The reactor is running; now we have Mana. Magical energy collected in storage units, becoming the first currency of my corporation. Corporation, funny. For now—a firm that has a workshop and an underground complex. A mostly empty one, though. There's fuel production, a rectification column, we can get deuterium. Which isn't exactly something anyone needs in large quantities.
But-but-but-but-but! But! Energy and Mana are a commodity, and an important one! Magical energy is needed by Elf Mages, who suffer withdrawal without a well. And in battle, they are needed. Storage units can also be sold to workshops for various needs. Or rather, rented until discharged; I have a limited number of them.
No, they produce various mechanisms themselves—generators and such. They know how to enchant, how to condense Mana. As far as I know, the Dwarves have already copied the Umformer for their own needs. But no one produces energy in such quantities as we do, and without a reactor or a place of power, they won't be able to. And yes, Jaina has a whole team of Mages under her command, literally living in her magic tower in various positions, and they need it too, including for experiments.
So after a brief discussion with the leadership, it was decided to use storage units and magical energy as a commodity. The Chancery will rent full storage units; containers of liquefied Mana will be issued to Elves working for the city. Provided the city pays, of course. There won't be much of a markup, payment is almost at cost, but we're no longer working at a loss. And if we sell Mana to someone else—that's our business, as long as the contract with the city is fulfilled.
For example, Alastir confirmed that such a source of magic would not be superfluous to him as a Druid. To saturate plants growing on hydroponics, accelerating their healthy—this is important—growth. In normal conditions, Nordrassil and the Well of Eternity provide such a boost, but we are halfway across the continent from them, and it wouldn't be bad to acquire our own source of Mana. And me? I told Mom; the application was filed. The profit started rolling in.
However, there is one problem that seriously worries me in all this. Various magimechanical devices, machine tools. All of this… requires physically lugging storage units around. Since transmitting Mana through pipes is unknown to me or anyone else. And as for how to copy the effect of Nordrassil or the Sunwell, no one knows at all. And if anyone does know, they won't say.
It's not all that bad, of course. I know who knows—the Draenei in their Tempest Keep. They have mastered Mana-conduits. But Tempest Keep is in Outland, and you still have to get there. And having gotten there, find that very keep. And then enter, take the technology, and leave. A twenty-minute adventure, yeah. In a shattered world, in conditions where the Draenei are hiding equipment from demons and Eredar. A task…
I was reflecting on this while surveying Theramore from the height of the Teacher's magic tower. Early morning, a fresh sea breeze, a wonderful view—the tower is higher than the walls and trees, so you can see for literally kilometers around from here. Even the damn swamps look quite good from such a height—like a continuous carpet of tree crowns through which road clearings are cut and defensive towers protrude. I like being here, relaxing a bit before a long and stressful day.
I laughed. It seems the elders decided to load me with work so there'd be no time to reflect. Thanks, of course, but that means I literally have to look for time to rest. Like right now. And even in such moments, not thinking about problems at all doesn't quite work out.
There's no end in sight to the difficulties, negotiations, and required decisions. Chemistry, mining, industry. One thing pulls another. You can't build a nuclear reactor in a garage, much as you might want to. So I have to build a whole network of agreements with half the city. Some produce one thing, others another, then I smear it all with "terrain creation" and assemble it together. At least Mom, the Teacher, and Dartaola took over a significant part of the processes. But I have to participate too, to gain experience, so to speak. In such moments, you start to appreciate seconds like these.
"Good…"
I inhaled the fresh, moist morning air of the city. Beneath my feet was the beautiful landscape of hydroponic farms; because of their location, the city below looks very green, indecently green. I heard a lot of people liked it; the city looks cleaner and more beautiful. At least from some angles. Well, I don't mind.
Footsteps sounded behind me, but I didn't turn around. Not many sentient beings can enter the Teacher's tower and climb up here. And true enough, Dartaola stopped beside me. An interesting choice of clothing—a fairly light yellow-scarlet dress emphasizing her figure and heavy boots shod in steel with spikes. It's not for me to judge her; I wear a funny combination of a light dress and massive metal gloves myself. And I look much worse than my adult comrade. My skin is still pale, with a slight bluish tint. Although the veins no longer glow, which is good.
I wonder, if Magister Rommath saw me, how would he react? And Magister Umbric? Is he researching the void in this version of reality? I remember he was interested not only in the possibility of obtaining Mana, but also in putting void magic into his service. It seems Dartaola is waiting for us to say hello. I'm the one who got carried away here, lost in my thoughts.
We nodded to each other.
"Good morning, Dartaola. Did something happen, or just because? You don't usually come here."
The Paladin continued to smile. Well, yes, we both know that as a wielder of Holy magic, you were told to keep an eye on me, since I'm occasionally poisoned by the void. But she really is trying to help, not pressure, for which I'm grateful. She looked down at the city coming to life at dawn, resembling an anthill from such a height, and replied:
"A bit of everything. How are you?"
A loaded question, as they say. It's both a casual question and a check on whether the void is pressing on my brain. Which we both understood perfectly.
"Fine, the voices haven't returned. I'm managing, thanks. Negotiations are difficult."
The Paladin nodded, pulling something resembling a mango out of her belt pouch and handing it to me. Naturally, I took it, signaling my thanks with a gesture. The woman herself bit into a second one. A pleasant, sweet, slightly astringent taste. M-m-m-m! Fruit is wonderful. A bunch of different interesting things grow in the local forests.
"May I ask?" I nodded. "What exactly got to you so much back then, in the fight with the Orcs?"
Um, is this a joke? Apparently my silent question was written well enough on my face, so Dartaola added:
"No, I understand, Orcs are animals. And what those butchers were doing was monstrous. It's just… we've seen a lot already. The Undead, Stratholme, Quel'Thalas. None of it was good, but you held on. I saw it. Even after Silvermoon, you were tough, but you held on. Don't be offended, but it looked like you took the loss of our capital easier than we did. Easier than I would have expected from anyone. From any Elf."
I snorted.
"The explosion was impressive. Eh, no one appreciates the work of an explosives technician. It was the right thing to do, even if it was unpleasant."
I didn't want to be rude, especially since she was right in some ways. The explosion of The Sunwell had shocked them, but not me. And there was a reason for that: I wasn't an elf of Quel'Thalas in the full sense of the word. I had never seen Silvermoon until the operation itself. I hadn't admired the beauty of the capital or walked its streets. And for me, The Sunwell wasn't a sacred relic, but just a large fountain poisoned by Arthas. I knew it would be poisoned; I didn't feel any sacred awe, so I wasn't impressed.
