Stratholme, days later to the northwest.
"Glad we could make it, Highlord."
"Watch yourself, boy." replied Uther in a tone that brooked no discontent, at which Arthas was compelled to avert his gaze.
After the revelation at Corin's Crossing, Uther had not publicized the tragic, colossal blunder made by Arthas weeks earlier. Nor had he brought himself to confront his former pupil about the matter as far as Jaina was aware, hardly seeming to interact with him at all for that matter. By the same token, she did not know if he had made any efforts to curtail the spread of such details. The sorceress was uncertain Arthas merited such consideration - detached though it might be - and he naturally had expressed no gratitude in any form.
Arthas had become increasingly withdrawn, at least from the command 'inner-circle.' Most of his time was spent on scouting parties away from the army and a lesser extent amongst the soldiery itself. Unsurprisingly Falric had remained his constant, duty-bound companion, to clear chagrin.
Moments later, the vanguard emerged from the dense pine-forest and caught sight of Stratholme, perhaps a league distant. Jaina had not visited the city for many years, yet it had unsurprisingly changed little. The largest city of Lordaeron outside the capital, Stratholme was situated between near-impassable foothills to the north and east; with the sea to the west. Both the city proper and nearby harbor were naturally well-fortified.
Further appraisal was interrupted by distant, desperate horns and all reined in their horses instinctively. "Forth!" Uther shouted, and the near horn-bearer sounded.
At the subsequent blasts, the charge began, streaming across the easily-traversable flatland. Stratholme rested across a small lake, which without flight could only be crossed via a relatively narrow bridge terminating in an immediate gatehouse flanked by wall. Close beyond lay the high walls of the city proper, clearly intended to give besiegers little space to establish themselves. An off-shoot road leading to the nearby harbor began here.
Smoke was visible, rising above the city in several locations. It took little time to sight figures battling upon the near of the initial walls on each side of the bridge-length and hear all the sounds of battle. The combatants soon resolved into guards desperately attempting to repel undead in the process of washing over them. As the former had clearly been forced out formation into a frenetic melee, it would be too dangerous for Jaina to utilize her abilities to a notable degree even when they came within reach. She swore.
Rapidly shrinking distance revealed that a considerable number of the creatures were likewise swarming defenders upon their side of the bridge, scrambling over themselves in mindless haste. That was more like it. Jaina gathered her magic, raised frost-wreathed hands and summoned a rain of ice over the undead rear as soon as she entered range, safely partitioned from their soldiers. The jagged, arcane-wrought shards, deadlier than any natural counterpart, tore through targets within her designated radius. Even armored former soldiers were not impervious. Moments later, their own vanguard smashed into and through the scourge.
The relieved soldiers shouted approval, doing everything they could to extricate themselves from the deadly path. Troublingly, the footmen had been under assault from the opposite side of the bridge as well. Jaina called down a pillar of flame ahead into midst of the foe, incinerating many. There would be little further safe-usage of her gifts at the moment, but Uther, Arthas, Falric and the knights were proving more than suitable to cleave through the remainder.
"To the walls, men!" The soldiers that had not already managed to dart up the bridge access points did so, sure to turn the tide above. In what felt like moments, the cavalry had done their part. Uther expertly dismounted, while Jaina simply teleported up the adjacent bridge-wall. She witnessed the last of the undead fall and a glance confirmed the opposite in similar state. Uther emerged up the nearby stairs, Arthas and Falric on his heels.
"Highlord Uther!" saluted a nearby officer. "The light blesses us with your arrival." Jaina couldn't imagine Arthas was happy to hear that.
"At ease, soldier. Report."
"We were on exterior duty here were the alarms sounded. We made to rush for the gates, only for them to open and disgorge corpse-soldiers. Somehow more emerged to take us in the rear."
Jaina had noticed the still-open gates earlier, and turned to give it a closer look. Some distance beyond, she could see the larger counterpart protecting the city slowly coming to a close.
The others also glanced that way. "No. No. We're too late..." Arthas trailed off.
"That remains to be seen." said Uther.
"They came from the direction of the city. Stratholme has fallen." uttered Arthas.
"If that is the case, then why are these the only undead so far? Why haven't they flooded forth?" Jaina asked pointedly.
"It's only a matter of time." Arthas shook his head, "its spread. They've been infected."
"You don't know that!"
"Those horns signaled a call to arms Arthas, as you know. There is a battle to joined, we must find a way to do so." asserted Uther.
"They cannot be saved, Uther. They are already dead. All of them will become undead soon." Arthas averted his gaze and spoke lowly, "Lordaeron, forgive me." He then looked hard at each of them in turn and then swept his gaze over the numerous onlookers observing the exchange. For all the recent epiphanies Jaina had received where Arthas was concerned, she was floored by his next words: "this entire city must be purged."
All sound nearby ceased, all eyes fixated. Jaina reeled. "What?!" exclaimed Uther, aghast. Then his voice hardened dangerously while retaining shock, "how can you even consider that?"
"How... how indeed?" she managed.
Arthas looked at Jaina with regret. "It's the only choice. We have to prevent further spread and must deny the scourge an army."
"It is not the only choice! It is incredibly unlikely the entirety of the city has contracted the plague - even most of it! Wehave an army. Stratholme has a garrison: warriors, priests, paladins, mages! All in addition to our own resources. We have alternatives!"
"We cannot take the chance-"
"We will be taking the chance." interrupted Uther.
"Damn it, Uther. As your future King I order you to purge this city!" snarled Arthas.
"You are not my king, boy." Uther growled. "Nor, it is now clear, should you ever be."
An eye-twitch and furious scowl. "You dare presume to judge-"
"I would not be making the decision. But such is moot, for I would not obey that command even were you King!"
Arthas struggled to find a reply for a moment. "Then I must consider this an act of treason." he stated, menacingly.
Now Uther was taken aback. "'Treason?' Have you lost your mind, Arthas?"
"Have I? Lord Uther, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve-"
"Enough!" In the time she had known him, she had never heard Uther so close to a shout. "None in this realm save King Terenas could issue such an edict. No half-baked prince wields that authority."
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Jaina could not help some cynical amusement at that decisive place-putting. Arthas flushed, then raised his voice; "If any of you have the resolve to save this realm, you will disregard that disgraceful slander and follow me in doing what must be done. For the survival of Lordaeron! That it might not drown under a tide of death and be ground into the dust of history!"
None moved or spoke. A rare individual appeared conflicted, but not enough to voice support or act. The officer that had greeted them earlier stepped closer with a glare. "You would have us draw blades on our own city?" he spat. "Every one of us has friends and family here, as do many amongst your own force, no doubt. Most! Do you actually think we would so betray them? Massacre them? How could you possibly expect any of us to go along with that?! I won't do it, not for anyone! I'd sooner turn my sword upon myself!" Almost all nodded to that.
Arthas flushed further, seething.
"It seems they have made their choice." Jaina sneered.
