The starless night sky suddenly regressed as the ritual had finally concluded, and a pale beam of moonlight spilled upon the scene.

A cold draft of air ruffled Varrus's red robe, and sweat dripped down his spine as he considered which spells to throw out. A magical barrier stood between him, and the former leaders of Quel'Thalas, giving each side some time to regard one another before all Hell was let loose.

Standing in the crater of the now defunct Sunwell were the original members of the Convocation.

These forerunners of Highborn supremacy were the cardinal leaders known for: Bloodchanter's enchanting, Earthwarder's golem construction, Starbottle's alchemy, Windrunner's forestry, Firecaster's Arcane arts, Dawnbringer's Holy chants, and Vandercross's Mana Stone creation.

The necromantic ritual had been so effective, the risen members of the Convocation were only slightly pale, with deathly black sclera. Disregarding these two facets, Varrus could hardly tell that they were Undead, as there was none of the typical rotting, or extreme pale as seen in Darkfallen or the average Undead.

Whilst each of them was remarkable in their own right, Varrus's attention was drawn to one man in particular.

Standing at the front of the pack was Varrus's father, Highlord Vandercross, or simply put, Vandercross. Like the ancient clans of old, every family requires a sire to start a family line, and old man Vandercross was the first of his name. He was Vandercross.

The ancient Elf was calm, and possessed a stately temperament. His blonde hair, blonde goatee, and chiseled features were typical of Elven design, yet the way he wore it hinted at a breadth of seriousness sorely lacking in typical smug Elf society. It was like the difference between someone who said that they ‘didn't care what other people think’ and people who genuinely couldn't be bothered. Some people pretended to have it, whilst others naturally breathed and lived it.

Tying things out with a red breastplate crafted from thorium, and cloaked in a long black cape inlaid with golden runes, he was an impressive figure. If there were a poster recruiting young boys to join the frontlines, Vandercross’s image would be the aspiration all youth would aim towards.

To Varrus, just looking at the man who had held a nation of immortals in an iron grip was enough to make his mouth go dry. He was the figurative Devil, the eternal politician who could not, and would not go away.

Highlord Vandercross had a presence about him. It was like when a crowd in a club was partying, but all went silent as someone truly important entered the room. Like if Caesar, Alexander, Ghengis, or any other famous leader stood before any group of men. Their very presence commanded obedience, oozed respect, and spoke of an untold confidence founded upon the bodies of thousands.

Vandercross stepped forward, at that time, Varrus noted that Rommath seemed to mutter some spell, and had a slightly strained complexion. It would seem controlling these seven was not so easy for the famed Grand Magister.

Varrus reasoned that Rommath might act as a tether binding the former Convocation to the world. Feeling a squeeze from Syra's hand on his palm, he knew she had noticed this slight change as well.

Whilst Varrus was beginning to think up a plan to ambush the arch-traitor, his father began to speak.

“My son, my beautiful boy, what have these foul cretins whispered in your ears that you stand against me so? What sweet lies did Anasterian's Human-loving spawn whisper that had you wear the First Seat's brooch of office? You know you are no mage, wizard, priest, paladin, ranger, warrior, or rogue. You are but a troubadour befallen troubled times! Tell your papi anything, have these villains brought you hence to wield as a hostage?” Vandercross’s voice was magnetic like a radio host’s from the 1930’s, yet the words coming from his lips went contrary to Varrus’s expectations.

Where were the threats? The demands for freedom from Rommath? Or even a hiss, or scowl?

What was this, love, concern?

“Highlord.” Rho'dan saluted.

“Young Varrus is more than meets the eye, he has seized the role of First Seat through his own merits. He has concealed his talents deeply.” Rho'dan said with some pride coloring his voice.

“Rho'dan, my most faithful. Am I to expect that the enemy simply left after they seized the Sunwell? That mine own flesh and blood who practiced naught but poetry and musical lyrics could convince Anasterian, Sanguinar, and the rest of the wise?” Vandercross questioned the red headed guard, yet his eyes never left Varrus. It was as if he was looking to confirm something, what exactly that was, Varrus had no clue.

“My liege, Anasterian is dead.” Rho'dan spoke with finality.

Old man Vandercross seemed to take the news hard as he clenched his jaw, and tightened his fists in silence.

Eternal politician Vandercross may be, but perhaps he had a ‘human’ side to him? Varrus speculated his father wasn't all evil if he could show such remorse.

