- Location
- Italy
I know this spelling keeps being repeated in this thread so it's not just you but It bothers me so much, it's SylvanAs,for some reason I always see people misspelling it as Sylvanus, is her name different in some language?
Orc Quest; or, A Critical Examination of Agency Through in Interactive Fiction (Warcraft)
- Thread starter FractiousDay
- Start date
- Fantasy
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
For me its cause there's several times the voice acters make it sound like us instead of as when saying her name (or at least it does to me), so in my head I just go Sylvanus.
Am busy, so no effort posts atm.
But I got an at, so will chime in to say I am always interested in magic/the many ways it can reach a goal.
Necromancy, and the ways to make, unmake, remake undead is always fascinating. Both in the "is it a robot made of magic running in a body" way, to "is this like Egypt myth where a 'soul' can have multiple parts that do multiple things."
So returning undead to life, making Scourge/Death God undead independent, making new free minded undead who got there willingly, etc.
Magic is cool, and I like the Forsaken. At least the not omnicidal parts.
But I got an at, so will chime in to say I am always interested in magic/the many ways it can reach a goal.
Necromancy, and the ways to make, unmake, remake undead is always fascinating. Both in the "is it a robot made of magic running in a body" way, to "is this like Egypt myth where a 'soul' can have multiple parts that do multiple things."
So returning undead to life, making Scourge/Death God undead independent, making new free minded undead who got there willingly, etc.
Magic is cool, and I like the Forsaken. At least the not omnicidal parts.
- Location
- United Kingdom
Legit hadn't noticed this. I thought something was weird about her name but it was me putting 2 ns in instead. Agree on the pronunciation, it's clearly uhs not ass, but I suppose I'll have to change it if I decide to make a story only version of this as I've been thinking about. Not a big deal though and thanks for noting.
The Light in Brill
- Location
- United Kingdom
I'm not entirely happy with this one. I tend to write in somewhat of a disjointed manner and stitch things together. Here I've written 5k on what was originally one action, but I'm going from trying to present a religious scene with wonder, then one with exposition, then tension, then emotion and so on, and in general I always worry that my composition is too disrupted to portray these properly. In any case let me know what you think of it and thanks for the comments on the drafts.
The Light in Brill
Following Fordring's advice you order the warband to make ready, but set off yourself to Brill with the Paladin accompanying you.
"Since we set out," Tirion begins as you walk, "Brill has been one of the only strongholds of the Forsaken left." he describes, "Many seem to have fled to other strong places, but the stubborn ones still stand here even after our reclamation of this kingdom."
"And the Crusade has surrounded them since? You've been trying to persuade them to come out and be tested as they were back there?"
Tirion nods, "At first it was to interpose the army between Brill and the Undercity, then it was to secure the supply lines, then Fairbanks started coming here, preaching, and I could hardly do otherwise, we were friends before you see."
You nod.
"And he's one of the Forsaken?"
Tirion looks pensive. "He's undead certainly, but no, quite the opposite really. I knew him for years, he was a wise cleric and a learned scholar. He served with us in defence of this land and when… well I won't get into that now, to skip a long and sorrowful story he fell in battle against the Scourge, buried under a pile of them, but still living. He managed to make his way back, my son brought him in, but before anything could be done Fairbanks sealed himself into a room. Barricaded it from the inside."
The image comes to you, and it's a dreadful one. You can imagine what the man must have felt, knowing the corruption was growing within him but being able to do nothing about it.
"He's recognised the signs of the Plague and eventually it was decided to seal him inside rather than risk lives to destroy him. Sometimes such a way is best, the Scourge have a nasty habit of reviving even those we think destroyed."
You grow closer to the town, passing the occasional patrol, going on up the road to a small crowd.
Fordring continues, "My son went to him, he'd go and give rites through the brickwork, and he started saying he could hear the refrains coming back. Of course we all thought this was impossible, there was no way one of the undead could bear holy rites, but more people started saying they could hear it, or that they could see a light through the brickwork. We investigated, Dathrohan came himself, we heard screams, roars, all the bestial rage of the dead, but we also heard a voice raised in prayer, we heard homilies, cants and blessings. The undead sometimes retain their reason and for curiosity if nothing else we brought him out, put him to every test."
"And?"
"You'll see." Tirion replies with a smile, "Look there."
Before you there's a company of soldiers, though these ones bear the same livery of old Lordaeron, the silver and blue of that kingdom, rather than the proud and bloody cassocks of the new order.
"Remain back for now." Tirion says, "Bear witness to the majesty of the Light."
But as you look further you see a tall, thin figure, a silver wraith in the gloom. He wears silver chains crossed across his torso, around his neck, and heavy on his arms, ponderous chains, but they shine as he stands on cart that makes up a spindly wooden barricade through the road into Brill.
Shadowed figures watch him from windows and doors and the man raises a proud voice, sonorous and melodious from beneath a hood, speaking to the town it becomes more recognisable as you approach.
"Remember!" the voice rises from the shining figure. "Remember the Light! Turn away from the darkness, my people! Join your voices with mine!"
And a single one of the Forsaken does, she, or you assume it's a she, comes forward, stooped, her clothes wrapped in leathern bindings which hold together her decaying flesh.
She walks toward Fairbanks and they begin to sing. The chant is slow, resolute, a language you know nothing of, yet one which you can occasionally pick out a word that's similar to the common tongue among the humans.
And as they sing you find yourself affected also. You feel the wind pick up around you, a feeling you've not felt for months settles on you and in alarm you grip your sword in its sheath, yet no attack comes. In fact, the chant calms you, your heartbeat slows, the world seems to close in on Fairbanks and the undead woman, his light seems to touch her, a faint music audible in the undertow of their song.
It reminds you of home.
Flutes and soft strings, a gentle melody, ethereal celesta. The sound of windchimes in your father's hut, the sound of the breeze between stones of Durotar's plains, or fire crackling in the night.
And beneath the music you sense it. A core, the strength at the base of the pillar, the heart-struck, the temper of steel or the rolling undercurrent close to shore.
The grip on your sword loosens and you simply stand, the music washing over you.
Light grips Fairbanks and his parishioner, Light spins over them as if a woven thread, Light binds them, Light harbours them.
Fairbanks reaches out, laying his hand on the woman's head, turning slightly toward you.
His face is… baffling. At once you perceive great pain, yet serenity, a grimace and a rictus of calm.
The woman gasps, flames of pure white play on her and at some unperceived signal two of the soldiers come forward with chains of silver, wrapping them about the woman like crossbelts. Cry cries out at the touch of the blessed metal but Fairbanks grips her in an embrace and you perceive something passing into him so that when he releases the woman she stands, unharmed, the same strange expression on her face.
"I saw it." she breathes.
"Yes child?" the cleric asks, voice soft and weary.
"The Great One, the Beautiful One." and there's wonder in her eyes, glowing with the unnatural light of her condition, "Behind the stars, the sword in the darkness!"
"So it is." Fairbanks replies, "So it shall be, we are one in the Light."
The power of the Spirit of the Light is once again clear to you. Tirion had explained it in terms that you understood and you begin to grasp the totality of the Elemental. No, more than that, more than Forneus, more than the Earthmother he served. More than her siblings, the Firelord, the Tidehunter or or the Windlord. It was as the paladin had told you, the spirits of Azeroth but specks of sand amidst the great sea that was the Light.
You stand still there while Fordring goes forward, speaking softly with the priest. Soldiers escort the undead woman away, her own silver chains shining in the darkness.
Fairbanks himself almost collapses after she's gone, sitting down on a box, head bowed.
"Come." Tirion says, returning to you, "While the Light may be perfect it's servants are not."
"What was that?" you gape.
