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"Let me guess... at the very top?" Asterius pointed to the highest reaching spire of Stormwind Keep. The massive fortress had been built after the first city was razed to the ground. It was more of a symbol than a building. It proudly declared that the city would never again fall to an enemy army. That, regardless of what lay outside its walls, this building would remain standing.
It had only been half right. To take this city would have been an undertaking of epic proportions... if one assaulted it head-on. The Syreen, however, now owned Stormwind. They controlled every inch of it and they didn't even have to lay siege to the city. Of course, they were not the only ones smart enough to find an alternate way of attacking the city.
Asterius thought to his army within the Stockades, struggling to hold on just long enough. He thought to his army massed within the forests outside the walls, fearsome though their numbers weren't enough to dent the city on their own. Attacking the city on two fronts was a bold plan. He only hoped that it would pay off.
"Yes, that is where the crown prince is being held." The Patriot's leader muttered, snapping Asterius back to the matter at hand. "When the Syreen first arrived, the prince had held the crown during his father's absence. Varian Wrynn has since returned, but the King cannot make himself known while young Anduin remains in the clutches of the Syreen. Once we receive news of his son's safe return, the King will lead our forces into battle to retake his throne."
Very well. Remember to paint this insignia in red on your armor." Asterius was pointing to his worse-for-wear tabard. "It is the symbol of Rend Fate. It will show our respective armies that we fight on the same side. Oh, and release Mekkatorque so that he can deal with the city gates."
"It will be done." Trias hesitate for a moment. "Are you sure of this? Going up there on your own? The way is well defended. Our best agents have not been able to break their security."
"With all due respect, I have a few talents that your agents lack. Just be ready at your shop in the Trade District, I will be there shortly to drop the prince off." Asterius grinned and left the resistance fighter, padding stealthily toward the Keep.
In truth, he wished he was sure of this. To make the human agree, he had to be completely confident in himself. Not a single doubt must remain, or the deal would never have gone forward. As he had been in the city, inspecting its defenses, he realized that his own army would not be nearly enough. For victory to even be a distant hope in this upcoming battle, he would need every advantage he could muster, and that meant making use of the humans. All it would take on his part was rescuing one small child. How hard could it be?
He did, however, stand out quite a bit in a crowd. He would never make it inside the keep as he was now. He even doubted if he could get by in his feral lion form. It had served him well in the darkness of night, but in broad daylight he didn't think it would blend in all that well with the scenery. Horses or other such forms that he could take probably wouldn't be let into the building, either. That left him with one option, distasteful though it might be.
Hidden within the shadows of an alley, Asterius began his transformation. His massive tauren bulk melted away, his facial features sagged like hot wax before disappearing completely. Broad shoulders and heavy hooves were replaced by slender though still muscular limbs. He shed himself of his chestnut colored fur, which fell slowly to the ground. In its place, his skin grew dark and purple, as if bruised. New hair sprouted from his scalp, woodland green, that grew to shoulder length. His facial features rearranged themselves into a more humanoid shape, with a completely flawless complexion and bushy eyebrows.
Asterius regarded himself in a dirty puddle in the alley. A night elf stared back at him. With a frown, he realized that he still had horns. They were always the most difficult to change. With the druid's concentration focused on them, his horns drooped, gaining the texture of clay. He molded them into pointed elf ears and released the magic. He once again stared at his reflection and nodded. The only thing that remained of his true self was the glowing green eyes, which he doubted any observers would notice unless they were night elves themselves.
Costume complete, Asterius left the solitary alley and joined the increasing citizen traffic in the bustling city streets. The roads were nowhere near as packed as they would have been in a more peaceful time; the war had taken a human toll on both lives and morale. There were still travelers, though, and Asterius was pleased to note that he drew very few curious glances. He made his way to the keep, following a road along the canal, until he was stopped by the gate guardians. They both wore glossy black armor that hid any sign of humanity. Asterius fought to keep a scowl off his face as his second sight showed these two beings to be soulless. Syreen.