Dartaola sighed.
"Forgive me. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was wrong."
We were silent for a while, eating. Actually, I'll answer. I'm even curious to see how she reacts.
"I've thought about that too, actually. The difference... is in the feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness. And in the fact that I couldn't look away. In the case of the Undead, I could influence the battle; I was saving survivors. No matter how dangerous the enemy is, when you have a weapon, it's a completely different matter. Plus, I tried not to look too closely so it would be easier to endure all that filth. And it worked: unpleasant, yes, but manageable. But here... yes, I pointed out where to find the warlocks, but otherwise, I could only watch this slaughter. Only watch, and nothing more. And to do the job, I watched. Then the voices in my head woke up, bad thoughts. I didn't handle it, Dartaola. I just couldn't take it at that moment."
We were silent again, though not for long this time. Dawn is a good time, even in a place as humid as ours. Beautiful, cool. The people below are far enough away not to be seen or to spoil the moment with their existence. The Paladin nodded understandingly, placing a hand on my shoulder but not trying to hug me or anything like that. Finally, the elf spoke.
"You know, this happens to Paladins too. To healers, Priests. It's not the most common occurrence, but it happens. You just watch and wait for the patient to die. And there's nothing you can do about it, only watch and wait for it all to end. No matter how sorry you feel, no matter how hard you pray to the Holy Light. Sometimes there are simply no options."
She surprised me. I looked quite seriously into her glowing yellow eyes. She wasn't joking. Since we were being honest here, I decided to ask directly:
"How is that? I mean, I thought magical Restoration didn't suffer from such problems. I mean, it's magical; it's not herbs. And it's not limited by such banalities as the laws of nature. It closes wounds, removes blood and pus from the insides, regrows organs and limbs. The main thing is that the patient is alive. Even death isn't a reason for a Priest to retreat. Why does it happen like that?"
The Paladin spread her hands, sighing sadly.
"Many think that way when they talk about the Holy Light. A miracle capable of anything if you ask hard enough. But it is precisely Restoration, and it has its limits. It heals, restores the body to a certain norm. If the target is sick, poisoned, or something else, the body will heal, but the negative effects will continue to act, dealing damage again and again. Curses that Trolls love to cast, their voodoo and hungry spirits. And then there's old age. You can support the sick with magic, but it can become mere torture. And then you just have to let the unfortunate soul go. And accept that they will pass."
Oh, I see.
"One of the causes of death in old age is disease. And age-related changes in the body."
The Paladin nodded.
"Correct. Restoration can strengthen the body, prolong life. That's why even the oldest Humans turned to the Holy Light look quite good. To say nothing of elves. Liadrin from the last cinematic... But gradually, age takes its toll. Restoration has inherent limitations. And when you hit them, all that's left is to accept and wait," she said in a tone that clearly stated she had seen this. More than once. I was almost certain Trolls were involved in those memories.
Following a sudden impulse, I moved closer and hugged Dartaola's arm. Considering it was done with gloved hands, it wasn't quite the same, but she smiled understandingly. I needed to say something to lighten the mood. Oh!
"Remember Uther? You crossed paths with him in Stratholme."
The elf gave a short nod.
"Of course. The experience with the sheep was unforgettable. And Uther the Lightbringer is a very Revered and experienced Paladin."
I snorted.
"I'm not going to apologize. That whole situation really messed up my life. No, I knew it wouldn't last long, that problems would find me on their own. But it's one thing to know, and another to live through everything you guys pulled there. We rattled each other's nerves quite a bit. I'm ready to make peace, but I won't apologize."
The Paladin thought for a moment, then firmly squeezed my pale little frame standing next to her. I didn't try to break away; this clearly wasn't an attack.
"Then don't expect leniency in your training. But I like the idea of peace too. So I'm 'for' it. And yes, did you want to say something else? You didn't just bring up the Lightbringer for no reason."
I nodded.
"Alleria Windrunner used to joke about Uther. She said Paladins should rename themselves nurses. Because Uther didn't hesitate to provide all kinds of help—he even delivered babies, regardless of his social status. He acted like a healer far more often than a Warrior. I thought it was funny."
Dartaola chuckled, looking into the distance.
"That's how it is. War is war, but everyday problems are a significant part of our lives, Davilinia. Hmm. Alleria Windrunner. I wonder how she is? I don't know everything, but I heard they closed the portal the Orcs were coming through and stayed on the other side. And died under the fierce onslaught of The Horde."
As it happens, I know what happened to them. Well, I didn't play it myself, but I heard snippets. In the end, I decided not to mention Alleria's arrest for using the void.
"She joined the Paladin Armies of Light, or something like that. Far away, beyond the borders of Azeroth. She and her Human husband. Turalyon. And their son, Arator, is here on Azeroth. I don't know where. Maybe we'll even meet them one day."
Dartaola looked into the distance with a clearly dreamy expression, smiling.
"That would be nice," the Paladin agreed. "The Armies of Light? And Alleria—they're really alive? There, on the other side of the portal? I thought they sacrificed themselves... That's what they said."
I shrugged.
"It's a long story. But no, the Expedition is very much alive. All those who have a monument in Stormwind's Valley of Heroes. Alleria, Turalyon, Khadgar, Danath, and Kurdran. Except the first two are considered missing in action," I would have liked to end it there, but...
But one Paladin was already clearly set on a story. And for me, well. I'd only be losing time. There were no other reasons to refuse. I wasn't in a hurry to get to the Chancery; today was a day off. No urgent work was planned either. Which Dartaola also knew. Now I was absolutely sure she had been asked to talk to me. No, I didn't mind, but still.
"Today is a day off, Davilinia. We're in no hurry. But I think it would be fair, for this story, let's say... a cake."
That's cheating. Oh well, it's worth it.
"Fine. So, the Armies of Light..."
I have my own interest as well. This interest is called Tempest Keep, one of the Draenei ships located in Outland. This device is interesting to me for many reasons.
According to the lore, the Draenei hid it from the Eredar—their kin Altered by Fel, one of whom is named Archimonde and is currently trampling the lands of Azeroth somewhere in the Eastern Kingdoms, crushing Human armies under Arthas's leadership. More importantly, Tempest Keep is a technically advanced magimechanical ship capable of extracting and processing the energy of storms. Yes, like Umformers, but cooler, drawing it directly from the space around it.
