#varkoling

[yamher-ninguno]

Old draws....but are good, for me

Necesito hacerles un arreglo

[lordrethandus]

The Flame That Guides Us Home Finale

The command chamber was a tangled web of felsteel arches and tempered glass, resembling the inside view of a monster’s half-open jaws. The sun shining through the stained windows turned the warm yellow sunlight green, casting a viridian hue on everything… and everyone. More gan’arg engineers than they could count were scrambling over each other and squabbling amongst themselves in a feverish rush to get the Krakenax up and running again. The felguards keeping them in line were far better armed and armored than their counterparts as well, looking more like bipedal black beetles than demons.

“For ten thousand years you nipped at my ankles. For ten thousand years you chased me.” Miraan the Benevolent shouted, her voice echoing off the walls with a thunderous boom. Her Benevolence sat atop an ebon throne of melted felsteel and charred skulls, most of which belonged to the eredar she personally killed. At first she didn’t turn to acknowledge their presence; but it wasn’t until they were all inside did the door suddenly close and lock behind them. “I was afraid you would die before we had our chance to meet again. Do you remember what you told me before we were separated?”

“Andar thadore…” One of the elves whispered to the others. “Falas dela’na…” J’azel glanced over her shoulder to see them begin to split up, likely after the crewmen and the honorguard defending them.

With a deep breath she turned back to the ebon throne. “Miraan… it’s not too late to stop this madness.” J’azel slowly continued her approach, but her sister’s guards watched her every move. “I didn’t come here to fight you… I came to save you!”

“Save me?” Slowly the throne turned on a pivot, until J’azel was able to look upon her sister’s marred body. The first thing J'azel noticed were her scaled leathery wings draped over her shoulders. Her once tiny horns had grown wild and untamed, spiraling upward like a crown of gnarled thorns. Eyes that once shimmered a soothing blue were now as black as pitch, as were her jagged teeth and forked tongue. When Miraan rose from her throne she spread her wings wide, casting a long shadow that stopped a few inches from J'azel's hooves; a tangled mess of throbbing flesh and twisted metal plates covered what remained of her right arm, with scars reaching across her chest and down her waist. “Spare me your lies, naaru puppet. Your pitiful light is fading, and the encroaching void cannot be stopped with prayers. Only the Legion can halt the black tide! Only Lord Sargeras can save the universe from its own corruption!”

Tears began to swell in J’azel’s eyes, but she swallowed her panic to try and get through to her sister again. “The Dark Titan is imprisoned! The Legion is on the brink of collapse! Please, Miraan! Come with me and we will escape this chaos together!”

“As long as I still breathe, the Legion will prevail!” A surge of fel energy coursed through Miraan’s body like crackling lightning. “If you lack the will to fight for your beliefs, then you will be swept aside like ashes in the wind. Behold the power of Fel! And death! AND CHAOS!”

<Battle Music>

In an instant the chamber was filled with light. Raw felfire surged down the stairway toward J’azel like a roaring green avalanche! She raised a shield of magic before the flames rushed forward to swallow her whole, slamming against the hardened light to send J’azel skidding backward. Even over the deafening roar of the felfire she heard her sister’s maniacal laughter. Slowly Miraan descended the stairs, her extended hand seemingly unaffected by her overwhelming power. J’azel’s back was pressed against the sealed door now, unable to move and unable to see; if she dropped her focus for even a second, her shield would shatter, and her life would be over. Cracks began to creep along the hardened light despite all of her will and strength devoted to her divine shield, sending smoke and heat into her defenses while the air in her lungs began to burn. “So… strong…!” J’azel could feel the ship around her begin to spin now that she had to struggle for even the slightest breath. “I can’t… keep this up…!”

Then the flames subsided. J’azel collapsed to her hands and knees, choking and gasping for air at the moment’s respite. She glanced up to see one of the elves attacking her sister, the one clad in gilded steel with a claymore wreathed in fire.

Varkol swung his massive sword down with all of his strength and weight behind it, but all he struck was the stairs Miraan was standing on a moment before. The Eredar raised her hand and unleashed a torrent of flames toward him, but the hilt of his sword opened up to reveal a shard of crimson obsidian that greedily sucked up every cinder and ember she sent his way; the flames of his sword flared up and turned fel, but not for long. Varkol planted his boot against the scorched stairs and twisted his entire body into the next swing of his sword. Ribbons of felflame leapt from the edge of his blade and lashed out at her, forcing Miraan to escape into the air with the aid of her wings; she would have to kill this one a different way if he was bold enough to turn her spells against h-

A blast of spellflame struck Miraan in the back, but her hardened scales rendered the fireball more annoying than harmful. She retaliated with a blast of her own, and the pyromancer, along with several dozens of her own crew, vanished in a wave of smoldering felsteel and cinders. The elf reappeared a few yards away to fling yet another meager fireball at her face, but Miraan smacked it effortlessly away before it reached its mark.

