Lost Lion
Disclaimer! I don't own wow, Blizz does and your soul too!
Volume 3: Chapter 15
*** Eastern Dun Morogh – Edge of the Laughing Clan Territory (Formerly Kharanos) ***
"Well?" I asked, looking at Alleria. "How do I look?"
The Ranger Captain cupped her chin and began walking around me. Her fingers brushed my shoulders, then moved to my hair, before finally touching my 'beard.' Her touch lingered on my clean-shaven chin, and her eyebrows arched slightly. She continued to feel around my face and lips where the 'beard' was supposed to be.
Some of my human peers liked to grow beards, claiming it was less work than keeping clean-shaven. For me, though, it always felt better to stay clean. There was also a practical reason; back on Earth, I recalled a historical footnote about Roman soldiers being clean-shaven to avoid giving their enemies an easy handhold in battle. No beard meant one less thing to worry about in the chaos of a fight.
That said, however…
"Alleria…" I said, my tone carrying a note of pained exasperation when the elfette showed no sign of stopping. "Could you please?"
"It's fascinating," my adjutant said, ignoring my protest. "I've seen disguise spells before, but never one that fools all five senses. I know your chin is bare, but I can feel the ticklish sensation of running my fingers through your illusionary facial hair."
"Oh, you can actually feel it?" I asked, bringing my hand up to my bare chin. I didn't feel any beard at all. "Yep, nothing."
Turning to the caster of the spell, I asked, "How does this even work?"
I gestured to myself.
"Lady Tyri, did you really need to make it so realistic? Isn't this a bit overkill?"
The blue-haired elf opened her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by Archmage Modera.
"Not at all!" the copper-haired woman chimed in, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the disguised blue dragon. "Lady Tyri here somehow found a way to cast the complicated spell using fewer steps than even those taught in Dalaran!"
She turned to Tyri with an almost hungry look in her eyes.
"You are a natural, and with your aptitude, there is no limit to how far you can go!" Modera exclaimed, stepping into the bluenette's personal space. If I didn't know she was already involved with Derek, I'd think she was ready to jump on the dragon princess's bones—metaphorically speaking, of course. "Please reconsider your stance! I swear on the honor of the Kirin Tor that you'll want for nothing!"
Tyri took a step back. While I knew she was generally haughty, she was still young by dragon standards and easily flustered. Of course, I had an idea why Tyri was so good at casting such a realistic illusion spell. Beyond being part of the flight that governs magic itself, dragons are naturally adept at disguises like these.
Still, as I watched her trying to formulate a polite response to turn down the Dalaran Archmage yet again, I decided to step in.
"Ahem." I cleared my throat. "Let's table that discussion for now, shall we, Modera? We are in the middle of a mission."
The Archmage turned to me, her cheeks flushing slightly before she inclined her head.
"A thousand apologies, Marshal Lothar. I forgot myself," she said, smoothing the front of her robe—a simple garment that, of course, did nothing to hide her rather prominent...assets. If she felt the cold, she didn't show it, but I could chalk that up to magical hacks.
"It's fine. I get excited and carried away at times too," I replied with an easy smile. This was my bro's girl, after all. I couldn't embarrass her in public. "Now, how are we looking on preparations?"
Around me stood my peers: Saidan Dathrohan, my adjutant Alleria, the Archmage Modera, and the dwarven royal Brann Bronzebeard. Nearby were three thousand dwarven resistance fighters who had volunteered for this task and two thousand gnomes in various states of combat readiness. Half the gnomes were piloting slimmed-down walkers and crawlers while the other half carried whatever inventions they believed might help in a fight.
I swore I saw one of them with a ray gun of some sort; it looked ridiculously out of place. Apart from Sicco who had an oversized mech walker, gnomish technology hadn't yet reached the heights I knew it could. I couldn't help but compare these contraptions to the massive mech Gelbin Mekkatorque would one day wield at the Broken Shore—a machine capable of even one-shotting demon Fel Lords.
Absent from our group, however, were Aloman, my direct lieutenant, and Tirion Fordring, Saidan's second-in-command. The duo had gone ahead to prepare our trap alongside the majority of our army.
"Respectfully, Hierarch," Saidan began, "it should be me going in your stead. You need not risk yourself."
Despite his insistence on calling me by my Templar title rather than my military rank or, better yet, my actual name, this wasn't the first time he had argued this point. Normally, he would have been right. Under the usual circumstances, I would have agreed without hesitation. However, for this plan to work, Saidan simply didn't have the right flexibility.