It is full of various powerful technologies, including mana conduits. And that's important. Right now, I'm forced to physically move storage units, which creates a huge hole in the base's defense. With the ability to isolate the reactor and transport energy through pipes, logistics will be significantly simplified, and capabilities will grow. And that's just the mana conduit. The Exodar, one of the modules of Tempest Keep that crashed on Azeroth, was leaking radiation. What could that indicate? That the Draenei ship might have its own reactor. Perhaps even a thermonuclear one. I want to see it!
And that's ignoring their crystal technologies, which are essentially three-dimensional magimechanical circuits. In short, my opinion: Kael'thas, who captured that place, was a real fool to ignore so much useful stuff. Fel must have gone to his head, apparently.
But there's a whole bunch of problems:
I don't know how to create portals. I need to learn from the Magister. We'll borrow the energy from my new reactor.
I don't know the coordinates of Draenor. They can be found in Karazhan. Another reason to poke around there. But for that, I need knowledge of portals so there are no problems with distances. It's another continent, after all.
And once that's done, the hardest part remains. Going there. Finding Tempest Keep, which is hiding from Demons. Robbing it, considering the technical level of the Draenei. And flying away quietly. So I'll need something flying and invisible. A stealth ship that can be pushed through a portal, basically. And it would be nice to have cover. You can't fight much alone. So yes, I am cynically using a certain Paladin, fueling her interest in Outland.
We parted ways satisfied with ourselves and each other. I got my cake. And plenty of reasons to think about life and death. And about the fact that even magic cannot save you from it unless you are a Necromancer. Yes, I said a lot of things I didn't intend to, but the elf knows how to listen. She didn't judge, but she advised. I don't think I'll ever repeat such a monologue, but it really helped. It became easier for me to process what happened once I spoke out.
I don't deny that I wanted to kill Grommash, and I still do. What he did was too brutal, in my opinion. Even among killers, he's a fetishist butcher. But now I understand myself and my actions better. Which means I can act much more reasonably. So I said quite sincerely:
"Thank you. Even though I'm sure you were asked to discuss this matter."
The elf nodded.
"I was asked. But that doesn't mean I'm against it myself. Understand, Davilinia, you can't achieve success by hiding from everyone. And losing yourself in the darkness is all too easy. Don't do that, please."
I nodded, thankfully no promises or oaths were demanded of me. Only to listen and think about it. I can do that.
In general, we were both satisfied. Dartaola got a story. And expressed interest in joining if we ever ventured into Outland. Truly, she clearly has a dream of a Great Crusade against all darkness.
In turn, my Paladin colleague told stories from her life where nothing could be done. And how she had to accept that choice, doing what she must. For the most part, it was Trolls with their curses, of course. Well, roughly like my case. But sometimes just diseases that Restoration alone couldn't overcome. Especially diseases of a magical nature.
We had a good talk; overall, I felt much better.
The next couple of days were spent working. Digging, casting "terrain creation," and getting heavily "bruised." In the sense that the magical energy of Arcana is blue, including in its liquefied form. And in crystallized form too—mana crystals have a light blue tint. And building. Simultaneously, I didn't forget to track news from the front.
And there... Well, seriously, where are those damn Demons? Grommash and the remnants of the Warsong Clan are having fun, who's arguing? But we still have to work with them! And without the Burning Legion polluting the forests with the Skull of Gul'dan, all that's left are the Night Elves and us, who intruded into their forests and killed their demigod. No one has seen the Druids yet, but Tyrande Whisperwind has appeared. Without her husband, she couldn't turn the tide of battle, but she caused plenty of trouble with her orbital starfall.
The damn Night Elf archers are causing a lot of problems—bloody gooks. They run in or fly in on hippogryphs, fire a few volleys at workers or soldiers, and retreat. They can't stop the advance, but they're happy to cause trouble and strike at supply lines. We have to dig in to avoid problems in the future. As a result, everyone is turning feral. And that complicates future cooperation. Although it does improve cooperation between Theramore and The Horde.
Seriously, I have an increasing urge to go to Lordaeron via portal and start shouting about how wonderful Velen is. Spit in Archimonde's soul and leave. Without a common enemy, the crocodile won't be caught and the coconut won't grow.
On the other hand, while there's an opportunity, I'm busy building the base. I suspect that when Archimonde the Defiler finally arrives, there won't be such an opportunity. And so I walk in the darkness of stone corridors, where in the gloom of a very dark dungeon, golems, under my careful guidance, assemble more and more assembly modules from purchased parts. This process isn't fast, but day by day I gain not only priceless experience but also results. Soon, construction of the first full-fledged Hive for the city's needs will begin to facilitate the struggle against the jungle.
Until the silence of the underground base was broken by the rustle of wings. The Magister's crow flew into the tunnels. Navigating in almost total darkness and hitting no one in the process. Something must have happened, I assume.
"Teacher?" I held out my hand.
The crow perched on my outstretched hand and spoke in a Human voice:
"My servants have noticed anomalous Goblin activity to the west. I intend to check it out."
Goblins? Oh, right, they have a whole bunch of major ports and even cartel capitals here on Kalimdor. Gadgetzan, for instance. And, if I remember correctly, somewhere around here there are salt lakes, oil production areas, and who knows what else. And yes, "somewhere around here" is truly somewhere. There are hundreds and thousands of kilometers of territory that still need to be searched. Not to mention logging zones—Gadgetzan, if I remember correctly, is located in a very desert-like area.
If you think about it, the Goblins joining The Horde makes more sense. Before this, the Goblins were in conflict with the locals—Tauren, Centaurs, Night Elves. But those didn't venture beyond their territories, just trying to drive away or kill the outsiders. BUT! With the appearance of Thrall's Horde, numerous remote sites were under threat.
And the Goblins scurried about, officially joining The Horde. But in fact, they gained the ability to monetize The Horde's interest and avoided the possibility that someone like Garrosh wouldn't go to recapture their mines located near the future Orgrimmar. Because formally, they were already his mines anyway. And they could also sell construction services, trade, and the production of various mechanisms and tools to The Horde. Competitors, heh. I'll have to think about how Goblins move cargo. And build a Gunship to strike at their logistics. That's for later, though without normal flying transport, it's still incredibly inconvenient.
