The Free time of a Provocateur

The elf ran through the Eversong Woods. Cold sweat of fear covered his body and mixed with mud and dirt as he stumbled every time the shaped of the land changed, even a small bit. He didn't know what he was running from, but he knew he couldn't let himself get caught. He remembered walking down the road at dusk towards Silvermoon, from the Ghostlands, when something appeared on the road. A floating, living shadow. A ghost. Just a large piece of torn and ragged black cloth, shaped as if there was something in it, somehow holding a scythe with a jagged egde. Or did he imagine that too? He didn't know... it was too much. It chased him.. and then there were more. Their screams were deafening... their screaches terrifying. Everytime he looked back, he could see them, fliting from shadow to shadow, constantly chasing him... It has been five hours now....

The elf continued running until he entered a moon-lit clearing. The trees formed a circle around it. Tears of fear and hysteria ran down his cheeks as he came to a halt, his breathing inmeasurably fast. A dark silhouette stood in the middle of the clearing. The elf couldn't tear his gaze away from the figure, but he realised that the floating shadows filled every dark area under the trees that encircled the clearing.

“W-w-w-who a-a-a-re you?” the elf asked in a desparate, high pitched voice. The silhouette didn't speak a word, instead, it sat down on a throne of bones that burst out of the ground just as the elf finished asking his question.

“Speak only when spoken to if you wish to see your city with free living eyes,” said a cold whisper which came from all around the elf, but not from the silhouette, which almost made him cry out with fear.

“As a merchant you should have influence when it comes to man-power... I need something from that department...” the whisper countinued. “Write.”

The elf didn't need to be told twice. With minor fumbling due to fear and nervousness, he produced a bottle of ink, a quill and a parchmen. He sat, quill ready, watching the silhouette.

“Twenty... mature bodied... about twenty to thirty year old in orc years preferably... gender is irrelavent... species? Living humanoid that can understand and intelligently react... I don't need trash.. I need those that would be missed if killed... I need reliable... I need strong... able bodied or able minded.... bring me trash and your family, friends and all relations will take the place of the filth that you brought... and you will have to watch their fate... You have six weeks....” the whisper concluded and echoed for a few minutes until the elf wrote every last detail down.

When the elf finished writing he closed his ink and placed the parchment in front of himself, looking straight at the place where he supposed that the “person's” head should be, waiting for more. What he got was something he didn't expect. Two glowing blue eyes opened and looked straight into the elf's eyes. His eyes widened as a scream echoed throughout the clearing and the silhouette with all of its floating shadows evaporated into dark unholy particles which dissolved in the air. No mark on the ground marked the bone throne. If he didn't have the written parchment in front of him, he could have even dismissed it as a nightmare... there was no sign that it happened, but he knew it did. He was on his knees, the parchment in front of him, tears flowing down his strangely calm face. The sun was rising. It was the most beautiful thing that he ever saw.



A slight smile spread on Celtius' face as he silently walked away, leaving the elf to enjoy the best day of his life when everything will seem at its best. He will get what he needs.. he knew that. After such a terrifying night, the elf won't risk anything. He will do as he is told. The time was nigh. If six weeks won't be enough, he might give the elf more. The call must be sent.... but after eight years, what do a few months matter?
He pulled his hood lower over his face after taking a short look at the ghoul next to him. Without a word, he opened a portal of shadows and walked through it, the ghoul trailing behind him.

(( Nice. But what the hell is happening...? xD ))

(( let yourself be surprised ... I will only say that Celtius is starting to cut the remaining strings that tie him to his past ))

(( Celtius, the body trader. That would be a nice way to make some extra cash ))

(( I was drinking when I read that... thanks for almost choking me Daid XD ))

(( my pleasure But hey, if HoS can bake cakes for an extra coin, why can´t Celtius sell bodyparts? Good buisness xD ))

An elf nervously walked through the Eversong Woods. He knew that he should feel calm. His family was safe, he did as he was asked.... but where was the insurance that the... thing... would be satisfied? He got it the best mercenaries he could find... and it wasn't cheap either, but no price was too high when he knew the consequences of what would happen if he brought “trash”. The elf gulped as he slowly entered the clearing.

He almost froze as he saw one of those shadows... wraiths... floated right in the middle of the clearing, moonlight reflecting off of it's long jagged scythe.

“I err...” the elf hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I have the.. goods.”

Slowly, the wraith turned around and the cold voice echoed throughout the clearing.

“Details.”

Nodding quickly, the elf took out a parchment and started to read out information on the “goods”.

“Twenty, as ordered... Fourteen males, nine of which are trolls, two orcs and three blood elves.... six females, four orcs and two blood elves... All six orcs are warriors as are some of the trolls.... the blood elves consist of two mages, one shadow-wielding priest, one hunter and two paladins... All are in the right age group physically...” the elf called out in a semi-nervous voice.

