IC blog for Banagan Larethian. Warlock for the Shrouded Dawn. Son of Braghaman Larethian and Anaja Eva. Time lost. Shadow Council server. Face Claim: Colton Haynes
Jek and his cohorts were walking along the main street of Stormwind. To the side, they could see the memorial for their fallen king, but no sentiment appeared to stir in them. Their polished armor reflected the sun and created spots of bright light dancing along the stone path around them. Jek had a slightly smug look on his face as he watched the crowds of civilians parting as they passed.
“Jek! Hey Jek! Wait up!”
The warrior and his fellows stopped and turned to look back down the path at the man who was running up to them.
“Something important?” Jek asked as the man came to a stop in front of them.
“You’ll never guess who I just saw.”
“Okay, I give up, who?” Jek asked, rolling his eyes.
“Down by the docks. It was Larethian.”
“Larethian. You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. He was wearing some sort of disguise but I saw him getting off one of the boats.”
“Disguise?”
“Yeah. He had these brown robes. Even had this weird mask.”
“Mask. But you saw him?”
“Yeah, he wasn’t wearing it when he got off the boat. Put it on when he got on the dock.”
“But you’re sure it was him.” Jek stared intently at his friend.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Well pretty sure.”
“Guess we should go visit with our dear friend,” Jek said with a grin. His friends chuckled as they started walking towards the docks.
——
Banagan adjusted his mask as he stood on the docks of Stormwind. Not only would this help conceal his identity to anyone in the capital who might recognize him, but it also helped to hide his disappointment. His time in the Dragon Isles had shown him a lot, but had brought him no closer to finding a way to restore his own timeline. He adjusted his spell dagger on his belt and slowly made his way towards the city.
The warlock stopped at the top of the ramp to look back at the harbor. A moment later, he turned again and began walking beneath the archway into the city. He’d only gone a few steps further when he suddenly he felt hands grab either of his arms and pull him backwards, making him lose his balance. Banny found himself being drug into an alley and pushed against the wall. Taking stock of the situation, he found himself surrounded by four men, two of whom were still holding his arms and keeping him pinned to the wall.
“I have nothing of value,” Banagan said calmly. “Just let me go on my way and I won’t report it.”
“Shut up Larethian. Get that mask off of him,” Jek added, slapping the arm of the one person who wasn’t busy holding on to Banagan.
The warlock turned to look at Jek just as the other man reached forward and pulled his mask off.
“Hey, you’re not Larethian! I mean you look like him, but you’re older. What’re you, his dad? A brother??”
“You have made two mistakes,” Banagan answered with a frown. “First. I’m not the person you were looking for.”
“Yeah. Whatever,” Jek said dismissively. “But I bet you know how to get a message to him.”
“What’s the second?” asked the man holding Banagan’s mask.
“What?” Jek asked, looking at his comrade.
“He said we made two mistakes.”
Before Jek could respond, another voice cackled and called out from behind the men.
“Is play time?”
The men turned to see an imp bobbing nearby, flames starting to form around his hands.
Voltuk sat in the back corner of the office, hidden in shadows next to a chest. He wasn’t concerned about being seen since he was partially phased anyway. The imp chuckled to himself, thinking of how easy it was to sneak into the office through the window. He was just about to comment to himself for the third time how stupid they were for not locking the windows when he heard voices from out in the hallway.
“Are you certain the bishop isn’t in?”
“We haven’t seen him since this morning when he left. He said he had something to attend to.”
“That was hours ago. Did he say when he would return?”
“Not to me, father.”
There was a quiet knock on the door to the office. Voltuk fought back the urge to respond, but it was hard for the imp.
“He’s not here, father.”
“Open the door.”
“Father, is that appropriate?”
“I’ll take responsibility, acolyte. Open the door.”
The door of the office opened and two priests stepped inside. One was an older mane with greying hair, the other was younger and seemed nervous. The two priests walked into the office and looked around the ornately decorated room.
