The Purging of Gilneas became a greater undertaking than expected. Though the general march into the fallen kingdom was unopposed, the Alliance forces soon found that actually cleansing the realm would be severely challenging.
The demons had drawn out most living things in their march against Dalaran, but not all. Dens of twisted bears and wolves held snarling young guarded by mothers whose maternal instincts won over the call of their corruptors. In the same manner, Gilnean survivors trickled back to abandoned settlements, following a base longing for home. Nobles who retained their sapience quickly withdrew into their holdings, seeking to rebuild their lands with their new Fel-given powers.
The taint of the Fel had seeped deep into the land, fouling the very water and soil. Trees wept glowing green ichor, their barks knotting and twisting into hideous visages, while long, thorny tendrils infested fields, swaying lazily like a nightmarish wheat and rye. Fetid springs and ponds bubbled with unholy life, their banks slowly collecting warped corpses from migratory birds desperate to quench their thirst.
Purification through alchemical, arcane and divine means was proving ineffective, which meant that eventually the Alliance was forced to abandon the initial gains into the corrupted land to maintain a tenable supply network. Bases would be built as beachhead anchors in the meantime, part fortification, part research station, part holy sanctuary against corruption.
At the same time, the navies of Kul Tiras, Lordaeron, Khaz Modan and Quel’Thalas would patrol Gilneas’ coastline to monitor the corruption leaking from their rivers until their flow could be stopped. Already, fish have been caught off the shore that bore fangs and horns and spines.
Even the arrival of dragons had made little headway. Wary Alliance scouts spotted red and blue dragons deep in Gilneas, seemingly making nests in towns and cities. The Kirin Tor were still attempting to communicate with them, but in the meantime, it was considered best to not stray too far from the Alliance-held territory.
The containment of Fallen Gilneas would become the Alliance’s main focus. Fears of another demonic incursion ensured that the focus was more agreeable to all members compared to orcish internment. The fear of the Fel also saw a new rivalry between the Church of the Light and the magi of the Kirin Tor.
While the stigma of the arcane had been lifted to a degree thanks to the critical contributions of the mage-king of Alterac, the newly formed Inquisitors of the Light pitted themselves in an arms race with the magi of Dalaran in the pursuit of combating Fel corruption. While the researchers in Dalaran partook in the rivalry mostly out of a sense of academic competition, the new servants of the Light sought to wipe the perceived stain on their faith over the desecration of Alterac’s cathedral. They would not let demons make pawns and fools of the devoted servants of the Light.
So far it has been far from a hostile rivalry, with breakthroughs being shared between the two organizations. But the first complaints were already being lodged by Archmage Antonidas of Inquisitors trying to infiltrate Dalaran’s archive for forbidden knowledge. Lord Uther the Lightbringer was also said to have censured the Inquisitors for sending what amounted to suicide teams into Gilneas to procure tainted test subjects.
While most realms of the Alliance adapted to meet the changes to its world, the kingdom of Alterac quickly returned to an almost insular state, for better or worse. King Kyle Daelam had a short engagement to Princess Jaina Proudmoore before they enjoyed a small and simple wedding. Supposedly, it was so the couple could focus on fully developing Alterac so that its small population might become a useful contributor to the Alliance in civilian matters.
Less polite whispers suggested it was because the king and his new queen were ‘being young’.
Respecting the mage-king’s wishes, Alterac saw little requests from its neighbors. They provided their share of material aid to the Containment, but no Alteraci laid foot within the dark realm. Some, especially the more politically driven nobles in Lordaeron, Kul Tiras, and Stormwind, preferred the mage-king’s inactivity. Everyone already knew to fear his golden army, but many also dreaded having such an army be used as a blade over their heads in matters of Alliance policy-making.
Only King Varian Wrynn was blunt enough to state that fact out loud during the meetings, which somehow didn’t anger his younger counterpart and instead kept Kyle to uphold his kingdom’s relative isolation. The king of Stormwind would become the unofficial messenger to his younger counterpart, relaying the fears and gossip of the Alliance’s rulers and doing so without turning the skies gold. In exchange, Varian would spend time in Alterac, learning new insights into rulership as well as taking a reprieve from his administrative duties.
