Ny'alotha.
N'Zoth felt positive emotions. Another milestone of the plan had been successfully achieved. The focus of the Water element, hidden beneath the temple of the human cult, had been obtained. The army of soldiers spent for the sake of distracting the humans was merely a collection of "meat," possessing not even a magical gift and, as a consequence, not the slightest prospects in the coming battles for power over Azeroth. He didn't regret the losses at all, for the sea depths hide an incalculable number of such creatures.
Now the Old God needed to focus on completing the final stage of the preparatory plan. The heart of the air element was "waiting" for its new master. The recently found "Fire" he had taken from the short Goblins, who didn't even suspect the treasure kept on their island. "Earth" went to the harbinger of the Void "by inheritance" from Neltharion, straight from the temple of Earth. The most difficult task remained—for not only was the focus of Air kept in a mountainous area difficult for sea dwellers to reach, but the latter was also located none other than in Northrend—the domain of several Aspects at once. N'Zoth tried not to recall the identity of the guardian too often: although it wasn't in his habit to ignore problems, he didn't want to spoil his mood unnecessarily. Not that Thorim, the involuntary guard of the Temple of Storms, was quite that strong—not at all. However, his power combined with the extreme inconvenience of the terrain caused doubts and anxiety regarding the success of a forceful solution to the problem, which N'Zoth definitely did not want to feel. Therefore, as his primary plan, he saw the possibility of "negotiating" with one of the descendants of the Titans… much like he had done with Malygos. True, in Thorim's case, he would have to maintain anonymity: unlike the Aspects, who had ties to specific elements, the adherents of Order for some reason could not stand representatives of the Void, even though the latter was not an antagonist to "orderliness." But that's just how it had historically developed from the very moment the Titans arrived on Azeroth, and now the Old God had to reckon with it—after all, he was one of the culprits for such an attitude toward himself.
And so now N'Zoth was choosing a negotiator whom Thorim wouldn't try to kill immediately upon meeting. And the choice was not that small—on Azeroth, there were many sentient beings ready to serve anyone for the fulfillment of their desires…
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Uldum.
"They are all so inert and uncooperative. The Queen will be displeased." Councilor Anasterian, sent by Azshara to southern Kalimdor to recruit allies, had just left the stone box—the residence of the king of the local Ramkahen tribe. In this case, the lack of a result could not be considered a result. The cat-like ruler was named Phaoris, and he listened with interest to both the demonic threat and the rampaging Old God and stated that saving the tribe was an important task, but at the same time categorically added that the priority was the protection of Uldum and that if such an invasion were to happen, the Ramkahen, as one, would defend these sacred lands, but there could be no talk of any journey and especially relocation anywhere. To summarize, his answer boiled down to "In these sands we were born, here we shall die."
And these were still the most reasonable of the Tol'vir descendants. The southern tribes wouldn't even speak with the embassy, attacking immediately. Azshara forbade contacting the semi-sentient air elementals who had taken over the halls located in the very south of Kalimdor. And this was logical: Anasterian also believed that former supporters of the Ancients were not the allies the elves needed. But the bottom line after a long journey through Kalimdor on his diplomat-recruiter's account were: several packs of Harpies whose Matriarchs were old and wise enough to heed the Archmage's arguments, and a dozen Tauren tribes whose Shamans turned out to be surprisingly level-headed sentients. The latter, with proper preparation, could significantly bolster the coalition's military forces, but time was already pressing hard, and the training of the bull-headed ones would have to follow an abbreviated program… But this question already lay outside the ambassador's jurisdiction, and he himself rightly believed that a small plus was better than none at all.
In negotiations, Anasterian did not shy away from demonstrating power, but still, following the Queen's recommendations about the voluntariness of those recruited, he tried to act more through persuasion and generous promises.
Anasterian cast a final glance at the surrounding sands and ordered his escort to prepare a portal to Quel'Thalas. And although there were still many places on Kalimdor where the embassy could recruit soldiers for the army, the Ramkahen became the final point in the prolonged visit—wild tribes were wild tribes, but on the eastern continent, his next task already awaited him—the Gnomes had finally matured for full-fledged negotiations and the conclusion of a cooperation agreement, and the little mechanics were far more important and promising than the entire current population of Kalimdor combined, including even the remnants of the Night Elves settled in the center of the continent.
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Zul'Gurub.
The Trolls living in a secluded valley in the south of the eastern continent gave little thought to why, in the pond located in one of the last refuges of this race in all Azeroth, water flows in from the mountains but does not overflow it, having no visible outlets. The key word here was "visible," and the reason for this mystical phenomenon from the point of view of the fanged savages was simple—underground passages through which the water went down, and then, having passed a thorny path through the rocks, diluted the salinity of the southern seas. So it wasn't a pond at all, but a fully-fledged lake, even if not striking in its size and depth. The magnitude of the latter, however, was enough so that the emissaries of the Old God who had penetrated through the underground rivers were not noticed by the locals right away, but only when the fish-like monsters, paying no attention to the crocolisks living in the lake, had already climbed out of the water, doing so not on a perfectly visible rocky shoal, but by nimbly climbing right up a steep bank hidden by a curtain of jungle. Most of the uninvited guests had a long thick tail instead of the legs familiar to any inhabitant of the earth's surface.
