Julio let out a sigh as he looked down at his report. Another week, another coastal village that been destroyed. Again, it appeared to be from the exact same cause as the last one. Devoid of life, with bodies littering the earth they worked on, lesser noble and commoner alike struck down with what seemed like ease. The wounds that lead to their deaths were also the same, stabbing from what could have been massive swords and spears, while some appeared to have practically been devoured by some type of animal. A few bodies had shown signs of being drowned, despite the bodies being on dry land. That meant that theses attackers had at least a powerful line class water mage, if not one of higher rank.

It wasn't exactly uncommon for lesser nobility to turn to a life of crime. Sons and daughters beyond the first born inherited little, if nothing, of their parents estate and holdings, especially when they came from minor houses. Many worked among the commoners as a way to earn money, increasing the yield of fields of harvest, healing the wounded, heating the forges of smiths, and other minor jobs. It wasn't glories work, but as far as Julio was concerned, it was respectable. Unlike what they were dealing with here.

Even for marauding group of bandits, the attacks made little sense. No food was taken, no valuables whisked away. Plants were left in the ground, and each kill was marked by pure effecency. It was nothing more than brutal and senseless carnage. It was attack, that much, he was sure of. But from what nation? Tristain's regent, Cardinal Mazarin, was a devout member of the church, making such a move extremely unlikely, especially given the current situation they faced. They would need allies if they were to defend themselves from Albion, which, in reality, was the most likely cause. While the Civil War still raged on, it was clear that rebel force, under the command of Oliver Cromwell, a former priest, would claim victory. Julio wouldn't put it past the denounced priest to hire bandits to strike fear within the territory of their future enemies, but figured Tristain would be the first nation to suffer from such aggression, not Romalia. Gallia and their mad king? Possible. It was no real secret that Galia hired mercenaries to do their dirty work, even if the Church lacked the evidence to take action. Germania was under similar doubt as Tristain. While the massive nation never had the strongest ties with Romalia or the Church, it simply had no reason to take such action.

"Sir!" a voice shouted outside the small room he had been given. He frowned. He did not desire to be interrupted, however, it was likely important. He was the familiar of the Pope, after all, a secret known to none besides him and his master. He was a skilled dragon knight as well, something that made his promotion to that of a priest less contentious among the clergy.

"Come in," he said finally, as the door creaked open. The soldier on the other side was gasping for breath, brown hair drenched in sweat. Julio raised an eyebrow. He recognized the young soldier almost immediately. He had, well, recommended that the man be sent out to scout the waters off the coastline. Seeing as each destroyed village had been coastal, it was logical to conclude that the attacks were launched from a naval stage.

"Sir, you may want to look at this," the soldier started to regain his composure, handing Julio the paper in his hand. What was so important that this man would return from his assigned patrol ahead of schedule? Julio looked down at the paper. Oh. Julio's eyes widened with shock. That would do it. No nation in Halkeginia kept a ocean bound fleet anymore. And based on the drawings, this fleet was not from Halkeginia. The two symbols, while crudely drawn, were ones he did not recognize. Well, one of them, but it didn't match to any nation he knew of. The one he did know of was that head and mane of the lion. The second was indecipherable, certainly not taken from any natural creature. It was jagged and harsh, like some type of lopsided arch, with a diamond in the center.

"Sir!" another soldier slammed into the room, gasping for breath. "There's," he rasped, breathing heavily, Julio heard from outside the door, coming from the courtyard. He stood up, quickly making his way to the fortress's courtyard. Several gaps and pointed fingers pointed upwards gave the source of the disturbance. Two lights hung in the sky, blazing crimson and blue.

"Where did those come from?" Julio asked, turning around to the captain of the fort. He didn't think it had anything to do with the attacks. At least, not directly. Something like this would have been impossible to miss, and would certainly be in the report. No this was something else. But he didn't know what. It was clearly a signal of sorts. But why two flares at the same time? The newfound fleet was a potential, but if that was the case, it make no sense to use two flares. While it did seem like there were two distinct forces, if they working together, one should prove sufficient. Unless the two groups didn't trust each other, but if that was so, why would they be working together in the first place?

Nor were the flares behaving like normal magic flares, which were already failing and flickering.

