Scene I: Netherwalk
"Show them in, then." A magisterial voice ordered. At a leisurely pace, the enormous baroque doors situated at the opposite end of the chamber yawned open.
The climb seemed to have lasted days before the group reached the top of the mansion. As they ascended, each floor seemed more fantastical than the last. The jaw of a goliath marked their arrival, a massive archway made of garnished marble and chiseled into the likeness of a dragonhawk, which upon passing under let the group out into a large, hearty atrium. There brooms alive with magic sifted dust left and right in an orderly fashion; mana wyrms flitted about the place and nipped at the visitors territorially; and arcane constructions, colassal golems made of stone and magic, the very peak of Sin'dorei craftsmanship, feigned dormancy beside doorways and staircases. The guests edged past one idle sentry, causing it to whirl alive with a torrent of magic and thrum “Misconduct results in immediate termination. Have a good day, authorized visitor.”
They turned left and passed beneath another gigantic archway in the shape of conjoining treants. Ghoulish faces carved into twisted marble trunks peered down with passing judgement at the visitors, their sapphire-inlaid eyes full of hidden, reticent knowledge. Beyond, the guests found the mansion's steward waiting patiently beside a tower of floating stairs. He was a refined fellow with sharp eyes and a polished attire, his smile bright and his red-black waistcoat neatly pressed beneath an even blacker coat, but the curtness in his movements suggested the steward had better things to be doing.
He must have been aware of the group's arrival before they were, for he had already climbed a few stairs and was climbing still when he motioned for the group to follow.
The second floor resembled much of the first, but there was something decidedly off about it. As eyes drew upwards, they realized the ceiling reached unnatural heights in several locations, its architecture obscured by tricks of the eye and indiscernible by any means other than magic. To add to the visitors' confusion, the mansion betrayed no hints of enchantment from the outside. One onlooker misstepped as he stared at the dark sky around him and nearly risked a topple off the side of the stairs, but was fortunately caught by those around him. None took the time to scold him for his carelessness; they themselves were too busy absorbing their queer surroundings. "Are we in another realm?" A different visitor whispered in a hushed voice, afraid of the answer to their question.
They continued to climb the stairs, past oblivion, towards the third floor. Each guest sighed with relief to see the ceiling hovered over them at a reasonable height. There was noticeably less color to the room, whose walls were lined with an assortment of runes, small and large alike. Some glowed bright red, others dim blue, even more of them noxious green. Each was unique and entirely unlike the rest. They pulsated with magical energy, to the attraction of the mana wyrms. The creatures floated about the room like cotton in a breeze. As the elves looked closer, they realized there were mana wyrms everywhere. Afloat next to the candelabras, nestled along the vaulted ceiling, entwined among the limbs of the chandeliers. A couple had already taken up to their new friends, and followed them up to the fourth floor...
Where things only got weirder. "Mind the Lichbloom." The steward spoke, perhaps for the first time. The guests hardly made it up the stairs in wonder of what that meant when a crunch was heard beneath their feet. They peered down to spot a small tangle of spindly, cord-like stems wrapped around one of the crystalline steps. It exhaled a breath of white light before fading to a dull, lifeless color. Then, suddenly, it surged back to life with twice its previous brilliance and stretched itself out of its crinkled state. They climbed a few more steps before the group encountered another bundle of Lichbloom, this patch thicker than the last. When they climbed a couple steps past that, what they saw astonished them.
An entire room smothered in Lichbloom. Only the faintest tease of daylight permeated the stained glass walls, illuminating the overgrown plant whose vines gnarled and twisted to reach even the furthest corners. Where the room had once been the warm shade of amber, it was now a dusky cobalt. Yet there was an unmatched beauty on the fourth floor, where orbs of light coated the ceiling of flora and orbited the vines as little stars. They drifted about the air like lost constellations, waiting for a force to pull them in any particular direction. It would not be enough to simply stop and stare; one could find themselves lost in that room for an eternity. So the guests continued their ascent upwards, and found the stars and vines followed too.