"An impossibility." the man replies, a smile tugging at his lips, "A miracle, yet one that grows more numerous by the day. Often he comes here, speaking of his visions, of beings that are of the essence of Light themselves, things of such grace and wisdom that extend their power to us freely. Such beings strengthened him, so he says, in his deprivation as he turned, they shielded him from the Lich King, they preserved him. The Light still burns him, for the undead are an evil thing, yet he withstands it, he calls on it freely to banish the shadows in the souls of the others, he heals, even with fire in his veins I've seen him stand over dead men and call them back. He is undead, that is unquestioned, he is damned, his soul fallen to darkness, yet he is also a holy man, the Light guides his steps, and by his hand more damned souls are saved."
And you look back at Fairbanks, head bowed, as if one of the elder shaman of your own people in meditation and communion with the Spirits.
"Now you've seen the Light, conjure with darkness instead." Tirion says, his voice turning grim. "Some come forward, but more cling to their damnation, it is our duty, as warriors and guides, to speak to them. If you consider me to be a shaman then I must consider you to be a priest, and such is duty to our kind."
You clamber over the barricade, stepping on cobbled streets as you walk into Brill. While it might have been thriving years ago many buildings are in disrepair and you suspect it's only the unnatural stillness of the Glades and their weather that's allowed so many of the houses to remain standing. The darkness quickly refocuses you, the divine music fading swiftly till there's only the creaking of the ruins around you.
"How many remain in Brill?" you ask, it was clear there was much you didn't yet know regarding the affairs of Lordaeron, from the position of particular actors or generals, to simply a clear chain of events, and if you were to influence them .
"Five hundred perhaps, maybe four, it's difficult to tell. There were more once but many fled. I admit it was quite the surprise to us to find them willing to speak with us actually, but I suppose they see their position. I doubt they particularly enjoy our visits but I've come here before to speak with Sevren, their leader."
You looked around and agreed with his assessment. Indeed, the town was surrounded by a wide picket, not entirely impermeable, but the Crusaders had invested the town to prevent any attack out, or any escape...
"We pushed most of the undead back, Dathrohan is a fine general and Westwind convinced the Kul Tirans to join us. We set up forts like the Solliden's, then we cleared the forests and fields, mile by mile. The Forsaken fought a few times but then retreated, that's their tactic, they'll lie as if dead for days to gain an ambush or some advantage, but they're reluctant to stand and fight. Dathrohan thought to pursue them and take back the capital but before we could that evil blight rose over the city and we soon learnt that nothing living could enter. He's planning his next move and consolidating the western reaches. I suspect he'll move on Andorhal before the year's out, and no doubt your people will be in the vanguard."
You nodded absently but you were still occupied with your own thoughts. What had happened? You'd first heard about the Crusade's attacks perhaps… perhaps a year ago, when you'd stepped through the great gates into Orgrimmar, and they'd more or less conquered the Glades in that time. Had Sylvanas Windrunner seen her positon and unleashed her unnatural weapons? The blight surrounding the Undercity was an almost absolute defence, at least against the Crusade, and it wasn't like the undead needed to eat.
You considered it further, wondering what the Horde's place was in all of this. Had Thrall known of events here? Surely he had, the Frostwolves were still in Alterac as far as you knew, they'd have sent news, and the Warchief was a Farseer besides. But then again, the more you thought about it though the more difficult you it seemed for anything to be done about it. There were perhaps three thousand in the army surrounding Brill and the area around it the town, and more in other parts of the Glade. With the magical support the Scarlet Crusade enjoyed it was certain to you that at least a thousand orcs would be needed to drive them back and relieve the Undercity, and unless Thrall could reliably transport that many orcs across the Great Sea, past the Kul Tiran patrols, you couldn't see how he'd be able to support the Forsaken.
And a dark thought came to you, your mind turning to such considerations so easily these days. There was an alliance between the Horde and the Forsaken, but it was hardly strong. Could Thrall simply not wish to aid the Forsaken? Certainly the Horde's surplus resources were distinctly lacking after the March of Forneus, and any such deployment would have been cancelled… You knew from your father's remarks at various points that the bond between the Forsaken and the Orcs was unalike that which your people shared with the trolls or tauren. Would any care? The Warchief had cultivated an image of respect and honour, yet from your own experience you knew him to also be an able politicker. From the way he'd exhibited you when you'd returned to Orgrimmar, to the theatre he'd established after Dreadmist, Thrall's mind was clearly deeper than his external character suggested. Did he think to trade the unreliable and apparently villainous Forsaken for a reborn Kingdom of Lordaeron? There was bitter enmity between orcs and humans but you knew many orcs would rather fight alongside a human than one of the undead.
You wondered if it really mattered. You can almost hear the voice of Akinos chiding you for getting lost in possibilities rather than simply acting, and you suppose currently there was little you could do about it. The majority of the Forsaken were apparently safe in the Undercity, and your obligations to honour the Horde's alliance with the deathly folk didn't presently challenge your mission to war with the Scourge. While perhaps you'll consider it later for now you move on, "I was surprised to find the Crusade so welcoming." you confess, "Both to my own people and to the Forsaken."
Tirion grunts, eyes wary about him, "That was Fairbanks' doing, partly anyway. Our policy toward him extends to others we've been suspicious of previously." he replies, "Before him we killed any of the undead we could find, save those Vishas and his ilk took for their experiments. In the beginning, or rather I suppose at the end of the Third War, we tried to speak with some of them, bring them back to us." he shakes his head, "Any village which welcomed some former resident would be destroyed shortly after, any undead claiming asylum would invariably turn on us… I saw it, many times… So we simply killed them when we found them, whenever one would claim freedom from the Lich King we assumed they were lying, though some of us now think this may have been a deliberate ploy by the Lich King or his lieutenants to deceive us. But soon it changed, soon we found patrols destroyed, consumed even, creatures of shadow would strike at us without mercy or pity, laughing as they did, the supposedly free undead went on the offensive. They would especially strike at the faithful… Priests, paladins, even simple folk, none were safe… once we captured one alive, or well, unalive I suppose, it claimed allegiance to what it called the 'Cult of Forgotten Shadow', and in turn the Forsaken and the Banshee Queen."
You remain silent as Tirion talks.
"We learnt from survivors who sometimes joined us that Marshal Garithos, one of the survivors of the last war, had allied with a creature of darkness, the elf, Sylvanas Windrunner, who subsequently betrayed him to gain the kingdom. She could turn herself to shadow like the Lightslayers we fought, and later we learnt that she brought one of the Dreadlords, Varimathras, into her service. We kept killing the undead we found, we knew them to be our enemies, despite a few who still tried to claim admittance to our camps. It is a foul existence, the life of these people." Tirion continues, gesturing around the streets of Brill, "The Light burns them, they can't walk on holy ground without pain, silver harms them, but worse they're still compelled by the will of their dark masters, whether Sylvanus or the Lich King, they hunger not for food but for flesh and suffering, they lust for death and pain, and without it they simply stand staring into nothing."
"But then the Light?"
"Despite their name, the Light forsakes no one." Tirion nods. "Fairbanks was loyal and true in life, death couldn't break his faith, not the tests we put him through, the light healed each one at his prayers. I stood over him myself, I spoke the words and called down the divine. He burned and screamed but within the fire we saw it…"
And you wonder.
Fairbanks had called forth a power, a connection with a great being, one of beauty and grace, coming to him in his hour of need, strengthening him, saving him as he wailed and clawed at the walls of his prison, bloody fingers on hard stone.
"There's something Uther used to say." Tirion remarks as you approach the town square, "I remember it, now and then. When I think on all the suffering of the kingdom, all the lives lost, all the blood spilled… I think on the Light. He used to say that no one feels they deserves it, and that's because no one does. He would say the Light was grace, 'pure and simple'. As mortals we're inherently unworthy, simply because we're flawed. But the Light loves us anyway. It loves us for what we sometimes can rise to in rare moments. It loves us for what we can do to help others. And it loves us because we can help it share its message by striving daily to be worthy, even though we understand that we can't ever truly become so."
