World of Warcraft®

((With apologies to Orwyn and the Watch...this brings an end to this particular tale. I have debated it for a while - I feel he has run his course.))

Since the confrontation with Orwyn in Stormwind Harbor, what felt like an age ago, Caro'thel Vendross had left Stormwind to meditate on his future. He had returned to where his life began, and where his journey had come full circle: The ruined city of Eldre'Thalas in the jungles of south-central Kalimdor, known by the ogres (and by plundering explorers) as "Dire Maul". He stood now in the great arena, once a great gathering place for sport, now inhabited by ghosts and dark memories.

It was clear that there would be no justice done in Stormwind. Those who commited murder against good men would not be punished appropriately...and thus, he wanted no part of Stormwind anymore. If the Alliance was in dire need, perhaps, he would feel it and come forward...but he would not be a Watchman anymore. Orwyn tied his own hands with minutiae, and it hindered his ability to truly do his job. So he was going to do it himself...he had sent a message to his foe, inviting him to face him one last time. After all, logic dictated there was only one way to deal with people like --

He smiled as he turned, his hood no longer obscuring his vision. "Professor Sputterspark."

"Officer Vendross," the gnome returned coolly.

"Lord Vendross," the Highborne corrected. "I no longer subscribe to the ranks and restrictions of Stormwind."

"I'm proud of you." The gnome warlock sounded like he meant it. "But you realize how this must end. We have caused one another too much grief and pain to forget it."

Vendross nodded. "I know. Then let us come to the point." He raised his flame-charged staff. "A wizard's duel. Your flames against mine. To the death."

"So be it, then. May the victor go on to greater glory...and may the vanquished's ashes be scattered to the four winds." Realizing the Highborne's intent, he had summoned and consumed the powers of his felhunter minion to counter the mage's spells. But the mage had his own counters...the question was, would he use them, or simply be hell-bent on ending Rakeri's life?

There was only one way to find out.

Standing thirty feet or so apart in the middle of the arena, mage and warlock bowed to one another, a gesture of honor between combatants. Then Vendross struck first, sending searing fireballs in the warlock's direction. Rakeri nimbly sidestepped them, sending fire bolts of his own. The sides of the arena became impacted with fireball craters as the two combatants circled the arena floor, hurling their magical fire - pure flame and fel flame alike - at one another, neither able to get a clear advantage.

While the warlock's fel-charged spells were potent, Vendross had experience on his side, combined with refinement in the halls of Stormwind and Dalaran, and his service in the Cataclysm. Both began to conserve their energies, seeking to catch the other unawares. "You are tenacious," Rakeri admitted. "But that will not be enough."

Vendross was silent...then he struck out with another fireball, and Rakeri saw he couldn't escape it in time. It was then that the portable shield on his belt activated, just in the nick of time - at least, to avoid him being scorched, but the impact was enough to send him skidding backwards in the dirt floor. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he let loose with more fel-bolts. Vendross, unlike his opponent, could see the blasts coming and easily blinked out of the way, rather than roll about in the dirt.

Rakeri suddenly sprouted green-tinged wings and leapt, unholy claws protruding from his fingertips as he swiped at Vendross' face, the demonic talons barely missing the Highborne's eyes. Still, it was distraction enough, as he flapped his wings and sent a dark wave to knock the mage back up against the wall. Vendross retaliated with a burst of dragon's breath. Rakeri let out a demonic roar as he raised his hands to shield his face from the fire that scorched his robes. The blackened, tattered cloth still bore the glowing green fel runes, now burning brightly.

The wings and claws had faded, and Rakeri was still standing. Though pained, he began to laugh. "Your powers are weak, Highborne," he taunted as he let out great bursts of fel flame, searing through the Highborne's robes, and leaving him similarly scorched in both body and attire. Vendross sank to his knees, but his stare remained on Rakeri as he raised a hand to cast another spell.

But Rakeri was prepared, the powers taken from his felhunter silencing the mage on the spot. Vendross stared, dumbfounded. Smiling in triumph, Rakeri drew his dagger and coldly slit the Highborne's throat. "So it will be," he said. "No one will ever know what became of you...and your House will fade into history, as it should."

The last thing Vendross saw was green flame, before blackness enclosed his spirit.

Another troublesome enemy vanquished. Rakeri stood triumphant in the middle of the arena in Dire Maul as the ashes of his opponent scattered in a breeze that picked up suddenly. Unlike with the incident with Saavedro in Pandaria, there would be no body to find. No trace at all left of him but dust.

Seeing two objects glinting in the setting sun, the gnome limped to them and picked them up. One was Tara'thel's Ring of Clarity, a Highborne relic that had belonged to Vendross' great-grandfather, with an enchantment which allowed him to understand other languages. The other was his Watch badge, with the lion of Stormwind in silver.

Smiling cruelly, he said, "I don't think you'll be needing this anymore." He melted the badge, preserving the molten metal in a tempered flask he usually used for inks made from fireblooms. He would find some use for it later. Then he pocketed the ring, and summoned his dark phoenix, Nadaz. Without another word, he was gone, leaving another ghost to inhabit the haunted halls of Eldre'Thalas.

----

But they had not been alone.

Stepping into the middle of the great arena once the warlock was gone was a human attired in ornate vestments, with what looked like elaborate masks on his crowned hood and his shoulderpads. He knelt in the dirt, one hand resting on the hilt of his tol'vir khopesh, the other leaning on his staff. He sifted a gloved hand through what little ashes remained of the Highborne mage and smiled to himself behind his mask. "Give my regards to your brother in the abyss, Vendross," he said.

Though he was willing to work within the system, given his new lease on life, Sekhesmet knew he would have had trouble with this one. Genevra, for all that she was a friend of Orwyn, was not an officer of the law and could do little more than rant at him. But Vendross had been a Watchman, and he would not have allowed the death of his brother, Lord Tara'thel the Younger, to go unpunished for long. The warlock had neatly solved this potential problem.

Interesting that he had called for Rakeri, however, and not Sekhesmet himself; did he see Saavedro as a far more personal blow, for some reason? Or had he been playing to the gnome's ego, knowing how he always wanted to prove to the mages how much greater he was because he was a warlock? Either way, it did not seem to avail him much. He was dead, and that was that.

Sekhesmet realized that he had a rather delicious bit of ammunition to play against the warlock, something that would decrease the little wretch's standing, while increasing his own. Yet Vendross, for all intents and purposes, had been AWOL, a borderline disgrace to the uniform...would that still make a difference where Orwyn was concerned? After a moment, he shook his head. No. He would not play that card yet...but he would find a way to subtly steer the warlock's actions to favor him.

He needed only wait for the right moment.