Epilogue: The Eastern Kingdoms
Epilogue: The Eastern Kingdoms
While peace has been secured, there is still much to be done and many challenges to overcome.
Roaming Far & WideWhile peace has been secured, there is still much to be done and many challenges to overcome.
Cariel Roame never sought power or leadership, so young and inexperienced as she was. Yet once again she found herself at the head of her motley crew of refugees, arguing their case before the Dwarven commander.
Her arms were held out as if giving praise, worn cloak falling across her weathered armor, "Noble captain, I understand you are bound by your duties, but please know that as a Paladin, it is my solemn oath to guard and shepherd these people from the North to safe harbor."
Captain Stoutfist's beard bristled as he glanced back at the high stone walls of Menethil Harbor. The fortified port town stood as a beacon of hope with Southshore's fate sealed, pirates shattering the myth of Kul'Tiras's imperviousness. Now they'd stepped off onto the marshy, muggy coast and travelled weeks through the mire, only to find peace was declared!
The Dwarf's armor glinted in the sweltering sun, beads of sweat dancing on his forehead, "I respect you paladin, I truly do. But ya got to understand the town's already bursting with refugees and citizens, and with all the damage those damned pirates did, the shipping lanes are still a mess."
Cariel bowed her head, "I am sure some of those with me can offer their skills in these matters; there are builders, fishers and more, if you would have us."
The Dwarf scratched his cheek, "Look lass, it's not that I don't want to help, I bloody well do, it's just more complicated than you think."
He glanced to the coast, "Couldn't ya perhaps take the roads to Thandol Span and head back North?"
Cariel bit back her first retort, "North is a place we can scarcely reach without crossing the Trolls. It is a place of terror and loss for us, our homes so close yet in the hands of trolls, traded away in this treaty in which we had no say."
Stoutfist nodded, "I sympathize, bloody shameful it is, though if nothing else Dun Modr might be able to better help your lot than me."
He suddenly frowned, a lone thought crossing his mind, "Then again, with Thandol Span to be reinforced they might not have the means either."
"Captain," She said slowly, the Light infusing her words with a now-familiar weight and intensity, "I know I ask a great deal of you, but as a brother in the light, I beg you to consider this much of a boon unto my people; we are but lost citizens of the Alliance in need of succor from your great king, might you have something to offer us to make the Wetlands safer?"
The Dwarf stared, enraptured for but a moment, before nodding hastily, "All right, all right! You twisted my arm, I can do that much at least. Lieutenant!"
A rife woman who looked to be some mix of Dwarf, Human and Gnome stood to attention, "Yes sir!"
"Gather up some of our kinsmen and raid the storehouses for food, tents, anything we can spare! And ready a convoy to get it to Paladin Roam's people."
The woman saluted and marched off, as Stoufist turned back to her, "I'll see about setting things up here so you can bring your camp in a few weeks, and sending word to King Magni as well. I know it's not perfect but…"
Cariel bowed smilingly, "It is a kindness you do unto us; I shall keep you in my prayers, Captain."
The Wetlands were a dank, unpleasant place; mosquitos were rife in the early summer and the water always had a tepid, green look to it. Even the hearty grass dotting the hundreds of tiny islands comprising the country resembled more dirt mounds than lush land, covered in moss and squat trees.
Yet, despite the bleak surroundings, her return to the Bluegill Marsh was met with fanfare. Several rams laden with supplies trotted their way and Ironforge hunters patrolled their flanks, scouring the lands for Gnoll or Orc raiders.
After parsing out food to the neediest, arranging new watch rotations and passing along a gently phrased summary of her disappointing news to other camp leaders, Cariel then led the people in prayer.
Though we weep for what has come to pass, do not give into the lie of despair, for we are not the first of the Light to be challenged, nor shall we be the last.
In the dark days of the Second War, when ash choked the skies, we did not waver and break before the Horde. When our ancestors marched upon the endless legions of the Amani they did not yield, strong and steadfast as mountains against a torrential rainstorm.
Always, always, we found our strength in family and friends, through unity brought to us by the Light and though the path of justice may be long it is always righteous, and in times of crisis may we never lose our way, no matter how dark the twilight may be.
Now please, sing a psalm with me, and feel the blessing of The Holy Light fill your vessels with glory and strength born of your love and camaraderie. Oh, Holy Light, fill us with courage and strength, may we brave the darkest nights before the coming of the dawn.
Then, they began to sing, a hauntingly beautiful and cheery song, sung in the soft amber light of their campfires under the bright night sky, a full moon shining overhead and countless stars twinkling like diamonds.
Only after discharging all her duties amidst a roar of cooking fires did Cariel slink behind a large, misshapen tree, collapsing against its damp surface with a fatigued sigh.
Fatigued, forlorn and frazzled, she could muster no energy to stand or sleep, her eyes open and staring at nothing. She heard faint footsteps and did not react, merely waving at the visitor.
"Lord Paladin."
The figure stopped, a touch stunned before chuckling, "I did not think you had sensed my presence with your silence."
She shrugged nonchalantly, "You shine like a beacon brother, but if you did not wish to come forward, I doubt any good would come from forcing the matter."
She glanced up at him, her tone hardening, "Why did you not lead us?"
The man pulled back his hood, revealing a trim grey beard and short hair and sigils of Kul'Tiras on his armour, but his visage…
Cariel lurched up and raced to bow, "My lord, Dagren the Orcslayer."
"Please, rise. I lost the right to be called lord some time ago, young one," At her questioning face, he offered her a terribly sad smile and continued, "When the capital of Lordaeron fell, I chose to leave and fight another day, rather than risk capture as you did. When Fenris Isle fell, I chose again to leave, and then again at Dalaran, each time with the intent of returning with an army, of denying the enemy but…"
Dagren shook his head, releasing a dusty sigh, "I fear that pragmatism cloaked cowardice, or at the very least, distanced me from the Light's justice which you so embody. That… That is why I did not try to claim leadership; I lost the right to such a rank when I followed the wrong path."
Cariel frowned, "I did not have the option to leave, if I had-"
"Please, paladin, I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my burden to bear."
"Burdens are to be shared between brothers and sisters of the Light."
He chuckled saying, "You speak with wisdom beyond your age, child."
He strode by her, pulling his cloak around himself and looking out into the distance. "I hear tell we are awaiting aid from Ironforge proper?"
Cariel would let him redirect her, for now at least, and marched to his side, idly kicking a rock into the murky waters.
"We are awaiting a messenger to arrive in Ironforge to request aid in… some form."
The older Paladin nodded, "It makes sense, many barely recovered from the Second War, andnow they need to tighten their belts again, especially with so much of Lordaeron's farmland cut off from us."
"Better all suffer pangs of hunger than even one child starves," Cariel retorted without heat.
"I will not argue with you on that Paladin, still… is our plan to simply await word from Ironforge?"
Cariel snorted in derision, "I dislike all of this; the Alliance was to make us stronger, to spread the Light and protect the people and. Now our lands fall under foreign rule, yet where else do we have to go?"
There was a firm, lingering silence, and Cariel suddenly felt her stomach tighten and her heart thud in her chest as the older Paladin began to speak.