"They appear to have come from Sanremo, sir. Just south of Cittadella," the commander said as he entered the courtyard in full armor. Cittadella was a port fortress and city, the largest on the coastline. It was a wonder that it hadn't been attacked yet, despite the defenses lining the harbor and walls. A valuable target, but also, a dangerous one. Cittadella was a vital trading hub, connecting land, sea, and sky.

Sanremo had none of that. Merely a small fishing village. No cannons, and one or two mages, none of them landowning nobility. A few boats, little to no natural defenses, with the commoners having no skill in combat.

"I assume you want a patrol sent to scout out the area?" Julio frowned at the question. Yes, it would certainly was to send out a scouting party, especially now. For all they knew, this could be an invasion force making landfall. But how did such a fleet get close in the first place? And more importantly, way haven't they been discovered sooner?

"Yes," Julio finally nodded. The threat as it stood was far too great to ignore. He would accompany the force, naturally, and if all else failed, he could simply use his connection to his master to warn him of the incoming invasion.

X-x-x-x

"Keep falling back!" Arraint shouted, firing a wild rounds out of Titanstrike, forcing a few Kvaldir to slow their advance. Things had gone poorly from the start. Even in long range mode. The gun had only hut a handful of its marks, but alerting the townsfolk that something was awry. Of course, she was the first target of their supposition, for all likely the right reasons. A strange person with glowing red eyes and a weapon they've never seen before shows up in town, so it was natural to have some suspicion. What she hadn't expected was the complete and total panic her partner slapped off her hood on accident. Seeing as she was a former Dark Ranger, she was certainly better off than most of the Forsaken, in terms of physical appearance. Even in death, her body had a strange type of beauty to it, ashen skin, red eyes, black hair, almost a twisted copy of her appearance in life.

It wasn't her features as an undead that caused the panic, it was her features as a former elf. The moment her ears were exposed to open air, there was screaming, a brave few grabbing their weapons, but the rest scattering into the mists. It hadn't been until one of the Kvaldir hounds had bound away with a child that any attempt to convince them that no, they weren't the ones attacking them, had been successful. The villagers still clearly weren't happy about this impromptu alliance, but seeing how this was the best chance of survival, in this case, and the hope that the Church would turn a blind eye.

Arriant lept of the barricade, Titanstrike shifting in her hand, pulling the trigger five times. The gun roared as each arc of lightning catching their target square in the chest, destroying the Kvaldir attackers in a shower of sparks, allowing for the small group of men to make their way to cover. It was clear these humans were not fighters. They had no experience in combat, and were as such, practically being slaughtered. While Kvaldir themselves were created from the souls of Vrykul that had died dishonorably, they still retained the savage strength and power found in all Vrykul, giving them a considerable advantage over their descendants.

Some of them, at least. What humans lacked in strength was made up in intellect. A genus among the Vrykul would likely match an slightly above average human, with only exceptions being ones that had lived for centuries. One of those had ever existed, and he had been killed. Twice, actually. The first time, he was serving under the Lich King, which ironically enough, led to his service under Helya.

Thankfully, she had heard rumors that Oydn had purified his soul, so they wouldn't be facing him again this day. He was dangerous before, channeling the long dead spirits of Vrykul kings. Helya only gave him the power to command the dead and use shadow magic. Honestly, she would much rather fight the second version. Less time spent dealing with her living allies bleeding ears.

Arraint peeked around the corner slightly as a pistol fired. Almost immediately, she ducked down, as one of the Kvaldir's hounds lept over the makeshift defenses.

"Hati, Hutia. Kill," the order was unneeded, the mental link would have conveyed the command just as well. Hati's fangs ripped into its flank, and Hatia's spikes skewered flesh. It was just something about just saying it that made a twinge of satisfaction run down her spine.

"If someone told me we would be working with an undead elf that could command animals on voice alone, in order to save our village from living ghosts, I would have told them to stop drinking," one of the two mages chuckled nervously, as if the whole situation was unbelievable. Arraint merely laughed to herself. While it certainly didn't feel as strange, which wasn't saying much, given her crazy life the last couple decades, it was certainly odd for her. Human's that didn't descend from Vrykul and thought Elfs were complete masters of destruction were it would take an army to slay small force, and even then it wouldn't be an easy victory? Madness.