Speaking of which.
"How did you find them, Magister?" I asked the question while already moving toward the exit.
"Goblin technology on such rugged terrain leaves distinct tracks that can be seen for kilometers. I noticed what I think you called a 'contrail.' My crow searched the area and found a significant concentration of Goblin forces in a clearly temporary camp. Perhaps your friend attracted them somehow. We can find out. Or they might know where she is if she appeared in their territory. After all, High Elves are not found in these lands."
Perhaps. Yes, we need to check.
"I'm with you, Magister."
We really did need to check. If the Cartel spotted Veni, they'd just hunt her down. And that wouldn't be good. People often forget this, but Goblins are quite smart. Smarter than the average Human, actually. Yes, their technology isn't the most reliable, that's true. But at the same time, Goblins are closest to a twenty-first-century Human in terms of development. Adjusted for constant disorders, megalomania, or pyromania. Adrenaline junkies are also regularly encountered. Doesn't matter.
What matters is that Goblins, when they need to, are capable of all the means and methods I know from the twentieth or even twenty-first century. With a "fantasy" tag, of course. Everything Veni isn't used to resisting. She needs to be pulled out if she's there. And I won't abandon her. Neither will Dartaola. So an hour later, three Cranes left Theramore, moving at the maximum speed for these machines.
We had to act carefully so as not to expose ourselves. Of course, earlier we could have struck with the Pepelats from the air and blown everything up, but that doesn't work now. On the other hand, we have Dartaola, the Magister, and me on our side. A Paladin in Enchanted Armor, an experienced Mage, and me, capable of flooding the enemy with sheer amounts of Mana if skills aren't enough.
We separately discussed our status if it came to negotiations. The Magister is clearly the senior among us, and we will pose as guards. Similar helmets with T-shaped visors, tuned walkers—we'll pass for mercenaries covering a Mage. Of course, it would be faster on the Magister's Tower... if the Tower hadn't stayed in Quel'Thalas. And flying over unfamiliar territory can simply be dangerous.
So we'll do part of the way by teleport to the Theramore base in this region. And for the remaining six hours or so—just running on the walkers.
The Goblins aren't even trying to hide; dust plumes can be seen for kilometers ahead. How did I not notice it myself? Well, I just couldn't cover this direction; the territory is too large. And the Magister did it. One man is not an army, unless that one man is Khadgar, yeah.
We ended up in the western part of The Barrens. This is where quite numerous cliffs and canyons begin, difficult for large armies to pass. And between the cliffs are numerous forests of those same Baobabs. Only the population is different; as soon as the walkers went deep into them...
"The Spider!"
Dartaola sharply turned her walker sideways, drawing her shield, which was immediately struck by a web. Another wrapped around my Magical Shield, pinning me to the Crane's seat. As if that would help them; my hands were still on the levers. Launch Hacks...
"Burn!"
And the space around us flared up. The spiders, burning, rushed back with a nasty squeak to hide among the trees. The trees, of course, also caught fire. Because of this, we were surrounded by a kind of fire barrier against the huge insects. The Magister calmly brushed himself off.
"We shouldn't linger here. I suspect there are many more such creatures hiding among the trees."
Hairy-legged filth. I looked down where several charred little corpses lay. Tarantulas, only about a meter and a half long. Shaggy, with huge mandibles. Filth. What kind of predators do we have in Quel'Thalas? Felines, Mana Wyrms, large birds with powerful legs similar to ostriches. By the way, the Elven version of cavalry rides those very birds. And here? Spiders, Centaurs, Harpies—all kinds of filth. Disgusting!
By the way, the fire we started spooked a herd of Kodo. These rhino-reptile hybrids didn't attack us but thundered through the canyon, crushing everything in their path, knocking down even small trees. Dartaola surveyed the resulting carnage and drawled:
"Weeeell. If someone hadn't seen us before, they definitely noticed now."
I laughed at that.
"Come on. At least the spiders left us alone. Filth! We're not Veni; we don't have to act stealthily. After a close encounter with Nerubians, I have an allergy to spiders. These are at least relatively small."
After the resulting carnage, no one dared to attack us. Apparently, even the spiders didn't want to stand in the way of the Kodo. There's nothing to fear from Centaurs in this area—they'll just get bogged down here. I think we'd flood them with fire, ice, and grenades if necessary. Although we still stumbled upon their camp.
The tents were empty and looted. The Centaur bodies were abandoned. But there were very characteristic tire tracks and bullet holes. I even dug a few out of a tree. Lead, caliber... Hmm, about twelve millimeters. Considering the size and physical strength of someone like Zeltzer, most likely a machine gun.
"Looks like it was Goblins. They didn't like the neighborhood," Dartaola noted.
I nodded, showing the bullet.
"Large caliber. They were just riddled with holes. I don't recommend getting caught under this without protection."
The Magister agreed, and from then on we moved more cautiously. No more than twenty-four hours had passed since the clearing; it smelled unpleasant but not yet unbearable. There were also more Goblin tracks: tire tracks, for the most part. Less often—from bullets. And corpses. Not Goblins, interestingly enough.
We dismounted, gathering around the corpse of a dragonling. Small, about the size of a dog. Bronzy, which warms my black heart. The Magister examined the body while we just looked around.
"Small, no more than six months old. Death occurred from a gunshot wound," he looked at the wings, "already able to fly. Old enough to hunt on its own. Apprentice, what can you tell me about this creature?"
I racked my memory. Of course, there were lessons on local fauna. And there are wild dragons there. The thing is, besides the Aspect flights, there are plenty of renegade dragons of all sorts and kinds. Those who gave up on everything and went to live in the wild, surrendering to their instincts. And they live quite well, fulfilling the role of apex predators. Indeed, a single female dragon can produce dozens of dragonling eggs in a short time. And then natural selection begins to work.
Some stay with the Aspect, developing their gift and pretending to protect Azeroth. Or, if the flight is wild, with their parents, acting as an entourage in exchange for safety and protection from the elders. The rest, as soon as they grow up, scatter from the nest like a swarm of locusts, hunting and eating what they can. Of course, some of them will die on the hunt, trying to attack something beyond their strength. Considering they can eat both property and honest citizens themselves, it's no surprise.
