Chapter 24
The Other's Game pt.2
X Ranger-General X
"What have you to report of that madhouse?" Thomas asked once Jerath stood before him again. The sun filtered a pleasant warmth through the gold leaves of Crystalsong, beating against the leather of his back and shoulders. The others took their chances closer to the trees, busying themselves as they readied to march once more.
The ranger had a look in his eye that spoke of distraction, though no hesitation held his tongue. "It is a difficult matter to discuss. They do not function like an army, as Blood de Rath warned before. There is no organization to them, rather instead like separate mobs and gangs barely banded together, and Blood himself is the mortar to their bricks. Should that strange warlock fall or be otherwise disposed of, their everything would come crumbling down."
"That isn't all you have to say on the topic, I'm sure," Thomas guessed. He waved Jerath to follow as he turned to continue his own work. How was a man expected to break down and store his belongings when figures like Captain Maloree kept piling reports on his desk for him to look over?
"No, sir. Regarding the men, the former Twilight members, it appears their loyalty to Blood de Rath is sincere. At least on its visible layer; I feel something else is lingering in all their hearts and minds, something that doesn't oppose their purpose so to speak, yet it is waiting nevertheless. I overheard their leading figures ordering their men to stay away from the Exilee, especially our women, while Blood has ordered qiraji to enforce that policy at the rims of their camp."
"Nothing less than expected," Thomas acknowledged idly. He sighed, crumpling and tossing the paper before him aside. So what if twenty-five of their near 15,000 arrows went missing the previous night? The hunters hunted, the rangers did their tricks, and many aspiring men practiced in the wee hours to hone their archery to the best of their ability. They fletched hundreds more every day in this forest.
"As for the qiraji, there is nothing to say. They treat Blood like he is a god, every bit like he himself has said. I have nothing to say of his defenders, as he protects them both from any indirect observation, yet there was some... relieving of tensions between he and his succubus the previous night. Something Alissa said in their interrogation appears to have disturbed them both, though what of, I am not sure."
Thomas looked up, serious. "Disturbed?" That was a dangerous word lately, since even before they had entered this forest. Old god mind tricks or daemonic "Other" tinkering – who knew what was driving some men to madness, but lately the Exilee had been ever vigilant against those that seemed "disturbed."
"Not in that context," Jerath was quick to amend. "Though I am not sure he isn't shy a few roots of a strong oak regardless. But it is rare that he is without his overflowing confidence. Even his succubus expressed concern for him. Alas, he is back to his... robust self this morning. I'll leave it to you to decide how to read into the transpirings."
Thomas rubbed his stubble for a moment, knowing there was more than there appeared. Not in Sin's stumble but that it came from the lips of their subtle captive. Even if she spoke only truth, that woman was not as hapless as she pretended. Nor was she as hapless as Thomas pretended. Ghat'Nothos itself had chosen her to lead the cult. Though still aspiring to Sightless ascension, she was not without his touch.
Leaving a mental mark to return to the issue later, he asked mildly, "What of the 'thing' we discussed?"
Jerath did not answer immediately. Thomas stopped his reading, looked up at the ranger. The bearded man had a look Thomas had never seen before on the man. When those pale eyes finally met Thomas', it was to say, "I was caught."
"Huh." Thomas set aside the paper and crossed his arms. "Sin?"
A minute shake of Jerath's head surprised Thomas. "A dwarf. I swear on my name and legacy that I was not being careless. I was in perfect camouflage and stealth, not a sound or sight, but it meant nothing to him. I can't call that sort of ability mortal."
Now that was intriguing. It also explained that distraction that haunted Jerath's thoughts. "Explain."
"I was listening, Deliverer – listening everywhere, to everything his followers said, until the first whispers that seemed on the right track. Their own words were vague and quiet and afraid, but they spoke of something in Blood's possession, something that had given the warlock confidence yet only inspired fear in the former cultists. They spoke of a dagger and festering madness. I had only just moved when... By the Sun, I cannot explain it. Even in plain sight, he sat without my notice on a barrel, and he spoke to me in a ranger's whisper."
A bloody dwarf somehow passed Jerath's notice? Thomas flexed his jaw, trying to take the matter seriously. Jerath wasn't the type to have on him, and certainly not on this topic. The key was a dagger. "What did he say?"
"Just a confrontation. He has a slyness to him, but I could not help myself from asking just how he had noticed me, how I had missed him. And he answered, just like this" Jerath cleared his throat and put on an accent: "Oh, you faery folk know how to hide in a forest, where the shadows are many. But us desert folk... we have to make shadows to hide. Wee children thinking themselves king of the shadow realm, when really you are too insignificant for it to bother snapping yee up!"
Interesting. Most rangers only knew of camouflage – bending light. Jerath knew of the rogue stealth too – bending shadows, the two halves of that coin. The sly schooling from the simple dwarf seemed to send Jerath into a brooding depression, bothered at his perceived inexperience.
