Wielding the Stars to Craft War (Warcraft/Starcraft)

Author's notes: Deciding to use the alternate take on chapter 38 (the obsidian destroyers) as I had the least inclination to delete this chapter compared to the other version.

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Jaina stood in silence watching Archmage Krasus address Kyle. Besides them, Pelton and Valoghan were the other only people filling the throne room, as the elven archmage had sought a selective meeting to relay his dark findings.

It didn’t help the atmosphere that this meeting came right after the rest of his court had already left with conflicting sentiments over the orcs hiding in the mountains. While Jaina herself found Kyle’s attempt at a peaceful (if a bit forceful) integration of the supposedly exiled clan admirable, most of his advisors, as well as the palatial servants, were far less enthused.

Just like with King Terenas’ internment camps, they saw Kyle’s endeavor as a futile one. Worse, because he did not wall them up, some feared that it would be a matter of time before the orcs began marauding down from the mountains. It was the begrudging testimonies from Pelton and Colin, who had witnessed the subjugation, that kept Kyle’s court from outright protesting. Both steward and marshal had seen the ‘fountains’ Kyle had placed around the orc village, and they agreed that their king’s heavy hand had ‘successfully threatened the orcs into behaving’.

At least for the time being.

The only other thing that placated everyone was the fact that these orcs were content to be isolated up in the mountains, instead of the mess that was going on in Lordaeron. Jaina also detected begrudging smugness from some of the less vehement protesters when Kyle noted that rather than having prisoners raring to breakout, he had gotten these Alteraci orcs to submit to the throne’s authority.

It took a bit before everyone began actually taking that fact seriously, with a basic framework of orc rights being hammered out. 

Orcish rights.

The notion sounded strange even to Jaina, but considering that murloc rights was almost assuredly going to be a thing penned down in Alterac’s laws, she supposed it wasn’t the weirdest thing Kyle had come up with. Like the murlocs, the orcs would see limited aid at first, pared down to mostly food and disaster aid. No weapons or heavy development would reach the territory Kyle deemed as an ‘orc reserve’ for the time being, and unlike the murlocs no trading or other interactions would be conducted without explicit permission from Kyle himself. Furthermore, to reassure the representatives from other kingdoms, Kyle also agreed that no products from Khaz Modan, Gnomeregan or Quel’Thalas would ever reach orc hands.

If it was any other people, the limitations sounded harsh, like the prison islands in the old days of Kul Tiras. But these were orcs, and Kyle’s court were mostly content with the minimal efforts made to contain them.

The mood was already a little tense over the orcs, and then Archmage Krasus’ suddenly arrived, his grim countenance and grimmer news offering the opposite of relief to that.

“First demons corrupting Stromgarde, and now something in Gilneas,” Pelton muttered darkly. “This feels like a grand conspiracy…”

“It probably is,” Kyle replied, his expression fixed into a frown ever since Krasus spoke of the scrying barrier and the origins of the Withering Plague. “How much…help has been allocated to Gilneas, master?”

“I have associates cautiously studying the phenomena, while others are working on the plague.”

“You don’t sound happy with their work,” Valoghan remarked seriously.

“Progress has been slow on both fronts, due to the fragile magics of the plague, and the unusually empowered Gilnean barrier. Somehow, the perpetrators have corrupted and assimilated native magic to feed both. Befouled life-giving magic both feeds and obfuscates the spells. Simply unmaking the enchantment on the tainted food caused them to immediately decay, there is a real fear of achieving the same results in trying to do the same to the tainted consumers.”

“And if the enchantments are built from two elements, there’s a risk of an ugly feedback if the counterspell doesn’t address both at the right balance,” the court mage muttered, earning a nod from Krasus. “Have you tried asking the…uh, dreamers?”

Dreamers? Jaina has never heard of that faction before. Were they an unsanctioned group, just as Valoghan was a hedgemage unrecognized by Dalaran?

Krasus gave another nod. “Their expertise has been sought, and aid has been given. It would still require some time, especially if care is prioritized.”

“No going in blasting?” Kyle asked dryly, and his mentor shook his head.

“Similar to your situation with Stromgarde, going in blindly would be too reckless. We do not know what the enemy has in store for us. Attempts at an aerial survey have resulted in a relentless mental assault that impaired their senses. Plans are being mooted on a controlled purge on the edges of the kingdom.”

An unspoken implication passed between Krasus, Kyle and Valoghan that Jaina didn’t miss. She glanced at Pelton, who only helplessly shrugged back at her, seemingly content to be out of the loop.

Kyle let out a soft sigh as he leaned back into his throne. “So, it’s likely we’ll have to deal with Stromgarde and Gilneas coordinating with each other?”

Krasus nodded. “Messengers have been sent to the other rulers of the Alliance. The Kirin Tor’s Council of Six have already begun mustering their defenses. Quel’Thalas I’m told have already been gearing for war, though now they have another potential foe to set on their sights.” 

There was a pause before the archmage sighed. “King Terenas and Lord Admiral Daelin have been notified, but I’m uninformed of their actions following that.”