When the detachment of twenty former elves was discovered, the Trolls who arrived at the penetration site first did not risk attacking them. The strangers showed no aggression and even the opposite—demonstrated with all their fins peacefulness and readiness to reach a consensus. The alarm tom-toms, whose sounds filled the valley upon the discovery of a penetration practically into the center of the settlement, gradually died down. The runners who had fled did their job—the most real army, consisting of warriors, Shamans, witch doctors, as well as tamed wild animals and Loa—where would Trolls be without them?—gradually began to gather around the ambassadors.
Soon, five High Priests arrived at the scene, with whom everything was not as obvious as it seemed at first glance. Perhaps no one could understand anymore—were they protecting the remnants of the Gurubashi empire from their bloodthirsty patron—Hakkar the Soulflayer—or had they nevertheless fallen under his influence and were helping him be reborn on Azeroth. However, when N'Zoth conceived of finding allies in the form of the fanged humanoids, he didn't care about these circumstances. Where was he and where was this winged worm? The comparison was so not in the latter's favor that the Old God didn't even think about the possibility of such a comparison of their power and influence among the divine brotherhood.
"What do you want here, strangers?" the hosts spoke first.
"We have come with an offer of a helping hand from our master," hissed the most representative of the Naga delegation in response.
Negotiations began. To obtain a positive result, it remained a "small" matter—to overcome mutual pride, the bloodthirstiness of the Trolls, the self-confidence of the Old God's emissaries, and a bunch of other factors standing in the way of creating allied or vassal relations… However, the desire of the Old God prevailed over all obstacles, and there was no doubt that the emissaries would achieve the success of their mission.
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Somewhere beneath Northrend.
The former High Shaman, the former great Biotics user—the one whom the Orcs once called Ner'zhul, was now merely a piece of Enchanted ice. But the slave of the Burning Legion was not so much concerned about his current state as he was worried about the fate determined for him by the demons. They wanted to deprive him of existence. To use him and throw him away like spent material. To replace him. And most humiliatingly—with whom? Perhaps someone from the major leagues, like Mannoroth, was supposed to stand at the head of the Army of Undead? Or at least one of the Nathrezim? No—just one of the weak little humans, and perhaps not even a mage! As if a human, no matter how strong a personality they possessed, could handle a legion of Undead or even just keep them in check, let alone full-fledged management! The fact that the fate of the "replacement" was to be almost more tragic than his own didn't concern the demons' prisoner at all…
Ner'zhul did not know the reason for such a sharp "reshuffle" in the Scourge's command link (the old Orc, in accordance with the task set, was supposed to command the Undead until the victorious end), but he had guesses—the overseers had somehow found out about his attempts to free himself from control and decided not to risk it and find a suitable replacement. Of course, the Nathrezim did not initiate their former ally into their plans—as if! However, the Lich King had enough capabilities and, most importantly, insight to assemble a consistent picture of the upcoming landing in Lordaeron from the Nathrezim's scattered slips of the tongue. And the more time passed, the more details became clear: for every bone under his control served as a spy in the "allies'" camp. Yes, now most of the army, like Ner'zhul himself, was packed into ice floes and drifting in the open sea, but who speaks of an army when it comes to topics like espionage and reconnaissance? Small animals and birds raised by the Liches—his former brothers—served not only the Scourge but its immediate master as well. If anyone, the prisoner was told by the great spirits themselves to make full use of his "official" position to organize liberation from Kil'jaeden's power. Ner'zhul didn't even dream of a full-fledged escape from the ice block—the Orc had no idea what one of Sargeras's henchmen had done to him, and in what direction he should move to even just consider the possibility of returning to a normal body, let alone realizing it.
And now Ner'zhul hoped that the overseers "don't know that he knows that they know" about his attempts to get out from under their control. The most ironic thing in this whole situation was that his intentions and the demons' goal coincided in a key point—they all needed one more victim for the Frozen Throne. And though the reasons and nuances differed greatly, only time could tell which of the plans would prove more viable… And the old Orc waited for the denouement with impatience.
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Stormwind.
Several months had passed since the slaughter that broke out on Kul Tiras. Many surviving residents of Boralus and those who managed to hide behind its walls before the archipelago was overwhelmed by a wave of sea creatures had moved to the lands of a long-time ally, to the domain of the Menethil Dynasty—Lordaeron. However, this only applied to ordinary citizens, whereas the soldiers and their commanders, when offered to move closer to the sea, to Stormwind, agreed without hesitation. Although perhaps the reason for that was the identity of the man who made them such an offer…
Daelin Proudmoore stood frozen by the stone battlements atop one of the cyclopean towers that formed the defenses of the new Stormwind, rebuilt and arguably even redesigned after the first war with the orcs. From above, a magnificent view of the coast unfolded. Small waves dancing across the sea's surface instilled a sense of calm with their appearance, but the famous Admiral knew all too well what lay beneath the visible serenity of the water.
