Karp
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Chapter 94
🕑 Added 2024-10-29 18:10:18 +0000 UTCTwo weeks had passed since Varrus & company had defeated Tenris.
During those two weeks, the rest of the Ghostlands-with the exception of Deatholme-were purged of most Scourge minions and lesser creatures.
Each separate army liberated several sizable villages, and dozens of hamlets, rescuing the few thousands of Highborn that had secluded themselves during the initial invasion. Sadly, there were many more Wretched than ordinary Blood Elves amongst the survivors, only serving to point out the importance of the Sunwell to all involved.
As for Syra and Varrus, they had reclaimed two locations known as the Sanctums of the Sun & Moon.
From Varrus's POV, they were lightly guarded structures, lacking in both Heroes and Elites. When he rolled up with the 7 out of 9 Heroes that comprised House Vandercross, the few thousand mindless Undead roaming about the place were like fodder for their blades.
Interestingly, Lana'thel never once emerged from Deatholme over the last two weeks, allowing each Blood Elven forces to easily complete their objectives.
Thanks to their efforts, Telonicus was able to install two Rune Stones at the Sanctums. As a result, the corrupted forest was forced to become inert.
Before, if one wanted to traverse the woods, decayed roots, and poisonous flowers would emerge from the undergrowth, and snag any would-be passerby. However, the awesome anti-magic effects of the Rune Stones pulsed across the surrounding areas, and disrupted the range of control coming from Deatholme.
In effect, the forest was safe once more, allowing for the various armies to travel across the land with impunity.
During those two weeks, Varrus spent little time on the field, and instead had been busy grinding levels, making Mana Stones, and crafting gear.
In anticipation of sieging Deatholme, he had created hundreds of Dwarven Autocannons, tens of thousands of enchanted bricks, and had studied the schematics necessary to create Arcane Golems.
By creating the golem one piece at a time-such as the boots, chest, gauntlets, etc-Varrus mimicked the manufacturing process of Earth, and assembled all the parts together at the end with a spell.
Built from iron and moonstone, these golems were not very resistant compared to traditional High Elven constructs, and could be damaged from magic, or explosives.
However, where he lost out in quality, Varrus more than made up for it in quantity.
If the traditional High Elven golems numbered around 5-10,000 across the entire kingdom, and were being produced at a rate of 25-50 new golems a week, then Varrus's numbers exceeded that total figure after just two weeks of effort!
In total, he had made 12,000 iron golems, and 2,000 glass armored golems! These 9ft tall armored creations were powered by Mana Stones, and had a max speed of 15mph. Not exactly the most threatening on the surface, but they were immune to musket fire, and basic weapons. The only threat to them beyond explosives or magic, would be if they were caught in pits, or surrounded by a mob of hammer/pick wielding foes. Otherwise, they were an unstoppable menace that never hungered, never tired, and always obeyed commands.
As a resource disdained by Elves, Varrus was given free reign over all iron productions. Whilst he could be using it for construction, such as nails, or for armor meant for Humans, Varrus deemed such uses as pointless for the time being. While true, he had supplied a few shipments of weapons/armor alongside food to the Humans via boats in the past, and would continue to do so, this iron was more valuable for winning the upcoming battle against Lan'athel.
Thanks to the Skyrim UI, and his method of instantaneous crafting, the only thing holding him back were the lack of supplies.
For one, it was difficult to create so many Mana Stones to supply the golems, the cannons, and the mana addiction plaguing the rest of Quel'Thalas. Secondly, there were only so many workers in the mines.
The Kobolds were hard at work, and had been gifted equipment personally forged and enhanced by Varrus, but in such a short time, their production still wasn't enough.
Varrus could only be satisfied with what he had, as he knew the longer time progressed, the stronger his economy would flourish. One day, there would be a time when millions of iron golems strode the streets. They would become as ubiquitous as AK-47's, or Toyota pickup trucks. Mobile, cheap weapons of death that projected Highborn might across every continent.
The addition of the Kobolds was proving to be of significant impact. Varrus was excited to recruit both Humans and Goblins to his banner, as they would likely contribute just as much, or more to his burgeoning empire.
But of course, there was more to the last two weeks than gathering supplies, forging armor, and building an army.
Many meetings were held, and a plan had been formed.
Varrus, alongside the combined forces loyal to Silvermoon had gathered outside Deatholme, and placed the city under siege.
Taking inspiration from Julius Caesar, Varrus had constructed a large fortress just outside the range of Deatholme's Arcane Towers.
