NOVEL SIMPLE Elementally, my Dear Boy
6/11 morning
Executus, former Majordomo of the Firelord Ragnaros, listened to the amulet around his neck. “So yeah,” explained the cheerful voice, “basically the most important thing we need you to do for now is plant a teleport beacon if you can. Alternatively, we might need to send a team over to capture a few elementals that can serve as living beacons. Long term we are planning on cornering and capturing Ragnaros, but short term we are hoping you can provide us with some elementium and gemstones? We’ve got a titanic blacksmith that we will be onboarding in a few hours, and some high quality materials should really let us see what he can do.”
“I see.” Executus responded skeptically. “You do know I am currently wanted for betrayal of the Firelord, yes?”
“Oh that’s no problem at all Mr. Executus.” She waved him off, “Do you need a disguise? We can shift your appearance and physical makeup to anything within the Flamewaker or Fire Elemental genome. What would work best to allow you to operate anonymously, and what currencies are accepted? You’re our primary point of contact in the Firelands, for now. Speaking of which, we have several other agents in your area of operation that don’t have amulets. If you can rendezvous with them and send one back here, that would be great. They are a bit scattershot; just whoever Valeera happened to kill.”
••••••••••
Thrall was pleased. The Earthen Ring had, through exhaustive study, figured out exactly what was needed to reconstitute Thunderaan, the Prince of Air. Having such a powerful elemental as an ally could only be good, and Warchief Bismark seemed confident Thunderaan would work well in the position. Besides, at Bismark’s current rate of growth he would soon need sponsors for the elements of water and air. An elemental prince was likely overkill, but Thrall could not argue with results. Drawing upon Theradras had allowed Bismark to practically master earth in the time it took most to make their first totem.
Unfortunately, they needed quite a lot of exceptionally pure elementium to create a complete vessel for the Windseeker. There were other methods, but the majority of those would require months or years slowly feeding the bound entity within the bindings. They would do those if they needed to, but the logistics coordinator believed that elementium wouldn’t be too hard to come by in the next week or so.
“Thank you, Muln.” He told the old tauren at the head of the Earthen Ring, “I’ll do what I can to get you the metal. I believe Erius may know a supplier.” Muln hadn’t been wearing his new necklace for long. He’d understand Thrall’s trust in their new draconic ally soon enough.
••••••••••
I was rather excited to see Archaedes up and about. He’d been a stubborn one, for sure. The muscular Keeper was working with some of my crafters repairing equipment when I arrived; he appeared to be sharpening a blade to a razor edge with his bare stony fingers, glimmers of blue energy sparking off of them as he did so. Next to him lay two stacks of weapons; the larger one full of cheap iron and bronze gear looted over the last few weeks, the smaller made of similar gear polished to a mirror finish. I experimentally picked up one of the spruced up weapons and found that he’d somehow improved the balance of the blade as well as the edge. It hadn’t suddenly become magical, but he’d essentially reforged it into masterwork quality with his bare hands, and he continued to idly adjust four more weapons as we spoke.
“So,” I asked, “how are you holding up?”
“With some dissonance; you play a dangerous game.” His deep voice rumbled, “Ironaya seems enthusiastic about your New Order, but I look around and I see those who have fallen far outside of the Titan’s plans.”
“The Titans weren’t perfect. Sargeras is proof of that. Neither am I, but I’ll do my best.”
“You may have a point.” He admitted. “Our command structure is severely compromised, and the majority of the titans are dead or in hiding. If I have to choose between the old gods and you, you are by far the lesser of two evils. You bring order. That must be good enough.”
I suppressed the surge of entitlement that demanded I make him start kissing my ass like the rest of the captured Titanic Watchers had so far. He was a high level administrator. Even the titans had people in their hierarchy that weren’t pure yes men. Instead, I asked him about himself. “So. What do you do?”
“I am overseer of the bulk production facilities for titanforged equipment. I primarily create ergonomic tools, weapons, armor, and devices intended to be operated by intelligent users with minimal specialized training. Ideally they would be usable by a freshly forged individual with only their inborn programming.” He explained with a crisp, military air, “Intelligent or self adapting devices are not my specialty, but I can develop them if needed. I can design and manufacture tools pertaining to nearly any purpose ranging in size from,” he paused to consider the best way to communicate his meaning, “roughly 6 millimeters to 2 kilometers in size, though I tend to prefer smaller, hand held equipment if it can be managed.”
“Huh. That was different. Not… I don’t know, Blacksmith first class, architect first class?”
“Would you prefer my technical designations? I assumed that as a non-titanic entity you would prefer a more colloquial overview of my key abilities. Was I in error?”
“No. No I don’t think you were. I assume you must have the Ambassador designation in there somewhere.” He nodded. “Well, for now I need you to work with Ironaya on her current project. My logistics team will work out how best to utilize you later. Have you studied the functions of your necklace enough to know how to teleport to Ironaya’s location?”
