Chapter Seven: Gambit

Krionoso woke to a ringing in his ears and the most incredible headache. His mind groggy and uncooperative, he tried thinking back to how he'd ended up in his current state, chained fast to the floor in a half-encasement of ice.

He recalled the druid rushing past him, a hideous combination of purple elven flesh and mottled patches of auburn fur. He alone had distracted a fair amount of the oncoming Horde muscle, tearing through their unruly lines like a true force of nature. He remembered a protracted duel of flung spells as his roiling balls of untamed fire smashed into chunks of weaponized ice, the spells colliding and exploding into violent plumes of blue vapor until he'd finally connected one, searing into the deep red robes of his rival.

Straining his mind further to recall the fuzziest of his memories, he noticed a char-blackened ring in his robes about his waist. There had been the strangest arrowhead attached there in the heat of battle, that looked like a vicious three-pronged prod. He couldn't investigate it further at the time, as sparks in his vision blinded him and electricity rushed into his muscles, rendering him inert.

He shifted his body slightly and was immediately greeted by a spectacular soreness, doubtlessly thanks to that same curious arrow that had sent him sprawling. The second thing to greet him was the flouncy voice of that elf mage who'd unleashed the Horde on them.

"Ooh, excellent" she called. As Krionoso wheeled his head to glare at where the noise came from, his headache flared and he groaned. The mage was standing in the center of a strange circular room, walled by either a thin veil of clear ice, or glass. She was apparently reading through the contents of a tome, which disappeared in a puff as she peered into his eyes. "Finally, we can begin."

Dazzling runes of arcane energy danced around the room, rising from the floor and seemingly crawling up the walls until they met the ceiling, disappearing into the ice. Through a wall, Krionoso could see the precipitous ledge they'd been previously battling on, the blocks of ice back in place, minus the few the party had managed to dispatch. Spaced evenly around the room were his allies, all similarly rooted by shells of ice rising up their legs to just under their waists.

In a chorus of grunts and groans, they had all similarly begun to stir, noticing the same situation he had. He took the opportunity to inspect the ice trap around himself. It was of solid arcane construction, which meant that short of unheard-of efforts, no amount of his mighty fire magic could likely even put a dent in it. He considered trying anyway.

"I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself properly. I am Telestra, Grand Magistrix of Malygos's mage hunters, at your service," she breathed, almost musically. She added a sarcastic curtsy at the end of the statement for dramatic effect, before continuing. "Or rather, you are at mine. You see, I simply cannot allow you to traipse through the Nexus willy-nilly. It's so unnecessarily... barbaric." She narrowed her eyes as she swept them across the party. The musical tinkling had left her voice, replaced by a dangerous, menacing edge.

To Krionoso's right side, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted as Erylian shifted a bit and cocked his head. Krionoso turned his head again to look at his father. His undead form had obviously seen better days, as had his Kirin Tor robes. The fabric was worn out and the deep purple dye was fading in places. Large swathes of the mageweave were torn to shreds at his elbows, loose threads dangling daintily from the sheared edges. On top of that, there were various stains from settled dust and dirt, and char marks borne from a long life of combat magic. Yet all of these details he'd noticed before.

What held his attention was a small hole, blackened around the rim, just above the cavity where his abdomen would have been. Apparently he had been hit by the same sort of arrow, which caused Krionoso to consider. Erylian was undead, and therefore his muscles—or lack thereof—were generally unused. He supposed that even though that was true, the electricity would still have had an effect on his brain. Krionoso resolved to study the undead further when he had the chance.

"Telestra, you say?" Erylian probed, bringing Krionoso from his thoughts. "I believe I recall the name... you were one of Kael'thas' people, weren't you? You held a fairly high rank; what could possibly have brought you to this frozen hellscape?" Erylian gestured around him.

The elf laughed. "Oh, and here's me, believing I'd just captured another troupe of ignorant fools! I must admit, it's not often that someone recognizes my greatness anymore, since I left that fool behind to ruin himself. Tell me, how is Kael faring with his precious naga allies?" she responded.

"Last I heard, impaled and fel-corrupted," Erylian fired back, with a small nonchalant shrug.

"Oh my. Well, that serves him right. I told him his misguided quest was a fool's errand, but would he listen, the pig-headed bastard?" Telestra chuckled again. "To answer your question, it's simple my dear. Power." She strode a few paces closer to Erylian, studying his features—grotesque as they were. "This place... is filled to bursting with it! Never again will I have to rely on the Sunwell, or for that matter, that simpering idiot Sunstrider."

Krionoso continued tracking Telestra as she closed in on his father's icy prison. She placed a hand gingerly under his half-exposed jaw, stroking it gently for a moment before gripping it.

"But, enough about glorious little me. I'm much more interested in who you are. It's isn't every day someone just happens to stroll into the heart of our little operation here... and much less often are those somebodies long dead archmages," she whispered, almost sweetly. Erylian's glowing golden eyes narrowed to a tiny bead as he arched what would have been his brow had he still had one. "Did you believe I wouldn't know of you? Did you, perchance, believe you would infiltrate the Nexus without notice?"