“They should be searching for a way to quarantine and purge Gilnean imports,” Pelton voiced as he rubbed at his chin. “While figuring out how to assure their own armies’ integrity before mobilizing them. Lordaeron in particular would have a hard time trying to keep its lands safe while dealing with two neighboring threats…”

“Think I can sell my offer to King Terenas again?” Kyle asked, referring to the previously rejected offer to aid Lordaeron with its barely contained orc problem. 

From what Jaina knew, Kyle was volunteering magical aid in the culling or stabilizing the downsized internment camps. The assistance had been rejected, likely due to Lordaeron’s need to maintain its reputation. However, with one less Alliance king to prod him about it due to recent developments, surely KIng Terenas could see that tying his legions up with orcs would be leaving his kingdom vulnerable to assault? 

Maybe her father and King Magni would take the opportunity to make another attempt to talk him out of his stubborn plans… 

“Jaina?”

She quickly snapped back to the present and turned to Kyle who was giving her a worried look. “Yes, Kyle?”

“Maybe you should write to your father, and impress on him the importance of purging all Gilnean products. He might take your word more seriously.”

That was a good idea, as reluctant as Jaina was to admit that her father might have his…biases. “I understand, Kyle.”

“While we’re at it, we might as well state that Alteraci ports are fully open to the Kul Tiran fleet,” Pelton added. “With our own fleet practically nonexistent, we’ll have to rely on Kul Tiras or Khaz Modan for seaborne protection. The best we can do is guard our own coasts and ports to serve as a rally point if needed.”

Kyle gave a slow nod as he frowned at the space in front of him before addressing Krasus again.  “Hm. We might as well save all the strategizing for an emergency meeting after this. Is there anything else of arcane nature we have to worry about, master?”

The archmage was silent for a moment before giving a heavy shake of his head. “I wish I had more to offer. With so many threats coming out of the shadows, I fear that we mi-”

His words were interrupted as Valoghan suddenly jolted stiffly. All eyes turned to the shocked court mage, who began taking on a paler shade.

“What’s happened?” Kyle asked, half-rising from the throne.

“Quel…Quel’Thalas is under attack.”

*****

Dar’Khan Drathir grinned with glee as the obsidian constructs tore their way through the fools barring their path. Fully awakened and enslaved to his will, the massive behemoths began their unhurried trek towards. They had initially encountered travelers and light patrols who mostly fled at the sight of the moving statues, with the few regretfully foolish guards or magi barely barely slowing the statues’ march north. Resistance quickly grew as the kingdom began throwing forces at them.

Regretful as the deaths of his fellow elves were, Dar’Khan nonetheless felt vindicated in the strength of his servitors. Even in their weakened state, these obsidian golems were brutally powerful. With arms extended to aim jeweled scepters, they drained the magic from whole units, keeling over elven footmen and rangers as the magic in their blood left them, wilting the naturally magic-infused plantlife beneath their feet, and desiccating magisters as their mana was forcefully and rapidly wrenched out of them. Then, with the scepters now glowing with leeched energy, the statues unleashed the absorbed magic in the form of potent explosions, toppling watchtowers and breaching battlelines with ease.

In return for the horrific casualties, the forces of Quel’Thalas strained to return the damage in kind to the statues. The shafts of enchanted arrowtips studded the obsidian bodies, too small to do anything but cosmetic damage. Similarly, suicidal charges with swords, spears, and warhammers only chipped away at the leonine legs and underbelly of the golems. Ballista bolts carved out divots, and concentrated arcane blasts from ambushing magisters almost knocked down a couple of the constructs before they were drained to husks.

Still, Dar’Khan did eventually lose two of his obsidian golems. A lucky series of ballista bolts from extreme range broke one’s neck, decapitating it and its magical bindings. Severed from its magical chains to Dar’Khan, and with its enchantments broken, the statue reverted back to mundane obsidian and shattered into a glassy heap.

The other construct was taken out in a daring ambush by a team of rangers. Five of them were swatted into bloody paste before the remaining three managed to climb atop it and hacked away at its head with genuine mallets and chisels. By the time they were crushed and plucked away, enough damage had been done that the literally defaced statue was barely heeding Dar’Khan’s will. It eventually slumped into inoperability as the other six continued their journey, ridden with scratches and pockmarks.

Dar’Khan would’ve liked to send them to the sky, but it’d make the obsidian statues easier targets from ballistae and sudden magical bombardments from every angle, and with their senses limited by his own, it’d be hell to pick out the enemies hiding in the forests or within buildings from high up in the sky.

Plus, the voices from the other side had warned that the statues were still not at their optimal levels, so taxing them with flight might not be the best idea. 

So Dar’Khan kept his servitors to their steady march northwards, feeding off the magic of their surroundings to fuel them. He’d break into Silvermoon, and hopefully the grand capital of Quel’Thalas would have enough magic to empower the six constructs, so that the path to the isle of Quel’Danas - and the Sunwell, the source of power that fueled the kingdom - was secured. And then the rightful prize so selfishly denied to Dar’Khan by his kindred would be his at last. He would soon have full access to study the great fount of magic as he deserved for all his selfless service, free to experiment, especially with the new knowledge he was armed with, all for the price of sharing a small bit of it with his new patrons.

