Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoy. If you REALLY like it, I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n, under the same name, where you can read 5 chapters ahead.
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Their flight from Lordaeron City was done at full gallop, the horse's hooves pounding against the soft earth as they navigated around trees, branches slapping them in the face when they were too slow to dodge. The sun continued to set, the shadows getting longer as the light slowly vanished.
It was also done in silence.
Daerion could not blame the princess for not being in a chatty mood. It had been a long-ass day for her, especially.
Unfortunately for her, Daerion had never been good at being alone with his thoughts. They were not very interesting.
Eventually, the horse started to slow, great lungs heaving like billows, and he took the opportunity.
"Soooooooo… where are we going?"
Calia gave a little start, as if she had forgotten he was there, which was a little rude.
"Southshore." She finally responded. "It should take us around a full day. My fam-... my husband and son are there."
He nodded, not commenting on the slip.
"Sounds good, you guys can get a boat from there to like, Stormwind or something."
She twisted around to frown at him.
"What do you mean? I am not leaving my people to this fate!"
"Calia," he started slowly. There was no easy way to say it. "You and your daughter are the last of the Menethils. I know, I know," he preemptively cut off her interruption, "I get it. Well, I don't get it, get it, but ya know. You feel responsible. You feel like you need to clean up this mess. He was your brother, and he did some real shit."
He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, feeling her tremble as he went on. It sucked to hurt her, but there was no time for careful negotiation. They would need to have reached an agreement before arriving at Southshore.
"But Calia, and I need you to listen to this, it's not your fault. It's not your responsibility, even if it feels like it. And even if it was, you're not a warrior, no offense. This shit ain't gonna be solved in a week, there's no way. It's gonna get a lot worse and take months, if not years, to fix. But it will be fixed, okay? I promise you. And when it is, Lordaeron is gonna need someone to pick up the pieces and show them how to move forward. You're the only one that can do that."
Their ride continued for a long while as she ruminated on his words. When she spoke, her voice was small, thin, and wet. He could not see her face, yet it wasn't hard to tell that she had been crying.
"I am sorry that I am so useless. First, you had to save me from the city, and now you have to talk sense to an old woman. I should be better than this. Forgive me."
Lightly smacking her shoulder, he gave her an unseen grin.
"What'd ya mean useless!? Just because you can't swing a sword like a meathead? Fuck, you should see me try to balance a budget. Fuck the Scourge, that's the real nightmare right there!" He smiled at her small giggle. Progress.
"I do not remember you being so vulgar."
"Well, I made an effort not to stick out more than I already did." Decent excuse. Before she had time to reflect on his treatment by the other nobles, Daerion went on.
"And also, 'old woman'!? If you weren't married, I'd be all over you so fast you'd swear I was teleporting."
"Stop!" she complained, but the smile in her voice was evident.
+1 to CHA!
Stop ruining the moment.
They broke through the trees and emerged on top of a hill. Before them, the last orange and pink hues of the sunset streaked the sky, and the corn field swayed in the wind. The aroma of flowers and damp earth filled their nostrils, cleansing them of the horrid remnants they'd left behind.
"ooooohhh, pretty! You know this area well, right?"
"I do, yes."
"Tell me about it." Anything was better than letting her stew in her thoughts.
And so the trip to Southshore went, with Calia explaining the history of the places they passed while Daerion commented with the enthusiasm of a child.
—-
Contrary to Calia's words, there were still a couple of hours of sunlight left the next day when the wall of Southshore came into view. Despite her protests, they had stayed away from the main road and avoided other people at Daerion's insistence. Her desire to warn her people was admirable, but the mission at hand was to get the princess and her family to safety. The responsibility of preparing the region for the coming undead would have to be entrusted to whoever was in charge of the port town.
They had lucked upon an abandoned farmstead, though, and paused for 20-ish minutes to let their steed drink and eat some of the left-behind hay and vegetables. Calia had objected to the minor bit of theft as well, insisting on leaving her golden, jewel-encrusted, and bloody bracelet behind.
She was a good person. Daerion wasn't sure if she had survived in the canon or even existed, but he was happy that he was able to help.
