AN: Still an OTP with Syra.

Once the alarm was set throughout the city, Koren swiftly departed to rally his dragonhawk knights, and Rho'dan left to gather the army of irregulars, as well as the few hundred Crossguard that were undergoing training.

As much as Varrus would want his personal force to have more time to train, this was an all hands on deck situation.

"Say that again Pathaleon, how many Trolls?!" Sanguinar questioned with incredulity.

"Sss-sixty thousand Lord Sanguinar. They are set to make landfall on the eastern beach. We have received reports that a flanking force has split off, and is heading towards the northern port of Silvermoon." Pathaleon stuttered, wiping sweat from his forehead as the wise regarded him harshly.

"Impossible! Not 20 years ago, we burnt half the forest to the ground, and ran the forest purple with Troll blood!" Thaladred snarled, and lifted Pathaleon up by the scruff of his neck.

"Peace Thaladred, Pathaleon is known as 'the Calculator' due to his mathematical attainments, and has acted as this court's faithful taxman for centuries. Surely you trust his abilities?" Kael said commandingly.

"Of course, apologies, my Prince " Thaladred said reluctantly as he released Pathaleon.

"Pathaleon, what numbers can we muster?" Kael said as he magically lifted the herald up with a wave of his hand, and flicked the dust off him.

Looking at Varrus, Pathaleon rubbed the red marks on his throat and lightly coughed.

"Vandercross claims to muster a force of 3 Heroes, 5 veterans equal to one Hero, and 1,278 fully enchanted irregulars, each individually on par with a veteran. The Vongstag can produce 2 Heroes, 183 dragonhawk riders, along with 3,500 irregulars." Pathaleon paused, then puffed up his chest, and began to speak with pride.

"As for the eastern forces, we can field 18 Heroes, 1,201 fully equipped veterans, and 8,431 irregulars. And of course we have Your Majesty, which surpasses any mere Hero!" Pathaleon bowed, and said flatteringly.

Varrus nodded his head along, not all too surprised by the amount of powerful figures in their ranks. Where Elves lacked large numbers, they made up for it in the quality of individual fighters. Who needed a hundred man army when one spell could incinerate 100 men?

"Astute analysis, Calculator, yet there seems to be a deficiency in your formulae." Faedra slow clapped from Varrus' side.

Pathaleon shrank his neck back, then looked to Kael like a puppy that had been denied his treat.

"Away with the theatrics Faedra, tell them what you know." Varrus tiredly waved his hand.

This woman had put Sanguinar in his place, and for that, Varrus was grateful, but this millenia old minx was having much too much fun while they were on the brink of disaster.

"Oh very well, as the Highlord commands." Faedra knowingly smirked.

"What our esteemed bean counter failed to account for is the precise composition of the enemy forces. 60,000 is a grand number, but what of their leadership, their Heroes?" Faedra buffed her nails, and blew on them while she ignored everyone in the courtroom.

"P-preposterous! They are Trolls! They're brutal, regenerate limbs, and require a good burning! Every school child knows this much!" Pathaleon quickly defended himself.

"Kill it with fire, what a typical Elven response. I see the appeal, what self respecting lady wouldn't want to see the world burn? Yet you fail to realize that a massive monsoon the likes of which have never graced our fair land for 7 millenia is about to make landfall." Faedra said with disdain.

Almost as one, the wise all turned their heads upward, and noticed the tell tale signs of massive thunderclouds gathering above the giant glass window above the courtroom.

"So?! We burn them harder!" Pathaleon doubled down.

"Fool! Every child, as you put it, is aware of the power of the sun! With its might, our fire spells are nearly twice as effective! Without the Sunwell granting us an inner fire, the storm will dampen our fire magicks! Furthermore, Troll shamans are attuned with lightning, their shields, movement speed, and chain lightning will all be enhanced!" Sanguinar said, and signaled Theladred who arose from his seat, then backhanded Pathaleon across the chin, knocking him to the ground.

A grim silence descended upon the hall as everyone came to the crushing conclusion that they were in an extremely precarious situation.

During this brief interlude, Syra poked Varrus in the side, eliciting a brief giggle.

"You have something to say, Vandercross?" Sanguinar arched an eyebrow.

Varrus pursed his lips. Sanguinar had 100% heard Varrus giggle.

Varrus glared at his wife, but she merely looked away, like a cat that had pushed over a cookie jar, yet acted aloof. For someone so powerful, she sure acted childish at times. Well…at least she was cute. Varrus amended as Syra stuck her tongue out at him.

Chuckling to himself, Varrus scanned his spell list, and an idea came to mind.

"Actually, I do have a solution, Sanguinar, thank you for your consideration." Varrus mock bowed, then turned toward the hall.

"I have a spell to temporarily alter the weather. If cast at the height of their invasion, I can surprise them, and we can turn on the Trolls when they least expect it." Varrus spoke up.

