World of Warcraft®

Sparks flew in all directions, Yuuko’s blade connected with steel. A periodic wave of heat could be felt from the back of her shoulders as fire bolts flew from Chalar’s out stretched arms. They worked as a team, standing their ground. It was no longer about winning, but staying alive. The pair relying on each other to drive those that approached away.

Dismay threatened to overtake her thoughts, Yuuko’s tactical mind had surveyed the scene. The battle had been lost. She had underestimated the threat, only a few stood. Everything she had endured she had never given up. Many had tried to break her both physically and mentally, surrender was not something she comprehended.

A shout from a cloaked figure onboard the enemy ship brought an eerie silence over the Songstress. Yuuko’s foes backed quickly away. Some ducking for cover, others stumbling to get away. Yuuko quickly judged the distance from herself to this dark individual, calculating how much strength she would need to leap to his location. A crack from the sky erased all ideas of doing such a thing.

Yuuko’s face blanched, she had seen this magic before. Her thoughts raced. She could save herself or protect. Her reaction came swift, without hesitation, a season ago she would have let Chalar fall. Instead of running she intervened, dropping her sword and grabbing Chalar’s shoulder, holding her close. She looked up and raised her shield above the two of them, her words were quiet, astonishing even herself, a prayer, one she knew would never be answered but she spoke them nevertheless.

Heat and the weight of a thousand boulders slammed into her. The deck beneath her feet buckled. Fire irrupted around them. They fell.

Yuuko lay on her back, unable to move save her head. Chalar lay next to her, her chest rising and falling. They were alive. Yuuko looked up at the gaping hole above her. They had fallen all the way to the cargo hold. Pieces of shattered green rock smoldered around them. Smoke and blood burned her eyes. She tried to move but her legs were pinned under a large section of the deck that had fallen with them. Darkness threatened to overtake her, stubbornly she fought against it. Eventually they would come

All was still aboard the crippled Elven vessel, whose name appeared to be the Autumn Songstress. Tyvian, with Maanom in tow, made his way onto the deck, surveying the extensive damage. Pointing to his victorious crew, "You two, into the hold, find me what cargo we paid for. Bring back anything that seems useful." Tyvian pointed to the hatch at the midship, and with a hurried nod and bow, two corsairs and two marauders made their way down to descend. The surviving elves were in a line on their knees, watched over by Everrard's corsairs. Each one had exhaustion, fear, and anxiety painted across their features, wondering what would become of them. Two paid mercenaries, several crew, and the navigator were all that surrendered. Of the ship, large burns and splinters lay scattered everywhere, with the dead still laying where they fell. Entire sections had been blasted away, and blood made the deck slippery. The hole his abyssal had blasted through the ship had descended three decks before stopping, and made an unsightly wound in the ship.

Tyvian paused his perusal of the ship and its damage to stand before the captives, his black robes fluttering slightly in the sea breeze. Smells of brimstone mixed with salt wafted over the captives, causing some to openly weep, others hardened themselves.

Shock, fear, and resignation, the usual responses to this scenario, Tyvian mused to himself. Looking down at one of the crew, a younger elf with fiery red hair and a number of silver earrings and bracelets, Tyvian whispered, "Where is your captain?" in passable Thalassian, it had never been his strong language. The woman blinked several times, before nodding in the direction near the destroyed mainmast with a teary eyed gaze. Laying there, in finer garment than the other prone figures, was a female elf pierced by a pike. Shame, so much information lost. Shipping routes, other vessels, cargo ports and hold manifests.

Tyvian moved to the corpse, peering down at it without so much as a shudder. Waving to signal one of the corsairs, he pointed at the dead captain, "Search the body. Then her cabin, I want everything she knew. Then toss her over the side, let the sharks have it." Without waiting for a reply, the warlock made his way to his fallen elf brethren. Maanom had done well draining the body of every drop of magic, a shriveled mess was all that remained. "Toss this one too. No use in letting the sea life go hungry." Turning back to the captives, he strode over to the navigator, "Tell me, why were there warlocks on your vessel? Why was this ship so well defended? You have five seconds." Before the Navigator could open his mouth, the hatch to the lower decks opened and the men he had sent below returned, dragging two badly burned, battered women behind them. One was adorned in now dented and scorched lavender plate, the other Tyvian recognized as the other Warlock.

