Scourge - 3.1 - F,C,A,A,K (Patreon)

"Got to speak to the Farstriders aboot ‘at lodge o' theirs," Falstad muttered to himself, "if that fancy building disturbs the gryphons there'll be problems..." He made note on the sheaf of parchment containing the details he'd been given aboot the elves' activities to draft orders to that effect.

Kardan would be good for it, a solid dwarf an' a good rider. That human girl of his was even showing promise with the gryphons, iffin things went right she'd be a proper rider one day. He knew how to deal with Alliance folk an' could talk to the elves without insulting them. Farstriders were better than most elves, but they could still be a wee bit prickly.

Laying down his quill, Falstad stretched in his seat and smiled softly as Swiftwing shifted lightly from where he were restin’ to groom Keenclaw's feathers. She was nursing an egg, first of their pairing, and his gryphon were truly smitten. Weren't often gryphons mated for life but it were a blessing when they did.

A blessing of Hestra, Lord of the Skies, upon them and their children.

Considerin' ‘at Keenclaw and Swiftwing were both trained by Falstad's mum, same as Sky'Ree, they were amongst the best of the best. Not even Kurdran could claim to be better with their birds than Rammi Wildhammer had been.

The pair were sure to raise the next generation to be just as mighty as they were in her honour, but he had one hell of a legacy to live up to with his ol' mum.

"Now, what'd be next..." He muttered, leafing through the reports littering his desk. Sometimes he felt being High Thane weren't at all what it were cracked up to be, an' even wondered if Kurdran had buggered off to Draenor to escape it.

"Horrid thought." He cursed to himself. "Be safe, cousin. Be safe in the embrace of Hestra."

"Thane!" A voice called, disturbing his gryphon's rest and causing Falstad to frown. "High Thane! High Thane Falstad!"

The dwarf, one of the riders who served with the Alliance – one of the Dunwalds by his markings – burst into the room and sagged against the doorway, panting for breath. "High Thane!"

"What is it?" Falstad asked irritably. Keenclaw was awake now an' she deserved her rest. "Get oot with it, man!"

"High Thane! Lordaeron has fallen!" Dunwald said, his legs failing him. "King Terenas is deid, killed by his own son! The palace is still burning and the undead’ve overrun the city! I... I was ordered to flee, by Duglas Mullan."

A chill settled into Falstad's bones. "What?" He repeated more quietly. The words... they stirred something. "Did you see this happen?"

"The prince– he– he held up his father's head when he walked out of the flames. That's when Duglas ordered me to flee, to get word out. He was rallying the First Legion to try and fight their way out of the city but sent riders to Dalaran, to Ironforge, to everyone– High Thane, there were so many dead. And they just got back up."

Dunwald started babbling, the young dwarf terror struck by what he had witnessed and the stress of it all leaving him now that he had fulfilled his duty.

Something Falstad knew well, determination to fulfil a task could carry a dwarf far... but that wasn't the only thing familiar. He'd heard this before. He'd heard this before. Where? Where had he heard such– such– Prince Arthas was a good lad, strong head on his shoulders! Falstad didn't believe the damn rumours aboot him killing innocents in Stratholme, he must've been handling the undead there.

But.

But...

"The prince, he killed his father, aye? On his throne?" Falstad asked, remembering a letter he had cast into the fire. The insults it had levelled against the Alliance, against the good and honourable humans that he trusted. Pushed by one of the fools who claimed to hear the wind speak to them, who drank too much ale an' thought themselves special.

"No– no... I don't... the archmage, it had to be, he was guarding the king... the whole palace went up in flames. The throne was gone, smoking, burning, by Hestra's wings, the smell..."

Falstad moved and slapped his arm on the dwarf's shoulder. "You've done well, lad. Ye did as ye were ordered and dinnae rest until it were done." The words of praise made Dunwald stiffen, but it weren't enough. He needed a new task, a new thing to drive him.

He'd been wrong. He'd made a mistake. Kindfeather, Caedan Kindfeather... he'd nearly stripped him of his place as Thane for the buffoonery. An' now it happened.