J’azel was on her hooves again, pausing only to see her sister suspended in the air and sending her crew back to the Twisting Nether in her blind rage. She looked down to see the steel clad elf waving at her to approach. Without question J’azel obeyed, sprinting across the melted floor with barely a glance anywhere else. Varkol lowered his smoking sword against the stairs and patiently waited beneath. When her hooves landed on the flat end of his blade, she was vaulted high and far into the air, her own sword raised over her head. J’azel was launched skyward, seeing her opportunity to end this battle the moment Miraan turned her back to her and fired at the pyromancer again; but she blinked, and the moment was gone.

Instead of burying her lightforged sword in her back to pierce her heart, she aimed for her wings. Miraan screeched in agony all the way down, and they both bounced off the stairs before sliding across the floor of the lowest deck. J'azel rose to her hooves before her sister did, but with the power still out, this entire area was cloaked in darkness.

“It doesn't have to end like this…” J'azel used the runes on her sword as a makeshift lantern, yet all she found was the wing she sliced off her sister, and streaks of blood leading further into the dark. “We were a family! Mom and dad died buying us time to escape the Legion!”

“Yet here we are. Two sisters stumbling in the dark… searching for answers...” It was difficult to pinpoint which direction her voice was coming from, forcing J’azel to rely on the trail of blood to find her sister. “You can't stop destiny Jazzy... no one can. Our parents were fools to think otherwise.” Her voice came from behind, but all J'azel found when she turned as a wall and an echo. “When I learned my baby sister was all grown up and indoctrinated by the Prime Naaru, I hoped this day would come. I wanted to see your face one last time… perhaps even bring you to your senses. But now that this day has finally arrived, I feel… underwhelmed. I thought you would be stronger than this. Smarter than this… but you’re still the stupid little girl I left behind.” Her voice seemed much closer now. “At least you’ll see mom and dad again, soon enough.”

“They loved you! As I do!” J’azel spun around again to find nothing but empty darkness. “You were a good woman once… you were kind… and brave…! I don’t know what horrors they did to you… but the Legion no longer has you in its claws! Fight back against their twisted evil!”

A cruel laugh bounced around in the darkness. “You think they tortured me? Pulled me apart and pieced me back together? Is that what you think of all us eredar that joined the Burning Legion? Hahahahahaha….!” J’azel reached the end of the blood trail, but her sister was still nowhere to be found; searching for her like this was a fruitless endeavor. Instead she lowered her sword and dimmed the runes until all she could barely see a few inches away from her face, and put all of her focus on trying to hear her sister’s approach. “When we got separated, I went and searched for the demons. I found them, not the other way around. They don’t kill anyone willing to listen, even I knew that as a child. I wanted more than some meager job living in the shadow of greater eredar, J’azel. I wanted power. They were happy to oblige. If only you knew what true power feels like… what freedom feels like.”

“I’ve chased you for ten thousand years. I’ve seen every planet you’ve personally ‘liberated’. You’ve enslaved, tortured, desecrated, and burned countless innocents all for the pursuit of Sargeras’ favor. If you can’t see the absolute… evil in that… then you are no longer my sister!”

“The weak should fear the strong. It’s cruel and heartless, true, but it’s the way the universe works. You’ve spent too many years watching my ascension from afar to understand that undeniable fact… or maybe you just need to live long enough to watch your precious Light fade away forever. The Burning Legion is a blessing, not a curse. If you knew what the Old Gods were capable of as we do, you would know how righteous our cause is. The Legion can’t afford peaceful diplomacy when the Void threatens to consume all life. When I rend your soul from your corpse, I’ll keep you around so you will finally see the truth for yourself!”

J’azel heard a hoof clap against the floor to her right. Miraan’s claws scraped across her blade in a shower of sparks, illuminating her snarling face just for an instant before the darkness returned. Another flash of light and her claws barely missed J’azel’s neck. She ducked and rolled out of the way as the whole deck flashed green from Miraan’s torrent of felfire searing the spot on the floor she once stood on. She swung her sword up on her way back to her hooves and struck Miraan, but when she lit her runes up to illuminate her grisly work, she found her blade was caught in her clutches. “Close.” Miraan the Benevolent hissed, grinning. “But not close enough!”

Her sword was ripped out of her hands. A barbed knee slammed into her stomach and punched a hole deep into her pilot suit. Her sister grabbed her by a horn and tossed her across the room; J’azel was still gripping the black shard of metal in her gut when the familiar flash of felfire returned to blind her. With one hand she raised her divine shield, but her runes were still recovering from the last time, and she was bleeding out. Miraan’s black claws punched through the shield like it was made of glass; a hoof shot out and caved in one of her knees the instant her shield shattered. “WEAK! JUST LIKE FATHER!” A hand wrapped around J’azel’s neck and raised her into the air. “Do you have any last words, my dearest sister?”

