Sailing to War

Erich woke up with a groan, his stomach lurching as the abominable craft waved and bobbed over the water line. For a single moment, his world was stationary before the creaking of the wood burst into his ears and brain – magnified a thousandfold. His head wobbled again as the ship caught a draft of wind and death seemed to lose it's sting. Water. He needed water. And he needed to expel the contents in his stomach. A momentary promise formed in his mind, promising to swear off drinking. It was a scattered plea from his baser instincts. The logical part of his mind, now temporarily suppressed knew that it was impossible. The better thing to do would be to find a bowl or pan to vomit in.

Looking around, he found precious little of those instruments. The Alliance had given him a handsome officer's cabin in their roomy transports. The ships they were sailing on were older battleships, the captain had said. Now they had been converted into transports, and the powder magazines worked excellently for housing important passengers. The lower decks were full of his men. Five hundred men living comfortably in three decks. Woe betide the poor sailors whole lot it was to clean the If he was not so hungover, Erich would have felt smug. His father would have been happy for him in his own cold way. Erich Von Peiper, eligible for his own quarters on a sea going vessel. As it was he simply groaned as the ship moved. By Myrmidia, he really hated ships.

His room had a porthole which he had kept open to keep the fresh air in. Having nothing better to make do with, he shoved a finger down his throat and gagged. His stomach churned, and Erich barely managed to shove his mouth through the opening before his mouth filled up with the foul taste of vomit. For an agonizing eternity his stomach's contents flew out through the wrong hole. When the nasty business was done, Erich leant back and hobbled back to the bed and lay down on it. A bottle of sailor's rum helped cleanse his palette, and Erich felt a nice warm drowsiness in his body. It was a good day to stay in bed.

The moans from the next room put an end to his drowsiness. Luigi had not been idle on the ship. Erich had seen him flirt with the women on board. That was something odd about the humans of Azeroth. There were a lot of women doing the most gruelling task with the same gusto and efficiency as their menfolk. While he had his reservations about Lorna Crowley, the young woman had the makings of an excellent officer. The women of Lordaeron were every bit as fanatical as their male counterparts. Erich however did not relish the possibility of seeing young women lying dead and broken on the battlefield. It felt particularly soul crushing to see women and children among the mangled corpses being picked apart by carrion.

All those thoughts were pushed out of his mind when a loud scream came from Luigi's room. It would seem that his female companion found his skills particularly enjoyable. Erich supposed that growing up in a brothel had helped the young man acquire the art of pleasuring women. Of course, it helped that Erich had all the bearing of a prince and the roguish charm of a whore. And he was in the prime of life. The only nuisance of sharing a wall with the man was that the moaning and screaming would ruin a comfortable day in bed. With that decision, Erich reached for a fresh pair of tights and his codpiece. It was time to get dressed.

After a few minutes of dressing, Erich looked at himself in the mirror. He almost felt naked without his hat. However it felt exhilarating to feel the wind in his hair. Erich began to climb up the stairs, yawning. The bright blue skies and the roar of the sea greeted him as he came out of the poop deck. He was no sailor, but the captain assured him that they were making good headway to Theramore. They would be there by the end of the month.

Frustratingly for Erich, the captain, a burly man from a place called Menethil Harbour had very little knowledge of Theramore – or at least it's military. From what he had bold Erich, the ruler of the place was a diplomat. Their navy was largely non existent, with only a small fleet useful for defending the harbour and keeping away pirates. The fact that they lived a stone's throw away from what was a large hovel of orcs had not troubled them - until of course the Orcs had started a war.