Varrus eyed the Master tier Alteration spell, Control Weather: Temporarily summon the weather of your choice.

"How temporary? If it can last an hour or longer, then there is no need to risk the storm's fury." Lor'Themar said while stroking his chin in thought.

The focus of the wise was all on him, and Varrus couldn't help but scratch the back of his head.

"About three to five minutes." Varrus said with surety.

Although in reality, Varrus was only vaguely going off his memory of the Skyrim spell. Perhaps it would last longer because of his increased spell power, or even create a weather effect more intense than usual. The fact was, Varrus had no clue, he had never cast the chance weather spell since he woke up in Warcraft. Truthfully, he never thought he would use it either.

"If you could hold the sun up for 10 minutes, I would be able to cast a grand ritual spell, can you do this, Highlord Vandercross?" The future Grand Vizier and Grand Mage of the Blood Elves, Rhommath spoke up from amongst the wise with great respect.

Varrus made note of Rommath's address, and wondered if he was merely brown nosing, or if he truly held loyalties toward the Convocation. If it was the latter, it was about time Varrus found some allies amongst this council!

"It should be manageable." Varrus nodded in assent.

Worst case scenario, he cast the spell again. Hopefully he wouldn't be locked in a life and death struggle at that point, otherwise, the 5-10 seconds or so it took to cast a Master spell would be too long in a fast paced fight where every second counted.

"If you boys are done chatting about the weather-such a male thing to do-then perhaps you are ready to hear about the enemy forces?" Faedra called everyone's attention to her.

"The floor is yours m'lady, please tell us what you know." Kael said with some humility and in a diplomatic tone.

The men amongst the wise grumbled and cleared their throats, yet remained silent, eagerly awaiting this information report.

"Oh very well. My friends inform me that Zul'jin as you are all well aware has escaped our clutches 20 some odd years ago-no thanks to a certain Ranger General's ineptitude-and has risen from the ashes once more to kill us while we are at our lowest."

"My liege, I could've told you that much!" Pathaleon hotly interrupted.

"Pathaleon." Kael said while glancing at the herald.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Shut up."

Pathaleon paled, and bowed in response.

"As I was saying, Zul'Jin has bargained with a so-called 'dark power.' Whether this be the Old Ones, Demons, or another force, we can only speculate. What we do know is that he has bound himself to four Loa. These very same Loa are possessing four hosts, granting them immense power akin to a demigod. In essence, powered by four nature spirits, Zul'Jin is more than the skilled warrior who defeated 2 archmages and our current Ranger General." Faedra looked everyone in the eye, and spoke with a gravitas lacking entirely of her usual mocking tone.

"The Loa are the key to this." Sanguinar said as he drummed his fingers across the table in thought.

"It would seem we have discovered the Troll's weakness. Decapitate the limbs, and leave the body vulnerable." Rhommath spoke up in his characteristically deep voice.

"Yes, yes, kill the Loa, and that Zul'Jin's power should wane as well! Brilliant deduction Rhommath!" Lor'Themar slapped his armrest in excitement.

"One final warning. Their Great Shaman, Hexlord Malacrass is the glue holding this operation together. His abilities are largely unknown, yet his totems are spectacular. Many of my friends have died learning of a plot to sabotage this city. This is where we part ways as I go to gather my friends. Oh, and Varrus, don't break my little girl's heart." Faedra thinly smiled, then simply faded away.

There was no smokescreen, no raise of the hand, or crack of obvious teleportation. One moment she was there, the next, simply vanished.

Checking with his detect life spell, Varrus couldn't find hide nor hair of his mother-in-law.

"A most perplexing, yet useful woman. How I despise her." Sanguinar crunched his plated fists into a clenched fist.

"Bahaha, it has been centuries since she divorced you. The fact that her daughter is from another male must vex you so!" Thaladred belly laughed, and caved in a portion of the grand table when he slammed his meaty fist upon it.

"Discretion is the better part of valor my friend." Sanguinar said calmly, then steepled his fingers.

Thaladred was quick to silence himself, and looked anywhere but at Sanguinar.

Varrus squeezed Syra's hand, and looked down at her to see her reaction.

She flashed him a smile.

"I'm fine." Syra mouthed.

"Enough banter, how do you wish to distribute yourselves." Kael rubbed the bridge of his nose, and asked the wise.

"I volunteer to hold the north." Varrus was the first to speak up.

"Nonsense, your ability to clear the weather will sorely be needed on the main battlefront, Thaladred and I shall defend the north of Silvermoon." Sanguinar quickly interjected.

"Sanguinar is correct, my friend. Besides, I welcome you to fight by my side." Kael smiled, and placed a reassuring hand on Varrus's shoulder.

Well, he wasn't complaining, there would be more soul gems to be had on the main battlefield. The only reason why he suggested he hold the north was that he could defeat the smaller force quicker, then set out to flank the main force.

