The Violet Hold was the local name for the dungeons and served as a prison in the Violet Citadel for many outlaws that were considered major threats to the city of Dalaran. These creatures were considered to be among the vilest magical entities in Azeroth so the prison was specially constructed with rows of cells that were magically sealed with charms and spells to match that of its individual inhabitant’s abilities.
Brohmide had been brought into priesthood in the Temple of the Moon in Darnassus and served as a spiritual healer under Tyrande Whisperwind until a mage of the Kirin Tor visited Tyrande one day and asked for the temple’s help. The Kirin Tor had sent representatives to all major cities of Azeroth asking for aid. The Blue Dragonflight had discovered a rift in the structure of the Violet Hold itself and was assaulting the cracks in the roof of the prison relentlessly. They would attack by opening portals inside the prison in an attempt to infiltrate the city and take it over. This action, whether it was the intent of the dragonflight or not, had created instabilities inside the structure itself and ruptured several of the cells within the prison, loosing each cell’s respective inhabitants. It was for this reason the Kirin Tor cried out for help. If the inmates were allowed to escape, even without the onslaught of the Blue Dragonflight, those villains had the power to completely destroy Dalaran and everyone within it.
Brohmide had accepted the challenge and left that very day for the City of Dalaran where he was quickly seen as a very resourceful and renowned healer. He had saved many lives in that crisis and had been asked to stay in Dalaran afterwards as a permanent aid to the Kirin Tor and the city of Dalaran. It was during this time when Fabrisio and Brohmide had met.
Brohmide had started that day like every other since coming to Dalaran. He awoke early in the morning, grabbing the last piece of elven bread from a cupboard and slowly nibbling at it while reading over a few pieces of parchment that had been delivered the day before.
The bright morning sun beamed down into his bedchambers, the hue tinged slightly purple from the city’s protective magical barrier. He heard the tell-tale chiming of the clock bell in the distance notifying the city it was a quarter to 7. He stood from his small table and stretched, then went to change into his priest robes so he could start his day.
Brohmide stepped out of his apartment, shutting the door behind him. His long, white clergy robes hung all the way to the ground. On top of which, he donned the purple and gold tabard of the Kirin Tor with it’s un-winking eye depicted on it. He carried with him a ceremonial quarterstaff that had been dipped in the celestial pools of Moonglade when he had taken The Oath. He also carried with him an ancient tome of prayers. The book’s leather covering flickered gold and white where the heirloom had had its binding magically repaired many times over. The pages looked frail, but were held together by magical force.
Bromide was a night elf, born in the great kingdom of Darnassus. He was about six and a half feet tall from toe to ear tip, his long, pointy ears protruding at least six inches out from his head. He had a pinkish hue to his skin, as many night elves did. He had dark, navy hair that he typically kept in a neat tail at the back of his neck, and a matching goatee tracing his facial features that ended in a point at the bottom of his chin.
As the priest turned to go towards the Kirin Tor’s Sanctum, something small bump into him. At first, he thought it was a child that had strayed away from his mother, but as he looked down Brohmide saw that it was actually an adolescent gnome with his nose down in a piece of parchment. The gnome looked up in alarm as he bumped into the elf, and his thin handlebar mustache twitched as the gnome processed what had happened.
“What’s the matter, little gnome? Did my shadow block out the light so you could not see me upon my approaching?” Brohmide had said with a mild smirk.
“What’s the matter, big elf? Couldn’t hear me coming with those elongated feathers on your head? Oh.. forgive me. Those must be your ears.” Fabrisio had quipped.
They both stood there for a moment staring at each other in tested silence until they both erupted with laughter. Friendship was immediate and strengthened over time. Fed by continual teases and taunts of each constantly trying to outwit the other, they grew incredibly close.
Some time later, as the two sat in one of the vast libraries deep within the beautiful city among the clouds, Fabrisio and Brohmide poured over books relating to summoning spells. This is how the two typically spent their free time. Fabrisio was taking lessons in shadow magic and had talked a mage friend into tutoring him with fire magic. Brohmide, or Brohm, as most called him, was becoming more and more intrigued with the shadow magics himself but struggled with some of the spells that seemed to come naturally to Fabrisio.
“Here is one that summons a demon horse from another realm. That could prove interesting,” Fabrisio said thoughtfully.
