Karp
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Chapter 41
🕑 Added 2024-08-15 19:34:21 +0000 UTCThe dungeons of Silvermoon were dark such that very little light pierced these hallowed halls.
Dim green glow stones dotted the ceiling, providing enough visibility so that one could see but a few inches in front of their face.
The aura of magic was suppressed such that any Elf that attempted to see the everpresent substance, their eyes would sting in pain, like dropping vinegar into an opened wound.
A shroud of Muffle hung over the hallways, preventing even the slightest peep from escaping.
The only way to hear or speak within this dark, dank dungeon, was to equip a wooden carving, keyed to bypass the enchantment that locked down this place.
Furthermore, prisoners were equipped with manacles that doubled the weight of any who wore them. The cuffs wrapped around the prisoner's wrists were cursed with a peculiar magic. It was a type of magic initially meant to keep artifacts and weapons within the family.
It was binding magic.
The Elves of Quel'Thalas invented bound gear so that their magical items could not be so easily stolen-either from amongst themselves, or upon the battlefield. This same concept of binding however, could transform a venerated magic, praised for its ingenuity, into a cursed one, feared by any who should be taken prisoner.
Bound items were impossible to remove unless one knew the counterspell, or could destroy the item in question.
On the battlefield, this was a boon like no other. Should a weapon slip out of the hand, or clatter to the floor, it would fly back to the wielder-like Thor’s hammer-should they stray far.
In the dungeon, it was an inmate's worst nightmare. Forever burdened by the equipment of a prisoner, there was no solace for these individuals.
Crime in Quel'Thalas often resulted in exile, as being sent to live amongst Humans was seen as punishment enough.
But for the rare few who truly angered the rulers of Silvermoon, they would spend their immortality within this dread keep.
Bereft of sun, sight, sound, and the freedom of movement, the handful of criminal Highborn who graced this dungeon had gone mad within these cells.
The threat of the Royal Dungeon was so palpable, so scandalous, that the mere mention of it was often enough to shut up the most conspiratorial of Elves.
Typical punishments for theft or minor acts of violence resulted in days to weeks of solitary confinement.
Such rare occurrences such as an incarceration often gathered crowds of hecklers who stared and gawked. Parents would show their children the prisoner before, and after, using the image as a tale to behave at home.
It was within such a notorious locale that Varrus currently found himself. Syra had gone off to handle some business in the city, while Varrus was accompanied by Rho'dan, and the leader of the Royal Guards, Knight-Lord Dranarus.
Wearing a hood over his head that acted as a voice modulator, and randomly altered his height by + or -2 inches, Varrus obscured his identity as he followed behind the guards.
It was overkill in Varrus’ opinion, given the prisoners' low visibility. However, it had been protocol for thousands of years, and he wasn't about to fight tradition unless it was something excessively stupid.
Taking the lead, Rho'dan was rubbing elbows with his old time rival, and he looked none too pleased.
The Knight-Lord was an extremely serious looking Elf set in ornate plate armor, and sporting a black ponytail.
However, despite his serious appearance, Dranarus spoke to Rho'dan with seeming levity.
"So I was in line to the Mana Crystal dispenser earlier today with some paranoid guy in front of me and all of the sudden he just starts screaming! Didn't even try to disguise his madness! I don't know when he last had some mana, but I thought, 'What have YOU been smoking!?'” Dranarus wildly gestured with his hands as he told the story, and ended it by punching Rho'dan playfully on the shoulder.
“Hm.” Rho'dan grunted in response.
“I had to settle him down of course. The poor sod had skin gray as a ghoul, yet he was still alive! Craziest thing!” Dranarus then leaned in conspiratorially, yet didn't lower his volume whatsoever. “There's been reports of people like this popping up, the magisters call them the Wretched.”
“This is hardly the place for gossip, Knight-Lord. First Seat Vandercross is here for a serious matter. Please refrain from further discussion.” Rho'dan replied curtly.
