A Tale of Fire

[Jason]

"I wish I did not have to leave..."

Spoiler:

Gazuruul the Tothrezim looked down upon Vainar with a snarl, raising one great fist to break the elf into so many pieces. Hands raised, fel green eyes wide in terror, Vainar tried to cast a spell. He tried with every fiber of his being, his mind reeling and body at the point of collapse. No mana would come to him, and the soot-stained palms of his hands emitted no glow of energy. There was nothing he could do to stop the gargantuan grey fist that now swung down with all of the finality of a judge's gavel.

The world falls away with a blur. Vainar is in the ruins of his House's manor within the walls of Silvermoon. He is standing at the foot of his baby sister's bed. He looks about him, making to step away from the bed and flee down the corridor. To his horror, he discovers that he can't move his legs. There is a crash, and the entire manor trembles as if struck by a giant beast. From the first floor, screams are heard, followed by several explosions. All is still. Scrabbling now, at the door. The knob turns slowly, and the door falls open. His father stumbles in, eyes wide from shock, robes torn and bloodied. In his eyes, the blue light begins to fade and he collapses to his knees, retching terribly. Vanor's hands, now twisted in agony, scrabble at the floor, and he falls over completely, twitching violently. Naliana, Vainar's sister, sits up in bed, eyes wide. The creature that was Vanor forces himself to his feet with a series of jerky movements, eyes dead, fluid leaking from his mouth. Vainar screams as his father charges his own daughter lying helpless in her bed.


Vainar awakens suddenly, the alleyway cobblestones digging into his back. He remains still, his eyes closed for several painfully vivid moments more before pushing himself to a sitting position. With a long, slow exhale he lapses into meditation, raising his hands to chest level and holding them a dozen centimeters apart, fingers arched in a claw. As peace settles over him, he begins to channel arcane into the space between his hands, drawing the energy out with pure feeling. It forms into a ball of energy, building yet not expanding. He remains as such for an hour, time passing slowly as he ticks off the seconds by each beat of his heart.

Finally, he removes himself from the ground, letting the ball of arcane energy dissipate and shambling down the vacant, poorly lit alleyway. He supposed it was morning, and found that he was right as he exited Murder Row into the early sunlight. By the sun, he put it at about mid-morning. He would be meeting with Anaiya soon, in a bar neither of them had heard of before. One can never be too careful when choosing a place to meet. He didn't want anyone listening in. Then he would have to kill them, and Silvermoon hated him enough as it was without him committing public acts of violence.

He sets off at a brisk pace. The bar was near the Bazaar. Plenty of people to blend with on the way there. He was constantly alert for spies, anyone who might be following him. There had been several close calls already while in the city. There was a woman who followed him after two turns. He finally lost her by teleporting atop one of the buildings at the next turn. He didn't know for sure that she was following him, but the circumstances were much too much for Vainar to trust. His past was a troubled one.

He had had an easy life before he was sent to Dalaran. He remembers it as the golden age of his life. Days were spent in idle luxury, studying history and philosophy, wooing young elven women and attending fine parties. He fell in love, too. That is, until he bed her. Then he lost interest. He was a young noble. He was going to be a Magister, his father told him. Vainar would be the one who would give their family name the respect they deserved. His father, Vanor, was a merciless man. Not in the usual sense of merciless. Vainar had never seen him strike another, but he had a tongue that could strike just as effectively. At times, Vainar thought he hated his father, but he knew it wasn't true. His mother, Marlina, was perfectly acceptable most of the time. She remained detached from Vainar's affairs. It was when he'd started studying Arcane theory privately that he found some trouble. After months of pouring over books, he managed to summon a spastic wave of Arcane energy. A year and a half later, he transmuted his mother's earing into cesium, which promptly melted into a pool. When his mother discovered what he'd done, he was sent to Dalaran.

