While Varrus was busy with his meeting, Syra was excitedly going over recipes in the kitchen.

Syra had painstakingly gathered the seasonings required for cookies the night before, and the results spoke for themselves.

Every time she saw him lick some chocolate off his lips, or reach for another one set Syra's heart aflutter.

Since she set her sights on him decades ago, Syra had been baking, grilling, and engaging in all manner of cooking activities for the day that Varrus would be hers.

Needless to say, Syra was finally living her dream!

Twirling around in the kitchen whilst wearing a cooking apron and little else, Syra eagerly awaited the conclusion of Varrus's big meeting!

She had caught him staring at her longer than usual whenever she changed her outfits.

That feeling of being coveted, of being desired…ooo it was the highest high she had ever experienced!

Beams of Holy Light cascaded around Syra, clattering pots and pans as her faith and love powered her Light magic such that she lost control of herself.

Biting her lip, Syra could hardly wait as she felt herself begin to moisten down below.

She was tempted to close her eyes, and imagine his silky smooth hair tickling her chin whilst playing with herself, but such an act seemed like a betrayal of her oath.

Thinking of Varrus just wasn't the same as mounting Varrus, Syra concluded with surety.

Nodding her head, and clapping her hands against her cheeks, Syra resolved herself to wait throughout the night.

Her man was strong, handsome, and hardworking. Such a brilliant lover deserved a reward!

Working herself up into a frenzy, Syra was preparing a concoction that would turn the both of them into beasts, when she received a message from one of the Vanderguard on her scrying orb.

//A cloaked man fitting the description of Halduron Brightwing has been seen entering the residence of Dakar Vongstag. Should I pursue?\\

//Maintain position. I'll be arriving shortly.\\ Syra messaged back.

Ice flowed through Syra's veins as this little hiccup had thrown a wrench into her plans.

Furiously throwing on her usual outfit, Syra gingerly set the apron to the side, then clasped her sword to her back.

Varrus had informed her of Halduron’s suspicious nature whilst they waited for the Prince earlier.

Already wary of this supposed political ally, Syra had sent one of her people to keep tabs on him.

Unfortunately, his skills as a ranger must have given that watcher a slip. Fortunately, she had someone snooping around Dakar’s residence at the moment searching for clues.

Otherwise, she would be none the wiser as to the Farstrider Commander’s whereabouts.

Stomping out of the Vandercross Estate, Syra issued some quick orders to let Varrus know she was going for a stroll, and that she would be back soon.

Outside, and breathing in the cool night air, the moon had gone dark, and only the stars guided her path.

Coating her body in Holy Light, Syra focused all of her energy into her legs, and she moved.

Blitzing through the broken city, she left a crack reminiscent of thunder in her wake as she broke the sound barrier.

Any piece of debris, or tall building was jumped over. What she could not jump over, she went through. Her sword cleaved apart an already broken building, turning it into nothing but rubble.

Uncaring for any obstacle, Syra swiftly homed in on the signal that her subordinates' scrying orb was emitting.

Following a tiny red dot on her own orb for direction, she had traveled from the bottom left corner of Silvermoon to the top left area in 10 minutes.

It was difficult for her to control the extreme speed granted by Varrus’ enchantments, but when she traveled in a linear path, it was much easier than the precision required for fighting.

Slowing up as she reached the location, Syra's eyes glowed with a combination of Void and Holy energies.

She ignored her subordinate in favor of analyzing the structure.

Dakar lived in an opulent wing of a small manor, benefiting his status as belonging to a noble House.

Scanning the building with her combined sight, she locked on to a cloaked figure tasting the air, and sniffing the soil.

As soon as she activated her ability, he seemed to sense something, and drew his bow, pointing it at her in a fluid motion taking less than a second.

Arrow poised to release, Syra paid the deadly weapon no mind as she slowly planted her buster sword into the grass at her feet.

Light rays gently wafted around her, and shone upon the ranger's face, confirming it was Halduron.

“Lady Vandercross, I had thought you were some vagabond. Here to investigate Dakar as well, I assume?” The handsome blonde lowered his bow, yet left an arrow in the notch.

