A few dozen ruddy weapons gleamed in the neon fields of Brill's remains. All eyes followed those of their new master, thus focusing on the recalcitrant high elf defying a being who could strike him down in an instant. Under normal circumstances, that is.
For all of his hard earned power over the foolish, for all of his long held convictions on summary discipline for the unruly, for all his newfound freedom from control, Garamonde was beginning to realize the limits of independence in the world of the living. Restraining his desire to harshly educate the portal mage, the black knight sneered beneath his helmet and paused for a few seconds.
Eventually, he'd regained enough composure to speak. "Gareth, my boy, I must confess my ignorance as to what could have invalidated our deal," he said calmly.
Spoiled rotten, Gareth continued to fold his arms, not the least bit bothered by his surroundings. Had payment not been up front, he likely wouldn't behave so petulantly, but he already had what he wanted. "It should be obvious!" the mage huffed. "We agreed to take along twenty minions to your final destination; you've raised five times that many! This is a small army!"
"No, this is a company. I wouldn't call it a proper army until I can muster a thousand or so personnel, including support staff."
"What - I don't need your mansplaining!" Gareth said to his fellow man. "A deal's a deal, you paid for a certain number of moments. I'll need...I'll need...well, more moments to teleport this many people to another continent!"
Garamonde sighed, openly advertising his frustration. He never had been a good actor, and dishonesty didn't come naturally to him. "And yet you've already transported your clients out this far. If you abandon us here, then your establishment's reputation will be ruined, and possibly open for lawsuits when I can book conventional transportation and get back there. Even if you teleport us back to Dalaran, you'll have to return a portion of my payment because a return trip - even with extra persons - is only a fraction of the cost of a second portal to my intended destination. I did read our contract, mind you, and I can assure you that I've done the math. Thoroughly."
The smug smirk on Gareth's face melted off like a child's dropped ice cream on a hot Westfall afternoon. No better at hiding his true feelings than the knight, the mage paused for a pregnant moment while casting his eyes from side to side while mentally counting. Once Gareth realized that his diva behavior had backfired, he folded in on himself, much as that hypothetical child who'd lost his ice cream would.
"You changed our deal," the elf whined. "You're forcing me to transport so many more people, and you're not even letting me choose if I want to or not."
"This is a teachable moment, young man. I've been as surprised by the great number of lost souls seeking a leader as you; consider this an unforseen complication on the job. There is no position on Azeroth where you can live without such mishaps affecting your life; whoever led you to believe that work always proceeds as you planned has deceived you. This is a day where you must accept circumstances beyond your control, and it won't be the last of such days. You do have one choice available to you as you reassess your position, however: you can sulk and pout as you still perform the inevitable task anyway, or you can change yourself instead and view this as an opportunity rather than a calamity."
Gareth continued to pout. "I don't want my day to be like this. What opportunity is there in the loss of free choice?"
Tired of the mage's immature entitlement mentality, Garamonde decided to hit below the belt, figuratively speaking. "Our final destination has treasure. You can keep it."
The notion of a concession inflated Gareth's ego once more, and a measure of pompous pride returned to his pout. "Valuable treasure?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I can guarantee you of that. Many wondrous treasures, both in the form of cash as well as antiques and liquid assets. I'm not in need of it. Transport us there without complaint, and you're free to take what you like."
"Well...Okay, I guess," the portal mage replied. He raised a finger as if to add another retort, but wisely retracted when he remembered the 'without complaint' stipulation.
Waving his hands in less ostentatious gestures than before, Gareth opened the second portal per their contract. The action obviously taxed him far less than he'd attempted to portray in Dalaran, revealing the depth of his fraud. Not seeming to realize that he'd exposed himself, the elf held the portal open with ease. The circle shimmered into existence, revealing red-rock badlands on the other side.
Not even waiting for an invitation, Garamonde pointed toward the portal with his staff. The ranks of skeletal soldiers marched through, falling into uneven formations due to the differences in dimensions among the racial composition of their cohort. Runa flew in with them as a scout, leaving Garamonde and Brittany to enter last. Gareth wasted no time in following them, still pouting but also thinking about possible riches for his accommodation.
The heat of Durotar mixed with the humidity of the ocean, prickling at the flesh of whoever still had it. The contrast to Tirisfal was huge, especially given the time of day - the sun was still rising.
A light breeze touched them all as they stood on a cliff overlooking a fort with decidedly human architecture. A rusted gate hung open between them and the edge of the cliff, marking an end to the rocky area where they found themselves.
Garamonde felt a surge of energy as he gazed over their surroundings. He'd never been to Durotar, but he'd studied maps enough to know exactly where they were. Switching his grip on his staff, he tapped the butt of it on the dry soil. "Excavate," he ordered his minions. Dozens of bony fingers plunged into the dirt, digging like animals and sending dust into the air.
