Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft or its sequels. Blizzard does.
So with my recent post of Life and Death, I decided the Old Gods don't get enough stories.
Looking for a beta.
Chapter published 2/19/2015.
With that laugh, that pounding, deafening laugh that burst her eardrums and filled her mind, the visage of the horrific Old God became too much for Ellemayne to bear, as if she were staring into the sun. She pointed her gun away and turned her head, eyes stinging and mind throbbing. Everyone else in her guild did the same, forced to face away from the monster, but even after turning away she felt like ants were crawling in her brain.
Turning away from Yogg-Saron brought Ellemayne face to face with the towering faceless defending it. A tall, gurgling creatures with pallid grey, scaly skin, a long trunk for a nose, a thin tentacle for a left arm and a mass of three thick tentacles for a bludgeon-like right arm. It wore a simple loincloth with two sharp tusks jutting out from the waist, spiked pauldrons, and a leather band inlaid with teal runes on both its whip-like left arm and above the left knee.
Despite the exhaustion tearing at her limbs, despite the residual feelings of illness and apathy that spells couldn't quite cleanse, Ellemayne lifted her Titan-make gun at the faceless five times her size and fired. The rest of her guild lashed out at it with blades and arrows, fire and shadow. Every wound it received instantly healed over but made the monstrosity shrink, until it was slightly shorter than the human death knight it fought. Lightning crackled, and a bolt of Titan magic blasted the life from it. At the same time, the sensation of shadow magic burning against her back faded and Ellemayne whipped around to once again face the head of Yogg-Saron.
Even with the power of three Watchers making her taller and stronger, Yogg-Saron was the size of a fucking dragon. The top of its fish-like head was covered in dark, armored plates, and dreadlocks sank down into the pool of liquid saronite it had risen from. Its maw was blue-green and filled with gruesome fangs twice the size of a tauren, pointing in all directions. Where there should have been eyes were just more mouths, large enough to swallow the night elf twice over and filled with more of those gibbering fangs. To the sides of the Old God were glowing saronite-colored pustules, leaking green slime into the saronite pool, and in the middle of its upper 'lip' were two fangs arranged like buck teeth over the rest, no bigger than normal.
It leathery skin was blackened and burned here and there from the barrage of spells they had already brought to bear. Purple streaks of the warlock spell to drain souls wound outwards from it, and it had several gaping holes where Ellemayne and Rom had shot it. Most of her bullets were aimed down its gaping throat as it rose and fell within the pool of its own blood.
With the spell faded, Ellemayne took the opportunity to lay into it. Her trigger finger ached with use and her ammo pack was dangerously light, but as time passed Yogg-Saron moved slower and slower within the pool. The quakes of its body moving beneath the surface, cracking the ground, were weakening.
There was a whoosh. The dozens of projectiles fired at the Old God picked up speed as it inhaled, opening its mouth far wider than it had any right to. One of the smaller maws spoke while all the others opened wide.
"Eternal suffering awaits!"
The familiar glow of holy magic washed over her, a fraction of a second before the air Yogg-Saron had inhaled was sent out as a roar, a visible shockwave bursting out from the Old God and knocking her flat on her ass, tinitus ringing in her ears. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a flash of arcane light that heralded another towering, faceless guardian.
"Damn it," she whispered under her breath. Getting back up, Ellemayne positioned herself between it and Alex and fired at it. It looked her way, then past her at the death knight.
"Yeah!" he shouted and brandished his sword. "Come and get it!" The faceless charged at him to be taken apart by their melee, and Ellemayne focused back on the Old God, aiming a shot right down its gullet...
Immediately pain flared to life in her mind and she forced herself to turn so the shadow magic would instead lap like fire at her back; she would've had to have been a lunatic to willingly gaze upon it during that horrible spell.
The fight continued. Yogg-Saron, despite slowly weakening, did not relent for an instant, nor did the flow of faceless minions abate. Roars kept bursting her eardrums and shadow spells lashed at her consciousness. Now and again one of the faceless started to flash purple mere seconds before Thorim throttled it with lightning, or they held out their triple-tentacled right arm and began to undulate, drawing thick green strands of life into themselves to grow larger and larger. Ellemayne's breaths came in short, ragged bursts as she fought through the pain and suffering to keep firing at the Old God; the palpable aura of its magic, feeling like wet clay on her skin, was growing stronger and stronger, threatening to extinguish their lives at any second.
