On the Isle of Quel'Danas, just north of Silvermoon, Rommath had gathered the remaining cultists to perform a ritual.

Circling the destroyed remains of the corrupted Sunwell, the cultists were chattering about the Vandercross Gala, and shared their mutual jealousy for being unable to attend.

Their constant chatter grated heavily on Rommath's ears, but they were a necessary component if his ritual was to be completed.

By drawing upon the latent energy of the Sunwell, as well as the nexus of leylines underneath, Rommath would be able to raise into Undeath some of the most powerful Elves to have ever lived. All in the service of furthering his student's goals.

“It was an excellent idea to hold our ascension ritual at the fallen Sunwell, Rommath.” One cultist said with excitement.

“I concur, to become a Darkfallen, it is a terrifying prospect, but it is preferable to permanent death. Without the Sunwell, we must seize this alternative.” Another cultist exclaimed as if he was trying to convince himself of the Justness of his conversion.

“You feel the same way, right, Rommath? Ever since I was a little girl, I looked up to your theorems. To know that even you agree that this is the right course for Elven-kind, I am reassured!” A nerdy Elven maiden joyfully exclaimed.

“That’s Grand Magister Rommath. Just because we are about to embark on our great ascension, does not mean we shall forgo the trappings of our society. We are still better than the mortals! We are Highborn!” The first Elf admonished his fellow cultist.

“Enough, you are all necessary for this ritual to succeed. Your ascension will take place shortly. Now please, I must concentrate whilst I inscribe these runes.” Rommath replied tersely.

“O-oh, we'll be waiting by the side then.” The nerdy Elf lady said embarrassedly.

Rommath ignored her in favor of adding inscriptions upon 7 separate coffins.

The boxes made of white oak rested in the center of the former Sunwell, and were to be his ultimate weapon.

By inscribing runes of Order magic, Rommath would be able to combine the power of Void coming down from the night sky along with the power of Light coming from belief.

Glancing at the cultists, Rommath let himself smile. Yes, his sister had spread her lies well. Lana'thel was a devious woman, one who had plotted to overthrow the monarch with his own children.

Unfortunately for Lana'thel, her playthings would become his tools.

“B-bad news! A journalist reporting at the gala has just witnessed the unthinkable! All of the Afflicted at the party have been slain! He's calling it…the Last Dance!” One of the Elves yelled in horror.

Rommath's ears twitched at the loud exclamation, causing him to scuff an inscription.

“Not good! After Vandercross slew our brethren, he was seen holding onto a book, claiming it would lead him to the leader of our group. Vandercross then left the party with a large host of Heroes in tow. But what does a tome detailing translations of First Era Murloc characters have to do with us?”

“Who cares, we have to scatter! If the book has some sort of tracking magic applied to it, and it leads them to the Grand Magister, then we're doomed! Quickly, let's leave.” Another Elf rebutted in a panic.

Rommath wanted to chuckle, little did anyone know that he had been experimenting with necromancy for centuries. It was classic misdirection to label a book as something else to deter thieves. However, that begged the question, how did Vandercross come into possession of such a tome?

Rommath blinked his eyes in consternation as a memory of a certain ranger perusing the items in his tower surfaced.

‘Halduron. That bastard.’

Whilst he was deep in thought, some Elves looked to Rommath for leadership, however, the vast majority of them were seconds away from fleeing the island, like a group of panicked rats on a sinking ship.

“Leave? Why leave when your ascension is at hand? Are you truly willing to forsake your chances at immortality over rumors spread via scrying orb?” Rommath approached the 200+ cultists, and spoke in a deep, charismatic, bass filled voice.

The crowd looked uncertain, but then the nerdy girl stepped forth, and stood besides Rommath.

“The Grand Magister is right! How long would it take for Vandercross to cross the city with the teleportation network down? Afterwards, he'd have to cross the channel! We have enough time to complete our ascension ritual, don't we, uh Grand Magister Rommath, sir?” The nerdy girl started off with fiery passion, yet ended with uncertainty.

“...of course, but we must act without delay.” Rommath spoke with confidence.

Whilst most people still seemed hesitant, as they had only joined the cult for self preservation purposes in the first place (immortality), they eventually followed the herd after a few people had been swayed by the girl.

Rommath raised an eyebrow at his adoring fan. If he didn't find social interaction to be so tedious, perhaps she would have made for an acceptable lab assistant.

