Chapter 3: Coup in Theramore

½ league offshore from Theramore Isle, September 15th

Early morning had dawned. The sun silently rose in the east lighting the geography of Kalimdor. To the seas already, ships were setting sail for their daily fishing routes or for trade. Slowly, people began to fill the wide streets of Theramore yet the greater whole were still in bed at this early hour. Alaric himself though, had had no sleep. He stayed awake, and had stealthily left the city at midnight. He planned to return soon.

The previous night, a special team of Elven craftsman had been reducing the Island's defenses, mostly the deadly imported Dwarven cannon batteries. The time was ripe for the taking of Theramore as the city lay sleepy, and its leaders ignorant to the greater plan. Alaric judged it that he himself would lead his men into the heart of the city. Would he not bleed with them? He was their leader, and they had followed him thus far. Slipping on silvery mail, he then prepped the rest of his armor. It took a while to fit his blood red plate armor, yet he did so anyway. Next Alaric donned a jet black cape that rose up to his over-insinuated shoulder pieces. The cape was weaved with anti-magic spells to protect him from any of the foolish human wizards the Sorceress had brought with her.

"Milord, it is time" Eolas stated walking into Alaric's quarters.

"Yes, it is. Now as in the elder poems we have come from battle to a land of salvation to battle again.

From the ancient lands we came

From war and bloodshed we were shame

To the new land of destiny, we set the new flame

Now to war we set again!" Alaric sadly sung the ancient tune of his people's heritage and the First Exodus from across the ocean. So long ago was that. Not even he was alive to remember that time of despair. Yet hope still flickered for the long lost High-Borne, for they sailed on to the lands of Quel'thalas. Now, it was his time to take action, and salvage what was left of the world. "Are all the men accounted for Captain Eolas?"

"Yes my old friend. We are ready and eager to set battle once again. We shall avenge our peoples! We are ready to be led into the very fires of the Nether milord!"

"Good. And to victory we shall lead our people Eolas. Only, what we do after, I do not know"

"We can rebuild Silvermoon. Once again, you can see our beloved city, like a phoenix rising from the ashes! Bring new justice to the world and un-plague our forests. Much work is to be done afterwards lord"

"Yes. You lift great grief from my heart friend. Now, let us focus on the task at hand for the iron is hot, and this is but the first step of the way!"

So said, the Blood Elf fleet approached Theramore with sickening anxiety to both the humans, and elven alike. The first line of ships passed up the 'river' bombarding all that gave resistance in their way. Even though many cannon had been dismantled or spiked, many yet still answered the call of the Elven fleet. The rest of the fleet anchored to the north of the city and disembarked all forces from within their hulls.

Alaric watched as hundreds of red and silver clad troops formed ranks in the hot desert sun. The elves never were they type to love war, yet since the end of the Legions invasion, they were a transformed people. To bolster the Elf forces, large contingents of human and dwarven troops also accompanied him; another part of the pact with Marshal Praeton

The soldiers banged pikes and the hilts of their blades upon their shields in anticipation of battle. By now of course, the Theramorians had to have been warned of the attack. But Alaric did not intend to give them a chance to mobilize. The horns rung the forward tune and the columns began the march to Theramore. The city lay but a half mile away so all could see the smoke rising from it already.

To his surprise, several regiments of troops still entrenched at the edges of the city. He believed that all would be sent to fight the decoy soldiers that were now spilling into the docks. From the front, he now held up his sword. The world seemed to slow. The blade in his arm fell, and he let forth a shrill battle cry. "FOR LORDAERON! FOR QUEL'THALAS!"

From beneath his helm, he could barely see, but all he needed to was the target in front of him. The human and Eternity Campaign soldier lines clashed in a whirlwind of fury and gore. It was strange though, having peoples whom were supposed to be allies tearing one another apart. Yet the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few as the Elven princeling believed. Alaric swung his blade down on a soldier between his helm and shoulder piece. The return answer was a fountain of blood that shot up into the air. Again and again, he attacked in a ferocious blood lust, the kind of which reminded him of the Orc's of the Second War. He relished the chance at having to combat them once again. "But first I have to get through these feeble humans" he thought. More than twenty minutes it took push the human line back. And after that, they barricaded themselves within houses and civilian buildings. Round street corners and back alleys musket men and arrows flew at the Elf ranks surprising them. It was a bloody urban battle that seemed to be pushing slowly towards the center of the city. Only by attrition of numbers were they doing so as well.

But at one point of a pitched battle with footmen, Alaric noticed that the battle was now won. The men he was fighting were some of the last, as the rest had given up. The Coup of Theramore was complete. The wounded would be back in the ranks within a week though due to the special magic's of the Elves. The battle had also lasted about an hour and a half before the Theramorians gave up the fight. Now with the city under control, he could bolster his forces again by adding the subjugated Theramorian units into his own combat ready battalions.

Alaric brought himself along with his Elite Guard to the Citadel at a little past noon looking admiringly at the tall tower before entering. Stepping up the many white-washed stairs annoyed Alaric. He would have preferred just to teleport to the chambers of Lady Proudmore, but the walls of the Citadel, as he was told, were protected like his cloak from magics. He grandly threw open the doors at the throne room and mockingly lay down his sword at Jaina Proudmoore's feet. The Lady had her face cupped in her hands, slowly shaking in disbelief.

"I placed trust in you Alaric of Elves. I gave you shelter, and I allowed you free grants in the city. This is how you repay us? How many hardships must these people endure?" she spoke in a bitter tone.

"As many as they need to milady. This is part of a grand plan though. You see, I need from this city several artifacts, and actually to stage the next offencive through the Barrens" he replied.

"The Barrens? Have you also come to fight the Orcs?"

"Oh don't be foolish!" he spattered "They are merely obstical in my plan and will be dealt with as they need to. Besides, if left alone, they shall prove an extremely dangerous piece. For you see, I am truly after Mount Hyjal"

"You seek the powers of the Nordrassil, the World Tree? It is gone, and will avail you nothing! Archimonde tried the same thing and was destroyed by nature herself" she snapped back.

"No milady. I am not after Nordrassil itself. Just what it lies upon"

"You are a sick fool" she then said.

"So be it Ms. Proudmoore. I have more important things to do than to be insulted by childish rabble. I do hope you shall see it my way after I claim the power and unveil my plans to all" and with that, Alaric' Quel left to prepare for the long trail through the Barrens, and to the ultimate prize.