Telestra released her vice grip on Erylian's jaw and returned to her previous spot, near the center of the room. "Malygos' eyes are everywhere... he sees all. He knows of you all, and he most certainly knows of your aims here. Did you honestly expect to stroll in and destroy the Nexus as if it were nothing?"

Krionoso had become anxious that maybe Malygos somehow got a mole inside the Kirin Tor camp, but sighed inwardly in relief at Telestra's mistaken notion.

"He wishes you all killed, you know. I, on the other hand, believe that that would be a waste. I can sense your talent," she continued. She shot a glance again at Erylian, "and your expertise. So much power... but so much restraint. It's my belief that you would be much more useful, pressed into service. I can show you to tap into your latent power, free of your misguided notions of nobility and heroism." Telestra paused as she began to pace around the room, peering into the eyes of her captive audience. "Of course, this isn't a one-sided deal. There's much in it for you... most notably, you survive our little encounter here..."

"And what, pray tell, makes you think we would accept?"

Telestra immediately wheeled in Krionoso's direction as he interrupted her offer. She raised an eyebrow and walked toward him slowly, regarding him. When she stood before him, she chuckled quietly. "Oh... my dear... what makes you think you've got a choice in the matter?"

With a tiny flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, she summoned icy daggers, coalesced from the clammy air, and pointed them in Krionoso's direction. Another flick of the wrist and they began to rotate around him, surrounding him. Quickly, they accelerated until they looked like nothing more than a brilliant white ring of ice.


Dagerly watched silently as Telestra merrily, and more importantly, obliviously, went about her soliloquy. With one eye watching the magistrix at all times, he moved his arm with a practiced deliberate slowness to one of the many pockets at his belt. His daggers had of course been confiscated at some point after the party had been captured, but the crafty individuals of his profession always had backup plans. He silently removed one of the throwing knives from the pouch and weighed it in his hand.

All of his tools were precious commodities, but each served their purpose. A short and stout wooden blackjack hung from a small holster at his belt, useful for knocking out unsuspecting sentries he couldn't otherwise avoid. A myriad of concocted poisons and potions filled another of the pouches on his person. Those could induce any number of ailments in his foes; paralysis, deep wracking pains, sluggish movements. His throwing knives—sharp, wicked, and deadly accurate—were able to dispatch foes he couldn't close in on.

He lifted the flap from one of the poison pouches at his side and quickly dipped the tip of the knife into one of the viscous green liquids before replacing the flap and mentally preparing himself for what would happen next.

Rogues generally were the least magically-apt of all the adventuring folk, but that didn't mean they couldn't conjure a 'spell' or two should the need arise. Dagerly had spent time learning a few tricks in all the time he'd been traveling with Simonee and his party, taking an interest in the arcane theory that surrounded the mages' mysterious arts. Using that knowledge, he devised countermeasures for dire circumstances... situations like he'd found himself in now, for instance.

He drew a deep breath. 'Here goes nothing.'

While Telestra was occupied, obviously enjoying flexing her magical might, Dagerly put his half-cocked plan into action. With swiftness and precision borne of a lifetime of practice, he whipped his arm around and loosed the poisoned knife. It jetted across the space between them and hit its mark, landing silently in the mage's thigh. The section of her robes around the blade welled with blood, changing the blue cloth into a deep shade of purple.

"Hey beautiful, over here," he called, his voice calm and oil-slick despite his anxiety about his plan.

The rage in Telestra's eyes would likely have cut a lesser man down, but Dagerly merely donned a sly smirk. Simonee, who'd been between the two of them, looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. Dagerly stole a quick glance at him and with the hand hidden from Telestra, gave him a thumbs-up. He only hoped his split-second gesture would assure his friend that everything was under control.

Telestra yanked the knife from her leg, snarling. The purple splotch in her robes grew outward quickly. "What impudence!" she bellowed. "I washoping you would be reasonable about this, but I can see now that there is no getting through your thick head. Perhaps this will!"

The ring of ice shards surrounding Krionoso slowed and reoriented themselves in Dagerly's direction, and he tensed his muscles as best he could with the ice still immobilizing his legs. One by one, the shards hurtled toward him as Telestra thurst her arm, pointing the throwing knife at him.

Time slowed down as the adrenaline snaked through Dagerly's veins. The shards hung in midair, the light of the room's arcane light reflecting and refracting in its facets. Dagerly moved.

The shadow underneath his feet coalesced into his body and shattered the ice bonding him to the floor. Instantly, he began charging at Telestra, deftly weaving through the incoming assault. The onslaught of frost magic tore itself apart on the back wall, and the sounds of shattering glass rang out through the chamber. With a single-minded fury, Dagerly rushed onward, clutching another of his throwing knives tight in his hand. The mage attempted to react, but found her muscles nearly inoperable. Her legs (metaphorically) frozen in place, she muttered another brief incantation into the wind.