"Duty." corrected Uther. "To Lordaeron and themselves." His focus returned to his onetime pupil, face as hard as Jaina had ever seen it. "Stand down."
The younger man threw up his arms, furiously. "Damn it all! On your head be the consequences. On all your heads!"
"We shall see." Uther's gaze narrowed. "You've crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas. But I will deal with you later. For now, there is a battle to be won." He turned to her, "we need to get inside the city without access to siege engines. If the gate is sealed, would you be able to bring it down, Jaina?"
The mage considered briefly. "If the warding has been disabled, almost certainly. If not, possibly." She directed a thumb over her shoulder, "leading the two with us, it should hopefully not be an issue."
Uther nodded, "glad to hear it."
"If we enter successfully, what would you have us do?"
"What indeed..." Arthas spoke through gritted teeth, earning a disapproving look.
The Highlord turned to regard Stratholme for a moment. "The light can effect the plague. Temporarily, at least. And the area-influence of mages is unparalleled." he mused, before facing them once more. "We advance through the city, excising the scourge every step. We will do what we can for those that have not been turned: Jaina, you and your compatriots will simultaneously isolate the locals from ourselves and each other where possible. Ice, barriers, glyphs - whatever it takes. All the while, our light-users will heal at a distance. An advance party enters now, while more of the army follows at a steady pace with extreme caution."
Jaina nodded at what seemed a sound plan, as did most. She turned to the officer that had spoken earlier, "the plague has been spread through grain. I presume there is a registry of some sort, documenting such arrivals at the city and subsequent distribution details?"
The man blanched. "There... there should be, yes. We can help with that, mage."
"That may be of assistance, thank you."
"Well done, Jaina." Uther smiled. "We have no time to waste-"
"Highlord!" interrupted a voice. All whirled in that direction, gazes then following pointed fingers. Fear gripped her heart, likely that of most others also. In the distance, what appeared to be the beginnings of an army of undead were emerging from the pines to the southwest, just as the greater body of Uther's did to the east.
"Damn." Beyond that mild curse, Uther didn't otherwise react. "Commander." he summoned his ranking subordinate.
"What is our next move, Highlord? asked Jaina as the other arrived.
"A moderate portion of our cavalry is with us here and we cannot risk our army confronting theirs without it." He surveyed the local forces: a substantial number of infantry, though relatively light on archers. "I will lead Stratholme's defenders within. Commander, you know what to do. The mages stay, lead the rest back."
"Yes, sir!" They raced to horse, shouting commands.
"Make ready, soldiers!" shouted the guard-officer.
"A shame to lose the knights, even if they would be forced to dismount at some point within." said Jaina. "But I can see them being more useful outside."
"The rest of our mystical support resides with the army." stated Arthas, stiffly.
"Indeed." Uther replied evenly, albeit with a slightly strained visage. "They would not reach us before the undead, however. We do not know the circumstances within and can wait no longer. It may be that those individuals will do greater good here regardless. In any case, with me. For Lordaeron!
"For Lordaeron!"
"They're dead, Highlord." called one of the soldiers sent to check the outer gatehouse from above and behind. Uther nodded sharply and beckoned them, resuming the charge. Only a slim distance existed between the walls and distant screams could be heard.
The master-paladin paused a short distance before the main gate, the rest of them naturally following suit. He turned his head slightly, prompting: "Jaina."
She nodded, "mages!" They approached from behind. One was a high elf sorceress, the other the mage that had narrowly survived Arthas. Before they reached her, she felt a ripple. "Watch out!"
All snapped into ready stances as the ground directly in front of the formidable entryway erupted into a writhing bonfire of green-flame, which she could tell instantly was a fel-portal of some sort. From it stepped a tall man in dark, eldritch robes. His head was devoid of hair, eyes glowing the familiar green. He gave a malicious smile, then swept them with his gaze before fixating upon Arthas. The smile widened, "I've been waiting for you, young prince. We meet again."
"We've never met, warlock." scoffed Arthas. "Who are y-"
"Perhaps your memory will serve." A dark flare, and shadow engulfed the figure.
"You!" Arthas shouted, then raised his hammer and charged forth.
"Arthas, no!" Uther's voice rang out as they all rushed in pursuit.
"Prince!" cried Falric.
"Wait!" Herself.
None of them needed to worry at that moment, as the man's arm was thrust forward, sending a gout of fel-fire towards the ground ahead. Flames burst upward, and a wave caused it to spread into a wall isolating himself. All came to a halt.
"You slaughtered my people!" roared Arthas. "You destroyed my victory!"
Why on Azeroth would that last even leave your mouth, Arthas?
Their enemy threw back his head, laughing. "Which of those is the greater slight, I wonder?"
"Who are you?!" Arthas roared. Jaina had some idea.
"I had hoped that would have been readily apparent, by now. Even to the likes of yourself." the man mocked, then became wreathed in the now familiar yellow-green fire. The silhouette began to warp, growing taller and broader than any human or even elf. The lower legs became digitigrade, ending in cloven hooves like some obscene goat while monstrous, bat-like wings tipped with cruel claws rose behind the back.
The robes were incinerated. Jagged and imbricated pauldrons, breastplate, bracers, girdle and leg-plating of green, black, silver and brass formed from the flames in their place. The head swelled, appearing otherwise unchanged until the ears lengthened and a pair of rear-curling heavy horns sprouted from the forehead. Jaina feared her face had paled - she knew what they faced. It smiled, baring long, sharpened teeth and speaking in a deeper, still more malevolent voice: "I am Mal'Ganis, of course."
From his position at her side, Arthas did not, in fact, appear entirely surprised. She supposed that might deserve some credit, simple as the revelation of identity may be, if not the nature of their foe. Arthas snarled and attempted to respond, only for Uther to assert himself. The senior-paladin stepped forward, manner and words steady: "and what interest does a demon have in Lordaeron, Dreadlord Mal'Ganis?"
Mal'Ganis chuckled. "Still comporting yourself with dignity whilst playing the game. I suppose that may merit a modicum of respect, Highlord." The demon leveled a mocking smirk at Arthas, "pity the apple fell so far from the tree isn't it?"
Arthas was trembling with rage, and his weapon began to glow, only causing the dreadlord's grin to widen. Jaina took hold of the nearest shoulder and touched his mind. Wait. We need information. Her own psychic ability was not quite comparable to her other talents - a source of some historical frustration. Arthas seemed to have little difficulty receiving the message, however: he started, then leveled a surprised, angry glare at herself. She met this unyielding, and the paladin let go of the light with a scowl.
Meanwhile, Mal'Ganis appeared to have dismissed Arthas, sweeping them all with his gaze. "Unfortunately my motives are quite beyond the comprehension of you all. Individually or combined. And I have indulged you long enough." He raised a searing green hand and snapped taloned fingers. To the horror of all and shocked vocalizations of many, undead appeared atop the gate and cast themselves from it, plummeting to the ground. Most were rendered inanimate by the impact, while the remainder attempted to inch towards the living on shattered limbs, moaning pitiably all the while.
