Wielding the Stars to Craft War (Warcraft/Starcraft)

Morning in the outskirts of Dalaran City was heralded by the clamor of metal and shouting as the armies of the Alliance sallied out to meet the enemy in battle.

“Remember your formations, fer fuck’s sake!” Lora joined the other commanders in keeping their respective elements in line. While she personally led the Alteraci Royal Guard, the dwarf was also in charge of one half of the Alteraci expedition force sent to aid Dalaran. Under her command were two whole Alteraci infantry legions and eight Hollander walking suits. The other two legions and twelve Hollanders fell under Commander Parston’s purview, along with the Alteraci hussar-knights. Ranger units operated independently under the leadership of the elven ranger-captain Ariande, and together, the Alteraci force within the Alliance formed a small but potent force.

Lora could easily imagine the hussar-knights and her own probe cavalry effortlessly running circles around the Silver Hand knights, while the multi-role Alteraci infantry would give the more heavily armored Lordaeron footmen a good blooding if push ever came to shove. It’d be just a notion for now, as Alterac now joined the meager reinforcements from Lordaeron and the Dalaran host to stand against corrupted Gilneans.

It promised to be a bloody, brutal battle, probably worse than the unholy carnage that took place in Alterac’s cathedral. By all accounts, every Gilnean they’d face was irrevocably damned, either giving in or forcibly enslaved to Fel powers. They possessed dark strength and darker magic, though beyond mindless berserkers, baleful warlocks and horrific beasts, precious little was really known about Gilnean military tactics.

They hadn’t been given a chance to show off any military skill up until now, as they simply flooded the battlefield with violent lunatics. Credit where it’s due, it had been working until now. But Lora still had a bad feeling about sightings of heavily armored infantry and knights in the heart of the Gilnean host.

Well, hopefully if things go even half to plan, she wouldn’t be finding out today. The Alliance was sallying out in force, but not to stop the invasion. There were far too many mutated Gilneans for that. Instead they sought to engage the enemy as far away as they could from Dalaran, and then begin fighting their way back to the city, in hopes of whittling down the Gilneans’ numbers to something approaching manageable levels and keeping their focus on the city, instead of despoiling the countryside.

As many of the enemy needed to be in the same place as possible, to make it easier for Kyle’s new toys to mop things up when they arrived.

“Think he’ll drop in personally?” Lora asked the blue-robed figure casually floating alongside her probe on a translucent arcane disc.

“Knowing how…proactive our king is, it’s very likely. Hopefully he’ll have the common sense to not appear in the thickest of the fighting.”

Lora scowled at the thought of that. One dreadlord monster was a bad enough experience. She didn’t want to have to charge in and rescue Kyle if he suddenly decided to pop up amidst a mob of maybe-demons.

Valoghan was about to add something, but then he gave a characteristic pause of listening to Kyle’s invisible summons. The mage’s face then scrunched up with distaste. “Hm. A small Gilnean force has broken off and is headed north.”

“Brilliant. Just great. Can Kyle catch them?”

The mage gave a tentative nod. “He could, but that risks showing his hand too soon. Krasus has agreed to deal with the matter.”

“Eh?” Lora glanced to her side, where her enigmatic benefactor calmly rode a destrier with the rest of the Dalaran contingent in the distance. In the middle of the convoy were cannons, each floating on a shimmering cushion of air. Krasus didn’t seem too perturbed, though he rarely gave away much emotion to start with. 

Lora didn’t know what assets he might still have to play though; how many agents could the archmage have close enough to intercept the splinter force? And even if there were any, would they be enough? You’d probably need gryphons or dragons to actually reach the Gilneans and be capable of doing more than just pissing them off.

Maybe Krasus had a whole clan of Wildhammers on his payroll? It’s not like he conveniently had a dragon or two at his beck and call, right?

Pushing aside a concern she had no control over, Lora returned to keeping an eye on the formation she led. The armies of the Alliance kept marching well into the afternoon, with magi flitting past the rank and file to distribute muffins of all things, alongside bloated waterskins. Despite the meager fare, the muffins were surprisingly filling, and Lora noted how the troops seemed to pick up their marching speed again after gulping down the water.