Some whispered that King Varian also brought over stacks of paper and ledgers during his visit, though with no new agreements between Stormwind and Alterac announced thus far, what grand treaty or conspiracy such paperwork would entail could only be speculated on.
*****
Horns blared from the lookout towers, signaling that the dust cloud in the horizon was not just a stampede of thunder lizards. The centaurs are coming again.
Hooves thundered all around the camp as the tauren prepared to fend off the attack once more. The marauders were becoming better at tracking them down; this time the tauren had barely had their camp for a week.
Cairne Bloodhoof, chieftain of the Bloodhoof tribe, bit back a sigh as he brandished his runespear and began organizing the defense. The older braves would serve as the wall to meet the centaurs, as usual, drawing the most of the attention and giving the chance for the younger warriors to force a breakthrough and allow the others to evacuate. While this tactic protected the tribe’s future, hopefully this defense would see fewer elders falling than before.
No matter how noble the cause, it always hurt to lose friends, and Cairne was getting tired of grieving.
The centaurs were not so accommodating today, their sun-weathered forms quickly drew close through the gap between jagged cliffs. The Bloodhoof tauren in turn formed up at the narrowest point of the pass, bracing spears and axes and shields. Arrows were loosed from both sides, sometimes sending a centaur crashing to the ground, often to be trampled by their peers. On their end, the tauren let out a choir of stoic grunts as the arrows only stung as they pierced their hide. At worst, a missile would slip past the shieldwall and find a more vulnerable spot like joints or a snout.
Cairne expertly batted away a group of incoming arrows with his runespear, the snapped arrow shafts bouncing harmlessly off fur. Standing tall and defiant behind the shieldwall, the chieftain bellowed for his warriors to hold fast despite the approaching horde. It seemed like a whole centaur clan was charging at them this time. Hooting and hollering, the hooves of the marauders propelled them with a final burst of speed, while their bare upper bodies drew back to prepare lunging with barbed spears.
“Now!”
Rather than simply sit back and absorb the full brunt of the charge, Cairne ordered a counter-charge right as the approaching mob was pulling back their weapons.
The Bloodhoofs burst forwards with powerful cloven feet, their bulky forms barreling forwards to lend additional strength to their weapons. Spears shot out, axes swept down, even shields were swung violently, and the frontmost centaurs were brutally cut down by the tauren’s savage first strike. Those behind could barely react as well as their fallen clanmates’ long equine bodies got in their way. The Bloodhoofs simply tossed aside the dead horsemen, or even flung them back at the centaurs in the back, and seized the moment of hesitation.
With the momentum of the charge robbed from them, the centaurs were forced into a scrappy melee. With the pass’ width forcing them into a packed mass, they were at a disadvantage. Their longer frames made them easy prey to the taurens weapons, while at the same time forcing their clanmates behind to reach out to land their weapons. Axes and spears tore through shaggy hide to break ribs and spine, or completely eviscerate the centaurs. The Bloodhoof braves wielding totem weapons only had to swing the massive wooden poles this way and at least one set of enemy limbs would be broken.
The tribe’s few shamans at the back of the fighting borrowed the spirits’ power to aid in the fight, causing the cliff sides to burst into hails of jagged rocks, or send out chains of lightning that arced between multiple victims. Cairne himself slashed his runespear deftly amidst the press of bodies, shredding the flanks of centaurs and causing them to reel back or fall, and generally getting in the way of those behind them.
Despite the carnage inflicted, the centaurs were still too great in number. The arrows from those in the back were beginning to leave a mark, as the barbed projectiles found exposed faces and armpits while the tauren fought in melee. Dusan grunted as he fell back with arrow shafts sticking out of both his eyes. A shot bit into Sagra’s arm, fouling her strike and allowing her opponent to slash with his glaive across her throat.
Slowly, the tauren were buckling under the weight of numbers. Cairne knew that it was only matter of time before the greatest enemy, exhaustion, made an appearance to drag down even more of the tribe.
The chieftain’s head snapped to look behind him as yells of alarm rose. Cairne felt his heart drop as the younger braves rushed to fend off another horde of centaurs who had somehow rode through the impossibly thick underbrush that protected the rear of the camp. Shocked but not thrown into panic, the younger Bloodhoofs fought ferociously even as some of them were knocked down and trampled. It was all they could do to keep the ambushers from slipping past into the unarmed members of the tribe.
