The Winter War - Part 13: (Patreon)

Kassan's chest was heaving, deep bruises making every breath a labor, but he hefted his crackling mace up all the same and marched towards the fallen experiment. 

Its stretched skin and mangled scales all the more horrifying for the blood that now marred its broken frame. A strangled, almost human hand tried to bar his progress as the experiment gasped and gagged, "Made... Me... Want... Home..."

"This was the only home for things like you," He muttered, before letting loose a single sharp strike that crashed against the broken monster’s face and exploded in a flash of lightning, incinerating everything from the neck up.

"This floor is clear, now-" gagged and choked cries rang out from behind him and Kassan swerved to see the new threat.

Only to find his surviving escorts falling to the floor and a sharp, twangy voice whispering in his ear.

"That was a merciless execution."

Kassan flung his lightning infused mace over his shoulder and let loose a blast of arcane might upon whoever dared sneak up on him.

'Where will they come-' His eyes widened at the shadow before him and he leapt back just in time to see a lean, white haired troll land where he had been standing. Leathers on their frame, and sparkling daggers in hand they blurred forward faster than he could see, and a painful coldness bloomed in his throat.

Kassan could scarcely glance at the blade impaling his neck before the troll whispered, "Sorry, we're in a hurry," and ripped it free. Casting his mind and spirit into the darkness of death, his last sight the fallen experiment which he soon joined on the cold, stone floors.

__________________________________________________

Moorabi turned to his forces and said, “Arcanists, reinforce the defenses, Word Priests, ward against intrudes! Everyone else, fan out and guard against any remaining enemies. Let no one approach this floor, be they mage or monster!”

Fists slapped against chests and they raced to tend to their tasks.

Shamans, Priests and Arcanists of troll, Wolvar, Nerubian and Taunka birth standing side by side. Writhing energy flowing from their hands in a shining display of power as runes began to grow from dim to glowing brightly.

Word Priests dragged glittering powder along the outer walls and windows, mangled words spilling from their lips as the symbols began to throb and pulse with an unnatural power.

A War Bands worth of Battle Priests, warriors, Hunters, and skillful scouts scattered across the heart of the chamber and surrounding hallways as Moorabi raced passed them and down the cramped the steps.

He let out a wild hoot at his return to the ground floor; things were growing crowded and loud. The sounds of battle outside had dimmed, and the attention of the mages turned to reclaiming their fallen prison.

Already casters, archers and cannoneers marshalled at the windows and doorways. Of particular note was the mocking calls of Pai Stormbringer, lightning spilling from her staff as she shouted. "Tell me now, that I am wasting my talents!"  

'Well at least someone is having fun,' Moorabi mused, understanding well the desire to settle old grudges. 

But as a leader he had more important matters to tend to, like his liege. Presiding over the defenses was Malakk, standing tall and proud at the entryway he roared orders and fierce challenges to their foes while their forces hastened to secure their gains.

FrostWeavers raising icy barricades on the gardens, under the protection of Water Binders Elementals, there was still little space to spare. Savage warriors brushed shoulders with fierce Invaders, each falling in behind mighty Earthshakers that were marshalling in a mighty perimeter around their claimed fort.

Fire Weavers, Oracles and Frost Wardens were raining down high flying spells from behind the warriors backs, matching those flung by the marshalling mages who were surrounding the Hold. Shamans and Priests were scattered across the chamber under the guards of Lancers, ready and waiting to heals, or gathering intelligence through the whispers of god and spirit alike. 

Moorabi marched to Malakk’s side and did not even need to announce himself before Malakk turned to face him, subtle relief playing on sharp features. Saluting, Mooradi said, “The final chamber is secure, where do you need me?”

Malakk’s gaze met his own and the fierce warrior clapped him on the shoulder, “I need you on the South-West Gates. One of their Arch Magi has circled around to hit us from behind, while the others remain at our front, marshalling their strength.”

“Only three? Arctikus must be keeping them busy,” he chuckled.

“Indeed, though they may suspect more cunning plays on our part and so want to avoid walking into a trap,” Malakk said, before lobbing a potion over the icy fortification that was struck by a spell from one of the Magus’s only to explode in a blinding flash of light!

“Cunning tricks from us?” Moorabi sang, “How could they think such a thing?” They laughed as he drew his frosty daggers. Saluting, and gliding the blades across the backs of his wrists, “I swear on my honor as Prophet and as one of your chosen, I shall die before even one gets through.”

Malakk stared at him intently and spoke, “As your king, I am honored by your devotion, as your friend, I ask you to be careful.”

“Always!” Moorabi laughed, as he flipped between a war band of soldiers and ran to his post, daggers trailing behind him and shining sparling white tinged rainbows of magic.

Soon enough he arrived and was greeted by a steep drop into a stone courtyard. Alleyways on either side blocked off by now crumbling walls as mages blasted against the magically reinforced stonework and soldiers bellowed out commands. From nearby roof tops he could see archers and gunners perched and waiting to strike.

His own forces conjured defensive barriers and raised their shields in preparation for what was to come.

He nudged the nearest commander, “Spread the word, the barrier will be breached eventually, so be ready to fall back inside, it is more defensible, but make it sting. I will guard the retreat, and,” he glanced at the nearby rooftops. “Send word to those up top, the moment the barrier breaks I want the Loa’s wrath and arcane fury reigning down on those archers.”

“It will be done, Prophet Moorabi!”

Turning his gaze towards the crumbling walls, Moorabi’s gaze was guided to a tall, lean magus of advanced ages and a mighty beard. Bedecked in vibrant purple robes touched with gold, riding on a horse and bearing a shining opal stave. His eyes were sharp, expression set in stone and just by looking upon him, Moorabi could sense his power.

‘Mam'toth, I pray to thee, give me the fortitude to see this through.' 

____________________________________________________________________________

Shattering stone echoed in Malakk’s ears as another blast bomb of fire magic crashed against the Violet Hold, sprinkling them with cracked tiles and dust.

“Frost Wardens, Arcanists, reinforce the ceiling, I don’t want this place falling on our heads!”

A percussive boom shook out and he could feel the barrier between he and the outside world thinning, letting a steel mortar shells through.

Bith’sa blurred in front of him, runic stone shield resounding like a gong as it was struck, nullifying the fires, and bouncing the large steel ‘bullet into the air.

Kutube'sa, slammed a hand on her back and vaulted into the air, kicking the weapon back out and directly into a second shot. Both metal bullet met with a bang in the courtyard, shrapnel scattered over the broken ice and ruined gates.

Another roaring ball of flame echoed on the air and a shout rang out, “Now!” 

The Shamans struck the earth, the streets outside exploded into a hailstorm of rubble and shouts.

The fireball writhed and began to burst, the explosion being forced into the air in a last desperate gambit, but not before its expanding wave of flames washed over nearby towers.

‘Dammit, a city is no place for this fighting!’

“Ixit can you disrupt their joint casting!?”

“I cannot," Clicked the Nerubian. "These are members of the Council of Six, too strong, even for we to undermine so openly.

‘Dammit, I wanted them on the defensive, but so many here and another at our back door-’

As if summoned like a curse, he heard an explosion from the back of the Hold that shook the halls.

‘Dammit what now!?’

He swallowed a gasp as Zerat’s energies writhed in the blade, sending arching pang and angry thorns through his essence before his will alone drove the malevolent power back.

