Kul Tiras… Even the name sounds wild and coarse.
These people, sturdily built and smelling of fish,
are nothing like the graceful inhabitants of the evergreen forests.
But it cannot be denied that they are—
Unsurpassed masters of the sea...
Their ships plow the seas with incredible speed and grace,
Like dancing dolphins.
Though I prefer the silence of forest groves,
I must admit, there is something mesmerizing in their maritime culture…
A wild, untamed Force...
That commands respect for these children of wind and waves.
They are the shield of the Systems Alliance at sea,
And even the Elves cannot help but value their loyalty and might.
"Master Rodgirn," the captain of our glorious flying vessel stood to my left. Gorbin looked much the same as always, but every now and then I caught small changes in his posture. "We arrive soon..."
"Good," I nodded grimly, pressing my lips thin, trying not to look around, fixing my gaze only forward—and there was a reason for that. "Thank you, Captain."
Bowing respectfully, the old sea wolf executed the gesture with surprising ease and stepped back a couple of paces before turning to go about his business.
"Heh... Rodgirn the Avenger... Rodgirn the Dragon-slayer... Pfft! If I were a real Dragon-slayer, those beasts would have crawled into the deepest hole long ago, too afraid to poke their noses out!"
The thoughts didn't reflect on my "stony" face. Only clenching my fists tighter, I replayed for the umpteenth time how it had come to this, and found perfectly logical answers.
Even though the fame of a Dragon-slayer, a killer of those cursed flying monsters, had preceded me, but...
As it turned out—I swear by my beard, and let the departed Magni be witness to this, may our glorious ancestors calm his turbulent spirit!—it wasn't enough to kill a dragon with cannons and other engines that came from my hand!
The moment I slew the lizard with a good old-fashioned axe, the attitude toward me changed instantly. Reverent whispers were heard more often behind my back; sailors and fighters snapped to attention the moment I walked past...
And even Tim! My loyal Tim betrayed me in his finest feelings! For which that overgrown child promptly received a proper Dwarven "slap"—instantly returning his senses.
It's just a pity I can't hand out clouts to the left and right... people would get the wrong idea.
Standing at the very edge of the prow, gripping a nearby safety cable, I braced my foot against the haphazardly patched railing.
The airship trembled, cutting through the damp air. Clinging to the rope, feeling the metal hull vibrate beneath my feet, my eyes stared intently at the clouds parting before us. For below, as if emerging from the mist, appeared Kul Tiras—the sea fortress I had heard so much about.
From a bird's-eye view, the city looked like a mosaic of gray stone and dark blue water. The massive port bustled with life, like an anthill in the valleys of Khaz Modan.
Hundreds of ships, from small fishing boats to imposing warships, bobbed on the waves. The pride of the sea people—giant battleships—commanded respect even from the most seasoned observers, who had crowded the sides of the Beer Lord in great numbers. The entire crew had gathered to gawk at the military might of this Kingdom of Stormwind.
Masts poked up like a forest reaching for the sky. I could see tiny figures scurrying to and fro—sailors, dockers, merchants busy with their affairs. And the cries of annoying seagulls drifting up from below merged with the hum of the city waking in the rays of dawn.
"Look!" someone from the crew shouted, pointing at the defensive line, topped by a citadel decorated with ornamental waves.
The fortifications of Kul Tiras were impressive. Massive stone walls, draped in ivy, encircled the city like a steel hoop. Archers could be seen on the towers, idling and swapping tall tales.
Bastions bristling with a few cannons stretched along the coastline, ready to unleash their full power upon the enemy. And behind them were ballistae, trebuchets, catapults... A full set capable of breaking the teeth of any Menu shirumund who dared poke their nose in here! One could feel that this city knew the price of security.
The architecture of Kul Tiras was rugged, with small elements of elegance. Not like Lordaeron or the Elves, but rather something subtle, barely perceptible. As if a loving wife were trying to slightly decorate her husband's forge.
The houses, built of dark stone, seemed squat and sturdy, as if grown from the earth itself. The roofs were pointed to withstand the harsh sea winds. On the facades of the buildings, I noticed carved images of sea monsters and mythical creatures, a reminder of this people's close bond with the sea.
As we descended, we could better observe the inhabitants of Kul Tiras. Tall, sturdy people with tanned faces and piercing gazes. The men wore rugged leather jackets and high boots, while the women made do with long skirts and shawls to protect against the wind and sun. At least those who didn't wear simple, practical men's rags.
