Well, of course, my pale skin immediately burned under the scorching sun of a tropical beach. Who would have freaking doubted it. I just took a nap in the sun, dammit, while Venidan and Dartaola were walking around and drinking something or other. Yes, the sun shifted, so what? Am I the child here or not? Yes, I just got carried away with my thoughts, but that doesn't make the situation any better at all!
I woke up—it stings. My skin is red, my pale little carcass is burning, and those two forgot I existed a long time ago. Plus the sensations: my head is heavy, I'm slightly nauseous. Where are those two?
"Heeeeeeelp! You've got a pilot dying over here!" I hissed as I accidentally brushed against the reddened skin. It hurts!
To the Paladin's credit, she was by my side in about five seconds. And three seconds after that, she spoke sternly:
"I warned you—you'd get a sunburn, Davilinia. And what did you do?"
I snorted, trying to keep a straight face and not wince. It burns like hell! And anyway, why are they acting all high and mighty! By the way, they're the ones who are supposed to be looking after me!
"And I, Dartaola, was tired. And I fell asleep. And anyway, where were you when the child was getting sunburned? So, which of us is the adult and responsible one here?"
Venidan was unimpressed; on the contrary, she leaned in closer and demonstratively sniffed the air.
"Hmm, do you prefer al dente?"
It took a massive effort not to blast that arrogant creature with an icicle. The pain and the desire to actually get some healing stopped me.
"It hurts here, actually! We flew here to relax! To relax, both of you! You're annoying!" Okay, I've had enough. "Dartaola, is it just me, or were you the one complaining that a child left unsupervised does stupid things, hm? Given that you knew I had no experience. And yet I'm the one being blamed. Is this some kind of joke? Veni, you think this is very funny, don't you?"
I jerked, my body vanishing behind a Magic Shield. I had to suppress a sharp urge to strike with a Frost Nova. Along with images of eternal frost, ice stained with blood. Right, to hell with these visions! Focus! I want to convey a thought to them, not pain! Although pain could also work... no! Only the thought! They clearly noticed my hesitation, but I had to finish the idea.
"Anyway, here's the deal. Either you heal me, or you're spending the night out here. The Pepelats obeys me, and I can lock it down. Now—no jokes. I'm tired, I'm in pain, and I want to resolve this matter quickly. Got it?"
The sensation of cold in the places where the seals should be under my gloves was almost physical. I wasn't wearing gloves now, but the feeling of cold fury... not mine, no. No, I am calm. I don't know what this nastiness is, but I can guess. Breathe, calm down. They are friends; there's no need to hit them. Yes, they're acting like idiots, but they're friends. At worst, they'll sleep a night on the sand without shelter, apologize, and the problem will be solved. And if Dartaola stops messing around, it'll be even better. Strange, I was absorbing Mana; where did this come from? With a feat of will, I deactivated the shield and lowered my bare feet back onto the sand.
A flash of light seemed to warm me from the inside, chasing away the shadows. Life became much easier. Thoughts of ice, death, and violence left me. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
"Better?" the Rogue asked with utmost seriousness.
I nodded sharply, almost a jerk. But I nodded. And I even relaxed a little; it really did feel much better.
"Yes, much. The Holy light is warm. Pleasantly warm. Yes, this is much better."
Dartaola approached quickly, turned me around, and specifically examined the fading redness on my arms. She ran her fingers over the spot where the seals should be, tracing the contours very precisely. Does she see them? I didn't think the Paladin had been noted for having magical vision... And her look—wait! Is she worried? About me?
"You need to see the Ho... To rest! Rest for a couple of days! At the very least. And I, Dartaola Sunset Ray, will look after you."
"Like you did today?" I smirked at her pathos.
But the Paladin was in no mood for joking, ignoring the obvious sarcasm. What on earth did she see there?
"You urgently need rest. When we arrive, we'll show you to a healer as well." She sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, I am not one, even if I can heal. Unfortunately..."
Just what I needed, a ruminating Paladin in the party.
"Get her settled, Veni," the eldest of us commanded, and the Rogue even silently agreed. "And I will pray for her. To the Holy light, among others..."
Venidan nodded, placing a hand on my shoulder. I finally relaxed completely. The negativity had evaporated entirely, leaving only a bit of sarcasm. They were still idiots for forgetting about me and then starting to lecture me. But I wasn't quite right myself, alas, it was a fact. The Rogue nodded toward the cliff where the Pepelats was camouflaged.
"Rest, DaVi. I'll stay in the cockpit so I don't disturb you. We just need to fly by the instruments to the marker, right?" I nodded. "Well, I can handle that."
Yeah. You'll handle it. To be fair, Veni actually knows how to fly the Pepelats under normal conditions. Land it too, though I'm still better at it. I can almost feel the ship in those moments, while she just acts according to the instruments. That will be enough in our case.
"Alright, Veni. I'm leaving the machine to you. If anything happens, you know where to find me."
I headed upstairs myself, noting the damaged compartments marked with red icons along the way. We had lost two rooms out of eight, and three more had sustained varying degrees of damage. The Pepelats would need repairs once we arrived. And in Theramore, I want to get to work on a larger, more powerful ship—our new mobile base. I'll keep this one, of course. As a long-range scout and a Gunship, but we'll be flying on something else. It's high time; when I created the Pepelats, I made a lot of mistakes that should be redone now. And I've learned a lot of new things about magic, of course.