“I need a report!”

Malakk watched the streets outside and scowled at the sight of the hard to glimpse Arch Magi casting again. This time crafting a small blast bomb of mana and if his eyes did not deceive him, using their partner to stabilize it while their servants lobbed smaller spells at their defenses as knights knelt before them, shields at the ready.

‘Organized and quickly adaptive, Dalaran is not the city of distracted scholars we were led to believe.’

A soldier burst into the main hall, “The rear walls have fallen, their knights advance on us as mages provide covering fire, but Prophet Moorabi plans to hold them at bay!”

“Alone!?” Malakk snarled, barely resisting the urge to race to his comrades’ side.

“Yes, Frost King Malakk, he wants his forces bracing for the raid on the Hold!”

Ixit leaned in, “The Hold can withstand more than the outer walls, we can hold them for some time now that we know what to expect.”

Malakk hissed, “… I will trust my prophet’s judgement, but be ready to aid him should the enemy have tricks up their sleeves!”

“As you command, Frost King Malakk!”

Another blazing ball of fire struck the stone walls and heat washed over his frame, but nothing cracked or rumbled, ‘Did they lose power or did our counter spells work?’

His expression remained dour, his mind whirling, ‘Moorabi is swift, strong and sturdy, he will not be struck easily, I must have faith in him.’

His grip on Zerat tightened and the swords baleful spirit grew quiet as his mind became focused on the next approaching fireball.

‘We just have to hold out a little longer.’

_____________________________________________

Upon the walls of Durnholde and across the fields of Hillsbrad things looked peaceful enough. But the scent of smoke and the sight of an approaching columns of soldiers would give lie to such a thought. 

“This plan of yours had best work, cousin,” Blackmoore groused from atop the battlements.

“We may not have had time to call in much in the way of reinforcements,” Beve conceded as she looked through a spyglass and towards the approaching army. Her focus falling entirely upon Richelle at the forefront. “But we have raiders in the woods, a fort and the element of surprise.”

“And you would throw away your pets’ life on this plan?” Blackmoore chuckled, “Well that should not be a surprise I suppose.”

Steeling herself with a sharp breath, Beve answered, “If anyone can survive a hailstorm of cannon fire it’s my honor guard.”

Blackmoore scoffed, leaning over the parapets, mumbling, “We could lure them in closer with open gates, I could cut down Trollbane personally then…”

“As pleasurable a sight as that would be, those Dwarven mortar teams would not let the gates close again,” Beve answered. Such a shame too, the idea of seeing Thoras fall and then leaving her cousins fort to be overwhelmed from such a plan was a pleasant one. But then the fort would still be standing, in enemy hands no less.

‘And that cannot be allowed,’ she thought, eyeing the swelled ranks of Arathi and Bronzebeard soldiers, spreading out over the ever-widening road and falling into cannon range

“I will tend to the long-range cannons,” She said simply, turning and blinking from the battlements to the ground levels where several long cannons were pointed up towards the skies. Robes flicking with her every motion she cast a simple feather weight charm on the canons balls as she went.

Her gaze half fell upon the orcs below who were watching the proceedings with obvious interest and fear. Glancing over her shoulder to the gates where a smattering of them had been armed and huddled around one who Blackmoore insisted would lead them to victory despite his obvious youth and terror.

‘Whatever happens, if the gate breaks, they will be the first to fight… Provided they do not do the wise thing and run.’

The silent tension holding Durnholde as a noose grasped a neck was broken by Thoras Trollbane’s rough, familiar voice booming over the walls.

“Aedelas Blackmoore, it has been some time!”

He did not sound overly pleased to say the least, Beve thought and her cousin clearly reciprocated.

“Not since I was appointed to my position, King Trollbane, I recall much malignance on the matter,,” Blackmoore groused.

‘He’s still hung over, pathetic.’

“To think those would-be better days,” Thoras answered, making a bare minimum of effort to be polite where her cousin was making none. “Now, tell me what transpired here!?”

“What transpired across Lordaeron, King Trollbane, Trolls and their agents! They struck quickly and without mercy,” Blackmoore raised his hands high, “They struck by surprise and with-”

“FIRE!”

Soldiers shouted and Beve’s senses were bombarded by bursts of fire and explosive sound. From atop the walls and cannon peep holes they opened fire. From atop watch towers and on the grounds, they all burst to life and launched their searing payload into the skies.

Beve blinked through the gates and arrived just in time to see soldiers steel shattered and bodies split and ruined like mince across the road and grass. Horses brayed and shrieked, some bucking their riders off as mages raised desperate barrier and knights shouted for order among the screaming chaos

Her gaze fell upon Richelle, not far from the front of the gates as her guard flung herself from her horse and slashed Trollbane’s nearest guard’s throat; then barely weaved out of the way of a blow from Thoras.

“Traitors!” He howled.

Letting loose an arcane missile on Thoras’s side, Beve smirked as Richelle capitalized on that moment to strike him with her shield and launched him down the cobblestone path as another round of cannon fire rang out.

Burning steel balls crashed against hastily barriers, the magic and Light straining and flashing, some held firm while others shattered and the cannon balls crashed against bracing soldiers, sending some crashing to the ground while with pained shrieks.

Richelle raced towards Thoras only to leap back and scream, shield clanging as a hammer slammed against it and launched her back towards the gates.

“Blasted traitors!” a finely armored Dwarf yelled, his body cloaked in shining metal he barreled forwards like a bull. A cannon ball made for Thoras only for the Dwarf to leap in front of the man, taking the blow with ease as the cannon ball shattered against his skin.

Blinking to Richelle’s side Beve fumbled for a moment as the warrior cried, “Princess you have to run!”

Ignoring her guard’s pleas, she grasped Richelle’s broken arm, watching wide eyed as the Dwarf’s blurred towards them like lightning. Magic suffused her being, terror and need coalesced and with a heave.

They vanished.

And reappeared with gut wrenching gasps behind the gates.

The Orcs were beginning to shout, and the Dwarf crashed against the magically reinforce gates, warping the steel and shattering wood in a hail of splintered.

“Fire on him!” Blackmoore howled. His voice drowned out by the ever-increasing wave of cannon fire.

Rising to her feet, Beve leveled her stave at the gate, arcing purple lights flashing from its crystal tip and weaving their way into the gate just in time to bear the brunt of another strike that ripped every last drop of power from her spell.

‘He’s a monster!’

Through the grating she could see the mortar teams returning fire and professional ranks forming in sharp succession, troops already moving to reinforce the Dwarven prince. 

“Aim the long rage cannons at the gate, we can make it a choke point!” Blackmoore barked.

“We need your Wardens reinforcing the gate, now!” Beve countered.

“No, I want mages on the walls!” Blackmoore hollered.

“Mistress,” Richelle whispered.

“I know, but we can’t leave,” Beve answered, not yet they couldn’t, “Guard me while I cast.”

“As you will,” Richelle answered, rising to her feet, and standing ready to guard as fire danced at Beve’s fingers, sweat staining her brow.

Another calamitous clang rang out and with a final roar the steel Dwarf exploded through the gate.

Beve thrust her hands out, snarling as the spell-flames scorched her skin and her will was answered when a massive gout of fire exploded at the Dwarve’s feet and with that one mighty flame strike he was launched out of the keep.