Quickly returning to the fight at hand to fend off a lunge from a serrated spear, Cairne fought down the bitter realization that his tribe was now trapped, and steeled himself to fight to his last breath.
“Push them back, Bloodhoof braves! Do not let them break through!”
More centaurs died than tauren in the brutal fighting, but it seemed that there were more than enough of them to make up for the unfavorable odds.
Then, amidst the yelling and the screaming and the dying, Cairne heard something.
From far behind the centaur lines, there was a strange thundering. The horsemen too noticed, as those not locked in melee began glancing over their shoulders in confusion. Then they noticed how the rear of the centaur horde were pushing forwards in a frenzy.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
A fearful frenzy.
Then Cairne heard a new flavor of screaming, mixed with the explosion of fire and lightning.
Bursts of light caused centaur and tauren alike to freeze. The explosions grew closer, sending broken and charred bodies flying. Before Cairne could squint his eyes to peer beyond the horde, more yelps of alarm caused him to turn back to the opposite end of the camp, where the younger Bloodhoofs were fighting off the second horde.
Except this time, between the braves and the tribe’s unarmed and vulnerable, figures began to materialize out of blue-white light. Massive, gleaming things of four legs that spread out like a spider’s, yet had no discernible head. Then their bulbous centers parted neatly at the top, and balls of light flew into the centaurs with explosive results. Each strike disintegrated its victim completely, while the explosion flung those too close with such force that they crumpled into broken heaps. In return, arrows and spears bounced harmlessly off the air just in front of them.
For perhaps the first time in his long life, Cairne was rooted to the spot in fear. Those in the pass were caught between the explosions in the rear and the stunned tauren, while those in the rear fell over themselves trying to flee through the same difficult underbrush that they broke through. The chieftain stared unblinkingly as the golden things slaughtered the centaurs with callous ease, their bolts of light blasting through stone and bark to obliterate their targets.
More golden figures appeared, similar to the spider-like things except that these carried four massive horizontal barrels on centers. Said barrels were shown to be weapons, as they unleashed blinding light with dull explosions that caused whole groups of centaurs to simply burst into clouds of gore and ash.
The Bloodhoofs could only look on with dread as the interlopers massacred the centaurs. The pass was filled with ash and corpses, while the underbrush had been trampled flat by golden legs that chased unhurriedly after the fleeing survivors. The fading screams suggested that even with a head start, the centaurs might not be escaping. Cairne and his tribe kept staring as most of the monstrosities left, pausing occasionally to hurl bolts of light beyond the trees and cliffs.
The remaining monsters still within the camp stood eerily still, but before Cairne could collect his senses to express his wary gratitude, another shimmer of light appeared. This time, a strange creature appeared, wrapped in the same golden metal as the four-legged monsters. Within, he - at least Cairne guessed it was a he - looked like a smaller, less purplish version of the forest people that lived beyond the Barrens. The figure raised a hand, and his lips formed what seemed to be a smile.
“Adun turidas, tauren. Heh. Finally got to say that…” As the stranger seemed to take amusement at his own greeting, Cairne felt that his voice and his pose was non-threatening. It didn’t mean a lot with monsters that could devastate so many centaurs so quickly, but hopefully it was a good sign.
Then he realized that the movement of the figure’s mouth and his voice did not match.
Seemingly noticing the confusion, the gold-wreathed figure gave a placating wave of his hand. “Translation spell, to save us the hassle. I am Kyle Daelam, and I come to offer aid to the tauren. Do you happen to know of a…please let the translation not fuck this up… A Cairne Bloodhoof?”
Many questions were instantly raised, but Cairne slowly nodded, warily eyeing the larger monsters standing about as he stepped forwards to address the speaker. “We thank you for your assistance, Kyle Daelam… I am Cairne Bloodhoof. Have we met?”
The Kyle figure broke into a cheery grin. “We have now.” Smaller shimmers light appeared by Kyle’s feet solidifying into crates of meat and plants and bottles. “I’ve supplies to offer, if you’re interested. Healing potions included. I’ll let your tribe rest and recover first before we get down to diplomacy?”