“Come now, the councilor doesn't mind a bit of gossip, does he? His father loved my stories!” Dranarus heartily laughed as he turned back to nod at, and acknowledge Varrus.
“Yes, Rho'dan, I would very much like to hear what insights the Knight-Lord has to share with us. Tell me more about these Wretched.” Varrus said smugly while Rho'dan completely turned his back on him, and picked up the pace towards Dakar's cell.
“Oh the Wretched, let me tell you all about them…”
A 15 minute trek later, and Varrus all but cheered once they had finally reached their reason for coming to this dark hellhole.
Dranarus was informative, more informative than Varrus would have liked. In short, the Knight-Lord was a chatterbox of the highest order.
He could see why his father valued him. In-between all the personal life stories, there was a surprising amount of layered information.
In one day, Dranarus had put down a revolt, and arrested countless mana starved Blood Elves who were in the process of transforming into the magical crack vampires known as Wretched.
Once a Blood Elf lost that tap of mana, it would only be a matter of time before they transitioned into mana crazed lunatics.
The event Dranarus described to Varrus was startling, and only served to illustrate the importance of his Mana Stones.
Nodding to himself, Varrus realized that there were still an unknown number of Blood Elves cutoff from Silvermoon, and suffering within the towns, villages, and hamlets scattered throughout Quel'Thalas.
Kael’Thas’ priority may be to laser focus on killing Arthas, thereby avenging their people. However, in doing so, the Prince would be ignoring the plight of his people, and that was something Varrus could not allow.
Varrus nodded to himself, and was even more determined to set his friend straight at lunch.
However, he had an interrogation to get too.
As soon as Dranarus was about to unlock the cell, it opened from the inside, and a familiar Elf walked out.
“Commander Brightwing, what an unexpected surprise.” Varrus said in genuine shock.
What purpose would the Farstrider Commander have for visiting a political dissident. A high profile dissident who had slandered Varrus in front of all of Silvermoon no less!
Halduron looked uncomfortable as he side eyed Dranarus, then gave Varrus a brief, yet meaningful look.
“As Commander of the Farstriders, it is my job to oversee the safety and security of Quel'Thalas. First Seat, gentleman.” Halduron said hurriedly, then swiftly departed.
Varrus pursed his lips, genuinely curious as to why Halduron would be down here. While true, the Ranger Corp was responsible for the safety and security of the realm.
The few times the Rangers interacted within a law enforcement capacity was when they tracked someone-or something-down. Otherwise, they mostly kept the roads and forests clear of Trolls, and dangerous beasts.
In fact, the more Varrus thought about it, the more suspicious he became.
What the hell was Halduron doing in there? A hoodless Halduron at that. The Ranger Commander had gone about with his identity revealed, unlike Varrus and Rho'dan.
Was he acquainted with Dakar? Were they friends, or related in some way? The Ranger Corp and dragonhawk knights often worked hand in hand. It certainly was plausible that Halduron had made inroads with Dakar, or his father at some point.
If so, was Halduron, perhaps in cahoots with, or masterminding this campaign against Varrus?!
It was an Arcane Arrow that threatened his life on the beach after all. Who better than the future Ranger General to launch such an attack?!
Varrus almost about-faced and went to confront Halduron that very moment, however, Dranarus was ushering him inside the cell, and Varrus was determined to speak with Koren’s twin brother.
He could always seek out Halduron whenever he pleased, going down this dungeon was unpleasant to say the least. The less time he had to spend down here the better. So he figured he’d better just man up, and get this interrogation out of the way.
“Don't take too long, councilor. I'll be outside if you need me.” Dranarus cheerfully grinned, then shut the door.
“Beware anything Dranarus says. It is 90% hearsay and self aggrandizement. He is a legendary gossip, and is notorious for hiding behind a smile.” Rho'dan cautioned as soon as they entered the room.
Varrus rolled his eyes beneath his hood. Were there no honest Elves in this kingdom?!