No doubt, he was a lackluster student. More inclined to engage the other high elves in social matters, he didn't excel much there. However, he seized upon every chance to prove his skill, and to that effect he advanced rather rapidly. If there was ever a use for his ego, it was education. He was determined to outstrip his fellow apprentices in all schools of magic. This he did not do, though he did outdo several in many schools. In particular, he showed much promise in Transmutation, Evocation, and Illusion. Then, his world was shattered. Dalaran was destroyed, and he only narrowly escaped shortly after his graduation from Apprenticeship. And he returned to Silvermoon, to find that his family, his House, and his home had been destroyed utterly. He learned that he was no more scion, no longer wealthy. He learned sorrow. And he learned power. He became obsessed with it. Fel gave him the power he needed.

It was in that haze of greed that he made a terrible, terrible mistake. He attempted to alter himself. He wanted to make himself stronger. Instead, he cursed himself, and suffered for years from fits of madness. This brought him no end of trouble. In Silvermoon he became an outcast. In Dalaran, a freak. All assumed he was troubled and crazed by Fel abuse. He could not make them understand - so he left. He studied, slaved over his work, in attempts to cure his disease. Not accidentally, his grasp of Arcane theory expanded dramatically. He began to ween himself off of Fel magic, though he knew it was too late. He was changed. Still unable to find a cure, he rallied with the rest of his people. He was a blood elf now. And yet, he was still distrusted.

The next decade passed in earnest. His fits grew increasingly prevalent and more than often ended violently. Brutally. He would awake with blood that was not his own. His drive to find a cure increased, and he found it. With the help of new found friends, he cleansed himself of the arcane malady, and thereby of his fits of madness. In doing so, he also lost his magic. For months, he was forced to fend for himself with arms, and greatly improved his skill in swordsmanship. After this experience, he resolved to continue training. He regained his use of magic with time, and found it to be extremely more potent than it used to be. His raw power had increased tenfold; he felt like a god.

But the influence of his mad side was far from gone. A Tothrezim, foul cousins of the Nathrezim, came to him and demanded payment for what he had bought. Vainar, unaware until then that his recently acquired power was bought, was at a loss to repay. He had no magical artifacts, and the prices that the Tothrezim demanded were unconscionable.

After months of battling against the Tothrezim, Vainar was able to defeat him by the use of the very power he had bought. However, with the Tothrezim, his power died, and he was returned to his normal level of potency, though his ingenuity was still well intact. At this point, Vainar had become jaded, and trusted few. Magic addiction filled him with hunger, and arcane corruption permeated him. He developed rashes, shocked people on touch, and started developing an extra finger. He removed the finger with magic, but was not a little alarmed.

Cured and apparently free, Vainar threw his life into the battle with the Scourge in Northrend during the closing months of the conflict, assisting forces in and around the Icecrown area. What he saw there horrified Vainar, but he felt numbed to the point that everyday was his life, and he had no normalcy to return to. He would have been happy to die there. Alas, he survived, and returned to Silvermoon to ply a career. This would not last long...

Ahead, Vainar spots the entrance to the bar. He makes no move to enter until the last possible moment, walking quickly into the safety of the elaborate doorway. Down the dark hallway, and into the main lounge. Elves were around in droves, so he assumed Anaiya would be on the second floor, away from the horde. He walks, trying to mask his limp as much as possible, to the stairs and climbs them two steps at a time. As he emerges onto the relatively vacant second floor dining area, Anaiya comes into view at the far end, hunched in a chair facing the stairs, not touching her glass of wine. She notices Vainar instantly, raising her hand slightly and greeting him with a wave of two fingers. He squares his shoulders and weaves around tables until he reaches hers, seating himself without ceremony and resting his arms on the surface of the smooth, obviously polished table surface.

"You've arrived," Anaiya muses quietly. Vainar smiles thinly and nods.

"Forgive me, I was meditating. I wasn't sure of the time until I left the- my room."

"Strange, an inn with no windows," she says softly. Vainar begins tapping on the table. Tap...tap...tap...

After several taps, he says, "I suppose I'll start now. I...I'm not quite sure where to begin." He makes a series of complex gestures with his left hand, his fingertips glowing blue. "There. We can't be overheard," he says with a smile. Anaiya slowly raises an eyebrow. Vainar clears his throat and continues...