Why had he brought his people here of all places? This choice was not dictated by nostalgic feelings for the "big water," far from it. Practicality was the paramount concern. When Antonidas had broken down the current situation unfolding on Azeroth, the former King of Kul Tiras realized that he hadn't just been flippant regarding the memorable warning received from the elves; in the context of the past attack on his homeland, Daelin felt as if he had let it all go in one ear and out the other. And now, having been forced to abandon Kul Tiras due to his own carelessness, he thirsted to settle the score with the enemy. And where else could his sailors and the remnants of his water mages be of more use than by the sea? So, he chose Stormwind. Of course, many other places fell under this simple criterion, such as: Gilneas, Lordaeron, or Quel'Thalas. Moreover, if one considered the elves, they possessed a significant "bonus," and he and his men would already be wreaking vengeance upon the sea creatures in full force—rumor had it that a wild meat-grinder had been underway on their northern coast for a long time. But still, the King's choice fell specifically on Stormwind—after all, if there is an alternative, it is better to give one's life for Humans than for pointy-eared snobs...
It wasn't that his crowned brother, Varian Wrynn, wasn't glad for the Revenge that arrived directly through the portal. On the contrary—the young King was certainly happy to receive significant reinforcements, for a shortage of human resources is not a problem that can be solved simply by tossing an extra sack of gold. However, the famous Admiral could not see eye to eye with the locals regarding command. No, Daelin did not covet the supreme leadership, but he didn't want to hand his people over to just anyone; rather, he didn't want to hand them over to anyone at all. The hosts, in turn, did not wish to surrender a single meter of the capital's fortifications to outsiders—in their opinion, this greatly undermined the city's defensive capability. The former King, now an "ordinary" Admiral again, flatly refused to transfer his soldiers to foreign command, perfectly understanding that the Stormwindians would protect their own at the expense of his men. The resolution of this issue was progressing with a creak, but it's worth noting it was moving nonetheless—the elves had done a good job of lighting a fire under their allies, and the theme of the "final battle" found the necessary resonance, lowering the negative influence of the human race's flaws on solving problems of this kind...
By the way, Daelin had climbed the tower temporarily allocated to the Kul Tirasans and chased away the Sentinels not to ponder the prospects of his service for the benefit of Stormwind—the man simply missed his daughter, and he wanted to be alone and wax nostalgic. However, the father's thoughts very quickly shifted to his last meeting with Jaina, which took place after the evacuation to Dalaran and at which a "friend" was officially presented to him in a categorical tone. Moreover, the word "friend" sounded so clearly in the context of "fiancé" that at the memory of it, the stone of the tower began to crumble under his fingers from just the echo of the emotions he had felt upon meeting the arrogant youth. However, Daelin relaxed his grip almost immediately—even then, having cooled down a bit, he realized that the current situation did not actually contradict his own intentions regarding the fate of his own flesh and blood. After all, he himself had once hinted to her... what hint—he had told her in plain text to look at her surroundings to find a favorable match. True, he had pointed to very specific candidates—strong, adult mages, already established in their profession and capable of providing not only for the future family's prosperity but also some sort of preferences for the kingdom of the dear father-in-law.
It had somehow completely slipped the worried father's mind that the notorious conversation about suitors had, for the most part, taken place exclusively in his own head. But be that as it may, his anxiety regarding his daughter's personal life had noticeably subsided. And it couldn't be said that the Focus of this Lin hadn't made an impression on him, but the main calming factor was the words of an old friend. The Archmage, sparing no hymns of praise, confirmed the potential of the candidate for the princess's hand and heart despite the apprentice's young age, and Daelin had to, with a heavy heart, yield to Jaina's pressure...
A few minutes later, having finally calmed down, the man cast a glance at the waves splashing below and, with a sad sigh, as if saying goodbye either to the sea or to Jaina, headed for the exit. Time was precious. Concern for his daughter was one thing, but the King of the Defeated but not surrendered Kul Tiras did not forget his "duty" to the Old God for a moment, nor the traitors remaining on Kul Tiras...
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Duskwood, Misty Reed Post.
"Are you sure this will be enough? N'Zoth's minions won't be able to restore it from the other side?" Malfurion Stormrage watched as the portal, through which the Kaldorei—or rather their remnants, numbering barely more than four digits—had arrived in the lands of Humans, began to be destroyed.
"No, it won't work that way with stationary portals, and standard charms protect against ordinary ones."
"Well, yes, the kind that are bypassed in a heartbeat by any more or less skilled Mage... And anyway—what if they found this portal before us and hid something here?"
"The scouts turned over every stone here and found nothing."
"And..."
"Stop panicking, Malfurion," the High Priestess, also monitoring the work of her kin, turned to face her husband. "We've already gone in a third circle."
"The situation obliges us to see tricks in everything, to suspect traps and to doubt. And to check, check, check," the Druid was not at all offended by the accusation of panic—after everything they had experienced, it was impossible not to become a paranoid.
"If N'Zoth wanted to, he would have tried to get to us a long time ago while we were on Kalimdor. He was only interested in Nordrassil."
"Tell that to Cenarius," the long-bearded man grumbled.