The grown-up lizards, having somewhat realized their place in the world, scatter everywhere. Into mercenary work, robbery, or to create their own wild flight. Family groups that can occupy entire canyons, raiding the surrounding area for food. Usually, such a flight consists of an alpha male and female, several older children as commanders, and a crowd of youngsters in the roles of pawns.
On the bright side—such a flight usually doesn't develop its magical talent, doesn't undergo training. And they can rarely do anything more than fire breath. No, a dragon is an argument—big, strong, and clawed. But most flights have no training at all and are more like sentient beasts. Dangerous, undeniably, but beasts. Uniques like Nefarian and Onyxia, living separately but having their own cunning plan, are rare items.
Which is what I listed to the Magister. He nodded.
"Correct. The presence of young suggests the presence of a nest nearby. We need to deal with this matter as quickly as possible. We shouldn't attract any more attention. Let's finish here and leave. Move out."
It wasn't that the search wasn't blind. In these numerous canyons, you could hide a flying Dreadnaught, let alone a dragon. Or even several. But we're not looking for a dragon, we're looking for Goblins. And if we have roads, then if we run along them, we can find those who laid them. Even if part of the road was trampled by panicked Kodo, yes. I never thought I'd be under threat of being trampled by a giant cow.
This place is just a perfect hideout for such animals. You can't really dodge a crowd of Kodo; they'll trample you. Good luck finding a dragon, even if you know for sure it's actually here. Even if there's a whole flight of these dragons of different ages. It's all too easy to get lost. I assume there are resources here too if Goblins have settled here.
"Did something amuse you, apprentice?"
Turning around, I met the Magister's gaze. He's the leader in this operation, and his Crane is running in the center, between ours. Interesting how he noticed my reaction, even though I'm in a helmet.
"Yes, Magister. The difference between how the Dragonflights position themselves and what these renegades are. Their nature took over. Sentient species, no matter how you treat them, move forward. Dragons, however, have degraded with great pleasure. As did the Night Elves who listened to them."
Seriously, dragons in Azeroth aren't everywhere, but they're common enough. Even we saw black dragonlings south of Theramore. Young ones, yes. We didn't cross paths; the lizards had enough brains not to interfere, but we saw them. Not good. If you're here, what did you get into, Veni? Dragons, Goblins, spiders. Try not to die there, please. I really don't want that outcome. And I'm not sure what I'll do if you get hurt.
The run through the canyons continued. Once we stumbled upon a ruined Goblin excavation. Literally ruined and burned; the equipment was purposefully destroyed. But it was the Centaurs. Looks like they run into these parts quite often. And no sign of our people.
Though let's be honest, if there's still a decent chance of finding them in The Barrens, then here... it's just luck, really. Or they'll notice us themselves and come out. I objectively assess the chances of finding a hiding Rogue and Humans in such terrain.
The Goblins were found. Driving onto yet another intersection, probably the tenth in a row, a gun truck practically ran into us. In the most classic sense—a pickup on big wheels, with a roaring engine sticking out of the body without a hood and a machine gun in the back, with a Goblin standing behind it. A second shooter with a shotgun was settled in the passenger seat. If you think about it and exclude the appearance of the hunters themselves, you could assume we were on Earth and a group of rich kids had gone out on a safari. Of course, these "kids" have long and large ears, the same massive hooked nose, and green faces, but anything can happen after a bender.
Who was more surprised, us or them, I don't know. We almost synchronously turned our Cranes toward them to use the forward-facing weapons as well. I don't see any special armor; we'll pelt them with grenades even without magic. But the machine gun is large caliber, just as I thought.
"Hey!" the Goblin shooter exclaimed in surprise. "Where'd you come from? Who are you? This is our territory."
The Magister looked at him with curiosity. They're in no hurry to attack us; we won't either. We stopped about twenty meters apart, aiming our weapons at the other side. We'll ask questions first, and then see how it goes. Colorful guys, though their gear is more military. Not flashy or colorful, but quite functional bulletproof vests, closed clothing, and dark-colored helmets.
"From over there," the teacher pointed back. "Looking for someone. Then we'll leave."
The Goblins started talking to each other. Finally, the driver asked loudly enough for us to hear.
"Is this because she owes you something? A deserter of yours, yeah?"
Wait, she? Veni?
"Do you know Venidan?" the Magister immediately clarified.
The driver laughed.
"And if we do, she works for us now. Get out of here if you don't want to deal with Gazlowe's Steamwheedle Cartel. The Boss doesn't give up what's his."
Wait-wait-wait. Gazlowe's Steamwheedle Cartel is a Goblin Cartel; I think their capital is in Gadgetzan. Since when does Venidan work for a Goblin Cartel? But while we're posing as guards, we have to keep quiet. But this... is very interesting. What the hell? I mean, I'm here worrying, and she's with Goblins? Amazing! But what will the teacher decide?
And the Magister shouted:
"Escort us to the boss. We'll discuss it."
The Goblins clearly didn't mind.
"No problem. Keep up!"
And they started turning around, showing that their big-wheeled car had plenty of power and off-road capability. Damn, this story is getting more and more interesting. We tucked in behind the Goblins' stern. This way, we not only don't interfere with their shooter, but we can also use the grenade launcher installed in each Crane. There are only about thirty rounds there, but that's enough for the Goblins. If anything happens, we'll stuff the back of the truck, and only mincemeat will be left. I don't want that, but I allow for such a possibility.
There was no chance to talk; their engine roars so loudly it can be heard anywhere in the canyon. And yet, a most curious situation is developing. Obviously, the Goblins know that besides them, Tauren, Centaurs, and Night Elves, no one lives here. And then a sudden raid by outsiders. And the helmets of our entire group are the same. Well, except for the Magister; he's in his Enchanted traveling robe.
But how did Veni cross paths with them? There was a group of Humans with her. Did they run into a Goblin caravan? That's... possible, actually. Goblins have a network of bases and shops all over the continent, I understand. And they move in all sorts of ways. By water, land, and air. Interesting, interesting.
We arrived at a large forest clearing on a river bend. Judging by the barge parked at the metal pier, the Goblins are cutting down the forest and taking it somewhere. At the pier, there's a row of very ordinary modern-looking warehouses and a mountain of timber; there's a crane for loading all this stuff on board. The logs are good, thick, long. And considering the presence of defensive towers, cannons, several Goblin mechs—Shredders—and gun trucks around the perimeter, there's someone to fight off. And a crowd of Goblins, but that's logical at their base.
