AN: Wow, this one is actually finished in time. Glory to the Horned Rat!
This truly is a facinating place, Theralion thought continuing his exploration of Icecrown, determined to find out what he could about his new supposed home. It was impressive, but he wondered whether it would be strong enough. Not to stop the Alliance, but the true danger, Deathwing. Theralion had only met the corrupted aspect a few times, and each of these occasions had filled him with dread, even in the megalomaniac state he had been in back then. And since he and his sister had aided Sartharion in getting the eggs of the flight out of the sanctum, they would be priority targets for Deathwing. In truth, Theralion didn't think any fortress would be able to stop the mad aspect, but there was still a faint hope. He was no longer alone, he had friends and allies now, and he even got along with Valiona.
And that made the situation even worse in certain ways. Their stay here would not go unnoticed forever, and now he cared for those around him, would be sad if they were to die. Worrying about others was new for him, and it scared him deeply, more so than he would ever want to admit.
His wandering through the citadel had no clear destination, and he did not wait to be shown around. When his way was blocked, he simply turned incorporeal to continue, and stayed so after a while as it was tiring to switch constantly. The walls of rooms around him were lined with sealed metal barrels, but even through those containers, Theralion could smell something in them, something deadly and toxic. So here they store their poisons. Good to know. Hearing someone coming, he slid into the wall and the shadows.
The man he saw was not exactly menacing from the outside, but there was something about him that gave Theralion the creeps. Something about this zombified man scared him, perhaps the utterly insane glare behind his glaces. Without any cause, the man broke into laughter, a laughter even crazier than his eyes. His rotting claws closed reached out for one of the barrels, and began to open it. Heavy greenish-yellow fog was released, and the undead swiftly moved to the next barrel to repeat the process.
Even with his very limited experience, Theralion could see this as the obvious treason that it was. Doubtful of his own abilities to stop a most likely prepared and dangerous traitor, he chose to run and warn the others. The gas could not harm his incorporeal form, but could see the effects on some of the creatures it suprised, and those effects were far from pretty. Flesh began to rot and blister immidiately, and those affected fell on their knees and coughed up the sliming remains of their guts as their skin and muscle fell apart.
With no time to waste on subtlety, he shifted into his true form and roared as loud as he could, a warning every fool would understand, before jumping through the next wall. More of the physical beings all around died, but now some of them had heard his warning, and the Lich King would know what his subjects felt.
The first minutes minutes of the gas attack killed hundreds in the same gruesome ways and through the entire western part of the citadel into chaos, but now the inhabitants could react. Hastly measures were taken, but without a plan, they could do nothing but run while confusion spread and casualties rose.
Vlad awoke when the telepathic link to his subjects made him feel that some of them died, and while he opened his eyes and blinked, the roar of a dragon tore through the air and woke up anyone who wasn't already woke or dead. Knowing that a coordinated response was more important than a single wizard or frontline fighter, he closed his eyes again and began sending mental commands to all the undead he could reach. As he did, he felt that he could no longer reach many of the mindless constructs in the fortress.
Rimefang, I need your eyes.
Take a look sir, but I have to concentrate down here.
The eyes of the frostwyrm showed a chaotic fight in one of the last western halls the gas had not reached. All around, abominations and other golems battled those undead still controlled by the Lich King. Rimefang was currently busy crushing the head of a flesh golem between his jaws, but his senses still allowed Vlad to get a usable impression of the general situation. And so he saw the gas slowly leaking into the room.
Rimefang, freeze the corridor shut! We have to contain the gas! Vlad began sending the same order to his other ground troops. If the gas was out of the equation, his forces would be able to take the constructs down. And with the help of his new allies, the traitors would be annihilated soon enough.
He stretched his mind even further, accessing even more eyes and ears all over Icecrown. What he saw filled his heart with pride. Under his mental guidance, the Scourge went to work as the uncompromising, effiencent warmachine it was supposed to be. And the view he got was nothing short of amazing, something Vlad could appreciate even under these circumstances. The view of a death knight fighting side by side with his comrades, martial and magical prowess honed for years and backed by an untiring body. A val'kyr diving out of the sky to skewer another golem and instantly healing a wounded nerubian afterwards. And the images a Darkfallen priest saw while blasting away with bolts of shadow magic. Few moments later, the same priest witnessed one of the black dragons jumping into the fray, although Vlad could not tell whether it was Sartharion or Nalice. Not that it mattered, the living dragon was a monster bigger than any frostwyrm save for Sindragosa he had ever seen, and fought with a precision unnerving for such a large creature. Fangs, claws and a whipping tail found their marks with deadly accuracy while avoiding all loyal undead. Just another few seconds later, all traitors in the room dead meat.