The paladin sighs. "If all I do gives me but one glace at what Fairbanks saw, I'll do it gladly, I'll stand as he did, feeling that I can't possibly deserve it or ever be worthy, but feeling the warmth in the soul all the same."
And in the gloom of Tirasfal you do feel it, Fairbanks' words turn over in your mind and you hear but the briefest notes, the softest chimes, the ghost of light from above. It's only a moment though and you turn back to the present.
The town of Brill is inhabited by the undead, but you hadn't really understood what that might mean till you find yourself standing in the square. All around you there are holes in walls, missing shutters on windows or rotting wood lying about where the Forsaken haven't bothered to replace doors.
You'd heard that they felt no pain, nor hunger or warmth or cold. Their town lay in ruins all around them, but then again, when the home of your spirit was a corpse, your every moment a hunger for evil and suffering, what did a draughty window matter?
The Forsaken begin to come out. Their eyes empty, yet glowing with light. No happiness, no anger or fear, was this the dreadful existence of such creatures? Was this why so many of the undead you'd encountered wore such tattered clothes, and some of the more bestial ones nothing at all? Had they lost their sense of shame and pride? No doubt it was true, but here you saw that the Forsaken had at least retained their minds, if not their reasoning.
Tirion speaks, as do you, and though it is brief enough the Forsaken's leader remains unmoved.
"We will not go." Magistrate Sevren says. "I have no trust for the supposed 'Crusade', the alleged Princess, or for the Horde. Neither their pet Fairbanks, nor your words, convince me."
The Magistrate in charge of Brill wears faded robes of office, and stands truer than others of his kind. He seems a man, or corpse perhaps, worthy of respect, and you reason with him as best you can, "They are losing patience." you reply, "Soon enough they may move on the town."
Of course you have no idea whether that might be so, but Fairbanks had apparently been bothering Dathrohan about something, presumably it was to adopt a more open policy toward the Forsaken, yet the Grand Crusader had refused, and from your understanding of events, was unwilling to entertain the idea further.
"You claim the floodwaters are rising." Sevren says, "This may be so, yet you also call on us to leap either into a swift torrent or sink to the depths of a sea. I can endorse neither position to my charges."
You've no especial hold over the Crusade, or indeed over the Forsaken, only the largely forgotten and never particularly strong alliance between the undead and the Horde, yet for its sake you make your address, "Take a third way then, I'm willing to escort you to the Undercity." you say, raising your voice to be heard by the crowd, "You might seek safety there. I can offer you no other options."
Tirion remains silent, as does Sevren, and eventually you sigh, "Come." you say to the paladin, "Let's return."
You both turn away, but Fordring speaks softly, "Some heard you and will respond, follow me." And he walks a circuitous route back to the outskirts of the town and the barricade you entered by, perhaps leaving enough time for those you'd apparently persuaded to come forward, which they do.
"Fordring!" a call comes, a rasp from the ruins of a large hall.
You both turn.
A large group, perhaps fifty or so Forsaken are standing there, utterly silent, unbreathing, unmoving. Eyes glow in the windows as watchers look down.
Once again your struck by the unnaturalness of these folk. They're like statues, each garbed in ragged material, leather and old cloth mostly.
"You'll take us before the Inquisitor?" the rasping one asks, "What are our odds?"
"We've seen him burn people!" someone in the crowd hisses.
Fordring holds up a hand, praying for silence. The light glints off the lining of his glove, a silver hand in the darkness, "With humility, with tenacity, with faith… the odds are good." the paladin replies.
"Remember the virtues." Tirion says to you, "Respect, compassion. The hand is the first thing you give an enemy to turn him into a friend." and he looks to the leader of the group, this one better armed than the others. "You are Zygand." Tirion calls, going toward one and reaching out.
They clasp hands awkwardly, the Forsaken clearly uncomfortable, though the paladin displays an easy coolness which in your current state you find difficult to match. "Follow us, and put your faith in the Light."
Fairbanks is waiting for you back at the barricade and you see his withered face smile beneath the faded hood.
"Such a crowd is beyond me." he remarks, once again the unusual voice and timbring distinct from any voice you've heard, "But nothing is beyond the Light. Kneel my brother and sisters.
The soldiers surround the crowd, laying on chains as they go, the Forsaken wincing and gasping as some stray link touches skin.
"My friend, will you lend me your aid?" Fairbanks looks to Tirion and the paladin turns.
"I'll do better." and with that Fordring unclasps the chain about his own neck, pulling up the great silver-shod libram on his hip, the relic of his faith.
Fairbanks' eyes widen as the paladin opens the book, coming up and offering it to the apostle. The undead strokes a finger over the pages, down one illuminated column, then another, turning the page ever so gently.
Something gathers.
"Once in darkness…" Fairbanks' voice sounds, "Enter the Light!"
And a radiance shines out, you cover your hand with an arm as the silver links burst into brilliant fire, the Forsaken scream and faint, falling to the packed earth, some writing in pain, others like Zygand kneeling, fists clenched, a wordless howl escaping dry lips.
Even Tirion is discomforted, one hand supporting the libram that Fairbanks chants from, the other shielding his own eyes, "Through Tenacity we brave the wolf and storm! Through Strength we bear the pain!" he shouts encouragements.
The Forsaken spasm as the fire takes them, and though a few sit still, the majority fall to flailing and the Scarlet soldiers dive on them, bearing flailing limbs down with strangled oaths as they wrestle with their charges.
"Light bring us safe home and warm! Light bind us with holy chain!"
And in a moment it's over.
Zygand and a knot of those about him stand unsteadily, their faces bearing witness to the inner resolve that now fills them. But behind…
Behind the Forsaken are thirty ashen marks.
"O, blessed be the sufferers." Fairbanks murmurs, stepping forward to lay his hands on the dark spots in the earth, "Blessed are those who want for naught."
And once again you leave Fairbanks to his work, Tirion taking you gently by the shoulder and escorting you away, your mind full of the events of the day. But despite the exhaustion of your experiences, there's more to see, and as you leave the town you see the Crusade's army deployed before you, scarlet surcoats, blades glinting in torchlight as if bloody.
The Grand Crusade sits atop a great charger, ruddy like all else in the terrible army. Knights and clerics surround him and you walk forward uneasily. Such a deployment can only mean an attack is imminent and you're aware of the distance currently between you and your warband.
"You've removed most of their defenders!" Dathrohan cries as you and Tirion approach, "Good work, both of you!"
You recoil slightly at the words, your mind working swiftly. Not you, the town… Had this been Dathrohan's strategy all along? Inflame the passion of Fordring and by extension yourself? Have you split the forces within Brill as a bird might break the shell of a nut?
Tirion is frowning, but he gestures to the Light-bound Forsaken behind you. "Some of these ones served Varimathras, I'll take them to the Monastery." Tirion replies.
"Leave it to others, I've letters for you to deliver." Dathrohan declares from his horse.
You know the two are close, trusting, but that only makes you more interested in the contents of letters which a general might deliver personally…
"Not this." Tirion replies, "Not these ones, I'll handle them personally."
Dathrohan doesn't consider it for more than a moment, "As you see fit."
They speak a little more while you look on, the forces of the Scarlet Crusade gathering all around the town, moving in from their wide picket previously. Yet again you find yourself used, yet you can take no action without endangering your position and the lives of your clan. Dathrohan had clearly used you to focus Brill's attention inward while he got his forces into position, but it seems Tirion is thinking the same…
"It is a black thing you do here." The paladin warns his superior.
"The Light banishes all darkness." the Grand Crusader replies, then turns to a tall man in red armour next to him, "Renault, to your duty, prisoners if you can, some might yet be saved, burn the rest."
And to your shame, you turn away. With a snarl you turn from the advancing army, away from the two paladins and back to your camp.
"Grok'mash."
You turn, Tirion comes to you and lays a hand on your shoulder, "Do not blame yourself for this." he says softly, green eyes vibrant, "By feeling and understanding compassion in enemy and ally alike, you reaffirm your connection with the world, but too much compassion leads only to destruction. Hold this feeling within you, strengthen it, savour it, remember it…"
The warband are all aware, they stand looking, seeing the first plumes of smoke rising from the town and the sound of weapons clashing in the oppressive twilight.