I practically stumbled into the living quarters, levitating myself onto the bunk. Though the pain was gone, the weakness remained. And when my body relaxed, the relief was incredible.
"Damned necro-energy. You're such a bastard, Ner'zhul. And we didn't even do this on purpose last time; it happened by accident. Fine, I'll outlive you anyway."
I won't lie to myself; I roughly understand what that was—those flashes of anger, the weakness. It's all the influence of magic, both external and internal. I warped my soul with spells when The Sunwell was corrupted; it was radiating necro-energy. Yes, I managed to neutralize most of the consequences, but most isn't all. How exhausting. Fine, bed rest it is. I'll give myself a little weekend.
Dartaola peeked into the room. The Elf flared with Holy magic again, and I finally relaxed, melting into a contented puddle. I was immediately inspected again. Heh, such care is actually pleasant. I can't remember the last time something like this happened. It seems it was before everything started. And even though I know what I was getting into, it's still nice. Satisfied that I wasn't planning on dying, Dartaola relaxed and asked:
"Are you alright? How do you feel? We aren't doing so well with herbs, so we'll have to make do with Holy magic. We have a pile of ingredients for poisons and combat Alchemy, but nothing to prepare a soothing decoction. We should fix that when we arrive."
I nodded, staring at the ceiling.
"Yes, thanks. I'm fine. As for the herbs, hm. I'll solve the problem, or Venidan will; she's our Alchemist. When I built the Pepelats, I didn't know how to expand space yet. It turned out a bit cramped; an Alchemy lab just wasn't part of the design."
The Elf sat on the edge of my bed, looking down calmly. She's the one who really stands out from both me and Veni. If I look about thirteen by human standards, and Veni looks about twenty, Dartaola looks all of thirty. Toned, physically developed, but not even close to a child. Presumably no family, only service to the Holy light. She smiled quite sincerely.
"It's alright, really. I don't think many can boast of such things at your age. And as for mistakes, they can always be corrected. Even death is reversible. So don't worry, you'll build a new one, and more than one."
Well, yeah, Paladins and Priests can resurrect. Heh, I guess they wore me down. I'm not angry at her at all. And since that's the case, I can share some thoughts that I previously would have only told Veni, simply presenting Dartaola with a fait accompli.
"I'm going to redesign the ship. We'll get to the future Theramore, and I'll make us a flying Dreadnaught. With cannons and plenty of room for everything we want. There'll be an Alchemy office; we definitely need one. And we'll set aside a room for your prayers, not like now, a half-empty warehouse next to the rockets. And a room for each of us, separate. A kitchen too, it would be nice not to live on scavenged and dry food. There'll be room for everyone."
The Paladin nodded, brushed my hair back, and left, to pray to the Holy light or whatever. I lay there for a bit and decided to do something. Staring at the ceiling in an empty room is boring.
So I decided to do a little drafting, a little drawing. I'd given my word that I wouldn't go anywhere from the bed without permission. So I won't go anywhere. Besides, this needs to be done too; I was planning to anyway. I need to sketch out a project for the base, a few ship models. Maybe buildings. Design isn't my strong suit, so there will surely be mistakes.
A glance out the window sparked some rather interesting thoughts. Very soon we'll be at Jaina's expedition fleet. I don't know if they're still sailing or have already reached the shores of Kalimdor; the Beacon only shows direction, not a map. I wonder how things are there. Jaina, parents, other survivors. Tsk, looks like I'm getting emotional. Not now.
In any case, there are things worth considering. If I want Jaina to support me, I need to show her something she can work with. I need a project that a sponsor can use as a guide. Not necessarily full blueprints—I haven't seen the peninsula in reality yet, don't know all the details. But I need something to start from.
The plan is fairly simple. Phase one—set up a workshop on the Systems Alliance camp territory. Like the Pepelats assembly module, but bigger. It can be used to create various consumables that the city under construction will guaranteed need. Arrowheads or bullets can be cast, nails, brackets, door hinges, and other useful household items. And also—my version of a mechanical array, the "Hive." This isn't the first version, but I eventually settled on this one.
The original plan involved creating a core module covered in runes with specific functions. Antigrav, power supply for secondary modules. And connectors for them, of course. A modular scheme—if desired, just swap modules and get a completely new tool. Good? Yes, but not perfect.
Ultimately, why should the modules be rigidly fixed to the core? Why increase the size of the structure, making it more unwieldy than necessary? No, there's no reason. We'll go a different way. We can use the same principles as an anthill, and make the modules autonomous; magic allows this to be implemented without problems. Control shouldn't be particularly difficult either. Ants don't rely only on sight, moving along pheromone trails left by their comrades. I can make a similar system, but with magical markers. There will be a core—the epicenter of the entire structure. There will be Administrator drones, marking tasks for the workers. And the workers who perform the work. It's not that simple, of course.