"Lady Voixra participated in many Northrend campaigns during the Scourge War," the steward explained as they neared the fifth floor. "She developed a fascination for Lichbloom during that time, and insisted we housed our own conservatory for the specimen. Most err away from using it, mind you, but the lady insists its magical properties not be undervalued." A mana wyrm wriggled its way out from amidst a clump of Lichbloom foliage and squawked at the elves as they passed by. "To give you some background on Lady Bloodcraft, her family originated in Southern Eversong, before it was the Blackened Woods. They were known as House Manacraft then. After the tragedy of the Second War, her family moved north, where they remained through the hardships of the Third War.
“The Manacrafts were of old money and old blood alike, and they took the invasion of Quel'thalas better than others for those two reasons. If you could imagine, they thrived off the war. Even after Arthas retreated back to Northrend and Prince Kael'thas returned to soothe the wounds of his people, the Manacrafts were finding ways to turn a profit off the inherent suffering. The family split soon after, a portion traveling to Outland in pursuit of knowledge, the rest remaining on Azeroth to maintain the family legacy. You can imagine all they brought back with them, the visitors to Outland...
“Still, Voxira vehemently denies ever serving as a Sunfury, along with any of her other family members. What hopes for power they had were squandered by their prince's betrayal, despite the family's own lack for morals. They returned home to Quel'thalas to resume a life of leisure, only as House Bloodcraft.
“It was not uncommon for shattered households to adopt a new name alongside the Sin'dorei identity, but many found the family's choice in distinction had certain, well, implications. Tensions exist between countless households of Quel'thalas, but never more so as the Bloodcrafts. The family still evades the trust of locals today—surely you've heard rumors on the tongues of passing men of forbidden blood rituals being practiced within these walls. Feeble chatter, but enough to make you wonder.
“When the Scourge War reached a head in Northrend, the Bloodcrafts were particularly enrooted in the efforts against the Lich King's army. Several sons and daughters pushed the offensive in Icecrown, and had privy to the aftermath at the citadel. One of these daughters was Voixra, a young mage with a mind still malleable and hungry to take shape. This is where she developed her appreciation for Lichbloom, and an even deeper fascination with the San'layn. Ever heard of vampyrs? A deprived lot, yet somehow vastly intriguing to our lady. She led several scientific excursions during her time in Northrend to develop a better understanding of them. Alas, the last of the San’layn died with Arthas, to our lady's dismay.
“Since then, Lady Bloodcraft has traveled all over Azeroth—and beyond—to catalogue lesser-known species of the worlds. You could say it is her passion. Most recently, she's spent her time recording new discoveries and reaching out to potential business partners to arrange future expeditions... Which is precisely what brings you here to us today." No sooner did the steward finish speaking had the guests arrived to the fifth and final floor of the tower. They were met by two gigantic, sentient doors that guarded the room. A large eyeball watched from the center of each tall wing, shooting back and forth with intense scrutiny, never missing a detail.
The steward stepped forward and gave the large doors two heavy knocks. Then he spoke at the eyes as if they could hear him. “Your guests are here, Lady Bloodcraft.”
When they entered, they found her standing in the far back of the room beneath a blanket of Lichbloom drooping down from the domed ceiling. A limb-like vine contorted this way and that, reaching out like a curious child toward a concentration of mana clutched in Voixra’s hand. The small orbs of light that manifested upon the plant's blue-gray surface drifted about in a sprightly manner, seemingly content to float there forever. It was clear the plant’s gentle nature appealed to some hidden youth in the philanthropist, and it showed by way of an unusually warm smile upon her face.
“Have you ever seen Lichbloom grow in such abundance?” Voixra asked with a ginger caress of the cobalt foliage. “Few have, or so I’ve met. Certainly not any place in the Eastern Kingdoms—I’d be the first to achieve that. Provide it with the correct environment and it’ll engulf a room, but I needn’t explain that to you. You’ve seen the fourth floor. It grows natively in Northrend, so long as there’s a sufficient source of mana to draw upon, but I’ve replicated their natural conditions to eliminate any potential environmental issues. In many Northrend cultures, it is ingested in combination with other native herbs to achieve particular medicinal results, although I mostly prefer to use it for siphoning purposes.
