Karp
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Chapter 61
🕑 Added 2024-09-12 18:52:34 +0000 UTCLurking at the edges of the party, an infiltrator had donned a mask, and made herself hidden to all but her most ardent supporters.
Skin deathly pale, and long hair flowing snow-white, she was Princess Thal'Ena, eldest child, and daughter to King Anasterian Sunstrider, and Queen Lana'thal.
Raised into one of the vampiric Undead known as the Darkfallen, her thirst for blood, particularly mana rich blood saw her eye each of the guests as snacks to be feasted upon.
Licking her lips in anticipation of tonight's slaughter, she barely contained herself from pouncing upon the nearest waiter, and taking him into a darkened corner for a little taste.
But she had bigger targets to feed upon.
Varrus Vandercross, and her half brother pulsed with mana enriched blood, such that the mere thought of exsanguinating them sent her into a near orgasmic shiver. The heightened state of drinking blood for a Darkfallen was already an emotion more intense than any aphrodisiac she had tasted in her long life. But the more potent the blood source, the higher the high.
Her mother had claimed this party to be little more than an obvious trap, one only a moron would fall for. In the process, she had forbidden Thal'Ena from attending, and prevented her from taking revenge.
But there was no better time than now to murder the young upstart who had stolen her thunder on the drama stage, and snuff out the boy who had become her father's favorite!
Highlord Vandercross had edged her out of the acting scene by promoting his son, Varrus. She was the star, and suddenly, this nobody came out of nowhere! For the first time in a thousand years, she felt that fame was mercurial, slipping from her grasp. For that, Vandercross must die.
As for Kael’Thas, it was clear as day that her father intended to name him Crown Prince. Young, inexperienced, easily moldable, a magical prodigy. Kael'thas would be the perfect tool. Where others saw the King as a kindly old man, she knew him for the cruel political animal that he was. She even suspected that her own death was somehow related to his machinations.
Thal'Ena felt her hands grow into claws at the thought of her own father ordering her death, and felt a beastly rage take ahold of her psyche, it was only the cold thoughts of revenge that held her in check.
She heard that the King had gone out in a sea of flame, but that didn't mean she couldn't take those feelings of betrayal and anger out upon her half brother, and rival upon the stage.
With this masked gala, her opportunity to infiltrate the city, and cut the head from the snake had finally arrived. By siding with a group of converts chasing immortality, she had received an invitation, and infiltrated Vandercross’s home.
Varrus was practically inviting her to suck on his throat. Begging to be drained of all his life blood, for all of the famous, rich, and powerful to see!
The Heroes and Elites would have no choice but to bow to her by the right of her inheritance, and claim to the Sunstrider name.
Upon which, she would crown herself Queen, and take up the Phoenix Throne!
Damn her brothers, and damn her mother too! Whilst they holed up, building up their forces in Deatholme, she was the only one in the family getting things done.
What sense did it make to fight with armies, when one swift ambush upon the leaders would end the war in a day?
Thal'Ena scoffed at her mother's lack of decisiveness. A long life spent plotting against the machinations of others had dulled her senses. Action was needed to seize Silvermoon, and only Thal'Ena had the vision to enact such a bold idea.
And so she patiently waited in a corner for the perfect moment to strike. Once the last dance was called, and everyone was packed tightly within the ballroom, then she would launch her surprise attack.
In the meantime, Thal'Ena watched on in bored disinterest as Varrus Vandercross made a fool of himself with a bow.
The idiot could hardly strike the broadside of a barnyard, let alone the edges of a target stand.
How she hated that blubbering fool. Why anyone would bother paying him any respect, she had no idea.
The crowd softly laughed at him, and launched cutting remarks, but he just shrugged it off, seemingly learning how to use a bow as he went along with the competition.
Thal’Ena would have happily criticized the young Vandercross until the dance began, however, one of her collaborators signaled for her attention.
She balked when he didn't get down on one knee to greet her, only forgiving him due to their undercover nature. But he could at least bow!
“Is something the matter, magister?” Thal’Ena said with disinterest, bordering on scorn.
“Yes, my Lady, I had just finished scrying with your mother, and she has instructed me to call off the attack. I’m here to inform you that she has ordered you return home.” The magister simply stated, yet Thal’Ena could detect a hint of victory in his posture.
Who was he to go against a Sunstrider’s plans?
