[center][H1][color=b56bff]GREATER DALARAN[/color][/H1][/center] Antonidas hummed happily to himself as he rode along, punctuating the silence left by the brooding Elven Prince riding alongside him. Eventually however, Kael’Thas did speak. “Truly, Antonidas. This is the third time you have demanded I have come with you on these… excursions, and I still see no value in them.” The Archmage guffawed at the Prince’s words, shaking his head. “Well, first of all be fair to me dearest Kael’Thas. I never demanded it of you. I simply thought it would help you attain… enlightenment. Or perhaps even peace that has been evading your troubled mind. I would think the fruits of our labour would put a smile on your face.” “If I said I am not a child in need of being cheered up, would you consider that childish?” “No, but whimsical nonetheless. Do you really not feel… satisfaction, seeing what we have done?” “Forgive the impoliteness for a reply with my own question, but do you?” Antonidas paused for a long and hard moment to ponder his reply, before slowly and cautiously stating “No, I do not. But - and I mean this with all due respect to you - the bigger picture is not visible to you. I know exactly how much more work must yet be done. I know exactly how close we are to failure, to total collapse at any moment. I know how many in the world wish to see us fail, and what the consequences will be if we do. None of this weighed on my mind half a decade ago, and my mind simply hasn’t had the time to acclimate to this new world of Dalaran.” The Mage paused, scratching the bridge of his nose with his staff disguised as a simple walking stick. Another sigh preceded the continuation of his monologue. “Maybe bringing you along is a waste of time. But I think the fact you have not declined a single time means that, deep down, you see that value in witnessing how the people we have come to safeguard live. If you will forgive a little speculation, perhaps you are trying to right wrongs that infuriated your father?” Kael gave Antonidas a glare to not push the subject, prompting the old man to hunch down faintly. “My apologies, Kael. I shan’t speak of it again.” Seeing the old man’s remorse for his words the Prince himself softened, now himself regretting the furious but unspoken words exchanged. “I am lost. Everything I have done I have believed was for the best. You have helped me assure myself of that. But what am I to think when in the fulfillment of my sworn duties I lose my birthright? Don’t reply if you have nothing new to say. We’ve already discussed this to death.” “Yes, we have. But I’ll tell you what!” the old wizard began, his aged fingers now scrabbling impotently at the top of an orange he was failing to peel. “Let me help you.” Kael began, seeing Antonidas struggle, his own fingers starting to frame the necessary glyphs to peel the fruit from afar. Just as quickly Antonidas waved a hand to exert small waves of force on the Elf’s hands to painlessly but decisively push them away from casting his spell. “I can peel my own damn orange, I need no magic!” The Archmage declared, heavy breaths following the outcry. “Hmmm. Apologies once more, dear boy.” the pre-centenarian apparently seeing no irony in using such a misnomer for a man thousands of years old. “But, I will clue you into something that few in Dalaran save myself know. In fact, I believe nobody save myself for the moment. There will be a conference of sorts in the coming days. The leaders of all nations present or former of the alliance, including your father. As part of my attaches, Councillor Kael’Thas would fit in very well.” Before the disgraced Prince could reply, a thrown axe knocked the orange that Antonidas had at last succeeded in starting to peel right out of his hands. Another one struck the wizard, but bounced off of the mana shield upon him. The duo looked to the right upon a mass of trolls, somewhat confused at their failure to split the old man in two. Sharing an annoyed look, the duo dismounted and approached the trolls with their arms upraised. [hr] [i]plup-plup-plup… plup-plup-plup [/i] "Cheers." "Cheers." “Its a damn shame about that last manastone grind. Really thought you had the right fineness.” “Yup. Thought I could at least try get it to work like gunpowder but… well, lets not dwell on the bad eh?” “Damn right.” [i]plup-plup-plup… plup-plup-plup [/i] "Cheers." "Cheers." “So what was that chat with the wizards they summoned you for.” “Oh, nothing.” “Nothing? Nothing? A member of the damn council summoned you my dear Barad!” The Dwarf sighed, retrieving a scroll from a pocket and unfurling it on the table between him and the gnome. “Here, take a look. Wanted me to stick cannons on golems. Said they just wanted me to get the drawn parts done, they’d animate the rest with magic.” After a silence in which the gnome looked over the drawings, he began to scratch his sideburns thoughtfully as he mumbled to himself. “Its creative, certainly.” “Right, it is. But I don’t want to do it. Knew you would like the idea though. That’s why I told them you would be better to talk to about it. Hope you don’t mind.” “Well, I suppose not. If the wizards finally admit they need me, that’s a very damn good start for me getting