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The Baron.

The amply appointed study bore testament it its owners wealth and parts of his personality. The room was lined in rare pale ice marble, ferried at great cost all the way from Go’Bolar far to the south near Ironforge and accented with rich sapphire tapestries that hung from the vaulted ceilings. A single large leaded crystal window covered the northern wall, allowing a commanding view of the central square and market place of the city. The floor was a deep indigo slate that was covered with rugs made from the hides of some of the most powerful and deadly creatures that stalked the wilderness of Azeroth, all hunted by the man who stood staring into the fire which blazed in the enormous stone fireplace along the western wall of the room. The room was crowded with various artifacts and keepsakes, a crystal bone spinal cord taken from a glass baskalisk that roamed the sands of Tanaris, a preserved black dragon egg the size of a mans head that had been discovered on the slopes of Blackrock mountain and even the mummified hand of a Trogg warlord its hand still clutching a jagged rock dagger were only some of the magnificent works that the owner had collected and preserved behind the many glass cabinets that ringed the room. However, these were mere trinkets to the man who owned them, they meant very little to Baron Stavros Rivendare.

The Baron had been pleased with the way things had gone until now. His pawn Schmeedle had happily diverted that fool backward Magister away from his plans, but the attack on the Cult activity in Brill was disturbing. It was unlike the Lich to take such a bold risk, why had Kel’Thuzad allowed a band of ill equipped guardsman to draw him into open conflict, the baron reflected his black eyes focusing on the blaze in the hearth of the fire he stared at. If the lich had been too confident in his power all and was slain it was a blow to the movement that would not soon be rectified and worse, it could lead back to the School on Caer Darrow or himself. The old lich was no fool however, something had been planned, it had to be, the Baron thought to himself. He just hated not knowing what was really going on behind the scenes. A single knock at the door, sharp and swift broke his concentration. “What is it?” The Baron turned as the door opened revealing the familiar form of his castellan Jeeves.

The Castellan was tall and painfully thin, his flesh stretched like paper over his frame was pale and cold to the touch. His two swamp green eyes were sunken deep into his face ringed by darker skin, giving him an almost corpse like appearance. Jeeves’s face was long and elongated his chin ended sharply and his lips were mere lines on his face. When he spoke he never raised his voice, but almost whispered and he never removed his black velvet gloves, even when he ate. Jeeves wore black robes; the crest of the baron etched in gold was the only decoration apart from his rod of office that he allowed himself. The other servants of the castle lived in fear of the Castellan, he walked in almost perfect silence, his black velvet robes rustling gently as he moved, almost gliding about ensuring the Estate ran smoothly. He often surprised the unwary or lazy servants with his approach. Many servants had been bought low by a withering look from the man who they called the “Ghoul”, and nobody not even the robust and temperamental cook would dare challenge the most favored of the Barons retainers. Jeeves had been the second son of one of the more wealthy merchant families of Strathlohome before the last war. His family had risen to prominence supplying arms and food supplies to the armies of the alliance and had been rewarded with a small estate near Tyr’s hand. Over time, the elder patriarch, Jeeves’s father, had retired sending his second born son to the Baron to learn the ways of the Court and hoped the young man would find a suitable wife and place in Imperial service. However Jeeves had other plans for his own future. Always a sickly child, he had grown accustomed to being pampered and fussed over by the servants of the estate. At the age of twelve, the red fever had struck him and he had spent almost an entire month in bed, but while lying ill the young man had fallen in love with books and the stories of the famous mages of Dalaran who could make unseen powers do their bidding. Jeeves craved the power that magic could give him, but he had only been given the chance to dabble until he joined the Baron’s household. The Baron had seized the desire of the young man, and gave him the funds required to continue his studies and in return Jeeves had become his most loyal and staunch supporter, he would kill for Rivendare and had done so on numerous occasions when some city official refused to see eye to eye with the Baron’s desires. The Castellan had a way of using a blend of force and political pressure to ensure that the Baron was kept up to date with the goings on within the city and it was whispered at Court that Jeeves had many of the cities officials in his pocket.

“My lord.” Jeeves whispered allowing the Baron a moment to respond or send him from the room if he was busy but the silence told him he was free to continue. “The Contessa Phoenix to see you.” Although Jeeves spoke without emotion, the Baron could tell the Castellan did not like the Contessa. Rivendare smiled and nodded. “Send our guest in my friend.” The Baron turned back to the fire for a moment before continuing. “Bring us wine and some of those fish eggs from Menthil Harbor.” Jeeves responded by nodding respectfully and retreated from the room closing the door silently. Within moments, the door opened again and Contessa Elvira Phoenix strode into the room. The aristocrat was a small petite woman standing no more than five and a half feet tall, but she was one the most beautiful women in Strathlohome. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks were rose hued and her two glittering pale ice eyes were bright and sparkled with some inner fire. She wore her hair tied back sharply two thin strips of silver ash wood held her hair and accentuated her widows peak. The Contessa had been riding, and was dressed in her leathers, which hugged to her supple body leaving little to the imagination and showed off her perfectly shaped legs that were housed in knee high buckskin boots. At her neck was a scarf of purple silk, tied loosely it revealed her plunging neckline that ended in her firm small breasts. Most men dreamed of having such a woman, even for a night, rich, beautiful and supposedly quite skilled in the arts of giving pleasure. On her left had were two rings, each with a precious stone, a blood red ruby and a sapphire. At her throat, she wore a choker of pearls, adorned with a single large shadowgem cut perfectly in the form of heart. The choker was a trademark item of the young woman; she wore it always no matter what the occasion. When asked where she had acquired such a piece by the wives of fellow nobles she always laughed. “This stone is special.” She always answered with a smile, “A gift from somebody who owed me a most delicate favor.” However, she never elaborated any further, leading to rumors of a lover in high places. However the Contessa was not new to scandal, it was almost her life.

