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In the shadowy spaces of the Nether, the dreadlord stood. Pride and satisfaction seemed to roll like heavy smoke from his form, as he watched chaotic colors dance in the palm of his open, outstretched hand. By contrast, the forms and shapes that he observed in them were quite specific - a mortal. A woman. One who had been his adversary, and was now indebted to be his asset.
Vethoreas smirked and his eyes glittered, remembering how it had played out so perfectly.
A worthy adversary she had been. A couple of his brothers had already fallen to her before he even knew of her, a sin'dorei woman who had triumphed and fed on the essence of nathrezim. But through the foolish actions of one of his own kind, she had been reduced from his opponent to his pawn. A cost she willingly took upon herself to save the life of another.
"A favor for a favor..." The arcanist swallowed hard. Her voice and expression were calm, determined, and resolute. "I swear."
He watched her, as she skillfully pulled and twisted the threads of reality like the strings of puppets. Time, space, and all that bound them were her toys. She danced with ribbons of magic and orbs of fire like there was nothing finer. Her slender form twirling in the chaotic magic that the dreadlord commanded.
A ripple alerted him to the presence of another in his vicinity. A bare glance over his armored shoulder was spared to the other nathrezim that now stood in his presence - one who was high of rank, yet low of favor with their lord, Kil'jaeden, of late. "Mephistroth," Vethoreas acknowledged him by name.
"Vethoreas," rumbled Mephistroth. He scowled harshly at the image of the elven mage in his brother's hand.
Vethoreas glanced back and forth between the projection of the arcanist and the dour aspect of the other dreadlord, a smug smile appearing on his face. "Not resentful of my acquisition, are you, brother?"
Mephistroth rested his glower upon his companion. "Your pretty pawn is but a trifle," he retorted. "I care nothing for her, nor what you do with her."
"Indeed?" Vethoreas arched a brow. "And I suppose the fact that she has been instrumental in foiling you twice now also means nothing?"
Mephistroth's eyes flashed dangerously and he growled low in his throat, his clawed fingers flexing and almost curling into fists. Then a sneer curled the dreadlord's lip, "Need I remind you that it was my loyalty to our master by which you have her to begin with? Unintended consequence as it was, perhaps you should thank me, given the punishment I endured for as much."
Vethoreas rolled his eyes and waved his hand with an air of regal dismissiveness. "You acted hastily, and your blundering brought you disfavor. I merely proceeded as the situation best dictated to bring about an advantage. Your missteps mean little." He turned his attention once more to the likeness of the Thalassian sorceress, who appeared to be raising a drink in a toast to someone at the moment. The dreadlord chuckled musingly, "Already, she has proven of great use to me, and she still has yet to properly settle her debt."
An irritated noise came from Mephistroth. "I grow bored of your gloating," he muttered.
Vethoreas only grinned.
After a while Mephistroth narrowed his eyes at the other dreadlord observing the elvish arcanist, and broke the echoing silence, "You favor this one, don't you?" There was the edge of a smile underneath his tone.
Vethoreas slanted his brother a look. His voice was low and dark when he spoke. "I do hope, for your sake, Mephistroth, that you are not entertaining the notion of meddling with what is mine," he growled.
Mephistroth scoffed, "As I have told you, your elf means nothing to me." He folded his arms across his broad, armored chest. "I merely note how distasteful it is for a nathrezim to hold such fascination for a mortal."
Vethoreas laughed at that. "Oh-ho, I do not doubt that her pretty shell offers great amusement to some fortunate mortal," he rejoined. "I, however, am more inclined to find better uses for what is wrapped within it." He delicately trailed one of his claws down the side of the image's face - not that the woman whom it displayed could actually feel it. "And tell me honestly, brother," his voice rumbled a little more softly, "who among our kind does not favor cunning, power, and resource?" Even Varimathras himself had held as much admiration as resentment in his dark heart towards the ruthless and decisive queen of the Forsaken, Sylvanas Windrunner.
Mephistroth had no answer for this, and he looked away, broodingly.
The chaotically-colored miniature of Aranya Ver'Sarn appeared to discard her boots, pick up a large shawl or blanket and wrap it about herself, and curled up in what seemed to be a large, comfortable chair of some kind. Vethoreas again trailed one of his claws over the image, as if stroking her hair. "Yes, rest now, my dear," he murmured. "Your usefulness to me is far from over."
This is a story of my character, Arcanist Aranya Ver'Sarn, and her archnemesis/unlikely ally, the dreadlord, Vethoreas - an original character belonging to a friend of mine.
To catch more of how events might pan out between Vethoreas and Aranya, follow us on twitter: Vethoreas and aranyaphoenix
For those who don't know: Mephistroth tried to take out a mortal enemy of the Legion, also a friend of Aranya, using nathrezim blood poison. It couldn't be cured without the blood of a nathrezim, so rather than waste time hunting down Mephistroth, Aranya sought out Vethoreas with a bargain. Unfortunately for Mephistroth, his move wasn't part of "the plan," and so he fell into disfavor while Vethoreas used the entirety of the situation to further his advantages.