They attracted a lot of looks as the horse tiredly trotted up towards the gate, their filthy clothes and blood-matted hair sticking out like a sore thumb. Not that the average person they saw was super clean, yet few were as bad off as they.
It was also, as a guard stepped forward to speak to Calia, when a ding! rang in Daerion's ears.
Quest complete!
Long live the King.
Crown Prince Arthas Menethil has returned triumphantly from his Northrend campaign to thunderous applause. Finally, the threat of The Scourge has been defeated. The young Prince goes now to reunite with his father, in the throne room he is soon to inherit…
Objective: Escape Lordaeron City!
Bonus objective: Kill (25/25) Undead!
Rewards: 3 levels! 2 END! 2 INT! 5 LCK! 1.000 REP with Lordaeron! 50 Gold!
Bonus Rewards: 1 levels! 1 STR! 250 REP with Lordaeron! 10 Gold!
You have leveled up x 4 (20 Stat Points)!
5 LCK!
2 END
2 INT
1 STR
1250 REP with Lordaeron!
60 Gold!
Seeing Calia had the encounter well in hand, pulling out a necklace he hadn't noticed to prove her identity and quickly getting them let into the city, he chose to review the various rewards he had gained.
'Status'
Status:
Gamer: Daerion Blackmoore, Half-Elf, 15.
Level: 9
Class: Mage
HP - 150/150
MP - 382.5/382.5
SP - 225/225
STR - 10
END - 15
DEX - 11
INT - 17 = 25.5
WIS - 14 = 21
CHA - 9 = 10
LCK - 10
Points - 20
Gold - 70
Looked pretty good. Or he assumed so, at least. He did not actually have anything to compare his Stats to, but they were going up. All his various energies were full as well. Quickly checking his leg, all he saw was smooth skin.
Huh. Regeneration. Neat. Not exactly useful in combat, not yet, but definitely neat.
He considered the points he had gotten. Based on the previous day, he could increase his Stats through use, which might include training, so the smart move would be to hold onto them until he either needed them or started seeing diminishing returns.
But that was lame. Plus, he was weak as shit. He had no delusions about his performance. The only reason they had made it out was due to the Ghouls being literal civilians and the various bottlenecks that limited their numbers. He did not like his odds if he had to fight something even slightly more powerful.
Halahk and the Scourge Captain had shown him that there was a long way to go.
Fuck it, might as well spread them out if he was going for a balanced build. Magic was powerful, especially since he had lost the awesome spear, but he would not soon forget the feeling of his MP getting low while surrounded.
Battle Mage it was.
Status:
Gamer: Daerion Blackmoore, Half-Elf, 15.
Level: 9
Class: Mage
HP - 150/150
MP - 495/495
SP - 225/225
STR - 12
END - 15
DEX - 15
INT - 2233
WIS - 1928.5
CHA - 1315
LCK - 10
Points - 0
Gold - 70
Much better. Might be able to survive a strong gust of wind. Little more speed than strength, but there was shit like Orcs and Tauren in the Warcraft universe, and dodging seemed like the best low-level method of dealing with those guys.
There was one other thing he was curious about, the weird wood Spell he had pulled out of his ass flashing through his mind. Scrolling through the pages, it did not take him long to find the culprit.
(?):
?
? to ?. ?. ?. ?. ?. ?. 25 to Nature Affinity. ?. ?. ?. ?. ?.
His mystery Perk became increasingly mysterious. Helpful, though.
Finally returning his attention to his surroundings, he saw that they were still following the guard through the streets, allowing him to take in the town of Southshore.
Although he could not recall any lore regarding the place, it was evident that it had been a military port at some point and might still be. Even beyond the half-circle wall that stood half as high as the one around Lordaeron City, massive boulders stacked atop each other 20 feet deep, the houses were clearly built with a siege in mind. And as they passed the bakers, florists, butchers, and general stores, the stone buildings kept increasing in height. Most of them were square in shape, with little in the way of aesthetics, and wood only began to be integrated as they approached the shore. Every couple of dozen feet, a side street would break off the main road, with such regularity that Daerion was pretty sure the entire town had been built in a grid pattern.
