NOVEL NEXT Chapter 31: Chapter 31
Dusk was approaching Silvermoon city, and the lights, and ornaments hung along the side of the road brightly lit up the main street like Christmas in New York.
The entire surviving population had gathered at the gate, and were slowly marching toward Sunstrider Square (the square in front of the Palace of the Sun.)
Varrus stood at the head of the crowd along with the other city leaders.
By his side, Syra was holding onto his hand, and clung close to him.
The other members of the Convocation stood in a row with him. Behind them were the wise, then the people who participated in the battles, finally flanked by the civilians taking up the rear.
Over 170,000 High Elves took part in this march.
Quel'Thalas was a nation roughly the size of England, and once boasted well over a million people. While the majority of the country lived in the city state of Silvermoon, there was still the possibility that tens of thousands had survived in the villages and towns outside Silvermoon.
Initially, Quel'Thalas should have roughly 100,000~ survivors. Because of Varrus' involvement, instead of the 10% survivors, Silvermoon at the very least, had a 17% survival rate. This figure, of course did not account for the hamlets and towns that escaped the Scourge attack, but Varrus figured that wouldn't be more than a few thousand to perhaps 20,000 more survivors given that the vast majority of the country's population was centered in SIlvermoon.
As amazing as it was to stand at the head of a 170,000 strong line of people, Varrus felt that the city was practically empty.
If he had to liken the current vibe to anything, it was like living in a large city, then driving around town at 10AM. Yeah, you would see a lot of people, but the city felt bare compared to peak operating hours. As opposed to morning/evening traffic, then you really felt like you lived in a metro area of millions.
When they began the march, every Elf took some ash from a burnt building, and symbolically smeared it on their face.
Apparently it was common in Quel'Dorei culture to place your deceased loved one's ashes upon yourself in a display of sorrow.
Elves were not supposed to die. They were immortal. Or near immortal depending on who asked. The point was, they were not supposed to die. Given their low fertility, each loss was seen as a national tragedy.
Deaths were reported in newspapers, portrayed in plays, and gossiped about for decades. It was a big deal.
The Highborn abhorred death so much, they taught Humans magic to kill the Trolls, and throw them at all their problems. It wasn't as if the High Elves couldn't fight the Trolls themselves, no, they would rather have someone else take care of the problem if they didn't have to risk themselves.
It was this 'not my problem' attitude that Varrus took exception with. While he understood where this mindset came from, it was this mental weakness that perpetuated the Amani threat. In many ways, Quel'Thalas was like a modern nation. They had public: restrooms, waste bins, transportation, libraries, education, refrigeration, heating, and all the best amenities you could expect from 1940's technology (barring airplanes).
And like a modern nation, they kept saying things like 'we should help the Humans!' Then proceed to do absolutely nothing, even when the Humans are being gnawed on by a zombie 10 miles away from their homes.
So while Varrus went along, and placed the ash of a burnt building on his face, and was respectful towards the monumental loss of life 7 days ago, he couldn't help but shake his head at Elven hypocrisy. That all of this would have been easily avoided if they took a more proactive role in world events. It was a classic blunder of all Elves in fantasy medium, and Varrus aimed to cure them of it.
Meanwhile, at the head of the column, Kael'Thas was clenching and unclenching the pommel to his sword so much, Varrus worried for his friend's mental state.
He had hoped Jan'alai would've helped loosen him up, yet watching him remain cold and aloof as he twirled his cape like some supervillain really had Varrus concerned.
The memories he had inherited were mostly vapid, self aggrandizing playboy antics. Like the kind of life a rockstar would live if he was high on his own hype, and he was only famous because of his other bandmates.
However, the few good memories he inherited mostly involved Kael'Thas. The kid was a know it all, but he was pretty innocent. He was the only one who had treated Varrus with any kind of sincerity. For that, he had only respect for the troubled Prince.
Given Varrus' meta knowledge, he knew how consumed Kael'Thas was with revenge, and he genuinely viewed the guy as his one and only friend.
As his friend, he tried to tease Kael, and introduce some levity in his life. Make him think about anything but the death of his father, and the weight on his shoulders.
