An enormous landscape was set before him, thriving with grass, trees, animals and plants: The pinnacle of nature.
Walking through the fields eyeing the animals with a smile on his lips, he thought to himself: "The tranquillity of this place is beyond anything i have ever seen".
Continuing his walk he came across horses, rabbits, large turtles, bears, boars and cows inhabiting the large open area that spanned in all directions, with no end in sight.
Suddenly he began to see figures as he continued his walk. First trolls, then mechanical dwarfs, giants and gnomes; then blue elves, and later light skinned elves; after came fleshy giants, dwarfs and gnomes; then the humans and cows with legs standing upright; after which the orcs both green, brown and grey.
At the end of the expanse of races came stood a lone figure, with a hood covering its face and a cloak, along with vestments masquerading as mage ones, with no clear symbol on the chest. A tabard along the chest with a symbol of a human with wings towering over a dark expanse of shadow and green fire. Gloves of grey colour made from leather and dark boots naked of any regalia or ornamentals.
Before he could make eye contact with this being, the surrounding landscape changed from a field of vibrant colours; to a city of limestone with arcane towers towering over it. Looking around he saw a group of six, spouting unheard words at a figure without proper from, other than a visible aura of light and dark; tempered in green. Rushing towards the scene the landscape changed again: Into a silo surrounded with forest and stained grass and earth; where two figures stood.
The ever changing landscape now took the form of a crypt where a figure stood speaking words, that he could not hear; to a fire portal where an image of a towering being with tendrils attached to a chin, and wings sprouting from its back.
Again the landscape changed to that of a frozen landscape, with three figures speaking before one of them swung his hand where a sword now formed, down towards one of the other forms; while the third stood with his hand outstretched, that caused the sword wielding figure to be thrown backwards many meters away.
Waking up sweating from his brown, Forlorn sat at the side of his bed hyperventilating for air that he did not need. Calming himself he took a deep breath relaxing his airways and lungs. Spotting the mirror attached to the inside of his open bathroom door, he saw himself: Still the same as he was before he slept. "Another nightmare" he thought to himself now beginning to rise from his, and walking towards the mirror.
His eyes still coloured in green harking back to his trial, standing before the entire council and city; being labelled a traitor and having his name replaced by an unjust title, thrust upon him by the council and city; making him out to be a monster.
"Uneducated fools living in bliss with a supposed monster in prison." Forlorn thought as he walked away from the mirror towards his study. "If my nightmares keep me up, might as well study."
Pouring over the book of Medivh skimming his previous note on the nature of fel and its two magical components: That of hel-fire and the darkness of the twisting nether. He renews his research into the magical components properties. "Now to start where i left off" he thought as he began to channel his fel magic into a small flare, which he used to ignite a candle, lightened the room that revealed its inventory. A chair and a desk that united made up a make self study, his bed with pillow, sheet and bedding, his bathroom door leading to a small room with a toilet and bath; and a fine drawn summoning circle on the ground to the side of his study.
Continuing his channel he released the fel energies into the twisting nether, calling forth a demon made out entirely of dark magic, with two white irises in limbo with being both sucked in and out of the body: A set of pauldrons and bracers with a breastplate on the torso finished the look of the demon: A voidwalker.
"Xenethorn" Forlorn simply said eyeing the voidwalker adjusting to its new surroundings. "Liege" it answered through telepathy since it had no mouth to speak through, and attempting to bow, though only making a mockery of the gesture.
"I still don't know why you refer to me as liege instead of master, as your kin did towards the orcs" he asked expression-less.
"Would you rather have me call you master?" The voidwalker asked expression-less; as no facial features were available to construct one.
"Don't know: Just seemed weird for you not to" Forlorn replied genuinely wondering why the voidwalker didn't call him master when first summoned. As a matter of fact, all the other demons he summoned also referred to him as liege. Maybe it's because he is human? As the word liege is more common than master in human society. If that is the case, then they are a lot smarter than we give them credit for. Something he noted in the back of his mind.
Forlorn turned back to his notes and book starting where left off before he summoned Xenethorn. "Hel-fire: The magical fire occupying the bottom layer of the twisting nether and its many pits. A fire that cannot be snuffed out with normal water, only conjured water as the water is magical in nature or magic enchanted water. The fire can - if conjured into the material plane - die, should it run out of oxygen if; the caster doesn't spend mana to continue is existence. It can also be dispelled like any other magic. The fire is generally warmer in temperature and more potent than normal fire."