Footsteps gave Miraan the Benevolent reason to pause, and before long the elves her sister brought along with her had surrounded her down in this lightless deck. “You have nowhere else to go, Miraan.” Another voice called, causing Miraan to snap her attention to the elves approaching from the darkness. “Today, you answer for your crimes against Azeroth. Against the Horde.”

“Take a step closer and I kill her!” She hissed, squeezing even harder; J’azel was barely putting up a fight to free herself, but the elves didn’t seem to notice or care.

“SELAMA ASHAL’ANORE!” Varkol shouted before charging forward. Eristel unleashed a colossal blast of unrestrained spellflame, forcing Miraan to drop her sister to defend herself; she reached out and parted the volley of magic away from her body, but the crusader’s silhouette behind the flames was the only warning she was given of his imminent attack. Varkol swung his claymore with everything he had, burying the blade in Miraan’s mangled arm. The wreath of flame melted the felsteel within moments, boiling her blood and deafening the deck with her screams. Audrey came from behind the eredar and slammed her shield into Miraan’s legs, forcing her to one knee; a hand grabbed her by one of her horns and pulled her head back, with a flash of steel against the flames.

“A-kreesh!” Miraan managed to shout before the knife sliced through her neck. Her fel runes etched into her armor unleashed an explosion of raw fel magic, conflagrating the woman behind her, while sending the crusader and her sister airborne. Enraged and no longer restraining herself to protect her ship, her malicious gaze settled on the pyromancer that tested her patience one too many times. A concentrated beam of pure felfire exploded from her open mouth, searing her lips and shattering her front teeth.

Eristel raised his hands and muttered a counterspell he learned from Zerethel’s grimoire, catching the lethal blast in his palms before it coursed down his arms and into his chest. He felt his soul ignite. A burning, blinding, boiling heat poured out of every pore and every inch of his body, but he couldn’t waver. He tasted eons of chaos, hunger, rage, and power the likes of which few mortals could even fathom. Absorbing such magic and making it his own was all he could do to stave off the agony and panic that was devouring his soul with each passing second, and when he finally had enough, he returned the felfire tenfold through the palms of his hands.

“AAAAAHHHHH!” Miraan held her hands out to defend herself, but it was too late. Like standing in the exhaust port of the Krakenax the felfire ripped her off her hooves and sent her spiraling through the exploding air, her scales melted and fused, her eyes and hair completely gone. When she landed across the chamber, she disappeared in a cloud of smoke and ashes, in a small pond of liquid felsteel.

“Eristel? Eristel?!” Varkol forced himself back onto his feet when he saw the pyromancer collapse face first onto the floor. He rushed over and rolled him onto his back to check for any signs of life, but the fel corruption on his skin was palpable. “Talk to me, Tidebloom! Come on… open your eyes! Eristel!” A meager cough was all Eristel could muster. He was covered in burns of varying degrees, and if he didn’t get medical treatment soon, he would likely perish.

J’azel slowly rose to her feet and staggered over to where Miraan had fallen. There was so much she wanted to say, but when she saw what became of her sister… “Miraan… please.. You can still be saved…!” There was no answer. “Please…! Come back to me…!”

“Alore balas!” The only standing elf shouted, grabbing J’azel by the arm. “Anu’thalar?! Selathor bethala!”

“Let go of me! LET GO OF ME!” J’azel struggled with all of her might, but she was too weak to put up much of a fight. Varkol then tossed her over his shoulder just as a rumbling explosion went off in the distance; the bombs placed in the engine room of the Krakenax finally detonated!

Varkol stopped halfway back to Eristel to pick at the smoldering corpse of his comrade, retrieving warped and crusty dogtags that he slipped into his armor before rushing back to the pyromancer. A light illuminated the lower deck again, but this time it was coming from high above. Another explosion caused Varkol to stumble, but he caught his footing and grabbed Eristel by the collar to drag him to safety. J’azel continued to scream and reach out for Miraan as the familiar hum of the Gladicaar roared high above. Even as lightforged warframes swooped down to their rescue, she continued to fight to get back to the only family she had left. “MIRAAN! MIRAAN! MIRAAN! MIRAAN!”

J’azel saw the Krakenax rip open and disappear under the mushroom cloud of an azerite-infused manabomb before the Gladicaar ascended back into orbit, and before she lost consciousness.

[xeeshop99]

Varkole PinCode (Post Code)

Varkole Pin Code is 505530. Pin Code is other name as Zip Code or Postal Code. Varkole is located in district Karim Nagar, TELANGANA, INDIA.