The demon homed in on Arthas once more, leering. "As you can see, your people are now mine. I will turn this city, household by household, until the flame of life has been snuffed out..."
"Never!" Arthas surrounded himself with light and charged into the flames. Fortunately the shield seemed impervious; he was either brashly certain of this or beyond caring. Jaina thrust both arms forward, glowing blue-violet as she cast a counter-spell. The flames were snuffed out in that same color just in time for the others to rush forth.
She wasn't finished, sending a similar albeit more tightly-focused variant of that arcane principle at the exposed demon. Mal'Ganis had been channeling teleportation when he was struck by her casting. The look of shock on that nightmarish face as his summoned energy fizzled from her strike was gratifying. The entity snarled furiously as it was forced to bound backwards, evading the blow of Arthas. It leveled a hateful glower at her before spreading those wings and launching itself into the air. Jaina was hopeful that the sizable ice shard she hurled would bring it crashing to the ground again, until she missed.
Several of the numerous archers seemed to strike true, without inflicting any meaningful harm. Arthas howled with rage. Uther turned to her, "Jaina. What can you tell us?"
Jaina took a moment to put the dead to rest with a conjured blizzard before responding. She felt a sliver of fear, "Mal'Ganis is a Nathrezim, one of the rarest and most powerful demons known. Formidable spell casters and cunning, generally preferring to operate with subtlety and guile. Extremely dangerous."
"Abilities?"
"Mastery of fel magic. Necromancy, it seems: I would not at all be surprised if it was developed by this one or others. Mental manipulation perhaps. Physical abilities should speak for themselves."
A nod. "Weaknesses?"
"None that I know of." Jaina considered a moment, "although, this one did reveal himself to taunt and gloat. I would have expected more discretion from one of their kind. Perhaps he has less of a handle on his malevolence, oddly."
"There is little we can do with that possibility for now. Other than hope it may factor into his strategy, needless to say." Falric replied.
"We've seen his power, how easily he controls them." snarled Arthas before Uther or herself could respond. "Better that these people die by our hands than serve as his slaves in death!"
"I have made myself clear, Arthas. Do not propose that heinous course again." Uther spoke dangerously. "Now, we have our target. We fight through Stratholme, directly engage and rout this Nathrezim's forces. After protecting the populace, his death is our foremost priority. Some citizens will doubtless be beyond saving, and we will give them such peace as we can. Only as a last resort. Should our foe be defeated, we will find it far easier to tend to our people."
"A sound plan." Jaina agreed. "I must warn you all that it may be difficult to prevent his escape should he be determined to do so."
"Would you be able to stop it again?"
"Possibly. But I will need to be relatively close at hand for that, as with most means."
"Understood. Do what you are able, as will the rest of us. Now, we can delay no longer. Open the gate."
She cautiously stretched out her magical senses. "The gate was disabled, presumably from within. Foul play of some sort, no doubt. It should only take a moment."
"Make ready, soldiers!" called Uther.
"For Stratholme!"
"For Lordaeron!"
They passed through the gate in a rush and the dead were waiting.
"Shields!" called Uther. With moments to spare, archers prepared to loose while the frontline formed the wall and set spears, conducting near-synchronized thrusts as soon as the mob of corpses closed. These were largely the civilian or at least unarmored variant and easily dispatched, though the press kept crawling forward, figuratively and literally.
From behind the line, Jaina dropped an explosive arcane orb as near as she safely could, certain she would inflict damage of some sort despite low visibility. She was rewarded by the sight of blasted remains of undead launching into the air and cheering soldiers.
"Watch out!" someone shouted. After an instant scanning the area, Jaina looked upward and froze in horror.
"Not again..." uttered Arthas, nearby. Jaina knew such a tactic might be employed from the Hearthglen report, but to witness a volley of corpses arcing through the air towards them with her own eyes was another matter. She raised a hand to halt them with telekinesis, only for the bodies to glow green and surge with demonic fire immediately before impact, taking her unaware and plunging through her spell to crash amongst their own force.
Appalled cries and shaken morale ensued, along with the likelihood of casualties taken. Led by risen soldiers, the undead managed to force themselves through the jarred wall nearby. As Jaina scrambled for a safe way to aid the frenetic struggle, she was distracted by the sight of Mal'Ganis upon a distant rooftop. Out of range and laughing heartily, it appeared.
Evidently she was not the only one to notice. "Mal'Ganis!" screamed Arthas, rushing forth and laying into their foes with reckless abandon, hammer faintly glowing. Making it even harder for her to select targets. Fortunately, such proved redundant, as a line of light the width of several men surged out of her periphery, illuminating all combatants it touched. It passed harmlessly through and revitalized their own whilst instantly de-animating the risen, leaving them seared and smoking gold.
"For the Light! For Lordaeron!" Uther raced past into the breach a moment before the notably lessened number of corpses could force it. He raised his far more luminous warhammer, dealing a blow that crushed the nearest undead before releasing an eruption of golden energy behind it; easily launching more than half a dozen others into the air, charred. Even were such a conflict not wholly inconceivable, Jaina had to admit that she wouldn't have been eager to confront the legendary paladin herself.
The men had shouted approval and rushed after their general. A cursory appraisal confirmed that their counter-offensive had gained the upper hand, and the foe was eliminated soon thereafter, though her own participation had been limited. By now most had noticed the demon, who appeared to nod, giving a very deliberate, slow clap and vanished in the now familiar fel-flame. Arthas growled, but before he could talk or move, a firm "heal" came from Uther.
Arthas stilled, fists clenched. After a moment, he nodded shortly and strode away without a word. Uther glanced at the wall behind, then addressed her: "if you would scout." Jaina nodded, though he had already turned to seek wounded.
A couple of teleportation-blinks had her standing atop the wall. She surveyed the city-under-siege for a time, then returned below, approaching the waiting trio. "The defenders seem very much alive," she glared daggers at Arthas, who looked away.
"What is their status?" asked Uther.
"It appears that they have been pushed back considerably, to the next major defensive emplacements some distance away. Most of the undead I could see were headed in that direction, though a considerable amount still roam the space between us and the wall."
"The citizens?" posed Falric.
"I saw some fleeing, a few attempting to take shelter in buildings, such as can be found. The scourge seem somewhat aimless, for now."
"Mal'Ganis?" demanded Arthas.
Jaina let that slide. "Last I saw he was airborne, above the advance."
"He cannot be allowed to flee!"
Her eyes narrowed. "Everyone here agrees! But unless he chooses to engage us, we might not be able to stop it. If I had more mages it might have been doable to erect a dampening field to stifle teleportation. Even if that were possible though, his flight could still be an issue."
"There is little to be done for now." replied Uther. "He seems to hardly lack for sadism, and is clearly coordinating this assault."
"Control over undead will have limits upon its range, like all magic." she offered. "It is premature to assume, but his remaining relatively close at hand may be obligatory. Admittedly, I would be surprised if their are no other users of necromancy amongst his ranks here."
