Scourge - 13.1 - Finale (Patreon)

"Oh! Oh my!" Kinder Tindersnap declared as the dwarven cannon boomed overhead, the heavy balls of lead crashing through the lines of the troggs as they tried to reclaim their tunnels. "Well, can't sit by! Not at all, not at all."

Dusting off her robe from where she had been shoved out of the way of a blasted trogg's club by a kindly axedwarf, she started calling the chill of the mountain peaks to her hands. It was all quite nostalgic, elementary magic and all – quite literally, in fact! – that she hadn't even had to fuss over teaching little Fralatina for a decade or so.

"Freeze!" She yelled gleefully, feeling a manic grin grip her. She should have gotten back into the adventuring business years ago! "Freeze down to your bones! Aha!"

Gusts of freezing wet air blasted forth, leaving the good axedwarves clearly perplexed at the way they were spared the chill entirely while their foes were frozen stiff. Good dwarves that they were, they quickly got to clobbering the troggs over the heads with their axes.

It was quite satisfying to see them make use of her handiwork.

Clearing the tunnel and setting the charges to bring the whole thing down was so much easier with a proper front line. Her fellow gnomes were good at inventing things, and she enjoyed dabbling here and there – why, she'd helped develop the thirteenth generation of poultryizer! Of course, they were on the seventeenth, these days, and had fixed most of the kinks she'd introduced...

Kids these days, not having to calculate the phases of the moon to use their inventions. They had it so easy.

"Think ye can do that again, lass?" King Magni said, walking up in full regalia. "Bit above the normal scratch."

Kinder crossed her arms and huffed up at him. And kept huffing, she wasn't as young as she used to be. "I was on the Council of Six once, you know! Archmage Tindersnap, Your Majesty."

He chuckled. "Aye, aye. I remember yer resignation party. What was it ye said, to a life without any bloomin' paperwork?"

A laugh burst forth. Of course, she had said that! Oh, the king must have been just a prince back then – a good sixty years ago now. She always did wonder who Krasus got to replace her, the scaly bastard had his eye on a bunch of humans. Gnomes were founding members but always underrepresented!

Now she was scowling. Fortunately, there were troggs to freeze still. "One batch of troggsicles, coming up." She chirped like she was half her age. Cold winds gathered once more and – oh, how cute.

With a flick of her wrist, not even pausing in the chanting of her main spell, Kinder disrupted the trogg elementalist's attempt to summon fire from below to counter her spell.

Clever, in its own way, but really. The poor thing was out of its league.

The wave of frost bowled over the resisting troggs while the cannon turned to handle another tunnel, one headed far, far below. It made one wonder just where the blasted things came from.

Deepholme, perhaps? They did seem to be partially made of rock, so it might be possible...

"Less idle speculating, Ex-Councillor." King Magni said, slapping her on her back and near doubling her over. "Wanted to speak to ye 'cause Mekkatorque said ye were the one who brought the warning. Well, ye an' that Coilgear fellow, but he weren't as sure."

"Oh, a meeting." Kinder drawled, trying to rub at what was certainly going to be a bruise where he'd hit her. "How fun. I only resigned from the rulership of the City of Magic itself to escape such things."

Still, she followed after him.

Politics had been fun for half a century before she got bored of it and wanted a break. Half a century more, teaching her grandnieces and grandnephews had taught her that politics was dreadfully time-consuming, but parenthood? Worse.

Much worse. If it wasn't Fralatina fumbling her fireballs and setting her bedroom on fire, it was Finnathon proving that if you built the same thing to the same specifications you could get different results – that is, if you included Elemental Chaos pilfered from her personal enchanting stores in the materials list.

Maybe getting back into things after so long would be good. The way her back felt already, she wasn't much up for real adventures.

"Well, we got the damn Iron Belly built on yer say so. Supporting Lady Proudmoore as she goes off to do her thing." He shook his head. "Lot o' my lads be spitting mad we sent it off without testing."

