Karp
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Chapter 167
🕑 Added 2025-02-10 18:43:56 +0000 UTCAfter some much needed R&R with Syra (Re: extreme baby making sex), the third and final day before the invasion was set to take place had arrived.
It was early morning, and Varrus was on his mansion's balcony in a bathrobe, enjoying the sunrise, a piece of buttered toast, and a glass of orange juice.
Syra was still asleep, Omen was resting silently by his side, content to do nothing, and Varrus was taking this alone time to just have a moment of no thoughts, head empty.
Sometimes, a man just needed time to himself. No office work, no grinding, no women. Just himself, and his thoughts.
Watching the sun slowly make its ascent, and feeling the slight warmth on his skin, Varrus took a sip of his juice, and took a moment to appreciate life.
It was funny to think that compared to the planet, the sun, and the universe, he was like a tiny ant. That the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas that the Elves were so smug over was less than 7,000 years old. A huge amount of time to a Human, but insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Chuckling to himself, Varrus held up his orange juice, and made a salute.
“Here's to you universe, God, or whoever makes the lights run. Thanks for everything.” Varrus said half sardonically, half serious.
It was a surreal feeling to have the day before all hell would break loose.
Varrus was about to embark on the largest campaign of his life. Millions of lives would be impacted, and the future of countless sentients rested on his shoulders.
He never signed up to be some hero, or save the world, all he wanted to do was have a family, and fuck off to some private island. All the petty backstabbing could be left to Kael, and all Varrus would have to do is provide some input every once in a while.
“Ah, what a fanciful dream.” Varrus said, and glanced at his empty glass in disappointment.
If only the damned smug Elves were self-sufficient. Sadly, they were all like a pack of Roman senators, and drama queens. All vying for favor, and just two days ago, Varrus had caught them slipping.
Sadly, he'd have to stay in his spot as First Seat at all times. Otherwise, some upjumped idiot like Drathir Dar'Kahn would throw the realm into chaos again.
“Haaah, I'll never get to retire.” Varrus sighed.
Once he solved this Plaguelands bullshit, there would be dozens of things pressing on him. As wild as it may seem, the zombie apocalypse was somehow the least of his concerns.
Elemental Lords, the other Aspects, Titan Keepers, Old Gods, Daedric Princes, and more.
His only solace was that before the canonical start of WoW, he should be in a prime spot to nip a few problems in the bud.
The Night Elves, for example, no longer had to worry about the Satyr problem anymore, now that the only semi sane one among them is dead. Bonus for Varrus, the insane Warden, Maeve, was apparently his grandmother in law, and they had killed Tyrande.
With no witnesses, Varrus was practically coasting to victory, dragging the Night Elves into the Covenant. It was a semi bitter victory too, since he could attribute half the legwork to Faedra.
Just a day ago, he wanted to smack her, but now, she proved herself invaluable yet again by adding another race to the Elven Empire.
Varrus truly didn't know if she was incompetent, or 100% conniving bitch, and it drove him mad.
After all, if she was so smart, why didn't she stop Arthas, or account for Drathir Dar'Kahn's betrayal? If she was so strong, why didn't she personally fight during the Scourge Invasion?
On the other hand, the Troll assault was blunted, the Kobolds willingly became his vassals, and now the Night Elves were all but secured due to her actions.
To top it all off, she raised the most dangerous killer in all of Quel'Thalas, and married her to the most prominent politician's son in a marriage alliance.
…..perhaps he was being a little naive when it came to Faedra. It was easy to throw her into the trope of spymaster/perfect assassin, but was that accurate?
People who watched movies thought the CIA were monolithic super killers. In reality, 90% of CIA employees are regular desk jockeys. Yeah, they got shit done, but they failed too.
Perhaps Faedra was a conniving bitch, perhaps she was competent, and perhaps she has had some major fuckups.
At the end of the day, Varrus could only interpret her actions as a net positive. But God did he want to give her a good one-two smack to the face!
Ultimately, Varrus decided he didn't want to kill her, or lose her expertise, however, she did need to be taught a lesson. The last time he had brute forced his way into her lair, she had been mildly sarcastic, and not at all threatened.
Hmm, now that his spell power was so great, perhaps he could do something harmless, yet demeaning? Polymorph her into a toad perhaps? Or maybe something more subtle. That woman was proud, but being turned into a toad might just get a laugh out of her. His mother-in-law truly was the most annoying existence in this second life.
