Diplomacy 101: Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Today was the fifth day since he had woken up in this world. It was a sunny, mild day clear of rain. If it weren't for the smoldering buildings and stench of undeath, Varrus might even say it was a nice day.

They had just cleared a street, and the rangers were clearing buildings while Varrus watched. Only a group of 45 High Elves were saved. It was a surreal feeling considering this street of apartments could house thousands.

Using the map feature, Varrus went about his business systematically, and had purged countless streets like the one he was on today. It wouldn't be long before he reached the very north western tip, encountering Falcon Wing Square, and Sunstrider Isle. They were the only two places on the western side of Silvermoon to hold out against the Scourge. He wondered what the other survivors reactions would be to discovering another pocket of resistance.

Shaking his head, Varrus put those thoughts to the back of his mind, and resumed his watch over the refugees.

His eyes glowed with the spell Detect Undead while he watched them be led away toward his estate. After one group had been held hostage by an intelligent Undead attempting to assassinate him, Varrus checked every group, street, and building before getting close.

There were a few close encounters over the last few days that had Varrus feeling antsy. He had a nasty feeling that someone with intelligence and the authority to control the Undead was plotting against him.

Varrus had to take every precaution available to him. He only had one life afterall.

Seeing that they were all clear, Varrus dropped the spell, and took a good look at the refugees.

Their forms were dirty, and covered in grime. Worse still, the mana sickness had begun to set in, and their once bright orange-like skin was beginning to slightly pale, and turn a sallow yellow.

If they went to much longer without a stable source of mana, they would begin to turn gray-green, become hunched, and lose their sanity. They would become the deformed Elves known as the Wretched.

The group of refugees were silent as the grave. One or two fell to the floor crying in relief, but the majority of them had dead looks in their eye. Considering the Undead acted on stereotypical zombie rules, Varrus could only imagine how these people had survived the past couple of days. Because if you made even a sound, or exposed your scent to the air, then the Undead would soon pounce upon your flesh. It was a dire thought indeed.

Varrus shook his head in pity when he saw an Elven child trailingly cling to an adult's robe from behind. Their face was covered in dirt, and eyes blank from the horrors of war. It made Varrus sick in the stomach to see a child robbed of their innocence like that. It was one thing to watch something on his phone, it was an entirely different sensation to witness it in real life.

Of the few thousand people they had rescued in the last five days, this was the eighth child he had come across. Their mortality rate was a grim reminder over the Highborn's lack of fertility and cripplingly low numbers.

So far they had saved little over 7,000 people, but Varrus didn't hold out hope for many more. Just like on Earth after a natural disaster, mine collapse, or other catastrophe, the first five days were crucial for finding survivors.

Anyone who survived, hidden in a cellar or hidden compartment would be in the throes of mana addiction. Sure they would survive for some time before they completely devolved, but Varrus would hardly call that living.

Canonically, the western half of Silvermoon was home to countless Wretched. Varrus speculated that this group of High Elves must've hidden themselves too well to survive the Scourge. And by the time Kael'Thas sent back the ability to mana siphon Fel energy, it was too late for them. Their transformation seemingly irreversible, the entire western half of Silvermoon became home to magical crack addicts, and roaming Undead.

Hopefully this time around, Varrus would be able to reduce the Highborn's loss due to his Mana Stones, and general rescue effort.

Speaking of rescue, Varrus couldn't help but sigh once more in pity at the child. Adult High Elves were only interested in politics, drama, and showing off. The children were still innocent, and he wished he could've preserved their innocence.

Varrus summoned his Deep Storage, then deposited some Mana Stones to the survivors. He showed a small smile when he saw the girl begin to almost immediately regain her vibrant glow.

Syra silently stood beside him, then stepped forward and offered a lollipop to the child.

The little girl shied away and hid behind her caretaker.

Varrus smiled at his wife's back as she crouched to be eye level with the girl, and stuck the lollipop in her own mouth, and hummed "tasty~ if only there was someone I could share with?"

Syra tilted her head in faux pondering as another lollipop appeared in her hand.

Hesitant at first, the little girl eventually gripped the lollipop, and giggled as she gave it a lick.

"Thank you for saving us. With you here, it's finally over." The caretaker sighed in relief.

Varrus felt his mouth go dry as he saw the hope in the woman across from him, and silently nodded his head in acknowledgement before waving her on. He would let the rangers break the sad news to her. The Scourge may eventually be purged from the city, but things were far from over. In fact, given the countless dungeons and raids that Varrus was aware of. The sacking of Silvermoon was merely a prelude for the clusterfuck awaiting Azeroth.

In fact, as it stood now, Silvermoon was practically a wasteland. Half or more of the buildings were ruined beyond repair, and Undead milled about on every street corner. Everyone knew someone who was murdered. Some committed suicide, others became depressed, and at least half of the survivors he had met wanted vengeance.

Varrus was hopeful that his new people would take up arms alongside him, and he could only try to inspire them to do better. Their race faced an existential crisis unseen since the destruction of the Well of Eternity. They had better get their shit together, and fast, otherwise they'd become the lackys of either the Alliance, or the Horde.

Fortunatley, many people had started slaying the Undead-with and without him-yet 5,000+ of the 7,000+ refugees refused to leave his estate to fight.

His ultimatum was going to go into effect soon, and Varrus wondered how many would sit on their hands and call his bluff. He however, wasn't playing any games.

