Sweat trickles from my forehead into my beard and further down, stinging small wounds and cuts all over my body. A hellish mixture of soot, blood, and shit clogs my nose, nearly turning me inside out. Something is constantly dripping from the walls, and it isn't always waste; sometimes ordinary water drips onto our heads, and sometimes... blood. The blood of Stromgarde's defenders, buying every second for us at the cost of their lives.
The Stromgarde sewers were old, ancient even, and it could be felt in every cell of the body. Many passages had collapsed long before The Horde's attack on the city, though there were also blockages formed quite recently—buried under tons of debris from city buildings or fallen airships.
Because of that, we constantly had to find detours, wasting already precious time. Dozens of small squads and groups scattered through the sewers, seeking paths and trying to reconcile ancient maps with the actual state of affairs.
"Hurry up! Menu Shirumund Burn!" I shout. Breathing heavily through my mouth—since inhaling the local bouquet through my nose was already unbearable—I raise my torch higher over my head, peering at the silhouettes flickering through the sewer tunnels. "Time is short..."
Another group of volunteers runs past me with barrels and sacks on their backs. Sweating profusely, with trembling legs, these poor souls are repeating their route for the tenth time, bringing us more and more explosives of various kinds.
Stepping back to the wall, careful not to touch the barrels of fire-mix attached to the stone columns with my torch, I let a squad of Elves pass. Coils of fuse hang from the shoulders of the Pointy-Ears.
Their polished appearance has undergone "minor" changes. Porcelain, stoic faces have been replaced by fatigue and grime. Bruises have formed under their perfect eyes, and sweaty, greasy hair is matted into clumps, obstructing their vision and often falling over their faces.
All filthy and soot-stained, the Elves don't even grant me a glance, completely focused on their assigned tasks.
A crash sounds overhead. The walls shake, and stone dust showers from the ceiling, causing an unpleasant itch on my scalp. Grimacing and shielding my eyes with my palm, I slowly turn my gaze toward the ceiling, as if hoping to see through the thickness of stone and other rock.
Shouts, the clatter of swords, groans, and the screams of the wounded reach my keen ears...
The battle for Stromgarde was in full swing, every minute bringing the end of this glorious and ancient city closer. Every now and then, the long sounds of horns reached our ears, forcing us to stop work and listen closely to decipher the signal...
Fearing it would be the order for the Systems Alliance forces to retreat. But so far... so far that hasn't happened, which, however, does nothing to decrease our nervousness.
Besides that, there was a real danger of encountering Orcs in the city's underground tunnels. Not that these dim-witted freaks could get in here themselves; it was more likely they'd end up here by accident or fall down along with the debris of buildings or fortifications.
"Master Rodgirn," Tim appears nearby. The lad is breathing heavily and deeply, looking around warily, sometimes flinching at a particularly loud noise above our heads. "Everything is ready; all that's left is to light it..."
Nodding confidently, I give the final orders. While the people gather and check our little gift for the fanged faces one last time, I can't help myself and personally walk through the most important nodes of the demolition network, checking the reliability of all the mountings.
I just needed to reach a large intersection to light the fuses leading here... Though it could only be called that in the eyes of people who had never before seen the endless halls and corridors of Ironforge, where the ceiling seems like a distant and heavy sky, reliably sheltering the Dwarves from all hardships.
...Then, amid the cracking of stone and the crash overhead, my body is forced to act before my brain realizes. Even as the first boulder begins to fall, sliding along the rounded wall, I've already dove into the nearest passage, dodging the beginning collapse.
A wave of dust and smoke hits in all directions. Distant and muffled sounds strike my ears, and even the crash of the tunnel collapse cannot drown out the clatter of swords and battle cries.
Before I can even properly stand up, I find a fanged face with an unnaturally twisted neck in front of me. A massive, half-naked Orc lies on his side toward me, his huge maw agape. Several broken fangs lie nearby.
The giant's body is bent too unnaturally, and several spears and pieces of rebar protrude from his chest, but even so, the Orc gripped his battleaxe until the very end, not letting go even after death.
Spitting right onto the Horde member's face, I struggle to my feet, already hearing the multiple footsteps of my comrades behind me, but...
Right now, I don't care about them. Sunlight falls into the sewer through a hole in the ceiling. The stench of the city burning in fire hits my nose and stings my eyes, but it doesn't stop me from drawing my pistol and, with the very first shot, blowing off the foot of a Troll jumping down.