There was confidence and strength in their movements. Many carried nets or tools, marking them as sailors and fishermen.
The streets of Kul Tiras were narrow and winding, like labyrinths. They snaked between houses, sometimes climbing uphill, sometimes descending to the port. I imagined how life teemed here, how the voices of merchants rang out, how coins clinked, how it smelled of fresh fish and salt.
Patrols dressed in simple but sturdy chainmail with steel inserts strolled along the streets. Their faces were grim, their arms as thick as my thigh. Almost all of them wore mustaches, clearly adhering to some local fashion.
In the port, I also caught a glimpse of sea priests out of the corner of my eye. Tall men with shoulders as broad as a Bear's, they hardly looked like stereotypical mages. And those signature magical blue dresses looked comical on them, if not downright hilarious.
They were performing some rituals, offering prayers to the sea gods. Their voices sounded low and resonant, like peals of thunder, and their movements were smooth and graceful, like the dance of the waves.
Before our eyes, a group of these hulks saw a ship off. A frigate leaving the port, bobbing on the waves, had barely left its home before it quickly began to pick up speed, even before dropping its sails.
That was when my gaze caught something interesting, causing my cheeks to clench and my heart to start whispering that trouble awaited me soon.
Among the monumental giant battleships and nimble fishing boats, unusual vessels were nestled, seemingly inconspicuous at first glance. I am no shipbuilder or seasoned sailor, but even my red head—battered worse than a clan anvil—was enough to understand. These little ships belonged to the Elves.
Graceful, small, and light compared to their neighbors, they were nonetheless the same "predators" that only a blind Troll could mistake for civilian vessels.
"Oh, this isn't good..."
"Agreed," Tim said, melancholically chewing on some variety of tobacco as he settled beside me, leaning one elbow on the railing. "When the Pointy-Eared sisters left, they demanded a promise from you—not to jump into the thick of it..."
"Yes," I grumbled discontentedly, already sensing the mountain of lectures and nagging over my soul. "That happened... But I wouldn't say that I..."
"We broke the siege and jumped into the battle for Stromgarde with a small team..." my loyal assistant continued, clearly not sensing my change in mood.
"That was..."
"Then we broke out of that very siege, fighting through a swarm of bats and the Horde fleet," Tim continued just as melancholically, burying me deeper.
"You're framing it wrong..."
The new attempt at success failed, and the man from Stromgarde continued.
"And you also jumped overboard and killed a dragon with your own hands while falling into the open ocean..."
"Alright, hush!" I barked, clapping the lad on the shoulder. He made a "puppy-dog" questioning face, but I didn't buy it. "If you blab to anyone, I swear by my glorious ancestors, I'll drag you down with me!"
"What did I do? I was just listing facts!" Rubbing the spot where I hit him, Tim cast a timid glance behind my back.
For a few seconds, I tried to ignore it, but when the lad also started coughing, it was hard to restrain myself.
"Well?! Out with it."
"Master Rodgirn, I'll be as silent as a fish, but..." Nodding behind my back again, Tim waited until I slowly turned around to see the airship crew, animatedly discussing the city flickering beneath us. "I have a feeling that the moment we step ashore, rumors about you will spread faster than we can reach the palace..."
"Dammit..."
***
Daelin Proudmoore would have made an excellent Dwarf. Magnificent mustache, powerful arms accustomed to war and honest labor. In his Grand Admiral uniform, without gaudy decorations or useless regalia, he knew how to make an impression on his interlocutors.
Loyal to his friends and his word. A brave, strong, and desperate commander who was like a father to his soldiers—which at sea can sometimes mean even more than for the infantry on land...
He was also as stubborn as a ram. Obstinate as a mountain goat. And just as meddlesome and cunning as Britvar and his whole lot put together!
"I repeat," the Lord Admiral of the islands said, stubbornly thinning his lips as he stood to his full height, rising from his chair and attempting to loom over me and Galen Trollbane, "until an order comes from the Systems Alliance command, the Kul Tiras fleet will guard the western coast, protecting the defenseless lands of the Systems Alliance..."
"Metun menu shirumund caragu rukhas (Beardless boy gorged on orc shit), how tired I am of your stubbornness!" Nearly smashing the solid wooden table with a fist, I snorted under my breath, barely holding myself back. "Stromgarde is also part of the Systems Alliance and may soon fall while you're wearing out your trousers and Terenas's snot!"