It would seem that in contrast with the cold and cruel pragmatism that was the hallmark of the Old World – the Lords and Ladies of the Eastern Kingdoms and Theramore were by and large ideologues. Of course, orcs had been in their world for a single generation. They had come from another world through a magical gateway called the Dark Portal. With an ominous name like that, Erich had not been surprised to know that a human wizard, probably under the influence of the ruinous powers of Chaos had erected it to further his hold over the Eastern Kingdoms. Now the Orcs were on this world, and bringing war wherever they went. After a hundred or so years of conflict, the people of Azeroth would realise what they were really like. That lesson had been etched in blood and iron in the hearts of every person living in the old world – and doubly so in Sollanders.

After breakfast, Erich was going to return to his maps. There was nothing else to do on the ship. He had already made it his duty to watch over his powder stores and make sure that the men were safely tucked away in their hammocks and blankets. It was boring work, but tiring. When all was said and done, Erich would stumbled back to his bed and fall asleep. It was a good interlude between the fight. His men had a similar burst of activity. Usually the Sergeants would have to remind the men that their weapons and armour needed to be cleaned. But now that boredom had set in and the prospect of fighting greenskins was around the corner, his men kept their gear in a shape so tidy and orderly that a quartermaster would have felt out of place. For his part, Erich cleaned his pistol before tucking it under his pillow. After what had happened to Rodrigo he would be damned if some dead elf strumpet and her pet corpses were going to shank him in his sleep.

To his surprise, by the time Erich reached the captain's cabin, Luigi had joined him. The half vacant smile and general demeanour marked him as a youth who just had the time of his life. He grinned at Erich and yawned.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Erich asked him dryly.

"Well Alexa had to return to her duties. Her father wants her to take the ship when he is too old to command and she has been the first mate for over a year." Luigi beamed back a reply.

Erich's astonishment must have shown on his face. "So you slept with the captain's daughter who was also the first mate of the ship?" It was certainly impressive. If nothing else, Luigi's loins were far more ambitious than the rest of him.

Luigi's grin only got bigger. He placed his arms behind his head. "Well I think she had her eyes on me for quite a while. We can't all be as single minded in ignoring our fairer companions as you Capitan."

"Well she is not the only one. Half of the sailors seem to want to sleep with you, and the other half want to throw you overboard. The captain seems to be in the latter camp" Erich remarked. It was true. Several of the women had tried to catch Luigi's eye. Some of the older sailors, both men and women looked darkly at him, and Erich had heard stray words that said that Luigi was the spitting image of someone they all knew.

"Well, I hope he doesn't find out between me and his daughter." Luigi replied before clapping his hands together, to shake off the last of his lethargy. "Now, shall we go in and find out what they are serving for breakfast?"

Serra looked up from her study with a sigh, her journal filled with copious notes from the magical experiments she had been conducting. The mage's district of Stormwind was a surprisingly pleasant place to be in. She had taken her lodgings in one of the several inns that were run by and were filled with elves. A few stares had been thrown her way, but the Stormwind Insignia she wore on her new Mageweave robe and the small bag of money she had thrown in the innkeeper's hands had secured a place she could call home – for a year at the least. Money had never been a problem with her in Ulthuan. In Azeroth, she had literally helped save the world. Now she owned a small fortune, spending her time drinking wine and studying the magical history of this world.

The relationship between elves and humans was most intriguing to her. The Quel'dorei had agreed to teach humans magic hundreds of years ago to help secure their borders and to deal with an errant race of Azerothian Trolls. Unlike the trolls of the Old world, the trolls of Azeroth were lean and reminded Serra of orcs.

The elves had then willingly cohabited with humans in the city of Dalaran for hundreds of years, teaching them how to manipulate magic. Far more grotesque was the fact that they had intermarried with the humans. For her it was a mixed blessing. She fit in the mage district with very little effort. There were plenty of elves, half elves and humans that milled about in the pretty green gardens and cobbled paths of the arcana saturated zone of the city. The humans had also taken rather well to magic. Azerothian magic was far safer to use for humans, and they had developed several rather curious enchanting techniques and alchemical potions that were of great interest to her.