"Well, he made a trap for the occasion—took advantage of a chance encounter, so to speak. After that, no one has specifically hunted us, have they?"
"Is that not because we didn't give them the opportunity?"
"Malfurion," the girl showed not a shadow of doubt in the correctness of their actions, likely having weighty reasons for it, which she tried to convey to her husband, "worrying about deeds already done only makes sense when you had some other, alternative option that seemed less successful than the one you chose at the time of the choice, but then, after a sudden fiasco, revealed itself in a completely different light... Then—yes, perhaps, I would agree that one could lament one's mistake. But we already discussed that we had no choice—only flight. And in the time that has passed, we have been able to find only this one valley, which means—no crossroads on our path, and this road is our fate and our only chance for salvation."
"Or we are so stubborn that we don't see alternative possibilities..." the Druid grumbled into his beard.
But one could debate the fatefulness of this or that decision for a long time, and so Malfurion did not deepen the subject, instead seizing upon the last sentence of the young elf, whose appearance had not yet been affected by the "disconnection" from Nordrassil and its nourishment by the energy of Nature.
"And isn't it suspicious? The scouts were only able to find one suitable place, but what a place! Here you have a stationary portal leading to another continent, and a secluded valley right next to a new ally who promised to help with food. Is it worth mentioning that the hidden entrance to the portal is on a suspiciously empty coast and it's practically in direct sight of Nordrassil?! That alone should be alarming enough that if you don't find a catch, you have to look for it again and again until it's found!"
"We couldn't stay on Kalimdor," Tyrande Whisperwind reminded him of the obvious fact.
"Yes, sooner or later the Great Tree will be completely lost, and at that moment it's better to be as far from Mount Hyjal as possible. But in the name of Elune! Why must we crawl into such an obvious trap..."
"...'when we could have gone to Azshara,'" the owner of the magnificent mane of green hair finished for him. "Don't even start, Malfurion. There can be no choice between Elune and that traitress. The very idea of abandoning our Goddess is already sacrilege."
"I wasn't the one who raised the subject, but let's leave it. We are already here, and that cannot be changed..."
"I'm glad you understand that," unlike her husband, the High Priestess of the moon goddess remained calm and unshakably self-confident throughout the conversation, though occasionally ironic notes slipped into her voice.
"...but we can double, triple... tenfold our caution. Re-check even more thoroughly, strengthen the guards, or better yet, move altogether."
"Where?"
"Somewhere!"
"We've already discussed this. The Dwarves didn't let us into Loch Modan. In the Twilight Highlands, after Neltharion's rampage, it's a scorched wasteland. What else was there? In Stranglethorn Vale, we'd have to wash ourselves in blood—there are too many Trolls there, and the sea is nearby. Other places are either already occupied by Humans, like Elwynn Forest, or are unfit for life, like those same swamps and mountains, or are too close to the coast."
"You 'forgot' about the northern part of the continent. The Troll villages—something-something-Alor. They are too weak for us to have any problems with them."
"You are just drawn to Quel'Thalas, aren't you? And I 'forgot' nothing. It is you who has forgotten the drawbacks of those lands—they are again too close to the coast. And the Trolls are weak because no one needs them as long as they sit in their mountains and don't bother Humans. Lordaeron would have dealt with them long ago if not for the League of Explorers outpost in those mountains—Humans simply don't want to mess with Dwarves," Tyrande Whisperwind showed good awareness of the political situation on the continent that was new to her. "And the most important problem—we will die of hunger in a month because there is nothing to eat there, while here we can at least buy from Stormwind at first."
"The Trolls eat something, don't they? And depending on an 'ally' who has his own agenda in such an important matter is wrong. And doesn't it bother you that they are allies with Quel'Thalas as well?" Malfurion tried to step on his wife's sore spot, but he failed.
"No, it doesn't bother me. And I'm not against Quel'Thalas. I am against Azshara and her attempts to drive us into slavery and force us to betray the Goddess. That's enough, Malfurion," she held out an open palm, stopping her interlocutor who was ready to bring "new" arguments. "Facts won't change from words—this is the most advantageous place from all points of view. If you have nothing to do but discuss the same thing several times, then you are quite welcome to personally re-check everything here for that 'tenth' time. And if you find something dangerous here, we will immediately return to this conversation, but for now, I need to take care of the placement of our kin."
Malfurion was frowning, but he nodded and went to organize the check. The elf watched him go with a long, unreadable gaze, but eventually, she too switched to work. Another relocation of the Kaldorei was in full swing.
------------------//------------------
Quel'Thalas.
Whatever Azshara declared to her "poor relatives," she had no intention of leaving the former Well under N'Zoth's control. But at the same time, she wasn't lying when she said she intended not to cleanse it, but to destroy it. Why would she want all that fuss and the subsequent headache? And it would be fine—she would have destroyed that spoiled piece of wood immediately, but there was one problem. Only one, but one that did not allow for reckless action—Nordrassil had to be destroyed in such a way that it didn't repeat the fate of the first Well, and Azeroth didn't end up consumed by another Cataclysm. Of course, the Well of Eternity and some pathetic semblance of it, which was also significantly twisted by the Aspects, could not be compared, but even a small planetary-scale rampage was not what was needed on the eve of a great war. At the same time, it was also impossible to delay indefinitely—Azshara suspected that after draining the amount of energy he needed (the Queen would very much like to know exactly what for, but it was unlikely to be anything good), the Old God might destroy the Well himself, and surely doing it not in the soft way the mage herself planned to use, but likely choosing something more destructive...
