Frozen in Time
I) Diplomacy of Sorts
The shabby figure in the elegant robes approached. Still not trusting the agreement, Matasuntha had Rimesheen drawn. Its blade was angled towards the ground. A ghoul stood at her left, as alert as such a pathetic creature could be. As she narrowed her eyes at the approaching mage, she inwardly cursed about her own lack of skeletal magi. At least she had her gargoyle waiting in stoneform to her right in case her suspicions proved true. Behind her floated Nyx. With contempt in its big eyes, the shadeling watched the Forsaken walk nearer. Snowplum hovered above them all. She was ready extricate the death knight.
Though her fingers and hooves twitched, Matasuntha did her best to remain calm. She didn’t want to be responsible for failed negotiations. Even Rimesheen remained passive, its incessant thirst for souls only a dull ache at the back of her mind. There was too much at risk to make an aggressive move, unless she was forced to defend herself. That would change the encounter. The possibility curled her black lips into a smirk.
Thinking of several more months of dull patrols should she succumb to violence wiped away the sneer. Her reports on Forsaken military actions contained nothing outside the normal hostilities. With Siouxsie the Banshee irritated by the uneventful writeups and Highlord Darion Mograine bored with them, the intensive reconnaissance missions were slated to be reduced back to their less frequent scheduling–that is, if the information in the bony hand of the agent was not merely a ruse.
When the mage had shuffled within a couple yards, Matasuntha pointed the tip of the blade to his chest. “That is far enough.” Once again, her black lips dropped into a scowl, and her eyes glowed an icy cyan.
The Forsaken straightened from his slouch as much as his once rotting spine allowed and look at her. His eye sockets were bright green under his hood. In the time it took her to quirk an eyebrow at him, something with long horns, big breasts, and a flicking tail faded out of and back into a cloak of invisibility.
“Just try and touch me,” the succubus taunted.
The warlock laughed at this, and Matasuntha shot him a fanged grin. She had misidentified the undead.
“Come forward a bit more and give me the papers,” she hissed, holding out her left hand.
“I’m surprised you aren’t asking to see more of Mirtai,” he said, stepping closer and extending his arm. “Deathstalkers have eyes everywhere.
Your indulgences are no secret in the Undercity. Quite surprising for an undead.”
She snatched the papers and glared at him. “Yeah, well, my parts are still intact whereas yours were gone before you were reanimated.”
The Forsaken laughed. “Physicality is irrlevent when it can be replaced by magic.”
She snorted and, though it made her nervous, drove Rimesheen into the ground so she could hold the paperwork with both hands while she glanced over it. As she flipped through the pages, she sensed her ghoul was distracted by the warlock’s glowing eyes. She really didn’t want to spend anymore time Silverpine Forest.
“Okay, these look good,” she snapped, tucking the scrolls into a black leather bag slung from her shoulder. “You’ll receive a response from my superiors soon.” She reached for Rimesheen’s hilt.
“Your superiors, huh?” The fel-green eyes seemed to squint. “Tell Highlord Mograine that he can suck my fel–”
“Do not finish that sentence!” She thrust the tip of Rimesheen against his throat.
Before the Forsaken could answer, a whip coiled around her wrist and drew taut. Mirtai dropped her occlusion. She was gripping the whip handle in raised hand.
“Tell your bitch to let go, and I will not cut off her tits and fuck her while she bleeds back into the Twisting Nether.”
What remained of the warlock’s mouth grimaced. “Like you would have sex with anything without breasts.”
“Do it,” she growled. The runic aura around Rimesheen’s blade turned an even darker shade of blue. “Now.”
“Fine, fine.” He shook his head at her. “Mirtai, release her wrist.”
The succubus pouted at her master. “Oh, you never let me have any fun.”
“We can have fun as soon as we’ve returned. Promise.”
She disappeared back into invisibility, jubilating. “I hope we can play ‘Where in the Nether are my Nethers?’ tonight.”
The warlock was about to respond, but Matasuntha interrupted: “Are we done here?”
“Yes, we are done here, Alliance harlot.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Now get out of my sight.”
She lowered Rimesheen, but waited until the warlock (and no doubt his succubus) had withdrawn into the distance to sheath the runeblade to her back. Sighing, she conjured a portal to Ebon Hold. The gargoyle burst out of stoneform and flew back to headquarters while Matasuntha called down Snowplum. Once the circling hippogryph landed with a hesitant squawk, the beast having never fully adjusted with the macabre nature of her rider, they filed one-by-one into the death gate.
(( Hosted on Rise of the Ice Phoenix. ))