A bright flash outside of the large wooden house signaled its owner's arrival. Fulguralis threw open the door and walked in, shaking off the remains of some Icecrown snow. He strutted over to the kitchen table and sat down. From his pockets, he produced a piece of parchment and an inkwell. An old quill lay on a nearby counter and, with a spot of magic, it appeared on the table as well. The lanterns overhead suddenly burst into flame. Frowning thoughtfully, the Warlock dipped the quill into the ink.
With a nervous glance at the door, Fulguralis began scribbling furiously on the parchment. Every so often, he would pause for a moment, lifting the quill to his face and losing himself deep in thought. Minutes passed as writing began to cover parchment. Finally, the Warlock grinned, holding up the completed document to examine it in the flickering light.
Two flashes in rapid succession leaked around the door frame warning Fulguralis of imminent company. The Warlock frantically glanced around the room as if searching for a place of concealment, but the door was already opening. His wife and his sister entered, arms full from their recent shopping trip in Dalaran. Upon entry, Fuubaar set her bags down, plate gear clanking together inside, and looked over at her husband.
"You look ornery. What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing, honey, just..." he trailed off as he waved the parchment around.
He seemed to think about his action for a moment and then went to slip the document into his robes, but his wife was too fast. She crossed the room in two steps and snatched the paper out of his hands. With a triumphant smile in his direction, she held her loot up to the lantern light and began to scan. Soon enough, the smile drooped into a scowl as a righteous fury appeared to wash over her previously calm features.
"What? What did he do?" Decedereful prodded. She could obviously sense that her brother was about to get in trouble. Fuubaar handed the parchment over without taking her angry eyes off of her husband.
Decedereful began to read aloud, "Education: Warlock Academy, Graduated with High Honors. Certificate of Heroism: Northrend Dungeons. Certificate of Exultation: Northrend Factions. Argent Crusade: Champion of the Alliance. Previous employers: Tirion Fordring and Associates, 80th season to present; Veteran of Naxxramas, Ulduar, Obsidian Sactum, Onyxia's Lair, Vault of Archavon, and the Trial of the Crusader The Dalaran Mage Council, weekly employment upon request, previously full-time from 70th season to 80th. The Scryers, 60th season to 70th; Veteran of Karazhan, Gruul's Lair, Magtheridon's Lair, and Serpentshire Caverns. Also employed during this time by the Shattered Sun Offensive. All other previous experience as a freelance adventurer; self-employed."
She continued, "Specialized Experience: many seasons of association with demons, good working knowledge of The Burning Legion, lots of practical experience with Shadow and Corruption, proficient at stealing souls, great at controlling minions."
Raising one eyebrow, she went back to the top, "Job Objective: To sit on the Frozen Throne and have legions of minions at my command. Hmm, I didn't know there was an opening yet."
Frowning, the Death Knight turned and fixed her brother with an icy stare. Fuubaar came over, snatched the paper out of Decedereful's hand, and headed for the trash can that was hidden in the pantry. As the Paladin rummaged around in the storage closet, the Death Knight continued to stare at her brother with open disapproval.
"Boy," she said, "what were you thinking?"
"Well," Fulguralis stammered, "Jaina said that... when we... you know... someone's going to have to... I figured... head start..."
"Yes, what exactly were you thinking?" Fuubaar yelled from the pantry, interrupting. "Did you think I would just let you become the new Lich King? What about me? I have news, buddy, there IS NO Lich Queen! You're not just going to toss me aside! Sure, sure, Arthas thinks he has it so good with his Frozen Throne and his Legion of the Undead and all that. What that man needs is a good wife to calm his ass down! Then maybe we wouldn't have all these wars and kidnappings and such. Pssch. Like it's so hard to be the Lich King. Try birthing a child, Arthas. Then maybe we'd listen to your pathetic whining!" The Paladin stopped yelling, but vehement mumbling could still be heard from the direction of the pantry.
Decedereful spoke up, "Trust me, Boy, you want no part of what Mr. Lich Con is selling. No way. Not now, not evah." She rolled her eyes and left the room in a huff.
Fuubaar reappeared from the pantry with a bulging bag of trash in her hand. She was calm again now as she walked over to her husband and held the bag out to him. He stood up, a scowl on his face. His wife narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. The Warlock took a deep breath and put an obviously false smile on. He accepted the bag and grudgingly trudged out the front door.
"Thank you, dear!" His wife called after him, her voice dripping with honey.
The reply was a grunt.
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