World of Warcraft®

From the fertile soil of a volcano will come the greatest harvest.

Trenetir sat in his office, reviewing bills of lading, requests for silks to be sent out and other such things. All around him the Moradinel estate was in a bustle, since his return to the estate the place had been racked with nothing but changes. The old living quarters all of them were to be redone. Nearly everything that would remind the master of his marriage was removed, boxed away or sold, out of sight and out of mind.

Trenetir looked down at the request, it wasn't an odd one: silk in exchange for wines, but where it originated from, Stormwind, was peculiar. Gold is gold and it spends the same. He thought to himself as he signed his name "Trenetir Moradinel" with a flourish. His gaze lingered for a long time on the surname, that which had caused him great anguish for the majority of his life, and now.... and now it was simply ink on parchment.

He sipped the wine as a servant, newly hired entered the room. Like most in his service she was timid and did not wish to interrupt him, yet she must. A meek voice drew his attention, "Ser Moradinel," Now it was naught but a word falling from a woman's lips "The architect is here to see to the new designs for your quarters."

He smiled. It was an odd thing when Trenetir smiled, for it usually heralded some ill will towards others, or mischief that was yet to come, but right now it was simply the smile of a man moving on with his life.

Why?

He was growing tired of hearing this. Why was he stalking them? Why was he seeking to what he was? Why was he talking to those he was talking to? Why was there the increase in business?

WHY did it matter he thought with a wry smile to himself as he penned the letter. It was the first of many. He thought about employing the AAMS but this was too delicate. This was going to take time, finesse, care... all of the things that he did not want to spend his time on, but alas, this was the way of things now.

Mormel
It's time to let bygones be bygones, to forge new friendships and to move forward.
Now is a time of rebuilding, of forging on.

Business breeds business and it is time that we came to an arrangement.

Send word by nearest courier to arrange a meeting.

Trenetir Moradinel of Silvermoon City.

"Nyah? Who's Trenetear Moradingle?"

Mormel scratched her head as she pondered on who the letter was from. Silvermoon meant it came from an elf but which elf was the problem. Was it creepy zombie elf? Probably not since he seemed the type to hang out in Undercity. Maybe creepy mind elf or sword elf or skimpy leather wearing blind elf or magic hat elf?

With a groan Mormel bit her lip. It could be from any one of them or perhaps even one she had forgotten about entirely. Her life had become increasingly busy and stressful as of late too but she decided it was best to see what this matter was about. Besides this mystery elf might be contacting her in regard to Zurom's bizarro goatee evil face meany head twin.

Heya Tranitor Morevinyl,

Not sure what this is 'bout but er, uh, I totally know who ya are. Totally.

Anywho! Kinda busy with super stud havin' some kinda curse placed on 'em by major psycho creepoid version of Zurom. Ya wouldn't happen ta know anythin' 'bout him would ya? Oh an' people keep sayin' I've been talkin' odd lately too but I think they are all just pullin' my leg. Totally not funny either! Sayin' I sound like one of 'em mangy, wretched dogs! The nerve! It just makes me wanna...

er...

What was I writin' ta ya 'bout again? Oh yeah! Um I guess we can try ta meet but should do it soon. Got the store sale comin' up an' plan on burnin' down Zurom's sneaky double's place too. Could try meetin' in Silvermoon or Brill or somethin'.

Just let me know!

From the Beauty Queen of Azeroth

He sneered as he read the letter, could that woman be any more deranged? He scrawled a letter, reminding himself to get a new secretary to deal with this sort of thing.

Mormel,

I will be available to discuss the terms of this peace on this coming Friday. Where would you care to meet?

Trenetir Moradinel


He was anxious to move things forward.

Mormel was elated to receive another letter from her mysterious pen pall and wrote a hasty reply.

Heya Secret Admirer Elf,

Nyah! Friday sounds super awesome. Why don'cha meet me at the Brewfest outside of Silvermoon? We could see which one of us can drink more of the ogre brew before upchuckin'. Ah... good times.

