Vashava Nethersong sat in her laboratoryâs arcane room, watching her battle-robes get repaired by enchanted tailorâs tools of of the corner of her eye, whist the majority of her focus was on the faint temporal echos she had conjured in the center of the room. Two figures, one Vashava herself, the other, Melany Ashemere, Executor of the Rotgarde. The two figures dueled atop a archway over the Gurubashi Arena, magic flying as they moved. Vashava took notes with a quill as she watched, occasionally rewinding the fight to inspect the magic at play more closely.
The Executor was better than she had previously thought. Clearly sheâd been practicing since they last fought. Vashava scowled at her past selfâs gloating as the Executor was twice forced to the edge of the platform, gloating rather than simply blasting her off. Hubristic, foolish of her. The Executor was the lesser mage, true enough, relying on frost magic and showing little aptitude for proper offensive spell-craft, and might not even be capable of large fire or arcane based spell, but she used the skills she did possess very well. Next time, Vashava mused, sheâd obliterate the Executor without pause.
She scribbled some further notes, moving the battle backwards in time, then stopping it. The Executor had a sword⌠but twice tried to punch Vashava, and once barge her off the archway. She quickly moved the fight forwards to the end of the conflict, where the Executor had tried to hug her and burn her alive by combusting. Vashava scribbled some more notes. The Executor failed to use her sword.
This either meant arrogance, which was unlikely, the woman clearly knew she fought a superior opponent and had operated in a highly defensive manner, planning her attacks many steps ahead and preparing using defensive spells that could bolster the attacks. The other option: the Executor was not a good swords-woman. Vashava looked over at her spear-staff, musing. She had the height, weight and strength advantages in close combat as a Kaldorei compared to a Forsaken, even if she was poor at it herself. But she was -good- with her spear-staff, one of the few weapons she was good at using.
Vashava mused a moment, then replayed the battle in full, for what was now the fifty seventh time, not counting re-winding. The conclusion: she had come off the worse in the fight, and that was her own fault through arrogance. This was a correction she could, and would make. Furthermore, her little gift at the end would bear fruit in time, she thought, then listed her learning points:
- Do not underestimate or gloat.
- You have the advantage in offensive magic and close combat. Use it.
- Two methods are viable: speed and close-quarters fighting, use quick spells to overwhelm the target, or long-ranged sustained firepower, obliterating the target.
- Use necromancy at random. Add in chaos to the fight. Do not be predictable, break her plans and patterns.
She paused paused before her last point, then watched the end of the fight several times. The Executor had tried, and nearly succeeded, in using a spell-steal on her chronoward. That spoke of a degree of competence with both the underlying theory of magic, and chronomancy. However⌠that could be countered as well. A careful trap could be laid, oh yesâŚ
Vashava turned to her now repaired robes, and muttered a spell. Her wards, carefully imbued into the fabric, which had slowly repaired themselves along with the robes, projected outwards in a series of interlocking arcane traces and runes, ghosts of the complex spell-work worked into the very fabric. She waved a hand, dismissing her frost, fire, arcane and incanterâs wardâs, and intensified her chronowardâs image. She stared at it for a long time, thinking.
After an age, she snapped her fingers. Of course. Sympathetic synchronisation, coupled with an auto-modification upwards of the power. Quickly setting to work, Vashava dis-assembled her chronoward and then began threading arcane spellwork throughout it, locking in her hidden fail-safes deep in the warding itself, making it a part of the ward. Without giving up the spell-steal, the stealer would be locked into the trap.
Hours passed, until Vashava completed her spell-work. The revised chronoward was set, the three layers woven together. Smiling, she went and got some manawine. Sipping it, she mused at the notion that the Executor would be doing the same thing, analysing the fight to improve her methods and tactics. She was smart, perhaps the smartest mage sheâd encountered recently outside of elven magi, and even most of them were woefully lacking. What she could have been with proper tutoring. A warlock tutor, honestly. That she could even cast a spell was a miracle, and spoke volumes of her potential.
Then again, she thought, her little gift would cause the Executor no end of annoyance and distraction, once she started exploiting it to itâs full potential. More than that, it would be one of the keys to victory. With the right poking and prodding, the correct visions and words⌠Vashava added another set of notes to her list:
- Mental attacks must:
5a) cause fear,
5b) cause doubt.
- To achieve this, use displays of own power and target her soldiers.
Vashava re-watched the entire fight again, this time inspecting her posture, and had another sip of manawine. Yes, she mused. This was going to be a most enjoyable hunt.
