Northrend, Wyrmrest Temple.
At the top of the temple, on a platform constantly swept by the icy winds of the northern continent, the ambassadors of the dragonflights gathered to discuss urgent matters. Four sapient beings, dressed in blue, green, red, and yellow colors, were to decide nothing less than the fate of Azeroth. The representative of the Black Dragonflight was absent for a valid reason—she had not been invited.
"The Legion has made its move, to say nothing of N'Zoth... What shall we do?" Korialstrasz brought the question to the agenda of the extraordinary meeting.
Representing the blue was Malygos himself, who had not appeared within these walls for a very long time—his reclusive lifestyle and obsession with solving personal problems had contributed to the current state of affairs.
"To hell with the Legion—let the elves deal with them. We must concentrate all our forces on N'Zoth and finish the Titans' work of eradicating the Old Gods," despite his obsession with revenge specifically against N'Zoth for his finally deceased spouse, the Magic Aspect understood perfectly well that such a goal would inspire few, so he approached from another angle—a more global one.
"But that hasn't been achieved in over a hundred thousand years. Why do you think it will work now?" asked the ambassador of the Green Dragonflight, Lord Ithar.
"It will work!" Malygos said firmly, but then clarified: "Because we haven't really tried."
"But the Titans..."
"Yes, yes," he brushed Ithar off. "That's the problem—for some reason, we believed that since the Progenitors failed to crush the spawn of The Void, then we, their successors, would also find it beyond our strength."
"'For some reason'?" Korialstrasz arched his right eyebrow.
"If they were as strong as you suppose, would they not have conquered Azeroth long ago? Over those same 'hundred thousand plus years'?"
The consorts of Alexstrasza and Ysera exchanged glances. The fact was, they didn't recognize their old acquaintance—he had always been known for an extremely volatile temper, and the loss of his spouse had only worsened an already difficult character. Seeing his logical arguments delivered in a calm tone was strange. They didn't realize that his obsession with his spouse after her death by his own claws had reached a new level, where "the end justifies the means." Previously, he had considered himself omnipotent and capable of solving any task with Arcane, and it was only a matter of the time required to solve it. The setup by N'Zoth had brought him down to earth, and now Malygos, realizing he couldn't take on the Old God alone, was ready to offer an alliance to the Aspects, Guardians, elves, Legion, humans... even N'Zoth's kin! All just to get his revenge. The fate of Azeroth was currently a matter of indifference to him.
"In some ways, you are certainly right, but there is one 'but'—the Legion is as much a threat to Azeroth as N'Zoth, and in the fight against the latter, we cannot forget the former," a small Gnome woman joined the conversation.
"In principle, the Pointy-Ears will handle the demons, or at least delay them: Azshara's minions have heavily fortified themselves around the Source, and they won't be dislodged from there easily," Alexstrasza's consort took Malygos's side: as a recent member of the Kirin Tor council, he knew firsthand about the powerful defenses built by the northern neighbors of Lordaeron at their borders.
Ithar caught Chronormu's gaze, but the latter shook his head, as if to say, don't you dare agree, it will be bad—I'm telling you this as a Bronze Dragon. Korialstrasz, noticing his friend's doubt, didn't fail to add:
"Right now, the Legion is not dangerous, but N'Zoth is a direct threat to Azeroth."
"Oh, really!" the Gnome woman responded mockingly. "For tens of thousands of years, he was all nice and fluffy and incapable of 'conquering Azeroth long ago,'" Chronormu recalled Malygos's words, "and now suddenly—'a direct threat'! Meanwhile, the Legion is already active on Azeroth right now and is at least dangerous because it could leave us without allies."
"An alliance with that arrogant thief?! Never!" the face of the usually calm Korialstrasz twisted in indignation: he took it very hard that part of his precious beloved's power was in the hands of some Elf girl who imagined herself omnipotent.
"On this point, I will perhaps support you," Ithar agreed. "We have repeatedly offered her an alliance, but each time she set exorbitant demands."
Simultaneously, the heir of Norgannon spoke in a completely different, unexpected vein:
"I am not against an alliance with her. But it will be of no use at the moment: I am certain Azshara will demand we deal with Archimonde and his pack first, but we don't have time for that—I feel that N'Zoth is up to something..."
"Nozdormu said the Legion's threat should not be underestimated," Chronormu played his trump card, for the opinion of the Time Aspect was not something to be simply brushed aside.