“But I digress,” the philanthropist turned to face the adventurers, her elfin features pale against the cool light of the chandelier overhead. Bold red lips tugged at a smile. The lady was hardly an eye sore; her wisp of a body hid behind rich, velvety garments, and her fiery red mane shone with such brilliance it appeared to be on fire. Rubies like crystallized blood were fastened along the neckline of her bodice and shimmered fiercely beneath the light. “I did not summon you here to discuss flora. You are here because I believe you can help me.”
Without permitting so much as an introduction, Voixra began to stroll towards the center of the expansive chamber. Her lacquered red heels clicked against the marble floor with each step, the tail of her robes flowing behind like a velvety waterfall. Click. Click. Click. “What experience have you with pirates? For a fact, I know each-and-every one of you has had a run-in with the Red Blade. A treacherous lot, though hardly more than a saltwater nuisance. For me, a pivotal piece to a puzzle I am trying to solve.”
The lady lifted her arms and extended her hands at the domed roof. It was ornamented with a hundred dozen jewels, ranging from diamonds to rubies to emeralds, and lined with the intricate gold carvings of Thalassian wildlife: lynxes and treants, mana wyrms and dragonhawks. Projecting downwards from the ceiling was an enormous scrying orb, its swirling focus pointed directly atop a map laid out on the table beneath it. The adventurers gazed curiously at the arcane contraption; despite the Lichbloom that clung to its centerpiece, the dim glow produced underneath alluded to its recent usage.
“When the Alliance and the Horde flooded the Broken Shore to suppress the Legion threat, their sight was only limited to forces of a demonic nature. They did not perceive pirates and blood-crazed men to be of any import. As fury collided with fury, there was a great deal of clamor in the Storm Peaks. Noise enough to awake something ancient.” The dome-styled room suddenly became alive with blurry, darkened visions. They hovered in place like statues of fog, the dark magic containing them whipping back and forth in turbulent waves. Some took the shape of humans, one sharpening his blade, another knotting a rope, two engaged in a game of darts. Others took the shape of elves, tall and imperial, garbed in long, exquisite robes. They tended to swirling orbs and thick grimoires, their faces twisted into perpetual scowls. One curious visitor reached out to touch an apparition and found it part between his fingers like a cloud of vapor.
A larger shade materialized into existence beneath the scrying orb. It looked like a man, but his features were indiscernible, with a build too large to be human. Thick arms were folded across a broad chest, pools of crimson hid behind closed eyelids. Voixra slid between two guests to position herself beside the monstrosity. When her lips parted to speak again, the vile creature surged forth from his idle position to emit an awful scream, but the sound was muffled, as if he were underwater. The lady spoke as though her voice was the only one in the room. “If you did your homework, then you know of the San’layn,” Voixra motioned to the scattered apparitions of elves. “The undead elven servants of the late Lich King whose preservation relied upon the consumption of mortal blood.” Her hand glided over the shade of an orb posted on an iron pedestal. “The very first account of pure blood magic. Fascinating, but the creatures became a moot matter when they perished alongside their master.” The lady clenched her hand around the orb and watched it disperse between her jeweled fingers before lifting her gaze sullenly to the giant looming before her. “I had become convinced that blood magic ended there. Until the Red Blade stumbled upon him.
“It was purely accidental, but oft times that is how it is. A chance encounter, an accidental happening—for me, a stroke of luck. The Red Blade set course for the Citrine Bay in Stormheim for reasons inconsequential, and upon arrival her captain ordered camp be set up amidst a scrape of unassuming ruins. It proved to be their folly. No more than a fortnight later, sanity abandoned the pirates and most everyone gave way to a ravenous delirium.” Voixra turned to face a man lowering the sail to a ship. His features were obscured by the ripples of magic that contained him, but she could tell that he was young. She frowned. “I had thought nothing of the incident until a colleague in the area mentioned something curiously symptomatic of vampyrism.