He had thought Rho'dan was simply being cold towards his rival, Varrus should've known better that one of the men closest to the previous King wouldn't be so loose lipped.
They then turned around to study Dakar. Mute due to lacking a wooden talisman necklace, Rho'dan draped one around the dragonhawk knight's neck.
Dakar glared at them for a moment, then opened his mouth to spit out a string of insults.
“More goons sent by the boy councilor. Publicly disparaging a public official can only be met with a week's punishment. You'd best leave.” The handsome, blonde pretty boy huffed, and kept his eyes lowered toward the ground in disinterest.
“And if I wanted you to talk?” Varrus said, stepping forward menacingly with a fireball resting in his hand.
In response, Dakar mockingly laughed.
“You are actually threatening me? Disregarding my family pedigree, such petty tricks are against the law. We both know you cannot! Hiee!” Dakar howled in pain mid mockery as Rho'dan stepped forward, and fluidly dislocated Dakar’s shoulder in one quick motion.
“Y-you fool will end up in the cell next to me for breaking this tenant!” Dakar howled through the pain, and glared hatefully at Rho'dan.
Varrus rapidly blinked his eyes at the sudden development. He had been threatening Dakar without the intention of ever actually harming him, because he did not want to damage ties to Koren. Who knew Rho'dan would go psycho killer on him, and dislocate Dakar's arm without any hesitation.
Varrus then looked to Rho'dan to see if Dakar's words were true, to which the elder Elf slightly nodded.
“It is true, even the King would sit in a cell for a day if he damaged his prisoner. Visibly, that is.” Rho'dan
“I have a feeling you've done this more times than I care to know.” Varrus said, still somewhat shaken by the unexpected violence.
“The less said, the better. However, my expertise have been honed over a millenia.” Rho'dan said, then punctuated his statement with a punch to Dakar’s gut.
“What are you doing? You haven't even asked me any-oh!” Dakar began, only to have the air driven from him as Rho'dan pressed down on his sternum, preventing the rise and fall of his chest.
“The purpose of this exercise is control.” Rho'dan said to Varrus as if he was giving a PowerPoint lecture.
“Now Dakar, breath in if you can hear me. Then hold it for a minute.” Rho'dan commanded as he lifted his hand off Dakar’s chest.
The dragonhawk knight eagerly gasped, and tried to hyperventilate so he could get as much air into his system as possible.
Rho’dan clucked his tongue, then shoved her bear-like palms onto Dakar’s chest, restricting his breath once more.
After several more struggles between the two, Dakar resentfully followed Rho'dan’s orders.
“Good, now who do you work for?” Rho'dan questioned as he popped Dakar's arm back into its socket.
“I…work for no one, no man pulls my strings! Can't you people see the evils of Vandercross? Or has he brainwashed you two, like he has my brother?” Dakar spat angrily.
Varrus raised his hand to halt Rho'dan from pressing down again.
“You expect us to believe that it was your idea to speak in front of everyone? You may be skilled on a dragonhawk, Dakar, but even you must know of the gamble you took, the enemy you had made. I pity you.” Varrus questioned, curiosity tinging his voice.
“The enemy I made?! What, did your master think me so stupid that I would roll over after the death of my father? Ha!” Dakar laughed incredulously.
Varrus pursed his lips as he took in the hurt outrage emanating from Dakar.
Considering that Varrus’ identity was concealed at this moment, he might as well attempt to act as the good cop to Rho'dan's bad cop.
“Look, Dakar, I apologize for my compatriots' rough attitude. Tensions have run high given the events of the last week. We are concerned that someone seeks the internal destruction of our race, and are using you as a pawn.” Varrus said softly.
During his speech, Varrus took out some cookies that his wife had baked earlier, as well as a plate. Coming directly from his inventory, the baked goods were still fresh, their smell completely occupied the cell.
“Me a pawn? Yes, I do suppose I am.” Dakar muttered to himself.
