Well, no reviews yet…possibly because my summary SUCKED. So I'll be a-fixin' that.
Chapter Two: Incriminating Evidence
"I have told you!" cried Staghelm. "Time and time again, I have told you, the Horde will not cooperate! Regardless of what that," he put an obvious amount of scorn on the word, "Tauren says, the old hatreds run too deep!" "Hamuul Runetotem has more wisdom in one horn than you have in your entire body, Fandral! Would you rather we sit back and let Arthas gather his armies unmolested?" "How dare you speak to the Arch-Druid that way?" One of Staghelm's aides lifted a hand, green lightning already gathering on it. "ENOUGH!" A staff slammed on the Darnassus meeting hall's floor and Jaina Proudmoore cried out in exasperation. "I trust that Thrall and Cairne, yes, even Sylvanas will see reason. King Wrynn believes it. Magni believes it. Mekkatorque believes it." Jaina gestured forcefully around the room as she said this, and then rounded on Staghelm. "So why don't you, Fandral? Why do you not trust that some of the wisest warriors and leaders on Azeroth will not see reason, listen to logic, and make a decision that will save the planet!"
An uneasy silence followed this. At last a soft, wise, firm voice from the end of the table spoke. "Perhaps Fandral believes that the orcs are bloodthirsty berserkers? Perhaps, thinks of the Forsaken as mindless abominations?" Tyrande Whisperwind's face contorted into a death glare aimed directly at Staghelm. "Such beliefs are foolhardy, outdated, and would come from a person with the brainpower of a drunken kobold. So I certainly hope that that is not what you believe." Staghelm's mouth was opening and closing silently in rage, His face was turning a deeper shade of purple. "Of course not!"
Tyrande's expression did not soften. The entire room was waiting with bated breath. "Then why, pray tell, are you so reluctant to enter a coalition with them?" Staghelm did not answer for a few moments. At last he lowered his hands to his lap and said, "I am not reluctant. I am merely concerned that the long war will have amplified the enmity between the Alliance and the Horde. And there will be those that will doubt the word of a druid's vision as proof enough to put a war on hold and start another one." He gesticulated wildly as he spoke, and the room listened intently.
Only one person in Darnassus knew those gestures for what they were. And it was that person's knowledge that would, quite possibly, save the night elves.
"Hold it, Gren." Ettius held up a hand. "Hit the stop button." "Which one's tha stop button?" "Oh for- We went over it twice before we came up here!" The dwarf and gnome were perched on the meeting hall's roof, listening in on the Alliance meeting using one of Ettius's gadgets. Grennal, the dwarf, had no idea why they were doing so, but Ett had a hunch of some sort and when people didn't do what Ett said, things tended to start burning. "It's the button with the two bars on it. Hellfire, let me…" Ett hurried over and hit a button on the device. The picture coming through the tube which extended through the hole in the meeting house roof froze. Ett scrutinized it for a second, and his eyebrows rocketed to the top of his head. "Well, that's interesting."
"Oh, out wit it already! Wot tha 'eck 're we doin' up 'eere?" cried Grennal. "If anyone spots us listenin' in, we'll get arrested fer sure!" "Oh? I'm not the expert on elven customs," said Ett, packing up his gadget, "But I wasn't aware you got put in jail for exposing lawbreakers." Gren was now thoroughly confused. "Wha?" Ett's face was set in a determined scowl, which might have looked more impressive if not for the handlebar mustache cutting it in half. "That's no ordinary political tirade. Staghelm was using magical gestures. I don't know what they were for, but seeing as how "Old hatreds run deep" aren't spellcasting words, he was casting something silently. And since when are night elves proficient enough in magic to cast anything silently, let alone something that might help in a speech?" "So…yer sayin'…" "Yep. We're going to Staghelm's quarters."
Grennal and Ettius were old buddies. After the meeting in Moonglade, word of the Scourge and a possible offensive against them had spread, and like any adventurers, the hunter and warlock had wanted to be where the action was. And that would be Darnassus, the druidic capitol of the world. However, on arriving, Ett had detected a powerful source of magic somewhere in the city, and after two weeks of stakeout proving that none of the visiting mages or Jaina Proudmoore was the source of it, Ett had decided to spy on the night elf brass. Now they would find out if it was going to pay off.
"'Eavy guard. I toldja this was crazy." Two Sentinels stood at the base of the ramp to Staghelm's quarters, and Gren had spotted three more at the top with his scope. "Gotcha covered." Replied Ett, pulling what looked like a stick of dynamite with legs out of his pack. "That thing looks like a bomb wit' legs." "And that's precisely what it is." Ett started adjusting something on the "bombwalker" and said without looking up, when I say go, shoot a concussive round at that house at the foot of the tree." Gren was completely lost now, but nodded. "Whatever you say, psycho…" He pulled out his rifle and slid the specialty bullet into it. Ett placed the bomb-walker-thing on the ground and hit a button on its side.
It proceeded to skitter forward to the left side of the tree and detonate violently. With the speed and efficiency of trained, hardened soldiers the Sentinels at the bottom hurried toward the sound. At the same time, Ett hissed. "Now!" Grennal pulled the trigger. The gun fired and the shot rocketed into the house. Something shattered. An elf screamed. Ett grinned.
Two of the upper guard Sentinels hurried down the platform, one heading toward the house, the other toward where Gren and Ett were crouching. Crap… thought Gren. Ett just ducked farther. The Sentinel took a step – and promptly collapsed silently.
"Okay, wot the hell was that?" Grennal almost shouted. "Tiny little dart full of tranquilizer on the ground. She stepped on it." "Ya scare me sometimes, ya know tha'?" "Yep. Now shush." The third Sentinel was edging down the platform. "Now what? Ya have another of those lil' darts?" Ett's smile was fading. "No." Then what do we do?"
