So, we won, Archimonde is destroyed, and his army, having lost its leader, began to rapidly fall apart. Especially when the Undead simply gave up on supporting the demons and walked off into the sunset, suggesting the devils deal with their own problems somehow. Medivh is rambling about how this world no longer needs a Guardian, lazy ass.
But in a sense he's right; it really is time for us to part ways. One shouldn't overstay their welcome.
Of course, before returning to Theramore, I had to present myself before the bright eyes of Jaina. Well, "bright"—the sorceress looks exactly like I do after particularly difficult battles involving a lot of combat Alchemy taken internally. Circles under her eyes, trembling hands, a haggard face. And her clothes were burnt, smelling of soot, some foul substance, and demonic guts. I suspect she's had far less sleep than I have these past few days. I sympathize.
Jaina looked at me and just waved her hand:
"Be in Theramore in ten minutes; I've already opened the portal. You've earned a week's leave; you'll hand in your report when you've rested, through Clarinel. Through her, I'll pass on what to do next. The program, that is. That's all. For now—rest. Questions?"
Emmm, eh?
"The program, Lady Jaina?"
The sorceress nodded and sighed heavily. You could see how she was looking at the cot standing in the corner. With the great sorrow of a person who still has plenty of work to do.
"You won't get out of the awards ceremony. And we'll have to organize a festival; the townspeople will definitely want to celebrate. Но that will all be later. For now, go home, rest. We'll handle the cleanup ourselves. Questions? No? Dismissed."
Home, heh. So, home. I gathered my cloak and the little equipment that had survived this Expedition. During the battle, demons had tried to break in here, resulting in hand-to-hand combat on the first floor. Chopped-up furniture and demon corpses were piled in a heap near the entrance. There were traces of blood on the floor.
Looking at this, one could think about how much my life has changed. I react calmly to corpses, to traces of blood. Even a severed arm barely moves me. I don't know if that's good or bad. It just is. Maybe it's the fatigue, or maybe I've just gotten used to it. So I just walked through the bloodstains, not particularly worried about it.
Outside, the teacher was waiting, and having received the go-ahead, we departed through the portal to the city. This camp is different from the one that was on the summit of Hyjal. Demons came here too, but primarily this was a hospital and healers, and the camp itself, like a shamrock, was divided into sectors. Horde, Theramore, and elven. The portal is under guard; after all, there is no trust between the allies. Though they let us through without a problem, even nodding respectfully.
The exit from the portal, like previous times, was in the castle courtyard in the center of the city. Not the largest space, in the center of which is Lady Jaina's magic tower, and around it—high walls with five turrets. Few people know this, but technically, this structure can be used as a focusing magic circle. It just requires a lot of Mana. Honestly, I don't know exactly what for. Но it can be done; I've seen the runes and circles.
Not many people had gathered here, mostly officers, the wounded, and supply officers passing through the portal in both directions. Theramore had been cut off from the front lines for quite a while; Jaina didn't want to risk a new attack. And now the supply officers and bureaucrats were scurrying through the portal in both directions, eager to make up for lost time. Yes, I sincerely, truly sympathize with Lady Jaina. I was sent to rest, but she still has work and more work.
I don't want to know how much Mana this portal vortex consumes. There are reasons why long-distance stable transitions are a rarity. As are cargo shipments by direct teleportation. Two things affect Mana consumption: distance and the volume being moved. Even for a Mage of Jaina's or Khadgar's level, running containers of cargo through a portal would be an enormous strain.
Moving a few sentient beings is possible; in fact, that's usually what portals are used for. But if you start hauling materials through a portal, no amount of Mana will be enough. So the supply officers' desires are shattered by the possibilities of transport. Fortunately, people are starting to return, so they will get their due from this side of the magic gates. First, those not participating in the cleanup, like us, will return to the city. And then, in a few days, the rest will arrive.
Jaina will likely hold negotiations with the Horde, maybe have lunch with Tyrande and Malfurion, I don't know. But in a week or so, in the final ranks, she will return too. Yes, I'm a little jealous; after all, as the Lady of Theramore, she has more opportunities. But nothing, in time I will too. However, not today. Today I want to drown in a bathtub, and I don't intend to deny myself that opportunity. I don't know about the Magister—he keeps his face much better—but I've spent too long away from the comforts of civilization. And I can't wait to fix that.
We stepped away from the portal, showing our tokens to the sentinel, and the teacher said:
"Well, Davilinia. Here our paths part. For today. Rest," a crow landed on his shoulder, "I'll keep an eye on you. Can you make it home?"
I assessed how I felt. Actually, it wasn't all that bad. The poison had let go; there was weakness, but I wasn't planning on fighting. So...
"Yes, Magister. I'll make it. Thank you, teacher. For everything."
The Mage smiled again, though he quickly hid the emotion.
"You worked well and deserve all the praise you will hear. Do not doubt yourself or your strength, Davilinia. And hurry, it will be crowded here soon."
"Thank you, teacher. You did a lot too. Saved me, for example. I won't forget it."
I gave a short nod and moved toward the exit of the castle square. The teacher was right. For now, people hadn't realized that their defenders had returned. But when the soldiers start coming through the portals from that side, and their family members, drawn by news of the victory, come through the gates from this side... Indeed, I need to hurry. I don't want to be pushed around, and I certainly don't want to levitate.
And yet, my mood was elevated. Helmet under my arm, I walked through the city and just smiled to myself.
Victory, what a pleasant word. No more need to run, scream, and build everything in sight at top speed. I can act at my own pace, deciding which events interest me and which I can skip. Work for myself, rest too. And Lady Jaina, when she returns, will even give me an award.
"Everything turned out for the best."
My thoughts drifted to another interesting topic. A teacher with Warlock skills. Who would have thought, huh? Certainly not me. The Mage is far too good at staying under the radar.
But it explains all the oddities of his behavior well. Why the Forces of Light wanted him and me so badly. Why a Mage of his level decided to move to Theramore instead of getting involved in politics in Stormwind, for example. Here, the teacher has significantly more freedom. Like the New World on Earth, where all sorts of people migrated with all sorts of motives. I think the teacher could even find test subjects here without a problem. I wonder why he, being so active, didn't go to Outland with Alleria and Turalyon? I'll ask him someday.