"I sense a lie on his lips," Thomas told him, hoping to dig at the kernel buried inside that man's mind. "He has cast a shadow for you to chase after, to distract you."
"Perhaps," Jerath agreed. "Yet his actions hold their own facts. I believe there may be a half-truth behind his lie. I would like to flush out the possibility before completely disregarding it. The theory of a shadow realm – that which you step through in your dubbed "Shadow-Step" – is largely unexplored. Perhaps there is more to it than rangers know."
With a sigh, Thomas picked up his papers again and returned to reading. "I won't stop a man from aspiring to improve, you least of all. However, my friend, I have a fear that that path concludes only with the Void, which is far, far from the shadow-world I utilize in my rogue tricks. Tread carefully."
"Of course, sir." Jerath saluted with a little bow. His grey Ashblade armband stood out in the gesture. "That ends my report."
"Then happy hunting. Keep an ear out for me," Thomas dismissed. Staring at the papers, it seemed as though Jerath remained standing right beside him, but he knew the ranger was long gone, without a sound made. Despite knowing this, he still paused to glance to his left, affirming that no one was there. He sighed once more. So the secret resided with a dagger, yet even Jerath couldn't get more than that. Raeloth would not be pleased with the lack of progress from their ranger corps.
One note atop the stack took his attention then. Sin de Rath was a busy man, it seemed. He hadn't received word of the warlock leaving to meet Donvorei, their engineering expert, yet here were schematics designed by Donvorei, Sin, and the Grand Magister on how to grossly improve the designs of their war constructs. He smiled. Regardless of Sin's secrets, they had their own work to focus on-
"Thomas. Why do you hide, Thomas?"
His smile and mood vanished simultaneously. He made a point of picking up the next documents that required his attention and stared at it, though he struggled with actually reading. His spine was tight, his heart audible.
"Why do you play without me?"
It was a vicious lash with the last question, and still Thomas was without regard. His ears heard the words, but could put no location to the sound – at least, nowhere consistent. They were words in his head, words of his own imagining. Sin called the "Other" pacified, and perhaps it was to Sin himself, but the forest wanted them all driven mad, and the restraint only agitated it further.
The part that was most frustrating was that even blocking his ears with magic could not blot out that voice. It was enough to make a man truly feel mad already.
X Prophet X
For awhile, the only sounds in the tent were the ruffling of cloth and the rasp of steel against leather. Sin and Narelle were dressing and arming themselves, preparing for the inevitable that would come this day. Lynona waited on the bedsheets, already tightly wrapped in her leathers as she watched her master with eyes like a cat.
Before they could finish, a helmetless Narelle inquired, "If what that cultist said about the qiraji is true... will you confront them about it?" The elf seemed strangely slender without her wide-shouldered cloak, especially noticeable as she bent to fix her laced sandals and the sheathes built into them.
Sin himself was adjusting his belt, recognizing idly that he'd lost a notch in weight over the last few weeks. "Not today. We are increasingly out of time, and even now Lady Ysanna and Master Lorrin await my presence. If those things come to pass... Well, we are aware. That is the only preparation we could manage regardless."
Over the next few seconds of silence, Sin felt the comment was coming before Narelle even opened her mouth. When she did, it was to say, "Not the only option."
The only real surprise was that Sin did not feel the usual flash of frustration or anger at it. Instead, he allowed a measured pause and settled, "I will not kill the qiraji Battleguards, not even over this."
"I understand."
Sin knew that she didn't. His warden cloak was thrown over his shoulders, the rippling tan cloth already pigmenting to the dark hues of the tent interior, and then he began to stride out. Lynona jumped from the bed to keep in his shadow. He felt the tingle of magic as her lesser invisibility settled over her just as they reached the sunlight.
XxX
The following days passed without notice for Sin, rolled into one seemingly endless session of debate and discussion, confined in a manless elven cart. Along with two bright and gifted elven Portal Masters, Lorrin and Ysanna, they sought to tackle Azeroth's most potent threat since its Ordering, and they did so professionally and on paper, without fear or emotional hindrance. So consumed by their work, they ate and slept in that cart together, stepping outside only for nature's call and rarely at that, immediately convening again.
At times, a forth occupant joined them, Narelle Blackmoon, but Sin had secured a tight oath that she may Watch but never speak while they were in discussion. The warden gladly agreed and watched what might have been the most important discussion of the entire war, but soon, she came to realize the dullness and dryness of theoretical discussion of arcane matters that she did not understand, and when it was clear that they were not passing secrets to shake the heavens, she dismissed herself to watching the two armies.
In those days, Sin felt he came to understand Ysanna and Lorrin both to intimate levels, deeply treading out their history and education until all that they were was laid out before the three of them, compiled with the others, and threaded together for the hope of mankind. Certainly, they would get the same from him. Discovering each others limits was a terrible, vulnerable moment, but the need outweighed the matters of pride.