It was a very fair trade, all in all. The generous whispers from the other side had offered more than just the means to reach the Sunwell, they’d also given him insight into new disciplines he could study once he had access to the nigh-endless magic the Sunwell provided. Magic his more close-minded ‘peer’s had deemed forbidden simply because they had not the power, skill and will to control the supposedly corruptive effects. For all of that, Dar’Khan only needed to decant a small amount of the Sunwell’s sacred waters for his patrons to study.

Watching from the utterly dead husk that was once a laboratory, Dar’Khan sighed deeply that it took so long for him to encounter such brilliant minds, and for his own talents to be finally recognized. It was just a couple of days more before they reached the gates of Silvermoon.  A couple more days of wasteful bloodshed and enduring damage to his precious tools…

He was ready to break his connection to his constructs when the senses of three from them were suddenly overwhelmed. Not cut off, thankfully, just momentarily caught in a small mountain of ice.

Surprised by the strength of this sudden ambush, Dar’Khan had the remaining statues track the source of the attack, and three pairs of emerald eyes turned skywards, where a flock of winged silhouettes could be seen.

Dragons. The voices had warned about their jealous meddling. Probably here to stop Dar’Khan from ‘stealing’ the Sunwell from them, as if the blue-tinted lizards owned it.

Annoyed, the former magister first willed the trapped statues break out of their icy prisons, and then sighed with regret as he willed all six to break into a run towards Silvermoon. At least the dragons should have enough magic in them to make up for the excessive mana expenditure once the time came.

A storm of magical bombardment rained from the heavens after the constructs, but that only made them slow down to leech away the worst of the attacks. Fueled to a considerable amount, Dar’Khan did not bother about retaliating for now, and simply willed his golems onward. It took two more attempts from the circling dragons before they finally got it in their small lizard brains that their magical attacks were useless. Then a dozen of them decided to try diving like hawks and teleporting at the last moment to ram straight into the running statues. Dar’Khan giggled as he happily sacrificed two of his golems, letting them bear the brunt of the charge and the savage storm of claws and bites, so that the others could have an easy time blasting gory holes into the attackers.

It worked better than he had expected. Three dragons were killed outright by the volley, but the others were crippled enough (and how lucky that they were such a durable species) to be easily drained until they were little more than hollow, bony carcasses wrapped in blue scales. While their kin roared in outrage overhead, the statues had fed on enough magic that the trip to Silvermoon was quite unnecessary.

Before the constructs’ mana-hungry nature could fully deplete their stores, Dar’Khan reached out and triggered the bloody runes he’d daubed onto them. The same rite that once allowed him to commune with his patrons, now without the focus and restraints of a ritual circle and overfed with magic, detonated the statues in a spectacular display of green fireworks. It pained Dar’Khan to see such magnificent tools be broken by his own hand, but ultimately, they were just that - tools.

And in this case, the purpose of this set of tools was always to gather and store enough magic as walking batteries. It was horribly inefficient, but with their durability, reaching Silvermoon would have allowed for at least one of them to harvest just enough for the next step.

Dar’Khan now had four of those statues exceed optimal levels when he finally moved on to the next phase.

With their demise, the statues left behind swirls of green flame that soon flattened out and stretched into green portals. And from those four portals, the servants of his patrons poured out. Creatures with a combination of wings, horns, hooves and more, Dar’Khan recognized the features of some of them; the old tomes would label them ‘demons’, but with his own eyes he saw only a glimpse of what transcendence could offer. The four portals eventually flickered and died out, but by then a sizable horde had poured out of them.

“Well done, Dar’Khan,” a voice rumbled in his head. “You’ve exceeded our expectations.”

Preening from the telepathic praise, Dar’Khan got up after he felt the last of the statues’ magic evaporate, severing his connection with the outside world. “I’ve opened the way, as you instructed,” he spoke into the air, sure that his patron was listening. “I will be at the Sunwell soon?”

“Indeed,” came the pleased reply. “Thanks to your excellence, we should have more than enough to secure you safe passage to Quel’Danas. But…” Dar’Khan groaned as a sudden barrage of knowledge was crammed into his head. “It is best to not adhere to blind optimism, wouldn’t you agree?”

The elf nodded unsteadily, wiping the blood from his nose and eyes as his mind struggled to comprehend the rituals suddenly forced into his mind. 

“Here are some…contingencies to summon reinforcements that you might find useful. I’m afraid you’ll have to dirty your hands, though.”

“It is no problem,” he replied, already looking for the blood-caked knife he’d used on his former colleagues. The voices have been far more reliable and generous than any of his own peers. Dar’Khan could trust them to guide him.

“Wonderful. You can start with the village nearby. Its inhabitants have returned, and would serve as a decent harvest of ingredients.”