Mebbe not the same exactly, but the king were dead. The prince... the prince served the undead now. Stratholme, that had been in the letter too, that he remembered. But what else? What else?

"Lad, I need you to do somethin' for me." Falstad said firmly, gripping Dunwald's shoulder. "We be at war, ye ken that. The Wildhammer need the clans, all the clans. Go home, rally yer kin, rally all the riders the Highlands can spare, an' bring 'em home. We ride to war."

Fear filled Dunwald's eyes and he trembled.

Falstad just waited, staring at him with the certainty that the lad would pull through, that he would see the task before him and stand tall an' proud like a Wildhammer should.

"A–aye, High Thane." Dunwald said, steel replacing fear as his fist slammed into his chest in salute. "Aye, High Thane! Clan Dunwald will answer the call!"

"Good. Ken ye had it in ye." Falstad slapped him on the shoulder before stepping back, letting the young dwarf stand. "Hestra's wind guide ye forward, Dunwald. We'll need good dwarves like you in the days to come. Now, get. Go! Tend to your gryphon an’ see they're well, then fly, boy, fly!"

It made him proud to see the lad march out to do as he ought. Proud to know the spirit of the Wildhammer were as indomitable as the storms themselves.

Swiftwing was slipping his harness over his neck, collecting all that were needed for a flight to war. Even Keeclaw had risen, leaving her egg behind in their nest.

"Nay, lass." Falstad shook his head. "Ye'd be a mighty aid, but we need ye here. Ain't so desperate yet."

Would it be? He couldnae recall. He needed to remember.

Saddling Swiftwing while he gathered his thoughts he couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself. For all the Wildhammer were strong an' true, he weren't the great leader they deserved. Kurdran... Kurdran was the rightful heir, he were but a cousin born of Kurdran's great-aunt.

The true High Thane wouldnae have made this mistake.

"To the Kindfeathers, an' be swift on the wing!" Falstad said, swinging his legs over his companion who screeched in answer.

All the peak would've heard it. Not merely a cry of joy, of connection, but one of war.

-oOoOo-

"Caedan!" The unmistakable voice of the High Thane boomed, startling all those within the Kindfeather household. "Caedan Kindfeather, get yer feathered arse oot here out here and answer me!"

"Daddy, he's loud!" Lieren complained petulantly, the human girl covering her ears.

"Aye, sweetie. He is." Kardan grumbled, looking Caedan in the eye and jerking his head. After hearing Swiftwing's screech they'd made a game of saddling the gryphons, their adopted eleven-year-old helping. And now the High Thane was here for him personally. "Why don't you–"

"CAEDAN! Don' make me come in there an' fetch you!"

Wincing Caedan nodded to his brother, leaving him to handle his daughter while he dealt with the High Thane. Featherstorm plodded along beside him, his saddle swinging freely and unfastened. Ruddy Falstad was interrupting them answerin' his own ruddy call.

"What?" He said, glowering up at the heavily runed dwarf atop the pride of Aerie Peak. "Dinnae you order me out'a yer sight an' never tae come back?"

To Caedan's surprise, Falstad grimaced, gritting his teeth rather than spitting an insult at him aboot being a Windspeaker. "I were wrong, Caedan. I were wrong and blast it all, it happened."

Still frustrated, Caedan crossed his arms. "What happened?"

"The letter! It's comin' true an'... an' I tossed it away. I need tae ken what it said. An' fast."

Caedan closed his eyes, breathing stiffly through his nose as his muscles tensed. Featherstorm were agitated too, frustrated, both o' 'em had good memories of the wee lass who gave 'em that letter. Handed it over to the High Thane in good faith.

An' watched it burn.

"Gave ye the letter, High Thane." He said gruffly, eyes still shut as he sneered up at the Lord of Aerie Peak. "Are ye claimin' I would besmirch me honour by opening a letter addressed to ye?"

"Pish." There was a thud, a dwarf hitting the ground. "Pish!"

Featherstorm squawked angrily and fluttered his wings. Falstad had jumped from Swiftwing's back and was clutching his head with one hand and smacking it with the other.