"Our numbers are slim, I agree with my husband, I shall lead House Vandercross's elites to victory on the northern front." Syra declared, brooking no disagreements.

"Syra?" Varrus questioned.

Without her by his side, he wouldn't feel nearly as safe or secure. He needed her.

"Go to the main battlefield, they need you. I shall secure your flank." Syra clunked her forehead onto Varrus', and stole a quick peck across his cheek.

"Ahem. Very well, I agree to this arrangement. The meeting is adjourned." Kael cleared his throat, and spoke loudly into Varrus's ear.

Varrus stood in place, still angered and disappointed that his very capable wife would be fighting on a separate front from him. Many of the wise ignored him, and began to file out of the room, discussing where they would position themselves for the battle to come. A large group surrounded Kael'Thas, and were eagerly entreating him for one thing or another. The prince gave Varrus a tired, complicated look, then attended to his royal duties.

Varrus wasn't overly concerned with his friend, now that he was hopped up on mana again. If Kael'Thas was strong in WC3 without a source of mana to sustain him, he must be particularly powerful now. He may be a bit of a moody teenager, but his raw magical abilities easily placed him in the top 50 strongest on Azeroth.

No, what he was concerned about was his separation from his wife. It touched his heart knowing she would be securing his flank, but it also hurt his heart knowing she wouldn't be by his side to confront the enemy.

"I'll see the five veteran guards see to your safety." Varrus said as he stroked Syra's hair, and stared lovingly into her eyes.

"No need. A group of four veterans I led during the Orc War are calling to me now." Syra pointed out a group of oddly familiar faces.

Varrus didn't know where he could place them…were they the fucking Illidari Councillors from the Black Temple raid?!

'Veterans my ass!' Varrus' eyebrow twitched as he remembered some annoying fights from his WoW days.

These were bona-fide Hero units!

"Lady Syra, you survived!"

"Praise the Light, there is hope yet!"

"I thought that was you upon the carriage handing out Mana Stones!"

The group of High Elves began to celebrate, and cheer for her, to which Syra directed an embarrassed smile Varrus' way.

"What's this, my lovely, confident wife can make such an expression?" Varrus teased.

"Don't go looking at women while I'm away, and don't let me catch you hugging pretty men again, got it?" Syra hissed and roughly poked Varrus in the ribs.

"Uhh, I got it?" Varrus rolled his eyes, and thought to himself 'I haven’t been looking at anyone else though?' He then pulled his wife in for a deep tongue tied kiss.

"And you come back home safe and sound." Varrus said breathlessly as he pulled away from her lips.

Syra flashed another smile, then twirled away to socialize with her old squad, leaving Varrus alone.

While he was waiting for the armies to gather, Varrus found himself surrounded by a small group of the wise.

Surprisingly, the one at the lead was his chief antagonist during this little courtroom drama.

Sanguinar.

"Surprised to see me?" Sanguinar laughed.

"Truthfully? Yes, I thought you hated me." Varrus shook his head in confusion, and looked at the older man wearily.

"Hate, is a strong word. I may dislike your father, and heavily frown upon your past playboy actions, but tough times make tough men. I vehemently oppose the reconstitution of the Convocation, but that doesn't mean I cannot appreciate your usefulness, Vandercross. I do not give compliments lightly, you understand, so take it to heart when I say thank you for your service." Sanguinar was professionally curt, and nodded his head.

"Thank you?" Varrus blinked in confusion.

"Don't look at me like that Vandercross. Obviously you are not an object or commodity to be plied. However, it cannot be understated how important your continued survival is to the Quel'Dorei. Keep that in mind that if you die, we all will suffer. I hope it sinks in how much value you hold for our race as a whole." Sanguinar looked deeply into Varrus' eyes, harrumphed, then twirled away.

Before Varrus could form an opinion on this strange turn of events, a long line of well wishers and lobbyists came forward. Among them was a familiar face.

"Varrus Vandercross, i doubt you recall seeing me much, but my name is Halduron Brightwing. Your father's influence was instrumental in promoting me to my position within the Farstriders. I wanted to let you know that there are some amongst the wise who still support the Convocation." Halduron said with a no-nonsense attitude. His blue-black hair set him apart from the standard blonde Elf, and despite his seriousness, he had a bit of a mischievous smirk, and roguish air about him.

"It is good to know that not all are opposed to the restoration of tradition. I'll keep you in mind." Varrus smiled back.

"We will have to discuss these matters over lunch, for now, I must gather my rangers." Halduron nodded at Varrus, then departed.

Alongside Halidron, several other paladins, and warrior well wishers introduced themselves, then departed to muster with the army.

However, two Elves remained behind.

"Good, with the bow plucker gone, we can finally discuss what really matters." A handsome, arrogant Elf dressed in loose flowing robes, wielding a giant intricate golden staff said while he levitated to Varrus' side.

