Tales of the Infinite

In an possible future here the Iron Horde have invaded...and won, select agents and authority figures of the Kirin Tor Holdouts survive in the now darkened city. These are their stories.

Damon Halliwell
Damon stood just outside of the Parlor looking down at the Floating city of Dalaran. So many years had passed since the iron Horde had invaded their world and so much had happened. Damon’s eyes scanned the city he gave everything to. The spires of Dalaran were no longer pure and purple but dirty and split. Dalaran had changed because of the endless war. The Council of Six had long been dead by this point as well as proudmoore. The City was now ruled by the Inner-Council of the Magus Senate. We did what were to create to do, protect and ensure Dalaran survived. The forbidden laws of magic had been forgotten as well as any law accept survive as long as we could. Many of the Senate had fled Dalaran as news reached of every area of the world falling to the Iron horde. They ran to find loved ones or try and retake old lands. Some returned barely alive but many were never heard from again.

You see Dalaran was falling. It was not a fast fall mind you but the iron Horde had finally found a way to slowly pull the energy out of the crystals holding Dalaran in the Air. Damon thought back to how long they had fought them off. Wave after wave of attacks from the sky and a battle of magic while they tried to hold the crystals together keeping Dalaran flying, but just like the old Alliance and Horde did before Dalaran they had failed. Every day Dalaran descended a bit more and soon they would be close enough for the army of the Iron Horde to do a full on attack and try to finish off the last bastion of resistance in the world.

Part of the city remained as it used to, Purple spires and Blue Arcane crystals. The roads were clean and you could see Dalaran mages walking and talking but more importantly working. Barriers were being put up and spikes to try and stop the incoming invasion from gaining ground. This area of Dalaran was led by Zanbor Emerson, above all he was the Mage who remained true to the ideas of the Kirin Tor. He kept his section as pristine as it had been in the old days and wore unto any who made the mistake of making it look otherwise. He had drove himself into Nethermancy pulling arcane power from the nether to fuel his area. In fact it had gotten so bad that if someone did not fill out the proper paperwork he would open a portal and send them flying into the nether itself. This Area was known for the beer garden and Zanbor loved to drink even now. He drank at one of the tables and you could see him yelling and beating an undead minion that followed him around. Oh poor Lewis, Not even in death did he escape Zanbor for Arranax had brought him back to serve.

Damon’s eyes now moved to another part of the city. This part was control by non-other than Verus Baelheit. The parts of old had been covered by Titan parts. Verus had scavenged any and all Titan strongholds he could find and had brought them back to Dalaran. He much like Damon had told him in the past become obsessed with it and Damon had egged him on in the end. Verus was now more Titan creation them Human. The old friend Damon had known long gone replaced with hate and desperation but Damon would not blame him for it was this way for everyone.

His eyes moved to yet another part of the city that was dark and dirty but by far the most that scared Damon. It was led by Arranax Devin if you could still call him that. He had turned this part of the city into a Necromancers playground. He had restarted the cult of the damned and they looked to him as if he were the Lich King…but he might as well be as the iron Horde had long since devoured Icecrown and any form of life there, be it undead or living. From within this section of the city you could see horrible Abominations walking around doing the jobs Devin demanded. These abomination where made completely from dead orcs that Devin and his following had slain and used for parts. Damon could see the Lich Devin shouting orders and preparing himself. Damon just looked on thinking about how far they had all fallen, how far they had needed to just to survive.

Once more Damon’s eyes moved to the Final part of the city he could see that had changed. Dark roads and towers lined this area. Fel Crystals lined the towers and streets. It was in this area the very last of the Blood elves lived. The High Elves had long died out either by death or the slow conversion to becoming Fel users themselves. Vorien Dawnstrider was the Leader of this area and shocking one of Damon’s favorite areas. When the lands of the Blood elves fell to the iron Horde Vorien took it hard. The High elves had almost completely rejoined the brothers and sisters when the Iron Horde came. The destruction was horrible and the once beautiful lands looked lifeless and barren. What the Iron Horde did to their lands made what the undead do look like child’s play. Vorien had rushed back and had saved as many as he could but only about 500 elves made it. Once again the sunwell was destroyed and corrupted and the elves lost everything. Even Vorien twisted and became a wretched. Vorien and the small group of his people quickly turned back to Fel magic and went as deep into it as they could. From within his area Demons could be seen walking around preparing for the attack as well and runes of dark magic being cast. Vorien himself was in the middle summoning in the last demons he would be able to before the attack.

Damon closed his eyes as he thought about Gehlnarine Liridian, at some point long before the city turned to the forbidden magic’s word had reached Dalaran about the Caverns of time being under attack. Gehlnarine quickly took the portal there located in Dalaran but was never heard from again. The portal just vanished one day and Dalaran had been completely shut out from the caverns. Damon assumed he had died protecting them and it saddened him to think of such.

