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Darren Tereos
Guardian - Charter Master

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Joined: 14 Jul 2008
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re: [Story] All Quiet

The twisted sounds of a hail of spellfire echoed from an abandoned corridor of the ruins of Lordaeron. Normally a still, abandoned city, this dark evening found itself disrupted by combat. If one were to follow the sounds to their source (and one would not, as to reduce the likelihood of being ambushed by the possible vengeful poltergeist or failed experiment of the Royal Apothecary Society), one would find a pair crouching behind a ruined wall, as arcane spell after arcane spell hammered the fortification, all the more hastened in crumbling by its use as an impromptu shield.

“So, you're Darren now, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you admit you were wrong about the whole Dayari thing?”

“No, I was called Dayari for a while.”

“But that was wrong?”

“No, I was called Dayari for a while.”

Further discussion between the duo was interrupted by a well-placed spell that blasted a hole in the wall in the space directly between their heads. The pair, a Forsaken and a Blood elf, split from their point of conversation in opposite directions, Darren, the Forsaken, finding his way to the shadows and disappearing promptly from sight. Angellis, the Blood Elf, sidestepped his way to the cover of a large statue of some forgotten Lordaeron noble, all the while launching from his bow volley after volley toward the assailants. While no arrow shot true, it served the purpose of covering the two's break for better cover.

* * *


Attacks on the Undercity were rare, at least since the insurrection within the Royal Apothecary Society several years prior. However, surveillance reports conducted by the Deathstalkers indicated that the Alliance had been seen operating covertly in the ruins above the Forsaken city. It was no secret that the leaders of the Alliance considered the territory still theirs, merely stolen. Granted, it would take no end of cleaning to reclaim the muck-mired canals of the Undercity, but the umbrage of the former capital of the Alliance being controlled by the Horde was enough to warrant whatever action it might take to flush out its rotting inhabitants.

Darren, formerly called Dayari, though no one within the hierarchy of the Forsaken seemed to take note of the change or recognize either name, had the good fortune to find himself seeking an audience with Apothecary Renferrel at a moment of consultation between the Apothecary and one of the Deathstalkers. Darren, assigned to search for things stranger than the norm in Lordamere Lake, was there to report a strangely viscous muck he had found clinging to his boot.

“Apothecary, you sent me to search Lordamere Lake again. I didn't find anything there, but this followed me out of the lake.” Darren pointed to an oily substance that seemed to adhere equally to the bottom of his boot and ground below him.

“Yes, I'm sure it's very important, whatever it is you've got there. But, I have another problem to deal with....yes, perhaps your problem too.” Renferrel nodded at the Deathstalker by him and smiled at Darren, though by no means was this a smile from which one would infer any pleasantry. “The horrible Alliance seek to undermine the very heart of the Forsaken, to strike at our home. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?”

“No, couldn't let air-gulpers in here at all...”

Darren's good timing soon resulted in him being assigned the task of eliminating the next batch of Alliance found within the ruined parapets of Lordaeron. Though perhaps not the most sound of strategies to employ, it had at least shifted the responsibility from the Royal Apothecary Society to one much more expendable.

Several days hence, Angellis had returned from a foray in the the jungles of Stranglethorn, with an assortment of new pelts ripe for either market or crafting. Stopping by the Undercity on his way to Silvermoon City, he found his long-term comrade standing idly, staring down an abandoned corridor. Without waiting for a greeting, Angellis asked “Dayari, I should know better, but what are you doing?”

Without shifting his gaze, the rogue muttered, “it's Darren; I'm looking for Alliance.” A small insect crawled across the undead's eye. Without blinking, Darren carefully plucked the creature from his field of vision, dropping it to the ground.

A look of frustration, mixed with tinges of sadness creeping only into the corner of his eyes, came over Angellis' face. “Fine, whatever. Alliance? Here?”

“Yes, supposed to be in the ruins somewhere. Supposed to go kill them.”

His frown deepening, the Sin'dorei responded, exasperation and alarm becoming more clear in his tone of voice. “You are going to kill them, by yourself?”

“I was told to kill them, so I'm going to kill them.” Darren pulled a jagged edged dagger from its scabbard, a grim-faced skull marking the hilt of the blade. Moving silently, Darren walked purposefully forward into the warren of abandoned buildings.

While for a moment contemplating the possibility of leaving his companion to his fate, Angellis Lostarot, vagrant wanderer, followed swiftly, readying his bow for whatever they might soon find. From previous experience, it was likely to be painful, loud, and whatever reward nowhere near commensurate with the effort.