Much to the consternation of her hosts, Serra had converted her spacious rooms into a makeshift laboratory. Alchemy was not her forte, but decades of meticulous note taking in the White Tower had taught her how to systematically analyse how the science worked. She had already brewed several potions that would fortify her body and helped save her precious potion of Charoi for more severe emergencies. Now her days were being spent enjoying the challenging nature of Azerothian Enchantments.

Fortunately for Serra's research, magic in Azeroth was extremely easy to learn. She had a small book of enchantments she had brought at the mage tower and her time was spent deconstructing the different spells. Some of it was surprising to her. In contrast with the humans of the Old World, the Humans of Azeroth had a rigorous grasp of magic – at least at the surface. She was learning so much that it felt like it would be a matter of time before she would be able to use Azerothian Magic at a level of competency that would rival Dana. A sort of friendly rivalry had sprung up between them, although the human was by and large unaware of it. Of course the adventurer was not a match for Lady Jaina Proudmoore. She was a powerful sorceress in her own right, and Serra knew that as far as manipulating Azerothian magic went, she was a minnow compared to the human. Her power dwarfed Serra's latent power and she was a goal to strive towards. Given enough time, she could rival the best humanity had to offer and then overwhelm it. Her heritage demanded no less.

Now it came to put her new found skills to the test. The book of enchantments would not be used for this experiment of course. A true test of her knowledge would come when she would execute the spell flawlessly. An empty vial was to be the focus of her magics. Slowly she used arcane dust – crystallized magic that would have been worth it's own thesis in the White Tower – to create something called a Circle of Power. In effect it it was a miniature version of the Ley Lines that criss-crossed Azeroth. At it's centre she placed the vial and waited for a moment, gathering her own magic to create the spell. A deep breath, and then another. Then it was time.

Tendrils of light purple energy flew from her palm and enveloped the vial, slowly filling it in a glow. The Circle of Power began to 'warm up', changing colours from the colour of sand to a myriad of colours as her magical power activated it. Serra was aware of a vast flow of arcane power below the surface of Azeroth – the lifeblood of the world as a Thalassian magister had put it – and she tapped into the smallest hint of it's power. Her body trembled for an instant as she beheld the vastness of the arcane with her mind's eye. With it, Serra could reorder the world to her fancy. A portal back home would be child's play. She would surpass the Phoenix King of Old and unite the two worlds under the enlightened rule of the Everqueen. Then the temptation was gone. Asur discipline had triumphed over the wild fancies of her heart.

She began to chant an incantation willing the cheap vial of glass to change itself. Arcane power transformed the most minute particle of glass into something stronger, something exotic – something far more fitting for the saviour of a world. When she felt that her spell had done what she had asked of it, she severed the connection and exhaled slowly. Her spell had been a success. She had used the power of the Arcane Ley Lines of Azeroth, resisted any temptation that the surge of power might have given to her and finished her spell, using the lifeblood of the world – with her own magic being a conduit to guide and coax it into place, like a smith pouring molten metal into a mold. She bent down and picked up the newly changed vial, smiling at her handiwork.

What had been a body of cheap glass had been transmuted into diamond. The weight of it was heavier, and when Serra dropped it, the large thud it made was proof enough to her. The stopper, made of cork had been changed into elementium. This was an excellent proof of concept, and more importantly, a fitting receptacle for the potion of Charoi. She spent the next hour slowly dripping the precious liquid drop by drop from a decanter into her newly transformed vial. When this was done, Serra – pleased with herself decided to go down for some food. Just then a knock on her door startled her.

Serra had given strict orders that she was not to be disturbed. Any problem the hostess of the inn might have was smoothed over a generous sum of golden coins. Who in the world could want her now?

She opened the door to see two familiar faces. Dana and Rhona were at her door, and from their faces Serra could tell that something was afoot.

"What is going on?" She asked abruptly. Dressed as she was in a flimsy nightgown that left very little to the imagination, Serra was acutely aware of Dana drinking her form in.