The wraith seemed the consider this before nodding slowly. It slowly outstretched it's free arm and pointed at the elf with a long bony finger as it started to disperse into shadow particles that soon disappeared. The cold voice spoke for the last time as this started to happen, “Accepted... you and your family are safe... bring them to the lake in the Tirisfal Glades... Soooooon...”

The elf breathed out a sigh of relief... we was safe as was everyone dear to him... just the last job to get done.. and he better do it at night.

No one liked the situation. They were in Tirisfal Glades, in the dead of the night with a deep mist surrounding him them. The twenty mercenaries looked at one another, each suspicious of what was going on, but their client seemed to know exactly where he was going, as if there was no mist for him. As if that wasn't enough, they were sure that they saw dark shapes moving near them in the mist, as if guiding them or making sure they were walking in the right direction.

The merchant didn't like this any more than the mercenaries did. For him, there indeed was no mist. He saw clearly and made the connection when the mercenaries complained about the mist. He was leading them to their death. He knew that now. But better them than his family, he knew that too...

The group froze when they reached the lake. A wraith was floating near a large unholy portal.
“And so you fulfilled your duty... you may leave now...” a cold whisper echoed around the group. The moment the whisper faded all of the mercenaries tensed, drawing their weapons at the same time. Fires erupted in the open palms of the mages and the group made a circle facing outwards, but one orc charged right at their traitorous client. The orc grunted as he was knocked back when his axe met the long jagged scythe of the wraith. The merchant looked at the scene in terror and quickly run through the portal, finding himself outside of Silvermoon... safe.

The group of mercenaries wasn't in the same position. The mist cleared suddenly, revealing a number of wraiths encircling them and watching. This wasn't how they imagined this night. They were completely surrounded and outnumber by opponents about whom they knew nothing about.
“Be calm,” the whisper echoed again a large purple-black pentagram with a circle around it appeared under their feet. The group was standing within the circle and thus they almost panicked, if it wasn't for their experience and training. Without a sound, the pentagram flashed and the group disappeared from the Tirisfal Glades

The air was stuffy and the light was dim. They found themselves in a large stone hall with recesses into the walls. They didn't relax a bit.

“Welcome to my home,” a voice spoke from afar and the darkness at the end of hall lit up to reveal a bone throne with an elf seated on it. He wasn't what the mercenaries expected. He was almost completely naked except for a pair of black linen pants. Even his feet were bare. He looked at them with cold blue eyes and a hint of a smile upon his lips. His revealed chest showed four scars which indicated fatal injuries, his skin pale as ice.

“This is where your lives end... this is where you fulfil the purpose of your life.... you will all die, but worry not, you are already in a crypt, your bodies will receive their place of resting.” Celtius motioned at the recesses in the walls when he finished speaking. The group's gaze was locked on the elf, every one of them fully ready for battle.

“So, shall we begin?” Celtius spoke from behind them and they quickly turned, realising that the elf on the throne disappeared. Without a weapon, he attacked. The mercenaries attacked with a desperation to survive, hacking, slashing and shooting at the elf, but no weapon could find its target. Fire spells shot across the room at him only to be stopped by a barrier when nearing him. Minutes later, all twenty of the mercenaries were beaten and bruised, breathing heavily and looking at the Provocateur with terrified eyes.

“Well that was fun. If you are done being pathetic, I shall proceed.” Celtius said with a smile. A ghoul came out of the shadows and handed Celtius his long dai-katana. He examined the blade as the dim light from the few torches reflected off of it.

“Time to finish this...” he muttered to himself and set to finishing off the helpless mercenaries. He killed in a weird ritualistic matter. Scaring some more before killing them, calming some and hurting others. After about ten minutes, all the mercenaries lay dead, slain in cold blood.

“And so it is finished..... The call is sent.. now to wait.” He muttered to himself again as he walked slowly back to the throne and sat down, leaning the dai-katana against the side of the throne.



Far north, deep in the wastes of Northrend, an elven death knight woke up. Her eyes were wide as she looked around herself. She was in a tent with a single candle burning. No one else was near her, she knew it. But she heard it. The call. The single word “Come” said it all. She knew where to go. He was still alive in some form and she knew she had to find him. In the one word, all in the information to do so was given to her... Tirisfal Glades.

(( Again, I like the story.. but I still don´t get it ))

(( don't worry.. in the next scene or the one after that, everything will be explained ))

The torches burned dimly as the death knight walked through the stone corridors of the crypt. She walked calmly and completely relaxed, the partial darkness apparently not bothering her at all. Her lips curved into a slight smile as she entered a wide hall which marked the end of her journey. She looked straight ahead of herself, right at the throne of bones situated on a higher platform at the other end of the hall. Celtius sat there, resting his chin on his right fist as he examined her. She was exactly what he expected, saronite plated armour, a tabard of the Ebon Blade, long dark hair... and the long sword that he gave her.

“Of all the places, I didn't expect to find you here... I guess things have changed a bit, haven't they?” She asked Celtius with a genuine smile on her face, but he remained silent. Then the wraiths started to appear around her. The light reflected off their scythes as they all charged and cut right through the elf. She only smiled, keeping her gaze fixed on Celtius.