Sighing in relief she barely saw Throas thrashing and slashing at the Orcs who gave into their renewed bloodlust and charged out through the wound in the gate to attack. Those that remained behind howling “Lok’Tar!” in time with their kin.

Cannon fire continued to roar, but the growing din outside told Beve the army was pushing through despite it.

‘They want to save their leader, or they’re just desperate, doesn’t matter which.’

“Wardens to me!” She roared and was finally rewarded with a handful of staff wielding arcanists racing to her side, “Join your spells with mine and reinforce the gates defenses!”

She could see Thoras and the Dwarf through the cracks in the gates as they began marshalling their elite forces, both men now flesh and blood, obviously wounded but damnably alive.

Another stream of arcane energy flew from her hand and was soon joined by half a dozen others, making it swell and writhe. Above them Blackmoore howled with laughter, letting loose crossbow bolts at Thoras and his Dwarf savior.

“Does he not see the fucking army coming at us!?” Snapped one of the Mages.

“If they break through, retreat over the bridge and blast out its foundations, that will buy is time,” Richelle ordered.

“Time for what? They can just surround us and reign down mortar fire!”

“Time to retreat to the tower before our reinforcements arrive,” Beve hissed.

“Will they be enough?”

Beve tensed as a mortar shot crashed against the walls and flimsy barriers Blackmoore’s servants had raised and sending her cousin to his knees with a cry.

“If not, they will give us enough time to escape,” Beve finally answered, drawing surprised stares from the Wardens. She motioned to her cousin with a sharp nod, “Unless you fancy your chances with him.”

Their response was silence as they focused their energies on the gate.

_____________________________________________

“Lord Falconcrest, the army is advancing on Durnholde!”

“And it will continue to advance,” He answered, happily twirling a dagger in his hand, “At least until enough of their forces are inside that our surprise attack will not be too costly.”

“But what about the princess?”

“Perenolde and his brood have bungled much of this operation, she knew the risks; now get word to the other cells, I don’t want anyone moving without my say so.”

“…. Yes, Lord Falconcrest.”

Turning his attention back to the distant battle, the lord smiled. It had taken time, patience and no small number of bodies and betrayals but he was on the cusp be becoming king. 

'I just have to wait a little loner.' 

_____________________________________________

The walls had crumbled, and soldiers were reigning down from the streets into the courtyard, racing towards them, “Reinforce our defenses and hold fast, we cannot lose this fort!” Moorabi raced forward, daggers drawn.

Bursting into the fray with white gleaming blade, Moorabi vaulted into the air, “You face the High Prophet of Mam'toth this day!” The divine cry shout stunning the regular platoons but not their leader who raced to meet him.

Clashing his blades against a golden armored Paladin’s hammer, Moorabi vaulted over the man’s defiant shout and landed behind him.

In one sharp motion and a single deep breath he reared around to see their hammer swinging and he bellowed a mammoth’s cry. The shockwave hit the air and launched the warrior through a wall, crumbling a domed guard station atop him.

Howling soldiers charged him from behind.

Spinning, Moorabi slashed the long spear aside and, cutting an approaching swordsman’s neck in the same motion.

Another jab from the side was weave around, letting him slam the spear’s side into his attacker knocking them down before slamming his fist into the spearmen, denting steel, and launching them into the roaring crowd.

Soldiers swarmed around him, icy spells and bullets at the fore front were cut from the air before he flipped over twin coordinated spear strikes. Mam'toth’s power suffused him when he struck the earth, he unleashed a tremor, cracking stone causeways and driving the delicate to the ground as the rest staggered and shouted.

“Surrender now and be spared my wrath!” He cheered, even as he raced forward at the fastest rallying soldier whose blade slash he contorted around. Delivering a fierce kick to their side and sending them crashing into a dented metal heap against a charging comrade.

Fierce cries of denial met his offer and Moorabi side-stepped around a spell strike, taking off the offender’s head in one motion. He contorted passed a backstabbing spear and drove his blade into the helmet.

Bullet shots rang out and he ducked low as more soldiers raced in, he slammed his hand onto the ground and flipped over the duo that did not turn around in time before his blade cut through their armor in one blurred strike.

With the speed if a stampeding mammoth he crashed into a marshalling crowd, letting minor nicks land upon his frame that he could launched the soldiers into the air, their bodies clanking and screeching as they struck stone streets.

Spinning around deadly spells he twirled twin daggers and let them fly into his attackers, killing one and launching the other to the ground.

The paladin burst from the ruined house, stained with blood, and shining as they bellowed a shout and charged him, dragging their cracked hammer behind them.

“Such valor!” He cheered, meeting the weapon fairly and openly with a crash before disarming the paladin who answered with a burst of light. He dodged by throwing himself to his back and then driving both feet into the warrior’s chest, launching them back into the rubble.

A desperate shout struck his ears and Moorabi rolled aside of the halberd strike before beheading his attacker.

Rolling to his feet, he roared, “Come now, is it custom to send only normal soldiers against a champion of the gods!?”

Crystal singing filled his ears but a moment before crackling ice encased his blade, dragging it back and binding it to the now freezing ground. The skies whirled with howling blue lights and from them rained jagged icicles.

One blade in hand, Moorabi let loose a roar that dispersed but a few icey blades as he struck and slashed his way through the rest, guarding his head and heart above all else. Even as more and more of the brutal daggers ripped into his body, forcing his breath out in hissing mist.

With a surge of strength, he ripped his arm free, fur and skin tore but already healing as he spiraled around, slashing, and striking his way through the blizzard as a voice called.

“You see Antonidas, only fire will kill them!”

‘Antonidas!?’

Them the ground exploded.

Burning pained lanced across his skin, tearing away at it as Moorabi was launched across the battlefield and before he could even pull himself to his feet a spell swirled around him, slowing, and dulling his movements. The flames slow too, but they did not stop growing, encompassing his being as he strained against the arcane bonds that held him, shrieks of pain echoing,

Mam'toth’s power suffused him, mending as quickly as the fire took, his eyes blind and boiling in his skull, senses muddled by pain, but he could not stop a mad cackle.

“You Mages know how to make it hurt!” With a burst of power ripping its way through his body the enchantment was cast off and he roared towards the old mage on the horse. His steps staggered but powerful, he cheered and crashed against the man’s arcane shield, daggers desperately carving at the magic when a familiar roar hit his ears.

‘The soldiers! I could not see them!’

A spear ran through his spine and his blades slipped from his grasp, as magic and might forced him low, Antondias’s flames joining his allies as more spears impaled his screeching form.

The Archmages voice rose above the din, "He is their prophet, force him down and capture him!" 

A ragger rasping laugh escaped bubbling lips, "Only one man can bid me kneel.... And you are not he..." 

A final burst of strength suffusing his muscles that swelled passed peeling skin as he roared, flinging the soldiers off of him. 

“Just die!” Someone howled, the flames growing ever more intense! 

‘To Die to arch magi is not a bad way for one to go,’ he thought, shaking, skin bursting and with charred arms, he embraced himself, fingers piercing his sides and heart.

‘Forgive me, my king, my friend... My-’

Moorabi threw his head back and howled, “I will die! But in my gods embrace, I will not die alone!”