Syra did not like this veneer of friendliness. The arrow held at the ready set alarm bells off in her head, and if she was going to have a discussion, it was going to be an honest one.

Dashing forward without a word, Syra deflected a magically enchanted arrow, then knee’d the pretty blonde Elf in the gut.

Halduron went for a long curved dagger at his belt, and tried to slash Syra across her midsection, but she knew he would be unable to get through Varrus’ enchantments, or the bubble of Light coating her skin.

She let him helplessly slash a dozen times across her chest, stomach and throat for 2 seconds.

At the same time that Halduron was giving it his all, Syra clamped her hand around his neck, and conjured a chain of pure Light energy.

Pulling tightly, Syra forced him to his knees, and she stepped down upon his dagger wielding hand, eliciting a cry of pain.

Void and Light interplayed in the forming of this chain. With it, Syra could determine truth from lies.

“Talk. Why are you investigating Dakar? Why were you in his cell earlier, to threaten him into silence?” Syra threatened as she pulled the collar tight.

“You truly are..a..Vandercross.” Halduron gasped between breaths as he held on to his neck, desperately sucking in what air he could get.

Syra slightly loosened the collar, yet remained staring at him fixedly. Sweet talking to her was smart, but it would only get so much!

“I was worried he would be nothing like his father. A family's word is their bond after all. Who knew that the son was the truly ruthless one.” Halduron pitilessly laughed.

“Talk.” Syra uttered emotionlessly.

“Please tell me you are using truth magic. I rather like my neck where it is, you know.” Halduron cracked a debonair smile.

Syra merely tightened her grip.

“Of course it is, I wouldn't doubt a Vandercross to act so sloppily.” Halduron coughed as Syra loosened the energy chain once more.

“The thing is, I am truly indebted to Old Vandercross. When your husband came to me with the intention of a promotion, the debt only increased. When I learned of a plot to assassinate, and undermine the First Seat, I took it upon myself to investigate.” Halduron said, lowering his head in self defeat.

The binding pulsed in a way Syra interpreted as the truth. Yet there was more he wasn't telling her.

“You are only a ranger.” Syra said incredulously.

“Not just any ranger. Why, my Lady Vandercross, you are witness to the Commander of the Farstriders, Silvermoon's Elite commando unit!” Halduron puffed up his chest as if that explained everything.

Clearly unimpressed, Syra hit him with a tilted head, and a flat expressionless face.

“Explain.” Syra said in a no nonsense tone.

“You're serious then?” Halduron's chest deflated as he looked into Syra's cold, merciless eyes.

“Fair enuff, no need to tighten the collar!” Halduron quickly spoke as Syra was indeed about to tighten it.

“The King often used me as his premier tracker. Whenever a crime developed, I was the Elf to solve it. Any mana signature, type of spell cast-be they demonic or otherwise-anything that's trackable really, I can spot them all!” Halduron bragged.

“Go on then, what have you learned?” Syra gestured towards Dakar's residence.

“Well, I've only been here a handful of-” Halduron got out before he felt his neck tightening.

“Ahem-what I mean to say is that someone used polymorph around here recently. In fact, based upon the scent, it was a man appearing as a woman.” Halduron stuck his tongue out, and smacked his lips as he tasted the residual mana in the air.

“And.” Syra leaned forward, causing the Farstrider Commander to gulp.

“And I have a direction. I don’t have a specific person in mind, but this scent is oddly familiar. If I had to place it anywhere, it would come from the Royal Palace.” Halduron tentatively said.

“Good.” Syra said, releasing the binding.

Halduron rubbed his hand around his neck, and rose to his feet, then jumped back ten steps, like a cat that had been spooked.

“So, happy to make your acquaintance, Lady Vandercross. But I do believe I have other matters to attend to-”

“I accept your offer to come along. You are most gracious.” Syra smiled as another, longer chain spawned in her hands.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“That-won't be necessary, Lady Vandercross. I came here of my own will after all, and am happy to help!” Halduron smiled.

