Kargath Bladefist fumed. Damn Ner'zhul. If he'd learned anything in his life, it was that warlocks were things that required careful care. Varik of the Shadowmoon was a fine example of one of those warlocks that needed such measured and thoughtful handling. He was too damned valuable to lose like this.
"Lorka."
"Yes, warlord?"
"Varik." A flurry of expressions crossed her face, ending with responsive wait. She hid it well, but Varik's reputation was well known. There was something about the boy that females loved, and he never lacked for their attentions. This one was probably the balm that the boy needed, in more ways than one. Kargath would not repeat Ner'zhul's mistakes with that one. He'd have everything…women, wine, the finest that the Horde could provide.
"What of him?"
Kargath shrugged slightly. It was too much to tell the woman what had occurred, exactly. The loss of Obris, and the grave insult to Varik, was more than she needed to know. Ner'zhul was determined to go through Gorefiend's portal, even though he had a wiser and much more competent warlock at his disposal warning him loudly not to. The boy had been right too many times before for Kargath's liking. "Tend to him."
"Warlord?" She queried deeply and he smiled.
"Warlord Varik got on the wrong side of someone's fist." He finally stated, and her eyes widened. Varik was too small and fragile physically for that to have gone any way but badly for him.
"So, who has died?" She asked, gathering up her bags. When he did not answer, she raised eyes to his face. If it had been anyone but Ner'zhul, they would have not survived laying a hand on Varik, but…. No one." Yet. There had been a panic in Varik's eyes that made it obvious that was either what he feared…or what he saw. Kargath wasn't certain, the older the boy got, the more it seemed like the latter rather than the former. "Don't ask. Just tend to him."
"Of course."
Tend the Deathcaller. Lorka grinned to herself at the very idea. She'd never been lucky enough to be called to him before, but she'd heard plenty. He was a highly desired lover, whispered about in dark corners. However, he was rumored to be dark and moody, not exactly a surprising leaning for a Shadowmoon, a warlock, and a necromancer. If he'd been embarrassed, he could be a problem.
She knocked at his door, surprised when he opened it himself rather than just bellowing for her to enter. The doorway was unguarded, but then, who would attack Varik? Those who did ended up dead, and death did not keep them away from him. Death was just the beginning...
She gritted her teeth when she got her first good look. The wrong side of someone's fist was putting it mildly. Varik had the focused, stoic stare of a male trying to brash his way through, but the attempt was a poor one. Fist was correct, he had not been slapped, he had been punched, hard, and there was a ring involved. It was all she could do to not stare, only one person could have done this and survived, and a disagreement between the Warchief and one of his warlords was no argument she wanted to be a part of.
"Warlord Kargath sent me to tend to your injury." She managed, and he gazed at her warily out of level brown eyes. "If I may?"
"Certainly." His voice was higher than she had been expecting, but rumors stated that the Deathcaller had once been female. Once been Ner'zhul's consort. Now he was male, and apparently quite a virile and lusty male at that. He pulled off his robes, the black and blue of a caster of the Shadowmoon, they showed no blood. However, the plain white shirt he wore beneath them was stained with blood, sticking to his chest. He stripped it off as well, tossing it defiantly into the corner, and turned to her. He was thin, just like the single branch of a new tree, his skin heavily colored with arcane markings, fine and fragile, childlike.
"Lie here." She patted his bed, an oddly sparse affair of a bedroll tossed over a few skins, and he sighed gustily, but complied, relaxing and closing his eyes. So fragile, but the moment her fingers touched him, she felt the power coiling within him.
The damage was worse than she was expecting, and she kept stubbornly silent. She didn't want to be a target for any rage he could grow after this. She wanted to die, one day, and stay dead, with her ancestors. Those who crossed the Deathcaller rarely got that luxury.
"It's bad." He noted gloomily, and she flinched, warily glancing back in his direction. He had not moved, still seemed relaxed, and his tone was about as even as she could hope for. Still safe, she delved into her bags, and removed her healing supplies.
"It is." His jaw was dislocated, yet he bore the pain silently. He accepted the goblet she offered him, and oddly, for one known to be jumpy and wary, tossed its contents down without seeming to think twice. It would ruin any chances of bedding him that night, but with that jaw, the chances she could turn his eye were slim anyway. Sure enough, he fell into a sudden, deep sleep, and she began to work.