“And he left no word on when he expected to return?” the older priest asked.
“Not to me, father.”
The older priest walked across the room and looked out the open window while the younger acolyte stepped over to the desk. The younger priest looked down at the papers on the desk and reached down to spread them out.
“Could he have gone to the Stockades?” the acolyte asked.
“Why would you think that?” the older priest asked, moving over to the desk.
“This paper here talks about a jailer. Maybe he was going to pray with one of the inmates?”
The elder priest spread the papers out more and leaned down to get a closer look. Suddenly, he stood up with wide eyes.
“This isn’t about the Stockades.”
“How do you know?”
“Look at the other papers. The writings and the diagrams. This isn’t about any place on Azeroth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lock the door and do not let anyone else enter this room until I return,” the elder priest said, ignoring the acolytes question. “Do you understand? No one until I return.”
“Of course father. No one will be let in.”
The priest walked out of the office with the acolyte following in his wake. Voltuk watched as the door to the office closed and there was a click as it locked. With a grin, the imp walked over to the window and climbed out. The imp scampered down the side of the building until he made it to the street behind the Cathedral. Voltuk them skipped past the gates and made his way towards the nearby pond, dodging guards and civilians along the way. On the far side of the pond, he found Banagan sitting near the waters.
“Did you put the papers on his desk?” the warlock asked.
“Sure did. Right where you said to.”
“Were they found?”
“Oh yes. The bishop will have a lot of explaining to do.”
“At the very least,” Banagan replied with a smirk. “Regardless, we’re done here. Let’s head back home.”
Banagan gently ran his fingers over the spines of the books on the bookcase. He carefully read the titles of the books through his mask. More than once he was tempted to lift his mask, but he refrained each time. He could hear people walking around him in the Seer’s Library. Blood elves spoke quietly as they moved nearby.
Banagan focused his thoughts and read the book titles again. Tentatively, he reached out and took a book from the shelf. Opening the tome, he looked over the first pages. Absently, he began to nod as he read.
“You’re a difficult person to find.”
Banagan slammed the book shut and turned to look at the voice that had just spoken to him. The warlock almost spoke the name of the rogue standing near him, the rogue that serves as his father’s right hand. Banagan slowly sat the book down on the floating table next to him.
“Not difficult enough. You found me.”
“I was lucky,” Erik responded. The rogue reached up and pushed his hood back. “I’d been hoping to have a word with you.”
“I assumed that our business was done once you got the death knight.”
“We appreciate your assistance in that. Your plan worked exactly as you said.”
“Then we don’t really have anything else to talk about,” Banagan said as he hooked his thumbs onto his belt, next to the pouches that hung from them.
“I believe we do. And I believe you know what about.”
“You are mistaken,” Banagan said as he reached into his pouch and pulled out a vial. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Not yet,” Erik replied as he moved towards the warlock.
Banagan turned his back to the rogue and took a step. With his free hand, he pushed his mask up and brought up the vial to his lips. Before the rogue could stop him, the warlock appeared to shimmer and then disappeared. Erik stopped short and scanned the library.
“Okay,” the rogue said with a sign. Then he turned and walked towards the elevator.
The warlock stood back from the edge of the forest. Partially behind a tree, he hid as he looked out at the clearing beyond the tree line. He was motionless as he waited and watched.
Across the clearing, outside of the house at the other side, two children were playing. Banagan couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the tones and the laughter carried enough that he knew that they were playing.
“Why are you doing this?”
Banagan looked down at the imp beside him. Voltuk was staring at the warlock, waiting as patiently as an imp might for an answer to his question.
“Do what?” Banagan asked in reply, looking back at the house across the way.
“Just go and say hi. Tell them you’re back.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can,” Voltuk responded. “Its me! I’m home!”
“That’s not my home.”
“They’d cry and hug and make you a cake.”
Banagan turned his head to look at the imp again, the mask barely containing the look he was obviously given to the imp.
