It was dark when Arrens woke up, the moonlight not making its way past the clouded sky nor through the windows of Aely’s lavish apartment. Quietly rising so as not to disturb her naked, sleeping form, he went to the kitchen and lit a candle for light. Roger stirred, the enormous felhound’s eyes peering as slits before grunting once and rolling back over to go to sleep. Arrens’ dreams had been restless, a darkened world with green flames, hellish lightning and perpetual nightfall with wings of black leather in constant flight.
 
He poured himself a glass of wine in a large crystal goblet Aely kept in her cabinets. He needed something to take the edge off, something that would help him sleep. His morning classes required him being fully awake. He was expecting an official to sit through his classes to ensure his methods of teaching and the lessons given were appropriate for his students. Were they not, Arrens knew the repercussions he would face. The lashings he took from the last time were still not fully healed.
 
Aely appeared in the doorway, a sheet clutched loosely to her chest. “The fuck are you doing up? Get your ass to bed!” she yelled.
 
“I will, my dear. I just -”
 
She mocked him. “‘I just, I just, I just.’ You just nothing, you blithering idiot! I expected you to be there when I woke up and you weren’t.” Her terse words softened slightly, her voice becoming soft and light. “Now come to bed. I’ll make it worth your while.” She dropped the sheet and turned, her smooth, muscled skin slinking off into the darkness.
 
Setting the goblet down and blowing out the candle, he followed.
 
**** 
Arrens awoke the next morning donning his best robes, the once-fine linen now frayed along the hem, the colorful patterns faded from lack of care. Leaving the apartment, he turned to Aely who was still naked and sitting at the kitchen table and reading a letter. “I…,” he paused, unable to exclaim his love.
 
She set down her mug and approached him, her lithe, muscular body slithering as she moved. She smacked him, hard, on the backside. “Go, before you come back to me all fucked up. Go!” she yelled. Leaving, he untied his horse from its post and made his way to the University.

Upon entering his classroom, he noticed the official was not yet present. This did not surprise Arrens, for they came and went as they saw fit with little regard to interrupting his classes or his student’s studies. He was, however, unable to reprimand them for such disturbances without repercussions.
 
Standing at the podium, he began his class. “Today, we shall talk about our benevolent ruler, the almighty Sargeras. It is He that forged the world as we know it. It is He that breathed life into our souls and made us what we are. Without Him, we would be nothing but mindless automatons whose existence would be futile and meaningless.”
 
The classroom door opened just then and, as one, the whole of Arrens’ students stood and bowed reverently. Arrens did the same. “Master Kro’thar,” he said in greeting. “We have just begun our lessons. Please, do make yourself comfortable.”
 
The eredar grunted, his enormous frame moving to the back of the classroom. Leaning against the counter where Arrens kept his spell components, he folded his arms, his red skin and yellow, glowing eyes glaring at the professor. “Continue,” he said, his voice deep, booming and guttural.
 
Nodding slightly, Arrens picked up where he let off. “Almighty Sargeras will remain benevolent so long as we continue to be His humble servants. He requires weekly sacrifices of the weak-minded upon His altar. Without these sacrifices, our lives are all in peril.”
 
“Your lives are meaningless whether you sacrifice or not, worm,” boomed Kro’thar from the back. Walking to the front of the class, his long, muscular tail knocking students from their seats, he continued while turning to face the class. “What the professor fails to tell you is that it is Sargeras who will rule all before His time is done. It is you, His servants, that must make this happen for Him to remain as kind as He has been.” Turning to Arrens, he said, “Isn’t that right, Professor?”
 
“Erm…yes. Yes, of course. I was just getting to that…”
 
Kro’thar grabbed Arrens around his upper arm, the demon’s large, clawed hands digging painfully. Slowly, Arrens could feel the searing pain of fire burning his flesh as he screamed and sagged towards the floor. “Yes, I’m certain you were, Professor,” Kro’thar spat. “Next time, you’ll be well-advised to put out that important information first, won’t you?” He let go of Arrens, the professor dropping to the floor and clutching his arm. The Eredar’s handprint was seared into his flesh, his body wracked with pain. Chuckling quietly, Kro’thar left the classroom, the students following suit leaving their admonished professor to take care of himself.

**** 
Arrens’s work day done, he opted to walk home. Leading his white steed by the bridle, he passed through the Trade District, the once-busy streets mostly empty save for a handful of copperless beggars squatting in shops boarded closed. The auction house was a relic of bygone times these days, its usefulness gone when it burned in a fire some months before. As the professor tried his best to recall that fire, he found his memories unable to piece together exactly what had happened. He paused in the middle of what used to be the busy thoroughfare and stared at it. What happened here? he thought to himself. Why can’t I remember…
 
He was shoved hard from behind. “Move along, mage!” shouted the Felguard, his large axe hovering menacingly close.
 
“I…yes, sir. My sincerest apologies,” Arrens replied, the shove once more reminding him of his wound. The seared flesh pulsed with pain as he tugged gently on the bridle leading the horse to Old Town.
 
Crossing the bridge over the canals, he saw the towering spires, their strange, jagged shapes marring the already clouded sky.
 
That’s not right…
 
Entering Old Town and turning right, he followed the cobblestoned path, images of Sargeras, Archimonde and Kil’jaedan etched into each stone down the center, fiery wreaths surrounding the demonic portraits. The portraits of lesser demons seemed to be watching the professor from the stones along the side of the path as he walked.
 
He approached Aely’s apartment tying his horse up to the post outside. He walked down the steps, their twisting, winding path another thing he couldn’t recall. Something was definitely wrong with this, something inherently not right. The harder he tried to recall a path that was as familiar to him as teaching a class, the more it seemed the memory slipped further from his grasp. After what seemed hours, he reached her door and opened it.
 
He did not expect her home. Seldom was the time when her work allowed her to be home before him, yet he could hear her beyond their shared bedroom. He opened it slowly, eyes adjusting to the darkened room.

From somewhere in the darkness she laughed, low and dramatic, and he wondered what exactly had her in such a mood – though her moods had been violent and transient that day anyway. His eyes adjusted and he recognized her sitting naked on their bed, her back to him, smooth, almost translucent skin picking up what little light was there, the curve of her spine making tiny, almost elegant shadows.

A hand, long-fingered and thin, snaked around to rest in the small of her back as her laugh was mirrored – mirrored by that of another man, his voice conspiratorial and thick with desire.

Another man.

“A…Aely?” Arrens whispered quietly.
 
She half-turned looking over her shoulder, long red tresses around her shoulders. Pinned beneath her naked form sat up Tarquin ap Danwyrith. “Hello, Professor.” He grinned, white teeth flashing in the darkened room. “Was in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d drop by.” His strangler’s hands came up, tilting Aelflaed’s head back. “You can have her back when I’m done. If you still want her.”

Arrens felt the wind rush out of him, crushed, as if he’d been punched in the gut by a demon. The world seemed to swim in front of his eyes. He doubled over and slumped to the floor, depths of despair slowly turning into unbridled rage. After enough seconds to feel like years, he rose again, words of arcane magic coming to his lips. A ball of flame formed in his hands. Thrusting them forward, the flame shot towards the bed consuming it in unnaturally hot fire – and yet, from the inferno, the murderer was still laughing. The only scream heard was his own as he sat down weakly in the now-burning apartment and awaited his own end.