The supposed invasion of Kul Tiras was turned into an utter farce. What was supposed to be a reasonable gambit to turn the Alliance’s attention away from Dalaran and tie their resources down in saving their member kingdom had instead drawn their full attention onto Gilneas.
All because of the intervention from the so-called mage-king of Alterac and his surprisingly lethal tools. Tichondrius had expected armies to be teleported onto the islands, or great spells that would bolster the admiralty’s defenses. He and the dreadlords had assumed that the upstart king would command magic perhaps a little beyond the capabilities of an average mage.
Instead, the gathered dreadlords watched with scowls and snarls from their shadowy scrying pool as golden monstrosities waded against the waves of the shores of Stormsong, and hurled bolts of blinding energy that perforated the ironarmor bands of Gilnean ships like it was paper. The four-legged things stood untroubled by the crashing of waves or return fire from the invading forces, the latter bouncing harmlessly off some invisible forcefield.
Giant caterpillar-constructs shot out living orbs of light that homed onto the hulls of battleships, and then detonated at the waterline. The gaping hole that was left quickly took in water, and the ships quickly sank to their demise.
Flying crafts swooped in from the heavens, raking the decks and waves with lethal sparks that shredded men and wood, and missiles sent destroyers leaping into the air as they were split apart by massive explosions.
Not a single Gilnean vessel or their crew managed to get even close to making landfall. The entirety of the Stormsong invasion force, two combined fleets, were lost to the waves as the golden Alteraci constructs kept firing until nothing but flotsam and unrecognizable chunks of flesh were all that bobbed on the sea’s surface.
And that was the invasion that gave the best chance of success. The assault at Boralus was completely eradicated the moment titanic walkers breached the waves and unleashed beams of fire that incinerated and cut through multiple ships with ease. Detonations inevitably ensued as the beams struck the stores of blackpowder, adding to the carnage. The heat also boiled the seas, ensuring that any Gilnean sailor that leapt or were thrown overboard suffered a painful end. The iron ramming prows of Gilnean battleships crumpled or dented against the seemingly thin legs of the constructs, the primitive Gilnean spellcasters couldn’t put up any defense that could nullify the fiery beams for even a second.
“This…is a…significant setback,” Detheroc growled.
Beside him, Balnazzar nodded bitterly. “The Alterac king is far, far stronger than we’ve expected.”
“At least now we know what happened to Stromgarde…and Varimathras,” Mal’Ganis added as paltry consolation. “No doubt these things will be sent to Gilneas soon.”
Tichondrius held back his anger as he forced himself to reassess the situation. Gilneas’ navy was all but gone now, leaving its shores vulnerable. Not that it mattered, if this King Kyle sent his constructs out. Nothing in Gilneas’ current military could put up a reasonable fight.
Nothing yet.
“We have no choice,” the leader of the dreadlords finally growled. “We’ll have to quickly make for Dalaran, while we still have some time.”
The other demons looked at him with wide eyes. “The Gilnean fodder is still far from ready for an assault,” Mal’Ganis protested. “The border-”
“Is heavily defended, but it can still be overcome.”
“But the losses-”
“Then we will take to the field ourselves to keep the balance of power in our favor,” Tichondrius cut in with finality, glaring down his subordinates. “We will expend every resource we have for a chance to seize Dalaran, while we still can.” He gestured to the golden constructs stomping across the beaches of Kul Tiras. “The king of Alterac has shown his hand, and no doubt after this he will lead his forces here once he has concluded that Kul Tiras is no longer under threat. The moment he does so, our window for success will drop from improbable to impossible, and we’ll likely be forced to restart this whole endeavor from scratch, and from a position of great disadvantage.”
It was that, or report their failure back to Archimonde, which none of the dreadlords found as a viable option.
There were ugly scowls among the other three demons, but they nodded in reluctant agreement. “We’ll have to mobilize the humans immediately,” Balnazzar said as he turned to leave.
Detheroc nodded and followed suit. “I will see to the warlocks.”
“Empty out the whole kingdom,” Tichondrius added. “Use up anything that can aid us in the coming battle. Hold nothing back, there’s nothing of value in this kingdom beyond its pawns.”
The dreadlords promptly went their separate ways, each to mobilize different aspects of the corrupted kingdom of Gilneas. By now, their hold on the realm was near-absolute, and their mortal followers obeyed the sudden call to arms from King Genn without question or need of an excuse. By the next dawn the enthralled populace, fed on corrupted waters and equally tainted wheat and game, began streaming eastwards, riled by whispers and an unnatural rage of their neighbors, armed with whatever they could get their hands on. Fel-corrupted wildlife rushed past them or flew overhead, and not a gaze turned in bewilderment at the hulking, hooved creatures that stalked within the shadows.
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*****
Though it was home to powerful magi and held powerful enchantments, the magocracy of Dalaran was nonetheless a small nation that was dwarfed by its neighbors in every aspect save for the arcane. The kingdom of Lordaeron in particular almost surrounded the magocracy from the north, south and east, with the kingdom of Gilneas being its only other neighbor to its west. As such, it took advantage of its membership with the Alliance by allowing military access to Lordaeron in exchange for the much larger kingdom’s aid in safeguarding its borders.