Malygos, coming to the meeting, had guessed that his main opponent in the argument, as usual, would be Nozdormu, and so he had prepared a strategy to sway the other ambassadors to his side.
"If the head of your flight were concerned with more down-to-earth things instead of floating in his time streams, his words would carry much more weight. As it is... remind me, when was the last time he did something useful? Like, say—warning about the approaching strengthening of the Old Gods, preparing for the Legion's arrival—anything like that? Every time saying: 'If we hadn't done it this way, it would have been even worse'—it raises suspicions about the truth of his 'prophecies.' When a sapient being thinks only their opinion is correct and their actions infallible—it leads to defeat—I know from experience."
"Nozdormu may not be infallible, but he is the wisest among us. And only he can look far into the future."
"No one is arguing about the future," the Magic Aspect shrugged in response to the words of the Bronze Dragon ambassador, irritation beginning to grow in his soul. "But he evaluates the visions exclusively at his own discretion. And no matter how 'wise' he is, his opinion on events is the opinion of one, and the fact that he considers himself uniquely right doesn't make him so. And besides..."
Unity among the Titans' helpers had been gone for a very long time, so it was not surprising that opinions were divided now as well. More than ever, the fifth participant was missing. The council threatened to drag on...
———
Is'Ney-Azshara.
Quel'Thalas met the refugees from Dalaran coldly. The portal was located in the middle of a fairly large stone platform enclosed by a wall. The floor was covered with a web of dimly glowing runes and generally inspired concern, not to mention that the humans emerging from the portal were met by several dozen Elf mages lined up along the perimeter of the wall, ready to unleash spells honed over millennia upon the uninvited strangers.
Then came the screening. Every single arrival, without exception, had all artifacts confiscated, then was fitted with a collar and "asked" to answer a "couple" of questions. If the answers satisfied the inspectors, the belongings were returned, and the people were released into a camp set up nearby for evacuated allies, practically right behind the wall. After the flow of people fleeing the Undead-surrounded city ended and the portal closed, the screening continued for two more days—there were simply too many people compared to the number of mages allocated for control. Be that as it may, it couldn't be said that such draconian measures were justified by Elf paranoia alone—among the former residents of Dalaran, many suspicious individuals were found who were to undergo in-depth investigation. However, strangely enough, no obvious collaborators of the Legion or the Old God were identified... except for the prisoner brought by the head of the refugees.
But even after all the measures aimed at ensuring the security of Quel'Thalas from the infiltration of spies and saboteurs, the people were not allowed to roam freely on Elven land, and certainly weren't left unsupervised. However, there was no point in leaving the human resource idle, so a sorting process was initiated. There were a significant number of ordinary residents incapable of fighting, and they remained for the time being in the temporary camp. Experienced and not-so-experienced mages led by Antonidas were moved to another camp, a military one, closer to the southern border. The teachers and students of the academy led by Modera were transferred to the capital: the luring of promising mages by the elves was a well-established process, and so many promising gifted humans were already studying in the Elven educational institution.
Among the lucky few honored with the privilege of seeing Is'Ney-Azshara were Antonidas's personal students. There were at least two reasons for this: the formal one—despite their more than impressive skills, they were still listed on the rolls of the Dalaran academy; and the factual one—"family" ties, if one could call Lin's relationship with some of the high-ranking figures of Quel'Thalas that...
"Studying again..." with a sigh full of hopelessness, the blonde girl dropped her head onto her arms folded on the table.
"Laina, think of the prospects," her brown-eyed neighbor whispered conspiratorially, leaning toward her ear. "They're like a curated selection here—nothing but handsome elves, and every other one is an established or future Archmage! A rich choice! You just need to..."
Given that the academy's chief gossip didn't know how to speak quietly, her words became public property.
"Ha!" snorted the somber Evin, who had changed her life priorities and hadn't held a familiar mirror or a set of magical cosmetics for almost three years. Without looking up from her study of another thick tome, she joined the budding conversation about "the essentials": "...get your lazy ass off the chair and become at least a little like Jaina—without that, they won't even look at you!"
"Don't listen to her, she's just jealous that guys look at you more often than at her with makeup," the kind advisor was never at a loss for words. "That's why she got disillusioned with both her irresistibility and her powder."
