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D101 204 (Warcraft)
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 18:13:02 +0000 UTCFollowing Helios into a town hall-like looking building, Varrus was trailed by both Syra and Omen.
Sitting down on a creaky chair, Helios pulled out a bottle of wine from his mageweave bag, and poured them all a glass.
The Ranger had a tired, yet relieved look on his face. Helios had the look of a guy being told he was retiring in two weeks, and had all his benefits lined up.
Haggard, and wearing torn clothes, the blonde Elf toasted Varrus, then drank the entire cup in one gulp.
Sitting across from Helios, Varrus raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic display. From what he could recall of Helios, he was a vain braggart, a Mer taken to melancholy when he learnt of his wife's fate, he had done a surprisingly grand job defending Hearthglen.
Taking a sip of his own beverage, Varrus figured the extreme horrors of a zombie apocalypse could change a man.
As they settled in, Helios wordlessly uncovered a map, and rolled it across the table in front of Varrus.
It was a detailed depiction of the Western Plaguelands, aka the Westenlands.
“A host of untold number is gathered here, within the provincial capital, Andorhal. Three of my scouts had tried infiltrating the city, but each time they were taken out by a swarm of bloodthirsty bats. What little we could glean is that a new plague is being brewed within great cauldrons larger than a carriage.” Helios explained, then put some leaf into a pipe, and lit himself a smoke.
“My husband does not care about this. Tell us about the Dreadlord Balnazzar!” Syra slammed the table, rattling her untouched glass of wine.
Varrus squeezed her thigh, signalling her to calm down. Yet he didn't pinch hard, as what she said was mostly true. While he did care about retaking the Westenlands, he was certain Helios wouldn't have brought up Andorhal unless he believed the Dreadlord was holed up inside.
Taking a long drag on his pipe, Helios exhaled to the side, and pulled out his scrying orb.
Fiddling with it for a second, the House Captain displayed a 3D image of a purple clad Dreadlord.
“I have heard the name Balnazzar from the lips of Scourge Commanders, read it and in their missives. From the picture they paint, he is a meticulous planner, and prepares multiple contingencies. I bring up Andorhal, because it is but one of his plots. There are two more which need to be addressed as well.
To the south east of the province is Scholomance. Although I received a report that the headmaster had vacated the premises, it is still acting as a school for necromancers, and reports indicate that a portal of some sort is nearing completion.
Then directly south of Anderhal, a grand shrine dedicated to some deity has been under construction. Its height rivals the tallest spires found in Silvermoon, and the scout that laid her eyes upon the statue went half mad.
I tell you this, because there is an urgent need to handle each of these hotspots, and that the one you seek is likely to be hiding in any one of these three zones.” Helios explained as he puffed away.
“Hrm, let me think. This is some serious information you have provided, Helios.” Varrus said, whilst he furrowed his brow, and caressed his chin in thought.
These were substantial threats indeed.
In the games, plague cauldrons were a signature sight at Andorhal. Yet since the games were static nothing ever came of them, and they disappeared as a plot point. In fact, if Varrus recalled, they were actually destroyed due to Chromie & the Bronze Dragonflights intervention.
Without them around to meddle in Andorhal, this new plague had the potential to be something seriously dangerous.
Considering both Detheroc and Varimathras were Demigods, it was safe to assume Balnazzar was one too.
With his influence upon the plague, it was possible that he could create a new strain that even Varrus's magic had difficulty countering!
Afterall, as powerful as he was, and as busted as the Skyrim system was, he was still of the same tier as Balnazzar. As the oldest, wisest and strongest of the three Dreadlords, he was certain to be incredibly powerful.
In fact it was due to this perceived power, that Varrus was here questioning Helios in the first place!
But Balnazzar aside there were the two other threats that Helios had mentioned: Scholomance, and the statue of the deity.
Scholomance was a famed school, and a popular dungeon in WoW. It carried with it a dark history, and was one of the first bases through which the Scourge operated from.
Bathed in blood, carnage, and Human suffering, countless ghosts were bound to the site in eternal agony.
Now, someone was trying to build a portal to another dimension on this foul ground.
Varrus was concerned that it would be to Coldharbor. If Dreadlords and other servants of Molag Bal were free to enter Azeroth, then it would be a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions!
Dreadlords were sneaky gits, and even one getting through was a headache waiting to happen. All it took was a whisper here, one or two deaths there, and a skilled assassin proficient in mind magic could rule a kingdom. Which is what the Dreadlords were best at. They were the ultimate Grima Wormtongues.