The march only came to a halt when scouts rushed back to herald the approaching invaders, and battlelines were formed on open grasslands. Lora’s group hurried over to take their place at the leftmost flank to cover a few Violet Legions, while Commander Parston had his force at the center to bolster the anvil. The Knights of the Silver Hand and Lordaeron legions took responsibility for the right flank, while squads of magi were spread about evenly to provide overlapping aid alongside the Alteraci rangers and Lordaeron skirmishers.

Warpriests of the Light, chanted as they lifted the fatigue and bolstered the spirits of the soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder with one another. There was a different sort of chanting from Valoghan and the Kirin Tor magi who lay enchantments and summoned elementals. Hollanders knelt with cannons at the ready, while conventional cannon pieces were dropped onto the ground, and hurriedly loaded.

It was about as good a formation as they could manage with the manpower they had, walls of infantry blocks that would hopefully put up enough resistance to halt the enemy’s momentum, and give mobile reserves time to swing about for flanking charges or rain devastating barrages on exposed flanks.

The last shields bit into the ground to complete the shield walls when dark figures appeared and poured over the horizon. They were maybe a league or so away, but even then Lora could tell that the small blots in the distance carried an unnatural gait. Under the afternoon sun, the Captain of the Royal Guard had to squint hard to finally notice the pinpricks of green light that covered the approaching horde like a rash. Black banners bobbed amidst the enemy host, some held up by disfigured brutes while others fluttered off hulking monstrosities like pennants.

“How long do we have to hold the line again?” Lora had to ask.

Valoghan sounded just as distracted as her. “Ideally, not for too long…”

The Gilnean flood closed the distance with surprising speed, and it wasn’t long for orders to be given for the cannons to open fire throughout the Alliance line.

In contrast, Lora left it to the Hollanders’ gnome pilots, trusting them to understand their weapons better. “Fire whenever you’re ready.”

“You should’ve told us sooner,” one of the gnomes cackled before her Hollander’s cannon tilted upwards a little more and then belched a deafening boom. The other walking machines followed suit, joining the initial barrage. Fireballs, crackling lightning bolts, and other arcane spells added to the horizontal storm of destruction. A ruinous, explosive cacophony rolled back seconds later, but Lora had to wait until the smoke and spell haze lifted to see the effects of the barrage.

The Gilneans’ front line was noticeably more ragged, with ancestors know how many of their dead trampled underfoot as they surged forth. Another barrage of spells followed, and this time Lora could see fireballs plowing into the horde, flames consuming any that got in their way before they exploded and sent bodies flying in smoking pieces. Blinding sparks arced through Gilneans struck by lightning, while others were shredded by icy spikes.

By the time the cannons fired again, Lora estimated that hundreds of Gilneans had already died, either to cannonfire and spell, or from being trampled by their comrades.

The Gilnean line did not slow or even flinch at all to the opening volley. They kept coming as a rabid mob, running straight into spells and cannonballs, heedless of their own survival. 

It was ludicrous. Even the most ferocious orc raiders or famished gnoll band had enough brains among their number to seek cover or spread out to minimize damage. But these Gilneans didn’t seem to care about such petty matters. A glowing arcane orb detonated in the thick of the approaching Gilneans, but their comrades didn’t even consider making some space between each other as they continued charging.

Worse, as the carnage grew closer and closer, Lora noticed that not every burnt or blasted Gilnean was rendered a corpse. Some misshapen figures actually got back up and resumed their frenzied advance as if a ragged hole in their chest or a broken and flopping neck was a minor inconvenience.

Regardless of the damage being inflicted upon them, the Gilneans remained a maddened, unflinching tide of wide eyes and gaping mouths glowing green.

“Is Kyle ready yet?”

“Not yet,” Valoghan answered with forced calmness. “He’s trying to confirm the whereabouts of the ringleaders.”

“He can do that after he helps sweep this lot away,” Lora hissed.