"I cannae ruddy remember! What happened next? What did the blasted letter say?!" He growled. "Did ye never go back tae find yer girl? Tae talk to 'er? I swore you did!"

"Aye," Caedan said, inclining his head slightly, "that I did. Found the keep we stayed at an' asked aboot her. Tried to learn why she were so scared, why the wind were so scared."

A gust picked up around them, whispering in his ears of terror remembered but so old the details were long lost. Breaking, shattering, sundering, agony and screams and the world aflame. It were all he had learned, all he an' the other Windspeakers had learned after years o' trying tae listen.

"I dinnae need yer bloody wind shit today, Caedan!" Falstad growled. "The girl could see the future, she predicted it! Now tell me what she ken!"

"Dinnae know. Got turned away by a boot o' a woman, went tae her port town home an' got told she moved. Dinnae find no-one who ken where." Caedan tensed again at the memory. He dinnae like the Mistmantle lady the first time much, the lord were fine but the lady were troll shit. An' she only got worse when he arrived when the lord were nay home. "An' Gilneas left the Alliance so we were nae welcome no more."

Falstad clenched a fist, hard enough his biceps bulged. "Ye've new orders. Go tae Gilneas. Find the girl. We dinnae ken what be coming but we need to ken it. King Terenas be dead, Prince Arthas be undead, Lordaeron burns. We be honour bound tae ride to their aid."

As the words settled into his mind, Caedan found his anger fleeing; all to be replaced by horror.

"Ye..." The wind whispered in his ear, of shambling bodies and broken bonds. Of death that came on the wind and in the water. "Ye're serious."

"Deathly." Falstad looked skyward, at the gryphons that had taken to the air to answer Swiftwing's call. "Got tae inform– ruddy hell, that were it!"

"What?"

"The elves! It's the elves next, that were–" Falstad cut himself off with a snort. "Get goin, Thane. Ye've got yer orders; find yer girl an' learn all ye can. I've got a forest o' magic addicts tae save."

For the first time in years it were an order from his High Thane he could respect. "Wind and Wing, High Thane. Soar high."

"Soar fast an' long." Falstad said, remounting Swiftwing. In a moment he were aloft an' had gathered the riders. Aerie Peak flew to war.

Caedan would fly to fulfil a promise he once failed to keep. It were honourable enough.

-oOoOo-

Looking out over what only months ago had been the marshy delta at the end of the River Arevas, Alice could hardly believe her eyes. Father had brought her out into the marshes to hunt crocolisks as a child, when she complained he treated her different from her brothers, and the entire region had been wild and empty.

A horrifying place filled with beasts that had haunted her nightmares for years, drove her to the Light to find comfort, and set her on the road to studying in Dalaran.

Now… now there was nothing familiar about it at all. It had barely been three years since she had last been home and everything had changed; the king had erected his wall, her father had joined up on the plan to explore the world like Gilneans of old, and Lordaeron... Lordaeron had fallen to the undead and one of the mighty archmages had died destroying the palace and many of the abominations that had fought there.

But still they came, still people were afraid, still the Scourge marched and sent people fleeing.

Those that had fled across Lordamere Lake to reach Dalaran hadn't been granted sanctuary, the city preparing for war and ushering the refugees onward. Many of them were below, in the town forming where the marshes had once been. Steady windmills drew out the water and sent it into the main river, heavy dwarven built piers funded by the wealth of the silver mines her family held stretched out into the deep water, and a veritable forest of masts floated offshore and blocked the horizon from view.

There could be no crocolisks here now, there was no space for them. The bustling activity of thousands of souls all going about their work enough to drive away all but the fiercest of wildlife – and the armed soldiers bearing the standards of Gilneas and the Crowleys would surely see that even those were seen away.

Turning to the man in charge of it all, her very own brother – and his companions, the determined Admiral Alicia Candren and the very peculiar Aderic Longtooth – she could not help but note he did not seem proud of what he had accomplished. No, he seemed nervous and worried.