"It is not our affair." Scorn growls at your mood, "If the humans want to kill the dead why should we care? They are few, they have no power, they have little use to us."
"It is evil." you reply, your voice tight, the scent of the burning rich in your nostrils.
"Not our affair." Scorn repeats, wisely conceding his second point, "What do you intend to do? What do you intend to do?"
You have no answer to that. You sit in rage, breathing deep, fingers tight around the sword in your lap…
And then you stand, forcing your anger deeper into a righteous fury. In time you may draw on its strength, yet for now there is other work for the sword, and you have matters to attend to.
Your officers surround a large map provided to you by the Crusaders, the Burners, and you draw your finger over the northern reaches of the Glades.
"We leave this place." you say, the day's dishonour a heavy weight in your stomach, "First the shore, then this estate, 'Garren's Haunt'. We'll face murlocs, some sort of primitive sea creature which makes its home on shore, then gnolls at the farm. They've been stealing corpses for the Scourge but they shouldn't be dangerous." You trace further west, "Then the Agamand Mills, that will be the true test here. Keldran, what should we expect?"
The necrolyte nods, "First, the undead will be controlled. We've faced mindless ones so far, but these will retreat, feint, ambush, all that a living warrior might do. Furthermore, they'll be commanded, apparently by the former masters of the mills, a family of traitors. Each will have power, one is a mage, another a necromancer apparently, and they've spent time raising the ancestors of their tribe."
"And we will end this dishonour." you remark.
The others grumble in agreement. To your people such sacrilege is especially offensive.
The march north from the ruins of Brill is rapid. The Light had come to the town, and left nothing...
The Light in Brill
Following Fordring's advice you order the warband to make ready, but set off yourself to Brill with the Paladin accompanying you.
"Since we set out," Tirion begins as you walk, "Brill has been one of the only strongholds of the Forsaken left." he describes, "Many seem to have fled to other strong places, but the stubborn ones still stand here even after our reclamation of this kingdom."
"And the Crusade has surrounded them since? You've been trying to persuade them to come out and be tested as they were back there?"
Tirion nods, "At first it was to interpose the army between Brill and the Undercity, then it was to secure the supply lines, then Fairbanks started coming here, preaching, and I could hardly do otherwise, we were friends before you see."
You nod.
"And he's one of the Forsaken?"
Tirion looks pensive. "He's undead certainly, but no, quite the opposite really. I knew him for years, he was a wise cleric and a learned scholar. He served with us in defence of this land and when… well I won't get into that now, to skip a long and sorrowful story he fell in battle against the Scourge, buried under a pile of them, but still living. He managed to make his way back, my son brought him in, but before anything could be done Fairbanks sealed himself into a room. Barricaded it from the inside."
The image comes to you, and it's a dreadful one. You can imagine what the man must have felt, knowing the corruption was growing within him but being able to do nothing about it.
"He's recognised the signs of the Plague and eventually it was decided to seal him inside rather than risk lives to destroy him. Sometimes such a way is best, the Scourge have a nasty habit of reviving even those we think destroyed."
You grow closer to the town, passing the occasional patrol, going on up the road to a small crowd.
Fordring continues, "My son went to him, he'd go and give rites through the brickwork, and he started saying he could hear the refrains coming back. Of course we all thought this was impossible, there was no way one of the undead could bear holy rites, but more people started saying they could hear it, or that they could see a light through the brickwork. We investigated, Dathrohan came himself, we heard screams, roars, all the bestial rage of the dead, but we also heard a voice raised in prayer, we heard homilies, cants and blessings. The undead sometimes retain their reason and for curiosity if nothing else we brought him out, put him to every test."
"And?"
"You'll see." Tirion replies with a smile, "Look there."
Before you there's a company of soldiers, though these ones bear the same livery of old Lordaeron, the silver and blue of that kingdom, rather than the proud and bloody cassocks of the new order.
"Remain back for now." Tirion says, "Bear witness to the majesty of the Light."
But as you look further you see a tall, thin figure, a silver wraith in the gloom. He wears silver chains crossed across his torso, around his neck, and heavy on his arms, ponderous chains, but they shine as he stands on cart that makes up a spindly wooden barricade through the road into Brill.
Shadowed figures watch him from windows and doors and the man raises a proud voice, sonorous and melodious from beneath a hood, speaking to the town it becomes more recognisable as you approach.
"Remember!" the voice rises from the shining figure. "Remember the Light! Turn away from the darkness, my people! Join your voices with mine!"
And a single one of the Forsaken does, she, or you assume it's a she, comes forward, stooped, her clothes wrapped in leathern bindings which hold together her decaying flesh.
She walks toward Fairbanks and they begin to sing. The chant is slow, resolute, a language you know nothing of, yet one which you can occasionally pick out a word that's similar to the common tongue among the humans.
And as they sing you find yourself affected also. You feel the wind pick up around you, a feeling you've not felt for months settles on you and in alarm you grip your sword in its sheath, yet no attack comes. In fact, the chant calms you, your heartbeat slows, the world seems to close in on Fairbanks and the undead woman, his light seems to touch her, a faint music audible in the undertow of their song.
It reminds you of home.
Flutes and soft strings, a gentle melody, ethereal celesta. The sound of windchimes in your father's hut, the sound of the breeze between stones of Durotar's plains, or fire crackling in the night.
And beneath the music you sense it. A core, the strength at the base of the pillar, the heart-struck, the temper of steel or the rolling undercurrent close to shore.
The grip on your sword loosens and you simply stand, the music washing over you.
Light grips Fairbanks and his parishioner, Light spins over them as if a woven thread, Light binds them, Light harbours them.
Fairbanks reaches out, laying his hand on the woman's head, turning slightly toward you.
His face is… baffling. At once you perceive great pain, yet serenity, a grimace and a rictus of calm.
The woman gasps, flames of pure white play on her and at some unperceived signal two of the soldiers come forward with chains of silver, wrapping them about the woman like crossbelts. Cry cries out at the touch of the blessed metal but Fairbanks grips her in an embrace and you perceive something passing into him so that when he releases the woman she stands, unharmed, the same strange expression on her face.
"I saw it." she breathes.
"Yes child?" the cleric asks, voice soft and weary.
"The Great One, the Beautiful One." and there's wonder in her eyes, glowing with the unnatural light of her condition, "Behind the stars, the sword in the darkness!"
"So it is." Fairbanks replies, "So it shall be, we are one in the Light."
The power of the Spirit of the Light is once again clear to you. Tirion had explained it in terms that you understood and you begin to grasp the totality of the Elemental. No, more than that, more than Forneus, more than the Earthmother he served. More than her siblings, the Firelord, the Tidehunter or or the Windlord. It was as the paladin had told you, the spirits of Azeroth but specks of sand amidst the great sea that was the Light.
You stand still there while Fordring goes forward, speaking softly with the priest. Soldiers escort the undead woman away, her own silver chains shining in the darkness.
Fairbanks himself almost collapses after she's gone, sitting down on a box, head bowed.
"Come." Tirion says, returning to you, "While the Light may be perfect it's servants are not."
"What was that?" you gape.
"An impossibility." the man replies, a smile tugging at his lips, "A miracle, yet one that grows more numerous by the day. Often he comes here, speaking of his visions, of beings that are of the essence of Light themselves, things of such grace and wisdom that extend their power to us freely. Such beings strengthened him, so he says, in his deprivation as he turned, they shielded him from the Lich King, they preserved him. The Light still burns him, for the undead are an evil thing, yet he withstands it, he calls on it freely to banish the shadows in the souls of the others, he heals, even with fire in his veins I've seen him stand over dead men and call them back. He is undead, that is unquestioned, he is damned, his soul fallen to darkness, yet he is also a holy man, the Light guides his steps, and by his hand more damned souls are saved."
