The meeting between neighbors and future allies in the domain of the Oracle, also known as Medivh, went... as expected, actually. No, naturally, first we gave the Orcs a good run-around throughout the complex to loot the ancient Elven palace to the maximum and without competition.
With the help of my ice wall, we successfully blew up the second bridge to gain more time. And no, the first was the central one. The second—deep in the city. At the same time, no one even tried to run to the third one, which Jaina's squad had crossed; it would have been a waste of time. No point. But collapsing one of the buildings onto the embankment with a magical barrage and blocking the direct path by land—now that's a yes.
While the Orcs, along with the Taurens, are taking a detour through the buildings toward the third bridge, we quickly and confidently gathered everything possible. Of course, in the process, several more passages were collapsed to prevent the Horde from flanking us. Thrall was going to the Oracle, right? Well, let him go, and we'll continue gathering everything valuable here. We even gave them the key to the statue so they wouldn't interfere with our work.
I successfully missed the negotiations themselves. No, it would have been curious to hear the benefit performance of one lazy super-being, but if you think about it, what new thing would I see there? Nothing. But materials don't collect themselves. Especially expensive, high-quality, and rare ones. So:
"A cry like thunder! Give the people rum! And gold. And we're taking that too, we'll reprocess it."
I found out that they had agreed on something only after the fact, when Jaina sent a soldier for us. He replied briefly:
"We're finishing up here; time's up. Now we're allies with the green-skins in the fight against demons. Davilinia, Lady Proudmoore wants to see you."
I nodded, simultaneously calculating how to weld the claws with a plus fifteen bonus onto my glove. Seriously, they have a powerful enchantment for cutting through armor. I want them and I'll put them on! So, claws in the bag, jump onto the Crane, and nod to the waiting footman:
"Lead the way."
I only managed to catch a glimpse of the Horde leaders. Jaina, by the time we arrived, had already opened a portal to the city; Thrall's squad was preparing to leave; Medivh had cleared out before everyone else. As soon as I arrived and looked around a bit, I had to follow my not-very-happy boss. Though I did manage to see what those very characters look like up close. And it's cool.
What can be said about the Horde leaders? The guys are colorful to the point of absurdity. Thrall is an Orc who WEARS ARMOR. Well, regular Brutes just wear a "gladiator set." Partial protection: pauldrons, bracers, greaves, an armored belt, while leaving the chest and one arm open. A shield isn't always present. Or instead of armor, it might just be a leather jacket and a shield with a helmet, but with a huge two-hander. Lots of open spots. Out of stupidity or for the sake of valor, I don't know; to me, it's the same thing.
But Thrall isn't like that. Only full plate, only hardcore. Without a helmet, admittedly, but it's still better than most. Heavy Armor made of dark metal with the Horde symbol on the belt. The armor plates are thick; I'm not sure bullets or regular arrows would penetrate them; you'd need something magical. Green, jowly, wears three long braids—two in front, down to the knee, and one on the crown. A brunette. A huge Wolf the size of a horse and a typically fantasy hammer included. And a pair of Brutes in classic equipment for contrast.
The second chieftain is Cairne Bloodhoof. First impression: holy crap, you are one massive bull! I've seen Tauren skeletons, but this… He is monumental. He is colossal. Just by standing opposite you, he looms over with his enormous horned bulk, making you feel small and insignificant. Four meters of a very large and angry cow with a two-handed battleaxe—two-handed by Tauren standards. That means it's about three meters long. I think this carcass weighs about half a ton and eats accordingly. I literally only come up to his knee.
A ring in his nose, a broken horn, gray hide and fur, and a totem on his back in the shape of a "Y." Clothes in a Native American style—trousers and a vest, open abs, huge muscular arms, and a mane braided into many small cords. The giant and a pair of his companions, armed with logs, frankly tower over all of us. They look like cliffs compared to me. Fortunately, they left peacefully, ignoring our presence.
And then the canonical problems began. The main problem's name is Grommash Hellscream. Who chugged the blood of Mannoroth, chasing it with an owlbear. Or a furbolg. All to kill the demigod of the night elves, Cenarius. And while I generally don't give a damn about Cenarius himself, I do care about Grommash, who has effectively blocked the passage into Ashenvale with his wide mug. We need to go there ourselves!
And Jaina Proudmoore doesn't give a damn about him either. She made an agreement with Thrall and was now looking for an opportunity to fulfill it. We need to capture and save the man before it's too late. Booze—or demon blood—is evil. And it doesn't matter much to her that I still haven't found the Pepelats, which should have already retreated to the city. But it's not there. I sent out the remaining birds I had for reconnaissance and intend to control them. Which is quite difficult when you are told:
"You're coming with us. We'll need the tactical table to gather information. Pack up, we move out in an hour; there's no time. Toss the crates to the other side; we'll sort them out later."
It seems the boss is unhappy. Except...