Hiding it well, but she had been the one to comfort him after Little Winnie died, the old hound giving her last in his arms. William had always had an empathetic soul.

"William, what is the name of the township?" She asked, intending to distract him from his worries.

It took him a moment to respond, though his lips quirked into a smile as he did. "Expedition Point." He chuckled. "We went with a simple name as it was never meant to be permanent, and... I fear it won't have the chance to be, despite the efforts of so many."

"With the rumours of what happened to the Lightbringer I've had half a mind to go back home." Admiral Candren said bluntly. "The wall is turning out to be more foresight than folly at this rate."

Alicia carefully kept her expression serene; it was her family, amongst so many others, that had been sacrificed by the king's decision to build the wall. The Light would see them safe, even without such a thing... it had to.

Even if it hadn't protected Lord Uther from his fate, whatever it might be. The rumours were... terrible. Killed by his own student alongside the whole of the Silver Hand, defeating the dark prince in single combat before succumbing to his wounds, rescued at the last moment only to spread the Plague to his saviours so they all died together, gone into hiding like the disgraced Fordring...

Raised by the Scourge into a monster that turned against them all...

She shook herself. It was not time for such thoughts. She did not know, she couldn't know – all she could do was pray that the Light had safeguarded its greatest remaining champion and the rumours were mere rumours.

"We've important duties across the sea, Admiral." Aderic said, grinning at her. "And on such a grand adventure, we need one of those from the line that first charted Kul Tiras’ shores; unless you want us picking up a new admiral from that isle?"

Admiral Candren crossed her arms under her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. "I never said that I would leave, Longtooth. Merely that I had concerns." To distract herself, Alicia allowed her eyes to linger; it was a shame the admiral had little bosom to emphasise, but it did still make her delightfully imposing.

"We all do." William said softly, worry creeping back onto his face. "More than ten thousand have come already, hoping for safety with the fleet. Begging to be carried to Kul Tiras, to Stormwind, beyond the wall. Away from the undead. I fear we will not have the space for them all."

"With the cannons gone on most of the ships we've space for close to a hundred thousand. Maybe ten thousand need to be trained sailors, and we've got half that. I've been doing my damnedest to see people trained enough to handle basic tasks, but you worry about space!" Admiral Candren tapped her foot frustratedly as she turned her gaze onto William. "We shall be lucky if we have the crew to get out to sea, let alone across the Great Sea and past the Everstorm."

Aderic shifted slightly, his hand resting on a book strapped to his belt. "We are due aid and sailors soon enough."

"Lordainians." She snorted in reply, though she didn't deny what he said.

"It is a far cry from the lack of volunteers you had told me of months ago, brother." Alice said, remembering some of the details he had sent her in his letters. "You wondered if Lord Crowley had been excessive in aiding in the purchase of the entire fleet."

"And now I worry there are not enough ships. There is hardly time to build more." He sighed and shook his head. "I will speak to you this evening, dear sister. There remains much work to be done."

William steeled himself, placing a smile on his face that Alice could tell was fake, and walked down the slope into town.

The others gave their own farewells and left Alice standing on the mound, staring down at the burgeoning harbour. She had meant to shelter at home, to stay with her mother and father, be with them until the very end in the home she grew up in.

But her brother needed her. The Light would see them safe, she would have to see her brother did not break under the burdens he had taken up.

-oOoOo-

"Get the bloody chickens aboard, you lackwits! We're not lollygagging anymore!" 'Licia roared at longshoremen loading up her ship, the Mane of the Wolf, once the pride and joy of the Gilnean navy and now the head of the first leg of the expedition. "Two hours to the bell! You're free to swim after us if you're late!"

"Aye, admiral!" They chorused, then returned to the shanty they were singing while they worked.

So long as it didn't impede their duties they could sing all they liked. Good men, her father's men, sailors she would trust with her life on this voyage, unlike the landlubbers she had to trust with so many of the ships. If one in three manning the lesser vessels knew port from starboard she would be shocked. But the arguments she had that they needed to downsize the expedition had died.

And they weren't ever coming back.