PIN Code (Zip Code) 505530 Post Office Varkole Town/Taluk NA District Karim Nagar State TELANGANA

Varkole Pin Code location and Details

Location NA Taluk of Karim Nagar District Office Type B.O Delivery Related Sub Office Thotapalli S.O (Karim Nagar) Contact Details NA Address 505530, Varkole, Karim Nagar, TELANGANA, INDIA Longitude Latitude

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[lordrethandus]

The Flame That Guides Us Home Pt 5

“J’a-l? R-pond! J-zel com- in!” What was left of her radio flickered and squeaked amongst the warped steel and melted rock. Slowly J’azel opened her eyes to see the fire-swept plains of Argus, cradling the remains of the Krakenax amongst the dirt and ashes. It still felt like her warframe was spiraling toward the ground, but she knew better; now that her consciousness was returning, she had to move fast if she wanted to reach her sister before the Horde did. “-azel?! Ans- -e!”

She reached up to dust off the damaged receiver, “J’azel… aauuugh… reporting in…”

“Than- the -ight!” Vice Admiral Taarth’s voice was clearer now, but it would be some time before she could fix her receiver. “I’m sen-ing a -escue squad! H-ld tight!”

J’azel tried to open her cockpit, but it was melted shut; she then pressed her plated hooves against the warped metal and began kicking with all of her strength. “Negative…! I have to face Miraan!” One, two, three, four kicks later, and the hatch burst open and allowed her to crawl out of her destroyed mech. She looked up to see debris still raining down from the explosion she caused. The tiny green embers and scorched ashes raining down around her brought distant memories of the first day of winter back when she was still a child. The Lightforged Eredar reached into the side hatch of her mech and retrieved her cherished greatsword, some climbing gear, and the hand-drawn picture of her family; with her warframe in pieces, she would have to walk the rest of the way. “Sending my coordinates. You can pick up my mech for repairs, but some of my team may have survived. They take priority.” It sent chills up her spine to lie so easily; she saw what happened firsthand, she knew damn well none of them survived. Not against that kind of firepower… or at that height.

Lord-Commander Sunsheath led the charge down the main hallway of the Krakenax, with his brothers and sisters in arms following closely behind. He could hear frenzied shouting and screaming in the lower levels beneath him, but he couldn't afford an investigation; there wasn't enough time to stage a rescue for those unfortunate enough to be captives of the Burning Legion, nor could he cut a swathe through their demonic ranks to quench his righteous bloodlust.

If the billions of people slaughtered across countless burned worlds could ever find any rest, if the Burning Legion could be put down for good, then Miraan the Benevolent needed to die.

Screams and shouting pierced the thick felsteel door before them; demonic voices filled with maddening rage and hatred. “There isn't anyone ahead of us… who could they be fighting?” Gonthar raised his meaty fist and halted their advance. “Konthus, help me with this door.” Without a word the Warbrave obeyed, shuffling through the ranks to offer his fellow tauren assistance.

The main deck of the Krakenax was in absolute chaos. Gonthar half-expected the Illidari giving these demons more than they could handle,  but that couldn't be further from the truth; felguards were slaughtering mo'arg, who were pounding shivarra into paste, who in turn were flaying felguards. The Burning Legion had turned against each other, their formations shattered and reduced to a tribalistic need to survive. A fel lord stood in the center, trying his best to restore order the only way he knew how; with additional violence.

The Oathguard looked on in awe and silence until the Sin'dorei paladin Varkol Suncloak said, “This is the single greatest thing I've ever seen.”

“Well?! What are we waiting for?!” Kaarst Shattercraft barked, pacing back and forth with eager anticipation. “Let's get in there! Lok'tar o-!”

“We are not here for them!” Gonthar grabbed the orc by the shoulder and pulled him back. Before anyone else got the bright idea of giving away their position, he turned to address Eristel. “We need a portal to take us past this carnage and as close to the command room as possible. Can you do it?”

“Of course, but…” Eristel stroked his chin before looking up at the second floor. “Portal magic is slow and loud. I can’t guarantee I can get it active before our position is compromised.”

Gonthar clenched his teeth before glancing over to Kaarst. “Shattercraft, Grimwald, Rahoa, and Breezehome. Draw attention away from our position, but don’t get reckless; we won’t be able to stage a rescue if you’re overwhelmed.” The four chosen snuck away without a single word, and Gonthar was already regretting this decision. He may have just sent four good soldiers to their deaths.

Eristel was right about the noise. A white ball of curious light sparked between his palms, letting out a whistling hiss not quite unlike a teapot. It grew louder as the ball did larger, until it was too big and too obnoxiously loud for the Pyromancer to hold between his fingers. Gonthar turned to see the chaos ahead, with some of them already felled by arrows. Kaarst leapt through the air into the crowd of demons, with Rahoa and Audrey at his heels. Up on the scaffolding he saw the other end of the portal appear, white hot and swelling. “There!” Eristel said at last. “It’s ready!”

“Everyone through the portal! Now!” Gonthar ushered the Oathguard in and waited until every single soldier under his command went through before he rejoined them; the Sunwalker did another quick check on the four engaging the Burning Legion, but from this height they were now nowhere to be found.