"Some of the camps are reporting dreams," She did not speak, letting the intensity of her gaze convey her intent and the man pressed on, "I assumed it fanciful at first, but it is quite consistent, recurring and across many people's. They speak of-"
"Ships sailing West, of a new land behind misty shores, with great plains and golden coasts, and from the shore a tower of stone rises, with walls greater than any castle," She picked up a stone, smooth against her fingers, "And it is this city that stands firm against a wave of emerald fire that washes across the world."
Dagren stared at her numbly, nodding ever so slowly, like his muscles resisted the motion as he whispered, "So you have seen it as well, sister."
"I have, but even if I believed such things, where would I find the ships, the supplies, or the will?"
Dagren hummed, "I have friends in Kul'Tiras among shipping companies and old frigates. I doubt they are joyful at these recent tidings, let alone Southshore."
"I thought you did not wish to leave again, brother?"
Dagren saluted, "I will stay with these people and protect them to my dying breath, of that you can be certain."
Cariel tossed the stone across the river and watched it bounce to the western bank, muttering, "It sounds like madness, or treason, possibly both… But I shall speak of it to the others and if they do not think me mad… we shall see."
Yet, despite the bleak surroundings, her return to the Bluegill Marsh was met with fanfare. Several rams laden with supplies trotted their way and Ironforge hunters patrolled their flanks, scouring the lands for Gnoll or Orc raiders.
After parsing out food to the neediest, arranging new watch rotations and passing along a gently phrased summary of her disappointing news to other camp leaders, Cariel then led the people in prayer.
Though we weep for what has come to pass, do not give into the lie of despair, for we are not the first of the Light to be challenged, nor shall we be the last.
In the dark days of the Second War, when ash choked the skies, we did not waver and break before the Horde. When our ancestors marched upon the endless legions of the Amani they did not yield, strong and steadfast as mountains against a torrential rainstorm.
Always, always, we found our strength in family and friends, through unity brought to us by the Light and though the path of justice may be long it is always righteous, and in times of crisis may we never lose our way, no matter how dark the twilight may be.
Now please, sing a psalm with me, and feel the blessing of The Holy Light fill your vessels with glory and strength born of your love and camaraderie. Oh, Holy Light, fill us with courage and strength, may we brave the darkest nights before the coming of the dawn.
Then, they began to sing, a hauntingly beautiful and cheery song, sung in the soft amber light of their campfires under the bright night sky, a full moon shining overhead and countless stars twinkling like diamonds.
Only after discharging all her duties amidst a roar of cooking fires did Cariel slink behind a large, misshapen tree, collapsing against its damp surface with a fatigued sigh.
Fatigued, forlorn and frazzled, she could muster no energy to stand or sleep, her eyes open and staring at nothing. She heard faint footsteps and did not react, merely waving at the visitor.
"Lord Paladin."
The figure stopped, a touch stunned before chuckling, "I did not think you had sensed my presence with your silence."
She shrugged nonchalantly, "You shine like a beacon brother, but if you did not wish to come forward, I doubt any good would come from forcing the matter."
She glanced up at him, her tone hardening, "Why did you not lead us?"
The man pulled back his hood, revealing a trim grey beard and short hair and sigils of Kul'Tiras on his armour, but his visage…
Cariel lurched up and raced to bow, "My lord, Dagren the Orcslayer."
"Please, rise. I lost the right to be called lord some time ago, young one," At her questioning face, he offered her a terribly sad smile and continued, "When the capital of Lordaeron fell, I chose to leave and fight another day, rather than risk capture as you did. When Fenris Isle fell, I chose again to leave, and then again at Dalaran, each time with the intent of returning with an army, of denying the enemy but…"
Dagren shook his head, releasing a dusty sigh, "I fear that pragmatism cloaked cowardice, or at the very least, distanced me from the Light's justice which you so embody. That… That is why I did not try to claim leadership; I lost the right to such a rank when I followed the wrong path."
Cariel frowned, "I did not have the option to leave, if I had-"
"Please, paladin, I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my burden to bear."
"Burdens are to be shared between brothers and sisters of the Light."
He chuckled saying, "You speak with wisdom beyond your age, child."
He strode by her, pulling his cloak around himself and looking out into the distance. "I hear tell we are awaiting aid from Ironforge proper?"
Cariel would let him redirect her, for now at least, and marched to his side, idly kicking a rock into the murky waters.
"We are awaiting a messenger to arrive in Ironforge to request aid in… some form."
The older Paladin nodded, "It makes sense, many barely recovered from the Second War, andnow they need to tighten their belts again, especially with so much of Lordaeron's farmland cut off from us."
"Better all suffer pangs of hunger than even one child starves," Cariel retorted without heat.
"I will not argue with you on that Paladin, still… is our plan to simply await word from Ironforge?"
Cariel snorted in derision, "I dislike all of this; the Alliance was to make us stronger, to spread the Light and protect the people and. Now our lands fall under foreign rule, yet where else do we have to go?"
There was a firm, lingering silence, and Cariel suddenly felt her stomach tighten and her heart thud in her chest as the older Paladin began to speak.
"Some of the camps are reporting dreams," She did not speak, letting the intensity of her gaze convey her intent and the man pressed on, "I assumed it fanciful at first, but it is quite consistent, recurring and across many people's. They speak of-"
"Ships sailing West, of a new land behind misty shores, with great plains and golden coasts, and from the shore a tower of stone rises, with walls greater than any castle," She picked up a stone, smooth against her fingers, "And it is this city that stands firm against a wave of emerald fire that washes across the world."
Dagren stared at her numbly, nodding ever so slowly, like his muscles resisted the motion as he whispered, "So you have seen it as well, sister."
"I have, but even if I believed such things, where would I find the ships, the supplies, or the will?"
Dagren hummed, "I have friends in Kul'Tiras among shipping companies and old frigates. I doubt they are joyful at these recent tidings, let alone Southshore."
"I thought you did not wish to leave again, brother?"
Dagren saluted, "I will stay with these people and protect them to my dying breath, of that you can be certain."
Cariel tossed the stone across the river and watched it bounce to the western bank, muttering, "It sounds like madness, or treason, possibly both… But I shall speak of it to the others and if they do not think me mad… we shall see."
Freedom
The smell of charcoal fires and fresh meat was ever present in the mountainous crags the survivors of Durnholde came to call home; rough leather tents and small caverns turned into camping spots; buckets and helmets co-opted for gathering and storing rainwater and occasional mountain spring water.
'But as Spring presses on the water will diminish more and more, along with the food,' Thrall thought sourly. He was marching through the camp, neither human or orc commenting on his presence as he passed; tensions had by no means vanished, but the grim reality forcibly cooled such things.
"Brother," Taretha smiled at his approach, overseeing the rabbit stew within the hastily-made clay pot.
"Sister," He greeted, revealing a small mass of furry leaves and bright pink flowers, "These were all the herbs I could gather."
"That will do perfectly, mind stirring while I chop?"
Thrall nodded and took up the roughly carved spoon she'd been using as Taretha used a small; herbal dagger to expertly cut up the herbs.