He then set up some towers of his own, constructed from enchanted bricks, and placed dozens of autocannons within.
With Telonicus's help, many Mana Stones were converted into shield generators, preventing the towers from easily falling to enemy firepower.
At the end of the day, dozens of towers, packed to the brim with autocannons surrounded Deatholme, and were spewing a constant deluge of fireballs at the city's shields. Whilst all along the Elven line, giant Mana Crystals were positioned at key points, ready to absorb any attributed attack that might get past the towers.
Thanks to Varrus’s never ending mana supply, the plan was to starve out the enemy reserves, and deplete the energy on their shields. Once that was accomplished, they would bombard the Undead from a distance until they were nothing but mush.
Should the Undead attack them head on, they would be met with a fortress, and towers waiting for them.
To facilitate this plan, all that was required by the attackers, was to change out the Mana Stones every few hours, and they could fire relentlessly at the Scourge defenders.
Ultimately, it was a diabolical plan, and one that Varrus thanked the devious mind of the Romans for hatching.
And so, Varrus found himself chilling in a bare bones room overlooking the siege through a window. Syra was off doing who knew what, and he was busy constantly spewing out Mana Stones.
It was a boring task, but was slightly mitigated by enchanted instruments playing melodies from his life back on Earth.
During this grind, Varrus was humming along to a song, when suddenly he felt an ominous thrum in the air.
Blood red clouds spread across the sky, and he felt his skin crawl, as if a worm or insect was moving around inside his flesh.
Rubbing his arms together, Varrus looked out towards Deatholme, and pursed his lips.
It appeared some sort of grand ritual was taking place.
“Rho'dan, prepare for battle.” Varrus commanded through his scrying orb, and sent his forces on high alert.
Their days of boring, and safe siege warfare were soon to end it seemed.
Whatever Lana'thel was cooking up in there, set Varrus on edge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Within the confines of Deatholme, Lana'thel was pacing within her grand hall in worry.
Her typically perfect hair was a mess, and claw marks had gouged out artwork lining the walls.
The place was eerily empty, and seemed to resonate with every fear fueled stomp of her steps.
“My Queen. It is confirmed. Tenris is dead.” Ariel, the former Ranger Captain, and Queen's lover spoke as she entered the hall.
“Dead, dead, dead, they're all dead.” Lana'thel muttered madly to herself as she continued to pace.
“Not all of your children, Your Majesty. The youngest, Valanar, has seen to Deatholme's defenses, and rallied the troops.” Ariel said soothingly.
“Troops? What troops? Tenris has taken more than half of our forces, and squandered them! Meanwhile, the Ghostlands have been purged of our presence. As we speak, dozens of towers have been constructed outside of these walls, and are constantly bombarding the city shields. We are sitting here, waiting to die!” Lana'thel paused in her pacing and turned to Ariel with a mad laugh.
“Surely we can call upon reinforcements from the south. The Legion, and the Dreadlords-”
“The Dreadlords south of us are disloyal to Tichondrius, and I have yet to receive word from our master for over two weeks now. I suspect they were defeated by the Night Elves once again. We are on our own.” Lana'thel laughed pitifully at herself, then resumed her pacing.
“Then perhaps it is time for us to forsake the Legion, and call upon a different power, an old and dark power.” Ariel followed after Lana'thel during her pacing, and slinked to her side.
“What do you mean?” Lana'thel flinched at her lover's touch, yet the cool hands stroking her hair calmed her down.
“Back, long before we had even become Night Elves, in a time forgotten by most, our people were Trolls.” Ariel began.
Lana'thel wore an offended look upon her face, yet even she knew this was truth.
“And?” Lana'thel regained some of her former grandeur, and primky demanded. The mere suggestion of being related to a Troll affronted her sensibilities, like any prim and proper Elf should respond.
“The world was much more volatile back then. We clung to religion to survive more so than anything else. We worshiped anything that would help us, from Elementals to wild Loa, to the stars in the sky. Even beings residing within the Twisting Nether and beyond…” Ariel said in a hushed whisper.
“Enough with the drama Ariel, what is it you are trying to say? Who is this master you wish me to pledge myself to? What cost is so high that you speak to me in riddles, and sybyllant soliloquies?” Lana'thel snapped her fingers, and turned to the Ranger in a demanding tone of voice.
“But of course, Your Majesty.” Ariel bowed.
“He goes by many names: The Harvester of Souls, the Lord of Lies, the Father of Coldharbor.” Ariel spoke in a hushed whisper, each title uttered was spoken with great respect.