The city streets greeted me with the most ordinary everyday bustle. The aftermath of the battle with the Undead had been mostly cleared away, and if one ignored the occasional soot or chips where projectiles had struck, nothing betrayed what had happened. No tracks, no smells—only sentients hurrying about their business, just as they had before the attack. They talked among themselves, carried things, traded from stalls against the walls, and rushed somewhere. In the center of the wide street, a cart loaded with sacks rolled by.
I had to watch out for pickpockets; here, it was more than a real possibility. Just as real as the fact that I'd never find the thief. The ordinary life of an ordinary city, heh.
"Excuse me, lady?"
I stopped, turning toward the voice. A Human. A man. Dressed like a townsman in trousers, a shirt, and a vest with simple boots. He looked anxious, clearly realizing he was addressing someone above his station. Did something happen?
"What is it?"
The man hesitated for a moment, looking into my face. I hadn't put on my helmet, so for a second, the frozen man had the chance to gaze into eyes glowing with a deep, saturated blue. Then he sighed and said:
"Forgive me, but you're from that side, right? We... " he paused, then spoke quickly and with embarrassment: "Oh, I mistook you, I thought you were older. Forgive me. I was mistaken, lady. My apologies once again."
Ah, so that was it. I ignored his comment about my age; it wasn't the first time. It seemed he was waiting for someone from that side. A wife, or a child—it could be anyone. Well, I could understand that.
"Yes, we won. They'll return soon, as soon as the search and cleanup of surviving enemies is finished. Just wait a little longer. They—whoever you're waiting for—will return. We won, everything will be fine; the most dangerous part is behind us."
Yes, I was being slightly deceptive. The Third War was quite destructive, but this event was just "one of many." And oh, the fun that would begin when C'Thun woke up... But that was a matter for the future. For now—let them be happy.
The man nodded, his gaze softening. He almost moved to hug me but stopped after looking into my eyes. Smiling broadly, he spoke in a rapid-fire tone:
"Thank you. Thank you! I'll tell everyone, I'll tell them right now! Everyone! Oh, and your hands are covered in dried, that..." and he ran off.
It seemed rumors were starting to spread, just as the Magister had said. Partly because the sentients around were already beginning to whisper. They had heard our dialogue and only refrained from pestering me with questions because they saw the Surveyor emblem on my cloak. Did that stop them from discussing what they'd heard? No. Nor did it stop them from heading to the square to check and listen to the news. By evening, the city would be buzzing. That was their right; I, however, walked on, heading home. Past all these joyful, anxious sentients. I even returned my helmet to its rightful place so I wouldn't have to meet anyone's gaze.
But walking around in a blood-stained uniform was undesirable for me. I inspected my raised hands, the "contact pair." Yeah, far from everything had been cleaned off; the dried dark-green sludge hadn't gone anywhere, especially in the joints and on the claws above the blades. And the uniform wasn't in the best condition after the battle—torn, scorched, and stained.
"A real slob, through and through."
Well, whatever. Although, while the clothes could wait, it made sense to wash the gloves. Where could I do that?
Oh, a familiar establishment. "Hot Caprice." I'd go there; I was a frequent visitor, though not for the reason people usually go to a brothel.
The door was wide open, so I walked inside without any trouble or unnecessary noise. A couple of girls among the workers smiled in greeting. I nodded back, walking further in. Inside, at the reception near the entrance, I found Kirpichslava—a mighty Dwarf woman with pood-weight fists, standing next to a statue named after herself. Now, this hadn't been here before. The statue was high quality, very detailed. I could practically see how the moment had frozen... and as soon as time resumed, a fist would shoot right into the jaw of some stunned Dwarf. Revered work.
Seeing who had arrived, the guard also noticed the traces frozen on the glove joints and nodded a greeting.
"Oh, DaVilinia. Haven't seen you in a while. Who'd you finish off this time? Surely not Wanker Willie?"
A strange name. And unfamiliar. Who was that, anyway? I shook my head, approaching the Dwarf. Apparently, she was bored. Well, yeah, there weren't many customers right now; it wasn't "that time" yet, so to speak.
"And who is that? I'm straight from the battlefield, haven't even made it home yet, so I don't know that specific one. Can I wash my hands? I don't want to scare the folk more than they already are," I said, showing the gloves so she could judge the level of filth.
I decided to take a closer look at the statue myself. It was very detailed, almost indistinguishable from the original. Carved from a solid piece of marble, Kirpichslava loomed with a raised fist over some terrified man of Dwarven appearance. The Dwarf woman laughed, noticing my interest.
"Oh, congratulations. Like the statue? A client made it. I knocked his teeth out, and he was so impressed he made the statue. Gave it to me as a keepsake. He's strange, but I don't mind; it's a good statue. I'm thinking of accepting his proposal—well, you know." Remembering my question, she slapped her forehead, making herself flinch. "And the hands, yeah, go ahead. You know where everything is. Not a problem for a good Elf. You're tidy, unlike some."
I nodded, heading in the indicated direction.
"And Willie? Is he bothering you? Who is he exactly? I don't know any such characters among the major players."
The Dwarf woman shrugged. A short, stocky woman, a head shorter than me. But while I looked like a child without a helmet, she had proper, feminine proportions and a good-sized chest. Though her fists were still far too large and heavy. You could bash someone with those without any weapon, and the enemy would be surprised. I'd heard she could break ribs with a single punch. Given her dimensions, I could believe it.
"Not surprising you don't know him, small fry. He's a guy from the neighboring district. Him and his lackeys. Came by demanding money so the girls could walk through his district safely. I told him where to go, broke a few arms, so now he's sulking. He doesn't mess with us—you understand, our clients are Revered sentients. It's a good establishment; they'd crush him and not even notice. And I'd show him myself if he dared. But no, he's an arrogant prick, not a stupid one. Things happen on the streets, especially in the evenings when it's dark. Well, you know."
I nodded; how could I not? My appearance was distinctive; the naive individuals who tried to jump a Mage with a Mana Shield of my strength had run out long ago. After I set the Hacks on one of them. They have no Armor, often wearing nothing but trousers. So the end was somewhat predictable. I only didn't vomit afterward because I was on stims. But half the district avoided me for a month after that.
Father took what happened quite calmly and even praised me. No one will ever know my real reaction. Ne-ver.
"I understand what you mean. Those idiots just don't know when to stop."
The Dwarf woman laughed and slapped my back, making me stagger.
"Exactly, Friend. So if you see him, squeeze his neck, yeah? You can use the claws; the whole establishment will be grateful. Financially. Well, you know."
