Wielding the Stars to Craft War (Warcraft/Starcraft)

“Things are moving too quickly.” 

“Unfortunately, your assessment is correct Mal’ganis,” Tichondrius replied with open displeasure.

Their little dalliance in Quel’Thalas had barely done its job in drawing the blue dragonflight’s attention away from Northrend, but even the magic-draining nerubian ‘gifts’ could only do so much against a whole dragonflight and their Aspect. The obsidian destroyers had been taken apart one by one by measures both crude and overkill - two were crushed by the dragons simply dragging ordinary boulders up into the skies to bombard the constructs until something broke. The others were overwhelmed by the focused application of magic, smothering the destroyers with fireballs and spikes of ice as a river might overwhelm a thirsty man.

While the ancient constructs had been pivotal in distracting the dragons, it was only through the lizards’ own fixation on the Fel that kept them in Quel’Thalas. Dar’Khan was a serviceable enough tool, summoning the servants of the Burning Legion to occupy the dragons while he scampered off to another village to sacrifice its inhabitants to repeat the cycle. Thus far, the demonic presence had mostly been minimal, mostly due to the elf’s own inadequate knowledge in summoning them and the dragon’s swift response. They wreaked havoc as was expected, but the elven and draconic retaliation meant that the incursions were far from being able to create beachheads according to the dreadlords’ more optimistic expectations.

Still, the primary objective of the whole operation had been accomplished well enough; some damage was done to the elves, but more importantly Tichondrius and his kin were now free from the oppressive scrutiny of the flying lizards. 

Now, stalking within the more self-imposed confines of an abandoned church, Tichondrius and his lieutenants could plot in the comfort of the shadows once more. Especially with their new Lich King shrouding Gilneas from arcane view. The dreadlords could now go back to planning at their leisure.

Unfortunately, there was much to do, as everything else on the continent had fallen short of their goals.

The subversion of Stromgarde had been revealed before they could fully drag the Alliance into a long and bloody conflict. Galen Trollbane and his court were highly promising puppets, but somehow their activities had proven to be more suspicious than Mal’Ganis and Detheroc had anticipated. It was hoped that Galen’s passive antagonism would cause concern within the Alliance, but not so much so that it forced the leaders of the Alliance to act.

Yet despite the human’s adherence to crude subtlety, the king of Alterac had proven to be either more reckless or perceptive than anticipated. Instead of the border standoffs and saber rattling that the dreadlords had prepared for, the young whelp had gone against expectations and intervened just as the last few steps of turning Stromgarde into a bloody slog were to be taken.

This Kyle Daelam, who had been content until now to keep his gaze inward after being scared by Varimathras’ failed infiltration, had acted far too brashly for an Alliance king. From what Tichondrius could ascertain, the boy had not gone through the usual diplomatic channels leading up to his decapitation strike. There were no meetings, no attempts at convincing the other kings that would buy Galen time to offer a rebuttal to ease suspicions. Instead of being mired in politicking, Kyle had simply acted against all expectations and thoroughly eradicated Galen’s.

At least it wasn’t a complete waste of effort; the glimpse into the so-called mage-king’s manner of attack was interesting to say the least. The magic he wielded was intriguing, the ability to summon so many servitors definitely having its uses. The strength of the golden constructs were hard to determine for the time being, but the dreadlords had tentatively agreed that the flying spheres were not to be estimated. Perhaps it was such a swarm that surprised and overran Varimathras.

Regardless, because of the failures in Stromgarde, the plans revolving around Gilneas were now in jeopardy. No doubt that the humans have formed a tentative link between the discoveries in the former’s sudden silence to the latter’s own aloofness. Lordaeron, Dalaran and Kul Tiras have begun closing their borders to Gilneas and strengthening their own garrisons. Tichondrius could also feel unwanted gazes trying and failing to pierce through Gilneas’ wards. It would be a matter of time before whatever curious minds decided to resort to a more physical investigation, which would mean unwanted guests.

And then there were rumors that Dalaran mages had found the source of the Withering Plague, and were quickly working on a cure. It seems that the attempt at subtlety had not been enough. If Ner’zhul hadn’t been such a liability, the dreadlords could have orchestrated a more efficient and effective plague that could spread beyond the Silverpine Forest.

And with their new Lich King’s lacking in creativity and spellcasting abilities, the undead host they originally would drown the land with was now more severely limited in number. With Lordaeron soon to redeploy its forces from its border with Stromgarde towards Gilneas, there was the real danger of the Legion’s beachhead now being trapped in a corner.

But all was not lost, however.

“How fares our control of Gilneas?” Tichondrius asked his subordinates, having focused most of his attention looking outwards to monitor Dalaran, Kul Tiras and Lordaeron.

“Their harvest-witches are fully pledged to us now,” Balnazzar answered with a fanged grin. “Those that have not bound themselves to the Burning Legion have been sacrificed to ensure the next harvest.”

Tichondrius gave a curt nod at the news, giving the primitive spellcasters the minimum acknowledgement as they deserved. It had been an easy thing to turn their order, in most cases simply subverting their repressed ambitions and skewing their perception of natural balance. 

With the subverted Genn freely offering the criminals in his dungeons as sacrifice, the more receptive harvest-witches had given in to the whispers in their head and were awed by the fields and forests they made lush and verdant through the simple act of slitting the throats of the rune-carved sacrifices. From there, peer pressure, curiosity and some carefully crafted dreams kept the momentum going until the order was fully subverted.