The plan worked in the other sectors, loyal troops closing all corridors with thick walls of solid ice. Unable to get help from their comrades on the other side and without gas and suprise on their side, the constructs stood little chance in the fights, although they still inflicted losses before they fell. It took only a couple of minutes before the last abomination was torn apart by a twilight dragon jumping out of a wall. With fighting over for now, Vlad opened his own eyes again and hurried to get into his fighting gear. He put his bracers on as he ran through the corridors, knowing that his enemies still had quite a few troops on the other side of the ice barriers, and that any smart foe would have a way to protect his own forces from the gas.
More telepathic commands followed, commands for reinforcements and more ice magic to keep the corridors sealed. He arrived at one of the seals, meeting a concerned Keleseth and Sintharia in her true form.
"How many constructs are on the other side of those walls?"
Keleseth sighed and thought for a moment. "Maybe a few hundred? I don't know the number of our constructs, or their losses. I would be more worried about the gas." Keleseth was also worried about the dragon next to him, but it had been a helpful dragon and Keleseth wanted it to stay like that.
The dragon in question gritted its impressive teeth. "I might have a solution for both problems. Please tell me more about the gas."
"Its a semi-magical bio-chemical agent, deadly to the living and undead alike. Its obviously extremely toxic, works both on the lungs and the skin, highly flammable, resistant to healing magic and immune to conventional medicine..."
"Flammable? Well that is something we can work with." The dragon grinned. "I know how to handle this."
Keleseth looked to his king, and von Carstein smiled. "What is the plan?"
"Wait a few minutes for everyone to get to the right place. We need one creature able to create fire on each barrier, and a second barrier a few meters behind the first for the flame user to take cover. On the command, we create a small hole in each ice wall, and then we lighten up this place."
The Lich King's grin widened. The mental link worked wonders, and it took little time to set up the inferno. Keleseth wondered what madness had grapped Putricide to make that stuff flammable. If the red dragons would have attacked... Damn, any artillery strike would have been enough to level the tower and an entire section of the walls. The old nutcase was even crazier than before.
Vlad watched in awe as the little spark caused by a weak spell reached the gas on the other side of the ice wall and seemed go set the very air alight. A tidal wave of hellfire raced down the corridor, and he knew that the same thing happened in seven other places. The flame turned the constructs behind the barrier to ash, and about eleven seconds after the first spark, they reached the gas storage in the plague tower. Hundreds of barrels filled with the same gas and hundreds more containing other substances, some of them even more volatile than the gas.
The ground shook as if an angry god had smashed his fist against the citadel, and the tower with its suroundings disappeared in an explosion greater than the central keep of Icecrown, hurling flames and tons of debris hundreds of meters into the air before both crashed back down on the ruins of the tower's basement and the closer buildings. Everyone with less than for legs was knocked down, and even those with a higher number of limbs struggled to stay standing. But despite all the damage it caused, Vlad loved the sight as he got back on his feet. This was the right way to deal with traitors of all sorts, and he would not hesitate to use it again should the opportunity arise.
Jaina had barely awoken from some substantial commotion and the roar of a monster when she heard what could only be an absolutely massive explosion in relatively close proximity. The blast shook the very foundations of Icecrown and threw her out of her. A simple look out of the window removed whatever shadow of doubt she could have had, the giant expanding cloud of fire, shattered stone and shreds of saronite could not be missed even if one actively tried. Whatever happened down there, it was most certainly ugly.
She heard her bodyguards crashing through the door of her suite, but they stayed there, probably not willing to meet their employer in a state of undress. Their sense of protocol even while facing a potential disaster made Jaina chuckle in spite of the overall situation. Especially since he had fallen asleep fully clothed after she had returned from her frightening nightly encounter with man in red.
So she was the one to opened the door and join her guards, wary of her suroundings but not overtly scared. Panic would not help her, and after meeting the man in red, she was determined to stay calm and rational, even more so than before. Her guards quickly took positions around her, weapons drawn and ready. Over the general commotion, they all could here the sound of armored boots marching in unison.
A tight formation of heavily armored skeletons marched out of the corridor and spread around the entrance. Their leader was someone Jaina had hoped not to meet again.
"Tell your guards to calm down", Rivendare said as the first swords were pointed at him. "The Lich King wants his guest secured until this mess is sorted out."
Realizing how bad their odds were in a fight, the guards lowered their weapons without the need for any direct orders, no matter how wrong it felt to be in the same room with the undead. It was not like they had many options to choose.