In that simple cart, smelling of fresh-cut pine and sweet elven fabrics, they squabbled over the smallest side notes of hypothetical theory:
Ysanna: "The fifth variable of Jalas-Serai quantum-arcane theory conversion to Marcus' Law equations is equal to the speed of spellbolt in standardized spans per second, which needs to be converted from yards-"
Lorrin: "Irrelevant! The speed of light-based spellbolts is constant across all casters, thus disappears in the first step of conversion anyways!"
They clashed over the grandest oversights of the universe:
Lorrin: "-undeniable ties between the Twisting Nether and the ley lines of Azeroth! You see that in Howard's mapping of arcano-sphere mana migrations; I can guarantee that the same magic of your portals into their realm can wire its own astralized ley line, a Nether line if you will, temporarily back into ours. There is no alternative explanation for the perfect planetary orbits around the sun."
Ysanna: "You cannot seriously be advocating coincidence over the harmonized parallel 'verse mana mappings."
Sin: "Not coincidence, but the harmonizing hypothesis has never held tangible evidence, was debunked even if I properly recall. Current theory is that the ley lines are so powerful that they press through the fabric of this universe into the Nether, leaving grooves, impressions in the Nether that guides its energy to similar movements. They are not connected in any manner, certainly not so to imitate tunneling!"
Together, as theory gave to practice, the three made discoveries that shook the foundations of their schools:
Ysanna: "I'm... I'm speechless."
Sin: "...Lorrin, my friend, I concede my position in full. The energies of the Nether and the lines have proven undeniably connected in function. Light and Shadow, to think this has been possible all this time."
Before the three of them was a gateway of begotten origins, and a few dozen yards further was its match. They were outside the cart for this experiment, during a nightly rest. Ysanna stepped into the fel green light of the Demonic Gateway; they watched again as she reappeared from the other gate. Portal to portal, and not touching the ley lines at all.
Once their female confident returned, Lorrin cleared his thought and said breathlessly, "All that is left now is discovering how to splice Nether mana into the ley lines, or substitute it, if such a thing is possible at all."
"Two days left. Light help us."
They found both disappointment:
Sin: "No! We saw a connection like the liquid state of oil and water, but there are no other matching characteristics! The Nether cannot be brought to penetrate the intense, pure state of ley line mana. It cannot replace the access variable in Mechabrook's Equation, and our theory is moot. My friends, stepping into the Nether has proven incomparable to ley line travel, as was seen in the debunking of the harmonizing proposal."
And success:
Ysanna: "Lorrin, you must try this! The touch of the beast is offset like rain on glass. Not even its greatest machinations can circumvent these projections, either tracing or travel!"
Sin: "Yes, but the containment field is cut from additional power by the interference of the ley lines themselves. I had hoped to summon directly from the Nether while within, but the sheer intensity... No, even I could hold such a shell for a minute at most."
Lorrin: "What about soul-anchored capacitor or similar trinkets?"
Sin: "Nothing can hold pure Nether. I could weave out a battery of the fel, but the conversion of fel back to Nether is poor even without entropy. Deriving an actual numerical theory on what to expect, and how to expand, would take us weeks."
Ysanna: "We must look forward. We have established a method of safe, if brief, travel within the ley lines, immune to the corruption of the old god. We have a shield; now we simply need to find a sword."
Sin: "On that, I have a fair idea on where to start."
Ultimately, their solution did not come easy, for complex though the ley lines were, they knew the risks. Harm to them could sever the lines from the planet, killing it and its inhabitants. It could revoke the ability to access the world of the arcane. It could implode, sending Azeroth into the Twisting Nether in a process as awful as Draenor's.
For three days, they toiled and strove, as no man or elf had before, and at the conclusion of those days the army had finished the climb up the ice wall to Icecrown Glacier and the three left the exile of their cart. It was with stiff spines and heavy hearts, but they held their heads up proudly, resolutely, and called for Thomas and other lead figures.
In the last day, Narelle had taken to remaining in the cart for longer spans, listening as the discussions grew more fervent. Theories and formula gave way to extensive spellwork, and their intentions were spoken in clearer terms. The warden was clearly bursting with questions, an urge to join in their process, but true to her oath, she remained perfectly silent. She found her chance in the moment of rest Sin took while the others assembled for the news.
XxX
The sun was low in Icecrown's sky when they took their break for the day, though this far north, that said little of how late it was. Sin, Lorrin, and Ysanna agreed to meet again in thirty minutes time to share their plan. Each felt they needed the time to themselves.
Sin was out of uniform when he left the cart. He would dress again before meeting Thomas, but a cloak and robes were too much for being cooped in a small box with two others for days. A sleeveless linen undershirt, sturdy cloth leggings, and his shoes were his only garb against the icy Northrend air, with the rest bundled under his arm.
He noticed immediately the additional shadow he carried with him, opposite of the side he carried Shed'lahk, and he said, "I want to thank you. For your patience, for understanding."
"You shouldn't think you are out of the woods just yet," Narelle's mellow voice returned. "I would like to discuss this before you speak to the others."
