall, with elite deathguards patrolling the corridor.

But this time upon entering, Plagos felt that the Queen's chamber was much grander than it had ever been. But his apprehension was also coupled with excitement, for not even the booming voice and large presence of the dreadlord Varimathras (Plagos had noticed that many murlocs he'd faced imitated this same gesture as intimidation, but he never did disclose this to anyone) could stifle him.

“You. Come forward,” the winged creature bellowed.

Plagos strode up to the podium, but noticed something was off this time. In addition to the normal figures occupying the royal hall, Varimathras, Sylvanas and her banshee aid, Sharlindra, there were two additional figures. They were tall humanoids, light-skinned, with blonde to reddish hair, and long, very long, ears.

“Blood Elves?” Plagos commented aloud in shock. “But...”

“The Horde's new allies...” the Dreadlord amusedly explained. “They've come for our aid in fighting the Scourge.”

“I see. But-”

“It has no relevance right now,” Varamathras continued, “here are your orders.”

The Nathrezim tossed a rolled parchment to the floor in front of Plagos. He noticed it had an official royal seal on it. Oddly, Plagos glanced towards the two Blood Elf ambassadors, then looked up at his queen, Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, who only nodded in acknowledgment. He bent over to pick up the paper.

As Plagos read over the Royal Order, his cracked lower jaw already gave away his expression of surprise. Then for the first time in ages, a grin began creaking up through his dry, cold lips, his flesh coming apart as if he hadn't used those weakened muscles in countless ages.

Without a word, Plagos took a deep and humble bow before the throne and immediately turned and left. It was finally time. He had an inquisition to plan...

V: The Dark Portal OpensEdit

Big.

That's the only word that came to Plagos' mind as he stood there, facing the large stone steps leading up to the hulking, serpent-topped archway. Two guardian statues stood at each side, with glowing, ever vigilant eyes, daring those visitors to step though and witness the destruction that is there to greet them in the fractured realm beyond.

The Dark Portal. The forsaken world of Outland waited on the other side. Plagos peered at at the portal gateway with his magically tuned sight. It was as if he could stare straight into the infinite expanse of the Nether itself. Such a vast expanse was like a force, slowly drawing him closer

Plagos finally started to ponder over his situation. He had stayed behind in Azeroth until now because he had a duty to the Queen, and the trial against Ghrast did not have the outcome he had hoped for. There was only one place left to go. But he could only second guess himself.

What about my friends?

“They all hate me. Some would rather see me dead. Either way, they do not understand,” whether he was arguing with himself, or someone else, it did not matter at this point.

I know Plagos. He is loyal to the Forsaken. To Curse.

“I've lied. Maybe I was the one hallucinating all along.” The force pulling him into the dark gate grew stronger. Plagos staggered.

That can't be.

“Step through the portal.”

I can't.

“Join us!”

With a final glance, Plagos stepped through the ethereal gate and vanished into the light-forsaken realm that lie beyond, untold perils in wait. And one final master to find.

VI: OutlandEdit

Across the blood-red landscape of a shattered world, Plagos rode furiously on his demonic steed. The deep color of the landscape reflected from his eye wear, making them appear all the more menacing and brooding.

Betrayed.

The demons roamed freely across the landscape of Hellfire Peninsula, but he galloped by confidently, knowing they could easily be handled. Without hesitation, he would burn one to the ground, or even enslave its mind completely until he had another unwitting servant. They must have acknowledged this too, he thought, because they seemed to be keeping their distance. Either they were afraid, or he was expected.

Plagos gazed ahead towards the horizon, “This is where I will stay...”

Just like the rest of these creatures.

“I am Forsaken. This is now my home.”

VII: The ApprenticeEdit

The dark altar seemed to be a bit larger than it was a few moments before. Plagos was trying to figure it out. Did he slip on his Gnomish World Enlarger™ again? Had someone slipped him some concoction of Marin Noggenfogger when he wasn't paying attention? He pondered this as he continued to writhe on the ground in pain as the full force of the demonic Nether tried to crush down on his skull.

Ah, Plagos concluded.

The dark Eredar warlock, Nrozzak, towered over him, cackling at the Forsaken's misfortune, as well as at his own greatness. His maroon facial tendrils and gold-plated armor shook with the warlock's boisterous guffaw.

“You really thought you could come and control the might of the Burning Legion? Foolish mortal. Your power is indeed strong, though. Strong enough that I had you come here so you could be enslaved for the use of Master Kil'Jaeden.”

Plagos glared up in agony as well as hate. The pressure coming so strong that one of his ruby lenses was beginning to crack.

“Now you will guide the Legion back to your home in Azeroth.”

My home. Brill...

“You will watch as it burns, and has all the remaining energy absorbed into the might of the Legion. You friends will suffer and die along with it.”

My friends. Meridith...

“Now, you will witness first hand the end of your entire kind!”

My kind. The Forsaken...

A half-tormented, half-vengeful scream echoed through entire valley there in Hellfire. The corpse slowly pulled itself to its feet, propped on a glowing scythe.

“I am... death! I... serve the Shadow... You can not control me!”

Plagos lifted the curved blade over his head, and brought it down with a single, bloody swipe.

VIII: EpilogueEdit

The demon head of the Eredar, Nrozzak, rolled across the ground away from the shrouded Plagos. As he gripped tightly to the newly-acquired magical staff he had taken off the Eredar, he watch the head roll to a stop in front of the royal podium. He was once again in Undercity.

“As you have said so long ago, with your help I have conquered my inner demons. I now wish most of all to enter the Shadow halls, and to serve the Royal Throne once again. The one before you is merely the beginning of a new Crusade I will take on. There will be no demon left alive in my wake, if you would command me again.”

Plagos bowed before Sylvanas Windrunner.

“For you, my Lady."

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