"So, have you heard about the talk some want to hold tonight?" She asked conversationally.
Thrall nodded, "I have, though not much. I assume it's about finding more food or water."
Taretha hummed and dropped the cut-up leaves into the pot, "That would make sense, the gryphons are getting scarcer and even with the filters we are hardly getting much water back. I wonder if the plan will be to move on, or something else."
His sister frowned as she added the sage to their meal, "I don't dislike travelling more, but something else worries me… Then again, there is little we can do about it until the ones who wanted this meeting say their piece."
Thrall was about to respond but went stiff as Taretha's parents approached, the pair sending him uncomfortable gazes before awkward smiles or polite nods of acknowledgement passed between them.
"Cooking together, I see," Her father said gamely as he and his wife dropped down at their side with a small handful of fruit each.
"Many hands make light work," Taretha said absently, taking the sweetest of the fruits and peeling them before adding the rind to their meal.
As they busied themselves with cooking, evening came, the dim mountains growing darker and chiller with many more Orcs huddling around the fires than Humans. The sounds of quiet chatter filled the camp as meals were served, be it from communal pots or personal ones, and deliveries of dried meats were sent to the watchers.
It almost seemed like it would be like any other night, Thrall and Taretha on one side of the pot, her parents on the other, all in their own little worlds of conversation or reflective silence like the rest of the expansive camp.
Finally, as the silver light of the moon shone down upon their canyon home, two figures rose to speak.
Both were men, one a battered old Orc with greying hair and a missing eye, the other a Human of middling years with red-tinged hair and a ratty beard.
"I am Gral," Spoke the Orc, with a Horde salute.
"And I am Emerick," Added the man, with a flourished bow.
Thrall saw them and murmured, "It looks to me like many are already gathering near them."
Taretha nodded, "They probably gathered supporters before this."
"Makes me wonder who will speak for that far side of the camp, there is enough of them," Thrall mused, before the sibling's focus returned to the speech as Gral's voice rose higher.
"Though we hunt, we still hunger. Though we preserve the waters we are still thirsty. Every day the beasts grow more wary, and the trek grows more dangerous."
Emerick nodded, "I think we can all see that however much good work we have done here, this situation is unsustainable."
"What do you want us to do, farm the mountain?" Scoffed someone from the caves.
Gral snorted, "That would take too long."
"I concur," Emerick said, "What we bring forward today is this reality, and the fact we all must decide what to do about it, if we all wish to continue surviving."
Taretha was the next to speak, voice rising high despite her parents' quiet protests. "Well, it seems as though you two have a plan. Why not share it with the rest of us, rather than keep us is suspense?"
Gral and Emerick glanced at one another, before the Human shrugged and the Orc spoke.
"We know from the scouts that some kind of peace has been declared, or at least that the fighting has stopped."
"Thus, we think it best to send a few people into the Hinterlands to try and find out what came of the war."
"You want us to go to the Trolls that invaded us!?"
"You want us go to the Humans who enslaved us!?"
"You want us go to the people who attacked us!?"
The crowd gathered around the orc and human pair roared the dissenters down, and the pair spoke hastily.
"We cannot survive here forever; we must find a new way forward!" Emerick cried.
Gral nodded, "I do not always like the Amani, but they might harbor us Orcs, and the Wildhammer would likely get the Humans to safety. It is a balanced arrangement."
"But," Cut in a smooth, crisp voice, echoing in from the opposite end of the camp, "It is not the only arrangement."
From the shadows stepped two figures in smart, dark leather uniforms, an Orc and a Human.
Taretha sent Thrall a look and he saw the parallel, ducking his head in bemused acknowledgement as the pair spoke.
"I am Master Kang and this is Master Fahrad, we come to you in the name of the ruler of these mountains, master of cloak and dagger, the Lord Jorach Ravenholdt."
The Orc strode forward, the Human at his side, with a charming visage but seemingly no words to share.
"We come to you all, who have survived in these lands for so long with such distinction to join our leader's household. In the great hidden valley, you will find farmlands to till and homes to be built and the chance to join our ranks as militia if you so desire it."
Fahrad finally added his piece, "We serve neither the Alliance, Horde nor the Trolls; we are as ever a union of the Uncrowned, loyal to the lands and people we know and serve no other master. I can assure you all, Humans and Orcs alike, that Ravenholdt Manor is safe."
Gral was quick to accuse, "You say these things, yet where have you been in these past months!?"
"We had our own business to tend to and your circumstances were not yet dire."
"Not dire my foot!" Someone from near their own camp shouted.
Taretha looked to him, "Should we say something?"
Thrall shrugged, "Do we have a solution?"
Taretha shook her head, "Not for all of us."
Thrall watched Taretha's parents join the increasingly chaotic verbal melee and leaned back staring up at the sky, "I wonder if it need be for all of us? Many seem to have made up their minds already."
Taretha hummed, foot tapping against the dirt, casting her gaze back at the humble tent they slept in and turned her gaze to the sky.
As the moon began to dim and the canyons darkened to a black pitch, the factions began to formalize and solidify: the Eastern contingent led by Emerick and Gral; the Ravenholdt led by the rogues themselves; and a loose coalition with no speaker for those who would find their own path.
Taretha sighed, "I wonder if we should have spoken with those who wished to find their own way?"
"Perhaps," Thrall acknowledged, "But we could add little they have not said; they merely wish to feel things out, and with so many set to leave, they may live here well enough. At least, if word does not spread and they are not discovered."
"That feels impossible," Taretha sighed, "Even if we stay, this place will likely come under someone's rule."
Thrall prodded at the fire pit, breaking the charcoal and watching it glow, "It seems so…"
Taretha pulled her legs against her chest, "I don't fancy living under another lord, man, Troll or Dwarf."
Thrall nodded, "Nor do I, I find freedom suits me."
"Then… Why do we not embrace it?" She ventured.
Thrall turned his gaze to her, and Taretha was beaming at him, "We aren't obliged to stay in this place or leave it. You have your sword and I know how to tend and use my father's crossbow. Brother… We can go anywhere."
Thrall's gaze lingered on the bickering crowd before drifting to the sky and down to his sister and he smiled, "Anywhere… Anywhere and everywhere if we so wish it... I like the sound of that."
He stilled however, "But what of your parents?"
Taretha frowned, "I…"
"Shan't need to worry about us," Cut in her mother, sliding into their little camp with surprising grace, "I think we'll do well at this Ravenholdt, and… I think you have done well by us for a long time my dear."
She reached out and cradled her daughter's cheek, "I'd not see you beneath another man you can't stand if I can help it."
"Mother…" The blonde hugged her mother fiercely.
"Go dear, your father's crossbow is at the back of the tent."
As Taretha left, the older woman turned her gaze to Thrall, her hand resting on his shoulder, her words slow and measured, "I know you and Taretha care for one another, you are family in your way, so… take care of one another."
Thrall placed a hand over hers and nodded, "I shall guard my sister with my life."
The woman smiled, "And I know she shall do the same for you."