What's that, you spent the last thousand years selling and making cheese? Want a cookie? No, if they wanted a Mana Stone, they either fought, joined House Vandercross, or possessed useful auxiliary skills such as smithing/enchanting/alchemy, etc.

As for the army he was building, they were slowly getting the hang of it.

Those that followed him into the field mostly only knew a single spell, or could wield a weapon with passing familiarity. But the way an Elf amateur wielded a weapon was worlds apart from an amateur Human. It was no wonder High Elves were so smug when their reflexes, balance, and depth perception were naturally on par with a Human olympian.

Moreover, after a few nights of studying, some of the original 100+ citizen mages he brought with him could cast Slow, Blink, or even throw a slightly bigger/more frequent fireballs as their mana pools increased from the frequent spell casting.

The knowledge they had forgotten long ago was slowly coming back to them. Like a man going back to college in his 40's, it was a pain in the ass, but the information didn't disappear. The periodic table would always have the noble gasses, and a cell would always be powered by the mitochondria. These old heads just needed a refresher.

Of course, not everyone wanted to follow an Elf younger than a century. Even if the name Vandercross did grant him some prestige, some people only trusted in the age-old adage age = experience + wisdom. Varrus only needed to look at Earth's political elite to raise an eyebrow at that one, but wasn't about to throw a hissy fit at them when they split off to clear Silvermoon in their own small groups.

Others were exploring for loot, as Varrus had added an additional bounty. He would offer Mana Stones for ore, metal, enchanted equipment, gems, weapon/armor schematics, herbs, and most importantly, spell books.

Among the loot, Varrus made special attention towards seizing as many magic wands as he possibly could along the way.

The little death sticks were as intuitive to Highborn as a gun is to a man.

Most generic magic wands packed about as much oomph as a musket, and could be shot about every 2.0-4.5 seconds depending on the wand. Unlike WoW where gear ran on durability, wands actually had a preset limit, and were not much different from an enchanted weapon in Skyrim. With a carrying capacity of about 50-100 shots before requiring recharge, wands were an effective tool for mages/priests while they recharged their mana.

Not only was Varrus taking everything he could get his grubby hands on, but he was also focusing on recruiting talented personnel. 330+ of the survivors he had rescued had pledged themselves to House Vandercross in a variety of roles. A good proportion of them were signed on as House Guards, and were being trained by the veterans, or followed him into the field.

Many others served auxiliary functions. For example, he hired a dozen Elves skilled in agricultural spells. It was easy now to force everyone into a war time economy, but he had to think about the future. Every arm chair tactician knew that logistics won wars, and food was the key ingredient to any conventional war. Varrus' thinking was that since the majority of the western city was a giant park untainted by the Scourge, it would make for an excellent mega farm. Additionally, food was a valuable bargaining chip in these tough times. If he wanted to sway the humans in the Plaguelands to the Elven banner, then meeting their basic need of untainted food would make many inroads.

Outside of logistical support, Varrus had recruited a rather sizable force from these motly survivors. His army was a group of 712 High Born. Whether they joined out of political affiliation, cultural loyalty, for extra mana stones, or desperation, Varrus didn't care. A soldier was a soldier. One more body against the enemy was a welcome ally in his book.

His army was a loose coalition that-for the most part-reluctantly followed his lead. Only a core of about 100 or so had turned into true believers, and would follow his orders without question. It honestly surprised him that such prideful and arrogant people could follow someone centuries younger than them considering how rife Highborn culture was with demeaning the youth. It was the equivelant of the Greeks following a 14 year old Alexander into war. Varrus knew that if some kid tried to lead him into a firefight on Earth, he'd laugh and walk away. What idiot would follow a kid into battle?

Yet desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, Varrus had a lot going for him.

The powerful allure of Mana Stones, the family name, and safety in numbers were a large part of the equation as to why they followed him.

Victory however, was the glue that bound them together.

The smug elves in the army wouldn't admit it out loud, but the few looks of grudging respect when Varrus slung out a near endless torrent of spells said it all.

To keep up the showmanship, Varrus would act like he had near endless mana by consuming Mana Stones in his inventory whenever he ran low on MP.

Only after a long and drawn out fight would he openly absorb a Mana Stone. His actions implicitly showed all those who chose to follow him that yes, his mana pool was larger than theirs, and yes, he was a genius mage.

Because if there was anything that would move a smug elf to disregard age as a factor, it was BIG MAGIC.

Of course it helped that Varrus squeezed in extra Mana Stones for all those who followed him. Bribery was a valid strat, and it helped level up his Speech skill. Lesson number two of arm chair tactitionary: ALWAYS pay your men well, and pay them on time.

Varrus spammed so many spells, and spent Mana Stones generously so much, that even the stuffiest of elders could only sigh begrudgingly at his performance.

In these five days, he focused on three skill trees in particular:

Conjuration: 62

Restoration: 98

Destruction: 53

And he also reached level 72 after repeatedly resetting his Alteration by going legendary.

His base stats were:

Mana: 600

Health: 388 (initially 420, but reduced -10%)

Stamina: 100

While training, he had finally gotten a brief moment of alone time from his wife, and tested the health stat by slashing himself on the palm with an iron dagger. He didn't lose any hp, because the knife couldn't pierce his skin. Varrus' hp, it seemed, increased his level of toughness. Varrus could only assume a powerful enough attack to the neck would decapitate him. Because based on his test, he wasn't like other gamers who lost hp without any signs of physical damage.