“And there’d be candles on the cake. And we’d make the cake explode!”
“Settle down, Voltuk.”
“Good times had by all,” Voltuk continued, almost sounding wistful.
Banagan was about to respond when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Looking back to the house, the warlock could see that a large, blue feline step from the small outbuilding and pad over to the children. The construction stopped and stared in the direction of the warlock. Banagan moved further behind the tree he’d been next to, still keeping an eye on the magical construct. Across the clearing, he could hear a low growl.
From the outbuilding, a winged lion emerged and walked over to the first feline. Banagan watched as Valiant first looked at the children and then to the blue cat before he finally turned to look at the forest. At him. The winged lion stared for a few moment, then let out a huff. He looked at the blue construct again and let out a grunt before it settled on the ground and rested his head on his paws. The blue feline looked at the forest for a moment longer before turning and settling on the ground on the opposite side of the children, neither of whom had ever stopped playing to notice what had just happened.
“We should go,” Banagan said quietly as he back away from the tree.
“Why?” Voltuk asked, peering around the tree at the other side of the clearing.
Warlocks are seekers of the knowledge that lies hidden in the fabric of the multiverse. Through pacts made with mysterious beings of supernatural power, warlocks unlock magical effects both subtle and spectacular. Drawing on the ancient knowledge of beings such as fey nobles, demons, devils, hags, and alien entities of the Far Realm, warlocks piece together arcane secrets to bolster their own power.
The death knight stumbled out of the cave and onto the bleak landscape of Icecrown. Even with the wind and snow pushing against it, the death knight only heard the ring of the explosion echoing within his helm. Shaking its head slightly, the death knight gripped its sword and turned to look back at the smoke that was streaming out of the cavern. He gave a metallic growl as he listened to the grunts of its last remaining men inside.
“Fel-damned warlock,” the death knight spat as it stood and waited.
After a few moments, a vague form started to separate from the smoke. A figure in dark brown robes moved towards the entrance of the cave, his mask hiding his features and likely protecting him from the smoke. In his hands he held a large scythe with a glowing red blade.
“Where are you pets?” the death knight sneered.
“Dealing with your pet.”
“Who are you?” the death knight bellowed, his voice mixing with the howl of the wind.
“No one of consequence.”
“I will know why you have vexed me so!” the death knight bellowed.
“No. You won’t.”
“Then you will die here. Without a name. Without anyone knowing to weep for your loss.”
The warlock’s shoulders shrugged slightly. He twisted his scythe up and planted the butt of the shaft onto the ground next to him. He turned his body slightly and planted his feet, looking squarely at the death knight. Holding up his right arm, the warlock spoke a few words and then flames appeared and swirled around his hand.
The death knight snarled and pointed at the warlock, a bolt of blood red light flying from its fingers towards the robed man. The warlock dodged to the side, barely avoiding the bolt as it flew past his shoulder. The death knight ran forward, gripping its sword and bringing its blade around in an arc at its enemy. The warlock spoke one final word and the flames around his hand flew forward and struck the the death knight in the chest.
The death knight grunted and stumbled slightly, but continued to surge forward with its sword slashing through the air. The warlock dropped his hand and grabbed his weapon. The scythe blocked the sword. The death knight continued to push forward as it tried to keep the warlock off balance.
The warlock held his scythe up as the death knight pushed against it with his blade. The warlock was forced to take several steps backwards before planting his foot down to brace himself and twisting his scythe around. The death knight’s blade slide to the side and its owner followed, taking a step past its prey. The warlock reached to his belt and grabbed a ceramic bulb that was hanging there and threw it into the back of the death knight as it passed. The bulb shattered and a dark gray powder showered the death knight’s armor. The warlock skipped back a couple of steps and raised his hand again, casting a bolt of fire at the death knight.
