Curse

On the frosty morning of February 11th, in the Second Year of the Dark Portal, the very air in Dalaran crackled with the sheer, unadulterated fury of Archmage Antonidas. The old wizard was absolutely livid. See, after that scoundrel Gul'dan had cursed him last year, Antonidas had plunged headfirst into studying the vile magic. But as more and more unsettling reports of Orcish warlock death magic and abominable Orc Death Knights poured into Dalaran, Antonidas had a chilling epiphany: this wasn't just a taboo; this was a Pandora's Box that humanity should never, ever touch.

By mid-December, after an emergency, white-knuckle discussion by the Kirin Tor's six-member Council, a five-to-one vote had sealed the deal: all information on necromancy was to be locked away in the deepest, darkest vaults of the Violet Library, under a permanent magical seal. The decree had been broadcast throughout Dalaran, loud and clear, like a warning bell. The matter, by all rights, should have been dead and buried. But then, in early January, Antonidas received a report that made his blood run colder than a Frost Wyrm's breath: zombies had been spotted shambling around the frozen fields near Dalaran. Not Orcish abominations, mind you, but the unmistakable handiwork of some rogue mage. And while the experimental subjects were thankfully just a few unfortunate field mice, these reanimated rodents had sent the local farmers into a full-blown panic, and, worse, had made Dalaran's mages look like a bunch of mad scientists playing with fire (or, in this case, unholy ice).

Antonidas had unleashed his best mages to investigate, demanding they leave no stone unturned. But they'd come up empty-handed. Zip. Nada. This left only two possibilities, both equally unsettling: either the culprit was a shadowy genius, cunning enough to pull the wool over the eyes of the entire Kirin Tor Council, or – and this was the truly bitter pill to swallow – the perpetrator was a high-ranking mage within Dalaran, using their power to sweep the whole mess under the rug. In his opulent office, Antonidas glared at his trembling spies, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Necromancy," he thundered, "is to be banned! Period! End of story!" It was simple, really. While Dalaran's long, checkered history had seen its share of necromantic academics, the prevailing winds of human society simply didn't cotton to undead magic. Mages obsessed with necromancy were like square pegs in round holes, utterly incompatible with Dalaran's core values. Antonidas wasn't about to throw the baby out with the bathwater, risking the goodwill of the masses for the sake of a few rogue experimenters.

Just as Antonidas was about to blow a gasket, the guards announced a visitor: Duke.

"Tell him I'm busy!" Antonidas snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance. The last time Duke had come calling, he'd recruited a whole herd of mages, promising the moon and stars. And while Dalaran had received a truckload of "unique" magic books in return, they were all about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Not a single valuable tome had slipped through Duke's fingers. He'd squeezed that turnip dry, leaving nothing but pulp. Antonidas felt like he'd been taken for a ride, and now Duke was back for more.

The guard, looking like he'd rather face a charging Kodo, stammered, "But, Archmage! Lord Edmund said to tell you this is a matter of grave importance! He said it concerns Dalaran's very reputation and survival!" Antonidas shuddered. He'd dealt with Duke enough to know the man didn't cry wolf. If Duke was using words like "grave importance" and "survival," it meant he had something big, something truly earth-shattering, to deliver in person.

"Get out, all of you! Let Duke in!"

Soon, Antonidas was the sole occupant of the room, the silence thick with anticipation. Duke pushed open the heavy oak door, his expression unreadable.

"Edmund," Antonidas began, his voice laced with a warning, "your information had better be as important as you claim. Otherwise, I swear by the Violet Eye, I will not forgive you. Of course, if you prove to be a true friend of Dalaran, this city is never stingy with its rewards." It was a classic Antonidas trap, a little test of character. If Duke asked for a reward, it would signal that whatever he had wasn't truly monumental, and that his sincerity was questionable.

Duke merely waved a dismissive hand. "Forget the rewards, Archmage. What matters is what I'm about to show you. Just… see." With a flourish, Duke produced a magical device, within which a soul, a tiny blue ball of struggling, howling agony, was imprisoned. Antonidas quickly scanned the information contained within the tormented spirit, his face blanching. "She doesn't name names," he said, his voice tight. "This could be a false accusation, a trick."

"No," Duke replied, taking a deep, steadying breath. "As it happens, I know exactly who she is. And I also happen to possess a rather… unique talent. The talent for detecting evil. When I first met Medivh, I sensed a powerful demon possessing him. I kept my mouth shut then because I had no proof, and frankly, no one would have believed me even if I'd shouted it from the rooftops." Antonidas fell silent, his mind reeling. Duke's clash with Medivh was legendary, a mystery that still baffled the greatest minds. How had Duke, a relative newcomer, seen what so many others, far more experienced, had missed? Now, Duke was telling him, with a solemnity that brooked no argument, that his 'talent' was real. A cold, unsettling premonition settled in Antonidas's gut.

"In fact," Duke continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I took the liberty of paying a few 'social calls' on some high-ranking mages in Dalaran before I came here. And I finally found my target..."

Antonidas's face was now a mask of pure, unadulterated frost. "Duke Edmund," he growled, his voice barely controlled, "do you understand the gravity of what you're implying?"

"I know exactly what I'm saying, Archmage," Duke shot back, his eyes burning with conviction. "And I'd like to invite Archbishop Alonsus Faol to join us. He'll provide the undeniable proof for my accusations. But before that, I strongly suggest you contact Senators Krasus and Kael'thas. Speaker, you're a force of nature, but even you can't guarantee this particular individual will stay put."

"Fine!" Antonidas barked, his decision made.

On February 12th, Archmage Antonidas, Speaker of the Kirin Tor, issued a summons recalling every single Kirin Tor Senator and Reserve Senator. The official reason? "For the upcoming Orc war, we need to hold another meeting to discuss urgent arrangements." A perfectly reasonable excuse, one that raised no eyebrows. No one suspected that anything out of the ordinary was about to go down. But when the Councilors arrived at the grand magic meeting room, suspended high above Dalaran, they immediately sensed something was off. For daily affairs, the six-member Council was the supreme authority. Only matters of life or death for Dalaran, or a change in Council leadership, warranted a full convocation. This time, three 'back-benchers,' usually relegated to the peanut gallery, were seated amongst them.

And then, as if on cue, the doors swung open, and the entrance of Archbishop Alonsus Faol of the Holy Light, Deputy Commander Duke Edmund of the Alliance, and the legendary Paladin Uther Lightbringer filled the conference room with an ominous, suffocating tension. Arcane energy surged through Antonidas's very being, his raw magical power overflowing, causing the temperature in the entire hall to plummet by ten degrees in an instant. The old Archmage, his face grim and resolute, slammed both hands down on the shimmering magic table before him with a resounding CRACK!

"First," Antonidas's voice boomed, shaking the very foundations of the room, "I, Antonidas, Speaker of the House, command you to remove your masks. You will not need them today." Though confusion rippled through the Council, and it was highly irregular to reveal their faces before outsiders, they complied. The three alternate members, two men and one woman, were strangers to Duke, their faces now revealed.

Antonidas leaned against the table, his presence radiating the raw, untamed power of a tiger descending from the mountains. His next words shocked the entire assembly, cutting through the stunned silence like a bolt of lightning: "There's a traitor among us! A traitor who's in league with the Demon!"

The words detonated in the room, sparking an immediate, chaotic uproar. "Demon!?" Several Councilors, including a visibly stunned Kael'thas, shot to their feet, their faces a mixture of disbelief and horror. What in the blazes?! A traitor, in league with demons, right here in the Kirin Tor Council?!