Wrathion the Wise
((MINOR BFA SPOILERS BELOW. Just in case you’re the most sheltered individual on the planet, and have managed to evade any of the recent events in game, I just want you to be warned now!
I’ve been head-writing a lot of stuff for my void elf/black dragon rogue, and I just had to get this bit out, especially after the recent events at Darkshore inspired me so. I probably won’t be writing any more for him yet until I get to RP him with people, get his personality a bit more fleshed out by actual social interaction. I do have another character in the works though!
I also hope we’re all chilled out now? Our jets a bit more cooled now that we’ve had an Old Soldier and a Zappy Boi to get our feels back on the hype train? No more death threats to the creative team at Blizzard? No? Okay... bloody well better not be.
Anyhoo. Enjoy!))
“Stop laughing, Vakarion...”
“Oh, but you must see how fantastic this all is.”
“Just... stop” Wrathion rubbed his temples in slow circles, his red eyes wrenched closed. The assassin sitting across the desk from him leaned to one side and shoved his long, slender fingers over his mouth, his shoulders still bouncing just slightly. Several moments passed, Wrathion took a slow breath, and exhaled it slowly when Vakarion spoke up again.
“You freed me from under the mountain to, by means of espionage, start a war, and cripple one of the two largest factions on Azeroth. Barely more than a FORTNIGHT after you hauled me out of that reeking cell, the Banshee Queen storms Darkshore and burns that blasted tree to cinders! And you didn’t pay her a COPPER!!!” Vakaris threw his head back and bellowed with laughter, his pale elvish features looking viciously beautiful in their absolute joy. Dragons knew well how to mock someone, and black dragons were the very best of them all. Wrathion shook his head and shoved the heels of his palms against his eyes. There was silence for a while.
“So... will you be trying to send me back?” Vakaris asked. Wrathion thought a while, then shook his head, sat up and glared at the assassin. His glare was broken a moment as his guard dropped at the look of malice in Vakarion’s face. He brought his veneer back up and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on his hands.
“You’re still useful. The war has only just begun. The tides have begun to ebb and flow. We can still alter their rhythm.” He watched Vakaris watch him, the rogue’s eyes flickering with void as he leaned forward in his chair.
“I am still useful! That is good. I would hate for this contract to be rendered null and void. Another wise move, whelpling.” His voice lingered on that last word as he left his chair in a swift, fluid motion. His fingers traced the edge of Wrathion’s desk as he walked around its edge to its left side. His hands didn’t move to the weapons at his back, but Wrathion knew they wouldn’t have to travel far at all to find something with which the rogue could be lethal. The young Prince glared as he drew his quill and began to write a bank voucher.
“My coffers would certainly be better off without you.” He said, not wanting to acknowledge Vakarion’s words. “You’ll need to take this to Booty Bay, to the bank there. It’s the closest neutral bank to Stormwind, and I want you to get to work immediately. Things are moving fast enough as it is.” He wrote and signed his name on the dotted line, along with a generous sum on the bank order. Vakaris didn’t bother looking at it. He had spent years in a cell, barely eating, barely drinking, barely sleeping for the whispers of the void in his mind. Black dragonstypically loved their gold, but his incarceration left Vakarion with a shifted list of priorities.
“How very wise indeed. I shall get to work straight away.” He paused at the side of the desk, exploring the back room of the tavern they were meeting at. He gave Right and Left lingering glances. Wrathion didn’t look up from his writing.
“I shall need a full name. What surname would you like?” He asked, as casually as one could. Vakaris turned back and looked at the order. A moment passed.
“Atramedes...” Wrathion looked up at him, a look of curiosity crossed his youthful face, almost causing him to look human to the assassin.
“That name is so familiar... where have I heard it?” Wrathion asked.
“He was just a whelp. He was experimented on, along with so many more of our kind. I, and others watched as experiment after experiment was performed until only he remained. Atramedes survived, barely. Stripped of his sight, with chunks of metal grafted to his form, he guarded Blackwing Descent until a group of adventurers stormed the mountain and finally ended his pitiable life.” Wrathion turned back to the desk and glared. Vakaris spoke again.
“I learned a great deal about what agonies our kind can endure watching that poor young creature, and then spending years alone in a cell, only fed and watered when the guards stopped drinking long enough to remember they had a job to do.” He growled, moving around the desk to Wrathion’s side, the screws in his magical collar began to twist inward, the spikes lining the inside of the collar getting closer to his skin. Wrathion turned to glare and snarl at Vakaris.
“Is that a threat, Vakarion?!? I freed you from that wretched pit, remember!” He snapped. The look on the assassin’s face was not afraid, as Wrathion had hoped it might be. It was different. It was... sad?
“No. I’m saying what I’m saying, because you freed me. I know that there are still many cells in that mountain that contain members of our family. I survived incarceration, yes. But I have been around a very long time. I don’t know how long the rest of them will last, being fed and watered the way they are, if any of them yet live. Some of them were not much bigger than you, Wrathion. Some were barely drakes when we came to you, seeking aid and understanding...” He stopped, his hands balled up into fists at his sides, his eyes held closed. Wrathion watched him a moment, then turned back to the bank order, wrote down the name, and thrust it at the assassin.
“Take this and go. You already have your orders.” He held the paper out to Vakaris, who watched him with a look of disappointment on his face.
“Of course, oh wise one...” He said, taking the paper and slipping it into his belt pouch. He turned and walked away, his boots making no sound on the hardwood floor. He had reached the door, when Wrathion grabbed a new bank order from his bags. “Vakaris...” He said, watching the assassin stop in the doorway. The tavern was dark outside their private room. Faint murmurs could be heard outside; those folks who were sobering up after the nights festivities, now talking with ever increasing clarity. The rogue turned his head slightly, waiting for what the Black Prince had to say.
“I’ll see that food and drink is brought to Blackrock Depths, and hand-delivered to the prisoners.” He said, writing out another amount of gold on the order that made him shudder. Vakaris nodded slowly.
“Now that was truly wise.” He said. Wrathion heard the ruffle of Vakarion’s cloak, and then the rogue had vanished. The young Prince watched the shadows warily for a moment before he signed his name again on the dotted line.