Nearly a full hour passed before the crisis was officially over. Finally, an all clear was passed through the fortress, and the undead soldiers were called of to assist in searching the rubble for anything useful that might have somehow survived the inferno.
"If it is possible, I would like to meet the Lich King and then leave this place as soon as I can. It seems to be far less safe here then I thought."
Rivendare shrugged. "I can relay your message, but I would expect the Lich King to be more than a little busy at the moment."
"Fair enough. I can wait if necessary."
With the disaster under control and the traitors turned to ash and dust, Sintharia turned back into her human form. She saw the looks many of the undead here through at her, but they didn't dare to say anything. Even less since the Lich King made no effort to be more careful around her than before. Instead, Vlad ordered the undead to leave, both to put them to use and to have some privacy. As her transformation ended, she could feel something new on her hand.
It was a very nice looking ring, seemingly fragile, but made from adamantium. A single large ruby was shining in the light of the burning remains of the tower, held by the claws of small dragon statue. She could feel the magic woven into the heavy material and the gem.
"This is a wonderful gift. Is it supposed to be an engagement ring?"
"If you wish for it to be one, yes." Vlad sounded more than a little nervous. "Otherwise, just consider it a gesture of affection."
"Oh, don't worry, I like it. All of this is just happening very quickly."
Vlad sighed. "We are in a most dangerous position. I wanted to reveal my feelings before one of us came to harm."
"You are honest about your fears. Too many would try to hide these sentiments from the world and themself."
"No point in lying to yourself, and it is downright harmful not to fear a real danger, so why try it? And I would rather be honest when talking to my beloved."
Sintharia smiled. "Well said. How are the negotiations going?"
"This Lady Proudmoore seems to really want some sort of peace treaty, but she is hopelessly naive and her superiors are less trusting than she is. Maybe we can get some sort of temporary truce fighting the monster emerging from Ulduar, but it won't last."
"Emerging monsters?" Sintharia's eyes flared. "Don't tell me you too met this tentacled beasts."
"They tried to attack the fortress, and found their end. According to Proudmoore, they also attack the living and serve a being called Yogg-Saron."
"Yogg-Saron!" The hatred in her eyes and voice was so absolute that even Vlad took a step back.
"Do you know this creature?" The vampire didn't dare to speak the ancient name again.
"Not personally. But it is the name of one of the old gods, one of the beings responsible for the corruption of my flight. I cannot begin to describe the hatred I feel for them."
"I see that, and you should know that I will support you, whatever you have to do. Should we ally with the living?"
"Yes. We will need all the cannon fodder we can get, and the more enemies we lose storming Ulduar, the better. Let them batter each other before we strike. They won't be stupid enough to fall for obvious traps, but causing lots of casualties during the assaults should be easy enough."
Happy about their united scheming, they made their way back to the keep arm in arm, looking forward to a sucessful, well plotted future, unhindered by this problem.
Jaina met the Lich King again less than an hour later. Not bad given how bad the destroyed tower and the burning debris looked. But von Carstein seemed unfazed by would was either sabotage or an accident of truly epic proportions, but most likely sabotage.
"I know you want to leave soon, so I will get to the point. After talking with my officers, it is clear that we need to face the threat from Ulduar together if we want to prevail."
Jaina was taken aback by the answer, so different from his indifference from the day before. "You have changed your mind quite drastically."
"I had not all the important information yesterday, that's why I have my advisors. I hope you still think the way you did."
"I do", Jaina said, but as she did, she felt a sudden, burning sensation in her stomach. She jumped up, her hands clawing at the table.
Vlad jumped up too, ready to fight, but no spell was fired at him, and Proudmoore didn't draw a knife either. Instead, she stumbled a step forward and collapsed on the floor.
Damnit. I can't have a diplomat dying on the floor of my office.
He rushed for to the fallen mage, wondering why she had gone down. Since time could be essential, he drew his dagger, cutting her arm and tasting a drop of her blood. The poison he tasted was unknown to him, but its nature was unmistakeable. He had to react swiftly.
The hooded cultist stalked the deserted corridors of the middle levels of the citadel, seemingly lost in thought, something that happened very easily in the silence. But these days, the deserted area was not as empty as they used to be. The place had an undeniable attraction to those wishing to think lonely thoughts of a shady nature. With the paranoia of those who knew what awaited them upon detection and senses honed to razor's edge to avoid such a fate, it was only a question of time before they found out that they had company.