Their architecture causes a separate "ugh." While Goblins generally try to decorate their machines, hang skulls on them, paint them differently, and make funny patterns. Buildings, however, do not receive such treatment. Yes, they are straight, and their modern look evokes nostalgia, but the roughly welded unpainted structures made of steel sheets, with visible seams on the walls, look... like they look.
When we arrived, they were already waiting for us. A respectable-looking Goblin in a business suit, seriously? Here, in the dusty canyon of The Barrens, this character looks completely out of place. No, maybe it's the management who came for an inspection, I don't know. But he looks strange, and that's a fact.
With a couple of guards with firearms—judging by the look, semi-automatic rifles. In helmets and military uniforms. And yet the Goblin doesn't look comical. He stands there, frowning, looking evaluatively. The car, having reached the camp, turned around and left, and we dismounted and approached the welcoming party. I separately noted a bunch of Hobgoblins, massive gray-green creatures, much taller and more massive than Goblins. But they all, judging by their uniforms, fulfill the role of workers. And are busy loading crates onto the ship.
The Goblin in the suit looked at the Magister in such a way that you couldn't tell he was looking from the bottom up. As if indicating that he's the boss here, and the subordinates are before him.
"Well, well. Neighbors. Are you here on business, or did you decide to participate in the dragon hunt?"
The Magister remained impassive. I generally noticed that he completely hid his emotions, as he did at the very beginning of our acquaintance. But a dragon hunt sounds interesting. Perhaps I wouldn't even mind participating. The teacher replied:
"On business. I am Magister Aldanos Dawnwalker, looking for someone here."
The Goblin nodded, eyeing Dartaola and me.
"Yeah, I see. I am Glizko Shtangon, Administrator of Gazlowe's Steamwheedle Cartel Transport Company. You are on our territory, so follow the rules," after a nod, he continued, "your subordinate owes the Cartel. And will remain here for the foreseeable future."
The Magister replied easily:
"I don't think simple escort costs that much. I will pay for her and her colleagues."
The Goblin snorted.
"The offer is interesting, but no. She was hired for a job, and she will be free upon completion. Of course, Magister, if you are interested in my proposal..."
The Mage looked coldly at the Goblin, who held his gaze without issue. Finally, the Magister spoke:
"I am listening."
The Goblin either sneered or smiled.
"Excellent! We have a small industrial zone here, as you've noticed. Forest, various salts, a bit of oil—just the basics. It's quite remote from Gadgetzan and other cities, so sending large forces here would be quite expensive. And, if you've noticed, my facility is being harassed by a pack of wild Bronze Dragons. They've devoured several outposts and the workers at the mine. Who knows when new ones will arrive. The plan isn't being met. And that is a problem."
The Magister understood.
"And you want us to help you with this problem. Solve it, for a good fee."
The Goblin, grinning contentedly, gave a wide nod.
"Exactly! Your guys and girls, mine. Together we'll give these lizards a thrashing and part ways satisfied with each other. You get yours, I get mine. Of course, not for free!" the Goblin added immediately.
While the leadership bargained, I decided to look around. The Magister hadn't said no, and one of the escorts mentioned that Veni and the others were in the camp. I'd go look for them.
The camp itself... looked quite modern. If the Human camp is strictly emphasized medieval, and the Elves have their tall towers, then here—the buildings are rugged but quite modern in appearance. Standing near them are industrial cranes, a couple more gun trucks, a bike. And, of course, Shredders, which the Goblins use for logging and slicing up enemies.
All the buildings have a clearly readable function. Here are the garages, there are the warehouses, over there are the residential houses and the administration building. The streets aren't paved with anything, but they are well-trodden. The houses are low, one and two stories. It doesn't look at all like the place the Magister described. He spoke of a temporary camp, but this is clearly a permanent base. And it's maddeningly pleasant to be here. Because it's so... modern. The buildings aren't new, not glass and plastic, but they are recognizable. Something I've really missed these past... year and a half? Quite a while. So to hell with it, I can afford a little nostalgia.
Laborers scurry about who, if you exclude their faces and height, could be perfectly ordinary workers. Seriously, it's like the twentieth century. Cool.
"DaVi? Hey, I'm over here!"
I turned toward the familiar voice, hiding my excitement. Could it be? Right! Looking out from the window of a two-story house was none other than Venidan, grinning widely. It took considerable effort not to throw myself around her neck. She's alive! However, she also quickly put on a "serious" face and, grinning broadly, waved.
"Come on up! Don't stall, or they'll sign you up as a hobgoblin."
The passersby around me ignored the Rogue and her comment. I, barely restraining myself, went through the door and flew up the maddeningly familiar stairwell. And I hugged my Friend very, very tightly. She didn't say anything like that, but she was smiling too. I think we stood like that for thirty seconds; I wasn't counting. Damn, I'm so glad... We found them. Alive and real.
"I'm so glad to see you. I have so much news..."
Veni giggled and led me upstairs.
"Come on, you can tell everyone. You're not here alone, are you?" the Rogue clarified suspiciously.
"No, the Magister is here. And Dartaola. He's negotiating with 'your' boss. How did you manage this, huh?" Veni opened a perfectly ordinary, damn it, door, letting me into the room. Nostalgia, don't hit me so hard!
Upstairs, the missing crew of the Pepelats was discovered. We talked for a bit there. As it turned out... all these weeks they had been making their way through The Barrens as best they could, fleeing from Trolls and the local fauna. For example, quilboar and centaurs. That's why they couldn't reach the base on time; the horse-men were too numerous and too persistent. They had enough strength to fight back, but not enough to cross The Barrens. So they had to retreat toward the canyons, where they could at least shoot back at the centaurs.
About two weeks ago, their group, quite battered and having lost one person, met the Goblins. They managed to reach an agreement with them, especially since the group's supplies had long since run out; they were surviving on whatever they could catch and cook. Veni apologized for the fact that she had ended up wrecking her bow, but that didn't matter—the main thing was they made it out. And the Goblins had signed them up for a showdown with a dragon.
If we hadn't appeared, Veni intended to continue working for The Cartel, looking for an opportunity for contact. Given the internationalism of Goblins, there were chances of meeting. But for now, her task was to keep herself and her potential boss from being eaten.
"They have some kind of competition here. For territory. I'm handling the small fry," Venidan showed off a self-loading rifle, "I had to learn without the bow, but this is good too."
I nodded.