"We must hope that he remains, whatever the reason." Uther considered a moment, then called "captain, join us."
The Stratholme officer approached. "Highlord."
"We cannot wait for our own reinforcements, or risk being flanked by the enemy. A detachment will remain with you - close and hold the gates. Allow my troops through according to protocol should they arrive."
"As you say."
Uther looked to the rest of them. "Time is against us. We divide into two groups; each will advance up one of the primary streets ahead. Aid the people as discussed. While we may not have the element of surprise, we should be able to divert a considerable amount of pressure from our allies and leave the enemy caught between us."
Falric had clearly expected as much. "Assign us, Highlord."
"I will lead the left. Jaina, I ask you to join the right, while your brethren accompany myself."
"Agreed." answered the sorceress.
Now Uther turned to the third of their 'triumvirate,' eyes hard. "Arthas, you too will take that side. Your sole priority is to use your gifts to protect and tend to the citizenry. As a paladin should."
"So be it." Arthas said stiffly after momentary silence.
"Falric. You have the flank." The guard-captain nodded.
"What?!"
"Assuage your own pride, Arthas." stated Uther coldly. "We have no time. Understand that in this desperate scenario Captain Falric would have been the necessary choice even had you not disgraced yourself." The master gave no further attention to the fuming former student, and began calling out orders.
For a time, they had little to contend with. The scourge remained largely aimless, hardly seeming to notice the trespassers until they closed, attacking without coordination. None of their own had been lost. Jaina could not believe this was anything but deliberate.
"Why do you think they are being held back?" she asked Falric as progress slowed slightly.
"The presence of a trap of some fashion is transparent, as all here should be aware." Falric had positioned numerous flank and rear shield-bearers, vigilantly focused and ready to form up and defend from the corresponding direction at a moments notice. "We haven't been in a particularly vulnerable position thus far, no doubt they are lying in wait. No sign of any civilians either, needless to say." He motioned for halt, then turned to his left, "Arthas, take six and search that house."
Arthas had been uncharacteristically subdued since they set out. Now a fist clenched, but he stomped for the door, a wave from Falric sending those nearest behind. The dwellings of Stratholme tended to be quite large, and it was several minutes before they returned.
"Nothing. No trace." Arthas snapped.
Falric nodded. "I thought not."
"Then presumably any residents were risen, or escaped. There may well be citizens attempting to hide in other buildings, though." Jaina followed.
"I fear that at least some of the structures ahead may be used to stage the ambush, loosing the undead upon us at an opportune moment."
"We have no choice but to press on!" snarled Arthas. To his credit, he did not appear entirely surprised at the prospect of such an assault.
"Indeed." Falric resumed the advance.
Before he had taken a dozen steps, a massive crash and shower of splintered wood from a large stable or warehouse to their right put a decisive end to the charade. Immediately in their wake came the latest flesh-golem. Latest in more ways than one, as this 'abomination' - the coined title that had stuck - was substantially larger than those encountered prior.
Unfortunately, it likewise proved faster. As the soldiers uttered shocked vocalizations and rallied, the thing lashed out with its longer hooked-chain. All save one managed to evade the sweep, with that individual trussed and crying out. The monstrosity leered grotesquely, dripping green globules of spit. "Play with Meathook!"
"Seriously?" growled Arthas, hefting his hammer.
Jaina raised her ice barrier. Without a clear line to the target, she elected to conjure icicles from above and plunged them down onto the colossal undead. None struck the head, as she had hoped, but they drove somewhat into the torso. The thing recoiled - from pain, confusion, or something of the ilk - but swept the chain arm backwards, sending their comrade flying hard and fast. She tried to slow their movement with a spell, yet missed. They crashed into a stone wall, fell, and were still.
"Move!" shouted the mage. Her allies scurried to do just that whilst surrounding the target. However, Meathook had other ideas. It opened its maw and... belched out a cloud of vile, green gas. The abomination leaned down and swung its head in a clumsy arc, the noxious fumes partially obscuring it and driving the warriors back with cries of alarm. Several were caught in the breath-weapon, and screamed in agony.
"Help them, Arthas!" Jaina cried, lashing out with a fireblast: a fairly simple yet rapid spell-technique. Her aim was true this time, striking the monster on the face. "Meathook hurt!" it groaned, reeling backward as Arthas directed the light forwards. Fortunately, the energy source evidently endorsed this more noble purpose, illuminating the troops and beginning to mend wounds. That breath had clearly carried a corrosive effect, damaging both equipment and flesh. Little could be done about the former at this time, but it seemed to have weathered the attack well enough - certainly better than the healing latter.
The sorceress loosed a gust of chilled air from a palm, dispersing the shrouding gas. She summoned the arcane, preparing to properly devastate the giant, only for peripheral movement and a caterwaul to disrupt her focus. The formerly idling undead were shambling towards them en masse. Some indeed did burst from several visible houses, while others of the rabble diverted to hurl themselves at closed doors. Screams confirmed that at least some people had been in hiding.
"Jaina, hold them back! Archers, help!" shouted Falric. Bows were bent away from the golem - where they had been somewhat ineffective in any case - and towards its smaller brethren.
She nodded, hurling a parting ice-shard deep into the abomination's torso. "Why?" the simple creature moaned as it staggered back, sounding genuinely at a loss. Jaina gave it no further thought, distancing herself a little and trusting her brethren to guard her rear. Immediately, she focused several rays of frost upon the nearest intact doors; feeling her energy dip slightly but reasonably confident that none of the charging minions would break through.
Now, destruction. The mage raised her hands, channelled, and after a moments delay unleashed a torrent of blue-violet streaming darts of light. These arcane missiles tore into the closing undead without resistance, reducing them to luminous, shredded heaps. She seemed to be holding them at a near-impasse for a short time, rapidly moving her arms back and forth to redirect the flow as a furious melee raged behind.
Sustaining a single such channelling steadily increased the tax upon a mage's reserves and rendered them largely immobile. When the corpse-wave closed in spite of her efforts, Jaina stoppered the flow and allowed the projectiles to fade. Returning to her favored frost magic, she summoned a shaped cone of frigid energy that damaged her assailants and chilled them to a near crawl.
A fiery, frontal blast-wave finished these, and Jaina teleported backwards to grant some breathing room. She risked a glance behind to take in the struggle there. Her allies had attempted to surround Meathook and only partially succeeded. They seemed to have bloodied it somewhat, but the monster's superior reach had clearly held them at bay and casualties had been taken. Fortunately it appeared largely incapable of doing more than individually target them, with sweeping blows inadvertent.
Another onrushing mass demanded her attention. As the sorceress dealt with them, she heard a familiar voice howl with rage. Her eyes snapped backwards, observing Arthas summon a shield of light and charge. To his evident surprise, the chain wrapped around the oval barrier rather than be repelled. Meathook yanked, sending Arthas flying into a nearby wall. Fortunately he was protected from the impact and dropped to the cobblestone.