“Contact! Twelve o'clock!” Someone shouted.

Gonthar snapped his attention forward to see an imp swarm pour out of a nearby ventilation shaft. “Shields forward!” Several warriors and paladins rushed ahead and raised their bulwarks, just as the imps began their barrage. The door on their right swung open, revealing a sizable force of felguards.

“Right flank! Right flank!” Shouted another, giving the healers and magi just enough time to turn and defend themselves from the surprise attack. Gonthar threw himself at them, knocking a demon down while catching another beneath a hoof. Stinging agony wracked his body from a fallen demon burying a knife in his leg, but the Sunwalker raised his foot in retaliation and crushed the demon's head like a melon. He swung his sword in a wide arch immediately after, catching another felguard in the chin. Arrows and spells whizzed over his head from behind, felling a half dozen more of them.

“Aaahhh! No! Nooooo!” A priestess was pulled to the ground by two felhounds, screaming, kicking, and begging. Eristel turned and engulfed them in flames a split second later, but it was a split second too late; their razor sharp fangs had easily torn her apart. A small group of felguards ducked past Gonthar and focused on anyone wearing cloth or leather. The warriors and paladins protecting their allies from the unrelenting bombardment of imp fireballs began to falter, many of whom turned to face the felguard threat, only to take felfire to their backs. In an instant the Oathguard’s formations were undone.

Gonthar’s commands were drowned out by the chaos unfolding around him. All he could see was the flash of steel against steel, all he could hear were the frenzied screams of friend and foe alike; his body screamed for rest and he tasted blood and bile in his mouth, but he couldn’t give up. They were so close to defeating the Legion once and for all. So close… yet with this ambush, this just might be as far as they go. Gonthar didn’t see Sahe amidst the slaughter, but she was all he could think about now. Even as he struck down demon after demon, even as his blood boiled with his Grimtotem fury, and even as he shrugged off injuries that would have proved fatal for lesser tauren, he was focused on finding the Druidess and getting her to safety.

Gonthar’s ears twitched at the familiar bellow of Kaarst Shattercraft over the deafening chorus of battle. He glanced up just in time to see Kaarst, Rahoa, and Audrey Breezehome leap into the fray with Grimwald loosening a hail of arrows behind them. Seeing the crazed orc spin his axe around in a group of felguards with such reckless abandon emboldened those still standing with a surge of hope and renewed resolve. Gonthar turned around and swung his claymore so hard he cleaved a demon clean in half through the chest, spraying blood and entrails down the hallway. His hoof came down and turned another demon’s knee into splinters. The next swing of his sword caught yet another felguard by its dominant arm, leaving it easy pickings for the others. Gonthar didn’t know how long this struggle lasted, but by the time his blood trance was done, hardly anyone, demon or otherwise, was left standing. His body crumbled the moment the threat was over, with only the sound of his labored breathing and the groans of the dying remaining.

“Oathguard…!” He managed to shout out, but his weak voice didn't carry far. “Sound off…!” Only whimpers of agony answered him. Gonthar rubbed the sticky slime off his face, only to realize it came from his own open wounds above his head, from a gash that split his mane in half. “Oathguard! ...sound! Off!” Gonthar repeated, as loud as his burning lungs would allow.

One by one they called out their names: Varkol, Grimwald, Nairi, Rahoa, Audrey, Sahe, Clonce, Kaarst, Eristel. Their forces were five and fifty when they stepped aboard this accursed ship… now barely ten of them were left. Gonthar looked around to see so many of his brothers and sisters in arms either dead or well on their way, and with his meager band of exhausted companions left, only one choice was left before him.

“We’re retreating.” He commanded, as their only two remaining healers began trying to stabilize as many as they could. “This mission is a failure.”

Varkol exchanged glances with the few survivors before speaking. “Commander, with all due respect… we’ve come this far. We should see it through!”

“He’s right!” Nairi added. “If we turn tail and run now, all of those people died for noth-”

“This ambush severed the Oathguard at the knees! If we attack her with just us ten we WILL die!” Gonthar then pointed down toward those unable to stand. “We can’t abandon them either! I’m calling it! We are-!” A heavy slam against a nearby door nearly caused Gonthar to jump out of his bloodsoaked skin. The survivors whirled to face the newfound threat with fear and anger written on their faces. After three more slams the felsteel door collapsed in a cloud of golden cinders and smoke. Out came that draenei from the Army of the Light. “What…?”

“Ma’xerei kerekt?!” J’azel called out, stopping just a few steps forward once she saw their dying allies. Immediately the golden runes scrawled across her body lit up like the morning sun, forcing Gonthar and the others to shield their eyes. When the light faded, most of those on the floor were wreathed in the Light, and no longer moaning in agony. Even Gonthar’s wounds seemed to vanish.

“Th-thank you, Draenei…!” He didn’t know if she could understand him, and he didn’t care; the power of a healthy Lightforged Draenei was just the thing he needed to bring most of these people back to their homes and families, and that was not a gesture he would soon forget.