The corsair made a quick, hesitant bow before explaining what they had found. "m'lord it's useless, all 'o it. Dirt and rock, just...nothin' useful. We found these 'ere ladies pinned, so we dug 'em out and thought we'd toss 'em with the rest 'o 'em." The corsair wiped some errant blood out of his eye and adjusted the bandage on his forehead before backing away, right as the first splash of the dead warlock's body being sent overboard by his marauders. As his men made their way to the now stripped, searched, and useless captain's body, Tyvian made his way to look at the woman in lavender and the living warlock. These two were the holdouts that caused him so much trouble.

So he stared them down, his black hood peering right at them.

The sky had turned dark, torches and a few surviving lanterns lit the deck of the Songstress. Yuuko and Chalar stood in front of the robed figure. Chalar, except for a few bruises and cuts stood with her hands bound tightly behind her back. Yuuko, had not fared as well. She stood only because she willed herself to. Her armor was badly damaged, the impact had destroyed her shield and collided with her left side. Her left wrist looked to be broken and her left shoulder didn’t appear to sit right. Several cuts could be seen, the worst being her leg, where a piece of the mast still protruded. Her breathing was shallow and coarse. She had several burns and it was clear that she fought to keep her balance.

Yuuko’s head swiveled from Captain Emberfield’s body before turning back to the robed figure, hatred radiated from her emerald eyes. Her hand instinctively reached for her sword which was not to be found.

Yuuko relaxed her hand knowing fighting was futile. Squaring her shoulders as best she could, she glowered at the man and spoke in accented common “What have you achieved?” She looked around the deck before turning back and continued “I will answer for you. Nothing! Your ship is damaged, many of your crew lay dead and for what!? “She coughed but quickly recovered “You are nothing but a bastard pirate!” Anger washed over her face “I underestimated you, but who’s to say the next will not be more prepared. You are nothing more than a pathetic coward!”

Yuuko stared at his mask refusing to avert her eyes, waiting for his reply.

Tyvian Reinheart was amused. Here he was, standing apparently victorious aboard a taken ship, paid for in blood and lives, and this woman was yelling at him. Actually talking down to him! She spoke Common, and was angry, indignant and so full of pride. Behavioral clues, and little strings he could tug began immediately forming in his mind out of habit, so he watch and waited for her tirade to end. Tyvian was, in no begrudging way, impressed. This woman had no cards left to play, all hopes gone, and she still found indignation, and resolve to...what was it?

Go out fighting?

Shaking his head slightly, he contemplated his course of actions. Several he could see forming already, but knowing his own mental habits, he usually saved the best for last. So, he turned his back on the pair and walked away, towards the other Elven survivors. As he perused his captives, like a man going to market on a fine day, he pondered and observed. He had always loved the challenge of figuring things out, planning courses of action, and discovering unknown truths he otherwise would have overlooked. Much to his own chagrin, he realized he was possibly a little too confident in that skill. The dim glowing lights on the deck burned just enough to allow him to see the expressions on the faces of the other elves, they glanced from this irate woman to himself, and uncertainty clouded every eye. Interesting.

Finally, he spoke, in a coldly professional tone he had been forced to learn so long ago, "So, you are the leader it seems. Not the captain, or a long time seafarer, as evidenced by the metal armor you're wearing. No, I take you for either the leader of these mercenaries, doubtful as you would not have brought so few, or an overseer sent by...someone. The owner of this vessel perhaps? The merchant consortium? As I say these, I figure otherwise, as they would likely not employ a woman with your temperament and skill."

Tyvian reached down to brush some astray hair from one of the Songstress' captives, staring down into the terrified fellow's eyes. Shaking his head, he stopped and returned to his position in front of the lavender woman, "So, you are the leader, but as you've so kindly mentioned, there could possibly be another of these traps set for me." Gesturing to the hole in the deck, then his men, "Loading the hold with useless garbage, as well as hiring these defenders and funding this endeavor indicates strong financial backing. As does the promise of retribution. You or your handler has deep pockets to afford these vessels and costs."