She made her way onto the ship, striding up the gangplank confidently and giving two men hauling up a barrel of fresh water a helping hand.

The Mane was a truly magnificent ship. She'd been on it with her father before, seen the marks of battle damage in the wood where it was mended from battles with pirates. With sixty-eight guns, she was a match for all but the Grand Admiral's monster, the Daughter of the Sea, that the Kul Tirans had built decades ago.

Four decks, three masts, made of dark blackwald oak and with masts of silverpine, she was a Gilnean ship through and through. Her quarters reflected that, good oil lamps adorning the walls above the tucked away cannons and good stained glass windows decorated the rear of the ship. Compared to her last berth it was the lap of luxury; from the captain of a patrol cutter, to the admiral of the largest single fleet in Gilnean history...

It was a stark transition. But she would do her family proud.

"Shame you aren't coming with us." She said to the Fox Speaker before he could step out from behind her door and surprise her. The man was damn good at sneaking up on people, but she'd grown wise to it over the last week or so. "Could use your magic to see the ships safe to the other side. Ravens to scout the land would be good too."

Aderic looked disappointed for a moment at being discovered, but quickly shifted to a wry grin. The most childish old man she'd ever met. Not that she was complaining, he was fun.

"Oh, do you need my abilities more than the men trained for mere months at sea?" He jibed jovially. "I thought the Candrens were experts of the sea."

'Licia snorted, her lips twitching. "Aye, we are for sure. Good as any Kul Tiran, but those rebellious bastards cheat with their Tidesages, so why not us too?"

He let out a laugh. "Alas, we are too few. You shall have to make due with Orion alone, while I keep Alys and Janice in line to serve the rest of the fleet." A smug smile settled onto his face, positively vulpine. "I am, however, glad you consider my talents so highly as to wish for me personally."

The audacity of the man. "Oh, no. I would take a true Tidesage any day of the week, but needs must. I am sure you understand."

"Of course." He nodded in complete understanding. "You could hardly accept a producer of fresh fruit aboard ship, it would ruin your excessively fishy diet. That aroma of yours must be intentionally cultivated after all."

Her composure cracking, 'Licia let out a barking laugh. "Aderic's arse, man! There are some things you don't say to a lady!"

"My arse aside, I thought you were a sailor?" He said, looking at her with complete puzzlement.

Light preserve her, if he was decades younger she'd demand her father let her marry him. "Aye, I am indeed." Shallow-faced proper nobles would never let her have her fun. “No lady be quite like me.”

"Do make sure to study this book carefully." He said, switching gears entirely as his voice became deadly serious. He placed a thick tomb down on the desk, the cover plain and unassuming. "There are many things about Kalimdor even we do not know, but what we do paints it as a land of many dangers. You seek a set of islands off a swamp, one that our greatest seer has said would come to be called Theramore."

Picking up the book that, by all rights, should not exist if what he said was true, 'Licia thumbed through the first pages. A hand-drawn map, sketched and lacking in the flourishes she was familiar with, greeted her.

But it showed a continent, tall and thin like the combined mass of Khaz Modan and Lordaeron. Marks for jagged reefs, harsh deserts, impassible cliffs... the eastern shore was entirely uninviting. Save the spot labelled Theramore, where a large island sat off the shore of what was marked as a swamp.

Swamps she had come to be familiar with. Swamps could be drained.

"How?" She asked, meeting Aderic's eyes.

"You must have heard rumour of a girl who spoke of a Tide of Darkness." He answered grimly. "By her word, this expedition was formed. By her word, thousands will be spared. By her word... you know what awaits you. Jaina Proudmoore was seen to take the path you now tread, and she will follow. This was made for her, but now gifted to you. Use it well."

Prophecy, foresight, seers... 'Licia wasn't so familiar with magic to know if she could dismiss his claims or not. But she couldn't deny that William had whispered of the darkness that approached after Lordaeron's fall.

"I shall, Fox Speaker." She said, returning the eyes to the book, her fingers tracing the shoreline and making guesses as to features that might be missing. "You have my word on that. This will stake my name into history, the name of my family, and I shall seize any advantage you might offer."

