The priest leading Varrus wore a white cowl, and a backpack festooned with candlesticks. The flame atop his head burned brighter than most, and a sizable amount of mana permeated his body.

Based solely on his internal mana, Varrus would rate this leader of religion to be somewhere around Helios's level in terms of internal energy.

Of course, judging someone's aptitude based solely on mana was foolish, as that hardly spoke to their skill with a blade, or the spells they knew, but it was an easy identifier that Varrus had come to trust.

Everything in this world ran on mana. Even warriors could unconsciously tap into it to run faster, jump higher, and swing their weapons harder. How else could the likes of Grom Hellscream-a vaunted Hero of the Orcs-slay not one, but two demi-gods?

From what Varrus could see of the general population of the Kobolds, the vast majority of them were Common, or even a tier below what he had registered as ‘Common’ when compared to the average Blood Elf.

But that made sense. A weakling amongst Dragons would still be a terror to a peasant village of Humans. Kobolds, biologically, were simply on a tier or two below Elves on the food chain.

Most species on Azeroth were. It was no wonder the Elves had become so smug, when each and every one of them took to magic like a duck to water. For the Highborn, learning how to throw a fireball was about as difficult as a Human child learning how to crawl.

They were not the same.

However, that was not to say that the Kobolds couldn't make up for their shortcomings with technology.

Throughout the cavern city, a rail network of mine carts was constantly being pulled upon by giant moles-varying in size from that of a mule, to the largest being that of an elephant- these animals seemed to be the labor animals of this civilization.

Ore, people, candles, and goods of every kind were constantly shuffled throughout the city, and into hundreds of dark caves beyond the scope of the dome. Tradesmen accepted copper coins for small amounts, whilst silver seemed to be the currency of choice when moving larger goods.

Already, Varrus had spotted a few minerals required for enchantments being moved by the cartfull, as well as literal tons of moonstone, the key ingredient for glass armor.

Not only that, but within these carts were large round mines looking something like a naval mine, as well as sticks of dynamite.

As for weaponry, some soldiers wore chainmail coats, and wielded spears, and some Kobold’s wielded antiquated looking blunderbusses. However, armed soldiers were rare, and almost every Kobold had a pickaxe on hand, doubling as a weapon. There were also two castes of magic wielders that Varrus could identify based upon the color of their robes. The green/gold robed Kobolds were geomancers, and the purple/red robed Kobolds were pyromancers.

Thankfully for Varrus, WoW was a very color coordinated universe, and like in Pokemon, you could guess someone's power set or what type of fighter they were by the type, and color of their gear about 90% of the time.

If someone wore plate armor, there was a 90% chance they weren't going to cast magic. It was a silly premise, but that's just how the world worked.

Whilst Varrus was analyzing his surroundings, and taking in this alien, yet familiar culture, they had arrived at what could be described as a fortress.

The unique building was a stone effigy of a giant Kobold's head, carved into the cave wall, like the heads of US Presidents carved into Mt. Rushmore.

The priest muttered some words, and the candle atop his head flickered.

A moment later, the candle atop the stone head seemed to receive some message, and flickered in unison with the priest. A moment later, the jaws of the stone Kobold opened up slowly. The clanking sound of numerous gears turning met Varrus's ears as the jaws finally snapped wide open with a click.

An iron gate served as the entrance to the ‘throat’ of the monument, and was guarded by two Kobolds about as tall as Varrus. They were practical giants by Kobold standards.

The priest nonchalantly walked past them, and Varrus followed suit.

However, when Karwl was about to follow, he was kicked in the stomach, and forced to tumble over.

Karwl:

“Big candles only. Beat it.” The guard said in disinterest.

Karwl bowed, and was about to step back, however, Varrus shot a pair of green orbs at the two Elites. The Paralyze spell locked them in place, preventing the guards from moving a muscle.

“Come along Karwl. You belong with House Vandercross.” Varrus said, and gestured for the priest to continue.

“He's right, I shouldn't.” Karwl bowed in repentance, and looked left and right skittishly.

“Need I dismiss you so soon into your service?” Varrus questioned, then turned around to enter the keep.

“Nmm, Karwl says he will follow you to the dark depths of the earth!” Karwl clenched his fists, and ran to catch up.

Varrus smirked to himself as he heard the soft patter of his latest minion follow a step behind.

If Karwl was willing to break societal norms and taboos to prove his loyalty, then Varrus could only praise him for his performance.

Yes, it was somewhat foolish, given that he was about to meet with the leader of these people. To bring along someone who clearly broke the cultural rules would not paint Varrus in a positive light.

But he had the biggest candle atop his head, and the priest had prophesied that some Heroes would come to resolve their issue.

Bringing Karwl along in this situation would mean testing the chieftains's bottom line, and would reveal to Varrus if he would make for a proper vassal. Because if he wasn't, well then, Varrus would simply install someone who was.

Marching past hall after hall of glittering shiny objects-some valuable enchanting materials, others useless baubles-the priest finally led them to the last room at the end of the corridor.

