((This is an open rp thread for anyone participating in the ongoing Mok'gun story arc. Originally posted on old forums 12/7/11))

Ank’gra brought her war wolf to a sudden halt, blinking her eyes in disbelief. Aerial reconnaissance had suggested an unnaturally dense tree growth just south of the Great Fissure, and she’d ridden out today to investigate first hand for the Ha’gosh. But in no way was she prepared for what she saw before her.

The land itself heaved and the trees groaned audibly as their bark stretched and grew at an impossibly accelerated rate. Ank’gra bent down and placed a hand on the earth; listening to its chaotic ranting, she closed her eyes and attempted to make sense of the messages, but the emotions were too disjointed.

Pain… Bubblingangerhurt…. Smell… Yellowchokedust….

Ank’gra jerked her hand away as the anguish threatened to overwhelm her.

“Earth spirits!” she called out. “Your messages are important, but I cannot hear them all at once!”

She paused to take a cleansing breath and find the right words to ease the pain they felt and aid the earth spirits in conveying their message.

“I feel your agony and would seek to end it. But I need for you to speak slowly so that I may understand how to help.”

Ank’gra shook her head back and forth as if attempting to clear the cacophony simply by shaking it out. The frenzied activity quieted slightly at her words, but not enough for her to understand the source of the upheaval. She bent down, taking a handful of dirt, which she held tightly in her palm, trying to distill some clarity by connecting with just a small amount of earth.

The message was still scrambled and incoherent, as if the elements themselves had lost the ability to communicate. Ank’gra steadied herself as she considered the best course of action. She pulled free a softened pelt hanging from her waistband and poured the earth into its center, tying the small bundle with a length of sinew. The Ha’gosh needed to analyze the soil, and perhaps with some time and distance from this place, the troubled earth spirits could relearn the language necessary to communicate with the shaman.

Xibalbah had been observing the Overgrowth, as they’d begun to call it, for a week now, attempting to determine the source of the accelerated growth. She had been running tests on the soil samples Ank’gra had brought her, but so far they had yielded little information about the mutations. She had sent to Orgrimmar for some new reagents, and in a fit of frustration at the delay found herself once again prowling the Overgrowth for any little bit of information she might have missed.

The plants were unusually aggressive here, refusing to heed Xibalbah’s attempts to harness or direct their energies. Their connection with the Emerald Dream, the source of her druidic magic, had been severed somehow or corrupted to such a degree that it was no longer recognizable. This day alone she had destroyed several lashers and rampant vines, along with several mutated raptors and vipers. It pained Xibalbah to put her power to such destruction, but there was little choice, and it reaffirmed for her the pressing need to gather the Mok’gun here as a group, with the hope that their combined efforts could beat back the spread of this corruption.

***************

The air hung dank and heavy in the mouth of the caverns, a strange perfume wafting on the undercurrent. Xibalbah paused and sniffed, still unable to place the scent though it stirred something deep within her memory.

Grymhorn, ever her stalwart companion these days, stood ready to call upon An’she and the Light. Xibalbah smiled, grateful for his solid, grounding presence. Grym had brought her through tough times, serving as an anchor for the Mok’gun in her absence and to the physical world for Xibalbah both times she battled the Nightmare. Grymhorn, she thought to herself, had an old soul and the Earth Mother truly blessed him. Indeed, whatever they found today, the team that stood with Xibalbah could handle it, she was sure of that.

As they moved deeper into the earth, more and more of the strange overgrowth they’d seen at the surface enveloped them. Deviate raptors, sickening ooze, and toxic pollen beset the small group from all sides as they fought their way throught the corruption, seeking its source. Here and there amidst the unnatural vines and foliage sat remnants of camp fires and storage crates, as if someone had come to these caverns with a mission.

Pushing forward Xibalbah soon found herself face to face with a tauren druid who called himself Muyoh. He told a story of Naralex, a night elf determined to revive the Barrens by tapping into the magic of the Emerald Dream itself, but his experiments had gone terribly wrong.

“Who be dis Naralex ta be messin’ wit’ da Dream magic in dis place?” Xibalbah demanded. “Dat be dangerous voodoo ta be tryin’ ta work! Can’t ya see dis be an abomination?” she chastised, gesturing at the caverns all around them.

Muyoh could only nod sadly at the Ha’gosh’s words. “It is as you say.”

“The master is caught in the Dream, and it is as if his very nightmares burst forth in this place. Many of his disciples have become corrupted by the force of these nightmares, driven mad by the visions and enslaved to the power they wield. I have done all I can alone. But I fear they no longer confine their corrupt magics to these caverns.”

Muyoh paused, shaking his great tauren horns back and forth, but Xibalbah pressed him to continue.

“Others I have seen entering these caves with crates and tools. I do not know what they are up to, but they must be stopped, and the ‘Fanglords,’ as they have taken to calling themselves, must be destroyed.”

