Kingdom of the High Elves Quel'Thalas, capital Is'Ney-Azshari. Year 11 since the opening of the Dark Portal.
In the center of a huge circular hall was a pool occupying a significant part of the room. Along the wall was a path, encircling the perimeter of the rim, which held inside the energy emanating light and visible power, which splashed there instead of water. A pillar of sparkling Mana rose rapidly upward to rest against the dome of the ceiling, inscribed with numerous runes. And all the power of this flow, born of a new Well of Eternity, could not overcome the experience and knowledge of the sorceress who had once been engaged in the creation of this place, which had by now become truly iconic for the entire race. The energy, unable to break through to the boundless sky, fell in turbulent waves and flowed down the dome, concentrating in dozens of energy conduits, to then leave the valley of its birth and rush toward its destiny—serving for the benefit of the Quel'dorei…
"And let the useless piece of wood supply the rest of Azeroth," Azshara had been guided by roughly such a thought when creating the new Well.
Every grain of Mana was put to use. And that energy that remained unspent returned again to its font: the system of energy conduits was closed to the man-made pool. However, there was never too little Mana, and after powering that signal-protection complex of charms that guarded the peace of Quel'Thalas and its capital, only mere crumbs returned to the Source. Но the elves adapted the incoming energy conduits for other needs: they purposefully drained their own Mana, feeding the source itself and thereby increasing its power. Surpluses, if any were formed, went to charge storage devices: Mana crystals and stones.
If the Aspects found out about the resulting efficiency of the system, they would drool with envy. But who would let them into the holy of holies? Once, at the dawn of the formation of Quel'Thalas, the heads of the Blue Dragonflight and Red Dragonflight tried to almost force their way in as guests, but they had to leave empty-handed—such "guests" were not welcome here. Although to avoid a bloody denouement, the elves had to swear on the nascent Source not to try to summon demons—but, honestly, now that the Quel'dorei and the Legion had become clear enemies, they couldn't have come up with a more idiotic requirement…
On the rim of the Source, right opposite the main and only entrance, sat the rightful mistress, she was also the creator of this place—an eternally young and beautiful elf with snow-white hair, whose short length had long ago become a symbol of the new era. In the diadem that rested on the girl's forehead, a huge opal pulsed steadily, surprisingly matching the rhythm of the energy waves arising in the Source. She had lowered one of her hands into the glowing substance and was moving it smoothly, sorting through it with her fingers, just like an ordinary girl in a summer white dress playing in an ordinary fountain. If you looked closely, you could see how her fingers were enveloped in a rainbow glow, which was carried away by waves of energy and quickly dissolved in them. The Queen shared her own Mana with her creation more often than other subjects, and although most of it was received from the Source, firstly, something came from other sources, and secondly, after entering a Mage's body, Mana eventually ceased to be neutral, transforming into their own energy…
"Almost ten thousand years have passed, and Sargeras still won't quit. His followers are jumping out of their skins, and sometimes not even figuratively, to get into our world and do some mischief. Nathrezim are swarming in Human lands, and even if they themselves no longer rush into the fray after having their horns broken several times, they send all sorts of hirelings and traitors before you can blink.
And then there's this oyster—the belch of the void—stirring the waters, especially on Kalimdor… It's a good thing after all that between 'perfect, but on an island' and 'a bit worse, but in the middle of the land, in a mountain valley,' I chose the second option as the place for the Source…
The Aspects, instead of fulfilling their duties, pull stunts worse than Kil'jaeden's lackeys: first they arranged games among Humans, and then they thought to allow themselves to be blackmailed by Neltharion, who returned from oblivion, and almost lost to him! Why did I have to fix their blunders and deal with this overgrown lizard? At least I managed to come out with a profit…"
Azshara felt how a seemingly unremarkable gold disk, possessing great power, perhaps comparable to the diadem she wore, rested comfortably between her breasts full of youth, and her lips twisted into a thin smirk.