“I have,” and he was gone.
••••••••••
Anveena was having some difficulty with learning how to use shadow magic; it just wasn’t anywhere near as intuitive to her as arcane. She was letting herself be partially possessed by a ghost from the Shadow Ops team in the meantime, but she really really wanted to learn how to use mind vision herself. How else would she be able to direct her proxies?
The proxies were such a clever idea from Talaada; of course from the high priestess’s point of view it had taken three days to come up with it. Neophyte priests and priestesses of the Brotherhood, trained as Overlords and transformed into near identical copies of Anveena, could float around the city of Silvermoon and be a public face for recruitment. They each retained their own personalities under an obfuscating layer of Anveena’s face, mannerisms, and speech patterns, presented as “the many varied aspects of the Sunwell’s Will,” and were in constant mental contact with one another. They had a dedicated tech constantly sharing their memories between one another, making their facade of being one mind controlling many bodies almost true.
It warmed Anveena’s heart that she could be so useful to all of those people. Fifty replicas of herself had gone out today, and thanks to her new influence they were trusted instantly. Some spoke with her voice to arbitrate disputes, some sought to invest in new businesses, some took lovers, and some trained with the Farstriders or Spellbreakers. Most made at least some effort to capture those around them, and all took every opportunity to encourage the Sin’dorei to partake of the Sunwell’s power.
A few of the Elves, mostly those who had little restraint, had already reached the second tier of influence. She could only vaguely sense them and barely knew their numbers, but she knew what they needed. They needed to keep using her power, and to be kinder and more generous as they did so. Anveena had only recently learned the joy of absolute submission. To be owned, and to dedicate every thought to the service of another. She could share that sense of fulfillment and purpose with every one of the elves. Generosity was a good start.
The friends and family of those overindulgent ones tended to see a marked improvement. Those who dedicate themselves fully to feeding a craving are rarely their best selves, so it was easy for those still invested to write off their prior greed, deception, thoughtlessness, or arrogance as the result of their overwhelming mana withdrawals. It was easier, for most, to just be happy for them. Of course, the Sunwell’s gifts were for all to partake in. Soon all of Silvermoon would be a kinder, happier place. Within a few years, to serve would be the very essence of what it means to be Sin’dorei.
••••••••••
Prince Tortheldrin was enjoying another meal of Moonberry Juice and conjured bread. It was a simple meal, and repetitive, but what culinary delights could ever hope to compare to fel magic anyway? That troll that had come to partake of the library was eating with his companions across the hall; he was remarkably astute for an outsider, so he’d made several friends since arriving. Almost concerning how charming that one was, but of course *Kazakus would never do something to harm the Shen’dralar.*
His friend though, that dour human? He seemed a bit untrustworthy. One only needed to look at the perpetually unhappy face of his blonde concubine to see he was trouble. His other concubines seemed happier, but from his brief interactions with the purple haired elves Tortheldrin had concluded that they were just extremely simple. Why did an upstanding man like Kazakus tolerate the company of someone like Victor Nefarius? For that matter why did so many women, even among the Shen’dralar, seem to find him irresistible?
Tortheldrin was startled out of his reverie by a loud clap of Kazakus’s hands. “Alright everyone. It is time.” Tortheldrin gasped, horrified, after all *when Kazakus says it is time, Tortheldrin deserves to die.* The prince would hardly go quietly, but when he stood and looked to his companions, their faces were hard set. The Shen’dralar glared at him with disdain for daring to think he deserved authority, to think he deserved life. His death was as swift as it was unnecessary, but Kazakus laughed as it happened and a hunched beast appeared before him.
“Very good, Kazakusan.” Nefarian smiled tolerantly. His brother always had a flair for the dramatic that Nefarian appreciated. “I knew I could trust you with this task, and you have not disappointed me at all.” The mission to depose Tortheldrin had been exceptionally profitable, providing Nefarian with thirty credits and a demonic Skitterer. He cracked his neck, and spent twenty credits.
••••••••••
Halfway around the world, deep underground, the Matron of Tenacity, Herald of Endless Research (MOTHER for short) stood up stock straight before beginning to speak in a robotic monotone.
“Updating parameters. Prime Designate Odyn: designated irrelevant. Primary mission statement, research and contain Old God specimens, now superseded in priority by new mission statement. New mission statement: assist and empower new Prime Designate: Nefarian. Current orders: secure Facility Uldir for Prime Designate Nefarian. Establish line of communication for Prime Designate Nefarian.”
The tall stone woman stood up with mechanical precision and synthesized a crystal, ready to begin transforming it into a conduit for the Prime Designate’s power. It would be far more effective at subduing the inmates than anything they’d been using up to this point.