The Smexiest one of 'em all

The form that lay in a heap before him was little more than scorched flesh, sinew and bone. Whether or not there was a mortal left in that form was to be seen. That is, until the croak of speech broke the silence. "Ravens...." The being collapsed on the ground with a crackle. Trenetir motioned for one of the attendants to remove the husk of a man before him, whether for care or for disposal was to be seen.

The ship was not his own, but it had carried goods that were is. Silks bound for the south. It was not the first time he had dealt with marauders, nor would it be the last. Idly his thoughts drifted to Bloodwing, No, it can't be him...he burned EVERYTHING.

Which led him to the question of who. The why didn't matter that much, not now at least. The who would bring the why. They always did. "Yuuko!" he called to his once servant turned partner, beckoning her closer. "What do you make of this?"

As the schooner rounded the point of Dun'Morogh's mountainous coast, Tyvian lounged idly by the railing, his back to the crew moving boxes upon boxes of furs, wines, silks, and mercantile goods bound for the market and for a pure profit margin he would enter into his personal ledger for the guild. Business was booming here on the seas, and since the last guild member had picked a fight with a privateer he shouldn't have, that had left a manpower shortage watching and preying upon the shipping lanes.

So, naturally he took it upon himself to fix this oversight and rake in some gold. Nothing quite like selling goods for 100% gain and no loss. Granted, he did have to pay this crew of marauders, some of whom had followed him from the guild as his help and partners, but most were simple men of the sea with certain moral...shortcomings that he required.

Letting the black Raven's feathers flutter in the sea breeze, Zepsillin, his servantile darted across the boxes with a thin tablet, etching in numbers and names onto a thin tablet so that Tyvian could inventory his spoils later. It was nice not having to act the fool or the old man. It was doubly nice not having to spew inflammatory remarks and generally make a nuisance of himself in public to give off an aura of arrogance and lunacy.

No, few people knew the real Tyvian Reignheart. This Tyvian, "Grim" was simply a mask, a much grander one than what currently resided upon his face. No, he much preferred this. Calm, quiet and contemplative. You didn't get ahead in the world by being a slave to your emotions or morals. Instead, you conquered them and you put them to use. Here, he sought out the best opportunities and plied his trade. It just so happened to be his forte to blast and burn everything to pieces, rip out a few souls, and leave that one survivor to strike the idea of 'retribution' into the mind of the merchant who sent that ship.

After all, who can resist a challenge? All a part of the game to lure out more ships laden with goods for the master Warlock to take.

Looking down at his belt, he retrieved a small black pocket tome. Small enough to slip into his pocket, he cracked it open and peered at it, checking upon his students. To the outside observer, he was just staring into a book, but on the inside, power coursed through him. Fire and Ice, Lightning and waves of power surging to get out, to escape and annihilate everything around him. The ship, the crew, the cargo, but he held it back. His will was iron, the careful channeling of the chaos that a practiced Warlock achieves. Every moment he felt as if the power would consume him whole in a green fiery inferno, but he wrested it to his bidding.

He channeled and tapped into his network of Eyes of Kilrogg scattered across the continents, monitoring those and what he deemed important enough. It was like standing in a room of a thousand windows, each one in his mind's eye different. He first chose the one that was following Lilith, his most promising pupil, watching her walk through an arid land, on her way somewhere greener, somewhere closer to home. She'd come far these past few days, perhaps it was time to give her a personal lesson?

Something caught his attention in another window, an elf on the boat he had just nearly destroyed and stolen the cargo from. Normally all elves looked alike to him, but this one had a different...air about him. He wore well cut, moderately expensive clothing as he surveyed the damage. "He must be the owner, I hope he's sending me more profit."

Still, this elf was...different. Best to keep his eyes on this one for the foreseeable future.

War. It was good for business. But that was when it was war that was waged upon others, not himself. Trenetir Moradinel sat at his desk, reviewing the information he had from the attack, it was only one ship, there were still eight more.