During his training, Varrus also picked up a few spells thanks to his 'book eating ability.' His favorites so far were Blink and Soul Stone.

Blink was a short range teleportation spell under the Alteration tree. When he learned it, it came with a Novice to Master tier version of the spell. It seemed that every native spell to Warcraft he learned would do that.

Whereas the Soul Stone spell essentially created empty Black Soul Gems, and were filled whenever he slew someone under the effects of Soul Trap. Of course the new spell Soul Cloak was better, and would collect the souls of all slain so long as he had the spell hovering about his shoulders. It was much more efficient than individually casting Soul Trap every time. Needless to say, his Deep Storage had dozens of Petty Soul Gems from the zombies/ghouls, and a handful of Lesser Soul Gems from the abominations.

Varrus also put in time to experiment with his Skyrim spells to see what had stayed the same, and what had been left behind/changed from the game-like qualities.

This was a real and breathing world after all. Just because he had the Skyrim UI, didn't mean it was 1 to 1. For example, when he swung a weapon, it wasn't in the exact same pattern as the game character. He chose where and at what angle the weapon would strike. He could thrust the weapon forward, and wasn't locked into any one method of attack. Likewise, there was some wiggle room in the control of magic. Basic self cast spells didn't require Varrus to raise his hand up like he was asking a question in class. He could move his hands in any direction to cast the spell.

One of the big changes in the UI was the skill tree of Conjuration.

To level Conjuration initially, Varrus threw out his ghostly wolf with Conjure Familiar countless times. It was a boring, basic, standard approach, but it got the job done. When he leveled up to Apprentice, he would summon the fire elemental, Flame Atronarch. That's where some interesting developments occurred.

See in this world, there was no Oblivion for daedra to be called upon. The summoned beings came from a different place.

The atronachs for example, had become an elemental summoned from the elemental plane. And unlike in Skyrim, summoned creatures, like the summons of a Warlock such as imps or voidwalkers lasted until they were destroyed, or had their mana exhausted.

Similarly, the restriction on time and number of active summons had changed. In its place was a mana value signifying how much "charge" the summon had before it dissipated, as well as if it was bound or unbound.

Theoretically, Varrus could summon a never ending wave of Flame Atronachs. However, in the Warcraft universe, and Skyrim for that matter, there were bound, and unbound summons.

For every 200 base mana, he could conjure a bound summon.

The Flame Atronarch for example had enough mana to cast roughly 22 fireballs. After it spent its load, it would dissipate, or explode in a fiery torrent. However, so long as it didn't cast magic, the elemental would hangout pretty much indefinitely.

He also noticed that the amount of fireballs would increase as his skill level increased. For example, when he unequipped the Power Stick, his spell power bonus disappeared, and as a result, the amount of fireballs decreased as well.

Besides this change in Conjuration, Varrus was busy experimenting with the Destruction tree.

One fun fact is that a zombie will become frozen solid the same as any mortal would. Electricity however was almost next to useless aginst the Undead at Varrus' level. The arcs of plasma made their lifeless magically empowered bodies spasm and contort. Eventually their flesh would be burnt off, but at that point, why use electricity against the Undead at all? In the end, nothing beat a good'ol fire ball, or beam of restoration magic.

Magic in Skyrim wasn't actually all that strong when compared to the stealth archer build. However, magic had extreme AOE capabilities, and unlike an arrow, magic in the real world blew up buildings, and could even destroy entire cities.

Now with the enchanted equipment to boost spell power, magic was incredibly powerful. Maybe there would come a day when he visited the stealth archer build, but at this point in time, it seemed highly impractical.

While he had a lot of fun exploring magic, his time spent in Warcraft wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Grinding levels, studying magic, and trying to garner support amongst the drama loving smug elves was kids stuff compared to the reality of their situation.

The Scourging of Silvermoon was a serious event in which 90% of all High Elves died. Again, 90%. For someone who once lived in a large country, he couldn't even fathom losing such a sum.

Like, imagine walking down the streets of Beijing, London, NYC, Tokyo, etc, and only seeing 9-20 people after going for a mile or two…that's how sparse it was.

With such a huge loss, there was bound to be tragedy. The things he had seen in this short span of days were sickening.

In these five days, Varrus had experienced first hand terrible sights of ghouls feasting upon the corpses of children. Heard the horrified screams of a family eaten alive before they could reach them. Witnessed an Elf cannibalize his family in an effort to boost his magic. He was even forced to destroy a zombified child.

One necromancer even begged for mercy! Claiming he was forced into the Cult of the Damned against his will. Ha! Mercy?! He knew what the cult had done. Selling their souls for immortality, they perpetuated damnation for all they raised.

Every zombie, ghoul and Undead had a spirit trapped in torturous torment within that shell of a corpse. All enslaved to the bidding of the Lich King and his Dreadlord masters.

He was fresh out of mercy.

Varrus had never been so saddened, so…angry in his entire life!

He wanted to pick something up, and throw it against a wall. So that's what he did.

It was with this fire in his heart that he took his anger out on the filthy vermin polluting this once shining city.

Street by street, block by block, Varrus purified the land by smiting one tainted corpse at a time.