Varrus understood what it was like to lose. He had at one point, been mad enough at someone back on Earth, he wanted to do evil to them. But having a friend to talk to had helped him out of a dark place. Varrus now wanted to be that friend for Kael.
As they marched block by block, they finally reached Sunstrider Square.
Before any speeches or rites were to be done, a group of ladies and practitioners of the Light split off from the group-Syra included-and gathered in the center to sing.
Their voices were angelic, powerful, otherworldly. Like the LOTR song, 'Passing of the Elves.'
"Long ago, when our world was sundered so
We Quel'Dorei fled eastward oh
Upon this land, we made home
Forevermore we made light eternal sol
The sky above darkened upon sol's longbow
We Quel'Dorei spread ash in remembrance of anima's glow
Upon this land, your family calls home
Forevermore until we meet again
Today at last, life meets its woe
We Quel'Dorei shed tears of endless snow
Upon this land, lies your final home
Forevermore your spirit roam"
Silence so loud, it was deafening spread across the venue as the ladies concluded their song.
Varrus' eyes were closed as hot tears fell freely down his cheeks, mixed with ash dirtying his face even more, and then dripped down his chin.
His wife clung to him then, and he held on to her loving embrace like a lifeline.
He was surprised to see her cry tears of her own, and clung to her harder for it.
However, not everyone present was so lucky. Most people had no one to cling to, and so hugged strangers in this moment of shared pain.
Others, like Prince Kael'Thas stood alone, like an island unto themselves.
Varrus felt his heart pang in guilt seeing his friend like that. If only Syra wasn't so jealous, he would hug Kael too.
If there was anything struggling through life had taught him, it was that it was over when it was over, and you had to tell the people close to you that you loved them.
This was such a generational defining tragedy, even stoics like Rho'dan had solemn looks of sorrow.
Varrus smiled through the tears, cupped Syra's chin, and looked into her eyes.
He didn't lean down to kiss her, or talk dirty.
He just wanted to look at her. To confirm she was real. To burn her teary eyed, smiling beauty into his brain forever.
"I love you." Varrus hoarsely whispered.
"I love you too." Syra quietly replied, staring into Varrus' eyes with the same intensity.
Like that, a moment of silence had been observed, as the sun set.
It was then Varrus' turn to speak. It was a tough act to follow up such a hauntingly beautiful song, but an encouraging squeeze of the palm from his wife gave him all the courage he needed.
Ordinarily, speeches would be given from the balcony overhanging the square, but in this case, a raised stage with a platform had been constructed.
Stepping behind a podium, Varrus noticed Ed an enchanted device had been set up in front of his mouth that amplified sound. Quel'Thalas truly was akin to a modern society trapped in the 1940's. Magic was wondrous.
"Ahem, people of Silvermoon, many of you may recognize my face as the notorious son of your previous Highlord. I am here speaking to you today to reassure you that House Vandercross has found a solution to your hunger pangs. Some of you have already fed upon this: the Mana Stone." Varrus said, producing one of the crystals.
"Some of you may have noticed during the day that there were stalls available to the public offering mana. Going forward, every major intersection and street corner shall have Mana Stones until the Sunwell has been restored."
Many people began to mutter questioningly at Varrus, and the once quiet and respectful crowd had grown noisy with a buzz.
"As First Seat of the Convocation, this is my promise to you!" Varrus pointed toward his guards, and they began to unload cartloads of Mana Stones.
[Speech 49 -> 50]
Many Elves had not fed on mana for an entire week, and they scrambled to get a piece for themselves. As a result, chaos ensued.
"Siiiileeeennnnccceeee!!!" Varrus commanded, voice reverberating throughout the square.
"We are Elves of Quel'Thalas! Conduct yourselves as such! Everyone who has not fed will get a chance. Line up, or be cast out." Varrus shouted his heart out, capitalizing on the effects of intimidation and his Speech perk tree as much as possible.
It seemed to work, as the Elves who were acting out of pocket looked sheepish and began to organize themselves into a dozen different lines.
At this point, Varrus felt the undivided attention of tens of thousands. Where before, he had seen hostility and disinterest in the expressions of many faces, now there was curiosity, and maybe even some respect.
