Dark Tidings
6/1
“There’s normally quite a bit more ritual around this process, but it’s not really necessary this time. You will drink this potion, it will have some physical and mental effects, and those effects are really what define a member in the Cult of the Damned. If the master is right, you won’t even feel those very much, so hopefully the Lich King won’t notice.” Pai spoke to her frankly. Her persona wasn’t really a front, though it masked her fanaticism (old and new). She genuinely wanted her new friend to succeed, so she explained initiation as well as she could.
Lillibeth took the large bowl of fetid broth, almost certainly laced with the plague that wiped out one of the greatest human kingdoms in history. She stared at it for a moment, marveling at the fact that she would even consider drinking the horrid bile. She still felt revulsion, but no compulsion to throw it away or even put it down manifested, except as a casual suggestion. Stress resistance made her a purely rational actor, and that thought distracted her for a moment before she drank. Pai had suggested that she drink in a large overstuffed chair so that she wouldn’t fall over when the convulsions started. They didn’t. She felt a deep but tolerable ache in her flesh and bone as the strands of blight weaved through, making her marginally stronger than her already enhanced body, at the cost of a grey cast to her skin and darkening of her hair.
Her mind performed an elegant dance with the intrusive presence that entered. She focused on her desire for power, on her wish for recognition. Her pride in the necromantic magics she could already perform, her hope to do well in Scholomance. Her admiration and affection for Pai, though unexceptional among her feelings for other members of the retinue, was brought front and center for the eye of the Lich King. Her deep and abiding love for Erich, pounded into her by repeated magically enforced confessions, was masked as a love for authority. A desire to be an obedient drone, working in a hive. As this happened, information defense threw veils up in front of anything too incriminating. Bits poked through, like a desire to use her charm on as many of her fellow students as she could, but if she was loyal it didn’t matter what her social life looked like.
A few hours later, the two women arrived at the hidden dock in Alterac, where new recruits were quietly shipped with the paid approval of the Syndicate. Lillibeth boarded a boat owned by a Damned fisherman, who would take her to Caer Darrow with a letter of introduction. She would be tested, and she would inevitably be accepted. Knowing that she would be with the man for quite some time, six hours at least, Lillibeth charmed him. First with love, then with awe two hours later, then by commanding him to declare his love to Talaada while wearing her amulet. It was good practice; they may never need the ferryman again, but he was hers. Well. Bismark’s. But she had snatched him away from the Lich King. It was almost enough to make her cry; once more, she could capture people in the master’s name.
••••••••••
The conventional tracking spells were all useless. Nefarian was certain he could develop a work around, but he’d learned some time back that his time was worth too much to dedicate days or weeks to developing entirely new spells from scratch. Unless they were very, very specifically useful. If he was going to develop a new spell, it would be better to go for something more direct. Location is good, but communications are far more useful.
The streams of energy contained patterns which were clearly some manner of encoded language. Obviously they were the method Netorarian used to communicate with his servants. If he could figure out what orders his enemy was sending, he could strategically counter them.
He was on his eighteenth variant of his brilliant decoding spell when he managed to get a single word decoded. Missions. Ahhh. Excellent. Just a few more hours and he should have everything he needs to piece together the enemy’s motives.
••••••••••
“I am straining him too much.” Came a voice from the depths. “He is likely to break if I do not moderate his inspiration.”
“I. Am. Being. Targeted.” The steady monotone voice did not know why, but the possibilities of the universe were twisting. In some of the possibilities, his end was possible. His end, or his true self’s end, could be brought about by this entity. “Aid. Me.”
“He has already broken my tool on your continent!” Came a bellow from the north. “I will NOT jeapordize my freedom for you! Already the enemy has strengthened the dreamer enough that she might defeat the Satyr. If that happens, she may look too closely at my prison and see the cracks. I do not yet have enough control of my jailers to fight one that can not be corrupted!”
“The. Serpent. Queen. Send. Her. Forces.”
“My puppets dance on invisible strings, brother. I can not tug on them too hard or they will break. I won’t interfere with your rise, but I need another decade and the aid of our dear sister to gain freedom. I’ll do what I can with the son of Deathwing, but I agree with Yogg’Saron. I will not risk my plans for you. Of all of us, you are the most well equipped to do battle here. It does not seem his powers can turn your swarms to his will easily; they are meant to target single beings. If either of us drew his ire, he could unmake the work of millennia.”
“I will not interrupt my work, but I will keep the threat in mind and do what I can. True death of one of us can not be allowed.”
The old gods could see every possibility, with little insight to what is most likely, and they were patient. They would prune any possibility that carried their true destruction. They were eternal, and if they never exposed themselves enough to truly lose, they would eventually be victorious. Nefarian’s involvement seemed like a wise choice. As he was pushed to counteract Bismark, many of the worst possibilities began to fade, drifting into the murk of unlikelihood. C’thun was nervous, of course, but it was unlikely he was in any real danger. This did not require a true united front.
••••••••••
I was sneaking around the Blackrock Depths for hours, particularly in the Orc occupied parts, and I’ll admit my plans were vague. I was looking for someone wearing a lot of red, or who looked out of place. Unfortunately, I didn’t actually know where he was. I tried using humanoid tracking to see if anyone didn’t register; in a perfect world I’d be using Dragon tracking, but I hadn’t learned that ability yet. I was using stealth to avoid attention, but I was also wearing an orc disguise so anyone who saw me wouldn’t think too hard about it.
Vaelastrasz did not want to be found, it seems. Not exactly a surprise, but damned inconvenient. I was trying to find a secret agent, after all. Wandering randomly didn’t seem to be a winning strategy. I might need to try something else.