“Eredar.” She sharply corrected, drawing her sword from its sheath. She then pointed down the hallway to what had to be the command deck. “Miraan. Tu shelri’vaakt?”

“We can’t let her face her sister alone, Commander.” Eristel warned. “But it’s your call.” Gonthar looked down at Sahe, who cautiously nodded after a moment of silence.

“So be it.” He clenched his teeth before turning back to his team. “Varkol, Audrey, and Eristel. Go with the drae- the eredar. Nairi, Rahoa, Grimwald, Shattercraft, cover us while Clonce creates a portal back to Felfathom.” Nairi opened her mouth to object, but the Lord-Commander had already turned his back to help Sahe gather the living and the dead, and her team was already taking positions on the other side of the hallway to protect them.

The three elves and the eredar hurried down the narrowing corridor in silence until they came across two giant slabs of felsteel pressed against each other. “What now?!” Audrey whined. “It’ll take a small army and the largest siege engines the Horde has to open this!”

“Grelsor akampst.” J’azel spoke, pointing at Eristel and then at Varkol. “Grelsor akampst! Vi… vikaresk!” Eristel and Varkol exchanged weary looks before the eredar loudly groaned and grabbed them both by the wrists to pull closer to the door. “Vikaresk! Vikaresk vallesh!”

“I think she wants us to use fire, Vark.” Eristel suggested. When he summoned a ball of flame in his open palm, her eyes lit up. Varkol raised his free hand and did the same.

“Vallesh!” She repeated, slowly raising her hands up in a strange gesture. “Vallesh oziak thuum!”

When the flames grew almost too large for the pyromancer and the crusader to sustain, black runes scrawled across the door began to glow and hiss in response. Eristel scooped up the meager flame in Varkol’s hands and added it to his own, and with a hearty thrust of his arms, sent the pryoblast toward the largest rune on the door. In an instant the entire area lit up from the overloaded runes. They covered their faces and braced themselves for the explosion, but it never came. The doors swung open with a heavy groan.

“Eru’dei aca!” J’azel cheered, before raising her sword high over her head. “Chronokai kristor!”

[lordrethandus]

As We Choke on the Smoke of the Bridges We Burn Pt 1

What was left of Rethandus’ runeblade rested on the table before Istrys. The runes along the battered hilt were spent and destroyed, with most of the blade missing, twisted, or melted from felfire. Even worse the Harbinger’s body and the rest of his team were nowhere to be found; Istrys couldn't decide whether that made her feel better or worse. Istrys sat at the high table in the newly constructed barracks, with the whole of the Oathguard squeezed into the meeting hall with her. How they bickered and argued in their commander's absence made her angry, but she could hardly blame them. Under her command the Oathguard has grown stagnant. Restless. 

Things were different when she lead the Blackguard aboard Zaldrannar. The only person she had to impress was Zerethel, and the only person she had to watch out for was herself; she would never get used to putting the needs of the living before her own, and these past few weeks have proven she wouldn’t be any good at it for a long time. Without Alucieus the Oathguard lacked direction, and without Rethandus, a purpose. She and the other officers needed someone to lead them until he was found, and after much thought, she finally came up with a solid plan to get them back into shape to finish the Burning Legion off.

“Order!” Istrys tried to get their undivided attention to no avail. They were too absorbed with yelling at each other, and she lacked the Harbinger’s lung capacity for her voice to travel over them. The Necromancer rose from her seat and shouted “Order!” again, barely getting the front row to stop talking and look at her. As a flurry of curses crept up the back of her throat, Gonthar rose to his full height in the very back of the room.

“QUIIIIIIIEEEEET!!!” The Sunwalker bellowed at the very top of his deep lungs, dropping the barracks into a sudden silence. Istrys gave him a grateful glance before clearing her throat.

“Rethandus is still missing and we can no longer afford to spend valuable time and resources looking for him.” Even speaking these words made the Necromancer feel like she was giving up, causing her face to twist into a scowl. “But we can't remain stagnant. Every day the Burning Legion remains is one more day we have to spend on this doomed rock.”

“What are our orders, Commander?” Grimwald asked, eager to get back out onto the field again.

Istrys gave him a steady stare before continuing with, “Until we find a corpse, Rethandus will remain our commander. But I cannot lead in his place… that's why I plan to pass my position down to one of the other officers.” Murmurs and whispers began floating around the room, but she wasn't in the mood to let it get out of hand again. “I don't know who would be best for the job, so we're going to vote on it. Does anyone have any officers they want to nominate or am I doing this myself?”