Lastly, he had to worry about this statue. It was likely a monolith built to venerate Molag Bal, and if he was right, it should be constructed on top of Uther's tomb. Who knew what kind of effects placing such a corruptive force over a holy site would produce?
But Uther's tomb aside, if a century+ year old scout could get her mind messed up simply by looking at it, than there was more to the statue than met the eye.
Considering in the games, the statues of Daedra could speak into the minds of the player character, and spawn in legendary weapons from their realm, these statues might have other features.
Tapping on the table, Varrus took another sip of his wine as the information began to sink in.
“Compile a report of the information you have gathered, and send it to me.” Varrus ordered.
“Yes, Highlord. Excuse me while I go to my office, and consult a few additional reports to make sure I didn't miss anything.” Helios saluted, and then stepped away to get to work.
Varrus nodded at the Ranger, and then turned to his internal thoughts once more.
He had decided he would take Helios's notes, then add his own perspective to them, and send it to Nightsong, Lor'Themar, and he supposed Kael'Thas.
Quel'Vanar was due to make an assault in the early morning, and he wanted the forces of the Covenant to strike where their tacticians thought was best.
“So you intend to smoke the rat out.” Syra nodded her head, and said with praise. However, she also showed the slightest bit of disappointment at this remark.
“Haha, patience, Syra. I want Balnazzar broken and pleading for mercy, but I cannot afford to blindly attack such a slippery foe. We could chase after him now, but if he got away, how much time would we realistically dedicate to catching him? He's likely already skittish thanks to the deaths of his kin. What we need to do is form a net, and prevent his escape.” Varrus explained his reasoning whilst he massaged the back of her hand with his thumb.
As someone on the same level as him, and as a master of polymorphing/stealth, finding a Dreadlord who did not want to be discovered would be almost impossible.
True, he had Clairvoyance, but it wasn't a foolproof measure. The spell had shorted out before, and plain just didn't work against Faedra. It would not surprise him to learn that Balnazzar possessed anti-scrying items or spells. Therefore, this really was the best way to catch the rat.
Syra leaned into him, and closed her eyes.
“The day that we can rip the fangs from the Dreadlord's mouth cannot come soon enough. We were much too swift and merciful in our executions. This time, I want this creature to suffer.” Syra beamed a bright smile at Varrus as she discussed the violent murder of their foe.
“It's almost as if you want this revenge more than me?” Varrus teased.
“Rho'dan was worthy of being your shield. His death was meant to protect you or our children.” Syra declared imperiously.
In principle, Varrus agreed with her assessment, but he was sad that Rho'dan died at all. At least it was in defense of his best friend, and the King of Quel'Thalas, right?
“Really, it’s not as if we were close, but I am maybe a little mad at Rho'dan.”
“Say what now?” Varrus narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, see? Your expression says it all. You have been hurt, Varrus. This is what has made me angry, made me sad. When you hurt, I hurt. When you hurt, I don't know what to do or say to make you better. I'm not a talented speaker like you.” Syra leaned on his shoulder, and mumbled into Varrus's chest.
Varrus felt a dampness seep into his robes, and felt his own vision begin to grow blurry.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing, keep being yourself, that's what makes me happy.” Varrus replied with a choked smile.
Syra looked up, a tear or two brimming from her golden eyes.
“Oh, Varrus. I am so sorry for you. We will make this right.” Syra declared.
“Yeah, together.” Varrus affirmed, and brushed aside her hair to steal a kiss.
“Ruff!” Omen bumped into them, and received a head pat for his troubles.
Smiling to himself as he watched Syra try to push the dog away, Varrus laughed, and then picked his wife up.
“C'mon, let's go explore the city, the permanent Holy Light motes looked pretty earlier, but I never got a good look at them from below!”
Syra wordlessly clunked her forehead into his, and smiled beautifully.
Varrus breathed her beauty in, and let her long blonde hair tickle his arm as he carried her.
Stepping out into Hearthglen, Varrus saw so many lights, it felt like Christmas.
Hope, happiness and other positive concepts radiated off the motes of light.
Looking at Syra’s perfect skin, and thinking of the recent loss in his family, he gripped her tighter.
Varrus reaffirmed in his heart what was important to him.
There was nothing he wouldn't do or sacrifice for his loved ones.
The cost of the resurrection Shout had somewhat turned him off, but now, gazing into his wife's eyes, he was certain.
Rho'dan would be back by his side within the week!
