(50) - The Whirlwinds of Chaos

The rift closed, and the ground underneath Griffonclaw's feet took on its natural form - nothingness.

While the rift had been open, the area around it on both sides had become an admixture of both dimensions - and so, for a few yards inside the rift, there had been air, ground, and gravity. Now that the rift had closed... not so much.

Murmur seemed to explode outward in an vortextual tantrum; with no gravity to weigh him down, no other atmosphere to impede him, he was returned to his former status. In its joy, it forgot about the petty little mortal insects that had sought to sting him.

They had been flung away, in any case. Perhaps in the next century, if he grew bored, it would seek them out and let it's living vortices rip their corporeal forms apart.

Bereft of gravity and even solid ground, the five of them - Griffonclaw, Kestralil Shadowhawk, beloved wife, Noctarre Bane, the self-styled Mistress of Pain, Taelea, dour dwarf huntress, and Thrinwizzle, devotee of the diabolic, were all tossed into the Void of this dimension, like crossbow bolts from a powerful arbelast.

Taelea and Thrinwizzle were sent in one direction, almost opposite the rest, and passed from human knowledge.

Kestralil and Griffonclaw had been standing together, fighting the elemental Lord side by side, with Noctarre and her felguard standing behind. Griffonclaw and Kestralil were expelled faster than Noctarre, being closer to their foe.

Of all of them, Noctarre realized what was happening first, and acted swiftly. Ordering her felguard to grab hold of Griffonclaw, she herself caught Kestralil's cloak as they all shot away from Murmurr's whirling form. Acting quickly, she intoned:

Darkness come, at my behest
Come to she who loves you best
Defy the Light, defy life's death
Stretch our mortal life, and breath!

Kestralil and Griffonclaw relaxed then, for they found that what air they'd had in their lungs when the rift closed was quite sufficient.

Next, Noctarre had her felguard toss Griffonclaw like a toy in their direction. The reaction in this weightless place sent the demon spinning in the opposite direction, and Noctarre closed her eyes, unbinding it, allowing it to slide between the dimensions to its home.

After all, she might need it again, sometime soon. One did so try not to waste one's resources, and with that firmly in mind, she held onto Kestralil with her legs while catching Griffonclaw in her arms.

Together, the three of them drifted, and slowly, a plan of action evolved. In order for Noctarre to live, she would need food, and the more food she had, the longer she would live. Reluctantly, she let Griffonclaw and Kestralil die, refusing to renew the spell that allowed them a semblance of breath.

Of course, she soul-stoned them first, transmuting their souls in a hard, ruby crystalline form; who knew when she would need them again.

* * *

riffonclaw dreamed, or so it seemed to him.

Of course, most people who found themselves in the office of Gandling, Headmaster of Scholomance would call it more nightmare than dream.

Scholomance was founded by the traitor Kel'Thuzad to house and train acolytes for his Cult of the Damned, taking the crypts below the keep of Caer Darrow - which dated back to the Arathor Empire - and turning them into a school for the darkest forms of sorcery and necromancy.

Word of Griffonclaw's demise had reached the ears of Darkmaster Gandling, and he had thought that perhaps summoning Griffonclaw's spirit, and compelling it to his service would be a fine joke. He would enslave the paladin's ghost, and use his power to turn it to dark purpose. Instead of serving the Light, Gandling would make the paladin devour it - and the living - instead.

Slowly, carefully he had drawn the thaumaturgical triangle with powdered silver chalk , encasing it in a double circle. Within this circle he drew sigils of power. A few yards away he drew another circle - this one a summoning portal to the Land of the Dead, and in its center he placed a small silver chalice of fresh blood. Retreating to the protection of the triangle, and careful not to smudge the lines he had so painstakingly drawn on the floor, he lit three candles, made from the rendered fat of hanged men, and placed one at each point of the triangle. Retreating to his circle of protection, Gandling opened his personal copy of the Book of Eibos, and removed from his satchel a small golden bell. Ringing it twice, he opened the book, and chanted in a sepultural voice:

"By the Greater Dark and the power of Fel
I summon the shade, by book, light, and bell!
I command thee!
I compel thee!
Come, lest I consign you to Hell!

Griffonclaw FitzSilver, I call thee by name
Come to my hand, so that I may tame
I command thee!
I compel thee!
Come, under the threat of hell-flame!"

