The gala was well underway, and the strength of the thorium armor was all the rage. Its natural resistance alongside protective enchantments made it a beast of an armor set.
Already, a dozen Heroes and Elites had tried the one-hit challenge, yet all had failed to destroy Varrus's creation.
That didn't deter the smug Elves one bit, as each and every one of the contestants were self assured that all others were too weak, and that they would be the one to claim the boulder sized Mana Stone as their prize.
Yet so far, only a handful of the Highborn had managed to breach the protective enchantment, let alone scratch the set of crimson plates beneath.
Despite this factoid, none were deterred when all the prestige and mana were on the line.
“Firestrike!” One Elf called out dramatically, and struck a flashy pose as he brought down a focused beam of hot fiery plasma.
The thorium gear shimmered a pale white, indicating the activation of the shield enchantment, yet a moment later, it shattered like glass. The beam of concentrated heat then began to wear away at the top of the helmet, before ultimately fizzling out a moment later.
A smoking black stain coated the armor’s visor, yet failed to deal any more damage. It was the closest anyone had come to dealing any permanent harm, and was worthy of praise. Not even a single cast of Varrus’s Expert level spells could do as much as this Elf could!
“Better luck next time, Magister Bloodsworn. We shall have to dine someday.” Varrus said consolingly to one of the Heroes who bound one of Kith'ix's legs during the battle of the beach.
“Another time.” Alastair Bloodsworn said politely, yet his tone betrayed hints of displeasure.
Varrus didn't take it to heart, and merely nodded his head with a smile. Alistair canonically bound a Naaru (an alien being of nearly unlimited Light magic) and siphoned its energies to feed the entire paladin order of Blood Elves in the Burning Legion expansion. He was a genius of the highest order, and one whom Varrus had considered as a member of the Convocation, before settling on Telonicus and Tae’thelon. It would behoove Varrus to mock such a talented individual, but that didn't mean he couldn't hit them with an ironic “gg.”
Alistair was but one amongst many Elves to have their feathers ruffled by Varrus’s creation.
As the strongest of the Highborne were up to the challenge, any one of them could destroy this thorium armor if given the opportunity of multiple attacks.
In his testing, Varrus found that on average, it took Lor'Themar five of his magic arrows to breach the protective metal.
The sinister thing about the one-attack challenge, however, was that the protective enchantment acted much like a shield from the Halo series. Once the thin film of white protective energy burst, it would then recharge after a delay.
Frankly speaking, enchantments were some bullshit. BS, that Varrus was all too happy to use and abuse when it got him results like this.
If before, some of the socialites were cozying up to him due to his political station, Mana Stones, and combat record, now they were practically begging for his attention.
Somehow, someway, it wasn't the slaying of Drathir Dar'Khan, the claiming of Zul’Jin's head, the release of Mana Stones, or the casual slaughter of ten thousand Trolls that got their attention.
No!
It was a damn set of seemingly indestructible armor!
Damn the safety of the realm, they prized their own security over everything else!
With the possibility of death at an all time high, personal safety had become the number one priority now that a new offensive was set to take place tomorrow.
Highborn were-in their own prideful way-clamoring for his attention.
“I heard you were interested in old tomes and schematics. Perhaps the Highlord would be interested in a trade of sorts?”
“Nonsense, the First Seat is interested in the gem dust required for enchantments! My shop has just what you need!”
“Oh Highlord, you have a mnn, fine piece of equipment. Perhaps I could offer my expertise on its design. Someplace private of course, I don't offer my services to anyone.” One Elf known for her skills in artistry slunk towards Varrus like a skilled temptress, and came within
Based upon the tightened grip on his hand, Varrus only barely held Syra back, and pulled her into a kiss, briefly sating his wife's bloodlust.
“Begone! I have no need for an adulteress's opinion!” Varrus loudly admonished.
The artsy Elf opened her mouth to say something, but the danger in Varrus's eyes seemed to send an electric shock through her system. She shivered and gasped, before Syra took a step forward, and punched her in the jaw, knocking her unconscious.
There was no collective gasp, but there was a noticeable silence amongst the guests. Only the sound of enchanted instruments continuing their beat served as any kind of background noise.
On the plus side, the gaggle of Elves surrounding him had melted away like midday mist.
“Typical Vandercross behavior.” A haughty, familiar voice called from the crowd.