With 0 mana cost on Alteration spells, Varrus spammed Telekinesis. He would pick zombies up, and splatter them into walls, the ground and each other. Their disgusting black brackish fluids and brain matter sickened Varrus to no end, but the sound of their cracking bones was music to his ears. Against an enemy like this, victory mattered more than any moral code or idea of Geneva conventions.

Anything smaller than a giant from Skyrim-whether it be an inanimate object or snarling zombie-it could be lifted off the ground. He speculated that if he had more spell power, he could lift even bigger/heavier objects.

But for now, rocks, rubble, weapons, anything and everything became his projectile. It wasn't a God tier ability, as he did have to point at a thing or object to cast the spell. It also had the major downside of being single target. Otherwise, Varrus would be able to cast 'fuck everything in that general direction' and use it like a Super Fus Roh Dah.

However, there was nothing more satisfying than finger flicking a gargoyle down to the ground, or yeeting a zombie back so hard, it crashed through several of its fellows.

When he did come across any hulking monstrosities, he would burn them with the spells from the Restoration tree.

He especially capitalized on the perk, Hallowed Burial (2) - Your attacks and Restoration spells and effects are 20/30% more powerful against undead enemies.

The Restoration tree was rife with anti-Undead spells/abilities. While Varrus had a natural inclination toward Destruction, he would be a fool if he didn't capitalize on this natural weakness.

And one spell in particular, Sunblast was his bread and butter. It was a concentration spell that dealt 15 damage per second in a beam of pure concentrated energy at (base cost: 19 mana/second).

The ray of light would completely turn an Undead into ashes after he destroyed their heads or damaged them enough. But the smell of sizzling necrotic meat was something Varrus wished he had never encountered.

Varrus thought he would vomit the first time he killed an abomination with this spell. The damned monsters were 8-12ft of thick flesh filled with a bloated belly of plague gasses. The rancid smell, the bubbling flesh, it was the stuff of nightmares. However, all he felt when facing the Undead was a cold rage.

The dead eyes of that zombified child he was forced to put down was a punch to the gut. One day, he would have a child who looked similar. Imagining his child trapped in the tormented shell of a mind controlled corpse had him forget any regret.

In fact, he came to become numb to the awful stench. It even made him crack a smile knowing one less threat was gone for good.

The only thing keeping him relatively sane in this hellscape was his wife.

She was so observant of him. Always watching over his back for danger. Grabbing him a drink when he just realized he was thirsty. Syra would hug him when he felt down after any particularly harrowing or gruesome scenes. Always listening to his worries and concerns.

Even now, her kindness to the children was a breath of fresh air.

While most High Elves seemed selfish to Varrus, focused on fulfilling revenge, political maneuvering, or chasing Mana Stones, Syra seemed like the only one who was alive.

She even caught a flower the other day, and showed it to him before pressing it into her diary.

Of course the fact that they passionately made love every night wasn't harming anything. Varrus thought to himself with a smirk.

That's how he would spend his days in this new world. 8-15hrs of cleaning up/exploring the city, collecting interesting loot for his Deep Storage, and rescuing refugees.

Then he would return home, and check in with the veteran House Guard for updates, especially on the activities of his mother-in-law. Show his face for half an hour to distribute Mana Stones, then return to his room for a meal + romance with his wife, utterly exhausted. He would then close his eyes for a second, then snap them open a minute later. He wasn't in a position that afforded sleep.

He couldn't rest early because he had to grind more Mana Stones to power level, and stockpile his inventory/Deep Storage for a rainy day. During all this, Syra would constantly talk to him, rub his shoulders, or do training of her own. She was a professional through and through. Varrus sometimes would take a break from his mind numbing Mana Stone grind, just to watch her perform some amazing feats of yoga or acrobatics. Needless to say, small, intermittent moments of love making or romantic kisses paired with grinding their bodies into one another would occur during her semi-erotic stretches.

Then, once the early hours of the day approached, he would finally allow himself to fall into his wife's sweet embrace. Sure, he probably didn't need to eat or sleep given his Skyrim UI, but sleep was a necessary component to rejuvenate his tired mind.

In all this chaos, the pressures of leadership, and living on the edge of death day by day, his wife rarely left his side. She was the light keeping his sanity alive, and she always supported him in whatever direction he wanted to go. When he asked her what her dreams were, if she had any input on how he should run things, what did she say?

She said 'I love you.' and left it at that.

Someone so strong, beautiful and supportive…Varrus was seriously beginning to fall for this blonde murder machine.

Unable to help himself, Varrus embraced his wife from behind, and breathed in her hair. He didn't care if he was in front of these refugees, or a bunch of old people who would criticize him for a public display of affection. When he was with her, she was all that mattered. So what if she was crazy? She was his crazy. He was her man, and she was his woman. She was his rock in this mad mad world.

Predictably this moment of blissful peace was not to last long.

"Ambush!" Someone shouted, and Varrus witnessed an Undead rogue decloak from stealth, and stab an Elf dead. The Undead then threw down a smoke bomb, and disappeared in the cloud.

All around the street, Undead began to swarm in from a distance outside of Varrus's Detect Undead's range.

A pack of 13 Gargoyles swooped low, and managed to sink their claws into a group of refugees, lifting them into the air, then letting them drop to their demise.

Acting in a hurry, Varrus cast Drop Zone wherever he saw an Elf about to fall.