And you look back at Fairbanks, head bowed, as if one of the elder shaman of your own people in meditation and communion with the Spirits.
"Now you've seen the Light, conjure with darkness instead." Tirion says, his voice turning grim. "Some come forward, but more cling to their damnation, it is our duty, as warriors and guides, to speak to them. If you consider me to be a shaman then I must consider you to be a priest, and such is duty to our kind."
You clamber over the barricade, stepping on cobbled streets as you walk into Brill. While it might have been thriving years ago many buildings are in disrepair and you suspect it's only the unnatural stillness of the Glades and their weather that's allowed so many of the houses to remain standing. The darkness quickly refocuses you, the divine music fading swiftly till there's only the creaking of the ruins around you.
"How many remain in Brill?" you ask, it was clear there was much you didn't yet know regarding the affairs of Lordaeron, from the position of particular actors or generals, to simply a clear chain of events, and if you were to influence them .
"Five hundred perhaps, maybe four, it's difficult to tell. There were more once but many fled. I admit it was quite the surprise to us to find them willing to speak with us actually, but I suppose they see their position. I doubt they particularly enjoy our visits but I've come here before to speak with Sevren, their leader."
You looked around and agreed with his assessment. Indeed, the town was surrounded by a wide picket, not entirely impermeable, but the Crusaders had invested the town to prevent any attack out, or any escape...
"We pushed most of the undead back, Dathrohan is a fine general and Westwind convinced the Kul Tirans to join us. We set up forts like the Solliden's, then we cleared the forests and fields, mile by mile. The Forsaken fought a few times but then retreated, that's their tactic, they'll lie as if dead for days to gain an ambush or some advantage, but they're reluctant to stand and fight. Dathrohan thought to pursue them and take back the capital but before we could that evil blight rose over the city and we soon learnt that nothing living could enter. He's planning his next move and consolidating the western reaches. I suspect he'll move on Andorhal before the year's out, and no doubt your people will be in the vanguard."
You nodded absently but you were still occupied with your own thoughts. What had happened? You'd first heard about the Crusade's attacks perhaps… perhaps a year ago, when you'd stepped through the great gates into Orgrimmar, and they'd more or less conquered the Glades in that time. Had Sylvanas Windrunner seen her positon and unleashed her unnatural weapons? The blight surrounding the Undercity was an almost absolute defence, at least against the Crusade, and it wasn't like the undead needed to eat.
You considered it further, wondering what the Horde's place was in all of this. Had Thrall known of events here? Surely he had, the Frostwolves were still in Alterac as far as you knew, they'd have sent news, and the Warchief was a Farseer besides. But then again, the more you thought about it though the more difficult you it seemed for anything to be done about it. There were perhaps three thousand in the army surrounding Brill and the area around it the town, and more in other parts of the Glade. With the magical support the Scarlet Crusade enjoyed it was certain to you that at least a thousand orcs would be needed to drive them back and relieve the Undercity, and unless Thrall could reliably transport that many orcs across the Great Sea, past the Kul Tiran patrols, you couldn't see how he'd be able to support the Forsaken.
And a dark thought came to you, your mind turning to such considerations so easily these days. There was an alliance between the Horde and the Forsaken, but it was hardly strong. Could Thrall simply not wish to aid the Forsaken? Certainly the Horde's surplus resources were distinctly lacking after the March of Forneus, and any such deployment would have been cancelled… You knew from your father's remarks at various points that the bond between the Forsaken and the Orcs was unalike that which your people shared with the trolls or tauren. Would any care? The Warchief had cultivated an image of respect and honour, yet from your own experience you knew him to also be an able politicker. From the way he'd exhibited you when you'd returned to Orgrimmar, to the theatre he'd established after Dreadmist, Thrall's mind was clearly deeper than his external character suggested. Did he think to trade the unreliable and apparently villainous Forsaken for a reborn Kingdom of Lordaeron? There was bitter enmity between orcs and humans but you knew many orcs would rather fight alongside a human than one of the undead.
You wondered if it really mattered. You can almost hear the voice of Akinos chiding you for getting lost in possibilities rather than simply acting, and you suppose currently there was little you could do about it. The majority of the Forsaken were apparently safe in the Undercity, and your obligations to honour the Horde's alliance with the deathly folk didn't presently challenge your mission to war with the Scourge. While perhaps you'll consider it later for now you move on, "I was surprised to find the Crusade so welcoming." you confess, "Both to my own people and to the Forsaken."
Tirion grunts, eyes wary about him, "That was Fairbanks' doing, partly anyway. Our policy toward him extends to others we've been suspicious of previously." he replies, "Before him we killed any of the undead we could find, save those Vishas and his ilk took for their experiments. In the beginning, or rather I suppose at the end of the Third War, we tried to speak with some of them, bring them back to us." he shakes his head, "Any village which welcomed some former resident would be destroyed shortly after, any undead claiming asylum would invariably turn on us… I saw it, many times… So we simply killed them when we found them, whenever one would claim freedom from the Lich King we assumed they were lying, though some of us now think this may have been a deliberate ploy by the Lich King or his lieutenants to deceive us. But soon it changed, soon we found patrols destroyed, consumed even, creatures of shadow would strike at us without mercy or pity, laughing as they did, the supposedly free undead went on the offensive. They would especially strike at the faithful… Priests, paladins, even simple folk, none were safe… once we captured one alive, or well, unalive I suppose, it claimed allegiance to what it called the 'Cult of Forgotten Shadow', and in turn the Forsaken and the Banshee Queen."
You remain silent as Tirion talks.
"We learnt from survivors who sometimes joined us that Marshal Garithos, one of the survivors of the last war, had allied with a creature of darkness, the elf, Sylvanas Windrunner, who subsequently betrayed him to gain the kingdom. She could turn herself to shadow like the Lightslayers we fought, and later we learnt that she brought one of the Dreadlords, Varimathras, into her service. We kept killing the undead we found, we knew them to be our enemies, despite a few who still tried to claim admittance to our camps. It is a foul existence, the life of these people." Tirion continues, gesturing around the streets of Brill, "The Light burns them, they can't walk on holy ground without pain, silver harms them, but worse they're still compelled by the will of their dark masters, whether Sylvanus or the Lich King, they hunger not for food but for flesh and suffering, they lust for death and pain, and without it they simply stand staring into nothing."
"But then the Light?"
"Despite their name, the Light forsakes no one." Tirion nods. "Fairbanks was loyal and true in life, death couldn't break his faith, not the tests we put him through, the light healed each one at his prayers. I stood over him myself, I spoke the words and called down the divine. He burned and screamed but within the fire we saw it…"
And you wonder.
Fairbanks had called forth a power, a connection with a great being, one of beauty and grace, coming to him in his hour of need, strengthening him, saving him as he wailed and clawed at the walls of his prison, bloody fingers on hard stone.
"There's something Uther used to say." Tirion remarks as you approach the town square, "I remember it, now and then. When I think on all the suffering of the kingdom, all the lives lost, all the blood spilled… I think on the Light. He used to say that no one feels they deserves it, and that's because no one does. He would say the Light was grace, 'pure and simple'. As mortals we're inherently unworthy, simply because we're flawed. But the Light loves us anyway. It loves us for what we sometimes can rise to in rare moments. It loves us for what we can do to help others. And it loves us because we can help it share its message by striving daily to be worthy, even though we understand that we can't ever truly become so."
The paladin sighs. "If all I do gives me but one glace at what Fairbanks saw, I'll do it gladly, I'll stand as he did, feeling that I can't possibly deserve it or ever be worthy, but feeling the warmth in the soul all the same."
And in the gloom of Tirasfal you do feel it, Fairbanks' words turn over in your mind and you hear but the briefest notes, the softest chimes, the ghost of light from above. It's only a moment though and you turn back to the present.