"As First Seat, not only do I promise to feed your reliance on mana, but to slay your enemies. Behold! The arch traitor and murderer of my father, Drathir Drakhar! As well as the leader of the Amani, Zul'Jin!" Varrus reached into his mageweave bag, and pulled out the twin heads of his enemies.
"Curse you, Vandacross! A hex upon ya land!" Zul'Jin roared into the magic, sound amplifying stone.
"Yes, not even death is good enough for our most hated foe!" Varrus openly mocked.
His laughter was mimicked by many other Elves as Varrus dangled Zul'Jin by the braids of his hair, and the Troll cursed up a storm.
'Frickin smug Elves.' Varrus internally cringed at his political theater.
Carrying around two severed heads was gross beyond all that was holy, but people in Warcraft sure seemed to be obsessed with them if the numerous quests were anything to go off of.
At the very least, he got to copy the famous manly man, Kratos, God of War, and carry around a wise cracking companion?
Looking at Zul'Jin's ugly mug, Varrus decided he'd rather keep him in the bag. Stuffing the Troll back into the pocket space of his mageweave bag, Varrus raised his hands to calm the laughter.
"One Elf, a Convocation does not make. Without further ado, please welcome your new councilors!" Varrus clapped, and introduced everyone from Koren to Lor'Themar.
Once everyone was done clapping, and the new members of the Convocation had each given a speech, Varrus took the stage once more.
"Before I bow out, I have one final gift to share with the survivors of Silvermoon." Varrus said, as motes of light began to gather in his hands.
Casting the spell Infinite Light, Varrus prayed and sprayed the beam of Light energy across the entire square.
Spreading like chain heal, Varrus spent over 10 minutes hosing down everyone present with healing power.
Cripples could walk, the blind could see, and depression was alleviated.
Varrus didn't want to become overly reliant on the Light, but its healing properties could not be denied!
Watching many people smile for the first time made Varrus feel good inside. There were some people, he noticed, who had hung at the back of the crowd, so desolate that they didn't even bother lining up for a Mana Stone despite their obvious hunger. However, with a little boost, their pale, emaciated forms began to line up, and regain some color after consuming some mana.
Varrus received extremely polite clapping from just about everyone present. For the smug Elves, this was like receiving a rockstars ovation!
Varrus lightly bowed at everyone present, then made his exit.
After Varrus and the other members of the Convocation had spoken, the public had been invited to share brief public eulogies.
Given the long lives of Elves, eulogies could often take entire days, or depending on how beloved the deceased, a week long. Sharing thousands of years of life with a population a little over a million meant even the most antisocial Elf would be familiar with at least a hundred people.
As such, the eulogies today had to be kept short for propriety's sake.
One by one, people would stand at the front of the crowd, and speak.
Varrus, along with Kael and the Convocation were standing maybe 10-20ft behind the podium to show 'solidarity.' But Varrus knew it for the rubbish politics it was, and that they were really there to show off, and be seen by the public.
It was dreadful.
Honestly, Varrus didn't know how professional politicians dealt with the boredom. They probably told themselves it was good for their numbers, and slept well knowing people were giving them some attention. Bloody narcissists.
And it wasn't like he was disrespecting the dead. It was just, after the tenth tragedy or so, it became difficult to fully invest his attention into the mind numbing scale of the event.
So he passed his time trying to look engaging/sympathetic while also trying to get a rough estimate of the amount of people present in the square, and see if all 170k+ could fit. Given 300,000+ people could fit in Vatican square, it was possible.
As time dragged on, the open forum would be wrapped up, and then Kael'Thas would conclude the night's events.
After much talking, it was around midnight that a familiar figure took the stand.
It was Koren's brother, Dakar. The handsome, green eyed blonde took to the stage, but Varrus paid him little mind.
Varrus was half asleep by this point, and barely reacted when the dragonhawk riding Hero pointed his sword at him, and began to cry angrily. He belatedly realized that this must be the warning Faedra had informed him about earlier in the day.
Frankly, Varrus wasn't worried even if Dakar had proof. The things Varrus provided today practically made him untouchable in the court of public opinion. How could Dakar not see this? Was he that stupid, or was someone manipulating him?