The defensive pact was further strengthened as the increasingly insular kingdom of Gilneas to the west drew suspicion from both realms.
A Lordaeron legion, free from the Withering Plague, shared patrol duties alongside their Kirin Tor counterparts, keeping the roads and wilderness free from bandits and the occasional enraged wildlife. A small contingent of the Knights of the Silver Hand tolerated being housed in a barracks next to a small tower that was home to a squad of arcane spellcasters, paladins and magi maintaining a minimum of cordiality in their interactions with one another.
As such, members from both nations bore witness as the dawn’s light was tinted with a baleful green. Sentries, priests, knights and magi alike looked to the skies, their confusion costing them precious time as four meteors of green flame broke through the clouds and hurtled down towards the small but formidable keep overlooking the borders of Gilneas and Dalaran.
By the time realization set in, arcane shields could not be brought fully to bear to stop the falling stars from crashing into stonework with uncanny accuracy. In an instant of explosive violence, walls and barracks were blasted apart and green flames splashed all around. Some unlucky men were crushed or torn apart from the sheer force of the impact.
There wasn’t time for surprise to settle in, as the meteors began to rise. What seemed at first to be a single, solid boulder began to unfold, revealing oversized limbs and a relatively small head that was all held together by green fire. The Infernal golems did not give their hosts time to gather their thoughts, and immediately began sweeping their rocky arms about.
Credit to them, the defenders reacted to the sudden violence with alacrity. Footmen quickly locked their shields together as priests and paladins called for the Light to bolster their strength and courage.
Archers hurried for their quivers, however futile the thought of launching arrows into burning rock might be, while magi fell back to weave their spells.
It was far from enough. The brave footmen that dared risk the green flames around the golems found spears and swords snapping harmlessly against the rocky limbs, while arrows snapped or simply spanged off. Shields of wood and metal shattered easily as massive fists smashed into them.
Only the paladins, bathed in the grace of the Light, managed to stand against the Infernals, but the towering monstrosities showed little sign of slowing as they received the strikes of greatswords and warhammers. Similarly, bolts of magical ice and arcane energy splashed against the Fel golems with little effect, and if anything it only drew the constructs’ attention to the spellcasters.
For all their tenacity, the human defenders did not last long. Courage gave little aid as weapon shafts burned and blades melted. The Light was not enough to stop the rocky fists from crushing armor and flesh into a pulp, nor was arcane shields strong enough to hold up against Fel-fed brute strength.
But still the men and women of Lordaeron and Dalaran fought back, if not to defeat the monsters, then to keep their Fel attention and allow time for the keep’s servants to flee. Panicked messages were sent out on horseback to warn nearby settlements, while a lone mage was forced to disengage to deliver the dire news to both the throne of Lordaeron and the Kirin Tor conclave.
By the time the Gilnean vanguard crossed the border later in the morning, the Fel energies that sustained the Infernals had run out, and the border keep was razed to a smoldering ruin. Yet thanks to the messages sent amidst the carnage, hastily assembled reinforcements from the magocracy ensured that the trespass would not go unavenged or uncontested.
Even though the Gilnean vanguard outnumbered their opponents, the battle that broke out was long and brutal. The corrupt strength and ferocity of the Gilnean soldiery was matched with the vengeful wrath of their Dalaranian foe. Despite their enhanced strength, the Gilneans fought with a rabid fury that made them far less cohesive than troll berserkers. Blades were swung wildly, often parried or blocked easily enough though those hits that did connect cracked plate armor or bisected flesh and bone. Yet only the most lethal of hits slowed or stopped them, ensuring that the front line was quickly filled with raging, frothing maniacs that wore broken armor and were riddled with gaping wounds.
On the other hand, the commanders of Dalaran’s 3rd Violet Legion reined in their men’s rage to maintain a coherent formation. They fought as soldiers did, working in coordinated units that sought to isolate and snuff out packs of Gilneans, or stoically maintaining shield walls to hold crucial positions. Lieutenants would keep an eye on sections, ready to replace tiring soldiers with fresh reserves when the time came. Magi in support of the legion flung spells behind the safety of several ranks of plate armor, incinerating or freezing the wild-eyed enemies.
The toll they exacted on their enemy was impressive, and for a moment, the invaders’ numbers and tireless ferocity seemed to face inevitable defeat against the more collected and calculative fighting of the defenders.
But then things came spilling out from the borders of Gilneas. What looked like oversized wolves and bears, with streaks of glistening flesh where fur and skin failed to keep up with sudden growth and tore apart, charged into the fray with skin-crawling roars from their overly-fanged maws. Ravens with too many wings and legs swooped in as a singular dark cloud, pecking and raking and spitting. Even cattle and deer went amok, their hides mutated with spiny growths and mouths bearing rending fangs that gnashed on plate armor.
Under the fresh and horrific onslaught, the 3rd Violet Legion of Dalaran was forced to retreat. The timely arrival of a lance of Silver Hand knights bought them the opportunity to disengage into the portals conjured by the magi. The ruins of the keep was ceded to the Gilneans, with relatively smaller loss of life, but the fact remains that the first battle between Gilneas and the Alliance had ended with the former's victory.
And so began the invasion of Dalaran from their treacherous and fallen neighbor.