“I see. Then this is no grand assault to foil the plans of a mad necromancer. It is but the desperate outcry of a once great people on the verge of collapse. Three children, a ranger lieutenant, the shoe carver, the gossip, a Troll, and my own guards. How low have we fallen that this is the response Silvermoon has mustered in her defense?” Vandercross spoke with sadness, and rank disappointment at their seeming failings.

“Speak to me son, have we fallen so low?”

Varrus opened his mouth to reply, but was beaten by a loud guffaw from Jan'alai.

“Ha! The Vandercross is exactly as seen in the scrying orbs! See, what did I tell you, Goldilocks! This humble attitude is the prelude before a dagger aims to stab us in the back!” Jan'alai confidently boasted, and slapped the surly Prince on the shoulder.

And seemingly on cue with what she said, a jagged crystalline pillar sprang up under Varrus & company's feet.

Varrus recognized it as a Mana Stone! However, it was absorbing the ambient energy during its inception, and was glowing an ominous gray-green, indicating a heavy concentration of Death magic!

When the crystal lit up, and was about to explode, Syra slashed downward with her buster sword, slicing the crystal in two.

The two halves of the Mana Stone still continued to glow brighter and brighter, signaling that an explosion was imminent.

Varrus was about to grab Syra, and Blink out of the way, but she dodged his grasp, and cut up the Mana Stone into hundreds of tiny pieces, like Trunks from DBZ dicing Frieza.

“So this is your wife Syra. Magnificent. A once in a generational talent worthy of my son. With Anasterian dead, she would make a capable Queen.” Vandercross smiled, and nodded at Syra with affection.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Syra in response, hid behind Varrus.

He felt her grip tighten on his arms as she peaked around his shoulders.

“Aha! As I suspected, he was merely testing the love interest! Ah, a classic. Come Goldilocks, smile for me, it is funny, yes?” Jan'alai ruffled Kael on the shoulder, however, all she received was a scowl for her trouble.

“I am happy for you, my son. Come, show me why you have earned the right to bear the First Seat's symbol of office.” Vandercross said with pride, and gestured towards Varrus.

Varrus had become weary at the close call a moment ago, but the fear and anxiety of a big battle had gone to the recesses of his mind as he felt the embarrassment radiating off of his wife.

Syra was still hiding behind his back, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in a hug, and burn this look of squirming giddiness into his memories. Because right now, she was simply a bundle of adorableness.

“Master Rommath, I thought you were my friend. Were you always with the Scourge? Was our relationship nothing but a farce for you to seize power?” Kael said with hurt and pain.

Varrus glanced at the Prince, and saw that despite all of Jan'alai's best efforts, his emoness was raw and full of emotion.

Rolling his eyes, Varrus just found another reason to murder Rommath. He had just resolved the Fel magic issue, like hell he was going to allow that issue to regress.

“The Scourge? Please do not demean your intelligence by making such a reckless claim. Necromancy is like any other form of magic contrary to Arcane. Dangerous beyond the norm, yet worthy of study all the same. It is through my efforts that I gift unto you my ultimate weapon.” Rommath spread out both his arms, and allowed the might of the Undead Convocation speak for themselves.

“The Scourge have decimated 80% of our population Rommath. The people would never accept their mightiest Heroes fighting in such a manner. It is borderline sacrilegious.” Lor'Themar butted in.

“Ever the dogmatic loyalist, Lor'Themar. What does the opinion of the people count for once Prince Kael’Thas has become King? My creations will save the realm. And their first order of business will be to purge this cancer we call the Convocation. Ironic, is it not? My arrow failed on the beach, but that does not mean I will miss this time.” Rommath shook his head, and replied in a level tone of voice, as if discussing murder was no more trivial than shopping for a pair of clothes.

‘So it was Rommath, and not Halduron, or some other figure who shot the Arcane Arrow at my back!’ Varrus internally exclaimed to himself.

Thinking back to the event, Rommath had been out of commission due to his giant phoenix ritual spell going ary. But if that was all a ruse to take him off the suspect list, then it worked like a charm!

Besides, Varrus was still somewhat stuck in his video game biases. Why couldn't a mage use a bow? Furthermore, it was an Arcane Arrow made of pure magic. Why would an Archmage require a bow to form his own magic into the shape of an arrow? Heck, Varrus had a Skyrim spell, Spectral Arrow, which followed a similar concept!

Varrus had bamboozled himself with game logic, when all along, he should have set his sights on the one Hero to bow out of the fight early!

Whilst Varrus was internally beating himself up, and Rommath was finishing his monologue, Lor'Themar had quick drawn his bow, and launched an Arcane Arrow. The bolt took on a white hue, and streaked towards Rommath like a speeding bullet.