And Griffonclaw felt himself pulled from the soulstone, and shunted across space and time and dimension to stand before the Darkmaster of the Scholomance.

"Griffonclaw FitzSilver, I compel thee to my service. Griffonclaw FitzSilver, I compel thee to my service. Griffonclaw FitzSilver, I compel thee to my service. Thrice said, bind the dead!"

Griffonclaw looked at the smug face, and laughed.

"No, I don't think so..." the spirit laughed.

"What? But... you came at my call! You must do my bidding!"

"I felt your call, and did not resist it, as I had no idea what it was... the next time, you will wait quite some time" Griffonclaw informed the necromancer. "You have no power over me, foul corpsetaker"

Gandling's eyes narrowed in thought. "Griffonclaw is not your real name!" he concluded.

"No, it is not" confirmed Griffonclaw's spirit. "What kind of cruel mother names her son 'Griffonclaw', after all..."

With that, Griffonclaw felt another pull... not unlike the first. Gandling's call had been a cold, forceful thing, but this other... it was warm, and sad, and full of heart's love. He followed it, and in a thought-beat found himself in the Cathedral of Stormwind, staring down at his Daughter.

She was praying. Praying that he was not dead, that he had not left her so alone in this world. His ghostly heart broke, at that moment, and he longed to tell her that he was not dead, that he was only... suspended, neither alive nor dead.

He saw her several other times, and Aaren as well. He remembered commending Demolitia to Aaren's protection, and the rage he felt when his old mentor, Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, rejected Demolitia so cruelly.

He remembered Aaren's flight through the Plaguelands, and willing to her his strength, trying to warm the cold despair he sensed inside her.

He remembered telling Craft to seek the Book of Eibos, so that the volume of foul necromancy would leave Gandling's possession, and reduce his ability to command and compel the dead.

He remembered a woman in the Darkness, and her sensual self-pleasuring. His longing for Kestralil was the worst hell he could imagine.

He remembered seeing Keruptis' remains, or what was said to be Keruptis' remains; it was merely a homonculus, a doppleganger built of necromancy.

He remembered a dark warehouse, where miscreants gathered, to harm one he had sworn in life to protect.

And then... he remembered no more.

* * *

Alone in the rift, floating through the void, two bodies attached to her ankles by bootlaces, Noctarre at last found a measure of peace.

She hated it.

When she could take her isolation and boredom no more, she summoned Gakrin, her demon imp. Like all imps, Gakrin was a mischievous and nefarious creature, greedy and rapacious of nature. More importantly, she could summon him without sacrificing one of her preciously few soul shards.

Imps were also notorious gossips.

She had commanded him to speak with other imps, and glean from them what was happening in Azeroth.

Gakrin manifested in a small cloud of brimstone, and Noctarre once more thanked the Darkness that with no atmosphere, she would not have to smell his effusions. Instead, she felt the heat from his body, and stretched like a cat with the pleasure.

She knew he watched, his lustful nature thrown a bone.

"Tell me, Gakrin... what is happening at home?" she asked, her voice almost purring at him. If she flattered and enticed, he'd do her biddding with a much greater will - like most males, regardless of race.

"Well, him, for one!" he responded pointing at the paladin's body. "There are rumors that he's haunting the Cathedral in Stormwind... especially the woman's showers..." Gakrin grinned and winked at his mistress.

Swiftly, she pulled out Griffonclaw's soulstone from safekeeping; it still gently pulsed with life.

"Interesting... " she crooned, a plan slowly taking shape. "Tell me... do you know an Imp named Kuprin...?"

* * *

Aurenox cursed the rain. He was tired, he was hungry, and moreover, he was impatient.

His imp had told him that Noctarre needed him, that she was trapped in another dimension, and she needed his help to return to Azeroth.

He had enjoyed the negotiation, and the concessions he had wrung from her. She was a clever woman, and they had passed terms and conditions for his assistance through the imps as a form of entertainment; she was bored, and he indulged her, enjoying the battle of wits, although both of them knew, at the end of the day, that he would not leave her trapped, to slowly die of starvation.

He had sent her note requesting assistance to Archmage Xylem, and when he had gotten a positive response, Aurenox had taken a griffon from Stormwind to Menethil, and booked passage on the first vessel heading to Theramore. From there, he had flown to Ratchet, and then again to Azshara.

In Azshara he had been met by members of the Horde, who had escorted him to the Azshara Tower, in the Bear's Head mountains. There he had been greeted by the mage himself.