Sahe Windshroud was quick to stand up. She turned to gesture at the other tauren huddled at their own table in the back corner of the room before saying, “I nominate Gonthar Sunsheath. He has proven his prowess when he lead the charge into the heart of the enemy twice now. Once in Tanaan Jungle, and again out here on Argus. He defended Lord Sun’rael at the battle of Highmountain, and he was the only one to rush to his defense when that eredar had him in her clutches. We need that kind of bravery, now more than ever.” Gonthar looked flattered but said nothing, letting the crowd mutter in agreement without his input; having their commander in the fray has worked with mixed results in the past. It was definitely something they were used to, and something they could get behind again.

Audrey Breezehome rose from her seat in the middle of the room. “Having a commander to rally behind is admirable but foolhardy. We've lost two leaders using this very tactic! If the Burning Legion is adapting to our strategy, then it sounds like we need a better plan.”

“Who are you nominating?” Istrys asked, already growing impatient.

“I nominate Lord Eristel Tidebloom.” When she pointed at the Pyromancer, he straightened up in his seat and furrowed his brow in surprise. Many in the room chuckled to themselves, but Audrey wasn’t having any of it. “It’s true he has little experience fighting in battles, and he hasn’t had the chance to prove his bravery yet, but he has connections. He’s the heir to House Tidebloom, the Amber Glade’s most powerful ally. Let Gonthar lead the battles like he always does… but we need more supplies than what the Amber Glade is giving us. We might get more reinforcements too if they know one of their own is commanding the Oathguard.”

The prospect of better supplies piqued the interest of the room, and the mumbled whispers of agreement were music to her ears. Eristel watched Audrey carefully, wondering why she would do something like that for him; but when she turned and gave him an all too familiar look, her motive was abundantly clear. Better supplies weren’t a priority to her at all.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to stop you there.” Captain Varkol stood up before Audrey could sit down. The former Blood Knight glanced down at Ijiro for several moments before saying, “Ijiro here’s fought alongside Rethandus and Alucieus longer than all of us combined. He's been the resident strategist for a decade, and he was the brains behind our very survival in Highmountain.” He paused just long enough to gesture to the tauren huddled in the corner, or more specifically, to Gonthar. “You’re a great soldier Gonth, and I love ya to death, but you’re known for your courage… not for your cunning. We need cunning to put this eredar cunt into the ground where she belongs.” He then turned to approach Ijiro’s side, who was silently watching his friend sell the Hunter to the Oathguard. “And speaking of connections… this idiot is plowing the woman who pays us! Relations with the Amber Glade don’t get any better than that, am I right or what?”

The room burst into laughter and cheers as Ijiro humbly raised his tankard of lukewarm water into the air; for anyone paying attention the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t considering leading the Oathguard in the final days against the Burning Legion, but he was determined to see this through no matter who was in charge. Eventually Varkol sat back down and slammed his hand against Ijiro’s back, but Istrys seemed less than amused. She waited until the crowd got the laughter out of their systems before speaking. “Alright. Your choices are Gonthar Sunsheath, Eristel Tidebloom, and Ijiro Del’daro.” The Necromancer tossed out stale water from three cups, before scratching at them with her spiked index finger and turning them toward the crowd. “Form a line starting at the table. Put a copper - just one copper - into the cup of your choosing. Whoever has the most copper pieces leads the Oathguard in our Commander’s absence.”

Ijiro stayed in his seat when everyone else got up to get in line. He pushed the drink he wished was kungaloosh across the table as thoughts of how he would change things should he become the next commander flooded his mind; Rethandus was a good soldier and he listened to the advice of his officers for the most part, but this three-pronged attack potentially cost him and his two volunteers their lives. He wouldn’t throw away their lives like that if he could help it, and with the Army of the Light closing in on the last remnants of the Burning Legion, he likely wouldn’t have to. Whatever destroyed the stronghold Rethandus left to investigate would likely return, and it was only a matter of time before-

“S-sir Ijiro…” A familiar voice whispered before a bony finger tapped against his shoulder. The Hunter glanced over to see Zolaar in the midst of a nervous fidget, but with that creepy mask on his face he couldn’t really figure him out at first glance. “If Gonthar becomes the next commander… it will be the end of me.”

“He’s not gonna execute you.” Ijiro said the words but he wasn’t entirely certain himself; tauren are notoriously superstitious of the dark arts. “He’ll tighten the leash most likely, yeah? But you’re just as much Oathguard as anyone else. You saved us in Highmountain, remember? Your curse weakened the Feltotem and bought us enough time to fend them off until Rethandus came with reinforcements. Here…” The Hunter lifted a copper coin and pressed it into one of the Harvester’s hands. “Figured you don’t carry any coin. Go vote in my stead.”

“Y-you’re not going to vote for yourself?”

“Nah.” Ijiro watched Zolaar scamper off toward the end of the line, but he said nothing else; the anticipation of this whole ordeal was becoming bothersome, and he wasn’t about to get himself too involved if he could help it. After all, it was only a few more hours until he was back in the Amber Glade for the monthly resupply. The only thoughts worth his time right now were thoughts of Syrahn, and the surprise he had for her once he returned.