“The pirates were drinking blood. It was to my astonishment when my colleague informed me they adopted this behavior as a cohesive group. If one was drawn to the scent, so were all the others—but the aggression never turned internal. They worked as a pack, possibly more so than when their incentive was gold and swag. But in exchange for this bloodlust, they’ve lost all sensibility. The only time they wander from the ruins now is to sate their thirst, a craving which appears to drive them above all else. They no longer take stock in food or water, or any other comforts they enjoyed before.”
One by one, each of the phantom pirates abandoned their station to crowd around the giant hovering at the center of the room. They snarled and lashed at the air with their teeth like feral dogs, but never once paid mind to the lady or any of her visitors. “It is a curious case,” Voixra continued. “One that far exceeds my imagination of beings sustained by blood. Such an unprecedented discovery leads me to suspect the San’layn were a wholesomely unique kind of vampyr, not the appropriate model upon which to base my studies.
“Which begs the question—what is the source of this strange condition? My natural reaction was to delve into the history of the ruins. Located beyond the edges of the Runewood where the land steeps and leads off to the shoreline, it is unassuming from a glance. The architecture is vrykul. Beyond that, my knowledge has been limited to what my scrying orb picks up. It took several days for it to find something. Just when I had thought it all for naught, I found him.” The monstrous shade shifted in place beside Voixra. “A vrykul. Alone, tucked away deep within the ruins, slumbering. Can you sense the raw magic coursing through him? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.
“Aggravatingly so, every textbook I’ve acquired on Stormheim thus far fails to provide a connection between blood magic and the vrykul—perhaps it has never been documented before. Personal obligations keep me bound to Quel’thalas, else I’d travel to the ruins myself to learn more. It is for that reason I have summoned you all here, to act in my stead and gather knowledge on this extraordinary creature.” The lady spent the next hour carefully laying out the conditions, unwavering in her terms. Study the vampyrs and report back once a week (in meticulous detail, she insisted). Carefully box and return any transportable artifacts found at the site. Bring the vrykul back alive, if at all. Additionally, travel expenses will be covered, and reparations made for any discrepancies. And finally—most important of all—the condition must not be allowed to spread.
“So tell me,” Voixra smiled. “Are you up to the task?”
The climb seemed to have lasted days before the group reached the top of the mansion. As they ascended, each floor seemed more fantastical than the last. The jaw of a goliath marked their arrival, a massive archway made of garnished marble and chiseled into the likeness of a dragonhawk, which upon passing under let the group out into a large, hearty atrium. There brooms alive with magic sifted dust left and right in an orderly fashion; mana wyrms flitted about the place and nipped at the visitors territorially; and arcane constructions, colassal golems made of stone and magic, the very peak of Sin'dorei craftsmanship, feigned dormancy beside doorways and staircases. The guests edged past one idle sentry, causing it to whirl alive with a torrent of magic and thrum “Misconduct results in immediate termination. Have a good day, authorized visitor.”
They turned left and passed beneath another gigantic archway in the shape of conjoining treants. Ghoulish faces carved into twisted marble trunks peered down with passing judgement at the visitors, their sapphire-inlaid eyes full of hidden, reticent knowledge. Beyond, the guests found the mansion's steward waiting patiently beside a tower of floating stairs. He was a refined fellow with sharp eyes and a polished attire, his smile bright and his red-black waistcoat neatly pressed beneath an even blacker coat, but the curtness in his movements suggested the steward had better things to be doing.
He must have been aware of the group's arrival before they were, for he had already climbed a few stairs and was climbing still when he motioned for the group to follow.
The second floor resembled much of the first, but there was something decidedly off about it. As eyes drew upwards, they realized the ceiling reached unnatural heights in several locations, its architecture obscured by tricks of the eye and indiscernible by any means other than magic. To add to the visitors' confusion, the mansion betrayed no hints of enchantment from the outside. One onlooker misstepped as he stared at the dark sky around him and nearly risked a topple off the side of the stairs, but was fortunately caught by those around him. None took the time to scold him for his carelessness; they themselves were too busy absorbing their queer surroundings. "Are we in another realm?" A different visitor whispered in a hushed voice, afraid of the answer to their question.