"But that's the thing, it's being tested as we speak!" High Tinker Mekkatorque said glibly as they reached the command station. "Last communique we received said they even had five of the eight engines operational, that's a full twelve-point-five percent more power than expected by this quarter!"

A surly dwarf – though most dwarves were in Kinder's experience – grunted and shook his head. "An' I say that we should've gone with six engines that we could actually be sure worked."

"Aye, we've heard yer complaints before, Guzzlegear." King Magni said placatingly. "Would've taken longer, an' we didn't have the time."

Rush builds were always so exciting. You were never sure what they were going to do – well, hopefully it wouldn't sink. "Though, that was why we had Ironforge build the hull in our yard..." She mused. "Oh, I said that aloud?"

Mekkatorque laughed. "You certainly did!"

"This is no laughing matter." Thermaplugg snapped as he tapped his fingers against the war table. "The tunnels continue well beyond Dun Morough. The scouting teams have shown that. Without–"

"We ain't using it." King Magni declared flatly. "Ain't passed testing, an' it flowed back when we tried small scale."

"Not to mention it just made the ruddy troggs angry not dead." Guzzlegear muttered under his beard.

Mekkatorque nodded along. "Quite so, quite so. I am sorry, old friend, but your Irradiaton Gas hasn't proved terribly effective. And while I am ashamed to have had to call for aid... with it, we have little chance of losing this little war of ours."

"You were the one who wanted to give the Alliance all we could." Thermaplugg frowned, then shook his head. "Collapsing the tunnels only buys us time. We found a warren out–" He tapped a map, one which lead under Loch Modan, which was miles and miles away. Hundreds, even. "–here. Carcasses showed they must have a surface entrance where they were getting food."

His frown turned to a grimace. "They had children, of course. Lots of them. Hundreds to a parent, and they were just as brutal to them as they were to us. Beatings, squabbles over food, and even murder. Such uncivilised things, death by irradiation would be a kindness."

"No means no."

Kinder had to nod her head in agreement with King Magni. When it came down to it, she thought that Thermaplugg's idea had merit. As it was, they were going to have to kill them anyway – wasn't their fault the troggs were invading them.

Killing them with the least loss of life on their side? Fewer casualties overall, morally sound.

But the dwarven king had standards he wished to meet, and so long as they were fighting together they had to meet them. Even if dwarves could be so fussy about safety.

There was also the whole thing about him plotting to take over Gnomeregan by using the Irradiation Gas to make the High Tinker look incompetent, but honestly that was less important than keeping their friends the dwarves happy!

Power struggles happened. Dwarves were forever.

"Besides, we're got them beaten back. That weren't what this meeting were about. Coilgear, Tindersnap, what do ye think yer prophet would say to an expedition sent north to help Lordaeron?" King Magni asked. "Got a bone to pick with Arthas, me brother was in Northrend an' last we heard they'd met."

"Wait till the demons are gone." Kinder answered quickly. "They will be crossing the sea and leaving just the undead behind. Still dangerous, of course, but handleable." There was something else. "Oh, and don't let a human named Garithos take command."

They looked at her oddly, but all she could do was shrug. Her missives to Fralatina were limited.

Gilneas was such a silly place, only one leyline? The place was so magically empty that just sending a letting via magic was limited to a few dozen words! She could send an entire book to Dalaran for the same amount of effort.

Maybe she should look into Simon Malown's magical postal office idea. It would certainly help. Last she heard his descendants had become actual postmen...

Humans just didn't live long enough to get things done.

"Then we'll wait." King Magni gripped his hammer tightly. "Had a paladin come down with something special 'fore we headed down here anyway. Got a sword to forge. You with us, Mekkatorque?"

"Absolutely!" The High Tinker replied. "Stronger together, as ever." He held out an arm, and the King of Dwarves clasped it firmly, dwarfing his gnomish hand.

Kinder giggled to herself over her pun.

"United since we can remember." One shake and they released. "An' with the humans, the Wildhammer, an' the elves... stronger than ever. For the Alliance."

"For the Alliance indeed." Mekkatorque agreed, and they all took up the refrain. It was a glad sight.