“Unacceptable. I am in command here, we have them where we want them, and we will proceed according to plan.” Thal’Ena declared.
“It is as the Queen suspects, likely a trap, Your Highness. Please see reason. The cards handed out from the entrance are also suspicious.” The magister practically pleaded.
“As if the child could be so clever! They are nothing more than paper to cast a vote. One to determine which couple danced the finest this evening. Everyone received one upon entry. Come now, that isn't so complicated for you to comprehend now, is it?” Thal'Ena admonished, disdain practically dripped off every syllable.
“Be that as it may, Vandercross claimed to have received orders from the top to set this plan in motion. Something the Queen categorically denied.” The magister pressed.
“So you are against me then?” Thal'Ena said, narrowing her eyes.
“No, Princess, I never would, just-”
“Good. Then there is nothing further to discuss. Proceed with the original plan, we will strike after the last dance ends. You had better be good on your feet, because I intend to win.” Thal'Ena then shooed the magister away like a common house fly.
Honestly, it was so difficult to find good help these days!
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Varrus had just spent the last hour getting absolutely embarrassed at the archery range, however, the speedy improvement in his skills spoke for themselves.
His Archery skill tree had advanced from 20 to 29 after a measly hour of competition, and instruction from Lor'Themar.
Of course he overheard a few of the socialites bad mouthing him, but he didn't take it to heart. They were probably still sour after losing the one-hit challenge. That, and the fact that a practical ‘kid’ was the First Seat of the Convocation, and stronger than most of them.
“Ha!” Varrus couldn't help but scoff at their petty behavior.
“Something amuses you, Vandercross?” Lor'Themar asked, never taking his eyes away from the target he was aiming at.
“Nothing much, I'm simply thankful that Silvermoon is secure, and that we'll all be moving out soon.” Varrus replied, releasing an arrow from his bow, and missing a round target 300 meters out.
“Remember to inhale as you draw, but not a breath that completely fills your lungs, then exhale as you release.” Lor'Themar admonished as he released his arrow, striking a target 1,200 meters away.
“You make it look easy.” Varrus shook his head with a smile.
“It's all in the wrist, the more force it can take, the more stable your shot will be.” Lor'Themar explained.
Archery: 29 -> 30
Varrus nodded in appreciation. This is why, despite the dubious nature of the Old Man, Varrus liked training with these old heads. Any random nugget of information could be worth a point towards his skill leveling up. It was like working a new job, and learning all the ropes from a well meaning, senior colleague.
“I got it, thanks.” Varrus replied, and placed a perk point into the perk, Steady Hand, which zoomed in his view by 25%, and minutely slowed time.
This time when he released the arrow, it firmly struck the target.
“Well done, from the beginning, you could barely hit the 100 meter stand. We'll make a ranger out of you yet, young Vandercross.” Lor'Themar stroked his goatee and praised.
Whilst Varrus was feeling proud of himself, Syra took a step up next to him with a bow of her own.
Casually drawing it, she hit the 1,200 meter target, hitting a space just below Lor'Themar's.
“The Lady Vandercross is an expert as well? You are blessed, my young friend!” Lor'Themar chuckled at Varrus.
“Nice shot!” Varrus praised.
Syra beamed at his praise, and pulled him into a hug. She then leaned in for a whisper.
“I recognized Princess Thal'Ena amongst the guests. She has been dead for decades.” Syra murmured so quietly, Varrus barely heard her.
“That’s my beautiful wife!” Varrus loudly chuckled to mask any surprise from showing on his face.
“We should start the last dance, my love, I cannot wait to show you my dance moves.” Syra smiled like a shark.
Nodding his head, Varrus waved his hand at some enchanted instruments, cutting their sound.
During the moment of confusion, all attention came to Varrus as he levitated himself off the ground.
“People of Silvermoon, thank you for attending the Vandercross Gala. If you would please make way to the ballroom, we may begin the festivities in earnest. A dance competition is to be held, and the winner shall be voted upon by you, the people, with the letters I handed out at the entrance. But remember, if you open yours early, anything you write upon it will come up blank. The winner of this competition will take home 5 Mana Stones, so make sure to participate!” Varrus said, addressing the crowd.
“You young folk enjoy yourselves.” Lor'Themar slightly bowed, and smiled at the intensity Syra and Varrus were giving one another, then left as they were lost in their own world.
