Post by Vincentus on Apr 15, 2014 1:43:24 GMT
“Meet him in the graveyard, it’s romantic!” She said to him, and he’d been nothing but suspicious from the beginning. He’d stumbled upon her and her friends by chance, waving and joining in on a completely casual and harmless conversation. Next thing he knew he was being threatened by a drunken woman and chased away, only to have her come forward and apologize only moments later. At first he considered that perhaps she was simply a little drunk. Then he wondered if she was just crazy. And then he grew suspicious when she became incredibly interested in him… but only after learning his name.
So in the graveyard Xanthion stood, slowly making his way through the long rows of headstones and admiring the many names of soldiers who had fallen in the name of the Alliance. It was only a few yards away from the cathedral in which he made his rounds, but the priest had done little else but give it passing glances for many years now. There was something unnerving about the place, something unsettling, and that very feeling was now creeping into his chest as he turned to look over his shoulder for the fifth time within the last three minutes. The blonde couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed and as he passed yet another gravestone he was finally convinced that he shouldn’t have come here at all. Dusk was quickly approaching, and a fog had fallen over the graveyard, illuminating it in an eerie glow that did nothing to ease the priest’s paranoia as he continued towards the place in which he’d been instructed to go.
Something as simple as the moving of leaves caused Xanthion to whirl around, holding up the lantern he gripped in one hand with nothing short of a fearful expression. He walked backwards, further into the darkness but dared not call for whomever was messing with him to show themselves. It had to be someone joking around, right? Who had anything against him? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the lightest of breaths stopped the priest in his tracks. Someone was standing behind him. The hairs on his neck raised and the blood rushed to his head, and slowly he turned around to face it. Who he saw nearly brought him to his knees.
“So you’re Xanthion, then?” There was little of the warlock to see past the goggles he’d spent the last few months tinkering, but there was no doubt from both the young priest’s whitewashed expression and the warlock’s snide grin that both had found precisely who they were looking for. It was Vincentus who took the first step forward, his head tilted at an amused angle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.”
The priest could say nothing, could not move think or breathe. He hadn’t been expecting to face his adversary so soon. It was his mission to kill this man, but when standing in front of him he couldn’t act. Behind baby blues flashed hundreds of memories, a life that had been stolen from him as if those who sent him on the mission needed to remind him of just what this man had done.
The room, that dark, dank cave. The writing on the wall, all the men, women and children in dark, deep hoods. His hands clenched against the chains that held him to the wall and his ears heard nothing but demonic chanting. His body felt nothing but the hot, burning pain of the fel energy as it passed through him like a conduit to a machine he could only have imagined in his worst nightmares.
The blood… so much blood…
And wanting nothing more than a savior who would never come.
“You..” The priest choked forward, taking an unsure step back and unsheathing the blade he kept at his side. A holy energy radiated forth from the hymnal at his side, readying for attack if necessary. The warlock however, seemed unphased by this. He took a confident step towards the young man and the goggles that sat over his eyes whirred gently in the breeze, examining him from head to toe and bringing back nothing of use.
“I know precisely who I am, boy. What I’d like to know is who you are and why you carry my family’s name. It’s…unusual, to say the least. We’re a rare breed,” He spoke in a near drawl, coming ever closer to the priest who could do little else but back up. “Compounded further by a name I’ve done my best to forget.”
“I’m.. I’m your s-son,” He whispered, cursing himself internally for answering the man’s questions. Unlike other unfortunate souls who had come up against Vincentus Varlisse however, Xanthion was fully aware of what this monster of a man was capable of and would not be stupid enough to underestimate such a power, even within the supposedly safe confides of the city. Speaking of that, he couldn’t help but notice now that there was not a guard to be found in this murky place. It’s as if they felt precisely as the priest did when he walked past it and chose to stay away… which did Xanthion no favors today.
“Something’s not right about you, however.” The warlock surmised out loud, coming ever closer until they were a mere foot apart. He did not fear the Light at the priest’s side, nor should he have reason to. With a quick gesture his hand was underneath Xanthion’s chin, pushing it upwards so the warlock could properly examine him. “If I hadn’t known any better, it would’ve been like looking at myself in the mirror. A fine specimen indeed, Xanthion.”