*****
Life had become much, much better for the Valescale murlocs, or as their king had called them, the Alteraci tribes. Thanks to the compassion and generosity of the Gleaming King and the Tidecaller Queen, the murlocs had seen solid stone and wood replace the water-rotted timber and foliage of their homes. Rusted and chipped weapons were replaced with shiny new ones, and even high quality nets were aplenty.
Perhaps most importantly, the Gleaming King also made peace between the murlocs and the humans of the region. And although tentative at first, the cooperation between races had quickly led to increased prosperity. The humans with their great nets and traps could catch plenty of fish, more than enough to share when the murlocs herded shoals into them. In turn, the murlocs hunted the bigger catches deeper in the lake with rope-linked harpoons, and the humans would help yank the prey up above the waters with their smoke-spewing wheels.
Astoundingly, now murlocs could walk freely down the roads of Alterac, without fear of being trampled or chased away. The human villages nearby would trade fish and crustaceans for wolf and boar meat. Then the murlocs were slowly taught the value of the small metal discs, and they began scouring the lakes for more other things to sell or trade, like pretty scales or minerals. And with the coinage, the murlocs began buying rougher, hardier thatching for their nests, and gnomish lamps with cheap oil in metal flasks made for more reliable lighting regardless of the weather.
The Tidecaller Queen too provided boons to the murlocs. Her blessing of sweet, delectable oil had spoiled the tribes, to the point where it was considered a poor murloc indeed to have not tasted the amber liquid for more than a day. The Queen also sought to learn more from the tribes, spending days offering questions to be answered. Through the questions, the murlocs realized their queen wanted to better know her subjects so that she and her king could better rule them.
With the knowledge she acquired, and the king’s graciousness, the various (and often conflicting) tribes in the region were slowly drawn into a collective group. The Alterac murlocs became recognized as subjects, with the highly astounding addition of ‘rights’. So long as they were subjects of the Sky-sea King and the Tidecaller Queen, no murloc need fear any Alterac human, gnome, dwarf or elf. They also were entitled to having the other races come in and upgrade their villages. Soon, sturdy watchtowers and protected creches became common things in murloc settlements, which were each connected by roads laid with stone.
Thanks to the rapid developments, the Alteraci murlocs saw a remarkable drop in mortality. The lack of hostile competition with humans played a great part, as well as the new weapons to chase away wolves and other predators. Having well-protected nests and creches also meant that there was an unexpected population boom, resulting in the first murloc towns, and the first clusters of fish farms.
Yet with all that luxury and prosperity, came obligations. Just as they enjoyed the same rights as the humans, the Alteraci murlocs also had to pay their dues. The Gleaming King was fair in his demands though, he only asked that the murlocs helped keep safe the land they shared with the others, and also contributed some aid if needed. During their first outing, only a small honor guard was requested to escort the Tidecaller Queen, but the murlocs still proved themselves against the monsters that sought to threaten her. After that, the murlocs were introduced to military training, the best of them honing their skills to become Alteraci Marines.
After much training, these marines would enjoy their first mission, which was a deployment quite far away. Captain Grlbrll Shallowfin did not know where exactly the Gleaming King’s shimmering transit had brought them to, but he knew his orders.
Leading his marine company, Grlbrll quietly navigated the thick island jungle with stealth imparted by Alteraci rangers. The murlocs made little sound as they pushed inland, and they struck their foe with lightning swiftness. Grlbrll felt little pity for the murlocs he’d dispatched; these were primitive lunatics, and had the gall to work alongside cruel gnolls.
It was also hard to pity the blinkered murlocs of the sea with their habitual need to serve cruel masters. The tribes of the lakes and rivers left the coasts to escape such oppressive servitude in the first place.
The marines slipped down a cave, and by washing off the slime from their skin and covering it and their hide armor with mud made from the cavern’s dirt. The camouflage allowed them to infiltrate the cave network undetected at first. As bare ground slowly gave way to ancient floor tiles, they crept past sentries and crowded chambers, and ambushed the gnolls and enemy murlocs that blocked their way with cold swiftness. Grlbrll still had a vague idea of where he and his murlocs had to go, imparted to him in the briefing from the Gleaming King. The ‘tree-dee’ layout made of magical light had been very detailed, perhaps too much to be distracting. So many dead-end tunnels and unimportant caverns to not worry about…
Eventually though, they found their objective: a large ritual chamber, stained with dried blood and occupied by lunatic murlocs surrounding a battered and bound quintet of gray-skinned trolls. At the back of the chamber was a raised throne, in which sat a large murloc. Before this, Grlbrll would’ve thought such kin to be blessed, heralds and mouthpieces of greater powers.
