Karp
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Chapter 88
🕑 Added 2024-10-21 18:42:02 +0000 UTCAfter slaying the Lich, Varrus and Syra advanced with little resistance.
A few Elite necromancers attempted to rally the few remaining skeletons holding the flank, but it proved to be a fruitless effort.
Varrus's spell, Infinite Light, was simply too strong against the Undead.
The beam attack diffracted between the Undead, like chain lightning, and transformed any Common tier Scourge soldier into ash within 1-5 seconds of contact.
And for those dozen or so ghouls that managed to slip past his offense? Well, they were met with a couple feet of cold steel!
Any being that came within a 20ft radius of them was transformed into minced meat. Syra's control over her insane speed was beginning to become more precise the more she experienced high level combat.
From Varrus's POV, even he, with his increased Stamina/Agility, and Elven Grace racial trait, had some difficulty keeping up with her.
With Syra acting as his protector, Varrus was free to keep channeling the Master tier Restoration magic nigh indefinitely.
It was only when the Elite necromancers raised a wall of frost that Varrus was forced to swap to a fire spell, but this barely caused a blip in his advance, and melted after dropping Forbidden Sun on top of their heads.
During their offensive, they had finally drawn near the destroyed gatehouse after half an hour of destroying thousands of trash mobs, and were met with the final dregs of Common skeletons. After this, they would be facing off against their resurrected kin, the Darkfallen.
“Ruargh!” A 10ft tall patchwork amalgamation of flesh and bone-otherwise known as an abomination-charged towards them.
Varrus calmly replied with Infinite Light, but the abomination kept charging, regardless of the crispification of its skin.
Raising an eyebrow, Varrus was impressed by the tankiness of this creation. At this rate, it would take 20-30 seconds for him to destroy the abomination with this spell. If the Lich from earlier had mobbed him with this, then perhaps he would have been much more troublesome to deal with.
Rushing forth from his side, Syra cleaved off an arm here, and a leg there, ultimately leaving the creature on the ground to writhe. Its neck stretched, and huge molars bit into the ground in a desperate attempt to move towards them, as if it still had a fighting chance.
“It's kind of cute.” Syra said, poking the abomination’s head with her sword, like a kid might poke something with a stick.
“Just end its misery, we have to reinforce Rho'dan..” Varrus rolled his eyes.
“What? I thought we had time to play around, I mean, the Tower of Jenga? Really? You introduced that game with the blocks to me a few nights ago. You said such a thing to that terrified Lich with such a serious face!” Syra smiled.
“It looked cool though, right?”
He had stacked the spell Raise Wall, and created a tower out of it. From Varrus's perspective, that was a pretty innovative use of magic!
“Ruagh!” The abomination snarled as it bit into the soil, in an attempt to drag itself closer to them.
“Shh, you're not involved in this.” Varrus rolled the abomination backward with a quick application of telekinesis.
“As long as you're happy, I'm happy.” Syra planted a kiss on Varrus's cheek.
“Very cute, but whilst you two are flirting, the city is falling.” A familiar voice called from behind. Her voice was accompanied by the sound of high heels forcefully strutting, and a pair of hands slow clapping.
“Faedra.” Varrus twirled around, only to see the Mistress of Murder stride right past him, and move towards the ruined gatehouse.
“Well?” Faedra arched an eyebrow at them, and paused.
Syra frowned at Faedra's arrival, and completely obliterated the abomination with a Void attack. The mountain of mangled flesh turned into a puddle of viscous purple goo once she withdrew her sword from its head.
“You've skipped out on the war against the Amani, avoided the battle against the former Convocation, and now you want to show your face on the battlefield?” Varrus questioned.
The master rogue standing before him seemed allergic to direct confrontations. Something wasn't adding up.
“Oh, I'm not here to fight darling. Come now, or we'll be late. I have a meeting with an old friend.” Faedra glanced back at Syra, then strutted forward, deeper into Tranquillien.
Varrus saw that Syra was gripping the handle of her buster sword so tight, that her knuckles were white.
“Want to talk about it?” Varrus whispered under a hastily cast shroud of Muffle.
“No, she's right, we've wasted enough time.” Syra said, then brusquely followed after her mother.
‘Ah yes, daughters hating their mothers, a tale as old as time.’ Varrus's eyelid twitched as he realized that even a fantasy world away, there were some things that would always stay the same.
Catching up to the two most troublesome women in his life, Varrus was surprised to see Darkfallen flying the flag of Quel'Thalas.
The crimson banner flapped, and drew his attention to a group of thousands of imprisoned Highborn. A few corpses had been collected, and covered in sheets to the side, but from what Varrus could see, casualties were low.