Defenders would constantly have the height advantage, which was significant for archers and spellcasters, even if the wall fell. The consistent placement made it easy to either encircle attackers or block off access.
He was sure that if he dug a hole, he would hit secret tunnels as well.
Good shit, in his humble opinion. Not quite as fortified as the capital, but good shit nonetheless.
The center of the town was quite different, though. The stone got replaced by wood, old wood at that, simple constructions that had likely been built by the same people who inhabited them. The careful design became random, clusters of houses so close that they would all go up in flames if one did, yet with 50 feet separating them from the next one.
Probably an old fishing town that gained a military advantage and expanded from there.
It was also very lively. The citizens peddled their wares in the street, small stands lining the road as they bellowed their offers, a deafening choir of indistinguishable voices. The smell of grilled meat and sweet flowers filled the air, with an underlying stench of fish, salt, and unwashed bodies. Not as bad as he feared when he realised he was in a medieval world.
He had heard horror stories of the shit lined streets of Rome or similar.
And towering over it all was what he would guess was their destination. A tower peeked up over the roofs, by far the highest point in the town, housing a giant bell at the top. As they got closer, the tower was revealed to be attached to a keep, a hulking building five or more times larger than anything else. It was a great representation of Southshore, featuring old wood reinforced with stone palisades and a curtain wall that separated it from the surroundings, blending the efficiency and age of the rest.
All in all, it was almost exactly what he had expected from a fantasy world, an odd mix of defensive and low tech.
Daerion really liked it. It was fantasy-esque as fuck.
Feeling Calia start to dismount the horse, he hopped down before her and gave her a hand. The guard bowed and exchanged a quick word with one of his fellows who stood by the gate to the keep, before turning to lead their horse to a stable. They were left waiting as the other guard headed inside, presumably to inform the mayor, or whatever, of their arrival.
Speaking off.
"Do you know the guy in charge?"
The eyes of the last adult Menethil snapped open, and she stopped her light swaying. "Hmmh? Excuse me, what did you say?"
Daerion raised an eyebrow, but let it go. It seemed the adrenaline was finally fading. He was genuinely impressed that she had lasted so long, yet it made sense that it would hit her like a truck after they reached relative safety. "I asked if you know the guy in charge?"
"What do you mean? Do you not know him?" She seemed surprised at his words.
"Should I?"
"I would say so, yes. The Hillsbrad Foothills were once governed by Durnholde Keep. Your father appointed the current Magistrate, who took charge of the Foothills after Durnholde fell."
He did not have time to process that revelation before the guard returned and beckoned them forward.
"Your Grace? The Magistrate will see you now. If you'll follow me."
The foyer of the town hall was not anything remarkable, more stone and easily dependable bottlenecks. Banners showing the crest of Lordaeron hung side by side with blue tapestries, with an elaborate golden lion. Daerion may not have been a major nerd about the game, yet it was impossible not to recognise the Alliance banner.
Pretty cool.
The practicality faded the further in they got. Bare hallways, overlooked by shielded balconies, became ornate carpets and huge pictures. The scenes alternated between portraits of people he did not recognise, landscape depictions of the rolling hills of Hillsbrad and expansive forests, and portrayals of armor-clad knights, shining with glorious Light as they clashed blades with hulking green humanoids. Gold covered half the picture, while the other half had the green-skins standing on top of the corpses of women and children.
The sight of the Orcs, spittle flying from their lips as they literally foamed at the mouth, faces exaggeratedly twisted into something hideous and monstrous, gave Daerion mixed feelings. The paintings were clearly propaganda, and he knew that there was more to the story, and yet…
His eyes landed on one of the portraits.
Striking blue eyes gazed back at him superiorly. Black hair curtained the aristocratic features, a light sneer pulling at thin lips. It was the same expression Lord Blackmoore had in Daerion's few memories of his pseudo-father.
And yet.
Lots to unpack there. He wondered if Azeroth had therapists and if said professionals had experience with reincarnation-induced identity disorder.
The latter was more likely than the former, which was wild.
Stowing his crap until a better time, he followed behind Calia as they were led to a large, plain door, with another pair of men standing guard. If his judgment were correct, they would end up in the back left of the town hall, which was a weird place to have the banquet hall. Though maybe it was the so-called Magistrate's personal chambers.