Mam'toth bellowed in his soul and his chest swelled, cracking the spears, and shattering his ribs.

“Fall back!”

“No contain it!”

Through bubbling lips and searing fire, he cheered in exalted pride as his heart burst.

“FOR ZUL’DRAK!”

_____________________________________________

The howled cheer of loyalty and defiance struck his ears moments before the explosion echoed on the winds, shaking the city’s foundations as Mam'toth’s mournful cry deafened the ears. It was a roiling, writhing spear of light, ripping through the air, launching shrapnel like a blizzard hurled hail as the screaming gale battered weaker soldiers off their feet.

Malakk’s roar tore from his throat, warring against the blasts echo, “Moorabiiii!”

Only for the sound and fury to fade mere moments later, a cloud of dust and ash cast across the city like mist and the magus he had been dueling gasped outa a “No…”

Snarling, he hooked Zerat beneath the mage’s staff and dragged them forward, the stave snapped, they tried to condense their barrier around themselves as Malakk thrust Zerat into their neck and snarled, “Got-Ra’Za[D1] !” Unleashing a burning blade of surging flames through their neck in a single flash of light.

Before the stunned soldiers could even martial a shout of vengeance, Malakk spun on his heel, letting loose potions into the air, voice sharp as a dagger whispered against one’s neck, “Tides Surge, unleash!” With a wide slash of his arm, the ice claws adorning it crashed through the bottles, suffused by the magic within the roiling lake’s worth of water was unleashed in one blisteringly cold wave of roaring water.

It crashed against the amassing soldiers, dragging them from the gaping prison’s walls, across the charred lawns and frozen moat, to crash upon their charging fellows, breaking the advance as a hundred or more soldiers now lay in tangle heaps or mangled, frozen metal.

“We should fall back to the capital!” Ixit hissed.

“Damn your eyes, we lose this point, and they claim our portal and with it the capital, hold your ground!” Not waiting another moment, he raced off, ignoring his guard’s shouts as he blitzed through some remaining soldiers and leapt from the prison, surging towards Moorabi’s death site.

What greeted him was ruined earth, shattered buildings, a monstrous crater, and air crackling with lingering energy. ‘The blast was imperfect, they tried to contain it but only redirected it!’ He realized, looking upon the trenched crater that stretched in one long line Westward.

Stunned soldiers lay alongside those killed from the shockwave as staggered and mages were only just now arriving on the scene. Two in particular, one obviously wounded were converging on a battered magus, with shouts of “Andontidas!”

As the brunette arch-magi reached the man, Malakk crashed down behind them and with a violent back hand cracked their ribs, sending the magus rolling across the heaped earth before they slammed boneless to the floor, unmoving.

Fire was his answer from the other, a blonde elf in crimson robes cursed him out in Thallassian, a shrieking phoenix clipping his side before flying passed to go for another round as their master levelled another spell.

Draping Zerat over his back, Malakk spun in time with the attack, Word Priests teachings on his lips, suffusing his sword in warped energies that devoured the elves’ spell before it could do harm, and letting draw then slash Zerat at the summon, forcing it away.

Rather than stop he followed through on the attack to the elf’s shock and brought Zerat down on the fallen magus’s neck, twisted flames engulfing the man’s body in an instant, ensuring there would be no resurrection.

“I will make you scream for that!” The elf howled, fire dancing on his fingertips.

Malakk drew back with a roar and felt a distant cry echoing on the winds, a familiar scent filled his senses and he gasped, “Moorabi?”

Mam'toth’s power and Moorabi’s spirit launched the elf to the ground with a blast of air, and carried Malakk into the air, magus’s spells weaving around him harmlessly as he went.

Landing among his fellows with a swirl of sound and fury, Malakk raised Zerat and rejoined the battle-line with a roar, “Hold fast friends, the Arch-Mages are falling! We will be victorious this day!”

In the distance one could almost see Dalaran’s barrier begin to fray and crack.

_______________________________________

Kael’thas forced himself to his feet with a snarl, “Damned animal, see if your gods save you from my wrath next we meet.”

His phoenix cawed its last before crumbling into ash and forming into an egg at his feet. ‘Stay here, return to me once you have your energy back,’ He instructed through the mental link.

Looking around he saw soldiers rallying and barked, “Rally your forces and converge on the Hold!”

The soldiers began to muster some sense of order, pushing themselves up and stepping over the fallen to march on the citadel from which a cavalcade of lights and explosions rang out.

Flicking the dust off his robes, Kael’thas glanced at Madora but shook it off, if she lived her bones were likely dust and she would be unable to help, assuming she lived at all.

“My Prince!” A voice cried from Dragonhawk back, swooping down to his side.

‘A soldier,’ He realized, seeing her armor, and vaguely recalling her name as Finnel… Something…

“Take this message to your general, we cannot await reinforcements from Ironforge and Arathi, send our encamped forces into the city to reclaim the Violet Hold now!”

“Prince Kael’thas, we cannot!” She cried.

“What do you mean!? Their number are small and dwindling. We have but to outlast them!”

It was then something crashed against the barrier with a resounding flash of light and seething mana. Turning his gaze skyward, Kael’thas saw a dragoon swooping over the city, a gout of fire escaping its maw before breaking off to join its scattered kindred in the skies above.

His gaze turned to Finnel who saluted, “They marched their Orcs through Silverpine and they’ve fallen on us from the South-West. They have swarmed over the internment camps and are hitting our marshalled forces and barrier hard. We need the Arch Mages!”

His eyes widened, gaze snapping to Madora, “G… Get her to a medic, I will return to the Citadel, convene with the survivors and reinforce the defenses.”

The half elf drew back as if slapped at the mention of ‘survivors’ before swooping down and scooping up the likely dead Madora and ferrying her towards a nearby healing station.

Kael’thas’s mind whirled, ‘Antonidas is dead, Madora is fallen and if the troll got away from the siege, https://wow.gamepedia.com/Drendenmust be dead as well!’

Half the Council of Six in one day, it was madness!

Dragons fire crashed against the barrier and Kael’thas surrounded himself in surging arcane energies, teleporting back to the Citadel as the barrier continued to erode.

‘We have to fix this! We cannot be defeated by meager trolls!’

__________________________________________________

Arctikus bared her fangs in a wide grin as she brought an enchanted idol up to her mouth, “The dragons have arrived, gun boats, pull back, Shamans, make ready!” Her orders echoed and reverberated on the winds to her forces and the response was immediate.

Clapping Barafu on the back she nodded, “You know your duty.”

“The defenses shall hold, Great Mother,” her companion swore, hand over her heart before she turned her attention back to the coast as another barrage of arcane missiles was be readied by their foes.

That was when a dragon’s shriek rang out and Arctikus blinked at the sight of Quetz’Lith’s Saronite adorned dragon swooping over the crowd belting flames upon the marshalled mages and warriors who hastened to turn their offensive spells to defensive.

“Fear not dear maidens, for you have friends in high places!” Quetz’Lith cackled.

Barafu and her mages raised their hands high and bursting in shining glory from their palms were pulsating daggers of ice that launched into the air. Quetz’Lith weaved around the mages counterattack and with a burst of her drakes’ wings soared out of range from the Frostweavers hail of Ice Daggers.

“Magnificent my dear!” she cheered, weaving around a burst of flames from the coastline.