“Here is one that calls forth a walker of the void. Maybe he could carry you around so you could actually look people in the eye instead of the kneecaps,” Brohm said with a chuckle.
“Mighty strong words coming from an elf that can’t even manage to summon an imp. You couldn’t even summon our waitress the other day in The Lounge; perhaps she was merely deaf? It’s alright though, Brohm with practice I’m sure you’ll summon something far more incredible than lunch,” Fabrisio said while keeping his head down towards his book but peeking out of the corner of his eye at his friend and wearing a victorious smirk.
Brohmide sighed slightly and stretched out his long arms in a show of fatigue in an effort to conceal his annoyance at the prod. “Well I think I shall turn in for the evening. Shall I levitate you so you can put your books away or would you prefer to summon your own ladder from the Realm of Creation?” He pushed his chair back and stood up to walk away.
Fabrisio rounded on him quickly. “It was banter, Brohm. Why have you become so sensitive on this subject of late? It is not my fault that you cannot grasp some of the simpler aspects of the shadow magics. It’s not even your fault. Perhaps it was not you’re calling to be strong with dark magic. You have always been strong with healing and cleansing. Something I will never understand. Why is it so important to you to prove better with shadow magic? I wouldn’t want it to ruin your image of Dalaran’s Greatest Healer after all...” Fabrisio made a face and put a dramatic emphasis on his last statement, but even as he said it, he knew he’d gone too far.
Brohmide’s eyes narrowed and his ears lay down like that of an agitated cat. He drew his wand quickly and before Fabrisio could react a bolt of lightning shot out of Brohmide’s wand. The bolt hit Fabrisio directly between the eyes, knocking him backwards and out of his chair; his tiny feet flying over his head as he landed with a thud face down on the hard marbled floor.
Fabrisio stood up slowly and dusted his robe off while he chuckled from mere disbelief at what his friend had done. “Wow. I can’t believe a priest just lost his composure. Perhaps instead of studying darkness you should strengthen patience instead. You have gone too far, my friend.”
Bromide’s face was a mask of anger trying to cover the astonishment of what he’d just done to his friend, but the mask held on and he snapped, “I merely sought to match your ego to your height, Fab. You got no less that you deserved.”
Fabrisio’s eyes narrowed and his mustache quivered as his lips curled into a snarl. “Abatal!” he shouted for his imp.
In a green puff of smoke a tiny scaly creature resembling a small gremlin appeared brandishing a wand. “Master!” it squeaked and tossed the wand to Fabrisio then turned toward Brohmide and laughed a creepy impish laugh that was full of malevolence.
Fabrisio flicked his wand effortlessly and a fireball the size of a fist was sent sailing towards Brohmide. With a wave of his hand, Brohmide created a shield of light that surrounded him just before the fireball hit him. The fireball glanced off and hit a pile of books to the left, immediately catching fire. The imp ran to the now engulfed pile of books and danced around it, clapping his clawed hands and cackling maniacally.
Fabrisio, ignoring the fire, mumbled an incantation and from his hands came a snaking jet of fire that hit Brohm’s shield dead on. The shield fizzled and burst like a bubble then the elf himself began to catch fire. “Elune’s grace!” Brohmide shouted and the flames engulfing his body died away just as quickly as they’d started.
For a moment the two glared at each other in anger; neither one wanting to hurt the other, but neither wanting to back down either. Brohmide then screwed his face up in concentration and narrowed his eyes directly at Fabrisio and the gnome grabbed his head in both hands in a shriek of pain.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Fabrisio dropped his wand and fell to his knees in agony still crying out in pain. At that moment, a flaming book pelted Brohmide in the back of the head, interrupting his concentration and releasing the gnome from the spell. Abatal jumped up and down happily from his triumph, though his celebration was short-lived. He was then hit square in the chest by a barrage of lightning bolts from Brohmide’s wand. The imp ducked behind a shelf yelping in irritation at the onslaught.
Fabrisio regained his thoughts as his attacker was focused on his imp and conjured a hailstorm of fire upon the elf. Books, chairs, shelves and the floor alike caught fire. The gnome knew they’d get in trouble for the destruction they were causing to these ancient books, but he was past the point of caring.
Brohmide’s clothes then caught flame as he leapt out of the rain of fire. He whispered something in Elvish, making his hands glow bright with light and waved them up and down the front of his robe snuffing the fire out quickly; the fabric returning to its original state with no charred remains. He got to his feet, furious now, and screamed something in a demonic tone at the top of his lungs.