Dagerly plowed into Telestra, striking his knife deep into her chest, neatly through the ribcage and into her heart. The mage's brilliantly glowing blue eyes faded to a dull sheen, and she collapsed. Dagerly's momentum caused him to follow suit, and they both fell to the ground in a confused heap.

The rogue attempted to stand, but his muscles refused to hold his weight, and he collapsed again into Telestra's fresh corpse. The adrenaline passed after a moment, and he felt a sharp, deep pain in his chest. With a concerted effort, Dagerly pushed off of the ground with his hand, rolled off of Telestra's body, and looked down.

A large sliver of ice had penetrated through his leather armor, red blood oozing lazily down its sides.


Simonee watched, dumbstruck, as Dagerly somehow broke free of his bonds and began sprinting at full speed toward their captor. Every frosty missile missed its mark, shattering harmlessly on the wall to his side, but he couldn't help but gasp at each close call. As Dagerly closed in on Telestra, a single bolt of ice reconstituted itself from the heap at the back of the room and homed in on the rogue's back. Simonee tried to shout, but found his voice caught in his throat. He closed his eyes as the shard pierced through his back, and the two of them fell.

Within moments, his own prison fell apart into tiny glittering pieces on the floor, and he rushed to Dagerly's side, who had mustered enough strength to push himself off of Telestra. Taking a cursory glance at the sorceress, he noted the throwing knife, plunged straight down to the hilt, in her chest. 'He did it...'

Dagerly shuddered briefly, as the sliver of ice broke down, leaving nothing but the wound in its wake.

"Well, this isn't exactly... how I imagined... I'd go down," he chuckled. He tried to breathe, but each breath was raspy and Simonee was sure he'd taken in more blood than air. A small trickle of blood poured from the corner of his mouth. "I thought... thought I would die of a-a heart attack. In a brothel-"

Dagerly coughed, spitting a fine mist of blood into the air as he continued gasping desperately for oxygen.

Simonee forced a smile. He'd been trying to use his hands to close the hole in his friend's chest, but knew it was an empty gesture. The ice had pierced straight through, and even if he managed to wrap the wound, Dagerly would still be suffering from severe internal injuries.

Something tapped at Simonee's shoulder. Looking up, he found Aeriah, gazing down at Dagerly. "I can't heal wounds that extensive, but I can at least ease his passing," he whispered, briefly meeting Simonee's gaze.

The mage nodded. A long time ago, Aeriah had told him that a druid's healing was more of a rejuvenation of life energies, not stitching together cuts or mending bones. All the same, Simonee backed off and allowed the druid to do whatever he could for Dagerly. As Aeriah knelt next to the rogue, a gentle green aura radiated from his hands. A few moments later, while Aeriah continued chanting his prayers to Elune in near-silence, the rogue's breathing slowed, and came to a stop.

Minutes passed in silence, as the party came to terms with everything that had just transpired. Simonee felt numb, but in the back of his mind, a fury began building. It rose from an ember to a blazing inferno. Malygos himself would pay for this. Some day, somehow, Simonee would make him pay.

The first to break the silence was Erylian. "We can't leave him like this. We can't risk him... turning..." he said quietly, but firmly.

Simonee wanted to argue, his mind fighting against itself as the flames of his rage threatened to overtake his better judgment. The voice of his reason rang clearly through his thoughts just as he turned to confront the elder mage. 'You know he's right.' Simonee sighed and the unrelenting storm of emotion abated. Erylian was right. He had first-hand experience in the matter.

Garret stepped next to Simonee and rested his gloved hand on the mage's shoulder. "I can commend his body to the earth spirits. His willpower will be accepted with open arms amongst their company."

Simonee nodded, whispering, "Do it."

Solemnly, Garret erected earthly totems around Dagerly's prone form and muttered the mantras that would send the rogue's spirit to join with the earth's. A few seconds passed before a giant stone obelisk powered through the chamber's floor. The edifice began to crack apart, white light gently diffusing through each splinter. It exploded silently with a flash of light, and Simonee shaded his eyes the best he could with his arms. When he was finally able to look again, the pieces of the great structure hung heavy in the air, bound mystically to where they had been originally.

Garret gingerly picked up the body of his fallen ally, and walked slowly, step by step, toward the obelisk's exposed center. He placed the body directly within the brilliant source of the white glow and backed away, still chanting the ancient rite. Almost as suddenly as they had separated, the stones returned to their original positions and the light ceased. The cracks in the obelisk were gone, sealed tightly together by magical force. Garret pulled a pile of dried leaves and a flat wooden bowl from his pack, placing the incense in the bowl. As he stepped away, the leaves began letting off sweet-scented smoke. Another few moments of chanting passed before the black obelisk retreated through the floor, carrying Dagerly's body down to the depths with it. Simultaneously, the incense in the bowl extinguished as a stiff breeze wafted through the adjoining corridors and into the chamber.

As the party whispered their final goodbyes, Simonee could swear he felt tiny raindrops falling on his shoulders.