But there was no time to think of what could have been. Once Vandercross zeroed in on his general location with tracking magic, he could simply teleport here. The girl had grossly exaggerated how much time remained, but Rommath wouldn't correct her on that error.

“Now then, please stand in one of the glowing circles around those caskets, and we shall complete this ceremony together.” Rommath curtly ordered.

“I just wanted to say, thank you for placing your faith in me. I hope I can pick your brain on reverse Archano Temperance once we have some time.” The nerdy girl smiled at Rommath, then twirled around to find her spot.

Rommath sighed, but reminded himself that what he did was for a greater cause. That no matter how peppy this girl was, she was a race traitor who turned to the Scourge.

Keeping that in mind, Rommath began his grand ritual. It was a rushed job, but he would have to make due with what he had.

“Bel'Anor Mal Mortes

Bel’Anor Porfunctum

Bel'Anor'ai Morfun’Ties”

The stars overhead seemed to twinkle out of existence as Rommath chanted. The only light visible on this dreary isle were the umbra colored magic circles beneath the cultists feet.

“Pray for your ascension!” Rommath commanded In-between his chanting, his already deep voice echoed with an otherworldly timbre.

“In the name of the Plague God, I wish he grant me his benediction. In the name of the Dark Father, I pray for his black blessing. By my destiny, make me Darkfallen!” (x200+)

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The prayers of belief generated an unholy combination of Light, and Void.

Inscriptions lit up on the caskets, siphoning away the power of belief, and darkness of old night into the beings held within. The white oak boxes began to shake and shudder as the occupants began to animate. Yet they were incomplete.

There was one component remaining to raise these seven.

For a perfect being of unlife to be birthed into the world, there was one ingredient more important than light or darkness. It was…

Death!

He was no mere Monday necromancer, no, those Humans who brought about the Scourge were simple charlatans compared to the knowledge Rommath possessed. Their form of Undead was ugly, imperfect, and deformed. To truly bring back a corpse with all the powers and intelligence it possessed in life required one with centuries of knowledge. Knowledge only Rommath possessed!

Clasping his open hands into fists, Rommath, acting as the nexus point between all magic circles, commanded them to expel all breathable air.

“Behold, your ascension!” Rommath proclaimed to the gasping, and choking cultists.

A small handful of them tried to escape their magic circles, however, they were rebuffed by a faintly glowing shield, preventing any attempt.

However, the majority of the occupants accepted this as a natural outcome of their rebirth. To become Darkfallen was to die, then rise again. It was expected that they were to fall at this moment.

This moment of ‘peaceful’ asphyxiation was not to last. Before the cultists could fully lose consciousness, the magic circles lit up one more time, and actively drained the mana from the Elves within.

The thought of becoming an immortal, new type of Elf, a Darkfallen, was merely a fantasy. Rommath never intended to transform these cultists into pawns for his sister to use against Prince Kael’Thas.

Instead, they served as fuel for his ritual!

The cultists couldn't even muster up the breath to scream at Rommath's betrayal, as their bodies completely withered into nothing.

Rommath caught the eye of his adoring fan, and held her eye contact until she finally turned to dust, figuring he owed her that minimum amount of courtesy.

However, he had little time to spend on trivial matters, as he had a ritual to finish!

Taking a deep breath, Rommath prepared himself for the most difficult part. If he failed to combine Light, Void, and Death, then a most certainly fatal explosion would occur.

No pressure.

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

On a dark, moonless night, Varrus had set out with what Heroes he trusted.

Riding hawkstriders to speed up his journey, Varrus was flanked by Syra, Jan'alai, Kael’Thas, Lor'Themar, Rho'dan, Helios, and Dranarus.

Unfortunately, he couldn't grab Lady Liadran, or Koren as they were on the front lines. As for Halduron, Tae'thelon, and Telonicus, Varrus did not have complete trust in them.

Halduron was still suspicious, so Varrus had him locked up in his dungeon until he could resolve this issue. He didn't want to have a situation similar to when Mace Windu told Anakin to wait at the Jedi Temple, only to get stabbed in the back. If Halduron proved sincere in his information, then Varrus could work with him going forward, no matter how much he disliked the Farstrider Commander personally, Varrus wasn't fool enough to discard Silvermoon's best commando if he didn't have to. A subordinate could hate your guts, but so long as the job got done, that was all that mattered.

As for Tae'thelon, whilst Varrus didn't exactly mistrust the critically acclaimed educator, he was an uncertain factor. One whom Varrus would send at other, less critical threats before determining he could place his trust in.