Sin nodded, indifferent to the sharp sting against his exposed cheeks and arms. "I knew as much. Frankly, I only intend on a bath right now. After three days in there, I certainly need it." She said nothing against the idea, despite being miles away from the nearest source of clean water.
Through the camp and outside it, they walked, until Sin found a rocky outcropping he could stand behind without being seen by the armies. He began to undress there, callus to her attention.
As he did, Narelle spoke again: "You have sincerely impressed me, Sin de Rath. My people hold no love for the arcane – watching a discussion on how three people can rework the entire magical properties of the planet is fair justification for that – but you serve as a reminder of how the practice has evolved from reckless carousing and power-consumed ambition into a scholarly field where method is tempered by outcome and consequence. Certainly, you are a genius in the realm of magic."
Sin smiled to himself. "All credit goes to my teacher."
Narelle waited a moment, then asked, "Do you feel your plan will work?"
Naked now, Sin sealed Shed'lahk into the ground and conjured a cloud of heated water above his head. Unlike most elemental storm spells, it began to drizzle like a gnomish shower head.
"It does on paper. I still need confirmation of the attunement, and we can expect the path to be near impossible to complete before the spellwork, but hope is more than a small glimmer." Sin hummed into the warm shower, relishing it.
"And the consequences?"
"Nothing is permanent."
Narelle waited for him to say more, but he only continued his shower. "What of the notions of bartering for power? Where do you stand on the topic now?"
Sin kept his eyes closed against the water as the questioned stewed within his head. It was some time before he said, "Everything hinges on the success of my counter-measure. I am feeling less desperate though."
"That is good." Narelle's voice was very close then, and Sin turned to see her stepping under the cloud. Her bright silver eyes were steady on him. "What if you fail?"
The warden's helmet, cloak, all of her swords and knives, and even her leather uniform were discarded behind her onto the snow. Immediately, the drizzle of the cloud wet her silver hair – and the rest of her.
Before Sin could catch a good look, he turned his head away, growling at the pounding of his blood in his ears. "Not a good idea."
He could hear her by the sound of the water pattering against her skin, how she slid around behind him. Her voice remained neutral. "We are long-lived people, Sin de Rath, and even in victory, we will not be parting. There is no reason to be shy around the other in only our skin. It is... inevitable."
"Far from shy; it's the pulse of the loa song that concerns me," he grunted in protest. "You are far too beautiful for it to allow me to stand idly by."
"Then we shall see the merits of your self-proclaimed control."
Sin turned his head, catching the dark of her body in his peripheral. "...You're teasing me. Like a teenager." He caught the flash of her teeth in her smile, and she stepped away from view again. Sin bit his tongue, counted to ten, and closed his eyes to continue his shower.
"If I fail," he said finally, "then I will be dead. There will be no alternatives, no plan B. Wait, I shouldn't phrase it like that. I am plan A through Z. I go to battle, and if my counter-measure fails, I try another, and another, until it is gone or I am dead. There will only be one shot, but there can be many swings."
"True death, or will you slip away like a wily fox?"
Sin hummed. "Hopefully the latter, but against this foe, I cannot say with confidence that it will go either way."
"I will be with you, you know. If you fall, then so will I."
"You won't." His words were sharp. "No one will. This path is one for gods, and I must pretend I fit for at least awhile longer."
The warden clucked her tongue. "The first battle will be on ground. It will wear you out, should you survive it. A Singing Blade, the slayers of the world, will be waiting for you. Elune herself cannot save you then; you need someone at your back."
"Let it come," Sin dismissed.
Heat entered her voice: "Be serious, Sin. They slew the gods. You are no better!"
"Let them come!" Sin shouted, and he turned to level a hard stare against her steely eyes. The pounding of his blood, the beating drum that was his heart, left the lazy prowl of a lusty hunter for one of rage, and he was to her in two steps, staring her down despite her height. "The fury of the loa burns through my veins, calling for vengeance, Narelle Blackmoon. I don't tread a path beaten for divine feet. I am going to carve one out of their carcasses and a sea of their acid blood. They believe in the unstoppable might of Chaos and I will bring them to the Void.
"If you believe yourself able on such a path, then keep your footing!" The pounding song rose in Sin, screaming in his ears, and he was certain that the primal beat could reach even her ears. The mana within him, so deep even without his enchanted equipment, swelled with the song, and Freya's gift joined it, until something like a physical force pushed from Sin at the area around him.
Falling water splashed outside of the ring, while snow kicked up at the force. The seals around Shed'lahk shattered, and the Black Key shot like a rocket from the ground into Sin's open palm. The pressing force around him doubled, and the warden's bare feet slipped over the mush of ice, her eyes wide and wild at the change, her stance bracing against it.
Smoke and flame spilled from Sin's hand where he held the staff, and the fiery rings began to line his eyes as he drew power from Shed'lahk itself. The astral hooks came for him inside but found no purchase, unable to even influence him any longer. The power grew greater still, and Sin's mouth opened to scream at the feel of it coursing through and out of his body.