The missile pierced the barrier between the two parties like a rock thrown through a glass window, creating spider web fractures in the defensive formation.

Continuing on its path, the arrow was about to strike the Grand Magister.

Eyes going wide, Rommath had clearly underestimated the newly christened Ranger General, and only had time to flinch as the powerful munition closed within a few feet.

However, before it could hit him, a pair of twin blades intercepted the arrow, and knocked it off course.

“Lireesa.” Lor'Themar muttered in pain.

“Predictable as always, my love.” Lireesa Windrunner playfully chided.

“I am sorry for failing you, my Ranger General, but I must put you down. For the good of Quel'Thalas.” Lor'Themar spoke with steely resolve, and notched another arrow.

“Whatever do you mean?” The pretty blonde Windrunner tilted her head to the side.

Silence met the former Ranger General, and everyone drew their weapons, or had a spell on their lips as the tension began to mount.

All the while, the crack in the magical barrier began to slightly widen, and crinkle ever wider, like ice shifting in a lake.

The sound of this comparative silence paired with the slow shattering of the shield wall was practically deafening to Varrus.

“Dranarus, we have worked together for many years. What. Happened. To. My. Children.” The mother of four calmly stated.

The Knight-Lord, so often prone to gossip and small talk, remained steadfast in his silence.

However, his nonanswer was all the answer Lireesa needed, and her veneer of calm was replaced by a slowly mounting rage.

Death energy like no other began to coat the woman, making her seem like a magnet for magic in Varrus’s Mana Sight.

Varrus saw this shift in momentum against them, and raised an eyebrow in concern. The heavy sadness in Lor'Themar's eyes, Rho’dan/the Crossguard prematurely raising their shields, and the lost look in Kael’s expression said it all. All the while, the crackling barrier lost ever more shards. It was only a matter of time before it shattered, and all pandemonium was unleashed.

It was as if all involved had agreed on some unwritten rule to fully engage one another once the barrier had fallen apart.

As it stood, his side’s morale was at an all time low.

Waiting to take a bullet to the gut left a sour taste in Varrus's mouth. Why should he fight like an Elf, and follow some unwritten etiquette? Each side had failed at ambushing one another, and now they were supposed to wait?

To hell with that!

This fight would be so fast paced, he'd likely get few if any opportunities to cast a Master tier spell.

If Rommath wanted to play games, and his allies were going to pause in hesitation, then he'd remind them just who their First Seat was, and how he had earned that spot!

Raising his hands high, Varrus decided to break this deadlock, and unleashed a classic Skyrim spell.

Lightning Storm.

Within a few seconds of bringing his hands together, a pure beam of lighting surged forth like a kamehameha wave.

The sound of shattering glass echoed within the Sunwell's crater as the barrier utterly disintegrated from Varrus's onslaught.

Crystalline Mana Stones rose from the ground to intercept Varrus's attack. One after another, they absorbed the mana coming from the lightning, delaying the lightning beam from instantly vaporizing the former Convocation.

However, these crystals were nothing more than a stop gap measure, and could only hold out against Varrus's attack for 5 seconds before their capacity was overloaded, and they exploded.

A dozen Mana Stones had impeded Varrus's attack, but right when he was about to see success, a colossal golem made from shattered Mana Stones, and the surrounding earth rose from the ground, and blocked Varrus's constant attack.

Roaring into the heavens, the golem redirected the lightning, and spat a concentrated blast of Varrus's own attack back at him.

Forced to swap spells for a ward, Varrus grunted as he was pushed several feet backwards.

Looking up, Varrus realized he had no time to dilly dally around, as the battle had begun in earnest.

The final fight between Silvermoon's old rulers, and the new generation had finally arrived.

Catching a hold of Syra's mad smile as she glared murder at the both golem and Rommath, Varrus felt his resolve soar.

So what if the Convocation had ruled for over 5,000 years? These ancient fossils and their complacency had led to their demise! The very destruction of Quel’Thalas!

Grinning back at Syra, Varrus tossed out a dozen meteorites with the spell Bolide. As a result, the colossal golem took a step back, almost crushing its allies in the process.

In their arrogance, they gave control of the Sunwell to Drathir Dar'Khan, and lost. Varrus couldn't imagine a more embarrassing fate, then trusting some guy named Dar'Khan.

With arrogant leaders like these, Varrus held no pity for what he was about to do to them. Channeling another Bolide, and tossing out the meteorite at the golem’s knee, he was determined to send these old bones to the Ice Age, and get prehistoric on their candy ass's!