"Stupid reptiles! Left with nothing again. But now they'll quiet down and stop messing around. They showed up in Dalaran, you see, for everything ready-made. Is it smeared with honey there or something? And if the artifact had come to me earlier, everything could have been different! It's true after all that if you want something done well, do it yourself... Illidan Stormrage, Illidan Stormrage… what would it have cost to give the disk to me? Why the demon did it have to be thrown into the Well? Though I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out N'Zoth had a hand in this too—only he benefited from its destruction…"
The events of the long-ago War of the Ancients were still echoing for her entire race. But in the intervening time, Azshara had at least been able to reconcile herself to the loss of the first Well, giving all her strength to the creation and maintenance of a new one, and now the memories of possessing boundless power only instilled melancholy and a desire to sequester herself from pressing problems, rather than hatred for certain sentient beings involved in the ill-fated events… So today the girl combined nostalgic impulses with the planned feeding of her creation.
However, she already had a proven method for dealing with bouts of melancholy. It was enough to summarize the results of the efforts applied to the rebirth of the Elven people. From the mere realization that she had managed to create this magnificence practically out of nothing, pride for the achieved result took hold. Yes, she was not without vanity, but who among us is without sin? In any case, such a flaw was quite consistent with the image of a power-hungry queen and turned out to be inseparable from her aura of greatness, turning into a virtue.
Meanwhile, the results were not limited to a single Source. Yes, an inexhaustible source of energy was important, and perhaps in the rank of priorities, it rightfully took first place. Но she considered the victory over herself to be the most important achievement. It had taken her nearly two thousand years to understand that times had changed again, and it would no longer be possible to dictate her will to everyone from a position of strength. It was not easy to admit, but at that moment she had become like those same Elune-worshippers who once did not want to accept the changes in the life of the Night Elves, which split the monolithic society into two classes.
Working on her perception of the changed layouts led to devoting more time to such aspects of a ruler's life as Diplomacy and intrigue. True—now she had to intrigue and take into account the interests of her own people to a much greater extent than before, when she made decisions regarding the fate of her subjects, viewing situations only through the prism of the power of the Well of Eternity.
As for Diplomacy, the lack of Elven resources forced her to turn her attention to the lesser brothers in mind who lived in the eastern part of the once-unified continent. Murlocs and Trolls. How the elf had rejoiced in her time that there were no furbolgs in this part of the world! Those favorites of Elune—talking flea-spreaders—she could not stand.
Both the walking fish and the cannibals had to be forced into submission by force and their loyalty ensured by magical oaths, but who cared? Certainly not Azshara. Although she had to tinker a bit (for some reason the lower races, especially Trolls, did not recognize themselves as lower and did not want to work for the benefit of the Elven people), now the Murlocs were the first line of defense against a threat that could come from the sea, and the Trolls guarded the land borders. With the Trolls, a funny situation had occurred when Azshara decided to blow off steam and, at the head of a scout party, attacked a discovered large concentration of wild ancestors; she didn't know then that it wasn't actually a "cluster of huts," but the entire capital of the "Great Empire of Zul'Aman." However, for a Mage with millennia of experience behind her and the presence of a fragment of the power of the Well of Eternity, there wasn't much difference… And they were lucky in their time that she, busy studying the Well of Eternity, paid little attention to what was happening on the other end of Azeroth.
And even if the functions of the newfound "allies" were more watchmen than force, even so, this decision had already justified itself: not all penetration attempts could be detected by magic, and such encroachments were made with enviable consistency. In essence, the High Elves had been in a state of implicit war for several millennia… These attempts by N'Zoth to regain control over the elves could be called ridiculous or even funny if there weren't real power behind them.
Then, when a new and numerous race calling themselves "humans" appeared, Azshara saw not only a heap of potential problems that might arise if she left the newcomers unsupervised, but also a prospect. Thus, without much hesitation, she arranged negotiations with representatives of Arathor—the empire of humans who had united against those very trolls whose capital she had successfully crushed during the purging of the northern tip of the continent. Needless to say, the leaderless, fanged voodoo-worshippers, despite their numbers, were unable to withstand the aggression of a young race that had received support from the wise elves in the form of knowledge regarding magic science.
There were also the cunning, sturdy Dwarves. For several hundred years now, they had been adding to Azshara's personal headaches. The War of the Three Hammers they staged was quite something on its own... Outwardly as simple as a stone by the roadside, the bearded folk turned out to be quite shrewd: they built hidden outposts in all the mountains, scoured the continent, and poked their thick noses into every crevice, hiding behind membership in some Explorers' League... And then her magic beacons go missing! The very ones her scouts painstakingly place across the continent to form the portal and signal networks!
