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((Note: I wrote this in the tradition of Alternate Universes in comic books, and, more specifically, in the tradition of the Mirror Universe episodes of Star Trek. I figured it would be interesting to see our cadre and server from a nearly complete opposite perspective, so here it is, a few snippets from said lives. Let me know what you think!))
"Conscience is the mirror of our souls, which represents the errors of our lives in their full shape."
- George Bancroft
Qoz stepped into the Undercity, and inhaled a deep breath of stagnant, dusty air.
Home again. Wonderful.
The bag slung over Qoz's shoulder began to struggle again, and muffled yelps became audible, raising the ears of some nearby Orcs. Qoz gave a friendly wave, dropped the bag to the ground, and savagely kicked it a few times to silence it. He then hurried to the Apothecarium.
Qoz found Ceridwyn as usual, hunched over her laboratory supplies. The whelp Creator, a chemist on hire from the Fel Hand, babbled at her.
"You see, this is the precise mixture that I've been seeking for years! It does not break down, it does not differentiate between forms of life, it adapts and resists treatment! Perfect in all senses of the word!" the priest giggled, rubbing his hands together.
"I still don't trust you, chemist. What proof do you have?" Ceridwyn snarled.
Qoz held back a smile. Ceridwyn was always radiant when angry, same as all Berzerkers. Her skin was covered with black spirals, indications of her rank in the Bleeding Hollow Tribe, and her teeth were permanently stained red from her daily meal of manflesh.
"Well, I brought some children from Stormwind to try this new plague on. And we can always ask Darba's view." Qoz spoke up. Creator looked gleeful at the mention of children, but refrained from speaking upon a savage glare from Ceridwyn.
"Darba is a fool!" spat Ceri.
"Yes, but recall, she is our resident expert on the plague, if only by proximity." Qoz allowed a cruel smirk. Ceridwyn roared and smashed one of her larger beakers, which sent Creator scampering for a corner.
Getharn stomped up from the cage room. "There you are, Archlich. I've just finished restraining some prisoners."
Qoz turned to face the guild enforcer. Getharn was dressed entirely in Dark Iron Plate, which glinted magnificently in the dark of the laboratory. One of Getharn's horns had been broken off in combat, and his face was irreversibly scarred. As tauren warriors went, Geth was one of the most imposing.
"What sort of prisoners?" asked the lich.
"Female tauren, probably sent by the Circle." Getharn said, licking his chops.
"Indeed? I'll speak to them presently." Getharn led Qoz down.
The Archlich recognized the two females almost immediately. Chilali was a representative of the Cenarion Circle, or, as Feren liked to call them, "Those damned meddling Druids". Red Earth was a young prodigy of hers, and both swore fealty to the so-called "Earthmother". Getharn had chained them to the wall, ungagged, but they made no effort to yell.
"What are a pair of girls like you doing in a place like this?" asked Qoz, before releasing a high-pitched cackle.
"You'll never get away with this, fiend!" Chilali roared, struggling against her bonds, "The Cenarion Circle and Argent Dawn both know of your plans! They'll strike before you even get close to-"
Qoz gently put a silencing finger against Chilali's lips. Then, with quick, decisive movements, he pulled his Shadowblade, and cut the tauren's throat. Chilali gasped and sputtered for a few minutes, and finally went silent. Red Earth whimpered and struggled nearby. Qoz gave a wicked smirk and addressed her.
"Now, youngling, what were you sent here for?"
Red sobbed and wept as she spoke. "The Circle...wanted...plague destroyed. Sent us...thought we could..." The tauren female broke down, tears streaming from her eyes.
Qoz's eyes sank to a deep crimson color, and resumed their usual scarlet. "I think that is all we need. Getharn, you may dispose of her as you wish."
The tauren male released a growling chuckle, and advanced on the tauren girl as Qoz left the room.
Screams rose from the holding room as Qoz walked through the laboratory on his way out. "I must see Xenarr and Merimu's final tests in Ashenvale. I trust you have everything under control here?"
Ceri turned her head. She was holding Creator's head near one of the large electrodes that hung down in various parts of the lab. She gave a curt nod, and returned to threatening the blathering priest. Qoz made haste for the Zeppelin to Orgrimmar.
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"To tell you the truth, I'm not impressed."
Qoz leaned lazily against one of the large Ashenvale trees, arms folded, as he watched the work of the troll, carefully reloading a glass cylinder into the mortar. Merimu released a stream of buzzing from the modulator that sat in place of his lower jaw, and tapped at the lenses that had been grafted in place of his eyes.
"He says to be patient. Mortars don't calibrate themselves, you know." Xenarr growled, as he strained to hold back his feral raptor. Both trolls were clad in as much Dwarfskin as they could find, and Merimu bore many engineering devices across his body, put in place upon the failure of an organ or unhealable combat damage.
