#hell toy

Mosur sat on the upper ramparts over the front of the keep while he wrote. When he finished put the pen down and exhaled. He stood and placed his journal atop the merlon of the wall. His eyes scanned the bottom portion of the page a final time. “...to read or know of me.” He held his hand over the center of the journal and closed his eyes. After a moment the book ignited and began to burn. He watched it burn until he was satisfied of its destruction and left it.

It started yesterday during the battle. An aching in my head that persisted through the fight and onto this morning. Not so bad as a hangover but annoying enough. I dismissed it as nothing really, thinking that perhaps I just needed to catch back up on sleeping and eating properly or maybe I was just dehydrated. Aside from that I feel better...did feel better. I’m trying to put myself back together even if I do keep checking my pockets for that box. It seems as though it’s still there sometimes, and I still seem to...miss it occasionally now that it is gone. Maybe that is saying too much...or too little now. Despite having a large supply of resources brought in and shipped to Wintergard by Captain Morgan, the majority of drinks were water and booze. Now I will get scoffed at by some but I do prefer a milder alcohol. With my headache however, I hoped for some sweetened honey tea. Since I could find none and since it was seemingly not forbidden, I traveled to Dalaran and sat at the Lounge for a bit drinking all the tea I wanted. I read over this journal, the beginning and the end of this horrific journey. The folly of my thoughts, poor decisions, things I hope no one will ever learn, and that I will never write. I still can’t help but wonder if Maewood read this. Even Nyres agreed there was no reason to have kept it for so long without wanting to read it. As I was thinking these very thoughts over a man approached, Shrewsbury. He was covered in injuries, cuts and all manner of wounds. Honestly, he startled me as I was reading. He was either very well informed or he had been in Auchindoun that night, this he made this clear with his introductory statement. As for his injuries, I was able to offer him some healing but it seemed too little too late. He was quick to tell me that I was not out of the woods yet. I had let “it” in and despite what had happened, and the most powerful portion of the...infestation...being somehow removed, parts of it were still there. He was not as cocky as he had been in the past but he was smug when he let me know that was the cause of my aches. There was a...demonstration. He touched my forehead as we sat and it caused a blinding pain, not unlike what I remember experiencing that night at my parents tomb. After regaining my composure I noticed it seemed to have affected him as well. There were more words of warning about not seeking out any of the other boxes I knew of. Oddly the warnings were something that had been picking at my mind though I had fended them off for want to be a good little prisoner. It also explained the pain, as I do recall it began when we first came close to the faceless creatures of the Old Gods when we were on our assault this past night. As for Shrewsbury, I aided him with a little more healing before he left. He said he was going to find his final resting place. I would have thought to stop him, but that seemed like it may be hypocritical of me. He said I would not see him again, but that is not the first or the second time I have heard him say that. So who knows? It seems I still have problems to deal with. Maybe I will go about it in a better manner this time, unless it is just something that can be lived with. I have not decided and despite my distrust and even dislike of some of my guildmembers at current, I must attempt to mend fences before anything can be done. Shrewsbury had explained his predicament a bit more clearly than Mosur had bothered to write. It seems as though the box had tortured him for his attempts at aiding the shaman. Somehow he had managed to find a different cure, but it had left him in the same state. His reappearing wounds were something of a curse that had been left behind or were being caused by what was left over of his own parasite. This curse, Shrewsbury had decided to let finally end his agony. He had guessed, however, that Mosur had not suffered any curse himself since the box never had full control. That, or because Mosur had not owned it as long as the librarian. There was no being certain of anything besides the parasitic presence of something greater that still haunted them both. Shrewsbury’s decision might have been the easiest for both them, but it would not appear Mosur still had that choice to make. The librarian had left in a puff of smoke, he’d mentioned being a strong adventurer at one point so it was not surprising as he went. On the floor where he had stood was left the man’s ornate smoking pipe. After a few moment’s time Mosur stood and tentatively retrieved it. He then sat in the back corner of the Lounge for long while inspecting the pipe and thinking over all that had just occurred. As always ignorance seemed so much easier than the truth.