Telonicus was in a similar position to Tae'thelon. Whilst the engineer seemed like a logical sort, Varrus had seen enough Vulcans in Star Trek to know that logic didn't equate loyalty. He trusted Telonicus to an extent, but Varrus would much rather fight alongside the likes of Lor'Themar or Rho'dan than someone who acted like Shockwave from the Transformers series.

With his team comp settled, Varrus was determined to come down hard and fast upon this interloper.

To that end, a pale blue stream of light snaked in front of Varrus, guiding Varrus towards his quest target. The spell Clairvoyance was in constant effect in one hand, whilst the spell, Thundering Hooves was in the other.

Thundering Hooves: For 180 seconds, your mount is X% faster, regenerates Stamina and can swim upwards to run on water. Nearby allies riding a mount within 30 feet also benefit.

That X% scaled with half of his base mana. Given he had a mana score of 600, his mount, and his allies' mounts moved a staggering 300% faster.

“Buuaaaak!” The hawkstrider under Varrus screeched as it lived out its simple dream of ‘flying.’

If a horse's maximum speed was around the 44mph mark, then a Hawkstriders could be said to be slightly faster, at 50mph. That means that with the effect of Thundering Hooves, Varrus and his team were traveling at 200mph~

Just directing the beast was a challenge of control, and several near accidents occurred before Clairvoyance took them to the edge of the northern docks.

“Keep going, I shall cast Water Walk!” Kael said as soon as Varrus began to slow up.

Trusting in his friend, Varrus maintained his speed, and the hawkstriders swiftly tread across the channel towards Quel'Danas.

“Hyah!” Varrus whipped the reins to move his bird forward, and urged it to ignore any fear of the midnight black waves under foot.

Sea salt sprayed them during their crossing, but Varrus paid it no care, as revenge was on his mind.

Just who was the one who had shot that arrow at him? He needed answers!

“This is the site of the Sunwell, we must be wary of an ambush.” Rho'dan cautioned.

Varrus nodded, signaling everyone to slow down as they neared the quest target.

However, a mix of great energy suddenly rocked the island, almost shaking Varrus off his mount.

Syra steadied him with one hand, and shot him a comforting smile.

“It looks like we can't afford to wait. Whatever spell is taking place, we must try to interrupt it! We ride!” Varrus announced, and took the lead once more.

After cresting a hill, and passing by many ruined buildings, Varrus saw a crater where the Sunwell had been.

Down beneath were 7 floating coffins. They shook as untold power flowed from 200+ magic circles fed them energy.

“It cannot be!” Kael said in shock.

“So the Grand Magister is the traitor.” Lor'Themar added, stroking his chin in thought.

“Rommath!” Helios seethed by Varrus's side.

“Stop him!” Varrus ordered, and launched a nearly instant cast of Bolide, hoping to snipe the magister.

A basketball sized meteorite that dealt up to 5x damage, and increased speed by 5x based upon travel distance rocketed forth, lighting up the night sky.

However, a barrier sprang forth, and broke his attack.

At the same time, Rommath's chanting picked up speed, and delivered the final lines to his ritual.

“Ben'Ador Men’Bloodchanter

Ben'Ador Men'Earthwarder

Ben'Ador Men'Dawnbringer

Ben'Ador Men’Starbottle

Ben'Ador Men’Firecaster

Ben'Ador Men’Windrunner!

Ben'Ador Men’ Vandercross!

Arise, arise the first residents of Silvermoon! Your city has need of your services once again!”

Varrus and company arrived too late, and Rommath completed his ritual as the coffins burst open.

Emerging from the smoking oaken coffins were Silvermoon's 7 mightiest champions.

Varrus felt his blood run cold as he recognized a face from his sea of memories. It was the cruelest politician to have graced Highborn lands. The man who had held his position as First Seat for over 5,000 years straight it was-

“It is good to see you, Varrus.” The man warmly smiled at him.

Varrus's eye twitched as he recalled the private dungeon in his estate, and the bloodthirsty nature of his guards.

This was no ordinary man who stood in the crater down below.

It was Highlord Vandercross and the past iteration of the Convocation! They were a body of Heroes so influential, so powerful, that they forced back the Amani at the peak of their strength, and created Quel'Thalas alongside the Sunstriders.

Feeling Syra grip his hand, Varrus felt his nerves settle down.

This was it! If he won here, Silvermoon would be cured of traitors!

‘Alright Varrus. Don’t fuck this up!’

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