On one hand, Azshara's options for the "bloodless" destruction of Nordrassil were limited. Schools of antagonistic orientation could not be used—the expected reaction would be too strong for Azeroth. In essence, the tree was a fusion of Nature and Shadow, which excluded the use of Holy and Death. Trying to overpower an entire Well with Nature would be a foolish venture in the style of Malfurion, but certainly not for a mage as experienced as her. As for using Fel... yes, the demons would approve. Shadow was also excluded for obvious reasons. So, only Arcane remained. Yes, "only" that very magic in which she was particularly strong, despite any attempts by Sargeras, who once wished to initiate her into Chaos.
And now Azshara was at one of the test sites used by the elf researchers for its direct purpose. The solution to the task was being approached from different directions, but surprisingly, the first to achieve partial success was the group that set itself the simplest task in theory but the most difficult in implementation—to force the fusion of two alien energies, Nature and Shadow, to enter into conflict and annihilate each other.
A small tree in a tub, glowing green from the Life energy overflowing within it, was entwined with black tendrils, making it look like Nordrassil in miniature. One of the mages standing next to Azshara, fifty meters from the sample, raised a hand with a wand, and a bright purple sphere filled with pure energy of Order flew from its tip. Unfolding in flight into a fine-mesh net, the spell wove around the unfortunate tree and soaked into it with a hiss. A second or two later, the green mixed with the black, and the tree began to melt. There were no explosions, flashes, or earth tremors—just a minute later, instead of the tub with the tree, an unsightly dark puddle formed, faintly radiating Shadow, Nature, Order, and, strangely enough—Fel.
The result was impressive and met expectations, with one small "but." And it wasn't at all the fear of turning half of Mount Hyjal into a foul-smelling black swamp—to hell with that. For the spell to work correctly, it had to have at least half, or better yet exactly half, of the Life energy reserves of the object of its application; otherwise, the annihilation process did not become an avalanche, and with insufficient filling, it might not start at all, or the speed of mutual destruction of Nature and Shadow was so insignificant that the process could be easily eliminated by anyone who wished. And the Queen had no doubt that the latter would quickly be found.
Investing energy in a volume equal to half a Well into a spell, even one as pathetic by Azshara's standards—that was a feat even for her. However, the experimental spell essentially consisted of ninety-five percent raw power, while the remaining five percent was attributed to the art of magic as such. That is, as the structure of the spell became more complex, its energy capacity dropped... up to a certain limit, then, of course, the inverse relationship took effect. That is why the researchers continued to work in this direction, but so far the successes were insignificant. Azshara thought about switching the others to this direction, for there was no time left for prolonged research—according to her estimates, they needed the spell, as they say, yesterday.
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Dalaran.
"I certainly knew that promised things are waited for for three years, but I never thought that applied to you!" the Gnome, crossing the threshold of that very tavern famous in youth circles, did not fail to remind him of the time delay in fulfilling the promise.
"And who ran off to Ironforge as soon as she got her 'big red stone'?" Lin had something to say to such an accusation. "And then appeared in raids, only for a new portion of stones?"
"First you should have treated a girl to the promised cake, and only then given her a huge ruby!"
"'Given'?"
"That junk... ahem," the girl, who had recently taken the next step in Engineering—to put it simply, had become a master engineer—was a little embarrassed. "That is, I meant to say," she gave a nervous chuckle, "those high-precision tools and first-class materials you asked for in return... In short, the exchange turned out to be a bit unequal. With such a gift, you practically made me a marriage proposal! It was dishonorable of you, already having a girlfriend, to treat me like that! Tell him, Jaina!" the Gnome turned to another companion walking on the other side of the guy.
"Yes, Lin, it was reckless—to steal our dear Trixie's heart. Now, in return, she will eat your entire brain."
"Hey! I'm not like that! I'm a poor and miserable cute Gnome!" against the background of the head with two cute ash-colored pigtails sticking up above the table, her statement did not look false.
Trixie, despite her clearly demonstrated affection for Lin, had managed to become friends with Jaina in the six months since they met, and all thanks to her simple and cheerful disposition.
Meanwhile, a waitress familiar to the pair of apprentices of the head of the Kirin Tor approached the table.
"What will you be ordering?" the approaching girl interrupted the friendly teasing on the romantic theme, to which, as a rule, any conversation with the Gnome lasting more than five minutes boiled down.
"The biggest and most expensive cake!"
The girl in the white apron had extensive experience communicating with all sorts of customers, and girls in particular, and so she wasn't particularly surprised by the request. She cast a quick sympathetic glance at the guy and, without changing her expression, clarified:
"So, the biggest or the most expensive? The most expensive is medium-sized."