Damon’s eyes shot open as he felt the city jerk lower once more and from the underbelly of the city came a cry of anger and hate. Damon looked over to Devin’s area of the city and his eyes moved to the only remaining opening to the underbelly of the city. Every other area had been sealed off because of what was now inside. Meriahm Lausten out of all of the Inner-council took the orc invasion the hardest. She had lost so much to the Orcs and now a 3rd time they had come and this time had won. As the alliance fell around her she returned to Northrend. She was gone for many years and Dalaran had thought her dead but one day she had returned to the city when it needed her most but how she returned made even the orcs cry in fear and run. She had fallen to the Old gods…or chose to, she never said. She was now corrupted and twisted. Her life extended by the dark masters she now served. She led an army of faceless and other twisted old god minions. She and her forced kept to the underbelly to worship the old ones and bring more forced to fight. Now as the city fell she would exit the opening in Devin’s area and with her came the faceless that served her. Damon shuttered as he knew the time had come. The end of Dalaran had come.

Damon turned his back to the city and walked into the citadel. It was no longer called the Violet Citadel but the Blood Citadel. This was Damon’s area of the city. Along with the others he had fallen. He had looked for any and every way to fight the orcs and for him it was blood magic. He had practiced it in secret for many years but had really let loose when the time had come. His skill was unmatched in blood magic. He would take tons of orcs and all at once kill them by cutting off their blood flow or turn them on each other controlling their blood but all of this was meaningless to him as there had ever only been one reason he used it. He had looked to find a way to bring back his life and real love Zeph back from the dead, it was only after the invasion of the Orcs that he had found a way.

As he walked into the now Red Parlor his wife Zeph came to him and explained how we would defend the city to the last. Damon looked around as the parlor had basically become his lab. There he studied blood and how he could use it to bring an end to the orcs. As Damon nodded and spoke to Zeph he stretched out his wings…yes wings. After he had brought Zeph back into the world of the living he had followed her down the path of Fel magic. He had long forgotten his mage training and had become a full warlock. Blood magic was his choice of magic but he knew he needed more than weak arcane magic to bring out its full power. Along with Vorien and Zeph he abused artifact after artifact until his body changed and twisted to be more Demon them man. His skin was much greyer now and he had horns growing him his forehead. While they were not the largest he had grown demon like wings on his back. Looking back on this choice Damon knew he had made the right choice for Damon blood was far more powerful than normal blood. At last the alarm sounded and the time was at hand. He put his arm around Zeph and they walked out of the Blood Citadel to meet their fate.

Damon had to admit that most of what came next it a bur to him. The Orcs had been able to get the city low enough to back the walls down. The Orcs had rushed into the city and the fight itself he did not remember. The last real thing he remembers was him, the whole Inner-council and the last of Dalaran’s forces were all trapped in the middle of the city. The orcs had surrounded them and where coming in for the kill. Damon and Zeph stood back to back while Zanbor and Vorien did the same. Arranax and Meriahm having both lost all their forced stood with them and Baelheit stood between them all shouting that the Titans themselves would avenge him. Dalaran was falling around them. Fire was everywhere, screams and explosions were all around them. At last Damon turned and kissed his wife and moved to the very center of them and nodded to them all in a last goodbye. They all knew what was about to happen, they had long ago decided that Dalaran would never fall. If they did not hold control of it then no one ever would again. Almost in sync the whole Inner-council and Zeph started to channel all their power into Damon. Damon himself had started a cast a spell he had created long ago, a spell he had hoped to never have to use. He started to absorb all the magic around him. He sucked in all the power from the council and then started from the city itself. The walls and towers of Dalaran started to grow weak and crumble as Damon took the magic right out of them. The Orcs grew closer and Damon readied to turn himself into a Mana bomb that would destroy everyone. The end was finally here and Dalaran would not fall to the Orc but them.

Just as Damon had pulled in all the magic around him something stopped him. A Large dark portal had open next to him and from within it a single man stepped out. He whole body was armored and let it looked like it was falling apart. His very skin was tuning back and falling off into the wind. His black eyes turned to Damon and he saw it was Gehlnarine. Gehlnarine looked around him and was laughing “My friends, this is how you go out? You let the Orcs win? NO! They will never win! We have lost here and now but just as they did so shall we. The Infinite Dragonflight has seen to it. Just beyond this lovely Time portal my friends is our salvation!” Damon looked on in shock and the others did as well but the Orcs yelled and started their final charge and it took them all of a moment he make their choice. First went Arranax and Meriahm then Baelhiet, then Vorien and Zanbor. Gehlnarine looked at Damon and told him he had moments after him before the Time portal would close and he jumped though. Damon looked on Zeph had waited just too long and an orc would cut her down in front of him. Damon knew there was only one course of action where they could truly be together again…the past. He would quickly summon all the power in him into a ball in front of him. It was unable to be moved but he would let it go and jump into the portal and survive…and so he did. He jumped into the portal and it closed behind him.