* * *


The reward was nowhere near the effort, Angellis decided as a streak of fel energy burnt mostly through the side of his armor. Wincing with pain, he took aim, returning the favor with an arrow, aimed true and piercing the flimsy robes of the sorcerer that was proving to be so much trouble. This silenced the rain of spells for a moment, at least until the sorcerers comrade readied an arcane blast directly aimed at Angellis. His bow at the ready, Angellis found himself unable to return fire. Before him, he saw a human male, formerly an ally of his people. He had known many humans, before the end of the Third War, many with family, loved ones, and lives. This one could have been any one of those people that he had once called his friend. Angellis' mouth moved, with no sound, as he found himself staring ahead as the arcane spell formed in front of him, no doubt able to end whatever hope Angellis might have of living to the next day. Sure of his victory, the mage failed to notice wisps of shadow swirling about him, followed shortly by the much more substantial dagger embedding itself between his shoulder blades. The spell was promptly silenced, as was the mage, his corpse slumping to the cold stones.

“There, I killed one.” Darren said in a cold monotone, pulling his dagger free from the lifeless corpse. As he looked over to Angellis, looking for some acknowledgment or praise, a green light illuminated the area, rendering the Forsaken in shadowed outline. Moments later, Darren seemed to burst into flames, as a gibbering tongue filled the air. The rogue fell to the ground, rolling on the floor in some remnant reflex to extinguish the flames. From his vantage point, Angellis could see a diminutive creature, dancing from side to side with malicious joy, as it readied another ball of fire to further scorch Darren's smoldering body.

In the seconds afforded him by the time it took the imp to ready its next spell, Angellis took aim at it. As his vision narrowed to encompass only his target, he noticed another shape in the background. Another human of the Alliance, this one, also swathed in robes, seemed to be muttering another demonic spell, its energies shimmering above Darren's burning form, which struggled to rise from the ground in order to renew the assault, but could not. Angellis issued forth a sharp whistle, as he shifted his aim to the still chanting human and let loose with a poison-tipped arrow. Simultaneously, Angellis' tamed, over-sized arachnid launched itself forward, wrapping the imp in binding webs. This halted its fel mutterings, and it looked toward the only smoking undead, a mixture of confusion and fury on its face. The warlock had less time to afford for an assessment of the situation, as the poisoned arrow embedded itself squarely in her chest. Within seconds, the poison had begun to render the warlock's extremities immobile and still the beating heart. As her life essence drained away, the imp, still struggling against its bindings, faded, returned to the twisting nether without the compunction of the warlock which had summoned it.

With the acrid smell of burnt flesh and the ozone smell of magic in the air, Angellis moved swiftly to the side of his fallen ally. Darren finally rose, staring somewhat confusedly at his scorched hand.

“Quiet again: good.” Darren then looked to Angellis, again looking for praise or some form of acknowledgment. When he found none, he walked slowly toward the two corpses sprawled on the cobblestones, his hunched form staggering more than usual. Reaching amongst the blood and flesh, Darren pulled free an insignia from each corpse, small trinkets colored blue with the golden image of a lion embossed upon them. “There, done. Supposed to be proof these things. Head would be better proof though.” The rogue looked briefly at the corpses, doing some sort of mental calculation as his eyes traced a line across their necks. “Fine enough. Heads are big to carry.”

* * *


Much to Apothecary Renferrel's surprise, the dim-witted Forsaken returned, holding a pair of Alliance insignias in his hand. This worked counter-intuitively to the apothecary's usual method of solving problems: typically when sent to the front lines against greater odds, pests tended to disappear. But, his worldview righted itself as he caught sight of the Sin'dorei walking behind him, whose battle-scarred armor marked him as a seasoned veteran of many a battle.

“So, you had yourself some help in your task?” Renferral uttered the words, attempting to keep his tone neutral while he evaluated the turn of events.

“I had help. But, the humans don't move anymore: I took these when they stopped.” Darren handed the insignias over to Renferral, who promptly made them disappear within the folds of his mouldering robe.

“Good, the Dark Lady approves of those who serve with such...efficiency. And she is not without reward for her faithful. Here, take these coins as a token of her appreciation.” Somewhat hesitantly, Renferral tossed a handful of gold to the undead, Dayari, or whatever his name was. “I trust you to divide it up between yourselves.” The apothecary noted a slight frown steal across the face of the Blood Elf. However, the Forsaken rogue simply took to dividing the coins into two equal handfuls.

“Good, I could use a new quill.” The Forsaken almost seemed pleased with the prospect.

“Yes, whatever you wish.” Renferral waved his hand lazily in the direction of the pair. “Now if you will excuse me, I have very important work to continue...” It would be important for him to contemplate how best to use this new found asset, if the two didn't manage to get themselves killed before he could decide how they might be able to suit his needs.


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