"The twisting darkness of the twisted nether: A pure dark magical matter, that can be transmuted into both mental attacks and physical attacks. Its mental capabilities is; but not limited to: Causing fear and horror against its victims, damaging the psyche of its recipient through phantom pain; as seen in the spell; curse of agony and being able to attack the mental barrier of a person through spells like; corruption. It's physical capabilities is; but not limited to: Siphoning the life off living beings, manifesting into bolts of shadow and darkness.
"A combination of the hel-fire and shadow creates shadowflame; utilizing the capabilities of both shadow and hel-fire: Spells like hand of gul'dan and shadowburn use this dark combination."
Forlorn kept going back and forth between his notes, trying to perfect his understanding of fel magic. In between all of this Xenethorn levitated back and forth trying to waste time, as he was bored and wondered why his liege had summoned him.
"Aha" Forlorn exclaimed straightening his back, turning around towards Xenethorn who by now had himself begun to turn towards Forlorn. Eyeing the crystal hearth in his hand. "What's that my liege" Xenethorn asked.
"This is a spellstone. An item that increases the potency of my magic" answered Forlorn with a grin
"And for how long does it last my liege" Xenethorn asked.
"One time use" Forlorn replied changing his grin into a small cheapish smile; hunching back a small bit before sitting down on his chair, continuing his hunchback posture.
After a few moments, he turned himself along with his chair around, to face the table, continuing his studies.
Days become weeks, and weeks became months. Sitting in his chair he wondered when he will ever see another friendly humane creature again. Jaina have likely been disallowed access to my cell; or was refusing to visit, justifiable so after what he did to her. Antonidas came to see if my transformation was continuing: which of course it wasn't. Drenden never came to boast or demean him. Forlorn was all alone except for his demons and nightmares.
Jaina was walking down the promenade with its shops and denizens, seeing for a few moments a cat chase a small rodent down towards the sewer entrance, going through its portcullis: Not seeing who she just bumped into.
"Sorry" she said turning towards her unfortunate victim of her blind walk. The man in his mid twenties, with a full beard, coloured in brown turned around.
"Its quite alright miss?" he replied raising an eyebrow and hunching forward ever so slightly as to not appear aggressive.
"Proudmoore, Jaina Proudmoore" she answered with a small smile upon her lips. The man lowered his eyebrow quickly and began to walk past her with an expressionless face. Jaina let him pass and turned to look at him continuing his walk away from her.
"Sorry?" she thought out loud with a confused expression writing on her face. Turning around herself she made her way down the promenade and began to notice people giving her weird glances; even a pair of elves began to whisper something. Venturing down a sidelane she noticed a group of three following her. "What do they want?" she thought as she turned around to spot her entourage standing only a few meters away from her.
"Can i help you?" She said not trying to antagonize them, incase they where ruffians looking for an excuse to rough her up.
"You can: By taking you traitor lover and exiling yourself" the frontman; likely the leader said. Causing Jaina to stir a bit, at what she just heard. Wanting to clear the air or retrifice a misunderstanding she asked.
"Are you confusing me with someone else?"
"No we don't think so Jaina Proudmoore" the leader replied getting two audible "yeah" from the back. Now that she was not misidentified, she took a step back wondering exactly what she could have done, to insure the hate of these three men.
"What have i done? And my traitor lover? Do you mean Forlorn?" She asked wanting to clear the grey areas before confronting the men; who by now had taking a step closer.
"You helped the vile traitor against us, and you even tried to hide your own fel magic, by pretending not to know." He replied snarling at her while taking a step closer again.
"How did i help Forlorn! And what are you saying? That i willingly claimed fel magic? What kind of absurdity is that?" She replied her own anger now rising and her frown deepening in disgust.
"You are a fel whore. One who couldn't conform with others, so decided to become entangled with the traitor and learn from him!" He sneered taking yet another step towards Jaina, so he was almost in her face. With a contorted frown.
