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Scourge - 11.1 A/A/U/G
🕑 Added 2023-06-24 09:01:00 +0000 UTCAderic stood calmly, holding his mask to his chest, as the sailors scurried about the ship moving supplies and sails to make room for the gryphon bearing down on them. The gryphon's plumage was distinct from that of those who had joined them alongside the ships from Quel'Thalas, but faintly reminiscent of Donovan – different still in colouring, but the cut of the beak was alike the kindly lion bird which the Lady Crowley bonded to.
"I suppose this will be Lady Jaina, then." William said, fidgeting with his cravat nervously as he stood in full formal dress to receive their guests. After a moment his sister batted his hands aside and fixed it for him. "Of course, I said that last time." He added wryly.
"None expected the elves to arrive behind dwarven gryphons." Alice said confidently.
At Aderic's feet, Nari, the eldest of Lord Renard's children, snorted his disagreement. He had scented the magic on the horizon and guessed correctly who approached.
Though pretending to be a mundane fox like Fitz left him unable to speak of such to their hosts.
"The wind and wave sing of the journey of an age, the blessings of the tides and the gifts of storms." Aderic said enigmatically; it was hardly inaccurate. Though he could not see the ships from which the gryphons flew, the loving tune sung by the ocean towards those that approached was unmistakable. "The Daughter of the Sea approaches at last."
As if on cue, a flag broke the horizon beyond the gryphon and Aderic saw the anchor of Kul Tiras flying proudly atop the mast.
Without his eyes, William had to make use of his spyglass to see the same, but he nodded his agreement shortly.
One of MacGraw's riders directed the approaching gryphon to the White Wolf, and soon they had their guest standing before them. His bald head sported blue clan markings but no hair, and there was nought beneath his flaming red beard save well-defined muscles.
Impressive, even for a dwarf. The air also followed in his wake, whispering to him as he slid to the deck of the ship.
"Ye be the lassie's Fox Speaker, aye?" He asked with a raised brow, and Aderic grinned widely. Gwyneth's own dwarf had found them? How fortuitous. "Good tae meet ya. Thane Caedan Kindfeather, scoutin' fer the Lady Proudmoore an' her fleet. Got half the Alliance behind us, or close enough."
William let out a choking laugh. "William Silverlaine, nominally in charge of the Kalimdor Expedition. With me are Speaker Aderic Longtooth," Aderic nodded politely, still grinning, "and my sister Alice Silverlaine. It feels like I have half of Gilneas with me at times, so I do understand the feeling, good Thane. I assume the Lady Proudmoore wishes to join our fleets together?"
"Aye, been chasing after you fer a while. Got a wee bit hairy 'round the Maelstrom, but them sages o' the Kul Tirans could teach me a thing or two about talkin' tae the wind." Caedan said humbly, then fixed a look on Aderic. "Got a question, ye're a healer, right?"
"I am indeed, though perhaps not as good as Gwyneth nor Celestine." Aderic answered, and Nari brushed against his leg pressingly. "We do, however, have the foremost expert in healing from Gilneas at hand should they be needed."
That was not enough for Nari, who moved toward the gryphon and pressed a paw to its wing; demanding to be allowed to climb up. "I can smell them from here." The old fox said, his voice petulantly boyish as ever. "You are so very lucky Grandfather sent me to die on this trip."
Alice gasped in shock and William did a double take as Nari spoke, while Caedan merely looked down and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Breaking secrecy now, Nari?" Aderic asked curiously.
"Mask on, boy." He replied snappishly. "And get on. I want to see if this Lady Proudmoore lives up to the girl's promises; Grandfather knows we'll need them to be true and more to make it through this."
Caedan chuckled darkly. "Aye, from some o' what I heard from those that came back from the elve's forests..." He looked out at the elven ships. "Well, the little lass weren't no liar. It be bad. Proudmoore's a good lass though, no doubt about that. Now, get on; we'll sort out a meetin' later but healer's matters cannae wait."
Aderic moved to follow as instructed; Nari was not his superior, but the fox deserved respect. For all his fatalism there was hope the two of them would survive the task Lord Renard had put to them both.
"Understood." William agreed, firming himself. "I shall call MacGraff and find a rider for myself and the high elven representative; we shall meet aboard that monster of a ship. Fair winds, is the saying, I believe?"
"Eh, close enough." Caedan said as he made sure they were secured properly. "Up, Feathers!"