Flowing blonde hair, and a maskless face grinned brilliantly at Varrus and Syra. Atop his fair hair was a cap, like something Robin Hood wood wear.
“Can I help you, Commander Brightwing? This is a masked gala, in case you hadn't noticed.” Varrus said with a sugary smile.
Here was a guy he was suspicious of, one whom his wife had wanted to be beaten for insinuating that they engage in a threesome. A man who had suggested the killing of Lor'Themar 10 years later, one who did not have a cultists amulet pinging back at him!
“A mask, a mask? No I don't have a mask, why do you ask?” Halduron sauntered over towards the downed artist, and crouched next to her. He then took up her wrist, and felt her pulse, seemingly concerned with her health, all the while, his other hand felt up and down her body as if he was searching for something. That or he was simply perverted.
Varrus narrowed his eyes. Just what was this notorious Farstrider Commander’s game? If Varrus was known for the ‘my father will hear of this’ type of playboy persona, then Halduron was the clubber who somehow oozed sex despite mouthing off cheesy pick up lines, and smelling of oversaturated cologne. There was a natural opposition between the two of them.
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“Tsk, tsk, how uncouth. A lady so old, and she wished to seduce Silvermoon's latest couple! Betrothed upon the night of betrayal, the Lord and Lady Vandercross have known not but war and violence! Woe is the fate of this petty saboteur set on breaking apart true love!” Halduron said to the crowd, hamming up the drama to the extreme. He then spat upon the fainted actress, and elegantly bowed towards both Varrus and Syra.
Somehow his overt dramatization was working as some guests began to mutter and look negatively upon the downed artist.
“Newly weds? During the Scourge invasion?” One Elf questioned, aghast at the notion.
“The very same! Life, as they say, finds a way.” Halduron chuckled, and filched a Mana Stone from the artist in broad daylight as everyone had turned their attention to Varrus and Syra.
Grinning at the Varrus, he winked as he was caught in the act, yet with his back turned to everyone else, he absorbed the crystal with only two witnesses.
“My fee for saving her life.” Halduron whispered, then tipped his hat at Syra.
“You-” Syra began with a step forward.
“Uh uh uh, crowd of people, true love's embrace and all that. Everything before-the insinuations during our time spent together-it was merely a joke, a jest, water under the bridge and honey over the meadow. Or er, something like that!” Halduron held his hands up to protest his innocence.
Varrus quickly threw up a shroud of Muffle so that no others could eavesdrop upon their conversation.
“What do you intend to do by making a scene here?” Varrus questioned in a low voice.
“Me, making a scene? I'm not the one who punched out Silvermoon's most famous painter, and made her piss her pants. Good job by the way, the broad had been rejecting my advances for the last century. There are only so many flowery words a man can use to describe a blank canvas she calls ‘art’ before he runs out of adjectives for praise!” Halduron complained.
“Halduron.”
“What, you're serious? Do I have to spell it out for you?” Halduron said with a cheeky chuckle.
“You're scared.” Syra said, cutting through the bravado.
“What, me? Scared of a lady who assaulted the palace on a whim with no backup? Or of the husband who abused his power over the judiciary to keep his political opponents locked up indefinitely? Perish the thought!” Halduron rolled his eyes in sarcasm.
“What game are you playing? This fear you are showing us is nothing more than a mask, isn't it?” Varrus called Halduron out.
“Games? It’s all a game! The Lady is right of course. I am scared. Petrified even.” Halduron smirked, leading Varrus to believe he was 80% bullshitting him, but there was enough terror in Halduron’s eyes that it could be 20% real.
“But that's the fun of it all! Otherwise, what's the point of being immortal if all I do is watch the same 10 actors, and listen to the same 100 songs a million times? The Commander of the Farstriders is not some ornament to play toy soldier like all the rest.” Halduron sassily snapped back.
“What is your goal in coming here like this? Is it because I didn't find a way to promote you to Ranger General?” Varrus questioned, and at the same time, he tensed, preparing himself for violence when he saw Halduron’s hand briefly hover over one of his blades.
“You’re much more fun than your father. Much more grounded, yet still stuck in your Vandercross ways. So sure of yourselves, yet never pausing to think that others could do something from the goodness of their hearts. I never wanted to be Ranger General, I was testing you on Lor'Themar’s behalf. You should ask him the next time you meet.”
“He’s lying.” Syra softly intoned from Varrus’s side.
