Fiendish Dealings (Fairly extensive revisions)

[Akorharil]

It was well past third watch, and Aureliya Raindawn couldn’t sleep. Instead, she found herself at the desk in the corner of her bedroom, reviewing the various applications from prospective guild petitioners that littered its rich mahogany surface. She had liberated the three-hundred some odd pound piece of furniture from the manor home of a Stormwind noble years ago, right before she and her companions had torched the entire compound to the ground. She smiled at the memory. Oh, how the wretch had begged! The pathetic human weakling, surrounded by his plundered wealth; wealth that rightfully belonged to the noble houses of Quel’thalas, left behind as the Highborn were forced to flee to Outland in the massive exodus from the Alliance. The elves that had fought and died in the service of Azeroth, and instead of being praised as hero’s, were rewarded with naught but bigotry and disdain. She had showed the bastard exactly as much mercy as the humans had shown her. Fitting, she thought, that the Alliance would meet its inevitable ruin at the hands of the Grim; the unstoppable group of warriors whose letters had all, at one point or another, lain upon this very desk.

She sipped at a glass of Silvermoon Noir as she read through the new batch of prospective candidates and sighed in annoyance. She could have sworn she had brought up a bottle of the ‘73 vintage, and this was quite clearly a ‘78. Still, she thought, she couldn’t very well let the bottle go to waste, and poured herself another glass.

Aureliya stifled a yawn midway through a particularly long winded candidate’s application. Perhaps the warm alcoholic glow of the wine had finally allowed her to find rest for the evening. She had blown out the leftmost desk candle and was about to follow suit with the right when she felt a sudden hand on her shoulder. She jumped reflexively at the unexpected touch.

“Who in the --Ahh! Damn it!”

She felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as she bolted upright from the chair, followed seconds later by the unexpected warmth of fresh blood slowly running down her arm.

A tall man stood partially cloaked in the dim light of the single remaining candle. He was wearing an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit and carrying an ornate briefcase. He flashed the startled elf a wide, unsettling grin as his plucked a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. His ivory-white teeth glinted in the candlelight, and Aureliya couldn't help but notice that they were awkwardly pointed, as if he had taken to the habit of filing them.

“I am terribly sorry for startling you, madam,” he said in a voice that seemed to come from some lightless abyss deep beneath the earth. “Please, allow me to administer to your wound.”

He dabbed the handkerchief against her skin delicately, wiping the blood from her shoulder. His black lacquered nails had also been filed to wicked points; enough that they were able to break her skin as she whirled to face him, jerking her arm away.

The strange man stowed the soiled handkerchief in one of the pockets of his briefcase. He then doffed his hat and made a low, elaborate bow. The elf couldn't be sure thanks to the low burning candle, but she could have almost sworn she had seen a small set of horns, like those of a baby goat, flanking his forehead.

“Azraelthalas of Mephistar, Falxugon of the One-hundred-and-thirty-fourth order, Procurator of my Lord and master, Remmanon Akorharil.”

Aureliya stared in outrage at the strange man for several moments. “Remmanon Akorh…” Suddenly the odd name registered in her memory. “Hrm. The Orcish petitioner.” Her eyes narrowed angrily.

His sinister eyes seemed to burn with a faint red light from behind a pair of dark-tinted glasses. “Of course, Mistress.” He sounded amused, and his impossible smile widened to showcase even more of his strange, filed teeth. “Orcish.”

Walking past her, he laid his briefcase across the mahogany desk and unfastened the clasps with a loud snap. His footfalls echoed throughout the room despite his thin build, sounding more like the clomping of cloven hooves.

He turned to face her, a polished bone scroll case in his hand. The top had been sealed with a thick, foul smelling black wax. He poised his hand about the seal, as if to break it, and then paused.

“With your permission, Madam.”

"How dare you have the audacity to enter my home uninvited? Get on with it, and then remove yourself from my sight!" She was amazed that she hadn't yet throttled the man for having the gall to barge into a lady’s bedroom unannounced. She would have to see about increased security for her home, she noted, come morning.

The strange man nodded in mock sympathy. She hadn't voiced any of her thoughts aloud, but he replied as if he had heard them regardless.

“Article seventeen, clause forty-seven, line twelve of the Pact Primeval: As the procuration of animus material, being essential to the operation and upkeep of the Outer Plane known as Baator, Baatezu class Falxugon shall not be the target of offensive attack, save only through offensive action of their own.”

He broke the seal on the case with a sharp twist of his lace-cuffed wrist and removed a scroll of high quality vellum. He unfurled the scroll and began to read, his burning eyes aimed not at the text, but squarely into the Blood Elf’s eyes.

“High Inquisitor Aureliya Raindawn. You will find enclosed proof of my successful completion of the Trial by Combat, as stipulated between us in verbal contract. I await your response. Azraelthalas will of course bear your written reply to my eager hand as swiftly as he is able. Akorharil.”