While the foe was distracted, the warriors rushed forward and scored several blows before it targeted them once more. The abomination was staggering on damaged legs now. Arthas charged again while Jaina launched a twining arcane burst that slammed into the amalgamation's torso, causing it to lean backwards and almost lose its footing, inadvertently exposing the gaping belly. The paladin charged his hammer with light and slammed it upwards into that yawning crevice.
The wound glowed gold and Meathook's weapons clattered to the ground as it trembled, then toppled like a hewn tree, groaning "game...no...fun." With that, it lay inert.
A blow from the side punished Jaina's distraction, sending her to the ground. Undead piled on, but were unable to penetrate her active barrier. Chastising herself, she prepared to destroy them. This proved redundant, as her now unoccupied allies surged forth and cut them down. By now most of the scourge in sight had been dealt with and the remainder fell quickly.
She opened her mouth to confer with the others, only to catch sight of a child's face peering down from a balcony two stories above on the nearest home. "Matthias, get back!" came a man's voice, and the boy was yanked out of sight. Jaina sent herself through the nether, materialized upon what had seemed a fairly safe railing and almost lost her balance, a little embarrassingly.
The man had shoved his son, as he clearly was, through an open door where a woman stood with a younger daughter behind, all terrified. Upon noticing her, the father spun in the doorway and spread his arms wide, determined to protect them. "Stay back! Whoever you are!"
Jaina dropped her staff and raised her hands in what she hoped was a placating gesture. "I mean you no harm. I am a mage with the Lordaeron military - we are launching a counterattack."
His eyes widened. "Truly?"
The sorceress nodded. "Highlord Uther leads us. We have come to relieve Stratholme."
The man's bearing relaxed somewhat, as did that of his family. "Light be praised..." said the woman.
"There is something I must ask, you may wish to send the children to separate rooms."
They were clearly confused, but she turned, saying "you heard the mage" before leading them to two nearby rooms.
Jaina looked between the parents moments later. "The magic that killed these people and raised them to assault the city was transmitted through plague infection, itself spread by grain." Both of them were reasonably horrified. "Have you used any recently? Have you come into contact with shipments?"
They swallowed, pale. "I... I don't think so." stammered the man. "I don't know that we can be sure we haven't been exposed in some way, though."
"Probably true." Jaina replied. "For now, I suggest you isolate from each other. We have a paladin that will carefully treat you, with your permission. Once the city is reclaimed, we will do everything we can for you and all others. For now, you should not interact at all."
They looked at each other. The woman nodded, "we will do as you say. Light bless you, mage."
Jaina smiled. "And you all." She reclaimed her weapon, turned and teleported to the street. "Arthas, the family in that home have agreed to quarantine, both from the city at large and amongst themselves. If you would be willing to treat them...?"
"What difference would it make?" he snapped, though his features seemed no less haunted than angered. "Even the light cannot save my people from this plague." he looked away, tone now low and resigned.
"To reiterate: a significant portion of the city may not have even been exposed to it. "Furthermore exposure itself will not always guarantee infection. Your people have need of you."
"What do you expect me to accomplish?! I can't cure it! No one can!"
"You don't know that! One of the greatest light-touched alive leads us, and Uther will do his utmost for every citizen. Even discounting him, there are likely any number of healers in the city. Maybe you cannot cure it alone, but that doesn't mean you can't give time to those afflicted. If we reclaim Stratholme, we will be able to explore solutions properly."
"Jaina is correct, Prince Arthas." interjected Faric before he could respond. "Their protection is why Uther assigned you to this unit - as much as our own. You are be the only one able to help these people for now. Please do so."
Arthas released an explosive breath and dropped his hammer, fists clenching. But he moved for the door, a gesture from Jaina melting the ice to grant access.
It continued in similar fashion for some time. Approaching the inner wall, checking house by house, protecting and tending to those they could. All the while slogging through undead. Less people were spared than likely all save Arthas would have liked, but even one would have made the effort worthwhile. Jaina hoped Uther was experiencing greater success.
She iced one of the last dead of the current round, stepped over it, and was promptly sent flying a short distance as it exploded. "Halt!" Falric belatedly shouted as several more followed suit.
Her defenses took the hit with little issue, while three soldiers screamed in pain. Alive, mercifully. Doubtless not all were as fortunate. The sorceress teleported to her feet without delay, scanning for threats.
"Blood...destruction...EXHILARATING!" crowed a voice.
Standing on the opulent deck of a small estate nearby stood three figures, garbed in voluminous crimson robes with absurdly outsized bone-tipped epaulets and runic tassels, complete with horned-skull headpieces. The foremost clutched a gnarled, snake-twined staff capped with a winged skull. Not quite Kel'thuzad, all told, but close.
"Spread!" came from the captain and soldiers scurried.
"You are too late, 'champions of Lordaeron.' The dead shall have their day-" the leader caught notice of herself and mirth was replaced with palpable venom. "Proudmoore. What an unpleasant surprise."
"Salramm." Jaina took in the decrepit, gaunt and hunched figure. Aged considerably it appeared since their last meeting, though this was harder to be certain of at this distance. "Has time not been kind to you? You look positively dreadful." She shook her head, attempting to work in a note of mocking faux-sympathy.
"Fool!" Evidently she had succeeded. "A small price to pay for power and the freedom to exercise it. You!" He pointed at Arthas, "meathook was my greatest artistry... You'd best crawl back to your senile father and await the end of his reign, lest you contribute to the replacement. Quality materials all around!"
"If you want my flesh, scum, come and take it!"
Jaina doubted Arthas would shed a tear at the end of his father's rule at this point, but that that was his business. "Consider yourself fortunate, murderer, traitor, failure. I will leave nothing left of you for any other fallen mage to experiment with!" Jaina interjected, then telekinetically blasted aside nearby corpses and strode forth.
Salramm stepped backward, then frantically gestured to his followers. "Kill her!" The former Kirin Tor had never been Jaina's equal, and was right to fear her. Before he could retreat further, an arrow punched through his left epaulet. "Agghhh!" screamed the necromancer, staggering. He rallied, then thrust his hand towards the assailant, a purple rune flaring just beyond. "Twist, flesh!" Simultaneously, the next corpse-wave broke.
A scream sounded. One of their archers some distance away was wrapped in tendrils of shadowy magic. Jaina snapped out a counter-curse too late, and they fell lifeless. "Monster!" She hurled several luminous, jagged darts of ice. The necromancer conjured a dark barrier, which blocked several arrows but barely held her at bay, fizzling.
Salramm attempted to retaliate with another shadow spell, which Jaina promptly disrupted before his casting could complete. "KILL HER!" he screamed, and his cronies - who had taken cover from her attack - entered the fight, throwing what looked to be fireballs composed of that dark magic. A burst of frost dissipated one, while an arcane gesture diverted the other, turning a small cluster of the latest undead into a bonfire.