When the Gargoyles came back for a second pass, Varrus used his Telekinesis spell on one gargoyle after another, and slammed them into the ground with such ferocity, their bones twisted, and they moved no more.

"To me! To me, House Vadercross!" Varrus cried out as he saw Undead rush in from the far end of the street and their sides.

Fortunately, they had set up bulwarks at the end of every street with a raised platform so the mages and rangers could throw spells from an elevated position. It acted as the fallback point for anyone still on the street or in the buildings.

The same Undead rogue kept appearing and disappearing, successfully sowing discord amongst their ranks in all the chaos as he killed three more.

As soon as he gathered the army, Varrus began to scan his surroundings with Detect Undead for the rogue.

'There!' Varrus reacted immediately as he saw an incorporeal aura, and blasted the spot with an AOE spell.

Only the rogue had managed to dodge, and retreated out of his spell's range.

"Tch." Varrus clucked his tongue in anger, but he had bigger fish to fry.

If his Undead Sight was correct, they were surrounded, and not by a small force. There were easily thousands, possibly over 10,000 Undead swarming in on their position.

"Form ranks, form ranks! A large army approaches!" Varrus raised his voice in warning.

Every time he shouted, Speech perk effects such as Thu'um of War were triggered - Your shouts stagger nearby enemies within 25 feet, reducing armor rating by 300 points for 10 seconds and knocking enemies below 25% Health to the ground.

He was no dragonborn, so he had to get creative with how he interacted with the Skyrim Ui.

At the front of his line, three hulking Frost Atronarchs stood at the vanguard alongside his wife.

The child amongst refugees began to cry loudly as a seemingly never ending tide of undeath emerged from every back alley and side street.

Seeing the danger presented to him, Varrus opened the Deep Storage, and began handing out Mana Stones like Halloween candy. Now was not the time to be stingy.

The Undead suddenly stopped just outside the range of the Elven bows. Their limbs creaked and cracked within the eerie silence.

Emerging from within their ranks was an Undead High Elf, one that Varrus recognized.

"Greetings pup of the Vandercross, I am Dar'Khan Drathir, King of Silvermoon! Your valiant efforts have caught the eye of the king. I am impressed boy! Lay down your arms, and I promise you a seat by my side as one of my chief lieutenants!" The man said with a degree of arrogance Varrus had never seen before.

"Follow you? The Elf who was such a failure, he was passed up for the seat of Grand Magister not once, not twice, but seven times? I think not, traitor. Your jealous incompetence saw you betray your people, and deform yourself out of prideful arrogance! Had Ranger-General Lor'Themar not told you the location of our hidden runestones, the shield covering Silvermoon would yet stand.

Let your tale of cowardice be a lesson to all Highborn. Let all who witness your foul form see the price of treachery." Varrus adopted a righteous demeanor, and explicitly informed those within his army that the object of their revenge was right in front of them.

Several Elves nearby had to be held back from blindly charging in once they realized that the Elf responsible for their downfall was standing at just the other end of the street.

"You will regret those words boy. I will enjoy tormenting you for an eternity!" Dar'Khan finished his statement by throwing out a powerful spell directly at him.

A beam of concentrated necrotic-green energy blasted forth.

Varrus slammed up a two handed Greater Ward, catching the attack head on.

The force was so powerful, and so great, Varrus was rocked back, and felt his mana rapidly deplete as he did everything in his power to maintain the shield.

Fortunately he had focused so much on the Restoration tree. Because he had the perk Bastion Ward: Wards reduce incoming attack damage by 40%.

He also had Vigilant: The first ward you cast in combat costs no Magicka to maintain.

And even then, Dar'Khan's attack was mightily powerful. He wasn't an archmage considered for the role of Grand Magister for nothing.

Dar'Khan's spell was some sort of signal, as the Undead horde began to March forth. The only saving grace was that their bulwark was sandwiched between two giant rubble piles.

However, the Undead army was working to tear down the rubble, and encircle them.

Varrus didn't have time to worry about commanding the army as he was in a magical duel to the death.

Blinking to the roof of a nearby apartment, Varrus tried catching Dar'Khan in a telekinetic grip, but the damned High Elf Undead also Blinked to dodge.

The two mages threw out spell after spell at one another, but couldn't seem to land a hit.

Varrus exploded the ground with AOE Restoration spells one after another, and threw out magnetic Alteration spells in an attempt to break Dar'Khan's focus. Yet everything he threw at the damned traitor missed.

Every second he failed to slay this foe had him worried that they would lose the fight.

'Come on, die already!' Varrus internally raged as he tried his best to pin this asshole down.

All the while, Syra was holding the bulwark almost single handedly.

Her blade chopped an abomination in half, and in the same motion, she called down three hammers of light to crash upon the heads of a pair of gargoyles.

However, the sky was beginning to be blotted out with the thrum of countless gargoyles. The mages and rangers could take down only so many, and were needed to support the warriors and paladins.

In the back of the Undead ranks, Meat Wagon catapults began tossing heavily diseased, explosive organs at them. The boney shrapnel contained within didn't kill, but instead spread infectious wounds.

Priests that would heal a cut or laceration in seconds were forced to choose between healing a diseased victim over the course of minutes, or those with infectious yet not at the moment life threatening wounds.

Slowly but surely, more and more Highborn were killed, or forced to the back of the line, wounded, crippled, or on the verge of death.