He was the textbook example of a knight—valiant, dutiful, and honorable to a fault. Great to have at my side in battle, but not someone who could carry out what was required for this mission. Of course, I couldn't tell him that outright. Instead, I shook my head.
"I need you with the others to spring the trap when I call for it," I said, reaching up to clasp his shoulder. "Yours will be the hammer that shatters our enemies. I'm counting on you."
Saidan looked inordinately pleased by the praise and pounded his chest in response.
"Then I will not fail you!"
"Good man." I nodded before turning to the next critical piece of the plan. "Alleria, how are you and the rangers coming along with your preparations?"
"All in place and ready," Alleria replied. "The archers are positioned as you instructed, and the Wildhammers are getting into position awaiting my signal."
"Good," I said with a nod before shifting my attention to Modera. "Are the mages prepared with their spellwork?"
"They are," she confirmed, though her tone carried a note of caution. "But now that we're this close, I sense powerful dark magic and something else beyond their walls." She then motioned to the disguised blue dragon princess. "You must have felt it too, haven't you?"
'Tyri' looked momentarily put on the spot but nodded in confirmation.
"One is an arcane wielder, but their power leans toward a darker nature. The other feels more like a controlled raging tempest," she warned, her gaze locking on me with something akin to genuine concern. "I would exercise extreme caution if I were you, Lord Callan."
Damn, she was good at playing human.
"What an incredibly detailed assessment," Alleria's clipped tone chimed in, drawing the blue dragon princess's attention. "You gleaned all of this from just your feelings?"
"Actually, Lady Windrunner," Modera interjected in an amazed tone, her eyes fixed on the 'Wild Mage.' "I couldn't quite place it before, but now that Tyri describes it...yes, it feels exactly as she says."
Oh, Light help me—I'd better step in before Modera tried to recruit the blue dragon princess again.
"I'll make sure to be careful," I cut in quickly before the conversation could veer further off track. "Though, to be honest, I'm more worried about all of you. You clearly have the harder task. I'm just exchanging a few words with the orcs."
At this, Alleria laughed lightly, drawing everyone's attention to her. She gave me an amused look, her emerald eyes practically sparkling.
"According to my sister's account of her time by your side, the last time you 'exchanged words' with an orc, he summoned an ancient elemental lord," she quipped, cocking her hip and giving me a pointed look. "Shall I call for additional Light-wielders to stand by your side, just in case?"
"N-no...no?" I stammered, unsure of myself. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall if the Laughing Skull Clan leader had anything game-breaking like Ner'zhul up his sleeve.
The others appeared lost at Alleria's remark, though Modera's eyes widened in sudden recognition. It was clear she'd pieced together exactly what Alleria was referencing. My mind flickered back to the LARPing red dragon of Dalaran; if he knew, then it stood to reason Modera would know as well.
What I found curious, though, was how Tyrygosa briefly shot me a look of concern before quickly replacing it with a mask of feigned cluelessness. That reaction struck me as odd, though perhaps not entirely surprising. She would be in the know, given Aegwynn's knowledge—and by extension, her blue dragon 'friend.' They had promised their assistance would be more covert than overt, though at times, Tyri felt far more involved than I'd expect from such an arrangement.
"I-It'll be fine," I said, the reassurance meant as much for myself as for them. "Anyway, I doubt anything like that could happen again at least not under the watchful eyes of our two powerful, lovely mages here."
I glanced meaningfully at Modera and then Tyri. The former inclined her head gracefully at the praise, while the latter blushed and jutted her chest out with pride.
"I think I've addressed everyone's concerns," I said, adopting a serious demeanor. "Everyone, get to your positions. Lord Brann, you're with me."
As the others dispersed to their respective tasks, Brann and I made our way over to the assembled dwarves and gnomes. Many greeted Brann with respect and then turned curious eyes toward me. Understandable, given that I now appeared as one of them: a stout dwarf. This impromptu plan stemmed from the success in neutralizing the Horde on the western front. The enemy still had no clue we were here, and I intended to capitalize on that ignorance. Before they could grow cautious, we were going to kick over the anthill and see what scurried out.
Of course, I couldn't do this as a human; my presence would immediately raise alarms. The disguise allowed me to blend in just long enough for the Alliance forces—concealed under the mages' spells—to finish setting up the battlefield to our liking.
