Chapter 3

Utter Devotion

As Gerita descended the cold stone stairs, she felt a pang of reluctance shoot through her mid section. Though she had sworn her allegiance and utter devotion to the Prophet, something inside her was urging her to turn back and forget everything that had happened since that day in the Ghostlands. But then his words would come back to her, echoing in the soft, mesmerizing tone of his powerful voice.

What can you find here, Gerita? Wealth? Maybe. Power? Perhaps. But why take that chance, a very slim one, when I am offering you both? Take my hand, Gerita, and follow me to places where wealth and power will fall at your feet as the autumn leaves do in Quel'thalas. Come with me, and share knowledges forbidden to us all because of their simple pleasures: truth. It is something your people and its allies and enemies will never give you to, for fear of you rising to your full potential. But come with me, help me, and you shall reach the zenith of being.

"Demi-god," she whispered softly. Her breath plumed in a white cloud of frost before her. It was soon lost as she descended into the darkness of the crypt.

For a brief moment she could not see her hand before her face. But the enveloping darkness gave way to a dimly-lit room, presumably the antechamber. The room had four exits, including the one she had just come from; the other three lead deeper into the earth. A pair of figures stood resolute on the other side of the room, their features covered by plain brown robes. Both were moderately tall, but each was unique in their own way. The one on her left had a pair of oddly-placed bumps in the hood, perhaps concealing ears of elongated proportions. An Elf. The other was shorter, but had broader shoulders and paler skin. Human.

The Prophet has brought multiple cultures under his wing, she thought.

She entered a burial chamber. Around her, row upon row of sarcophigi sat quietly in eternal silence. Though the room was covered in years of dust, a path had been worn through down the center of the chamber, where several others had taken the path she was now. More of His followers, no doubt. She felt a hint of jealousy play through her mind. She wanted to be His most devout, His favorite. She would do whatever it took to prove to Him she was.

She crossed into a room that was much wider, and quite out of place. The floors had been cleared of the dead, replaced with tables littered with parchment and seemingly domestic furnishings. Most of the wall-graves had been cleared out as well, turned into makeshift bookshelves. The room was lit by a number of torches, much more so than the others. Several other devouts like herself roamed about, scribing texts and scanning pages. All for His cause. She would feel under-appreciated had she been instructed to join them. But she wasn't. Her duties lie elsewhere.

She continued on, pushing past a small group of brown-robed acolytes locked in deep conversation. At the other end of the room, there was yet another entryway. As she passed through, she realized the room was much darker in contrast to the study chamber. In fact, there was only a single source of light in the room, produced by a tray of skulls that lay in a fire pit at the center of the room. A green flame burned weakly at its center, playing an eerie strobing light across the room. As she examined the fire, it grew stronger, and soon the flames were nearly at head level. That was when she saw the figure that stood behind the fire, concealed by the darkness earlier.

She fell to her knees more from them giving way then her commanding them to . She suddenly felt very weak. She felt insignificant, a tiny insect crawling onto the surface for the first time. An insect that, upon its emergence, layed eyes upon a Titan. That was how He made her feel. And sickeningly, she relished the sensation of powerlessness. It goaded her to please even more. And when He turned to look upon her, she felt it was her only choice.

He stood a head taller than her. His broad, lean frame was encased in midnight blue armor, its edges picked out in shining gold. Ethereal red smoke billowed out from dragon-shaped mouths on his shoulder pads, and a blood red cape hung down to his feet, inches from the floor. They were fastened to his chest plate by a pair of clasps brring a single red eye that seemed to direct its gaze nowhere and everywhere at once. She returned their unsettling stare for a moment before humbly directing her attention to His own sinister countenance. His skin appeared to have no true color as it changed in a dreamcoat of reds, blues, greens, and yellows. Amidst the chameleon appearance of his flesh, his eyes were the only part that held their true color, a powerful green that matched the fire burning in the center of the room.

"My father, my savior, my Prophet. I have come as you requested," she said, finally finding the words that lodged in her throat as she averted her gaze to the cold, dead floor.

She saw him move closer out of the corner of her eye, catching a quick, blurred movement behind him. She risked a look, and saw that it was his tail, as everchanging as the rest of him was. His hooved feet were so close, she could have kissed them. But those were not His orders, and she dare not defy His will.

"Rise, my child," his voice was deep and resonating, seeming to emerge from the walls, ceiling, and floor all at once. She nodded, coming to an awkward standing position in front of him. Her head remained lowered, until he brought up a clawed hand and lifted her chin upward. Without choice, she stared into his ghastly eyes.

"Why do you allow me to look upon you, my Prophet?"

He smiled, revealing a pair of unnaturally sharp fangs.

"You do not belong upon the floor as the others do. You are special, my dear Gerita. I see your devotion and love, and it shines brighter than the others. You are not their equal," he said, whispering as he moved close, until he was nearly brushing against her ear.

"There is much we have to talk about, devoted Gerita. You have a very important role in our future. But for now, go and join our servants, and assist them in their duties. We shall speak of your own labors in time," he whispered. She nodded deeply, dropping to one knee.

"As you wish, my Prophet."

"To you, my dear, I am Rok'roham."