And then there are those meddlesome Midgets constantly digging. Digging and digging. The Rangers are exhausted from chasing them along the border, but just try catching them in the mountains! And oh, what a scandal it was when, almost in the capital of Is'Ney-Azshari itself ("In the Name of Azshara"—the queen didn't bother much with the new name), located around the new Source and built practically into the mountains, another excavation site was found along with the homegrown archaeologists themselves, who had somehow penetrated through all barriers into the very heart of her country. And despite all that, the Dwarves brazenly stall the opening of an official elven embassy in Ironforge!
"How they irritate me..." the girl summarized her memories of the Dwarves.
Another reason for irritation at the very fact of their existence was that the Dwarves had, in their time, scrambled to acquire allies. And what allies—the Midget Gnomes, who turned out to be unsurpassed inventors! Azshara appreciated their creative potential, based on magic and technology. However, the time was irrevocably lost, and the initial conditions had not been in her favor: the Gnomes had emerged from the depths to the surface not just anywhere, but in the immediate vicinity of the Dwarven capital. The Bronzebeards instantly calculated the prospect and provided aid to their "brethren" in exchange for a binding mutual assistance treaty. Of course, Azshara herself wouldn't have refused such a treaty, but for such an acquisition, she could have offered more worthy terms, even partnership: after all, doing something under the lash is not at all the same as creating in a burst of creative inspiration. She knows well from her own example that in the latter case, the result is of a significantly higher quality.
And although her ambassadors in Gnomeregan worked tirelessly in an attempt to lure away if not the entire people, then at least their best representatives, promising comprehensive support and resources, alas, the little engineers proved highly susceptible to the call of duty. While on one hand this was an excellent quality for her future allies, at present it forced her to take a waiting position, counting on a change in circumstances... or the opportunity to organize that change herself.
Such assistants would have greatly helped both in the construction of fortified areas in the border regions and in the search for emissaries of demons and N'Zoth. For despite "allied" relations, the border of the elven state was constantly being strengthened. This included the mountain ranges separating them from the human kingdoms that had formed on the site of the Empire of Arathor, the fall of which occurred not without the help of Azshara, who considered the principle of "divide and conquer" more preferable here. With the latter, the elven ambassadors even overdid it a bit, and when the demons made their next move, bringing Orcs to Azeroth, it turned out that the scattered "humans" were incapable—in the absolute sense of the word—of independently dealing with such direct threats, the resolution of which, according to Azshara's plan, had been entrusted to them. Yes, thanks to the policy pursued by the queen, the humans could not cooperate with the aim of biting the elven hand that fed them, but the fragmentation and internal disagreements worked the other way as well—Lordaeron, Stormwind, Gilneas, Kul Tiras, Stromgarde, Alterac, and Dalaran were unable to unite against the external threat as their ancestors once had when opposing the trolls.
The first five were mired in squabbles and overcome by greed regarding who would owe whom and how much for the assistance provided against the invasion of the green-skinned warriors. The Council of the Kirin Tor, ruling Dalaran, had become quite conceited from their successes in the field of magic arts and, likening themselves to a frog at the bottom of a well, boldly declared that they were above local skirmishes, and should anyone approach the city borders with warlike intentions, a sad fate would await them... Now, going after new knowledge into the Orc portal—that was always welcome, but as for helping in the war—they could manage without them.
Even the loss of Stormwind did not faze the human rulers. "The neighbor turned out to be weak: lost to some unwashed, half-naked savages"—such was their opinion. Although Alterac (perhaps as an exception) out of fear for its own skin tried to sell itself to the invaders even before they crossed the isthmus separating Lordaeron from Khaz Modan. Fortunately for them, they were helped to see reason by Lordaeronian troops, who began to gather at the border with Stromgarde. And what a coincidence—their route lay straight through the famous Alterac Valley...
In the end, Azshara had to assist with troops the offspring of diplomacy nurtured at her side and personally (just think of it—personally!) bring the human rulers to their senses, directing them onto the path she required. Most likely, even the goat-offspring of Elune would have shed a tear of emotion upon hearing her speech about closing ranks before the external enemy, about mutual aid and rescue!