"Oh i do remember you! You and your rabble rouser squad. You are the ones who ran away from little old me. And what if! IF! I was bedding Forlorn. At least he would be a better partner than you!" she raged at him with a the fury of an Erinyes; taking a step forward towards him giving him a glare of utter hate. "How dare they! Victim blaming me like that. Not knowing the sacrifices i made and will make in order to grow to protect the world against the coming storm. Not to mention what Forlorn have and will sacrifice in order to do the same!" Jaina thought to herself, almost not completing her inner thought, before the leader gave her a slap across the face causing his compadrés to eye him with widen eyes and almost gigiling smiles.
Jaina immediately drew her hand back into a curled like shape, channeling her arcane magic into a arcane blast directing it, against the leader. With his overconfidence blinding him, until it was too late to counterspell; he flew right between his henchmen a couple of meters panting as the shock overtook him.
"Don't you ever hit me you weakling! Can't win with your words or mind: How did you ever make it past the initiative trials? Maybe you should become a footmen instead." She exclaimed hurling insult after insult at him: insults that if you asked her, where pretty good.
Facing his shock the leader began to stand only for Jaina to use her arcane magic to conjure another arcane blast, though this time with less energi as it only forced him prone again, landing painfully on his butt.
Continuing her spell slinging adventure, she turned towards the slack jawed henchmen and gave them each a arcane blast; causing each to burst backwards into the alleys walls and falling unto the ground prone and in pain.
Seeing one try to cast a arcane blast of his own, Jaina counterspell it, causing him to fumble the spells formula, and fizzle into nothingness.
Stepping over them she walked to the still prone leader stopping in front of him, kneeling, and stared into his eyes. "Don't follow me ever again. Do you understand?"
The leader simply nodded and Jaina turned away her anger dampening away.
"Take a look into the mirror" she heard a voice behind her say, turning and seeing the leader now standing with his two henchmen; contributing the voice to him before turning again and walking away from the scene.
Returning home she opened the door leading into her two rome apartment building: Courtesy of Modera upon being accepted as her apprentice. She began to undress her overcoat and student uniform which was primarily just a dalaran robe with a tabard including the dalaran sigil.
Walking towards her bathroom wanting to take a nice hot bath to water away all the residing anger left. Spotting the mirror as she walked along, she stopped, and found in surprise and gasp; that her eyes where the special green colour of fel, that she recognized from her venture into her reservoir and countless spells Modera had showed her.
Shaking her head telling herself to deal with it after her bath, she turned on the water in her bathtub and waited until it was full, to begin her bath.
Somewhere
The prophet Medivh had just finished his preparations for his flight. A flight where he would warn various leaders of the different races and sects, against the coming of the burning legion. Heading towards his balcony out of his office he pondered for a moment: "How fare the young mage? Hope he didn't get into too much trouble."
Shrugging his shoulders he sighed, turned his back to the railing and walked back into his study. After all, it was only in a few years he would begin his flight
Violet Hold
A whole year and a half have passed since his trial and subsequent jail sentence had startet. In that time he had stalled in his studies, being allowed - by the fact that he was in a cell, - to further his knowledge of his still mysteries magic; that while, yes, he did understand to a good degree; still could not comprehend much of its deeper meanings and alignments. His peers and peers' peer have all determined fel to be evil, and it made its users evil. But he was not evil, in the eyes of dalaran, yes; in the eyes of himself no.
It was a little over midday, almost afternoon, but not quite. He was sitting his usual chair writing notes and reading from his book, when the bell rang, that signaled his late lunch, he only got food after everyone else in the city already had eaten. So he laid down his pencil and paper, stretched his back, eyed Xenethorn levitating in the corner. He have kept summoning Xenethorn, since he was the only demon out of the imp, succubus and felhound; to whom he actually could have an intelligent conversation with.
Concentrating and seeing with his spectral sight granted from his first lost of control at his trial, a ability usage that still required great efforts, he saw in surprise as not one, but at least fourteen people coming towards his cell. Watching as they stopped in front of his cell, he saw the light growing dimmer in the pylons, as the prismatic nature of his door began to fade, to become transparent purple: where he saw around fourteen people stand outside.
The teacher he differently recognized, as it was the female council member, the one he never quite got the name of. Behind her where the students, all young people at his age, at least if they where human that is; for the elves in the group they were likely fifty or older.
"Been some time traitor" the teacher said neutrally likely knowing the glances her students made towards her, upon hearing her.