Rhona replied, "We have to go. The Alliance is imperilled. Theramore is in danger."

"What do you mean?"

"The horde has been seen marching into the Southern barrens. A call to arms for heroes and champions has been circulating throughout the city."

"What does this have to do with me?"

Dana answered. "There is good money in it. Are you sure you do not want to come with us?"

Serra froze. More money was always a good idea. She needed more resources for her research. The fact that she was from Cothique had been a constant thorn at her side in the palaces of Lothern. She deserved more money. And killing orcs was a good reward in itself. Eltharion the grim would agree. "Let me get dressed."

In half an hour, her group, joined by the big burly sibling of Rhona was racing towards the Stormwind docks. While it was smaller than Miragliano or Marienburg, the harbour was far more organized. She was stunned at the amount of weapons armour and military supplies that seemed to lay about in the open. Dock workers and off duty soldiers were filling ships with supplies and officials were shouting orders. In her semi secluded quarters in the mage district, the war that enveloped the world was of no consequence. Now seeing transports being loaded with men and materiel, along with the urgency that seemed to mark everyone's step, Serra was keenly aware that she was in the centre of it all.

"Where are all these men and supplies going?" She asked Rhona.

"Somewhere north – Alterac I think the place is called. They are sending a force down to Theramore and Stormwind is reinforcing the front against the Horde." Her brother replied. As was usual the elements of Azeroth surrounded him – drawn to him like moths to an open flame.

"Are we going there too?" Serra last remembered that Erich Von Peiper and his men were marching to Alterac. If Stormwind was reinforcing it, it meant that they had been directed to Theramore.

"No, I told you. We are going to Theramore. Come on, the Lady Mehley is docked somewhere. We have to find it. It leaves in an hour."

They found it, nestled between two larger ships, multiple decks bristling with cannon. While it was a sturdy seafaring vessel, in contrast with the ships next to it, The Lady Mehley looked like a cockle boat. Their triple decks, bristling with cannons, and ornate iconography was every bit as proud as a dragon ship from the harbours of Lothern. The prows of the shape of eagle heads, jutting proudly above the water completed their proud look. She had to admit, humans were certainly capable of making impressive weapons of war.

The sailors on The Lady Mehley beckoned to them. Most of them were human sailors, with a few dwarfs and gnomes sprinkled in. Even as the party walked up, the captain began to shout at the crew about weighing the anchor. The ship's deck was filled with boxes, mostly medical supplies and food. Serra knew what that meant. The city of Theramore was well garrisoned. Supplies were needed, not more bodies to throw into the grinder.

Their quarters were in a corner of the lower decks. Surrounded by the smell of strong spirits, salted meat and biscuits, they spent the time playing cards until the sun raced ahead of them on the voyage west. Serra knew that they were going quite fast for a ship of this size. It was risky to travel full sail at night. A dozen different things could go wrong. The implications were as clear as the waters of the Inner Sea.

Time was running out for Theramore.

Caledra was finding the journey to Theramore to be quite invigorating. In her life so far, her experience in sailing was largely relegated to short boating excursions with her parents and brother. Her escape from Quel'Thalas had been on foot. The dynamics of a sailing ship was as different from boats as a dragonhawk is to a dragon. Dozens of humans were busy as bees, scurrying about, adjusting the sails, clearing the decks and making sure that no one was going overboard.

From the faces of the sailors, she could tell that they were worried. Occasionally the person in the crow's nest would shout that something had been spotted on the horizon. Then the entire crew's pace would increase frantically as they would run to finish their current tasks before grabbing their cutlasses and guns, peering over the railing with trepidation. Invariably, the lookout would shout that all was clear and they would return to their duties. Remarkably, this did not fray their nerves as Caledra had thought. They were experienced sailors, and kept their cool through the rigours of an enemy attack.