Xibalbah glanced back at Grymhorn, who put his hand to his mace and nodded.

“You be sayin’ dese Fanglords have some connection wit’ da nightmares den?” Xibalbah questioned. Muyoh again nodded, his brow knit into a deep frown.

“They keep my master sleeping so they may continue to siphon the power of his dreams. As long as they live…” Muyoh gestured to the tunnels behind him, “my master cannot wake and these caverns will continue to spread their corruption to all of Kalimdor, just as you have seen happening on the surface.”

Xibalbah’s mouth set in a grim line, tusks jutting forward in determination.

“Grin!” she called, “We seem ta have found da source we been seekin’. Now it be time ta put an end ta dis abomination of da Dream! Dis Naralex, he be playin’ wit’ dangerous voodoo, mon. He be makin’ himself a bridge between da Dream place an’ da wakin’ world. As long as he sleeps, dis nightmare corruption reaches out wit’ its shadowy tentacles, turnin’ da very life of Azeroth against itself. We must not let dis continue! We must not let it spread!”

Grymhorn wrote:

Dawn was due to break as Grymhorn arose from his slumber. He peered around the barrack at his brothers in arms. His mind un-sure of what was to come or how he could assist Xibalbah in dealing with the Nightmare before them. He stood awkwardly as the pain in his knees started to hinder him, he wasn’t getting any younger and Battle was taking its toll, but he could not rest, not at this time.

He buckled his Armor and picked up his mace and shield and headed into the morning darkness. He looked to the Sky, An’she had not awakened and a slight smile rose on his face. He crossed the yard of the Hold and stopped at the bonfire, he wrapped his hand in leather scraps and pulled some rocks out of the base of the fire where he had placed them the night before and scooped them into a heavy leather bag.

As he made his way towards the Stable, his eyes scanned the Yard, the Grot holes dotted against the wall. Many grots had joined as of late, this was indeed a good sign since leaving the swamp the Blacktooth’s numbers had grown, slowly they would rebuild he thought, as he looked at the grots nestled he also thought how many would fall before the nightmare was over.

The Worg snarled as Grym saddled the beast. He stroked its main and soothed it, yes it’s early but An’she rises soon and so must we. Grymhorn Mounted and rode out of the Hold and into the Barrens and headed north.

Edging his Worg to speed, Grymhorn made good time for soon he was at the footsteps of the Mountains just south of the Overgrowth. He looked up at the sky, still dark and under the influence of Mu’sha but An’she would soon take hold with this he spurred his mount on and made his way up to the highest crest of the Mountain.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain he dismounted and looked out towards the overgrowth. “Answers” he said as he tied the reins around a large rock. He walked across to the Domed Structure he had made the previous day, lifting the heavy flap he entered and placed the rocks in the middle before turning back to the entrance.

He knelt and watched as An’she rose. He closed his eyes. “An’she…. guide us” he then slipped back into the Structure and closed the Flap.

Days pass…………

A post lost in the forum migration:

It had been more than a week since the Mok’gun had ventured into the Wailing Caverns, and Xibalbah still had not received the test results back from the Orgrimmar alchemy labs. She was growing frustrated and impatient. At least Pikki had some good news for her: she had led a small team into the caverns with goblin flame throwers, cleansing them of all spores, and then smoke bombed the Overgrowth. But it seemed the good news ended there.

Apparently Naralex had proven both uncooperative and elusive, much to Xi’s consternation. He had refused to list to reason—even with the unique “persuasion” at which the First Blade excelled. His determination to continue with his experiments vexed Xibalbah beyond words, and she cursed under her breath. “His arrogance be so typical of his race!” she fumed to no one in particular.

To make matters worse, reports were indicating respawns of the nightmare growth, presumably oozing forth from the fissures left by Deathwing’s sundering of the Barrens, and they still knew little about the expedition equipment they’d found strewn throughout the caverns. The markings had not been Darnassian, though that might have been expected. Instead they seemed to point to some unknown faction, which troubled Xibalbah greatly. Naralex may have been the catalyst for the Barren’s Overgrowth and the bridge for the nightmare’s corruption to reach into the physical realm, but clearly the source of this dark magic was much, much larger than a single night elf.

Xibalbah once more found herself cursing Yelmak’s incompetence, as a wyvern descended from the sky bearing Orgrimmar’s banner, and her face broke into a tusked smile. The courier spoke briefly to Crador, the wyvern master, who gestured in Xibalbah’s direction, and her stomach gave a small leap.

“Ha’gosh?” the courier inquired, and when Xibalbah nodded, he handed her a scrollcase, bearing the seal of Orgrimmar’s alchemy labs. She thanked him profusely, granting him the blessing of the wild for safe, swift travel before prying open the seal, eager to see the contents. Unrolling the scroll, Xibalbah squinted as she scanned the document for the crucial bit of information for which she’d been waiting. As her eyes alighted upon it, her face turned to a deep scowl. “Da loa protect us all!” she gasped.