The Contessa was a young woman, who had married into the aristocracy within the last few years. Prior to her marriage to the Count of Corrins Crossing, she was the supposed governess of the late Counts children. Dark rumors fluttered about the Contessa, whispers of poison and more treacherous deeds. It was not all unfounded, the previous Contessa had died from food poisoning a little after a month of hiring the young governess and within a year, the Count himself had been found dead, shot accidentally while on a hunting expedition in some far off place called Ungoro. However before he had left, he had married the young governess, elevating her to her current standing and position within the circles of society in Strathlohome. Whether or not she was suspected of murdering her way to the upper echelons of society did not bother Phoenix. It covered her other business activities well, for unknown to most people the Contessa was one of the most powerful black marketers and criminal masterminds of the city.

Phoenix secretly owned the Slaughtered Lamb, the most prestigious of brothels in the entire city. The brothel catered only to the most powerful and rich men and women of the ruling class, and for a price, anything it was said could be bought, even for those with unsavory tastes or the downright perverted. It was rumored that several troll women were kept on the payroll to satisfy even the most twisted fantasies of those who had the coin to satisfy themselves. From a position of power, she sold favors to and from the ruling elite, and at the same time, she traded precious gems and stones that her agents gathered for her from all over Azeroth. Even the Baron was not completely aware of all her activities but he ensured that Jeeves kept a spy or two in her entourage who reported anything of interest to him. “My darling.” Rivendare beamed at her opening his arms, flashing his teeth and smile. “My love.” Her voice was soft as she walked to him and wrapped her small arms around his chest looking up into the dark eyes. “I missed you.” His voices dripped with feign sadness. “I missed you too.” She whispered and started to giggle. “How was the capital?” She asked turning her head and resting it on his chest. “Why my darling.” The Baron spoke mocking her slightly. “Your spies already told you where I went and what people I saw.” Laughing she broke free of his grasp and moved toward the large window that overlooked the city below. “Your right of course.” She smiled again and then her eyes darted about the room remembering their last conversation. “What did you bring me?” She started, looking around for a new addition to the room. The Baron turned away from her and tried to suppress his growing amusement. “I have bought you something special this time, my love.” He started as the doors of the study opened and a servant bought in a large silver tray containing a carafe of pale straw wine and a serving dish. “Leave us I will serve.” Phoenix called to the servant and waited for them to scurry out, closing the door. She moved to the tray as he came up behind her, his arms entwining around her waist as she poured the wine into two crystal goblets. She could feel his breath on her neck, she felt her hair being pulled, and it soon fell out of the coiffure covering her shoulders. He kissed her gently, allowing his tongue to linger on her flesh as she took a sip of the wine. “Well, my gift.” She whispered before stopping him by turning and pushing the other glass into his open hand. “Ah.” The Baron murmur as he drank a large draft of the intoxicating wine. “I bought you your own gladiator.” The Baron waited watching her reaction. “Really!” Throwing her head back, Phoenix laughed and with her free hand, she reached back, took a small scoop of the rare fish eggs in a silver spoon, and tasted them. “I have always wanted one.”

The Baron Rivendare was known to entertain certain guests within the city with his own private arena built deep within the bowels of the castle. Rivendare loved blood sports and had often hired mercenaries to fight one another for his and his guest’s amusement. Over time, and with the war, most mercenaries had been attracted to the lucrative payments offered by the state to serve in the war against the orcs, so the Baron had become more creative with the hiring process of new combatants. His men, under the direction of the ever-loyal Jeeves, would frequent the taverns and offer drinks to young adventurers until they passed out, when they awoke they would find themselves as part of the gladiatorial stable of the Baron, forced to fight each other and beasts he gathered and imported from all over Azeroth. The Baron was particular proud however of the Tauren and Orc combatants he had managed to procure from unscrupulous slave dealers and the occasional internment camp official who would look the other way for a few gold coins pressed into their grubby hands. On his journey to the capital one of his usual contacts had sold him a new acquisition a male young orc who had been found just outside of the Alterac Valley, he would make the perfect gift for Phoenix he had decided and thrown the man a small pouch of coins to complete the transaction, ordering the orc to be taken back to the city in his private caravan.

“So can I see my pet?” Phoenix put her glass down behind her and leaned back against the table her eyes filling with desire to see her gift. “Of course, he is being trained at the moment, but we shall see him later.” The Baron moved closer to her and again wrapped his arm around his waist pulling her close. He leant down and kissed her neck, sucking the flesh into her mouth. Phoenix closed her eyes and moved her own hands downward starting to unbuckle her leather harness. “What is his name?” She whispered before the flame of passion overtook her. “Azroar.” Rivendare murmured and then bit her sharply making her shudder in delight.