They continued to climb the stairs, past oblivion, towards the third floor. Each guest sighed with relief to see the ceiling hovered over them at a reasonable height. There was noticeably less color to the room, whose walls were lined with an assortment of runes, small and large alike. Some glowed bright red, others dim blue, even more of them noxious green. Each was unique and entirely unlike the rest. They pulsated with magical energy, to the attraction of the mana wyrms. The creatures floated about the room like cotton in a breeze. As the elves looked closer, they realized there were mana wyrms everywhere. Afloat next to the candelabras, nestled along the vaulted ceiling, entwined among the limbs of the chandeliers. A couple had already taken up to their new friends, and followed them up to the fourth floor...
Where things only got weirder. "Mind the Lichbloom." The steward spoke, perhaps for the first time. The guests hardly made it up the stairs in wonder of what that meant when a crunch was heard beneath their feet. They peered down to spot a small tangle of spindly, cord-like stems wrapped around one of the crystalline steps. It exhaled a breath of white light before fading to a dull, lifeless color. Then, suddenly, it surged back to life with twice its previous brilliance and stretched itself out of its crinkled state. They climbed a few more steps before the group encountered another bundle of Lichbloom, this patch thicker than the last. When they climbed a couple steps past that, what they saw astonished them.
An entire room smothered in Lichbloom. Only the faintest tease of daylight permeated the stained glass walls, illuminating the overgrown plant whose vines gnarled and twisted to reach even the furthest corners. Where the room had once been the warm shade of amber, it was now a dusky cobalt. Yet there was an unmatched beauty on the fourth floor, where orbs of light coated the ceiling of flora and orbited the vines as little stars. They drifted about the air like lost constellations, waiting for a force to pull them in any particular direction. It would not be enough to simply stop and stare; one could find themselves lost in that room for an eternity. So the guests continued their ascent upwards, and found the stars and vines followed too.
"Lady Voixra participated in many Northrend campaigns during the Scourge War," the steward explained as they neared the fifth floor. "She developed a fascination for Lichbloom during that time, and insisted we housed our own conservatory for the specimen. Most err away from using it, mind you, but the lady insists its magical properties not be undervalued." A mana wyrm wriggled its way out from amidst a clump of Lichbloom foliage and squawked at the elves as they passed by. "To give you some background on Lady Bloodcraft, her family originated in Southern Eversong, before it was the Blackened Woods. They were known as House Manacraft then. After the tragedy of the Second War, her family moved north, where they remained through the hardships of the Third War.
“The Manacrafts were of old money and old blood alike, and they took the invasion of Quel'thalas better than others for those two reasons. If you could imagine, they thrived off the war. Even after Arthas retreated back to Northrend and Prince Kael'thas returned to soothe the wounds of his people, the Manacrafts were finding ways to turn a profit off the inherent suffering. The family split soon after, a portion traveling to Outland in pursuit of knowledge, the rest remaining on Azeroth to maintain the family legacy. You can imagine all they brought back with them, the visitors to Outland...
“Still, Voxira vehemently denies ever serving as a Sunfury, along with any of her other family members. What hopes for power they had were squandered by their prince's betrayal, despite the family's own lack for morals. They returned home to Quel'thalas to resume a life of leisure, only as House Bloodcraft.
“It was not uncommon for shattered households to adopt a new name alongside the Sin'dorei identity, but many found the family's choice in distinction had certain, well, implications. Tensions exist between countless households of Quel'thalas, but never more so as the Bloodcrafts. The family still evades the trust of locals today—surely you've heard rumors on the tongues of passing men of forbidden blood rituals being practiced within these walls. Feeble chatter, but enough to make you wonder.
“When the Scourge War reached a head in Northrend, the Bloodcrafts were particularly enrooted in the efforts against the Lich King's army. Several sons and daughters pushed the offensive in Icecrown, and had privy to the aftermath at the citadel. One of these daughters was Voixra, a young mage with a mind still malleable and hungry to take shape. This is where she developed her appreciation for Lichbloom, and an even deeper fascination with the San'layn. Ever heard of vampyrs? A deprived lot, yet somehow vastly intriguing to our lady. She led several scientific excursions during her time in Northrend to develop a better understanding of them. Alas, the last of the San’layn died with Arthas, to our lady's dismay.