The powder sizzled and flashed around the death knight, engulfing it in a brief ball of fire. The winds of Icecrown tore at the smoke and flames and blew them away from the blackened form of the death knight. It turned to face the warlock again just as he had started another casting. Before the death knight could do anything to stop the spell, a bolt of bright green fire shot from the warlock’s hand and struck the death knight squarely in the chest. It stumbled back into the mountain side.
The death knight reached up and placed a hand on his chest plate. It could feel a gap in the armor. Pulling its fingers back from the tear in the metal, the death knight growled as it reached back and pushed itself off of the rocks. Then, without attacking, the death knight turned and ran to the side of the rocky wall and around an outcropping. The warlock watched in surprise as the death knight retreated and momentarily lost sight of his enemy. Holding tightly to his weapon, the warlock sprinted towards the spot where the death knight had disappeared.
As the warlock turned the corner, he saw the death knight climbing onto the back of one of the skeletal gryphons that its kind favored. The warlock cast another bolt of flame at the death knight, but missed the mark in his haste. The death knight climbed onto the undead gryphon and looked back at the warlock, its red eyes glowing with hatred at the one who had caused him to abandon the field of combat. The death knight kicked the flanks of the gryphon and it lifted up into the air. Within moments, it was lost to the storms of icecrown.
The warlock watched the outline of the rider and its mount fade into the snowstorm. He held his weapon at his side and flames continued to dance around his hand as the warlock watched the sky. It was only after several moments the warlock decided that the death knight was not circling around to attack again and relinquished the spell. The flames around the warlocks hand drifted on the winds as he turned and began walking back towards the entrance of the cave.
Faris slid off his gryphon and looked at the exterior of the Shadow Vault. The death knight ran his gloved hand over the rent torn into his chest plate and let out another quiet growl as he noted all the knights of the Ebon Blade moving into and out of the keep. Reaching into one of the saddlebags draped over the skeletal gryphon, the death knight pulled out an Ebon Blade tabard and through the cloth over its head. Then it slowly entered the keep and made for a shadowed corner in the back.
“That fel-damned warlock,” the death knight muttered to itself. “At best he has slowed me down. I will gather new forces. He has only delayed the in..”
The death knight heard a scraping sound and then let out a startled grunt which was followed by searing pain. Looking down, it saw the tip of a blade stick out of its chest plate. Before it mastered its surprise, there was the sound again as another blade tip appeared through his armor. The back of the death knight’s left leg was struck and the armored monster fell to the ground on its knees. Then there was the scraping sound again as both blades disappeared.
The death knight reached up to its chest plate and found the new tears in the armor where the blades had been only moments before. Then it saw movement out of the corner of its eyes. A bald man with a scarf wrapped around his face stepped around the death knight and stood in front of him. Holding two short swords, the man reached up with his right hand and tugged the scarf down.
“You,” the death knight said in a whisper as he recognized the rogue in front of him. “How?”
Erik tilted his head slightly, but did not answer. Bringing his arm up, he raised his sword high and then struck it against the side of the death knight’s neck. Before it could respond to the attacks, the rogue swung his sword two more times before the blade finally tore through and severed the death knight’s head from its neck and sent it clattering to the ground. Eric sheathed the sword in his left hand and knelt down to picked up the helm with the decayed head still inside. Pulling a satchel that hung from the back of his belt, Eric deposited the helm inside and tied it off.
Around him, members of the Ebon Blade began swarming the rogue. Eric sheathed his swords and reached calmly into his pocket with his free hand as he tossed the satchel over his shoulder with the other.
“What have you done?” one of the knights of the Ebon Blade said as he stepped forward and drew his sword.
“He was not one of you,” Eric said calmly. The rogue kicked the tabard on the body to the side and showed the design on the breast plate.
“We shall see. You will surrender your arms and come with us.”
Eric looked around at the several death knights that had surrounded him before looking back to the speaker. “No.” The rogue lifted his hand and threw something at the ground. There was a bright explosion and smoke filled the area. The death knights started calling out, searching through the smoke. When it finally cleared, the rogue was gone. All that was left was the headless body lying on the ground.