The guard knocked and waited for a muffled "Enter!" to reverberate through the wood before he pulled it open while bowing them in. The door closed behind them with a thud! as they took in the room.
It was nothing like he had expected, and yet, it was everything he could have wanted.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of candles lit the medium-sized room, littering every surface and swimming in pools of wax that must have taken years to accumulate. Though they were hardly noticeable compared to the ones that floated around the room aimlessly, bathing the contents in flickering light. Giant piles of books and loose paper stretched nearly to the ceiling, every wall covered with overstuffed bookcases. Tables with arcane runes carved into their surface held things Daerion could not begin to guess the purpose of: crystals, gems, plants, bones, and a whole ass fish slapped on top. Gizmos whirled and glowed, emitting puffs of steam or streaks of colorful energy, some of them shaking as if the contents were trying to escape as they clattered against their stands.
He grinned - finally, some real wizard shit.
In the back, a hooded figure stood hunched over a gadget that vaguely resembled a toaster, waving over his shoulder as the door shut.
"Princess Calia, yes, yes. I'll be with you in a moment."
Daerion raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with his companion. Making royalty wait while you did experiments was wild, but he could respect the balls.
It also gave him a moment. He had taken the chance during the ride to use Observe on everything he could, and something interesting happened after it hit level 10.
'Observe'
[Magistrate Henry Maleb, level 46]
HP - 100%
Born in the Hillsbrad Foothills, Henry Maleb always had bigger ambitions than the humble farm life of his family. Fortune shone on him when his above-average talent for the arcane was discovered and Lord Blackmoore personally sponsored his apprenticeship in Dalaran and even appointed him Magistrate of Southshore.
REP: -2.600/0 (Unfriendly)
Daerion raised an eyebrow at the mention of his father and the low REP, but did not have the time, as at the exact moment, the Magistrate finished muttering to himself while scribbling on a ridiculously long scroll before he put his quill down and turned to them.
"Apologies, Your Highness, but as you can see, I am in the middle of quite a sensitive experiment. Yesterday, the ambient magic experienced some truly odd fluctuations and-...Titans. I realise that it has been a while since I have been to the capital, but the fashion has truly changed."
The Magistrate had the hood of his long, dark blue cloak pulled up and covering his face, so there was no way for Daerion to be sure if he was fucking with them or not. He couldn't tell anything about the man, really, other than being about an inch shorter than Daerion himself.
"Wh-No, no, this isn-" Seemed Calia could not tell either, though she fortified herself with a deep breath and tried again. "Magistrate Maleb, thank you for seeing us so promptly. However, we are afraid that we come with dark tidings."
"Yes, it would seem so." Maleb mused, hooded head moving in Daerion's direction. "It must be serious if the Princess of Lordaeron came here in such a state, and with only one guard at tha-YOU!"
Daerion leaned back as a finger was suddenly jammed in his face.
"You dare show yourself here, after what your family did to me?! The nerve! Is that what this is?! Huh!? Have you come to take my position from me?! I will not allow it! I do not know what poison you have poured into the ears of the princess, but I have worked too hard to distance myself from you just to give up! Years of suspicion and accusations! No! I will have you flogged, Half-Breed-"
"MAGISTRATE!"
Dearion was bending back almost a full 90 degrees by the time Calia interrupted the rant.
"You will cease this behavior! Lord Blackmoore has gone above and beyond for our sake, and we will not have him treated in this way! If not for him, House Menethil would have fallen along with Lordaeron!"
That got the madman's attention.
"The capital has fallen?" At Calia's terse nod, he went over to a small table set, covered in random shit. With sweeping arm movements, the Magistrate threw it all to the ground to unveil three chairs and sat down in one of them himself.
"Tell me everything."
Daerion was very proud of the steady tone Calia spoke with as she clinically recounted the events, from Arthas' arrival to their mad dash through the crumbling city. Maleb was quick to produce more paper and a quill, jotting down notes and asking questions, mainly about the Ghouls and the various effects of the Necromancy that raised them, which Daerion answered. The Magistrate was clearly not happy to be listening to him, yet he kept quiet about it.
