Time is Short

"Enough is enough Professor, we require your answer now or we will take action."

The overbearing yet hunched human laid the object onto the ancient oak desk of the clearly anxious gnomish woman leaning backwards into her red chair. The document was on crumpled, darkened and old parchment and was written in dark, red blood. Taking it carefully into her hand, the Professor looked upwards into the hooded eyes of the robbed man, they had tints of red within their pupils and glowed in the slightest. Setting the contract back onto the desk the gnome exited her chair and walked to the window, the sky above Stormwind was cloudy with rain slamming against the window blurring the entire view. "Has your cult not taken enough from our world? You've shattered it completely." The Cultist picked up the contract treating it as some sort of 'holy' relic in his regard towards it, he simply gazed at the gnome by the window and spoke clearly and authoritively, "We have influence in your pathetic alliance and the wretched horde. We will win this war, you would do well to join us Professor. You are older than most of your race's arcainists.. You have your knowledge, and your skills. We can offer you a very lucrative position, i'm sure you'd enjoy that? Glory, wealth... Power." The Professor turned on her heel to protest. Darkness.

That's the spirit! This will put an end to those rumours the Council is corrupt once and for all!

Oh wait...


For something so short I enjoyed it a lot. Can't wait to see how it all turns out.

Pt. I - Taken

"Round them up!"

The hoarse voice of the overseer rung around the pit, there were so many shapes, simple shadows in the dusky soil of the hovel. Only a few showed signs of life. One of those that showed this spark was a smaller shape, she attempted to push herself upwards from the filth she had lay in for an undetermined amount of time but failed. Her hands were bound tight, she felt like livestock and was not sure precisely what had happened before her world had become black. After minutes of struggling she had managed to push herself up against the nearest wall, the grime encrusted dirt provided no comfort but it was nescessary to survey the scene around her. She saw everything now, "Light save me."

Several weeks earlier the Kirin Tor had dispatched missives to her, regarding the capturing of magi of all skills within the Alliance Kingdoms;

To be delivered to the magical authorities of Stormwind, the Exodar and Gnomeregan.

The Kirin Tor has come to the knowledge that prominent magic casters are being taken from their homes and places of study and ushered away to an unknown location. We fear that the trend that seemed to begin in Kalimdor is now spreading to the Eastern Kingdoms. I ask that you launch an investigation into this and the possible connection with the Twilight Hammer Cultists. I regret that we cannot spare any agents due to our efforts here in Northrend and in Lordaeron.

The Desk of the Modera,
Archmage of the Six.

Due to Dalaran's troubles in Northrend and Lordaeron they could not spare any men to combat the trouble suspected by themselves. Vezullia and her current apprentice Tellinda, a plain farmer's daughter with a rather unique knack for teleportation magic had been investigating. Their efforts had culminated in the discovery of a Twilight Agent within the city of Stormwind posing as the Groundskeeper of the Cathedral Cemetary. After hours of intense and painful 'interviewing' the agent gave hints towards camps within the recently entered Twilight Highlands where many were taken to be 're-educated' and shown the might of the Old Gods. SI:7 had already reported the existance of prison camps but neither organizations believed they were so horrific as what she saw before her. Vezullia's eyes began to water with pure fear, what she had heard from the informants mouth was beyond the strongest words, she dismissed it as fear-mongering then, but now she faced the cold, harsh reality. Peering now at the other shapes, one or two seemingly coming to the same conclusion as her, others were probably dead, it was impossible to tell in the gloomy darkness. She would conform or she would die.

The days went by, well she assumed they were days. It could have been hours, minutes.. She did not know. It seemed that all sense of time died in the darkness, there were grunts from others and the smell of death lingered in the air. They hadn't been moved, she began to wonder if the overseer had said his words to tease them. They remained in the pit. Vezullia pondered how long she had been here again and then wondered by the smell how long the others had been there. It reecked of decay, worse than the air of Gnomeregan when the radiation burst. One of the prisinors was foolish enough to attempt to teleport and another spoke to a harmed old man. Both received the same fate before they could even get a word out. Death. A voice rang over the deafening silence, "I found the Archmage Firebloom sir!" As Vezullia gazed to the source of the voice, a tauren stood clad in cultist regalia, this in the midst of death and destruction made Vezullia laugh to herself, how abserd. The man he had identified was a High Elf, worn and old he was carried by his hair to the 'sir' in the middle of the room. The sight of which was too much to bear, -it- was horrific, it appeared to have the face of a drake with blue fire sitting calmly in the cavernous mouth, it's hair was some form of draconic scale acting as a faux helmet. The rest of it's body was clad in some sort of elemental magic, black armour and the definite symbol of the Twilight Hammer; An Ascendant. Vezullia felt the chill run through her spine, they were looking for prominant magical figures, she lay herself in the dirt and shut her eyes silently praying. Desperate. Scared. Taken.