"Did you bring the materials?" he asked, ushering Aurenox into his library. Aurenox could hardly keep his eyes from the walls, each completely covered in full shelving. Surely this was a library to rival that lost when Dalaran was destroyed!

Aurenox opened his shoulder satchel and brought out the contents; chalks made with ground silver and truesilver dust, distilled essences of certain herbs that he had himself gathered and produced.

"As you requested" Aurenox confirmed, his voice even and smooth in the face of the mage's poor manners. Such arrogant abruptness!

"Excellent. Please, take some luncheon here while I prepare the laboratory for retrieving our lost little warlock," Xylem said. Aurenox nodded, the sound of his grinding teeth hardly audible at such a distance.

He spoke far to familiarly of Noctarre. Aurenox knew that the two of them had some sort of history together, but he had declined to give Noctarre the satisfaction of asking, and he suspected that he truly was better off not knowing. Noctarre was beautiful, powerful, and perverse, but she was a distraction from his true goal.

Power.

Servants brought platters of cold meats, bread, and cheeses while Aurenox took the opportunity to browse through the titles on the shelves. A light white wine was served with the meal, and Aurenox found himself relaxing in spite of himself.

He might just retire to here... over Xylem's dead body.


* * *

Xylem sat, meditating, calming his mind for the task ahead of him.

Long ago, Xylem had been attacked by the green drake, Morphaz, who devoured one of his apprentices whole and as such consumed an arcane shard of enormous power. Xylem had since spent much of his time seeking to recover the shard from the worm's stomach, ripping it from the lifeless corpse; in pursuit of such, he had hired an orc rogue to recover for him the Tablet of Sael'hai from the ruins of Eldarath; while he waited, he had time for a short diversion.

As he worked, he recalled how he had met Noctarre in Stormwind. He was visiting the Academy, teaching theory and building a network of contacts who could help him with his revenge. She had wanted to learn more about fire magics, and how it might be applied to Fel magics.

They had both gotten what they wanted, and more besides.

Since then, she had arranged several shipments of rare supplies for him, and he had not yet had occasion to balance the karmic scales; performing this task would place her in his debt, and he already had an idea of how she could repay him.

Nodding to himself - for he hated owning others debts - he stood and set the wards. Using a censor with a lit cone of incense, he slowly waved it to the north, chanting:

"Spirits of Air, come to my hand
Seal this place with inviolate band
Whether from Alliance or from Horde
Surround this room with forceful ward"

Turning to the south, he took a small brazer, and tossed upon the flames a pinch of sulphur.

"Spirits of Fire, I beseech
Place this chamber out of reach
Grant my most fervent desire
Surround this room with protective fire

Xylum turned to the east, and took a small vial of water from his pocket. This he poured into a small copper bowl.

Spirits of Water, please heed my plea
Stretch forth they hand from lake and sea
Cover this place, as though a coat
Protect this chamber as though with moat

Finally, he turned to the west, and took from a pocket some iron filings. He spread these on the floor

Spirits of Earth, be thou my shield
Defend me well, never to yield
Ward this room with safety dear
So that those within may have no fear.

He focused his will... and four symbols appeared, each glowing with blue fire, empowered by his arcane invocation. There would be no interruptions, for he was about to open a door, to where he knew not. The last items in his bag came out - a small mithril stand, and a globe of pure emerald-colored crystal.

Xylum closed his eyes, and pictured the Cathedral at Stormwind, and then projecting that location to the chamber. Opening his third eye, he could see it glowing with a golden Light. He frowned, concentrating, focusing... and slowly the outline of a spirit came into focus; the spirit of Noctarre's companion, as she had said. Xylum could see his essence trail off in a silvery thread, and the picture on the globe followed that thread back, until it found its host; a soulstone held by Noctarre.

"You are indeed far afield, milady" he mumbled to himself, continuing to focus on the image in front of him.

"Guardians of both time and space
Take me now in your embrace
Whether for good, or evil, fate
Open for me now a Gate!"

Ordinarily, the mage opening such a portal had complete control, but Xylem was attempting something much less secure; instead of visualizing and manifesting the gate in a place he had already been, he was depending on the vision in the crystal to open that end of the terminus. In theory it was sound... in practice, he had no idea of what unseen things might try and pass through.

The wards were as much to keep things in as to keep things out.

