Villain’s Corner
5/29 Lunch
I don’t need to tell you how training with Sylvannas went. I mostly got styled on by the former Ranger General of Silvermoon for a couple hours, while she provided me with detailed instructions on how to beat her. Instructions I understood, but had difficulty employing. Eventually I’d be fast enough that I could keep up with her and then use my superior size and strength, but until then she was able to consistently outplay me even when I tried to cheat, such as by blinking behind her. First time I did that she hooked my leg out from under me as I tried to lunge at her from behind.
“Predictable. You attacked from immediately behind me. It was one of the most obvious approaches you could take with an ability like that, which I’m aware of. Anyone who isn’t already distracted or unaware of your teleportation will be able to counter that. Shoot, don’t strike.” I had some serious evidence to the contrary, but I translated that to ‘you should assume that anyone who is a serious threat to you will be able to respond, that gambit leaves you open until you can teleport again.”
I was able to beat her in a fair melee fight about half the time, by the end of the training session. Which felt pretty good, but it wasn’t as impressive as it sounded. She was an archer who supplemented with magic, I was fighting her in melee. Sylvanas with a severe handicap was still a high enough bar to start feeling proud, though.
Afterwards, I had her praise me for everything I did well while she gave me a handjob in a harem girl outfit; she laid it on just a little bit thick, but that was the point. Nice little salve to the ego after the brutal beatings I got for most of the period. Plus she did a very good worshipful expression and tone; I liked the look on her. Yeah, I knew that it was all playacting, but she really liked playacting and so did I.
••••••••••
Kathra’Natir was scrambling to adjust his strategy. He had been assigned as an infiltrator in the Burning Legion, but it increasingly seemed like this “Erius” man with his unusual artifacts deserved more observation.
As was common among the Unseen Guests, Kathra’Natir was passably versed in multiple schools of magic. Obviously he’d had the most exposure to fel, and was intrinsically tied to death, but he had a general understanding of shadow magic as well. Externally he mostly used it to sow distrust and fracture alliances, but that was because Sargeras need not know about his primary use for it.
The Nathrezim was currently using his full mind in order to strategize, but he tended to operate with several facets of his personality hidden away. Notably, he was only aware of his highest calling, Sire Denathrias’s objective of subversion, when he was alone or with his fellow Nathrezim. He wore a mask, a false consciousness loyal to the Burning Legion that he could edit at his leisure, when it was safe. He would need to do the same for this new assignment; he was not sure if he would be able to keep track of the changes the amulet might make to him, should he be forced to wear it. They were very subtle.
He used the patterns imposed upon his host as a template, and made a properly subverted version of himself to present to Erius. One who was just another demon, albeit a powerful one. His true objectives, his true knowledge? Those were folded up and hidden away where none could see them. He could fake it until he had an amulet and enough information to bring back to Nathria.
Of course, that made it shockingly easy for the amulet. It isolated and revealed the “alien tumor” to the now dominant mind. It was nicely excised within a few minutes, leaving behind a loyal subject of Lord Erius. He would need to wait until the Lord arrived so that he and his host might make arrangements for how to best make use of his abilities.
••••••••••
Bavira was curious about the amulet. It was one of the most romantic gifts she had ever received, and she’d gotten it from Lady Nozara. Like all succubi, Bavira understood what love was. It was to dominate, control, and own someone. She wanted to be someone’s possession, to serve their every whim. But she wasn’t a selfish lover. She would never simply submit and allow herself to receive all the love; that would be horribly unthankful. No, her heart was full to bursting with love to give, which she would happily share with any living being, so long as they would love her in return.
Bavira had heard that many species misunderstood love, that they wanted an even and equitable relationship without a constant power struggle. Didn’t they realize that was what the power struggle was for? To fight for dominance was how you proved that you loved your rival, and were worthy of love in return!
Bavira had never been so lucky as to be bound by a warlock, locked into subservience, utterly dominated. She imagined it must be sublime, being only able to make token efforts at subversion or resistance, just to show that you love your master. What this amulet promised was so much more complete. She would have her ability to love properly ripped from her. She’d be turned into a pampered pet with no desires beyond service. It was the ultimate act of love, so naturally she fought it with everything she had. She couldn’t repay a gift like this with anything less than the fiery thrashing of the last embers of her willpower, but the certain knowledge that she’d lose in the end made her shudder with pleasure.
••••••••••
Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan stared at the empty box, and worry gripped him. His brother Nathrezim, Varimathras, had been planning on sending him a dead drop at this location. His last message, as heavily encoded as always, had revealed that the Forsaken had encountered and were investigating some new magical device for controlling minds, potentially titanic in nature. On its surface, that was more intriguing than concerning, but to have him miss their next scheduled contact was irregular. He was normally very good about such things.
Balnazzar would not panic, but he needed to keep an eye out. The Forsaken were useful enough to preserve while the Helm of Domination’s puppets still controlled the region, but it would not do to allow them to grow too powerful. If they had found some way to subvert Varimathras, perhaps locking him into his public persona, then the Scarlet Crusade might lose a powerful unwitting ally.
“You damn fool. You’ve failed us once already. Don’t you dare make this difficult.”
••••••••••
Fandral sat in his study, pondering what to do. Valstann had told him the depths of his foolishness mere moments after putting on the amulet, and they had been studying it ever since, trying to find a solution. It may purge outside influences, but it was just eliminating the competition. It would corrupt him fully in the process. The Archdruid simply could not speak out against the “gift” of the green dragonflight; it already had its hooks in deep.
The greens had always taken the night elves for granted as allies. Glorified janitors to be trusted to handle the problems that the dragons, so called guardians of Azeroth, couldn’t be bothered to deal with. It was no surprise that they would attempt to bind him into servitude.
He was beginning to feel the effects. A sense of dread and shame hung over many of his greatest triumphs. He felt so, so tired. Far worse was how it influenced the way he saw his son’s spirit, his most trusted and constant companion. Valstann seemed to twist into a monstrous satyr any time that Fandral wasn’t looking directly at him.
“Father. I worry that if we don’t act soon, it may be too late. If we wait like this for too much longer, then you will be lost.”
“But how? Any time I have taken it off, it seems to reappear! I never even notice until you tell me.”
“I can only think of one way. You must escape your body, and become as I am. For a time, at least. If you drink the right poison and then escape into the Emerald Dream, we can be together there. It’s not ideal, I would have preferred to return and be able to hold my wife again, but the Greens have left us no choice.”
Fandral agreed, and began to assemble the ingredients, but in his heart of hearts he felt despair. He didn’t know if it was his own cowardice or the amulet’s influence, but he knew that he could not do it.
It wasn’t the first time he had contemplated suicide to be with Valstann, and like every other time he wasn’t going to follow through. It would break his heart to admit his weakness. Maybe he could find someone that could resurrect him once the necklace was off, so that he could continue his work. He might be able to commit to that.