“Fly safely!” Barafu called as her apparent paramour swept around another spell and higher into the air as another wave of drakes came down from both sides to distract the enemy.

Arctikus arched her brow and Barafu chuckled, “What, am I disallowed from romance?’

“No…” Arctikus said slowly, “I just did not imagine someone so rough to be to your tastes in the long term.”

“As she told me one night, I am full of surprises.”

Cackling, Arctikus strode away, waving the younger troll off, “Good for you then!”

She marched two dozen paces back along the ice bridge until she found a break in the marshalled troops who now stood at the read, shamans lining the out rims, eyes aglow with power, their words laying atop one another as a powerful din filled the air.

Arctikus roared and with one sharp strike drove her spear into the ice sheet, with a violent, echoing crack the bridge was split and the water of the lake began to seethe and roil with unspent energy.

“Warriors, brace yourselves!”

_______________________________________________________

https://wow.gamepedia.com/Aethas_Sunreaverwatched warily, staff clutched tightly as thick sheets of ice bearing trolls like large rafts spread out across the lake.

‘They mean to attack us with those? Points for ingenuity I…’ A strange something niggled at his senses. His ears twitched, but the sound of dragons belching fire upon their fields drowned it out.

“The water lord magi!”

Aethas’s eyes snapped down and a gasp ripped from his lips as the waters bubbled and roiled, coiling backwards like a snake rearing to striking the lake heaved and ice sheets began to rise.

“All focus to our defenses, they mean to ram us!”

It was at that moment that another host of dragons descended upon their barriers and the trolls began to chant and cheer as the sound of crashing water roared towards them.

“Hold!”

_______________________________________________________

“Hold!” Arctikus knelt on the ice sheet, clutching her spear tightly as they rode the roiling wave towards the city. Bursts of arcane magic rained down from the city’s towers, battering their defenses and leaving her tingling and hissing from the subtle shock, even as it failed to wholly breach.

Wrapping her arm around Barafu, and seeing her warriors support their own magus, Arctikus roared, “Wash over them!” As the waves came crashing down in a cascading blast of force.

Shields strained, seethed, and shattered with the ice as the barrier before them bent and was breached in a burst of purple vibrancy.

The air howled and the world blurred, as Arctikus clutched the magus to her side and crashed into the muddy earth, the sound of warriors shouting as they landed echoing, as metal clanked, and the enemy’s magic began to hum.

“Charge!”

She did not pause, pushing Barafu behind her, Arctikus thrust her spear forward and in one swift strike struck through a mage’s face. Not slowing for a second she slammed her feet into the muddy ground and heaved; her roar echoing in time with her warriors as they raced to strike. Her spear was torn free and crashed against the charging foot soldiers, sending them flying.

A burst of spell fire shot towards her back, only to flicker and fade as Barufu called, “Magus’s, do not let the enemy rally!”

A sharp, baritone rose from the enemy’s ranks as a spear of arcane light shot into the air, “Drive these savages form our shores!”

In the distance, Arctikus could hear the roar of the orcish legions and clash of steel.

The Dragons roars boomed across the skies and shook the earth.

Dalaran’s Guard Towers crackled and hissed in the air.

The battle for Dalaran would end today.

_______________________________________________________

Xex’Mon’s Legions were swarming across the fields of Hillsbrad, from his perch on the hill, the wave of his forces swarming against the Alliance’s frayed lines looked akin to hordes of insects fighting.

“Dammit, Burx is losing control of his legion, at this rate the camp will burn down in the crossfire,” he seethed.

Tossing his Spyglass aside, he rose to his full height and bellowed, “Cannoneers and mounted raiders spread out to bombard and harass the enemy, do not let them organize! Nazgrel!”

“Hail Chieftain!” The Orc barked, his warriors already roaring and waving their weapons as they jostled for position.

“You and your legion shall ride with me; we shall surround the internment camp and divide the enemy ranks further!”

“But the shield!?” Someone shrieked.

“The soldiers are outside the shield, and they are what concern us, organize your ranks, and be ready to charge!”

He raised his hand, waiting not even a whole minute as the stamp of orcish feet began to shake the earth.

In one swift motion he roared, “Forward march!”

Like breaking a floodgate, the Orcs exploded into action, some even knocking kin aside in their mad rush towards the city.

“Drakkari Legionaries, hold tight, maintain your defenses and discipline, now march!”

With a single unified chant his personal Legions raced into the battle.

_______________________________________________________

Durnholde’s walls were crumbling down.

Aedelas ran, cuts and bruises lining his frame, making him hiss with every step.

The orcs below were hooting and howling, some even climbing the walls, but where was Thrall?

Aedelas hadn’t seen his slave since their defenses broke and the stone gate crumbled.

His feet slammed against the stonework bridge, the roar of the army at his back as they tore through barricades and stomped out hastily made fires in their march.

“Blast it!” Beve’s voice howled across the din and with the last of his strength Aedelas flung himself from the bridge in time to hear and feel the blazing blast lick at his heels.

Shrapnel rained onto his back as the ground rumbled and the bridge fell into the orc’s interment zones, pursuing and escaping soldiers not quick enough screaming as they were dragged to their deaths.

Dirt dug under his nails, and Aedelas staggered to his feet, grasping at his cousin’s robes, “Where witch, where are the reinforcements you promised!?”

She looked at him, face too calm for the chaos surrounding them as mortar began to nip at the edges of their tiny island of safety and their few remaining cannons desperately returned fire to keep the enemy at bay.

“It seems,” she said delicately, “That Lord Falconcrest hopes I will fall in the confusion and then he will strike, I suppose I should have seen this coming,” she shrugged.

“You… You have a way out? That is why you are so calm, yes? An escape, new soldiers, something!?” He asked, words slurring in his desperate fear, his head swimming in pain.

Her eyes met his and she whispered, “What did you tell my mother when she came to you looking for help, Blackmoore?”

His heart froze, electric terror ran through his spine and a sharp sting exploded in his gut.

With quivering eyes, he looked down to see a dagger jutting out of his chest. His grip grew weak and he gasped, “Cousin, Beve… Please…”

She raised her staff and slammed it against the ground and in a flash of purple light Aedelas felt a wall of force launch him into the air. He flailed, desperately grasping at nothing as his ruined fortress and crumbling walls fell from sight and the dim, dirty walls of the Orcs hovels swallowed him up.

He struck the ground with a violent crack that robbed all sensation from his body, a feeble wheeze tore from his lips as the world became flashes of color and sound before an Orc appeared before him.

“Thrall?” he hoped, he begged.

“No.”

That was the last thing he heard.

__________________________________________________

Taretha huddled with her mother in the back of their cabin, her father was shouting though the door, “We didn’t know! We didn’t know!”

But the soldiers outside heard no one’s please, they howled with rage as they tore through the Durnholde, cries of “Traitors!” on their lips.

The door exploded inwards as an Arathi Knight stood before them, chest heaving bloodies sword in hands.

Her mother screamed, her father raised an axe in a desperate defense when a green blur appeared from outside and crashed against the soldier, sending him to the ground with a clanking thud.

“Th- Thrall?” She gasped.

The young orcs eyes were wide eyed and frightened, a broken sword in hand as he mumbled, “Got… Got to run, got to hide. New attackers from behind, everyone must go somewhere safe. Now!”