The town of Brill is inhabited by the undead, but you hadn't really understood what that might mean till you find yourself standing in the square. All around you there are holes in walls, missing shutters on windows or rotting wood lying about where the Forsaken haven't bothered to replace doors.
You'd heard that they felt no pain, nor hunger or warmth or cold. Their town lay in ruins all around them, but then again, when the home of your spirit was a corpse, your every moment a hunger for evil and suffering, what did a draughty window matter?
The Forsaken begin to come out. Their eyes empty, yet glowing with light. No happiness, no anger or fear, was this the dreadful existence of such creatures? Was this why so many of the undead you'd encountered wore such tattered clothes, and some of the more bestial ones nothing at all? Had they lost their sense of shame and pride? No doubt it was true, but here you saw that the Forsaken had at least retained their minds, if not their reasoning.
Tirion speaks, as do you, and though it is brief enough the Forsaken's leader remains unmoved.
"We will not go." Magistrate Sevren says. "I have no trust for the supposed 'Crusade', the alleged Princess, or for the Horde. Neither their pet Fairbanks, nor your words, convince me."
The Magistrate in charge of Brill wears faded robes of office, and stands truer than others of his kind. He seems a man, or corpse perhaps, worthy of respect, and you reason with him as best you can, "They are losing patience." you reply, "Soon enough they may move on the town."
Of course you have no idea whether that might be so, but Fairbanks had apparently been bothering Dathrohan about something, presumably it was to adopt a more open policy toward the Forsaken, yet the Grand Crusader had refused, and from your understanding of events, was unwilling to entertain the idea further.
"You claim the floodwaters are rising." Sevren says, "This may be so, yet you also call on us to leap either into a swift torrent or sink to the depths of a sea. I can endorse neither position to my charges."
You've no especial hold over the Crusade, or indeed over the Forsaken, only the largely forgotten and never particularly strong alliance between the undead and the Horde, yet for its sake you make your address, "Take a third way then, I'm willing to escort you to the Undercity." you say, raising your voice to be heard by the crowd, "You might seek safety there. I can offer you no other options."
Tirion remains silent, as does Sevren, and eventually you sigh, "Come." you say to the paladin, "Let's return."
You both turn away, but Fordring speaks softly, "Some heard you and will respond, follow me." And he walks a circuitous route back to the outskirts of the town and the barricade you entered by, perhaps leaving enough time for those you'd apparently persuaded to come forward, which they do.
"Fordring!" a call comes, a rasp from the ruins of a large hall.
You both turn.
A large group, perhaps fifty or so Forsaken are standing there, utterly silent, unbreathing, unmoving. Eyes glow in the windows as watchers look down.
Once again your struck by the unnaturalness of these folk. They're like statues, each garbed in ragged material, leather and old cloth mostly.
"You'll take us before the Inquisitor?" the rasping one asks, "What are our odds?"
"We've seen him burn people!" someone in the crowd hisses.
Fordring holds up a hand, praying for silence. The light glints off the lining of his glove, a silver hand in the darkness, "With humility, with tenacity, with faith… the odds are good." the paladin replies.
"Remember the virtues." Tirion says to you, "Respect, compassion. The hand is the first thing you give an enemy to turn him into a friend." and he looks to the leader of the group, this one better armed than the others. "You are Zygand." Tirion calls, going toward one and reaching out.
They clasp hands awkwardly, the Forsaken clearly uncomfortable, though the paladin displays an easy coolness which in your current state you find difficult to match. "Follow us, and put your faith in the Light."
Fairbanks is waiting for you back at the barricade and you see his withered face smile beneath the faded hood.
"Such a crowd is beyond me." he remarks, once again the unusual voice and timbring distinct from any voice you've heard, "But nothing is beyond the Light. Kneel my brother and sisters.
The soldiers surround the crowd, laying on chains as they go, the Forsaken wincing and gasping as some stray link touches skin.
"My friend, will you lend me your aid?" Fairbanks looks to Tirion and the paladin turns.
"I'll do better." and with that Fordring unclasps the chain about his own neck, pulling up the great silver-shod libram on his hip, the relic of his faith.
Fairbanks' eyes widen as the paladin opens the book, coming up and offering it to the apostle. The undead strokes a finger over the pages, down one illuminated column, then another, turning the page ever so gently.
Something gathers.
"Once in darkness…" Fairbanks' voice sounds, "Enter the Light!"
And a radiance shines out, you cover your hand with an arm as the silver links burst into brilliant fire, the Forsaken scream and faint, falling to the packed earth, some writing in pain, others like Zygand kneeling, fists clenched, a wordless howl escaping dry lips.
Even Tirion is discomforted, one hand supporting the libram that Fairbanks chants from, the other shielding his own eyes, "Through Tenacity we brave the wolf and storm! Through Strength we bear the pain!" he shouts encouragements.
The Forsaken spasm as the fire takes them, and though a few sit still, the majority fall to flailing and the Scarlet soldiers dive on them, bearing flailing limbs down with strangled oaths as they wrestle with their charges.
"Light bring us safe home and warm! Light bind us with holy chain!"
And in a moment it's over.
Zygand and a knot of those about him stand unsteadily, their faces bearing witness to the inner resolve that now fills them. But behind…
Behind the Forsaken are thirty ashen marks.
"O, blessed be the sufferers." Fairbanks murmurs, stepping forward to lay his hands on the dark spots in the earth, "Blessed are those who want for naught."
And once again you leave Fairbanks to his work, Tirion taking you gently by the shoulder and escorting you away, your mind full of the events of the day. But despite the exhaustion of your experiences, there's more to see, and as you leave the town you see the Crusade's army deployed before you, scarlet surcoats, blades glinting in torchlight as if bloody.
The Grand Crusade sits atop a great charger, ruddy like all else in the terrible army. Knights and clerics surround him and you walk forward uneasily. Such a deployment can only mean an attack is imminent and you're aware of the distance currently between you and your warband.
"You've removed most of their defenders!" Dathrohan cries as you and Tirion approach, "Good work, both of you!"
You recoil slightly at the words, your mind working swiftly. Not you, the town… Had this been Dathrohan's strategy all along? Inflame the passion of Fordring and by extension yourself? Have you split the forces within Brill as a bird might break the shell of a nut?
Tirion is frowning, but he gestures to the Light-bound Forsaken behind you. "Some of these ones served Varimathras, I'll take them to the Monastery." Tirion replies.
"Leave it to others, I've letters for you to deliver." Dathrohan declares from his horse.
You know the two are close, trusting, but that only makes you more interested in the contents of letters which a general might deliver personally…
"Not this." Tirion replies, "Not these ones, I'll handle them personally."
Dathrohan doesn't consider it for more than a moment, "As you see fit."
They speak a little more while you look on, the forces of the Scarlet Crusade gathering all around the town, moving in from their wide picket previously. Yet again you find yourself used, yet you can take no action without endangering your position and the lives of your clan. Dathrohan had clearly used you to focus Brill's attention inward while he got his forces into position, but it seems Tirion is thinking the same…
"It is a black thing you do here." The paladin warns his superior.
"The Light banishes all darkness." the Grand Crusader replies, then turns to a tall man in red armour next to him, "Renault, to your duty, prisoners if you can, some might yet be saved, burn the rest."
And to your shame, you turn away. With a snarl you turn from the advancing army, away from the two paladins and back to your camp.
"Grok'mash."
You turn, Tirion comes to you and lays a hand on your shoulder, "Do not blame yourself for this." he says softly, green eyes vibrant, "By feeling and understanding compassion in enemy and ally alike, you reaffirm your connection with the world, but too much compassion leads only to destruction. Hold this feeling within you, strengthen it, savour it, remember it…"
The warband are all aware, they stand looking, seeing the first plumes of smoke rising from the town and the sound of weapons clashing in the oppressive twilight.
"It is not our affair." Scorn growls at your mood, "If the humans want to kill the dead why should we care? They are few, they have no power, they have little use to us."