Outside of the Shadow Vault, Eric tugged the scarf back over his face and started climbing along the mountain walls that surrounded the keep. The sounds of the death knights below grew fainter as he climbed higher. The rogue only stopped when it reached the top of the mountain and the keep was far below.
“Did you do it?”
Eric spun around and dropped the satchel as he drew his two swords. Standing to the side was a lone imp, grinning as they always did.
“Yes,” Eric answered cautiously, watching the imp carefully. “Tell your master that he was correct. The death knight did arrive here.”
“Good,” the imp cackled. “He’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“Good. He will be happy to hear this.”
“Please pass along my appreciation,” Eric said. Then he paused for a moment. “Voltuk.”
The imp looked at the rogue for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “What is ‘Voltuk’?”
“Of course. Regardless,” Eric continued as he sheathed his swords and picked up the satchel from the ground. “I need to get this back to the commander.”
“Sure,” the imp said with a cackle. “By the way, your shoe’s on fire.”
“No, its not,” Eric answered, flinging a small sphere to the ground where it burst into light and smoke. When the wind blew away the last of the explosion, the rogue was gone.
“Sucker,” the imp said in a sulking manner before turning and heading down the mountain.
Banagan stepped under the archway that led into the dwarven district of Stormwind. As he glanced up and down the walkway, he saw crowds of people moving back and forth. Pulling his hood down, he stepped into the traffic and made his way towards the shop he was looking for.
Above the doorway hung the sign ‘Stonehand Mining’. Banny looked left and right to see if anyone was following him, and then ducked inside.
“Good aftern...” a dwarf in a green shirt started to call out, but then paused at the sight of the robed man in the door. The dwarf quickly recovered. “Good afternoon,” he said, though his tone now was not as cheerful. “Something I can help you with?”
Banny stepped up to the dwarf, stopping at a respectful distance but still close enough that he could talk quietly.
“I have a job in Northrend that requires some blasting. An associate directed me this way.”
“What’re ya’ thinkin’ to blast?” the dwarf asked, eyeing Banagan carefully.
“We have a set of caves that need clearing out.”
“That so,” the dwarf said, stroking his long, dark beard. “I think I have the right thing for you then.” The dwarf disappeared up some stairs for a minute. When he came back down the stairs, he was carrying four small, round containers. “This’ll do the trick.”
“These will help clear out the rubbish that’s packed into my caves?” Banagan asked as he looked at the containers.
“Aye, they will. One or two o’ these will deal with any pesky problems. But make sure you’re careful ‘bout placin’ them. And I wouldn’t go usin’ all four at once. Don’t want to bring down your ‘ole cave.”
“That won’t be a problem at all,” Banagan responded as he reached into his robes and pulled out his coin purse. “How much with they be?”
The Slaughtered Lamb was quiet. There were a couple of tables that were occupied, but those people spoke in hushed tones with each other. One table near the front was occupied by two individuals, both of whom were deep in a whispered conversation.
On the one side sat a person in brown robes and mask which hid his features and muffled his voice. Across from him sat a woman dressed in robes of purple and gold with a hood that was pulled low to help conceal her face from anyone not directly in front of her. On the table was a bottle of noir and two glasses, but neither person seemed interested in drinking from it.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” the man said.
“Its not my preferred location for a meeting, but it does have its charms,” she responded. “Most people wouldn’t expect a priest to come here,” she added with a smirk.
“I need to find someone. I believe he was a paladin once upon a time.”
“Once upon a time?”
“He may have been raised by Arthas.”
“Ahhh. One of those. And how do you think I could help?”
The man reaching into his robes and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Placing the paper on the table, he slid it over to the priestess. She waited a moment after he had removed his hand before she reached forward and took the paper. Unfolding the paper, she held it close and looked at the drawing on of a crest.
“That was on the death knight’s armor.”
“Well, it could be someone raised by the Lich King. But it could be from someone today. There are plenty of people who still have armor now with this crest.”