Tyvian moved in front of the robed woman, judging by the bruises and gashes, was the less hurt of the two, but was she the most deadly? Without looking at the lavender clad woman, he continued, "So, if he can afford this, logically he must have someone here, you, overseeing his investments. So, 'Overseer' seeing as I do not know your name, I'll tell you what I've accomplished. I've destroyed two costly investments of your patron, stolen their good, and now two of their ships, decimated their workfcrce, outsmarted their retribution enforcers, and I've paid less than I had originally allocated to in manpower and repairs."

Tyvian sighed audibly, the enemy warlock was such a waste of talent, shame she didn't have a suitable partner or mentor. With that thought in his mind, he looked back at the leader, her proud yet forced stance, the malice in her eyes, and the absolute look of loathing she returned was yet another clue. Continuing right along before she could speak, "You're unaccustomed to losing, either skill or endurance being your saving grace. I suspect the latter, as clearly my abyssal hit, but here you stand. Stubbornness is your virtue. Good, I'll rely on that stubbornness when I give you a choice soon. For now, tell me what you know of your patron. I'm curious to see if I can profit from him further, be it by force or by partnership. Perhaps we can come to a deal?"

Striding back to the woman, he peered at her one hand on his hip, the other idly playing with his fingers as Maanom lounged at his feet. This, just took a turn for the different.

Yuuko’s mind was awash with disdain, her mouth almost hung agape when he spoke of a partnership or deal. Her right hand clenched in anger. He was unaware of who she was, unware that she had acted on her own. The Autumn Songstress was in every right her ship as is was Trenetir’s. This madman’s actions took her profits as much as it did Trenetir’s. She thought quickly, rationalizing ways to leverage the moment. Her eyes looked at what remained of the crew and to Chalar.

Yuuko glanced at the still form of the captain, before turning back to the hooded man, her voice was controlled “I’m am in no position to negotiate and you know this. What game are you playing? You have the Autumn Songstress, a prize that should more than satisfy your lust for gold. Let my crew depart in a longboat, only then will I discuss anything further with the likes of you. They’re only hired hands and deserve no further terror from you.”

Chalar, stood next to Yuuko her eyes downcast. There was nothing she could do but listen. Every time the robed man drew near she went rigid. She could sense his power was much greater than her own. Her wrists ached, they had taken no chances, where Yuuko's hands were free, hers had been roughly tied behind her back. Even if they weren’t there was little she could do now. A brief glimmer of hope entered her eyes as Yuuko spoke of a longboat. Her brow furrowed in confusion, this was not the Miss Raradien she remembered. Even as they had fought Yuuko had shielded her, what brought about this change? Who was this woman standing next to her?

Tyvian crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head slightly to the side. This woman was intelligent, the anger was still there, but she was schooling herself. Good, I can use this, as well as her anger. Turning his back on the women he observed the surviving crew. "You are in no position to negotiate? Wrong, you have knowledge, facts, and insights that are far more valuable than simple gold. Do you really think I'd be here? On the sea any more than I had to? It's something you'd understand. Business."

Striding towards the corsairs watching over the prisoners, Tyvian paused. He spoke without looking at her, "Then again, if you are in no position to negotiate, then why are you bargaining with lives? You contradict yourself." Turning back to the women, instead he moved to the warlock, reaching out his hand to stroke her cheek as it crackled with green energy. He continued to move his finger as he spoke, "Now, you were so angry, so...livid, yet now so calm. I believe you are racing to find some way out, something to use against me. I play no games, it's strictly a contract, a deal. I offer the same to you. Simple as that. Unless you think I shouldn't? Make no mistake, I do not care about their lives. Nor yours. I'm simply seeing an opportunity that I may wish to capitalize upon, unless you wish otherwise." Gesturing with his free hand towards the rest of the ship, he continued, "I'm impressed with this plan, and the dedication to get revenge upon me. You're valuable, but don't mistake that for indispensable."

Keeping his hand upon the warlock compatriot's face, he turned to look at her, "I'll decide what to do with the crew, 'after' I've heard your reply. Tell me of your patron, of what interest I could have in letting you go alive. Any of you."

Yuuko was starting to become annoyed with the warlock’s evident interest in Chalar, without realizing it she attempted to move between the two, muffled gasps came from the captives. “Perhaps you should look at me and leave her alone.” It was more of a command then a question.