Among the prisoners, Varrus noticed several Heroes. Thaladred, and Syra's groupies-the Illidari Council-were bound in mana suppressing cuffs, and chained up.
“What is going on?” Varrus wearily asked, as if he would be ambushed at any second.
“Civilization. It is an uncommon practice for Elves to openly murder one another in such a wanton style.” Faedra glanced at Varrus with a disparaging look, then confidently strode up to a pair of Darkfallen standing guard.
“It's the Vandercross boy!” One guard loudly proclaimed, and pointed in recognition at Varrus.
“Shut UP. You don't want him to sing at us, do you?!” The other guard hissed.
“Good point, those plays were simply dreadful, almost makes me wish I had stayed dead.” The guard muttered to his companion in a hushed voice that was still clearly audible to Varrus. “Please! Please, carry on! The General is expecting you, Lady Faedra.” The same guard then ushered them through in a hurry.
“As you can see, not all of the Darkfallen have pledged themselves to Lana'thel. One of my agents-someone raised into undeath himself-initiated correspondence between the General and I once he regained free will.” Faedra explained as if the current series of events were extremely unsurprising.
“And you decided to keep this information to yourself?” Varrus barely held back from replying in a seething cold rage, and kept his tone distinctly neutral/deadpan.
All the same, Varrus saw the hint of a smirk on the edge of her lips.
‘Bitch.’ Varrus thought to himself.
“Sorry dear, but this was a developing situation. It wasn't until I witnessed with my own eyes that prisoners were being taken alive, that I was certain my agent's claims of an amicable General Nightsong were proven true. You wouldn't want me to sell you false information, now, would you?” Faedra said over her shoulder, and spoke in a demeaning tone, as if she were explaining things to a five year old.
Varrus felt a vein throb on his forehead, then took a deep breath.
“Fine, you've been helpful thus far, pointing me in the direction of the traitors, and info regarding the Kobolds. What sage advice can you provide regarding Nightsong?” Varrus rubbed his forehead, and put aside his anger in favor of learning about this enigmatic figure.
“Some say she was put down for sowing the seeds of rebellion. Others that she was slaughtered by both the King and Convocation for losing her mind to the Void. Others even whisper it was me. All lies, of course. As to her true fate? Why, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.” Faedra chuckled as they had left the confines of the city proper, and had entered a wide open square just in front of the keep.
Highborn and Darkfallen lined the sides of the square, and were busy cheering on two combatants.
Many of them were chanting “Quel’Dorah”, the word signifying a duel in Thalassian literature. Just a few months ago, Syra had dueled Thaladred to such shouts, helping him establish Varrus's legitimacy in the eyes of the wise.
That got Varrus thinking, just what was at stake here?
Within the square, a crimson haired man dressed in crimson thorium armor was matching swords with a beautiful purple-pale lady dressed in black adamantium plate.
It was Rho'dan vs Nightsong.
Rho'dan was on the back foot, and was being pressed.
His sword lit up with a fire enchantment, and he plunged it into the ground, creating a ring of fire in an attempt to get some space.
Nightsong’s sword took on a midnight black hue, and cut through the flames coming her way.
She prowled forth like an alpha lioness on the hunt.
Her every step exuded confidence, yet she moved with a floaty lightness, that every step seemed unreal, almost otherworldly.
Whatever technique or magical buff she had going, it was surreal. He almost wanted to say that what he was witnessing was an illusion. It was like when browsing the internet, and coming across something uncanny. The brain told you that something just wasn't right.
Varrus had encountered many strange things, and odd occurrences, but this was the first time he had seen something so queer.
Unknowingly, he felt his pulse begin to quicken as he viewed her with his Mana Sight. The unique mana signature Nightsong was emitting wasn't overwhelming like his father’s, it wasn't stable/unmovable like Rho'dan’s, nor was it a combo of soft/hard like Syra’s. It was something alien, like a scientist clinically assessing a specimen under the microscope.
At first, Varrus had thought that Nightsong was playing with Rho'dan, her skills clearly marked her as being a tier above him. Yet instead, as she advanced, and poked and prodded at him, Varrus realized that she was deconstructing Rho'dan’s fighting methodology. That she was learning from him in real time, and countering him as they fought!
“Frightening, isn't she? I based Syra’s training off of this style, but there truly is nothing like watching the original.” Faedra idly commented.
“She’s beautiful.” Syra tightly gripped onto Varrus’s arm, and whispered, wide-eyed like a girl that had seen their idol for the first time.
Varrus didn't dare agree with her openly, but internally, he had to agree.
The fluidity, and grace with which Nightsong moved was unmatched. If he compared her to Syra, then his wife was a B+ compared to a solid A. It wasn't that big of a gap on paper, but in a fight, such a difference was huge.