I am not certain what has happened. I am back in Dragonblight and trying to forget about this whole ordeal. The box is gone or taken. All that I have been through with that damnable cube and now it is gone. I should be joyous at its absence, after all, that was what I wanted most towards the end, until I finally gave up and resigned myself to my fate. Its a bittersweet thing to be free. And what my Amia said and mother and father. I am...I was...forgiven. Maybe it was hallucinations from sleep deprivation, but I would like to think it was not. To see my Amai again; she was as beautiful as the day I first met her. It was no nightmare, there were no screams, no blood no fear. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. True or not I think that will always weigh on me now. Then my parents; they approached from behind Amia and embraced her. “Mosur, our son, it has been a long hard, lonely road. We forgive you. Don’t let our sacrifice, then or now, be in vain.” That was all of it. It was over and they were gone. Everything was silent...quiet. It was peaceful. I shouldn’t analyze all this but I have. Was it real...did it really happen? Were those the spirits of my loved ones? It is helpful and comforting to think so. Was it just another scene created by that Hell Toy. If it was real did she mean it? Was it really not my fault or was it just said? Amia wouldn’t say it if she didn’t mean it...if she truly said it. If it was all some delusion what was the reasoning? There is none...so it must have been real. It is nice to hear the words I was asking for. That they all forgave me and in return I should not let the sacrifices they made for our people, and for me, be in vain. I only wonder what they meant by ‘now’? Despite Xodius’ comment, true or not, I’ll lock this all away. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, but it seems I have no confidant.

I didn’t realize that one day was too long. I caught this at the bottom of Maewood’s letter. I left on Sunday, and Sielic...found me...on Monday. I am not grateful for that. In fact now I question whether it was a good idea to leave a letter or not. Obviously it was not. So I have returned and for lack of a better word I am treated like a fugitive. And with no proof to any wrongdoing. Perhaps it was just last night or maybe I am just being paranoid but I have not been left alone with anyone save myself. There is always at least one other watching if not there. My things, my books, they were picked up, taken, by Sielic when he found me. I do not understand his reasoning for not returning them to me. My prayerbook and my journal. What reason would Sielic have to keep them from me. Maewood has spoken with Xodius so while I do not know about what she would at least have a basis to. Did she tell Sielic? How many people know and what do they know? My prayerbook was returned in the late hours of the night. I am not sure why it was kept from me and I am not sure why they keep my journal. I assumed she would translate it and I stated that, she said that was not her intentions. If not, however, then why keep it from me. I cannot say that I wholly trust Maewood’s words. I am unhappy, bordering on angry about this, but showing such would only cause more concern. Back to working on keeping up appearances for a time. In order to get trust you must give trust; right now I have neither.

Sielic walked along the paths of Shattrath, sniffing the air. ‘Find him,’ he was told, ‘Make sure he was okay and bring him back.’ Sielic set off almost immediately and soon found himself wandering Shattrath. From the little he knew of Mosur, and the trail he could still pick up, Sielic made his way to the Aldor Rise and proceeded to enter their chapel there. He chuckled to himself, knowing that these Draenei were dedicated wholly to the Light, and he looked around. He found an Anchorite and walked over to him. “I’m lookin’ for a man named Mosur. Have you seen him?” Sielic smiled warmly, and assumed a relaxed pose. The Anchorite, Nindumen, nodded, “There was a Mosur here earlier. He made a few prayers over there and then left. He seemed troubled. Is something wrong?” Sielic nodded softly, walking over to the spot Nindumen indicated. “If he comes back, I’d recommend making sure he stays here until I return.” Nindumen shook his head, “I will not force someone to stay if they wish to leave.” Sielic kneeled down and picked up a small object, turning it over in his hands. It must have been Mosur’s guildstone. “May the Shadows obscure you from your fate, Nindumen.” With that, Sielic left the building and proceeded to pick up as much of the trail again. Sielic had trouble following the trail, but he managed to follow it outside the city and it became stronger. The city had too many scents to confuse while being on the outside made it vastly easier to follow the trail. Sielic proceeded to follow it to the south. He kept to the shadows and did not find himself bothered the entire trip. Sielic soon found himself in a mausoleum with a few Draenei around, either tending to the facility or visiting lost loved ones. Sielic continued down, the scent of the dead strong, but the scent of one living Draenei continuing further in. The facility seemed to go on forever, and then