“You have gotten really good with mind illusions, but I think we can skip this part.” she informed Celtius with a sweet tone.

“Very well...” he paused as the wraiths fell apart into shadows, “I take it that you know why you are here?”

“I hoped that I was wrong, but yes, I do. What happened to you, Celtius?” her smile disappeared as she looked into his indifferent blue eyes, “Are you really willing to kill me? Your only love and wife?”

“Love is an emotion.... emotions are weaknesses.... weaknesses are flaws.... a flawed servant is of no use. You are a chain that binds me to my past... to the painful past when everything was colourful and full of joy... shadows are my domain now, I don't need a reminder of my past to be walking around...”

“So you are just going to kill me coldly like this? Judging from that, I take it that the rest are all dead? Your father, brother and the rest of the Squad?” She asked as she slowly drawing her rune-blade.

“Indeed... you are the last one left. But worry not, I will not enslave you, like I enslaved the Squad in death... You will be granted eternal slumber in these chambers.. untouched for the rest of eternity. That is my last act as Celtius... when you fall into eternal peace, I will no longer be Celtius... and become purely Excessum. I have no need of a name which can be associated with my past easily...” he informed her calmly.

“You... enslaved them all? You.... MONSTER!” with a loud cry, she charged right at Celtius. Without hesitation, he lunged himself from his throne, drew his own dai-katana in mid-air and locked swords with the one he once called “love”. The room lit up suddenly and she became aware of twenty corpses lying around the room.

“That's right... kill a person in the precisely right moment when they are experiencing a certain emotion and their soul will scream as it leaves its body... it wasn't easy finding out how to use it... but I managed to put the word together from their screams... that is how you were summoned.” He explained calmly as their swords separated and met time and time again.

They got locked into a fight which could almost be called a dance, the moment one started to attack, the other already started to parry the blow. It was only to be expected since they trained together for decades. Their fighting style was almost identical and they both knew one another's moves without a flaw. But unlike when they were still living, this time they were using unholy magic to aid them too. Large unholy boils and bolts hit off the nearby walls as they were deflected time and time again.

Celtius had no intention of getting into a long contest of swordplay and mild magic. He jumped back, breaking up the dance and focused on a spell. An explosion of unholy magic occurred right in front of his opponent. It was strong, but she was stronger and she began to realise that he might be underestimating her. Once the dark explosion cleared, she locked blades with the Provocateur again.

“If you keep this up, you will end up being the one who will die tonight,” she told him with a slight grin. Then her own sentence was contradicted as Celtius' sword pierced through her left shoulder from behind her. She gazed the blade with a shock before looking up at what she was fighting. The illusion of an elf disappeared and a floating rune-blade remained existent for a moment before disappearing also.

“A dance requires a dancing rune-blade.” Celtius explained before behind her and pulled the sword out of her, jumping back right away. Without pausing for moment, she turned around to face him, holding her left shoulder.

“You are no longer capable of survival... I will show you why you can't defeat me... not here, of all the places. Your death is in inevitable.. Experience utter helplessness.” Having said that he sheathed his sword and closed his eyes, not moving at all. Taking advantage of the situation, the elf lifted her rune-blade and sent a large unholy coil at Celtius, but it stopped dead a few feet away from him and simply vanished.

“Enough of your petty magic tricks... if you want to have even the slightest chance of surviving, you will use your sword... or I will kill you very slowly.” he spoke while keeping his eyes closed. Knowing she had nothing to lose, the elf gripped her sword with two hands and charged right at the relaxed Provocateur. She slashed at him vertically, her left hand letting go in mid-swing, then her blade stopped short of her target. With slight disbelief, she saw her blade being caught between Celtius' fingers. Then she looked up into his eyes and noticed a difference, they were crimson, not blue.

His foot connected with her stomach, knocking her back but before she had a time to land, he spun her sword between his fingers until he held it between his index finger and thumb and then threw it right at her like a dart. The sword pierced her right shoulder, making her wince from the pain, losing sight of Celtius. And then it ended. A blade pierced the hollow of the back of her skull and killed her instantly.

Celtius caught her body as he withdrew his sword. He freed her own sword from her shoulder and carried her away into a small chamber which had a stone slab in the middle of it. Gently, he laid her down onto it and placed her sword into her hands. It was over. The last one that he referred to as a loved one, died. The last chain binding him to his past was cut and shattered.

“With you, Celtius died too.... all that is left.. is Excessum.”

Then he collapsed onto his knees, his eyes turning blue again, the extra boost from the Provocateur powers took its toll.

(( So we´re done? ))

(( one short after-math story that will be posted before I return to WoW as a "Ready for action in HoS" story ))

(( but yes, the little saga of stories is finished, there is nothing of any importance left really ))

(( I like how you managed ot keep up the "wtf is going on here?" suspence until the very last post. Good stuff, good stuff ))

(( Thank you ))

This event happened a few days after Celtius was last seen, so about 2 months ago. The stories that will follow are about both Celtius and Graan,

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"Damn ice..." Graan muttered but his voice was drowned by the loud engine of his chopper. He gripped the handles tightly as he tried to maintain control of his flying chopper while fighting the cold gales and hail-stone of the Storm Peaks. The orc swore to himself, why he decided to fly at a time like this was beyond him.