"It is evil." you reply, your voice tight, the scent of the burning rich in your nostrils.
"Not our affair." Scorn repeats, wisely conceding his second point, "What do you intend to do? What do you intend to do?"
You have no answer to that. You sit in rage, breathing deep, fingers tight around the sword in your lap…
And then you stand, forcing your anger deeper into a righteous fury. In time you may draw on its strength, yet for now there is other work for the sword, and you have matters to attend to.
Your officers surround a large map provided to you by the Crusaders, the Burners, and you draw your finger over the northern reaches of the Glades.
"We leave this place." you say, the day's dishonour a heavy weight in your stomach, "First the shore, then this estate, 'Garren's Haunt'. We'll face murlocs, some sort of primitive sea creature which makes its home on shore, then gnolls at the farm. They've been stealing corpses for the Scourge but they shouldn't be dangerous." You trace further west, "Then the Agamand Mills, that will be the true test here. Keldran, what should we expect?"
The necrolyte nods, "First, the undead will be controlled. We've faced mindless ones so far, but these will retreat, feint, ambush, all that a living warrior might do. Furthermore, they'll be commanded, apparently by the former masters of the mills, a family of traitors. Each will have power, one is a mage, another a necromancer apparently, and they've spent time raising the ancestors of their tribe."
"And we will end this dishonour." you remark.
The others grumble in agreement. To your people such sacrilege is especially offensive.
The march north from the ruins of Brill is rapid. The Light had come to the town, and left nothing...
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
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Grumbles.
Despite everything I still hope to do double down on doing light stuff next turn, though a meditation action may also help with organising Grok's own thoughts on the matter.
Still interesting stuff with the Na'ru there, wonder how aware they are of the way their visions are getting interpreted.
Despite everything I still hope to do double down on doing light stuff next turn, though a meditation action may also help with organising Grok's own thoughts on the matter.
Still interesting stuff with the Na'ru there, wonder how aware they are of the way their visions are getting interpreted.
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As you know I sometimes combine particular actions, is there something in particular you wanted that wouldn't be covered by this? Grok witnessed two significant demonstrations of the Light, and was affected by both the technical and emotional detail of them. If you want more practical stuff Tirion is coming to the Mills with you so you could watch him blasting dudes with smites, but I would generally regard the Light action as being covered off by this too.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
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mmm?
No the grumbles* is lack of a break through and wondering if getting x2 on the light might have made a difference.
*Also general dislike of Dathrohan and being extremely concerned that Mograine is here fulfilling a similar role to canon as Dathrohan/Balnazar's enforcer.
I already got that this was the light action from this
Even if all of the other stuff didn't make that abundantly clear.
Though of course it might just be Grok hallucinating given his general uselessness.
I would say that a meditation action is likely needed in the near future to reorganise his world view so he doesn't fall into the traps of the light as he's just had a very good demonstration that just because its the magic of happiness doesn't mean absolute bastards can't and won't use it, place it into effectively his religion and hopefully to use it as a push to examine his own personal relationship with the elements and how he fucked it up.
I'd say applying the idea of "be nice" to the elements maybe fairly novel to Grok, but fuck it someone's gotta push him.
Also going to do a thing on how Tirion and Grok are interesting foils to one another.
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Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
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Now onto Grok and Tirion, yes interesting foils. Obviously one's an old ass paladin the other is a young orcish perpetual fuck up, but personality-wise they share three very important characteristics.
Honour almost before reason, a desire for people to not be dicks (generally speaking) and a certain egalitarianism that lets them get along with and empathise with almost anyone.
The big difference is Tirion came into might during a time when there was a very straightforward evil enemy to fight, no real ambiguity about the Orcs during the first and second wars after all, where as Grok was raised by a warlock infiltrator for the burning legion, he's been huffing the fumes of moral uncertainty since the day he was born, not helped by how fundamentally fucked up orcish society is value wise.
This resulted in very different pivotal trial scenes for them, where Tirion very honourably refused to lie, but Grok did. Circumstances were different of course arguably a reverse of one another really. Tirion was involved in a petty stupid and small affair, where as Grok's was the result of something that shook a nation (or several) to the core just as an example. However, they did end up making the opposite choices, which ironically had similar outcomes for them.
Grok sacrificed his personal honour for the good of clan and family, Tirion preserved his at cost to his family, with Uther telling him privately he had to lobby hard for the jury to not exile them with him.
But both ended up exiled in the end, very different types of exile to be fair, but still.
Oh and Tirion never lost his connection to the light, but that may just be due to him being older and more mature.
Still I think that as far as personality goes both are kinda mood kindred. Far from perfect obviously, I'm sure there's flaws in this analysis, but it is interesting how neat it is.
That said we need to think of a way for Tirion to just ****ing pump Dathrohan full of the light!
Honour almost before reason, a desire for people to not be dicks (generally speaking) and a certain egalitarianism that lets them get along with and empathise with almost anyone.
The big difference is Tirion came into might during a time when there was a very straightforward evil enemy to fight, no real ambiguity about the Orcs during the first and second wars after all, where as Grok was raised by a warlock infiltrator for the burning legion, he's been huffing the fumes of moral uncertainty since the day he was born, not helped by how fundamentally fucked up orcish society is value wise.
This resulted in very different pivotal trial scenes for them, where Tirion very honourably refused to lie, but Grok did. Circumstances were different of course arguably a reverse of one another really. Tirion was involved in a petty stupid and small affair, where as Grok's was the result of something that shook a nation (or several) to the core just as an example. However, they did end up making the opposite choices, which ironically had similar outcomes for them.
Grok sacrificed his personal honour for the good of clan and family, Tirion preserved his at cost to his family, with Uther telling him privately he had to lobby hard for the jury to not exile them with him.
But both ended up exiled in the end, very different types of exile to be fair, but still.
Oh and Tirion never lost his connection to the light, but that may just be due to him being older and more mature.
Still I think that as far as personality goes both are kinda mood kindred. Far from perfect obviously, I'm sure there's flaws in this analysis, but it is interesting how neat it is.
That said we need to think of a way for Tirion to just ****ing pump Dathrohan full of the light!
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I have a feeling if Tirion was to try that Dathrohan would just give him a bemused look and carry on as he had before. Unless that's the hidden Deathlord (And how he's hidden I dunno, but it's got to be a good method!) And even then, I suspect it wouldn't do much good, unless Tirion escalated to the kind of Light that got him the title of 'Ashbringer'...But that'd roast even a Na'aru I think, and thus would be inconclusive to shenanigans.
Sylvanas and the Forsaken are not having a very good day at all. Between the Scarlet's advance and Brill in ruins, they really seem trapped to the Undercity and losing it outside reach and influence and losing it fast.
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I think a meditation action should take precedence over a second light action, after everything he's seen this last turn and seeing the way he's been used grok needs to get his thoughts in order, besides, I have a feeling meditation will improve the results of our light action, it's no good to just learn about the light after all, Grok has just started to understand what the light is and its place in the world after all and I think a few hours of quiet contemplation might be just what he needs to figure out how HE perhaps might find purpose and strength in the Light,well him as well as the blademasters, I still think it's the perfect fit, the blademasters need a purpose and the Light basically IS purpose.
If for some reason we have more time on our hands ( or less ways to spend the time we have) then we could go for the second light action.
Maybe Varithmithras will tell her to open a portal into Outland.
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A minor note on this, I really hate it. There are lots of fics where people are portalling everywhere so the plot can progress quickly and that includes to Outland. Why on Earth did they have to build the dark portal in the first place if any mage can set up a portal and the barrier between worlds is so permeable?
Really annoys me.
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No idea. It's just really convenient and he's a dreadlord so he know lots of forbidden magic.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
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I think he's the hidden dreadlord that's why I want to do it.
I'm pretty sure a Na'ru wouldn't feel a thing.
I mean as pointed out they can endure a siege fine, though I am very concerned about the effect it'll have on their psyches, since they're filled with shadow/void depression juice already, living in the dark and literal sewers with the twin pillars of insanity that is Varimathras and Sylvanas is not good for them.