She reached into her hip pouch and pulled from it a faded strip of cloth bearing the sigil of a blue wolf, "You were wrapped in this when Blackmoore found you. I don't know if it matters, but it is yours and so you should have it."
Thrall held it in his hands, so fragile and small, so thin and faded, to think it had once surrounded his form and perhaps been wrapped by one that loved him. He swallowed and nodded, "I thank you, for everything."
"It was too little for either of you in the end, but I am sure you'll both do well."
Taretha returned with two stuffed travelling packs, her father's crossbow on her hip and looked abuzz with energy despite the late hour.
Thrall wrapped the cloth around his arm and picked up both his sword and one of the bags, sharing a glance towards the mother who nursed them. In the distance, Thrall could see the man who had found him, who looked back for but a moment before turning away.
And like that the spell was broken, and they turned to leave, slipping from the camp like shadows into darkness and through the Southern Pass.
"Where shall we go first, brother?"
"To the sun rise and beyond, sister."
"That sounds grand."
The smell of charcoal fires and fresh meat was ever present in the mountainous crags the survivors of Durnholde came to call home; rough leather tents and small caverns turned into camping spots; buckets and helmets co-opted for gathering and storing rainwater and occasional mountain spring water.
'But as Spring presses on the water will diminish more and more, along with the food,' Thrall thought sourly. He was marching through the camp, neither human or orc commenting on his presence as he passed; tensions had by no means vanished, but the grim reality forcibly cooled such things.
"Brother," Taretha smiled at his approach, overseeing the rabbit stew within the hastily-made clay pot.
"Sister," He greeted, revealing a small mass of furry leaves and bright pink flowers, "These were all the herbs I could gather."
"That will do perfectly, mind stirring while I chop?"
Thrall nodded and took up the roughly carved spoon she'd been using as Taretha used a small; herbal dagger to expertly cut up the herbs.
"So, have you heard about the talk some want to hold tonight?" She asked conversationally.
Thrall nodded, "I have, though not much. I assume it's about finding more food or water."
Taretha hummed and dropped the cut-up leaves into the pot, "That would make sense, the gryphons are getting scarcer and even with the filters we are hardly getting much water back. I wonder if the plan will be to move on, or something else."
His sister frowned as she added the sage to their meal, "I don't dislike travelling more, but something else worries me… Then again, there is little we can do about it until the ones who wanted this meeting say their piece."
Thrall was about to respond but went stiff as Taretha's parents approached, the pair sending him uncomfortable gazes before awkward smiles or polite nods of acknowledgement passed between them.
"Cooking together, I see," Her father said gamely as he and his wife dropped down at their side with a small handful of fruit each.
"Many hands make light work," Taretha said absently, taking the sweetest of the fruits and peeling them before adding the rind to their meal.
As they busied themselves with cooking, evening came, the dim mountains growing darker and chiller with many more Orcs huddling around the fires than Humans. The sounds of quiet chatter filled the camp as meals were served, be it from communal pots or personal ones, and deliveries of dried meats were sent to the watchers.
It almost seemed like it would be like any other night, Thrall and Taretha on one side of the pot, her parents on the other, all in their own little worlds of conversation or reflective silence like the rest of the expansive camp.
Finally, as the silver light of the moon shone down upon their canyon home, two figures rose to speak.
Both were men, one a battered old Orc with greying hair and a missing eye, the other a Human of middling years with red-tinged hair and a ratty beard.
"I am Gral," Spoke the Orc, with a Horde salute.
"And I am Emerick," Added the man, with a flourished bow.
Thrall saw them and murmured, "It looks to me like many are already gathering near them."
Taretha nodded, "They probably gathered supporters before this."
"Makes me wonder who will speak for that far side of the camp, there is enough of them," Thrall mused, before the sibling's focus returned to the speech as Gral's voice rose higher.
"Though we hunt, we still hunger. Though we preserve the waters we are still thirsty. Every day the beasts grow more wary, and the trek grows more dangerous."
Emerick nodded, "I think we can all see that however much good work we have done here, this situation is unsustainable."
"What do you want us to do, farm the mountain?" Scoffed someone from the caves.
Gral snorted, "That would take too long."
"I concur," Emerick said, "What we bring forward today is this reality, and the fact we all must decide what to do about it, if we all wish to continue surviving."
Taretha was the next to speak, voice rising high despite her parents' quiet protests. "Well, it seems as though you two have a plan. Why not share it with the rest of us, rather than keep us is suspense?"
Gral and Emerick glanced at one another, before the Human shrugged and the Orc spoke.
"We know from the scouts that some kind of peace has been declared, or at least that the fighting has stopped."
"Thus, we think it best to send a few people into the Hinterlands to try and find out what came of the war."
"You want us to go to the Trolls that invaded us!?"
"You want us go to the Humans who enslaved us!?"
"You want us go to the people who attacked us!?"
The crowd gathered around the orc and human pair roared the dissenters down, and the pair spoke hastily.
"We cannot survive here forever; we must find a new way forward!" Emerick cried.
Gral nodded, "I do not always like the Amani, but they might harbor us Orcs, and the Wildhammer would likely get the Humans to safety. It is a balanced arrangement."
"But," Cut in a smooth, crisp voice, echoing in from the opposite end of the camp, "It is not the only arrangement."
From the shadows stepped two figures in smart, dark leather uniforms, an Orc and a Human.
Taretha sent Thrall a look and he saw the parallel, ducking his head in bemused acknowledgement as the pair spoke.
"I am Master Kang and this is Master Fahrad, we come to you in the name of the ruler of these mountains, master of cloak and dagger, the Lord Jorach Ravenholdt."
The Orc strode forward, the Human at his side, with a charming visage but seemingly no words to share.
"We come to you all, who have survived in these lands for so long with such distinction to join our leader's household. In the great hidden valley, you will find farmlands to till and homes to be built and the chance to join our ranks as militia if you so desire it."
Fahrad finally added his piece, "We serve neither the Alliance, Horde nor the Trolls; we are as ever a union of the Uncrowned, loyal to the lands and people we know and serve no other master. I can assure you all, Humans and Orcs alike, that Ravenholdt Manor is safe."
Gral was quick to accuse, "You say these things, yet where have you been in these past months!?"
"We had our own business to tend to and your circumstances were not yet dire."
"Not dire my foot!" Someone from near their own camp shouted.
Taretha looked to him, "Should we say something?"
Thrall shrugged, "Do we have a solution?"
Taretha shook her head, "Not for all of us."
Thrall watched Taretha's parents join the increasingly chaotic verbal melee and leaned back staring up at the sky, "I wonder if it need be for all of us? Many seem to have made up their minds already."
Taretha hummed, foot tapping against the dirt, casting her gaze back at the humble tent they slept in and turned her gaze to the sky.
As the moon began to dim and the canyons darkened to a black pitch, the factions began to formalize and solidify: the Eastern contingent led by Emerick and Gral; the Ravenholdt led by the rogues themselves; and a loose coalition with no speaker for those who would find their own path.
Taretha sighed, "I wonder if we should have spoken with those who wished to find their own way?"