[Jason]

You've Been Away for Some Time

Spoiler:

As you know, I make many, many enemies. It's a habit I picked up as a boy. Now more than ever, it is such a bothersome trait to possess, one which I would do very much to dislodge. Alas, I am some form of bastard, for every being within a ten mile radius would simply love to take a swing at my neck. You must admit, you've felt the urge from time to time. I come to terms with the fact that being a blood elf, a mage, and a naturally egotistical person, I'm not quite so approachable as I would like. Doubly so, considering recent events. Simply put, I made another enemy roughly a year ago. After I defeated the Tothrezim, I resolved to go into hiding, lest one of its Lieutenants come seeking revenge. And so, naturally, I was staying in the lowliest of taverns in the darkest corners of the Underbelly, taking in the cess and excess that was Dalaran City. I found, however, that I didn't mind. The location, the standard of living, hardly bothered me at all. It was as if a great translucent curtain had come down between the world and I, and nothing truly mattered save my own survival. That, even, was a concern neglected at times.

It was in one these dank, dark, depressing inn rooms that I was disrupted in my meditation by five very well armed Kirin Tor Guardians followed by an Archmage.

"Vainar, Blood Elf of House Vinin'drel, you are to come with us immediately - attempt to teleport and you will be subdued with lethal force," the tall, lithe high elf said as he stalked into the room. Judging from his affects, he was clearly an authority figure. Admittedly, I had a mind to attempt an escape, but I didn't fancy my luck.

"Listen," I said in a casual manner, "I can tell you what happened. There's no reason to kill me." I doubt they would have believed me if I'd told them. All of my credibility died with Garren, the old human Archmage who had helped me defeat the Tothrezim. Had the man survived, I would be well on my way to becoming an Archmage of the Kirin Tor myself.

"You admit to the murder of Archmage Garren Vindalas?" the high elf said brazenly, taking several step forward aggressively.

"How dare-" I began. I thought better of it. "No," I muttered calmly, "I do not. Those who murdered him wish me dead as well." Naturally, the high elf gave me a very long, hard stare before ordering the Guardians to take me. I complied quite easily. They took me to the city proper and sealed me in a magic-proof cell. Of course, I tested the runes. They were impenetrable, of course, no doubt the work of a master inscriber. Resigning myself to my fate, I waited. I waited for three weeks before they finally released me for a hearing.

At that point, I was a bit delirious. Of course, Dalaran prisoners are treated rather well, but when you are suspected for the murder of a senior Archmage, they make exceptions. I do remember being herded down a brightly lit corridor faintly, but other than that the trip was quite a blur. The guards who escorted me appeared to be rather annoyed, and didn't mind shoving me about when I staggered off course. When I arrived at my destination - a faintly purple-hued building - I managed to pull myself together enough to cultivate some dignity. What was left of it, of course.

Time took liberties here. It all came in snatches. I remember sitting in front of a grand judge's...well, throne. It looked like a throne. I think I remember smiling at that. Magi on thrones. I'll admit that it's not the best idea intelligent life has had. Someone shook my shoulder. They told me to pay attention. Someone shouted something, and eventually food and drink were brought for me. I wasn't very hungry, but I ate. I ate all of it, and drank even more. It was hardly a feast, but I ate what I was given until it hurt. I couldn't remember when I had last eaten so well. That brought me around. I was sitting in front of this judge's throne, and all of the men were old - even the elves looked old - with hard eyes and hard expressions. They didn't like me. I was their enemy.

Isn't that the story of my life?

"Vainar Vinin'drel, Sin'Dorei, citizen of Silvermoon, citizen of Dalaran, vagabond of Sha'tar, criminal of Kalimdor, conspirer of murder, treason, and mass destruction. You are a mistake. Of all the lives the Red Dragonflight has sworn to protect, you are one of the lowest. I would say you were evil, were you not a petty bother, lording your gift over the masses. It your kind-"

"SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!"