Syra killed all that she could, but more and more kept coming. She slew 1,000 then 2,000 yet the Scourge was endless.

Meanwhile the 700+ Elves slowly declined to 500, and now barely 200 were holding themselves up.

Every second, spells flew into the horde, and swords hacked down. Zombies liquefied, abominations crispified, and ghouls became decapitated upon the tips of ceaselessly swinging swords.

Over 3,000 Undead were slain by a third of their number.

It was not enough.

"Kier! Kier!" A familiar cry of the Dragonhawk resounded in the sky.

"Dragonhawk knights! Reinforcements have arrived from the sky!" Someone shouted, and pointed into the clouds.

Swooping down upon the gargoyles, a few dozen dragonhawk knights skewered them upon their lances, and tossed the gargoyles to the ground.

Their lances acted similarly to Skyrim staves too, and blasted concussive magical balls of arcane power down into the Undead.

The relief brought beleaguered warriors time to regain a hint of stamina. For priests to heal 100 warriors back to the fight. For mages to consume Mana Stones, and breath between constant evocations.

Things were beginning to look up, yet a mighty roar shook the very air of the battlefield.

Flying in to meet the dragonhawk knights was a trio of mighty wyrms. Their bodies were made of dragon bone held together by hauntingly pale blue magicks.

The brief moment of hope was broken as the wyrm breathed one mighty frost breath, utterly encasing three dragonhawk knights, and forcing them to plummet to their doom.

Syra absorbed all this information within a second, and knew she had to take it out.

Holding on to her beloved's band of hair wrapped tightly around her wrist, Syra smiled to herself, and her confidence grew. She knew her husband would triumph over the wizard. But to do so, she had to take care of any obstacle that may hinder his path.

As her thoughts and feelings of love blossomed, so too did the intensity of Light surrounding her.

She then took a deep breath, and channeled this energy to her legs. Taking aim at the frost wyrm, Syra took a deep breath, and she jumped.

The spell Leap of Faith activated, and Syra rocketed toward the dragon at breakneck speeds.

Spotting her ascent, the wyrm opened its maw wide, and sprayed forth a blizzard of frosty death.

Closing her eyes, Syra let's the cold wash over her like a spring breeze.

"For Varrus! For love! For my unborn children! DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!" Syra screamed at the top of her lungs.

Her aura left her body, and condensed solely around the tip of her sword, generating through the mist of cold.

Her strike was true, and she cleaved the great wyrm in half, right down the center.

Frostbitten, and skin blackened, Syra ignored the pain, and screamed her defiance to the heavens as she jumped off the scattered remains of one wyrm onto the next one.

She roughly landed upon its spine, and felt a cold aura begin to seep into her bones.

Black spots began to dot her vision, but she wouldn't allow any obstacle to stand in their way.

Crushing a Mana Stone, Syra felt his warmth fill her body, and renewed conviction blossomed within her heart.

Overwhelming mana surged out of her pores, and she jammed her sword into the long bony spine of the wyrm.

Light energies flooded the beast's body, and the sickly blue light holding it together turned holy gold. The wyrm shrieked a ghastly wail as its body began to crumble from the inside.

Standing triumphantly upon the corpse of the wyrm as it plummeted toward the ground, Syra was unconcerned. Her only regret was that the last remaining wyrm was too far away for her to jump to.

"Hail fair maiden, we are the Knights of the Hawk and we are here to rescue you! Quick, take my hand!" A dragonhawk knight shouted as he flew by.

Syra, upon seeing it was a man offering his hand, snorted and turned away. She would not besmirch her husband by holding hands with another man!

Instead, Syra rubbed her wrist one more time, and felt a great big smile stretch across her face. As the wind flapped in her face, and pushed back her long blonde hair, Syra felt so alive knowing she had killed the scum that stood between her and her husband's happiness.

Sparing a glance of murder at the man who had tried to turn her into an unfaithful wife, Syra slashed out with her sword in silent anger.

"Woah! You're crazy!" The dragonhawk knight exclaimed in shock, and pulled away.

"Leave her brother! We must deal with this last wyrm!" Another dragonhawk knight urged.

Syra scoffed in ridicule, then turned toward the rapidly approaching ground.

She happened to spot several of those circles her husband called 'Drop Zones.' Glee came to her heart. 'He must've dropped them in advance knowing I would fight in the sky.'

Syra flipped off the wyrm's corpse like a seasoned ballerina, or circus performer, and easily landed within one of the Drop Zones.

Ah, she was the luckiest woman in the world to have such a thoughtful man. She couldn't wait wait wait wait ANY longer to have children!

Varrus saw his wife plummeting to the ground and he saw white. His heart stopped, and his mind went numb.

He raised his hand to teleport over to the other side of the battlefield and save her, yet Dar'Khan constantly got in his way.wThe direction he wanted to Blink in had become obvious, and throughout the fight, they gotten a measure for how far each of them could teleport.

"I've been studying your movements these days Vandercross. And I know your methods and your greatest weakness!" Dar'Khan crowed in triumph.

Dar'Khan's sinister smile was awash with schadenfreude as Varrus struggled to come to a decision.

Varrus ignored the asshole, and decided to put faith in his wife. It was time to end this.

For the last five days, Varrus was admittedly scared of closing with the enemy. This entire time, he would stand back, and spam spell after spell, and watch the Undead crumple before him. It was very satisfying.