"Greetings young Varrus, I am High Examiner Tae'thelan Bloodwatcher, but of course I need no introduction. Despite being one of my students, you truly hid yourself deeply, tsk tsk tsk. I had wanted to mold you per your father's instructions, but I can see my efforts would be wasted. You truly are remarkable my boy. Bravo." Tae'thrlon clapped his hands, and then raised two goblets full of wine with a wave of his hand.

"A toast to your magnificent ascension." Tae'thelon smirked, and raised his goblet high.

"Don't be deceived, Vandercross, he's only after your stones." A voice interrupted, and slapped the floating wine glass away, shattering it upon the ground.

There standing in its place was an elf in fully black plate armor. Varrus vaguely recognized him as one of the bosses that fought for Kael'Thas in Tempest Keep.

"Telonicus." Tae'thelon scowled at the fully armored figure.

"Make no mistake, I'm interested in your stones too. Don't let this old wind bag fool you." Telonicus said in mirth.

"This accusation is preposterous! I simply wanted to congratulate young Varrus on his magical mastery. Cannot a teacher take pride in his student's achievements?" Tae'thelon waved away the mess on the floor, then conjured up a fresh beverage.

Varrus rubbed his forehead. These two characters were starting to become increasingly familiar. If he was right, then Tae'thelon was the leader of the Horde's version of the Explorers League, in which they searched for ancient sources of power/archeology. Telonicus was Kael'Thas's chief engineer, and the brains behind the Mana Forges that were sucking Outland dry of all its mana.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

In short, if Varrus read the situation correctly, they were two genius scientists lobbying for funding.

He decided to play along for now. Having two genius' fight over his power supply could only be a useful connection moving forward.

Taking ahold of the conjured beverage, Varrus saluted the pair, then took a sip.

"Not bad!" Varrus praised as he licked his lips at the sweetness of the drink. He then looked to asses Tae'thelon's reaction to flattery.

"See Telonicus, young Varrus here can appreciate the fine art of our people, unlike others. Why don't you take your short sighted designs elsewhere." Tae'thelon nodded appreciatively at Varrus, then shooed away the fully armored man.

It was then that Varrus noticed a handful of drawings within Telonicus's grasp.

"Your mind, Tae'thelon, is locked onto the ancient wonders, such thinking will never see our society advance. So what if my inspiration comes from a Dwarf?" Telonicus ridiculed in turn, then unfurled his blueprint for Varrus to see.

Varrus recognized the design for what it was. This was a fantasy sized, giant fucking cannon!

"This is a Mana Cannon. I drew inspiration for the design witnessing the fearsome firepower of the Dwarven cannons upon the Orcish Horde. In effect, it is a mobile Arcane Tower, capable of changing between fire, ice, and arcane energies. All it requires is an energy source. I theorize that one of those larger Mana Stones handed out to the wise could sustain 150-300 discharges." Telonicus excitedly pointed toward a sheet of numbers.

Varrus was nonplussed, as the actual physics behind ammunition capacity, ballistics, range and theoretical numbers were not within his sphere of knowledge. He could do the basics, and wasn't half bad at chemical formulas, but physics wasn't something he had dabbled much in.

However, big gun goes boom. Any idiot in an armchair could see the value of field artillery.

"I'm sold." Varrus held up a hand to stop Telonicus's technobabble.

God knew he went into long ass nerd filled tangents himself, and he certainly listened to his fair share over the years. However, he knew what a cannon was. As long as it went pew pew, Varrus was satisfied.

"Talent is always recognized." Telonicus leaned toward Tae'thelon, and said smugly before rolling up his design.

"How many crystals do you need?" Varrus inquired.

He didn't have a ton of Adept level Mana Stones, as it was more efficient for him these days to make Master level Mana Stones. As the amount of mana in the higher tier stone was so much higher, it was mind boggling.

Fortunately, he could just chip some pieces off of a Master Mana Stone, and call it a day.

Telonicus rubbed his chin in thought, and looked skyward. "About 300 should do it. I must say, it is refreshing to have someone so straightforward to work with. Thank you Vandercross. If you need help reforming the Convocation, I will aid you in those efforts."

Varrus pulled open his Deep Storage, then dumped the Mana Stones on the floor.

Any remaining wise within the palace all stopped what they were doing, and glanced over.

"You'll have your fair share once the war commences! House Vandercross is vested in keeping the people healthy and happy." Varrus raised his voice when he saw a couple of the wise draw closer like a pack of hungry hyenas.

"What uncultured bloodsuckers, they cannot appreciate the gift that has fallen from the sky! Your generous donations are quite welcome young Varrus. Even if they go to less than deserving hands, your magnanimity is the sign of a great leader." Tae'thelon raised his goblet, and saluted Varrus.

"Speaking of which, you obtained your prize, shouldn't you be going somewhere, Telonicus? Tsk, tsk." Tae'thelon raised his brows, and tutted.