Varrus’ ears twitched at that. So there were accomplices?! He almost broke character, and stared at Rho'dan to get his reaction, but he maintained his focus, and slipped a cookie underneath his hood for a bite.
Delicious!
Not only could Syra cook, but she could bake as well!
For a moment there, Varrus lost himself in the divine pleasure that was entering his mouth. Gooey chocolate chips met soft-yet firm-doe that held up without crumbling.
Oh how he wished he had some milk.
“You intend to bribe me with cookies? I am not some child who is swayed by confectionery treats.” Dakar turned his head away, and complained.
“Hmm? Mmm, mn, oh, don't mind, mn, me, I'm simply enjoying a snack. Would you like some?” Varrus ignored Dakar, and tore a piece off, holding it beneath the dragonhawk knight's nose.
Dakar opened his eyes wide at the smell, then reluctantly turned his head away.
“You devils are cruel. I had heard rumors that the Royal Dungeon could change a man. I believed them to be false. Now I see the truth with my own eyes.” Dakar laughed bitterly as if Varrus had stolen all of his money.
“....” Varrus blinked owlishly and could only continue to munch on his cookie in silence.
“Should I?” Rho'dan gestured, only to have Varrus wave him off.
It seemed that acting as the good cop was out of the window, and Varrus would have to resort to magical means if he wanted to pry the information he desired out of Dakar.
Varrus hated causing pain to others, much more, he hated torture. If he had an enemy, under most circumstances, he'd rather give them a clean death, then draw out their suffering.
If Varrus was desperate, or in fear of Syra's life, he might be willing to cross some terrible threshold, such as repeatedly bringing someone on the verge of death, then healing them repeatedly, or other imaginative methods. However, thanks to the spells under the Illusion skill tree, Varrus had options.
Unfortunately, within the Royal Palace, Varrus was under the status condition [All spells cost +90%].
However, that wasn't so much an issue when he had the perk, Intuitive Magic.
Intuitive Magic: Novice/Apprentice spells of any school cost 100% less Magicka to cast.
While he considered casting the Apprentice spell Illusory Flames, Varrus would only use it as a last resort.
Illusory Flames: Concentrate to deal 30% of their current Health as temporary damage that wears off after 2 seconds.
It was a horrible thing to make someone experience the pain of burning alive. In some ways, it may even be worse than real fire, because an Illusion spell did not damage nerves, meaning the pain was felt 100%.
Instead, Varrus intended to try the more ‘innocuous’ spells: Calm, Fear, Fury, and Courage.
Lighting a bright red light in his hand, Varrus looked down at Dakar in pity.
The guy had lost his father, and ultimately was an innocent player in all of this. Sure, he had openly declared himself to be an enemy, but that didn't mean Varrus liked doing any of this.
“This is your last chance, Dakar. I am a tolerant man, and am sympathetic towards your plight. I lost my parents the day the Scourge attacked. The fact that I will never see them and all my friends again, it makes me sick. So sick, I’m willing to do anything to see that I don’t lose the friends and loved ones I’ve made in the last couple of days.”
“Begone minion, I will not break.” Dakar spat.
“Very well. This spell in my hands will unleash your most deep seated fears made manifest. Prepare yourself.” Varrus said with untold seriousness.
“Bluff all you waaaaa—” Dakar got out before he started screaming in extreme fear.
Dakar struggled in his chains like a man possessed, thrashing left and right, but there was no relief from the excruciating mental anguish.
In Skyrim, the Illusion spells almost seemed useless at times. All Fear really did, was force the enemy to run away. In reality, Fear was perhaps one of the most sinister applications of magic.
Varrus speculated that the entire Illusion tree of magic was adjacent, or directly related to Shadow magic. Influencing the mind, and senses was right up the Void’s alleyway.
Watching the look of horror manifest upon Dakar’s face, and the puddle of piss slowly drenching his robes, Varrus knew that he had done enough.