Banging the back of his head against his chair, Varrus found his perfect, peaceful morning of reflection all but ruined as thoughts of that lipsticked, high heeled woman came to mind.
The act of banging his head acted as a catalyst, and all the muscles in his body began to ache.
The infinite stamina granted by the Sunwell had been great for making love, but by the Gods was that woman never satisfied!
Even a magical portal that drew upon a God-Azeroth's-essence wasn't enough to satiate his wife!
Syra had worked him like a perpetual motion machine.
Honestly, it was a wonder seeing how much his output had increased. He almost couldn't blame those chuckleheads for partying like the world was ending tomorrow.
“Ah.” Varrus hissed as he worked the muscle.
“You know you could just blast that spot with some Light attuned magic, right?” Rho'dan said as he climbed up some vines that were clinging to the side of the balcony.
In his hands he had a large pile of documents.
Varrus all but blanched as he saw the paperwork, his face going white, and his hand beginning to cramp from the amount of times he had written his response.
“By the Gods man, I thought I already took care of all the reports, memos, and orders that needed to be seen.”
He thought that working with excel had broken his mind. Yet real, physical paperwork was so much worse.
‘Just how did the businessmen of the 1900's put up with this shit?’ Varrus wondered to himself, and discovered a newfound respect for the men and women who had no better alternative.
Rho'dan, for the briefest of moments, broke character. A small smile crested the edge of his lips, and then it was gone.
“Indeed you have, Highlord. These were simply some documents I was perusing on the way here. As your steward, I must determine what is important enough for you to see, and what is a waste of your time.” Rho'dan bowed with a perfectly straight face.
‘Smugass.’ Varrus thought to himself as he glanced at his intrepid bodyguard.
“Then you're here because…” Varrus waved his hand at Rho'dan impatiently, and said trailingly.
“You've been invited.” Rho'dan held out a scroll.
Unfurling the blasted piece of paper, Varrus noted that it had enchantments placed upon its edges, preserving its freshness. Few orders received this treatment. As far as Varrus recalled, only treaties, laws, and agreements lasting over 50 years would be enchanted.
Arching an eyebrow at Rho'dan, Varrus wondered who would be so audacious as to send him an invite so near to his planned invasion of the Human lands.
In fact, shouldn't they be waiting on his pleasure in some side chamber getting stonewalled by Rho'dan, and bureaucratic nonsense?
‘Seriously, what is Rho'dan thinking?’ Varrus scoffed to himself.
However, as he fully unfurled the scroll, Varrus couldn't help but put a hand to a palm.
There were, in fact, two scrolls, and on each of them, there was a drawing.
One almost looked like it was done in crayon, and was of an Elf boy slaying a Troll. Dredging up memories long past, this was something Varrus had gifted to Nightsong when he was less than three years old.
The fact she had it stored somewhere-likely placed within her tomb by papa Vandercross-really hit home for Varrus how great her loss had been.
Taking a deep breath, Varrus unfurled the other sheath of paper, and it was a family portrait of the three of them. Varrus, his father, and mother. Except it wasn’t of the past, but a reimagined portrait with Varrus's adult self standing in between his parents.
Wiping away a tear, Varrus placed both of the papers in his inventory.
Exhaling some heavy air, Varrus found he didn't have the energy to banter with Rho'dan anymore, all he wanted to do was see his mother.
“Where is she?”
“Off the northern shores of Quel'Danas. At that place.” Rho'dan bowed, and stepped back, a hint of softness in his tone of voice.
“Watch over the house.” Varrus said, turning to Omen. He then raised his hands to cast some magic.
Activating the Milestone spell-an Alteration spell that allowed him to place 5 teleportation anchors anywhere-Varrus instantly teleported to the base of the Sunwell.
He then tossed out his flying carpet, and flew towards the northern tip of the island. Varrus didn't need Clairvoyance to know where Nightsong was waiting for him.
Coming to the place of a burnt out home, the burnt out home where Nightsong had been ambushed, and gave her life to save his, Varrus felt his heart constrict. Memories of an ambush, of the adventurers brought through time lewdly discussing what to do with his mother.
Clenching his fist, he recalled the feeling of hiding under a cloak of invisibility, and shivering in the night breeze as he made his escape. Although he hadn't personally lived it, the memories came to him unbidden, like a childhood trauma.