Within was a heavyset, older Kobold sitting atop a throne of wax candles. He wore a loincloth, and little else, exposing a pink round belly. His sausage-like fingers had overgrown, grimy fingernails, and he wielded a shovel coated with Dwarven inscriptions. Atop his head was a lantern-like hat, within which burned an everlasting flame.

Surrounding this overweight Kobold were a harem of female Kobolds dressed in torn lace obviously scavenged from a Highborn trash heap, and were busy grooming the chieftain's whiskers, and picking his ears clean of wax.

Varrus wanted to gag at the incredible smell wafting off of this beast of a being, and wished he could burn the memory of a Kobold in lipstick from his mind.

“Presenting Waxlord Longcandle, master of the domed city, Duhn'Dah'Row!” The priest bowed, then stood to the side.

Longcandle examined Syra and Varrus for a moment, then scoffed.

“These are the Heroes from the land of the Wickless Candle? They are no more than the oppressors who keep us to our cave. Priest, what have you brought into my home?” Longcandle lifted his shovel, and threateningly pointed it at the priest in anger. His voice reminded Varrus of a crotchety old man yelling at some kids to get off their lawn.

“The Heroes have healed one of our own. This youth was afflicted with darkness, he now stands hail and firm.” The priest gestured towards Karwl.

Varrus raised an eyebrow, glancing at Karwl's white beard, he never would have guessed that he was young for a Kobold. He wondered if they suffered from a shorter lifespan, like the rats they were based upon.

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“And you brought him here? What if the short candle was still diseased?!” Longcandle leaned back into his waxy seat in fear.

“Karwll is not diseased! I am a Vandercross now, show respect, I has a bigger candlestick than you, that means I is more smarter!” Karwl angrily shouted at Longcandle, then jumped him.

Karwl started to claw, and bite at the leader of the Kobolds in a frenzy.

“Well that escalated quickly.” Varrus sighed to himself.

It seemed bloody insurrection was the name of the game now.

“Guards, guards! Toss these imposters into the pits.” Longcandle shook his shovel, the jowls of his neck fat shook as he spat his command.

However, upon Longcandle's order, the squadron of guards waiting outside the door did little more than stand back, and watch as their leader was mauled.

“I am the Waxlord, fight for your leader!” Longcandle garbled out.

“But the prophesied Hero has a bigger candle then yous.” One of the tall guards said.

“Right, right, the priest said something like this would happen.” Another nodded his head like it was a fact.

“Traitors!” Longcandle snarled, and smacked Karwl away with his shovel.

Rising from his wax throne, Longcandle lifted his weapon threateningly at Varrus, only to catch Syra's sword to the throat.

Face locked in an expression of surprise, Longcandle's head tumbled forward and down the waxen steps leading up to his throne, his corpse slipped down the waxy steps leading up to the seat, and came to rest at the guards’ feet.

“Hail Waxlord Vandercross. May his waxiness light the candle to our future.” The priest said with ease.

“Hail Waxlord Vandercross, hail!’ The guards were quick to follow the priest's lead.

Varrus glanced down at the white cowled practitioner of the Light, and was met with a toothy grin.

“Your throne, sire.” The priest gestured towards the mountain of wax.

Varrus felt his eyelid twitch, as he saw the seat was stained yellow, and had Longcandle's ass cheeks imprinted on them like some sort of memory foam mattress.

“...”

“I always wanted to see my man be King, I'll sit in your lap~” Syra whispered in his ear.

Varrus rolled his eyes, and mustered up the courage necessary to sit on that disgusting pile of wax called a throne.

The wax seat was spongy, yet firm…and three sizes too small for Varrus. He felt like he was sitting in a swing meant for kids. With Syra's weight pressing on him, he was pressed even deeper into this malleable throne, however, the grinding of her thighs upon the tip of his dick was admittedly, a little exciting.

“Alright priest, what is your game?” Varrus said with a little hostility, letting him know that Varrus knew he was being used, and did not appreciate it.

“Guards. Leave us.” The priest waved his hand in command.

Once the guards left the chamber, the priest pulled out a pipe, and lit it with the candle atop his head.

“Would my Lord or Lady care for a smoke?” The priest offered.

Varrus merely stared him down.

“The prophecy, Waxlord, is as they say, bat guano.” The priest took a sharp inhalation, then smoothly exhaled.

“It cannot be!” Karwl brought himself up from the ground, and said teary eyed, gripping the priest by the hem of his robe.

Varrus felt a little sympathy for the little guy as his bubble of innocence was forcefully popped. But that still didn't give him what he wanted.

“Explain.” Varrus tersely commanded.

“We of the Longcandle tribe have dug too deep. Unleashed a horror upon ourselves that we have no means to combat. In my desperation, I reached out to a foreign source that the predecessors before me had once followed. I do not know her name, but she is referred to in the ancient texts as the Mistress. She promised me aid in exchange for service…I took her up on her offer.” The priest closed his eyes as he took another inhale.

Varrus felt Syra freeze at the mention of a Mistress, to which he grasped her hand in support.

This turn of events certainly expedited Varrus's goal. It would seem that Faedra was serious about helping their family succeed. However, it left a sour taste in his mouth knowing that he owed that woman a favor.