The usual flare of a purple haze in the air in front of him confirmed that his end of the terminus was successful, and as the other end grew he felt his power drain at alarming speed; opening it cost much more power across a dimensional rift.

His aim had been precise, however... Noctarre translated through, followed by her attachments; the corporeal body of Kestralil and Griffonclaw. Noctarre paused, considering... she felt a deep and abiding connection to Kestralil, on an emotional level that she hadn't been aware she was capable. On the other hand, if she were to revive Kestralil, and not the pesky, annoying, frustrating - but occasionally useful - paladin, the rogue would never forgive her.

"Spare rations, Noctarre?" the mage quipped as she considered.

"Not... quite. At least, not yet" she replied, releasing Kestralil's spirit from the soulstone, the deep red of the ruby-like stone losing its fire as Kestralil's body began to breath again. Her eyes fluttered and she sat up.

"I feel... horrible" she replied, feeling every muscular ache and pain of a body that had been unmoving for some time. "Is Griffy back yet?"

"He's next" declared Noctarre, smiling in sheer unadulterated pleasure as Kestralil's dulcet voice once more hit her ears. Almost, a tear came to her eyes, and a great feeling of loneliness was banished.

She released the paladin's spirit... but while the body began to breathe, and its heart begin to beat, Griffonclaw could not be awakened.

* * *

Kestralil tucked her cloak more firmly around the body of her husband.

The storm had blown in off the Dreadmurk Shore, soaking the ground with rain. Noctarre almost seemed to revel in the winds and the rain, the lighting occasionally illuminating the blackness of the sky, its thunder rolling across the hills of the Duskwallow Swamp.

She and Noctarre had slowly - painfully - made their way south, down the Gold Road, Griffonclaw's body and gear slung over the pony that the Archmage Xylum had gifted Noctarre. They had dodged Horde patrols, and slept in cold camps, Noctarre's fel guard demon standing watch over them through the night while they huddled together, sharing warmth.

"One more day", she thought to herself. "One more day and we'll be there." Theramore, or at least its outposts, were getting closer with every soggy footstep into this Light-forsaken, stinky, insect-infested marshland.

Before they had left Azshara Tower, Xylum had sent a letter to his old schoolmate, Jaina Proudmoore, explaining their dilemma; her husband was in a coma, and no matter how she tried, she could not rouse him from his deep slumber. They had left before she had gotten a reply; after all, if Jaina could not help them, it was the next stop to Menethil Harbor, then Ironforge, and then the Cathedral at Stormwind. Kestralil would travel on her knees to Uther's Tomb if necessary, to restore her husband to his body.

When they arrived at the northernmost outpost, North Point Tower, they were met by Lieutenant Caldwell of the Theramore guard.

"Lady Kestralil and Mistress Noctarre?" he inquired, superfluously - after all, how many pairs of women travelled Kalimbor lugging around a human body?

"We are they" Noctarre replied, shouting to be heard over the inclement weather.

"I was sent to meet you" he replied. "I have a wagon, and some horses for you." With that, he motioned to his detachment to remove Griffonclaw's body from the pony.

"Careful with him, please... he only sleeps; his body lives" cautioned Kestralil.

"They will be gentle, Lady" assured Lieutentant Caldwell. "Sir Griffonclaw is... known to us, of old."

"Indeed?" questioned Noctarre.

"Yes, milady Warlock - many of our guards came with Lady Proudmoore from Scholomance. Sir Griffonclaw stayed with us for some time, fighting in the vanguard, and healling those freshly wounded. Many a time he carried the more seriously wounded back to the priests for more than he could manage. Now, it is time for us to bear him gently from the field so that he may be healed, in turn."


With that, Lieutenant Caldwell led them to the safety and shelter of Theramore's walls.

* * *

Noctarre and Kestralil were met inside the main gate by Brother Karman, the head of the Order of the Silver Hand inside Theramore.

"I will take him to the infirmary, ladies. You may find us there, when you have seen Lady Jaina," he informed them. Lieutenant Caldwell guided them away, to Lady Jaina's Tower. Waiting at the door was a tall Kaldorei clad in battle-leathers. She came forward and took Kestralil into an embrace. "Oh Pained..." Kes got out before she buried her face into the Kaldorei shoulder, while Noctarre looked away - half from embarrassment for Kestralil's lack of control, and half out of a small flame of jealousy that gouted forth up from the pit of her stomach.

"Your husband will be fine" assured the night-elf. "Lady Jaina has promised it will be so, and nothing can stand against her when she puts forth her will."