Chalar paled, she spoke in a rush, her voice filled with fear “Please Miss Raradien, tell him what he wants. Tell him who you are, so we can all go. Death is not worth simple information. Tell him you’re an owner”

Yuuko’s eyes closed as Chalar’s words left her lips. After a brief moment she opened her eyes, looking at the hooded warlock her voice steady, a tinge of malice evident “She speaks the truth, there is no need for further bloodshed. Let them go.”

With a flick of his wrist, and a spark of fel his hand left the woman's face. So, emotion is what drives this one, for now at least. If she's willing to dive under an abyssal for this one, then pushing the minion was the right move. Tyvian focused solely on this elf, Miss Raradien, "First: Don't ever order me. Second, you're an owner? How...different. Venturing out here yourself, quite the bold move. So, I'll ask again, what do I gain by letting you live, or any of these others?"

Gesturing to Chalar, all interest in her, feigned or real gone. "Or even this one, worth risking your life for, just tell me what I want to know, so I can hurry and make this decision." Tyvian strode away, turning his back to watch as the captain's stark naked body was tossed over the side, and his marauders moved to her cabin. A tinge of malice crept into his cold tone as he watched, "You're right, there's no need for further bloodshed. Though there's also no need for me to let any of you live, and I can think of three different reasons not to. Convince me."

Yuuko spat “I would do the same for any of my people, but I’m not stupid, it was a tactful maneuver to keep your strongest alive. You seem smart enough to realize this!”

Her head darted to the side of the ship at the sound of a splash, she quickly scanned where Captain Emberfield once lay, her eyes blazed almost yellow, she painfully lunged a few steps forward “You bastard! Have you no respect for the dead!”

Yuuko refused to shed a tear, although she was visibly shaken, just a day ago she had seen Peronell and her husband saying there farewells at port. If she ever made it back what would she tell him now? How could she face him with this news?

Her knees almost buckled as a wave of weakness threatened to overcome her, her voice rose almost to a yell “You have my ship. You have crippled my fleet. My profits have diminished greatly. Is this what you want? Is this your fun? Is this what you call ‘business’?”

Yuuko took another step forward, her voice now dripping with loathing “I am a co-owner. My word is meaningless without the agreement of my partner. I came to see what I was up against. I came to see you brought down. “

Dismay washed over her as she looked at her surroundings “I failed my people. I underestimated my foe. The information I was given was not factual, my force was too small. “ She turned back shaking her head at the masked warlock “There is nothing I can promise you without the accord of my partner”

Against her training Yuuko forced herself to turn her back on him, she spoke quietly “You hold the cards and the deck is stacked in you favor. What card are you going to pull now?”

Tyvian turned to face the woman, Maanom rising to move closer to its master. Tyvian himself began to stalk towards the woman, "You claim tactics to keep your strongest alive? False, sometimes the stronger the person, the better the bait they are. You use the tool best suited for the job, not whatever is strongest." Stopping before he got within arm's reach of the woman, he stared down at her. The tone changed to a less malicious undertone, "You came to see my ruin, and found your own. Make no mistake. This. Is. Business. You just happened to have the misfortune of fate, to be my target. Now, I know a good opportunity when I see one Miss 'co-owner', so I will give you this one chance. One."

Turning to peer over where Everrard's Corsairs had the prisoners awaiting, Tyvian snapped his fingers, causing the Corsairs to start moving them towards the ship's functional lifeboat. Returning his gaze to the woman, "I have no care for the dead, but I do for business. Return to your partner, let him know I am interested in a...mutually beneficial relationship. With you as well, Miss. Raradien. Consider this a very generous offer, as I could kill you, your crew, your warlock pet here, and dump you all with your captain, and continue bleeding your partner dry."

Reinheart pointed from Chalar to the edge of the Songstress, indicating to his men to toss her with the others. "Take my offer to heart, as I will not offer it again. If you are fool enough to pursue me a second time with vengeance, I would like to remind you..." Tyvian gestured to the entirety of the Autumn Songstress, "You've given me a destroyer to bring to bear. Leave your reply by courier, the AAMS should suffice. Call me Grim, just that, as you don't need to know the rest."