“Come now, Ariel, we are already deceased, damned for all time. You haven't even spoken this creature’s name. How can I take you seriously?” Lana'thel fixed her hair, and glanced at Ariel like she was the crazy one.
“He is the God of Brutality, Molag Bol.” When Ariel spoke the name, Lana'thel felt the blood in her body wriggle, as if it had come alive for a moment.
Blinking her eyes, the Undead Queen thought she felt a pulse in her long dead heart.
“You felt it.” Ariel factually stated in a tone that brooked no disagreement.
Lana'thel walked to a window, and looked outside to her city as she mulled over Ariel’s words.
Many Darkfallen were busily making wild-animalistic love to one another, or playing with blood. Most of the useful, and ambitious among her ranks had followed Tenris. What remained were largely civilians with little to no combat experience. The sight of them served as a stark reminder that she didn't have much going for her. Only her youngest son, and a small cadre of Heroes were of any use, the rest were useless. Furthermore, the only thing holding this city together was the massive Undead World Tree, Tha'salah, and her treants.
Looking beyond her city streets, she saw dozens of towers on the horizon. The boy-Vandercross had constructed them two days ago, and was constantly bombarding Deatholme from a distance with cannons.
Lana'thel had tried to sortie out, and deal with them, however, the structures had explosives hidden in the land nearby, and an army was camped outside the walls providing covering fire.
It was a hopeless situation that saw her turtle up within the city. All she could do was wait on reinforcements that would never come, that, or a miracle…
“...what is the price this so-called deity demands for his blessing? What powers can I expect that will aid us in vanquishing our enemy.” Lana'thel reluctantly turned back to Ariel.
“The Lord is a master of necromancy, and blood magic. His patronage goes hand in hand with the natural gifts granted to us as Darkfallen. Your mastery over hemomancy is artistic, my Queen. With his help, it would advance to the next tier.” Ariel spoke with a quiet intensity.
Lana'thel liked the sound of that. All her life, she had been mediocre. Her talent in magic, archery, swordsmanship, crafting, it was all so pitiful. All she had going for her was a pretty face, and a powerful family name.
It wasn't until she became Darkfallen that she realized her true calling was hemomancy. She took to blood magic like a duck to water.
Beauty had its benefits, that was to be certain, but many at court had viewed her as an airhead. As nothing more than garnish to the Sunstrider legacy!
She wanted more, and tried to exert her influence through her children, yet that man went behind her back, and made love with her sister!
Being beautiful wasn't enough. She wanted more.
“What is the price, sweet Ariel?” Lana'thel's gaze bore down upon her lover and closest confidant.
“You must give your body to Him.” Ariel reluctantly replied. She had a guilty look upon her face, and looked away in shame as she spoke.
“Oh precious Ariel, is that all? I had given myself to a man I did not love for thousands of years. What is a night with an extraplanar being?” Lana'thel lifted Ariel's chin, and planted a kiss on her lips.
“He also demands a sacrifice in both souls and blood. Shall I round up the layabouts?” Ariel grinned back at Lana'thel.
“Those vermin? Please do so. And Ariel, I know this must pain you, but thank you for all you have done for me. We will rule all of Quel'Thalas. Together.” Lana'thel called out to Ariel as the Ranger Captain was about to leave the hall.
“Thank you, my Queen. I shall be back shortly, and we will put this ritual behind us.” Ariel nodded, then went about her business.
Lana'thel ran a tired hand through her hair as she looked out the window at the enemy towers once more.
She had been receiving missives from Faedra this entire time, urging her to surrender. If she was being honest with herself, Lana'thel wanted to surrender as soon as she lost contact with the Legion.
However, she had served as eye-candy for so long, she wanted to be Queen not only in name, but in truth too.
The fact that her own sister had betrayed her, and raised a new heir to the throne did not help either. Just because she did not love Anasterian, did not mean that Faedra was free to steal what was hers!
Lana'thel began to clean herself up, and apply some makeup. Beauty ensnared the King of all Elves. Beauty would be her weapon against this deity.
It may be a vile transaction, but Lana'thel planned on taking everything that she could. Few if any could match her natural grace and charm. And if her efforts resulted in any additional boons? Well, that was simply good business.
Whatever this Molag Bal had to offer, she would take everything he had, and more. If she could seduce a monarch, then it was only right that a god be next.
Glancing at the enemy army one last time, Lana'thel took a deep breath, and hardened her resolve.
Quel'Thalas would be hers.
Comments
Conor McGroarty
Yeah. Intimate times with Molag Bal is not enjoyable for anyone but him…