"Got any words for the lads and lasses, Hierarch, before we set off?" Brann asked, standing with me at the head of the assembled force.
Nodding to him, I turned to address the group. Each of them carried a burlap sack slung over their shoulder, filled with a special surprise for the Horde at Kharanos. The dwarves, with their sturdy frames, managed the weight with ease. The gnomes, on the other hand, relied on sleds to haul their burdens that had white cloth draped over their loads to keep their contents hidden. These would serve as our second gift to the Horde.
Seeing everything in place, I took a deep breath and began.
"Sons and daughters of Ironforge, of Gnomeregan, I salute you!" I called out. Though the illusion changed my appearance, my voice was still my own. "I won't lie to you. The task ahead will be incredibly tough. It may even be the greatest sacrifice I will ever ask of you, but the cost of freedom has always been high."
All of the dwarves and gnomes stared at me in anticipation. The enthusiasm wasn't surprising for the dwarves, but even the gnomes seemed unusually energized. Sicco had an especially disturbing and cruel smile on his face, but as long as it was directed at the Horde, I was fine with it.
Raising my sword high into the air, I called upon the Light, letting its radiant glow envelope the blade.
"So trust in one another, trust in Lord Brann, and trust in the Alliance!" I shouted, channeling the Light to bless them all with enhanced stamina. "With that trust, we will save King Magni and Dun Morogh. We will fight for Ironforge herself! For Khaz Modan!"
Brann stepped forward, raising his axe beside me with fervor.
"For Khaz Modan and the Alliance!" he roared, his voice echoing.
"For Khaz Modan and the Alliance!" the rallying cry resounded as the troops joined in, their voices shaking the trees around us.
Shifting my sword in the direction of Kharanos, I gave the command. "We march!"
At this point, stealth wasn't a priority so they were free to shout and cheer as loudly as they want. The path to Kharanos wound through a twisting forest road, allowing us to hide our army within half a day's march of the settlement. Even so, traveling with such a large force meant the journey would likely take longer. Many of the shorter-legged gnomes rode atop their covered sleds which were pulled by walkers, crawlers, or dwarves. No one complained—not the gnomes who needed to rest, nor the dwarves and machines hauling them. Everyone understood the importance of conserving their strength for the battle to come.
We continued marching in tense silence. By the time we were halfway to our destination, signs of Falconcrest's work began to appear. Dead Dark Iron dwarves and orcs littered the path ahead, their corpses marked with Ironforge banners. These banners, however, bore a specific marking, a signal to us that Falconcrest's unit had been there. Under my strict orders, they had avoided revealing themselves.
"Brann," I said, motioning toward the corpses of the Dark Iron and orcs ahead.
The royal brother of Magni motioned for a few dwarves with axes to follow him. Without hesitation, they began the grim task of severing the heads of the corpses and tossing them into their respective burlap sacks. Once the work was done, we resumed our march in tense silence, drawing ever closer to Kharanos.
I briefly considered breaking the tension with a marching song—dwarves loved a good tune to lift their spirits—but I soon dismissed the idea. I needed them focused and alert. Perhaps afterward, if we all survived the day, I'd indulge them. All too soon, much sooner than I would have liked, we emerged into a clearing where the forest gave way to open ground.
The reason for the clearing was obvious. Before us stood a sturdy wall constructed of wood and stone. Unlike human forts which favored tall, imposing barriers, this wall bore all the hallmarks of dwarven craftsmanship. It wasn't particularly high, but what it lacked in height, it made up for in sheer sturdiness.
A loud war horn suddenly blared, signaling that the defenders had spotted us. Figures began appearing on the walls, gathering in anticipation. I scanned the surrounding area but found no signs of enemies on our flanks. My only concern was the goblin zeppelins reportedly stationed near Ironforge, according to the Wildhammer scouts. There weren't many of them, perhaps a few dozen at most, but that didn't make them any less worrisome. These weren't the massive airships I knew goblins were capable of building in the future, but smaller craft, about the size of coast guard patrol boats from Earth.
I glanced toward where Ironforge was supposed to be. Unlike in the game world I knew, the great city was a long six-hour journey up a twisting and winding path into the mountain. Kharanos, situated at the base, served as a rest stop for those undertaking the long, arduous trek. Turning my attention back to the fortified walls of Kharanos, I noted that they were now teeming with orcs, along with the ogre who I assumed was their warchief. Many of the defenders held spears, ready to hurl them, but at six hundred yards out, we were well beyond their effective range.I signaled the gnomes to begin spreading out the surprises hidden on their sleds while the dwarves fell in behind me. We stopped just at the edge of spear-throwing range.