"A year and half" he said, his voice sounding much more adult than expected of his age.
"Keeping count are we? Well it's something you can do inside of that cell, that's not heretical in nature." She said neutrally as ever.
"Who are they? Did my request for test subjects get answered?" He said in a fake questitiong tone and began to eye each of the students; making them look at each other for information; and maybe slight worry. Some students were beginning to whisper: Yes, definitely worry.
"No they aren't, and you haven't even tried to make such a request: And yes they are students." she said scoffing a fragment of grin, that disappeared quickly again. "So what are you doing here miss..."
"Modera" she replied "And they" she continued pointing to her students, who tensed up a bit. "Are here to test theory in practice. By giving you you're daily lunch, through a barrier," She finished, causing the students to sheepishly walk where they stand.
Now that did surprise him. Considering the whole city viewed him as a corruption sponge, he was quite taken aback by the answer. Switching away from Modera's eyes, he found a pair of green ones, in a student towards the middle in the pack. Who quickly got startled and broke eye contact.
Looking at Modera again, he said. "Fine by me," turned around and sat on down on his bed. His own eyes beginning to burn brighter for a short moment, causing some students to widen their eyes, and some even began to show fear of the display. "Now, don't be afraid; he is afterall inside a barrier." Modera said to calm the students down, knowing or not knowing, if Forlorn was doing it on purpose or not.
Modera eyed the students, trying to spot her favourite. "Freya, try to conjure a biscuit for our resident traitor." The green eyed girl - Freya - stood forward, staff in hand, and a will and determination to excel in magic; but even her will faltered a small amount. For she have heard of the tale of the Traitor. A man whos magic no longer held any arcane, but only the vile fel magic of the orcs; a magic that can, by only being in its presence, corrupt your very own magic; everyone have heard of Jaina's own magical corruption. Some have deemed her to be damaged, but not Freya. She acknowledged that Jaina, was a fine mage, who tried to only befriend a mage, who had become ostracized by his own community. And what does he do to repay him? By trying to turn her into another him. With this resolve and state of mind, her faltered will and determination, turned around; now being fueled by an anger, for a man; who threw his only friend into the metaphorical gutter.
Focusing on her inner reserve of mana, she began to attempt to conjure a biscuit inside Forlorns room. The magical barrier causing her conjurrating to disrupt causing her to sweat. Refocusing and drawing more mana to power her spell, she began to exert more and when she believed she was gonna faint from the stress of casting, she felt the spell being cast, and opening her eyes she saw a biscuit on top of the table in the Forlorns studie.
Leaning on her staff, she focused on her professor, getting a nod in return. Learning forward Forlorn studied the biscuit for any malfunction the spell might have made - and he was pleasantly surprised to see it, having no malfunction whatsoever. Standing up Forlorn walked to his desk, picked the biscuit up, glanced at the young mage with a impressive expression and forced his mouth onto the biscuit, getting a bland taste, which was to be expected of a conjured biscuit.
"It's good" Forlorn said, glancing towards Modera and giving her a look of 'what now?'. Modera simply gave a nod, which gave no indication of anything other than recognizing, that a question was put towards her, and walked over to Freya, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder "good job, you are excused from homework, go and rest for your next class with Antonidas." Freya mouthed a thanks, meet Forlorns eyes - giving him a disgusting look, and made off towards her own studie. "Now" Modera said, "make a line, and each of you will try to conjure a biscuit and/or water through the prism shield," causing sheverals to grone.
It was a day like any other, Forlorn sat in his study with a lit candle and scratching away on a piece of parchment with his heavily used quill, making notes detailing his new discovery, when the giant doors to the Violet Hold opened. The lit torches wavered a second as the wind rushed into the room, causing the temperature to decrease slightly, though this decrease in temperature did not penetrate the prism barriers keeping the prisoners in.
Through the doors walked in the familiar shape of Antonidas and a guard of mage-guards, each clad in the all to noticeable tabard of the dalaran eye, over the breastplate with pauldrons hiding the upper area of the shoulders, a glaive in each guards hand enchanted with withstand normal wear and tear; one guard even has a scar. Antonidas for his part draws a presence like no other: great white beard going to his stomach, weathered tabard, grand staff and vestments of the old order of dalaran before the second war. The sight gave Forlorn a slight of whory; since the last time mage-guards acompied any person of importance through this hold, was when he himself was imprisoned. This did not bode well at all.