“Onward, to adventure!” Halduron about-faced, and began to walk in the direction of the Royal Palace.

Syra despawned the chain, then followed after the ranger. As she was about to leave Dakar's residence, a message from Varrus pinged her scrying orb.

//Syra, my love, I am wrapping up things with the Convocation, all is well?\\

//Varrus my star, I am out looking for a flower to press into my journal. I hope you like it~\\

//I miss you. I've just sentenced Dakar to an indefinite stay within the dungeon, please do not take his life. I love you.\\

//I love you too. Wait for me, my love.\\ Syra finished her message with a smile as she pictured the praise he would rain upon her once she captured his detractor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whilst Varrus had moved on to the next topic to discuss Dakar’s continued incarceration, and Syra had left for the hunt, other developments were underway within Silvermoon.

Within the Royal Palace was the Grand Magister's Spire. The seat of the Order of Magisters, this once bustling temple devoted to the regulation and study of Arcane stood silent.

Within the twilight of nights embrace, the hallways of this grand edifice were dark as midnight black.

All save one.

Within the Grand Magister's chambers, Rommath sat eerily still within a circle of runic inscriptions.

To his left was a foul, Void tainted totem from the Trolls, to his right was a collection of Fel empowered Infernal cores, and directly in front of him was the hammer of a devout paladin. The three items of conflicting natures seemed to tremble in one another's presence, and threatened to cause a magically induced catastrophe.

Muttering a soft chant, Rommath rearranged the hieroglyphics surrounding him into specific patterns. The trembling ceased, and the air around the three objects became stable.

Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, the characters began to float off the ground for a moment, then tattoo themselves onto his flesh. A moment later, and the characters became invisible to the naked eye, like lotion being absorbed into skin.

At the same time, wisps of Void, Fel, and Light energy wafted out of the three items, and were sucked into Rommath's nostrils like vapor from a respirator.

Deep wells of mana within his body threatened to erupt outward, yet the runes of Arcane magic flashed blue, and enforced the metaphysical concept of Order, actively reinforcing the seal containing the volatile energy within.

Rommath breathed deeply to release the pain, as his body creaked and cracked all over like it had been born anew.

The backlash from the failed ritual spell the other day had badly injured him. At the time he, along with 100 of his fellow cohort had vomited pure mana, and bled Arcane from their eye sockets.

As a result, the Magisters Spire remained motionless as its members were in recovery.

Aches and pains assaulted Rommath every second of the day, yet he showed nary a grimace.

This ritual pressed that pain he was feeling, and magnified it a hundred fold. Yet it was all worth it.

Rommath's duty to His Majesty stood ironclad. At first, Rommath came to tutor the Prince because he was the son of his sister. It was merely a favor that he didn't pay much attention to.

However, Kael’Thas soon proved himself to be a capable mage. One whom Rommath knew would take the study of magic to heights unseen since Azshara became the Queen of all Elves ten millennia ago.

He had watched his nephew grow with excitement, and felt like a prideful parent as Kael’Thas excelled.

Rommath quickly found himself running out of things to teach the genius Prince, so he had devoted himself to alternate paths of magic.

Realizing the dangerous, mind altering qualities of the Light, Void, and Fel, Rommath had turned to the quality of the Arcane that made it so stable as a source of magic. The concept of Order.

Arcane corresponded with Order, and required years of study to reach the pinnacle. It differed greatly from the other schools of magic, yet in Rommath's opinion, held the most potential.

Fel corresponded with Chaos. The concept of change is limited only by one's imagination. Fueled by the taking of life force, or souls, it was as powerful as it was deadly. It was a force that appealed to lesser beings. The beginner spells required little to no understanding, yet all it took was one hit, and a practitioner would slowly become something different.

Elemental and Druidic magic corresponded with Nature and Life. Rommath had experimented with these powers in the past, and found them lacking. Elemental magic was only so strong as the elemental spirits that granted their power. Theoretically, a shaman could become supreme should they be bestowed the power of numerous elementals, but Rommath found such a scenario unlikely.

