It had been a long two weeks. First his beloved, the draenei shamaness Diwaata, had disappeared. Then, on his way to look for her, Cristovao di Silvio found himself jumped by a group of thugs and awoke inside a fortress as a prisoner. During his escape alongside the other captives, his old friend the dwarf paladin Grenalin Coldwind lost his life. He alongside Diwaata carried the body first to the Alliance bastion of Theramore, then up to the Draenei capital of the Exodar. Using holy and nature magic, they preserved the body as even now they prepare to attempt a resurrection with the aide of draenei shamans.
While catching some time alone to contemplate and reflect, Cristovao found himself sitting by the edge of a lake, staring vacantly as his mind wandered. Unbeknownst to him, he had caught the eye of a stranger in the Theramore inn, and that stranger had an offer to make to the depressed Light-bearer. It was an offer that could only be a dream. It was an offer he'd be crazy to refuse. A real once in a lifetime chance...
(A chance of a lifetime comes only once, but...)
Tavrenius Whiteshore…
Cristovao repeated the name in his head as he meditated in the Vault of Lights inside the Exodar. This man of dark complexion and ebon hair certainly carried himself with the air and dignity of a nobleman, but was he truly what he said he was? The man was obviously a warlock, and they’re a lot not to be trusted, and yet Cristovao had his doubts. Would a warlock of ill intent test a paladin of his compassion? Offer him the secrets of eternal youth, just for the sake of the one he loves?
Maybe it’s a trap, or a sick joke. Warlocks love to prey on wayward feelings, don’t they?
The man furrowed his brow, stroking his chin. He sighed heavily with a slouch of his shoulders.
No… that’s just me being judgmental. Not every warlock is a fel-sucking bastard… just like not every Light-bearer is compassionate or virtuous. Perhaps this fellow is different… why else would he approach me out of every other paladin in the world?
Cristovao pinched his nose and closed his eyes. He held this position for a long while, thinking over all the possibilities. What if Lord Whiteshore truly was a noble man extending his aid to him? Could this be the big break in Cristovao’s life? After all the hardships, all the losses and all the death, the deceptions and dead ends, could Tavren’s offer be his reimbursement? Eternal youth… to live forever among his beloved Diwaata, the one thing in his meager life that Cristovao could not fathom losing, despite the looming inevitability of his own mortality… it was certainly a tempting offer. More than tempting. It was perfect.
But the means… life drains? Using the fel to steal life from one soul to prolong another? … but the victims in question… “unsavories”… murders and criminals, perhaps? Wretched scum who’d only cause harm to others if they were left amok in the world. At least this way… at least this way, they’re contributing to a noble cause… a redeeming sacrifice.
Cristovao buried his hands into his face. Is he just trying to rationalize it all? Is he just desperately clinging to an excuse to justify being with his beloved? And most of all… did he really care? It doesn’t matter, now… he’s already sworn his name to house Whiteshore…
(The deal of a lifetime has a price equal in weight, as poor Cristovao will soon discover...)