Lighting flashed across the sky and before the thunder clap had the time to reach K3 that lay far below, the chopper started to descend rapidly. The handles broke in Graan's hands as he wrestled with them a bit too strongly. The wind picked up in speed and hurled the chopper right against the nearby mountain. Graan barely managed to jump out from his seat. With a roar, he drew his large sword and, mostly by luck, stabbed it deep into a weak spot in the mountain rock.

He hung with both of his hand clamped tightly around the handle of his sword. With a wince he watched as the remains of the crashed chopper fell down the mountain-side. Quickly, he started to look around himself, eager to get some sure-footing, but he could find none. There was no jutting rock below him, nor was there anything to grab onto around him. His only hand-hold was his sword.

"Having fun?" A cold voice spoke from above him and he almost let go of his sword as he looked up to see a robed person standing casually with one foot on Graan's sword, leaning against the mountain-rock.

"How about you finally let yourself stand? You seem rather pathetic dangling like that." The person spoke again and nodded once at something below Graan. The orc sighed and relaxed his grip, letting go of the sword, but instead of falling, his feet met a platform of ice.

"Playing the hero again, are we, Celtius?" the orc asked with a grin as he sat down on the ice. The sound of rock breaking above him was shortly accompanied by a short shower of cold stone fragments and his sword landed blade-first onto the platform, which was immediatelly caught by the orc.

"It's not hero when looking over a bird that cannot fly that ventures into a storm," Celtius replied as he landed on the outer edge of the platform. The elf just stared down silently at the distant K3 settlement, his body uneffected by the harsh chill.

"Any plans on how you will get down?"

"Well.. I figured I would look into the kindness of your heart and, after I chisel some ice from it for my forehead, I would get you to somehow bring me down to K3 there. Well, that's the plan so far." Graan replied in a casual tone, the seriousness of his crash apparently forgotten.

"It leads to the foot of this mountain.. not to worry, no one will see you use it" the elf replied as he opened a shadow portal right in front of the orc.

"I owe ya," the orc concluded as he entered the portal and found himself eight feet above he foot of the mountain. He landed on the ground with a grunt and quickly got to his feet.

"That one sure has strange ways..." he muttered to himself as he started to make towards K3.

Celtius kept on looking down from where he stood until he could no longer see the orc.

"It will be his turn soon enough," he spoke to himself and closed his eyes, leaning forward and jumping off.

This occured a week after the crash in Storm Peaks

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The branch of the tree made no sound as the elf set foot on it. No wonder really, the tree itself is a couple dozen times bigger than the elf. He stood silently with his left hand touching the main trunk of the tree as he stood. His eyes calmly scanned the valley beneath him. A large valley, surrounded by trees and hills. Small fires and torches were lit in some places to keep away the dark which the inhabitants probably no longer welcome.

"Antu'rah," Celtius whispered to himself as he gazed upon he valley.

"Yep, the great hidden valley of the trolls... a charming place but damn was I tempted to set fire to it once..." A casual deep voice spoke from a lower branch and the elf turned his gaze to examine his companion. The 'honourable' Blademaster was spending his time sitting on a much larger branch with a keg of ale next to him, tied onto the tree so that it would not get away from him.

"And you say you saw him here?" the elf asked as he turned to look into the valley again. It was pitch black where the fires didn't burn, no wonder really, it was past midnight by then.

"A little forsaken runt, cheeky as a kodo's arse and his rotting flesh probably stinks that way too... though after that keg that I had before he got here, I can't really be sure 'bout the smell... but I think I can still match the description you gave me to his face... your Razeal was here at least once and boy was he defensive of the trolls," Graan replied, almost chuckling by the time he was finished.

"I see," the elf simply concluded, prefering to say the least amount possible unlike his companion.

"So.. we have 'nough evidence... why not do him away in some dark alley? Would save you some trouble and hell, you can always use the damn body," the tipsy orc inquired.

"Kill him, huh? I don't think that's the best option... besides, if I did it, it would have to be quick now... I would prefer to do it over a longer period, you know me." Celtius replied calmly, as if talking about the weather.

"Fair enough!" the orc replied grinned before emptying anothing tankard and filling it from the keg right away.

"So, you come here often then?"

"Yeah well... every once and again I come here, empty a keg or two while I look over the pansy trolls as they sleep. Life's great." Graan replied, once again washing the words down with ale.

The elf just nodded without saying a word. They both knew why the orc was there, but neither cared to say it out-loud. The two men just sat quietly, the only sound was made as Graan finished the keg off. When the sun rose, only the birds were left to greet it.

This scene occured two weeks after Graan spoke with Celtius above Antu'rah. While this scene does not include Celtius, it is partially about him and therefore I included it here as well.