"Ambition is unbecoming of a lady." He chided gently. "But if it spurs greatness, then I beg you use it well."

By the time she looked up, he was gone. She paid his disappearance no further heed – she had long nights of study ahead of her.

-oOoOo-

"Have you chosen to return home and take up your duties at last, oh son of mine," King Anasterian Sunstrider said, shifting in his bed of blankets and pillows where he rested, "or is this another visit to beg the interference of the Quel'Dorei in the affairs of humans once more?"

Kael'thas paused momentarily as he looked upon his ailing father. He had deteriorated further in the last few months, only the blessings of the Sunwell holding the longest reigning of the Sunstrider kings together. One more reminder of what awaited his people were he to fail in his appointed task; all but the youngest could suffer as his Father did should the Sunwell be lost.

"No, Father. I have come for neither." He answered, allowing his father his jibe. There was a task he must complete before all others, one that took precedence over his frustration with his father's wilfully ignorant politics. "After the horrors I have witnessed I wished merely to visit the Sunwell, to bask in its glory for a time. To meditate upon the grace that spares us such horrors."

And, to commit the most unthinkable of crimes against his people. To defile their most sacred holding in the name of protecting it.

His father smiled. "Of course, go with my blessing. You are a Sunstrider, foolish faith in the humans or not, and the Sunwell is your birthright as a Prince of Quel'Thalas."

"Thank you, Father." Kael'thas said with a bow. "I shall remain in Quel'Thalas for a time after. Perhaps we can speak more another day?"

What had been a formal smile grew more true, a faint softening of the eyes betraying the king's emotions. "Yes. We must speak of your coming time, the world has waited long enough for a new Sunstrider King."

It was disquieting to listen to his father speak so, even past their disagreements and arguments, but Kael'thas could not deny the truth of them.

King Anasterian, the third Sunstrider King, was dying. After close to three thousand years, despite all the magic in the world, time had caught up to him. Soon he would be king and given the chance to chart the course of his people into the future.

All he needed to do was ensure he still had a people to guide.

"I am sure there will be much to be said before that time, and by the light of the sun it shall be many years from now." His words were sincere, he truly did not wish for his Father to falter. For all they had their disagreements, they were family. "With your leave, Father."

His father chuckled lightly, a dreadfully weak sound. "Go, go. I am sure Belo'vir is impatiently waiting to make use of my time. Go and meditate as you need, with the Blessings of the Sun upon you."

With a final bow to the wrinkled and white-haired king, his ancient Father, Kael turned and left. There was minor business he would attend to before going to the isle, but soon...

Soon he would have broken all the trust his Father had placed in him.

-oOoOo-

Though Kael'thas was fond of the Alliance, of the promise of unity and peace that it brought, and truly believed that they were the way forward for Quel'Thalas, he could not help but be relieved by the differences between the docks of Silvermoon and those of a human city.

Enchanted brooms and brushes banished refuse and cleansed the air continuously, empowered by the great ley lines that spiralled out from the Sunwell on the isle to the north.

To not be assaulted by the stench of fish and sewage was but one minor blessing amongst countless others that the Sunwell offered his people. One that few of his fellow elves would ever even consider, ignorant as they were to how those outside of Quel'Thalas lived; even those considered worldly scarcely knew more than Dalaran, which through sheer weight of mages emulated Silvermoon in many aspects.

"Captain Revenn, Captain Kelisendra. How go the preparations?" He asked, approaching the pair of elves. Kelisendra was young, surprisingly so for a woman with her own ship, but her parents were sad victims of the Orcish Horde. Revenn was older, more reliable, and guiding the younger as they worked on his project. "I trust there have been no difficulties."

"Ah, Your Highness!" Kelisendra replied, greeting him with exuberance and clearly overjoyed at his mere greeting as she offered a deep bow. "There have been no difficulties, none at all."

Revenn bowed formally, exactly as he should when greeting a prince, and no more. "There have been few, Your Highness, and none that we could not solve. Seeker of Wisdom Voren'thal has been of great assistance in preventing interference by the Magisters."