For example, we need to cut down a tree. First, an "Administrator" approaches the tree, selects a suitable one, and places a marker on it. Second, a "Cutter" approaches, saws the tree down, and also leaves a marker. Next, a "Cleaner" removes the branches, also marking the completion of the work. And a "Porter" who moves the whole thing to the warehouse after reading the presence of all the necessary markers. The warehouse, of course, has its own markers so the "Porters" don't just dump everything in one pile.
Though, come to think of it. It'll do for a start, but such a system is incredibly easy to sabotage! On top of that, any damage to the sequence of markers would collapse the entire command hierarchy... Ideally, I'd need to deploy a whole network of relay-reference beacons and store the info on a "server," relying on a coordinate grid with redundancy from several base points.
Generally, only three are enough to orient oneself unambiguously in space. The main thing is that the coordinates relative to the control center itself will be stored there. Place them at the base for initial setup and system launch. And then we'll make lots of relays everywhere for redundancy.
Overall, it doesn't look particularly difficult. The basic operations have already been worked out on the rocket. Here it will be the same, just more of these supporting triangles for network reliability. We'll periodically perform cross-checks to fix the geolocation network. And we'll have to track more objects—not just physical ones, but virtual ones too. But that's just a matter of technique.
And, of course, separate combat modules are needed in case of predators or competitors. Full combat "Hives" can also be assembled. Or for other tasks, like navigation. The main thing is to prepare the sequence in advance. If done correctly, it'll be an obscenely universal complex. It can also be used for ship assembly, naturally, by preparing the correct classes of worker units.
"Looks good. They'll definitely appreciate this; Theramore will need a lot of timber and other resources."
While the "Hives" are harvesting resources for construction, we'll prepare the construction site. I might not be an expert in Earth Magic—that's for Shamans—but I can summon a couple of elementals and negotiate. Or subjugate them; Jaina knows how, and she can teach me too. But I'd still prefer to negotiate; elementals live on separate elemental planes of space and return there after "death." In such conditions, acquaintances won't hurt. I don't know what elementals take as payment—magic or magical batteries, I suppose; we'll figure it out.
"Noted. Next."
We dig out the above-ground and underground parts of the base. Above ground—offices, residential buildings, docks, warehouse. Underground—assembly lines and a reactor that powers the whole operation. All of this as autonomous as possible, with minimal presence of living beings below the surface level, and especially without me. I don't want to sit constantly tied to the base.
Phase one looks exactly like that. Get resource extraction contracts, establish ourselves in the local market, build infrastructure. And from there, we can think about the future.
For example—the design of flying ships. I was perfectly serious when I told Dartaola about the Dreadnaught. In the case of the Pepelats, it's easier to build a new one using existing developments than to remodel the current one; too many weaves have been installed.
The basis will be the same as the Pepelats: a block consisting of a cockpit, a technical zone with a gyrostabilizer and a tank, and the engines. But the machine itself should be oriented horizontally. That way, if necessary, it can be easily extended—cut the "spine" and install new segments. Modules can be installed on three floors: one, the top, with weapons and rocket blocks. The middle—residential, labs, warehouses, and so on. And the bottom—cargo. Or a drop bay, if you want to drop compartments with golems and mines on the enemies' heads. Everyone wins, except the opponent.
A bigger ship means more space. For example, additional launchers and weapons can be installed. Turn the ship into a missile carrier. Stick in a real, heavy railgun for sniper fire. I heard the Horde's heavy airship has a cannon of a truly indecent caliber; we'll need something to answer with. And put in some more serious magical guts, according to the latest word in magical knowledge. For this, I plan to visit Karazhan again. We've only just started gutting the tower, and there are essentially two of them. Above-ground and underground sections, not to mention the blatant mockery of space—I don't know what volume. Leaving such a thing to be looted by random raiders is a sacrilege! And a disrespect to knowledge. No, I'll clear it all out myself.
The second project is a transport flying ship. The template is the same as the new Dreadnaught, but the priority will be transporting standard containers. Bring it in fast, disconnect it at the pad, connect a new block already positioned so as not to waste time on docking, and take it away. It makes sense to make ultra-fast transoceanic cargo transport our brand.
"Only Teleport is faster than us."
And it will work—a Mage capable of opening a stable portal to who-knows-where will, firstly, be very strong, and secondly, charge a lot. And thirdly—they belong to an organization. Freelance Wizards of that strength don't just wander the world, as a rule. And that's a risk; you never know how a Mage's organization feels about you specifically. So the strategy is sound while the market is open.
But there's one small problem—design. I haven't seen a single living creature yet that hasn't commented on the Pepelats' appearance. For the most part, it's the Elves, but I'm an Elf myself, and my circle is mostly them.
"A Goblin box, pff. And when enemy artillery starts smashing all those aerial galleries hanging in the air only thanks to magic, what will you do?"
No, for an administrative building, the Elven design will do just fine. Such a structure will stand out beautifully against the "quadratisch, praktisch, gut" of the Systems Alliance. But for transports, something else is needed. There must be protection between the pilot and their enemy. But at the same time, the machine must be recognizable. So that every passerby knows what will be done to them for an attempted intrusion. "The book will kill the building," uh-huh.
"What should I choose as a basis, hm? A Ballista?"