With a final point, the marauders began pushing the woman to the edge of the ship, where the surviving crew stood anxiously awaiting their leader.

Yuuko numbly let herself be pushed to the waiting boat; the shock of her injuries had all but worn off. She could no longer use it as tool to hold back the suffocating pain and blood loss. Her eyes were moist as the boat sluggishly moved away from the Songstress. A half smile, maybe from being feverish or perhaps genuine crossed Yuuko’s lips, she whispered in a voice that only she could hear “See Captain Peronell Emberfield, I kept my promise, she will sing again”

Shades of red entered the corners of her eyes, and then darkness overcame her as she fell unconscious.

Three days later

The bedroom was of a moderate size, its walls painted pure white, elegant dark redwood trimmed the doors, windows and molding. Several masterfully painted portraits of performers both from the past and present adorned the walls. A large book case set against the adjacent wall from the bed filled with plays, manuscripts and atlases dominated much of what could be seen. To the side, large glass doors looked out to a courtyard, an area more designed for training then to relax. The room was strikingly clean. The shallow rise and fall of bed sheets was the only movement evident in the quiet room.

Yuuko lay asleep, her injuries were extensive. The crew had brought her to the estate and left in silence. Nearly every bone on her left side had been broken, save for her leg. The crushing weight of the abyssal had left its mark, she would heal, but time was her only tender. The healers had done what they could, it was now up to her walk the road of recovery.

A week later

Yuuko ran her fingers through her hair as she peered up to the sky. She once again stood in her armor, she had insisted it be repaired, at a cost that was much more than it’s worth, but her insistence had won over. The meteor had destroyed her shield leaving nothing to salvage and her sword was now probably a trophy of the one called Grim. She adapted quickly to the new blade, learning its weight and characteristics as she practiced. She lowered her eyes from the sky and gazed around the courtyard wondering if she would ever test its blade on that vile man.

Casting her pauldrons, shield and sword aside as she entered her room, she sat slowly on the edge of her bed. Her thoughts returned to her conversation with Trenetir. Trenetir had seemed almost eager to contact this Grim. Her assessment of Trenetir had been correct. She rubbed the side of her face in reflection, the memories coming back to her “So Yuuko, tell me about this Grim, what is he like?” She had replied with anger “You would like him, he’s just like you, but you’re more human”. She shook her head. Not the smartest thing to say when you are bedridden. Yuuko knew Trenetir’s detest for anything not sin’dorei. In the end Trenetir was just as cold and uncaring as this Grim. Profit was more important than the life of others. Profit and power were their driving force.

In the past few days she had healed, but the memories of those that were lost in the battle would forever be with her. She rose to pace the room wondering if Trenetir would learn of her actions. A wave of anxiety washed over her. What had caused her to act in such a way? Was this a weakness? Was she losing her edge? What would Trenetir do when he found out? For as long as she could remember she had always thought of herself. Done what was good for her. Everyone else was just a tool for the next step of her life. What if Trenetir found out, she would have done anything to save what remained of her crew? That life was more important than profit, that she now saw others as living beings unique from one another with aspirations and dreams of their own. What if Trenetir found out, she cared?

The pain was always there now. It was there when he woke, and there when he slept. It was there, always there, a dull ache that sometimes bordered on throbbing pain if he focused on it.

And he loved it.

He peered over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror, the extensive scars on his back would never fade. He smiled as he ran a scar along a scar on his shoulder blade, closing his eyes and letting the fel pain wash over him. Chalar had been wary of the joining of souls, but precautions had to be taken. And if he could suffer in the process, all the better.

His brow furrowed and his eyes shut tightly, the pulsing pain threatening to overtake him. He took several deep breaths and focused, the fel pain returning to the dull ache that had become familiar.

He crossed the cell of a room and pulled out the ledger from the dresser, and penned the following note.

AAMS,

I am in urgent need of a meeting to be arranged with one of the Alliance who goes by the name of Grim. Please arrange this post haste.

Trenetir Moradinel

He gave the note a once over and considered delivering it to Koudo himself, but instead simply posted it to the AAMS.

