A worgen witch disaster.

The Draenor moon waned overhead as Idella tip-toed through the spread of books, bottles, and vials that filled the fort library. A healthy fire crackled in the hearth and the usual crowd of magi was absent, driven away by the late hour. With a gesture of her hand, the young witch bid a book from a shelf across the room to glide into her hand. Thumbing it open to a page, she placed it among the growing spread on the floor.

 

“Okay, trying this again,” she said aloud, thumbing a gnomish recorder as she spoke. “Shadow magic has a lot of forms. Depending on the caster and the intent of the spell, there are threads that you can follow like a trail. Um, I like to call it a ‘signature.’ This is try number thirteen on replicating the signature of the shadow spell that was cast on Robin. A reminder that I made one already but it was under pressure. We had to help Robin very quickly. Now that there’s time, we can plan. The goal is, should the caster do a spell again in the fort, or other places where we set up wards, we’ll know. Um, that is, once we set up the wards. That’ll be the step after this.”

 

“Um, so risks: Not tuning the wards to the right signature of shadow magic. We do have some friendly shadow-magic users in Templars and I’m pretty sure that’d cause trouble.” Hesitant, she adds: “Well um, actually, there are only a few and I guess one of them is me.”

 

Rubbing her arms and eyeing the room about her, the young witch utters: “Here goes.”

 

Her casting casts a pall of darkness over the room and though the health of the fire never wavered, the room grew darker. There the spell flickered, on and off, on and again, the windows of mage tower within the Rose Fort like blinking beacons in the middle of the night.

Author Idella
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