The spell was meant to summon a doomguard, a race called the ered’ruin known for their resistance to magic. Fabrisio knew it well. He’d studied it for weeks, but was never brave enough to try it. These creatures were said to be extremely dangerous and hard to control.
As they both stood there for a brief moment, they both knew something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of the huge winged form of a doomguard, a small blob of a beast appeared. The tiny beast was misshapen, and slimy. It was snarling through crooked fangs that were covered in acidic drool.
They all stood perplexed at the creature growling before them—the imp included—but before Brohmide or Fabrisio could react, the imp sent a fireball straight at the beast. It let out a strange yelp, and turned to Abatal and growled through its hundred razor-sharp teeth. The creature bent low on it’s tentacle-like feet and set itself to lunge at the imp when another one of the imp’s fireballs hit the creature square in the face. This time, the creature caught fire. It’s slimy body engulfed into flame as it squealed a terrifying, demonic screech, then poofed out of existence.
Fabrisio then looked at Brohmide with a pitiless smirk then repeated the same demonic incantation that the elf had attempted. This time, a huge hulking body with cloven hooves and huge leathery wings appeared before them. The creature had pink, scaly flesh and was covered from head to toe in heavy-plated armor. It had enormous horns that looked hard as stone protruding from his enormous head. It laughed a deep, spine-shuddering demonic laugh as it sized up the elf standing before him.
“Is that what you were trying to do, elf?” Fabrisio barked angrily. “Well I have matters to attend so I will let the two of you sort things out”, he finished pointing to the doom guard. Fabrisio then turned on his heels and walked out the door. He glanced back for a moment and saw the disbelief on his friend’s face and felt a tinge of guilt at what he had done to Brohmide.
Fabrisio swallowed a lump in his throat the size of Azeroth then said to his friend, “We are what we are and that’s all we’ll ever be, brother. If one cannot get past that then the soul will fester and rot and sour inside them until it completely dies.” Then, he walked out the door leaving Brohmide to his fate with the demon.
That was the last time they had spoken for several years. Until now……
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Fabrisio entered the all-too familiar city and went straight for the residents’ quarters. He knocked on the door he hadn’t looked upon in years, and was told to enter by a familiar voice. He took a deep breath and told Abatal to wait for him outside then walked cautiously into the small dwelling. The place hadn’t changed much other than being slightly messy and was it dimmer, Fabrisio wondered? Perhaps a light or two was not turned on.
“Jo’nephie, is that you? I told you I would have that to you by tomor—oh..,” he cut off in mid sentence at the sight of his visitor. “What are you doing here?” he said not unkindly but with genuine surprise in his voice.
Fabrisio stood dumbfounded in front of his friend stuttering at the sight of him, not knowing what to say. His friend was completely changed. Brohmide’s skin was a much, much darker shade of pink and was that purple smoke billowing from his skin? “I…what happened to you, Brohm?” he said finally.
The elf smiled with a regretful sigh and said, “I am a sight, aren’t I?” His voice was deeper now, Fabrisio realized.
The elf stood up from the table where he’d been seated, and took a tentative step toward Fabrisio, “It happened after--,” he sighed as if reforming his words. “It happened the day you left. I could not kill the demon with the magic I had learned. I threw everything I could at it, but it just could not penetrate his armor. The creature must have had some type of magical resistance to my spells. Even my holy magic didn’t have much of an effect on it.
“I then remembered a spell we had read about that could penetrate an opponent’s mind and burn him from the inside out and tried it on him. It took several attempts but finally I was able to get through his resistances and destroy him but something went wrong. Somehow, the spell rebounded, or maybe…. Maybe I lost something … I…”
He stuttered, took a breath and sighed, then continued. “When the spell finally worked on the demon, I could feel the light leaving me. I have lost the Grace of Elune and my gifts of the light, though they still exist, are not what they once were. The shadow from the spell seemed to reverberate through my very skin, and though it may have saved my life, I now look the way I do.”
Fabrisio’s face distorted into guilt and pain, “I did this to you?” he squeaked with a shudder.
Brohmide’s face was firm but not harsh, “I blamed you for a long time, and asked why you left me there but we were both wrong. My jealousy was the catalyst that ignited your stubbornness that caused the ...altercation. I am not angry with you anymore and to be honest, it is good to see you.”