"Oh, I have dozens of cannons that need to be outfitted, but I figured I'd stick around and watch you beg for those stones. Go on, show your old student why you're really here." Telonicus folded his arms, and began to ooze smug.

Varrus wanted to chuckle at Tae'thelon as his face alternated between red and purple, but he also narrowed his eyes at Telonicus. The chief engineer was no fool, and was surprisingly good at the game, despite his obvious nerd-like inclinations.

Or perhaps Varrus was reading too much into it, and the chief engineer was doing what all nerds do best, and was being petty to the extreme.

"I do admit, my friend, that the Reliquary has made a breakthrough. We have crafted a golem using the raiment of the Titan Keeper Tyr. However, we are sorely lacking, and cannot find a power source. Yet what you offered Telonicus is but a fraction of our golem's required energy inputs. You need not worry, young Varrus, I did not think you possessed such a large quantity of Mana Stones. I truly am here to congratulate you." Tae'thelon lowered his head, and dropped his pride in a moment of humility.

"Again, congratulations for your magical prowess. I know I did not teach you even a fraction of your skills, but I am still proud of you. Should you require my aid in reestablishing the Convocation, you would have my support. I heard you were interested in collecting tomes and artifacts. Consider this a small token of my appreciation." Tae'thelon levitated himself closer, and presented a mageweave bag, then began to float off.

"Tae'thelon being nice. Truly these are the end times. Thank you again, Vandercross." Telonicus nodded at Varrus, then scooped up the Mana Stones to go.

Varrus opened the bag, and was presented with dozens of enchanted items, and books. Several unique enchantments such as elementa/void/fell resistance, and could also attune a weapon with fel/void energy. In terms of books, one detailed long distance portal magic, and another was a crafting schematic to make Titanforged weapons.

The knowledge held by a millenia old archeologist was truly stunning. Especially these Titanforged weapons. The materials for crafting these items were rare beyond rare. Something only an archeologist willing to scour thousands of tomes and tombs would be able to acquire.

'Tae'thelon, that sly bastard.' Varrus grinned to himself when he looked at the back of that haughty Elf.

He felt like he got played, but it was the best kind of game. Mutual cooperation was much more believable than flowery words, and backroom promises.

"Hold up a minute Tae'thelon, perhaps I can help you, but not here, and we'll have to make it quick. The soldiers should almost all be mobilized now, we have no time to waste." Varrus chased after the floating man in a hurry.

"But of course, the Reliquary appreciates your aid." Tae'thelon smiled.

"And to think I truly thought he had reformed." Telonicus clucked his tongue, then went about his business. He had to get those cannons into position before the Trolls made landfall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within the raging waters off eastern Quel'Thalas, a fleet of countless ships and canoes had set sail.

A storm raged overhead, drowning dozens of the smaller craft, yet the Trolls sailed forth, unwilling to turn back for a second.

Large droplets of water fell upon Jan'alai's green brow, and wind swept across her flowing brown locks as she stared fearlessly into the ocean.

Yet the screams of her kinsmen drew pity into her heart. Choosing now of all times to invade made no sense.

'The darkness of void shrouds Zol'jin like a cloak, be wary of betrayal young one.' The dragonhawk Loa, Vas'ai spoke from within Jan'alai's spirit.

As a subordinate tribesman to the Amani, Jan'alai knew first hand the brutality of the upper caste. Yet she could not stand silent while her people died needlessly.

"Chief Zul'jin, is it wise to set sail in such a storm? Surely our people would be better suited toward a land assault." Jan'alai questioned in concern as she saw a canoe capsize, all dozen occupants cried out for help, yet were quickly swallowed by the briny deep.

"Mmm? Da Undead roaming da land not convincing enough?" Zul'jin growled from a Elf skinned rug thrown across a skull decorated throne.

His lone eye was full of such intense emotion, Jan'alai didn't dare maintain contact, and looked away.

"Aye, you do not see the signs girl? We all felt da explosion 6 days ago, now is the time!" Hexlord Malacross, the Amani's lead shaman scowled at Jan'alai.

"But if it will make ya feel better, I be checkin one more time." Malacross approached a chained up Troll from a 'lesser' tribe, and pushed him to the ground.

Pulling out a wicked sharp knife, Malacross cut open the screaming Troll's belly, and pulled out his intestines.

"Hmm, mmm hmm, I see." Malacross rubbed bloodied fingertips across his chin as he dug through the entrails. He stuck a finger in his mouth and grinned crimson up at Jan'alai.

Her face was stone, unwilling to show the slightest provocation that may endanger her clan, yet her blood boiled.

Malacross then shoved the entrails back into the chained Troll, and patted him on the head.

Jan'alai hated this bloody ritual. She had witnessed the same done to her own tribesmen 6 times since she was a little girl.

"Vandercross." Malacrass hissed.

"Good. I canna wait ta pull'em apart bit by bit." Zul'jin said with relish in his voice as he slapped down a portrait with the famous Elf's face plastered upon it.