After the tale was done, Maleb leaned forward with his fingers interwoven under his hood, presumably resting his chin on them.
"This is troubling. Necromancy of this magnitude… not even the Horde was capable of what you have described."
"The effect seemed to be stronger close to Arthas. Near the throne room, the bodies rose before they even dropped."
The leader of Southshore nodded absently. "Either possession or some sort of artifact, most likely. The blood of Menethil is strong, but that kind of power is not something that can be learned in the months the Prince was gone. Hmmm."
Calia leaned forward at the words.
"You believe that Prince Arthas is possessed?!"
The obscured head of the Magistrate shook in denial.
"Merely conjecture at this point, I am afraid. I would have to examine the victims myself to ascertain anything concrete, and even then it is unlikely that I would learn anything regarding the specific circumstances that have led to the Prince's fate… hmmmm… though maybe…"
Shaking off whatever thoughts he just had, Maleb clapped his hands.
"Regardless. I thank you for the information. Forewarned is forearmed, as the saying goes. I will give the order to prepare as best we can and evacuate the nearby civilians, while also keeping an eye on the paths to the capital. But what is it that you would like me to do for you specifically, Your Highness?"
Calia hesitated and looked at Daerion. He kept his face neutral, letting her make the decision herself. Yes, he had shared his opinion and argued for it, but in the end, she was an adult and entitled to make her own mistakes.
Closing her eyes, the princess took a deep breath and turned back to the owner of the town.
"We would like to request passage to Stormwind, as historically ironic as that is."
Maleb hummed in agreement. "Ironic indeed, though I suppose it is time King Varian paid that debt. Certainly. I do not believe that there are any ships currently headed that way, but it is a simple matter to redirect one. You will be seen safely to Stormwind, Princess, that I promise you."
"Thank you, Magistrate. You will be compensated."
"Baah, think nothing of it." The mage waved his hand dismissively. "King Terenas allowed me to keep my position despite the calls of others. Allowing his daughter access to a small portion of that is the least I could do."
Daerion took that moment to interject.
"While we're on the topic, I don't suppose I could have some armor and weapons, along with as many men as you can spare?"
The Magistrate did not have time to comment before Calia took the word.
"Wait, you're not coming with me?!"
Throwing her a grin, he shook his head.
"Sorry, Princess, but like I said, politicking and such shit ain't for me. Meatheads belong on the front lines. I'd be bored to tears if I had to hang around while you tried to beat some sense into those stuffy bastards. I'll hold down the fort while you go get the hammer to smack the fucks."
"But…" Biting her lip, it was clear that she did not like the idea, even if she lacked any counterarguments. He was right, after all. If anything, his presence would be detrimental.
Taking a deep breath, she nailed him to the spot with a fierce glare.
"If you die, I will be most upset."
"Since we're dealing with necromancers, if I die, you'll still have the chance to punish me."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
She huffed while he grinned, taking the chance to hit her with his upgraded Observe.
[Princess Calia Menethil, Level 17]
HP - 135/145
Princess Calia Menethil, the last legitimate member of House Menethil, and heir to the throne of Lordearon. Growing up, Calia thought herself destined for the throne. Yet, after King Terenas named his younger son Arthas as his heir, Calia spent most of her adolescent years rebelling against her father's shackles. Eventually, she would even go as far as to get married to a commoner in secret and bear a child. But life can be cruelly ironic, as she is now once more the successor to her father's throne, at the cost of her family and country.
REP: 15.000/21.000 (Honored).
He noticed the increased level and the fact that he could see her actual HP number, but it was the description and the high REP that caught his attention.
Poor woman. There was no need to think so highly of him. It wasn't a big deal. He only did what anyone should have done.
Not would have done. Daerion was dumb, but not that dumb.
Turning back to their host, who had been quiet during their back and forth, Daerion raised an eyebrow in silent question. Maleb took another moment of supposedly staring back before speaking slowly.
"I suppose in the light of your recent actions, we can scrounge up something from the armory. Regarding men… Southshore will need as many as possible should the threat turn our way, so no, you cannot have any of our forces… but I will not prevent you from gathering volunteers."