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The blood elf grunted as he was knocked off his feet once again and soil filled his wounds. He looked at his opponent with one eye as the other was covered with blood that flowed from an open wound on his forehead. The orc stood still, almost casually, his large sword lowered and his armour almost free from dirt. Why can’t I land any more hits on him!?

The orc grinned and looked around himself, counting the amount of spears that were scattered around the little forest clearing in which they fought. He stabbed his sword into the ground and picked up a spear from the ground, turning his back to the elf as he did so. The elf saw this as an opportunity and quickly got to his feet, charging at the orc right away. Before either of his two sword had time to connect with the green flesh, stunning pain erupted in the elf’s stomach as the butt of the spear was rammed into it.

The orc turned around quickly, wasting no time, grabbed the collar of the elf’s leather armour and threw the elf at a nearby tree. The elf’s feet barely managed to touch the ground before the same spear pierced his left shoulder and thus pinned the elf to the tree. He was given no time to recover as the orc hurled another of the spears into the elf’s other shoulder and then picked up two of the remaining spears, ramming them through the elf’s pelvis, each above a leg.

The elf screamed with pain as the orc did that. He could no longer resist, nor move any of his limbs effectively. He gave up with struggling and looked at the orc.

“You will pay for what you’ve done,” he declared fiercely.

“Will I? And who will make me pay, eh? You?” the orc mocked his opponent.

“Did you truly think that I was alone? That I... that I risked everything by fighting you alone? There are others.... Your actions.. cannot be forgiven you... you beast, monster!” the elf declared once again, his eyes filled with hatred as he looked at the orc.

“’Your actions cannot be forgiven’... do you truly believe that? Not many know, and no one would believe you, of all the people. An elf that was unable to achieve his dream and yet he clings onto fell with the desperation of a drowning man. No one who can touch me would believe you. And besides, even if they did, I doubt that anyone would care about a bunch of filth and a few elves.” The orc replied through the monologue.

“Yeah... no one would believe me... but my bother... he will stop you if all else fails... he isn’t lost yet... you haven’t destroyed him completely!” the elf shouted the last sentence as if it would therefore be more believable.

“Ah your brother... Celtius. He was a good puppet. A paladin lost to hatred and despair. He tried to regain his life I believe... tried to be all heart’n’flowers... was he always such an idiot?” the orc paused, as if expecting the elf to reply but continued after a moment of silence, “That hatred was too good to ignore. Once I heard his full story it wasn’t hard to do as I pleased with him... and look what I shaped him into! A perfect soldier. His loyalty is unwavering. His resolve frightening. And with Magnark’s extra touch, he became more... a Throne Provocateur! Yes, he is my masterpiece... a loyal dog will never stand up against his master.”

“Celtius will see the truth... he will kill you... and if he won’t... then the man who has the most reasons to kill you will... I found Hor--,” the elf was suddenly cut off as the orc rammed his gloved-fist into the elf’s stomach, knocking out his breath.

“Enough of your wishful thinking, Bladakan... it is over,” the orc concluded as he patted the elf on a shoulder and secured a belt on the elf’s torso. Bladakan started to struggle immediately but he was too weak to do anything in his state. The orc started whistling as he strolled away, only pausing to take out a remote-trigger which he pressed without hesitation. Sunlight reflected off the orc’s bald head as the explosion disturbed the forest in the Grizzly Hills. Casually, he took out a toy-sized mechano-hog and laid it in front of him, enlargening it by pressing a button on his belt. Birds flew off as GraanShaKuun rode through the forest on his loud hog.

Celtius stood alone on the coast of the Tirisfal Glades, a part of him enjoying the peace. He watched as the sun slowly set over the horizon, highlighting the ocean for some time before fully disappearing. Even in total darkness, the Provocateur continued to gaze out over the ocean, as if waiting for something.

The elf just stood there, motionless for two hours before a slight sound behind him forced him to focus on his surroundings. He slowly turned around, his eyes searching for the source of the sound but he was alone. It wasn't long before the sound reached him again, a silent whisper which could not be understood. Slowly, the whispers became louder and completely surrounded him.

Sighing, Celtius closed his eyes and wove dark tendrils of unholy magic around his body. The tendrils wrapped themselves around him like snakes until he was fully covered. When the tendrils disappeared, the elf was no where in sight. Celtius opened his eyes and gazed on the same part of Tirisfal Glades as before, not having moved an inch, but the scene before him was filled with mist and shadows, while shades moved about.

"Glad to see you, brother," a voice spoke out on Celtius' right and he turned to look at the spirit of a blood elf.

"Bladakan, finally found your way into the Realm of Shadows? Shame that it was a one-way ticket," the Provocateur calmly replied.

"Indeed, I have your 'master' to thank for that," Bladakan replied bitterly.

"Master?" Celtius asked while raising an eyebrow.

"You and I need to talk, my brother. There is much you need to know and little of it you will believe, especially when coming from me, but hear me out... this may be our last chance," Bladakan spoke calmly but with a pleading expression, his eyes locked with Celtius'.