Politics... the things one does for one's people. In Dalaran, for example, she had to give a small lecture on magic to the students of the local academy, accompanying the unobtrusive advertisement of Quel'Thalas with an invitation for all interested mages to visit for the purpose of "exchanging experience." After all, from such youngsters with eyes burning with a thirst for knowledge, excellent spies and agents of influence are subsequently made... and as for the life-wise, gray-haired mages, if they have a desire to drop by for a visit, they can enjoy the views of the guest quarter of Ney-Azshari, which they will be pointedly requested not to leave. It shouldn't be only demons seducing mortals with knowledge, strength, power, and longevity, should it?
The recruitment drive, according to reports from subordinates, turned out to be so successful that Azshara was thinking of repeating the spontaneously arisen desire to visit Dalaran sometime. And the Council of the Kirin Tor ought to be periodically reminded to whom they owe everything.
"...Though not in the near future. For now, I've had enough therapy for today—the work won't do itself. I can pick apart the bones of those conceited Naaru next time..." Azshara rose easily, allowing the drops of energy to partly flow back into the well and partly be absorbed into her palm, and left the room. The door closed behind her with the slight crackle of activating protection, leaving the energy's fruitless attempts to break through to the starry sky in absolute silence.
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Dalaran, residence of the magic order of the Kirin Tor
Alexstrasza's spouse sighed heavily. The deadline set by Azshara was coming to an end. Korialstrasz was packing his numerous belongings in apartments that were by no means modest, belonging to him as one of the members of the Council of Six: during the several years that the dragon in the guise of a High Elf had been part of the notorious council, he had managed to accumulate quite a bit of junk. No, he was, of course, sincerely glad and happy that his mistress had been saved—the beautiful Alexstrasza always came first for him—but still, to leave like this, at the bidding of the one who had by trickery seized one of the most significant treasures of their race...
"Curse you, Neltharion! How naive we were, believing in the necessity of creating such a powerful artifact: it wasn't for nothing they named it the Dragon Soul..."
As a result, the artifact ended up with Azshara—the one with whom he wanted to see it last (not counting Neltharion, of course). The treacherous queen of the elves had appeared as if from nowhere, snatched the Soul from under his apprentice's nose, while simultaneously kicking the backside of Neltharion, who was weakened from the fight with the other Aspects, and slipped away under the protection of the Source. Korialstrasz sincerely hoped that at least the traitor had perished for good. At least after that light illumination and the riot of magic flows that reigned in the dwelling of the progenitor of the black dragons, he himself wouldn't have been able to survive, even if he were a hundred times stronger.
And after the theft, stooping to base blackmail, the owner of the Soul, absolutely shamelessly threatening the dragons with her new property, issued an ultimatum—to leave the territory of Dalaran in general and the human kingdoms in particular within a year. At least she gave them time to finish all their business... To the attempt to object that they were, supposedly, among humans for a reason, but were no less than hindering the machinations of demon henchmen, as well as generally controlling and directing the development of magic into a safe channel. To which they were given a generally fair resolution that they had failed in their stated duties. On the other hand, they got off easy: they were merely expelled from the human sector, rather than being enslaved like the crazed Earth Aspect...
There was a knock at the entrance door. Kras (for it was under this name that he was known in Dalaran) distracted himself from his worries and said:
"Come in, Rhonin."
A smiling young man entered the abode of one of the high mages of the Kirin Tor, his red hair standing out brightly in the sun's rays against the general background.
"Teacher," the smile on the apprentice's lips faded; he was pained by such injustice being committed before his eyes.
"The time has come. Tomorrow, according to the agreement, I will leave Dalaran. This evening at the meeting of the Six, I will recommend you for the vacating position, but you understand—after the statement made about going into 'seclusion,' my voice no longer carries authority. However, I will not lie; I consider you the most worthy candidate for the vacant seat. I hope that over the past year you have learned my lessons well."
"You speak as if we will never meet again, and you are truly going to the edge of the world to spend the rest of your days watching the stars."
"No, of course not," Korialstrasz smiled. Such a suggestion from the only human who knew of his true nature amused the dragon. "Don't worry, you can always turn to me for help or advice in an hour of need."
"You too, teacher..."
A few hours later, Kras, as promised, addressed the Council of Six, of whom only four were present, not counting Kras: Archmage Vargoth was leading an expedition into the Orc portal.