“Since then, Lady Bloodcraft has traveled all over Azeroth—and beyond—to catalogue lesser-known species of the worlds. You could say it is her passion. Most recently, she's spent her time recording new discoveries and reaching out to potential business partners to arrange future expeditions... Which is precisely what brings you here to us today." No sooner did the steward finish speaking had the guests arrived to the fifth and final floor of the tower. They were met by two gigantic, sentient doors that guarded the room. A large eyeball watched from the center of each tall wing, shooting back and forth with intense scrutiny, never missing a detail.
The steward stepped forward and gave the large doors two heavy knocks. Then he spoke at the eyes as if they could hear him. “Your guests are here, Lady Bloodcraft.”
When they entered, they found her standing in the far back of the room beneath a blanket of Lichbloom drooping down from the domed ceiling. A limb-like vine contorted this way and that, reaching out like a curious child toward a concentration of mana clutched in Voixra’s hand. The small orbs of light that manifested upon the plant's blue-gray surface drifted about in a sprightly manner, seemingly content to float there forever. It was clear the plant’s gentle nature appealed to some hidden youth in the philanthropist, and it showed by way of an unusually warm smile upon her face.
“Have you ever seen Lichbloom grow in such abundance?” Voixra asked with a ginger caress of the cobalt foliage. “Few have, or so I’ve met. Certainly not any place in the Eastern Kingdoms—I’d be the first to achieve that. Provide it with the correct environment and it’ll engulf a room, but I needn’t explain that to you. You’ve seen the fourth floor. It grows natively in Northrend, so long as there’s a sufficient source of mana to draw upon, but I’ve replicated their natural conditions to eliminate any potential environmental issues. In many Northrend cultures, it is ingested in combination with other native herbs to achieve particular medicinal results, although I mostly prefer to use it for siphoning purposes.
“But I digress,” the philanthropist turned to face the adventurers, her elfin features pale against the cool light of the chandelier overhead. Bold red lips tugged at a smile. The lady was hardly an eye sore; her wisp of a body hid behind rich, velvety garments, and her fiery red mane shone with such brilliance it appeared to be on fire. Rubies like crystallized blood were fastened along the neckline of her bodice and shimmered fiercely beneath the light. “I did not summon you here to discuss flora. You are here because I believe you can help me.”
Without permitting so much as an introduction, Voixra began to stroll towards the center of the expansive chamber. Her lacquered red heels clicked against the marble floor with each step, the tail of her robes flowing behind like a velvety waterfall. Click. Click. Click. “What experience have you with pirates? For a fact, I know each-and-every one of you has had a run-in with the Red Blade. A treacherous lot, though hardly more than a saltwater nuisance. For me, a pivotal piece to a puzzle I am trying to solve.”
The lady lifted her arms and extended her hands at the domed roof. It was ornamented with a hundred dozen jewels, ranging from diamonds to rubies to emeralds, and lined with the intricate gold carvings of Thalassian wildlife: lynxes and treants, mana wyrms and dragonhawks. Projecting downwards from the ceiling was an enormous scrying orb, its swirling focus pointed directly atop a map laid out on the table beneath it. The adventurers gazed curiously at the arcane contraption; despite the Lichbloom that clung to its centerpiece, the dim glow produced underneath alluded to its recent usage.
“When the Alliance and the Horde flooded the Broken Shore to suppress the Legion threat, their sight was only limited to forces of a demonic nature. They did not perceive pirates and blood-crazed men to be of any import. As fury collided with fury, there was a great deal of clamor in the Storm Peaks. Noise enough to awake something ancient.” The dome-styled room suddenly became alive with blurry, darkened visions. They hovered in place like statues of fog, the dark magic containing them whipping back and forth in turbulent waves. Some took the shape of humans, one sharpening his blade, another knotting a rope, two engaged in a game of darts. Others took the shape of elves, tall and imperial, garbed in long, exquisite robes. They tended to swirling orbs and thick grimoires, their faces twisted into perpetual scowls. One curious visitor reached out to touch an apparition and found it part between his fingers like a cloud of vapor.