"We saw the dead little dragons on the way. In any case, I'm glad you're okay."
It wasn't Venidan who answered, but one of the operators. I hadn't taken off my helmet, and I was wearing the cloak with the Theramore symbolism. So I was still on duty, even if I was showing emotion.
"Nasty little vermin, those dragons. They attack in a pack, set things on fire, and eat. The larger ones... generally do the same. Just solo. That's the situation, lady. Rotten."
And then the Magister arrived. He had indeed reached an agreement with the Goblins, so we'd join in against the dragons, and we wouldn't be doing it for free. After all, Veni really had made a deal, and the Goblins didn't mind paying if the lizards were killed. I wasn't sure they wouldn't try to stiff us, so I should be careful. But since The Teacher made the deal, we'll proceed that way.
The plan is as follows: the Magister opens a portal to the city; he knows how. We send the operators back; they aren't the best fighters. I myself have to rush to the Chancery to officially register our absence. And to report what we've learned here and who we found. And then, as a united team, we'll deal with the lizards. The Goblins have more or less pinpointed the location of the nest. But no one is eager to charge in without preparation.
As the Goblin mechanic we went to explained:
"A dragon isn't a Kodo. The older the dragon, the stronger it is, the bigger and tougher the hide. If the small ones can be picked off with a rifle, and the larger ones with cannons, hitting a big one is really hard. It'll fly around and spit fire. And if it decides it can't handle it, it'll just fly away. It'll come back when it's rested, don't you doubt it."
I immediately clarified:
"What about damaging the wings?"
"What about the wings?" the mechanic asked mockingly, "Two layers of thick hide. You can punch a hole. Damaging it so the beast falls—that's another question. But we have a plan!"
The plan is harpoon cannons. They won't kill the beast, but if you stick them into the dragon and tie the other end to something heavy enough, it won't be flying away. This is very important and very useful. After all, a fire-breathing lizard isn't restricted specifically to our canyon; it can fly around the area and burn things, for example, by flying along its length. Hiding would be... difficult. But if the dragon is fixed in place, we can work with that.
And yes, something has to be done about the breath. I asked the Goblin mechanic:
"What if we install magical fire resistance shields? There are magical elemental shields, enchantments. We could come up with something to cover ourselves from the fire breath."
The Goblach scratched his head with an adjustable wrench and inquired:
"Well, it's possible. Only thing is, a dragon's breath isn't just whatever. It's heat and magic; you won't get away with a simple enchantment. But something can be devised, of course... And yes. Where are we going to get that much Mana for this definitely good cause? Do you have it? Because without it, you're just making a normal shield, and it'll short out if the lizard is big enough."
I nodded.
"I do. I can organize as much Mana as needed. Not for free, of course, but I can."
The Goblin froze; apparently, he hadn't expected that.
"Seriously?"
I nodded again, my helmet hiding a satisfied smirk anyway. I like your reaction, man.
"As a representative of the Steel Sun company, which produces energy in both electrical and magical formats? Yes, we can produce as much as is needed. Of course, we don't have spare storage units; they are quite expensive..."
Well, why not. I remember Kael'thas forming Mana into cubes and shipping it out like that. Our technology is simpler; we don't have Draenei capacities on hand, so the Mana is converted into a crystallized form. Of course, this means having to lug around massive capsules with crystals that weigh a great deal, but who cares about such trifles? The mechanic scurried off like a Boar to his boss.
And I went to the Magister—we have a contract brewing; we need to conduct negotiations. And the only familiar negotiator in the blast zone is The Teacher. But the mood is elevated; we're going to sell Mana to Goblins! This isn't the same as for the city's needs; this is PROFIT.
One more negotiation later, I had to bring a storage unit to the Goblin so he could copy the connector.
How I miss a normal Mana-conduit... But we have what we have. Crystallization is a known process. As is the reverse extraction. We can get large, yes, heavy, quite fragile, but mobile Mana batteries. And sell them to Goblins. Especially since they, for a discount, made the storage units themselves. Somehow. To be honest, watching the creative impulse of these techies was a bit strange. It can be described as organized chaos. Logic is visible, of course, but not right away. Curious.
"So, I'm like that too, huh?"
Venidan sympathetically patted my helmet with her glove and nodded, grinning.
"Yep."
"Well then."
One way or another, the Goblins made a bunch of storage units. Indeed... I should have clarified exactly what quantity we were selling. As it turned out, the Magister based the order on running a separate reactor implosion cycle just for this job. And to show the potential client that quantity is not a problem. The bad news is that the Administrator doesn't have the required amount of gold. And we'll have to carry nearly a hundred storage units in total, each very heavy. The good news—we'll be paid in materials from the production. Including some very interesting metals that the Goblins get here. It's not for nothing that almost all their buildings are metallic.
And in general, Glizko Shtangon was very interested in the location of Theramore and the possibility of continuing business relations. For this, I had to get permission from Jaina. She didn't agree immediately—only for trade caravans—but she allowed it. After all, resources definitely won't be redundant for the city.
Right now, a significant part of the fleet has left us, mostly in the direction of Stormwind. They finished their contract, delivered the people, and unloaded the cargo. And they headed home to spread the word about the new city of the Systems Alliance. But the autonomy of the new city is still... limping. Gold is too, of course, so trade through barter is useful.
And I'm starting to slowly master foreign trade relations, mwa-ha-ha-ha! Well, yes, we are starting. But it was my idea; I'm a good girl.
Next, we waited for the Goblins to monster-up the shields, and we also exterminated the aggressive fauna that could interfere with our work. Those same Kodo need to be driven off so these panicking lizards don't accidentally trample us. We found a ruined and beyond-stinking Harpy nest that the dragon had burned. But there was nothing interesting there, just charred rot. And that was it. Until "D-Day" arrived.
The fight with the dragon itself... actually the clearing of the nest, went quite well. The shooters pick off the small fry, including me and Veni. Nothing particularly difficult; the small ones—and there were about fifty of them—can't take a hit at all. About the size of a large dog, they fly quite clumsily and spit Fireballs.
A separate note—Goblins know how to act tactically. And they don't just know how; they do it constantly. They cover each other, take cover, and fire from a safe distance. I think I, like many, was a hostage to prejudice. After all, the "trashy" nature of many Goblin buildings and some of their equipment leaves a distorted impression of the race. They are underestimated. Just as it was with the Trolls, whom the Goblins slaughtered to free themselves from slavery. And yes, don't get distracted, DaVi.