I screamed that. I was still slightly out of it. I think I might have said it anyway. The judge - the one in the center, who'd been speaking - was staring down at me with eyes as cold as Northrend. I didn't care. I'd made my peace. I was ready to die.

Looking back, I've decided I was born in Dalaran. I'm proud of my heritage, of my people. We've come far, even regained some of our grace. But I'm a mage. I was nothing until I was a mage. The man that would have been had I not found magic is one I am glad will never be. Without my magic I would be an egotistical prick, living it up in the refuges of Silvermoon, high on life, sharp tongue and soft body. More than likely, though, I'd be dead.

Dalaran showed me how I could be better. This twisted tale of mine has taken my lower than most will ever see. I'm jaded, I'm ruined, I'm the poor bastard you're glad isn't you. And yet, I'm much better for it.

________________________


Vainar leans back and folds his arms. "You look skeptical." Anaiya quirks her eyebrow cynically.

"Skeptical?"

"Aye. Skeptical." He leans forward, palms flat on the table. He looks deep into her eyes, so alike his own. "I can never live. What could be considered life is beyond my grasp now. And through it all, I don't understand what life really is. Why I've done the things I have done. Why the things that have been done have been done to me. Why I have become what I have. Why the world has become what it is. I've decided that there is nothing trivial, and everything is equal in worthlessness. But I go on. I will go on. I have never died. I don't know if I can."

Anaiya studies Vainar cryptically. He grimaces, leans back, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know what you think. 'You think too much.' I do. I think too much. I think too much because I've seen too much. But I digress. What I've seen no longer matters. It's gone. As if it never existed, it's gone. And I'm back to this world of law and order. I'll continue..."


________________________


I was hit by something. Hard. It was probably a spell. I was surrounded by magi. I lost track of time again. I came to in a barren stone room. Everything was a dull shade of grey. The only color came from the robes of the various guards and officials in the room. They all stared at me, some with anger, others with pity, and the remainder simply stared out of boredom. I was the only show in town.

"...convicted of serious offences against the city-state of Dalaran, and are subject to the martial code of the Kirin-Tor, magical or otherwise, under section-"

"Wait, wait..." Vainar murmered. The scholarly looking gentleman looked up from his paper with a bored expression. He was going through the motions. "What was that- did you say...convicted?" The words were incredibly difficult to say. He felt like he was talking in a sea of honey. He couldn't feel his face.

"You have been tried, cross-examined, and convicted. Your sentence is still to be deliberated. A ruling will be reached within a year. In the meantime, you will be held in the most appropriate local facility for processing into-"

"Local?!" I interjected, eyes going wild. "You don't mean-"

"Yes," the scholarly looking man interrupted. "I do mean." He got up, gathering the sheaf of papers and gesturing for the entourage to disperse. All that was left were six guards. I was a bit flattered. They obviously thought I was dangerous. They were right. If there had been only one guard, I could have escaped. Alas, magi were an intelligent stock. They gathered me off the chair, bundling me into a narrow hallway. I had no idea where I was - I could have been anywhere. That's the problem with magic.

One of the guards created a portal, and we arrived in some hellish retreat in Northrend. Following the Fall of the Lich King, it seems, the Kirin Tor had made a few real estate purchases. This one was cold, icy, barren. In effect, I could have been in at least five different areas of Northrend. I was taken to a small stone structure that went into the ground. There were no windows, no doors - just the one entrance. Runes prevented scrying and teleportation, though no other forms of anti-magic were active, I noticed. I made a mental note of that as I descended the dark, sloping tunnel. Lighting the way with magic, we reached the end. A single rectangular stone doorway, cut cleanly out of the surrounding wall. It had no door, but as I stepped over the threshold, a violet shield erected itself behind me. Abjuration courtesy of the Kirin Tor. Not easily broken, if the shield that protected the remains of Dalaran from Arthas were anything to judge by.

I was going to be there a while. All at once, it seemed to dawn on me. You see, I'm a bit spoiled. Usually there's an escape, an interruption. A deus ex machina, to quoth the theater.

I was going to rot. And then I was going to be executed. And then I would be forgotten.