Ah Stormwind, home, work, and play all mixed into one. Tyvian Arvus sat outside his home, on a wooden stool, smoking his pipe and exhaling the fragrant fumes.
He considered himself lucky, after all his time away, no one really noticed his absence. Reaching up to run his fingers through his long black hair, he grinned, holding the pipe stem between his teeth. No one, ever, had suspected the simple shopkeeper of being the loathed Grim. Enchantments had always been a talent of his, and he was certain his duplicity was unnoticed.
The Watch was getting weak, complacent, and downright laughable. Letting in Horde operatives, capturing and failing to execute criminals and known enemies was simply shameful. What was it that Farlornsilt had said? “Paint the walls red” of the city? Maybe it was time for that. Time to cull the weakness that had plagued this city.
The king was weak, unlike his father. His stance on peace was noble, but unfounded and naive. The Alliance military was far superior to the Horde’s, and with rumors of a Horde rebellion brewing, again, the time to end the Horde was nigh, yet the ‘leaders’ did nothing.
Was society this weak? Was the Alliance so weak, that a broken, disorganized Horde could compete with a unified, vengeful Alliance? Clearly the steel core of the Alliance needed tempering, in the fires of anger, and the furious blows of motivation. A martyr was needed, a symbol to rouse the Lion and incite some form of reaction necessary to breed a response.
Who to choose?
Standing and stretching, Tyvian tapped out the ashes from his pipe into the grass, and walked back inside. A civilian? No, that would just breed panic and further expose the weakness. Military target then? No, that wouldn’t work too well defended to pull off anonymously. Tyvian opened the door to his basement, walked down the stairs and held up a hand, igniting it in green fel fire. With the new light, he searched the wall, tapping the bricks in the correct sequence.
With a brief flash, the wall melted away, into a doorframe and a chamber beyond. As he stepped in, the doorway molded, climbing like ooze back up the framing to reform the wall behind him. Keeping his hand wreathed in Fel, he looked around his sanctum. Grimoires, spellbooks, runes, and numerous legion artifacts littered the walls, shelves, and tables. His own personal Grimoire, written by his hand, and containing all his knowledge and part of his own soul lay atop a stone column set into the center of the circular chamber. The Gray Haze was no more, eradicated by in-fighting, and the emblem of those who followed Rise at Dawn hung on a banner on the back wall.
His demons waited, arranged in a circle around him, with his felhound, Maanom watching a cage set into the side of the chamber.
Striding purposefully to a chest, set against a bookshelf, Tyvian pushed open the lid, and perused the contents. Picking out a single package from the copious amount, he examined it. Seaforium, pure and military purposed. Stolen from a Northrend encampment, the charges had fuses, and leather straps tied to them.
Turning his head, he motioned his Voidwalker to him. “Kilrax, fit the charges on our delivery method.”
Throwing a hand out to point at the cage, filled with imps chattering fearfully. “Get them all rigged. I have a wonderful target in mind.”
Officer Alilyanna Ostrander. Neither military nor civilian. A healer, helper, and beacon for the city for it’s goodness. Soon, she’d be a martyr, showing the city just how weak it had become. Proving his point that to be strong, vigilance and hardness of soul and mind was needed.
It would be grand, a cleansing fire. With only common imps to suggest a warlock had a hand in the matter. Warlocks were more common, and often tolerated, sometimes openly desired here in the city. Something to be used. Tyvian grinned to himself, his perfect white teeth showing in the green light.
In a short matter, with his own imp Zepsillin’s help, the twenty or so imps had the charges strapped to them. Tyvian focused his magics, the fiery chaos that filled him with a feeling of awe and menace. With Fel magics, one had to seize it, as if it was a rough torrent that resists any attempts to control it. To employ it requires strict control, forcing it to do what you want.
He channeled, and opened a gateway to Stormwind’s park district, just outside Alilyanna’s home, a place he was familiar with. He had followed all the Watch members home, using his eyes of Kilrogg. He needed to be prepared, and now it was paying off.
Keeping the gateway open just long enough to force the last of the explosive imps through, Tyvian cut off the flows of Fel, collapsing the gateway. It was done. Now he had only to weave his wards, to prevent anyone tracing it back here, to him, and to await the news of what his imps would do.