Tyvian lounged idly on a stack of crates by the pier, letting the salty sea breeze wash over him and lightly ruffle the common seafaring clothes he currently had on. The sun was about two hours up from sunrise and as he sat and dangled his feet off the edge, the sounds of saws, hammers and shouts rang out from his left. There, off the coast was were three ships anchored out at sea. Rise at Dawn's smuggling station, hidden in the shadow of the mountains, the corrupted warlock was hiding in plain sight. A keen eyed observer would have just seen one more brigand among the others, nothing standing out about him.

A stronger breeze blew off the Forbidding sea, blowing his black hair up, and exposing his eyes deep in thought. Things were bad, but not un-salvageable. The elf he had let go had surprisingly borne fruit, but as surprised as he had been to receive that unexpected letter, he was let down when he realized that the 'business partner' was a raving lunatic. Really, what fool doesn't take a chance to cut his losses and profit, but instead resolves to see himself to further destruction? Looking off from the pier at the ships, all three were so different in contrast to each other, that Tyvian couldn't help but smile. Everrard's schooner was by far the smallest, but it was still the fastest and most maneuverable of the trio. Naga's Folly had the teeth of a much larger vessel, and the draft of a frigate, and was a terror upon the seas, just as much as the namesake species. Still she had flaws, after loading her decks and holds with goods, she became much less agile, and cumbersome, with a fraction of her speed. Yet despite that, Everrard swore by the ship, and Tyvian was not going to disagree with the man.

The problem, came from the other two ships. Both of elven make, Sin'dorei craft. Elegant and functional, but they lacked a certain... ferocity. They lacked charm, they were pretty for pretty's sake. The cargo vessel, almost repainted and modified to Everrard's specifications was his first catch. Taken before he had even known about this "Trenetir Moradinel". She was originally that lunatic elf's, but no longer, now she belonged to Tyvian. Just the same as the imposing destroyer, it still sat at anchor being repaired and refitted by Rise's craftsman. The explosive charges that would sink the ships if necessary were being floated over now, the rowboats riding low in the water as they move the countermeasures into position.

Tyvian's paranoia was in full effect here, after realizing just how relentlessly this elf would pursue these ships, Tyvian had scooped up as many of Alex's and Aschaere's peons that he could, cart them off to this forsaken place, and cut all contact with the outside world, he finally felt assured that the ships were safe. Apart from his guildstone, the men who had been roped here mostly grumbled, complained, and eyed the ships, especially that destroyer. The Vindictive Spirit, Tyvian's new name for the destroyer, had limped here after he cast away those elven survivors and made his way south. It had begun repairs in Booty bay, but after his meeting, Tyvian had immediately moved it. Perhaps he would call in a favor that was owed him? Find some allies to spread around the pressure? From what his network could tell him about this Moradinel, Tyvian knew he was going to be hard pressed for once.

So much hassle, just for these ships. Was it really worth having my own fleet? Trade access? Trying to open up new smuggling ports off the coast of the Hinterlands? No matter. Tyvian kicked his feet and thought, it was what he was good at while his viewpoint was several hundred feet in the air, looking down through his eye of Kilrogg hidden in the sky. No you could never be too careful, too calculating, he mused. Perhaps he would have to go on the offense again, really show this elf why he should have taken the offer. But for now, defending what he owned was key. Which was why as his feet kicked back and forth through the air, his heels brushed against one of the crates labels...

"Mark 4B-HE. S.W.A.T.T.E.R."
"Gnomish AA cannon."
"Kharanos Armories."

Mindless, they are called. Decaying remnants of an era, they once thought themselves mighty. Untouchable. Incorruptible.

Righteous.

Now look at them. What's left of them. Old bone caked in slow rotting flesh and withering sinew shamble back and forth. Not mindless. Lost. Confused. Trapped. Never mindless.

The silent hunched figure stood idle, leaning on an intricately crafted skull topped staff. One hand clutched said staff she had firmly planted in the soft earth. The other casually fingered a finely crafted skull topped key that hung from her belt. Empty eye sockets drifted across the ruins of a once great town. Pyrewood now more closely resembled its name. A hollow charred shell of its former self.

The one some called Banshee stood idly by and smirked at the similitude.