"Well, get it recalibrated. We're going to need plenty of range and no backfires if these mortars are going to do the trick." Qoz said, pulling up his hood. Xenarr continued holding back his raptor, and Merimu worked on the device with his fingers flying.
A pair of Night Elves advanced, looking with curiosity upon the work of the trolls and Forsaken. The first, a female, kneeled down, and looked closely at the movements of Xenarr's fingers, smiling. The second, a male, stood and eyed the hooded lich and frothing raptor carefully.
Merimu released a crackling buzz from his modulator. "Ready to fire!" translated Xenarr.
Merimu did not fire, however. Instead, he beckoned to the elven female, who perked up, and moved very close to the mortar.
"The peacemonger Aroree..." muttered Xenarr. He and Qoz struggled to keep from laughing.
Merimu drew the elf closer, until her body was largely over the mortar. A stream of clicks and buzzes emitted from Mer's modulator, and he violently slammed the firing mechanism. The mortar emitted a hollow "PHUT" noise, and the elf's body flipped and landed on the ground, a clean hole bored through her chest.
The male yelped in shock, and tried to run. Xen pointed the raptor in the direction of the elven man, and released the creature, which frothed and snarled. The fast lizard overtook the elf with little effort, and tore through the fragile creature's body with tooth and claw.
The trio gave a hearty laugh. Qoz pulled his spyglass, and watched the mortar land a sufficient distance down the path. He put the spyglass away, and addressed the trolls.
"This will do nicely. Have the devices ready for tomorrow."
Both trolls nodded. Merimu returned to reloading the mortar, and Xenarr went to bind his raptor again, and to skin the bodies of the freshly fallen elves.
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Qoz stood on a hill overlooking Stormwind. Today was the day of their grand victory. The Archlich watched as the Horde troops moved into place, securing areas just outside the walls of the city, while engineering teams moved in, and began setting up their mortars.
Feren gripped Qoz's shoulder with his frail hand. "Kil'jaedn will be most pleased with you, and the Order."
"He had damned well better. This wasn't easy to organize." Qoz growled, and turned to face the scrawny tauren, "But the day is now upo-"
Qoz found himself unable to speak. Striding up the hill, in resplendent red robes of the Magister, was Aziel V'Ghera.
Qoz coughed, and regained his voice. "Meddling wizard! Common illusionist!" snarled Qoz, his eyes blazing from beneath his Dreadmist hood. Qoz motioned for Feren to flee, and turned to face the interloper.
"Come now, Lich. You didn't think the Argent Dawn would let you proceed with your little scheme, did you?" The mage nodded towards an advancing column of troops, Horde and Alliance.
Qoz bared his teeth and spat on the ground. "Your army of idiots is too late, V'Ghera. Stormwind is soon to become the newest addition to the plaugelands, and there is nothing you can do about it."
"I disagree, Volqozki. Our troops will move on your mortars. But first, I will end you." Aziel gave a little grin, and drew a single finger across his neck in a cutting motion.
Qoz's eyes glowed more radiantly than before, and he immediately set to focusing curses of any sort imaginable onto the mage. Aziel countered with a bolt of ice and a stream of deadly arcane energies. He then lept onto Qoz, pinning the Lich down with his staff.
"You have failed. Witness the end of your designs, Lich." Aziel sneered. But Qoz did not turn to witness such, instead drawing a bloodstone from a recess of his robes. Focusing on it, the lich spoke quickly in Demonic.
"Xai kez xabanixk menazsha xe!"
A portal surged open, and a Felhound lept onto the unwitting mage, consuming his mana and tearing at his flesh. Qoz lept to his feet, and signaled the Horde troops to engage the oncoming Dawn forces while the mage was occupied.
Just a little more time...just a bit..
Orc fought orc. Troll fought troll. Life fought life. The carnage of battle drowned all other noises, except, finally, for one.
PHUT.
The first of the liquid-filled cylinders rose into the air.
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King Magni Bronzebeard -
As you are no doubt quite aware, Stormwind has been destroyed. And, not by a conventional siege, but by the New Plague.
As you can see, the claims of our beloved Dark Lady were not mere bluffs.
You are expected to be at the front gate of Orgrimmar, 2:00p, Kalimdor Standard Time, tomorrow, to discuss the terms of your Alliance's surrender and subsequent servitude. For every minute you are late, we will release the plague on an Alliance encampment. No exceptions will be made.
Please be prompt. Kil'jaeden will be most displeased if his supply of slaves is dwindled too far.
- Warlock Warren Volqozki
Archlich of Kyxna Xik Zx (The Order of Outland)
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Ahh, Chainsaw! The Great Communicator!
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