The Heist
Posted: Sat Feb 25, 2017 4:12 pm
The fundamentals of magic were based upon the manipulation of the fabric of reality as one could understand. While not a scholar of the arcane, Awatu knew enough to read spells and understand their power. Arcane magic in particular held a peculiar place within his mind as it was much more favored and tolerated within the collective societies of Azeroth. Not as unruly and taboo as fel while not as finicky or fluid as the spirits, it is a precise science that allows for untold power when at its full potential. This made it possibly the most dangerous form of magic, as its applications were essentially limitless. One need only look towards the high elven society and their adoration of the arcane or the crater that was once the city of Theramore. Now, with recent excursions into the Nighthold and spending a few late nights within the libraries of Dalaran, Awatu had come to the realization that an arms race had taken place right under their noses. Should a full-scale conflict break out between the Alliance the Horde, the secrets of Dalaran will be at the disposal of the Alliance.
The libraries of Silvermoon likely held a plethora of spells and incantations, though it was unlikely that Dalaran in sharing its most heavily-guarded spells "in the name of mutual peace". Lady Jaina Proudmoore's outburst and hatred of the Horde is evidence that bureaucracy would slow any process to halt any potential catastrophe. The Kirin Tor, in their passive ways, seem inclined to dole out the arcane in their own ways rather than ensure cooperation between factions. This, of course, conflicts with the Mandate. And, of course, when something conflicts with the Mandate, steps must be taken to end the conflict and bring peace.
Through careful studies, and taking advantage of the idiotic assumption that Shu'halo are unable to understand arcane magics, Awatu had learned that a number of vaults within Dalaran house spell tomes that contain some of the most deadly and advanced understandings of the arcane. Magics that can stop or rewind time on grand scales, tear holes in dimensions, or otherwise warp reality in untold ways. Though The Grim had succeeded in combating Elisande and the time-alterations of the Nightwell, it was telling just how much effort it took to combat such a foe. So, The Grim must be prepared for the inevitability of arcane warfare and the upper hand that the Alliance currently possesses. A small group of careful and ingenious individuals will need to break into the vaults of Dalaran and claim these spells while undetected. Awatu knew just who to leave this task to.
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Meanwhile, within Orgrimmar's Brawl'gar Arena, two murlocs fought with spears to the sound of a not-quite-a-crowd crowd of Orcs, Trolls, and Goblins. On the edge of this group, one Orc, clad in old dirty robes and with a walking cane, held tightly onto his betting tickets as he held with the others.
"STAB THE BITCH! STAB 'IM IN THE GUT!"
"Such a graceful performance."
Bor'ghul looked to his side, seeing a Pandaren woman wearing dark leathers and holding a small bag of popped corn and a little red flag that had the words "Go MRRG!" on it. She held out the bag of popped corn towards the Orc. "Message from The Commander" she said, indicating a folded letter barely sticking out of the corn. The old Orc took the letter, scanning the crowd and the arena. No one appeared to be paying much attention to the unusual exchange. He turned to speak to the Pandaren, but she was gone. Bor'ghul snapped his head around once more, looking for any sign of her, but only saw drunk spectators and the occasional guard. Shrugging, he unfolded the letter and read its contents. His face dipped into a sneer, then a grin as the letter was quickly enveloped in a green fire, leaving no trace of its existence. A loud roar erupted from the spectators as one of the murlocs appeared to have overcome its opponent. Bor'ghul looked at his tickets, then let them fall to the dirty floor as thoughts swirled in his mind of something he had always wanted to do.
A heist.
The libraries of Silvermoon likely held a plethora of spells and incantations, though it was unlikely that Dalaran in sharing its most heavily-guarded spells "in the name of mutual peace". Lady Jaina Proudmoore's outburst and hatred of the Horde is evidence that bureaucracy would slow any process to halt any potential catastrophe. The Kirin Tor, in their passive ways, seem inclined to dole out the arcane in their own ways rather than ensure cooperation between factions. This, of course, conflicts with the Mandate. And, of course, when something conflicts with the Mandate, steps must be taken to end the conflict and bring peace.
Through careful studies, and taking advantage of the idiotic assumption that Shu'halo are unable to understand arcane magics, Awatu had learned that a number of vaults within Dalaran house spell tomes that contain some of the most deadly and advanced understandings of the arcane. Magics that can stop or rewind time on grand scales, tear holes in dimensions, or otherwise warp reality in untold ways. Though The Grim had succeeded in combating Elisande and the time-alterations of the Nightwell, it was telling just how much effort it took to combat such a foe. So, The Grim must be prepared for the inevitability of arcane warfare and the upper hand that the Alliance currently possesses. A small group of careful and ingenious individuals will need to break into the vaults of Dalaran and claim these spells while undetected. Awatu knew just who to leave this task to.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, within Orgrimmar's Brawl'gar Arena, two murlocs fought with spears to the sound of a not-quite-a-crowd crowd of Orcs, Trolls, and Goblins. On the edge of this group, one Orc, clad in old dirty robes and with a walking cane, held tightly onto his betting tickets as he held with the others.
"STAB THE BITCH! STAB 'IM IN THE GUT!"
"Such a graceful performance."
Bor'ghul looked to his side, seeing a Pandaren woman wearing dark leathers and holding a small bag of popped corn and a little red flag that had the words "Go MRRG!" on it. She held out the bag of popped corn towards the Orc. "Message from The Commander" she said, indicating a folded letter barely sticking out of the corn. The old Orc took the letter, scanning the crowd and the arena. No one appeared to be paying much attention to the unusual exchange. He turned to speak to the Pandaren, but she was gone. Bor'ghul snapped his head around once more, looking for any sign of her, but only saw drunk spectators and the occasional guard. Shrugging, he unfolded the letter and read its contents. His face dipped into a sneer, then a grin as the letter was quickly enveloped in a green fire, leaving no trace of its existence. A loud roar erupted from the spectators as one of the murlocs appeared to have overcome its opponent. Bor'ghul looked at his tickets, then let them fall to the dirty floor as thoughts swirled in his mind of something he had always wanted to do.
A heist.