Sketching an Elven version of a ballista didn't take much time. A platform on four wheels where the projectile is located, almost a regular cart with a guide for the arrow laid on top. A plow in front acting as a brace, and two wing-shaped shields protecting the machine and the aimers from hits. It's ironic that the weapons of the High Elves and Night Elves are quite similar, despite ten thousand years without contact. As far as I remember, their ballista is essentially the same, just a different color.
On the other hand, there's logic in this. In the design, hm. Idea! Without changing the sheet, I started drawing a ship. A long tail to which the containers would be attached. Thanks to levitation magic, balancing it wouldn't be hard. Just like the wheeled cart on a ballista. Reliable, even a bit crude; add some curves.
"And here in front..."
The thought expressed itself in the pencil rustling across the paper. A hammer-like nose. Rounded, aerodynamic. The result is a T-shaped construction with a semi-circular "cap" pointing forward. Engines and weapons can be installed in the nose, and the whole thing can be armored. The cockpit and technical block. And due to the shape, it will hold up under fire on its own. Plus, it'll be easier to balance the machine that way; the Armor and heavy mechanisms will serve as a counterweight to the cargo section.
"Like this. And like this. And this. We'll paint it white. White and black, a good combination."
Importantly, it looks like no one else, not a single faction in Azeroth. No need to give our native long-eared aristocracy even that much of a chance. I smirked, pleased with myself.
Good. Now just to paint it red—or rather, work on the details. That's what I'd been doing all these days. Sleeping, helping Dartaola with the chores, drawing. My condition improved; the rest did me good, as did the treatment with "rays of kindness." I no longer look like a stale Zombie dying of hunger. Although the view out the window is still incredibly depressing. Absolutely nothing is happening there.
But on one not-too-sunny day, Venidan announced over the intercom:
"Markers ahead. It's ships. Lots of them! And land directly on course."
We practically flew onto the bridge, all of us, including the crow. By the way, according to the Magister, the arguments among the Elves continue. There is no unity, especially when neither the Umformers nor I could be found quickly enough. The Magister is also as silent as a partisan under interrogation, which I suspect isn't far from the truth. But right now, that's not so important; the Teacher seems to be fine, no need to bail him out. Something else is important. I almost hovered over the tactical table, examining the ship markers.
"No Necromancy. I see Arcane markers. And Lady Proudmoore's Beacon. We're here. We found them."
Venidan exhaled.
"Finally. To hell with these expeditionary flights. Midget, next time make the Dreadnaught faster."
The end of the suffering; all her relief is felt almost physically. It's as if a weight has been lifted from the Rogue's soul.
"We were just flying carefully; we simply didn't have a map, after all. Over the continent, I go faster, you know that."
I should probably be offended that she doubted the Pepelats' capabilities, but I feel the same way myself. Relief, yes. The chance to get out of the cramped hold of the ship into the fresh air, to step onto sand or soil. To talk to someone you aren't locked in a metal box with twenty-four-seven. We definitely missed Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and other sentient beings. But we still had to observe the proprieties.
"Veni, do a circle over the camp. We'll do some initial reconnaissance, a map and all that. And let the locals know we've arrived too."
The Rogue snorted, which sounded like a muffled hiss from inside her helmet. It seems she's relaxed.
"Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, midget. I'm on it. Release the birds; I think they've been cooped up too long. Let's see what this resort has to offer us."
I nodded. The sooner we start, the more information we'll gather. Sending out the mechanical scouts was a matter of a few gestures with my glove. And soon they were flying off in all directions, moving in an ever-expanding circle around the island, mapping the terrain.
Dartaola, the Magister, and I gathered at the tactical map; the Rogue could see it through her helmet. Veni asked:
"Listen, I'm not questioning your prophetic skills, of course..."
Again...
"I'm not a prophet, how many times do I have to say it!"
Seriously, is it really that hard to remember or at least understand the difference, huh? It's just mockery. The pilot nodded.
"Yes, not a prophet. Но you did predict that a city would be built here. So I have a question—are you sure? You either approach from the sea, risking hitting the rocks. Or you push through the land, through a tropical forest—literally—located between the cliffs, turning into a swamp. No, I get that it's a wilderness, there's nothing here, everything has to be built from scratch. But still?"
There was no arguing with that. The view out the window resembles the jungles of either South America or Indonesia. I don't remember, but I've seen something like this before. A solid carpet of trees intersected by numerous, numerous rivers like blood vessels. The soil there is likely very damp; one hundred percent humidity always and in any weather. If I were on Earth, I'd assume there were crocodiles there. Lots of crocodiles. And armies of mosquitoes and birds. In short, an "extremely friendly" place to live.
"The alternative is the Barrens to the north. But it's full of centaurs and other aggressive fauna. Orcs, for example."
"Amazing, though. I don't see any decent places for a settlement except on the islands. And it's probably like this year-round."
It seems so. And to make sure it definitely doesn't dry out, these rather large, province-sized jungles are surrounded by cliffs. And separate from all this goodness, on what is essentially a protruding island, is a large and solid rocky plateau where the newcomers have already started setting up camp. I'll have to think about a project for at least partial drainage of the whole thing. For fields or something else useful.