“So you said this look is... permanent?” Fabrisio replied, still trying to understand.
“Most of my colleagues think so,” Brohmide replied. “Or at least they say my healing abilities will never be what they were. Even though some of my abilities can get stronger with practice and meditation, they will never be what they once were. I’ve been making healing potions though. I still have that, anyway.”
“Brohm, I’m…I’m sorry for this. I am responsible ...” Fabrisio trailed off.
“Don’t worry about it, Fab. I never liked the art of healing anyway and now I am much stronger with shadow magic. This...aura somehow makes me stronger with them and I still help the Kirin Tor, just not in the same way. I destroy threats instead of sickness.”
They both stood there a moment in silence unsure of what to say to one other until Fabrisio remembered why he was here. “I need your help, old friend. Dru needs your help. It would appear that the Alliance agenda once again has used people as pawns in their scheming and as we both know, Dru can’t stay out of the thick of it.”
Concern bloomed on Brohmide’s face, “What has happened, Fab?”
Fabrisio grumbled indignantly as he moved to a cushy chair to sit down and begin his story, “You are, I am sure, aware of the fluctuations within the Maelstrom that have been occurring. Malfurion has this idea to find Thrall and work together again with the shaman to try and force the rupturing elements around the Maelstrom to calm once again.
“Because he feared for repercussions if he tried to enter the city or Orgrimmar with or without a guard, he dared not go himself and guess who was first on the volunteer list?”
Brohmide’s eyes widen as he processes the information, “She… she didn’t?! With what army?! Surely the savages would see any force as a threat and strike preemptively!” The elf stood abruptly, agitated.
Fabrisio swallowed down the thought of what he knew to be his friend’s fate and said, “There was no army, priest. He sent her alone.”
Understanding filled the elf’s face and he sputtered, “She went in an orc-infested city with no protection? That’s madness. Surely, SI:7 knew that Thrall has been gone for some time. He left Hellscream in charge. That warmonger will have no such sympathy for her venturing onto the orcs’ turf.”
Fab nodded, still annoyed at that fact, and spoke through gritted teeth, “They are only humans after all. They wouldn’t know counterintelligence if it was magiced into their pockets. This is why I need your help. We have to rescue her or they will torture her to the death and use her as a play thing. You know how barbaric they are.”
“But how do you know she is even still alive? Surely she is dead by now. I want it to be so no less than you do, but use your head. They won’t keep her alive long,” Brohmide replied.
“All the more reason we must act swiftly. Malfurion is certain she still lives and they have her in the keep,” Fabrisio stood up. “Come, my old friend. We have another stop to make along the way. I have an idea.” The little gnomes smiled a clever smile, and Brohmide knew instantly it would work. Whatever the plan was.
An hour later Fabrisio and his dreadsteed were waiting near the mage quarters in Dalaran. Brohmide had left immediately after their talk to gather some provisions and get his mount ready.
While Fab was waiting, he heard a whir and sputter of a large machine. When he looked around the huge horn of Drog’thor’s saddle, Fabrisio saw the elf coming quickly towards them on a two-legged mechanical mount.
It was painted black with silver trimming. Its backside had smoke billowing out of it and the rear of the thing had lights that glowed red when it came to a halt. It somewhat resembled a mechanical ostrich and had a mirror protruding from the side of its neck. The mechanical bird puttered and whirred as its internal parts moved to make the thing work.
“I see you are still enjoying my mechanostrider,” Fabrisio said sarcastically.
“Hey, I won it fair and square. Might as well get some use out of it. Especially since you prefer to travel by flaming beast,” Brohmide retorted; his good humor returning.
Drog’thor huffed indignantly; a plume of smoke and a spit of flame rising from his nostrils. Fabrisio steadied his mount and said, “You are just jealous that when mine smokes, it does not pollute the air.”
They both turned their steeds towards the portal that would lead them out of the city. “Shall we go save our trouble-prone friend from certain death?” Fabrisio asked, looking towards the portal.
A mechanical whir and the smoking tail of Brohmide’s mount was the answer to his rhetorical question. Fabrisio flicked the reins to signal to Drog’thor to follow the elf, and headed into the portal after his friend. They were on their way to save Druwyna Ravenheart.