-oOoOo-

Sand poured through her four fingers to scatter with the wind across the ruins of Seradane. Hardly the most ancient ruin in the world, but compared to so many others, it was one left in a forgotten corner and abandoned for such a very, very long time. Only the Great Tree and gate at its heart would ever draw any attention.

Would have drawn any attention.

Drifting in the wind, sand flowed up through her fingers into the palm of her hand. The sun in the sky rode backward and the skein of the world shifted – the view of Seradane as it would have been fled.

In the shadow of ancient white towers that had stood the test of time a field of red, gold, and blue tents rested. A gathered throng of elves, thousands, all huddling together and praying to whatever they thought might listen for the safe return of their prince from his task.

The Sunwell, a relatively mundane phoenix, the Red Queen – Auntie Alex would be amused – the Light, and even some of the troll's Loa by those most desperate.

Kicking her short legs against the stone of the tower, Chromie hummed to herself. "Did I do the right thing? It's so different."

A gentle hand pressed against her hand, the comforting presence of a parent reassuring their child. "Rightness matters little in these ill times. All that we are knows what you did was not wrong, and that is enough."

"Even when things almost became worse?" The sand in her hand swirled, forming into the figure of Jaina Proudmoore. "We almost lost her. She never would have tried to follow him before, never could have."

It had been the clue that led her all the way back to finding the little prophet in the end, the mad struggle to chase down what had caused Jaina Proudmoore to have a change of heart and follow Arthas Menethil to Northrend. Where she would be caught, entrapped, suborned, and raised as a Lich to match Kel'Thuzad as the Death Knight's right hand.

A fate that had been the work of subjective years to avert.

All because she had heard a rumour that Prince Arthas' doom lay in Northrend, that he would fall there, from a girl who had shared a class with Gwyneth Arevin for a few scant months. Someone so awestruck Archmage Antonidas' personal apprentice was talking to her she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind – at least changing the mind of a young human wasn't hard, a casual mention of water elementals minutes beforehand in her presence enough.

"Yet, champions we were sure to have lost remain." The sand swirled again, showing the meeting happening at this very moment in Stormwind Keep, where the young king loudly proclaimed his devotion to the Alliance and committed Stormwind to Antonidas' cause and the Alliance's aid – no matter the cost. "And others whose fate led them upon a myriad of paths we cannot follow seem intent to return to us."

With only a few moments to see the others her grandfather wished her to remember, time ran out. The person she had been waiting for was arriving; Arcane magic split the air as the long-familiar figure stepped out onto the pillar to survey the elven camp for himself.

"Hi Krasus! All go well up at the Sunwell? Is Anveena doing okay?" Chromie asked cheerily, knowing he had expected to be alone. "Kael'thas did a good job, didn't he. Oh! And Falstad, of course."

With patience brought about by millennia of being involved in antics like hers, Krasus didn't so much as blink at her presence. "Aspect," he said, deferentially bowing his head to Nozdormu, "I have just arrived from collecting the dispersed Sunwell's essence, collecting it into a form easily hidden. But fragments are missing."

His concern was clear enough for both of them to see.

"Yes." Nozdormu answered calmly, no expression save the faintest of acknowledgement of Alexstraza's prime consort's presence. "They are."

Chromie snickered to herself as the red waited, hopefully, for a more complete answer that would never come.

She knew full well that Krasus would not approve of the Vials of the Sun, he might make use of mortal agents but he had a tendency to believe they were best kept closely monitored and under control.

While she knew from experience that merely giving mortals direction, a bit of friendship, and a good helping of bribery was more than enough to get remarkably effective results. Well, would be enough, assuming things got so desperate as to need them.

More or less inevitable, really. The infinite had both been discouraged and outraged by her actions, calling her one of them in all but colour while also claiming she was nought but a pawn of the Titans.

Which, true. It was kind of her job.