The hooded cultist and the man in the red armor soon met eye to eye, and both thought in very similar ways. Both considered an immidiate, preemptive strike. Both knew that they had no need for witnesses, and both wanted to know why the other was here. And both of them thought to be in complete control of the situation. This would not end well, and this was yet another thing they both were aware of.
"Lost in your thoughts too?" The cultist asked, sounding so innocent that he was obviously guilty.
"Not quite." The man in red smiled his psychotic smile. "I heard the mess in the western fortress happening, and I have the feeling that something else is going down. Call it a hunch, but I have had this feeling very often and was correct in eight or nine out of ten cases. And I just waited in this deserted place, were anyone could hide in plain side, disappear without leaving the fortress. And guess who the first and only person in this area happens to be who is not just using the stairs. Since I do trust my feeling, you better have a good explanation.
The hooded cultist shrugged and chuckled. "Actually, your are the first person lurking in the shadows here. And maybe you have that feeling because you are the one making things happen. Memories can cause all sorts of strange feelings."
"Not bad. So we are both suspcious individuals in the wrong place at the wrong time, both unknown to most of the locals, you because you look generic, like every other cultist, and I because I got here just a few days ago. What should we do now? Perhaps we can share a few experiences."
The cultist chuckled again. "You seem far nicer than most people who wait in the darkness to stab someone. We might be able to come to an agreement. These empty halls are big enough for the two of us. It don't know and don't care what you want, and my plans probably don't concern who. At least, I assure you that I won't target you."
In truth, the cultist was more than a little worried. The man in red had made an impressive entrance a few days ago, and anyone who could take a vrykul greataxe to the head was certainly no pushover. When the inevitable happened and things got bloody, he had to be swift and precise, making sure one strike would finish the ensuing fight. He reached for the dagger hidden in his sleeve, but made sure to hide the motion with great care.
The man in red came closer, his hands still empty. "You say nice words to me, but that won't be enough to save you. I might need far more to let you get away. The chance is just to good to be passed over."
"And what would you want to know to let me go? We surely can figure something out."
"How about your name, your mission, your plans and a few question regarding Azeroth in general?" The man in red was only a few steps away now.
Knowing when to take a chance, the cultist jumped into action, drawing the dagger and slashing at his enemy in a single motion. With a strength far beyond the capabilities of a mortal body, the dagger closed the distance with the target's neck. The man in red didn't remain still however, and has he moved, the dagger hit his left pauldron, scratching the crimson armor before continuing and slashing through skin and flesh. The cultist turned the first attack into a second one, pulling the blade upward and cutting the man in red across the face. More blood was spilled, but the man in red remained unfazed. Time for a counter attack.
The man in red grapped the cultist, one hand holding the wrist of the hand with the dagger, the other one closing around the cultist's throat. He slammed the cultist against the wall, the gashes on his face and neck disappearing as if they never existed. The cultist got a spell off and vanished, but the man in red was not done with him yet.
At the destination of the hasty teleportation, the cultist dropped the mask of mortality and changed into his true demonic shape. The green-winged dreadlord knew that his enemy might follow him, but he was not prepared for what he faced. A gargantuan claw closed around his body, threatening to crush very single bone in his torso. Mal'ganis sighed. The day had begun so well.
"Now we can talk openly. So, what exactly where you doing here?" Vakarthys was happy for the excuse to be back in his true form.
"You think I will betray the legion?" Mal'ganis tried to stay calm.
"This is the Twisting Nether?" Vakarthys took the time to look around, pretenting not to care about the dreadlord. "And while this looks like a nice home for a demon, I do know that you will die for good if I kill you here. So yes, I do think you will tell me everything I want to know while we are here."
Mal'ganis knew when he had lost, and he valued his life far more than any loyalty to his superiors. "What do you want to know exactly?"
"Why are you in Icecrown? What does your master plan?"
"I was send here to make sure the Scourge and the mortals continue their war. I poisoned Jaina Proudmoore to ensure that. I don't know what my master plans, but I know the gas attack and Putricide's treason were part of it."
"And who is your master?"
"Another dreadlord by the name Tichondrius."
"That was not too difficult, was it? Just don't cross paths with me again."
Vakarthys grinned and dropped the demon before teleporting back to Icecrown. These were no celestials, but they were worth his attention.
The day had finally come, and Ikit would make sure it belonged to Clan Skyre. They had broken through most of the defenses the beard-things had put in their way, and now it was time to strike at their of Skaven rushed through the tunnels, while other companies advanced over the mountainside, searching for other entrances like smokestacks to hit the beard-things inside from another direction.