"What is the reason behind it?" Yuuko had asked, "Why that ship?"

"It was carrying silks and other textiles, from us to the south... to the Alliance." He laughed slightly, "So many people fail to realize how profitable it is to do business with the Alliance."

"I want to speak to the survivors before I end their life." She sneered.

"There was one who lived, though not for long. What he described was fel fire, and ravens...that was his last word." Yuuko did not seemed pleased at this news.

"Ravens?"

"I suspect it is a ravenlord of some kind, or someone who fancies himself to be one."

The discussion continued long into the night with talk of who and why often coming up.

"Competitors."

"Someone who wants to see you suffer."

Yuuko's eyes lit up as she spoke, "We'll bait them. A similar ship, similar cargo, set a trap."

Trenetir laughed, but it was Yuuko who insisted, "It's not a laughing matter, I plan to be on that ship." There was the focus, the coldness in her eyes that made her a woman worth fearing.

The Autumn Songstress set low in the water, still anchored to her moorings, her hold full of ordinary dirt and rubble. The manifest had been falsified, instead showing her to be ladened with rare silk and exotic cloths. The deceitful preparations were needed to lure the one that had attacked before. Whoever had been responsible for the aforementioned attack was far worse than any pirate. No merchandise had been taken, everything had been destroyed. An act such as this was an odious deed and would not go without retaliation.

Yuuko paced across the deck scrutinizing the handful of mercenaries she had employed. She had paid a large sum for the finest she could find. She still awaited two others. Two that would instill the terror of the fel into the one accountable.

The rest of the crew was under Captain Peronell Emberfield a veteran woman of the sea. Yuuko knew Peronell considered the Songstress her ship, but had to ‘kindly’ take her aside and remind her just who her paycheck was signed by. Bitter words had been exchanged, but in the end Peronell agreed that the seas were not safe until this threat had been dealt with. Yuuko was assured that the Songstress was a fast and agile ship, its crew seasoned and motivated.

Yuuko was not there give orders or get in the way, only to spring the trap if they were to be attacked. The ship would travel its ordinary trade route displaying its colors and status. Now, she just waited for the word to depart.

The schooner was cresting the waves faster than he recalled, the recent offloading of cargo had left the sleek vessel faster and far more nimble on the waves than before. Tyvian have nodded appreciatively when the Naga's Folly had easily slipped under the guns of the Bloodsail ironsides and sped off like a dart into open water. Now here he was again, standing beside the grizzled captain as they prowled up and down the coast, searching for prey in the shipping lanes. Salt spray dripped off the slightly charred bone mask and hood of the Fel magister as he stood silently watching for signs of a target. Captain Everrard chewing the stem of his pipe and muttering a tune under his breath. He was an old hand at this endeavor, far more practiced of seagoing forceful acquisitions than those ashore.

Half of his crew were corsairs, the other half provided from Tyvian's own organization, each one hardened and expendable to him, each that fell was one less to pay, and they cost quite a sum. Still, he needed their expertise and skill with boarding and seizing ships, as sea warfare is so different from that of "landlubbers" as the captain had so eloquently put it. Tyvian knew his place on battlefields, up and down the worlds he had tread across. Though he preferred dry land on under his boots, he was growing accustomed to the swaying and rocking of the ship, his aim vastly improved after all, the Naga's Folly carried a full battery of cannons to broadside, as well as two forward, and two aft chain shot cannon to slow down, and catch prey, or to cripple pursuers. While the corsairs and their cannons were very accurate, all of them still stood in awe when the Warlock did his chaotic work.

It starts simply, the schooner slips in quietly, far behind a merchant ship, following it, staying away from the sides to avoid the defensive cannon on the broadsides, port and starboard. Then, the master Fel weaver came to bear, and how terrible it was. standing on the fore of the ship, the crew stood wide eyed as chaotic flames and energies surged around the black robed, and raven feather clad Warlock, as he launched twin bolts of Havoc. Chaos and destruction going directly for the mainmast and rudder of the slow, fat, and vulnerable merchant vessels. It was such a satisfying sight to see the stout wood of the mast shatter, burn, and splinter into hundreds of flying pieces, and hear the shouts as dangerous splinters exploded onto the weatherdecks of the unaware merchants.