“I’m not your damned guinea pig! Not anymore!” The priest suddenly shouted, slapping the man’s hand away and raising the blade. With no warning the Light came forth in a holy fire that consumed the area before him and where he thought the warlock to be. It came forth with such force that he was forced to cover his eyes… but something wasn’t right. There was a wall of energy blocking the attack!
“It’s been a long time,” Xanthion heard the voice before he saw the person, but as soon as the light from his attack subsided, there stood yet another man where there had been none only moments prior. It was a person Xanthion had never seen before. He stood tall in a battle-mage’s regalia with long brown hair and piercing green eyes. His stance was confident, and he’d found who he was after.. but it wasn’t the priest. It was the warlock’s turn to be surprised.
“Trasius Aurentus,” Vincentus proclaimed. “I wouldn’t have thought you alive after all these years. This is truly an honor, friend.”
“I’m nobody’s friend today.” The man’s piercing gaze burned into the warlock’s form, and with no further talk he quickly conjured up what appeared to be a pair of magical handcuffs, and a box of some kind. “Vincentus Alexander Varlisse, you are under arrest by the order of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran for the murder of Xanthion McKinley. Come willingly, or come by force. It’s your choice.”
“So this was your doing, was it?” The goggled warlock’s gaze fell upon the priest, though from the lost look in his eyes there was a good sign that something was amiss here. “You’d do well to keep yourself distanced from my affairs, Tracy. I’d hate to get you involved in all of this mess. As for you,” He eyeballed the young man who didn’t know exactly who he should be watching. “I’m not finished with you.”
And with that, he vanished.
“Shit!” The mage cursed, throwing down the box and cuffs, bellowing towards the sky. This was the first time he’d seen the man in over twenty years and just like that, he’d slipped out of his grip yet again. This was playing out too much like some horrible story he’d read when he was a child.
“Who are you?” Xanthion demanded.
“Trasius,” The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an investigator for the Kirin Tor. A battle-mage. Who the hell are you?”
“Xanthion.”
Nothing but silence followed as the two stared at one another, each trying to make sense of exactly what they were looking at. It was the mage who broke the silence, pulling a flask off of his hip and tipping back the alcohol he so badly needed.
“It’s gonna be a long day.”
So in the graveyard Xanthion stood, slowly making his way through the long rows of headstones and admiring the many names of soldiers who had fallen in the name of the Alliance. It was only a few yards away from the cathedral in which he made his rounds, but the priest had done little else but give it passing glances for many years now. There was something unnerving about the place, something unsettling, and that very feeling was now creeping into his chest as he turned to look over his shoulder for the fifth time within the last three minutes. The blonde couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed and as he passed yet another gravestone he was finally convinced that he shouldn’t have come here at all. Dusk was quickly approaching, and a fog had fallen over the graveyard, illuminating it in an eerie glow that did nothing to ease the priest’s paranoia as he continued towards the place in which he’d been instructed to go.
Something as simple as the moving of leaves caused Xanthion to whirl around, holding up the lantern he gripped in one hand with nothing short of a fearful expression. He walked backwards, further into the darkness but dared not call for whomever was messing with him to show themselves. It had to be someone joking around, right? Who had anything against him? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the lightest of breaths stopped the priest in his tracks. Someone was standing behind him. The hairs on his neck raised and the blood rushed to his head, and slowly he turned around to face it. Who he saw nearly brought him to his knees.
“So you’re Xanthion, then?” There was little of the warlock to see past the goggles he’d spent the last few months tinkering, but there was no doubt from both the young priest’s whitewashed expression and the warlock’s snide grin that both had found precisely who they were looking for. It was Vincentus who took the first step forward, his head tilted at an amused angle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.”
The priest could say nothing, could not move think or breathe. He hadn’t been expecting to face his adversary so soon. It was his mission to kill this man, but when standing in front of him he couldn’t act. Behind baby blues flashed hundreds of memories, a life that had been stolen from him as if those who sent him on the mission needed to remind him of just what this man had done.