Varik was startled out of a deep and drugged sleep, screaming. There was little new there, he had plenty of reasons to wake up screaming, but this reason was a new one.
Ner'zhul.
Try as he might, he couldn't snatch onto the call that had dropped him out of a sleep that should have never been disturbed. It was dark in his chambers, the braziers long since burned out, and he was alone…for a moment. He could hear that would not last long, raised loud voices in the hallway outside guaranteed that, but he couldn't stop his own keening wails. There were no locked doors in Kargath's keep here, the warriors in the hallway remained there because his reputation preceded him, but that would not keep Kargath away.
"What goes?" As if summoned, he could hear the warlord's booming demand, and he still could not grasp control of himself. Stop. Stop. Stop. But it was if his very soul cried.
"The Deathcaller screams in his sleep." A voice he did not recognize, and once Varik had heard a voice, seen a face, smelled a body, he did not forget.
"He sleeps?" Kargath sounded dubious, and Varik could understand that doubt.
"He must." A female voice, and Varik placed the voice of Kargath's healer immediately. Lorka. That was her name. "I gave him enough drugs to make him sleep for hours, a whole day at least. That was only three hours ago. He must be asleep."
"Must be, cannot be." Kargath grumbled, and Varik blinked against the light from the hallway. "Isn't." The warlord finished, staring at him. "Varik?"
"Ner'zhul!"
"Gone as you warned? Snatched in the darkness?"
Varik hated having his own words sent back to him. Those were the exact same ones he had cried out to Ner'zhul, that the Warchief would be snatched away in the darkness between worlds. "Yes." With Kargath's solid presence, the weight of the hold around him, the dream was fading quickly. "The Nether is where the Deceiver is the strongest…"
"I see. But Ner'zhul is gone?"
"Yeeessss." Varik knew the obvious, with Ner'zhul gone, as promised and warned, Kargath would grasp for power, the Warchief's position. And somehow, that was what he had to avoid becoming part of. Somehow, Kargath's ascension would chain Varik back into an untenable servitude. Why, he wasn't certain, because he'd always had a certain level of respect for the warlord, even if he had been insane enough to mutilate himself for the shock value.
"Then I am sorry for you, Varik. Your loyalty was above reproach. Is there anything you require?"
"No." What Varik required would only make Kargath suspicious. And that couldn't be allowed to happen. The other warlord must remain secure in the idea that Varik was the same gravely loyal servant of the Horde that he had always been. Even though the strands of visions told Varik that Kargath would be the fracture, that he would cease to be the loyal servant of the Horde, first. How, why, Varik didn't know. But fighting against the knowledge was futile. "I need time to reflect, alone. I will be returning to my keep, for awhile." Like most warriors, Kargath had the belief that warlocks needed to spend inordinate amounts of time being, well… warlocks. There were a few problems in that, but they served Varik's purpose all too well.
"Of course, Varik. I will send a detail with you."
Varik only nodded, not bothering to look anything but distracted. He felt distanced, alone, and had never felt more like the freak that Ner'zhul had accused him of being. I don't belong here. I'm tired. I can't do this anymore.
It took days to make the journey, and Varik's gloom had not lessened by the time they travelled to his home. It had been built during a glorious time, when it seemed like the spirits smiled upon them, and they could not be stopped. When it had been a deep joy to have been Varik Shadowmoon. The keep had survived the shattering of the world, but that was about it. Now it was just a reminder, a mockery, of how badly things had gone. It was a fitting place to do what Varik needed to do.
It was amusing, on some level, that Kargath had sent his healer with the detail assigned to keep an eye on Varik. While Varik appreciated the sentiment, and the female was a fine one, with a promise in her eyes that he'd normally be quite happy to take her up on… he was too busy. He gathered his books, dusted off his altar, and began his work, left in blessed peace by those who were too afraid to disturb the Deathcaller while that one was deep in spellwork. And that was everyone here… the handful of warlocks who would have not been afraid to look over his shoulder were long gone now, Gul'dan had reaped his reward. No one here had even the remotest possibility of understanding what he was about. No one would stop him. He just had to figure it out, do it correctly, and it would all be over.