About twenty little dragons reached us, and here the close-combat fighters entered the fray. Goblins, looking more like Arbiters, with the caveat that they are... Goblins. And instead of batons, they had swords and shotguns. They hacked in, covering themselves from the fire breath with shields, and due to their short stature, we could fire over their heads quite well. The young ones absolutely cannot take a hit; it's no wonder they breed so well. They die well, too.
And then came the big ones. Little dragons the size of a minibus, perfectly capable of breathing fire and swearing like sailors. They were clearly not pleased that "pitiful mortals" dared to come into their home.
Here The Teacher made his mark. It turns out the Mage has plenty of experience fighting such lizards. There's no point in burning them with fire; dragons are fireproof, and quite strongly so. But freezing a layer of ice onto their wings so they can't fly anywhere—that's possible. And then freezing them to the ground, and when they start to bite, catching the moment to shove an ice block down their throat. As they say, "a well-secured patient doesn't need anesthesia." Thanks to the Magister's actions, we took down nearly a dozen of these elder lizards with zero losses. Plus, the hides turned out to be in good condition. Not the hide of an ancient dragon, of course, but still good. I want to be able to do that too!
And then their mother arrived. And father. And things got very fun. Two flying semi-trucks with huge wings cast their shadow over us, hovering at the top of the canyon and surveying us tiny people. A bit scary; there's something primal in it. When you look from the bottom up at a colossal predator ready to devour you. A sort of Godzilla, but real. The dragon roared, making me flinch. But no one ran, and I shouldn't either. He is doomed. He will die today. They will both die. Pride will be their undoing.
Thanks, voices in my head. You can do it when you want to. The clearly sounding mockery allowed me to pull myself together. No one is running, and I won't either. The dragon, clearly not seeing the desired reaction, was disappointed.
"Pitiful mortals! Greedy mortals! You dared to come here! Dared not to bow before my might. Very well! I shall punish you!" the dragon roared again and descended lower, followed by the second lizard.
My, big guys. Much larger than Chromie at our last meeting. But if Chronormu was elegant, with intelligent eyes expressing cunning and mockery, these are just animals. Huge and aggressive. I could admit Chromie was even beautiful. These are terrifying.
The dragons descended lower, even lower. Then the large one began to puff up, clearly ready to breathe fire. The Goblin captain waved his hand:
"Salvo! Mages!"
And that's where we stepped in. The missiles mounted on the vehicles wailed. Harpoons struck from the shoulder cannons of the Goblin Shredder mechs. Some hit, piercing bodies and wings; some went wide. Those that hit began to tighten the cables, preventing the dragons from flying away or dodging the fire. We hit with everything we had. Icicles, ice spears, Arcane arrows. The shooters tried to fire at the eyes to inflict at least some damage.
The dragons roared, forced to endure the attack. They struck at the cables with their claws, but not all were within reach, especially those that hit the wings. Then the dragons changed tactics. One exhaled a flame that covered us. There was nowhere to run; the only hope was the shield.
Mounted on a cart, it looks quite primitive. Two large tanks of Mana, between which is a mechanism that looks like a mess of spheres, cylinders, and boxes, connected by a bunch of wires and metal plates. And all of this without a proper casing. Shizo-tech, no matter how you look at it. But shizo-tech that works. The dome isn't very large and isn't mobile, but it did its job. It covered us from the fire.
The dragon, seeing a round, undamaged spot in the center of the charred zone where a sizable squad had gathered, was actually surprised.
"How dare you! Die!"
And he struck with his paw directly at the huddled soldiers. That was a mistake. The Magister had been helping the harpooners secure the second patient this whole time. But I was here. And The Teacher taught me what to do in such a situation.
"Surprise!"
And the dragon's paw was impaled on an ice spike that grew right in its path. The bottom of the feet is rarely subjected to attacks and is therefore softer than most of the scales. Easier to pierce. The lizard roared, jerking and trying to fly up, to break free, causing the Shredders securing it to rustle as they were dragged across the ground. The dragon is strong enough to move, if not lift, three such machines. Blood flowed down the ice spike. Excellent.
As the Magister said, the average fight with such a lizard rarely takes more than a couple of minutes. After that, either the attackers are incinerated in fire, or the lizard is crippled and pinned down, then beaten to death. In general, that's how it went. I didn't want to hit it with Uomo Universale so as not to ruin the hide. He's bronze, and I need a new chair. So we'll act carefully, the old-fashioned way. And for sure.
With a couple more good hits, we managed to break the beast's wing. Big, strong, but nothing more, the dragon collapsed into the dust, no longer looking so formidable.
"Pitiful mortals. Managed to wound me. Nonentities!"
Venidan and the warriors went forward, concentrating their efforts on the front paws and the head to disable the opponent. The dragon knocked back two warriors at once with a swipe of its paw. Time to intervene.
I concentrated on freezing, trying to limit the dragon's mobility. And to shove icicles into its eyes and mouth. The parasite tried to swallow Veni, but she put a vertically turned tower shield in her place, so the dragon learned why it's bad to put lightbulbs in your mouth. He couldn't close his mouth no matter how hard he tried. And then he lost his head.
In parallel, the Magister showed what an Elf Mage buffed with Mana looks like. I was being cautious, simply because I didn't quite understand what to expect. And so as not to hit our own; my casts are usually... not very precise. But The Teacher didn't bother with that. At first, he didn't try to freeze the dragon's paws from the outside; he placed ice spikes under the strikes, letting the force of leverage do the work. In the end, the front part of the dragon was burned, blinded, and riddled with sharp icicles which, judging by the frost, also left thermal burns. One paw was frozen into an ice block, as was a wing, when the dragon could no longer dodge properly. And the warriors did the rest.
"Victory, boys! Victory!"
Excellent, it's dead.
"I claim a couple of eggs. I'll make an omelet."
"Great plan!"
All in all, we returned home the next morning, pleased with ourselves. The Goblins promised to discuss the issue of further cooperation with the management. Veni got a new rifle and some gold. I got resources and metals. The Magister acquired a hide and a headless dragon carcass. The lizard had nowhere to get mountains of gold here anyway. And the Goblins got peace, the second carcass, and everything else. All in all, it turned out well.
You can congratulate me on my first successful deal, hee-hee. Even with a discount, we made a profit. That's nice.
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