The stooped bastard flips in the air, falling onto his back in the water. Grabbing his mangled limb and letting out painful screams, the freak tries to crawl out of the line of fire, but before he can even take a step, he catches an arrow from behind my back, right in the eye.
Falling entirely into the water, the Gurubashi splashes filth through the tunnel, but before all the drops can even hit the ground, several more fanged Brutes jump into the water after him.
Announcing the sewer with their signature and favorite cry, the Brutes rush straight at me, vigorously waving their weapons and preparing for an easy fight.
The poleaxe in my hand traces a line in the air. Runes glowing with fire pulse bloodthirstily, calling for the most brutal resolution possible, but unfortunately, there is no time for that.
The pair of Orcs running in front quickly jumps back from my not-so-fast swing. Grinning in sync, the pair shakes their axes, preparing to try again, but a new batch of arrows fells the first one... dead.
The second only has time to bulge his eyes in surprise before a new crash of a shot rolls through the underground and a large hole appears in the bastard's stomach.
Clutching the wound, the Orc begins to fall on his back, but the kinsmen running behind him don't let him fall. With a light movement of his hand, a massive Brute dressed in some rags and bone amulets sends his wounded kinsman flying, face-first into the sewer water. This giant has only one eye, and a well-groomed tuft of hair sticks out of his bald head.
"Lok Tar..."
A new arrow ricochets off a bone spaulder and strikes the Troll following the Orc. The jerk had enough reaction to put his armor under the Elven shot!
The leader of this small gang smirks nastily and clearly wants to say something... But who's going to let him?
The poleaxe goes back behind my back, and a pair of pistols erupts with "thunder and lightning," piercing the first layers of armor and throwing the giant onto his back.
"Back!" Waving my hand, I'm the first to bolt, breaking into the fastest run a Dwarf can afford. My short legs carry me forward, ignoring the stones and water on the road. "Move it, idiots! Everything's about to blow!"
The torch has long since done its job, and playful sparks run along the fuses, escaping further into the darkness, trying to reach their targets as quickly as possible along the oiled ropes.
And everyone ran. As soon as they realized what was said, a crowd of volunteers thundered past me, emerging from side passages in small groups and gathering into a single whole. Elves and humans ran as if death itself were at their heels, which was generally not far from the truth. The Dwarves, however...
Let's just say, when they gave out free Bugman's ale in Ironforge on Remembrance Day, they moved like snails. Now they were racing so fast you could barely count their heads.
Last, literally flying out of the passage, I land in Tim's gentle and caring hands. He catches me on the move and, without asking, flings me over his shoulder, after which my faithful assistant races toward the ships even faster.
Around us is chaos and madness. The defenders are hastily leaving their positions, putting to use everything stored in the city's giant workshops and storerooms. Explosives, fire-mix, gunpowder... anything to delay The Horde, preventing them from giving chase and keeping them in dying Stromgarde longer!
Tim pulls ahead. This dim-witted giant, even with me on his back, runs almost faster than a horse, without showing even a hint of fatigue!
I myself keep my eyes fixed on the city. The city that took me in, helped me get on my feet, and almost became a second home...
Seconds stretch endlessly, but then... it happens.
The wind dies down for a moment, ceasing to drive us with soot and smoke. The whole world seems to feel that something is about to happen... and even the mad Horde members freeze in place, looking around warily, trying to identify the new threat.
Birds fly from the mountains in fear, drawing the attention of a few Pathfinders.
A thick lump slides down my throat. Breathing becomes difficult, and I freeze in place, my eyes glued to the old walls of Stromgarde.
First, there was a jolt. A dull crash rolled through the area, shaking the earth, staggering everyone, even the most steadfast and strong...
And then a new sun ignited over the capital of the kingdom of the same name. Pillars of the brightest flame erupted from underground, taking with them everything they could reach. The fire spared no one and nothing, its dense tongues that melted stone sweeping through the ruins of Stromgarde.
The ground began to settle. The few surviving walls and the citadel folded inward like a toy house, burying the Horde members beneath them.
The green-skinned bastards scattered in all directions, unable to withstand the man-made element. Dropping their weapons, they ran in different directions, but the landslide was faster.
Cracks spread around the city. The networks of tunnels collapsed, and the city sank a good ten meters.
Stromgarde fell. Finally and irrevocably. If they ever try to restore the ancient fortress, it will be a completely different city.