I assume their predicating the strategy on the scourge ****ing the crusade up and vice versa then they can emerge and deal with the weakened party.
I agree, that's why I want to do a meditation action.
Though I'll note the light as paladins use it is very good for blademasters, figuring out the priest bits maybe somewhat harder (than this.)
I wonder if we can find the light using Troll that's let go in canon? I think at least one of our friends would be very interested in meeting them.
Furthermore he's certainly had a good demonstration that while the light inspires these feelings people can then use them as motivation/justification for all kinds of BS. I dunno if its pavlovian, but I imagine its similar. Use the light=feel righteous=you were right=your action was justified.
Both the light and the void seem to have this positive feedback loop of emotions that keep a user invested.
I will note that the dark portal was an invasion portal with enough capacity for the entire remaining population of Draenor and then some.
That also said I agree that moving between worlds should not be easy at all, hence why it required seemingly the most powerful warlock in history, the sargarus possessed Midivh and the dark portal's massive physical structure to accomplish.
On the third hand I also think that one of the consequences of the dark portal was moving Draenor/Outlands "closer together" or at least making it so that its theoretically possible make smaller portals from one to the other, as well as once it was done once making it significantly easier to do so again. For example it required all that to light the dark portal the first time, but the second time it was significantly easier for someone who was definitely neither of the two and working only on one end of it.
We certainly have two examples of people making portals and moving fairly large groups between them before the dark portal was relit, Illidan and then later Kael. In fact Kael teleported people back a few times as well.
Of course they're not just any mages, but neither is a dreadlord, so while I doubt he'd be able to do it as casually as Ilidan was shown too, I think it not outside of Varimathras's capabilities.
Whether he'd want too is another matter.
Honestly, the Scarlet kicking then hard and leaving the Undercity as the last true stronghold, I can honestly see the Forsaken going that much deeper into the Shadows and Void. Or go deeper into being an second Scourge. (IE: Look at bow they acted in Cataclysm and Battle for Azeroth. )
Nothing good would come from that that is for certain.
That's up to what him and Balthazar is cooking up.
I think that's the big important matter at hand: What are Varimathras and Balnazzar end goals?
In Canon, Balnazzar killed and replaced Dathrohan to create the Scarlet to it full insanity, to ensure the Silver Hand wound't be able to defeat the Forsaken, or something like that.
Here, the Scarlet is still fairly zealot, but between Fairbanks and the Crusade success in pushing the Forsaken back to the Undercity, I'm not sure what the Dreadlord plan is, or even if Dathrohan been replaced yet, or will be.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
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Yeah.
Its not great.
TBH I don't think Bliz ever really had a plan.
That said for this universe, do bare in mind that whatever their plan is exactly, we have just delivered them a burning legion superbomb.
AKA the thing that's presence is canonically responsible for dreadmist peak looking like its shat itself.
So no matter what their plans were, I think its a reasonable assumption Grok has once again fucked up and made everything worse.
I think this is what Grok and the whole Quest is all about: For every good deed, we create two negatives. First that whole screw up in the Dreadmist that lead to Orgrimmar getting wreck and our exile now to events in Lordaeron. (An even more bitter and extreme Forsaken.)
Still a lot of unknowns, but all the same.
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While I accept taking actions multiple times, in cases like these I'd question what the utility necessarily is and also what your expectations are. Previously there was a meditation x2, and so I wrote (IIRC) two segments on different topics where Grok was having a think. I don't have a specific plan for actions, eg, 'at 5 light actions you'll learn X', so it would depend what you want to do with it, for example, would you want to learn about the Church of the Holy Light? Would you want to learn about the different spells? Would you want to meditate etc?
Interestingly the RPG suggests indeed that Bal would find a light attack problematic and revealing, but the game gives him paladin spells. He could of course just be using magic items to replicate such things.
Keep in mind IRL sieges have happened and the people of cities didn't turn into an orgy of evil. They starved, they sometimes practiced cannibalism, but the Forsaken don't need to eat. Perhaps they're having a party down there!
While yes I suspect there is indeed somewhat of an effect based on the standard 'all magic is corrupting' attitude of wow, it could also be psycological. You practice Light stuff, people celebrate your achievements, you practice more, people celebrate you more which makes you feel good.
Done a bit of digging around on this. I'll say to start that I'm not inherently against powerful individuals portalling themselves, and yes Dreadlords who require strategic mobility for their work are likely one of the sorts who could do such things, but equally I don't want everyone just popping out of portals like in the Avengers. It removes almost all strategic value in situations and I don't like it. As I recall Illidan set up on Outland exactly because it was difficult to portal to because he was planning to Vietnam the Legion, or to be more accurate to Transportation Plan the Legion.
I want things to be consequential, both as a consumer of such mediums and as a writer within them. I don't want it to be 'acquire X amount of magic and then yeet yourself into the Twisting Nether', but I do enjoy Illidan having to go to Dalaran because Archimonde's arrival broke the world or whatever there and therefore portals are easier.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
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Well in part the reason I stick x2 in there is because you have said numerous times that taking the same action multiple times creates better results due to focusing more attention on it.
However I wasn't going for at x5 we get light I was going for (hopefully) 1 "light" action is spent talking to Tirion, who maybe running Grok through the meditations or what have you that he was taught to connect to it, then Grok going off on his own and practising in his own way, maybe combining it with some of the shamanism techniques, since he's more familiar with them and hopefully connecting that way.
And for now I have no goals for it other than to connect to it. There's pretty much no point thinking of spells at this stage beyond a general understanding of what the light can do, when all we're doing is twiddling our thumbs going "man it'd be nice to have any kind of magic."
I'd imagine so. Given their nature as infiltrators the Nathrazim have to have ways of BSing a lot of different magic types they can't use or are hurt by.
I'm well aware, I am also well aware that they're psychees are not in the best of states and that's what I'm worried about.
They already live in depressing shit holes, but at least they can theoretically leave and so forth.
I'm also not 100% sure how secure they truely are down there. After all, their bodies do decay and a sewer ain't exactly the best place for avoiding decomposition.
Isn't that just a chicken and an egg?
Like I don't think wow's message really should be all magic is corrupting, its that its very easy to fall into positive feedback loops caused by the magic and society around you.
I think you shouldn't worry, to my knowledge nobody has ever used portals like that in wow (excepting fanfics I suppose.)
Even the biggest portal (the one to Argus) still takes massive effort and they have to use a spaceship to actually get into it.
Not necessarily to viatnam em, but I do I think he felt that Outland was a good base of operations due to its portals and he could claim it pretty fast thiugh.
Pretty much, hope not though. There's a difference between personal responsibility and everything you do being the worst decision ever.
Also an even more bitter and extreme forsaken, whose evil dreadlord has gotten their hands on the magic nuke that fel dad would have likely never perloined onto him had we not been exiled and thrown ourselves under the bus to save the clan and hopefully get them to stop being evil.
So its doubly Grok's fault.
Plus thanks to the Kul'Trians and the March of Forneus, the Horde has very little means of helping the Forsaken against the Scarlet Crusade, with the Undercity itself surrounded by Blight and filled with Forsaken refugees.
(And Thrall, nor Carine never really trusted them. So now...)
It a very terrible position for them and for Sylvanas. Never mind the Blood Elves sure won't be joining the Horde as well.
I think it at best it less Grok and more of Grok kicking a stone down a hill and become an landslide. We only pushed a certain amount at times, but that seen to be what was needing to change things do drastically.
If things keeps up, the Forsaken are either destroyed, or left as a insanely bitter and Dreadlord influence city-state abandoned by it should have been allies, a returned Kingdom of Lordaeron and even Quel'thalas having no choice, but seek out the Alliance.
Like...we didn't cause half of it, but Grok actions have gone a long way.
There's also Lordaeron's end that broke the status quo when the Scarlets found Calia.