"And the Pepelats? Lady Jaina, the ship has a much more advanced reconnaissance suite. And at the moment, I don't have a single inactive bird on hand. Without them, the table isn't particularly useful."
The sorceress clearly tried to crush me with her gaze. What happened at your meeting that the usually sweet and kind sorceress is openly angry? It seems I missed something important. In any case, she didn't stoop to insults, even if her intonation expressed dissatisfaction.
"We cannot wait for the Pepelats; there is no time, Davilinia. If it returns, it will catch up by air. For now, you are in their stead. Your task is to monitor the table. Need birds? I'll open a portal to Theramore; take as many as you need, but don't linger. Be ready to act. And answer questions as they arise, prophet. Next time, I would prefer to avoid surprises like today's. I trusted you, but not for this. And I expect you to justify that trust by not withholding important facts."
Again! Oh, for heaven's sake! No, I understand that I didn't mention important things, but it wasn't for nothing! We all came out in a definite plus. The damage to the Systems Alliance forces is much less than it theoretically should have been. We looted the dungeon very well, though Medivh didn't complain, so that's not a problem.
But if I told more, I'd have to leak a mass of collateral information. I won't risk guessing what that would lead to. And anyway, where is the Pepelats?
"Has anyone actually seen the Pepelats since the battle began?"
One of the officers answered; I don't know his name.
"No, lady, the ship is gone. It hasn't appeared above us for several hours. No explosions, no flashes, no roar of engines. No, nothing."
Jaina waved her hand, drawing attention. After which, a portal vortex snapped open near her with a crack. From the other side, a blurred image of the Theramore town hall appeared. You can't mistake it for anything else—who else makes a town hall in the shape of a Tower of Magic? Jaina pointed to the portal.
"They will be found. Right now, we have obligations. Go get the necessary equipment; time waits for no one, Davilinia."
"But..."
I fell silent. She's right. We need to resolve the issue with Grommash. If I remember correctly, this orc effectively blocked the path to Ashenvale on Mannoroth's orders. And he blocked it well, thoroughly. Not only with the forces of his demon-blood-tainted clansmen but also with the forces of demons. And also—demonic golems, infernals. Huge things, crushing buildings with mighty fists. Which will fall from the heavens onto our heads. Demonic artillery, so to speak.
Jaina is right; that battle was very difficult by all parameters. Warlocks will constantly bombard the territory with infernals, fel hounds, and other demonic critters. A "view from the heavens" to coordinate forces will indeed significantly ease the coming battle. And since there's no Pepelats, that's my job.
But Venidan... No matter how I feel about that arrogant lover of trolling and drinking, she is my friend. A member of my team. To hell with the Pepelats, but if it was shot down... She might need help. Help that I won't be able to provide. Because without the airship, I can only move on the walker, attracting everyone's attention. Venidan, if she's alive, simply has a better chance of survival if I don't go charging in her direction. No matter how much I want to help.
Duty or friends, right? And a choice must be made. But there is no choice. It really makes no sense for me to go there. The best I can do is send birds to try and find both the wreckage of the Pepelats and the Rogue. And guide her past the orcs, trolls, and the rest. It's unpleasant, but I simply see no other choice that wouldn't make things worse.
I'll apologize later, if anything. And explain the situation. I hope she understands.
For now, I should follow Jaina's order, pick up new mechanical birds, and prepare. Ahead is a week-long, maybe even two-week-long forced march north as part of Jaina Proudmoore's escort group. More precisely, as an escort rider. The armies of Theramore and The Horde are heading north to Ashenvale; we'll go with them. I'll release the birds immediately; the Nathrezim and Mannoroth should be around here somewhere. If I can kill or spot them, that would be good.
So, filled with purpose, my Crane stopped near Jaina right on time.
"Lady Jaina, I am ready."
She nodded, listening to the reports of her subordinates.
"Good. Wait, we move out soon," pausing for a second, she added, "And yes, you did well. I see that you performed your part of the task well. If the ship's crew survived, we will either find them or they will find us themselves. Do not worry. Right now, the best we can do is our job, Davilinia. The demons will not wait."
I didn't argue.
"Yes, Lady Jaina. I understand," I don't like it, but I understand.
Overall, the experience of the long trek turned out to be similar to the previous one, but with "adjustments for the wind," so to speak. Now we have two armies here. There are no roads, so the orcs and humans march in parallel, giving them a chance to look at each other from close range. And also to flex muscles, growl, sing obscene songs, and clank armor. At least for the first day, until the forced march with full gear across the hot Barrens took its toll. No, peace hadn't arrived, but gradually both armies became more concerned with running than wasting energy on mutual grievances. Which are kept in check by the leaders on both sides.
And yes, I stand by my words—the Hordies are creepy as hell. Aggressive green gorillas—orcs who glare very unkindly, baring fanged mouths. Taurens are monumental, imposing, and dangerous. One of those accidentally steps or sits on you, and you'll just be a stain. I don't even want to go near them. And all our previous encounters with trolls ended the same way. In the best traditions of elf-troll relations.