Now he saw them as able lieutenants at best.
And priority targets.
Gurgled whispers sent the marines drawing their weapons as they cautiously spread out. Grlbrll drew forth his repeater bow - a smaller variant that the humans used, and as the larger murloc began addressing the crowd and the captives, the captain took aim.
There was no need to give a verbal command; Grlbrll simply let loose, and the others followed suit. The buzz of arrows and the clack-twangs of repeater bows filled the chamber, the first volley of arrows all converging into the large murloc. Such was the concentration of arrow shafts that the murloc fell dead with barely any part of him visible. The rest of the arrows mostly struck the gnolls, leaving most of the resident murlocs to gawk about in confusion.
Grlbrll quickly dropped his bow the moment its magazine was spent, and drew his trident. It was a beautiful, three-tined thing made by the dwarves, a gift from the Gleaming King for Grlbrll’s appointment as captain. Grlbrll boldly stepped forth with his weapon brandished, and struck the pose of a tribal challenger.
“Your chief now lies dead! Who stands next in his place?”
There were uncertain gazes cast among the chamber’s murlocs, but their deliberations were interrupted by an otherworldly voice that echoed throughout the vast chamber.
“Who dares trespass my domain?”
Grlbrll quickly braced himself as a large form slithered from behind the throne. Spilling out from the shadows came a scaly figure with four arms and a serpentine lower body.
A naga witch. The rulers of the dark depths.
His guts churned as primal fear clashed with disgust at seeing the tyrants of the sea. Larger, more hulking naga appeared from behind the witch, the warriors of their race. They had only one pair of arms, but those thick limbs wielded tridents and blades larger than Grlbrll.
The male nagas slithered forwards, while the witch rose up to point and scowl at Grlbrll. “Such impudence. Who dares send you here, pest?”
In the presence of their obvious overlord, the resolve of the resident murlocs instantly returned, and their formed up into mobs. Absently, Grlbrll pitied his oppressed kin. They’d no doubt be sent forth as expendable fodder, to die and distract, while the naga safely and leisurely picked their targets.
Fortunately for Grlbrll and the Alterac murlocs, their rulers were not so uncaring. Without answering the witch, the captain quickly drew out a small crystal and, with a burst of concentration, sent out a telepathic message.
The reply was instantaneous.
There was a large burst of light that filled an empty space in the chamber. Gleaming King’s golden army appeared.
Or rather, one of its number.
The massive, four-legged ‘Immortal’ barely manifested when its four cannons swiveled to point at the naga who’d paused in confusion. Grlbrll quickly closed his eyes, and even then his vision flared white as a series of deafening explosions erupted. When he opened them again, the captain found the smoking remains of the naga, warriors and witch alike, splattered across the chamber.
Once more, Grlbrll brandished his trident in ritual challenge and stared at the cowed murlocs. None of them stepped forth.
Beckoning with his free hand, Grlbrll called for the rest of his marines to fill the chamber. Most would escort their subdued kin to the surface. There they’d be given the chance to flee or join the Alterac murlocs. Grlbrll hoped they’d flee; there were barely enough schools and teachers to educate the new members of the confederation as is. And trying to civilize backward sea murlocs would be a challenge for sure. There’s no cats out in the sea, they’d probably turn rabid upon tasting such exquisite flavors for the first time.
A smaller group of murlocs went to pick the chamber clean of anything valuable, and free the fearful trolls. Grlbrll strode up to the five tusked beings, silently basking in their terror as they alternated staring at him and the mighty Immortal that began to follow a squad to help clear out the tunnels.
Adjusting his throat and consciously remembering how to form the right noises, the captain addressed the trolls in Alliance common. “Do not fear. You will be brought up and freed, unharmed. My king only asks to send a message to your leader, he wishes for a peaceful meeting with the Darkspear tribe.”