Narelle's crouch fell to a kneel, and her nailed hands couldn't find enough purchase against the snow to stop the onslaught of Power. Sin saw this and scoffed – scoffed at the weakness and helplessness of mortals against those of power. If she could not even stand beside him when he drew upon his power, what could she do when gods like him fought?
But as he glared down at the warden, he was struck by the primal appearance of her. No fear, no doubt or shame at being washed away. Silver hair danced wildly as if by wind, and her eyes... they shone with unwavering steel and bestial wildness. In that crouch, he was reminded of a hunting cat, and he truly saw the breakdown from the graceful, refined elf to a the tribal, savage fae that they began as. Her nudity was natural; clothes did not suit that creature of the wild.
And he felt something else, a change in a world he had never seen or truly noticed before – like a brush along a fabric he wore, though he did not recall he wore it. Narelle stepped into the shadows. Her dark body gained transparency, no longer fully here, and though straining, she rose from her kneel into a low crouch, and with teeth bared and her lithe body tight with the effort, she stood again against the storm.
She took a step back towards him.
The instant her foot touched the ground again, the force vanished, and though there had been no true sound at the force, a powerful silence and stillness filled the area. Even the continued pattering of his heated raincloud felt dulled and distant in perception. Two sets of wide eyes stared at each other, unmoving.
Was it the Cloak of Shadows she wore to escape the storm? Or did the child of night merely retreat deep into the history of her race, where the dark was their hunting grounds and the shadows their tools? Sin had no answer to the questions, and as she left the shadows in her second step, it fled his mind entirely.
Narelle wavered. Sin caught her hand as she did and steadied her with an arm. He did not forget their nudity, but for a moment, their skin fascinated him. Two people of equal darkness contrasted the white snow around them. Hers was a shade of purple, his of brown, but something of their similarity struck him for a moment, and he felt a hopeless laugh pass his lips.
"Our relationship is so fucked up," he found himself trying to explain. "I can't tell if you're going to kill me, or save me, or if I want you gone forever or right here beside me. I feel malaligned with everyone because no one can match my ability or power, and I don't want to be responsible for the planet by myself yet I trust no one else to fill these infinitely large shoes. I'm sorry, Narelle, but even with a clear plan, I don't know what to do."
For a long moment, Narelle only stood there panting. Then her eyes narrowed and her teeth clenched, and Sin stumbled as her fist crashed into the side of his head, sending him reeling away. The warden shook out her fist, still breathing heavy, and Sin noticed again her total nudity, receiving his first detailed eyeful of her.
"Get... a hold of yourself," she panted. She shook out her fist again. "Fuck. Goddess, Sin, you are insufferable. And so fucking young." A hand came to her chest, and she breathed in slowly, exhaled, and finally caught control of her breathing. "It's natural to have doubts in your position, but you of all people cannot afford power trips when your burdens get heavy. And I cannot keep being thrust into the wringer by your unpredictable fluxes of mood."
At the last line, his shoulders squared, but before he could even open his mouth, her hand came up to stop him. "I goaded you, I know that. I know that you are stressed, and your burdens are massive, and that the loa makes your primal urges that much stronger, and that this is your first break in three days, only to face me. I understand your position, Sin, I truly do, but you must control yourself. Your show has drawn unwelcome attention."
Sin moved to reseal Shed'lahk into the ground, but he nodded to her words. "It drew attention, certainly, but not unwelcome." He waved his hand, and the cloud above them turned from drizzle to torrent. He stepped back to her. "That was not a substitution of argument for rule by strength. It was a demonstration. By overcoming it, you have bridged the gaps between us and given me hope, Miss Blackmoon."
The warden shook her head, and she worked at pulling her hair from her eyes. "You need to manage your stress. When you are with Lynona or myself, you can drop that image of godhood and be human again, Sin. You will not be hated for sharing your doubts and hesitations, your fears and remorse with us. Remember that you aren't alone in this."
"In some things I am," he replied simply. "And this is one of those, Narelle. Lynona alone can remain at my side. Everyone else would be swept away when my push becomes shove."
"Do you trust me, Sin?"
"You know that I do." He paused for a moment, turning his ear towards the camp again. He shook his head. "If lobbying to tag along was your only goal here, I believe we should return to the assembly now." The rain stopped, and the cloud slowly began to disperse.
Immediately, icy Northrend air swept through the heated bubble they stood in, chilling their drenched frames. Narelle was impassive to the sudden goosebumps that overtook her skin. "My only goal was to talk to you. I still don't know the full plan, only the ending. The rest was just us... well."
"Grinding gears?" Sin prompted, a smile on his lips. "Rubbing fur the wrong way? Oil and water? Dipping hot steel?"
"Being us," Narelle finished, an indulgent smile returning his. Her first shiver was subtle, repressed.
There was an adorable side to the cold elf, not at all appearing the steely and stoic Sentinel armed like a personal war machine. Sin didn't take his time to enjoy it. An age-old luxury spell dried them, and he called their clothes and equipment into the air with fingers of arcane, guiding them towards them. At touch, the robes and leather were heated, as if they had been hanging beside a campfire.