"What business do you have in the Keep?" The guard's voice was harsh, almost a growl. Asterius answered, trying to play the part of a hapless citizen who was scared out of his wits.
"I'm a librarian, sirs. I work in the Royal Library." It was only half a lie. Asterius had been a librarian before, though he had never had the privilege of studying within the famed Stormwind Library. He did know, like any self-respected librarian, of its existence. It had naturally come to mind as an excuse to get inside the building.
"Access to the library has been denied, under order of Lord Jerikkal. All historical tomes have been deemed irrelevant and will be soon subject to destruction." The druid hadn't seen that coming. The scholar within him screamed in outrage, whereas his inner military strategist struggled for a plausible excuse.
"Well, uh, of course they are! However, Lord Jerikkal wanted to... um, make sure that they were all there. We wouldn't want someone to have checked out a book beforehand and have it miss the burning. I'm to do a complete inventory of all tomes, as commanded by Lord Jerikkal." Asterius put special emphasis on his next words. "He wanted this done immediately. You know how much he hates literature. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting for his big book bonfire... would we?"
The two guards shared a glance. It seems that Jerikkal had something of a reputation. They stepped out of his way. "You may proceed."
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As much as he had wanted to rush to the Library and save his beloved books from a gruesome demise, there were even more important matters at hand. Asterius, still in night elf form, hurried down the long corridors of the Keep. He didn't go immediately to the prince's quarters, or cage depending on how one viewed imprisonment. There was no way he would be able to talk himself into that room. Besides, he had no desire to tire himself out running up so many flights of stairs when there was an easier alternative in view. Instead, Asterius headed to the one place that would help him accomplish his goals; the Garden.
It was small but exquisite. Rare plants from all over the kingdom had been brought here, and incredible scrutiny had ensured that they all remained healthy. For a moment, Asterius merely stood and allowed the warm, soothing energy of nature flow through him. There was no time to be idle, though. He quickly got to work picking some choice plants that would come in handy. It took less than a minute for him to find what he was looking for. It was a hardy creeper vine from the jungles of Stranglethorn. It encased a wooden enclosure like a green skin, creating a beautiful living dome that shaded its occupants. In the wild, it could grow fairly large, strangling whole trees from a single stem. In a druid's hands, it could grow much, much larger.
Asterius found a strong handhold that would support even his weight, unsurprising considering the apes that would normally traverse these vines in a more uncivilized environment. It would hold him and more, which was exactly what the disguised tauren was counting on.
With the vine in his hands, Asterius closed his eyes and focused his will deep into the earth. Straining, he summoned as much power as he could hold, pulling at the natural energy like one would pull at a cork in a wine bottle. A shudder greeted his efforts and Asterius quickly returned to his body, holding tight to the creeper vine.
He didn't have long to wait. The unleashed magic rushed toward him through the path of least resistance; the vine. Filled to the brim with magical power, the vine exploded in a rush of growth. The plant surged upwards, grasping onto the walls of the Keep, entangling and surrounding the spires of stone like it would a massive tree in its jungle home. Years of unchecked growth happened within the course of a single second. It was as if the Keep had been discarded for over a century, and mother nature had returned to claim its land back. The garden had overrun the castle in a living cage of green plants.
Asterius found himself dangling from his perch on the vine, now hovering hundreds of feet above the ground. Like a monkey, he climbed along the outer wall of the stone spire, now easily scaleable with its ladder of vines that encapsulated it. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for; a small window that overlooked the city. A Syreen guard peered out of the window in confusion, not yet noticing the coming druid. Asterius grabbed him by his shiny helmet and pulled the guard out of the window, who fell screaming for long seconds before landing with a crunch. The fake night elf squeezed his way into the window, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light.