The clanrats and slaves surged forward, and the beard-things showed their insidious genius again. Tunnels collapsed, others were filled with burning oil, and those leading to the actual city were sealed with steel doors fitted with numerous firing ports. Wave after wave of skaven died, but their leaders cared not. This attacks was only meant to find the right tunnels, nobody expected any military sucess from it.
But once the last skaven fell, Ikit knew where to strike. Squads of Stormvermin escorted engineers with blasting charges to the gates, and warp drill teams went to work to burn their own tunnels into the rock. The army on the outside met their enemies coming out from hidden gates, and soon enough the sound of clashing blades and gunfire echoed across the snowy mountains, along with the screams of the dying.
But the beards would not give up. The new tunnels were swiftly blocked by shield walls, and most of the engineers never reached the gates. The skaven returned the favor soon, torching shield formations with flame throwers and suppressing firing ports with a constant barrage of rattling gun bullets. No side would give way, and the corpses pilled up in the tight underground battlefields would create a need for yet more new tunnels. And despite all efforts by the Under-Empire, the beard-things held firm and they had long called for help, a help that made been on its way for quite a while.
The first sign of the arriving reinforcements was a strange sound like rapidly flapping wings, followed by cannon fire and explosions among the skaven charging over the mountain. Ikit looked around to find the spontaniously appearing artillery, and what he saw filled his mind with equal parts of greed, envy and rightous rage.
The object of his desiring hatred was an airship, and it was a vehicle much larger, more complex and with much in the way of weapons. The moment he saw this flying behemoth raining death onto his troops, he knew that had to stop it and aquire one such vehicle for himself.
Of course his moronic underlings crewing the artillery reserve failed miserably at both of these most obvious tasks, either missing the airship with their warp lightning cannons or hitting obviously heavily armored sections of their target. Cursing their souls in the name of the horned rat, he made his way to the next cannon. The swift strike of his claw took care of the gunner foolish enough not to jump out of the way as Ikit reached the controls. Knowing better than to play it safe, he channeled his own magic into the already unstable warpstone lense, an action endangering the weapon but also increasing its power drastically. He cackled maniacally as he took aim, displaying a skill with the wicked machine only a truly deranged genius could aquire.
The bolt of warp lightning found its mark as the cannon released all its energy in a single concentrated blast, a blast that shattered the weapon itself and hurled Ikit away. But the master warlock could only break into psychotic laughter as he saw the bolt of energy hitting. With his masterful aim, the bolt hit one of the massive engines keeping the airship afloat, and the overcharged shot promptly turned the engine along with the entire front left side of the airship into burning scraps of wood and steel. With the moaning and screeching of overstretched materials, the behemoth tumbled to the side and fell, but the crew could keep enough control to crash their vehicle into the skaven lines, turning dozen of them into blood smear. But Ikit could only continue laughing as he sent his stormvermin to secure the wreckage.
It didn't matter that the first attack had been a costly defeat, no one would take a beard-thing burrow on the first go. But now Ikit had an airship for the future. Of course, it was currently a burning wreck, but this would not discourage any warlock engineer worth his title. The airship would rise again, it would not be alone, and once his airfleet was ready, Clan Skyre would rule any world they laid eyes on!
With these visions of greatness filling his mind, Ikit ordered another wave attack on the beard-things and the removal of the wreck. He needed some time for his perfect creation, and these worthless idiots should thank the Horned Rat because their deaths would buy time for the final triumph of the great Under-Empire!
This was a glorious day for Clan Skyre, and Ikit would do anything to ensure that it was only the beginning. And in a very short time, even Morskittar wouls tremble before the endless genius and unlimited power of Ikit Claw, the true chosen of the Horned Rat and rightful ruler of all Skavendom! The universe would bow to him and his titanic mind and iron paw!
Once again watching the chaos and carnage his agents had caused, Dahak was very pleased indeed. And it would only get better from here, since the skaven had the ability to throw more and more meat in the grinder and this would not stay unnoticed. Dahak knew about the Burning Legion, knew that they would do anything to take Azeroth, just as the inhabitants of this world would do anything to stop the demons. The Legion would wait for the right moment to join the slaughter, and his agents would do the same. And he was capable to ensure that both sides would choose the wrong time and find their enemies battered, but still standing. The Endless Destruction had little interest in a short campaign, to properly feast on the carnage, it had to be a longer war between factions of similar strength. Perhaps some of those involved would discover his scheme, and Dahak would respect those who did. Which would not necessarily save them, but it would increase their chances. He could always use new smart minds within his entourage, and it was even better if they knew how to survive in less than favourable circumstances...