Yes, I was being offered a contract to Execute a criminal. Just like that. That's what I liked about Dwarves, and Goblins too—their attitude. To Humans and Elves, I was a child in the purest sense. When not in jurir beskar'gam. But Zeltzer, or Kirpichslava here, looked at reputation. If I was old enough to be on the front lines and participate in serious business, then I was old enough to discuss such things. I wouldn't be surprised if I decided to walk into this place for its primary services, this Dwarf woman wouldn't even blink. She might even suggest the best personnel, so to speak. The client is always right when they have money.
"I'll think about it, certainly not today. Today I'm just back from the front; I'm resting. If he doesn't come looking for trouble himself, I won't go searching for him," I said. The Dwarf woman nodded, accepting the answer. "How are things here in general? I haven't been in the city since the attack."
Kirpichslava decided to accompany me to the bathroom and help wash off at least some of the blood stuck in the glove joints. In the process, we passed several workers chatting among themselves—of Elf and Human appearance, wearing minimal clothing, revealing outfits, and bright makeup. They noticed us but didn't react, only giving short, welcoming nods.
The Dwarf woman, meanwhile, was not at all against chatting.
"Oh, what could happen to us? At first, the movement was intense—catching stragglers, doing repairs everywhere, looking for the sick. And then, once they decided none of the deaders were left, they calmed down. And that's it, we live on. There are clients, there's work. What else do you need? Now the soldiers will start trickling in, the officers. They will, won't they?"
I nodded, continuing to wash the "contact pair" in cold water. It wouldn't rust; I wasn't afraid of that—the materials weren't ordinary, not for a long time. And there was some level of sealing. Getting the dried Demon blood out of the joints would be harder.
"First the cleanup, then yes. They'll return. A week or so, I think."
"Well, there you go, that's what I'm saying," the Dwarf woman nodded. "Life goes on. And think about that wanker. If something happens to him, Madame will be grateful, you know. We're all like a family here. Well, almost."
How could I not understand? But I wasn't mentally ready to sign up for that yet. And besides, I was in a good mood; I didn't want to spoil it with such thoughts.
"I'll think about it. Anyway, time for me to go. Haven't been home in ages."
The woman waved goodbye.
"Yeah, good luck out there. Drop by if anything."
"Definitely."
And then—home. Through the Elven quarters to where our family house stood. Exactly the same as last time; it hadn't been damaged during the Undead attack. This time I didn't bother the shopkeeper; I entered through the lower door. The Defense let me through without issue, but no one came out to meet me, so I shouted:
"I'm home! Hey, anyone there?"
Such a short phrase, but so much meaning in it. The place you return to after a victory. To family. Finally, I could rest, wash up, and relax.
Except I wasn't allowed to enjoy my rest for long. Yes, I managed to change my uniform—threw some of it away—into home clothes. And I washed up, properly for the first time in a long while, soaking in the bath.
And now, over juice and cabbage buns, I was telling Father about my adventures, sprawled out on the sofa. And at that moment, there was a knock at the door.
"Who's there at such a bad time?"
Father opened it himself, letting in Dartaola. The Paladin had also changed her Armor for temple robes for everyday wear and looked generally refreshed. I wasn't sure I was glad to see her, as I had almost no doubt: she had come on business. The Paladin could be spending her time in training, prayers, rather than visiting tired friends who had just returned from battle. She herself would likely have stayed on the other side to participate in the cleanup. Something was fishy here...
However, as soon as she saw the glow of my fingers, hair, and deep blue eyes, the Paladin stopped smiling. She approached quickly and asked anxiously:
"DaVilinia, you... You're alive, I'm so glad! But what's wrong with you?" and she added in shock, "so strong, but when did this happen? When? How do you feel? Does anything hurt, are there voices in your head tormenting you? Or obsessive thoughts?"
"I'm fine," I interrupted her, "nothing serious happened. No voices; the only obsessive thought is finding out exactly how you plan to deprive me of my days off."
Father remained silent, listening to the bickering. Dartaola either didn't hear the complaint or ignored it. Instead, she quickly felt my forehead, took my hand, but immediately jerked her fingers away, grimacing. And she delivered her verdict:
"Not fine!" the Paladin countered. "Not fine at all. Do you even understand the consequences? Eh? This is serious, DaVilinia!"
I shrugged. Dartaola sighed.
"Well, of course not. You don't understand," she said.
Father cut in then.
"Sit down. I believe you have things to discuss. I will return later. And try not to quarrel, alright?"
And he left, the parasite. And I was left alone with the disgruntled Paladin. I felt fine.
"So what's bothering you, Dartaola? And preferably in detail, so I can understand. So far, it's looked like a complaint. A groundless one. And I don't like groundless complaints, you know that."
The Paladin sighed and quietly offered a prayer to the Holy. Which made me flinch. Not painfully, but rather a slight discomfort, like licking a battery. A nine-volt "Krona." Which didn't escape her notice, making her sigh sadly. The Elf silently held out her hand, and when I gave her mine, she flared with Holy light. It wasn't painful, or scary, or anything else. It was just that before, after something like this, a sense of peace and comfort would spread through my body. Now—nothing. Like a lightbulb had just been shone on me.
Dartaola withdrew her hand and massaged it as if experiencing discomfort.
"That's the problem, DaVilinia," the Paladin sighed upon hearing about the lack of sensation. "As your body is defil... accepts the darkness, our powers may begin to conflict. For now, the Holy simply doesn't help, but it doesn't harm either. Likely, if someone tried to use Resurrection on you with the Holy, it would require far more effort. Same with Restoration. There are some consequences already, others will manifest over time. Do you understand?"
Healing was currently available to me from two sources. From Dartaola or from potions. And the fact that the sources of healing, and even Resurrection, could become fewer was unpleasant.
"Fine, but this isn't the limit, right?"
The Paladin nodded.
"In the worst case, Restoration will start to cause you harm, just like the Undead. And an attempt at Resurrection would lead to instant cremation, the complete turning of the body to ash. It hasn't come to that yet, but I'm asking you. Please. Think about how to reduce the effect. Even our Quel'Thalas Mages aren't particularly fond of darkness. And the Humans, with their Church of the Holy... they might try to kill you. Stone you or burn you. And I don't want to think about what would happen in that case."
What would happen, what would happen. It depended on the mood and state. I wouldn't be the first to start a fight, but if I wasn't the first, then we'd see.