When finished dressing, they left to meet Thomas.
XxX
Drew attention indeed. Holding back the Exilee from inspecting the source of that dark power was a line of qiraji, silent but for their buzzing. Though their scythes remained hidden, the position of their arms betrayed the readiness to swing. Upon rounding the outcrop, Sin could see Darnin and Handon settled patiently, knowing better than to press the qiraji. This time, at least. They leapt at each others throats regularly otherwise.
The elvish commander had a thunderstorm on his face, clearly fresh from a bout of shouting, while Lynona was currently in the midst of a counter-argument. Ashblades, hidden from sight, were slowly circling around them. One of them was close to penetrating past the qiraji, yet Sin could also see one staring with those glittering teal eyes directly at the interloper.
Sin's teeth showed in his smile at the assembly. The madness of the scene had a reassuring quality to it. All was well in Sinland.
"This is your idea of "welcome?"" Narelle drawled beside him.
"This is my idea of making a point," he professed. A roll of his shoulder gestured beyond the assembly, north, where the storm clouds warred with unrelenting light. "And it wasn't just their attention I sought to catch."
Narelle's reply was wry, "You are just going to act like everything you do is part of your master plot."
"That's because it is." He glanced at the flat silver eyes, added indigently, "It totally is!"
"From the guy that, two minutes ago, said he didn't know what to do, even with a clear plan."
His lip turned up. "The very same." He took the first step towards the tableau.
Narelle was right with him. "Tonight, Sin," she added casually. "Tonight you let me in your head."
"Done," he agreed forthright. If she had expected some sort of argument, her surprise was carefully hidden; only a single nod when he glanced her way. Following that, he cleared his throat to announce boldly, "I see everyone has acquainted nicely. Friend Thomas, Master Raeloth."
The Battleguards parted to allow he and Narelle through, where he arrested just beside an agitated Lynona. His arm went around her waist in a bold statement, pulled her in a familiar embrace. A warm spark shot through their bond when she realized his meaning, dispelling her frustration, and then she was liquid smooth and perfect fit under his arm, leaning into him. His left hand bore Shed'lahk, the black staff planted beside her with notable presence.
"Something to say, Lord de'Rath?" Thomas all but demanded.
Sin remained congenial. "Well, of course. I did call together that meeting after all. Much to discuss, much to do, though I believe we are still a few minutes early for it."
Even bitter Handon, still very skeletal and very mopy at the lack of things to kill, let out a sharp, "Har!" at it.
The hairs near Sin's ear pricked unpleasantly as a tingle of magic passed like a soft breeze, carrying the whisper of Narelle, "I'm glad your cheek is at least ubiquitous."
Raeloth growled, "I've seen an Archwizard kill a Grand Warlock with less power slung about than that. What happened over there?"
"Oh, that. Just Miss Blackmoon and I having a discussion."
The commander's glare didn't relent. "With a dragon?"
Sin raised an eyebrow at the night elf. "More or less," he conceded. Her lips quirked.
Sin shook his head, deciding to put the matter to rest. "Forgive me if we startled you, but it is nothing to concern yourselves with. Just a bit of magical flexing, if you want an idea of just what is bottled up in me. More importantly, we have finally drafted a plan on how to handle the ley lines, and I'd like to share with you some of the details before we are swept in separate ways by the coming storm."
Clearing his throat once more, he added, "Shall we?"
XxX
They managed a proper sitting to break the news in. A campfire was made with wood from the recently left Crystalsong, and seating was found where it could. Out on the snowy plains, the two armies were more distinctly obvious, with the Exilee to the east of the campfire and Sin's bands to the west.
Representing the Exilee side, Thomas, Merridan, the Ashblades, Genveera, Commander Raeloth, two captains (one male and one female), and the other human, Lord Dasen, were present in addition to the expected Ysanna and Lorrin. Sin limited himself to his bodyguards plus Sekara, then Darnin, Handon, and Jern from the bandits.
For presentation, Sin remained standing with the two Portal Masters. Lynona happily wished to remain clinging to his robe hems, yet she refrained at his insistence. His elven cohorts began their explanation.
The two worked with and against each other, defining the increasingly obvious corruption that seeped through the ley lines. Ghat'Nothos marked its territory, limited what could be done by those without its touch. Finding a way around that blight had been the first of their many trials over the last few days. Right now, even for them, trying to open a portal was risky at best with the current state of the lines.
Their explanation didn't take long. Then it was Sin's turn to jump in. "The fruits of our labors is a combination of our respective schools, pairing the similarities of Nether mana with that of the ley lines, in a relationship akin to that of oil and water. In simplest terms, we produced an armor of oil – of Nether – to offset the water that is the current ley line mana. That gives a sojourn a shield against our enemy within the lines, for a short time.