Not all of the harvest-witches had converted so quickly though. With how decentralized they were as an organization, there were bound to be holdouts or the occasional hermits that have not even heard of the changes sweeping the land. 

Or at least there used to be, until Balnazzar’s update.

Thanks to the bountiful harvests they created, as well as the ‘purification’ of wells that saw those that drank from it strengthened from Fel exposure, the gullible Gilnean populace quickly turned to the harvest-witches for succor, which paved the way for Genn’s reformations. Very few resisted when Genn formally denounced all ties to the Light to return the kingdom back to the old, more prosperous, ways. Those that did not renounce their faith joined the priests and nuns and monks on the fields, their lifeforce used to ripen the crops, fatten the livestock, or twist the land into something more defensible. 

In the same manner, strong-willed nobles and overly cautious advisors were also fed to the Fel rituals, though the dreadlords did not intervene when Genn offered leniency to those he deemed friends or invaluable. The leniency meant that once trusted figures like the royal alchemist, Krennan Aranas, were locked in the dungeons to be tortured daily until their wills broke.

Tichondrius was mildly impressed by what the humans could achieve without guidance. If nothing else, their application of cruelty was amusing enough as an entertaining distraction.

“With the end of trade with its neighbors, we will have to find a different use for Gilneas’ surplus crops,” the dreadlord commander rumbled as he absently gazed at the broken altar framed by a shattered window behind it.

“The news has yet to reach the populace at large,” Detheroc offered. “We could let the harvest proceed as usual, then have Genn or his lackeys make an appropriate show of outrage that Gilnean grain is now being rejected by its neighbors. Reason it to be the rest of the Alliance feeling insecure about this land’s prosperity, perhaps even tie it to their rejection of Gilneas turning away from the Light…?”

There were thoughtful hums among the other dreadlords as well as nods of approval. It was a sound plan. Simple, and quick enough to execute.

“Make a show of feeding the grain to the livestock, or offering it to the forest,” Mal’Ganis added. “We can further stoke isolationist sentiment and accelerate the corruption of the local fauna at the same time.”

“A good point,” Tichondrius conceded. “Make it so, then.” He paused in thought for a moment before nodding again. “We can use this opportunity to mobilize the native population. Have Genn implement a general conscription, and have the harvest-witches prepare more concentrated concoctions to strengthen the recruits.”

“Higher concentrations of Fel energy would result in a greater chance of unfavorable side effects,” Balnazzar chimed in with a faint frown. 

Tichondrius shook his horned head. “It doesn’t matter. The mortals are merely chaff anyway. The corpses of the failures can still be raised, their lifeforce still serves as fuel.”

It was important to remember that Gilneas and its people were merely a stepping stone, and a disposable one at that. The kingdom of Gilneas was large enough to more than serve Tichondrius’ purpose, and the dreadlords were close enough to their goal that they could afford to splurge with its populace.

“We’ll need them stronger anyway,” Detheroc said, “once we begin, the initial shock will be important, and the staying power of a stronger but smaller force is not to be underestimated.”

Mal’Ganis smirked. “Perhaps we should look into ways of making our shock troops durable enough to trouble dragons…”

“On that topic,” Balnazzar added, “if the Alliance are now focusing solely on us, we should best weaken their garrisons before they muster enough strength to invade Gilneas instead.”

“Hm…” That was annoyingly true. As confident as Tichondrius was with what resources they had right now, recent events had hammered home the point that things can go wildly wrong beyond expectations. 

“Dar’Khan is still being an admirable pest up in Quel’Thalas, but we cannot afford to lend him any further resources.”

“Could we reach out to the orcs perhaps?” Detheroc suggested, but Tichondrius shook his head.

“They are on the verge of defeat. Any support we provide them would only extend their usefulness by days at best.”

“What of the trolls?” Balnazzar mused aloud, but it was Mal’Ganis who rejected the idea.

“They are too entrenched in their loa worship, which are confirmed to be more active in mortal matters compared to the ‘Light’. It would take far too long to turn a significant portion of them for our uses.”

Tichondrius growled in thought as his subordinates raised and discarded their options. Eventually, he found a workable solution. “If the Alliance have their suspicions on Gilneas, then we will wield that perception to our advantage. Have Genn launch an assault on a notable target away from Dalaran. Its strategic value is unimportant; what matters is that it is a prominent enough site that the Alliance cannot ignore its defense.”

Fanged grins broke among the dreadlords at the idea as they understood what needed to be done. Tichondrius himself wore the largest grin as he savored in the simple brilliance of this classic ploy. “We will fortify Gilneas just enough to let them think the kingdom is easily contained, while drawing out the diversionary strike. The Alliance will then be forced to redirect their efforts towards relieving the target before it falls. With their strength drawn away, we can launch our true assault.” 

“We’ll need to invest a significant amount of Gilneas’ forces to make the diversionary attack convincing,” Mal’Ganis muttered, though he was smiling at the prospect. “But with the right target and circumstances, we can reduce the numbers required.”

Detheroc chuckled darkly. “We could play on their fears… Infiltrate a sizable force near Stormwind, then have the force advance eastwards to make it seem like the true goal is the Dark Portal.”

“Not a bad proposal,” Tichondrius mused. “The distance would tax the Alliance’s logistics, but Stormwind by itself could have the manpower to contain the assault until reinforcements arrive…” The dreadlord gave a wicked smirk as he recalled a little nugget of information. “We’ll pick a closer, more convenient target. Have Genn gather his navy, and entice the harvest-witches into seeking dominion over the seas.”