by Milton Garby
The other three Old Gods formed a ring around her and C'Thun as they fought, shouting advice and encouragement to fight harder. Their magic weakened the tremors, but they allowed some to go through the land and shake the globe. Her blood pulsed and her brain whirled as she fought and fought, neither her nor the other yielding in their spar. Sara cast spells in far greater quantity, complexity, and power than she could ever have imagined, and even as her dream self cast the spells she instantly forgot how they were performed.
The dream shifted. Both she and C'Thun were battered and wounded, their mana not even half depleted. She and the other Old God healed their wounds. She opened her many gibbering maws - she was only aware of a few at a time - and said, "Fssh'n iggska, C'Thun. Sk'tagn ma shtr naggwv." She forgot the meaning of the words the moment they were uttered.
It responded, "Ilfah paal hoq, Yogg-Saron. Makk, N'Zoth, Y'Shaarj, ilith iggska."
Then she woke up, gasping for breath and scrambling to make sense of the foreign language. She looked around; it was pitch black since the candle she had lit earlier had sputtered out. Sara swung out of bed and fumbled in the darkness for a moment before lighting another candle. A glance at the clock confirmed it to be early morning. She got dressed, put her tabard on, ate the breakfast she'd brought to her room last night, and looked over at the saronite glyph. She checked it a few more times, just to be sure, then grabbed it and stashed it in her pocket. As an afterthought, she wrote a note and put it next to the Old God blood, telling people not to touch it.
She headed out into the guild hallways, and frowned. In stark contrast to yesterday, where it had been mostly deserted, it was now crammed tight. People of all races in the Alliance pushed and shoved. Some were in enchanted gear - cloths and plates and mails - but most were in plain clothes like her. Still shaking off the dregs of her dream, Sara felt the urge to challenge one to a duel. It wasn't like she'd lose after all.
"Hey, newbie!" a night elf said behind her.
Like so often these days she ignored the urge to tear his soul out; he sounded friendly enough. Instead she grinned back at the white-haired man. "You got me. Where's everyone headed?" she asked as they went past the storage rooms.
"Assignments, come on. If it's your first time you'll be sent out with me," he said, pointing at his chest.
"First time, yeah." She slowed down until she was neck and neck with him.
A passing dwarf punched her in the arm and said, "Welcome to the team". Several other mortals did the same and by the end she blushed terribly.
"Alright, just stick with me," he explained as they turned a few more bends. Eventually they emptied into a cavernous room, shaped like a circle cut down the middle, which must have been the meeting room. Several other tunnels went in and out, and banners holding the image of a Naaru hung from the rafters.
On a raised podium, near the 'cut down the middle' part, an old human man stood. He wasn't armored, but he did wield a mace inscribed with holy runes and held a similarly engraved shield in the other. A few sheets of paper were down at his feet. To Sara's surprise, it seemed everyone in the guild attended and they could still fit in more. Everyone crowded around the podium, but there was still some space around the edges of the room for people to come and go. She and the night elf moved in to allow some more people, and after a few minutes the man lifted his weapons and clanged them against one another with deafening result.
"Settle down, settle down!" he shouted. Now that she wasn't jostling for room, Sara noticed the eye patch over his left eye. "Alright, thank you all for coming. First I need to take roll call." Putting his weapons down, he grabbed the sheet of papers and a pencil. The man started calling out names in alphabetical order, and each time he did someone confirmed their presence. "... Calven Norduke, that's me..." Must have been the guild leader. Eventually, the man went through the names without having called Sara's, though everyone else had been present. "Alright so, first order of business, we have a new recruit!"
Oh.
"Sara Smithers, if you could?"
It was okay to be the center of attention. It was okay to have these people interested in her. It was just a passing interest because she was new. They were being friendly, not looking to tear her down. She raised her hand and shouted, "Present."