finally opened up into a large room. A collapsed Draenei male laid across some kind of altar. Two books and candles, lit and burnt out, set up around him. Sielic moved over to Mosur, kneeled down, and snuffed out the remaining candles. He packed up both books, peeking into the one that was not already opened. Sielic looked over the body, and nodded. ‘It definitely looks like Mosur,’ Sielic thought. Sielic kneeled down and, with considerable effort, hefted Mosur up and over both of his shoulders. The strain was evident, but there was not many options available. Sielic carried the man to the opening of the mausoleum and found one of the visiting Draenei on his way back to Shattrath. They carried Mosur together, bringing him to the inn inside Shattrath and rented a room for him. The Draenei left, leaving Mosur and Sielic alone in the room, and Sielic frowned at Mosur as he set him in the bed. ‘The front lines are important,’ Sielic thought, ‘So I will not trouble them with news. Mosur looks like he will recover on his own so we will just wait and see what happens.’ Sielic set himself up in a chair, watching over Mosur. He slept for a time, but awoke to the slightest noise, even a bird letting out a whistle outside the room. He waited.

Mosur rode the elevator down to the Terrace of Light and stepped off onto the small bridge that led to the upper central area of the city. From the base of the elevator he could see portions of the naaru, A’dal, the leader of the Sha’tar. Taking the small ramp down Mosur walked around the edge of the Terrace of Light. He passed under the Scryer’s bridge and past the flight master and the sha’tar soldiers as they trained. He watched it all in passing uninterested as his hooves carried him on autonomously, as though they had a mind of their own. He mounted the small ramp that brought him to the southern most bridge crossing over the Lower City. He hadn’t lied to the anchorite, this was one of the first times he’d returned to Shattrath since its rebuilding. It might have been something of a home once, but since its sacrifice all those years ago it was not the same to him. Many lives had been lost, warriors, women, and children. All were self sacrifices; they knew that they would not be leaving the city alive. They sacrificed themselves so that everyone else could go on, so that there could be hope for survival. He had been one of those chosen to escape into the marshes and hide atop the fungi that grow there. He’d volunteered to stay behind but they’d insisted that he travel with one of the smaller groups into the marsh. He was still getting over his lost love, he didn’t know what had happened to her, the only thing that he knew was she hadn’t escaped to Shattrath after the sacking of the Temple. He could only assume the worst. What did he have to lose by staying behind and allowing others to go on? That was not to be since he was a priest and they would need healing and guidance, something he needed as well.  Both then and now. While he had been sent with those into the marsh, his parents had stayed behind in the city like many silent heroes to his entire race now barely though of or mentioned. Mosur found himself at the middle of the bridge staring across the Lower City as he thought. He turned his head, glancing to the end of the bridge and again he began to move still on autopilot, barely even thinking of where he was going. He dipped his head to the guards at the end of the bridge as he passed and took a right outside of the city. The pathway was clear and all was quiet except for the sounds of the forest, and even those were strangely muted and distant. He continued to think of the past where his thoughts often lingered as of late. He thought of what his dreams, no, his nightmares had been. They were real, he was sure of it, how his love had died just out of reach, how he could have helped her. He shook his head trying to force away the thoughts. In his robe his fingers traced the edge of the puzzle box, but he didn’t dare take it out, not here in the forest. The trail came to an abrupt end sooner than he’d expected. He stood at the edge of the Bone Wastes, a now desolate area surrounding the ruins of Auchindoun, a draenei holy site where the dead were laid to rest. He started the trek to the western entrance of the ancient mausoleum, trying his best to ignore the carrion birds that had taken up a somewhat permanent residence in the Wastes now. He thought he could still smell the stench of death out here mingling with the scent of his lost love. The thought brought shame and guilt to his mind, this was a holy site, he should not think these things here. Auchindoun was not a place that he had visited often. In fact he could count the number of times on one hand. The sound of his hooves echoed off of the stone as he entered the paved hall that descended into the central pavillion. Others had taken up residence in portions of the ancient crypts and even misguided death priests had thought it better to raise the bodies and souls of their charges rather than to let them rest, though thiis had been taken care of for the most part, at least in the section of the crypts he entered into now. The crypts were mostly empty save a draenei or two kneeling in