Jan'alai's throat hitched as she took sight of Quel'Thalas's greatest hero.

When the Amani raided High Elf villages 20 years ago, they found countless portraits, and documents with his name on it. What few Trolls understood Thalassian translated it to 'Hero of the Ages, Vandercross the Great Slays ALL.'

Since then, trinkets, toys, and even magic orbs recording Vandercross's achievements were looted from bins, chests, and other receptacle sites. The Trolls truly knew he was an important character when they found these posters and recording orbs amongst offerings like scrap piles of food and other the broken swords/bows of warriors!

Jan'alai had watched dozens of such recordings for countless hours, and taught herself the language-all in the name of learning to defeat the enemy of course-and she had become inspired.

One of his most memorable speeches to the Humans during the Orc invasion was particularly memorable:

"I have returned. By the grace of the Light, our forces stand again on Human soil — soil consecrated in the blood of our two peoples. We have come, dedicated and committed, to the task of destroying every vestige of Orc control over your daily lives, and of restoring upon a foundation of indestructible strength, the freedom of your people.

At my side is your King, Varian Wrynn, worthy successor of that great patriot, Llane Wrynn, with the leadership of the Alliance. The seat of your government is now therefore firmly re- established on Stormwind's soil.

The hour of your redemption is here. Your patriots have demonstrated an unswerving and resolute devotion to the principles of the Light, that challenges the best that is written on the pages of Human history. I now call upon your supreme effort that the Orc may know from the temper of an aroused and outraged people.

Rally to me. Let the indomitable spirit of the Alliance lead on. As the lines of battle roll forward to bring you within the combat zone, rise and strike. Strike at every favorable opportunity. For your homes and hearths, strike! For future generations of your sons and daughters, strike! In the name of your sacred dead, strike! Let no heart be faint. Let every arm be steeled. The guidance of divine Light points the way. Follow us, men and women of the Alliance in the name of righteous victory!"

Vandercross's rallying cry had sent shockwaves through Jan'alai's heart when she first heard it as a little girl.

When she saw her father, her brothers, and uncles dragged to the top of the Amani's temple, and had their hearts ritualistically removed and devoured, she knew she could not grant them her loyalty any further.

Now that Zul'jin had learned of a dark power to force the merger of Troll and Loa, Jan'alai had her chance to rebel, yet she was just one girl. Surely, the great hero Vandercross would be sympathetic to her cause?

Jan'alai wanted revenge. She wanted to live in a society without food scarcity, where death wasn't around every corner, where people spoke properly, stood without a hunch, and were required to wear pants in public.

The histories said that the Trolls were capable of so much more, yet they let their homes turn into rot and ruin. 20,000 years of history, and half of them lived in stick huts.

She didn't trust the Elves, but she believed in him.

She believed in Vandercross.

While Jan'alai was lost in thought, the Hexlord called her over.

"Step forward, Nalarakk da bear, Akil'zon da eagle, Jan'alai da dragonhawk, and Halazzi da lynx!" The tribe's shaman, Hexlord Malacrass rattled his skull tipped staff on the ship's wooden frame, his voice took on an unholy timbre that echoed across the raging maelstrom.

Countless Trolls cheered as their champions came to the prow.

"Nalarkk, Akil'zon take 20,000 and flank to da north, Jan'alai you lead da glorious vanguard force, take 10,000 of the scattered tribes, and let dem share in your glory. We Amani will be right behind ya girl." Zul'jin commanded from his throne.

"Yes, chieftain." Jan'alai bowed her head, then turned away to go to her forces.

Jumping off the ship, Jan'alai connected with the Loa, and transformed into a massive dragonhawk.

Flying in the sky, Jan'alai saw the target of her people's attack. It was a relatively narrow beachhead that could accommodate no more than a few thousand at a time, and was surrounded by a never ending wall of cliffs.

Zul'jin was trying to get her killed! Rage, anger, and despair welled up in Jan'alai's belly.

'Peace Jan'alai, the sooner you speak with Vandercross, the sooner we can resolve this conflict.' Va'sai the dragonhawk Loa soothed.

"You are right Va'sai, that Vol'Jin and his croney, Malacrass made a mistake when they partnered you with me." Jan'alai grinned bloody murder as she thought up the revenge she would bring to the Amani.

The smaller tribes were with her, and knew of her plan. The hour of her vengeance was nigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Varrus was done handling business with Tae'thelon, he had been ushered by Rho'dan to follow the army out of Silvermoon's broken gates.

Torrential rain dripped down upon the burnt down buildings, and mixed with plagued land. This created a black slurry of toxicity that brushed along the marching army's boots.

Distant lightning crackled, and thunder boomed.

Varrus pulled his hood tight, yet the powerful winds swept water into his face all the same.

"I could gather a carriage for you Highlord, or perhaps a flying carpet.." Rho'dan entreated.