"Glad to have you on board, miss! Now, on to business. Huan's team has had tremendous success in the Arathi Highlands, and it is important we compound on that advantage. So let me put it straight. We're going to help the forsaken." Shouts of protest erupted through the crowd, and Sara was one of them. The forsaken? Help them? The people who had tried to kill her parents, who were souls living that shouldn't, who needed to be dead? She was just as likely to kill them herself.
Calven banged his hammer against his shield until the uproar died down. "Oh quit your whining!" he shouted. "Undercity is surrounded and the Legion is all but ignoring them as they move further south. Guess who's next? That's right, us. The council and I have been coordinating with generals in both the Alliance and the Horde, we're going to be helping push the front lines back." Push the demons back, okay. That was a good plan at least. "The leaders for our war parties have already been selected. I'll call out their names and who's going with them. Once I have, go get geared up and head on out. Huan, Clarice..."
He continued calling out names a second time. Sara waited intently for hers to be called, or for Leira's. A selfish part of her wanted to be paired with the warrior, and she did still have to give her the glyph. But...
"Darnall Skyshadow." The night elf beside her raised an arm as everyone turned to look for him. "Sproz Lightwheel, Jacob Brakewood, Sara Smithers, and Uztun Gotstran." A gnomish woman, a man with glowing blue eyes, and a draenic man all approached 'Darnall'. Once they were clustered around, he waved an arm and started to leave through a side corridor.
The four of them followed after and Sara let herself slink to the back of the line in order to get a good look at all of them. The gnome, who must've been Sproz, seemed only slightly older than her. Her hair was platinum blonde and woven together in a single braid, though the color looked too bright to be natural even among the gnomes. She looked to be already in her gear, a flashy robe made of black and white tiles that gave the impression of a white cloth with shadows behind it. No staff though. And since gnome eyes were comically large compared to their heads it was easy to make out that they were amber.
The man, Jacob, was the only other person in their group of five wearing combat gear. It was heavy plate, stacked in layer upon layer with dark, cool colors painted onto it. If she squinted it looked almost like... no, she was right, that was saronite armor. She didn't know whether to be offended or flattered. Her gaze wandered onto his skin, which was pale and clammy, and his eyes which glowed glacier blue. He was a death knight then? Undead. With that in mind, she decided she was offended by the saronite. His armor made him bulkier, but she estimated that without it she'd be taller than him. He was also bald, and his face was contorted in what looked to be a perpetual sneer.
The last of them was certainly Uztun, and interestingly enough he reminded her of Leira's dad. Sara hadn't met him much, she was just a kid when they'd lived in Greenvale, but Uztun was just as tall, and just as bulked with muscle. He wore his brownish hair in two braids that lay over his shoulders, his ears were pointed straight up, and his crest seemed to have one more plate than was normal. He caught her looking and flashed her a grin, so Sara scowled and finally pushed herself to the back of the line.
The glyph in her pocket felt heavy. She badly wanted to get it to Leira before she left on mission. Then again it might not be the best idea to test it out in an actual combat scenario, but it would work, she knew it, and it would be invaluable. Nothing world changing on its own, but if Leira had it grafted into her then she'd be much less likely to fall in battle.
Darnall led them to another storage room; there were several scattered throughout the guild hall. "Alright, everyone gear up." As they started to go through the chest
s, Sara going to the 'free use' ones, he began speaking almost too fast to follow. "Here's the long and short: Legion's been pushed back from Arathi to Hillsbrad and Hinterlands. We're heading over to Forge Camp: Malice, it's situated right between Sludgeguard Tower and the Dalaran crater. It's not so heavy on the machinery, but it is filled with a lot of portals. They're leaching off the residue in the crater to power them, so our task is to get behind enemy lines and shut down their portals. Quick in, quick out. Considering the high number of demons we will encounter, this is going to be hairy so we'll need to run through and drag the demons behind us." He looked her way, but then swept his gaze along everyone else.
"Got it? Good. We've got a portal up to the Southpoint Gate, and from there we're legging it. Uztun, you should keep Immadino stabled."
Sara stifled a snort. Keep who stabled?