“Nothing special about it then?”
“Not on the face of it.”
“Is there any way that we could track this death knight?”
“If he were close enough, maybe. But he could be anywhere. And since I don’t know him personally, that would make it even harder.”
“I know he was spotted in Northrend at one point.”
“That doesn’t help much, Northrend is a pretty big place.”
“Of course,” he said, his head drooping slightly.
“I’m sorry that I can’t be more help,” the priestess offered quietly. “I’m afraid that unless something changes, old fashioned tracking is your best bet.”
“ I was afraid you would say that. But I figured I should ask none-the-less.”
“Of course.”
He reached into his robes again and took out a coin purse. Setting it on the table in front of the priestess, he then withdrew his hand and his masked looked up towards her. The priestess took the coin purse and opened it to look inside. Shaking it once, she then nodded as she drew the purse strings closed.
“I assume that there are no curses on this,” she said with a smirk. The robed man simply shook his head. “Thank you. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Thank you for seeing me,” he said as he watched the priestess stand up and step back from the table.
“I wasn’t sure I would. Your invitation was intriguing. And you seemed to know things about me that most would not. I’m tempted to ask how that is, but I’m not sure how satisfying the answer would be.”
“Your secrets are still safe, priestess,” the man said quietly.
“Please see that they are. For both our sakes,” she added as she turned, coin purse in hand, and left the tavern.
He waited until she was past the doorway before he rose from the table as well. Instead of moving to the door, he went to the back of the tavern and passed through an exit that led to a tunnel that went down. Reaching the bottom level, he stepped into the main chamber below before finding an empty room to the side. Once inside, he pulled a curtain over the entrance to the room.
“Voltuk.”
After a few moments, an imp suddenly appeared in the room next to the warlock.
“Yes?” the imp asked with a grin.
“We’ll need to hunt this death knight down on our own.”
“That is unfortunate,” Voltuk replied as he moved to the entrance of the room and peeked out through the curtain into the main chamber.
“I’ll need some information,” Banagan said, pulling his mask off and running a hand through his hair. “Those men you and Shaafun stopped in Darkshire. They’re still being held in quarantine. Go to them and find out who hired them.”
“How should I do that?” the imp asked, turning and looking at Banagan with a malicious glint in his eyes.
“Don’t burn the place down. Otherwise, do what you need to. And don’t get caught.”
Banagan sat quietly in the library, but anyone who watched him for any length of time would have seen that he was uneasy. The young man would regularly look around the room, or would glance at people out of the corner of his eye as they walked by. But to the casual observer, he was just another neatly dressed person wearing a plain white tunic with a vest over top and plan leather trousers.
Sitting on the table next to him were several books haphazardly stacked. As he finished his latest tome, he shut it quietly and set it on the stack. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Nothing,” he muttered to himself. “Just a plain Cathedral crest.”
Banny looked at the few remaining books on the table that he hadn’t opened yet. Leaning back in his chair, he reached back and started to rub the muscles in his neck and shoulder.
“I’m getting nowhere here. I’ve got no clue who this thing was or even when he was alive.”
He let out another sigh before sliding his chair back from the table. Carefully, he stacked the books and then lifted them up. He carried the stack to a table near the front of the room, next to one of the librarians and gently set it down.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the librarian asked in a hushed voice.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Could I assist in your search.”
“I don’t think so,” Banny answered. “I’m afraid I’ll just need to go to the source to find the answers I need.”
“Well, good luck then, sir.”
“Thank you,” Banagan said as he walked out of the library. “I’ll probably need it.”
Erik watched as the last crate on the dock was picked up and loaded onto the ship. Moments later, the plank to the deck was pulled up and secured on the boat as men on the dock began untying the boat from the moorings. Eventually, he watched as the ship pulled away from the docks and slowly made its way out to sea.
