Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

Nestled deep within the ancient forests of Autumnhold, the Elf Witch Academy was a place of serenity and learning. Towering silver-barked trees encased the school in a natural fortress, their whispering leaves carrying the chants of spells and the laughter of young witches into the skies.

Elowen, a promising elf woman with fiery red hair and emerald-green eyes, walked along the cobblestone path leading to the academy's central spire. The air was thick with the scent of blooming nocturnal flowers, and the faint hum of protective wards resonated in the background.

Elowen clutched a satchel filled with enchanted scrolls close to her chest, her thoughts consumed by elemental spellcraft. It was deep into the night, and no one was inbound.

As she was walking, she suddenly sensed something in the air, and so she stopped. She looked back and to her front. There was nobody, but the oppressive energy was starting to increase.

Her gaze abruptly shifted to a certain direction and focused on a dark spot in the farthest distance. She could point the flow of energy from that direction.

From the shadows of the forest, a figure emerged. Tall and menacing, his obsidian skin gleamed under the light of the academy's moonlit wards.

Wi'thas, a dark elf of infamous repute, strode into the clearing. His crimson eyes glowed with malevolent intent, and his silver-white hair billowed behind him like a banner of war. Clad in armour etched with runes that pulsed faintly with forbidden magic, he exuded a dark, unearthly power.

The wards surged once more, trying to repel the intruder. However, Wi'thas raised his hand, adorned with a blackened gauntlet, and muttered an incantation. The wards collapsed with a shattering sound, their protective energy dissipating into the night.

Elowen froze, her instincts urging her to flee, but her legs refused to move. She had heard of Wi'thas—stories told by elders and whispered in fear by students. He was a harbinger of carnage, a dark elf who wielded magic as ancient as the forest itself.

"Hello, little one," Wi'thas called, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the trees. "You should come with me."

"No!" she shouted, her voice shaking but defiant. Clutching her satchel, she began to back away, her heart pounding.

From the academy spire, alarms blared—a mournful melody signalling danger. Professors and senior students spilt out into the courtyard, their robes shimmering with protective enchantments.

High Enchantress Faelira, a regal elf with long, silvery hair and piercing violet eyes, led the charge. Her staff glowed with a pale, radiant light as she stepped forward.

She reached the place where Wi'thas and Elowen stood. She saw the tall figure and soon recognized him. Wi'thas was well known in both communities of elves and was very well known for his connection with the Bande de Serpents.

"Wi'thas," Faelira said, her voice steady but laced with fury. "You dare breach sacred grounds? You will find no victory here."

Wi'thas tilted his head, a cruel smile curling his lips. "I am not here to fight you. The girl will come with me, and you will just "stand there while I take her."

"She is going nowhere!" Faelira declared, raising her staff. "Elowen is under our protection."

The air grew tense as magic began to crackle between the two powerful figures.

Faelira launched the first attack, a burst of golden light streaking toward Wi'thas. But the dark elf was faster. He twisted his gauntleted hand, and the spell dissipated harmlessly, its golden shards scattering like dying embers.

Soon more of the elders of the academy arrived and joined with Faelira.

The professors formed a defensive line, each summoning their unique spells. Professor Aelwen, a master of elemental magic, conjured a storm of razor-sharp wind blades, while Professor Myndra wove tendrils of ivy that shot toward Wi'thas, aiming to entangle him.

Yet Wi'thas countered their efforts with ease. The wind blades disintegrated against a barrier of shadow, and the ivy turned to ash before it could touch him. He moved with the grace of a predator, his every motion precise and unyielding.

"You waste your strength," Wi'thas sneered, raising his gauntlet once more. Shadows erupted from the ground, coiling around the professors like serpents. They struggled against the bindings, their magic flaring but proving ineffective.

Elowen stumbled backwards, her breath shallow and her eyes wide with terror. She clutched her satchel tighter, her mind racing for a way to escape. But the dark elf's gaze pinned her in place, unrelenting and cold.

"Elowen!" A voice broke through the chaos.

It was Teyna, one of Elowen's closest friends. As she stepped forward, Teyna's amber eyes burned with determination, her hands glowing with a fiery red aura.

"Run! I'll hold him off!"

"No, Teyna, you can't—" Elowen started, but her plea was cut off as Teyna unleashed a torrent of fire toward Wi'thas.

The flames roared, lighting up the clearing in a blaze of heat and light.

Wi'thas frowned, raising his other hand to summon a wall of shadow that absorbed the flames effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a wave of dark energy toward Teyna, who barely managed to dodge.

She rolled across the ground, her robes sang, but she quickly rose to her feet, determination etched into her features.

"Elowen, go!" Teyna shouted again, her voice cracking.

Elowen hesitated, torn between running and helping her friend. But her indecision cost her. Wi'thas's gaze snapped back to her, and with a commanding gesture, a tendril of shadow shot forward, wrapping around her waist.

She screamed as the tendril yanked her off her feet, pulling her toward the dark elf.

"Enough!" Faelira's voice rang out, filled with power. She broke free of the shadow bindings with a surge of golden light, her staff glowing brighter than ever. She struck the ground, sending a shockwave of energy toward Wi'thas. The force disrupted the shadows holding Elowen, and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

Wi'thas growled, his composure slipping for the first time. "Persistent as ever, little ones," he muttered, summoning a blade of pure darkness in his hand.

"But your time has passed."