A quick survey of the fort revealed something notable, there were no cannons aimed in our direction. Squinting, I could make out what appeared to be cannon towers, but they were all positioned to defend the path leading up from Kharanos. Clearly, the enemy didn't expect any significant threat from the western territories of Dun Morogh.
Even so, I readied an amped-up Barrier, just in case they managed a surprise long-range attack. One final glance at the dwarves by my side showed their faces set with resolute determination.
Alright, show time.
I walked ten feet forward, holding out my runeblade disguised by magic to appear as a massive war axe and rattled it challengingly.
"Horde!" I shouted at the defenders on the wall. "Why do you cower behind your walls at the sight of us? Do you not outnumber us? Where is the ferocity and savagery your kind claims to have?!"
The Horde was surprised that I knew their language. Truth be told, I didn't. What I did have was a cheat, courtesy of a certain blue dragon princess currently LARPing as a human. She had cast a language conversion spell that functioned much like the famous universal translator from Star Trek. Foreign speech entered my ears and was seamlessly translated in real-time. Likewise, when I spoke, it converted my words into the orcish tongue—or whatever guttural dialect they used. From what I understood, the magic wasn't being cast on the Horde directly but was targeted towards them. It felt like a trick, but it was one I wasn't going to complain about.
Whatever the case, I can talk to them now, more importantly, they can understand me now, context and all. I made sure to look at all the orcs on the wall with contempt. My goal was to provoke them, to insult their courage. Instead, what I got in return was jeering laughter.
Fine, I could work with that.
"Could it be you're afraid?" I sneered. "Afraid of what will happen if you dare to challenge us?"
"You talk big for a runt!" one of the orcs shouted down at me, and the others laughed along with him. "Why don't you come closer, little runt!"
Reaching into the burlap sack I was carrying, I pulled out one of our recently severed orcs heads. I held it up so they could all see the orc markings that denoted it as a Laughing Skull.
"This runt killed your long-legged bastards like the worthless dogs you are!" I dropped the head and upended the sack, letting the severed heads of Laughing Skull orcs tumble out. "If that's the best you've got, then I can see why you're cowering behind that wall!"
The Laughing Skull, who had been amused by my taunting, fell mostly silent.
The ogre spoke first. "A few lucky kills doesn—"
I raised my arm without saying a word and at the signal, all the dwarves took the burlap sacks off of their backs and began dumping out the severed heads of the Laughing Skull orcs and goblins we'd killed. Of course, there was one exception, but the rest were all there. As expected, the laughter on the wall was now completely dead now that I had driven my point home.
"You send one of your filthy kin, we kill one. You send a hundred, we kill a hundred. You send a thousand, we slaughter a thousand!" I roared.
In response, the other dwarves, as we had pre-planned, roared alongside me before banging their weapons against their wooden shields. "Is this the best you've got? Is this all your clan's warriors amount to? I was told you were the Laughing Skull clan. What a fitting name for such a laughable clan of weak-willed orcs!"
Then, to add insult to injury, I took one of the severed orc heads and hurled it with all my might, managing to hit one of the warriors near the ogre. The ogre, unlike the other orcs who looked on in stunned amusement, was incensed.
"Kill him!" he roared.
Spears rained down on me, but I was already backing up and signaling for the dwarves to take a defensive stance with their shields. With raised wooden shields, the three thousand dwarves began to slowly retreat back to our lines.
Time to rub it in some more.
"How pathetic!" I shouted. "At least your other kind had the courage to fight us face-to-face!"
I lowered my shield slightly to just below my eyes and saw that my words stung the orc pride. The ogre swiveled his head left and right as if trying to placate his warriors. Eventually, the spear-throwing stopped, and one of the masked orcs, a female armed with a dual combination of an axe and stone hammer, pointed in our direction. They appeared to be arguing, and the ogre looked more furious until he turned around and signaled something. There was a cheer on the wall, followed by gleeful laughter, as the main gate to the wall opened and out rushed hundreds of orcs.
"Sicco!" I shouted as we continued our retreat. "Is it ready?!"
"They are primed!" Sicco, the possible future tyrant of Gnomeregan, replied.