"And yet, it makes sense," Dartaola noted, "you'd have to storm such a place either by the road or from the sea. By land, an army could only approach via the road laid from the city. Extremely convenient for defense, and very difficult for attackers."
The Rogue didn't reply, and it was almost impossible to tell her reaction inside the helmet. I decided to voice my thoughts:
"I think it'll be an interesting challenge," I explained at the Paladin's look, "to drain the territory, at least partially. Making it suitable for farming or camps. I plan to live here, after all. And if not me, my parents."
"Not completely; it's a good natural defense," Dartaola agreed, continuing to survey these wild lands.
Separately, the Human camp and fleet could be noted. There were many ships, dozens, and they were positioned along the coast in several groups at some distance from the shore. Sensible, so as not to run aground; Kalimdor's coast is quite rocky. But there are several right by the island; apparently, they've already scouted there and are unloading resources.
Magically speaking, it's all quite modest. Already familiar natural strings, in large quantities. Not enough to be a spell, but a lot. The exception is the buildings; they were clearly built using magic.
The island was obviously noticed and they've already started settling it—it's the only visible flat area of sufficient size here. Wooded, of course, but not even close to the surrounding impenetrable tropics. Generally, the peninsula looks like a finger sticking out of Kalimdor, so the future Theramore will be the fingernail. And considering the Humans' buildings—a manicured fingernail.
On the "fingernail" itself, there's already a town hall, a barracks, and foundations for a dozen houses, long rows of gray tents with Lordaeron's symbols. No surprise there; they brought "pocket buildings" with them. Folded up, it looks like a toy house, but in fact, it's a space collapsed by a spell, containing everything necessary. Allowing a building to be constructed quickly in a matter of hours, rather than days and weeks. A powerful, quite expensive spell, but very fast. That's why it's valued among the military who don't want to dig in under enemy fire. Towers with a similar effect exist too, by the way.
We were noticed, of course. They saw us, heard us, or both; I don't know, and it doesn't matter. What matters is that a narrow violet magical beam shot into the sky in front of the town hall.
"That's where we need to go."
We didn't land the Pepelats in the middle of the city; there was too little space, simply nowhere. Tents, tents everywhere. On the other hand, it wasn't necessary; the Pepelats landed perfectly on the coast, a kilometer from the buildings. As soon as the ship landed, Mom and Jaina stepped out of a teleport in a blue flash of magical circles. As the ship's ramp lowered, they were just examining the battered vessel. I didn't even have time to say anything before Mom informed me in a tone that brooked no argument:
"I'm going to tan your hide. According to Jaina, it's a very effective method of disciplining disobedient children. And I agree."
Venidan snorted behind me. Traitor!
"I would recommend starting with a healer," Dartaola noted, descending last, "this trial was not easy for any of us. And though we achieved success, a price was paid."
Mom sighed, very heavily. Jaina said thoughtfully:
"I don't even want to think about what my students will be like. We weren't like that; we were more modest," noticing the crow, she asked, "and what do you think, Magister?"
The Mage perched on my head; the brim of my hat was too much in the way on my shoulder.
"While from an ethical standpoint the act was somewhat debatable, its practical utility is invaluable. I would recommend first sending them to a healer and then allowing them to tell their story. And draw conclusions based on that—on deeds, not emotions."
Mom and Dartaola looked at the crow with equal displeasure, but they didn't argue. After all, as an Elf, the Magister outranked everyone present except Jaina.
I really didn't want to go to the healer; I have no idea what he'll say. But we weren't exactly known for a healthy lifestyle, that's a fact. Too many stimulants drunk and too many manipulations performed on the body. The impact of necro-energy, and it's still unclear how that time loop affected us. Yes, I need to see a healer, even if I don't want to.
"Lead the way; the sooner we start, the sooner we finish."
The doctor, also a High Elf, prescribed a whole set of herbs, saying bluntly: you need more vitamins and rest in the fresh air. Fewer loads and for the next month—no stims. "Children should play and rest, not drive themselves to exhaustion several times a month," that's what he said. And also, that if I don't take care of myself, I won't grow, and I won't have a figure. I wasn't impressed, which the Elf himself apparently realized. Then the healer said he knows who my parents are, so attempts to slack off are useless. He even gave me a note. Jerk. No, he's right, of course... but still a Jerk...
The note was read in turn by my parents, the Magister, and the Wizard, and they delivered a verdict. A united female collective, except for Venidan, who stood guiltily to the side. And the crow simply didn't interfere.
"For the next two months, you do not leave the camp without our permission. Venidan said she can conduct reconnaissance herself. You'll occupy yourself with socially useful activity—laying out the sewage system, for example."
It was hurtful, annoying, and said in a way that suggested no objections. But that wasn't all. We were taken back to the town hall, where officers and other responsible individuals had gathered along with Jaina and Mom. They all wanted to know how things were back there.
And we told these sentient beings our story. With explanations, answers to questions, and comments. About clearing the camps, about destroying the Undead. О the Sunwell Corruption and, of course, about the explosion of the Well. With pictures and even a description of what happened.
Not everything, of course. I'm not going to tell them about Karazhan, about my own magical research, and many other things. For example, that our own long-eared nobility is looking for me, so that no one gets any ideas about doing something stupid. And yet, even so, the story left no one indifferent.