"You think that's strange, wait till you see a worgen on griffin back!" Androsa shouted somewhere to their right, the two pistols normal carried in her sleeves firing wildly at an target that entered her range, leaving her primary weapons, the Dreadblades, hanging off her wrists. Normally, Arriant would chastise her partner for not using the most dangrous weapons in her arsenal, but they were designed for close quarters. Not for holding a point at range, and rouge's weren't exactly durable. Nimble, and while her armor's natural enchantments reached the of lightweight chainmail armor, numbers did matter quite a bit. And she'd much rather not see if this world had it's own spirit menders, or if her charmed unlife would still hold weight. Would the ones on Azeroth even have a reach that massive? She didn't want to die and end up in some random graveyard in the Eastern Kingdoms.

"I would do for some of those so called 'goblin flyers' at this point. Support from the air would nice at this point!" one of the villagers shouted from the left. An old military veteran, from the sound of it. No wonder he was among those that had lasted this long. Arraint and Anna both shared the sentiment. Anna had always been a lone wolf, preferring to strike from stealth against key targets. The few times she was forced into mass engagements, it was typically with those she had trusted. Unlike her younger counterpart, Arriant prided herself on the fact she was a member of the Northrend offensive, used to anything from covert to frontline operations. She was used to things going wrong, at the wrong possible time in the worst possible way.

A rain of arrows and spears fell from the sky. Gunshots hailed down and lightning flashed through the air.

"M'am, Lass!" two voices echoed from above. Dirt was sent into the air as two mounts landed on the ground. A griffin, a beast with the head, wings, and talons of an eagle, with the hindquarters of a lion, exactly like it's Halkeginian counterpart. But instead of a mage sitting on it's back, there was a small, angry Dwarf shaman. Member of the Wildhammer Clan, one of the three dwarven clans. While the Dark Iron and Ironbeard clans were known for their smithing, the Wildhammer were known for their connection to the elements and their griffins.

Considered some of the best fliers in all the Alliance, even putting Gnomish gyrocopter pilots to shame. Combining their affinity for lightning and wind with martial prowess, they made for extremely dangerous fighters especially in the skies.

That wasn't to say wyvern riders were slouches, either. While it lacked in shamanic reinforcement and very few of it's members made use of firearms, but they, alongside their mounts, were savage fighters, using spears, javelins, and their own mounts claws and fangs, to rend through flesh and bone. Wyverns themselves were temperamental mounts, similar to manticores. In fact, the two species could be mistaken for the other.

"We those transport ships to make landfall, now!" Arraint shouted as Titanstrike kicked in her hands. The cavalier may have finally arrived, but they only had so many ranged options before they had to resort the strafing runs. Her encounters with Vrykul forever convinced her that strategy was a bad idea.

"We can't, mon, not until all the Kvaldir ships are sunk," the troll shouted back. "We can keep you covered until then, but there's another group of fliers coming in from the north." Arraint scowled. Things were going bad to worse. Whatever nation they were in had sent military reinforcement. Originally, she was worried about the aftermath, when the Kvaldir had faded away into seaweed. No proof of their claims meant things could go rapidly south. But after the reaction's from the villagers, she was worried about this being an instance of shoot first, ask questions later. And no member of the Horde would stand for having one of their own killed. She would much rather not be the result of a war Azeroth could ill afford.

"Leave them. If we try to shoo them away, it'll likely be taken as a sign of aggression. Let's just hope cooler heads prevail this time," Anna ordered. While Arraint did have her complaints, it was for the best. The consequences could be dealt with later. If worst did come to worst, they could simply take the villagers with them. Those willing, anyway. Better than being put to the sword.

"Keep to the sky. I want those Kvaldir pinned down!" she shouted. The commands were quickly obeyed, mounts lifting off the ground and into the air, leaving dust in their wakes. The mist prevented either of them from seeing what was happening directly, but the foreign shouting and the sudden lack of spears was enough of a sign. Another volley of lead balls joined the onslaught, cracking against wood. Nothing ultimately lethal, unfortunately, but the two pronged assault forced them further behind cover.