After a minute had passed, Varrus shot out the Calm spell at Dakar, canceling out the effects of Fear.
The man was shivering in place, and had backed up to the corner of his cell, or as far as his chains would let him anyway. His eyes shifted left and right like some sort of caged animal.
Even Rho'dan maintained his silence at Varrus’ astonishing brutality. However, that didn't stop the veteran from retrieving a scrying orb. Whilst Dakar was at his most shell shocked and vulnerable, Rho'dan maintained his professionalism, and prepared to record any confession.
After a moment had passed, Varrus sighed, and held his hand up to Dakar's face.
“Talk.”
Dakar closed his eyes, and Varrus pursed his lips.
‘Please don't make me do this again man.’ Varrus thought to himself as he stared the pretty boy in the face, moments away from unleashing Fear.
Rho'dan gripped Varrus by the arm, causing Varrus to misfire, and harmlessly impacted the cell wall with his spell.
Varrus looked curiously at Rho'dan.
“He has had enough.” Rho'dan gestured.
Varrus quirked an eyebrow at the role reversal, but he did not mind.
Set Varrus against some Undead or Trolls any day on an open field. This dungeon work, it was nasty business.
“Dakar, look at me Dakar, I recall you said it was no man who ordered you. You said you had an accomplice.” Rho'dan said, positioning himself between Varrus and Dakar’s line of sight.
“...It was a lady.” Dakar said after some time. His words carried defeat, and self loathing as he hung his head low.
“Describe her appearance, where did you meet, can you contact her?!” Varrus demanded.
“I know not what she looks like, and had met her within my bed chambers. One moment she was there, informing me of an opportunity to strike against Vandercross, the next she was gone. She spoke in a monotone, slowly, with purpose, and was few of words. That's all I know.” Dakar finished tiredly.
“You intend to strike against the Highlord? You wish not only to discredit him, but to see him dead, don’t you?” Rho'dan pressed.
Varrus arched an eyebrow, curious as to what Rho'dan was getting at. They knew this much didn't they?
“Will you torture me again if I say yes?” Dakar bitterly intoned as he glanced at Varrus, then hatefully flinched away, and looked back to the floor.
Varrus sighed at the nonanswer. They were so close!
Deciding on a gamble, Varrus walked out of Dakar’s line of sight, and tossed out Fury at Dakar’s back.
The dragonhawk knight sat up straight, and his defiant streak seemed to come back.
Rho'dan caught upon this change in behavior, and adjusted his questioning accordingly.
“What do you have to fear? According to you, Vandercross murdered your father. Don't you want revenge? Isn't your goal the complete and utter destruction of House Vandercross?” Rho'dan calmly asked.
“Of course it is. I would see him suffer a thousand cuts, a thousand, thousand times the pain done to me, dealt upon his wife! I want to see him in agony like no other!” Dakar strained against his chains, and clenched his fists in anger as he roared like a madman.
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Rho'dan finished as he turned around, and began to fiddle with the scrying orb.
Varrus frowned, although Fury amplified a person's anger, it didn't necessarily create something from nothing. Everything that Dakar said was straight from the heart.
Taking that into consideration, Varrus could accept attempts on his life, but any threat to his wife was off limits.
He would have to seriously consider how he wanted to handle the dragonhawk knight.
Varrus truly wanted to keep Koren and the Quel'Thalas airforce under his control, but the scales were heavily tipping against Dakar.
Whilst he was busy internalizing these thoughts, Rho'dan removed the wooden talisman hanging around Dakar’s neck, shrouding the dragonhawk knight once more in a perpetual state of Muffle, unable to hear or see anything within his vicinity.
“Do you suspect my mother-in-law to play some part in this?” Varrus questioned, worried that his fears might be true.
That lady had ultimate stealth capabilities that bypassed his Detect Life spell, and could disappear like Batman. She was not someone Varrus was prepared to deal with.