From his perch atop the gryphon's back, Aderic was given a new perspective upon the enormity of their fleets. The grand Kul Tiran flagship, proudly emblazoned the Daughter of the Sea, rode at the front, but all around came a grand assortment of vessels.
Out of place violet sailed pleasure yachts sporting the Violet Eye of Dalaran, seemingly unsuited for the high seas, glided along much like the elven destroyers that cut through the waves with magic. Heavy-bottomed and lumbering Lordainian transports, great in number and shepherded by sleek and dark-timbered Kul Tiran warships which sang the song he had been hearing for the past hours.
A shimmer of metal marked something beneath the waves, a churning froth behind it as something propelled it through the water to keep up. There were even lion-prowed ships of Stormwind, ballista-armed relics of Stromgarde's navy, and one vessel painted in the colour of pirates that mockingly flew the flag of fallen Alterac.
Lastly, making up the rear, came a wide and flat-topped ship made of iron that billowed smoke the likes of the industry of Gilneas. Across its immense deck lay dozens upon dozens of contraptions with stubby wings. Ahead of the smoke stacks flew the anvil of Ironforge and the cogwheel of Gnomeregan; as if the origins of the metal behemoth's conception were not already obvious. Yet, despite its size, it still fell short of the titanic Daughter of the Sea which they approached.
"What a medley of ships we bring to save the world." Aderic muttered slowly. "All of the Alliance indeed."
-oOoOo-
"I. Am. Thoroughly." Frostmourne cleaved through the raised shield of a footman, through his arm, and into his neck, claiming the life of the foolish defender of Dalaran as he strode over one of the sheep that had been an abomination onto the plaza before the Violet Citadel. "Sick. Of. Mages!" The burned flesh of his face pulled without pain, tearing further, as Arthas snarled out his fury into the world. "Get up and finish this."
At his order, all those so recently slain shuddered, clambering back to their feet slowly before joining the march.
The shimmering magic of the accursed Kirin Tor fell upon them all for an instant, only to be devoured by the obsidian destroyers the Lich King had gifted to him. After weeks of besieging this damnable city they, finally, had a method with which the stalemate could be broken.
"No one has kept you here, Prince Arthas. None save your own stubborn desires." Antonidas said condescendingly as he swept his staff along the line, a string of frozen icicles forming and tearing through his forces. "Quite frankly, I would appreciate your departure. This has become rather dull. There are only so many times I might–"
Arthas lashed out with Frostmourne, his frustration bubbling through the icy cold of death. However, his coil of rot and ruin splashed harmlessly off of one of the attendant archmage's barriers.
Raising an eyebrow, Antonidas somehow became more condescending. "Uther never did succeed in teaching you to mind your temper, did he boy?"
Magic surged and Arthas raised Frostmourne to meet it head-on; a shell of green ward him, and his precious destroyers, from harm. But he had misjudged the magic's target – above, the last frostwyrm sought a moment of opportunity that would now never come as a torrent of flame and blasts of arcane splintered its wings and shattered its spine.
Not unrecoverable, but out of this fight.
"Patience, Arthas. They are cornered at last." Kel'Thuzad rested bony fingers upon his shoulders as he directed the swarm of undead forward, and Arthas settled. The lich knew them better than he – and they were too close to their prize to act rashly now. "You have put up a valiant defence, Antonidas. I must assume the people are gone from the city? Little else would explain the activity upon the leylines leading south for so long."
"The artefacts as well, lich." A woman beside Antonidas said, no pause in her magic as she tore apart the undead with stars falling from the night sky.
Abominations burned as they marched forward, but though they burned they did not fall before reaching the last line of fools guarding the mages. And in doing so, paved the way for the thousands of skeletons that had been of so little use in this siege to follow behind.
Mere fodder, but his foes' numbers were limited. His were not. The Sepulcher of the Elem Mountains alone held tens of thousands of bones, more than the force he threw at the mages now.
All the while the meat wagons unleashed their dreadful load, blanketing the defenders in a cloud of disease and poison. Those that fell would rise again in his service, and moment by moment his destroyers sapped away at their defensive magics just as they had sapped away at his forces for so long. His victory was inevitable.
He was forced to wield anti-magic in defence of himself and Kel'Thuzad once more, and the banshees under his command did the same for the greatest concentrations of his forces.