But unfortunately that meant most of her kin were tied up keeping them in check, and would be until things stabilised a bit. Archimonde's arrival into the world left the timeways raw from the exposure to the Twisting Nether. Funnily enough, being one of their main targets and taken off the roster for counter-agent action gave her more free time rather than less, which was why she had the chance to do this.

"Isn't it rude of you to ignore me?" Chromie asked cheekily. "Or did I wish you good luck while you were there? I thought I didn't have the time for that, but I suppose I could make due." With a frown, Krasus turned to answer her, and she jumped to her feet. "Oh, no, don't tell me–"

Nozdormu's lips curled upward into a faint smile as sand swirled in the same spot Krasus had formed his portal, two figures stepping through. One of which she was intimately familiar with.

Not surprising, of course, considering it was herself.

"Oh, hi me!" She waved at her past self. "Didn't expect to see you here. How'd it go?"

"You'll have to wait and find out." The other Chromie nodded. "Here you are Rothos, one meeting between flights. You're about three hours out, by the way. Have fun!"

It wasn't long until Tyrygosa, posing as the High Elf Tyri, noticed the draconic disturbances and made her way up the tower. The meeting began in earnest and the fun and games were over.

They should be involved in the war, but that didn't mean they could be. Queen Alexstraza was still recovering from her wounds, those inflicted during her captivity and by Deathwing in the moment of his escape, and was incapable of battle.

Her children struggled to free their fellows from the chains that bound them, with many falling in Alterac under the orcs to become the wyrms thrown at Dalaran's defences before it fell.

Malygos and the blues were too scattered, in mind and number, to form any true resistance. Her own flight was embattled in the wake of the invasion by the infinite.

And the greens...

Rothos' eyes were not yet tinged red. And, perhaps, stirred from the ennui of a task of millennia they never would be. But countering the Old Gods was hardly so simple, plans could change before they were countered to be something entirely different.

Those not so deep in slumber as to be impossible to wake were as likely corrupted as not. And until it was done, there was no way to know. They may not have even been corrupted until they chose to wake them, retroactively.

Though she hardly voiced that to those who wouldn't even know about the Nightmare for years yet.

The fact that the blacks were acting up again, sensing an opportunity to stir trouble, scarcely needed mentioning. It was something that never really stopped.

"In the end, our presence will make little difference." Krasus answered Tyri's impetuous demand calmly. "Even now the Legion spends resources securing themselves from the threat we pose, a threat far lesser than they believe it to be. A token resistance, as you declare necessary for our honour, would do little more than inform them of our weakness."

"Plus, we want Archimonde overconfident!" Chromie chirped gleefully. "He's gonna think we're scared if we don't face him!" It wouldn't entirely be wrong either. Archimonde was scary.

Nozdormu nodded his head faintly. "Plans are already in motion." He said, though his eyes were elsewhere, watching the sands of time coalesce around a moment to come so soon in this place. "All will be, as it will be, and we have our parts to play."

It was something the others couldn't possibly have noticed, but Chromie could tell easily enough. He was happy. They had their parts to play, but what they were? Neither of them knew.

Not for certain. The future was in flux, it was changing, and by the hands of one with something close enough to the right to enact those changes that their instincts didn't force them to turn against them. Only time could tell if the changes were right, but they weren't wrong.

And that was good enough.

-oOoOo-

Varimathras did what he could to remain unobtrusive. It was a form of subtlety his brothers lacked, to simply be and bide his time until opportunity presented itself. Submission was weakness, but submission was also survival.

As their commander, Tichondrius, was learning at their Lord Archmonde's hand.

"It is due to your incompetence that I owe my brother a debt not so easily repaid." Lord Archmonde spoke, his words roiling with Fel flames that singed the air itself and released a taste of what was to come. "The summoning was delayed, the wrong relic used for the task, the humans warned and fleeing to give our true foes a chance to prepare."

A cloven hoof cracked bone as it casually pressed through Tichondrius' leg, and the Lord of the Nathrezim did not scream.

To scream would show that he felt pain, that he suffered, and to invite more. As would any attempt to plead for mercy; it was not in their Lord's nature to be merciful.