"No, maybe she's right? Maybe I should dye my hair from white to yellow?" Laina grumbled, and it wasn't even clear from her voice whether she was serious or joking, having realized the conversation was about studying, not appearance.
"Runi, stop distracting her," said a fourth friend, also spending time with a book in hand, but nonetheless noticing that the brunette was again trying to whisper something into the blonde's ear. "It would be better if you actually studied... now is not the time to neglect knowledge."
"Oh, gods!" the girl adopted an "I'm so over this" look, but that didn't stop her from launching into a denunciatory lecture: "It's like Jaina 'bit' you all, and you've gone completely 'Jaina-fied'! All you have left is to find yourselves some shaggy nerds, and you can run around the academy with them looking crazy, never leaving the training grounds or the library!" Here the brunette remembered they weren't exactly in an all-female company and was quick to apologize: "Sorry, Lin, I didn't mean you."
The boy, tucked away in the corner of the room, shrugged without taking his eyes off his notes, indicating he took no offense. But his close friend didn't miss the chance to stick a needle in response to such an obvious slip. A silver strand falling over her face didn't stop the girl from delivering a sharp remark:
"Well, of course, we believe you! You were probably talking about some other Lin who also loves books and training grounds..." the sarcasm was so sharp in Aime's words that it could have been collected in a vial or two as an ingredient... if a suitable recipe existed. "You'd be better off studying as well as you wag your tongue."
"If I studied well, Laina would be lonely at the bottom of the Academy rankings."
"Hey, I'm not at the very bottom!" protested the girl who usually spent her time searching for her prince instead of studying.
"You know, the bottom and the 'sub-bottom' aren't that different—you're so far down the rankings that mentioning the difference between you and the last person on the list becomes absolutely insignificant," Evin put in her two coppers.
"Well, studying just doesn't come to me..." the girl sighed. "What can I do?"
"Start studying?" To put her high-arched eyebrow on full display, the former fashionista even looked up from her book. The demonstrated sign of bewilderment was the embodiment of elegance, and so, even combined with the lack of makeup on her face, it didn't in the least diminish the natural beauty of the red-haired girl, whose curls had stayed where her glamour had: there was absolutely no time for perms.
"Hey! I am studying!"
"Opening a textbook, staring at it with a blank look for five minutes, and then closing it—that's not studying, it's a mockery of knowledge and yourself."
"On this, I agree with our redhead—you'd be better off spending those five minutes looking at handsome guys, and then you'd be one step closer to success."
Laina could no longer stand the teasing from her best friend and, with a groan full of despair, dropped her head onto the table again, managed to exclaim:
"How is it even possible to remember all these thick tomes?!"
"You're asking the wrong person, friend," Runi shrugged, though the action was missed by the questioner since she was examining the scratches on the tabletop.
"Then who should I ask?"
"Probably those who crack these clusters of tedious letters like nuts..."
All the girls, without a word, looked at Lin. He, being no fool, realized which way the wind was blowing, and in an attempt to avoid more questioning and persistent requests to "teach," decided to change the subject. It wasn't that he was against giving a few tips, but the boy had talked to his girlfriend's friends more than once or twice and knew that questions about magic quickly turned into discussions about his and Jaina's relationship.
"Better tell me, how long will they be in there?" He nodded toward the exit of the room.
Somewhere out there, the princesses of Kul Tiras and Lordaeron had been talking for an hour after a long separation... the former Kul Tiras and Lordaeron. The latter kingdom might still formally exist, but effectively, it was no longer the domain of the Menethil Dynasty, with whom this bastion of humanity, once the strongest among the seven kingdoms, was firmly associated.
"They've only just started," Runi said, surprised by such a question.
If anyone knew about talking, it was her, and so her opinion on this matter could be trusted like no other...
"Fine, what are you interested in?" Lin resigned himself to his fate.
"Speed reading!" As she became acquainted with the volume of information that would be good to study, the silver-haired girl understood more and more how useful a skill that was for a mage.
"Methods for increasing the pool," unlike her friend, Evin was more pragmatic.
"Super memory!"
"How to make an Archmage fall in love with you!"
Lin pretended not to hear the last two remarks, deliberately made his voice tedious, and began explaining the advantages and disadvantages of the main methods for increasing Mana reserves. However, he found grateful listeners who paid no attention to either the "teacherly" voice or the feigned wailing of the two lazy friends.