The room, that dark, dank cave. The writing on the wall, all the men, women and children in dark, deep hoods. His hands clenched against the chains that held him to the wall and his ears heard nothing but demonic chanting. His body felt nothing but the hot, burning pain of the fel energy as it passed through him like a conduit to a machine he could only have imagined in his worst nightmares.
The blood… so much blood…
And wanting nothing more than a savior who would never come.
“You..” The priest choked forward, taking an unsure step back and unsheathing the blade he kept at his side. A holy energy radiated forth from the hymnal at his side, readying for attack if necessary. The warlock however, seemed unphased by this. He took a confident step towards the young man and the goggles that sat over his eyes whirred gently in the breeze, examining him from head to toe and bringing back nothing of use.
“I know precisely who I am, boy. What I’d like to know is who you are and why you carry my family’s name. It’s…unusual, to say the least. We’re a rare breed,” He spoke in a near drawl, coming ever closer to the priest who could do little else but back up. “Compounded further by a name I’ve done my best to forget.”
“I’m.. I’m your s-son,” He whispered, cursing himself internally for answering the man’s questions. Unlike other unfortunate souls who had come up against Vincentus Varlisse however, Xanthion was fully aware of what this monster of a man was capable of and would not be stupid enough to underestimate such a power, even within the supposedly safe confides of the city. Speaking of that, he couldn’t help but notice now that there was not a guard to be found in this murky place. It’s as if they felt precisely as the priest did when he walked past it and chose to stay away… which did Xanthion no favors today.
“Something’s not right about you, however.” The warlock surmised out loud, coming ever closer until they were a mere foot apart. He did not fear the Light at the priest’s side, nor should he have reason to. With a quick gesture his hand was underneath Xanthion’s chin, pushing it upwards so the warlock could properly examine him. “If I hadn’t known any better, it would’ve been like looking at myself in the mirror. A fine specimen indeed, Xanthion.”
“I’m not your damned guinea pig! Not anymore!” The priest suddenly shouted, slapping the man’s hand away and raising the blade. With no warning the Light came forth in a holy fire that consumed the area before him and where he thought the warlock to be. It came forth with such force that he was forced to cover his eyes… but something wasn’t right. There was a wall of energy blocking the attack!
“It’s been a long time,” Xanthion heard the voice before he saw the person, but as soon as the light from his attack subsided, there stood yet another man where there had been none only moments prior. It was a person Xanthion had never seen before. He stood tall in a battle-mage’s regalia with long brown hair and piercing green eyes. His stance was confident, and he’d found who he was after.. but it wasn’t the priest. It was the warlock’s turn to be surprised.
“Trasius Aurentus,” Vincentus proclaimed. “I wouldn’t have thought you alive after all these years. This is truly an honor, friend.”
“I’m nobody’s friend today.” The man’s piercing gaze burned into the warlock’s form, and with no further talk he quickly conjured up what appeared to be a pair of magical handcuffs, and a box of some kind. “Vincentus Alexander Varlisse, you are under arrest by the order of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran for the murder of Xanthion McKinley. Come willingly, or come by force. It’s your choice.”
“So this was your doing, was it?” The goggled warlock’s gaze fell upon the priest, though from the lost look in his eyes there was a good sign that something was amiss here. “You’d do well to keep yourself distanced from my affairs, Tracy. I’d hate to get you involved in all of this mess. As for you,” He eyeballed the young man who didn’t know exactly who he should be watching. “I’m not finished with you.”
And with that, he vanished.
“Shit!” The mage cursed, throwing down the box and cuffs, bellowing towards the sky. This was the first time he’d seen the man in over twenty years and just like that, he’d slipped out of his grip yet again. This was playing out too much like some horrible story he’d read when he was a child.
“Who are you?” Xanthion demanded.
“Trasius,” The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an investigator for the Kirin Tor. A battle-mage. Who the hell are you?”
“Xanthion.”
Nothing but silence followed as the two stared at one another, each trying to make sense of exactly what they were looking at. It was the mage who broke the silence, pulling a flask off of his hip and tipping back the alcohol he so badly needed.
“It’s gonna be a long day.”