Arriant aimed Titanstirke, pulling the trigger, sending a jolt of electricity towards her target. The impact shattered the wall, creating a shower of splinters. With their sudden loss of cover forced to take another volley of gunshots, lead spheres impacting into the Kvaldir's bodies. The volley wasn't lethal, but the ones that weren't hit quickly abandoned their wounded, only to be gunned down by more powerful and accurate azerothian rifles.

"What did you tell them?" a voice shouted from her left. Right, they didn't speak orcish, or even common. They strangely spoke a more sophisticated version of Gutterspeak, the native tongue of the Forsaken. Meaning she was the one on translation duty, even after the fighting ended, most likely.

"To keep them back and stick to the sky. It seems your own military has come to join us," Arriant grabbed and fired a flare into the mists. The cheering she heard was good enough. Now if she could just avoid setting off a war.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Julio looked over the battleground. Or the mist that hung over the battleground like a sheet. The flashes that he could see, likely the discharge of firearms, were clustered in two locations. The furthest away was the bay, the dull thud of cannons reaching his ears. It was evident the fleet had indeed moved, but a few ships were hanging back. A total of ten ships. He wasn't familiar with naval craft, but eight seemed to have a similar design to old transports. It was the two beyond the transports that concerned him. They were low to the water, and lengthy. No form of obvious defenses. They were even hiding behind the transports.

Most of the ships were missing, though, likely hidden in the mist. But it didn't seem like they were firing into the village, and the transports were keeping away from the fighting. Was it possible that they hadn't deployed their forces yet? Then what, exactly, were they fighting? Julio's eyes twitched as they caught movement below them. Shadows seemed to flicker through the mist. The beat of wings. His eyes widened in shock. Griffins and manticores filled the air, wheeling through the sky. Settled on their backs were humanoid figures, some covered with fur, skin a rainbow of colors, purple, blue, and green.

And none of them looked like mages. Spears, bows, and firearms rained from above, striking at targets he couldn't see. Then, there was one. Short and stocky, with a beard like a fire, unleash lightning from the sky itself. But there was no wand held in his hands, rather, two hammer's, raised up as the heavens unleashed their screams of fury onto targets below.

"That man doesn't have a wand," one of the soldier's near him gasped, as Julio frowned. What he was seeing certainly wasn't magic. At least, magic he was familiar with. It took a triangle class wind mage to even cast lightning spells in the first place. The power of the spells would symbolize a minimum power of a mid level square class mage. However, spells weren't coming from the hammers. It was nature itself. Firstborn magic. The magic of the elves. That was heresy, and impossible. No mortal could be able to wield such power. And yet, here one was. Thankfully, none of his men had put that together. Elves had not been seen in generations, thankfully, and he was one of the few truly aware of their appearance, beyond their ears, which was well known and recorded.

Now that he looked further, the flashes had a pattern. A half circle, in front of what could easily be a building. The air combatants also seemed focused on a single area, filling it with death from above. He recognized the movement. The fighting in the bay, and the conflict here. It was a pincer movement. Brutally and efficiently executed. But it didn't explain who, or what, they were fighting. Julio needed answers, and the only way he was going to get them was down below.

"Hold until I give the signal!" he ordered, the mount underneath him pulling into a dive, passing through the mist. Julio held his breath, for the mist had the smell of rot and bloated corpses. The dragon landed with a thud, drawing the attention of a few commoners, as he looked over the sight before him. Several boats had been faced upwards, forming domes of cover, many of their hulls punctured by massive spears. Most of the defenders would pop out to take a shot, with a spear occasionally picking one off.

The sound of a crack drew his eye to a figure that didn't seem to be worried about her lack of cover. Two swords were strapped to her back, the pair looking like twin cutlasses. Extremely large cutlasses at that. She fired the pistols in her hand without care, not appearing to reload.

A roar of thunder was next, one that did not come from above. Julio's eyes flickered to the right, and widened. Ears. Long, pointed ears. An elf, at first glance. But everything else was wrong. Rather than pale skin, hers was like ash. Rather than blonde, her hair was black. Rather than blue eyes, her own glowed crimson. This was no elf he was familiar with. They all knew Firstborn Magic. They didn't use…

BOOM! The gun in her hands discharged a bolt of lightning. Julio was certain that his master felt his own surprise through their link. Maybe not a normal elf, but still dangerous. He need to get her attention somehow.