"We followed the plan as intended, Lord Archimonde." Tichondrius rasped, blood oozing from his lips. "Yet the Guardian lives once more, his feeble warnings spread through agents and heeded."

"Yes." Lord Archimonde said, musing at his chin as his voice rumbled with the fury of the Legion. "Our master's puppet has turned against us. He shall learn his place in time." Stepping away the dread general gazed upon the splendour of the Violet City, that which had defied them so. "As shall all the others; their lives may be denied to me, but their home is forfeit. And so it shall be that the first blow is struck against the mortal world, all that shall remain of their monuments to their arrogance is rubble."

His fingers snapped and Varimathras bowed to his Lord. Yet it was not his place to speak without being addressed.

"Your will, Lord Archmonde?" Anetheron, brother of Tichondrius, said deferentially.

"See to the assembly of the Scourge. We make for Kalimdor with all haste, the kaldorei cannot be given time to prepare." Fingers flexed as if to wrap around the throat of a foe equal to the towering Eredar in size. "The brothers shall manage the destruction of the Alliance in our absence."

Varimathras nodded his head calmly. "Your will be done, my Lord. Do your desire their demise, or more bodies for the Scourge?"

Burning eyes turned upon him, but he did not flinch. "I give you the chance to prove your ability." Lord Archmonde growled. "Do not fail me as your lord has."

The final word given, the Eredar left. The horizon, cast in green, darkened as infernals rained from the sky at the command of the blunt instruments already put to task. Mannoroth would scarcely care for leaving corpses to replenish the Scourge that had been so badly depleted, and likely enjoyed wasting their forces for his amusement.

Anetheron collected his broken brother and vanished in a swirl of Fel flame, leaving Varimathras alone with his own.

Within moments Balnazzar had snatched his arm. "Should we not have spoken of Detheroc?"

"And brought Lord Archmonde's wrath down upon him?" He answered, gesturing at the pool of steaming blood where Tichondrius had lain. "No, Detheroc shall complete his task given the chance. Though lesser to the Guardian, and certainly his pawn, the Gilnean girl shall be an offering to Archimonde to soothe his anger."

And excuse them from throwing more undead at the wall that repulsed them. Though it could be broken with a mere flex of Lord Archimonde's will or General Mannoroth's force of arms, they had more vital tasks.

Nor could they be so simply commanded. It may serve the Legion to draw attention to Gilneas, but it would not serve the nathrezim. Should their mistake in chasing the Gilnean girl, in assigning resources to her instead of countering the true threat of the Guardian...

No, it would not serve them. Better it was presented as a victory of the nathrezim than their failure. Detheroc would undermine them from within, as was his wont, and the dead of Gilneas would serve them soon enough.

"Then we scrabble for scraps to present our master." Balnazzar sneered disgustedly. "What shall you do, brother?"

The towers of Dalaran began to fall, crumbling into sand in a great wave as all at once the magic that held the city intact turned against all that touched upon it. A roar of fury and pain echoed in the distance, Lord Archimonde's roar.

"I believe I shall begin my work in Alterac at once, there are many who sought refuge in those high places when the Scourge came." He said quickly. "Go north, brother. The Eastweald may have fallen but pockets of survivors remain plentiful; provide the Scourge its bodies and we may yet avoid Tichondrius' fate."

Before Balnazzar could reply, Varimathras spread his wings and drew himself into the close Nether that coalesced around Azeroth, untouched by the wider realm which he knew as home.

The veil which protected the world was as strange as ever from this side, but the great rent which the lich empowered with the waters of the Well of Eternity had torn into it to allow Lord Archimonde into the world provided a comforting reminder of the domain he called home. All the horrors of the Twisting Nether spilling forth to reach Azeroth for the first time in millennia.

Moments that failed to pass went by, and before he even left he stood in the snowy peaks of the Alterac Mountains.  "Now, where were those cultists... Ah, Strahnbrad." Magic coiled around him and a shaggy old man walked down the road.

None would be the wiser until it was too late.