"Next comes the sword. As the snooping ears of yours have no doubt heard by now, to little avail, I have in my possession a certain tool that provides a weakness to the enemy. A kink in its armor, the hole in its tent. That is to say... I wield a nothonium weapon." As he said it, Sin's free hand produced the glittering blade from beneath his robes.
Rangers and their subtleties – the shocked and awed reaction was absent from the assembly, to Sin's disappointment. At least a heavy tension fell upon them, most clearly among those that were not rangers. They knew what it was.
Sin's own attention came to the dagger he held. Its essence was a black metal with obvious impurities in the form of opals and emeralds, the stones crude and unrefined yet remarkable in their contrast. The edge was sharp, weapons-grade, but it was not clean in its shape, lumpy as if it had been palm-pressed dough.
And again, the Whispers came for his mind.
"As you may know, the blood of a sleeping or dead god turned many a' good men mad in the days of Yogg'Saron. The sheer malevolence of him, and dare I add the "power" of Chaos, imbued saronite with metaphysical corruption. The blood of a living, scheming god, however... it can imprint within you memories, sensation. It can rewiring all that you knew. By taking up its blood, Ghat is given a stepping stone directly into you – all that you are. Taking this blade isn't "holding a snake," my friends; it is accepting its venom."
Sin's wide smile only grew as the tension around him doubled. "You know this already. I can tell you've seen it happen to those unfortunate enough to take up a Nothonium weapon. And here I am, before you now, with one in long holding. How? Well, I-"
For the first time in his presentation, Sin faltered. His own not-his thoughts assailed him: Mine...
His jaw clicked shut, teeth gritting. Quickly following was a sensation from his bond with Lynona, inquiring with worry, Master?
A low pulse of fury was his only reply, then he managed, Tell Narelle Blackmoon that two of those present belong to Ghat'Nothos. Quietly. He has infiltrated us already.
The fortunate part of having dark skin was how it hid the white knuckles of a tight grip. He spoke, though it lacked his usual charm, "Ahem. The short of it is that when I first met the qiraji, they fucked me up in a bad way – but accidentally, not knowing the differences between a human mind and theirs. I have since recovered, and I have established defenses against their kind of mind-speak. I can detect it, isolate it, and that adaptation has prepared me against the same from the old gods themselves.
"I used the analogy of accepting venom, and my experiences have given me a solid immunity to this brand of it. So with the thorns clipped from this rose I hold here, I have been given a specimen. I hold in my hand a piece of Ghat'Nothos' essence, and a piece of his power. In my free time, of which there is admittedly little, I study this tool. I learn the alien weaves of magic that are native to this old god. I dissect its anatomy. Even better, I have been given time to find its antithesis."
Sin met the eyes of each of those present. His confidence was returning, his voice finding its charisma. Yet, he could not find the infiltrators. It left a bad taste in his mouth that did not match the sweetness of his words. "This tool is not my sword, but from it I will forge one. I'll admit I am no elven spell-breaker. Even so, I am a warlock, one schooled in curses, hexes, and blood magic. Once I find magical attunement to Ghat'Nothos' brand of power, I can undo it as easily as blinking, even that which is composed in his being. I can strike him, and those with his power, directly – with pinpoint precision, even if they were to try to blend in with our lot. Even if they were to be standing here with us now, I could kill you, so long as you've accepted that dark power."
He didn't linger to overstate himself, continuing immediately: "The dilemma stands that presently Ghat'Nothos also holds the power of the ley lines. The possibility remains that my countermeasure will ruin it but not force it out of the lines entirely. If that is the case, it will fight back with pure arcane. I don't fancy my odds in a straight combat between myself and an elder god, but I will commit myself. Failing that, we have one last resort, something we have named the Works of Tragedy. Master Foxfire?"
The elf nodded, accepting the spotlight once more: "The Works are our initial but most devastating ideas. Each will have consequences that go beyond just Sin and the old god, rippling down the arcanosphere, to Azeroth herself, or worse. That could mean arcane spells become weak or useless, a messed planetary rotation, a new Sundering, or – even worse – a Reforging; there is risk under one method that Azeroth herself might be thrust through the Twisting Nether and out again briefly, and we do not possess the mental foresight to even guess what might happen to the planet then.
"Obviously, we have no wish to go that far. The nullifier should be enough, and each of us is feeling optimistic over it. Light help us, none of us want to go so far as the Works, let alone multiple attempts. Finally, we have one other backup, unrelated to the fight within the ley lines. Sin is obviously our choice of champion for this, but in the case that he is somehow disposed of before this, both Ysanna and myself are fully prepared to do the same. If it comes to that, however, we will need one hundred (and no less!) of our most powerful mages to accompany us into the lines."
Ranger-General Thomas rocked back at that, yet his expression was flat. "One hundred," he repeated.
Lorrin Foxfire kept a straight face. "We've already done the calculations. One hundred of our best. Only then can we bring to the table the same disposable power that Sin alone offered."
"Surely you jest," the female captain spouted, her long eyebrows raised high. Her illuminated eyes slid Sin's way, clearly measuring him. He met her green-eyed gaze with an affable smile.