“Kyle agrees, but it’s agreed that if we’re truly dealing with demons, they might slip away if the trap is sprung too early.”

“‘We’? Who’s ‘we’?”

“Krasus and the rest of the Kirin Tor ruling council.”

“Of fecking course… Stupid magi and their stupid ploys…”

“Lord Morgraine also agrees with their assessment, though somewhat reluctantly.”

The little addition did not change Lora’s grumbling.

By the third cannon volley, the Hollanders rose up and picked up oversized swords, mauls and shields in their mechanized gauntlets, while the men at the shieldwall braced themselves as another wave of enchantments fell upon them.

“Bows, all ranks!” Lora yelled, an order echoed by Commander Parston at the center. The rangers and other dedicated ranged units were already loosing their arrows, the sheer numbers and density of the Gilneans meant that missing was nigh impossible. Less showy spells began flying as well, the smaller bolts of magic streaming forth at a faster rate than before.

“Loose as you will!” Lora ordered, and the area around her became filled with the deafening twang-cracks of several hundred repeater bows unleashing a storm of arrows over the heads of the Dalaran footmen.

For a moment, the tide of Gilneans was brought to a crashing halt as arrows, cannonballs and spells tore through their ranks faster than they could climb over their dead. Their advance instead became measured by the next wave of corpses that flopped forwards.

For that brief moment, Lora genuinely thought that they had done it, that the rampaging charge had been checked.

But then gouts of green fire from the Gilnean side reminded her that the enemy had spellcasters too. Lances of green fire and lightning shot straight at the cannons in the center. Slagged barrels were flung high into the air, and a series of explosions ripped the backline of reserves and magi as the lightning breached barrels to set off the cannon’s powder charges.

Fel bolts also flew into shield walls, blasting apart the tight formations in an echo of what had been inflicted on the Gilneans. Lora winced as she saw armored soldiers sent flying and then landing in a crumpled heap. 

Some got up, smoking and bruised, but alive, the enchantments of the magi and blessings of priests doing their work and absorbing the worst of the dark fire. 

Quite a few didn’t, the protective spells not being enough to negate a broken neck or shredded body.

Another wave of Fel magic was loosed, but most were snuffed out as the Kirin Tor magi focused their attention on countering the spells. 

With the storm of fire and magic slackening, the Gilneans quickly reclaimed the momentum. The growing wall of bodies toppled over as they broke once more into a frenzied charge, and for all the discipline and resolve of the footmen behind the shield walls, Lora knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not against the tide of hulking, mutated madmen.

She could pick out the grisly details on the Gilneans as they closed in. Rabid to the point of emptiness, the had no life behind their glowing eyes. They sported unnatural growths bulging out of every part of their bodies, and those in armor seemed ready to burst out of them. They had no right bearing hideous claws and fangs or flailing with additional limbs, but yet they did. Some had bestial snouts instead of human noses, others had extra eyes or exposed veins weeping green blood.

“Hold the line!” a Dalaran commander yelled desperately, knowing the horrid truth as well as Lora did. “By all you hold dear, hold the line!”

And the Violet Legions forming the front ranks of the left flank held the line. For all of nine seconds. Then they were literally overrun, as the Gilneans clambered up their kin who’d crashed against the shield wall to leap into the ordered ranks behind it.

While the Dalaran footmen closed ranks in an effort to fight off the lunatics, Lora nodded at the infantry captain beside her to pass command of the Alteraci legions to him. She then raised her axe, drawing the royal guard’s attention. 

“We can’t let the bastards break through! Ease up the pressure!”

The Dalaran soldiers fighting for their lives barely had the time or attention to take in the gilded things flying over their heads to land just in front of them. The Alteraci probe cavalry effortlessly cleared the ranks of the Violet Legions and slammed straight into the unthinking tide. Blades, lances and axes flew from the riders while the probes’ solid mass and their bladed spikes carved a path of pulped and gored Gilneans. Their eldritch shields sparked all around as the enemy reacted to their presence with immediate hostility, creating a strobing bubble around each construct.