"Um…" Ett muttered. "I have no idea. I didn't think we'd get this far." Grennal slapped his forehead. "We're in too deep. If we're goin' ta get arrested it migh' as well be fer a complete crime." And he jumped out of the grass and shot the Sentinel in the head with a concussive shot. She dropped like a stone, unconscious. Ettius seemed torn between being impressed and skeptical, but quickly decided to not worry. "Right. Good job. Let's go."
They hurried up the ramp, looking to the side. Two of the Sentinels, the ones that had been investigating Ett's bomb, were charging back to the bottom. "Crap." Muttered Ett. "Ya think we could have just asked?" growled Gren. Ett didn't answer. Instead he pulled a very large copper bomb out of his pack.
The day a dwarf and a gnome can outrun two night elf soldiers is a hot day in Northrend, but Gren and Ett's head start was sufficient to get them to the top before the Sentinels caught up to them. Ett turned, lit the bomb, and hurled it down the ramp. "Hit the deck!" he yelled, about two seconds before the bomb detonated, sending chunks of ramp hurtling through the air. The Sentinels stood on the edge of the destroyed ramp section for a few seconds, and then pulled out longbows.
"SON OF A-" The two adventurers made it inside the room just in time to avoid being skewered by a pair of precisely-aimed arrows. Gren slammed the door and bolted it, panting hard. Then a thought struck him. "Waita seccund. Since when do night elves have locks on their doors?" "Precisely." Muttered Ett, and began rifling through the papers on Staghelm's desk. "Gren, search the drawers. Show me anything you can't make head or tail of that isn't written in Darnassian."
The two searched for five minutes before a commanding female voice yelled, "This is Shandris Feathermoon of the 1st Darnassian! Come out with your hands either up or in non-spellcasting positions!" Gren almost screamed, "See! We're goin' ta get busted!" Ett just kept searching the desk. "Fine," muttered Gren. "Doon't come runnin' ta me when we're locked up in prison." Ett suddenly sat up straight. "Of course…" And he pulled the drawer from the desk. It fell to the floor, papers and knickknacks flying everywhere. Ett proceeded to draw his dagger and stab the underside of it repeatedly. Gren didn't say anything. They were doomed anyway. Suddenly the wood cracked and the drawer split it two.
Revealing a hidden, half-inch-thick compartment in the drawer's structure. A single piece of paper slid out of it. Ett picked it up and scanned it. He proceeded to swear foully. "That traitorous, heretical, insane son of a succubus…." He turned to Gren. "Open the door." "Finally yer speakin' sense!" Gren crossed to the door, unbolted it, and swung it in, fairly yelling, "Doon't shoot! We don't wanna fight!" Grennal gulped as the door opened to show eight Sentinels, including Shandris Feathermoon, all of them aiming longbows at the door. "Don't make a move." One of them growled. Ett called from the inside, "You, Sentinels! I suggest you have a look at this!" Ett edged out of the room, holding the paper up, the other hand in plain view. Feathermoon nodded once and a Sentinel stepped forward, taking it. She took one look and her eyes widened. She whirled to Feathermoon, tossing the paper to her. Feathermoon's reaction was identical. "Lower your bows, for the love of Elune!" She yelled a command and the group followed her down the ramp. She called over her shoulder. "You two come with us! We might need you!"
Gren could stand it no longer. "WOT THA HELL IS ON THAT PAPER THA'S GETTIN' EVERYONE SO RILED UP!" Ett told him. Gren shut up, loaded his gun, and hurried after the Sentinels.
"And what of the recent slaughters in Warsong Gulch! Casualty ratios four to one in favor of the 16th! The Horde will not be forgiving that in a hurry! I implore you, cease this endeavor and mobilize the Alliance! We do not need the Horde! We shall-
The door banged open, cutting off Staghelm in mid-tirade. Fifteen Sentinels, Shandris, Grennal, and Ettius arrived in the room and trained their weaponry (and a shadow bolt) on Staghelm. "What is the meaning of this-" "Fandral Staghelm," barked Shandris, "You are under arrest for heresy, illegal use of magic, and willful imprisionment of another night elf." The room was silent for a moment.
Shandris nodded to a Sentinel, who crossed the room and handed the paper from Staghelm's room to Jaina. The sorceress looked it over for a moment, her expression growing more disbelieving with every line she read. At last she put the paper on the table, looked around the room, and said, "This is the formula for a spell that would release magical energy into the Emerald Dream, creating a paradox from the utter incompatibility of the two. It would completely freeze everything at the point the energy was released into. The energy is a binding spell targeted at Malfurion Stormrage."
You could have cut the silence with a dagger. Jaina utter one more sentence. "And the scroll is used. The spell has already been cast." Every eye in the room went either to Staghelm or Tyrande, whose faces were slowly turning to horror and rage respectively. At last Tyrande was looking at the Arch-Druid in a way that would have made Archimonde soil his pants and run. She walked to the corner, took up her bow, and strung it. "Sentinels. Dismissed. Everyone. Out of the room. Now." She nocked an arrow. "Except for you, Fandral." The room's occupants filed out without another word.
The arrow's tip burst into flame.
Tyrande turned, aimed, and fired.
When the group entered the room a minute later, there was nothing left of Fandral Staghelm but a smoking crater on the floor.
Okay, that was officially a long chapter. For the record, I haven't gotten very far in WoW and haven't read any of the books. A ton of this probably contradicts what actually happened/happens in Warcraft. I don't care and I'm going to write my story. Review, or face the wrath of my rotten ninja cheese wheels.