something real done.” [i]plup-plup-plup… plup-plup-plup [/i] "Cheers." "Cheers." “So, what about your previous contracts with the Kirin Tor?” “Oh, well, you know. I made the tractors exactly as they asked. Trouble is though, they’re too complex for the peasants what need ‘em. Did you know that the vast majority of humans can’t even read or write in their own damn language? We never saw it in Gnomeregan, Ironforge, or even here in Dalaran. All the humans we met were fancy travelers, mages, diplomats, whatever. But most humans what live in villages and the like? I’m told some of them aren’t even damn numerate. I didn’t believe it, but one village I rode out to had everyone save the blacksmith and mayor give their age in a multiple of five.” “Gosh.” “Right? I told the wizards they should do something about it. They said they tried. Uhm, trying. Right. Sending someone to every village to try teach kids to read and write in the day, adults in the evening. Trouble is nobody wants to attend. They’ve lived whole lives for generations without needing to know what a letter is, in both senses of the word. “What can they do then?” “They’re trying lots of things. One story’s quite funny. They tried paying peasants to attend, hoping it’d pay off when they would thus work more efficiently. Trouble is everybody and their bedridden granny started attending, while not even caring to actually learn. Cash is cash, and the wizards realized they couldn’t afford subsidizing something that wasn’t going to lead to anything anyway.” “Damn tragic. Anything else?” “Oh yeah, for once their stubbornness and arrogance will lead to something good, they’re not giving up. For now they’re reducing taxes on everything the wizards provide if one attends their schools. Medicine and the like, they don’t got to pay for it anymore. It’s not enough to get everyone on board, but the wizards reckon it’ll pay for itself. They’re also restricting positions like mayor behind being able to write more than your name, and they’re not giving my tractors to any farms where the head of the household can’t prove they can read the manuals of operation. They’re just newfangled toys to a lot of the countryside for now, but I reckon by the next agricultural cycle any farmer that has one will be jealous of any that doesn’t. Same as loggers with axes being jealous of them that has goblin buzzsaws.” [i]plup-plup-plup… plup-plup-plup [/i] "Cheers." "Cheers." “Just a damn shame really. I think I’ve been breaking down manastones for a decade now, but the only thing I’ve been able to really get done with them is make a damn great glue for magical bits. I know I can get it to work like coal, or gunpowder. I know I can. But I’m just damn missing something when I make the grains.” The Dwarf looked at Nillio and his wistful speech, then at his glass of ale. He squinted hard at it, reaching for a washrag to use as paper and an inkwell spilled on the ground hours ago. “Hold on, hold on. Bear with me. Got an idea for you. Just need to figure out a way to put it in words. Before I’m too damn drunk. Liquid. [b]Liquid![/b] remember this word even if we black out everything else we say tonight.” [hr] Vanndar looked between the map on his table and upon the city of Alterac just slightly visible across the mist and snow. His eyes shifting almost every other moment, the Dwarf reached into his belt for binoculars every few cycles of his gaze and would take a brief look upon the city before putting it back and resuming his darting view. Alterac was so close, yet so far. Every day a new warband of the syndicate, or of the ogres, or of the frostwolves would be eliminated following a successful search and destroy operation. But every time this would only allow the combined army of the Stormpikes and Dalaranian Army to advance single digits of kilometres. At this rate, it would be years before they took the city. Yet, it was only a day’s ride away from the camp if a straight path was taken. But, with the amount of foot-troops between the assembled forces, this would devolve to several days. In those days the raids, ambushes, and pricks and prods of the more nimble enemies of man, dwarf and elf would leave it a shell of itself by the time the city was arrived at. Something had to be done if the city was to be retaken in something resembling a timely manner, and for the moment he had no idea what. The Wizards were saying they were working on some new weapons to help the war, but he somehow doubted they’d be the solution to all his problems. It was cold steel and struggle of individuals that won battles, not wonder weapons. Yet, with that said, he damn well wouldn’t mind a steam engine or twelve to be mobile hardpoints for the hypothetical convoy that would march right towards the city. Trouble was, he didn’t have any. Licking his lips, he decided to reach down for a piece of vellum to begin writing in the runic script of the Dwarves in. The excavation teams had already dug up well enough artifacts that had already been studied to sell home for a pretty penny to prove that the venture into Alterac was profitable. Hopefully, this would be enough to convince creditors in Ironforge that he could repay them for the loans he’d need to commission ten siege engines.