Kael'thas nodded. "Good. So long as all matters proceed smoothly I shall not press further." So long as the ships were stocked and supplies were readied, the details mattered little.

Sending a flotilla of ships to beat the Gilneans to ancient Kalimdor was an excuse he had placed before the Convocation soon after Modera had returned with the child prophet. It had been simple enough to convince them that elven relics should be in elven hands, and that failing to arrive first would see the legacy of Dath'Remar stolen by humans.

The arguments involved were uncomfortable but necessary. The convocation was no less isolationist than his Father, so sure in their defence that they did not believe the Doorkeeper was capable of falling.

But at least, should Silvermoon come under threat from the Scourge, should the traitor that compromised their defences not be found and stopped, there would be a dozen ships ready to carry away civilians, children, and apprentices that could not contribute to the defence of their homeland. All the materials for the construction of a sanctum, to tap a leyline and establish a settlement, and so much more, procured and ready.

"Captain Kelisendra, I require transport to Quel'Danas to visit the Sunwell. How soon may your ship be made to sail?" Though he was a prince, a Sunstrider, the defences of the isle would not allow him to simply teleport there. The crossing of the strait by ship was part of the pilgrimage and could not be circumvented.

"Oh, oh!" She turned her head and looked at her ship. "Shortly, Your Highness! No more than an hour. Less! Half an hour at most. Will there be anyone else...?"

"Just myself and my guards." Kael'thas said, shaking his head. "This is no great working, merely a desire to bask in the Sunwell's glory."

"I shall return to supervising the work, Your Highness." Revenn bowed once more, moving to order his sailors about their tasks and direct the port golems to load the crates of supplies.

-oOoOo-

"Leave me, I desire privacy." Kael'thas said, kneeling on the raised platform from which the Sunwell's power could be channelled by the Grand Magister, or the Sunstrider Kings, in times of need. Six golden disks rested at the edges of the spokes of a spiralling sun, from which others would assist their efforts.

At the heart, within the resplendent spoked sun, law the Sunwell itself. The golden waters radiated power that warmed every fibre of Kael'thas' being, giving him a feeling of peace and surety that banished many of the worries he had felt.

"Your Highness." The spellbreakers saluted, retreating out into the grove. Were he anyone else none would permit him to be alone in this place.

Simply looking into the font of magic, the purest essence of the sun, the unending stream of Arcane power that spilled forth, it was hard to believe the words that Gwyneth had spoken. To say that this, the heart of Quel'Thalas, was but one-seventh of what was taken from a well that dwarfed it entirely, seemed utter madness. How could a child know such a thing without ever having witnessed it for herself?

But, too many of her words had been true. He had made his decision long before he reached the isle.

Descending from the platform he drew out the six vials he had created with the aid of the greatest enchanters of the Kirin Tor. Inscribers, glassworkers, runemasters, all had contributed when he demanded aid from Antonidas and Modera for following their vote to allow Gwyneth to leave.

Of all those made, only six had withstood the tests he put them through. The combined magical might of ten archmages forced upon them. It would scarcely be enough, what would come of this could never compare to the glory that lay before him, and yet...

What choice was there? He had seen for himself what would become of them should they lose their magic: Apprentice Dawnflower – a name he could not allow himself to forget – would never be the same.

Knowing in his heart that he was defiling the most sacred heart of his people, Kael'thas dipped the vials into the golden waters. An infinitesimally small fraction of the Sunwell's power stolen and sealed away as he closed the stopper.

And then, he did it again. And four more times after that.

It was done, and though it could be just an illusion of the mind, as he looked upon the Sunwell once more he could not help but feel a difference. A scant weakening that could be detected and reveal his crime.

But from the vials, there was nothing. Not even a whisper nor mote of power escaped; their craftsmanship superb.

"Now all that must be done is survive." He said, standing tall. Worries and doubts could not be allowed to plague him – he was Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, and he would see his people survive this war or die trying. "Anar'alah belore; by the light of the sun, we shall prevail."

No matter the cost, he would see his people survive this war.