"Perhaps," Thrall acknowledged, "But we could add little they have not said; they merely wish to feel things out, and with so many set to leave, they may live here well enough. At least, if word does not spread and they are not discovered."
"That feels impossible," Taretha sighed, "Even if we stay, this place will likely come under someone's rule."
Thrall prodded at the fire pit, breaking the charcoal and watching it glow, "It seems so…"
Taretha pulled her legs against her chest, "I don't fancy living under another lord, man, Troll or Dwarf."
Thrall nodded, "Nor do I, I find freedom suits me."
"Then… Why do we not embrace it?" She ventured.
Thrall turned his gaze to her, and Taretha was beaming at him, "We aren't obliged to stay in this place or leave it. You have your sword and I know how to tend and use my father's crossbow. Brother… We can go anywhere."
Thrall's gaze lingered on the bickering crowd before drifting to the sky and down to his sister and he smiled, "Anywhere… Anywhere and everywhere if we so wish it... I like the sound of that."
He stilled however, "But what of your parents?"
Taretha frowned, "I…"
"Shan't need to worry about us," Cut in her mother, sliding into their little camp with surprising grace, "I think we'll do well at this Ravenholdt, and… I think you have done well by us for a long time my dear."
She reached out and cradled her daughter's cheek, "I'd not see you beneath another man you can't stand if I can help it."
"Mother…" The blonde hugged her mother fiercely.
"Go dear, your father's crossbow is at the back of the tent."
As Taretha left, the older woman turned her gaze to Thrall, her hand resting on his shoulder, her words slow and measured, "I know you and Taretha care for one another, you are family in your way, so… take care of one another."
Thrall placed a hand over hers and nodded, "I shall guard my sister with my life."
The woman smiled, "And I know she shall do the same for you."
She reached into her hip pouch and pulled from it a faded strip of cloth bearing the sigil of a blue wolf, "You were wrapped in this when Blackmoore found you. I don't know if it matters, but it is yours and so you should have it."
Thrall held it in his hands, so fragile and small, so thin and faded, to think it had once surrounded his form and perhaps been wrapped by one that loved him. He swallowed and nodded, "I thank you, for everything."
"It was too little for either of you in the end, but I am sure you'll both do well."
Taretha returned with two stuffed travelling packs, her father's crossbow on her hip and looked abuzz with energy despite the late hour.
Thrall wrapped the cloth around his arm and picked up both his sword and one of the bags, sharing a glance towards the mother who nursed them. In the distance, Thrall could see the man who had found him, who looked back for but a moment before turning away.
And like that the spell was broken, and they turned to leave, slipping from the camp like shadows into darkness and through the Southern Pass.
"Where shall we go first, brother?"
"To the sun rise and beyond, sister."
"That sounds grand."
The Crimson King
The streets of Stratholme were lined with the common folk, be they residents, revellers or refugees, all come to witness the procession of Saidan Dathrohan. The Silver Hand's Lord Commander rode high upon his horse leading a convoy of troops stretching back through the gates with a train of carts stuffed to the brim with wheats, barrels and cloth.
Crimson garbed soldiers were visible on every street corner, armor, swords, and staves gleaming in the light in a grand display of power, of order. The people of Lordaeron watched with bated breath as a crown was offered and turned away, Saidan's cape flourishing in the wind as he raised his blade high and proclaimed.
"I am no king! I am a Paladin and a loyal noble of Lordaeron, we bear crimson arms in honor of the blood of the fallen, who shall know peace within the Light, as their foes face its harsh judgement!" His form shone in pure radiance, Alexandros_Mograine knelt before him offering not a crown but something else.
Saidan lowered his blade and reached into the ornate chest, his words booming across the city. "Know that I shall not rest until our homeland is restored to u,s and the royal bloodline is freed from captivity and restored to its rightful place!"
He thrust his fist high into the sky, Light's Hope shimmering like a star, a wave of gold forming sharp wings in the sky, amplifying his call, "The Light is with us!"
"The Light is with us! Hail the Grand Lord Dathrohan!"
Patricia O'Reilly trailed at Saidan's side as he moved to take his seat at the head of an ornate stone table. "Is milord certain he does not wish to govern from the City Hall?"
Arching his brown at the woman he kept his tone carefully level, "Let the bureaucrats shuffle papers around if they wish. But given the hidden passage uncovered and my dual duties as governor and Lord Commander, it only makes sense for me to command from here."
The secretary bowed, "Of course milord, I shall see to the necessary arrangements then."
And he bid a hasty retreat from the Bastion of the Silver Hand.
As he waited for her to leave Alexandros Mograine, Isillien and Doan took their seats, while Demetria and Brigitte Abbendis came to stand at attention before them.
Once finally alone, he said, "I must commend you all for your efforts this day, you have done your kingdom, your people and the Holy Light proud."
Uniform answers of "Thank you Grand Lord," echoed across the chamber.
"Now that the public's fears have been allayed, we can turn our attention to governance, and with that in mind," He unfurled an ornate scroll, decorated in gold and crimson red, "Abbendis, Demetria, together you uncovered the traitor lords' schemes and brought low both spies and criminals alike. It is with pride that I award you both the dual command of the newly ordained, 'Scarlet Inquisition'."
The women knew it was coming, but still they stood taller in their new uniforms, heads held high with pride.
"As inquisitors your duties shall be to uncover traitors, heretics and criminals most vile. Your rank eclipses that of town guards and military officers with me as your direct superior, the elite among your number serving in the Crimson Guard. This mission is of the utmost importance to ensure a holy populace and a safe crusade when the time comes," Then his tone hardened, "We shall not be undermined by traitors again."
"We shall make sure of it, Grand Lord," They said as one.
Saluting sharply Abbendis added, "We thank you for this mission, Grand Lord, and shall scour this land until every shadow has been banished by the Light's might."
Demetria smiled, "No traitors shall escape my eyes or Abbendis's blade. Just leave everything to us, milord."
"Your steadfast service is a credit to our people; now onto other assignments," His fingers tapped against the table firmly, "With this farce of a treaty signed, we are said to be at peace and we have secured some famine relief from Quel'Thalas and Aerie Peak."
He let his gaze drift across the chamber hall slowly, his tone low and firm, "I am not pleased by the position this has placed us in. Thus, while we must allow as many as possible to leave military service to till the fields to feed our growing populace, we cannot afford to end mobilization."
He looked to Morgraine, "My friend, you shall take the Light's Hope and march southeast to oversee the reconstruction of Tyr's Hand, offer what succor you can to the people."
The man bowed his head gratefully, "I am honored My Lord, I shall see to it that the Light once again shines across that most holy site, and should the Amani rear their ugly heads again they shall be burnt to cinders."
"Good man, as to the west," He frowned, "The river is an easier point to invade from but not to amass troops without our knowing, and the influx of refugees does provide a sizeable labour pool, so we'll continue fortifying it the old-fashioned way. Isillien, I shall have you join with Galvar Pureblood to oversee this matter."
The priest bowed, "I am honored, though if I may ask, shall I coordinate with the Wildhammer and Quel'Danil?"
Doan was quick to add, "I am told they have been most communicative in recent days, and they could prove a great aid to our cause."