Druidic magic on the other hand had the potential to rival Arcane, yet he fully admitted he was biased against it. The Night Elves had soured all of Highborn society from that brand of magic when the Night Elves exiled them after the Sundering.

That left Void and Light as the two remaining types of magic. Two sides of the same coin, they were both powered by belief, yet Rommath believed there was something more to it.

Through his experimentation, he discovered an extremely dangerous, and volatile energy was created when Void and Light interacted.

Sometimes referred to as Shadow and Holy magic, Rommath referred to the melding of such magics as the Holy Void.

Containing this combination was tedious, and often deadly. Many research subjects had suddenly exploded once he had infused them with this newfound power source.

Ultimately, Rommath turned to inscription as his answer.

Once determined to be a barbaric practice relegated to Dwarves, Trolls, and ancient Humans, Rommath took a radical approach (by Elf standards), and had begun research into bodily inscriptions.

After decades of failed experiments, Rommath finally had a breakthrough the night before once he analyzed the construct of some Troll totems.

Unwilling to fade into obscurity, Rommath took a gamble just now, and he had won!

Binding four of the principle powers of magic, Rommath felt an untold power coursing through his veins.

The flub up at the beach would never happen again as far as Rommath was concerned.

That dark mark of failure had seriously jeopardize Kael’Thas's safety, and ate away at Rommath ever since.

Whilst Rommath was writing down some fresh notes on his experience, and planning a seminar for his nephew, a ward was triggered.

Oddly enough, this particular frequency was keyed to one of his other nephews…but he had been dead for quite some time.

Suspecting foul play, Rommath cast a spell, and an invisible ripple spread throughout the room.

A moment later, a figure wearing a similar high collar getup to Rommath was decloaked from invisibility.

Rommath hesitated for a moment as he recognized the figure. It was one of his deceased nephews, Prince Taldaram.

Possessing ash gray skin, long unruly white hair, and glowing red eyes, Rommath hardly recognized him.

After the hesitant astonishment passed, Rommath began muttering a chant to smite this abomination.

“Hold, Uncle! Hold! It is me, Taladram! I bring glad tidings.” Taladram shouted, and held out his hands in an attempt to forestall Rommath's spell casting.

“What game are you playing at, creature? Has the Lich King become bored, and decided to directly puppet his playthings?” Rommath questioned in equal parts curiosity, and anger at the disservice done to his nephew.

“The Lich King? Ha! He is but a slave encased in a block of ice! My master has freed me from his mental affliction, he has opened my eyes to a much wider world! Unbound from the Sunwell, I am truly immortal! You can be too, join us Uncle, and you no longer have to worry about the fate of death!” Taladram boasted, and let loose a flood of mana into the nearby surroundings that dwarfed what he was capable of in life.

Rommath skeptically raised an eyebrow at his nephew. This very same man had once attempted to conspire with Rommath, and overthrow his father, King Anasterian. Of course he had rejected his nephew at the time, and he was highly suspicious of this surprise visit.

Whatever Taladram had to say, Rommath would treat it with a large grain of salt.

However, that didn't mean Rommath couldn't play along, and see what information he could tease out of this erstwhile nephew.

“This new master of yours, if he is not the Lich King, then who is it?” Rommath queried, at the same time, he discreetly began performing hand signs behind his back to set up a nonverbal spell.

“Lord Tichondrius, leader of all Dreadlords, saw potential in our race. He freed us from the mental pollution clouding all Undead, and renamed us as the Darkfallen.” Taladram spoke with confidence and pride.

“You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘us,’ are there more Darkfallen?” Rommath said with curiosity.

“Ah, but of course! My brothers, sister, and of course, mother have all become leaders of the Scourge within Deatholme, thanks to Lord Tichondrius! Already, a hundred Elves, torn and lost without the warmth of the Sunwell, have pledged themselves to our cause. And so could you!” Taladram said cheerfully.

Rommath barely withheld a wince once he learned that his sister had been raised into undeath. That was one conniving woman he had hoped to never see again.

However, it was time to close this discussion.