This afternoon, Caledra had caught up with the ship's first mate. The mercenaries, by and large were content to sit in the lower decks, spending their time preparing for the upcoming battle or drinking themselves into a stupor. The smell was incredible. As a result, most of the sailors only stopped by to bring them food or clean out some of the closest pails. 'Mercenary Pigs' was the sneering insult directed at the Tileans. Only it seemed to be eerily accurate in this case. The officer's quarters were a deck above and thankfully cleared of the smell. Sometimes Erich, Luigi or Littorio would bump into the sailors. The Priest – Phillip, and the veteran sergeant were belowdecks with their men.

Something had come of the interactions. Erich stared coolly at the captain and the first mate and was left alone. Littorio was shut up in his room, playing something on his small violin which always made everyone in the vicinity stop and savour the sounds. The old man might blend into the background or fall asleep, but he was a skilled musician. Luigi however had been receiving the lion's share of everyone's stares. The young man was uncommonly handsome – in a way that reminded Caledra of human nobility. His long, free flowing golden hair and bright green eyes would have turned anyone's head. In his new Alterac Lieutenant's uniform and with an armour of dwarf plate, the man looked like he could sit at Varian Wrynn's table and no one would bat an eyelid.

It was no wonder why the first mate had been sneaking into his rooms at night and leaving right before dawn. For his part, Luigi was remarkably blasé about the entire affair. He would smile and nod at everyone when he was on the top deck. He ate his meals with Erich – either in the mess or belowdecks – and spent the afternoons looking over maps with his mentor.

First mate Alexa was a sailor, and that meant that she was mostly bored from the drudgery of her daily chores. Luigi was a fetching distraction for her to toy with when she needed some relief from ordering the sailors about. Right now she was not busy, and was sharing a drink with Caledra in the relatively lavish surroundings of her quarters. A small repast of cheese, bread and rum had loosened her tongue.

"Your sailors seem tense."

"Yes, Fa- The captain is driving the ships hard. Normally we would not sail so fast over the vast distances of the great sea, not this close to the Maelstrom anyway. Too many tales of ships losing their sails in the wild gales, being adrift on the currents or being devoured whole by monsters rising from the depths."

"Why the rush?"

Alexa simply smiled. "Not much of a sailor are you captain?"

"No, I am not." While her reflexes had kept her from swaying like the humans on a ship, her gait must have given her away to the more experienced crew of the ship.

"Normally we would be sailing to Stormwind and then taking a military escort to Theramore, but battleships are slow, and time is of the essence. Which is why we are always at full sails."

"And how fast are we going?"

The first mate finished her drink and produced a logbook from her pocket. She skimmed a few pages and nodded.

"Normally it takes two months to sail from Stormwind to Theramore. It has been three weeks and we have already left the Maelstrom behind us. If we keep up the pace, we should be off the coastline of Theramore isle in ten days." Her face darkened and she continued, "Can you keep a secret captain?"

"What is it?"

"I think that this idea is a fool's errand. If any of the Blood elven destroyers find us here, we will be killed in spitting distance of the shores. This whole idea is a damn mess. Wrynn has decided to create a grand Alliance armada in Stormwind to relieve Theramore – from what I could gather from sailors and officials at Stormwind Harbour."

"That is surely a good thing right?" The young king was famous for his prowess on the battlefield.

"Yes, it would be. Admiral Jes-Tereth knows what she is doing. That is not the problem."

"Then what is it?"

"It means that after we reach Theramore, there will be no more ships coming for us until the Armada arrives."

"Can't you make a break for the open seas?"

"No. The winds will be against us this time of the year." Caledra noticed that the first mate had already filled her cup a third time.

"Have you ever been in a siege before?"

"Me? No. My father fought around Southshore during the second war. He doesn't like it much either. According to him the reason we won was because the High Elven Destroyers were more nimble than their troll counterparts."

"And now they are on the side of the Horde."

"Yes. Even if we make it to Theramore somehow, we will be stuck for the rest of the siege."