Half an hour, an hour, two—the princesses were still gone, and the lecture threatened to drag on. Runi was still holding out, but Laina was already staring blankly at the reality, clearly in a state of total prostration; the boy's words weren't even reaching her mind. It seemed nothing could break the husband-hunter's detachment from earthly concerns, but then the sound of tearing Canvas was heard in the room, and directly above the narrator, in the air, a distorted crack formed, surrounded by a halo of aurora borealis. A "regular" such Rift in space, behind which lay impenetrable darkness.
Given that the Is'Ney-Azshara academy might have been less protected against unauthorized teleports than the royal palace, the effort was clearly not worth it for intruders: the energy required to overcome the protective barriers, powered—mind you—by the Source, would be enough to cause a local Armageddon. Only idiots, geniuses, or madmen would attempt such a thing—the latter might have some clever way to bypass the defense. But there seemed to be no such beings among the demons, which, in Lin's opinion, was for the best, for the actions of the first, second, or third could not be calculated...
When the slit jerked open into a vaguely familiar oval shape, and the terrifying head of a Nathrezim appeared from the darkness, the former Demon Hunter, who had already managed to jump up, shroud himself in protection, and scatter the shrieking girls into the corners with magic, strongly doubted his earlier conclusions: one of the demons had risked it after all, and it only remained to understand which category they belonged to.
However, immediately following the head falling onto the vacated chair, instead of a winged body, came a small female figure, a clawed hand clutching her, and a piece of a leathery wing... and that was it. The edges of the Rift closed, leaving the missing parts of the demon somewhere else—Azeroth had restored the violated Balance of matter and space.
"Trixie?!" When all the teleported objects succumbed without resistance to the force of gravity, Lin recognized their and Jaina's mutual friend in the literally half-crushed Midget, and she was in a very sorry state, to say the least—near death.
Quietly wheezing in a hopeless attempt to move her broken ribs, the Gnome was unlikely to be clearly aware of her surroundings, but her lips silently formed a few movements that shaped the word "Lin." Meanwhile, the boy wasted no time. One palm, shrouded in energy the color of spring foliage, descended directly onto the face of the girl who had made it out of the ordeal alive. His other hand carefully freed Trixie from the grip of the dead demon... if, of course, the hand, wing, and head lying on the floor belonged to the same owner.
While Lin took all measures to keep life in the mangled body, the young mages were coming to their senses, crawling out of their corners only to immediately freeze at the sight of the Nathrezim head adorning the center of the room. The overturned table, the flipped chair, the Gnome, the boy rendering her aid, even the other demonic limbs—all of this receded into the background. The hideous appearance combined with the unmistakable "flair" of Fel allowed it to lead the list of "popular" things capturing the attention of the lovely girls.
"What is that..." Runi said in a weak voice; her courage wasn't enough for a questioning tone.
"Can't you see? A demon, obviously," the red-haired mage had gathered some cold-bloodedness lately, and even if her reserves were currently melting like snow on a hot summer noon, there was still enough for her to remain the calmest person present... naturally, not counting Lin.
"Ugh, how disgusting!" The assessment was somewhat one-sided, but what else could you expect from Laina?
"Am I the only one who feels sick at the thought of meeting one of those alive? Can we even handle one with our strength?.. Oh!" Aime didn't leave the incident without comment, but when she turned to Lin for an answer, only then did she notice that their company had gained a new member. "Do you need help?!"
"No, better go get Jaina," despite being focused on the healing, the boy had enough time and capacity not only for talk: by this point, he had already managed to free his friend from the captive clawed hand, lift the overturned sofa, and move the victim onto it.
Unlike her friends, Aime didn't need to be asked twice—she nodded and vanished into the corridor.
"You called her 'Trixie'," Evin, beginning to take control of her emotions, easily pulled the episode from her memory. "An acquaintance of yours? What happened?"
"Yes, she's a friend of mine and Jaina's. Apparently, Ironforge wasn't as protected as the Dwarves believed..."
A mage with the capability, and most importantly—the desire, is capable of much. And saving a wounded loved one from death is certainly on that list. A steadily pulsing green glow spread over the body of the small girl, which no longer resembled a crumpled, bloody piece of meat wrapped in rags. A distinct scent of a spring forest filled the room. Meanwhile, loud stomping was heard from the corridor. Apparently, the academy guard was rushing to the site of the anti-portal barrier breach, ahead of Jaina, who had been talking with her friend.