And to make things even more fun—someone from the Echo Isles sent a description of me in the helmet. If not for Thrall's commanding roar, a line of those wishing to go one-on-one would have already formed. As it is, they just watch, make a throat-slitting gesture, bare their teeth, and flex their muscles. But I can also extend the blades in my gauntlet and play with them. Just carefully, so the other side doesn't decide I've accepted a duel challenge. Frankly, I'm not interested in that. But not reacting at all isn't an option either; they're just too persistent.
In short, it's terrifying for me to even get close to this green brotherhood. But, since I'm not being allowed to build a reactor, it would be nice to shake some information out of the shamans. After all, an elemental is an important component of my plan. And I should also find out what the deal is with the local lava.
I want to, but I'm hesitant. The Horde army moves, literally devouring us with their gazes, creating a solid wall of negativity. I didn't even risk flying Hacks over them. Seriously, the glares from these guys should turn milk sour and make food grow mold.
Alastir entertained me a bit, giving a small tour regarding the local wildlife at my request.
"We are approaching the Ashenvale forest. The ancestral lands of the night elves. Ancient and mighty forests, quiet temples. Once, even before the Sundering, they neighbored the huge cities of our ancient Empire and the creations of the greatest mages of our people. Alas, time has taken its toll. And now nothing reminds one of the proximity to this sacred forest. Overgrown temples, abandoned cities and palaces. What you saw under the mountain just now is, alas, the norm."
Naturally, I immediately clarified.
"And when we enter the forest, will your presence be our protection from the arrows of your Sentinels? I don't think they'll be happy to see strangers."
The Druid spread his hands.
"Alas, I do not know. When I was last here, we diverged quite significantly in our views with the priestesses. Their views on the world order can be quite conservative."
If he's talking about Night Elf supremacy, faith in Elune, and druidism, I readily believe it. And yes, I am quite sincerely aware that I am biased. Night elves and their blatant hypocrisy toward mages—I don't like it. But the fact is that this attitude is perfectly mutual. So I perfectly understand: the reaction of the elven women might be irrational. It likely even will be, considering Grommash butchered their favorite demigod. And here, neither Alastir, nor I, nor Jaina can influence anything.
A separate "world radio" was the Magister, or rather his crow familiar. In the evenings, the elves gather by the fire, and the Magister tells news from Quel'Thalas. When the elves take out bottles of magic concentrate of my production, drink, have a snack, and discuss things. I give out the Mana bottles for free. There are several dozen of us there, in Jaina's army. Mages and priests, mostly.
I took it upon myself to procure Mana for them. From the Umformer, from the thunder lizards grazing among the Baobabs. These lizards are everywhere here. Catch them with nets, and then... and then our elves clearly follow in the footsteps of the Blood Elves, absorbing Mana from surrounding objects. For those who can't, I procure the Mana using the "drain" function of the gauntlets. It's not hard for me, and it builds reputation. Given my age, this is especially important. Of course, the lizards are strongly against it, but they are not just Mana, but also a ton, or even several, of quite good meat.
Meanwhile, sitting by the fire with bottles of Mana in hand, we listen to the Magister.
"Unity among the surviving elves is evaporating like water in a desert. We have lost our capital; many have died. And despite the fact that mages were able to recreate the Umformer effect themselves, there is no unity in other matters. Too many do not want to fight; they only desire a peaceful life far from this chaos. And they flee to Stormwind, to Ironforge. To the south. Away from the war and deprivation, ready for much, even for humiliation and a less-than-ideal status in society. To where masters and smiths can recreate the machine themselves. Just to be as far away as possible."
Someone from the crowd asked:
"And Prince Kael'thas, what of him? Has he abandoned everyone too?"
The Magister paused to wait out the whispers. Yeah, our people still remember the royal family, the prince, the high magisters, and the rest. In the Eastern Kingdoms, everything is different. I've heard from my teacher more than once that trust in the nobility has been effectively destroyed. Not just the Theramore elves, but all elves have become refugees. They lost their home, capital, way of life, The Sunwell, everything. The old leaders lost all their credit. So even with the nobility still in place, anarchy has effectively set in.
The population was especially angered by the fact that the nobility, among other things, has a lot of money and influence. And even in conditions of total ruin, they've settled in fine. As have the capital elves, who often have excellent and varied skills. They are in high demand, which again doesn't please the rural folk, of whom there are many.
Only their magical potential protects the magisters and aristocracy from the urge to "take and redistribute." Proximity to the Well did its job. But personal power does not equal trust. The elves have lost too much. So it turns out: there is power, but no order.
"The Prince has departed for the south, wishing to help the mages of Dalaran. Magister Rommath and many supporters went with him. We do not know the situation in that area, but I assume His Highness will offer his comrades a place in the city of mages. After all, he holds an important position in that city and can facilitate such a decision."