Having gathered all of the pertinent information that was needed, Rommath had one final question before he sent this nephew of his back to the gates of Hell.

“How is it you are so affable despite being one of the Undead? It was my understanding that all senses and desire to emote were lost upon death.” Rommath asked, genuinely curious.

“That’s easy, Uncle mine! It’s thanks to this!” Taladram exclaimed, pulling out a vial of sticky red fluid that Rommath determined to be blood.

Taking a gulp from the vial, Taladram shuddered in ecstacy. At the same time, Rommath noticed the concentration of death mana permeating the air increased almost two-fold.

Having discovered everything he wished to learn, Rommath was about to unleash the spell he was holding, when all of the sudden, a bright beam of Light empowered energy cleaved a portion of the tower in half.

Rommath was forced to redirect his spell to block the brunt of the attack, and save his skin in the process.

“Think about it, Uncle!” Taladram called out as his body turned into a smoke form, dodging all of the falling debris, and began to float away.

Rommath felt himself twitching in anger at whoever had damaged the tower, however, he had no chance to speak out, as the girl he recognized as Lady Vandercross disappeared in a streak after his nephew.

Shaking his head, Rommath decided he would have to petition the Prince. Damaging royal property was a serious offense after all.

Clucking his tongue, Rommath remembered his notes could be damaged, and all calm fled him as he began to desperately search through the rubble caused by that brat!

“Well, well, well, you have been quite the naughty Elf, Rommath. Secret meetings with the Undead in the dead of night. I wonder what conclusions might His Majesty come to?” Halduron came sauntering in, and shook his head in exaggerated amusement.

“Amusing as always, Halduron.” Rommath rolled his eyes, and resumed his search for his notes.

They both knew Rommath had nothing to fear from Kael’Thas.

“And if a birdy whispered in Highlord Vandercross's ear?”

“I saw to it that your name was the only recommendation for Ranger General. What more do you want, Brightwing.” Rommath tiredly bit out.

“You know Rommath, if I didn't watch you murder your sister at His Majesty's command, I might think you had gone traitor!” Halduron clapped.

Rommath paused in his search for a moment as memories of that execution drew bile up to his throat. Clamping down on the emotions that threatened to boil over, Rommath narrowed his eyes.

“What. Do. You. Want.” Rommath spoke in perfect monotone.

“Honestly, at this point, I'm just happy to sit back and enjoy the show!” Halduron said as he juggled an orb he found rolling across the floor.

“Somehow I doubt that.” Rommath said sardonically.

“His wife is on to something, you know. Scary woman, much worse than her mother. I'd watch my back if I were you.” Halduron said, ignoring Rommath's question entirely in favor of stirring the pot further.

The Farstrider Commander was grinning as he leafed through several books that had fallen over, whilst Rommath had his back turned.

“I'll keep that in mind. Now if you would stop perusing my collection, I have business to attend to. Of course, if you would like your brain to become invaded by 1st era Murloc translations, be my guest.” Rommath tersely waved Halduron off.

Halduron applied a Muffle to the book, and tossed it over his shoulder. Consequently, it fell over the edge of the broken tower and to the waiting ground below.

“I don't know what Vandercross did that you would send a proxy to slander him like that the other night, but then again, who hasn't been slighted by that family? Consider my debts repaid.” Halduron grinned roguishly, and left the crumbling mages tower.

Rommath paused in his search for a moment.

Yes, that wife of his was a troubling character.

Rommath was a patient man, however. There was no need to reveal himself this early in the game.

‘Perhaps this movement described by my traitorous nephew could prove of use.’ Rommath thought to himself, then wrote down his immediate thoughts and plans in code on a nearby scrap of paper.

He may no longer be immortal due to the destruction of the Sunwell, but time remained on his side.

One day, Rommath would proudly crown Kael’Thas.

As King, his student would bring peace, freedom, justice, and security to Quel'Thalas like never before.

Yes, Rommath very much looked forward to seeing Kael’Thas's ascension. Even if he had to spill a little ink across the pages of history to do so.