"So...where's the treasure?"
So lost in the moment had he been that Garamonde had forgotten about their annoying travel companion. He turned to the side to find Gareth pouting again. No longer able to withhold the truth, Garamonde began to reveal the exact nature of their bargain.
"Beneath your feet," the black knight replied.
Like a tool, Gareth actually checked the bottom of his sandals first before actually taking a look around. The skeletons had dug nonstop, reaching the first target of their trip rather quickly. Eyes darting around the stones in the rocky area, Gareth gasped when the reality dawned on him. By the time he noticed the tombstones, Garamonde had already activated his staff again.
"Rise...the world is not yet finished with you," Garamonde commanded.
Dirt rose on its own accord as the denizens of the graves crawled out. As skeletal as the multiracial force from Tirisfal Glades, the new additions to the bony army were noticeably uniform in shape. An equal number of human skeletons rose and stood at the ready, their eyes glowing blue with the same hollow obedience.
Panicked, Gareth looked from the disturbed graves to the fort below. "This is Tiragarde Keep!" the high elf shrieked.
Garamonde ignored him entirely. "Minions, retrieve all valuables for our guest when you're done cleansing this land of Alliance presence," the black knight ordered.
"Wait, I didn't agree to violence!" Gareth protested. The skeletons marched out of the cemetery all the same, leaving the elf to fret over a world he couldn't control.
Nudging his horse toward the gate, Garamonde regarded Gareth like the temperamental child he was. "You wanted treasure, didn't you? It's right down there in that fort."
"Not like this! I didn't agree to this!"
Sick and tired of the mage's voice, Runa loomed over him. "Hey, guess what time it is?" she asked with a devilish grin. Clearly intimidated by the Amazonian guard, he didn't answer at first, spurring her to deliver the verbal punchline. "Bonk time!"
"Bonk time?" Gareth asked like a total rube. "What's bonk time?"
Runa swiftly hammer-fisted the elf on the top of his head, knocking him unconscious and delivering the physical punchline. Gut laughing until she worked the giggles out of her system, she composed herself before floating next to Garamonde as he rode down a ledge to the seaside fort.
Garamonde pointed toward a poorly defended side entrance of Tiragarde. "Assault their barracks first and slay anyone who's sleeping," he ordered his skeletons.
"We hear; we obey," they all answered in unison, causing the first watchman to sound an alarm.
As the undead soldiers broke into the fort and initiated the slaughter, Runa landed and stood next to Garamonde. "Those who still sleep don't yet pose a threat; wouldn't it be wise to leave them and attack the awoke and armed enemies?" she asked casually as if there wasn't a raid occurring right in front of them.
The two of them lazily strolled under the broken side gate of the fort, nearly oblivious to the heads rolling as the black knight dismounted and entered the blood-streaked barracks. "On the contrary, these sleeping soldiers here were the prime targets. Were we to attack the woken enemies first, the din of battle would have roused those who were sleeping here anyway; our troops would have been forced to fight on two fronts." He absentmindedly raised his staff and activated its energies again, sending tendrils of green death magic into the bodies strewn about the bunks and canteen. "By eliminating the easiest targets in a sneak attack, we've robbed those more capable of their support."
Without even waiting for the several dozen reanimated corpses to fully stand up, the two of them walked back outside to see the carnage just as it entered the Keep. Those skeletons retaining armor led a charge to break down the central fortification's door, prying their way in as their swifter, unarmored comrades squeezed past them to run amok inside. "That makes quite a bit of sense, actually," Runa replied while fanning herself from the sun. Even an undead val'kyr wasn't used to the Central Kalimdor heat, apparently.
Those enemy soldiers who'd been raised inside the barracks finally filed out. A second wave of the undead, this time those who still bore flesh on their bones, turned to assault their former allies through secret entrances to the Keep which only they would know. The few remaining Alliance soldiers by the main gate of the fort rushed to their doom as they assaulted the rear of the skeleton army. Garamonde merely followed the trail of dead bodies left in the wake of his forces, carefully raising more mindless minions to return the favor of the back attack. More pleased that he'd been with his plans for a long time, he didn't even notice the unwelcome guest who'd caught up to them.
A slight feeling of warmth tingled at his back around the same time Runa ducked in front of him for cover. The crackle of embers reached his ears around the same time the heat source disappeared, eliciting an irritated sigh from the black knight.
Turning around slowly, Garamonde found their portal mage staring them down. Enraged and fueled by a vengeful fervor, the high elf clenched and unclenched his flaming fists. "You tricked me!" Gareth shouted while launching a frostfire bolt. His eyes widened when Garamonde's inherent magic resistance caused the bolt to dematerialize merely by entering the knight's general vicinity, and the high elf began to realize the predicament he'd found himself in.