The Provocateur slightly narrowed his eyes in confusion but nodded.

Celtius rode on his charger though the Grizzle hills. The words spoken by his brother still hung heavily in his mind. It sounded insane, outrageous, but there was no doubting the words. It sounded accurate and strangely enough, he felt compelled to fully trust his brother for the first time in years. He knew that the orc was here, it was just a matter of time to find him.

Suddenly, an explosion disturbed the local tranquility. There was no doubting it, his target just showed his position. He dismissed his steed right away, causing it to fall apart into tendrils of shadow which disappeared presently. He sped across the nearby forest on foot as fast as he could. It only took him a bit over a minute to reach his destination.

The scene before him was that of a burning wreck from a wagon, Horde make, with two orcs near it. One was on the ground, the destruction around him indicating that the explosion took place beneath him, that and the obvious lack of limbs from knees down. His armour may once have been heavy plated, but now it was a torn and shredded wreck. The orc himself had a clear black taint to his skin and his eyes spoke of his undead state. The runeblade at his side indicated that he is a death knight. The description matched perfectly. So that was Graan's brother, Hortak.

The other orc, mostly due to his lighter armour, a belt full of explosives, long sword and, especially, his bald head, was easily recognised. GraanShaKuun. Graan was standing over Hortak, apparently pleased with himself. The orc's grin widened and he lifted his sword, obviously intending to slash down and kill his brother. That's when Celtius made his move. His eys flashed red as he used his Provocateur power boost to speed across the clearing and catch the orc's wrist, stopping his arm before he had a chance to carry out the killing blow. The bewildered orc turned his head and locked gazes with Celtius.

There was a moment for total silence, even Hortak stopped shaking as if petrified from the sight. All of the malice that radiated from Graan during their fight disappeared the moment the elf interfered. Now he could see hints of uncertainty.

And that's when the dance began. Celtius punched out at Graan's head with his free hand, forcing the orc to bend backwards to dodge it while trying to break free from the elf's grip. To his surprise, the elf suddenly pulled on the orc's wrist and then let go, leaving the orc wide open for an attack which came in the form of a kick in the chest. With a heavy grunt, Graan was knocked off his feet. He wasted no time when he fell, getting to his feet as soon as his body has dealt with the shock of the impact.

There was a cold hatred in Celtius' face that Graan never saw before, but then again, then orc would have been surprised to see any emotion in his face at all.

"So what's this about then, Celtius?" Graan was cautiously.

"Don't get me wrong, I am not after a senseless revenge like that big guy there or like my brother.... but as you know, in my eyes, loyalty means everything... and betray is met with death. What you did was not in line with Horde thinking," Celtius spoke slowly with coldness that could freeze an ocean while closing his right hand around the handle of his sword.

Graan barely managed to raise his sword just in time to parry the unsheath attack that Celtius executed. Then the elf started to spin his sword and attack in wide arcs, slashes, stabs and all seemingly random moves, but each executed with great speed. The orc was forced into defensive once again, but this time, his speed could not out-do his oponent, his strength could not over-power his oponent. And if his physical capabilities could not do the trick then...

Celtius slashed upwards with excess strength, tendrils of unholy energies twisted around his arm and sword as he did so and his eyes flashed red just when their swords met. The raw power behind the attack was strong enough to knock Graan backwards more than 5 yards. But this played perfectly into Graan's hands. Just as he was flung back, he reached into his belt and let go a small black metal ball. He didn't even have time to land before the explosion ripped through the air.

The orc grinned to himself as he got on his feet and looked at the large cloud of earth and dirt that was flung up by the explosion. The bomb exploded right in front of the elf.

"I am.. disappointed," Celtius spoke from within the cloud, freezing blood in Graan's veins. And then the dirt started to settle and what walked out of it was not what was engulfed in it. The robed elf changed. Instead of a robe, a large and seemingly heavy armour covered his body. Skulls and other morbid designs adorned every possible place on the armour. The helmet looked more like a hood but there was something more within the shadows that it created, but Graan's eyes were captured by the pure red colour of his glowing eyes.

The elf extended his free left hand towards Graan and a bolt of shadow magic shot towards the orc. He dodged by diving to the left, rolling as he landed, getting on one of his knees almost instantly. But that was as far as he was allowed to go. A large scythe blade was buried between his neck and shoulder before being ripped out through the collar bone. Naturally, the pain enraged Graan who shot to his feet and started attacking the elf. Both of their combat styles changed dramatically. The orc randomly switched between using both of his hands and one of his hands to hold the sword while the elf had a completely new weapon, a scythe, which changed his combat style completely.

Hortak had a hard time keeping up with their movements. The elf appeared to be blurring, despite the heavy armour, but the orc seemed to be able to keep up. Up to a point. Graan, after all, had one major disadvantage, his was still alive, needing air to survive. His heavy breathing started to slow him down, his body was wearing, this was his second fight today after all. He was beginning to leave openings and ignoring most of the elf's openings. Celtius didn't cut him through these, he used his fists and feet to punish Graan for his exhaution.