Covering my face with my palm, I studiously avoid looking away from the raging flame. The runes on my head fall suspiciously quiet, leaving only satisfaction and delight at the work done.
****
No one uttered a word. Stunned by what had happened, we boarded the ships in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts. The people did not grumble, did not cry, and did not swear... They only silently endured the fall of a monumental city, an entire capital, into the ground.
Many saw exactly what happened, and only some drew conclusions from it.
The majority... were in a state of disarray. Both the Elves and the numerous humans...
It was especially hard for the Stromgardeans, who personally witnessed the final fall of their kingdom. Another human stronghold had collapsed under the onslaught of the Orcish threat, and no matter how we fought, in the end, we could do nothing but take as many Brutes with us as possible.
"The fleet has formed into cruising order," a female palm rests on my shoulder. With calluses from a blade and traces of the recent battle, I could easily recognize its owner even without hearing her voice. "The sailors of Kul Tiras will see to their business, and as for us... everyone should rest."
The younger of the sisters said the last sentence much louder, clearly addressing the people crowded along the railing. The Elf held herself together well, her excitement betrayed only by a slight tremor.
Without words, I simply wrap my fingers around her palm, giving the girl mutual, silent support.
I don't know how long we stood like that, and I'm not just talking about Sarandiel and me. Tim, the Dwarves, and the other people could not gather their strength and go down to the lower decks for a long time, until the ruins of Stromgarde disappeared behind the horizon and the night gloom began to slowly cover Azeroth.
"I'm going to go lie down..." Without turning to face the Elf, gripping my beard until it hurts, I'm the first to leave the deck blown by cold winds, heading wherever my eyes lead in hopes of finding a simple bunk.
"Alright..."
I no longer heard Sarochka's quiet whisper, completely immersed in my thoughts. Stepping on the wooden floor of the ship, I noticed every now and then how one of my hands constantly reached out to stroke the oaths carved on my head. The ancient symbols of the old tongue now seemed like simple scars, even making me forget for a moment the whole range of feelings and experiences I felt when I saw the end of Stromgarde.
"This is definitely not normal... And not right."
Repeating these words in my head over and over, I didn't notice how I reached a dark and inconspicuous corner, where I simply leaned my back against the wall, tilting my eyes toward the ceiling.
My eyelids closed unnoticed. Fatigue and anxiety took their toll; as soon as the body felt a semblance of safety, all my internal supports collapsed—instantly sending me into unconsciousness.
I dreamed of Ironforge. Great and mighty, an ancient city that was supposed to outlive the whole world. Its monumental and impregnable walls. Gates adorned with the names of the worthy and huge halls full of smithies, chambers, and houses. Lava rivers, eternally flowing beneath our feet and giving warmth...
And it changed. Unnoticeably, as if years were flying before my eyes—Ironforge turned into a pathetic shadow of itself. The walls cracked, through which flesh bulging with ulcers and veins grew like growths. The lava rivers dried up, and a brown sludge with all shades of purple flowed through them...
"No... NO!"
I felt myself tossing in my sleep. How my fists clenched until it hurt, and my temples and scalp burned with pain, demanding the fulfillment of the promised oaths. The picture before my eyes continued to change and with each—
The awakening was sudden.
Opening my eyes, I felt myself in a state of flight, though more like a fall. My body jerked sideways in a tumble, and a moment later, the sound of an alarm bell reached my ears.
Striking the metal frantically, the lookout on the upper deck didn't really need to try, considering how the mighty Kul Tiran battleship had been jolted.
Trying to stand up, I swayed, feeling dizziness and pain in my temples. The runes burned with fire again; whispers and unfamiliar voices were heard on the periphery. Leaning my palm against the wooden walls, I start shaking my head like a dog, trying to drive away the delusion.
Pictures of fallen Ironforge kept floating before my eyes. Strength left my body, barely allowing me to simply stay on my feet.
Emerging from my cabin, I ran head-on into Sarandiel. The agitated Elf was trying to shout to me, but her cry was drowned out by new strikes against the ship. We were thrown to the floor. Tumbling down the stairs to the deck below, I hit my head hard against the pilings.
Counting the dark spots before my eyes, I tried to stand up again, but at that very moment, a huge turtle smashed through the side of the ship. The massive beast scattered the floors and frame like a mad ram through a haystack, after which the monster went on its way, and a stream of icy sea water collapsed on me—instantly sending me into unconsciousness.
***
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