reverence to their ancestors or leaving burning candles for the souls that reside there. He passed through silently with his head bowed in respect. The crypts were still damaged and there had been no large movement to repair them, not that that seemed very important to him now. After a long walk he arrived in a large room and approached a set of stairs that lead to two small monuments with draenei runes carved on them. Mosur knelt and pressed his forehead against the side of his fist resting a moment. He lit the candles that were already there at the base of the carvings and removed two books from his robes that he laid on the ground as well; his prayer book and his journal which he picked up and flipped open. “It has been a long time since I have visited mother, father. I hope you can understand why I haven’t.” There was no one there, he simply spoke to an empty room. “I wish I were here to give you reverence or leave flowers and prayers. Instead I am here to confess to you and ask forgiveness before it is too late for me.” A sigh escaped him and he paused not knowing where to begin. The pages of his journal turned under his fingers and he began reciting what had happened to him over the past few weeks. From him finding the Hell Toy, his meetings with Xodius, and the Dark One, his doubts and fears. Finally he reached the section of the journal which held the shortened version of his visit to the Old Kingdom beneath Dragonblight. He conveyed the whole story from memory about the monster, its words, his feelings and his inability to just leave the box. He no longer even had the strength to sob, he felt nearly completely numb. “It has made me weak. It wants to take control, and it will soon have it.” His heart was heavy in his chest as he spoke and recalled all at once everything that had happened. He had several chances to turn away from his current path and had ignored every one of them, downplaying them as warnings that were nothing to be concerned about. He explained about the nightmares, apologizing and blaming himself for Amia’s death. He knew his parents had liked the young priestess. He was silent on the nightmares about the krokul, it was not something he even wished to share with his dead ancestors. He spoke about the librarian Shrewsbury, what he’d told him and what he witnessed. “I am weak, I have fallen, I have failed, I am defeated.” His eyes looked to the base of the carved stones the full weight of what he was saying resting on his chest till finally he spoke again disheartened. “I am...broken.” He sat in silence for some time after that staring at nothing while the candle flame danced back and forth. He wondered if they were ashamed of him; he almost felt they should be. “I only hope that in time you can come to forgive me.” He felt as though he had said that now more times in these past few days than he had ever, but he meant it. He removed the pen from the spine of his journal and scribbled in it center page the same words. “Forgive me.” He turned and sat on the steps with his back to the candles and the carvings. He reached into his robe and removed the puzzle box, rolling it over in his hands. After a soft sigh be began twisting and flipping panels on the Hell Toy. Aside from that there was silence; he could see the puzzle coming together now. It had almost been complete for such a long time but tonight he would finish it. He didn’t know how much time had passed but the candles were still burning as he got down to the last move of the puzzle. He had felt a building presence as he worked the puzzle, an urgency to finish it though he fought to work at an even and slow pace. He turned to look over his shoulder with a saddened glance at his open journal, his prayer book, the candles and markers. With another sigh he turned back to the puzzle and let his eyes trace over it again already feeling the cold presence in his mind starting an echoing laughter as he twisted both of his hands to move the last piece in place. The presence in his mind was laughing uncontrollably now, an arrogant contented laugh that left Mosur feeling even more downtrodden and defeated. Darkness spread across his field of vision and there was an immediate sensation of pain throughout his head and body. He dropped the puzzle box on the top step next to him and grabbed his head. The pain coursing through his skull was so intense he couldn’t even utter a scream. There was no way to describe it except a blinding pain that spread excruciatingly throughout his mind and body. The blackness stole over him and he spasmed, rolling down the stairs where he came to rest at the bottom. His eyes rolled maddeningly around in their sockets as his body convulsed until he finally stopped, eyes open staring blindly into oblivion, hands laying limp at his sides. The box tumbled down the stairs seemingly of its own free will and landed on his chest, where it sat triumphantly on its victim. A figure stood in the hall, looking in as Mosur came to a rest at the bottom of the stairs and the box tumbled down to rest on him. “This is not the end for you my friend. As it was not the end for me.” The hooded figure took a puff from his pipe and turned around to leave. “Perhaps we will have another drink sometime?” and he was gone.