He also told us about Sylvanas. Who had decided, using Umformers, to take up the cleansing of Quel'Thalas. Promoting the idea: "this is our home, we must live here, and nowhere else will we be more welcome than here." Naturally, combined with the fight against the remnants of the Undead, tracking safe zones, and other work to reclaim their home. And yes, right now the ruins of Silvermoon are an anomalous territory of total magical chaos. You can casually become Undead and not even notice it. Or run into some very "fun" magical anomaly.
But it's also hard for the Ranger-General to find supporters. Too many choose peace in exile over the struggle for survival. Especially since Vereesa doesn't forget to bring promises from Varian Wrynn, who clearly wanted if not a version of Dalaran, then just a lot of mages. I can understand him.
But even that, as it turned out, wasn't the end. The Magister, waiting until everyone was distracted, sat on my shoulder. The elves need time to digest the news. But it seems I'll be the one digesting it now, along with the sausages.
"And this news seemed particularly amusing to me, apprentice. You have your own cult."
Huh? What? I almost choked on such news.
"Is this a joke, Magister?"
The crow gave a hoarse caw, imitating laughter.
"Not at all, young lady. Not at all. The Cult of Davilinia the Destroyer. Who destroyed the nobility's stranglehold in the form of the Well, which almost killed them all. Who gave them the revelation of the Umformer, which can be assembled by any union of an ordinary mage, a smith, and a bright mind—that is, townspeople and workers. And unbinds them from the Well, from the nobility. And at the same time, vividly exposed and demonstrated the failed abscess of the eternally debating, useless aristos."
I groaned. Why do I have to face such trials! Fanatics were the last thing I needed for complete happiness!
"Magister, this is just not serious."
But he didn't even try to play along.
"Just accept it as it is, apprentice. It's part of fame. Agree, it's better this way than being accused of destroying the capital. Especially since there are those who are trying to do exactly that."
"Yes, Magister..."
And they haven't stopped looking for me, as I understand. It's just that there are so many problems now, and I'm who-knows-where, so the focus has simply shifted to more urgent things. In short, a real headache for the future.
And before sleep, I think about Venidan. About her, who is somewhere unknown, and it's unknown how she is. About the Pepelats. With the help of mechanical birds, I found its burnt island and confirmed the ship was abandoned in an orderly fashion; Veni even left her helmet in the burnt chair as a sign that they are alive. But there are still no traces of the Rogue herself... I'll keep looking.
Before sleep, I unfold the tactical table to check the data from my birds. Even if I can't be there, I can search, and perhaps help in another way. Maybe Jaina can open a portal or guide our hunters. Or I'll guide Veni. But for that, I need to find her. So, I will keep searching. And not just for Venidan, but also for traces of surveillance by the Nathrezim. A couple of times I saw something, but I can't lock onto the target; they hide well.
Well, I think about the Pepelats too. The machine, among other things, was a room with a comfortable and safe bed. Yes, I'm whining about having to sleep in a sleeping bag on the hard steppe ground, and I'm not ashamed! I'm used to comfort, and I don't intend to get un-used to it. And here there's dust, heat, the stench of sweat and dirt, and that's when the wind isn't blowing from the direction of the orc camp.
Orcs... I still need to ask their shamans about elementals. Ultimately, if I ask, they won't kill me, seriously. And I really am curious. Too curious not to try.
So, choosing a moment when the army was well-roasted under the Kalimdor sun, I sped up the Crane a bit, approaching The Horde forces. No one tried to stop me; I rode off somewhere too often to kill another thunder lizard, or just to follow the crow or Alastir in cat form.
This time I directed the machine to the head of the column, where Thrall was openly bored on his wolf, also forced to endure this long trek across the steppe. But I'm not going there to smell him, but to question him; I'll endure. Wolf riders run behind him. On huge wolves with tongues hanging out from the heat, with huge swords and other boarding gear on their backs. I was noticed immediately, but one gesture from the orc, and there was no reaction. They watch, but don't interfere. Excellent, closing in.
I'm watching too; it's interesting! The massive Thrall! You can't see the musculature under the armor, but he easily holds a heavy hammer with one hand. Not an ordinary one, but a fantasy thumper; by all estimates, it should weigh about ten kilograms. And Thrall himself is very large compared to me. On the other hand, compared to the Taurens, we are all midgets. And Cairne just plods along nearby, leaving hoofprints in the dust, while remaining taller than Thrall on the wolf. With his leg length, keeping up is no problem. Enduring, the old man. He noticed me too, but sees I'm not heading for him.
The orcs accompanying the chieftain parted, allowing me to approach, and the Crane pulled into the designated spot, moving parallel to the wolf, about three meters away. Sizing up the approaching me, Thrall finally "paid attention to the new nuisance," then inquired:
"You had the courage to approach. Good. But why did you decide I would talk to you? Even if we have concluded a truce, this is arrogant," he smirked, "bold and reckless. So, why are you here?"
I spread my hands, turning the helmet toward him. My impression: a wise ape. But the fact that they aren't attacking or driving me away is a good sign.