Green warred against a barrage of flames that scorched stone and left the scent of burning flesh in the air. It was no longer unpleasant to his mind, though perhaps it had become too familiar after that nuisance of a mage ended himself in his throne room.
It would have to be rebuilt so he could rule as his father did. The molten ruin was a disgrace.
Spellfire was directed away from an abomination near to falling too early, and Arthas clenched his fist and poured dark magic into its form. Reinvigorated the monster tore through the ranks, reaching the mages behind and claiming two before it was washed away under a tide of water elementals – yet as they turned their fury upon his Scourge, Kel'Thuzad froze them stiff and left a blanket of icy mist upon the plaza.
"You say the artefacts are gone, little Modera. And yet, what is that in my dear friend's hands?" Kel'Thuzad asked politely as he gestured with a skeletal hand to the deceptively plain tome Antonidas held. "Is that not the Book of Medivh? Why, the very thing we came here to find! If you would kindly hand it over we would..."
"Grant you a swift and merciful death." Arthas finished, having no room for mercy after his kind offer of allowing the city to surrender two weeks ago was refused.
"Yes, that." Kel'Thuzad snapped his fingers and the ice shattered, a thousand shards ripping out and into the defenders.
Dozens fell, and now was the moment of the final assault. The spell had surprised them, though he could tell it had cost his ally greatly. It was enough of an opening to–
Modera, pulling a splinter of ice from her arm looked to the sky, a large raven circling there – he had seen it before – then nodded. "It is time."
Kel'Thuzad raised his hands, as did a hundred necromancers behind. Even Arthas could feel the leylines heave at their effort. "There shall be no escape for you now."
Antonidas let out a laugh. "Did you not say that this was the Book of Medivh? It is not just you who can utilise its secrets, old friend." His hands glowed with power and the book, their goal, opened and its pages turned rapidly.
His words saw the mages and defenders tighten, and Arthas scowled – he would not allow the mistakes of Drenden, Uther, and Anasterian to happen once again. Hefting Frostmourne he marched forward, the destroyers at his side and what few crypt fiends that had not been directed to Gilneas following. Had that dreadlord not demanded so much of him...
It did not matter. "This is your end." He declared, Death surging to break apart Antonidas' spell before it could complete. Only for fools to greet death by interposing themselves between them. "Just die!"
An elf wearing red and gold robes marked with a blazing red phoenix parried Frostmourne with a staff. It lasted but a moment, but as the staff shattered it exploded in a torrent of flame that made Arthas flinch. Memories of burning and burning and burning surged in his mind as even his stolen soul had caught fire–
"Tell your masters that this war is not over." Modera said, her hand raising and the stars themselves descending upon them. "The prophet called us west, and so westward we go."
High in the sky, amongst the stars, the raven cried out in laughter. And as Arthas swung his blade once more, as abominations caught their last prey, each of the defenders turned into shimmering starlight and vanished skyward. Soaring over the horizon and far, far away.
"Well, that is unfortunate." Kel'Thuzad murmured, drifting forward cautiously and waving his skeletal hands as if testing the air. "But the book was not–"
Tichondrius appeared, a rictus of fury upon his face. "Fools! The book is powerless now! They expended it." He tore the now dormant book from its pedestal and threw it to the ground before Kel'Thuzad. "Fortunately for you, I am not so incompetent." He drew a bejewelled sceptre from his waist, where the skull of an orc also hung.
Something about the skull stirred Arthas' connection to the Lich King, but his master issued no orders nor gave no answers so he dismissed it.
"The Scepter of Sargeras?" Kel'Thuzad said, collecting the now powerless book from the ground. "Yes, that would be a suitable replacement. So long as... ah, I see your efforts Antonidas, and thorough they were." He waved his hand over the book, icy mist drifting between his bones and settling around the book as an aura. "But Medivh was more thorough still."
"Is the book of use or not?" Arthas demanded. "Did we waste our time here?"
"Not at all. Well, in part." Kel'Thuzad glanced at Tichondrius briefly. "Someone failed to keep our plans secret and allowed knowledge to escape between my death and return in the waters of the Sunwell, giving the Kirin Tor sufficient warning to plan ahead. This should have been far easier, and the book..." He opened it to a page, upon which Arthas watched black ink scrawl itself into words upon the once blank pages. "Well, it would be whole. But it has its own protections; each and every word may have been erased, drawn out and cast aside for power to speed their escape and deny us knowledge, but an artefact such as this is not so easily destroyed. Given time all within shall be restored."