He was in the uppermost room of the spire. It was an opulent bedroom obviously built for royalty. The druid didn't have time to admire the furniture, because the Syreen soldier who had recently attempted to learn how to fly had not been the only inhabitant. Three more of the soulless soldiers rushed him. Asterius grabbed a handful of the vine leaves, broad and shaped like a three-pronged spade, and flung them at his enemies. Influenced by the druid's magic, the once-harmless leaves turned completely ridged in mid-air, spinning as they flew through the air like throwing stars before burying themselves into the Syreens' black carapace helms. The three soldiers fell, dead before they hit the ground, and the room was left with only two occupants.
"Who are you?" To Asterius' surprise, the prince didn't seem terribly unnerved by the violence that had happened right before his eyes. As expected of royalty, he held a poker face of suspicion and grim determination. Asterius gave the pre-teen child a short, respectful bow.
"I am Asterius, a druid and most recently a member of the Stormwind resistance force. I've come to return you to your father." At the mention of the King, the boy perked up and, for a fraction of a second, almost seemed to act his age.
"He's alive?! Where has-" Young Anduin didn't get a chance to finish his question. The complete annihilation of the stone walls of his home/prison effectively cut him off. Dust choked the air and Asterius dove for the ground to dodge a boulder that sailed over his head and crashed into the adjacent wall.
A huge, gaping hole had been torn through the solid stone walls of the Keep spire by giant claws, like a hot knife through butter. From this void, cold blue eyes the size of wagon wheels peered into the bedroom, which seemed miniscule in comparison to the size of the beast outside despite the grandness of the room. The frost wyrm's undead gaze caught on the stone-still prince, who was probably frozen in place with fright. It reached out with its jagged clawed hand to take hold of the young boy, most likely ordered to take the prisoner to a safer location. Asterius hadn't yet been noticed. It was time to take advantage of his chance.
Asterius ran across the rubble-strewed room, snatching the child out of the wyrm's grasp. It roared in anger, its chilling call causing the hairs on the druid's neck to rise, and swiped at Asterius with its gargantuan paw. It would have crushed him into nothing more than a smear on the stone floor had Asterius not reached out with his magical energy, pleading with the creeper vine to come to his aid once more. The vine detached from the Keep spire, tendrils wrapping instead around the undead wyrm. Its grip on the wall lost and its wings wrapped tight in a green embrace, the wyrm fell, screeching its frustration before landing with an earth-shaking crash.
"Your Majesty, we have to go... now!" The noble actions of the creeper vine would not hold the wyrm for long, and Asterius had no doubt that every Syreen soldier in the city was probably on his way here. Sure enough, the heavy wooden door crashed open in splinters as black suited guards rushed into the bedroom, intent on reclaiming their hostage. Asterius was out of time. He lifted the crown prince onto his shoulders and charged for the massive crater in the wall where the wyrm had lingered only moments ago.
"You'd best hold on tight." He said to the little human as he stood on the edge, soldiers on one side and an enormous drop on the other. With a farewell wave to his Syreen adversaries, the druid leapt from the stone tower and plunged to the ground, so very far below.
Not that he had any intention of committing a murder-suicide. As Asterius fell, his night elf features disappeared as if carried off by the winds. In their place were golden feathers and powerful wings that caught the wind like a parachute. He had taken the form of an enormous eagle, with the child prince clinging to his back while cheering in innocent glee. Kids. As if this was all fun and games.
An arrow whizzed by his wing, proof of his own thoughts, shot from the tower he had just vacated. Asterius banked hard left, flapping furiously to gain speed as he dove toward the packed streets below. Safety wouldn't be found that easily. Syreen soldiers on patrol beneath him fired waves of deadly projectiles and Asterius barrel-rolled away in desperation. Somehow, Prince Anduin managed to hold on, still yelling though the druid couldn't tell whether it was excitement or fear or a mix of the two. The mighty eagle wove a path through the hailstorm of arrows, grimacing as several found their marks and caused him to lose altitude. His pelt of feathers were designed to weather through the most inhospitable extremes that the skies could provide, however. A few arrows weren't enough to bring him to ground, though he wasn't sure how long his luck would last.