"Then make the most expensive cake, just bigger in size—so that I see it and gasp!" the customer said with an air of: "Well, what could be unclear here?".
The waitress nodded, but for confirmation of the order, she stared at the obvious payer. The guy nodded and added:
"With the cake—everything as usual, plus something stronger for Jaina and me, and juice for the Midget."
Trixie's face took on an expression of sincere indignation, so strong that for the first few seconds she sat with a red face and couldn't utter a word. The waitress, in whose memory the pair of young mages had never ordered alcohol, correctly caught the underlying motive of the moment and was in no hurry to fulfill the order, curiously waiting to see how the friendly teasing would end.
Not waiting for the Gnome's stormy reaction, Lin corrected himself:
"I changed my mind—juice for Jaina and me too."
And then he couldn't help but add:
"After all, adults should set an example for children."
"I'll remember this!" Trixie promised, having recovered from her indignation as the waitress retreated to the counter to process the order. "To disgrace a master engineer like that!"
"No more offensive than when you suggested testing your sister's new craft on Jaina and going to have fun ourselves."
"Shhh... don't give away our plans, she'll hear!" the Gnome, casting a glance at Jaina sitting next to Lin, made it look as if she couldn't hear their conversation while being at the same table with her.
"I see you two get along very well," the mage was amused by her friend's behavior, and she didn't particularly hide it. "Maybe we really should adopt her, as you suggested?"
"Hmm, you think?"
"Hey! Stop it already! This isn't funny anymore! I don't joke about your height! Unlike you, I understand how unpleasant it is for you to walk around as such giants, but I treat your problem with delicacy instead of flaunting it for everyone to see, mocking the ideal height of others!"
"Okay, okay, sorry, Trixie. I got carried away," apologizing to girls was never superfluous, so that fragile maidenly hearts wouldn't harbor or, gods forbid, breed grudges.
"By the way, while the cake is being prepared, you can brag about your insane invention," Lin switched to a neutral topic, which, in fact, was the official reason for their meeting—they were celebrating the Gnome's promotion to a new rank.
"Ha, now just sit there and bite your elbows with curiosity! Realizing that because of your feeblemindedness, which squeezed out idiotic jokes, you won't witness the triumph of my unsurpassed genius!"
"Won't you even show Jaina?"
"Hmm, well..." she cast an appraising glance at her friend's plate. "If she shares with me, then so be it, I'll show her and even let her sho... that is, I meant to say—let her stand nearby and be imbued with the undeniable greatness of my talent!"
"I won't give up the cake—you can take Lin," the former princess, in feigned fear, moved her empty plate closer to herself, but then, as if catching herself, added: "Except maybe a piece."
"There it is—traded for a cake, and not even for the whole thing, but just for a small piece," the guy lamented, happily supporting the playful banter.
"And if I give up my share—can I take him entirely?" Trixie clarified, casting a glance at Lin now.
"If you add a couple of pastries on top—he's yours for the whole day."
"Oh, doing that during the day... I'm so embarrassed!" the Gnome pressed her palms to her cheeks.
"What did you invent anyway? I hope it's not a musket for Dwarves that shoots rubies?" Lin realized that five minutes had apparently already passed and made another attempt to change the subject, and again a successful one.
"Pff! As if! Muskets aren't even yesterday's news, they're the century before last! So I came up with a cannon. A cool cannon. A Very Cool Cannon," the companion replied.
"I get it, I get it, you came up with a cannon that shoots rubies instead of cannonballs—what's not to understand? Now it's clear why you need big rubies. Actually, it's a very original idea... You say that in Ironforge they give you a master engineer for that, right?"
"R-r-r!" a desire to knock on her neighbor's head, and preferably with something heavier than the dishes present on the table, flashed in Trixie's eyes.
"She must be hungry. Tired after casting cannons," Jaina "suggested," hearing the growl, and then "calmed" her friend: "It's okay, Trixie, they'll bring my cake soon, and in the meantime, you take care of Lin: evening is still far off, but time flies fast—before you know it, the lease on the apprentice of the head of the Kirin Tor will be over..."
"You guys are mean. I'm leaving you," making a hurt face, Trixie began to slowly rise from her chair. "To a place where it's tasty, and they feed you for free, and pat you on the head instead of saying nasty things!"
"And where on Azeroth is such a blessed place located?" Jaina inquired, since knowing such a thing was strategic information for any girl, even if she already had a boyfriend.
"Closer than you think! Naturally... on the lap of the guy I rented from his own girlfriend for a couple of pieces of cake!" by the end of the explanation, Trixie, following her own advice, was already sitting in said place and sticking her tongue out at her stunned friend.
"Well, as for the patting, I guessed that it's being charged to me as a duty," Lin ruffled the hair of the brazen person, having first cast an unreadable glance at his companion, who, even if in jest, had sold him for sweets and was now sniffing indignantly, looking at the pair because she couldn't say anything in her defense. "And what about the food? You seem to still owe a couple of pastries."
"Well, the 'all-inclusive' principle applies here—your share of the cake comes with you," and here Trixie gave a fake sigh. "And since I'm a little girl, you'll have to feed me with a spoon."
