#raethor

Raethor smirked, a deadly, dark smile, his eyes glinting silver, an eerie, otherworldly glow to them as the mage let loose, the small building around him freezing almost solid, a glacier descending upon it and the people trapped within. The mage ignored the pleads for help, even as the ice muffled them. He was doing  these people a favor, he thought coolly, as detached as the ice itself. It was mercy, even, this fate, compared to what the demons of the Legion would do to  them. The Magistrix had been right-she always was-and these people had sought to defy her, risk the deal she had struggled to make with the Legion descending upon their city, their home.They didn’t deserve this mercy. 

Probably a bit of both.

The mage was bored, tapping his nails idly on  the elegant, probably expensive long table before him. He made sure to leave one tiny scorch mark with each tap. Yes, he liked elegant, expensive, even extravagant things himself, it was true; but he liked them as functional, practical parts of life. Luxury for luxury’s sake had never been one of his vices-and he had plenty of those.

He glanced at  the other man, also sitting alone across the  room;he seemed no less put off by the tedium of  this wait, he thought, and there was also power rolling off him in waves.

The mage came to slowly, blinking almost lazily, trying to get rid of the haze that seemed to have settled over his eyes.

Something felt...off, he knew at once, even though his mind seemed to be having a bit of trouble processing what that might be. Strange, Raethor thought, trying to dislodge the odd, unexpected grogginess that seemed to have stolen over him and refused to leave him.

He reached down to his magic, intending to cast a healing spell-he had been drinking the night before, it wasn’t unlikely he might’ve overdone it, even for an elf, he reasoned sleepily. 

And then his eyes flew open, the mage frowning darkly as he was suddenly, unexpectedly appraised of his current situation.

His hands were manacled close together, a length of chain snaking away from them on the hard packed earth beneath him where he sat, back against a tree trunk. His leather armor was gone, but most importantly...he couldn’t summon his magic and it felt like a massive empty space somewhere deep inside him, a fresh wound stealing away his breath.

What the hell had happened? He wondered for a moment, choking down the feeling of nausea the lack of this integral part of his was causing.

Eyes sharp and dark, he glanced at the stranger sitting across the fire from him; a human female, he noted, young even for her kind. Had she somehow caused this? Probably not, she was bound to have a companion with her...and Raethor would tear him apart with his bare hands for this damn indignity.

Raethor hardly noticed the  jagged line of ice trailing after him. If anything, he willed it to grow, carving into the previously pristine marble floors, breaking into the polished stone with an ominous sound that echoed in his wake.

The mage allowed himself a faint, dark shadow of a smirk at that. A pile or remains that had once been the bodies of a small army followed him, hovering in mid-air, tracking ashes and dripping ice to add to the deliberate mess he was creating.

Two large men, armed with spears blocked his path, four more running towards him. He incinerated them with a flick of a finger, piles of ashes topped by their spears all that was left of them.

He had left quite a few of those by the time he reached the woman’s throne room, giving none of it a second look or thought. Others had tried to stop him, as well; her deluded, largely brainwashed into servitude-he suspected, given what he already knew of this, of the one he had come to see-pawns. He didn’t kill those; je left them largely immobilized in icy traps that would take some time to melt. He didn’t intend to be here when that was done.

The woman sat on a richly gilded throne, the entire room covered in gold, making it radiant as the light reflected off every surface. Raethor deposited the pile of remains at the feet of the throne, none too gently, ashes and melting ice staining the gold.

The mage rolled his eyes. “Admirable sentiment, if a bit dramatic,” he stated smoothly. “No one is dying here today, though. Not when I’m present,” he smirked. 

@earelloxtiruvai

Jaina rolls her eyes and sighs as she holds her hand up to stop the innkeeper from going to the trouble.

“Don’t mind him, he’s a little less than sober at the moment. A good Kul Tiran rum has proven a bit much for our nightborne visitor,”  she smirks and takes another sip of wine.

The Nightborn gave her a lazy smile at that observation. “Yes, I noticed there was no mana; just as well, I wasn’t trying to get drunk anyway,” he reassured her, though he was well aware of the fact he wasn’t as steady on his feet as he pretended to be. There might be no mana in the drinks here but they were pretty strong-an interesting thing to know and remember, hopefully.