"Break and fall back!" I ordered. All the dwarves turned their backs to the orcs and moved past the covered sleds. The moment the main gate swung wide open, hundreds of laughing orcs poured out—hundreds then quickly became thousands.
Like an out-of-control herd of wild bulls, the orcs stampeded toward us, the ground beneath our feet trembling slightly. The green tide surged out of their line formation, spreading wide to engage the dwarves on both the eastern and western flanks. Normally, it would have been an intimidating sight, but I couldn't help but grin—this was exactly what we wanted.
Just as they were within a hundred yards of us, I looked to Sicco. "Sicco, light 'em up!"
As one, the gnomes in their mecha removed the covers from the sleds, revealing the poorly designed goblin cannons that were knockoffs of dwarven cannons. The fuse had been pre-lit earlier, and it was now close to burning out. Forty of the most stable goblin cannons were pointed at the charging orcs who, upon recognizing what they were, began to stop—but it was too late. Rippling thunder boomed throughout the mountains as the charging orcs were shredded by cannon fire. The orcs and their ogre leader on the wall appeared stunned by this turn of events as hundreds of orcs were slaughtered before their eyes. Those who weren't killed outright were now missing limbs and body parts.
"Reload!" Sicco yelled as the gnomes began priming the next cannonballs.
Meanwhile, on the sleds were crossbows and longbows that had been distributed to those who knew how to use them.
"Shoot at will!" I ordered as I nocked my bowstring back. "Kill them all!"
With that, I aimed at the closest orc and fired my bow before re-nocking it with another arrow. Close to a thousand arrows flew moments later, but not all at once, as many of these dwarves were hunters and trappers from their respective towns or villages. It wasn't a perfect formation as the army would have done it, but it was good enough for this task. Stationed safely behind the cannon lines, we continued to fire at the orc vanguard until all of them were dead or dying. Just like that, what I estimated to be a little over two thousand orcs succumbed without even getting their blades bloody. The smarter ones forced themselves to hang back at their main gate entrance, well outside our bow range.
Now was the time to land the coup de grâce. I strolled confidently past the cannons and pointed at the orcs on the wall.
"Too easy!" I bellowed. "Your warriors died too easily! Send more!"
I then turned my head toward the gate.
"I see you cowards behind the gates!" I mocked, and the other dwarves began to laugh in a jeering manner. "Come on! My axe has yet to taste orcish blood!"
"Ready!" Sicco reminded me again.
I slipped back easily behind the cannons and nodded to the gnome leader.
"Fire!" Once more, the booming sound echoed through the mountains.
Unlike the last time, the cannonfire was split. Many were aimed at the walls, forcing the orcs and even the ogres to scramble for cover. A smaller group was aimed at the gates of the fort and fired in that direction. If they hit anything, I didn't see, but it should act as suppression. Once the volley was done, the gnomes began reloading the cannons, but this time they were met with resistance as spears rained down at them. Thankfully, we were at maximum range for the cannons, making many of those spears fall short, though there were a few dozen throwers with a freakish enough strength that they actually struck a gnome mech or two.
That brief exchange allowed us to fire a third volley at their walls, doing considerable damage. Because they hadn't expected an enemy from the west, their wall—while sturdy—wasn't made to withstand a cannon fire barrage. The wooden beams were blown apart, while the stone portion of their wall shattered when a cannonball struck. I wished we could do this all day, but Sicco waved at me from his giant walker and shook his head, holding up two fingers.
'Shitty goblin manufacturing,' I thought, gritting my teeth.
True to goblin engineering, while they produced many dwarven cannon knock-offs, they lacked the same durability and reliability. When we seized the cannon towers on the beach, we found that only a quarter of them were of dwarven make; the rest, which had been fired at us, showed signs of stress fractures from firing just a few shots. I had thought we could get maybe ten shots from these goblin cannons, but it looked like we wouldn't even come close to that—just two more volleys.
Boom!
Correction, only one volley. I looked to the walls and saw the ogre motioning furiously at someone behind the wall. It was just as we were loading the final shot that the sound of heavy footsteps reached us. It seemed to originate from the gate, and a moment later, I saw where or rather, what it came from.
"Those are stone golems," Brann informed me in a grim tone. "I thought we destroyed most of 'em."
Dozens of stone golems, larger than even Sicco's mecha suit, lumbered toward us.
"Sicco!" I shouted, but the gnome already had all the cannons turned in the golems' direction.