The meeting hall was packed with listeners. Humans, Elves, Gnomes, and Dwarves heatedly discussed the situation. Including my suggestion that the Scourge forces are led by Muradin Bronzebeard.
Everyone was floored by what they heard, including my parents and Jaina. They even changed their minds about tanning my hide. Especially when the Magister announced:
"The situation is difficult. Most of Quel'Thalas is currently barely habitable; most of our people have perished. As far as I know, the Kingdom of Lordaeron is in huge trouble. The Undead are spreading actively, the capital is under siege, and the regions richest in grain are Infected. There will likely be a famine, if it hasn't started already. Rumor has it that the Kingdom of Gilneas has closed itself off behind a wall and is letting no one onto its territory; a significant portion of the ships has left. However, the kingdom's troops are holding the line quite successfully. Lady Vereesa reported that Stormwind has sent reinforcements to its Systems Alliance ally. With a delay, but they did so at the King's direct request."
Well, everything's not too bad. Although when the demons show up, even this will likely be insufficient. And yet, the mood in the hall is depressed. Jaina stood up.
"So, it is just as we assumed. As long as the forces of Lordaeron hold out, we will remain here as well. These lands are harsh and dangerous, but they are also far from the Undead and the Darkness. On our side, we have the sword, the axe, and magic. We are forewarned, and thus—forearmed. We will move forward, live on, and fulfill the prophecy that the Darkness will be stopped here. For the sake of those who stayed behind, who are winning us time. I believe—we will win."
Hmm, not the best motivational speech, but not bad. And yes, the negotiations didn't end there. Jaina called the heads of reconnaissance and construction to the table, and the planning began.
There are a multitude of tasks. We need to found a city, which means not only finding resources and building houses, but also performing a vast amount of secondary work. Laying out streets, running utilities, setting up fields and farms. And yes, even though this is the Middle Ages, mages thought everything through long ago. Sewage systems exist in any more or less large city, cleaned by slimes. Theramore will be no exception.
How does it usually go: a slime is a weak mob for beginning adventurers? Yeah, right. A slime is a bastard completely immune to physical damage and half of all elemental damage. If you have fire or frost damage—you have a chance to win. If not... well, good luck. Physical damage? It's literally sentient jelly; it has no organs or nervous system to speak of. Moreover, the inside of a slime is acidic, so your weapon will suffer greatly from such swinging; the acid is magical, and iron rusts in a fraction of a second. Optionally, the slime can also spit it, melting through Armor.
How have these hellish creatures not overrun the world yet? Their strength is also their weakness. Actually, the Magister said that slimes were invented by mages specifically to deal with organic waste; they also added limiters to prevent them from spreading. For all their invulnerability, slimes are quite stupid and dependent on high humidity; they constantly need food, at least some kind of organics. But at the same time, they are easy to breed; Jaina brought a couple just in Enchanted bottles—she showed them to me at my request. That's why everyone uses them.
There's also plumbing, cold water. Water is heated on-site, in a cauldron or a magical boiler, depending on what one has. Much like how we do it.
What does all this have to do with me? Everything. I finally showed my projects, and the leadership approved them after discussion. Plus, a local Dwarf family got interested, and Mom suggested taking them under her control. This means my buildings must be integrated into both the city plan and its infrastructure. The price of admission?
"You will help with the construction of the water supply and sewage system. We will teach you how to work with elementals; besides, you'll need the practice," the wizard said. "You are still punished, so you'll have to perform some work."
Mom explained, seeing my reaction:
"The soil here is very saturated with water; the aquifer starts quite early. I know you have no practice in constructing underground buildings, so you'll see how we do it and participate. If you want a full-fledged underground complex—it will come in handy."
"You can view this as a continuation of your training," the Magister added.
Well, I had to resign myself, bow, and agree.
"Yes, Teacher."
But actually, they're right; it will be useful, no question. I mean, where else would I put the factory? On the surface? We'd struggle with security, and the area of the island and the city on it is limited; you can't fit everything. Underwater? Gnomes know their way around submarines. Goblins, I suspect, do too. Do I need ultimate protection against such weapons, or is it easier to just dig in? And digging in... likely, the experience won't be wasted. I really don't have any experience.
"I agree, Lady Jaina. I can show a few more projects; perhaps something will interest you and your colleagues and subordinates."
The wizard, Mom, the Magister, Veni, and several officers stepped closer. I pulled the album toward me, flipping through the pages and providing explanations. Fortunately, they are densely illustrated; it's quite easy to understand what's what and why.
"Hive, a swarm array of golems for resource gathering, and in the future, for construction, assembly, and whatever else your imagination allows. The potential is limited only by the client's desire, but resource gathering is the simplest part. Everything is standardized; repairs won't be difficult," I turned the page. "The 'Crane' walker for running over rough terrain. I sketched it when I saw how interesting the landscape is here. Walking on foot won't be very convenient; it's better to fly, jump, or swim."
The captain of the guard immediately clarified:
"When will the 'Crane' prototypes be ready? Exploring these jungles is pure torture." Many of those present nodded in agreement.