Varrus wasn't much one for dancing, but he had always admired the skill it took to conduct a dance battle back on Earth.
Whilst he wouldn't be moving like a break dancer, that didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy himself. Syra seemed to love dancing, and Varrus wouldn't say no to clinging close to his wife.
“I can’t wait, we’re going to kill them on the dance floor.” Syra whispered in heedy excitement. A slight aura of bloodlust colored her voice.
Or maybe she had a penchant for murder.
Varrus knocked her on the forehead with his own. It was disturbing how obsessive she was, but it’s not like he wouldn't act the same way if the assassin had targeted her.
Stealing a kiss on the lips, Varrus took her hand as he made his way into the ballroom, and waved his hand at the instruments.
A classic song from his memory began to play, it was Fur Elise.
Elves began to dance like something out of a Renaissance painting.
Meanwhile, Varrus was keeping his eyes peeled for any sudden act of treachery.
He felt Syra tense up as they twirled past a recognizable couple. Varrus noticed the magister as the cultists he had spoken to earlier.
Based upon Syra’s reaction, the lady dancing with him must be the Princess.
They made eye contact, and she flashed him a mouth full of elongated fangs.
Varrus felt Syra’s grip tighten, and suddenly he was seeing the ceiling as she picked up the pace of the dance. She took the lead, and began to move them around like acrobats at a circus.
As if this were some sort of cue, all the other Highborn broke out of their formal dance routines, and began to go wild.
Varrus was surprised at this sudden change from the standard prim and proper image of Higborn that Varrus had in his mind, yet considering this was a group of people that had a room dedicated to group sex in his mansion, it shouldn't be that surprising.
Waving his hand, Varrus changed the song once more to one of modern rock. A set of drums started going crazy, and the Elves began to match its tempo.
For a moment, Varrus forgot about the plan as Syra twisted, jumped, and twirled with him at ever increasing speeds.
Sweat and heat spread across him like he was in a boiler room in the middle of summer. Yet he didn't let go of Syra’s hands for an instant as he saw the same light of madness in her eyes that were in his.
Gripping her chin, Varrus brought Syra in for a kiss, and pressed himself into her whilst they did another turn.
Syra’s breath was hot with desire, and Varrus barely contained himself from dragging his beautiful wife to the nearest closet, and fucking her brains out.
“Last song!” Rho'dan called out from the second floor.
Varrus was broken out of his fugue at his guard’s reminder.
“Focus on winning, there's no way I’d lose to a corpse.” Syra said with some ferocity.
Varrus nodded along, and not for the last time, was thankful he had dumped some stat points into Stamina.
After another 5 minutes, the song had come to an end, and Varrus found himself in the middle of the dance floor with only two other couples. Kael'thas + Jan'alai were going wild, and the Princess and the magister were smooth in their movements.
“Good people of Silvermoon, the time is now, open your letters, and cast your votes!” Rho'dan commanded.
“Enjoy the stage while you can, Vandercross, after I have won, it’s curtains for you!” Princess Thal'Ena taunted.
Varrus merely chuckled, ignoring her. Even if Syra hadn't mentioned anything, this idiot had fitted herself when she flashed her fangs at him. Varrus was ready to go at it any moment now.
However, more important than her, he was about to purge the cancer of this cult from his city.
‘This was it!’ Varrus thought in anticipation.
As everyone unfolded their paper to vote, an explosion simultaneously took place in everyone's hands.
The guests who did not have the death cult amulet received a letter with a Paralysis Rune inside. When they opened theirs, they were frozen in place like a statue. Varrus did this so that there would be no interruptions towards his true targets.
Those who had pinged back that they held onto an amulet received a letter containing the Fire Rune. When they opened their letters, they were greeted with an unexpected blast of flame to the face.
Pandemonium ensued as those without magical defenses were consumed by the flame. Those that did wear magical resistant clothing, or enchanted paraphernalia only had a moment to react when Lor'Themar began to rain down arrows upon the traitors. Bringing up the rear, Rho'dan and Dranarus jumped down from the rafters, and surprised the cultists before they could regain their bearings.
“You! What is this!” Thal'Ena screeched in angered surprise at Varrus.
“The Queen warned you.” The magister besides her shook his head.
“I have had enough of your insolence!” Thal'Ena growled.