Blades and fingers broke as they bashed against the semi-invisible barrier. Madmen leapt recklessly over their own in an attempt to latch onto the riders, ignorant of the fact that they kept bouncing off the shield bubbles. 

Things twice the size of an average human tried to stand in the probes’ way, but sudden acceleration flung them away like limp ragdolls. And then the probes had to repeat the move to another group of hulking things. And then another.

The royal guard swept across the front lines over and over, and though it was clear things couldn’t go on like this, Lora also knew that allowing the enemy to build pressure on the infantry would see the defensive line flattened. Even with the Hollanders wading in to help with great sweeps of their weapons, the line could barely hold.

And that was while the Gilnean warlocks were still busy duelling with the Kirin Tor magi. Even Valoghan was busy gesturing as he batted away incoming spells like a man trying to swat a swarm of flies from landing on his food. If the warlocks managed to get even a moment of free reign, the defense would be well and truly fucked.

Lora risked a second to glance out at the rest of the battlefield. The center was straining inwards, but still holding despite the smoldering craters around them. The hussar-knights were already riding back and forth, driving their long lances into one group of enemy and expertly disengaging before their enemies fell in on them, and then wheeling about to lance at another flank. The Hollanders there had also joined the melee, sweeping their oversized weapons back and forth to beat back the tide of corrupted flesh. Heavily armored footmen of Dalaran and Lordaeron struggled to push back at the clawing, frothing Gilneans while Alteraci spears thrust from between shields and shoulders to lend what aid they could. The magi sent forth their summoned elementals to buy time and breathing space, and the animated shapes of water, earth, and fire waded into the Gilnean mass to be whittled away by the relentless foe who clawed over their own dead to get at the enemy.

While the center miraculously still held, the right was at the brink of collapsing. The golden light of paladins and priests were dim compared to the green Fel that surrounded them. The Knights of the Silver Hand were fully committed in the fighting, each armored knight or paladin serving as a heavily contested anchor for the soldiery around them to rally towards. Huge sweeps of warhammers and greatswords created a growing pile of dead around them, and not a few of the knights were still fighting despite ruinous wounds, the Light sustaining them. For all their faith and martial skill, though, with the way the enemy were swarming them, the right flank was inevitably going to be surrounded.

It seemed that the idea of a fighting retreat was too ambitious. The Gilneans were too fast, too uncaring about their own lives.

It was going to be a problem trying to disengage from this fight, unless a certain king decided to get off his damned ass and-

Just as she was about to finish the thought, Lora picked up an unusual whine. Quickly finishing off her current foe, she looked up to see something floating high up in the sky. And then gusts of wind seemed to blow from every direction.

And then suddenly the Gilnean tide seemed to suffer a volley of blue-white explosions.

And air became translucent and seemingly solid as Gilneans crashed into what looked like shimmering blocks.

Then other Gilneans caught fire and quickly burst into ash.

As a new brand of chaos infected the battlefield, Lora had the chance to look up again, and the thing in the sky lifted off and flew away. Then, like a veil being lifted, golden things familiar and new appeared in the midst of the battle line. Lora recognized the four-legged spiders, but she was completely unfamiliar with their towering, spindly-legged cousins that unleashed beams of disintegrating fire. Or the massive caterpillars that spat blue orbs that flew into the midst of the Gilneans and exploded with such force that no corpses fell in one piece. Cyclopean beetle things zapped at foes with eldritch energy, the glowing void on their backs flaring occasionally, to be followed by more blocks of air freezing solid.

“About fecking time,” Lora declared, too relieved and tired to be angry.

Just like that, Kyle’s army of golden constructs turned the tide. The walkers, both big and colossal, contemptuously crushing any Gilnean underfoot before their weapons fired, or the caterpillars apathetically spitting orb after orb to carve a hole into the corrupted host.

Relief turned to irritation and then horror though, when Lora cast her gaze about and then found the familiar golden frame of her king, a bit too deep in the Gilnean horde. Not too far from him the unholy knights of Gilneas, who had been content to sit back during this battle, began to stir as one.

Lora cursed, and then quickly rallied the royal guards. “Fecking stupid…”