"Exactly," the Paladin confirmed what I hadn't voiced. "It could be dangerous. For you, if there's a strong Paladin or Priest on their side. Or for those around you. Holy, I don't want to pressure you, but this could be truly dangerous."
Of course, I urgently needed to find out the details. The conclusion was rather poor: the Holy is a very picky power. If you fit within the boundaries set by this power, if you believe, it can work miracles. Heal, help, exorcise Demons, and incinerate Undead.
This also applied to the target; the closer the target was to the Holy, the better the result would be. But God forbid you don't fit those boundaries! In the best case, some effects wouldn't work. In the worst—a conflict of powers would occur, frankly dangerous for the user and the one being healed. Or resurrected. The Void wounds wielders of the Holy, but the Holy also burns the Void. Instead of healing, one could only cause more harm. I hadn't reached that level of poisoning yet, but if I continued to actively use the Void and neglect the Holy, there would be consequences.
In short, not the best news.
"Thanks for the warning. This could indeed become a problem, Dartaola," I tried to smile. "Anything else?"
She smiled. This time easily, confidently.
"Well, likely Lady Clarinel will tell you too... Anyway, it's no secret, I'll say it now. Tomorrow you're going to the tailor for a new robe. Or rather, we're going, all four of us. Lady Jaina has decided to reward us, to throw a festival. And you'll need a ceremonial uniform to shine there. You don't have one, do you?"
There hadn't been a need. And now... it seemed a lot, a lot of officialdom awaited me. Fantastic.
"No, I don't. And when is the ceremony?"
"In three weeks," Dartaola said, satisfied with my reaction. "We need to prepare; new robes aren't sewn quickly. So get ready, tomorrow we're all going shopping. Plus, you'll need to learn a few things. A speech, and brush up on your etiquette. After the official part, there will be a banquet. And you, for all your contribution, are participating in it. Which means both I and your teacher—he'll be there too—won't let you embarrass yourself. Get ready."
I groaned at the prospect.
"I don't waaaaant to... I want to be in the workshop; there's plenty of work there. Official receptions are long, complicated, and I don't know how."
The Paladin rolled her eyes.
"I lost a silver to that hussy, thank you. And really, you shouldn't be like that. Firstly, Lady Jaina intends to hold a festival dedicated to the victory over the Demons. Many have suffered; people have endured flight, the loss of their homes. And now, when it's all over, people want to release the tension. Secondly, the rewards will be worthy. Lady Jaina sees your contribution to our city and is ready to make you a landowner. Officially. I shouldn't be telling you this, but you'll receive land near the city, along with a settlement. So take the situation with all seriousness."
Now that was interesting. I liked ceremonies; for something like that, maybe it was worth enduring. And a landowner possessing a significant piece of land—if not an aristocrat, then a feudal lord. Career growth as it is. In short—I had to take it.
"And where, if it's not a secret? What else will they give?"
The Paladin spread her hands.
"Sorry, I don't know the details. But we're talking about several rewards for everything you've done for the city. So don't even think about hiding or running away. This is truly important. Including for your future."
I snorted.
"I wasn't even planning to."
Dartaola smiled at that.
"I believe you," the Paladin replied with clear amusement. "But that means we'll visit the tailor tomorrow. And I'll try to teach you some manners. What to say, how to behave, and what to answer. Tomorrow. Today we rest. When you're free, you'll deal with other matters. For now—preparation for the ceremony, for the festival, and nothing else."
Resting it was. Dartaola was about to leave, but Mother, who had returned, was against it. Father also brought a new batch of snacks, so the gathering turned into a leisurely tea session by the fireplace, and then a girls' chat. Partly because Mother wanted to hear exactly how my condition might affect my health. So Dartaola was voluntarily-compulsorily seated for a joint dinner. With subsequent questions for both of us. I, deciding that today it was allowed, lay down right on the floor, having brought a spare groundsheet. No one objected.
On the question of Void infection, the Paladin took my side and showed that despite the external changes, the light didn't harm me at all. And she didn't mention possible future problems either; she covered for me. Though she did make it clear that sooner or later there would be consequences, so it would be good to limit myself.
We dictated a report of our adventures to Mother; she volunteered to write it herself, allowing me to lie there and do nothing. In this art of the Witch cult sin—writing reports—she was better than both of us. Which meant I could allow myself to be lazy. Gods, how good it felt. The crackle of the fireplace, quiet conversations, and complete safety. And pastries in good company.
And then there was the bed—the wonderful, soft bed! How I had missed you! Gods, how good it is to sleep in comfort! I urgently need a Dreadnaught.
A sigh escaped on its own. Unfortunately, building a Dreadnaught urgently wouldn't work. A Dreadnaught isn't a Pepelats; it's a much larger ship. Even with a shipyard, its laying down and construction would take months. Not to mention that I lacked knowledge of certain technologies to get what I wanted. No half-measures; it would be a masterpiece!
Difficulties were no reason to abandon the idea, of course. I would definitely build it. For now, I would be content with what I had. For example, the chance to sleep in comfort. For the next couple of weeks, at least. So for now, sleeee-p.
And next... at noon, I slept until noon, and no one woke me up! For the first time in a very long time. So, having slept my fill, we went shopping! Me, Mother, Dartaola, and a clearly slightly hungover Venidan. The Rogue said she only had a few days of leave, then she was returning to service, but for now, she wanted to be with us. No one argued, though Mother did look at her with sharp disapproval. But silently.
Our friendly group took up a solid chunk of the pedestrian part of the street, chatting, but no one dared to argue. The city was in a state of joyful excitement; the sentients already knew their defenders were returning, that it was all over. People were relaxing; emotions were seeking an outlet. Venidan admitted she'd gotten drunk for free because the innkeeper had given a discount for returning soldiers.
The released emotions took different forms; Mother said there were more fights and more people ending up in the guard cells. And there was a non-zero chance Venidan had been pulled out of exactly such a place. I didn't want to know, so I didn't ask.
We didn't look like soldiers, but that hadn't been the plan initially. The Elven women wore light street dresses, even me. Except I was in gloves, but only because I was attached to them. Otherwise, we'd climbed out of our Armor; Mother took the day off because she sincerely wanted to participate in choosing clothes, and I couldn't refuse. Nor would I.
We were dressed better than many, which was noticeable. And we created a kind of empty zone around us; sentients tried to keep a minimal but distinct distance. Perhaps it was because a Hack was quietly buzzing over our heads. I didn't get too involved in the discussions, preferring to walk alongside, licking a fruit ice and listening to the conversations, enjoying the company.