"I'll take it." Daerion nodded in appreciation. Not quite what he wanted, yet better than he had feared based on the Magistrate's dislike of him.
"Though what you hope to accomplish with such few numbers, I do not know."
"You let me worry about that," Dearion smiled crookedly. The wizard was right from his perspective, but he did not know what Daerion knew. He would get fucked in a straight fight, but when you knew the enemy's playbook, it made it a lot easier to minimize damage, if stopping them was out of the question.
Maleb huffed. "If you wish to throw your life away, it is no skin off my nose."
"Uh, can I have an enchanted robe as well and some spell shit?! I'm something of a mage myself."
"Do not push me. The guards will see you both to a washroom. Please make use of it; you are dripping on my floor."
—-
Strapping the arming sword to his waist, Daerion twisted around a few times to test his mobility. It was definitely lowered, as was to be expected, but not terribly so. He had specifically chosen armor pieces that were more form-fitting than the monstrous things he had seen people like Halahk run around in. It looked dope, no doubt about that, yet functionality had to take precedence over aesthetics in combat.
As such, his newly acquired protective apparel was simple pieces of polished steel, no ornaments or engravings to be found, which was fine. The fact that they, along with the clean clothing, fit him in the first place, he would count as a significant victory. It couldn't hold a candle to something like the Lordaeron King's Guard, but it would keep him safer than nothing.
Steel Helmet
A helmet. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Attributes: -5 Damage.
Steel Pauldrons
A pair of pauldrons. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Attributes: -5 Damage.
Steel Breastplate
A breastplate. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Attributes: -10 Damage.
Steel Greaves
A pair of greaves. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Attributes: -5 Damage.
Steel Boots
A pair of boots. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Attributes: -5 Damage.
Steel Gloves
A pair of gloves. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Attributes: -5 Damage.
His thighs were covered by loose-hanging chain mail, which did not seem to provide any benefits. Game-wise, anyway. Not having his legs hacked off was one hell of an upside.
It was very interesting that individual pieces of armor negated damage, especially when combined with his Armor Action.
Armor (Passive) - level 2/100:
Decreases movement speed by 24%. Decreases damage taken when wearing armor by 1%
That shit could stack real quick. However, the decreased movement might be a problem.
It was also still not an Action. Dumb game, sassing him.
The weapons, though.
The weapons nearly made him weep.
Steel Bastard Sword.
A one-and-a-half-handed sword. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Range: Short. Damage: STR x 1 20 Physical. Attributes: N/A.
His new blade was what it sounded like. Just shy of three feet of blank, double-edged steel, with a simple straight crossguard, leather-wrapped handle that could barely fit two hands but was primarily meant for one, and a round pommel. The thing did not even have a fuller.
Steel Spear.
A spear. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Range: Short/Long. Damage: DEX x 1.5 25 Physical. Attributes: N/A.
Again, what was there really to say? It was a spear. About seven-and-a-half feet, six of which was a smooth oak pole, topped with a leaf-shaped blade that could almost pass for a shortsword. The long head was really the only stand-out feature.
And that was it. They were the most standard, cookie-cutter, basic-ass weapons he could imagine.
His beautiful Spear of the Lordearionian King's Guard. One day, they would be reunited.
Losing the spear also made him cautious about being without a weapon again, which explained the addition of the sword. As well as the six knives he had stored everywhere he could.
Steel Knife.
A knife. Made of steel.
Quality: Common.
Requirements: N/A
Range: Short/Long. Damage: DEX x 0.5 10 Physical. Attributes: N/A.
Somehow even more ass. He wanted to be higher level so fucking bad.
Nothing for it, though. Shaking off his funk, the Half-Elf turned to the silent man who had shown up after his bath and dumped the armor off.
"Right, I'm good. Thanks for waiting."
The helmeted guard said nothing, merely spinning on his heel and leading him back outside the keep. He had no idea where Calia was and doubted anyone would be willing to tell him.
He understood that his Dad had been a dick, but it seemed a little much.
Exiting the town hall, he looked up and down the streets. Maleb had said that he could grab any volunteers that he could find, but walking up to everyone individually and explaining the situation would take forever.
