“Jorg! Jorg! We have to get out of here!”

“What are you talking about?” drawled Jorg. “Your conduct is unbecoming of a runespeaker, Malcorn.”

“Our heads are about to becoming off our heads!”

“Really?” Jorg now closed the tome he had been considering. “Wordplay? Come now.”

“We need to grab our books and run!” Malcorn said, panting in the pestilent air. “She’s coming!”

“Who? We are ensconced within the House of the Chosen. No one would be foolish enough to attack our library.”

“A Mall Walker would! One’s coming right now — it’s the Butcher!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“A Mall Walker! She can come and go from the Mall at will!”

“The what?”

“The Mall! With the Jailer!”

“Oh, you mean the Maw. Why can no one pronounce that –“

And then Beli Flinthammer’s mace separated Runespeaker Jorg‘s head from his shoulders. Runespeaker Malcorn was dispatched a few moments later.

“OK, this is the last library in Maldraxxus,” Beli said. “See if there’s any records about recent deaths on Azeroth, Professor. We need to know where Kildris’ soul went.”

The abomination nodded and sighed quietly and headed over to one of the bookcases.

Two hours later, he put the last book back on the bookcase and shook his head.

“It’s all the same — it appears all souls for several years now have been diverted to the Maw and whatever the Jailer’s planning there.”

“Well, I guess I know where we need to go, then,” Beli sighed.

“‘We?'” the Professor asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “You want me to accompany you into the Maw?”

“No, not you. Me husband.”