However, if he wanted to defeat this smarmy sonuvabitch, he would have to leave his comfort zone and get close.

Mind made up, Varrus drew his sword, and used Blink to come closer.

"Fool! You wish to recklessly charge at me, the King of all Elves?!" Dar'Khan scoffed in ridicule, then began to shoot a torrent of concentrated corrupted lightning at Varrus.

Green, electrical sparks met Varrus' Greater Ward, making his advance slow to an agonizing pace. Lightning bounced and refracted off his magical shield, scoring deep furrows in nearby buildings, and churning up the very earth.

Varrus pressed onward, getting within 10ft of Dar'Khan. Knowing his foe wouldn't let him get any closer before he Blinked away, Varrus stopped advancing, and held his position.

"Ah ha ha ha! I am the greatest mage to have ever been born! This city should've never passed me up!" Dar'Khan laughed madly as he redoubled his efforts.

Varrus grunted, and almost let slip of his ward, yet he grinned all the same.

'That's right, keep acting like a typical Blizzard written, mustache twirling villain.'

It didn't take long before his perk Nullifier to activate:

Nullifier - You radiate a dampening field, preventing enemies within 25 feet from regenerating Magicka and Stamina.

A minute passed, and Dar'Khan's magic began to fade and subside.

"You. What did you do!?" Dar'Khan raged.

"You're the most powerful mage of all time, you figure it out." Varrus said as he cast Soul Trap, then Blinked behind Dar'Khan to finish the job.

However, as he appeared behind Dar'Khan, that same Undead rogue from before that had been harassing his forces decloaked from invisibility, and stabbed his dagger toward Varrus' side.

Blue magic light met pale green Ebony Flesh for an instant, then slipped off Varrus, and into Dar'Khan's back.

"Yo-you damned fool!" Dar'Khan said as he stumbled to the ground.

The rogue and Varrus both paused in their tracks as the reality of the situation kicked in.

Varrus had never let go of his Sense Undead spell this entire time, and was prepared for the rogue, but nothing prepared him for the accidental sleight of hand!

Reacting on instinct, Varrus cast the spell he was most comfortable with and telekinetically yeeted the rogue into a wall, and held him there with one hand. Meanwhile, the other hand unleashed a beam of light, crisping the rogue into ashes. In the process, leveling his Restoration to 100.

"I don't know how you've sapped me of my mana boy, but I'll be back! That slut of yours will make a fine addition to my collec-" Dar'Khan's monologue was cut short as Varrus stabbed his fiery enchanted sword down into Dar'Khan's scalp, silencing him forever.

He then heard a ghastly scream as Dar'Khan was sucked into the Soul Stone, creating a Greater Black Soul Gem. Varrus sighed in relief that the Soul Stone wasn't solely Skyrim lore, otherwise this cockroach would come back to haunt him again and again. Canonically Dar'Khan was a cockroach that died 3 or 4 times.

Varrus then placed the Soul Gem into his inventory, and took in the rest of the battlefield.

(Vibe check: https://youtu.be/8t9eL-5wMFc)

While he had been gallivanting from rooftop to rooftop, the Elves had it bad. Thousands of Undead forces remained, and even if they lost their tactical ability due to Dar'Khan's defeat, they were still a force to be reckoned with.

Most importantly however, he saw that his wife was safe and sound fighting at the front line.

Sighing in relief, Varrus performed a series of Blinks, and landed at the front of the Elven line.

Syra saw him, and flashed him her award winning smile, to which he blew her a kiss in response.

His presence didn't go unnoticed.

"What news Vandercross?!"

"Is there an escape, have you brought reinforcements?!"

"You've led us into damnation boy! We should've never come here!"

Varrus ignored them in favor of placing his final perk in the Restoration tree.

Apotheosis - Grants the "Apotheosis" power. Once a day, casts Warrior's Flame on all nearby for 500 seconds. Costs 250 Magicka.

He then raised his voice to be heard over the din of battle.

"The arch traitor, and cosigner to our demise, Dar'Khan Drathir has been slain!

All that stands between us and victory is our own fear and self-doubt!

Arise! Arise Elves of Quel'Thalas! This is your hour! Swords shall be shaken, Undead shall be splintered!

It is a magic day, a red day, AND THE SUN RISES!"

Activating Apotheosis, Warrior's Flame spread to each and every Elf present. Bright golden light tickled and strengthened them to peak health.

Warrior's Flame - In combat, the Warrior's Flame periodically touches a random target within 100 feet (including you). Friendly targets are blessed, restoring 20 points of Magicka and Stamina for 5 seconds. Hostile targets are cursed, draining the same amount instead.

Once Warrior's Flame triggered, a whole host of beneficial passive buffs activated at the same time from Varrus' perk tree.

Perks proc’d by Warrior’s Flame:

Battle Cleric - When Warrior's Flame blesses or curses a target, it also increases or reduces armor by 200 points and magic resistance by 25% for its duration.

Eternal Flame - Warrior's Flame lasts twice as long.

Sacred Guardian - Emanate a 20 foot aura of protection. Any living allies within range who fall below 30% Health are automatically healed 150 points. This effect has a 30 second cooldown per target.

Under my Wings - Dual casting a healing spell on yourself also casts it on nearby nonmechanical allies

Sacred Flame - Your Warrior's Flame carries the essence of life. Living allies blessed by Warrior's Flame are healed 20 points per second.