Almost as satisfying was the billowing cloud of steam as the felfire bolt descended through the seawater to shatter the rudder, and render the prize dead in the water, unable to maneuver. From there, it was simple, the minions would do their work, pulling up beside the merchant slowly, just enough to attach boarding lines and swing over to seize control of the ship. Corsairs loved that part, launching themselves onto the prize ship, to see who could do the most damage, or snag the most loot. "Eager little murderers" Tyvian thought to himself. The Warlock himself, preferred to remain on the Naga's Folly, watching from safety and sending his green flames blasting into any foe or fool aboard the prize, or the sails, should the merchant try to run.

It was quite fun, he had discovered, and...as he spied the distinctly Elven ship ahead, he smiled to himself as Captain Everrard put the Naga's Folly right into the wake of the new target with a laugh. Tyvian Reignheart would get to do it all over again, adding more elven wares to his hold, and later, his profits...

The wind from the sea blew across the deck, as the Autumn Songstress began her long trek towards her port of call. The converted elven destroyer cut through the waters with ease. Deck hands busied themselves with tasks around the ship while other, more clandestine figures kept a sharp lookout on the horizon.

Yuuko stood in the hold overseeing the crew working on quick releases that would allow cargo to hastily be moved to the upper deck and over the side if trouble were to arise. The Songstress was fast, but the encumbrance caused her to respond lethargically. Not knowing how, when or if an attack would come made for contingency plans and if needed, escape. The only offensive capability of the Songstress was her massive battering ram. Her speed and mass could definitely leave a mark, crippling most ships her size or greater. It was not something Yuuko wished to resort to, but nevertheless an option she kept in the back of her mind.

Satisfied with the preparations, Yuuko left to the upper deck, her lavender armor glistened in the early afternoon sun. She wore her now undyed blond hair in a tight ponytail. There was no reason to hide who she was any longer. She had sold her old business for this new chapter in her life. She wasn’t about to let it all be taken away by pirates. Leaning against the main mast she eyed the horizon, looking, peering and waiting.

[The Autumn Songstress]

http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/881810/pics/original/2950553.jpg

The Naga's Folly sliced through the waves quietly, gaining on the Elven ship. Tyvian stood by the fore railing, watching the crimson colored vessel grow larger as they neared it. Captain Everrard did fine work, and luck was with the crew, as dusk was approaching, the sky's coloring becoming less blue, and starting to tinge orange. The corsairs and organization's men bustled about the deck, busying themselves with staging rope, lines, weaponry, bandages, cannon shot, and hooking equipment.

As the moments crawled by, Tyvian channeled again, the feeling of utter chaos and uncontrollable energy filled him, causing slight crackles of green energy around him as he wrestled for control of the power surging inside of him. Back he went to his mindstate of peering through a thousand windows into other places, monitoring each one closely. His student, Lilith, was traveling still, but making good progress. She'd do very well, if she'd only harness the commitment. He withdrew, and peered through the Eye of Kilrogg that was supposed to be monitoring Hearthglen and the Presidium from afar, and saw nothing of note, so he changed to a different Eye.

The elf who's cargo he had taken before was out of sight, the Eye not going near Silvermoon too closely, lest the Fel accustomed Blood Elves figure out that this particular Eye was not a local. With a sigh, Tyvian returned to the here and now of the ship's deck, blinking as he realized the Elven vessel was much closer than before. Biting off a silent curse to himself for not maintaining a situational awareness, he began gauging the distance from the Naga's folly, to its newfound prey. The cannoneers were ready, each one manned by a grinning, grizzled, and able operator. The corsairs were in full raid apparel, pistols and shotguns adorning their belts, while daggers, dirks, cutlasses, sabers, and that one curious fellow with a scimitar stood eagerly clutching their hooks and weapons. They were awaiting the Warlock's lead, the signal of doom for the unaware merchants.