She changed from her shirt and skirt into a grass colored robe that went down to her ankles, a light circlet around her head, some pads for her shoulders, and so on. She worked from head to toe and finished it off by grabbing a two handed staff made of glorious bronze and gold, painted green and with red gems in the joints. Sara slipped the staff into the holster on her back and took a deep, shaking breath. She closed several fists and grinned, magical power rushing through her system.
Oh yes, I could get used to this, she thought.
Everyone else finished gearing up before long. The gnome, Sproz, tucked away some potions and flasks for them, and Darnall handed out packs for all five of them to fill with food and water once they arrived. Uztun grabbed a crossbow that looked like it weighed more than Sara herself, and Jacob, surprise surprise, took a runeblade off the walls.
"So newbie," the death knight began. "You ever been in combat before?"
"I won the dueling tournament in Stormwind's Mage Quarter," she said. "Also, I was ambushed by qiraji and the Twilight's Hammer in Silithus." Also I ducked away from a demonic onslaught and fought beside dragons, she thought, but there was no way she was going to say that. "What's it to you?" she asked, letting experimental flickers of shadow magic run between her fingers.
"Just making sure how well I'll need to do my job," he explained. "Just don't go overboard on the demons and you'll be alright."
She stifled her retort. When he saw her magic in action, he'd shut up quick. "On that charming note, I made a glyph yesterday and I've been meaning to give it to Leira, but I haven't seen her all day."
Uztun answered her. "She should be meeting up with us near the portals, you should be able to give it to her then. What's it do?"
"Feeds off anger. The angrier someone is, the harder it'll be to hurt them," she explained. "My own invention."
Uztun finished strapping his mail armor to his body and stood. "Sounds useful, given her skillset. Darnall, we ready?"
The night elf slipped a leather cap onto his head, revealing naught but his glowing eyes. "Ready. This way," he said, waving an arm. The five of them left the room, which was already crowding with others searching for gear. Sara was again at the back of the crowd, still letting drops of darkness run along her gloves, busy scanning the crowd for Leira. Everyone was going off to fight in a war and they were all smiling, so cheerfully.
Because they were going to do something, not sit in a castle and hope they could hold out forever.
Darnall didn't lead her back into the assembly hall. Instead he brought her outside into the Military Ward, where a group of gnomish mages had set up a line of a dozen portals, presumably leading to various locations in the north. Her group went to one on the far left. Through it Sara could see blue skies and yellow grass.
Right before entering Darnall turned to look at her. "Anything we need to grab before we head out?" All four of them shook their heads. Sara would have liked to get the glyph inscribed... but she could do so later. This wasn't the first time Leira had fought in the war, and even if she did die... well, she'd miss the warrior dearly, but Leira was a shoe-in for the Light's afterlife.
On after another, the four of them plunged into the portal. She tucked her glyph away and, garbed in enchanted gear with a staff affixed to her back, Sara summoned her shadowy barrier and followed the mortals.
Talgath the Inexorable
He couldn't wait to scour this world clean.
Progress through the Swamp of Sorrows was slow and miserable. The air was damp and filled with mold, and each step of his hooves into the loose soil had him sinking up to his ankles in swamp water. All but the strongest of their fire spells simply fizzled out pitifully. While Argolash had the advantage of four legs to distribute his weight, and he had his glaive to smash a path through the trees, progress was slow.
There had been reports of a clutch of green dragons residing in the portion of the swamp they would travel through, but they were nowhere to be found. But even without the dragons, all of the wildlife seemed intent on making their progress as painful as possible. Crocolisks that looked like logs until it was too late. Animated beasts of fungus and grass. Giant crabs with pincers strong enough to puncture felsteel, frenzy fish, sentient slimes that could dissolve a felguard's armor in seconds, tallstriders, turtles with tough shells and tougher jaws, even venomous spiders the size of a wrathguard! He kept losing soldiers, and making portals was slow going.