"Yet it remains useless for our purposes." Tichondrius growled, claws twitching menacingly as he sneered. "By dawn Lord Archimonde shall enter this world, or your head shall join the last one to fail the Legion at their moment of triumph." He scratched the orc's skull with a claw, green flame flickering at the contact. "Be about your business, Lich."
And with that, he was gone. The sceptre floating in the air where he had stood.
"So much for a foolproof plan ten thousand years in the making." Arthas said snidely.
Kel'Thuzad chuckled as he collected the sceptre. "Ah, there are more pieces at play than just us. More players in this game than we knew it seems. But our true master's plans continue apace, the Legion's setbacks are not our own. Remember that."
Arthas thought of the fury the demons had unleashed upon them when their three-day deadline passed. The rage at how incompetence would be punished. But the infiltration, the secret keeping, was not their job.
Nor their responsibility. He had played his part and done all they ordered, all the Lich King willed. "I shall keep that in mind, Lich."
-oOoOo-
The sound of breaking waves, creaking wood, and the steady scratching of quill against parchment greeted Uther's ears as he stirred from his slumber. Uncertain as to his situation he remained still, giving no indication of his wakefulness as he breathed evenly past his aching ribs and the weight that rested upon them and took stock of his situation.
From the sounds he heard and the gentle rocking of the bedding he rested upon, it was clear enough that he was at sea aboard ship. Something which did not match up to...
Uther felt his arm throb as he remembered his battle with Arthas, how he had bested the scarred prince and mocked him for appearing the monster he had become only for the mockery of a paladin to rise, stronger than before, and sunder his arm–
Shooting slivers of cold ran from his arm into his shoulder – it was gone, there was no arm, merely cold and cold and shiver cold death and–
Something wet pressed into his face and warm breath washed up his nostrils. "Enough of that, fool." A weary-sounding boy grumbled. "Hard enough to shape your dreams as you sleep let alone when you wake."
Softness brushed against the stump of his arm, shorn shortly below the elbow, and eased his suffering. Still, it throbbed in agony and yet... the shooting cold was constrained.
"Nari?" A woman – Jaina asked in surprise. "He's awake?!"
"Yes, girl, he's awake. And surprisingly good at faking otherwise." Nari huffed, the weight on Uther's chest shifting and making itself comfortable.
Opening his eyes, Uther expected a gnome, only to be greeted by grey and blue fur, vibrant orange eyes, and the muzzle of a fox. The animal eyed him wearily before huffing once more. Uther blinked slowly at the creature, his confusion rising.
"Uther!" Jaina said, reaching his hammock and clasping his good hand. "We worried we would lose you, after... it is good that you're awake."
"I am surprised... the last I remember is Arthas, that blade, and–" The cold returned for a moment, and the fox hissed before slapping his face with a tail.
Two others wrapped around his arm while a fourth of the six draped itself over the fox's muzzle. "Spend close to a millennium studying souls and dreams to try and help Grandfather, and what do I get when I exercise my skill? No respect at all from children."
Somehow, the most incredulous part of the fox that rested upon Uther's chest, was that it spoke with the heavy and posh accent favoured by the Gilnean nobility and the tenor of a pre-pubescent boy.
"I'm sorry, Nari." Jaina apologised to the fox before focusing on him again. "As much as I would like to know what you remember, it is best if you... don't think about what happened. You were wounded, deeply, with magic I scarcely even knew possible–"
"Souls." Nari muttered. "You were wounded in the soul as well as the flesh. The dream that is your self was sundered and a fragment fell into a twisted shadow, still linked and yet severed."
"–because for all Nari clearly understands what they are saying, no one else does." Jaina finished, giving the fox a flat look.
"I see." Uther said, though he did not at all. His ribs– no, it was his sternum that ached, that throbbed, with that deathly chill once more. The weight of the fox pressed down with warmth... he did not understand, but he had heeded advice from strange quarters in the past. "The Kirin Tor rescued me?"
Releasing his hand, Jaina stood and nodded. "They did, along with a number of others. There was an attack on Caer Darrow, organised to strike the school of necromancy there, and it coincided with your fight in Andorhal. From what I was informed of, they were deeply committed when your plight became apparent."