"...Colleagues, it has been a pleasure working with you. But before saying goodbye, I would like to voice my thoughts on the matter of my successor. I propose the candidacy of my apprentice—Rhonin. He is an excellent mage, knowledgeable in many aspects, as all present here undoubtedly know; furthermore, he is already initiated into the goals and tasks facing a council member, which means he will be able to begin his direct duties from the moment of appointment..."
"Ahem," having waited for a small pause, another representative of the High Elves—Anasterian—interjected into the speech of the ex-member of the Six. He was a being so predisposed to politics that the elven queen herself had chosen his candidacy for this position, or so the rumors claimed...
"With all my respect... Lord Kras," Azshara's ambassador said with deeply hidden mockery, "But we intended to discuss this matter after your departure. It is a matter of objectivity, you understand."
"Of course, Councilor Anasterian," the dragon gave no sign that he was stung by the remark of Azshara's confidant. "I merely expressed my thoughts. And I ask you to note that my intentions are directed solely toward the prosperity of the order."
"We know, Councilor," his "compatriot" smiled benevolently. "When the Queen decided to send you on the expedition, it was I who suggested granting a one-year deferment. So do not worry; as far as possible, we will take your wishes into account and comprehensively consider all... aspects of your apprentice's knowledge," another faint smile followed the word "aspects." "But still, rules are rules—let us not violate the established protocol."
Some members of the council were slightly surprised by such details of the high mage's resignation: before this statement, they had believed it was Kras's personal decision. However, any squabbles between elves were to the advantage of the humans, who keenly desired to maintain at least that appearance of independence from Quel'Thalas that Azshara allowed them. And as for Korialstrasz himself, he was surprised that the year's deferment had been obtained thanks to his opponent... Be that as it may, his composure was more than enough to keep a straight face.
"I understand," the dragon nodded. "Then we shall end on that. Farewell, colleagues."
Having waited for Kras's departure, the remaining four members of the Council of Six began discussing the topic at hand. The council included: the head—Antonidas, the elven representative—Anasterian, Antonidas's former apprentice and curator of experimental mages—Kel'Thuzad, the currently absent curator of the research direction—Vargoth, and the permanent assistant to the head—Modera.
"Well, councilors, please voice the candidates," the head of the council—a tall, elderly man with a long white beard—began the discussion. "In my turn, I propose Ansarem Runeweaver. A hardworking and very persistent Wizard. There is no problem that he would not eventually be able to solve."
The discussion was traditionally conducted in a circle, and the next was a young woman—one of the youngest Archmages in the history of the order.
"Khadgar," the head's assistant proposed. "Experienced, strong, has great connections and acquaintances."
This time, a comment followed from the next in line—a brown-haired man with graying hair and a short goatee.
"An adventurer to the bone," he snapped, and then immediately after a second's hesitation. "I have no candidate."
The word remained with Anasterian. Most of those present were sure that the elf would support the initiative of his departed compatriot. However, he hesitated. If he put forward a candidate, the deciding vote would be with Kel'Thuzad as one having no protégé of his own, and this did not suit Azshara's ambassador, who wished to pull another elf into the council, but he also did not want to make a choice between Ansarem and Khadgar. In the end, he decided on a strategy.
"Solarian Starseeker. She has an inquisitive mind and boundless imagination. As you know, she is a well-proven teacher. She easily explains the complex through the simple, and the simple through the complex. There is no hypothesis she could not devise," finally, Anasterian advertised the elf by analogy with the head.
"Let us vote," Antonidas summarized.
Now the choice remained with Kel'Thuzad, unless, of course, someone suddenly decided to give their vote to another's candidate. From the comment of the curator of experimenters, one could judge that Modera's representative did not please him much. But Anasterian did not cherish hope for a fifty-percent chance of success. The elven ambassador already guessed the result, and therefore was not too upset when the illusions that formed simultaneously over all those present revealed the outcome of the vote.
Three against one for Ansarem Runeweaver. As was to be expected, the humans were in no hurry to hand over power into the hands of their patrons... However, let them play in their sandbox. Anasterian did not doubt—should such a necessity arise, the council would do everything their Queen said. They looked very cowed after every meeting with Azshara, no matter where it happened: in Dalaran, Is'Ney-Azshari, or on the battlefield... especially on the battlefield.
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