“Okay, so you’re not more grounded, and are prone to outbursts. I wanted to see if you’re weak to flattery. Is it working?” Halduron asked with a big smile.
“So what. You lurked in the background for the perfect opportunity, then came marching up to me in the middle of the party to discuss…nothing?” Varrus said, rubbing his eyebrows in consternation.
“Well, that begs the question if there was something at all to begin with.”
“What?” Varrus shook his head in confusion.
“You see Varrus, if I may call you Varrus, I knew the artist would offend the Lady Vandercross, much as she annoyed me. And I knew a scene would occur, thus giving me the proper entrance to make amends. So you see, there really was something all along, you follow?” Halduron said as he bent down to filch another Mana Stone from said famed artist.
“I think I’ll cut out his tongue.” Syra said in a matter of fact tone of voice someone would use to discuss the weather.
“Right, I second that notion.” Varrus nodded along.
“Now see here you two! Halduron waved his hands back and forth at them to ward them back. “I heard you were looking for some cultists, and I just so happened to have tracked down their leader in Silvermoon. The missy can attest to my skills.”
“Talk less, and deliver upon your promise in 10 words or less.” Varrus threatened.
“I found this book during my investigation, it’s encrypted, but-” Halduron explained before suddenly cutting himself off.
“But what?!” Varrus motioned for Halduron to continue, yet the Farstrider Commander lifted all 10 of his fingers, and cheekily wiggled them.
“Speak.” Syra threatened as she took a step forward.
“My oh my, willing to commit murder in front of the entire social elite? You have found yourself a keeper, First Seat! I wanted to say that this book is full of Death energy, and that if stared at for too long, one's brain will fully be consumed by 1st Era Murloc inscriptions. Now I do believe this makes us square. Lord & Lady Vandercross.” Halduron finished off his speech with a bow, and flourish of his cap, before he left the shroud of Muffle.
Varrus felt an evil aura emanating from the book, and decided to place it in his inventory.
As soon as he did, a new quest prompt appeared: [Find the owner of the Necroclature Mal Mortes]
Considering that he had a target, he decided to try out the Clairvoyance spell and see if it would work for a change. Lifting his hand to cast the spell, Varrus was pleasantly surprised to see a blue stripe navigate his path towards his goal.
Perhaps he could forgive Halduron, and explain to Syra his importance. Perhaps, even, he could keep her ire focused on this artist.
‘Sorry, not sorry, famous art girl, but you’re going to have to take the bullet.’ Varrus shook his head in faux pity as Syra's gaze hadn't left the downed artist once since Halduron had left.
Shaking his head, Varrus focused on his success. If this clearly evil book led him to the cult leader, then it would be another feather in his cap. He never expected the leader to show themselves at his party, and the Clairvoyance spell confirmed that assumption, as it led him deeper into the city, away from his house. However, Halduron was still quite the suspicious character, and this could all be a trap. He would have to approach the enemy leader with caution.
But for now, he would focus on the positives, he had the cultists where he wanted them, and plan or no plan, they would all die tonight. A triumphant grin spread across his face, after tonight's events, the very thought of betrayal would be backed by the thought of Vandercross retribution.
That grin however, froze into a state of paralysis when Kael launched a purple orb at the thorium armor set, and when it collided, a force of gravity forced the gear to crumple and implode upon itself until it exploded outward due to the intense pressures it was facing.
“I believe the prize was one of these boulder sized Mana Crystals, should someone manage to, as you say, ‘one-shot’ your armor?” Kael smugly buffed his nails against his coat, and was barely audible over the enthused clapping coming from the crowd.
There were a few cat calls mixed with some taunting schadenfreude from the party goers as Varrus was still stunned still by Kael’s awesome display of magic.
Shrugging his shoulders, Varrus joined in with the polite clapping. You can’t win them all. Besides, if anyone was going to win, he’d rather it be his friend than one of these assholes.
“Congratulations Kael, you’very earned it.” Varrus raised his voice, and gestured to one of the crystals dotting the lawn.
“The loss at the maze was merely a setback. I warned you that you could not win every wager!” Kael laughed.
Varrus nodded along in good cheer. He was going to announce the start of the last dance, when suddenly he caught the eye of that Old Bastard.
Right, the archery competition.
The Old Man thought he was going to humiliate him, but they would see who got the last laugh.
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