With the ship leaving, Erik turned from the water and started making his way back into Stormwind. His tunic rippled in the breeze as he moved up the ramp away from the docks, and his sword slapped against his thigh as he walked. Anyone watching him would’ve thought from his clothes that he was nothing more than a merchant seeing his shipment off.
As he reached the top of the ramp, Erik turned and followed the pathway back into the city. As he passed under the archway at the top of the ramp and walked along the sidewalk, he suddenly came to a stop next to the opening of an alley between two of the buildings. The rogue looked down at the ground for a moment then, without a word, he turned towards the alley. Taking a step into the shadows of the alleyway, he drew his sword and then stopped. Everything was quiet.
Then from the far end of the alley, a figured stepped out from behind some boxes. Wearing brown robes, his face was covered with a mask. In his hand, he carried a long scythe that had a red glow along the blade.
“How did you know I was here?” the robed man asked, his voice muffled by the mask.
“Where are your minions?”
“They’re around. They’ll come if they’re needed.”
“If your intention is to attack me, they will be needed,” Erik said, gripping his sword and raising its tip from the ground.
“I’d hoped we could have a conversation, not a fight.”
“What do you want?” Erik replied, not answering the robed man’s question.
“The monster tried to attack the.. tried to attack in Duskwood again. It was a death knight.”
“When?”
“Two nights ago.”
“You are certain.”
“I saw it with my own eyes. He was in the same area of the woods as before.”
“Why were you there?” Erik asked, slowly taking a step further into the alley.
“I was searching for clues about the first attack. It was my luck to run across him.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say I owe this monster and leave it at that for now.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“The death knight has a personal grudge against.. your commander. He talked about how how warlocks are always protecting him.”
“Given the commander’s family history, that is not surprising. Nor is it a secret.”
“What do you mean?” the robed figure asked hesitantly.
“It is well known. His late, first wife was a warlock. So was her father. So was his son.”
There was a tense pause between the two for several moments.
“His son is still young,” the robed man finally said. “I can’t imagine he’s much of a warlock at that age.”
“He had another son,” Erik responded, tilting his head slightly as he did so.
“I see.”
“What now?” the rogue asked, his feet shifting slightly.
“What do you know about the death knight?”
“It has attacked before. I tracked it to Icecrown,” the rogue added, unconsciously flexing his left hand as a phantom spasm of pain hit where his smallest finger had been cut off.
“You already knew who it was?” the robed figured asked with surprise, but the rogue did not move or respond. “Why didn’t you stop it then?”
“It was prepared. The opportunity was missed.”
“What about now?”
“I went back to the site. It had fled, leaving no traces of where it went.”
“Maybe it stayed in Icecrown. Its a good place to hide among all the other undead still roaming around there.”
“I had considered that as well. But there are numerous caves along the mountains there. Locating its current lair, if it is indeed there, would be difficult.”
“True,” the robed figure said, his grip on his scythe relaxing a bit.
“What will you do now, warlock?”
The robed figure’s head twitched slightly as he turned to look at Erik.
“First I want to see if I can figure out who this death knight is. I got a pretty good look at his armor.”
“It is not an old design,” Erik offered. “Perhaps even someone raised by the Arthas himself.”
“Well that’s a start at least. And if I can’t find anything else out, I may go look around Icecrown. What about you?”
“I was ordered not to hunt for the death knight on my own again. I also have immediate obligations here.”
“Of course,” the robed man said in response. “Thank you for the information.”
Erik watched the man for a moment before nodding. “And thank you for the information as well.”
“You’re.. wait, what?”
Erik did not answer. Raising his sword, he slid it back into his scabbard. Then without another word, the rogue turned his back to the robed man. Stepping back onto the street, he turned towards the city and disappeared from view.
“Just like always,” Banagan muttered to himself. Taking a deep breath, he spoke a word of magic and disappeared, leaving a faint magic symbol on the ground that quickly faded.