The point about the pastries was tactfully omitted.
"Hey! That's not fair!" Jaina finally came to her senses. "Maybe I also want to be fed and patted!"
"Well, do you want me to feed you and pat you? For a piece of cake," the Gnome offered to restore "justice" in her own way.
"Then you'll have to return Lin!" the former princess, who had an idea of the economy of an entire kingdom, made an attempt to bargain.
"No-no!" Trixie shook the spoon she had grabbed from the table. "That's not how it works! We've already concluded a contract, and it has entered into force. Now we need to conclude another one: but feeding and patting you and on top of that giving back you... my boyfriend—that's too much for one small miserable piece of cake! However, for your entire share, I could hand over my boyfriend... well, let's say for a couple of minutes. In two minutes, you definitely won't have time to do anything like that."
"Trixie, you are my friend, aren't you?" the mage began soulfully.
Realizing that bargaining with a Gnome for sweets was an inherently failing path, Jaina approached from the other side, using the old but foolproof method called "Do you respect me?".
"Uh... ye-es," the girl replied with suspicion, instinctively feeling that the conversation was about to turn in an unfavorable direction for her.
It is unknown how much further the conversation about renting boyfriends and related issues would have gone, but at that moment a pair of waitresses arrived, bringing their order. On one tray towered a huge cake, which would have been enough for five in a time of famine, and some would definitely have been left over. On the second were juices, tea, pastries, fruit—in short, the "side dish."
While the impressed young sweet-tooths studied the creation of confectionery art, the guy, surprised by the size of the cake, said:
"Alright, girls, attention! Until you eat all of this, we aren't leaving."
"You want to finish off your ex? A cunning plan, I approve! After all, Jaina will have to eat two-thirds, and we only one-sixth each—out of noble motives, I'll help with your portion," Trixie couldn't help but comment, feeling a spiritual lift from the conversation and, of course, from sitting on Lin's lap—not without that.
"No-no! That's not how it works!" Lin mimicked her and gave a sinister grin. "Now you'll find out what a child feels like when they've already eaten their fill, and the parents insistently try to shove 'another spoon or two' into them with the call 'for daddy, for mommy'."
"Oh-oh!" the Gnome cried out "frightenedly," not at all afraid of the threat—it wasn't for her, a recognized sweet-tooth, to be afraid of some cake, no matter how big it was. Trixie even, getting into character, swung her legs.
The battle of endurance had begun...
Three hours later, Kirin Tor test site.
"MUAHAHAHA!!!...."
Trixie's invention was making "pew-pew" sounds, sending streams of red beams in all directions. A short Gnome with an "All-Destroying Red Mega-Beam of Death"—a huge cannon twice as big as herself, but judging by the weight, light enough for the cake-stuffed creator to not only hold it in her hands but also shoot it at the same time—presented a surreal sight, and so this picture created an indelible impression... especially in the context of the beams melting thick metal plates upon hitting the target, annihilating wood, and burning huge holes in summoned earth elementals acting as guinea pigs. And all this along with a complete disregard for most standard protective charms—although a little magic was used in the brilliant inventor's device, the truly "red beams of death" themselves contained not a "gram" of magical energy. A stunned Lin, watching in the company of an equally shocked Jaina, only thanked the unknown builder of the site for having the foresight to surround the site with an ordinary earthen rampart in addition to several magical shields, which was now being covered with melted ruts more like craters, but at the same time continued stoically, if not more—heroically—to fulfill its main function of protecting Dalaran from young wizards. A single master engineer was now acting as a whole crowd of the latter, showing how much her kin are underestimated in terms of destruction.
"... MUAHAHAHA!!! Well? Do I look like a mad inventor?" the Gnome asked, turning her head in goggles toward the spectators, while not ceasing to destroy the tar... site, but already doing it without looking.
"You can't tell the difference."
"Exactly like one."
Lin and Jaina, for whom the demonstration of the "almost prototype" was being held, confirmed in one voice and nodded synchronously. What would be the output of the "completely prototype" device, Lin was wary of guessing—as if invulnerability for the owner or flight wasn't included in the functions... It seemed he needed to reconsider the significance of Gnomes in general and Engineering in particular in the field of fighting the Old God...
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Outskirts of Lordaeron.
"... And I say to him in response: 'Since we aren't taking Kul Tiras back from the monsters, there must be a reason. If you doubted the royal order—then you doubted the Holy Light! After all, Prince Arthas is one of the mightiest Paladins, and they, as is known, are strong in their Holy Light of righteousness!'. And he was like..."
"...Wait, Dayana," a thoughtful-looking guy in Armor interrupted the pretty girl in church robes, who was enthusiastically telling about her daily life. "Better tell me again about the sword."
"Finally! I was starting to wonder if I should doubt my professionalism..." the half-demoness, hiding under the robe of a Priestess, mentally sighed with relief. The modest, innocent "servant of the church," who had been rapturously devouring her cavalier with a loving gaze until then, now managed to express bewilderment with just one word. "Sword?"
"The one you were telling me about recently—the sword that gives power but comes with a curse that the priests couldn't handle," Arthas reminded his girlfriend, judging by the grimace, surely cursing to himself about a girl's memory.