Turning to look back at Captain Everrard, Tyvian Reinheart raised his hand and silence fell over the deck. Cannoneers belowdecks readied themselves, the chain shot ready to blast apart the masts of the target should the Black Harvest master Warlock miss.

Minutes passed, only the sound of creaking rope, waves crashing against the hull, and the soft metallic clink as weapons brushed against each other. Maanom, the Felhunter laying quietly at Tyvian's feet, perked up, beginning to rise. With casual slowness, the warlock raised his hand and green fel energies surged suddenly erupted into the air around him, bathing him in corruption as he concentrated on forming two simultaneous Chaotic bolts. The men knew he had suceeded when twin roars, deafening upon breaking the silence, followed the Elven ship, without remaining to watch the bolts hit their targets, Tyvian turned to stride to his next position beside Captain Everrard, Maanom following right behind.

Both chaos bolts streaked towards their targets, emitting their characteristic terrifying roar, before one plunged into the sea right behind the Elven vessel causing a monstrous cloud of flash steam to erupt. The keel shattered and splintered, bucking the Elven ship slightly upwards just as the second green light of chaos impacted the mainmast. Splinters and Fel energies blasted outwards from the impact, the mast cracking and falling off, sending the large timbered lifeline of the vessel into the sea.

Tyvian heard the men in unison shout out in cheers, clearly fired up and motivated now that they no longer needed to be quiet and the could strike fear into the hearts of the merchant ship. They readied the cannons and hooks, as the Naga's Folly began to approach the rear of the Elven craft.

Captain Everrard awaited Tyvian at the wheel, a wry grin on his beared, weathered face. "Nice aim, not bad for a landlubber." the captain joked as the warlock strode up, fire and fel still writhing and empowering him. Without so much as a glance, Reinheart faced the Elven ship, wanting to board himself so as to incinerate the opposition, but he figured he'd let the crew have the fun this time. Captain Everrard chuckled and began maneuvering the agile schooner into position, before a slight frown broke his face. "

"This one...feels different, don'cha think?" muttered the salty sailor.

"I certainly hope so, I have some frustrations I'd like to work out." Replied the Warlock in a cold, malicious tone.

The sky was starting to turn beautiful shades of red and orange. The hypnotic sounds of the bow rushing through the waves gave a serene semblance of peace. Yuuko sighed quietly, her emerald eyes stared at the horizon deep in thought. A puzzled look crossed her face as a roar shattered the quiet environment.

Before a shout of alarm could be sounded the stern of the ship rose out the water, the bow plunged deeply into the sea, waves washed over the upper deck causing the crew to scramble for their lives, grabbing anything thing they could to keep them from being washed out to sea. Yuuko wrapped her arm around a line from the mast as water washed beneath her feet. The Songstress righted herself, water slowly drained off her deck. Mercenaries and crew all rushed to the stern where shouts of vessel approaching fast could be heard. A second roar pierced through the brouhaha. The explosion was deafening. Yuuko looked up in horror as the great mast splintered. Wood, rigging and sail began to fall around her. She panicked as the very rope that saved her from being washed over the side was now dragging her as the great mast crashed into the sea. Pain shot out of from her leg where a piece of the mast had cut deeply into her thigh, not something she concerned herself with as she fought to free herself.

Peronell came out of nowhere, her axe cut deeply into the rigging. Yuuko rose quickly just in time to watch the remains of the mast fall into the sea. She turned nodding her gratification, before limping to the side. Her voice bellowed over the deck “Chalar set their sail aflame! Terrel wash their deck with fel flames! If we are lucky they have powder exposed!”