Mosur arrived in Shattrath the same day he’d mailed the Justicar that letter. He wondered if that had been the right thing to do, it wouldn’t have been right to just disappear. Maybe if he’d just done that, he would have been assumed a casualty of war. He remembered not too long ago hearing about Scout getting lost in Dragonblight and the Templars going out searching for him; he didn’t want anyone searching for him. He wanted no one putting themselves in danger or looking somewhere he wasn’t. Had the letter been worded right or would it be misunderstood? Maybe if he’d put more time into his study of common he could have been sure, writing was nothing like speaking. For the first time since the new year he found that he could smile and laughed at himself for having such trivial thoughts now. What did it matter, after all, even if it was misunderstood. He’d said what he needed. “I will not be there, I may not be back in a timely manner and sorry for leaving my post.” It was not the best letter, and those were poor excuses without further explanation. However, a poor excuse was better than the truth, he thought. He surveyed Shattrath from Aldor Rise and glanced to the Shrine of Unending Light. Still tired, he trudged toward the holy temple in an almost weak final attempt. As he entered the shrine the voice started up. He didn’t so much understand the words, as have his own thoughts drowned out by the incessant hissing of the words. An anchorite of the temple glanced at him as he moved into one of the small alcoves past the sheer cloth covering. He knelt and closed his eyes as the whispers continued to assault him. Even here he could find no peace. Breathing out, he stammered a small prayer. As the voices tried to drown it out he felt certain that he spoke it aloud in hushed tones to the walls of the alcove. “Light that we embrace, I humbly beseech thee...In my struggle against darkness I have been weak, I have failed. Please bless and protect the Templars and those fighting similar battles. Grant them success over those who seek to do them harm. Bless us with strength in all our battles. By the Naaru, may it be so.” In his mind he prayed that the taint not take the light from him. “May it be so.” Came a voice behind him. Mosur stood quickly and turned to see the anchorite behind him smiling gently at him. “I am sorry I did not mean to bother anyone,” Mosur began, but the priest waved off any other words he might have had to say. “No, I am sorry brother, I did not mean to interrupt. I just overheard your prayer.” He smiled again before continuing. “If there is something you need we are always here for our brothers and sisters. I am Anchorite Nindumen.” Mosur forced a tired smile. The voices screamed at him, stripping him of his senses, which made hearing difficult. “No brother, it has just been a long pilgrimage. This is the first time I have been back to Shattrath in a long time.” He attempted to explain. “It is nice to meet you Anchorite, but I am afraid I must be on my way now.” He mumbled, struggling to find his tongue, and began to leave back through the sheer curtain. The priest nodded as he spoke and didn’t try to stop him. “Blessings of the Naaru upon you...” “Acolyte Mosur.” He paused halfway past the Anchorite and glanced over his shoulder to finish the sentence for the priest. He dipped his head in thanks for the selfless blessing and then moved to exit the Shrine. He paused there a moment as the voices lessened. They did not stop but they no longer assailed him as they did in the Temple. He let out a heavy sigh again and walked towards the elevator speaking under his breath as he went. “You have won, let me be so I may finish my task.” Almost at once the voices stopped and he felt a shifting presence. Though the voices had stopped he almost swore he heard laughter echo though his head as he stepped onto the elevator.

To Mosur, In ordinary circumstances, I would not bar a Templar from full leave with his or her family - however, your circumstance is different. I have spoken in length to Xodius, who has feared for you since your research began. I have begun to share in this concern. Do not disappear, Mosur. Find strength in the presence of your family, but return. There is a danger in isolation when you are targeted by older magic. Return to Wintergarde, or at the least to Theramore, where your other set of family awaits. If you are missing too long, Templars will be sent to find you. You will not be left alone in your descent. Light's blessing, may its guiding Light break the hold of the shadow upon you. Signed, Arialynn Maewood Templars of the Rose