Dakar then launched himself into a monologuing frenzy as he levied accusation after accusation upon Varrus.
"Everyone knows of the feud between my family and Highlord Vandercross. It was a vile act of revenge that this so-called rising Hero and First Seat of the Convocation mind controlled my brother, and forced him to kill my father with his own two hands!
I have here 10 witnesses that all saw my father go to his house during the Scourging of Silvermoon, but never saw him return!
Furthermore, the death of Lord Sanguinar must be at his bidding as well! His wife, Syra, is the daughter of the Mistress of Murder Row!
She was a co-commander during the battle of the docks against the Trolls yesterday. I saw from my dragonhawk mount, Thaladred strike down his long time friend and ally, Lord Sanguinar! I then witnessed Syra blackmail him afterwards! Come forward, Hero of Silvermoon, tell us how the witch had you slay Lord Sanguinar in the heat of battle!" Dakar said with great passion and anger.
Thousands of people began to mutter, creating a cacophony of noises and confusion in the crowd.
From what Varrus could hear, there was some general discontent, as well as badmouthing of his father.
However, there was more skepticism than anything else, and talk of the Mana Stones was helping Varrus' case in the court of public opinion more than anything else.
Stepping from the group by Varrus' side, Thaladred was still in his all plate armor, and was clenching his fists so hard, it looked like he could go Doom Guy, and rip & tear something apart.
Varrus was slightly annoyed that Thaladred was going to testify, but ultimately, he chose to stand on the sidelines and see what his newest 'ally' would say.
Besides, when his wife dragged Thaladred off into the alley, Varrus could only imagine what she had done to him. This would serve as a test to see where his loyalties lied.
Thaladred stood in front of the podium for a moment, and some people in the crowd began hurling insults.
Either directly at Thaladred, or booing Dakar for ruining a sacred funeral procession.
Thaladred looked back at Syra's smiling face, then turned around to deck Dakar in the chin.
"Today is a solemn occasion. It should not be marred by petty politics. Today is a day of unity. These baseless accusations have no place in this forum." Thaladred said woodenly, like he was reading directly off a script.
"Well said!" Syra exclaimed, and began to clap.
Varrus gently clapped alongside her. Following his cue, the rest of House Vandercross also began to clap from amongst the crowd.
"Guards, throw this trouble maker and his companions into a cell. A night in the dungeon will cool him off." Kael'Thas ordered some nearby Royal Guard.
"Brother! You have to save me! Do not allow them to do this. Brother!" Dakar kicked and screamed towards Koren as he was roughly held by the guards.
Koren guiltily looked to Varrus, then left with the guards to visit his brother in the dungeon.
Varrus could only shake his head at the sad state of affairs. Faedra's warning had been quite melodramatic, but it was ultimately a nothing burger.
However, this did alert him that there was perhaps an enemy plotting his downfall.
Many might not know, but Dakar's continued survivability was directly tied to Koren's loyalty. Devoted Koren may be, but his condition to throw in with Varrus was sparing his brother.
Varrus would have to speak privately with Koren and work something out. Because he would not suffer someone as strong as a Hero making trouble for him on the sidelines.
Once Dakar and his companions were dragged away, and a few more mourners spoke of their loved ones, Kael'Thas took the stage, brimming with passion like a man possessed.
"Friends, citizens, Quel'Dorei, I come to you today not as your Prince, but as a grieving son." Kael said, then picked up a palm full of ashes from a coffin cast in the shape of the former King, Anasterian Sunstrider.
"Thou art the ruins of the noblest Elf that ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy ash now do I prophesize,–
A curse shall light upon the rotten limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife shall consume all corners of Azeroth;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use and dreadful magics so familiar that mothers shall but smile when they behold their sons and daughters lain fallow with the hands of war.
Quel'Thalas' spirit, thirsts for revenge!
No longer are we Quel'Dorei, High Elves of Silvermoon!
I dub thee Sin'Dorei: Blood Elves!
May vengeance be your scabbard, and anger your quiver!
It shall be in this Royal Quarter I speak, not as your monarch, but with a son's voice that I cry 'havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war!!"
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