More arrows sought the necromancers and they scrambled for cover. Now! Jaina blinked to the opposite end of the balcony. One of the unnamed was the first to notice, "my lord!" he pointed, both the other and himself summoning darkness to hand.
The sorceress prepared to destroy them, when an unexpected source did so first. She briefly froze, sickened, as Salramm seized his minions from behind with glowing green hands and somehow drained them dry, screaming plaintively all the while. Justly rewarded, the desiccated figures dropped while their master stood straighter.
To Jaina's complete surprise, the necromancer teleported directly in front of her and swung his staff for her head. She had never had much of a knack for melee combat, but was fortunately able to evade the clumsy blow from the no-more-talented foe. Unfortunately, the subsequent jab with the butt of the weapon struck her torso with considerable force. Jaina's enchanted clothing prevented any more damage than probable bruises to come, but she dropped her own staff and doubled over nonetheless. Clearly devouring his underlings had augmented his strength somewhat.
Before she could recover, telekinesis took hold of Jaina and shoved her into a nearby door. Partially stunned, the mage nonetheless began casting a spell with a hand that had become partially concealed within her cloak. Salramm contemptuously tore the arrow from his shoulder and advanced, seizing her throat and shoving her into the wall, beginning to squeeze. "Be assured," he spat, "I have been waiting far too long for this moment. Don't worry, I'll make use of you, and if it is any consolation, know that Dalaran will not long outlive yourself. The greatest prize..."
Jaina could not have spoken if she wanted to and her vision was wavering, but managed a smile nonetheless, to Salramm's disconcertion. He subconsciously released some of the pressure, not that it would have made a difference. She finished her impaired casting and moved the hand through a final, subtle pass. Frost swirled behind her foe. Triumphantly, the sorceress looked upward at her creation.
Salramm's eyes involuntarily followed her own, too late to do anything more than widen as the water elemental enveloped near all of his body from above. With a thought, Jaina froze the pair solid. She swiftly raised a swirling hand, tightened it, and with a pulse of will made reality, shattered both. The elemental would disperse harmlessly back to its home plane of existence. The abundant fragments of crystalized clothing and gore that had been one treasonous, mass-murdering Kirin Tor exile were rapidly destroyed by the unnatural cold.
"A little personal." Jaina gave no further thought to her defeated adversary, racing to the railing.
Sweep in an arc. Block with the hammer haft or allow the blow to fall upon his armor. Reach for the holy power that somehow, impossibly, had been slipping from his grip lately. Watch Jaina inflicting swathes of destruction on one side, Falric slicing through one undead after another on the opposite. Arthas lacked the arcane offensive abilities of the former, and the combat experience of the latter. As he had for the entirety of the offensive that should have been his to command.
With his connection to the light weakened, doubtless due to some insidious curse by Mal'Ganis, Arthas was not much more than a warrior, however skilled. Not much more than those around him. The injustice rankled fiercely. To top it all off, the light only seemed to properly approach his rightful ability when healing the citizens, only delaying their doom.
Arthas did not begrudge Jaina her compassion. Indeed, the fact that it remained fully intact after all they seen was almost endearing in a way. So even though he had been spurned, he dispensed healing. For her. Not for Uther, let alone his father. But Jaina and Uther were naive, as were all of their forces. The fate of Stratholme was sealed, and prolonging the suffering of its people was cruelty more than kindness. Born of ignorance and innocence perhaps, but cruelty nonetheless.
All such concerns were superseded, however. Mal'Ganis was the greatest priority, to which all others paled. Malice, malevolence and arrogance embodied. Anathema to his realm. Nay, life itself. Above all, the dreadlord had to be destroyed, this even the others were aware of to an extent, albeit clearly not perceiving that reality with his clarity.
Speak of the demon... and they will soar overhead and taunt you a second time. "Mal'Ganis! Face me if you dare!" bellowed Arthas. The fiend had the gall to hover - likely out of reach of bow and spell - and laugh. "Coward!" Mal'Ganis did not respond, merely turned and winged his way toward the nearing wall. Almost lazily. Leisurely!
For his distraction, Arthas almost took a fallen soldier's blade to the face. Moments later he stoved its head in. It might be best were he to seek out his foe himself, but a glance confirmed there was no prospect of that, to his continued frustration. With Jaina dealing with the necromancers, the rest of them seemed to be gaining the upper hand on this latest batch of undead, at least. He felt a short pang for her safety, but she had proven more than capable of handling herself.
Screaming from the left called his attention, and from a side street a group of civilians emerged. One of these pointed to a nearby open door and they all ran for it, as a sizable pack of undead appeared on their heels. The last of the living desperately attempted to close the door behind, only to have it forced to further screams as the corpses poured in.
Arthas stood momentarily unengaged, near to the remains of several dead just destroyed by a fireball that was presumably cast by Jaina. "I am sorry, Jaina. This must be done." he muttered. Tamping down his revulsion, Arthas seized a dismembered, largely burning arm and rushed to the house. The last of the undead had just entered, cries of horror and suffering assailing him. Hardening his heavy heart, the Prince tossed his improvised brand within and slammed the door. The temperature in Stratholme was unnaturally hot this day, and coupled with the magical flames the fire took hold swiftly.
Turning away, Arthas absently noted that this latest phase of the battle was won. Conflicted with both sorrow and purpose, he did not meet the eyes of Jaina as she strode forwards. When the sorceress was all but in front of him, he looked up to see her face contorted with rage. Arthas opened his mouth to speak, only to recoil from a respectable punch to his face, almost breaking his nose it felt.
"How could you?!" she shouted.
"There was nothing to be done. All were locked in combat, including yourself it seems."
"I saw. You were not!"
"Then you saw how many undead entered, I wouldn't have been enough!"
"You don't know that! You didn't even try!
"Do you really think I could have fought through all of them before everyone in that building was slain?"
Jaina opened her mouth and closed it, before forcing out: "you used my magic to murder them, you monster!"
"I am not the monster." Arthas tried to restrain himself. "Mal'Ganis is. All of this is his doing. He is our mission."
"'Our mission' is to protect the people. Those were your orders!"
"My 'orders' were also to end the suffering of those that could not be saved." snarled Arthas. "I didn't believe that possible at the time. Whatever your thoughts on my action, do not doubt my sincerity."
Jaina took a moment in responding, "I don't. That almost makes it worse. Make no mistake, Uther will hear about this."
He took a deep breath, "I expect nothing else. Do what you must, Jaina. As I have."
She prepared to retort, only for Falric to intervene. "Enough, these are matters that can wait. For now, the battle remains."
"Very well, Falric." Jaina glared at Arthas with thinly veiled wrath. "This isn't over."
Minutes later saw them very close to the wall. Arthas advanced before the troops, as did Falric and Jaina. The latter had positioned herself far away from himself on the opposite end of the line and refused to acknowledge him, staring resolutely ahead. He did not blame her for this.