"Ah, yes, there were such rumors," the girl "recalled." "You mean the blade found in some ruins that no one dared to take because of an unknown curse?"
"Yes. You don't remember which ruins were being discussed?"
The "sword" had been backstopped with a complete legend. Place some not-particularly-useful corrupted piece of iron in the first ruins you find, then spread rumors, attract the church's attention, allow them to deal with the dangerous object, and, taking advantage of the hype, lure the prince—who had undergone a year of training under the guidance of "Dayana"—to the right place and slip him the cursed sword at the last moment... but a completely different one. Most importantly, if something went wrong, the young novice would remain above suspicion: after all, thanks to the circulating rumors, Arthas hadn't even learned about the sword from her—he simply used their close acquaintance to pry details out of his girlfriend. Thus, despite the fact that neither the handlers nor the operative doubted the operation's success, they didn't forget to insure themselves against accidents, leaving the door open for new attempts, even though the time allotted for grooming the future traitor was already beginning to run out.
"Somewhere north of Alterac, I think... I don't remember exactly. Why?" "Dayana" asked curiously.
"Can you find out for sure? I want to test if my Holy power is as strong as people say. In anticipation of a great war with the sea creatures, we will need every opportunity for a Buff."
"Of course, beloved," the girl didn't even need to be related to succubi to touch the right chords in a callous male soul with her voice, and the blood of the famous demons of seduction only amplified the effect. "I'll find out everything today. You'll take me with you, won't you? I want to see you rub the noses of those old snobs from the cathedral."
Looking into those devoted blue eyes, it was difficult for Arthas to refuse his girlfriend such a small thing as witnessing his triumph; in fact, "difficult" was an understatement—he would have invited her himself, for the embodiment of vanity, subtly fueled by an agent of the Legion, required appreciative spectators.
Soon the prince, who had lived the last year under mottos never explicitly voiced: "Elves think only of themselves!", "Who, if not I, will protect the people of Lordaeron from the sea monsters?" and "The end justifies the means...", was to have the strength of his ideals of Holy tested...
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Coastal waters of Northrend.
Old Noatak, a representative of the Kalu'ak people, was peacefully sailing his boat along the southern coast of the Howling Fjord. As an experienced fisherman who knew exactly what he wanted to catch, he usually fished not from the shore, but from a boat or, at the very least, from one of the numerous islets dotting the coastal waters of Northrend. Right now, he needed the boat not as a fishing platform, but merely as a means of transport to his destination—one of the floating ice floes. Noatak's choice in favor of these eternal companions of the northern continent was made not just because of the much greater space compared to a cramped fishing vessel. No, the master fisherman knew perfectly well where the fattest and most delicious royal sea devils were found, which were the target of today's fishing trip.
Finally, having chosen a suitable piece of ice—not just a floating floe, but the tip of an iceberg—the old fisherman moored at his future fishing spot and, dragging the boat onto the ice (one never knows what an iceberg might collide with—the tuskarr did not want to lose his means of returning home), began to unload slowly. Just as unhurriedly, the tuskarr began to prepare the chosen uneven area—a master fisherman could not afford to make the mistake of an inexperienced youth and slip on the ice at the most critical moment of landing his catch...
Time passed smoothly, cast following cast: icebergs did not stand still. A dozen fish were already splashing in the basket (the fishing was clearly a success) when Noatak decided to look around to distract himself from the float and stretch his stiff back. It was then that the old man realized with surprise that his icy island had moved far from the shore. And he wasn't the only one. A whole cluster of icebergs, which had previously drifted slowly along the coast, were now heading quite rapidly away from it, straight into the open sea. And the speed was increasing and increasing. This representative of the race of sentient walruses had not only reached the heights of mastery in the fishing trade but was generally an old and experienced sentient being; therefore, without letting go of his rod, he grabbed the basket and rushed to the boat. The catch flew to the bottom, the rod followed haphazardly, and the tuskarr himself pushed the boat off and, nearly getting left behind on the floe, managed to scramble into his rescue craft at the last moment before it was swept aside.
Noatak was lucky he had chosen the iceberg closest to the shore for his fishing; otherwise, an exciting adventure called "Dodge the Ice Floe" would have awaited him on the way home. As it was, the old fisherman had the chance to look after the receding white mounds and say goodbye to his remaining belongings before remembering his youth and working up a serious sweat at the oars on the way home...
The event, which for the Kalu'ak tribe became merely an amusing incident and a reason for the youth to joke at the old-timers' expense, was in fact one of the initial links in the chain of the coming War. Had Noatak been less experienced and fastidious and chosen a flat surface on the iceberg to set up, he would have easily discovered, to his misfortune, bones beneath the layer of transparent ice after brushing away the interfering snow. A lot of bones. And not just haphazardly frozen piles of remains, but whole skeletons, most of which even possessed some form of equipment.
But luck smiled upon the tuskarr... the humans, not so much. Granted, the inhabitants of the northern coast of Lordaeron would only realize this in a month, when the Undead landing force reached the eastern continent...
***
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