Both warlocks nodded, Charlar sending three conflagrated bolts of fire towards the main sail and Terrel gleefully sending a rain of fire over the approaching ship’s deck. Yuuko turned counting those with her. She spoke quickly “They now know we have teeth. Ready yourselves.”

Peronell grabbled Yuuko’s shoulder “You lose my ship, you will wish you at gone down with the mast.”

Yuuko glared back “You are a tool, nothing more, nothing less. The moment you figure that out you will live much longer. Now get your hand off me and do your job!”

Yuuko turned back unbuckling her shield and drawing her sword “Let the games begin”

Pumpkins.

Yuuko was on the Autumn Songstress with Captin Peronell, and he was securing pumpkins. The irony of the situation brought a smirk to his lips. She was foolish to insist on being the bait, but she wanted to see that the one behind it suffered.

Trenetir was tempted to insist upon being there himself, but there were still things to be done: business to attend to, appearances to keep up. His newfound partnership with Mormel and Rhazin was one of manipulation and necessity. As he sorted through the pumpkins, he grinned to himself.

Pumpkins for dresses for a woman who was his enemy. Pumpkins in exchange for for servitude, a contract and some semblance of respect.

He smirked, "Perhaps I ought to invest in a farm." The joyful thought did not last long. He looked down at his hearthstone, there was no word yet from the Songstress.

Flames washed over the weatherdeck of the Naga's Folly, hailing down and striking some of the crew, screams and hissing of steam came from the crew as they prepared to board, grappling hooks flying towards the crippled Elven craft. Roars of anger and bloodfrenzy came from the corsairs and marauders from Tyvian's organization. The violent seafarers hurled themselves over the rails. Some leaped towards their prey, only to be speared through with lances of fire, the source of which was quite a problem.

The boarding had begun.

Captain Everrard snarled, his pipe gritted between his teeth, the stem on the very edge of shattering in his mouth. Orders bellowed from the huge man, "They're going for the mainsails! Tryin' to cripple us, get the deckhands on fire duty! Cannoneers, FIRE AT THEIR WHEELHOUSE!"

Cannons belowdecks erupted as cannonshot began booming towards the wheelhouse of the target, causing chunks and splinters of wood to erupt wherever the solid iron balls struck.

Tyvian himself gritted his teeth, projecting a ward to keep the fires away from himself and captain Everrard. He had to think quickly, They must have, two, possibly three Warlocks, judging from the amount of fel being used, this'll prove tricky. With the two ships lashed together from boarding lines, an idea crept through him. "Maanom, go. Devour them." Pointing at the source of magic, his Felhunter bounded across the decks, down to the lower sitting Elven craft, and racing on all fours towards the Elven Warlocks, hungry for the magics within them, it's deadly tentacles seeking out and reach to drain them of everything. Tyvian himself erupted into a surge of power, chaos incarnate and he began a hail of incinerating blasts, every elf he could see a target, not wanting to harm his own men in the process.

The fires aboard the Naga's Folly kept burning, but were almost under control as young deckhands, and cabinboys raced to put out the fires, the sails could be mended with the supplies belowdecks, but that would take time, so Tyvian focused on the 'here and now'. At the railing, he was blasting everything he could, taking extreme care to focus down the two biggest threats, those fel brethren of his. He poured conflagrations, after incinerating blasts, and shadowfury into them, trying to get their attention onto him and ignore the beast streaking towards them quickly, ready to devour them, and suck them dry.

A flash of Lavender caught his eye, as one of his marauders was split nearly into two, a mist of blood causing him to send a bolt of fire in the direction, but he needed to destroy the other two first.

Captain Everrard continued bellowing commands, "Get the bosn' to the riggin'! Cut down the sailcloth that's bloody gone! All you bleedin' sandscratchin' cut-dogs, get aboard that ship! I want it down NOW!" His ship was in danger, his men were battling aboard the enemy ship, and things were not going anything according to plan.