Outside the din of battle grew and smoke began to rise outside the shattered keeps walls as the invaders cries of vengeance became shouts of shock and confusion.

The sound of stamping steel plate rang as loud as ever though and with a tug, Taretha pulled her mother to her feet and they raced out the door with Thrall.

Orcs and other common folk were climbing over rubble and up walls in a bid to escape the throng of chaos as mortar ripped through the air while soldiers and fire spread.

Whatever else they might have all been, they were all united by one goal.

Survival.

__________________________________________________

https://wow.gamepedia.com/Tari_Cogg could feel her stamina flagging as Dalaran’s barrier strained under the weight of its attackers. Her arms were numb, he ever breath labored and tight as her insides tensed and coiled, just begging for relief.

But she did not break from her stance, arcane energies poured from her hands and infused the rippling barrier as soldiers outside clashed with howling orcs.

https://wow.gamepedia.com/Warmage_Calandrastood at the forefront, arms raised high, as she ordered, “Do not lose control! We must fold the barrier in two, letting our soldiers slip through while repelling the orcs. Focus people, we all have to maintain the energy matrix’s stability!”

Tari could feel other had collapsed elsewhere already, as more and more energy was spread thin to keep everything at bay. Now dragon flames beat against the peak of their dome, as if trying to melt holes through the magic as more and more energy was spread to keep everything at bay.

Apprentice https://wow.gamepedia.com/Catriona_Macraelet out a wretched sob next to her, body lurching as she strained to stay on her feet.

“Hey, hey hold on,” Tari whispered, “We can hold this, it will just be a bit longer, I promise.”

Something crashed against the barrier, and Catriona staggered to her knees, ears drooping.

“Hold formation!” Calandra howled, magic crackling as she tried to reinforce the barrier.

“I… I can’t!” Catriona heaved.

“Just a little longer, please!” Tari begged her.

Eyes squeezed Catriona lurched forward, mana streaming from her hands in a wild, chaotic arc that crashed against the field. Shoulders quaking, she twitched and skidded back as the energies began to writhe and rebound.

“It- It’s too much!”

That scream was the last Tari heard of her before the elves magic flashed around her like a bolt of lightning and launched to the ground.

Another battering ram strike broke through the throng of soldiers and strange runes blazed to life, burning away at their barrier.

“Hold!”

Another screamed echo and with a burst of light, Battle Mage Crius was hurled back.

“Dragons are breaching the peak!” Someone screamed.

“Let the towers deal with them and reinforce the barrier!” Calandra barked.

Tari’s body screamed at her, she forced more arcane magic than she had ever wielded in her life through her frame, teeth grinding, vision flashing and-

‘Too much!’

In a flash of arcing light, power burst from her body and Tari skidded along the ground. As the world faded, she could hear more cries of shock and pain and the world outside the dome became terribly clear.

__________________________________________________

Chants and shouts for order echoed across the war camp as Saidan’s marshalled his forces.

“I want every soul in this camp organized and ready within the hour!” He roared.

Tents were being torn down and swords sharpened as knights hastened to join their platoons, but there was a growing din somewhere in the distance he could not place.

“When Alexandros lures those invaders out of the pass, we shall fall upon their fort from every angle and shatter their fortress. With their secret weapon broken and Lights Hope shining bright, we shall have broken their morale and when our reinforcements arrive, this war shall be over in a matter of days!”

The cheer that rose lacked the energy and luster it had, had even a day ago, but Saidan could still see the path to victory clearly.

Even if a small kernel of worry burned in his chest.

‘Why has Dalaran not sent word, why have I heard nothing from Tyr’s Fleet or Trollbane?’

The only rational conclusion was the invaders had shipped soldiers across Lordamere Lake to stymie their armies, but even if that were true, they would not hold for long.

Of that he had absolute faith.

“My lord! Lord Commander, we need you!”

Turning to face https://wow.gamepedia.com/Lieutenant_Sanders Saidan bit back a weary sigh, “Speak, lieutenant.”

Sanders knelt before him, “A messenger arrived from Tyr’s Fleet, their Gryphon is nearly dead from exhaustion and soldiers are beginning to panic.”

“We only get word of Tyr’s Fleet now?” Shaking his head, he clapped Sanders on the shoulder, beckoning him to follow.

They raced to the roost lying near the edge of his camp, where dozens, maybe even a hundred soldiers were gathering, frightful and full of nerves as that page from Tyr’s Hand stood atop crates and shouted.

“Reinforcements are not coming! Tyr’s Hand needs salvation now! Why do we follow Saidan to our deaths while home is being plundered!?”

“What is this!?” Saidan roared, the Light infusing his voice with weight and power enough that some were blown off their feet and silence reigned.

From the crowd came a scraggly and nervous looking messenger who knelt before him, “Forgive me Lord Commander, but I spoke before I could find you.”

“Explain what happened, have these invaders launched a surprise attack on the fleet?” He groused, not taking his eyes from the furious looking page.

The messenger shook his head, “Nay, it is the Amani!”

Whispered curses fell across a gathering crowd, as Saidan bit back a curse, “These trolls are working together then?” Surely that was the only way the Forest Tribes could ever do more than harass Tyr’s Bay and the fleet; and to think he mistook it for mere opportunism!

“It would seem so Lord Commander, their attack on the bat came days after the fleet left, we thought ourselves able to handle it, but their numbers grew, and we are blockaded.”

“Has Tyr’s Hand fallen?” He snapped.

“Not yet, but…”

“Then what of the fleet man, out with it?”

It was the page who cut in, his voice tinged with anger and smarm as he marched through the crowd.

“The Fleet has been destroyed, they ambushed our forces between Arathi and the Wetlands[D2] , now they move to strike us from behind.”

“That is impossible, the Amani have not the means!” Sanders spat.

The messengers raised his head, “We thought so too, milord, but the survivors do not lie, my fellow riders were all who survived reported some kind of giant cannon atop a new Amani Vessel, it ripped through our defenses and we lacked the room to maneuver.”

“That accursed metal again,” Saidan spat, mind racing as he tried to strike a spark of inspiration and see the light at the end of a tunnel that grew ever darker.

The page spoke before he could grasp it though.

“Saidan’s leadership has been folly, our home is now laid bare for the Amani savages, do you all wish to stay here fighting an endless battle while those monsters pillage our towns and-, Urk!”

Saidan hoisted him up by his shirt and shouted over the growing din of the crowd, “Heed not the words of a damned child! Loyalty to king and country is what brought us here, any who try and refute that do nothing but highlight their own cowardice!”

Kicking and spitting, the by hissed, “You want us to fight for a wench queen who sold Trisfal away while Amani pillage our homes!”

Saidan tossed the boy to the floor, Light suffusing his being as he roared, “We are far from lost! Aid shall be hailing from the South soon and when Fordring has laid low the traitors at Caer Darrow, we can send his army to-”

“Look at the skies!” Someone shrieked.

‘Oh Light, not now…’

His gaze turned to the cloudy sky that roiled and rumbled, great fissured forming as the winds howled and rain began to fall upwards.

‘What in the world is happening!?’

__________________________________________________

Battering ram crashed against the gates. Cannons bombarded the walls. Gryphon Rider hammer strikes, and Mage conjured blizzards battered against the barrier.