"I thought, Chieftain, one isn't killed for a question, right?"
Thrall chuckled. And in his eyes, I see curiosity, which instantly hid behind a general gloominess. A serious orc. Not mean, but specifically serious. He watches, evaluates, thinks. Not aggressive, but clearly waiting.
"And what do you want to know from the Chieftain of The Horde?"
More than you can imagine. But... I still don't possess the agency to ask questions specifically of you. Especially now, when a truce has only just been concluded, not even a peace, to deal with the demons.
And yet, when else will I have such a chance? To ask a question of the most powerful Shaman of modern times. And in a way that I won't be dismissed or killed. Immediately. I intend to use an elemental to control the reactor—a real one, from the Firelands. And it would be good to know what to expect from such a creature at all. There is no Shaman in the Expedition, and here there's a whole crowd of them, for every taste and color. Though about color I'm wrong, of course; they are all green.
"About elementals, Chieftain. I am no Shaman, but such knowledge would be useful in my projects. The creations of mages are effective but incomplete. And, alas, I don't think anyone else would answer me."
Thrall seemed surprised, if I understood the facial expressions of this brute correctly. Then he chuckled. He pulled a small totem from a bottomless bag and did something with it. I have absolutely no idea what. Noticing my close attention, he smirked slightly. Then he threw it to me. He threw it carefully and very accurately. I caught it, examining the piece of wood and the completely unfamiliar design on it.
A stump sharpened on one side to make it easier to stick into the ground. Polished, with a snarling wolf's head and earth signs carved on one side. A piece of wood is just a piece of wood, though it has strings, but I resolutely don't understand them. And what am I supposed to do with this? I'm not a Shaman. I could hit someone on the head with this stump, maybe. But I don't think that's the point.
Seeing my surprise, the Chieftain of The Horde said:
"The spirits demand respect, and do not accept weakness, lies, or cowardice. To understand the spirits, you must hear them. You are dismissed."
And he waved his hand as if brushing me off. What, that's it? Fine! But I won't let you off that easily! There won't be much to do in the coming days anyway. So, ignoring the glares of the orcs, I calmly returned to the ranks, holding the totem in my hands. This is not the end!
As we moved, I really wondered what to do with the totem. Obviously, I need to activate it. But how? Unclear. I managed to pester everyone within reach with the question "what to do with this," including Jaina and the crow. The former spread her hands, noting that pestering the Chieftain of The Horde wasn't the smartest decision. I know that myself, but what can you do if it's necessary.
The Magister also turned out to be unaware.
"I'm afraid I am not particularly skilled in the magic of shamans, apprentice. I simply had no need for it. But I can guess. Such magic is often built on rituals: correct sequences of actions. I don't guarantee success, but we can try."
Aha, I see. What do we have here. The totem has a spike, clearly to set it on the floor. And a wolf's face is drawn on it, also a creature that runs on the ground. Ideally, if I do everything right, a wolf will be summoned. But I don't think just putting it on the ground will be enough, hm. Maybe do it at night, outside? Well, wolves howl at the moon. I won't have to howl myself, right? I hope it won't come to that; I don't want to look stupid in front of a bunch of people.
I asked the Magister:
"And when do you intend to join us? To me, now is the best time for Teleport. We are far from the city. Even if they track you, these are wild barrens. Empty and completely useless to anyone. Good luck to them looking for Theramore in the middle of the barrens."
The crow laughed.
"Your concern is commendable, apprentice. Regarding the timing... soon. Alas, right now my presence there resolves more than it seems. Do you understand why?"
Hatred of the elites? Most likely.
"You are part of the force that the elves blame for losing everything."
During these months, my teacher described the attitude of ordinary elves toward the nobility many times and often. And if you think about it, he himself should be a victim of such an attitude. Despite the fact that the residents of our specific settlement treated the elder with respect, the loss of everything broke many. Very many. And as it turned out, elves know how to look for someone to blame no better than humans. However, I don't blame them; our nobility, especially the capital ones, are quite the characters. There are exceptions, but few.
The crow nodded in a human-like way.
"A correct conclusion. And yet, participating in the politics of our people in difficult times is important."
Sure, sure.
"To what extent our people will remain as such at all. Without a state, with leaders who are hated, scattered across the continent. Refugees."
"It's not all that bad," the Magister countered, "we live long lives. If we can resolve the current magical problems, we will not dissolve into the general mass. Enclaves will arise, and in time it will be possible to revive Quel'Thalas. One should not turn to fatalism."
And then, seeing my slight skepticism, he added.
"Or we can build something new."
Well, yeah. If you think about it, the "Steel Sun" or "Hansa" corporation project will be exactly about that: creating an organization that will provide Mana, resources, tools, and political influence. For me and my supporters, but still. Overall, in the long run, it should be a force to be reckoned with. I'm not saying a separate state; participating in the squabbles of The Horde and Systems Alliance is boring as hell.