All her friends stood beside her. Soronori Flamecaller, the blood elf blasting the Old God with fireballs from both hands. Turaniles, carving through the faceless with the blade Thunderfury. Rom, shooting magical arrows from Thori'dal. Aruen, the paladin resting beneath one of Freya's green beams of light in order to heal his mind.
The dark energies beneath the ground grew stronger and stronger; Ellemayne swore she could see purple light seeping up from the cracks in the stone. She kept firing at Yogg-Saron, littering the monster with bullet wounds. She held her ground as the next surge of sinister energy burst forth, fighting through the darkness to keep looking at the Old God, to keep firing. Then...
The two faceless, one much larger than the other, collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. Yogg-Saron sunk ever so slightly and spoke, its voice pounding in her mind like an edict from Elune. "Your fate is sealed! The end of days is finally upon you, and all who inhabit this miserable little seedling!" It opened its mouth again, far too wide, and then collapsed limply, impaling itself with its own fangs. "Uulwi ifis halahs gag erh'ongg w'ssh!" Then it was over, the dark magic seeping from the cracks fading. Ellemayne put her gun down and shook her head, trying to clear the red fog from the corner of her vision.
"A-Alright everyone!" Turaniles shouted. "Get under a well, right now!"
Ellemayne narrowed her eyes at the other night elf. Who was she to tell her what to do? Ellemayne was the one who took down the Old God, and she was just the lazy little warrior who sat around all day, waving a glorified stick, poking at the mooks and she had the nerve to tell her WHAT TO DO?! SHE SHOULD TAKE HER THUNDERFURY AND RAM IT SO FAR UP HER ASS-
A heavy, plated hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she turned to look at Aruen. He shook his head. "Come on, let's get you under," the draenei stated.
Weakly, Ellemayne nodded, her anger flowing out to be replaced by sheer pain. "R-Right, right," she whispered, letting him lead her with his powerful muscles to the sanity well. The moment she was under the green light her legs gave out from under her, only for Aruen to catch her and lower her to the ground. "T-Thanks," she whispered as a series of warm waves rippled through her head. The ants in her brain vanished. "Oh wow. Oh wow." She saw one of their priests levitating across the saronite pool to the Old God's corpse.
Soronori collapsed next to her. "I know, right?" The mage breathed out heavily. "By the sun, that was close."
"Yeah," she breathed, looking around the Prison of Yogg-Saron. The ethereal Titan chains laid in ruin. The ground was split and cracked, giving way to the pool of saronite in the middle. The area was littered with the corpses of faceless and with craters where they'd played frantic whack-a-mole with the Old God's tentacles. The three Watchers had, with the Old God defeated, teleported up out of the prison. Brann was bringing the Alpha Reply Code to Dalaran via portal, the Old God of death was slain...
... it had been a good day.
Their guild piled under the sanity wells, a dozen under each, some of them sobbing uncontrollably from the effects of Yogg-Saron's vicious spells. As they recovered, a shout came from the Old God. "EUGH!" The priest who had been levitating under the corpse came out, holding a mace of Titan construction in his rotten hands. "That was the most disgusting thing I've ever done," the forsaken said. "But I don't care. I've got Val'anyr."
A series of congratulations rose up. "Nice," Ellemayne whispered, laying about as the damage done to her mind was healed. Suddenly, a wall of gray fur arrived in the elf's lap, licking at her face. She lit up and wrapped her arms around the stormy gray mountain lion. "Fluffy!" He nuzzled into her neck, purring. "Who's a good boy? Did you rip out the faceless's throats? Yes you did!" She pulled back and ruffled his face. "Yes you did!" she sang.
Ignoring the eye-rolls from the rest of her guild, Ellemayne kept spoiling Fluffy and congratulating him on viciously clawing the Old God's tentacles. After about half an hour, Turaniles strode out from the sanity well and faced both groups.
"Good work, everyone!" she said. "We've done real good here. That's two Old Gods down. Now, we're not out of the woods yet! We don't have to worry about the ground exploding with tentacles but the Lich King is still out there! Hearthstone out and meet up in Dalaran so we can figure out our plan of attack!" Her voice turned softer. "But seriously, really well done. It's not easy keeping your heads straight around an Old God and you did it anyway. Be in Dalaran by this time next week, until then take some time to yourselves. After that though, no messing around! We've got a Lich King to kill!"