All around Alexi trolls chanted, sang, and danced, the air was thick and heavy with incense and burnt offerings as their deep voices rose high. Upon the battlements was Gal’Darah seemingly uncaring to the dangers outside was conducting himself like a priest of mad conductor to the rising cacophony of sensations that battered the mind and soul.

“I… See here… Gal-” He felt Illlcuais’s hand on his shoulder, her quaking hand.

“Don’t… Disturb them…” She whispered.

He looked to her, eyes wide, face pale as he turned and grasped her shoulders, “What is happening Illucia, tell me…” She looked up; his gaze drifted skyward as well.

The sky was being torn asunder.

_______________________________________________________

Tirion’s gaze was torn from Caer Darrow’s walls as Wildhammer lobbed bolts of lightning into the sky and soldiers began to scream.

‘What is happening!?’ The clouds were dark and roiling, mighty fissures carved within them that looked ready to devour the lands and seas alike.

“The water!” Someone’s howl touched his ears and Tirion’s heart froze at the sight.

The oceanic lake surrounding Caer Darrow was receding. It was being drawn into the skies, rising in a great wall of crashing water.

“All forces fall back to the camp! Drive your swords into the ground. A tidal wave comes!”

_______________________________________________________

Howling winds and raging rapids cascaded across Gal’Darah’s mind. The will of his god, the pantheon and ancestors kept him strong and grounded, their presence flowing from him to the Water Binders, just as their spirits buoyed his being.

‘Your people, so few lamentably familiar with the spirits have left them neglected and angry.

Mane whipping wildly in the wind he stood tall, word priests calls and familiar prayers falling from his lips as the energies swelled and surged, for if this was a storm, he was its heart and mind.

He whispered in prayer to his gods, to his people and his king, “I come now…”

His hands rose high, drawing back the waves as they surged and roared, hands against their ’backs’ he spoke the final words.

“To wipe this land clean of discord and rebellion.”

Grasping the waves, he lurched forward, dragging their essence forward on straining arms, fangs near cracking as he roared, his voice drowned out by the crashing waves.

“For Frost King Malakk!”

_______________________________________________________

The tidal waves came crashing down upon them before Tirion and his forces could all make it behind the barrier.

Flinging himself forward, he slammed his hammed into the earth, “Light Protect us!”

Called to his being, the warming, soothing, Light that was suffused to his form as his own skin, bursting forth from his frame in a violently charged dome of pulsing power that engulfed fleeing soldiers in its wake just as the tidal waves crashed down upon them in a deafening wave of destruction.

_______________________________________________________

Alexi could do little more than watch in awe as the waves parted around Caer Darrow before converging on the coastline.

Mighty titans crashing against one another in a deafening cacophony that put any cannon or storm he had heard before to shame.

Shouts, thunder, cannon fire, all lost beneath the cascading roar of roiling destruction that fell upon the Alliance army with such force it let loose something like a thunderclap!

Illucia no longer clung to him, instead she looked near energized by the display, color returning to her cheeks, eyes alight with a giddy, manic sort of energy. Even his own untrained senses told him the air was alive with power that stirred the mind and heart alike.

The waves washed over the coast and crashed against the mountains, white foam and crashing waters bursting and thrashing even as they surged back into the great lake as if pulled by some unnatural force, and with them they took the Alliance army.

Or most of it at least, he realized, seeing scattered remnants from the ruined coasts. Watch posts were gone, camps shattered to shrapnel in the waves and he could not count the number of soldiers or ships missing. Sheets of ice and broken remnants of boats and weapons littered the mountains and coastline.

Yet despite all odd, some remnants of the heart of their camp remained, battered, clearly having been breached, even if the barrier bore the brunt of the waves, and upon the path to the coast was a single golden beacon laying sprawled upon the ground.

Yet however miraculous their survival was, a single fact remained.

“We won…”

_________________________________________

Tirion gagged as he forced himself to his knees, chest heaving hair matted and wet from the dregs of water that had washed over him in their flight back to the great lake and his strength finally gave out.

He did not look around for those who had been in the shield with him. His body had not been able to sustain the strain of such divine power. Battered and struck against by gunboats and pressure near insurmountable, the golden shield had shrunk further and further until each of those within was taken by the wave.

Chest heaving, body aching with tension that left every muscle stretch taught, he forced himself to stand, eying the battered heart of his camp when the trolls voice called across the divide yet again.

___________________________________________

Gal’Darah let out a sigh, hand slapping against his chest as his heartbeat against his ribs wildly and he tried to catch his breath. “That took more out of me than I expected.”

He could hear the Barov’s shuffling closer to him on the battlements and waved them closer, “Fine timing, noble allies,” he said, pulling his amplification idol from his pocket.

“Brave warriors, I commend you for withstanding that barrage! But I beg of you to see the reality of your situation and accept Frost King Malakk as your liege!”

The human’s leader, Tirion lurched around, howling in the distance, “We will never surrender our honor, our pride or our nation!”

Gal’Darah shook his head, “I spoke not to you, commander, for you are defeated, I speak to those who remain that have families and homes they wish to return to, lives they want to live. Throw down your weapons, forsake these falser leaders and you shall be safe!”

The Paladins hammer surged towards his head and with the barrier gone it would be dangerous indeed!

Gal’Darah made to call his spear, but Illucia appeared before him in a flash, Saronite touched necklace gleaming and arcane power resounding on the air and crashed against the striking the hammer. The necklaces Runic symbols flaring as the Saronite crashed against the light and the hammer exploded into shrapnel.

Not missing a beat, he continued, “But all of those so lost in madness they would reject this mercy even now… I can do nothing for one who is bent on spreading death and chaos in my Frost King’s dominion. Throw down your arms and be spared, for we come to meet you now!”

His warriors chanted, weapons raised, and the gates began to swing open, his rhino roaring and stomping impatiently as the vanguard marched ahead.

Gal’Darah glanced to the Barov’s staring at him quizzically and a might bit shocked.

He shrugged, “I said I was tired, not exhausted,” before saluting and leaping down to land upon Baku’s back to join his fellows as they marched to victory.

_______________________________________________________

Alexandros glared at the offending fortress as its masters let loose another barrage of spears and spells, lurching the monstrosity forward with such violent haste the wheels screamed and the land quaked.

“The Light shall not yield to such brute force!” He proclaimed, Paladins roaring in ascent, their raised hands letting loose glowing golden hammers that streamed into the barrier and burst forth as a roaring wave of golden fire. The Trolls at the forefront of the fortress raced back to avoid them even as their accursed metal repelled the rest.

“Milord, a messenger!”

Alexandros could feel his heart racing with dual dread and joy at the thought. Had reinforcements arrived, or had disaster struck?

Turning to face the unfamiliar, a half elven woman bearing a shining shield of gold who saluted, eyes mired with worry and form lined with tension. “I am https://wow.gamepedia.com/Holia_Sunshield, Permission to speak milord?”

“Granted, Paladin.”

Boing her heard she spoke, “The Lord Commander bids you to retreat with all due haste, Tyr’s Hand is under attack, Lord Fordring’s army has fallen to the trolls wicked magics and our reinforcements were sabotaged by Amani interlopers.”

A hush fell across the marshalled priests and paladins, Lights Hope dimmed and flickered even as Alexandros’s rallied, mind grasping for hope.

