Pages from the Past: Vicarious Vengeance
Controlled breathing. Stay hidden. Make no sound. Your heart is getting louder. Calm yourself. Steady your hand. Patience. A single decisive strike is all you need. Control your breath. Stay hidden…
The list cycled through Vandel’s head as he practically clung to the stone archwork of a dilapidated Sin’doreian home. The last hour had been spent keeping to the shadows while he meticulously stalked and made note of a particular individuals activities. Leading him into the ruined half of Silvermoon that had been abandoned for many years now, the plotting rogue wondered why. What he knew of his mark caused concern for where this was going. Adult woman, Sin’dorei and likely of noble descent, the defining feature of this dark haired and well dressed woman however, was a distinct fel aura. A field of demonic influence far more powerful than that of the common Sin’dorei taint.
No one came to the ruins with altruistic intentions, and Vandel would take care to learn what her game was, for now. That monotonous list railed on at a steady pace, keeping everything in check and his presence unknown. He could sense something foul surround the woman as she approached a nearby spire, the buildings entrance having been almost entirely blocked by the rubble of the fallen upper half of the building. A serviceable space remained for her lithe figure to slip through, and the sneak of an elf knew he would have to follow soon behind.
A fist sized chunk of crumbled wall came loose and smacked on the tiled floor just inside the spire entrances, his cloak having gotten caught on a jagged edifice of the collapsed remains. The sound was quite audible and brought his ears flat with annoyance at himself. ‘Shit.’ He harped internally, skirting inside quickly and finding a nearby cutout of fallen building material to lay low within should anyone come to investigate. After a solid couple of minutes, he felt confident that the mishap had gone unnoticed, and emerged from his hiding spot to survey the interior.
Nothing about the spire’s base level had been made use of for at least as long as the attack on Silvermoon itself, and perhaps even longer. One key detail however did not pass Vandel by; a flight of broad spiraling stairs that lead below ground level, and more notably the faint flicker of fire light that teased its way from the depths below. So there was a nefarious meaning to this detour from civilization. He wasn’t entirely surprised. With a steadied exhale, the rogue moved towards the basement stairs.
The light that escaped to the first floor was from one of a series of lanterns that lined the outer wall of the downward staircase, painting a clear path to whatever he sought at he end. Passing a furniture and debris strewn first basement floor, Vandel continued further down after scanning the room for signs of life and coming up empty handed.
A closed, mold-stained red painted door was all that stood between him and his prey that was no doubt performing some heavy magic on the bottom basement floor. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the nerves of his skin rippling electric as he sensed a perverse source of power beyond the portal of the room. It was a presence far more intense than a single person could project, and he had a sinking feeling about what was about to occur. A malachite hue beamed through the floor crack of the door, the distinct presence of two shadows casting into Vandel’s view. His eyes fixed upon those dark columns and estimated what could be making them grow larger. As the green light was subsumed by those pair of shadows, he realized nearly too late what it was.
The door of the basement slammed open and splintered at the corner with a crack on the wall of the stairway. From the cramped space behind the door, he could see someone making quite intended stomps up the stairs, as a child who hadn’t gotten their way might storm off to show their parents how serious they were. Before he could get a positive identification on the person they were out of view, drawing a hushed curse from the pinned scoundrel. There was little he could do with the door being left open except to look through the inner crack, into the room that held the object of his true desire for revelation.
A cross between a laboratory and a sacrificial altar, he swallowed his natural inclination to gasp as the macabre business being conducted within was made known to him. It was a circular room lined with work tables and glass cabinets, jars and breakers making up the bulk of their contents along with stacks of tomes. The true focal point of the room however, was a gothic slab at the center of the room where a corpse lie, and standing over it was Her. His knuckles went white with his grip on the hilt of his sheathed dagger, his thoughts now re-tempered with purpose as he witnessed her performing forbidden magic upon the body, that eerie green eminence coming from her rune-tracing hands. He took a mental note of the situation; her back was to him, there were no others visible from his vantage point, there was just enough space to close that she could hear his approach, and most important of all, She was most certainly a Warlock.
The conniving assassin put everything into making his advance both silent and lethal, the constant belted reminders of before now having their steel tested. Halfway into the circumference of the room and he confirmed that she was alone. His soft soled boots didn’t make so much as a whisper as his trained motions dampened any chance of being heard by the ensorcelling witch.
Three-quarters to making his strike true, and she had yet to do so much as turn around or show a sign of awareness. Channelling fel energy of that magnitude took far more than concentration, and Vandel felt safe in his commitment to his act now.
It was only as his gloved hand reached for her shoulder that the dagger at his hip was unsheathed. With the clasp of his mitt, the witch was jarred from her casting and into the jut of his blade aimed directly for her kidney. In that moment everything culminated in his head. Every uncertainty, every inconsiderate factor that could turn this plan against him. In a brief moment of temporary blindness, Vandel was not fully convinced that his assault had worked until he regained focus and saw the violent shower of crimson spray coming from her throat, bathing the cadaver that she had been working on just a second prior. Vandel grimaced in pure satisfaction.
Taking a step back, he relinquished his hold of her and watched as the raven haired Warlock fell prostrate upon her deathly subject. Two wounds to the side and a sliced jugular. He took a quick inventory of the techniques used to end this sinner’s life while wiping his dagger clean of evidence upon the skirt of her robes. It occurred to him now how poorly lit the room was without her demonic incantation, and he narrowed his eyes to make out the finer details of his work. This was not a job. No pay awaited him for this kill, save the satisfaction that one less demonic practitioner darkened the doorways of Silvermoon tonight.
It was time to go. A potential witness was at large, and he had no reason to be here. Stowing away the implement of murder, Vandel wiped perspiration that had collected on his brow from the anticipation. Turning on his heels, the blood-kissed elf made for the stairs and towards the exit.
At least a mile separated Vandel from the scene before he took the time to sit down, catch himself, and reflect on what had just occurred. He knew it wasn’t Her. She was far too sly to be assassinated in her own work space. Still there was a quality to the witch that had just met her end, that scratched partially at an eternal itch deep within him. Perhaps it was her hair, or the silhouette her figure cast in the pale fel green light of that twisted dungeon. Whatever it was it reminded him of Isoldra, and knowing that witch from earlier had paid the ultimate price was enough to sate his unending thirst for vengeance against Isoldra.
Perhaps one of these evenings, that thirst would be quenched for good.