On the other hand, having a profit and good relations with everyone...
"I have a couple of ideas, teacher. I'm interested to hear your opinion."
The crow moved closer, sitting on the steering wheel to make eavesdropping harder. The Knights are busy with whatever, so I'm of no interest to them either. To everyone right now, I'm a strange elf with a crow, who also talks to it. Well, fine then.
"I'm listening," said the Magister.
Okay, now to frame it correctly.
"The first is to move you to us in Ashenvale. If your colleagues wish to follow, they'll have to explain themselves to the Night Elves. And they won't be actively happy to see mages."
The Magister chuckled.
"I was going to suggest something similar myself. Ultimately, I follow your movements and available information. And there's not much business left at home. Finish packing things and we can depart. I don't want to leave my things to those nonentities—the looters."
And he'll set the defense system to "kill everyone" mode. If you broke in, it's your own fault. It's a bit unpleasant that the Magister didn't warn me at all that he was coming to us, but he is entirely within his rights here. It's stupid to be offended. It's his life and his decision. Okay, fine. We've dealt with that, let's say.
"My second thought, Magister, is to save Grommash Hellscream."
The crow tilted its head to the side.
"But didn't you set out specifically for that? Will the mission fail?"
Hm, in a sense.
"Not exactly, teacher. Yes, the cleansing of Grommash and his rescue from the power of the demons will happen. But he will want to take revenge on the demon who did this, Mannoroth. He and the high shaman will go out against him together, and this green guy will decide to tank a magical explosion with his face. With a fatal outcome for himself. And that is undesirable; of all the militant orcs, this one is the most reasonable madman. I want to attract his attention by draining the fel into an external storage device using claws and magical absorption. The priests and witch doctors will cleanse the rest. Well, and give advice, and maybe back him up so the green guy doesn't die in the process of revenge."
The Magister agreed that this was reasonable. Which means, in parallel with searching for the totem's problem, I need to remodel the gauntlet. Previously, I hadn't used the analytical module like this, but it won't be particularly difficult. Set the Mana absorption specifically for fel... True, the consequences... But he's a Warrior; it shouldn't be a big problem. The main thing is to do everything carefully so the orc doesn't die in the process.
Which means the analytical module needs not just to be connected to the gauntlet, but also calibrated. Which is what I did during the next halt. I didn't tell anyone; they might interfere or object. And for it to work, you have to be bold. Surely for stabbing Grommash with claws, I'll get hit with the Doomhammer by his bro, so the shield needs to be strengthened accordingly, oh yes.
A separate problem is the totem. I have a theory... At night, go to the nearest forest with Baobabs so there's a moon; it's big right now. It's a Wolf—forest, moon, it's all about him. All that's left is to feed Mana into the totem and see what happens. Behind shields, of course. In the worst case, I'll give up on everything and howl at the moon. Maybe it'll work.
No sooner said than done; fortunately, clouds in our current parts are a rarity. The view of the moon is just beautiful. I chose a spot slightly away from the camp so that if I had to howl, the hunters wouldn't come running to investigate. The totem went into the ground easily; the earth is dry and loose, and the sharp spike is made for that. Well, feeding Mana.
In a short flash, the ghost of a Wolf appeared near the totem. Huge, the size of the horses the orcs ride. Transparent, which is why in the dark forest you can only see two red dots of eyes and a slight silhouette. Scary! Но beautiful, if I'm seeing correctly. The Wolf stands right in front of me, head tilted to the side; he's clearly curious too. Excellent, I summoned him. And then? I don't know what to do with you, Comrade Wolf!
"Well, I can scratch you, maybe? If you don't mind, of course. I've never interacted with wolves before."
The Wolf looked, clearly doubting my mental abilities, then came closer and turned slightly. Scratch me, then. Think I can't because you're a spirit? Pff. Magic can interact with non-material entities. With ghosts. All that's needed is to imbue the limbs with Mana, and the process is underway.
I don't know what a ghost feels like; after all, I spend most of my time in gauntlets, and this time is no exception. And I won't take them off; I'm alone in the forest, who knows, I might need to engage in combat. Но the furry one was clearly satisfied, and after ten minutes led the way deep into the forest. Past huge Baobabs, among sparse grass. Straight to an orc Shaman sitting on a log, chewing a piece of someone's meat.
Thrall, even without armor, looks imposing in the dark. Huge, muscular, bearded, and still looks like a big gorilla. Seems calm, but it's still uncomfortable to be near him.
"You did figure out what to do, Mage," and he pointed to the log opposite. He didn't offer food, but I'm in a helmet anyway and wouldn't have taken it.
The ghost of the Wolf approached the Shaman, then disappeared. Well, I sat where I was told.
"I seek knowledge, Chieftain. As a magimechanic, I seek and am inspired by all sorts of things, all sorts of masters and professions. The wider my understanding and horizons, the more I can do."
The orc chuckled, seemingly quite good-naturedly.