The death knight struck his gauntlet against the tree beside him causing pieces of bark to fly off. It kept its gaze on the darkened house that sat on the outskirts of Darkshire. No lamps shone through the windows to show that someone was present. The shelter behind the house was empty of those annoying felines, he thought. The home was dark and still.
“Where did he run off to?” the death knight seethed as he began to pace behind the trees that marked the border of the property. “How could he have known?” The death knight stopped and turned his back to the house.
“He could probably smell you. Ya’ smell like death.”
“What?” the death knight asked incredulously, turning back towards the house. Just past the trees, standing at the edge of the yard was a lone imp with a devilish grin.
“Well you are a death knight, right? Smells like death?” the imp cackled to himself. “Get it?”
“Insufferable imp,” the death knight hissed as it drew its sword.
“Everyone’s a critic,” the imp replied dryly. “How about this? Knock knock.”
“I should’ve destroyed you the first time I saw you,” the raised his sword to point it at the imp.
“I should’ve destroyed you the first time I saw you who?” asked the imp as he started hopping backwards.
The death knight started to say something, its metallic voice echoing within its helm. Then, it abruptly stopped and lowered its sword slightly. The death knight looked away from the imp and started scanning the area.
“You should probably leave while you can.” A figure stepped out of the tree line, draped in brown robes and wearing a mask. Leaning against his shoulder was the haft of a scythe, its glowing red blade pointing behind his back.
“You brought your master this time, pet,” the death knight sneered at the imp before turning back to the robed figure.
“Master?” the imp repeated incredulously. “Partners! He’s the brain. I’m the muscle.”
“Not now, Voltuk,” the robed figure interjected. “And you. You’ve no business here. Leave. Now!”
“You think possession of an imp and a mask makes you a threat to me?” the death knight asked, turning his stance towards the robed man.
“Just because you have a codpiece doesn’t mean you have…”
“Voltuk!”
“I could end you both as easily as the paladin.”
“Didn’t he beat your guys the last time?” the imp asked with a cackle.
“Enough of this.”
The death knight stepped forward and swung his sword down at the imp. Voltuk jumped back beyond the reach of the blade and hopped from foot to foot. The death knight then shifted his stance and swung his sword sideways, stopping the warlock who had shifted his scythe in his hands and was stepping forward. The death knight’s sword rung out as it struck the blade of the scythe. The death knight called out a word and his sword began glowing red. Striking out again, the death knight’s sword knocked the warlock’s scythe out of his hands.
“So many warlocks defend this fool,” the death knight hissed as it brought its blade back around. “Is there no better proof that this paladin has fallen from grace, that you should die defending him?”
Drawing its blade back, the death knight took hold of his sword with both hands and began stabbing forward. Without warning, a ball of fire exploded against the death knight’s shoulder and staggered him. The death knight turned in time to see the imp casting another fireball, dodging it at the last moment. As the death knight turned his attentions to Voltuk, another blast of fire splashed against its other shoulder. The death knight staggered to one knee, driving its sword tip into the ground to keep its balance.
“What was that explosion?” a voice called out. Soon other voices could be heard from the nearby houses, coming closer.
A low rumble echoed in the metal helm of the death knight before it spoke another word. Behind it, a portal shimmered into appearance. The death knight struggled up and then backed into the portal, its eyes locked onto the warlock. “We will finish this another time.” Silently, the portal closed and the death knight was gone.
Letting out a sigh, the warlock reached down and picked up his scythe.
“We should leave as well.” The warlock turned towards the forest and stepped into the shadows of the forest with the imp close at his heels. No sooner had they disappeared into the brush than members of the militia stepped into the field to investigate.
A plain envelope, addressed to Janosis of the Tirisgarde, arrives.
Master Janosis,
I am writing you at the suggestion of Master Dolraan. I met him during a gathering called an Inkwell recently. I had made mention of a magical item that I am currently researching, an item that purportedly has something to do with portals. Master Dolraan said that I should contact you, that you might have some insight to share. I would greatly appreciate any assistance that you might be willing to share.