Saiden's hands were balled into fists, his chest swelled with injured pride as he bit down the urge to curse, "Lordaeron has suffered much for its reliance on Fairweather friends. I coordinate with Quel'Thalas and their subject states now only out of necessity, but we must not depend upon them."
Demetria surprisingly cut in, her eyes subtly glazed over as she spoke, "Keep them close, but not too close, lest we be lost in their tides."
Saiden nodded, "There you have it. With that in mind, I will assign Holia Sunshield to be your official liaison with the Hinterlands states."
His haze turned to Doan who bowed in acquiescence, "You, Arcanist Doan shall serve as our representative to Quel'Lithien Lodge."
Isilien's sharp tongue rose, "Letting them squat on our lands after they left our nation to rot, it rankles me."
"That lodge is their sovereignty," Doan countered.
"And we hardly need to offend them when they are aiding us, however selfish their motives," Morgaine added.
"So, we just let traitors nestle in the foothills of our land, in houses that could serve our people?" The priest snapped.
"Enough," Saiden ordered, "Poking that griffon shall do us no good, especially now of all times."
"Yes milord," The priest murmured with a bow.
Saiden nodded, "Now we need to discuss rationing, our observation points in the mountains and the allocation of new farmlands, and more still, how we can have it ready in time for the next winter. My ambition is to see Eastweald as self-sufficient and strong as soon as possible. It'll be long before we can wage war again, but when we do, I mean to win."
The streets of Stratholme were lined with the common folk, be they residents, revellers or refugees, all come to witness the procession of Saidan Dathrohan. The Silver Hand's Lord Commander rode high upon his horse leading a convoy of troops stretching back through the gates with a train of carts stuffed to the brim with wheats, barrels and cloth.
Crimson garbed soldiers were visible on every street corner, armor, swords, and staves gleaming in the light in a grand display of power, of order. The people of Lordaeron watched with bated breath as a crown was offered and turned away, Saidan's cape flourishing in the wind as he raised his blade high and proclaimed.
"I am no king! I am a Paladin and a loyal noble of Lordaeron, we bear crimson arms in honor of the blood of the fallen, who shall know peace within the Light, as their foes face its harsh judgement!" His form shone in pure radiance, Alexandros_Mograine knelt before him offering not a crown but something else.
Saidan lowered his blade and reached into the ornate chest, his words booming across the city. "Know that I shall not rest until our homeland is restored to u,s and the royal bloodline is freed from captivity and restored to its rightful place!"
He thrust his fist high into the sky, Light's Hope shimmering like a star, a wave of gold forming sharp wings in the sky, amplifying his call, "The Light is with us!"
"The Light is with us! Hail the Grand Lord Dathrohan!"
Patricia O'Reilly trailed at Saidan's side as he moved to take his seat at the head of an ornate stone table. "Is milord certain he does not wish to govern from the City Hall?"
Arching his brown at the woman he kept his tone carefully level, "Let the bureaucrats shuffle papers around if they wish. But given the hidden passage uncovered and my dual duties as governor and Lord Commander, it only makes sense for me to command from here."
The secretary bowed, "Of course milord, I shall see to the necessary arrangements then."
And he bid a hasty retreat from the Bastion of the Silver Hand.
As he waited for her to leave Alexandros Mograine, Isillien and Doan took their seats, while Demetria and Brigitte Abbendis came to stand at attention before them.
Once finally alone, he said, "I must commend you all for your efforts this day, you have done your kingdom, your people and the Holy Light proud."
Uniform answers of "Thank you Grand Lord," echoed across the chamber.
"Now that the public's fears have been allayed, we can turn our attention to governance, and with that in mind," He unfurled an ornate scroll, decorated in gold and crimson red, "Abbendis, Demetria, together you uncovered the traitor lords' schemes and brought low both spies and criminals alike. It is with pride that I award you both the dual command of the newly ordained, 'Scarlet Inquisition'."
The women knew it was coming, but still they stood taller in their new uniforms, heads held high with pride.
"As inquisitors your duties shall be to uncover traitors, heretics and criminals most vile. Your rank eclipses that of town guards and military officers with me as your direct superior, the elite among your number serving in the Crimson Guard. This mission is of the utmost importance to ensure a holy populace and a safe crusade when the time comes," Then his tone hardened, "We shall not be undermined by traitors again."
"We shall make sure of it, Grand Lord," They said as one.
Saluting sharply Abbendis added, "We thank you for this mission, Grand Lord, and shall scour this land until every shadow has been banished by the Light's might."
Demetria smiled, "No traitors shall escape my eyes or Abbendis's blade. Just leave everything to us, milord."
"Your steadfast service is a credit to our people; now onto other assignments," His fingers tapped against the table firmly, "With this farce of a treaty signed, we are said to be at peace and we have secured some famine relief from Quel'Thalas and Aerie Peak."
He let his gaze drift across the chamber hall slowly, his tone low and firm, "I am not pleased by the position this has placed us in. Thus, while we must allow as many as possible to leave military service to till the fields to feed our growing populace, we cannot afford to end mobilization."
He looked to Morgraine, "My friend, you shall take the Light's Hope and march southeast to oversee the reconstruction of Tyr's Hand, offer what succor you can to the people."
The man bowed his head gratefully, "I am honored My Lord, I shall see to it that the Light once again shines across that most holy site, and should the Amani rear their ugly heads again they shall be burnt to cinders."
"Good man, as to the west," He frowned, "The river is an easier point to invade from but not to amass troops without our knowing, and the influx of refugees does provide a sizeable labour pool, so we'll continue fortifying it the old-fashioned way. Isillien, I shall have you join with Galvar Pureblood to oversee this matter."
The priest bowed, "I am honored, though if I may ask, shall I coordinate with the Wildhammer and Quel'Danil?"
Doan was quick to add, "I am told they have been most communicative in recent days, and they could prove a great aid to our cause."
Saiden's hands were balled into fists, his chest swelled with injured pride as he bit down the urge to curse, "Lordaeron has suffered much for its reliance on Fairweather friends. I coordinate with Quel'Thalas and their subject states now only out of necessity, but we must not depend upon them."
Demetria surprisingly cut in, her eyes subtly glazed over as she spoke, "Keep them close, but not too close, lest we be lost in their tides."
Saiden nodded, "There you have it. With that in mind, I will assign Holia Sunshield to be your official liaison with the Hinterlands states."
His haze turned to Doan who bowed in acquiescence, "You, Arcanist Doan shall serve as our representative to Quel'Lithien Lodge."
Isilien's sharp tongue rose, "Letting them squat on our lands after they left our nation to rot, it rankles me."
"That lodge is their sovereignty," Doan countered.
"And we hardly need to offend them when they are aiding us, however selfish their motives," Morgaine added.
"So, we just let traitors nestle in the foothills of our land, in houses that could serve our people?" The priest snapped.
"Enough," Saiden ordered, "Poking that griffon shall do us no good, especially now of all times."
"Yes milord," The priest murmured with a bow.