"Even from an orc? I recall your kin didn't think particularly highly of us."
I just spread my hands.
"And why not? Knowledge is knowledge. Among elves, many are dismissive of Goblins. But the mechanisms they create... are amazing."
The orc nodded to himself, tossing wood into the fire. Meat with some herbs is also roasting on stones by the fire. It's clear he's not just frying it, but cooking, albeit quite primitively.
"And trolls?" he asked, "I heard about what happened on the Echo Isles. The owner of this helmet was there. As was a flying machine. And many mechanical dolls with cutters and crossbows."
And he looks in a way that you simply can't refuse to answer. As if asking: are you going to deny it? Well, yeah, I expected the information to get out sooner or later. That's why I decided to act as carefully as possible. So there would be no opportunities to make claims against me. Which is what I'll do.
"Alas, those trolls were just unlucky. As part of the Gurubashi empire in the past, they worship Shirvalla—the Loa-tiger. The Loa of warriors. And though my brother is dead, rescuing his soul from imprisonment was the right thing to do. I came, and while others distracted them, I issued a one-on-one challenge. I won and took what was mine. My brother's soul is free."
The fact that it's sealed in a soul stone and in the plans will become the necro-AI of my base, I won't specify. In any case, for the Chieftain, such an explanation was quite sufficient. Duels are a respected thing among orcs, so the Chieftain took it quite calmly. And most importantly, he turned out to be ready to answer questions.
And Thrall explained. About the fire elementals and their domain. The conclusion wasn't particularly pleasant. Yes, one could strike a deal with an elemental. And it would even fulfill the agreement. But if the shaman didn't behave in a manner acceptable to the spirit, the elemental could successfully ignore that very agreement. It wasn't human, orc, or elf; concepts of honor didn't interest it much. A situation like: "You speak to me, but you do so without respect. You don't offer friendship; you demand. You don't ask; you resent" was entirely realistic.
And yes, potentially an elemental could be subjugated, but there was a massive "BUT" there too. An elemental, while within its own element, would accumulate power, draining energy from it for its own benefit. That's why, incidentally, lava can be so "unnaturally hot"—the elementals living in it take the excess for themselves, thereby fueling their own strength.
The magical flame of a thermonuclear reactor, accelerated to tens of millions of degrees and fed partly by magic... one could assume the power would be colossal. And the elemental would very quickly gorge itself to beyond-limit proportions. Yes, such an elemental would be INCREDIBLY unstable and would exist for only fractions of a second after a revolt. But those are fractions of a second under Theramore. And what if this intellect creates a volcano, or summons a gate to the Firelands at its own coordinates? With rivers of lava.
In short, a situation like the one with Silvermoon could repeat itself. But I don't want to destroy this city. Tsk. I was wrong. I need to find another solution. And yes, Thrall confirmed that they were the ones who shot down the Pepelats, as if I didn't already know. But he didn't know anything about the crew. Well, fine, I'll just keep looking.
"Thank you, Warchief. You have given me food for thought."
The Orc grunted.
"Good luck, Elf."
And he left. I also returned to the camp, very pensive. A thermonuclear reactor is a dangerous toy. But a necessary one. The city needs energy. The Elves need Mana. My mechanisms, shipyards, and production lines need a lot of energy and even more Mana.
I had gotten too carried away. The TOKAMAK was very popular online in my past life. A continuous explosion at a temperature of tens of millions of degrees, generating a mass of energy. It would be very, very cool! With access to magic, recreating it is possible. But it would still be extremely dangerous and unstable. And I, caught up in the "rule of cool," had ignored common sense too much. That didn't turn out well.
I need to do it differently. Remove the dangerous factors, keep the useful ones. Hm-hm-hm. What if it's not a continuous explosion, but pulses? But still the same thermonuclear fusion... Oh!
"An idea!"
I practically flew into the tent, snatching a tube with blueprints from my bag. Right, the thermonuclear donut goes in the trash. It produces a lot of energy and is stable, but has too many risk zones. We'll act differently.
"We will go another way."
Which way? Inertial Confinement Fusion! Art is an explosion! And after it—another explosion! And another! More power! Heh-heh, very Goblin-like. I should talk Lady Jaina into teaching me portals. Or make them myself. But that's for later; right now, the reactor.
So, what do we need? We need a spherical zone. A literal sphere, about six meters in diameter. The inner surface of the sphere should have spikes pointing toward the center for a larger collection area. Excellent.
Inside—a frozen hydrogen pellet made of deuterium and tritium. We blast it from all sides with powerful beam weapons—we have the Death Lazor. And I have the blueprints for that device, thanks to old man Zeltzer. Didn't buy them for nothing. Yeah.
The pellet is surrounded by a light material that evaporates when heated by the laser. When that happens, a reaction occurs with a release of energy, leading to an inward-directed explosion—an implosion. The fuel is placed inside through a hatch in the roof. Emitters on all sides heat this thing with lasers so fast and so hard that a fusion reaction occurs.