While his own forces had taken substantial losses, the scourge appeared near-fully depleted for now. Arthas had been given ample reason to question the light's power and purpose, so would cautiously attribute this to a job well done and perhaps good fortune.
Arthas thanked whatever fortune that might be, as Mal'Ganis stepped from the smaller gate not far ahead. "Demon!" He screamed, hefting his hammer and sprinting forth.
"Wait, Arthas!" Arthas paid Falric no heed, nor even Jaina. Nothing would delay his retribution. A feeling of intense cold nearby made it seem as if the mage was attempting to slow his pace. This missed narrowly, allowing Arthas to appreciate the concern for his safety, if nothing else. Ahead, Mal'Ganis turned and strode through the gatehouse. The moment Arthas passed the threshold, another infernal barrier appeared behind him and sealed him off.
Arthas thought he heard the distorted voices of the others behind. For a moment, the Prince almost chastised himself, before dismissing the notion. It's better this way. "We're going to finish this right now, Mal'Ganis. You, and me..."
A fanged grin. "This will be a fine test, boy!"
Arthas lifted his weapon and charged with a shout. The demon remained stationary, until his clawed hand shot out to catch his haft. Before the paladin could attempt to yank the hammer free, the fiend released it, twisted its torso and swept a taloned wing for his head. Arthas ducked the blow, only for a cloven kick to his chest to sent him sprawling backwards.
His armor was battered - though not breached - by the blow, which likely cracked a rib or two. In considerable pain, Arthas sent the light flowing through his body. inexplicably and infuriatingly weaker than it should have been, the damage was nonetheless mended and he climbed to his feet. Again the Prince surged at his leering foe, infusing the hammer with light and sweeping mightily. Visualizing the revenge that must be his. That would save his people.
The dreadlord almost contemptuously batted the weapon aside, flickering where it should have glowed strongly. He snorted, "do my eyes deceive me? Could it be that the fickle light doesn't take kindly to a user driven by nothing beyond vengeance? Perhaps you should seek out a more dependable font of power. Surely there must be some source that will not abandon you at a whim..."
The burgeoning doubt within Arthas grew despite himself. But he gritted his teeth and resumed a furious offensive. Each blow was evaded or blocked, yet the demon was forced to give ground before him!
After only moments, Mal'Ganis leapt upwards in reverse, spreading his arms. Finally, the opening! Arthas dashed forwards and swung his hammer in an uppercut while jumping skyward... only for the monster to snap those wings, rise further and extend a hand, hurling a shadowy blast that sent him to his back with a scream.
Mal'Ganis roared with laughter. "Did you actually believe I would hover, just off the ground with my arms spread wide to welcome a laughable blow? Or perhaps fly directly into a simple, slow and telegraphed strike?" He shook his head, "as if any with the barest skill in combat would ever commit such an incomprehensible error. Even a child should know that isn't how a story goes - though I will understand if this revelation is beyond you, Arthas."
Gasping, struggling to heal himself, Arthas rose. Mal'Ganis drifted backwards and dropped to the ground. Enraged and humiliated, the Prince leapt forward. A hand was waved and foul green power materialized around Arthas. He suddenly felt still more fatigued, sluggish, even drowsy. The demon smirked, "You seem tired."
"Yes. Tired. Need rest," slurred Arthas after a moment. It felt entirely reasonable to lay down and take a well-deserved sleep. Why was he even here?" He sagged to one knee. Dimly, he noticed the dreadlord approaching. Wait, something wasn't right. With a struggle, he tried to center his will. It came back, no!
His enemy almost upon him, Arthas tried to masquerade as still incapacitated. He'll never see this coming! The moment Mal'Ganis came within reach, Arthas propelled himself upward with a roar, channelling the light into his weapon and ramming it into the demon's chest with what surely must have been the force of a battering ram.
"Argh!" growled the dreadlord as it staggered back, bringing a vicious smile to the face of Arthas. This proved fleeting, as the far larger demon stepped forward and struck a blow faster than he could react, sending him flying backwards to the ground. Fortunately he didn't think anything was broken this time. Looking to his enemy, Arthas began to feel despair: the armor had a dent, but to all appearances, no meaningful damage had been inflicted. Maybe none.
No longer mirthful at least, Mal'Ganis bounded back and bared his sharp teeth. "I've slain light-touched on a dozen worlds. You do not hold a candle to any of them!" A yellow-green swirling hand was thrust at Arthas, and glowing, fell motes streamed towards him. They almost resembled insects, he absently noted. Arthas was unable to summon a defense quickly enough, and the things latched onto his armor.
It didn't seem possible, but the creatures' contact to the surface of his otherwise remarkable plate almost seemed to bypass it entirely to sear his flesh. Arthas screamed, wracked by pain worse than anything he had yet experienced. The paladin fell to his knees, spitting blood, desperately trying to beckon the light and hold the suffering at bay.
"Pathetic." sneered the demon, who had ceased the spell. "I suspected you would prove useless, even as a lowly pawn. Perhaps I should end you here and now. Unsaddled by yourself, your allies may at least be able to provide more worthy sport..." Then Mal'Ganis was distracted by a commotion behind Arthas. "But it appears that I am pressed for time." Arthas shakily stood.
The malevolent smirk returned. "Evidently fortune smiles upon you, and your journey may have just begun after all, child. Scrounge whatever forces you can, and seek me in the arctic land of Northrend. It is there that you may attempt to settle your score with me. It is there that a destiny may yet unfold..." Another demonic portal materialized behind Mal'Ganis, and he turned, stepping through.
"I'll hunt you to the ends of Azeroth!" howled Arthas. "Do you hear me? TO THE ENDS OF AZEROTH!" Mocking laughter echoed from beyond the portal, which remained open. Magic sounded behind him, and he turned to see the barrier dissipate, Jaina sagging on the other side while the others rushed past. Arthas payed them no heed, bolting for the portal as fast as his still-healing body could.
"Arthas, stop!"
The Captain barely registered, and Arthas leapt through the portal. Blinking, he found himself on a battlefield. Whipping around, it took him precious time to take stock. He stood before the main wall of Stratholme, surrounded by an abundance of soldiers and droves of dead - most of them scourge. The army were milling in disarray with screams abounding.
Arthas found the source as Falric emerged from the portal, just before it closed. Mal'Ganis was flapping far above the troops, lobbing green balls of flame with impunity. It seemed as if the battle had been otherwise won before now. The Prince gritted his teeth, but before he could shout for mages, the demon veered and began a flight towards the nearby harbor - with leisure.
Not so easily, monster! Arthas addressed the nearest horseman, "soldier! I need your mount!"
"Yes, Prince!"
He thought he heard Falric made a similar demand in the background, but that was of no consequence. Arthas wheeled about on his steed, commanding the attention of all. "With me, warriors of Lordaeron! We must defend the harbor! The demon cannot be allowed to escape!" He had hoped the unfair judgement of his actions in recent times had not spread far, and by the resounding - near deafening - affirmative received that was clearly the case.