Eh, fuck it. The people did not like him anyway, so it might as well make into a spectacle.
Pulling his helmet off and drawing his new blade, he hopped up onto a pile of crates near the center of the town square and banged the pommel against it.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
"EY YO, LISTEN UP!"
A few of the nearby citizens turned to look, but most went on unbothered, the noise lost in the hustle and bustle of the market.
Frowning, Daerion scratched his head. Well, that did not work. He would need something louder.
Peeking over his shoulder, his gaze slowly lifted higher and higher.
He smiled.
BOOOOOOOOOONG!
Everyone flinched as the town bell rang violently from the fireball impacting it. Seeing nobody atop the tower, their eyes naturally fell on the second-tallest thing in that direction, Daerion standing on the boxes.
"GATHER AROUND, GATHER AROUND! HEAR YE, HEAR YE! IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!"
Giving them a few moments, he ignored the commotion from the town hall and started his spiel.
"ALRIGHT, THERE'S NO EASY WAY TO SAY THIS, SO I'MMA JUST LAY IT OUT FOR YA! YOU'VE ALL HEARD OF THE UNDEAD PROBLEMS IN THE NORTH! WELL, YESTERDAY, LORDAERON CAPITAL FELL TO THE UNDEAD!"
Panic erupted immediately, a thousand voices screaming questions at the top of their lungs to be heard. Men started yelling, children cried as their mothers tried to console them, and guards struggled to push through the sudden chaos to reach Daerion.
None of it deterred him.
"SHUT UP! SILENCE!"
Miraculously, his words made it through the pandemonium, and they listened.
"I KNOW THAT'S SCARY TO HEAR, BUT BETTER TO KNOW THAN GET CAUGHT WITH YOUR PANTS DOWN! BESIDES, NOT ALL IS LOST! ONLY THE CAPITAL WAS ATTACKED, AND I'M SURE THAT EVEN AS I SPEAK, FORCES ARE BEING GATHERED TO STRIKE BACK! WHICH IS WHAT THIS SPEECH IS ALL ABOUT! I'M HEADED OUT TO GATHER AS MANY SURVIVORS AS POSSIBLE AND JOIN UP WITH THE MAIN FORCE, AND I'M LOOKING FOR VOLUNTEERS!"
The crowd was still riled up, yet they continued to listen. He could even see a couple of men, weapons on their backs or waists, stand up straight at his words.
But he did not want anyone to get the wrong idea, even if it was detrimental to his efforts.
"LET ME BE CLEAR! CHANCES ARE THAT WE'LL NOT MAKE IT HOME! FUCK, WE'LL PROBABLY NEVER MAKE IT TO THE ARMY! AND THE UNDEAD WILL COME HERE! YOUR HOMES, YOUR FAMILIES, WILL BE UNDER ATTACK AND NOBODY WILL BLAME YOU FOR STAYING TO PROTECT THEM!"
The warriors hesitated a little at the pessimistic message, sharing uncertain glances. Which he had expected, but he would much prefer that they never came than see them fall apart when faced with a tidal wave of flesh-hungry corpses.
The shit he saw in Lordaeron would make even the strongest flinch. They had to know what they were getting into.
"IF YOU HAVE THE BALLS, AND LACK THE BRAINS, THEN MEET ME AT THE GATE TOMORROW AT DAWN! SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR LOVED ONES AS YOU GO! WHAT WE'RE DOING IS DANGEROUS AND STUPID, BUT SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT, AND I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I'D RATHER DIE SWORD IN HAND THAN WAITING FOR THE FUCK'S TO FIND US! THAT'S IT, THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY!"
+1 to CHA!
He jumped down from his perch, leaving a bunch of scared citizens and angry, fuming guards in his wake. Seeing Calia standing off to the side with the hooded form of Maleb, as well as another man holding a small girl, he waved cheerfully and made his way over, letting the guards that finally caught up act like they were leading him.
"Sup. Like the speech? I thought it went well."
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Well, that took a minute. Sorry, hopefully the next update won't take (checks notes) 5 months (WHAT!?).
The Azeroth suicide squad. lol.
Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed. If you REALLY liked it, I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n, under the same name, where you can read 5 chapters ahead.