Frowning Uther tried to push himself up. "And they did not consider to ask for the aid of the Silver Hand?" The arrogance of Dalaran, thinking they could achieve alone what was meant for the Alliance as a whole. The very thought made his ribs, no, his sternum, ache... Light, it ached so much. Out of habit of near two decades, Uther reached for the comforting warmth of the Light–
And a deathly chill erupted from his chest, bursting forth from the ache and stealing the breath from his lungs.
A furious muzzle pressed into his face, orange eyes glowing balefully. "Do. Not. Use. Magic. Your soul is sundered between dream and shadow; the Light cannot reach across that gap and in trying to do so tears at the wound."
The fox's weight increased upon his chest, pushing down on the cold that burned at his insides and leaving only the ache once more.
"No respect." Nari grumbled, settling into place once more, seeming ever more weary.
"Wh–where are we, Jaina?" Uther asked unsteadily, his eyes drifting closed. Something tugged upon him, drawing him back to sleep, and he never heard the sorceress' answer.
-oOoOo-
"Hold, men! Hold the wall!" Genn bellowed, his arms straining as he pushed the crypt fiend which had tangled up his blade back over the edge. "Hold until reinforcements arrive! All of Gilneas stands with us this day!"
Where were the damnable witches?! They were supposed to have begun their ritual by now!
With a roar, Genn shoved the crypt fiend off the edge, only for a new one to clamber past its fallen fellow, raise its talons menacingly, and hiss something in the disgusting language of the spiders. Unflinchingly Genn raised his pistol from his side and blasted the creature in its bulbous eyes, stepping back and working his powder horn to reload.
"Disgusting things." He grumbled as he holstered his pistol once more, returning to carving his way through the foes on the wall. "Hold, men! Your king stands with you!"
"Greymane!" Came the answering roar.
Then, a different roar, one that could only be described as the ear-piercing shriek of a woman scorned and tortured beyond insanity ripped through his mind. He staggered momentarily, but though he parried the strike aimed at him by the opportunistic gargoyle that came for him regardless, others were not so strong-willed.
Men sank to their knees as twisted mockeries of elves drifted over the wall, their faces pulled into a rictus of fury and horror as they screamed. Ghosts, spectres, banshees; that was what Arugal had said the forces of the Scourge had been termed by Dalaran, and as they wailed he could not argue they matched up to that old myth. Gritting his teeth Genn stood tall, blade in the air.
"For Gilneas!" He roared, pushing all that he had into the call, and cutting through the horror. It was, momentarily, enough. Then magic soared from a tower and scattered the mist that made up one of the spectres – and a cannon tore through another as it drifted past. "They can be killed! The wall will stand! Hold, men!"
As the initial shock waned his men began to rally, aiding their brothers in arms that were embattled by spider and flying statue and pushing them back. All the while the meat wagons fired unabated, striking the wall again and–
One of the banshees dove into a cannoneer as he set to light and fire his shot, there was a moment of struggle before the man laughed.
Then opened and thrust his still-burning match directly into the emplacement's store of powder.
"No–!"
A plume of flame erupted upward as the dry gunpowder ignited, followed by shards of wood and masonry as the cache built into the wall broke apart under the strain. Genn dove to the ground, snatching a lucky soldier and pulling them with him– only for her to grin and drive a dagger for his neck.
The girl didn't flinch as he snatched and crushed her hand in his, the dagger falling away as a furious growl flowed freely from his throat. They were Gilneans! They stood proud and loyal, not like faithless Alteraci! "Damn you, traitor!" He spat, slamming his blade through her skull.
And the laughing form of a spectre leaked out as the girl died, fleeing through the stone of the wall, down and away.
Looking around him all was chaos, brother fought against sister as the monsters turned them against one another. Emplacements of cannon which had held strong for so long went silent, dead men upon the wall rising to throw them over the side or set ablaze more powder as the one he had witnessed had done.
"Liam." Genn pushed himself to his feet; Liam was upon the wall, he was here this day, standing guard over the gate proper. "Arugal." The archmage would be at the gate as well, directing his mages, and with the failure of the witches they had little choice now. "To me! We cut through!"
Few answered him, few remained standing, but his loyal guard clustered around him. Few in number and badly beaten, many had been lost to the explosion.
Genn refused to look at the girl he had killed. There was nought that could be done.
The fight to the gate took minutes, each moment the defenders faltered further and more of the wall which had secured Gilneas against the Scourge's onslaught fell to ruin. One of the great towers came under such fire that the roof was shrouded in a cloud of putrid gas, rotting smoke rolling down onto the battlements, and the stone ran like hot wax.