"I hope so..." Kestralil smiled at the dead-certainty in Pained's voice. "Noctarre Bane, this lady is Pained..."

"How well-named" mumbled Noctarre.

"... who has been Lady Proudmoore's assistant since Mt. Hyjal," Kestralil finished, ignoring Noctarre's quip.

"Lady Jaina awaits you two... please, follow me," Pained said, turning and leading them up a seemingly endless set of stairs.

Lady Jaina received them, and again Kestralil was hugged. Surprisingly, Jaina embraced Noctarre as well, much to the warlock's discomfort.

Kestralil suppressed a smirk.

"Doctor VanHowsen is an excellent surgeon, Dame FitzSilver, and Brother Karman will be with him as well... we will do what we can for him, for as long as it takes," Theramore's leader assured Kestralil.

"You are kind, milady" Kestralil said, thanking her.

"Not at all," Jaina's face clouded over. "In fact, while I would have done all of this in any case, I do have a favor to ask you, even if the timing is not what I would wish..."

"Please, Lady Proudmoore, do not hesitate to ask" assured Noctarre. "if Griffonclaw was here, he'd say something flowery and beg to do you a service." Kestralil shot her an angry look.

"Well... he would," the warlock said, defiantly. "And you know he would!"

Kestralil laughed. "She's right you know, Your Grace... he would."

Jaina smiled, and Noctarre was amazed at how young she was, under the yoke of her responsibilities. "Very well... you know, Dame Griffonclaw, that your husband was a confidential agent of the Iron Throne? That he sometimes performed confidential missions for King Magni, missions that were sometimes... outside the normal scope of a paladin's duties?"

"Yes, I know," said Kestralil quietly. "I sometimes helped him with them."

Jaina smiled. "I had thought as much." She sighed. "I find that I need something similar."

"As soon as my husband has recovered, I will ask him, Your Grace," Kestralil promised.

"Not him.... you."

Kestralil looked at Lady Proudmoore, amazed.

"And why not?" commented Noctarre. "You are as smart as he is, and a damn sight better at the cloak-and-dagger part of the cloak-and-dagger business...."

"I am glad you feel that way, Mistress Bane... for I would have you, also."

Noctarre looked at the ruler with disdain. "Lady Proudmoore, you do not know the first thing about me... " she began.

"I know enough; Archmage Xylum says that you owe him a debt, and that you always - always! - pay what is owed," Jaina said, producing a small slip of paper, handing it to the warlock. It's message was short, and concise - Xylum owed Jaina a debt, and Noctarre owed him. He was transfering the debt to Jaina in cancellation of his own.

Noctarre looked up, fury in her eye, but before she could speak Lady Jaina continued. "Not indefinitely... let us say, for perhaps a few months, and then if you decide to continue, we can discuss terms of employment?"

Grudgingly, Noctarre nodded, looking to Kestralil.

The rogue nodded slowly, but said "How exactly would this work?"

Jaina smiled. "Well, the Steamwheedle Cartel has sought certain trade concessions... and so I have arranged for them to have them, provided they are run through a merchant company. The company would hire Kestralil as their General Manager, and the company itself would act as a cover, of sorts... Of course, the Steamwheedle Cartel would still demand a profit from its normal operations, but at the same time it would be paying you and your staff for your efforts in that, as well. "

Kestralil nodded. She had no doubts in her ability to conduct commerce, even if she had to supplement it with some larceny. "And how will I know what orders come from you, Your Grace?"

"Quite simple... the majority holder of Universal Exports is known only to the Cartel as "M". And you see... I am "M" confirmed Jaina, smiling peacefully.

* * *

Brother Karman looked up as a priestess of the Light walked into the infirmary.

"I understand that Sir Griffonclaw FitzSilver of Ironforge is here?" she asked, in a soft voice.

"That is he over there, Sister...?" responded Karman, cautiously.

"I am Adwyn, newly arrived from the Exodar" she informed, bowing to the paladin. "Father Benedictus called for me to attend him; I have dealt with displaced spirits before." She offered him a letter of introduction, signed by the Archbishop of Stormwind Cathedral.

Within a day, Griffonclaw was awake, and making life miserable for Brother Karman, who refused to let him get up for a week.

Kestralil had him transfered to the bed in the Captain's quarters of her new ship; if he was going to spend a week more in bed, by the Light it was going to be her bed!