All this was under a lecture from Dartaola, who took on the role of teacher and decided to explain to me and Veni what Jaina Proudmoore had come up with:
"As I've already said, there will be several main themes for the upcoming event. Firstly, of course, the victory at Mount Hyjal. They will pay respects to the fallen, both here and back home. They'll unveil a monument to those who died defending Theramore from the Demons and Undead. By the way, Lady Jaina suggested you as the Mage model."
Wow. A monument while I was still alive? That was something.
"Interesting idea. Though, why me? After all, I'm quite small; surely there were other options? I won't believe it."
Mother smiled.
"Agree to it; you've earned it. According to the project, it will be a Mage, a Warrior, and a Paladin destroying a Ghoul and a Demon. And a stele with the names of the fallen. If not all, then the known ones."
I immediately checked with my mother:
"And they chose me? Why?" because my gut told me there was some favoritism involved.
Mother answered, smiling understandingly.
"You look quite striking. Pretty enough, and yet miniature, which, according to the sculptor's idea, will emphasize the masculinity of the warriors. A mighty Paladin with a hammer and a Warrior shielding the Mage from the threat with their chests, while she rains frozen spears down on the enemies. And to make it more clearly visible, it's better if the Warrior and Paladin are larger than the Mage. You fit perfectly."
I pictured it and nodded.
"Yes, sounds not bad. Only I don't know the details."
Venidan, who had been walking silently until then, put a hand on my shoulder.
"We'll teach you, dress you up, and all that. Be ready to pose long and painfully until the sculptor decides it's enough. And that means standing and not moving. Or moving exactly as they say."
Well, art requires sacrifice. And a ton of preparation. For example, trips to tailors and shops. For the first time in my life, I killed a whole day on it, literally, from noon until night.
First, we went to the tailor to order the outfits. Two for me—a ceremonial one for the future ceremony and a "cosplay" one to portray an ordinary Wizard at the city's defense.
The latter was chosen in about an hour in the ready-to-wear department. Actually, there wasn't much choice as such. There was a specific image; we picked mostly by size, not design.
But the ceremonial robe—that was complicated and a completely different story. Such a robe is a Mage's face at any official event; it must follow certain rules. For example, we have plenty of Dalaran Mages. The robes of those who studied and lived in that city have a specific choice of colors—purple and yellow, with Dalaran emblems. Wearing such a thing without belonging to the city is possible, but fraught with consequences. And no one wants a scandal, so that option was out.
Burgundy and purple are closer to Night Elves or Shal'dorei; red—if Blood Elves appear, they will wear it. Green doesn't suit a Mage. And then there's choosing the right design...
In the end, several hours later, we finally chose. It turned out to be a typical robe of the High Elves of Quel'Thalas: a blue dress with gold patterns, open at the front, where everything valuable is covered by a vertical cut of fabric descending over the chest, stomach, and lower, roughly to the knee. Gold edging, geometric patterns, also with gold threads. Wide, sharp pauldrons made of blue plates, matching the "contact pair," also covered in gilding along the edges, creating a pattern. A belt, also gilded; on the back—the Theramore emblem across the entire back. Rich, stylish, and very clearly showing the wearer's affiliation. It would be ready in two weeks.
A classic, but frankly not enough for me. Appetite comes with eating, especially since I had my own project and my own money for it. So, waiting until the elders were again distracted by an argument over the style of gloves, I slid the tube off my back. Well, what, I wasn't going to run around with a folder. And I approached the master.
The Elf nodded, expecting to hear what I wanted from her.
"I'd like to place an order, lady. I have the money, so I can pay for my request. Something unique for these parts."
The master, also a High Elf with blue-gold eyes, which betrayed regular intake of concentrate, smiled understandingly.
"And what does the mistress desire?"
I decided to ignore the slight mockery in the word "mistress." I really did have the money, and the materials too. I had stocked up on fabrics as part of my share. And here was such an opportunity to order a couple more robes for the future. Ultimately, I'm a girl, even if a small one. And I want to look good. Is there a chance to make a good enchanted robe? I should take it; when else will I not be on a mission, traveling, or somewhere else? It was a bit scary how a specialist would react to my ideas. After all, I'm not a seamstress, not at all. Но it was too late to back down.
So I took a sheet of paper out of the tube and handed it to the Elf. There was a drawing... no, not a blueprint. Just a drawing of an Elf in a robe, front and back. The nuance was in what kind of robe it was. While High Elves use a color scheme of blue and gold, the drawing was burgundy and silver, which is closest to the Elves of Suramar. I just thought that right now I looked quite close to those specific Elves and could use their colors in my clothing. Especially since it turned out beautiful.
And even if the probability of establishing contact with the Shal'dorei was near-zero—they were far too dependent on arcwine, and would only disdainfully call my concentrate "refuse"—they had some decent outfits. And I just needed a set of robes for different occasions and seasons. So—I'd try.
In short: a burgundy floor-length dress, with the same open-front legs, covered by fabric and high plate boots. A pattern in the form of a silver vine was applied to the fabric; at the groin level—a slot for a massive crystal, around which the silver pattern formed. Around it—something like petals; it would be easy to make them look real with magic.
And then—it got more interesting. The hem of the same burgundy fabric ended in silver embroidery, making it look like the wings of a bat or a dragon. At the bottom and along the edges—silver "paws" with magic crystals inserted into them. It would create a bit of weight, hold the shape, and look even more like the clawed paws of a dragon.
Along the edges of the dress was silver edging with patterns, but more aggressive, with sharp angles and slots for magic stones, for enchantment. Stylized as "claws," geometric shapes, vines. Not too much, so as not to drown out the burgundy, but enough to stand out.
Again, a silver belt. The shoulders and around the neck were reinforced with strong silver enchanted embroidery; patterns on the folds, again with sharp edges, creating the illusion of "claws." All this—silver on burgundy, which created a very interesting color contrast in the outfit. The pauldrons were in the same style as the costume—burgundy, silver, and "leaves." No sleeves; it would be worn as a set with elbow-length gloves, silver bracers, or the "contact pair."
Add some magic stones, also made in the shape of a rhombus, which would carry various shields and enchantments, making them glow slightly, and it turned out very beautiful indeed. And unique; I was sure no one in Theramore, or even the Eastern Kingdoms, used such clothing. Which meant—I'd be the first.