Yet still, the gate held strong. The Kirin Tor's concentration here keeping the spirits at bay while further out emplacements fell. In the distance, lightning coursed through the air and caught those gargoyles that crossed the wall to harass behind the lines.
"Where are the reinforcements?" He demanded as he reached Liam, his arm tended to by a girl as Commander Hersham aimed a rifle skyward. "Where are Crowley's men and the witches?"
"Father, the camp– they have been struck from behind." Liam said, struggling to his feet only to be pulled down again.
"Stay still! I haven't fixed the curse yet." The girl, the elf, hissed. What was an elf doing in Gilneas?
"Lorna and her companions are fighting something below, they need aid–"
"And without reinforcements, the wall will fall!" Genn snapped severely. "Girl, where is Arugal?"
"In the west tower, Your Majesty." She said without glancing up from the glow upon his son's arm. "I don't know more."
Grunting, Genn left the girl to it. It was sufficient and she knew her place; her loyalty would earn her place amongst those that Crowley had let slip through the wall. He merely nodded to his son perfunctorily as he begged aid for his childhood sweetheart; he had accepted his son's infatuation with the Crowley girl, they were well matched enough, but so long as she was Crowley's heir he would never allow it.
And now, at this time, there were far more pressing matters.
A tittering yowl tore through the air that set his skin on edge, and a blinding ray of blue light poured down from the stars above onto some infiltrator that disrupted the reinforcements for the wall.
If only such force was directed at the true danger that tore away at the wall with each passing moment.
"Arugal!" Genn yelled as he crashed into the converted tower that had become the Kirin Tor's sanctum over the last few weeks. "I have–"
He stopped short, two priests had clasped hands and golden chains trapped two of the spectres while also binding the Archbishop. Glowing Light shone brightly while Arugal muttered darkly, his hands shrouded in shadow and reached through it to pull a writhing form embedded within Adam.
It took but a moment to reach a conclusion as to what was occurring. Archbishop Adam had been taken, just as so many others.
"I am sorry, Tulvan." Genn said, raising his pistol and aiming it carefully. The retort of the gun clamoured in the chamber as the shot struck home, piercing the archbishop's chest and causing blood to dribble from his lips as he hacked out a cough.
"Victory for the damned!" A feminine wail cried as it escaped his dying form, trying to dive through the floor. Only to be caught by Arugal and literally torn to pieces by the shadows of his hands as he snarled.
"Archbishop!" The priest screamed, rushing to his side. "Adam! Genn, what madness–?!"
He reloaded his pistol and strode towards Adam. "There is no time. The wall falls. Arugal, the wolves, can you summon them now?"
The archmage heaved as he regained control of himself. It took moments for his composure to return and he nodded sedately. "Yes, Your Majesty. The preparations have been made. I must warn you, that they will be self-propagating once unleashed–"
Outside the windows, all went dark and the world went silent. He could not even hear himself speak over the sound of trapped trapped trapped being all that was left. The very ground, the wall, trembled and shook as something fearsome screamed its unrelenting fury into the world.
"Do it." Genn ordered. What he did, he did for Gilneas. For the dream of a nation that could survive no matter the folly of others, no matter the hardships of the world. "Gilneas shall prevail. Gilneas must prevail."
Comments
Anareth
Ah, Aethas Sunreaver lost his staff. Eh, never liked that guy anyway.
Quinn
Don't feel bad about agreeing with Genn, he is flawed, but... I'm writing him as an antagonist, not a villain.
i think Gwen is going to have to learn to take to heart the saying "the more things change the more they stay the same". Some things are too important to the legion, and others, for them to let setbacks stop their goals. Changing the fate of Azeroth was always going to be an up hill battle, she'll need to learn to take the wins when she can. but she'll also need to learn when to dig in with a "The line must be drawn here.This far and no Further!". or if your feeling particularly Gandalf "YOU SHALL NOT PASS" Really enjoyed the chapter, but i have mixed feelings about agreeing with Genn. his decision to releases the worgen is the wrong one but the reasons are right. unfortunately. EDIT: also i forgot to mention how telling it is that when a giant beam of light shoots down from the sky and strikes something in the base camp Genns first thought isn't "wtf could require that much firepower" it is instead "there is no way a threat requiring that much firepower is behind the wall turn that blast over here"