He didn't have to hold on long, though. His flight had brought him to the Trade District. Near rooftop height now, Asterius flew through the narrow streets like rat in a maze. Hairpin turns and a hundred different shops went by as the druid strained to squeeze out every last bit of speed from his exhausted wings. To stop was to accept death. That's why he didn't even bother to slow down as he caught sight of his target; a low-hanging sign with a crude picture of cheese painted on it. The druid folded his wings back and dove. He glimpsed Elling Trias standing in the window of the second story, a look of surprise flashing in his face, before the druid smashed into the window. His change was instantaneous as he lost his eagle form, though not his momentum. Before he had even rolled to a stop in the shattered glass, Asterius had returned to his tauren body. He stood wearily with the crown prince in his arms, where the child had been shielded from the violence of the sudden entrance.
"Welcome to my cheese shop, tauren." The Resistance leader said as he took the younger Wrynn from Asterius, who proceeded to collapse with a sigh, pulling a short metal crossbow bolt, a present from a lucky marksman, out from where it had dug into his skin rather uncomfortably between two ribs. Blood flowed freely from the hole left by its jagged teeth, but the wound scabbed over in an instant courtesy of druidic magic. Trias passed the child to one of his commanders, who retreated down the stairs to the relative safety of the basement. "It seems that you held your end of the bargain."
"One prince, whole and healthy, as promised." He smashed the crossbow bolt and got to his feet. "I hope this building is well guarded, because my escape was less than discreet."
"My soldiers are ready. We will hide no longer. We will fight these monsters in the open rather than cower in the shadows. Whether we live or die today, we shall do so with pride."
"I suggest the former. Pride comes much more naturally to the living." The time had come. Asterius focused his will to Ayu's blade, still connected to the druid by the blood it had tasted. He channeled the magic that would cause the blade to glow green, the color of the earth's power. Somewhere far away, an orcish battle horn sounded. It was beyond hearing range, but Asterius could feel its presence. The attack order had been given. "Now, it's time for your end of the bargain. The battle for Stormwind has begun."
"Let's only hope that it's a battle we can win."
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Ranks upon ranks of soldiers marched down the deserted streets as the Syreen army gathered. The Horde forces outside had been discovered, after the attacks on the Stockades and the Keep, and Stormwind prepared for combat. The citizens of the city had already abandoned their work and were hiding out within their homes, praying for the worst to pass without bringing harm to their families. They could feel the approaching storm. The air felt charged with excitement and fear.
Mekkatorque also felt the change. His hand trembled unconsciously and he silently berated himself. Now was not the time for fear, and it was especially not the time for unsteady hands. It wouldn't do to blow himself up right before he had the chance to rescue King Bronzebeard. Very, very carefully, the High Tinker finished placing the last of the charges. That lump of a druid was right about one thing; gnomes excelled at blowing things up.
Which was what he was about to do. He stood above the Stormwind gates, trying desperately to hide from the Syreen patrols as he placed explosives that would burst the heavy iron bars open and clear a path for the armies of the Horde to enter. For the thousandth time, he wondered if it was really a good idea to be the one holding the door open and allowing Horde soldiers, his sworn enemies, free reign of the human city. There were so very many ways that this could go wrong and blow up in his face, not counting the dangerous explosives he was handling.
"I must be out of my damn mind..." The little gnome muttered as he finished rigging the remote and ran for cover. Or tried to, at least. A heavy mailed hand grabbed for his overalls and he squealed as he was lifted off the ground.
"Well, well, well... what have we here?" The Syreen soldier said as his tiny prisoner tried in vain to attack him with tiny fists flying. Thinking his target harmless, the soldier lifted the gnome up to eye level; bad mistake. The High Tinker grinned and let loose a round from Spitfire. The molten lead bullet shot a hole through the black helmet and the soldier dropped. Mekkatorque rolled to his feet and started running. That soldier hadn't been alone, and an entire squad of heavily armed enemies was now in hot pursuit.