Ashes to Ashes - Your Warrior's Flame carries the essence of death. Hostile undead cursed by Warrior's Flame take 30 points of damage per second.

Respite - Healing spells also restore Stamina equal to their power

Edgewalker - Restoration spells are up to 30% more powerful if the recipient is below half Health. The bonus increases as Health decreases.

Every single Elf still alive rose to their feet. No matter how badly wounded they had been, no matter if they were missing an ear, an eye, or a limb, it grew back at remarkable speed.

"The Sunwell is it back?!" One Elf questioned as he held his glowing hand aloft in wonder.

"Now is the time! Deaaaathhhh!" Varrus waved his sword back and forth at the army.

"Deaaaaaathhhh!!!" They screamed back.

"For Silvermoon, for Quel'Thalas!!!" Varrus roared, and led the charge with his wife by his side.

"For Silvermoon, for Quel'Thalas!" All those sworn to House Vandercross roared in response, and followed behind.

A beat later, and any who had maintained their doubts and suspicions shouted alongside them, and joined the fray.

Warrior's Flame's light suffused each Elf, constantly healing wounds, and providing an unending supply of stamina.

Any wound they suffered, so long as it wasn't a decapitation, the damage was healed within moments. Stabs to the heart, cuts to the neck, they were but flesh wounds before the awesome might of Apotheosis!

The holy light flickered about them, and spread into the zombies, abominations, and ghouls like the plague. Causing them to steam and sizzle like a boiled lobster. Their movements slowed, and forced many of them to freeze up like a puppet with its strings cut.

Varrus's enchanted sword sliced through an abomination's arm, and then its leg. Forcing it to fall to the ground, he cut its head off. He then stood atop its corpse urging the Elven forces forward with shouts of encouragement.

"So long as I, Highlord Vandercross draw breath, the Convocation of Silvermoon will protect all!"

After shouting for a second, he triggered Windborne - Shouting summons up a divine wind, granting 30% extra attack damage and 15% increased movement speed for 15 seconds. This effect stacks.

Then Varrus leapt into the fray once more to increase his One-Handed skill as much as possible. Any possible retaliatory strike slipped off his Ebony Flesh, and Varrus' courage grew more and more as he learned to face the enemy at close quarters.

The Undead horde began to smolder and crumble before the Elven charge. Their decayed forms turned ashen, and brittle under the extreme energies of Warrior's Flame.

Unafraid of mortal peril, those skilled in martial talents fully abandoned defense, and put their offense to the test.

Ten true blue weapons masters abandoned their fear of death like no other, and turned into true masters of killing. The way they slaughtered their foes was almost as insane as Syra's feats. Their swords moved so fast, it was as if they created after images. Heads and limbs were cut apart like a knife passing through hot butter. Such were their movements, it was like watching a main character in a kung fu movie pick apart the mob.

Mages, priests and rangers joined in on the mad charge forward if only to keep up with the warriors and paladins. Their mana regeneration was increased due to the buff, as a result, they hurled an even larger barrage of fire and magic arrows down and into the enemy. Undead screamed as they sizzled under the volley of fire and holy magic.

Rampaging forth in a loose chevron pattern, the Highborn stomped the Undead underneath, and brought ash and ruin to their near uncountable ranks.

Finally, after much carnage and bloodshed, the streets were burnt clean of any Undead filth.

Varrus stood upon the wrecked remains of the barely recognizable bulwark with Syra next to him in his embrace.

A silent crowd of Elves looked up at him, waiting for him to speak.

"My friends, we have done it!" Varrus shouted, then held up Dar'Khan Drathir's head for all to see.

"Vandercross!"

"Vandercross!"

"Vandercross!"

The ground shook and rumbled as the surviving Elves-all 643 of them-roared themselves hoarse.

Any chant or shout Varrus had experienced before was absolutely drowned out by the power and intensity present in this one.

Looking at his quest interface, Varrus saw he had reached 15,009/20,000 Undead slain to clear out the city.

"My friends!" Varrus butted in, stopping the chanting, causing everyone to pause in their celebration.

"My friends, heroes and protectors one and all, thank you for your generosity!" Varrus half bowed.

He then held up his hand to forestall anymore cheering.

"But there is still much to be done. Our friends from Farstrider Square, the Knights of the Hawk tell me that much of Quel'Thalas lies in ruin. The work of traitors and selfish motives must be put to the side if we are to survive. Those of you who fought alongside me today have proven themselves to be true sons and daughters of Quel'Thalas. Come claim your just due!"

Varrus finished his speech by reinforcing his message with a Mana Stone reward.

"Syra, my love, thank you." Varrus nestled himself within his wife's embrace, and held her tight.

"That man from the Hawk Knights tried to hold hands with me." Syra whispered.

Varrus looked over, and saw one of the twin leaders of the dragonhawk knights pick up a Mana Stone and salute him.

Varrus quickly checked his stealth stat: 5.

"He'll receive his due." Varrus said as he slowly stroked Syra's hair to placate his crazy lady.

"MN, he better." Syra sleepily muttered as she fell asleep in his embrace, forcing him to pick her up in a princess carry.

Taking another look at the knight, Varrus clucked his tongue in pity. He wasn't going to kill anyone over this likely misunderstanding, but there would have to be some sort of retribution, or Syra might go a little overboard.

'Sorry bro, but it's nothing personal.'