With each step they made towards his cell, Forlorn grew more concerned for he knew not what they wanted with him, or at least he thought they were after him; because Forlorn had not moved from his stool, from his vantage point, he can only see the large ornate doors. So his mind raced with thoughts, he had been a model prisoner, that much he knew (or believed), they could be here to grant him his freedom, but no: that would be politically suicide for whoever would approve of such a release order. Maybe they were here to drag him off to be executed? No, that was not it; they gave no notice of such a kind; and Drenden would have hurled something like that in his face before they would have dragged him off. So what could they be here for?
With that thought he saw them approach his cell barrier. Antonidas stood in the middle, between both ends of the barrier while the guards flanked each end. "Open" Antonidas said, and the guard to his outermost left turned the prism, and the guard to his outermost right, did the same gesture; and the prism barrier fell into nothingness. Not moving from his seat, he gave Antonidas a questioning look and despite himself and his thought towards the old man, he gave him gesture to indicate that the bed was free, and he could sit on it. Antonidas raised a bemused eyebrow, for after all his time with Forlorn through his talk with him, between the barrier he grew to dislike him less and less. Yes he believed in his sentence and will stand by it, but that did not mean one had to hate the person whom one sentence. So with a casual stroll he moved to sit on the offered bed and laid his stave on the bed side.
"Three and a half years, you have been our guest in this Hold, and you have been, by all accounts, a well functioning and fine prisoner. And for that i am grateful. I had feared you would cause all manners of ruckus, making the most wrongful rumours true. And yet, you have not. For that i am grateful Forlorn. Now i have come to you in both a request and need."
"Request and need? Why - i am but a prisoner, say an order and i would need to follow, to ensure that my basic need are meet: after all this time i would have expected that, not this."
"I feel a request is more diplomatic than an order - and it would give me a more welcomed impression of your character."
"Very well Archmage, what do you request?" Forlorn was curious and most important intrigued.
"My friend in the council has spoken to me of her apprentice discovery. A discovery, that sadly requires the expertise of practitioner of the fel arts. For you see Traitor, she had discovered what kind of plague have befallen the Kingdom of Lordaeron. And it's not a simple natural plague i am afraid; but one of magic. And not simple arcane, no, that would have been simple; worryingly, but simple. No, it is of the fel arts you practice."
"Symptoms?" Forlorn asked, wondering if he was right about the nature of the plague.
A slight pause was present before the Archmage spoke. "None at the outset; it grows in hiding. In a matter of second the victim, clutches his stomach, his eyes bulge and begin to redding, he begins to sweat, throwing blood and rotten sinew up; then finally he looks upon the first, none afflicted, none undead living member of Azeroth and charges at them; losing himself in the progress to the plague and disease." The last part was spoken softly, almost like Antonidas was unable to trust the reality of the news that he knew to be true.
Forlorn was taken aback, this was not what he thought it was; no, never in his dream could a master of affliction cause this plague: he had read the reports of the orc master of affliction warlocks, and even they were not able to inflict such a plague. But Antonidas had said it was tainted with the fel arts. Tainted, he did not like to use the word, it made him remember what he did to Jaina. Jaina, she had not visited him all this time. It caused him pain, his friend not wanting to visit; but by now he had accepted, that their friendship was now only one-sided.
"I am not of the proper ability to help Archmage, i am but a lowly fel arts practitioner, a Warlock, my mastery can not rival that of monster of the affliction sub-arts." he said those words true, he would not be able to help; they could already read and discover the fel; what use could he be?
"Ah, i fear you are mistaken; or maybe it's me that is mistaken, no matter: the plague is not entirely fel in nature, it has specks of arcane magic interwoven in it. I fear a past shadow has risen above from the ground."
A certain though passed Forlorn. The mention of a past shadow hang in the air; was it an orc? They have begun their escapes from their camps, it was not a foolish thought, that maybe one of them could both wield fel and arcane; but that raised questions of their own. What about ones magic reservoir? Fel wants to conquer arcane, not live with it; he understood that well from what happened to him, and was happening to Jaina, before he was removed from her presence.
"An orc?" he voiced soft and weakly, not entirely sure why, maybe he knew it was not one of the green and brown race.