Bones creaked as she turned to gaze upon the nearby shoreline, mentally retracing her work thus far. Her journey began in the home of the bloody elves, Silvermoon. She mentally spat. Even its name exuded pretentiousness. Were it not for her duty to Modas she would have never set foot within the city.

It was... too clean. And it smelled.

Her journey truly began, as she would put it, with one called Sekhesmet. His brilliance guided her deeper into the mysterious wonders of the shadow-light interplay. After so much time spent alone within the ruins of Lordaeron studying his works an enigmatic call urged her in a different direction, sending her to eventually find Modas il Toralar. Intrigued and eager for the opportunity to discover her own boundaries, and then push them further, she joined.

Seek the elf Trenetir, is all she was told. Finding him in Silvermoon, the elf first put her to a test. Finding her adequate for his needs he sent the shadow priest out to find the one called Grim. It was just a name, but it was a start.

For the first time in a long-long while she had a purpose. A task greater than the simple accumulation of knowledge. There was a goal in sight. A reason for her to practice and perfect as much as possible the esoteric knowledge she'd gained thus far.

Communing with the dead. That was her best bet. Leaving the smelly elf city she joined her kindred at the blighted scar. It took some persuasion, but eventually the shambling corpses and rattling bones revealed a kernel of information.

South along the sea.

And so she traveled a foot, from grave site to grave site, each corpse adding small bits of information. She was honing in on something, she knew. It would take time but soon enough the dead would reveal all and the shadows would guide her to him. Once found she would do as the elf directed her.

She would watch.
She would wait.
... for now.

Thrum
Hiss
Thrum
Hiss

The steady sound of the Black Harvest warlock's magics pulsating around the rough hewn stone chamber were the only constants. He had melted this sanctum from the cliff face itself. His fires hot enough to liquefy the granite bluff, until he had bored out this cavern. Fel magics, notoriously unstable and chaotic, writhed through the man standing in the center. Demonic runes had been seared into the very stone, complex circles upon dizzying spirals upon elaborate rings of markings in the natural stone. The Rise workers outside kept working and grumbling tirelessly, their eyes occasionally drawn to the bright green light emanating from the cavern's entrance. Then they remembered what, and who, was in there, and resumed work with a cold sweat. At least until they had another momentary lapse of good judgement to look again.

Tyvian stood in his garb, dressed as what he was, his raven feather adorned robes billowing in the air disruptions of his magics. Chaotic green lightning seethed through, and across his arms, arcing into the stone, and making the cavern hot as a furnace. More, I need more. calmly thought the man in center of it all. Rifts to the nether tore open on the periphery of his ritual circles, blasting heat and corrupting power out into the void to avoid cooking the caster. Five black tomes ringed him, each opened to a page that projected shadowy depictions into the air, and fueled his ritual. The sixth was in the hands of another.

Tyvian was calling upon years, and years of study, of torments and experience he had suffered through to amplify his magics. He needed to be on guard, and as it stood, too much was happening too fast. His machinations weren't going according to plan, his goals not furthering. I need to get control, I did not come this far to fail. His will was immovable, his focus unfaltering, his concentration razorlike, but he stll needed more. On the outside, he seethed with his painstakingly gotten power, but on the inside he was cold. It was as if ice and fire flowed through his veins. Yet he had felt worse, fought worse, and experienced worse. Tapped magics undreamed of, and delved darker into Old God magics and Demonic knowledge than most.

Fel magics were a raging torrent, something raw and untamed, forced to one's bidding through strength of will. If the warlock cannot handle it, they are overwhelmed and consumed by the power they attempted to wield. Even now, he wove flows upon flows, and channeled it to his control. He peered through a hundred eyes of Kilrogg, watching and waiting all while simultaneously calling out with his soul to a fragment far away. The shadowy linkage that bound him to the grimoire currently residing in his greatest pupil's travel pouch.

"Raven, I call to you."

Within the granite cavern, where the Grim Warlock surged with terrible demonic power, a tear in the fabric of reality began to open.

Small at first, the tear grew wider until it split open as if a large unseen cosmic egg were being torn in two. From within the fissure poured a thick sickly green icor. Green fel tainted flames danced as it touched the heated air of the cavern.