"Gemma... sister..." were the first words spoken in a quiet, tearful voice by the awakened master engineer.
The attention of those present concentrated on the rescued girl. At that moment, a pair of killing machines burst into the room—there was no other way to describe the battle-ready Elven archmages, for being draped in shimmering magical barriers of every color and taste, they inspired danger. Everyone in the room except Lin froze, paralyzed by spells. Then, aiming at the boy who had avoided their charms and was therefore the most suspicious, they began to ask questions:
"What happened here?!"
Before Lin could even begin to brief them, let alone decide on a course of action, Jaina reached the room. Ignoring the elves, who didn't block the path of the princess they recognized, she rushed to her friend's side and, after a quick examination, asked in turn:
"What's wrong with her?! What happened?"
But opening his mouth a second time, Lin again failed to provide explanations: exactly in the center of the room, a regular portal opened easily and naturally, and straight from the throne room, the Queen herself graced them with her presence. This time, everyone without exception was paralyzed, including the archmages from before. After a quick look around, the ruler of the elves turned her gaze to Lin, and his mobility returned.
"I knew you were involved in this, Illidan! Stop breaking my security barriers!" Azshara first voiced her grievances and only then asked: "What happened?"
Lin couldn't help but sigh.
"What happened?" he repeated. "Well, nothing special, except it seems one horned acquaintance of ours decided to say hello to some other acquaintances of ours who live under a mountain and are excessively bearded before coming to visit us."
To which Azshara wasn't in the least surprised. She released the guards, and they, obeying a gesture, went on their way.
"Not surprising," she said and, casting a brief glance at the Gnome, surmised: "I take it Gnomeregan has also met its end?"
"I don't know. Trixie stayed in Ironforge after the liberation of Gnomeregan, so the former is definitely captured."
"One can't say it's unexpected. I would have done the same, starting with the weakest opponents if I failed to achieve surprise and reach the main goal... Anyway, it doesn't matter. What interests me more is how they managed to break through the portal defense? We upgraded it against Gnome contraptions as well. Speak!"
Another figure was connected to the dialogue. The command was so authoritative that it was impossible to resist, especially for a girl who was in a state of mental turmoil.
"Wormhole generator. Sis makes... used to make special generators: they didn't work as they should, but at the same time, they possessed strange effects."
"Well, yes—I shouldn't even have asked... Gnome Engineers, mad in their genius. If it weren't for your stubbornness, your race, Gnome, would have lived in Quel'Thalas long ago and known no sorrow. Figure out the rest yourselves; I don't have time. Archimonde is likely already halfway to Stormwind; there is a direct underground path leading there from Ironforge..."
Azshara did not yet know about the arrival of the Naaru on Azeroth, who, although they had saved the members of the Draenor Expedition to the delight of the head of the intelligence corps, promised quite a headache in their own right...
If not for the paralysis, Jaina would have certainly flinched, as most of the surviving Kul Tirans had settled precisely in Stormwind, including her father. But the chance to show emotion presented itself almost immediately: the Queen vanished into a portal, and the girls regained mobility and the ability to speak, which they did not fail to exploit. The girls' voices merged, creating an indecipherable hubbub.
"Wow! That was Azshara, right?"
"So who is this Gnome girl?"
"A beauty."
"What's with her, Lin?"
"I wish I could do that..."
"Sis..."
"And when..."
"Well, she's a monster after all."
The anarchy was ended by the appearance of two girls. The door opened and a breathless Aime burst into the room, followed by Jaina's very friend—Princess Calia Menethil. The sister of the current King of Lordaeron was in no hurry to join the "conversation," but she listened with curiosity and seemed to even understand what the girls were talking about.
"What are you all clamoring about?" As one of the most level-headed after Jaina, the young Mage with silvery hair took control of the situation. Antonidas's apprentice could have handled the female "rebellion" herself, but her thoughts were more occupied with her friend's current state and her father's impending troubles.
"Oh, Aime! You missed su-uch a thing... I'll tell you now!"
"Stop, stop! Let's take it in order. Lin..."
"Jaina and I will leave you; first we need to take care of Trixie," the guy picked up the Gnome in his arms and headed for the exit with Jaina.
"Ah... I see. Then we'll wait for you... in Runi's room."