Boom!
I watched as only half a dozen golems were destroyed outright, while the rest sustained only minor damage.. I wasn't really expecting to win outright, but I had hoped to do a bit more damage. Good thing for us, those golems—while sturdy—were very slow. Time for me to really sell this next part.
"Makers' BEARD!" I cursed in my angriest tone. "You get a reprieve this day, you orc bastards! Retreat!"
At my signal, the dwarves tossed their shield weapons and anything else that could weigh them down and began to run. The gnomes on walkers carried those people on foot and turned tail to run. I locked eyes with the ogre and insulted further by making a rude orcish style before I too ran.
'Come on,' I thought as I ran behind the fleeing dwarves. 'Come on, come on.'
"You think you can run from me?!" The ogre's magically enhanced voice boomed. "You are all dead! Laughing Skulls, with me!"
Running with all my might, I heard the rumbling of a different kind. It was an army on the move, an orcish army. We did it; they took the bait, and even though I could feel the orcs' presence behind me, threatening to catch up, only one famous phrase came to mind, silly as it was:
'All according to plan.'
*** Arathi Highland – The Bulwark ***
Paladin Lord Turalyon, son of Dorus and formerly a priest of Lordaeron, peered out from his position at the enemies across the Bulwark. He was at the forefront of the lines and saw the series of wooden fortifications that Lord Mograine had built. It still amazed him to this day that Lord Mograine was able to construct the defensive barricades so quickly. Further back were more carefully crafted fortifications, but it was here that the Horde often clashed with the Alliance the most.
In recent times, however, the skirmishes had become less frequent, eventually stopping altogether just yesterday. He had wondered if this was somehow related to the expeditionary force they sent to the dwarven homeland. Was this a reaction to the Alliance incursion there? Did they succeed? It had been almost a month since the Hierarch left, but still no word on the outcome. While Turalyon was worried for all of them, one person stood out among the rest, the elven Ranger Captain.
If Lady Sylvanas was stunning, then the eldest Windrunner was, to borrow Lord Callan's words, "traffic-stopping" beautiful. From the way her hair often fluttered in the wind to the way she smiled at those she spoke to, Turalyon felt his heart stop every single time he saw her. Even the way she moved was ethereal, as if she were not of this world; no human woman had ever moved with such grace, at least in Turalyon's eyes. It was unfortunate that he was not the recipient of many of those smiles. Outside of their first meeting, the best he had received since was an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Though it was unworthy of him, he found himself envious of Lord Lothar or rather, Callan as he preferred to be called, for being the one gifted with Lady Alleria's smiles and attention. Yet, every time Turalyon sought to make small talk with the eldest Windrunner, his words failed him. In hindsight, greeting someone without following up with any conversation, in the midst of staring at them, was probably off-putting. Sighing at his disastrous interaction with the woman who had been haunting his every sleeping moment, he refocused on observing the Horde's movements.
"Do you see what I am seeing, Paladin Lord Turalyon?" a voice asked from his left.
Turning around, he was greeted by the sight of the only male High Templar of the Order of the Radiant Star.
"High Templar Gavinrad," Turalyon acknowledged with a respectful bow of his head.
The man deserved it in Turalyon's eyes, for long before he became a High Templar, Gavinrad had been a knight in the Brotherhood of the Horse, one of the greatest orders of knights in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Dressed in Stormwind armor with marks of gold, Gavinrad made for an imposing figure with dark hair that reached his shoulders. He was also sporting a full-mouth beard which gave his already stern face a dire countenance.
"I would like to confirm it with you as well, Lord Gavinrad, but it appears that they are pulling back slightly from the front lines," Turalyon said hesitantly. "Not so much that it's obvious, but they are clearly trying to hide it."
The knight of Stormwind gave him an approving nod.
"You saw correctly and are one of the few who recognized it for what it is: a slight retreat." Gavinrad's steely eyes became hard as he stood next to Turalyon, gazing at the Horde lines. "They are up to something. It's not in their nature to pull back unless forced to."
Turalyon could only nod in agreement with the veteran knight's assessment. Of all the people at the Bulwark, except for Lord Mograine and Blackmoore, no one had fought against the Horde more than Lord Gavinrad and the people of Stormwind. While it was a great honor to stand in his presence, but that did little for his patience as Turalyon felt like they had been standing in place for hours as the Horde made minimal steps back from the front. That was when a messenger arrived.