"Do not forget yourself, Master Dwarf," the stubborn prick said, clipping his words, not taking his eyes off me, though in fact he should have been negotiating with the son of Thoras. "I recognize your past merits and skills, and therefore I will pretend I did not hear that!"
"Lord Admiral Proudmoore," Galen said, gently pushing me aside and stepping forward, taking the brunt of the gray eyes of the Grand Admiral of Kul Tiras—which were fixed on him like the guns of famous battleships. "Stromgarde is in an extremely dire situation right now... My father is cut off from our lands by the Horde. The city is under siege from the water and the land. Thousands of people who fled the war are hoping for salvation... We are part of the Systems Alliance too, so why won't you help us?!"
Throughout his short speech, the boy spoke quietly and measuredly, though it was clear to any more or less experienced man that the poor fellow was shaking from the mere fact that he was making demands of the head of another state. Galen's fists were tightly clenched, his back straight as if he had a rod up his backside, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple, for Proudmoore's gray eyes were looking right at him, as if testing his mettle...
And it seemed the Prince of Stromgarde passed that test.
Exhaling wearily, the Admiral furrowed his brow, letting his bushy eyebrows meet closer to the bridge of his nose.
"I understand you and your need, Prince Galen, but..." Waving a hand, the Admiral wordlessly demanded that the drinks and the long-awaited food, which the servants were patiently holding behind the door, be brought in. Pretending to be invisible, the folk quickly scattered everything across the table and then departed just as fast, leaving us alone with Proudmoore and his officers. "We cannot simply take the entire fleet out of the Great Sea, leaving the borders without Defense... The plan to liberate Stromgarde is already in full swing; you only need to hold out for a month, maybe a little less, and the siege will be lifted."
"A month? We are talking about hours and days," the lad's nerves snapped, and he unconsciously began to raise his voice, leaning on the table as if seeking support from it. "My people are dying. Every minute, the Orcs storm the city, killing its defenders, of whom too few remain!"
"Even if I set out now, I would have to take all the ships of Kul Tiras just to evacuate all the refugees from Stromgarde," the words came hard to Proudmoore. The former bellicosity and sternness, behind which he apparently hid his attitude toward the situation and his inability to help, had vanished. "And we simply cannot do that..."
Waving his hand pacifyingly, Proudmoore asked to be allowed to continue, and we had no choice but to listen.
"If your words are to be believed, a significant portion of the Horde fleet is currently in the Bay of Tol Barad," Daelin said, pointing to the map and making several marks directly on it before turning back to us. "But we cannot be sure of that... Kul Tiras can protect itself without the fleet, but Lordaeron has practically exposed its western borders, moving everything to the east. Gilneas may not be so defenseless, but Genn Greymane clearly won't take our departure well and might even leave the Systems Alliance in response to our going rogue..."
"And contact the Systems Alliance? Explain the situation and perhaps..."
"It won't work," the man said, his veins practically bulging from his own words. "Right now, all the mages of Kul Tiras are busy installing a portal arch that will lead directly to Lordaeron to facilitate the transmission of messages... Or they are accompanying the Patrol ships scattered around the vicinity."
"And how long will that take?" Galen didn't lose hope. Having suddenly grown up after so many problems had fallen on his head, the lad didn't want to give up, showing the character he inherited from his father. "Maybe if the portal is finished in the coming days, then..."
"A week; if they work day and night, then three, maybe four days at most." The dry and emotionless answer was another stone on our hearts. "If you are willing to wait all that time..."
"No, that's..." Swallowing thick saliva, the Prince held on with his last strength. "We already spent a day longer than planned flying here."
My fists clenched in fury. My beard bristled defiantly, and words were bursting to get out, spurred on by the runes of the oath on my head...
But fortunately, I simply didn't have time, for one simple question from Galen put both the sailors and Proudmoore himself in an awkward position.
"So, you will simply leave us to be torn apart by the Horde?"
After the Prince's words, a heavy, even frightening silence fell over the halls where we were being received. The officers, captains, and advisors of the Lord Admiral remained silent, unable to answer, and Daelin himself struggled with himself, clenching his teeth tightly and not taking his eyes off the tabletop.
Trollbane Junior and I were in a state of mounting despair. Everything we had gone through to get here... All the hopes that hung on us... Everything threatened to collapse in this very second!