With a strong kick, the elf knocked Graan off his feet and against a tree. The orc leaned against the tree, the adrenaline from the anger fading and the pain was starting to kick in. The elf didn't attack, instead, the colour of his eyes slowly changed from red back to blue and the armour that he wore almost evaporated off his skin, leaving behind the robe that he wore before. He used a lot of his Provocateur powers and it already cost him too much. There was no outer sign of it, but the power boost took a big toll on him. He could feel his unholy powers as if they were far away, his eyesight sometimes blurred out but it served its purpose.

The moment of silence dominated the 'battlefield' as the two oponents locked gazes.

Graan cursed in his head over and over again as he locked gazes with his opponent. He couldn't move his left arm properly anymore, the large ripped wound caused too much pain and he guessed that a lot of the important muscles and nerves got cut. Shakily he pushed himself and by leaning against the tree he managed to get to his feet.

Celtius struggled to focus himself on the reality. He could barely focus his sight, he could feel his powers spiking and vanishing randomly. With great effort, he finally focused on Graan and took a decisive step forward but the moment his foot touched the ground, his knee gave way beneath him and he fell to his other knee. Have I gone that far already?he thought to himself. He pushed himself to his feet and locked gazes with the orc again. They were both near their limit but the fight wasn't over yet.

The elf locked his jaw and charged forward, not running in a completely straight line. Seeing the impending attack, Graan clumsily and slowly dodged to his right. The elf's attack wasn't very accurate and he aimed off to the side from which Graan dodged, but luckily for him, the orc could not control his left arm and the elf's blade sliced through the orc's upper arm. Graan stumbled from the unsuccessful dodge and tried to hold his bleeding stump while not letting go of his sword. The elf did not only slice through the arm but into the tree as well and his momentum causing him to crash into the tree.

Graan stabbed his sword into the ground in front of him as Celtius took a stumbling step towards him. To the elf's surprise, the orc pulled out a trigger from an inner pocket from his remaining chest armour. Celtius only had time to realise that the orc no longer had his belt on before Graan squeezed the trigger. All of the orc's explosives exploded at once. Even though he was a good distance from it, the force of the explosion knocked him off his feet. Hortak watched from the distance as their last hope was engulfed in the flames. With horror and hatred he gazed upon his brother who was beginning to laugh. But Hortak couldn' move, his body too was destroyed, all he could do was wait for Graan to end it.

Then light reflected off something high in the sky. Graan barely noticed it but Hortak's eyes widened with surprise. Celtius' sword span through the air and aimed directly at the laying Graan. He noticed too late and could not react. The sword pierced his chest, ripping his important arteries around his heart. All he could manage was a surprised wheeze and he became still. Fully and completely still. Slowly, Hortak tore his gaze from the corpse of his brother and looked at the spot where the explosion took place. As the dirt settled, a grin slowly spread on Hortak's face. A shadow portal slowly vanished from within the flying dirt.

"The bastard... he reacted so quickly," Hortak muttered to himself and stopped struggling, deciding to remain still.

On a far cliff near the Frozen Sea, Celtius lay, gazing over the sea and with smile on his face. The red glow in his eyes was so faint that it was barely red.

"I... reached my limit.... for you..." he trailed off as he muttered to himself and hung his head, appearing completely dead from afar.

Celtius slowly walked through the dusty stone corridor. The smell of death and decay dominated whatever was left of the air in that crypt. His eyes took in every detail of his surrounding, every notch in the walls, every bloody stain. He walked slowly, his eyes wide open as if seeing everything for the first time. Curiously, he took off his right glove and simply dropped it, letting his hand trail along the wall, feeling its texture.

His long robe trailed behind him, sweeping the dusty ground until it suddenly got caught on something. Celtius stopped and looked down at the destroyed piece of armour that tore a hole in his robe. Sighing, he took off he robe and let it drop as well. The elf continued to walk on, slowly discarding more of his tattered clothes until only his black pants remained.

"Quite a display... though I am not interested," a raspy voice spoke from behind Celtius. The elf didn't turn, instead he just grinned slightly to himself and continued forward until he entered into a wider hall. Without pausing in stride, he went over to a large wardrobe and immediatelly opened it. A forsaken dressed in black and red robes emerged from the corridor as Celtius drew his new-found sword and begun to cut something inside the wardrobe.

"So first you try strip-tease and now you have a fashion attack... were you hit in the head hard during that fight?" the forsaken asked in an amused tone. The elf didn't respond, instead he undid the catch that held the scabard of his sword and let it drop along with his sword. The forsaken theatrically sighed and turned away while Celtius began to change clothes, muttering about it being his luck that Celtius was male.

"Not a fashion attack... more like a change of style... both in clothes and... 'life'," the elf replied slowly as he walked into the middle of the hall. The forsaken turned around and raised an eyebrow as he looked at Celtius. The dark and threatening robes were gone. Celtius wore a more casual pair of pants, along with a trench-coat and shirt that both shared one fact, their sleeves were cut off. Leather gloves and bracers adorned his hands and wrists like before, but the rest of his arms remained uncovered. His sword was sheathed and hung at the back of his waist.