"Lord Turalyon and Lord Gavinrad, I'm glad I found you both here," the messenger, wearing Lordaeron white, greeted them with a bow of his head. "Supreme Commander Uther has summoned you both to his tent for an urgent matter."
The two men exchanged a glance before following the messenger with all due haste. It didn't take long as they passed more barriers and barricades that the Alliance had fortified. In the distance, the massive Thoradin's Wall stood, the ancient and powerful deterrent against the troll forces that had once ruled most of Lordaeron. Now, workers in white, orange, brown, purple, and green smocks could be seen hammering away at parts of the wall while filling in others. Among the workers were elves and dwarves, laboring side by side with the humans.
It truly was an Alliance effort.
The reason for all this work was clear: to make the wall defensible from the interior of the Hillsbrad Foothills instead of the Arathi Highlands. Thoradin's Wall had taken years to build, but that had been with a smaller workforce and from scratch. These workers, tirelessly laboring day and night, had it easier than those who had originally built the wall. The Bulwark had always been a temporary measure while Thoradin's Wall was their best chance at holding back the Horde. It would allow them to free up the majority of their forces and divert them to more pressing fronts, like the Hinterlands.
Pulling away from the sight of the work on the wall, the two entered Uther's tent and were surprised to find that they were not the first to arrive. Already inside were a group of mages, Lord Theron with a few cloaked elven rangers, Lord Danath, and finally Lord Ravenholdt. At the head of the table sat the Supreme Commander of the Paladins of the Silver Hand and, for all intents and purposes, the leader of the Alliance army.
"Turalyon, Gavinrad," Lord Uther greeted them. "Good, you're both here. Lord Theron, can you repeat for these two what you told me?"
"Certainly," the ranger lord nodded. "As I said before, our scouts, both from the ground and the Wildhammer gryphon riders, have reported that a full third of the Horde has pulled away from the front."
Turalyon realized that, despite a third of the Horde pulling away, the number of Horde on the front lines appeared unchanged. Gavinrad, however, looked grim but unsurprised.
"Not only that, but even the ones who had taken up residence in Stromgarde's capital have moved out in great numbers," Lord Theron continued, ignoring the angry-looking Stromgardian. He pointed to the map, which showed the center of Stromgarde. "Even the other Horde clans that were fighting the trolls in the east have ceased their operations and begun gathering here."
"They're up to something," Gavinrad spoke boldly. "We need to find out what."
"And I intend to," Uther acknowledged with a nod. "Now that you're both caught up, Lord Ravenholdt was just suggesting who to send on a reconnaissance mission. Ravenholdt?"
"That area is where the 'elements talk,' according to our Wildhammer Shamans," Ravenholdt, the chief of Alliance Intelligence, informed them. "My scouts could not get closer before being detected and ambushed. They have capable hunters…"
Everyone fell silent at the Alterac lord's admission of failure. Turalyon could only imagine the losses his spies had suffered. He gave Lord Ravenholdt a solemn look before turning his attention to the map Lord Theron had indicated.
They all read the report from the half-orc, Lady Garona, about the orcs' former bonds with the elements. The Wildhammer dwarves seemed to understand the atrocity the orcs had committed better than the elves or humans. To Turalyon, it sounded like a religion, much like the Light—one that was peaceful until the orcs stamped it out, just as they had done to the Light worshipers on their world.
"According to the information we've gathered, the stones in this area were once used to summon an ancient evil elemental lord that Lord Callan had personally struck down." Ravenholdt's revelation stunned the group. He then turned to the other holy knights in the tent. "I don't mean to say this disparagingly, but I doubt any of you are Lord Callan's equal, capable of putting down a second elemental lord."
There was stunned disbelief and a hint of dread at the Alterac noble's words but none of the paladins or templars in attendance took offense to the Alterac noble words.
"However, that does not mean we cannot prevail," the dark-haired man continued. "The mages of Dalaran have the capabilities of replicating such a strike, but doing so would require extensive preparation. As such, we need confirmation."
"Are you certain?" Uther asked. Seeing the head of Alliance Intelligence nod, the paladin could only sit heavily in his chair. "Well, who do you recommend sending?"
Turalyon wondered the same thing as he saw their spymaster look first to the former mercenary captain.
"The time for soft incursion is over." Ravenholdt eyed them. "We need to know and as such the team we shall send will not only be able to deal with ambushes, but win even outnumbered. As such, Danath would be needed. As a son of Stromgarde, no one knows the land better than him and few warriors are his equal."