"No need, I'll walk, same as everyone else." Varrus waved his faithful guard off.

'Besides, a wheeled carriage would go nowhere in this mud.' Varrus grimaced to himself as he stepped in a knee high puddle of sludge.

"Heave! Heave! This weapon cannot be late!" Telonicus urged the Hawkstrider handlers to work faster, and drag his Mana Cannons forward.

Similar sights of Arcane Golems getting their legs stuck in mud was a constant problem as well.

When a scout came to report the situation with the enemy, it soon became clear that they would have to leave these weapons of war behind if they were to make it in time.

This was not an encouraging start.

Sighing to himself, Varrus picked up the pace.

After a half hour march, they finally reached a narrow beach. It was about half a mile wide, and was rather steep with a tiny amount of shoreline. The beach was flanked on both sides by a seemingly never ending cliff face.

It didn't seem that this location was particularly important to the Highborne, and it was rather barren. A lone Arcane Tower stood guard, and doubled as a lighthouse.

Choppy water gushed up the shoreline, and raged with the fury of the sea.

In the distance, a fleet of canoes, stolen Human craft, and other tribal looking ships crested the waves.

The water seemed alive as it propelled them ever closer to the shoreline. With every contraction, a big wave would guide the Troll force that much nearer to battle.

Warriors and paladins began to take position along the sandy dunes, and noble voices harshly shouted to be heard over the approaching storm.

Rain pelted them relentlessly, and Varrus felt cold pierce his bones as he took position on the cliffs with Kael and a group of casters.

Last minute Mana Stones were distributed, now all that remained was to wait for the enemy to come to them.

Varrus spat out a mouthful of rainwater, and wiped his face as his nerves began to make his heart rate increase.

The seemingly slow yet fast fleet was advancing at an ever increasing pace. Varrus estimated they would make landfall sometime in the next 10 minutes.

However, he had faced the vile Undead, and had increased his power by several magnitudes. Taking a deep breath, Varrus calmed himself, and went over his plan to deal with the Trolls.

Once they reached a distance taking them about 5 minutes from making landfall, then Varrus would begin spamming the spell, Bolide: Meteoric rock that deals 25 fire damage. It heats up as it travels, dealing up to x5 damage based on distance.

Bolide was a sniper type spell, and had rather high speed compared to most regular fireballs. What made Bolide particularly dangerous was the x5 damage modifier based on distance traveled.

The enchantments on Varrus' gear increased spell damage by a whopping 2,280. Multiplied by 5, the Bolide spell was (2,305) x 5 = 11,525.

Varrus hadn't tested the spell, and had no concept for how much destruction Bolide would deliver, but he had high hopes for the meteoric rock.

"Worry not Highlord, the beach is a natural choke point. The scum will be forced to wade through water, and face the continuous bombardment of Quel'Thalas's best." Rho'dan said resolutely.

"Comforting words Rho'dan, but I don't understand why the Trolls would attack such a narrow choke point in the first place. One would think that they would send their main force toward northern Silvermoon, and the flanking force would make landfall here." Varrus shook his head in confusion.

Trolls were stupid, but the leadership was never this stupid. Something wasn't adding up. What gave the Trolls the confidence to run this seemingly suicidal charge? The fear of the unknown combined with this chilling rain was beginning to make Varrus nervous.

Taking a deep breath, and exhaling warmth into his hands, Varrus wished his rock, his wife, were beside him.

With Syra by his side, he wasn't worried about anything. He could only take comfort in the fact that she was securing their flanks. All he had to focus on was the enemy in front of him, with her behind him, there should be no surprises flanking them in the rear.

"Strange, why is a force of Troll's diverting to the south?" Rho'dan pointed out.

"Contact! A dragonhawk Loa is coming straight for us. Look alive people!" Lor'Themar's voice pierced through the rain, and drew everyone's attention.

Flying toward them at a rather slow pace was a giant green semi-ethereal looking dragonhawk.

"On my command, prepare to shoot it down!" Lor'Themar commanded, bow in hand.

As the Loa began to draw closer, and closer, Varrus prepared to kill it with Bolide.

Then the Loa opened its mouth, and a woman's voice spoke in crisp Thalassian:

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Not an Elf spoke a word. Only the sound of crashing waves, rain bouncing off plate armor, and distant thunder resounded in their ears.

Almost as one, half or more of the Highborn soldiers turned to look at Varrus.

Varrus looked onward, oblivious as to the current development.

"What, what's going on?" Varrus questioned Rho'dan.

"Ahem. It is a line from your first play, Highlord. How do I say? It was marketed as the showing of the millenia from a fresh new talent. Old Lord Vandercross spared no expense showing this debut to every citizen of Quel'Thalas. In short, there isn't a soul who hasn't ahem, found comedy in this uh, unique performance." Rho'dan said as he staunchly looked out to the sea, and repeatedly cleared his throat.