Light pauldrons and open arms to, again, use the "contact pair." And with the open-front legs, I'd be able to move actively and use transport normally, like those "Cranes." Add the plate boots, which even Mages don't shy away from, and it would turn out very well indeed.
(something in thiiiiis kind of style)
And I wasn't just trying for no reason. After Mount Hyjal, the fact caught up with me that, although I get into fights, I wear almost no enchanted equipment except for the "contact pair." The most ordinary clothes, with a simple enchantment to repel dirt. The most ordinary boots and hat. Well, the helmet was treated too. And that's it! I have money, but I don't have a single expensive, high-quality enchanted robe! I'm an idiot! I need to fix this immediately.
The master looked at the drawings, then at me, and nodded thoughtfully.
"Overall, I can make such an outfit. Although the design is quite unusual. Where did you get it?"
A chuckle behind us made both me and the master jump. And while the Elf only expressed displeasure with a look, I snorted.
"Just because you're a Rogue doesn't mean you can sneak up like THAT, Venidan."
The Rogue didn't even try to act embarrassed. She looked at the sheet in the master's hands with interest.
"And I can guess where such an interesting design came from. Davi, anything to say in your defense?"
Naturally, she attracted everyone's attention, so a second later the whole group was examining the drawings. With great interest. I, meanwhile, tried to answer without saying too much.
" 'They,' Veni, would tell us where to go, but I like the design of their clothes. Let it be. Just another template, and a stylish robe for the future. I shouldn't spend everything on parts and materials. I can afford it. And it's just beautiful, admit it."
The master confirmed:
"An interesting play of colors. Yes, such a robe will cost you a considerable sum, but I can guarantee—I have never seen anything like this, and I am a seamstress of more than one generation. And this is a very, very curious piece of work, which I will do with great pleasure."
Mother was definitely not against it; I could see it in her face. Veni actually laughed.
"That's the spirit. About time."
In short, we only got out of the tailor's, and then the forge, about three hours later. But at least I didn't have to drag myself to an enchanter; the tailor had a contract with them to provide services. You could make an arrangement, and they'd organize everything themselves. For a small additional fee, of course, and the robes themselves cost several months' salary. But on the other hand, it was truly good merchandise. And that was Revered.
Yes, the sewing process will take a month and a half. The master insisted on adjusting the process, doing everything unhurriedly and in the best possible way. Plus, she recommended a blacksmith who specializes in Jewelcrafting. So, in addition to the cloak, I got a pair of boots, also Enchanted. They're going to be absolutely awesome sabatons. I'm as happy as a gorged boa constrictor.
The shopping trip didn't end there. Mom went off on her own business, but Venidan dragged us further. We walked everywhere, all over the city. Drinks, Arms, Alchemy, treats. My attempts to escape to the workshop were thwarted:
"The healers ordered no overexertion. So we aren't overexerting. Don't lift anything heavier than a spoon."
I got home after midnight, exhausted but very satisfied. I had a whole pile of new things that I'll sort through tomorrow. Alas, tomorrow didn't leave much time for that; Dartaola arrived to fulfill her threat and begin teaching me.
Clearly seeing the irritation on my face, she commented:
"You wanted to be a leader yourself. And for a leader, all these events are a part of life. Events you'll have to prepare for. I sympathize with you, but you must understand—this is necessary."
I sighed. After all, out of the three of us, Dartaola is the best teacher. She's the eldest and has experience communicating with the nobility. And she's right; I need this.
"I know. It doesn't make the situation any easier. Or more pleasant."
The Paladin smiled.
"If you show good results, I won't mind if you spend the evening underground. If your father is looking after the workshop, then the base and the reactor are obviously your responsibility."
Now we're talking; that's more like it.
"I'm ready!" With my memory, this will be a walk in the park.
So, during the day, I cram titles, forms of address, and proper gestures until they are automatic, while simultaneously memorizing what I'm supposed to say and do. After all, repeating the same action isn't madness. It's rote learning.
And in the evening—down to the dungeons to the reactor to check how it's doing. It's fine, intact, and ready for use. "Terrain Creation" did its job, giving the structure durability and logic. No repairs needed; I'm satisfied.
I can continue expanding by installing new assembly blocks, and for that, I bought two expanded tool sets and machines from the Dwarves. This is to make two more assembly blocks that will supply parts to the shipyard currently under construction. With them, it will be possible to build a full-fledged Hive. The process isn't particularly long, but it requires a staggering number of actions. After all, I need to "teach" each tool to perform its operation, link them into chains, and then expand those chains into a full process with runic weaving. And there can be plenty of such chains, each with its own runic table.
But when I finished, I no longer had just one large assembly block and one small one from the Pepelats. I had three large ones and one small one. Moreover, one is for large-scale objects—for example, processing timber or metal beams ten or twenty meters long. Yes, it's an entire underground hall, but what a hall! No longer do I need to have golems grind down every beam by hand; I can just set the plate and relatively automate the process.
It will come in handy for building the shipyard, creating walkways and galleries.
The shipyard is a multi-level dry dock where, with the help of cranes and walkways at different heights, both waterborne and surface ships can be built. This imposes limitations—after all, space in Theramore is limited—but Jaina herself, as the Lady of Theramore, is entitled to a ship. And in general, there are Goblin pirates at sea; I haven't seen them, but I've heard of them. That means ships will come in handy.
And I have my own interest, because at the shipyard I could build a Pepelats not in four months, but in a month or a month and a half, which is very relevant. A transport ship—in about the same timeframe. Profitable, no matter how you look at it.
Teams of Dwarves and my golems cordoned off the area where the dock will meet the sea with shutters and set about building the hangar. It's partially recessed into the ground—space is limited, after all—and partially above it in the form of a tall, semi-circular room higher than the walls. It's roughly the same as the one in Stormwind, or so I'm told. A huge crowd of people is working on the project; there's even a team of Goblin welders—I have no idea who brought them in or from where. But they are there.
According to calculations, in about two more months, the facility—which many workshops are investing in—will be ready for use. Ideally, if the projects are small, it will even be possible to build two in parallel. Or maybe more. Building merchant ships, among others. And if not—my production assembly block will allow, after a small modification, the mass-production of "Cranes," spider mechs, and Dwarven tanks.
And this creates a mass of problems—everyone is interested. Everyone has a stake; I simply couldn't have pulled off such a project alone. Of course, I need it, but so do many others. And besides, it's a strategic facility necessary for the city. In short, how the Chancery will manage the shipyard is an interesting question.