A larger shade materialized into existence beneath the scrying orb. It looked like a man, but his features were indiscernible, with a build too large to be human. Thick arms were folded across a broad chest, pools of crimson hid behind closed eyelids. Voixra slid between two guests to position herself beside the monstrosity. When her lips parted to speak again, the vile creature surged forth from his idle position to emit an awful scream, but the sound was muffled, as if he were underwater. The lady spoke as though her voice was the only one in the room. “If you did your homework, then you know of the San’layn,” Voixra motioned to the scattered apparitions of elves. “The undead elven servants of the late Lich King whose preservation relied upon the consumption of mortal blood.” Her hand glided over the shade of an orb posted on an iron pedestal. “The very first account of pure blood magic. Fascinating, but the creatures became a moot matter when they perished alongside their master.” The lady clenched her hand around the orb and watched it disperse between her jeweled fingers before lifting her gaze sullenly to the giant looming before her. “I had become convinced that blood magic ended there. Until the Red Blade stumbled upon him.
“It was purely accidental, but oft times that is how it is. A chance encounter, an accidental happening—for me, a stroke of luck. The Red Blade set course for the Citrine Bay in Stormheim for reasons inconsequential, and upon arrival her captain ordered camp be set up amidst a scrape of unassuming ruins. It proved to be their folly. No more than a fortnight later, sanity abandoned the pirates and most everyone gave way to a ravenous delirium.” Voixra turned to face a man lowering the sail to a ship. His features were obscured by the ripples of magic that contained him, but she could tell that he was young. She frowned. “I had thought nothing of the incident until a colleague in the area mentioned something curiously symptomatic of vampyrism.
“The pirates were drinking blood. It was to my astonishment when my colleague informed me they adopted this behavior as a cohesive group. If one was drawn to the scent, so were all the others—but the aggression never turned internal. They worked as a pack, possibly more so than when their incentive was gold and swag. But in exchange for this bloodlust, they’ve lost all sensibility. The only time they wander from the ruins now is to sate their thirst, a craving which appears to drive them above all else. They no longer take stock in food or water, or any other comforts they enjoyed before.”
One by one, each of the phantom pirates abandoned their station to crowd around the giant hovering at the center of the room. They snarled and lashed at the air with their teeth like feral dogs, but never once paid mind to the lady or any of her visitors. “It is a curious case,” Voixra continued. “One that far exceeds my imagination of beings sustained by blood. Such an unprecedented discovery leads me to suspect the San’layn were a wholesomely unique kind of vampyr, not the appropriate model upon which to base my studies.
“Which begs the question—what is the source of this strange condition? My natural reaction was to delve into the history of the ruins. Located beyond the edges of the Runewood where the land steeps and leads off to the shoreline, it is unassuming from a glance. The architecture is vrykul. Beyond that, my knowledge has been limited to what my scrying orb picks up. It took several days for it to find something. Just when I had thought it all for naught, I found him.” The monstrous shade shifted in place beside Voixra. “A vrykul. Alone, tucked away deep within the ruins, slumbering. Can you sense the raw magic coursing through him? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.
“Aggravatingly so, every textbook I’ve acquired on Stormheim thus far fails to provide a connection between blood magic and the vrykul—perhaps it has never been documented before. Personal obligations keep me bound to Quel’thalas, else I’d travel to the ruins myself to learn more. It is for that reason I have summoned you all here, to act in my stead and gather knowledge on this extraordinary creature.” The lady spent the next hour carefully laying out the conditions, unwavering in her terms. Study the vampyrs and report back once a week (in meticulous detail, she insisted). Carefully box and return any transportable artifacts found at the site. Bring the vrykul back alive, if at all. Additionally, travel expenses will be covered, and reparations made for any discrepancies. And finally—most important of all—the condition must not be allowed to spread.
“So tell me,” Voixra smiled. “Are you up to the task?”
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