Istrys waited until everyone was settled back in their seats before she went to work. When she turned over Gonthar’s cup, spilling a sizeable amount of coins onto the table, the room began cheering. She then gathered the pile and pushed it aside before emptying Eristel’s cup, which then filled the room with laughter. All the Pyromancer could do was smirk and shrug at them in response; doubtless it was only Audrey and one of her friends that voted in his favor. It wasn't until Istrys emptied out Ijiro’s cup did the room fall into an eerie silence.

The Necromancer spread the piles out with an outstretched hand with her eyes flickering over the coins; before anyone could speak she pushed the pile aside and emptied the Sunwalker’s cup to begin counting again, all while the room remained completely still. Ijiro glanced across the room to look at Gonthar, who was staring impatiently at Istrys; the anxious look in his beady eyes made it clear he had plans for the Oathguard’s future out here in these wastes. “Congratulations.” Istrys pushed the pile away and leaned back in her seat to gaze into the crowd. “Until Rethandus is returned to us, or confirmed gone forever, I name Gonthar Sunsheath Regent Commander of the Oathguard.”

The room erupted in a deafening boom of shouting and cheering. Ijiro couldn't even hear himself think as he watched the Sunwalker rise from his seat and make his way to the Necromancer’s side. With a wave of his hand the Oathguard settled down to let him speak. “Brothers and sisters of the Oathguard… of the Horde. I do not know what lies in store for us. I do not know how long it will take for us to finish our fight here and return to our families. But I promise we will break the remnants of the Dark Titan’s army, and out an end to his burning crusade once and for all. Until I have our next course of action planned out, you are dismissed.”

Gonthar put on a brave face while they applauded and slowly trickled out of the room, but in truth this newfound responsibility made him anxious and afraid; the Sunwalker was there when that eredar commander cut through the Oathguard like a hot knife through butter. He witnessed her destructive power firsthand, and he had no answers on how to counter such supremacy when they faced her in combat again. Yet this wasn't Draenor, where he alone lead his fellow crusaders through Tanaan Jungle with Zaldrannar floating ominously just off the coast, where his commanding officers watched from a distance. He had all the help he could ever ask for standing beside him while everyone else returned to their stations, and he would need them at their best when the time came. “Congratulations, Commander Sunsheath.” It felt weird being called that by Ijiro, but it was something he would have to get used to. “ What are our first orders?”

Gonthar’s slight smile slowly turned into a scowl while thoughts of impending doom loomed over his shoulders once again. “... Where is Duskwright?”

Zolaar was out of breath and out of time. His emaciated body couldn't handle the physical strain of something as trivial as running, forcing him to gasp for breath overly other agonizing step until he was across the courtyard and beneath the main building of Felfathom Keep. He feared for his life now that Gonthar was the next commander, but he knew far more was at stake; if he entered his gateway to destroy all of his work, and used magic in the presence of Az’thoth, it could bring untold despair and destruction into this corner of the cosmos. Millions could die or worse - become the Old God’s mindless servants. He couldn't let that happen.

When the Harvester reached the mouth of his domain, a part of him wanted to step through and seal the gate from the other side; but he couldn't risk being trapped in the shadow of Az’thoth, a fate far worse than anything Gonthar could do to him. With trembling hands outstretched he whispered the black words to shut down the gate, seeing it power down from being drained of fel and shadow magic. The swirling portal within the gate fizzled out not a moment too soon.

“Trying to hide down here, traitor?!” A gruff voice snorted before a meaty hand closed down around the nape of his neck. Zolaar couldn't see who it was with his masked twisted around, but he didn't need to; it was one of Gonthar’s war braves, and that was all that mattered. He was dragged out of the dark and back into the courtyard where he was tossed down into the dirt. He could feel the angry stares nipping at his body, but he did his best to ignore them while he readjusted his mask to regain his sight.

“Zolaar Duskwright.” Gonthar’s booming voice was a lot closer than he was prepared for. “I have not forgotten your handiwork protecting us in Highmountain. For that I am eternally grateful… but the whispering and foul magic you have practiced here on Argus… this I can't stand. I won't.”

The Harvester remained on his hands and knees while he struggled to catch his breath. “Commander Gonthar… I have… I have served the Oathguard… faithfully… for years…” He glanced up to see Gonthar encircled by the officer core and his fellow tauren. “I served Lord Alucieus and Councillor Kash’kaar without question! I served Rethandus without question! Let me serve you without question!”

“The Warchief’s law is clear; meddling with Old Gods is punishable by death.” Gonthar’s eyes were unblinking. “Do you deny these crimes?”

“Y-... y-ye…” Zolaar couldn't force the rest of his answer out, instead he choked on it behind his clattering teeth.

“Then it is settled.” The Sunwalker had heard enough. “I, Gonthar Sunsheath, son of Monoake Grimtotem, sentence you to die.”

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