Saiden nodded, "Now we need to discuss rationing, our observation points in the mountains and the allocation of new farmlands, and more still, how we can have it ready in time for the next winter. My ambition is to see Eastweald as self-sufficient and strong as soon as possible. It'll be long before we can wage war again, but when we do, I mean to win."
The Howling
Wooden doors gave way with a violent roar and a shower of splinters, Greymane's voice bellowing into the chamber, "Arugal! We have business!"
There was no answer from the shadowy laboratory, Creed's superior vision making out easily the signs of blood on the walls, torn fangs, and ruined cages.
Greymane was careless to the danger, pushing forward with his elite guards and shouting, "You promised me a legion of beasts to lay low my enemies! Instead, you have let loose untameable monsters into the countryside!"
An alien howl, a Human's scream tortured into that of a wolf's howl echoed, followed by countless others. Creed watched with some amusement as several Worgen burst out from the stairwell to Arugal's chambers, clawing and mauling madly at the unsuspecting soldiers. Some held out, bearing bites and scratches, others were ripped through like deer and hurled to the side.
One was nearing Greymane.
The king drew his sword, but he was too slow, and Creed almost wanted to leave him to his fate, but with so many watching and racing to the king's side he could not.
The stone cracked as he hurled himself forward and with a sharp strike, launched the Worgen from the air and into a bookcase. Yelping and thrashing its way through the falling wood and paper, it was too distracted to stop his blade striking it between the eyes.
"Kill the beasts, put every last one down!" Howled Lord Godfrey, racing frantically into the chamber, saber and sidearms glinting in the moon light.
The ensuing battle was brief but gruesome, at least half a dozen more corpses painting the floor red and several more wounded in the ensuing melee. But it was over, and a frazzled Greymane was left briefly stupefied at how close he came to death. As a priest fussed over the king and more desperately tried to save the soldiers, Greymane was left to his rage as they awaited investigators and mages to look over the lab for signs of Arugal.
"Damn that man! Damn his pig-eyed incompetence and weak heart!" Greymane seethed as they marched up the steps, "Does he think by running he can escape judgement for such a disaster!?"
Creed coughed into his hand, "I believe my king, that escaping judgement is not on his mind."
He then pointed to a message scrawled in blood upon the walls.
Pack is Pure.
Blood is Blessed.
Ferocity is Freedom.
Embrace, Alpha Prime.
'Well… This complicates things,' The Dragonkin thought, hoping his glorious master and mistress were having better luck than he.
United in Stormwind
Onyxia was severely displeased, and it must have shown with how the dwindling number of nursemaids shuffled and simpered around her as she lulled the prince back to sleep.
Being summoned to deal with a squalling Anduin played little role in her ire, however; screeching babes were not unfamiliar to one who mothered as many as she. No, her ire came from the north. The barbaric savages who danced in the blood of gods disrupted years of carefully laid plans with a casualness that beleaguered her belief.
'Leave,' She thought intensely for what felt like the hundredth time, her will radiating through the air and into the empty-headed creatures surrounding her.
Finally, the last nursemaid left, and she cast a simple sleeping spell on the human. Then, with practiced ease placed the little princely babe back in his cot like a nurturing caretaker, the little prince sleeping soundly.
Leaning over the crib she looked out the window to the mountains and repressed a sigh. 'Years of planning cast to the winds! Vancleef already a vagabond firebrand trying to build a revolution I can no longer use!"
What fools fate made of meticulous plans.
'Speaking of fools,' She thought as the sound of a familiar set of footsteps reached her ears.
"Lady Prestor," Varian Wrynn croaked, drifting into the chamber like some lurching, undead thing to hover over his son's bed.
"Your son is safe, My King," She intoned so sweetly, "Are you having trouble sleeping again?"
Varian grunted in assent, hair hanging limp over his face as he stared unwaveringly at his son.
"Have you consulted a priest?" She pried.
"They offer me comfort that she is with the Light and in peace as they always do. All of which means nothing when she is not here!" Anduin began to whimper, driving his father back faster than any blade strike.
"I… I didn't…"
"Hush, hush," Onyxia cooed to both mewling humans, gently cradling Anduin's head in her hands and weaving subtle magics around him, forcing calm. Then she approached Varian and resting a hand on his cheek, she intoned gently, oh so gently, "Priests can offer much wisdom my liege, but often I find their attunement with higher powers leaves them too… disconnected, to truly understand the pain of one in mourning."
No magic was needed here – not in this moment – and Varian nodded, a bitter frown on his lips as he looked forlornly at his son, "I did not mean to scare him… I did not…"
"I know, I know My Liege, your love for him eclipses the sunshine, you are merely in pain… Shall I help you to slumber?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
"…Yes, just tonight… But I shan't leave his side," Varian insisted as always, letting her guide him to a rocking chair at his son's bedside.
"As you wish My King, but please do not blame your loyal servant when you awaken with a sore back on the morrow," She chuckled, drawing a feeble smile from his lips before guilt at even a flash of joy struck him, and he slouched into the chair.
Tracing a hand through his hair she let the magic flow, forcing its way past his brutish and failing defences to enforce calm and peace – or at least its illusion – driving him into slumber. She glanced at Bolvar who stood at the doorframe, anguish written across his features in his powerlessness to aid his king.
"Leave him to his rest and watch the door," She instructed, "Our king deserves his privacy."
"Of course, Lady Prestor," He said dully, subtle magic and meekness merging to make him a malleable man.
Only after he left did she resume her musing.
'With the Alliance re-centralizing it will be harder to lay this kingdom low, let alone the others,' She began to pace around the room, slowly and meticulously, circling the Wrynns like a vulture, 'I could seek to arrange something with the Drakkari when the time comes, to help take Varian off the board, but I still need to ensure the savages' defeat afterwards.'
She turned her attention to the door and frowned, 'Of course Bolvar would be the logical choice to send North, rather than the king, and I cannot sully my hands with their deaths or I will lose all I have worked for.'
Her gaze drifted to the slumbering king, looking so peaceful and at odds with his inner turmoil.
'He is a breaking man, one push and I could leave him stewing in misery for years to come…' She mused, gaze drifting to Anduin, 'But he would make a more malleable puppet, so young and easy to shape. Though so much relies on if I can remove that damnable Archbishop.'
Her nails dug into her palms at how her agents' efforts to lead that man to the truth in the heart of Light had been… slow at best.
Fingernails shifting into claws as she tapped along Anduin's dresser, her mind turned to war, 'Of course we need to break the Trolls utterly, and Varian's death could very well break this kingdom's morale. Such a quandary to try and win and lose wars waged on so many fronts, while still securing our victory.'
A frown flashed on her features as the other power bloc in Stormwind came to the forefront of her mind; the House of Nobles had been quite helpful in bringing about the riots, but were now proving a hindrance, and the king's spies suspected far too much for her liking.
'What a travesty this is,' She thought, trailing around the king and prince with a primal hunger in her eyes, 'Still, I have time to mull and to plan. Provided nothing else surprises us.'
Alliances
The city of Silvermoon was beyond compare.