Danath Trollbane growled but appeared pleased with the choice.
"Since we're also dealing with shamanism, I've gotten a volunteer from Lord Kardan. A shaman named Eli Thunderstrike will also be part of the group." Ravenholdt then looked to the rangers. "Of course, while I have confidence in Danath's ability, it helps to have the eyes of a ranger and range support. As such, Lord Theron has volunteered the Ranger Scout Vereesa Windrunner for the mission."
Turalyon's eyes widened, and he turned to the elven ranger in question. She removed her hood to reveal a figure with entrancing silver hair. She was just as beautiful as her sisters, and it seemed she was looking at him just as intently as he was staring at her. It took him a moment, but he recognized the shared features that the youngest of the Windrunners shared with her two elder sisters. However, it was her body that was most different—while the two elder sisters were borderline voluptuous, the youngest Windrunner had a more... modest build.
"Of course, we would need a mage in case things get out of hand. As such, the Kirin Tor has volunteered one of their most promising magi to the cause." The Chief of the Alliance Intelligence Office turned to the mage in question.
A handsome mage with red hair and a short chin beard stepped forward. He appeared to be around Turalyon's age and had a more muscular build than most of his kin. Like most mages, he carried a staff, but there was also a long sword at his waist which seemed to have seen some use.
"Rhonin's the name, and I am at your service," the mage introduced himself with a flourish, winking at the youngest Windrunner. "Yours especially, my lady."
"Hmph." The youngest Windrunner, Vereesa, looked unimpressed by his comment. Instead, she folded her arms and looked at Uther.
"Finally, to lead the group and tend to their wounds if needed, I nominate you, Turalyon." Ravenholdt's words completely took the younger paladin off guard.
"M-me?!" Turalyon pointed to himself, incredulous.
"Aye," the well-groomed man confirmed with a nod. "You shall lead them."
"S-surely, someone else, anyone else, would be better," Turalyon tried to argue.
"No, you are the best suited for the task," Uther chimed in with utter confidence. "Lord Callan spoke highly of you these past few months. He praised your agile mind and said you were a born leader. In these past few months, I have come to see what he saw in you. Your potential is frightening, and I can only imagine how much more you could achieve out from under my wing."
Turalyon knew the Hierarch thought well of him, but to think that highly of him was almost too much! He still couldn't use the Light in the offensive way that the other paladins and templars could. Just as Turalyon opened his mouth to protest again, he was met with a stern glare from Uther.
"Make your preparations tonight. You and your companions will leave before dawn breaks," Uther commanded. "For good or ill, we need to know what the Horde is up to. Dismissed!"
Gavinrad gave him a pat on the shoulder before he left, followed by Uther and Danath. Turalyon stood in a daze for a moment, processing what had just happened. How could Uther think he was ready? What did the Hierarch saw in him that warranted such praise? So deep was he in his thoughts that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him until someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around, he found himself face-to-face with the enchanting little sister of Alleria.
'Bright gold, honey gold, and moonlight silver.' Turalyon couldn't help but compare the hair of the three sisters.
"H-how can I be of service, Lady Windrunner?" he asked.
"I was told that you were familiar with my sister and little brother." The silver-haired elf gave him a soft smile. "Not only that, but you are also the lord of these lands. If you can spare the time, would you mind telling me how they have been faring?"
Turalyon was slowly regaining his composure and gave her a wide smile. "Of course, my lady."
The elf's cheeks reddened slightly as she nodded at him. Before long, Turalyon found himself recounting all he knew of Lirath and Alleria during their time in the Hillsbrad Foothills. For some reason, which Turalyon didn't notice, he had an unusually easy time talking to the youngest of the Windrunner sisters.
TBC...
AN:
First of all thank you to icura for helping me edit this, working hard my friend, working hard!
Secondly, thank you to all my patron supporter, your continued faith in me continue to make me tickle pink! Thank you so much!
As for this chapter, unfortunately due to real life I was swamp and couldn't even fine the time to reply. I did not mean to ignore anyone! Sorry! With that say, this chapter should that the next phase begin. I threw in some interaction, a couple of easter eggs and of course that outro scene. Hope you guys like it! Happy Lunar new years for those that celebrate it!
Once again, please considering supporting us on patron at "icuraandvahn" , Thank you!
Finally, as always, CC and discussions are always welcomed!