"Hey, why mine?!" Runi was not famous for tidiness, and therefore her apartments, while differing from the current setting for the better, were not by much.
"Do you want to stay here?" With an expressive look, Aime scanned the trashed room where parts of a Demon still lay.
"No, but..."
Further bickering was hidden from Lin by the door closing behind him.
------------------//------------------
Duskwood, Misty Reed Post.
"Goddess, guide me on the Path..." the words of appeal to Elune habitually fell from the lips of her High Priestess.
The Goddess of the Night Elves rarely refused help if it concerned a direct manifestation of her powers in reality; it was another matter that it was not customary to ask her for trifles. But as for advice, hints, warnings—the Kaldorei were not often granted these, and even then, mostly only the most faithful believers. The title of High Priestess was held by the Elf who enjoyed more favor from the Moon Goddess than other sisters in faith. However, the latter was well-earned—it was simply pointless to look for a more fervent worshiper of Elune than the High Priestess.
This time, the advice received by Tyrande Whisperwind was far more explicit than the usual vague visions. Against the backdrop of a picture of a Human city located on the coast being stormed by hordes of Demons, an enchanting girl's voice sounded in her head, whispering just a few words.
"Help the allies. Find salvation."
Tyrande Whisperwind involuntarily frowned. Yes, Stormwind—for that was what Elune had shown—was considered their ally... but only formally. The allied relations had not yet been tested by time: they had only just agreed on food supplies in exchange for non-burdensome services regarding the strengthening of defenses, but the treaty had not even entered into force yet!
Tyrande Whisperwind closed her eyes, which were glowing with a soft, pale blue light, sinking into thought, but shook herself almost immediately. Faith is faith precisely because it does not require any additional knowledge or proof to begin acting. And even if such a position bordered on fanaticism, the Elf did not care. She had not betrayed the trust of her Goddess before, and she would not fail her now. Her kin were to learn today that they had an impending meeting with an old enemy.
------------------//------------------
Ny'alotha.
N'Zoth was displeased with the failed attempt to seize the focus of the air element. The dull-witted demigod, instead of making a deal and giving up the Heart of Air or dying and giving it up, showed remarkable common sense and fled, not forgetting to take the sought-after item with him. And now, to find Thorim's refuge, he, the Old God, needed to negotiate again with Al'Akir—who else but the ruler of the air elementals would know the location of the source of his powers, of which the Titans had once deprived him. And even if Al'Akir could not leave the Throne of the Four Winds, which was his place of imprisonment, nothing prevented N'Zoth from sending messengers to visit him to obtain the necessary information...
When, a couple of days later, the spawn of the Void hiding on the seabed, already imagining himself the master of Azeroth, received an answer, it was in a rage. The power of N'Zoth's wrath rose to a new level, eclipsing even the metrics of that case ten thousand years ago when his immortal existence was nearly brought to an end. A single precedent simply could not outweigh the accumulated incidents associated with one specific individual calling herself the Queen. Correct, the Heart of the missing element had somehow ended up in Quel'Thalas, and now his plan was bursting at the seams—there was not enough energy to open the gates to the Void, and the backup option—Nordrassil—was lost due to the maddened Magic Aspect, who, apparently, had finally figured out the setup. Of course, he had a backup plan for the backup plan... but an attempt to mix the energy of the Maelstrom with The Darkness threatened the destruction of Azeroth—and that was never N'Zoth's goal. He wanted to rule a world remade to his taste, not destroy it.
Had the Old God been less self-assured, he might well have had a plan to destroy Azeroth in the event of his loss. But N'Zoth and defeat? No, such a result was not factored into his calculations, certainly not after thousands of years of preparation. And the difficulties that arose were quite solvable—were there not enough energy sources in the world? It was just that now, instead of one, he would need to collect a dozen... or a hundred—it didn't matter.
In time, N'Zoth calmed down. For now, he had a more important task anyway—the need to ensure the loss of the brisk competitors who were rampaging across the eastern continent had come to the fore. Of course, he did not intend to stop Azshara and Archimonde from destroying each other, let alone help one of the sides, but he controlled the situation so as to snatch victory from the hands of a weakened opponent at the right moment. And if the Elves suddenly won, it would be perfect—as long as they sat in their corner and didn't get underfoot, he had no business with them: let them continue to protect their coast from "hordes" of monsters, unaware that it was merely a diversionary maneuver.