Smooth stone shaded like the sun rose as tall as the great spires of Lordaeron's palace and Dalaran's towers. Halls and bazaars as great as temples were all bedecked in elaborate gold and silver patterns shining brilliantly day and night.
One could barely turn without seeing the pulsing blue and purple crystals of arcane energy that swirled and danced across the city's skyline. The sedate streets lacked any semblance of the squalor and chaos one might expect from a place harboring millions of souls, instead an orderly machine with all constituent parts smoothly functioning without mishap.
Even the common folk's finery was of resplendent silks, sleek leathers, and finely crafted weavings. Scions of Great Houses garbed themselves in elaborate enchanted wear, waterfalls of light cascading down one's back in place of a cape, crowns of fire and sleeves like flourished rainbow wings.
Within the palace the opulence was beyond equal, ceiling enchanted to resemble the living cosmos, floors that seemed like gold to the touch. Everything was several times larger than a giant's palace and coated in sparkling materials and magic, the scent of fine hookah smoke filling the air.
At the banquet chamber, one would find the long, cushioned lounged reclined in by Quel'Dorei and Wildhammer alike. The Council of Magisters, High Thane Falstad, King Anestarian and his son all gently picked up and imbibed spectacularly crafted samplings of elegant foods from across the lands.
Stretching along the rest of the table in chairs and bearing cutlery more familiar to the Southern folks, the other leaders of the Alliance were given similar hospitality, the Gnomish delegation even going so far as to mimic their hosts.
'When in Quel'Thalas, do as the Elves do,' One of them intoned cheerily.
But Katherine did not.
She was a pragmatic woman, harsh and concise at her most gentle and delicate.
She did not relish finery and flourished displays of wealth such as this, least of all when her nation was still recovering from the worst attack it suffered since the Second War.
Tapping her golden, jewel-encrusted goblet with a fork, she waited for all eyes to rest on her, and spoke firmly but politely.
"Honored Magisters, though you have been most kind these last few days and while I am loathe to make requests of my hosts, I must ask… what is it you called us here to discuss? For weeks you have spoken of something that shall let us strike back at the Drakkari far sooner than even our most optimistic estimates. What is it, a kind of weapon or spell?"
The council shared a subtle glance, their heads barely moved but she saw the subtle flickering in their burning blue gazes.
Lady Prestor was quick to say her piece, "Please know we have been most honored to be so welcomed by the Quel'Dorei, but I must share my contemporary's confusion."
Finally, Aestarian nodded after a quick motion at his son, "Yes, I suppose we have allowed the tension to mount and thus it is time for the dramatic revelation. Please forgive me this little bit of stage craft, we are an artistic people down to our bones after all, and the council wished to be sure everything was in place."
Magni arched his brow, but before he could speak, the Elf-king rose from his seat, long robes flowing around his frame like melted gold, touched with ivory, "Please, if you would follow me?"
Slowly, their party rose from their seat, joining with the magisters and striding down the long, endlessly ornate halls of the royal palace. Each wall was bedecked in a dizzying array of art from sculptures nearly alive, to paintings swirling and swimming with magic.
As they walked, Anestarian talked.
"It occurred to us during the war that the Amani gained much thanks to their allies in the Drakkari, and that the Drakkari had only made their gains through their ties to the Nerubians."
'That is a rather simplistic narrative,' Katherine thought with a scowl.
"Thus, it behoves us to seek our own contemporaries. Peoples to whom we are alike, and who can, in this time, give unto us the numbers and even resources we need to lay low our enemies."
He did not even slow as they approached a hall marked by a strange banner Katherine had never before seen. The doors flew open with nary a touch and the familiar sense of misty air filled Katherine's senses as she slipped through.
Like all things Elven it was ostentatious, ornate pillars rising from a low wading pool that swirled, shimmered, and bubbled. The only surface not below water in the vast hall was the small archipelago of smooth stone upon which they stood, and resting at the end of it was an eleven lounge and desk without an occupant until...
Katherine nearly choked, 'Sea Witch!'
Sliding from the waters and around the ornate ivory desk was a creature of elegant and horrific beauty.
Four sets of arms but no legs, instead a serpent's tail that moved through water and across stone with equal ease. Shimmering scales of emerald, eyes that shone with a purple light from an elegant, sharply toned face that was the picture of Elven beauty, surrounded by a mass of black snakes. Across her frame was a dress of make Katherine could not name, and the creature spoke with a voice like rising tides and hissing vipers, sharp and gentle, but somehow terrible in its beauty.
"Greetings, honored leaders of the Grand Alliance, I am the chosen servant of she who rules beneath the waves. Her majesty, Queen Azshara."
Notes
Sorry for how late this is, the last week was rough and I am getting reading for nanowrimo, got roped down a nostalgia web and more. Anyway, thanks again to Ebanu8 for editing!
So we're back with Cariel's crew, this whole thing is a new scene twice over given the Kul'Tiras rewrites, but I hope it made sense and gave hints as to my intents with them. Also Dagren's thing about bailing is tied to canon where he somehow survived every mission his side lost up until the Horde, so I decided to weave it into his personality.
I ended up going in an entirely different direction than perhaps anyone expected with Thrall & Taretha, but ultimately I am pretty happy with it. This is the first time in their lives they have any kind of self determination and I can see them wanting to explore it to the fullest. I imagine them becoming pretty well known wandering heroes in the future. I also couldn't envision everyone both being will and able to survive there forever & avoid notice, meaning they'd be absorbed eventually.
The Crimson King is on of the oldest scenes and one that needed minimal editing based on storied events, though it definitely still needed some. I am curious if anyone got the historical in joke I made and also its so ironic that Saiden has essentially gotten what many Eastwelders wanted for years, IE independence for the East & yet he doesn't want it. Plus some 'hints' and also varied degrees of stances on foreign engagement, I wanted to avoid a purely 'human supremacy' angle, Saiden's contention is purely political while Isillien's is rooted in more base prejudice.
Another incredibly old scene and one I've wanted to share for ages, cos yeah turns out unleashing hordes of ravenous diseased beasts on rebel forces was a bad idea. Cos some will escape into the woods, some will attack your own soldiers and many of those who survived the slaughtered to be captured are now infected. Suffice to say, Gilneas is in for a rough ride.
Another very old scene that needed substantial rewrites, I enjoy writing Onyxia, there's just something so coldly malevolent and insidious about her that I find lacking in Nefarian's pettier egotism or Deathwing's bombastic nature.
And we get to the final scene, the thing I have been hinting at for several chapters now, I know Mook91 justly suggested a secret weapon, but I've had this idea in mind for ages and a day so it had to be this. Also the portrayal of the Elves capital was heavily inspired by how Travelogue portrayed them save for the Roman lounges. Also fun fact, the reason everything was taking so long is long lived species interpret time differently, so to the Elves they really weren't keeping their Alliance guests waiting all that much and only belatedly realized it, though he wasn't liking about theatrics. But yeah, given Kael'thas didn't seem to recognize the Naga or Vashj as anything but those that served Illidan and his fathers general bad decision making, I figure a lot of into was hidden or lost over millennia and that with the proper presentation the Naga could sell themselves as natural allies to the Elves.