Frowning to himself, Varrus shook his head, and with it, the negative thoughts away.
Varrus alighted from his ride and saw Nightsong standing on the beach. Her long hair was kept braided, and her mature countenance that inspired confidence in the men seemed oh so weary in Varrus's eyes.
However, her bare feet stuck in the wet sand, and a pair of painting boards resting on easels told a different story.
“Good morning.” Varrus said with a smile as he approached Nightsong for a hug.
“Have you eaten?” Nightsong inquired.
“A piece of toast and some orange juice.” Varrus nodded, and stepped back.
“Mn, very good. Your efforts to cleanse the land, and save the farmers have paid off. As a leader, and politician, no one will ever thank you for these things. Always remember this.” Nightsong said, turning her back to him as she started to paint.
“Yeah. It's something I realized a long time ago. Trying to meet people's expectations is challenging…so I just do my own thing, and if it works out, well, I'm happy. If they don't like it, well, I'll let Rho'dan get an earful.” Varrus sported a small smile as he took up a brush, and paint palette.
Looking at the blank canvas, Varrus remembered he couldn't paint. In fact, he was a musical savant thanks to his perks/skills, but art never was his forte.
“Hmm. It is good to take criticism into account, but never let the masses dictate what should be done. Be stern, yet fair, and even the most willful Elf will bend to answer your call. What you have done. Establishing the Sunwell. It is a good thing. But as I warned your father, I will warn you too. Do not become beholden to it. It is a power misunderstood by Elves, and its progenitor, the Well of Eternity transformed us from Trolls into what we are. What other influence does it hold over us, I wonder?” Nightsong said aloud, almost as if she was questioning herself more so than cautioning Varrus.
Beginning his painting, Varrus stewed on Nightsong's words for some time.
What indeed, was the influence of the Sunwell? Was the birth of the Elf an accidental creation? Or perhaps, was Azeroth, the Goddess, trying her hand at something?
With how little he knew of the slumbering Goddess, Varrus found that it was an uncomfortable question.
As a magic addict, and someone who wanted his race to prosper, restoring the Sunwell had been his goal since day one.
….in fact, his system had set that as his very first quest.
Tsking to himself, Varrus found he had botched his painting and accidentally mixed brown and red where he intended for a different combination.
“You lack focus. Center yourself. Breath.”
“It is so hard. I have been battling for Quel'Thalas every day for over 6 months. Every night, I am casting spells, creating Mana Stones. Every day, I am either: fighting, cleansing the land, holding meetings, building things, making weapons, signing papers, managing my wife's murderous tendencies, etc. What is this if not focus?” Varrus bit back bitterly, feeling overworked.
“You are grown. No longer a playboy. You are Varrus Vandercross. You sign away the fate of thousands with the stroke of a pen. You create thousands of armors in the span of an hour that master craftsmen spent thousands of years learning how to make, and take a month to make one full set. You cured the incurable, and brought back the impossible. Every Elf wishes he could be you, if not that, to sleep with you. You are my son, you will persevere, and you will find focus.” Nightsong finished by flourishing her paint brush, and turning to Varrus with a stern, motherly command.
Glancing over his shoulder, Varrus's eyes widened as he realized what she had painted on her canvas.
Hidden within her seemingly normal painting of a tower were runes.
The symbols seemed so familiar as they burned themselves into his retina.
White, orange, and blue ethereal light left the pages of the paper, and entered his very spirit.
Feeling an uplifting in his soul, Varrus found the symbols seared into his mind, just like how the Greybeards taught the Dragonborn.
Opening his lips, Varrus turned out to the gentle rolling waves of the North Sea, and shouted.
“Fus. Roh. Dah!”
A wave of uncontrollable force spread out from his position, and almost seemed to rock the world.
Looking to his mother, Varrus felt humbled, and stood still in awe, hoping she would impart to him more words. He had so many questions for her, and wanted to ask about her origins, yet she spoke first.
“Go back. Prepare. Remember what you are struggling for. Find your focus.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AN: People seemed to really like Vanderdad, but Nightmom ain't half bad, eh?
Comments
Ryan Helmbold
Nightmom is good too
Simo
vanderdad one of the best character's in the story ngl
CunnyEnjoyer
I fucking love both of his parents! I wish we could see more Vanderdad. I’d also kill to witness Vanderdad and Nightmom interacting as well as talking about their son