If the Old God had known that Azshara had recently discorporated one of his brethren, he would not have been so calm about the possible victory of Quel'Thalas over the Legion...
------------------//------------------
Outskirts of Stormwind. A couple of days later.
Archimonde stood on the edge of a clearing; behind his back, sparse, blackened trunks were visible—the remains of the legendary Elwynn Forest. The Commander-in-Chief of the Legion had delved too deeply into the study of Chaos for it to remain without consequences. And it wasn't just a banal change in appearance, like the twigs and leaves of those same Druids walking the path of learning Nature. No, of course, horns, scales, claws, and other demonic attributes were present, but the main factor was something else. Fel. He didn't even need to cast anything to bring the effect of disorder into the surrounding world. The excess of native Mana he radiated dutifully corrupted trees and plants, and his footsteps left noticeably glowing tracks on the ground...
The Demon, looking at the walls of Stormwind rising directly behind the water-filled moat, was reflecting. Much time had passed since he last set foot on the lands of Azeroth... the last time, however, was also the only time. But those were matters of days long past, and even if neither Mannoroth nor Hakkar nor other commanders of the Legion were with him, now the number of Nathrezim and the Scourge Army fully compensated for the losses, while the current Source had barely a tenth of the power of the Well of Eternity, the Aspects had suffered losses, and the traitress Azshara would no longer be able to stealthily destroy Legion detachments while posing as an ally.
Of course, attacking the entrenched Elves was fraught with serious losses, or even a repeat defeat—Archimonde did not intend to underestimate his enemies. Although, perhaps, had the unfortunate incident with the Dark Portal not occurred, he would have attacked, taking advantage of numerical superiority. Now, however, the former Eredar was forced to wear down the enemy's strength, replenish the ranks of the Undead, and prepare a bridgehead for the arrival of reinforcements led by Kil'jaeden. A strike here, a strike there, and now another city stands before the Demons, which will either surrender or fall, and its inhabitants will join his army anyway, only no longer in the ranks of the Legion, but as part of the Scourge...
Why hadn't he attacked Stormwind immediately, even though it was closer to the Dark Portal than the abode of the Dwarves? The answer to this question lay in intelligence data, which assured him that despite all the fortifications hastily erected by the Stormwindians, the Human city was a much less defenseless target compared to the underground catacombs of the bearded midgets. It was better to use the tactic of a sudden strike on Azshara's strong pieces, since it hadn't justified itself on the main opponent. Besides, it didn't matter to the portal where to transfer troops: five hundred kilometers or five thousand—compared to cosmic distances, such distances are not serious for stationary portals...
And Archimonde was not at all bothered by the fact that officially the Dwarves and Elves were not allies. For him, everyone who was not part of the Legion was an enemy. Perhaps he was being somewhat over-cautious in this matter: oh, the former Eredar knew perfectly well from personal experience about the fragmentation of sapient beings in matters where the solution had some kind of alternative. But he also knew perfectly well about the property of those same sapient beings to unite in the face of a universal danger if no choice was presumed.
Stormwind should have fallen by this point, but, as usual, chance intervened in the form of some brisk engineer who killed a Nathrezim and simultaneously broke through the spatial barriers and notified the Azerothians of the capture of the city of shorties. Therefore, the collapse of the tunnel connecting Ironforge and Stormwind directly, which the Demons intended to use, no longer caused any surprise to the left hand of the fallen Titan and left him no choice but to take the stronghold of the treacherous Elf's minions by storm. The city Archimonde was looking at while his troops prepared for the offensive was surrounded by powerful spatial barriers cast by Demons and excluding... or given the recent incident—hindering the escape of the besieged. He did not intend to give the locals a chance to retreat to Quel'Thalas, as the Dalaranian people had done. During the capture of Dalaran, Tichondrius had no means to ensure a serious anti-portal blockade, which the crafty Elves exploited, but the head Nathrezim still got his scolding for prevention...
Archimonde did not wait for an answer to his generous offer to join the ranks of the Legion and commanded the assault, doing so in a way that was non-trivial for a commander but so commonplace for a powerful Warlock—he unleashed a rain of fire upon the city. Sargeras's henchman had not forgotten Tichondrius's story about the Azerothian Mages' love for meteors and decided to demonstrate the difference in power...
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