"Lady Proudmoore is a good leader. I am sure she has enough provisions for us."

Alexa simply finished her drink in a long gulp. After hearing the news, Caledra joined her.

The conversation soon turned to lighter matters. Even if the shadow of death might be looming over them, there was no need to dwell on it. Invariably, the talk soon turned to lovers. Alexa for one was quite impressed with her latest conquest.

"He is surprisingly gentle and eager to let me take the lead. Not quite like most men I shared beds with." Seeing the sailor giggle like a little girl brought a smile to Caledra's face. The two of them had been drinking for some time and the bottle of rum was empty.

"So what are most other men like?"

"Well they are all sorts. Night Elves are fierce, the High elves are frigid, and most humans are rough."

Caledra's mouth opened in wonder. First Mate Alexa had certainly been busy off duty.

"Oh don't look at me like that. I have seen you cast glances at the dark haired man on occasion."

Caledra icily replied, "Because it is my job to make sure that Stormwind gets everything out of value from him. Mostly making sure he doesn't drink too much and fall off into the sea. Drunken sot."

Alexa burst out laughing at that. "A man that likes his drink? It is about as rare as an out of work peasant in Westfall. Besides, he is not that hard to look at. Almost something out of one of those five copper novels that housewives read. Still, it is hard staring at him."

"What do you mean?"

"His eyes. They seem vacant. Remind me too much of my uncle. He fought throughout the second war and when he returned the carefree and soft spoken man was gone. When he looked at you, you could feel the scraps of his soul pouring out his eyes. Your man looks much the same."

Your man. Caledra found that word odd. Erich was enjoyable enough when he was drunk. There was no doubt. The man had a career fighter's body language. She knew it well enough. Reflexes that were just too fast for an average human – coupled with an easy attitude at rest. In battle he became more than just a fighter. She had seen him fight the forsaken. Calm and collected, always on the defensive, punctuating his thrusts and ripostes with orders to his men. The man had been born to wage war. She could now understand why the people of Alterac now looked up to him. In a land of petty politicking nobles and merchants, warriors would look to the bravest of their kind. Erich Von Peiper's bravery was the opposite of Varian Wrynn's. He would lead from the front, but not lose himself in the fury of battle. A cold and calculating intelligence would be guiding his every movement in the thickest fighting. Caledra had trusted her implicitly, knowing that her life was safe in her commander's hand. Now she was gone.

Erich Von Peiper was Sylvanas Windrunner as far the waging of war was concerned. That was an apt if unorthodox comparison. Arrows in her Quiver they might have been, but the Ranger General had cared for them in life. In death she had hunted them down of course. Her pet – Nathanos Marris – had been seen killing High elven rangers and then raising them with necromancy. She wondered what Erich would do in Marris' shoes.

Her musing was interrupted by a chortle from Alexa. "But anyway, why would I look for the stars when the sun is in my grasp. It would seem that old Terenas was not as venerable as my father thought."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well look at Luigi. What sort of name is that anyway? It sounds like a cipher. Then his looks."

"What about his features?"

Alexa simply rolled her eyes and yawned. "You never noticed how he looks?"

"Lithe, golden haired and sharp faced."

In return she simply smacked her face with her hand. "I thought you would notice. But then again he was dead when Quel'Thalas was invaded."

"Who are you talking about?"

"I am simply saying that this Luigi looks like the mirror image of Prince Arthas Menethil."

A/N Regarding Erich flinching at the touch, there is a reason for it that i will tell later. And it is not because he is becoming an anime character.

solarblaster, you shall see regarding Masterson ;)

Machcia, Indeed

darknessfalls, new technologies doesn't always mean that your society has evolved to deal with them. Look up the Cargo Cults as an IRL example of being exposed to new technologies super fast. But yes, characters like Sylvanas will be learning from their experience.

Biolajj, thanks for the kind words.

Fractiousday, can you point me to some specific examples? I will correct them quick.