Clutching the detonator in one hand and his trusty pistol in the other, the High Tinker leapt off the wall. A wagon filled with hay, abandoned by its owner who had sensibly fled for safety once he'd seen the Syreen army mobilizing, broke his fall. He scrambled out of the wagon and hit the ground running. The fastest of the pursuers mimicked his move. The splintering of the flimsy wagon and the cracking of bones were welcome sounds to the gnome's ears. He had bought himself a precious few seconds of lead time as the more intelligent squad members found another way down.
Not that it mattered. With his short stature, he couldn't hope to outrun them. Even now, he could hear their heavy bootsteps getting steadily louder. Mekkatorque dashed into an alley, hoping that perhaps he could find a safe spot to hide. Instead, all he found was a dead end. What an ironic term.
The King of the gnomes turned around, determined to face death standing. The squad of Syreen surrounded the alley exit. There would be no escape. "This is going to be a slaughter..."
How right he was. A heavy, barred door burst open from his right, knocking Mekkatorque unceremoniously off his feet. From the dark depths of that building, thousands of dragon whelplings burst out into the open. They ranged from midnight black to a light lavender in color, their bodies could be accurately described as 'teeth-filled mouths with wings', and they were extremely hungry. As it turns out, Syreen soldiers make excellent meals.
Always quick to respond, Mekkatorque took advantage of his enemy's diverted concentration. He dashed past the soldiers, who were on the verge of being overwhelmed and devoured, and back into the street. To either side, he saw the same thing happening. Bursting out of abandoned buildings and decrepit shacks were waves of dragonkin. They swarmed down the streets like a flood, attacking everything in their path in a feeding frenzy. The gathering Syreen army was an irresistible target.
Mekkatorque could already see that it wasn't enough. Already, the dragonlings were being cut down. Ferocious they may have been, but they were only whelps. However, they were taking a toll on the defenses, spreading panic and anarchy among the Syreen. This must have been the druid's doing. However he had accomplished it, now would be the perfect time to attack. Mekkatorque fumbled for his detonator and pressed the button. From the walls, packs of seaforium exploded in unison. The impassable gates that protected the city from invaders shuddered and fell with a horrendous screech of metal.
The way was clear. The Horde charge could begin. Mekkatorque took a deep breath, released it, and ran in the direction of the Stockades and his friend.
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"My men are spread out about the city. We have units in the Dwarven District, ready to arm and join those citizens in a mass uprising. Our agents have infiltrated the Old Town and SI:7 has pledged its loyalty to our cause." A large map of Stormwind City covered one of the walls in the shop. Trias pointed to several regions marked on the map. "The bulk of the Syreen army comes from a portal deep within the Wizard's Sanctum. However, for some reason, the portal has recently malfunctioned. It should be fairly easy to secure this location. Once we've taken out their reinforcements, we can march on the Cathedral of Light. That is the personal refuge of the leader of the Syreen."
An inhuman roar shook the rafters of the shop. The wyrm had broken free and Asterius could guess where it was headed. He ignored it and walked alongside the human resistance leader. "So that is where we must go."
"Indeed. We strike for the head of the serpent." The Master of Cheese took a cautious glance outside the window. "The dragonkin seem to be gone now. I'll assume they were your doing."
Asterius neither agreed nor disagreed. "I think I'll take advantage of their mayhem and get to the gates. Mekkatorque seems to have come through and it would probably be a good idea for me to regroup with my army."
A hideous roar echoed through the streets and a shadow blocked out the sun from overhead. "After all, I think they'd like to know what they'll be facing."
"Then may the next time we meet be at the Cathedral." Human and tauren shook hands. Asterius grinned.
"I'll be waiting."
