Fight Club: Sermon in the Sands >>

A wraith glided through the streets of Skell heading toward the Necroforge District. No one seemed to pay it any mind as it flitted from shadow to shadow and passed through walls it didn’t care to go around. It halted at an iron-bound door, the building to which the portal was attached belching smoke and caustic fumes from stacks atop the roof. The wraith paused for a moment before passing through the door and into the nightmare that lay beyond.

The chamber was a gruesome scene of mutilation and engineering, but in Skell this was often the norm. Bonejack fragments and corpses were stacked like cordwood creating an odd juxtaposition between the mad mind that ran the place and the organization that same mind conferred on this laboratory. A scuttling sound came from behind a neat pile of rotting flesh and a withered, lurching figure made its way toward the wraith.

“Yesssh, I shee you’ve finally arrived,” the thrall slurred. It slurped as it spoke and its mechano-eyes rolled in its bare skull.

The wraith stepped forward and materialized from the ether. As the ghost solidified, it drew an envelope from within its longcoat and the paper crackled as it became whole once again. The wraith’s face, which now looked no different than any other human man’s, softened. The eyes blinked.

“Where is your master, skarlock? Revanov was to meet me here at precisely this time. I am on a schedule. I thought your Lich would understand that.” The wraith sneered at the undead servant wobbling before him. It had power, certainly, but without its master near it was no threat.

The skarlock extended a hand and the envelope flew through the air into its bony grasp. “My mashter regretsh that he cannot be here to parlay with you. He hash inshtructed me to deliver your meshage unto him. Have no fear, wraith. Your wordsh will reach the Lord Toruk shoon enough.”

“See that they do, Memphon. My mission is of utmost importance.” The wraith glanced around the sickening room with a blank expression and slowly lost his tangible form. It turned and silently exited through the door.

Memphon’s eyes rolled wildly in its head as it gently tore open the envelope to reveal the parchment within. A pair of skeletal fingers withdrew the note and unfolded the paper.  It read:

To the Great Liaison of the Dragon, I send you this message. I trust our Great Lord will hear this in a timely matter as He deems my mission of high import.

I have begun preparations to enter the mainland and infiltrate the Protectorate of Menoth. There I will follow your instructions to gather information on the movements of the warcaster Mikael Kreoss and his army which even now moves to war. I assure you, Oh Most High One, I will not fail. Even at their most wary they will not be able to discern my physical form from that of their own. Their secrets will be Yours.

My first report will arrive shortly and should consist of their core warjack force and its strength. Their fire cannot outlast that of Yours, Lord Toruk. Menoth will burn in Your glory.

Loyally,
Lazarus Fugue