The creak of an opening door distracted everyone gathered. Thirty eyes turned toward the main gates, where the guards, bowing respectfully, were letting in my old acquaintances...
"Forgive me, Lord Admiral," the Pointy-Eared enchantress said, bowing gracefully, causing the gaze of every man in the room to instantly fixate on her upper curves. She smiled softly, not taking her eyes off me from the first seconds of her appearance. "Learning exactly who had arrived on your beautiful islands, I could not restrain myself and overheard your entire conversation..."
Narandiel's sweet, kind smile. Others saw her exactly like that; I, for some reason, felt as if demons were scratching at my balls, hoping to tear them off if given the chance.
By the way, no one reacted to her remark, as if taking it for granted, which spoke volumes.
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Narandiel Stormweaver," Proudmoore said, pointing to the Elf with an open palm. He had clearly realized something much faster than us, for the man began to smile for the first time since the reception began and exhaled in relief, as if he had caught a flash of insight and a solution to all the problems. "A Wizard who arrived here as part of the auxiliary forces of Quel'Thalas..."
"A pleasure to meet you..."
Galen Trollbane was still stammering awkwardly while the majestic maiden stroded to the table, her eyes glowing with Arcana fixed on me. The Pointy-Eared woman kept coming closer, and I... I swear by my brave ancestors, who personally drove the Dark Iron Dwarves into their rotten backwater! I wasn't scared, I just felt apprehension! Sound and reasonable apprehension.
"Master Rodgirn?" the Lord Admiral's question snapped us both out of staring at each other. "I see you are already acquainted..."
You certainly couldn't fault this sailor's brains, only at his words, Narandiel Stormweaver's smile became even sweeter and more frightening.
"True," she chirped like a bell, finally looking away from me. "We have met before..."
"Ahem, I will provide you with quarters where you can discuss everything, but for now... Mistress Stormweaver, if you would be so kind."
Coughing tactfully, Proudmoore looked in my direction with regret and understanding, unlike the snickering and smugly smiling officers and captains behind him.
"Yes," Narandiel said, regally ignoring the whispers as she stepped into the center of the hall and began weaving a spell. Even those unfamiliar with this mesmerizing art felt their hair stand on end. "Having arrived not long ago, I haven't yet been able to fully join the work on the portal arch... I won't bore you with terms; I'll just say that my abilities there are currently redundant, and therefore..."
With her final words, Narandiel waved her staff, opening a blue window of magical energy covered in small ripples right before us.
Spreading her fingers, she stood still for a few seconds, eyes closed in concentration, before stabilizing the window with a heavy exhale through her mouth that made something stir in everyone's trousers, even the cat peacefully sleeping in the corner.
At first, nothing happened, but only a few seconds passed before a painfully familiar face looked back at us from the other side—one I would have gladly touched up.
A slight smile on his face. A stern profile and a signature disheveled hairstyle. Only half of his body was visible through the portal window, but even that was enough to spot the armor of the fallen kingdom with a lion's head on the shoulder.
Anduin Lothar himself, in the flesh! Smirking, the bastard looked over everyone present, nodding separately to Narandiel and the Admiral, before winking at me.
"You can handle the rest yourselves," I said, clapping Galen Trollbane on the shoulder and nearly knocking the boy to the floor. I began walking at a brisk pace, trying to leave Proudmoore's palace.
Since we had managed to contact the commander-in-chief of the Systems Alliance directly, I was sure Lothar wouldn't leave Stromgarde in trouble and would figure out what to do.
Therefore, I had nothing more to do in these glorious halls. I needed to return to the airship as soon as possible, prepare the Beer Lord for flight, and...
It seems I swore by my ancestors' names too often, for this time they denied me their patronage. No sooner had I left the reception hall than the doors closed behind me, and the passage ahead was walled up with a sheet of ice, cutting off my escape routes.
Soft, slender female fingers ran over my head, slowly descending to my neck, then sliding to my shoulders and further to my chest. Sighing heavily, I felt a pleasant weight on the back of my head as their owner leaned down, reaching my ear with her lips to whisper:
— "Where do you think you're running, Master Rodgirn?" The words had barely escaped my mouth when the nearest wall rippled, and in place of the stonework, I saw the second of the sisters watching me with a suspicious gaze. From behind, they continued to press in, nearly knocking me to the floor. "We still have your glorious exploits to discuss."
***
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