Thus passed the first week. The second week was marked by new sources of difficulty. In particular, I had to go and pose for a sculptor along with other poor souls. That meant standing long and hard without moving, in costume, with an active frost bolt spell.
I also had to learn a speech so as not to stumble before the crowd during the ceremony. Go for cloak fittings. While the ordinary, ceremonial one was made quickly, the master wanted to make the Suramar Cloak in the best possible way, and it will only be ready in a month. So that will take time and require several fittings. And then there's etiquette, etiquette, etiquette... Where can I find another ten hours in the day? I just don't have time for everything.
It was as if I was back in that race against time.
Frankly speaking, by the end, I just wanted to get it over with and head to the workshop to plan further actions. But that didn't happen. Because even if I'm not the oldest being in the city, and I want a lot of things... even just to enjoy the approaching holiday like all normal children. The city is preparing; their protectors, husbands, and wives have returned alive—that's a huge reason for joy. As is the defeat of the Demons. And the holiday will allow everyone to relax, showing that everything is fine.
I just had the bad luck of being on the side of the holiday involving preparation, rehearsals, and running around. In short, all sorts of adult things. It's unpleasant, exhausting, and tedious. Not interesting at all. Would I have refused? No. I continued to do what was necessary, even if I didn't enjoy my actions.
Preparing a holiday for the entire city is very important. And participating in it, even as a model and a gopher, is also important. At least dancing isn't required. But here Veni, returning from a clearing operation, honestly said:
"You don't learn that in a week. So it's easier to just give up on it now. No, if you want to..."
I waved my hands.
"I don't want to! I already don't know where to get more hours in the day. I might as well make a time accelerator, seriously."
Veni immediately clarified:
"Can you?" I didn't have time to answer.
Dartaola spoiled all the fun.
"It's a pity you aren't learning to dance; it always comes in handy for a lady. Venidan, find some time and train her anyway, alright? The ability to dance is a very proper and necessary skill. It develops grace, which is useful, and it's quite popular among the aristocracy. Along with horseback riding, which wouldn't hurt to learn either."
I sighed.
"Dancing is one thing. But riding... I have a 'Crane'!"
The Paladin sighed but agreed. And I once again came to the conclusion that all these "reincarnated into an aristocrat" types understand nothing about the aristocracy. They would have been caught on the very first day. Because the higher the circle, the more skills are required of you. There's the basic knowledge of the language, including variations depending on the title and place on the social ladder—both yours and your opponent's. There's the understanding of various topics and purely practical knowledge. And yes, although some of the knowledge is quite specific—no one expects professional fencing from a Mage—other skills are still needed. And you can't cram them in a week, even with my memory. Because all these actions must be reflexive.
Did I mention what madness is? Well, I had to find out firsthand. And then Dartaola, after another etiquette lesson, stopped me just as I was about to thank her and escape to my dungeon. For what is a dungeon without a dungeon master?
"I'm sorry, but today you're staying out of the workshop. Tomorrow is the holiday; you need to rest. Check your cloak, rehearse a bit, prepare yourself mentally. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Huh? Already? The Paladin laughed; apparently, the question was written too clearly on my face.
"Yes, Davilinia. It's time. I know you're tired, but I believe in you. Tomorrow is your day. Remember that. You've earned it."
My day, hmm. Sounds good. It remains to be seen what this day has in store for us. Falling asleep was hard; attempts to count sheep led nowhere. I had to count Grommashes. It didn't help much, but a Grommash jumping over a fence looked funny enough to fall asleep, even if it took a while. And then came the morning...
The city was humming. The city was noisy and rejoicing. From early morning, it was flooded with crowds of unusually cheerful people, Elves, Dwarves, and other sentient contingents. Discussing, laughing, having fun. Tents with various treats and entertainment became points of attraction around which activity grew even higher. Merchants, including my father, strove to get the maximum revenue that day due to the mass of customers; I suspect my father was preparing snacks if not all night, then for a significant part of it. Among the most sought-after, of course, were the vendors of various drinks.
Yes, Theramore is cut off from many of the usual civilizational benefits these people are used to, but the city's population is resourceful; they already have mushroom beer and some homemade tinctures. And for children—juices. Sweets and treats—on ordinary days, people would think twice about whether to buy them or not. But not this time; today the counters are emptied instantly, especially those of recognized masters of their craft. When I passed my father's tent, there were a lot of people there. It even makes me proud, hee-hee.
Contests, entertainment, magicians. Everyone who could show themselves off would do so today. Depending on the district, there would be something to see. Dancing, of course. Both performances by more or less experienced groups and amateurs. Dwarves, Elves—where the excitement was at its peak—humans, even Gnomes. And if you are brave and skilled enough, you can participate in a dance contest, standing before the judgment of the crowd.
And while in the civilian districts the entertainment is more peaceful, albeit associated with alcohol, in the military district, everything is much more interesting. For example, a tournament of fist-fighters, throwers, and target shooters. Mages compete in carving sculptures out of ice. Theatrical performances using mirror images, blinks, and portals.
Of course, I couldn't pass up the freebies. Although I couldn't take first place, I performed well in the shooters' contest. As I did in the contest for Mages, who arranged sparring matches with Earth golems, for those who had them. Here, Billy won without question, simply on combat experience.
Alas, I had to leave after that. I needed to make sure both my uniform and hair were in order. Check in so they knew I was there. So, alas and alack, I could only watch most of the contests rather than participate.
For example? A Mage contest on who could synthesize more interesting and tasty food. And the enchanters offered simple wands for sale that shot fireworks. Become a Mage for just a few coins! The children were delighted. Although once I checked in, I was able to walk around a bit more and participate in a few things.
I, as someone who saw the preparation from the inside, can appreciate the full scale and the amount of effort spent by everyone. What can I say... it's amazing! Yes, the mood was so-so at the end of the preparation—after all, it was a lot of hard and necessary work—but I didn't miss the opportunity to buy us all firework wands and arrange a magic duel against the officers! Bam! Bam! Although I felt like a shooter rather than a Mage. But it's still cool.
I was also able to try mana-food, participate in contests, and just have fun. Forget about everything. Forget about age and rank and just, for once, enjoy myself. Win a prize for sniper shooting, place bets on the fist-fighters and lose six times in a row.
Sign up for the jury, try all the prepared samples of mana-food—by the way, the winner of the contest was... Jaina Proudmoore. I don't know who or what forces managed to convince the Lady of Theramore to participate in this, but I shake your hand, dude. It was worth it. A single day of our lives that will never be repeated.