Arthas raised his hammer and began the charge, a multitude of mounted and foot at his back.
The road between the outer gate and harbor had not been designed to enable a significant amount of armed forces to approach the walls at complete ease. Cavalry all the more so. Fortunately the defenses were in dispute and the gate was open, allowing Arthas and his followers to stream through with impunity.
Beyond awaited a scene of chaos. Loyalist troops had been pushed back to the edge of the waterfront, assaulted by a superior force of dead with cultists intermingled. Fortunately, they had clearly not been prepared to receive a flanking assault. "They made a mistake..." said Arthas with a triumphant smile, before shouting "for Lordaeron!"
"For Lordaeron!"
"For Stratholme!"
"For the light!"
Before long, the scourge had been routed. "Make safe the wall!" shouted Arthas, before surveying the area. Many intact ships rested at the now liberated docks. While civilian vessels might be at various stages of preparation for oceanic activity, military craft were maintained in a state of perpetual readiness for immediate deployment. Doubtless any nearby vessels on maneuvers were returning with all haste. Fortunately, a substantial number of craft were fully prepared and available at this very moment.
"Could it be?" Arthas muttered. He had been given ample reason to question the apparent dubiousness of the light in recent times, but perhaps fortune of some sort had indeed smiled upon him at last.
"Why are all the ships untouched?" Falric asked, seemingly to no one in particular.
Arthas paid him no mind. Mal'Ganis had been content to observe the battle from far above rather than remain an active participant. The demon had another visible and immeasurably frustrating bout of laughter before slowly winging his way out to sea, heading northwest. Towards nigh-unknown Northrend, no doubt.
Snarling, Arthas dismounted and rushed up a nearby observation platform, slightly elevated, drawing the attention of many. "Soldiers of Lordaeron! Citizens!" he cried. Pausing for effect, he then waved a hand wide. "Today you have all seen the face of the enemy. Traitors infest our lands, driving knives into our backs. Raising our honored dead: denying them rightful peace and forcing them to take up arms against us!"
Clearly Arthas was winning the attention of the crowd. He indicated the nearby city, "there are those who will say that the day is ours. That Stratholme has been saved - that Lordaeron has been saved. Well I have fought through the city... Stratholme is in ruins! Lordaeron is in ruins! Our realm has been laid waste!"
Many shout of outrage followed. Arthas would not stop there, pointing at the retreating dreadlord, no doubt still visible to all who followed his gesture. "Before you is the culprit of this war: Mal'Ganis! A demon from beyond Azeroth, he who has turned the unworthy of us to treason and denied our fallen their rest!"
"So long as he breathes, we will never be safe! Our children will never be safe! He will return and raise another army of the dead... and another after that! Soon he will be unstoppable! This realm will fall before him!" Cries of denial and defiance.
Arthas was vindicated by their response. He gave a confident smile, "the fiend flees to the north, where he is sure we fear to tread! Is he right?"
"No!"
"Never!"
"I will not allow him to escape!" shouted Arthas. "I will not betray Lordaeron! If I must hunt this demon alone, then so be it. But are there any with the will to join my quest? To save our land?"
Roars of assent, cries for justice, weapons beating on shields. Arthas nodded, "truly none are worthier! To the ships!" he roared. The flood began, soldiers and civilians; additional supplies and weapons seized, along with such non-military vessels as were in order.
Arthas turned to Falric, who had followed him, stone faced. "You questioned my resolve not so long ago." He spread his arms wide, "now it stands before you."
The guard-captain looked closer to fury than Arthas could ever remember seeing, bringing him immense satisfaction. None of those present were aware of the Prince's own demotion - if if could even be called that - and Falric would hardly have support in an attempt to restrain him at the moment.
"So be it." stated Falric after a moment, stiffly.
Before long, Arthas was taking ship to Northrend - a small army behind him.
At last.
My vengeance upon this armageddon blighting the very concept of storytelling has been a long time coming. If you made it this far into the story, you have surely anticipated this. Where even to begin...
How about world-building. The first human mission of the campaign established that Uther is superior to Arthas in the military hierarchy of Lordaeron. This is unequivocally confirmed by Arthas being ordered by King Terenas to report to Uther and subsequently receiving commands from him. The status of Arthas as Prince is therefore irrelevant. I cited these details in that earlier critique and they cannot be disputed.
Yet the moment a conflict emerges with Uther, Arthas summarily and entirely relieves him of command. According to the writers, Lordaeron therefore has a legal clause enabling an heir to the throne to dismantle the military command structure on any whim...
It is genuinely difficult for me not to burst out laughing at the thought of the staggering stupidity demonstrated by Blizzard. A society could not function under these terms in our reality, let alone one so rife with magic and danger as warcraft. This failure completely undoes both the arc of Arthas and the plot at large, given the significance of this event. It would have been easy to avoid this error.
A lesser, but nonetheless significant flaw you might have noticed cited above: Stratholme is a major city and we are shown absolutely nothing of the considerable defensive forces it should have possessed in this mission. This would have been so simple to remedy.
We move on to character, starting with the least egregious mistake. Mal'Ganis references Ner'zhul as the 'Dark Lord,' with an affectation of respect - almost approaching awe - and does so again later in the story. This is done to hype up the Lich King, but considering the fact that he is effectively a slave of the dreadlords at this time - as we later learn - such mannerisms are /
We also receive very little interaction and enmity building between Arthas and Mal'Ganis.
Now for the truly contested part. The - at times rabid - defenders of the purging of the Stratholme by Arthas customarily attempt to promote it as the morally and/or strategically expedient decision. It wasn't, in either case. I have detailed this above. Ironically enough however, those criticizing the act also tend to be mistaken.
Whether or not the action was effective or ethical is ultimately irrelevant. The important question is if it was consistent with character development up to that precise moment in the story. The answer to this question is a resounding 'no.' As I have discussed in previous chapters, Arthas had absolutely none of the foundation necessary to facilitate this drastic measure. The 'fall from grace' theme has failed entirely as a result.
Furthermore Uther and Jaina, who have appeared very principled thus far, make absolutely no effort to prevent Arthas from culling the city. Jaina even later attempts to defend Arthas to Medivh, no less. Wow. To say nothing of how the Lordaeron military itself would have experienced some amount of dissension.
All told, this sequence of events is the worst character assassination I have ever encountered in any medium.
The Culling of Stratholme destroyed Warcraft Three in every narrative way and deserves none of the vapid praise it has received. Blizzard wanted their standout expectation-subverting and tone-setting moment in the story, franchise and even genre but did absolutely nothing to earn that payoff.
In my own rendition, I hope that the outcome of Arthas going rogue to hunt Mal'Ganis has been achieved with no character assassination or compromised world-building; the plot salvaged as a result.
To top all Blizzard's utter ineptitude off, this is not, in fact, the mission that inflicts the most damage to story and franchise. I wonder if you can guess to which I am referring...br /
A subject for another time.