As the crew made the biggest push yet to board the elven craft, Captain Everrard glanced to his right, where the sheer heat coming from this black robed, hooded man, made steam and smoke swirl around him. Despite the battle, despite the copious amounts of adrenaline pumping through him, the captain felt a cold shiver go up his spine.

Yuuko couldn’t help but smile as flames rose from the schooner, it was a smaller ship but heavily armed. The Songstress almost doubled its size, but had been reduced to nothing more than a floating barge. The crew surged forward to meet the steel of the foe.

Yuuko began to charge forward, but was stopped as a hand grabbed her ankle, amongst the chaos she paused. Captain Peronell looked up at her, a pike through her side. Yuuko knelt; emotion was not something she revealed often. The cold shell she exposed to others served her well. This woman though had saved her life. An act she would never forget. Peronell betokened Yuuko to come closer, she whispered in her ear “I am not a tool, I was your captain. The Songstress is yours now, save her so she may sing again”

Peronell’s hand dropped from Yuuko’s ankle, the emerald life light dimming revealing piercing blue eyes. Yuuko closed Peronell’s eyes, whispering “Al diel shala”

She rose in time to see Terrel cut down, the scene was bleak. The Songstress’s crew was not trained for battle, yet they fought with intense vigor. Her own mercenaries lost in the throng of blades and pikes. The rage began to build, the throbbing in her leg almost forgotten. She raised her shield spying Chalar, and leapt in front of her. Yuuko’s voice bellowed over the deck hurling insults and threats to all she saw. Her blade came down hard, severing a neck of the nearest. Blood lust began to boil inside of her. With a discarded pike she pieced the decapitated head thrusting the end into the deck, creating a mocking banner.

Chalar’s voice cracked behind her in fear, “Ma’am they come!”

The side of herself that few saw irrupted. Her past as a fallen paladin and the years of training came to bear. Once a decorated knight of the Horde to performer and then to house cleaner, time has a strange way of repeating itself. Those that approached her now showed hesitation, hesitation that only fueled her rage.

Yuuko’s voice rang out over the deck as her blade rose “Bash'a no falor talah!”

The Naga's Folly was badly burnt, charred decks and ruined lines smoldered as the day's light faded. The sounds of battle; screams, shouts, cries and the constant clashing of steel and boom of gunpowder rang out. This was not what was supposed to happen, as Tyvian continued his incessant barrage of the elven prize he couldn't help but think he was in the midst of a trap. His marauders and Everrard's corsairs were paying a hefty price, already quite a few were laying still on the blood and gore streaked deck of the elven destroyer. One of the elven warlocks lay dead, and it was Tyvian's sole focus now to ensure the death of the second.

She hid behind a female elf in lavender, covering the advances of the corsairs, as they tried to challenge the duo. Where the lavender clad woman struck, her back was guarded by the fire of the Fel magician. Clearly they were a threat that needed to be dealt with. Maanom was draining the dead warlock, feasting to ensure that the dead would not rise again. Taking long strides, Tyvian sought a better vantage, he moved down the railing of the Naga's Folly, with every step his mind raced to find a swift end to the battle. His marauders and corsairs were winning, but he needed them to continue his piracy on the seas, so he could not afford to lose too many this day. The master Warlock's fingers writhed with containing the magics within him, the darkness of his soul bursting out, searing the wood around him with fel green fissures. Raising his voice, amplified by magic, it boomed out across the battle, harsh and gravely, "Away from the Fel Elf! Or die now!"

As several marauders and two corsairs that had been advancing on the elf duo scrambled backwards, one even diving headfirst behind a crate. Tyvian's hands raised over his hood, and a flash of bright green brought a rift into existence over the Autumn Songstress. The rift opened, revealing a dark, burning world beyond, before a fiery green meteor came plummeting down, an Abyssal on route to it's target. The Fel elf warlock, trying to crush her in stone and fire, and possibly, even though Tyvian wanted to avoid it, could bring down a large section of the destroyer.

Energies course through and around Tyvian, and despite how badly this plan had gone awry, he smiled.
This was fun.