"You, blondy with the blue cloak! Are you here to help, or to just stand around and quack all day?" the elf like being suddenly snapped. Well, that was made easier.

"Who are you?" he asked calmly, slowly making his way to cover, eying her cautiously. She picked up on the movement, as annoyance flashed across her face.

"We are in a middle of a battle, and you ask me who I am?" she fumed, poking her head out of cover, only to quickly bring it back just before a spear impacted the dirt. "I'm going to tell you the only things that should really matter at the moment. I'm a member of the Horde, and currently, the same things trying to harvest the souls of your people also want me dead. Anything else can wait."

The elf certainly was aggressive, but not hostile. There was truth to her words, even though her comment about souls concerned him. What beings possessed such power? At that, what was this Horde? He had never heard of such a group. Or was it alliance of sorts? But those questions didn't change the fact that the commoners they should be protecting were relying on the help of outsiders. Then again, without those outsiders, this village, and its inhabitants, would be just another tally mark of casualties, with their killers escaping justice.

"What do you need?" he asked. The female's frown grew bigger, as a look of contemplation drew across her face.

"We have wounded in the church, so send whatever healers you have there. Better fortifications would be efficient, and so would having the mist gone," she said finally, before popping off another blind shot, almost emphasizing her point. Julio thought quickly. Finding water mages was no issue, even among a dragon core, with the vast majority being wind mages, so this mist shouldn't be much of an issue anyway. The fortifications, on the other hand, would be a larger issue. No natural earth mages would sign up in an aerial unit, and even if they had, it would likely result in rejection.

"I'll see what I can do," Julio stated, telepathically calling on his mount. Now how to get this to actually work.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Convincing the soldiers under his command to work with the elf like being was not easy, even with her assurance of an actual explanation once the battle was won. They did have problems with their deployment, however. Much rather than leave them in the sky, she wanted the mages on the ground, leaving aerial combat to her own forces. However, Julio couldn't argue with the effects of her tactics. Much of the mist had been cleared from the immediate area, allowing them to catch their first sight of the enemy. Each of these giants were ugly, easily twice the size of a normal man, bodies that appeared to be made from seaweed.

With the mists gone, their massive bodies were easy targets. Kvaldir, as he had heard them being called, became far less mysterious and deadly with their concealment gone. Though that could have just been the massive mounds of dirt that had been erected, protecting both the mages working their spells and the commoners. The Kvaldir were driven back. And that was when the sound of drums became heard, followed by cries for war. The mist shattered, the last of the mistcallers perishing. If this was what the Horde looked like, then they had already lost. He could recognize only one race outright, the minotaur, but it certainly didn't act like one. It may have been on the frontlines, but it seemed to be more focused on safeguarding, if not outright healing others, rather than slaughter. He saw pointed ears again, but they were still different. One was close enough were on first glance, he almost thought it was an elf. It was only afterwards that he noticed the sickly green glow in it's eyes. The second certainly did not fit. Dark purple skin was the most notable, followed by leaf green hair.

He looked at one of the two leading the charge. One was human, which made him far less interesting than his counterpart. He was massive, a hulking figure of muscle and strength, wielding a giant blade in each hand. He was covered from head to toe in armor, most likely plate. Julio watched as he easily tore a Kvaldir in half with a single swing. The rest of the force followed, crushing what remained under a tide of steel. Knights in full plate used their shields to cover their allies, allowing them to attack without fear of retaliation. The spellcasters and archers kept back, unleashing a tide of magic and arrows onto their foes.

It didn't take long for the attack force to reach them. The Kvaldir were caught between them, and the advancing tide of steel. Without a way to retreat they were swiftly crushed.

"Admiral!" the language was similar to that spoken in Albion. The human that had fought with them saluted, her firearms no longer in her grasp.

"Warchief. To whom do we owe the honor?" the elf bowed slightly. Warchief? A fitting title, Julio supposed. Standing within the presence of the man made him feel small. The armored figure chuckled, catching him off guard.

"To your Pope, I do believe. It seems he would like to talk with us about what has transpired this day, and what it means for both our worlds."

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

And that's a wrap! Sorry I haven't been able to update anything in so long. I had a World Pre-history paper and a Mythology project that has kept me occupied for the last month. Oh well. I hoped you all enjoyed, and I hope to see you for the next chapter!