"Varrus Vandercross, although you are a little shorter in person than I had imagined, I would recognize your face anywhere! Hero and savior of the Elves, my name is Jan'alai! Help me Varrus Vandercross, you are my only hope!" The Loa slowly floated down, and transformed into a female forest Troll.

Varrus looked askance at everyone present, but no one would meet his eye, and all looked away.

All except Kael'Thas who busily held his sides as he drowned himself in laughter.

"It is good to see that the clown prince in the recording is true to life. Now I know you are the real Vandercross!" Jan'alai loudly exclaimed, then got down on one knee.

Kael's choked laughter suddenly petered off, causing Varrus to smirk in response.

"The Amani have run rampant for too long! The lesser tribes as they call us suffer. However, we have been inspired by your heroism to rebel! Varrus Vandercross, I beg of you! Help me, help my people, please!" Jan'alai said from the mud.

Several nearby Highborn wore looks of disgust at the Troll standing before them, and a few even moved forward to stab her in the back.

Varrus had his mind race as he took this scene in. Not in a million years did he think a Troll would come to parlay.

"Why should we trust you? Isn't this some Troll plot?" Rho'dan shook his head, and pointed his blade at the Troll's chin.

"My entire family have had their hearts ripped out, and sacrificed to unknown gods. We lesser tribes hate the Amani as much or more than you High Elves do. My people built the temples, my people grow the crops, my people weave the clothes, forge the weapons, and every other task required of them. But my people are the first to be sacrificed at the temple, the first into battle, and the villages destroyed in retaliation when the Amani murder innocent Highborn villages. I hate the Amani. Let their blood drenched in my talons be proof of my commitment!" Jan'alai finished with a savage snarl, hopped into the air, and transformed once more into a Loa.

Varrus rapidly blinked his eyes as Jan'alai's hatred seemed all too familiar to him. Of course no one could hate a Troll more than another Troll, but it went deeper than that.

Warcraft was largely built upon ripping off other concepts from Earth fantasy, and real world events. Elves and Dwarves were straight up taken from Tolkein, and Stranglethorn Vale literally was identical to Vietnam on the map. These were just a couple of examples, and the Amani were no different.

The jungle temples, animal gods, heart sacrifices, and tribal aesthetic? It screamed Aztec influence. And if the Amani were based on the Aztec's, then this coalition of lesser Troll tribes was identical to Earth history.

Common belief was that the Aztecs were a homogeneous group that died from the Spaniard's disease. While this certainly played a role in their demise, what truly sealed the deal was the countless native tribes that were sick of the Aztecs shit, and rebelled.

The situation happening around Varrus right now was eerily similar to what happened to the Aztecs.

In short, he could trust Jan'alai in her motive to rebel based on the overarching themes that the Warcraft universe operated on. She should be genuine.

Noticing several Elves raise their weapons and ready to strike, Varrus knew he had to stop them. Every Troll that defected from the Amani would be one less enemy. He had to give it a try!

"Hold men, let her go! She can prove herself to us on the battlefield!" Varrus shouted.

One Elf went ahead with loosing an arrow anyway, despite Varrus's command.

Holding out his hand, he yoinked the shaft backward by applying Telekinesis.

"Go Jan'alai! My people do not yet believe in you, but I do. Go now, and prove your cause!" Varrus shouted up at the rapidly ascending dragonhawk Loa.

"Death to the Amani!" Jan'alai screeched back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Da vassal tribes are headed for the south, and Jan'alai is hovering above da Elves without fightin. I never liked dat self righteous baboozi, no dragonhawk spirit tainted by da Elves is a Loa of my Amani! She must be betrayin us, chieftain." Halazzi, the lynx said in angered disbelief.

"It mattas not. We spent 26 lives in an attempt to bind dat so-called Loa, yet each of them died from the possession. However, so long as they are bound to a Troll, they are bound to me. Malacrass, bring their wall crashing down." Zul'jin said as he lazily rested his hand upon his chin.

"Hahaha, I be waitin for you to say that mon!" Malacrass madly cackled, then held his arms up toward the raging storm.

Lightning poured down like a waterfall into his awaiting grasp.

"SURGING WITH POWER!!!"

Pure white electrical energy coursed through Malacrass's system, then exited out of his fingertips toward the cliff wall.

A constant stream of lightning blasted the cliffside as Malacrass channel led the storm's fury.

In a flash of brilliant light, thousands of tonnes of rocks were destroyed in an instant.

Great rumbling stones were greedily swallowed up by the awaiting waves down below.

When the smoke cleared, the half mile long beach had quadrupled in length.

Countless Trolls banged their stone headed axes upon their chests, and roared to the heavens seeing that the path to slaughter had been opened to them.

"Dee Amani nevar give up! We neva forget, we neva die! We gonna bury dem snobby High Elves here! For Zul'Aman!" Zul'Jin rose from his throne, and roared with the storm.