In fact, I had sketched these walkers a long time ago; there just hadn't been any point in building them. "Chickens" from Star Wars. Not the AT-ST ones, but the older ones, from the clones, without a roof. Quite light, tall, and fast. Put footmen on them, and you won't be able to escape them even on rough terrain. Especially if it's a golem trained not to trip over everything. When will I assemble them?
"Two or three weeks, I think. I need to set up a full-fledged surface workshop, and Lady Jaina and Lady Clarinel are right—I need this experience in laying underground utilities."
The man pondered.
"And if I find materials and workers for you to assemble the workshop faster? You were praised as someone whose machines make machines. A perversion, of course, but it's necessary right now. How quickly will the prototype be ready in that case?"
An interesting question. Resources are exactly what everything hinges on. To line a bunker from the inside, you need A LOT of metal. Military contracts... sounds promising.
"Then I'll try to manage in a week or a week and a half. But those will only be the first machines; they'll need refinement. Prototypes, sir."
The officer, in shiny full plate with a magnificent heraldic tabard and a feathered helmet from which long mustaches protruded, nodded.
"I understand that. Lady Jaina, will you facilitate?"
The wizard spread her hands easily.
"I see no obstacles; given our location, it truly will be useful." And then she added to me, "Davilinia, remember, helping with the utilities is still on you."
Mom added:
"And no stimulants until the healer allows it. Otherwise, you'll be leaving the house under escort for the next year. Is that clear?"
I nodded. Crystal clear!
"Yes, ma'am, Lady Clarinel," and I immediately turned the page, looking for more prototypes—I have plenty. "Wait, I'll show a few more things. Ships, that's for the future; we'll need infrastructure. Hydroponics... without a proper Druid, I simply lack the knowledge to implement that. And this... ow!"
My ear flared with pain, and my head jerked.
"What was that, midget? Where did you get this? Answer me!"
Venidan reacted lightning-fast, clearly recognizing the next drawings of herself, often quite revealing. With one hand, the Rogue slammed the album shut; with the other, she grabbed my ear. And it hurts! The ear is long, easy to grab, and Veni's hand is strong! And I can't blast her with magic; we're in a closed room with a bunch of people. However, there is a solution.
"Mage Shield."
The air and the strings of reality trembled as a barrier formed around my body, and the Rogue's hand slipped off my ear. Chuckles erupted among those present. Quite a few people had seen what I drew. Oops, that wasn't meant for demonstration. And Venidan was clearly angry, very angry.
"What are you doing, midget?" the Rogue hissed, but she wasn't allowed to do anything further.
Jaina took a step forward, raising her staff, which glowed slightly with magic.
"Don't embarrass yourself, Venidan," the wizard demanded, looking at me. "Davilinia, explain yourself. Immediately."
Well, what's there to explain? I need to do this as naively and bluntly as possible, right?
"Well, I was testing the tracking system that day. And you're pretty, sooooo..."
The chuckles turned into outright laughter; Venidan did a facepalm. But at least she's not trying to fight, so thanks for that. Mom... is trying not to giggle. The Rogue looked at this circus and took a deep breath.
"What was I hoping for, who am I surrounded by, eh, DaVi?" Dartaola is right; at times, you're just a child," she raised her eyes to me and asked, "And when were you going to tell me about this?"
I shrugged and answered quite honestly:
"When I finish the work on expanding the Pepelats. Controlling a flying Dreadnaught with the strength of only three elves would be costly. You would have accepted the idea."
The Rogue did a second facepalm amidst thunderous laughter. After that, she took the album and said sternly:
"Fine, I'm taking this. I'll check it and return it. DaVi, go get some air before I do something I'll regret." And she added to the room, "I apologize for what happened. She will be punished for this."
I decided to comply. I didn't mind, especially since the situation had truly gone a bit too far. So, after receiving a folder of documents from my mother, I went outside. Given how she and Jaina were smirking mischievously—this was the sewage project. Right there, on the way, I decided to familiarize myself with it. Well, that's how it turned out. Diagrams, layouts, plans, a mandate... Wait. A mandate?
I stopped abruptly, as if I'd hit a wall. Wow... It turned out they weren't gloating about the punishment like I thought. My own lips involuntarily stretched into a grin. Carrot and stick, right? First, they scolded me publicly, and then they rewarded me on the sly. It turns out I have been officially inducted into the City Council, in the position of "Surveyor"*, or, in a broader sense: "Special Assignments Specialist," with very broad powers...
And based on what I'm reading—provided the Council doesn't object, all my projects have a "green light" by default. And I was wondering why they reacted so vividly to my walkers, didn't even doubt me, and didn't call me an upstart. I am, however, now mostly obliged to hang around the city, under Mom and Dad's watchful eyes, yeah. But I'll be Cursed if I don't like it. I've had enough... for now... of putting the place where my back changes its name under arrows and combat magic. I am, after all, a magi-tech engineer, not a War Mage!
Anyway. I immediately turned from the direct path to the exit, heading through other corridors of the town hall. Since I have it, I should use my official position—I have every right to be everywhere here, and no one has restricted my access to information. I walked through the offices, looking for information from the scouts. I'll read the reports; I need to find out what interesting things are around.