Magic holding the ball of hydrogen ice practically in weightlessness at the center of the installation. This will solve the problem of holding and positioning the target pellet, as well as problems with fuel fragments that disrupt the purity of the process—which is why it was never fully finished in my home world. Magic will also allow for precise aiming and synchronization of the strike, as it does so more conceptually than through calculation. We set the "pill," we make a boom. We collect the cream into storage units. When the storage units are empty—repeat. And that's it, no headache over what to do with a constantly burning, fuel-devouring living solar flare!
Am I good? I'm good!
"He-he-he-he. Right, let's calculate further."
But how often do we need to explode it? If a factory is powered by the reactor and the population needs Mana, the energy demand will be continuous. Hm. The annual fuel consumption of a nuclear power plant unit with a capacity of one gigawatt requires an average of about two hundred tons of fuel per year. Or almost twenty-three kilograms per hour.
The annual fuel consumption of an ICF reactor of the same capacity, assuming complete fuel combustion and full energy assimilation, will require an average of about twenty tons of fuel per year. Or two grams per hour. Or every twenty grams every ten... It depends on the capacity of the capacitors...
Capacitors. That means capacitors need to be placed around the reactor zone to absorb energy as quickly as possible with minimal losses. And if necessary, we can explode it again, thereby increasing the output. A ring above the reactor, a ring below, a ring in parallel. So that the collection is in all directions, as fast as possible, yes.
"I need to calculate the capacity and structure of the storage units, good... Right, this goes here, that goes there. This way here, move this over here according to this formula. Good. And this..."
"DaVi!"
I jumped, nearly hitting Dartaola in the face with an icicle. She had entered the tent. And it was light outside...
"Have I been sitting here all night?"
The Paladin nodded.
"Looks like it. The camp is packing up; we're moving on. Come on, you can sleep in the saddle."
I remember the subsequent march vaguely. I slept during the day and drew and calculated at night. Everything needs to be redesigned, but now the project will be much safer for both me and those around me. No solar flares in a ring, no elementals who knows what might pop into their hot heads. Art is an explosion.
I had discovered Grommash's camp about three days ago. Though it was hard to call this place a camp. Altars, lands distorted by corruption. Orcs with brownish-green skin radiating Fel energy. Demons with an aura that was simply off the charts. And there were even demonic portal gates. All of this was situated right in our path, completely blocking the way to Ashenvale, as expected. I didn't find Mannoroth or the Nathrezim, but I was certain the Orcs were being watched.
In any case, Jaina learned about the discovered enemy immediately and called a council involving the leaders of the Orcs and Humans. Right on a small clearing where my massive, rune-and-seal-covered tactical table had been set up.
And although the leaders from both sides eyed each other warily, everyone came. Thrall and Cairne Bloodhoof approached the table where Jaina and I were already standing. Behind them, in a second ring on both sides, were the officers.
"What has happened, Jaina Proudmoore? We have not yet arrived at the place indicated by the Oracle."
The Wizard nodded. It was interesting how easily she accepted being addressed informally. And Thrall addressed her only that way.
"I know, Thrall. Reconnaissance has discovered Grommash's camp. And demons," and then to me, "Davilinia, show them."
The Orc's gaze slid over my small frame, hidden by a helmet and balaclava; he gave a slight hint of a smile. I simply switched the image, using the gauntlet as a remote. After that, with a few more commands, I expanded the illusion wider.
"Here, this is the territory to the northwest of here. Still three days' journey at our current pace. Grommash's camp is located here."
An illusion of the territory appeared over the table, upon which many scarlet marks of varying brightness manifested, with images appearing above them. Warriors, Shamans, equipment. Buildings. The more marks there were, the more everyone frowned. Thrall clarified:
"The scarlet marks, what are they?"
"A magical trail of Fel. There is so much of it that magic radiates into space; the machine sees it."
"A machine?" one of the Human officers asked.
I nodded, pointing to the walker behind us, upon which my mechanical seeker sat. The bird, obeying another command on the illusory keyboard, descended and perched on my shoulder, letting everyone examine it. But that was for later; right now we were here on business.
"A machine. Now we know exactly where the enemy is, the layout of his buildings and troops."
Thank you, Chronormu. If not for that walk near Sargeras' Sword, where else would I have found a sample of suitable quality and strength. Tuning the mechanisms to such a strongly radiating blade was easy. I wonder if that lizard knew, or what.
The appearance of the interactive map was appreciated by everyone, who immediately started bickering over tactics. Where to place the base, exactly how to act. Well, fine, the Moor has done his duty, the Moor can leave. Except I whispered to Jaina:
"When deploying the base, I don't recommend skimping on defense. Demonic golems could fall from the sky, crushing everything and everyone with heavy fists. Including right onto the base."
And then I left. The gauntlets won't tune themselves, and the blueprints won't draw themselves. I don't plan on getting into the fight anyway. They'll figure it out themselves; I've done what I could.
***
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