"No i am again afraid, it is not. I fear an old acquaintance, one i would solem want to prove is behind this plague, but i believe is. I speak of Kel'Thuzard, Forlorn; he was our research master of the necrotic arts, one we had though was entirely arcane in nature. But we were wrong, it was not as we believed: it is in fact, a forceful union between arcane and fel; dark magic, we have named its type, but the necrotic arts, it still is called. After his exile, be pruned his notes, with your notes of fel and our understanding of arcane; as well as his notes, we could determine that necromancy was not based on arcane alone. And now that this plague has reached the kingdom, i fear that my old friend has otherly surrendered to the necrotic arts, and now causing a death toll, that any reaper would find taxing."
"What would you have me do?" Was the question Forlorn asked the archmage. Forlorn was not one to despise and think badly on Kel'thuzad's choice of magic art, since that would make just like the citizens of Dalaran, - like the council. But he still was shocked to hear what his former mentor had unleashed; shocked and pensive, did he, after all, cause Kel'thuzad to practice the necrotic arts instead of study them? He heard his power could corrupt people; he did not believe them, but he could corrupt ones magic reservoir; so maybe, just maybe he is capable of corrupting peoples morales. It is thought that now has him scared of himself.
"I believe that, the time of scientific action is beyond us, and the time of a warring action is now. Fight fire with fire, is a matter of speech that i am not fond off; though i am maybe seeing the necessity of it now. You understand fel magic better than any of us, Forlorn, Modera's apprentice knows arcane magic, not to Kel'thuzad's level, but enough to chaperone someone who could defy him. Someone who wields the holy light. Fel, arcane and holy magic i believe, will put a stop to Kel'thuzad and his schemes."
"You want me to fight?"
"Yes"
A short silence broke the conversation, while both men though.
"What reward could you bestow upon me." Forlorn broke the silence, he wanted something from this arrangement; he wanted freedom.
"Not much, a change of captivity from a cell to a house."
"Not good enough"
"Yes i thought so. But i am unable to grant much, the council was barely able to grant Modera's request that you would be allowed to help, they still think you as nothing more than an orc warlock in disguise."
"Modera request me?"
"Yes, truthfully; i had not thought of coming to you Traitor, but she did; and i believe she may be right. Her apprentice has already agreed, and i believe you should. For, if not any capital gain, then maybe a conscious gain. For you see Traitor, her apprentice is none other than your old friend: Jaina Proudmoore."
"Jaina?" Forlorn was speechless, he knew that she coveted a council member apprenticeship; but he always though she would get Antonidas apprentice spot: not Modera's.
"Yes" Antonidas said, unaware of Forlorns thought process. "She is currently in the attendance of the crown prince of Lordaeron: Arthas, a paladin, who has taken the mantle of trying to figure out what has been killing his citizens. She had requested aid, upon finding boxes of plague tainted grain. And Modera believes you can help. I believe you can assist in this matter, and hopefully put a stop to this plague before it spreads."
"What are you able to grant me, should i decide to help?"
"House arrest for starters, a chance to mend your falling out with Proudmoore, and my word to the council on your good changing nature; which in turn, down the road whenever, could grant you a second opinion on your sentence. Granting you Freedom. If not any of that, maybe the chance to gain a certain moral high ground; redemption."
"Antonidas, those are just promises. Nothing more, nothing less." Though he would take the chance to mend his relationship with Jaina, he was afraid it would not work; but what kind of person was he, if he was not even willing to try: one that the council and city had condemned him as. And he knew of the council, or at least he thought he knew them, but he would not put it pass them to renegade on a agreement.
"Sometimes we have to trust a promise, as well as trust individuals to do the right thing. And i trust you to do the right thing. After all, ones magic characteristic does not define their person. Something i have learned from observing you Forlorn."
Forlorn went pensive, the words rang true, he knew that much, otherwise their could not exist a Drenden and a Jaina in the same profession. He thought it over, he reached a decision; one not easily made, but a necessary one, after all, one can not proclaim to agree with Antonidas statement: Magic does not define the person morally; without proving it.
"I agree."
A sigh left the archmage, as he rose from his seat on the bed; with a smile and a hopeful demeanour he said next: "Thank you Forlorn, we will depart at once.