Garamonde planted his staff in the ground, allowing it to broadcast resonating pulses or death magic to a series of rodent and lizard corpses just beneath the surface in their area. Paying no mind to the undead critters running toward the Keep, he addressed his hired mage with open palms.
"A knight does not lie, my boy. I promised you treasure, and I can guarantee you that there's plenty in there. As for the method of appropriation, then you expressed neither misgiving nor curiosity. No one is responsible for your impetuous greed except for yourself." When he took a step toward Gareth, the elven mage began to cast another spell. "It doesn't have to be this way."
Fear mixed with entitled resentment in Gareth's eyes. "She hit me! You tricked me! You changed our deal! You're killing members of the Alliance! You exploited my talents!" he screams in a shrill voice. The level of anger gave the impression that he was used to having his way and had never truly known disappointment in his life. "I am not a pawn!"
The first fireball was the fiercest. Unlike the other spells, Garamonde actually had to make a bit of effort to stop it. By holding out his open palm in a halting motion, he merely blocked the supercharged attack with merely a sliver of his power of disenchantment. A spell which could have ended the life of a magnataur merely dissipated when it hit Garamonde's hand, ceasing to exist without burning a thing. Trinkets allowed Gareth to cast two more fireballs, but both of them experienced diminishing returns and were dispelled as soon as they drew near to their target. A rather skillful, high-powered barrage of arcane missiles slammed into Garamonde, every one of them popping out of existence as soon as they touched the surface of him without even disturbing the air around him. An odd, fascinating spell of arcane energy which Garamonde had never even seen before blasted him, but a simple raised finger caused the unknown energy beam to break apart like a pike shaft breaking against an arcanite shield.
Fatigued and drained of mana, Gareth frantically reached for a potion from his belt, only for Garamonde to use his death grip on the bottle and telekinetically pull it away. Bloodshot eyes stared at him angrily. "I was trained by Archmage Khadgar himself," Gareth screeched. "How is this happening?"
The soft song of metal dragged on metal echoed as Garamonde pulled his runed arming sword out of its scabbard. "Don't grieve; Khadgar failed to damage me as well, during our brief conflict in the Second War. I'm unable to cast most spells associated with my class...I can count what abilities I possess on the fingers of one hand, including my anti-magic shield. But..." He took a few steps toward the cowering high elf. "...if you're only capable of a few skills, then be sure you excel."
Before Gareth could react, Garamonde had already extended his arm in a perfect thrust. The knightly sword pierced the mage's abdomen so cleanly that Gareth felt nearly no pain. "No!" Gareth cried as the runes on the blade began to glow. Garamonde pulled the weapon out. "No," Gareth repeated weakly while falling to the ground.
"You had your chance to return to your home," Garamonde said while wiping the blood on his arming sword with the frond of a palm tree. "Brittany!" he called.
Soon enough, the geist came bouncing from wherever she'd been raising heck. Eager and prepared, she crawled onto Gareth without even needing specific instructions. "Brittany is florist, best florist!" she spattered inside of the bag over her head. She took a vial of undead plague from her belt and popped the cork off merrily, forcing the glass tube down Gareth's throat. The high elf choked and gagged, writhing spasmodically as his veins darkened and his skin turned grey. "More zany friends, fun fun!" The geist sputtered while skittering off into the Keep to join the mayhem.
Runa plucked Garamonde's staff out of the ground and handed it to him, then sneered at the convulsing mage. "A fireball isn't commensurate with just bopping him on the head," she said irately.
"Yes, he did carry himself with the attitude of a brat who'd never been pranked before," the black knight replied. Sheathing his arming sword and tapping the butt of his staff on the ground, he regarded the desiccated high elf with as much utilitarian disinterest as he granted the skeletons. "Rise," he ordered.
Too weak in personality to resist, the man once known as Gareth rose to a decrepit lurching position. Resembling a wretched without the trembling, the undead elf spoke in a hollow voice: "We hear; we obey."
"We could really use a portable portal conduit," Runa laughed.
"Indeed; this was a most auspicious appropriation." Garamonde looked to the Keep, wherein the worst of the fighting had come to an end. Skeletons dominated the towers and the roof, and all the windows had been broken. "I do believe we can formally refer to this lot as an army now," he said, pointing to a mass of animated ivory exiting the Keep's gates triumphantly.
He waited for a few more minutes as the madness and mayhem tapered off. Not a living soul survived in Tiragarde Keep - not even the critters thanks to the undead squirrels spontaneously raised by his army of the dead spell. Skeletons of almost every physiology and nation as well as gracious additions of zombified humans convalesced in the fort's walls, crowding in and lining up to behold their new master. Garamonde turned toward the brainless carbon unit which was once called Gareth.
"Time to make our final move...we'll need a much easier portal this time. The gates of Orgrimmar await."