Celtius just stared at the bone throne at the far end of the hall, not bothering to put on his hood just yet.

"It's time, my friend," he muttered just loud enough for the forsaken to hear. The forsaken just nodded and disappeared into another corridor. Celtius didn't waste time. He immediately started to focus, dark energies enveloping his body and slowly spreading to the ground. By the time the forsaken returned, the hall floor was completely covered by corpses, most of which he resognised immediately.

"So you really are serious," the forsaken concluded and turned away, sighing. Celtius slowly walked up to him and patted him friendly on the shoulder as he walked past. The forsaken nodded slowly and followed the elf out through the corridors of the crypt. Celtius only stopped when they reached the entrance door, holding it open for the forsaken and shutting it tight behind him.

The pair walked through the night until they were at a bow's shooting distance from the crypt's entrance. The forsaken looked at Celtius who simply nodded, keeping his gaze locked on the crypt. The forsaken set down the two large bags he was carrying and rummaged through one. After a minute of rummaging, he took out a large detonator and handed it to the elf.

"You do it, I just rented the premises," the forsaken explained as he closed up the bags and stood up. Celtius smiled sadly at his friend and squeezed the trigger on the detonator. The ground shook slightly as the crypt's stone doors broke open and flew out into the field surrounding them. Immediately the entrance tunnel caved in as the walls that supported it weakened and gave way.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Arakatus," Celtius said to the forsaken's surprise, "and sorry about all the equipment that you left behind, but I guess you could see this coming."

"Indeed I did, it was obvious in the way you acted when you left.. I expected to either stumble upon your corpse sometime in the near future or this," Arakatus replied, nodding.

"I see... then this is where we part ways.. but the offer is still up," Celtius concluded his part and immediately summoned his charger.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I will do some lone-wolf work for a while.... good luck to you, Excessum... just be careful not to make the same mistake," Arakatus also concluded and picked up his bags, already walking away.

Celtius nodded and swiftly mounted his charger. He took one last look at what he called 'home' for years and took off in the opposite direction. His mind was silent, all traces of his mental connection were silenced. Unless someone would find the crystal, he will be free.

"Let's see how long that lasts," he muttered to himself and rode ou into the night.

The hall was empty and dark. A thick mist dominated the air, making it difficult to move properly. The only area which was different in this vast hall, whose ceiling and walls were too far to be seen, was the very centre. While light eminated from above and shined down in a circular shape, only a small bit smaller in diameter than the Throne Room in the ruins above the Undercity. Three thrones stood in this light, the distances between each throne remaining identical, forming a perfect equilateral triangle.

The thrones varied greatly. One throne was made of cold stone and bones. Skulls adorned every bend and curve, easily putting to shame even the darkest of thrones. On this throne, a figure covered in a robe of tangible darkness sat. A very long katana was embedded into the ground next to it.

The second throne was considerably different, though the theme appeared similar. It was made of pure ice. Very intricate designs, mostly showing death and different symbols for it, adorrned every inch of the throne. On it, sat an ice statue of a slim elf, obviously depicting Celtius, in nothing but a pair of pants and a sleeve-less shirt. Two large but one-handed swords were embedded into the ground on either side of him.

The last throne was the odd one out. A throne of holiness and light. At a mere sight, one would be filled with joy and the feeling of security. A beautiful throne worth looking it. On it, sat a man clad in heavy armour which shines in the light and radiates a holy aura. A large two handed broadsword is embedded into the ground on his right.

Time. Dark Lord. Servitute. Echoes spread out across the hall.

"Maybe so. Your loyalty is worthy. Remain loyal to logic. Its clarity must guide us." A cold voice radiated out from the icy statue.

"Serving the Darkness! We slaughter innocents and act arrogant! This isn't what we set out to do!" The paladin exclaimed.

Change. Whispers again echo throughout the hall, only the one word being audible.

"It is logical," the ice statue agreed.

"The reign has lasted long enough! For the sake of the goodness left, it is necessary!" the paladin exclaimed in agreement.

The three figures looked at each other, their minds still keeping the argument that took place a small while ago. As one they shot up from their thrones, grabbing their weapons and clashing in the dead centre of the triangle.

Somewhere in the darkness of an ancient tomb, Celtius Excessum lay motionless as his mind became a battleground.

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Two days after Celtius' last mission, Archnazg would feel multiple presences instead of Celtius' presence. A mere moment later, all presences, including Celtius' would disappear as the safety mechanism would trigger which cuts off a Provocateur in case of the danger of being corrupted or destroyed, thus preventing the danger of other Provocateurs being damaged or information leeking.

(( Well.. seeing as I am on a forced, indefinite break from WoW, I shall start writing up the stories of what happened with Celtius during the 4-5 month break that I was on since before the summer. It will kinda explain why Graan is alive too so I will kill two birds with one stone ))