A moment later, the pale skinned Darkfallen transformed into a grotesque creature reminiscent in appearance to the Vampire Lord form in Skyrim.
Her clawed hand ripped the head off of her subordinate, at the same time, all his blood flowed out of his body, and into her pours.
Syra was the first to react, and pulled her giant buster sword out of a mageweave purse.
Varrus wanted to laugh at the comical sight, but the fight was in full swing.
Syra's sword flashed dangerously with Light imbued energy, and clashed repeatedly with the Darkfallen's claws.
Thal'Ena coated her blackened nails with an ethereal crimson energy, and met Syra blow for blow.
The contest of power cracked the floor, and shook the chandeliers like an earthquake.
Taking to the air on tattered wings, Thal'Ena made for the exit, but was rebuffed by the wall of armor that was Rho'dan & the four other Crossguard.
“Move!” Thal'Ena commanded, trying to bowl Rho'dan over like a bowling ball knocking down the pins.
The guardsman held fast, blocking her with their shields, and didn't even move an inch.
Syra caught up at this moment, and cut off one of her wings, as well as an arm from behind.
“I want her alive!” Varrus called out as Syra was about to deliver the death blow.
Whilst Varrus had faith that his wife would eventually take the kill, the Princess was privy to valuable knowledge. The magister said something about the Queen, and Varrus wanted to interrogate the Princess to see what she knew.
The Ghostlands was a sea of Undead, and any information Varrus could ply from Thal'Ena would go a long way in Varrus's conquest.
Syra readjusted her aim at the last second, pinning Thal'Ena to the ground.
The Darkfallen reached up to claw at Syra’s midsection with her remaining arm, but Varrus stepped forward, and cut it off. For good measure, he cut off her legs too so that she couldn't kick out.
Blackened blood squinted from her wounds, and it bubbled forth, looking like it would reform new arms.
Being genre savvy, Varrus anticipated this level of instant regeneration, and launched a jet of flames at the stumps of her limbs, cauterizing her wounds and preventing any regeneration.
“Bastard!” Thal'Ena screeched in pain, and raised her impaled body up Syra’s sword in an attempt to bite at Varrus with her elongated fangs.
Syra decked her across the chin, snapping Thal'Ena’s neck.
The Undead wordlessly growled up at them from the floor, and twisted her body like someone possessed. She had a lot of strength in her body despite losing her limbs.
Syra then cast a spell creating chains of Holy Light, binding the creature to the floor.
“Tell us creature, what plans does your mother have for us? What are her numbers? Who are the leaders of the Ghostlands?” Varrus tersely questioned, preparing to use his Illusion spells on her if she did not answer.
“My mother would discover I had spilt such secrets. At the very least I can rest easy knowing I have taken you with me!” Thal'Ena screeched in hatred.
Eyes widening, Varrus recognized what was about to happen when he saw Thal'Ena’s entire body glow a crimson hue.
Grabbing Syra close, Varrus threw up a Greater Ward just in time to block a point blank, suicidal blast of Death energy.
When the deluge of blood and decay passed, Varrus lowered his shield only to see a blackened stain on the floor.
“Should’ve let me kill the bitch.” Syra said in disgust, and sheathed her sword.
Blinking his eyes in surprise, Varrus found himself nodding in agreement.
That was closer than he wanted!
“So is it done then, are all the traitors purged?” Kael said, emerging from the crowd of still paralyzed figures.
“Not yet, but it all ends tonight.” Varrus said as he showed off the book Halduron had handed him.
“And what should we do with the guests?” Rho’dan questioned.
Turning towards the frozen statues, Varrus caught the scent of fear on the wind.
“Yes, to our guests, thank you for gracing my gala with your esteemed presence! We will have to do it again sometime! I hope you enjoyed your night, I know I have!” Varrus said, raising a goblet of wine in salute at the silent mob.
“Well said, well said!” Syra enthusiastically clapped.
Rho’dan side eyed his fellow guards, and then joined in.
“Thank you, thank you, I am pleased you enjoyed the performance. For my next act, I shall cut the head from the leader of the traitors. Rest easy, Heroes of Silvermoon, your First Seat takes the safety of this nation as his top priority!” Varrus flashed a grin, then drained his goblet before departing.
Casting Clairvoyance, Varrus set off with his friends in tow. He had an arch-traitor to kill!