After five minutes of watching Rho'dan get pummeled, and beaten back, the stalwart guardian was finally brought to his knees, and had a sword placed at his chin.
“Yield, and be recognized as a valiant Hero. There is no shame in defeat, all I ask is that all recognize my claim to Tranquillien by right of Quel'Dorah. All your Heroes have been bested in fair one on one combat. Yield, and I shall grant mercy.” Nightsong addressed not only Rho'dan, but the crowd of Highborn that were watching from the sides.
Her voice was strong, yet not overbearing. Commanding, yet merciful. Charming, yet forthright.
Nightsong's posture screamed confidence, and conveyed a level of sincerity Varrus had thought not possible amongst the Highborn.
She was, dare he say, charismatic.
He was beginning to see why Syra looked up to her. Hell, if Nightsong was the one holding down Silvermoon, he wouldn’t have minded following her. He only became a leader because he had to get Kael in check, and wanted to elevate the Blood Elves onto the world stage.
“Not all Heroes have been defeated, there is another.” Rho'dan slowly spoke from his kneeled position, and nodded towards Varrus.
Nightsong turned around, and appraised both Varrus and Syra, then narrowed her eyes when she saw Faedra.
“So you are the two who had destroyed the ziggurat, and slain the Lich, Doril Magefont. Such actions are deserving of praise. Please, join my ranks, and together, we can purge Quel'Thalas of corruption. Both from within, and without.” Nightsong sheathed her sword, and held out a welcoming hand.
Syra squeezed Varrus's arm, and peaked over his shoulder when Nightsong addressed them.
“Yes, I am Varrus, and this is my wife, Syra. Thank you for the offer, General, but I like my chances.” Varrus dragged Syra in front of him, much to her embarrassment if her 1-second scowl at him, and beat red face were anything to go by.
“Varrus.” Nightsong spoke, as if she was tasting the word. A contemplative look spread across her face.
“The seed of Vandercross has done well, accomplishing such a feat. He and my daughter are quite the couple, wouldn’t you say?” Faedra interjected herself in the conversation. Her haughty tone, and curled eyebrow seemed intent on one upping Nightsong.
Varrus wanted to slap his forehead. If he was reading this right, this old friend of Faedra's was likely no friend at all. In his experience, no one could hold a grudge like a spiteful woman. Add immortality to the mix, and boy oh boy, what a clusterfuck!
“The seed of Vandercross, and the spawn of Greathollow…” Nightsong glanced between Varrus and Syra with a frown, then glared at Faedra.
“Rho'dan, explain.” Nightsong turned to the still kneeling chief guard, her dark eyes bore into the redhead, demanding an answer.
Rho'dan raised his head, seemingly inviting the stroke of a blade, rather than revealing the truth.
Varrus didn’t know why Nightsong had turned to Rho’dan of all people, but he wasn’t going to let his closest companion remain threatened like that. He drew his sword when he saw this sudden turn of events. He said no words, yet his actions conveyed his intent. Should Nightsong make a move, so would Varrus.
“You would attack me?” Nightsong glanced at Varrus in disbelief.
“Rho'dan has been loyal to me for as long as I can remember. When others laughed, and jeered, he was always there. I won't abandon him.” Varrus stated resolutely, then pointed his blade at Nightsong.
“So the seed of Vandercross at least knows loyalty. That's good.” Nightsong said aloud to herself.
“Very well, I accept your challenge. Quel'Dorah.” Nightsong nodded in reply, and unsheathed her blade as well.
Syra clutched at Varrus's arm, and drew him in for a wet kiss on the lips.
“Win.” She said in a hushed whisper, and stared him in the eye before pulling away.
Varrus nodded.
From what he saw in her fight against Rho'dan, the General hadn't gone all out, so there were still things that could surprise him. However, winning here would be huge. There were maybe 30,000-60,000 Darkfallen in this army. If he defeated Nightsong, maybe they would fall in line?!
Such thinking was a powerful motivation for this upcoming duel.
Taking a deep breath, Varrus mentally prepared himself to face a monster.
Comments
Joey
Well as usual Karp excellent job ^^ Im very much looking forward to the duel to come. Though it might just get very anticlimatic with the sheer amount of fuck you combinations Varrus has available xD. A good one could be frenzy effect + "Heavy Weighs the Tapestry" - Activate any humanoid (only) under the effect of a Frenzy spell to incapacitate the target with magical exhaustion for 30 seconds and drain 500 points of Magicka and Stamina. Activation if i remember correctly was simply having the targeting cursor over a target and activating an effect like a power, ie just look at someone and mental flick goes boom now the target is incapacitated for 30secs xD.
