Subplots Across the Globe

5/21 Late Morning

The oasis smelled wrong. It was not fel magic; Dremuus would have been able to identify that. It was too vibrant, in a way. Like the plants themselves were on the verge of frenzied rage. Prophet Bismark had said this place would be related to the great thorny vines they had encountered, and that seemed believable.

Nadira had proven competent enough, for an orc. She had accepted the guidance of the prophet, so she must not be too bad, but she had the manner of a killer. Dremuus and Norin had survived a brutal war with orcs like her, though she was far too young to have participated. She didn’t even recognize their species; it was insulting, in a way, that some orcs were so ignorant of their crimes after a single generation. Dremuus kept quiet about it. No point in bringing it up.

He had given her one beating when she tried to assert herself as the leader of this squad, just to establish pecking order. She’d been armed, he hadn’t been. She’d gotten the message. Which was good; Norin was a dragon now, much stronger than either of them, but her technique needed work. She would have likely just killed the orc if she’d been roused to anger.They had done a flyover of the area and confirmed the presence of the promised skull shaped cave; unfortunately after that they had needed to fly quite a distance to shake the natives. Quadrupedal creatures with human-like torsos where the head might otherwise be. Nadira called them Horse-men, which seemed as good a name as any.

The prophet had seemed more focused on what lay within the caverns below, but the horse-men seemed likely to be a more immediate concern. Getting in and out would be troublesome until the horse men were scared off or pacified. Mass murder did not appeal to Dremuus, though he was prepared to defend himself if the aggressive creatures made it necessary.

••••••••••

Kam knocked on the door. His own home had been reallocated while he was in prison, so getting any of his stuff back would probably be very hard. He had a message for the emperor, but he was in no state to go to one of the Shadowforge guards and start talking about assassinations and assaults. He’d be more likely to be thrown in the drunk tank than listened to. Rhan was a good friend, he’d loan some clean clothes and a bath, no questions asked.

Once Kam was looking presentable, they’d need to track down Fenella, an old friend whose pa was the chief architect, and he could get the message to the Emperor. There was an assault planned. A rescue mission for Lady Bronzebeard. If Erich was right, which seemed plausible given everything else he could do, that was destined to go south in a big way, with Thaurissan dead.

Kam loved Shadowforge; it was his home. Nobody liked Ragnaros, really. He was something they needed, the edge that made the Dark Irons more powerful when they needed it. Erich could do that too, if he wanted to. He’d be a fool not to; the dark iron dwarves were the finest engineers in the world. Well, gnomes and goblins come close, but they were far too erratic. If you want something specific done in a logical manner, you go to the Dark Iron clan.

Would the clan still be under the thumb of a magically powerful tyrant? Sure, but Erich was far better. He offered so much more than access to an unusually hot forge and a few smithing secrets that were already widely known.

•••••••••••

Harnea lay in wait, outside of the necromancer’s home. He had chosen a house that had likely been a grave keeper’s before Duskwood had been infused with fel power. It was surrounded by undead, a densely packed platoon of his strongest, but the necromancer couldn’t hide forever. He had lost so many of his undead minions, he needed to replace them. He would need to leave the house; and so, Harnea and her sisters stalked between the gravestones in the form of a cat.

https://imgur.com/a/DjrTDkd

Finally, after many long hours, the necromancer exposed himself to the outside world once more. Harnea followed him the short distance to where he had a large collection of corpses awaiting him. After ten seconds of focus, Emeriss appeared abruptly behind the necromancer. His legion rapidly began swarming towards her, but she had eyes only for Fel. She snatched him up in her acid filled jaws, and bit down hard, maintaining pressure. All around her, skeletons and ghouls began to crumble as they absorbed the harm, and Fel himself began frantically trying to destroy his assailant by draining her life force. She endured, and flew off to the south, escorted by three storm crows, who occasionally briefly took their natural form to cast a spell of rejuvenation upon the dragon in freefall.

His only real hope had been to kill Emeriss before she and her escort landed. It is supremely difficult to destroy a dragon who has multiple healers supporting her, unfortunately for him. After around an hour and a half of sustained crushing force while being bathed in acid, every single creature he was linked to was destroyed, and his shield had nothing to redirect the harm to. It was a surprise for everyone involved when suddenly Emeriss’s jaw snapped shut, leaving a body that was not particularly intact behind.

••••••••••

Talaada was starting to think that she really understood Lord Bismark. The first step had been, of course, to let go of the things he told her. He hadn’t lied. He’d fulfilled every promise he had made. But beauty was an illusion. Form was transitory. Minds were moldable. Power could be given. Morality was a tale for children. None were the goal of the Brotherhood of Love.

The true goal, the true gift, was a unity of purpose and community that many didn’t even realize they wanted. These elves for example, ravaged by a thirst for magic, thought that they wanted independence. They thought that they wanted separation from outsiders, moral superiority, and something to sate their hunger. If they were promised unity of purpose in service to Prophet Bismark, they would reject it, even though they would gain everything they wanted in the process.

By instead presenting herself as a wellspring of power they could feed upon willingly, she had recruited more than a dozen of the elves. Kriss had served as an example, but the real object demonstration had been Aurora Skycaller, the priestess that Prophet Bismark had collared a few days back. She was emotionally vulnerable, half captured already; a bit of comforting and a sympathetic ear had been all that was necessary to convince her to accept the prophet’s blessing. When she had done so, in a rush of power her emaciated form had been restored to full health, along with her pristine beauty.

https://imgur.com/a/dJx6hxy

It had happened in full view of dozens of other elves, and that was when the process started. A ranger approached next, then brought his wife and young daughter. It had made Talaada smile to speak with the little family, so like her own. She told them about her father, though she implied that he was a human veteran of their war against the orcs. Counting the family, fifteen more had approached to join their collective now.

She hoped dearly that the prophet would find a cure for their mana addiction soon. Many were taking a wait-and-see attitude, and Kriss confirmed, in confidence, that the hunger pangs were beginning again. If they were to fade into nothing, or even lessen substantially, the rest of the lodge would join. She was sure of it.

Then, perhaps, some would be brave enough to return to Silvermoon with her. They all knew people who were uncomfortable with the idea of draining mana from unwilling creatures, but did it out of perceived necessity. Talaada was already imagining the message for them; crafted to soothe their sense of helplessness, to give them a better way to subsist. She could start a movement, and eventually enough of the Sin’dorei would join willingly to allow the stragglers to be picked off a few at a time through ghosts or necklaces.

Talaada smiled beatifically at the young Quel’dorei playing in the grass. They would grow up to see a world unified under the prophet. A world without hunger, without strife. Perhaps even without death, eventually. The prophet would overcome all such trifles, and Talaada would help him do it. It would be an honor.

••••••••••

“So when exactly were you planning on telling me about this?” Onyxia seemed contrite, but not exactly ashamed.

“I genuinely hoped that it had been handled. The last assassin I sent was a rather powerful warlock, and then my spies haven’t seen any signs of him since.”

“Yeah yeah. Well, I guess I was putting it off too. I knew about Lo’Gosh when I arrived here, at least in broad strokes. In the same way I knew about you, essentially.” Dammit why did all of this have to happen in the middle of an event. I’d been planning on starting to set up for the dragon fight In Ashenvale today. That was still at least partially the plan, of course. I just needed to figure out how to deal with a far angrier version of Varian first, before he became a problem.

“Well, lucky for you I think I can at least keep track of his movements.”