“It is hard to say, Faedra has played against both your father, and King Anasterian in the past. Perhaps it is as Lady Vandercross claimed earlier, and that this was Faedra’s plot all along. To what end, and its connection to the attempt on your life, I cannot say. But something rotten is going on, and this is too sloppy to have her hands on it. I suspect a third party is interfering.” Rho'dan stroked his chin in thought, and gave his analysis.
“This is frustrating to say the least. What does Faedra stand to gain by setting this up? Am I being tested, or is this some warning? And what part does Halduron play in all this? Is he a friend, mastermind, or is he seeking a potential collaborator? Perhaps he is the third party?” Varrus said, stroking his chin in thought.
“If you wish, we can continue with this interrogation.” Rho'dan suggested.
“No, we must still make time for the luncheon, you must be on time after all.” Varrus chuckled at Rho'dan and his rivalry with the Chief Royal Guard’s rivalry.
Rho'dan remained dutifully silent, seeming to ignore Varrus’ jab.
“You’re no fun.” Varrus sighed.
“In my experience, it is best to stay focused.” Rho'dan said tersely.
“You're right. What was Dakar going on about saying he would be released in a week, is that true? An enemy Hero causing chaos at our flanks, and stirring trouble at home is the last thing I want at the moment.” Varrus said in frustration, practically tearing at his hair from the hot mess allying with Koren had landed him in.
“I cannot speak to Faedra or Halduron’s involvement, however, your speculation on Dakar is most amusing Highlord.” Rho'dan chuckled in a low tone of voice.
“What is so amusing about a ticking time bomb waiting to catch us in the back?” Varrus growled at his trusted bodyguard.
“Dakar shall not be leaving in merely a week. He admitted to a plot to assassinate the First Seat! As you control the courts, his fate is in your hands.” Rho'dan said with amusement as he showed Varrus a masterfully edited clip of Dakar ‘confessing’ his crimes.
“Well I’ll be damned, wherever did you pick up such skills?” Varrus said, impressed by the seamless transition of dialogue.
“Working as the First Seat’s chief guard comes with many responsibilities. You need not worry yourself with such trivial matters, my Lord.” Rho'dan slightly bowed towards Varrus.
“...Very well, come Rho'dan, let us leave this damned place.” Varrus threw up his hands, and sighed as he walked towards the door.
“Your father would be proud, you know. The more you take matters into your own hands, the more you resemble him. I am excited to see you grow up so quickly.” Rho'dan said with emotion, like an uncle praising a nephew after taking over the family business. Except the family business was the Mob.
Varrus replied with silence.
He felt somewhat sick in his stomach due to the comparison, and kept his back turned to Rho'dan as he knocked on the cell door, signaling their release.
Everything he did, it was for the survival of their race, and the safety of his family.
Old man Vandercross had nothing on him! They were nothing alike! Varrus gave Mana Stones freely, and secured the lives of tens of thousands. One day, he would make Quel'Thalas a global kingdom, one that was respected by everyone! He wasn't a perfect person, but he did good by the people!
At least, that's what Varrus convinced himself as he left the dreary, damp, dank Royal Dungeon.
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All while Varrus fretted over the justness of his cause, Rho'dan could not be more proud. In his view, Varrus was finally growing acclimated to Highborn politics.
There was no forging greatness without cracking a few eggs along the way. If the boy was to learn how to play the game, he couldn't be nice to everybody, he would have to get his hands dirty.
It was only a matter of time until his liege took their people to greater heights.
Rho'dan had been cooped up in Silvermoon, he could hardly wait to enter the wider world, and get his feet wet.
With Varrus at the helm, a new golden age was sure to follow.
Comments
Darkanlan
Most people tend to forget organized crime was organized by nobility to begin with. Mob bosses just tried to imitate the courts their ancestors came from once nobility lost most of its power to violent mobs. Probably why they called themselves mob bosses. The idea they could pull the same stunts that saw an end to the nobility kept in their hands as the new nobles.
Son-Of-Scorn
That little mob comparison is actually so real