But that wasn't the main event. It began when the soldiers and officers gathered in the city's main square. The award ceremony began. It began with all solemnity, with a small military concert as the participants marched right out of the castle courtyard. All so beautiful, in ceremonial dress. Paladins, Warriors, Mages, Hunters, and Priests. All those who participated in the battles, leaders and subordinates. Armor gleaming, sabatons clinking.
When the people lined up around the perimeter, she stepped out onto the square. The Lady of Theramore, Jaina Proudmoore. And she spoke. Her magically amplified voice reached every corner of the city so that everyone could hear it.
"Citizens of Theramore! Today I will be brief. We have won. Each of us left our homes, left our native lands. For various reasons—some sought a better life or salvation from war. Lordaeron, Quel'Thalas—today only ruins remain in place of mighty kingdoms. And the survivors have found a new home. A home that the enemy came to. The Undead and Demons found us here too. They came to finish what they started in the Eastern Kingdoms. And they lost."
Jaina was listened to in silence. I think even in the city, the conversations died down. No one interfered. The sorceress continued:
"A dark army descended upon the city. But even larger legions of Demons went north, to the ancient lands of the Night Elves. To where the focus of ancient power is located—power which, if consumed, would have made the Demons unstoppable. But we did not flinch. And we won. The armies of Demons and Undead have been wiped out; the few survivors have fled. Theramore has stood firm. The World Tree continues to grow."
Known information. Having lost his jailers, the Lich King immediately withdrew his troops to the rear. After which they boarded Necropolises and quietly flew off into the sunset. He's the one who really won from the situation as a whole.
"And so we are gathered here," the sorceress continued, "to celebrate our victory. To thank those who fought to the end, sparing no effort. Who, for the survival of us all, of the whole world, put their lives on the line. And emerged victorious. But we will also remember and honor the memory of those who did not return. Those who will no longer see the victory. All of them, the defenders of our glorious city. For Theramore!"
I don't know if Jaina wrote it herself or if she was helped by subordinates who had eaten a medium-sized pitbull in this difficult business, but it was powerful.
And then came the award ceremony. We were lined up in ranks on the square, the crowd humming around us. Warriors, Mages, Paladins, all satisfied, plate armor gleaming, staves glowing with magic. I, although I don't carry a staff, made lightning dance across my gloves to make it impressive. The audience was simply blown away by such a sight.
Teacher got a place among the officers. So did I. True, the ceremonial cloak is similar to the cloaks of other Mages... pff! Well, this is a military ceremony; that's how it should be. Although it still would have been better to change the design a bit. Why am I almost indistinguishable from the others? Alas, the Suramar Cloak won't be ready for a while... But I'm ready to wait for the sake of the result.
Jaina, meanwhile, walked slowly from person to person, awarding insignia, bonuses, and ranks. All this before all the honest people, who were actively discussing it. And here was my turn. The sorceress stopped in front of me, winked with a smile:
"Surveyor Davilinia."
I straightened up, even levitated slightly, which caused a chuckle from the sorceress. Making sure we were being watched, Jaina continued:
"No matter what anyone thinks, you have earned your place on this square. As an Elf, you are quite young, that is true. But you have already distinguished yourself both on the battlefield and in the construction of the city. And in the destruction of Theramore's enemies. Your 'Cranes' are beloved by scouts and cavalry. And the scout birds allowed for many victories. On the battlefield, you also showed your valor, dealing damage both through sabotage and in direct battle, crushing enemies with magic. Killing Demons even while off duty. You were not afraid to go up against the strongest of them, to inflict wounds and survive."
The crowd fell silent, processing what they had heard. I noticed my smiling mom and dad. He probably found time to run here and then would return to the bakery. Or someone he knew brought him here via portal. It doesn't matter. Jaina, pleased with the effect, nodded.
"Such achievements are exceptional even for adult, experienced Mages. And they should be marked accordingly," the sorceress took a folder of documents from her assistant's hands, "here is the deed to land north of the city, including a village. The conditions are difficult, but I have no doubt—you will manage."
I nodded almost imperceptibly. I'll use golems; I'll manage. Receiving land for personal use is a new stage. Owning land puts me on a level above almost everyone present here. A landlord, a landowner. Almost a noble. Yes, the allotment is minimal, but on the scale of Theramore, it's a truly grand gesture, a very grand one. Even if the defense of this village turns into a daily tower defense. Such an opportunity means too much to refuse just because of difficulties.
But Jaina wasn't finished yet.
"Also, you receive the rank of second deputy manager of the shipyard. If you show proper diligence, perhaps one day you will be able to lead it. We will be watching your progress, Surveyor."
She said the last part with a hint, handing over the folder. Which was accepted and pressed to my chest with a wide smile.
"I serve Theramore!"
Jaina smiled.
"You did a wonderful job and earned this. Congratulations." Thank you!
Second deputy, then. An interesting position. Not the manager—it would be strange for Jaina to give a strategic enterprise to someone without experience. But not his direct deputy either. So in fact, on the one hand, I will have influence—everyone saw who decorated me and in what terms. But at the same time, I won't be tied to the shipyard and its vertical hierarchy. I'll need to define my powers more fully later, but for now, it looks solid.
I like it.
Looking around, I saw all sorts of reactions. Delight and joy from loved ones. Bewilderment and even envy. My smile grew wider, even if the delight faded somewhat. I won't share such gifts so easily. But they won't leave it at that. Let them not leave it.
But all that will be later. Today—I am the victor. Today I receive gifts. And they will have to come to terms with it. I am worthy, whatever they might think of themselves.
The awards ceremony lasted another couple of hours, and then we began to disperse. The soldiers—to their families. The officers—to the castle. Me too, much as I wanted to wander around the city, trying all possible entertainment. I have a rank; I have to live up to it.
The banquet hall evokes all sorts of sensations. It's so cozy! Stone walls, wooden floor and ceiling, with wooden beams. On the ceiling—a huge chandelier, and not just one, but several in different parts of the hall. It's clear that this room is largely utilitarian, decorated with weapons, shields, tapestries, and banners. Trophies.
On the whole, it's an extremely interesting situation. Many interesting people. Especially some:
"The delegation of His Majesty King Varian Wrynn, ruler of the glorious Kingdom of Stormwind."
Guests have arrived. And among the guests—quite a few Elves. It seems something interesting is beginning.
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