Talgath combined with his dreadlords and lesser eredar could corrupt the land. They could shrivel up the water and turn rotting dirt into blackened rock. But the aforementioned green dragons had left a parting gift, and the very water reviled against the Legion's taint. Each day they'd make little progress, set up portals where they'd arrived for their reinforcements, and push on for Deadwind Pass.
If it was just the environment and just the beasts, Talgath could perhaps accept the situation. But the Horde and Alliance were also present in the swamp, playing a guerrilla game of assassination and retreat. He had seen this strategy before. He had beaten this strategy before. But he had never had to do so in a swamp, and each time his dark magic flared to life and blasted a tree to splinters, the mortals behind it were already gone.
At the moment, he strode in the middle of his column. Infernals were useless, so he was surrounded instead by his dreadlords as they slowly brought the Legion's territory further and further. Gan'arg and mo'arg set up defenses behind them, though automated alarms suggested the mortals and/or wildlife was dismantling the machines behind them. The felguards and other such cannon fodder took up the perimeter, with void terrors sniffing for beasts. At the head of their little arrow of decimation, Argolash smashed his way forward.
The pit lord had certainly seen better days. Annihilan scales were tough, but the explosive-tipped arrows and odd concussive spell used by the raiding parties left small gashes and holes marking his body. Argolash bore it in stride, but his mane of fire was dimmed by the humidity and he'd even stopped laughing whenever he swatted aside a line of forestry.
It smelled. The putrid stench of rot and animal clung to him and Talgath hated everything about it. The swamp was silent save for the marching of their forces, the splintering of trees, and the occasional struggle between demons and either animals or mortals. But after so long they were finally, finally through, because Talgath could see the mountains.
The Black Aspect Neltharion, before his corruption, had his brood maintain a series of mountains to divide regions to discourage war among the lesser races, with the mortals themselves making passes to enjoy trade. When he became Deathwing he had flattened a great many of those borders, but those erased mountains were mostly swallowed up in the Sundering anyway. Most mountains remained, only marginally smoothed by erosion, and Talgath's armies had at long last made their way to the trail that led out of the Swamp of Sorrows.
Argolash smashed aside the last of the trees and hefted himself onto the ramp. The pass was narrow, so everyone fell in line behind him as he trudged up. Talgath and his dreadlords finished corrupting the land out of the swamp, and then they were out. The Green Flight's essence was no more, and the defiling of the
earth would now come passively.
Deadwind Pass was vastly preferable to the Swamp of Sorrows. Miserly clouds choked the land, and there was not a drop of moisture to be had in the air. The only water was in the form of tepid, filthy streams that murmured so quietly, it was as though they feared they'd be beaten if they spoke up. The land was gray and pale, with little in the way of life. What vegetation there was died as they passed it, spreading their darkness. Tireless and angry, the Burning Legion pushed its way through the mountain pass, slaughtering the occasional ogre tribe, until the mountains opened up into the main body of Deadwind Pass.
A vast canyon dominated the area, with bridges both natural and artificial spanning the gap. With this space his armies could spread out, and Talgath gave the order to create a Forge Camp in the location. Dutifully, his minions went to work while he strode up to their resident pit lord.
"Argolash, rear guard. Go," he commanded brusquely. Just as brusquely, the annihilan grunted and went to the back of the rapidly emerging camp.
Their presence darkened the stone, but it was not so visible in such a dreary place. All the same, Talgath made sure he had personally corrupted a large enough area before calling over the nathrezim Lorthiras and the sayaad Domana. Both dreadlord and succubus arrived promptly.
Dutifully, they stood silently and awaited his command. "I am going to create a scrying circle," he explained. "Lorthiras, I hope you kept a record of the Old God magic we encountered?"
He nodded his ashen head. "I did, Lord Talgath." His wings came forward and cocooned him. When he retracted them, a felsteel cubicle appeared, hovering in the air. The container was a black and green cube the size of Lorthiras's horns, but in each of its six faces was a hole that went straight through the hollow interior, and in said hollow interior was a quiet ball of dark purple. It pulsed in tune with an unseen heartbeat. "You are going to find the mortal who used it?"