"I do not, Captain Maloree" Lorrin announced firmly, from one arcane master to another. "Certainly, shielding one hundred bodies will take a grand portion of that power, but only then will there be an excess equivalent to that solely of this man." His sleeved hand gestured towards Sin with sharp waving.
Thomas nodded along with the Portal Master, asked, "So is everything set? Can you go at any time?"
"Oh, Light, no," Sin laughed. "The plan is drawn, but I am desperately hoping to use the next few days to prepare all sorts of trinkets and spells for the encounter, and also assist in the battle of that King of Northrend. In an ideal world, I would execute it just before facing the beast itself, so it will be weakened at the time of confrontation."
He cleared his throat. "Now, I'd like to test this nullifer. Would someone be kind enough to bring Lady Alissa from her place of rest, for a bit of a demonstration?"
XxX
What Sin would remember most of that moment was that it took place in something of a private arena.
Only a few spectated it, Thomas and his Commander, Darnin, Jern, Narelle, Lynona. Certainly, there was another face or two, but Sin's attention was only on the woman. Beautiful, gorgeous, and so dark and deadly. Striking blue eyes, filled with loathing and bitterness. She was a fellow warlock, a woman of Shadow – the exact type of person Narelle would be found hunting in the dark corners of the universe.
The kind of woman he might like at his side.
A shame certain lines of importance separated them. Lady Alissa was a symbol of a good thing lost, and there was no hope that she could expel the touch of the old god within her, redeeming herself. And this corrupted, forsaken cultist was given her robes, her inscribed staff, and she was ordered across from Sin at the center of their private clearing. Darnin and Jern watched their would-be cohort.
"This is to be my execution? On my feet with an illusion of dignity?" she called, and she spat on the ground.
"Not at all," Sin replied. "You are to do one thing only. Muster all the corrupted and euphoric strength of Ghat you can and hit me. Char my bones, melt my flesh into a blighted pool that will curse the ground for millennia to come. There will be no consequences for the results; fear our response if you do more or less than just that!"
Those electric blue eyes glared suspiciously at him. "What game is this?"
Sin tapped Shed'lahk, pressing a dark wave of power against her. "The one where you do as I say or you die. Now cast that spell."
At the feel of the Beast That Dwells Below's power, her shined eyes burned. She lusted for that power, plain for the world to see. She wanted it back in her hands, wanted Shed'lahk to call her Mistress. That desire seemed to spur her into action.
Murky, purple light came to Alissa, gathering to her hands and staff, and she raised the weapon upwards with eyes glowing with the sickly color. The words of magic that left her mouth were haunting, and Sin's spine tingled at it. Just as the spell was to be cast, he raised Shed'lahk, calling the words of the nullifier, using will and magic to attune it to that corrupted power of Ghat'Nothos.
Sin remembered every moment, every thought and sensation of it, so painfully well, with clarity usually unseen in human memory. The private arena, which it could be called, took place at the edge of the damned world, on the cliff beside the Ironwall Dam. The winds were strong, carrying past the protective ring of spectators, but the sky was unexpectedly clear. Rays of light breached Icecrown's broody climate and carried northward, shining towards the fingers of Storm Peaks.
They knew their destination, guided by that Light.
Most of all, Sin would remember the moment the nullifier came in contact with Lady Alissa's spell. It came so close to perfect, yet touched just wrong – like the ball hitting less than an inch too high against the bat in the goblin ball game – but rather than popping high and off-course, Sin's spell shattered into shards of fel green glass, sprinkling around them in a show of dazzling light, and the purple wave continued on course.
Too quickly to properly react, it hit Sin. True to his demands, it melted his flesh, it charred his bones. Shed'lahk roared in fury at the attack, just before it lost all touch of Sin as Sin's body wasted away. His soul was severed from the freshly lifeless husk, and a pile of black bones clattered to the snow, with Shed'lahk falling atop it.
Shock touched all of them who saw the result. It lasted for only a moment, as Thomas barked commands in Thalassian, and rangers jumped forward to take Alissa's weapon from her and detain her again.
Even the cultist leader seemed surprised at the results, but she managed to shout, "I did as I was asked! You saw it! The Shadow take you all!" They gagged her again.
As Loraeoth and Jaden took the cultist away, Raeloth stepped up to Thomas' side and sighed. They both looked at the bones of the warlock. "What now?"
"Tell me I'm not the only one struck by the idiocy of this moment," Thomas returned blandly.
The man called Sin de Rath died there atop that bluff in Icecrown, at the height of his power, in demonstration of a spell that had never been tried before. His death was spectated by only a few, in a sort of private arena, and was dealt at the hands of woman already captive but armed again at his own word.
At the death of her master, Lynona turned away from the assembly in a hurry and began an angry stride back towards the camp, while the night elf Sentinel Narelle Blackmoon stomped to the bones of Sin de Rath and kicked the pile furiously, scattering the bones.
"Fucking Sin!"