“Very well, I shall accept that story as truth, along with your loyalty. Now. What is it that ails your people?” Varrus demanded, eager to get himself out of this cramped, waxy seat.

“Some time ago, we found a vein of black metal. The great candle demanded we dismantle it, for it spewed darkness into the cavern, and was an abomination. Complying with the flame atop the wick, we went to work…It was an ore harder than our picks, and only by the constant efforts of our geomancers could we pull it apart. It was during the dig, that we uncovered The Door.” The priest shuddered, and the light on all the candles flickered as he finished his sentence.

A cool draft entered the room, and an unintelligible whisper seemed to linger in Varrus's ear.

Feeling the skin prick at the nape of his neck, Varrus shifted uncomfortably as it felt like he was a boy again listening to a ghost story for the first time.

Syra frowned, and released some Light from her body, pushing away that odd sensation.

Varrus squeezed her side, feeling her warmth, and holding her close for comfort.

“Please continue, priest.” Varrus intoned with solemnity.

This seemed like an incredibly serious situation. If the mere mention of something could create such a visceral reaction, then there was no telling what kind of Void related entity awaited them.

“That abomination whispered to us in riddles, poisoned our minds with truths unseen. We became infected with the darkness. We tried to destroy it with magic, explosives, faith. None of it worked. Its poison seeped into the lower levels, withering many, and transforming others. A cult has formed around its worship. Please, Waxlord, I beg of you, destroy it.” The priest told his tale in a state of panicked fear. His hands were trembling as he attempted to place his pipe back into his mouth, but missed several times.

“Is it true, Karwl, is this what snuffed your flame?” Varrus questioned, wanting to verify that the priest wasn't solely caught up in his own fear.

Karwl quivered as he seemed to recall a series of tragic events, his breath sped up, and his eyes dilated.

Tossing a Calm spell at the rodent-man, Varrus repeated the question.

“I am sorry Waxlord, and yes, it is true. Karwl was tasked with laying the explosives. Not only did it have no effect, but when we tried to create a cave in, some force halted the boulders, and recreated the hallway leading to it. It is…terrifying.” Karwl shuddered as he recalled his experience.

“Now, that area is off limits, and is infested with a cult. Their numbers are slim, but I fear they will grow to encompass all of the dome if the root cause is not solved.” The priest said in worry, and got down on one knee to look at Varrus pleadingly.

“Yes, Waxlord, I-I volunteer to lead you to, to it! I am loyal to House Vandercross!” Karwl bit out between chattering teeth.

Varrus smiled, and reluctantly patted the top of the tiny Kobold's white furred head.

“Thank you Karwl, your loyalty is commendable. Here, a gift.” Varrus nodded, then retrieved a mithril dagger, and an amulet.

The dagger was like a sword in the tiny creature's grasp, and would prove to be a good weapon for one his size. The amulet was enchanted with a Common Soul Gem. Its properties were the standard protection shield, and the Spirit stat. During his many battles, Varrus had discovered that Spirit helped not only regenerate one's mana, but also protected against mind altering effects.

In fact, the amulet he had had Rho'dan discreetly gift to Kael’Thas had such enchantments placed upon it, what with his emo friend's penchant for moodiness.

“Thank you, Waxlord. These trinkets shall be passed on to my children, and their children's children, so that they may serve House Vandercross in perpetuity.” Karwl laid himself low in the dirt, and bowed like an ancient Chinese peasant.

Varrus was moved by this, and forcefully raised the Kobold up with telekinesis.

“Are you ready, my love?” Varrus said to Syra.

“Your enemies are my enemies, my Sun.” Syra grinned, and gestured pointedly towards the corpse of the former chieftain pointedly.

Varrus rose from the waxy throne, carrying Syra princess style.

“Come priest, and assemble what passes for an army in these parts.” Varrus confidently strode forward, leaving the throne room behind.

“But my Lord, there is no such army.” The priest hurriedly followed behind.

“No? Then the halls of Duhn'Dah'Row shall play witness to their Waxlord's might!” Varrus's voice magically boomed across the domed city.

The great candle flickered with Varrus's declaration, and he felt a wisp of flame travel from it, to atop his head.

[Great Candle's Blessing: All Light magic and Stamina increased by 5%]

A crowd had gathered to see what the commotion was about, and the priest stepped forward to address them.

“The great candle has spoken! To war!” The priest rattled his staff, and shouted, causing the Kobold's to erupt in a cheer, followed by a frenzy of activity.

“No such army, hmm?” Varrus questioned.

“Aha, Waxlord, you must understand. Motivating a Kobold to fight is like pulling a rotten tooth. You know it must happen, but sometimes you ignore the problem until it is too late.” The priest sheepishly shrugged his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Karwl was busily showing off his new weapon to the surrounding Kobold's, and stabbing it fiercely in the air.

Syra squeezed Varrus's hand, and smiled at him.

Varrus nodded back.

The Kobolds had dug too deep, and uncovered that which must remain hidden.

‘Hopefully it isn't something like a Balrog.’ Varrus chuckled to himself as he observed the industry of war slowly awaken within the Kobolds.

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