Nine Months Later
Alex paced back and forth, worried. And why wouldn't he be worried? Any decent man would be worried. His fingers, calloused from long days of working at a forge, drummed anxiously against his legs. He was short of breath, and every now and then he waved his hat over his face like a fan to try and cool himself. He so wished he could be with his wife, but the medics had brooked no argument. The worst part was that they were right, he'd just take up space and makes things difficult in case of any complication, but damn it that was his wife in there, giving birth to his only child! They had no right keeping him out!
No right to, but they had the ability to. So he was resigned to the chapel foyer while his wife labored in the medical wing. It wasn't that he didn't trust the medics and priests, he'd grown up with most of them, but...!
He needed to distract himself. He looked around the chapel of Telaville. It was an impressive chapel, especially for a small town like they were, not even on the map of Hillsbrand. There was a high arching roof that was painted with various heroes of the Holy Light, the pews were glossy dark wood, the masonry was expert. It was lit and warmed by multitudes of candles scattered throughout, which so thoroughly drove back the winter chill that Alex had hung up his coat on the rack by the door. Near the front of the church were two doors that led to the business portions; training for followers of the Light and for practitioners of medicine. It also functioned as a delivery hospital, which he was locked out of.
He cursed. Distracting himself hadn't worked at all.
Deciding to get up, he began pacing the length of the chapel. His footsteps rang out and echoed in the large space, and his only company was an elderly maid washing the windows.
What a world, he thought to himself. Alex tried to imagine what Katie was going through. How much pain she was in, how the priests would try to comfort her, the way her gorgeous face would be red with stress and slick with sweat. He really should've been in there with her, but his hands were tied.
The sun outside continued on its path, casting orange light and long shadows through the chapel as it sank under the horizon. Alex restlessly went from pacing, to sitting, to laying across the benches, back to pacing, to whistling, to full-on singing, to limp waiting, then back to pacing again. The maid left, leaving him completely alone.
The doors to the depths of the chapel opened, and he snapped his attention to them. A priestess came out, looking like she'd just grown up. She began walking over to him, so he met her halfway. "Mister Smithers, congratulations." His heart seemed to grow three sizes in his chest, and his stomach fell out. "It's a healthy baby girl. She's a fighter too; her lungs are fine but she didn't even cry when she came out."
She didn't? Alex was no doctor, but he was certain that if babies didn't cry on birth, something was seriously wrong with them. Then again, he wasn't a doctor. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "A girl? Can I go see her?" he asked, his voice cracking near the end. He reached up and wiped his painfully hot eyes and sniffed.
The priestess smiled. "Of course, please follow me." She turned around and Alex followed after her. She opened the door and led him deeper into the chapel, past a few twists and turns, past libraries and meditating paladins, and to a cute little door. The priestess stopped and looked at him with big doe eyes. "Your wife's right through the door. Try to be quiet, though, your daughter's sleeping."
Your daughter, he repeated in his head. Alex opened the door inward and stepped in. Inside was a series of soft beds, a few trays filled with various medical potions, and soothing paintings lining the walls. But he only had eyes for one figure, resting on the bed.
Katherine was glowing. Her hair, red as the sunrise, was matted down with sweat and she had rings under her eyes. In spite of that though, she smiled widely at him, practically glowing. Her gown's top was partially undone, exposing a breast that was covered by a figure which she held as if her life depended on it. She looked at him. "Hey, Alex."
"H-Hey," he said, finding his way to an unoccupied bed and sitting on it, facing her. "It's... oh by the Light, it's happening." His throat was tight and dry. He swallowed, feeling the lump travel down his neck. His eyes were still itching.
"Come here," she urged quietly. "Say hello."
He did, standing and looming over the little baby wrapped up in blankets, nursing peacefully with wide brown eyes. At the moment she was bald, and looked at him curiously. "Hi there," he cooed. "Hi there, you cute little thing. I'm your... I'm your daddy." Alex closed his eyes and choked out a little laugh.
"Honey, are you crying?"
"No!" he said in a high voice. He cleared his throat and wiped away the liquid near his eyes. "No, I'm not crying. A girl, right?"
Katie nodded. "Our little girl."
They'd already picked out the names for boy or girl. If it was a boy, they were going to call him Darrick. If it was a girl...
Alex sniffled. "Our little Sara."
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