“We… We are to retreat to Hearthglen then, or Andorhol? Shall our forces be divided?”

Holia shook her head, “The hills northward to Hearthglen have been lit aflame by dragons fire, they will be waiting for us. Andorhol is deemed a chance, but we do not know if we can hold it, even with…” she wilted at his scowl. “I speak only the Lord Commanders words, milord, our army if fraying, soldiers break ranks to flee East in a bid to save Tyr’s Hand.”

“Dammit, dammit all, tell the Lord Commander I shall hold the line for as long as possible that we might evacuate as many souls as possible,” Alexandros said.

“… Sir, the Lord Commander insists that you be among the heart of our forces to guard against pursuing raiders and ensure the Lights Hope does not fall into the wrong hands.” Every word obviously pained her, but he could see by her squared shoulders and stern gaze that these orders were paramount.

“But, the soldiers, the common folk…” lights Hope shook within his hand, a mournful wail keening high, only to be drowned out by the rolling of wheels and stamping of monstrous feet.

Grasping the crystal, he thrust it forward and roared, “Light Preserve us!” And watched the barrier flare to life. The golden energy shook and quaked with the earth, but held fast, even as another stream of spears and spells rained down.

‘Damn him, the monster kept us penned and distracted here, sending his forces over the hills to cut off our avenues of retreat and now… My life, this weapon, it should not be worth so many others!’

Shoulders quaking, he heaved a sigh, “Send word to the Lord Commander and beg that he evacuate as many as he can, and I shall do as he bids.”

“It is already being done, milord,” She answered, tone clipped in subtle offence, before she bowed, “and please, make haste.”

“I will, I swear it on my honor and loyalty,” Alexandros answered tiredly.

He turned his gaze to the mobile fort and for, but a moment caught the gaze of the black armored troll that must have been its commander, and he mouthed, ‘This is not over.’

Raising his voice, he shouted, “Forces, reform ranks and prepare to move Eastward!”

_______________________________________________________

The sounds of clashing steel and dying screams echoed on the streets. The stench of war fires stung his senses. It was the kind of battle he had seen as a child, those that stuck with him even now but concentrated and magnified into a city too small to bear it.

It was everything Malakk had hoped to avoid and yet for all his rank and power, found himself in the thick of and unable to halt it.

Dragging Zerat through the air, Malakk cleaved through a crackling orb of arcane magic.

Kutube'sa leapt from the streets and rebounded off a wall to land behind a clumsily erect cart barricade and with one flash of his flaming sword cut down the soldiers behind it.

A shot rang out and Bith’Sa was between him and the alleyway bound assassin before the bullet even got close, deflecting the bullet, and unleashing a line of jagged ice spikes that ripped through the shooter in a single blurred moment.

The looming guard tower let loose another screeching ball of arcane energy, this one was met by a Frozen Warlord. She leapt into the air; arms crossed over her chest as enchanted words spilled from her mouth. In one swift motion the crackling ball of lightning crashed against her. Only to be rejected and dispersed with a violent flash of writhing shadows as her arms unfurled and she landed back on the streets with an irate hiss.

“Shamans, disrupt its flow!” Malakk roared.

His shamans answer was a uniform shout of as they danced in motion, fists clamming into the stone streets as they flipped over and crashed one foot after the other down again, forming a growing crescendo of sound and fury.

More distant barricades shook as the ground rumbled and in one cataclysmic roar, the earth beneath the tower surged upwards, tilting the tower as it was torn from its foundations.

Before Malakk could even order an advance, a spell from another street lashed across the air and came crashing down like a glowing meteor of ice that exploded on contact, ripping apart the remaining foundations and sending the arcane tower toppling down.

‘No, no!’

Malakk and his forces reared back from the shockwave and dust cloud that followed as another quake rocked the streets of Dalaran.

The tower had collapsed not just on soldiers, barricades, or empty streets, but houses too.

“Commander Gan’Rah, take your war band and search for any survivors!”

“As you say, Frost King Malakk!” She answered, breaking off and dashing down the street, warriors and casters in tow rank and file behind her.

Malakk, turned from the devastation, eyes flickering across the once pristine city, a scowl etched on his features. An orc war-band was breaking ranks not far from him, eyes shining in the dim darkness as they crashed against a humble house with boards over the windows.

“Someone, get those soldiers under control!” He roared, levelling his blade at the orcish fighters.

He could see a Commander and their retinue rushing to the Orcs side, but his ears could already hear chaos spreading on streets unseen. Fires springing up where there should be none, following in the wake of ‘his’ orcish Legions.

Iixit shuffled to the front, nursing a bandaged claw, and rasping, “We are wasting time, the battle is chaos, and we must secure the Violet Citadel.”

“Quetz’Lith and her dragoons have it surrounded and bombarded with fire,” Malakk hissed, “We have time to do this right!”

As he said that a hooting cheer of “Lok’Tar Ogar!” boomed in time with the sound of human shouts. Clearly, they had broken a stalemate and with nary a glance Malakk could see a wave of warriors swarming like water through a funnel down the streets, discipline and order fading fast.

“Frost King Malakk, humans are gathering behind the towers base, they are bracing for a fight!” Someone shouted.

Biting back a curse, he hissed, “Seer Ixit, Commanders of Zul’Drak, take your war bands, secure the tower and these surroundings streets, raise barricades and hold your positions! Bith’sa, Kutube'sa you two come with me!”

“As you command, Frost King Malakk!”

He did not wait for his orders to be answered, taking off with his twin guards and a platoon of Warlords and elite casters following in his wake, Malakk cut through the alleyways to where the newest center of battle was inflamed.

Bursting onto the city streets, Malakk was greeted to the sight of broken fences and windows, torn up gardens and the sound of screaming.

“Fan out, line the streets if you have to!” He barked, leaping for the closest without a pause for breath.

An orcs fist had rammed through a window as he wildly thrust his spear into a humble home.

Grabbing the small fighter, Malakk yanked them back and easily caught the spear the warrior tried to lance him with. Snarling they dropped the weapon and made to strike him.

Malakk grasped his shoulder-guards and tossed him into his stunned and waiting kin as his guards pushed them back onto the streets.

The sound of splintering wood hit his ears, and Malakk seethed as the door broke in a wail filled the air, drowned out quickly by the Orcs roaring laughter.

It was only a step away, but a step too long in Malakk’s mind.

He reached the door and saw a mage in simple robes cradling a child, their barrier breaking and blood running down their side as the Orc drew back his axe.

Malakk grasped his arm and tore him from the house and tossed him to the street.

“Why!?” They wailed, snarling they flung themselves to their feet, “Brought us here to fight!”

“I brought you here to fight warriors and mages, not houses and civilians, get back in line and-”

A stream of light rained down and struck the streets, ripping through a group of soldiers in a flash.

“And attack the people shooting at us, now!”

Nodding numbly, the Orc staggered back towards the line, before getting swept up in the tide and carried deeper into the city.

“Bith’Sa, heal them and seal the door with ice,” he ordered.

A chorus of draconic shrieks filled the air, and Malakk’s gaze snapped to the Violet Citadel, once resplendent and elegant, the tower now cast a baleful, rippling shadow across Dalaran, for it was in flames.

‘I can only hope this ends soon, and that the others are faring more nobly than I,’ Malakk thought, rejoining the battle line.