Azraelthalas reached into his waistcoat pocket and removed a faintly glowing red orb.

“A power core from the Sunreaver Construct that went haywire several months ago on the Isle of Thunder. I am sure, Madam, that you are capable of feeling the dweomer of the orb from where you stand.”

Again, he loosed his predatory grin.

“I must ask, however, that you sign for the delivery before I release the item into your care. My Master prefers to keep very meticulous records. A woman of your importance no doubt understands the gravity of such matters, yes?”

He beckoned for her to take a seat at the desk.

Aureliya felt the will draining from her body. The wine, the lack of sleep, the loss of blood; it was all too much for one day. She gathered the skirts of her robe about her and lowered herself back into her chair.
Azrael removed a book bound in black leather from his open briefcase and slowly, solemnly placed it on the table. Moving his hands reverently across the face of the tome, he gently opened it to a page pre-marked with a blood red ribbon.

The High Inquisitor was on the verge of dipping her quill into the ink when her injured shoulder suddenly flared in pain, causing her to knock the well from her desk and onto the rare Nerubian rug beneath her feet. She would have normally sworn prolifically at such an accident, but for some reason she could only muster a disappointed whimper. She couldn’t pull her attention away from those burning red eyes.

“Shhhh, my lovely elf,” he whispered soothingly, ivory fangs gleaming in the candlelight. “All is well…all is well.”

He reached into one of the pockets of his briefcase and produced a nearly empty bottle of blood red ink. Was it the same pocket where he had discarded the bloody handkerchief? It was only a few moments ago, but for some reason, she couldn’t recall. His glowing red eyes were all she could focus upon.

The black lacquered nails and lace cuffs rose past her vision to slowly, gently stroke her hair.

“That’s it, my pretty little elf….”

Aureliya leaned heavily against her desk. Something was very wrong here. Her shoulder throbbed in pain from a simple scratch? And since when did her mind swim after two simple glasses of wine? She felt rage, white hot, welling inside her.

Gathering her strength, she pushed off the edge of the desk and drew herself to her full height. Her eyes blazed right back at Azrael, and the air shimmered subtly with energy as she drew the power of her magicks to her.

"I will not cater to the demands of any supplicant! The offering of Akorharil's first trial has been received, and I will send word to him myself! And as for you- you will depart now and never return to my home unbidden!"

Orbs of flame, as white hot as her anger, crackled ominously in her slender Elven hands; hands that were leveled squarely as the Baatezu’s chest.

Azraelthalas chuckled softly at the display, his tone both amused and condescending. “Yes, Mistress, yes, extraordinarily intimidating. You will find yourself quite unable to harm me, I assu –“

And suddenly, her hands lowered to grasp the book that lay open upon her desk. The pages crackled and sputtered like dry leaves in the intense heat, and in less than a heartbeat, all that remained was a neat pile of ash.

Azrael’s eyes flared a deep crimson as pure, undiluted rage filled the room. The wine, half empty in its glass, bubbled over onto the desk and boiled away to nothingness. Aureliya felt the air sucked from her lungs beneath its fury but stood firm, proud and defiant.

A terrifying silence fell between the two. Azraelthalas was no longer smiling. His gaze bored into the elf’s soul, promising an eternity of screaming agony.

“Aren’t you a clever little girl,” he hissed, the words practically oozing from his mouth.

Aureliya met his unholy gaze and did not flinch. “You will depart now and never return unbidden” she repeated, her voice echoing with arcane power.

He stood, unmoving; and for several torturous seconds, Aureliya thought that he might press the issue. A hint of movement caught her eye, and for the first time since he had entered, the elf noticed a long, serpentine tail that stabbed at the air behind the Falxugon in obvious agitation.

The Baatezu gathered his briefcase and secured the clasps with another menacing snap. Smoothing the wrinkles from his impeccable suit, he poised his thumb and forefinger on either side of the final remaining candle’s sputtering flame.

“Pleasant dreams, Madam.”

He brought his black lacquered talons together, and the room was plunged into soothing darkness.

“I trust that we will be crossing paths with one another very soon.”

[Akorharil]

[Aureilya]

Akorharil,

Much time has passed since the intrusion of your minion on my home, and the delivery of your token of combat.

Ultimately, I have decided that your initial trial has been completed, although I will not say it was to my satisfaction. I do not know if it was arrogance, negligence or foolishness - or all three- that made you think it would be a good idea to have your servant invade my home and assault me.

Your first task is complete. Your second task is twofold. You must prove to me that you are better able to control your demon, as well as show that since your last transgression, you have learned a greater respect for the Dreadweavers and Irredeemables of The Grim. You must in some way, show your humility.

Do not forget, Supplicant. You have not yet earned your place among us.

High Inquisitor Aureliya Raindawn