Spilling onto the ritually scarred granite a thing twitched from within the horrid mass. A dark scorched arm stretched forth, small, withered, twisted. Then another. The head of some deformed creature soon followed and with an apparent momentous effort the charred twisted creature emerged from its puddle of icor.

A flood of green fel tained flames poured from the fissure bathing the twisted figure. Instead of consuming the creature, the flames bestowed dark vestments. The fissure closed. The flames abated. The puddle of icor consumed itself, leaving a stain. Beside it stood a squat figure no larger than a gnome, baring robes which at first blush appeared much the same as the Grim Warlock.

A dark cowl and bone bird-like mask obscured its features. Long dark robes covered the body. Raven feathers accentuated the shoulders and throughout the ensemble, but this is where the similarities ended. Most notable were the smaller skull adornments that grouped around the small pauldrons, the skull at the belt, at the gloves and a few other places. The tiny eye sockets boiled over with fel energies. The bone mask, charred black, betrayed nothing but an inky darkness beneath.

The creature heaved a deep breathe. Sulfuric fumes wafted from the mask. A demonically twisted yet decidedly female voice spoke softly from all around the creature and not from the mask as one might expect. It hunched slightly forward and bowed its head.

"Grim Master." The voice rasped. It slowly, reverently, accentuated the name and title.

"You called, and I have come." She stood with a slight hunch to her back. An arm out stretched, summoning a tendril of darkness from a darker realm beyond. Grasping it, the tendril solidified into a squat staff a head taller than herself. A wicked but simple blade crooked out from its head.

Clutching the staff close with both hands, she leaned on it for apparent support. Appearing very much a smaller image of death, the little warlock patiently awaited the hallowed commands of her revered master.

There she was, his most promising student. Noxious fumes, and corruption radiated from her, clad in her hard won vestments. How...proud he was.

She knelt, awaiting her command, awaiting her next goal. Tyvian stopped his channeling, instantly plunging the cavern into pitch blackness. Raising his hand slowly, a singular burst of green flame flickered to life in his open palm, causing the runes across the floor to glow in response, bathing the room in eerie green glow.
He studied Lilith, or Raven as she was known now. She had come far, practiced and perfected, studied and devoted herself to ambition and betterment. She mirrored himself almost identically in his younger days.
She was quite the little bundle of potential, but yet, something was different. He had felt...something, through his grimoire, something he had felt once before, but he could not recall it.

His gaze searched deeper, shadowy tendrils coming off of his robes to caress the Gnome's form, slowly writhing around her in sensory probing. Her soul, he must see her very soul, gazing deeper than any observer. He saw her as only few could, saw the raw force of life, and what had warped this one. Something had happened during her last ritual, something unexpected... More demon than gnome, more malevolence than innocence. Perfect, yet flawed, he thought. Something had influenced her, something familiar, or something he knew in the back of his mind. Still, this 'rebirth' of her was quite a large step, breaking boundaries few crossed. He was pleased.

Reaching out with his free hand, it crackled with a combination of chaotic energy mixed with shadowy soul magics, reaching out as if to praise the Gnome. His voice grated hoarsely out of the abyss behind his own mask, while the charred fingertips of his hands almost touching to the woman, "I have a task for you. A lesson, if you will. Something is coming for me, drawn to me like an arrow to its target. Either the elf, Moradinel, or one of his ilk."

He paused and exhaled, returning his gaze to the gnome herself, taking in her appearance. "You will find this agent, or the elf himself. Remove his soul and bring it to me. The entrapment of the soul is the test, many fail in this task, you however. Will. Not." Bringing his hand back to his side, he curled a finger, causing one grimoire from the floor to speedily fly into his hand as if propelled by a whip. "You succeeded in the twilight grove, and you have changed. Should you succeed in this endeavor, the second of my knowledge is yours. As is my instruction, I will take a more...direct approach in your furthering." With a snap of his fingers though, a soul shard drifted from his pocket. It was small, more so than others of its kind, but even on the darkness of the stone, darker swirls appeared to move within it. "Fail, and you understand the consequences."

"Do you understand? Destroy this agent, or Moradinel himself, the means are yours, so long as the soul comes to me."
Waiting for the reply, Tyvian couldn't help but wonder, what was this feeling he was getting from his pupil? Something different, something familiar, but he would figure it out.