The streets of the future city met me with hot humidity, the buzzing of mosquitoes, and the hum of voices. Construction is underway, not stopping for a single moment. Territory is marked out everywhere. For houses, squares, utility buildings. As far as I understand, so far only builders and soldiers have landed: those needed for work on settlement, protection, and reconnaissance of the territory.
Reconnaissance is stalling particularly hard; the terrain is just too unwelcoming. Stone was brought along, and Jaina is helping with transmutation; for the hunters, on the other hand, it's good—the places are wild, lots of game, and after salt pork and hardtack, fresh meat is a joy. Unquestionably, there's always a risk that you'll be the one eaten. But the Khans are used to that.
But the scouts are suffering. Dense jungles where no Human, Troll, or Orc has ever set foot. But they're full of Murlocs, who are like fish in water in this area. Semi-humanoid toads, semi-fish a meter tall, they live in primitive tribes in simple huts on the banks of water bodies, using primitive weapons. Spears with stone tips, mostly. Amphibians, they can breathe both on the surface and underwater. And the local swamps are an earthly paradise for them. With crocodiles.
The local dangerous fauna is represented by crocodiles and the raptors already familiar from the Troll ruins. And a black dragon? Curious. Okay, I want to know more.
I was so lost in thought that a slap on the shoulder made me jump, reflexively raising a Magic Shield. It was just Veni coming out of the building; she stood next to me and watched. She was clearly watching reproachfully. Well, I don't feel that guilty.
"I can apologize if you really need me to."
The Rogue snorted.
"And you're not even repentant. Seriously?"
Well, yeah.
"Except for not taking those drawings out of the album in time. You really move great, and you're beautiful. I just couldn't resist sketching it." Seeing her skepticism, I sighed. "Veni, I'm not fifty or a hundred. To me, all these drawings are the dance of a living statue. Beautiful and very interesting, but nothing vulgar. If I had been there, I would have felt the muscles too."
Venidan chuckled, put the album on a bench, and then flexed her bicep.
"You can feel it."
Pff.
"No, that's not interesting. But in the process of a swing... not for me!" I dodged a cuff to the back of the head, though the Rogue wasn't trying to hit me. "I can repeat it as many times as you want, I told the truth. I was wrong, but not in what I drew."
Venidan waved it off, sitting down next to me.
"Everything is clear with you, voyeur. Fine, I'll pretend to forgive you."
I'll have to figure out how to apologize later. I really am in the wrong here, but words just won't be enough. And if so, what's the point of stressing? I'm interested in another question here, which I saw in the documents.
"Listen, are you going on reconnaissance tomorrow?"
It turns out we'll be separated for the next few days. I'm punished and will stay in the camp. I'll help with construction work and prepare weapons. As I already said—I have no complaints. It was clear anyway; no one would leave a literal escape without consequences, so I got off easy. Good thing I wasn't whipped.
And so, as the Magister said, I'll help with the construction and get practice from the mages, which will come in handy during the creation of the production complex. Nothing to complain about; I'll even have royal conditions—the Magister, Jaina, and Mom will help and give advice. Just take it and learn.
But Veni will have to go with the advance units by air to conduct reconnaissance. We only have a very rough idea of what's around and where we need to go. And aerial reconnaissance will be very useful here. She has plenty of knowledge to do this without me, together with Dartaola.
"Well, yeah, from early morning, midget," the Rogue nodded.
I handed her the report about the dragon.
"Be careful in the south."
The Rogue scanned the report and chuckled.
"Let me guess, someone suddenly wants a dragon gun?"
I didn't deny anything.
"Well, yeah. Just don't scare the lizards. Will you give the album back?"
Venidan nodded, showing it. She flipped through it.
"And don't you drown in the sewage. I'll take the drawings out and give it back. If I like them, maybe even with mine. Or I'll burn them; I haven't decided yet. And don't you go making eyes at me, DaVi; you really set me up."
Well, there's that.
"Sorry?"
I was patted on the head.
"You'll owe me; I'll think of what exactly. But for now—rest. Tomorrow will be a day, and we might not like it."
I didn't argue; we headed to the Pepelats through the streets of the city under construction. For now, it's a construction site in its pure form. Pegs and ropes mark the guides; piles of blocks and logs are everywhere; Humans and elves are scurrying about. It resembles an anthill, just as chaotic at first glance. But it's not. Forest and stones here. Humans and Dwarves—there. Over there, under a canopy, they've organized a tavern. They're having fun there. Well, except for a couple of soldiers keeping order.
Next come rows of tents, mostly along the future streets, so as not to occupy the construction sites. And over there, to the north, several surveyors are already busy. According to the plan, the workshop will be there.
"I'll need you to drop the workshop module from the Pepelats. It'll be useful," I pointed to the site, "right there."
We passed the tavern, but Veni didn't even think of looking in.
"I'll do it. Doesn't it bother you that you're being left here?"
I shrugged.
"A little, maybe. Yes, I'd like to be a pioneer, but I can do more here. I'm not on vacation, after all. We have a mission. Suicidal, as usual."
The Rogue laughed.
"One can't rest with you."
"Only after death, Veni. And even then, I promise nothing."
The Rogue laughed. Evening was falling.
***
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