Damon would exit the Time portal and he smiled as he saw the whole Inner-council again once more together. He looked around and was in shock when he saw it was Netherguard keep…intact the first place to fall. Guards were confused and charging at them. Damon only grinned and looked around to the others “And now it is time to correct history!”

Vanidicus Alexander
Day 18

“Mooove!” He heard himself bellow. “Fall back!” He could scarcely believe himself. He had given the order. Retreat. “Sir! The flank is crumbling! The guardsmen are dead!” Van whipped around, his hood blown back from a hot gust of wind as a flaming boulder crashed into the ground several feet from him. Van stumbled slightly and looked back at the battlemagi. “Hold it! Hold it as long as ye can!” He shouted through the din of running feet and war cries. Van whipped around again and looked up at the incoming artillery hits and raised his staff. A violet barrier materialized in the air, a flaming boulder broke upon it, to his left a group of fleeing magi had not been so lucky. Van dropped the shield and looked to the battlemagi. “Get back t’Lieutenant Furlbrow! Tell him to hold! We need the shields to cover the men’s retreat!” “Sir! He’s dead!” The battlemagi shouted. But Van didn’t hear him, he had run off already, quickly scrambling up a small nearby hill and looking down at the battlefield. Duskwood burned; many of the trees which shrouded the land in shadow had long since burned. He quickly looked to the east, Darkshire had fallen soon after the Horde marched north, now they were on the doorstep of Stormwind. Van pressed his finger to the communicator in his ear. “Nathul! Nathul!” Van said, looking down at a group of retreating alliance soldier, a flaming boulder from a siege engine impacted right into the middle of them, sending men flying in all directions. “Nathul! Where’re the shields!” Van waited a moment. “Nathul!” Van cursed to himself. “Someone! Jaine?!” Van shouted into his communicator as he raised his sword, projecting a shield over another group of fleeing soldiers. Van’s eyes flicked back and forth, scanning the battlefield in the distance, beyond the burning trees the bulk of the Iron Horde marched. Their footsteps booming. “Get back everyone! Get to th’portals! Back t’Stormwind!”

Day 46

“Sir!” Van looked up from the table covered in plans. Next to him, various other Alliance Generals and strategists, each one with a look of rigid determination on their faces. The chatter of communication officers relaying orders to infantry. “What?! Report!” Van turned to look at the guardsman, his Kirin Tor tabard was torn and singed and his armor had numerous dents in it. “We’ve finally got report from the other Councilors!” Van nearly grabbed the message from the man’s hand and began scanning it and his brow furrowed. “Good.” He said and sighed and chuckled darkly to himself for a moment. “…good.” The siege continued. The Iron Horde had reached the gates a couple weeks ago. Inch by inch they ground their way into the city. It was not an easy fight for them, and it never will be. “Bomber Wing seven is ready to go, General!” One of the Air Marshals said. Van nodded to the guardsmen and gave him a return note he had quickly penned. “My men are ready as well, Marshal.” Van pulled his hood up over his hair, since falling out of the braids and touched his communicator. “All Dalaranian foes! Mo-“ An impact rocked the keep and Van lost his balance for a moment. “Move out! Bomber wing seven will cover you!” Van got back to the table and looked at the maps, magically enchanted pieces moved across the map of the city, representing units of alliance forces, each one glowing softly with a violet hue for Dalaran and blue for general Alliance forces. Enemy pieces were marked with red. Van watched with held breath as he watched his units slide across the map. Across the map, red markers lost their hue and glow, one by one, as the pincer tactics took effect. Van felt a stab of vicious stab of pleasure as he heard the explosions coming from the gates as he watched the Horde pieces fade on his map.

Day 78

“General! We have to get you out of here!” Van heard a couple of Battlemagi say from behind him. “No!” Van had his hands pressed to the table, a drip of blood running down his face and into his beard. “No! We can still push!” Several other generals next to Van stood at the planning table in the keep with what leaders remained. Debris littered the room and rubble was strewn on the table. “Where is Lausten!” Van shouted. “Where is she?!” Next to Van a general lay dead on the floor, the keep rocked again. A couple more allied marker pieces went out. “General! She’s gone!” “Where is she?!” Van whipped about. “Where could she have gone?!” Van shouted at the battlemagi. “We gave you her message sir, we don’t know!” Van thought of the message Commander I will not let the city fall again. Hold until relieved Van turned around to look at the map as the Horde makers slid across the map, toward the Keep. “Get a message to King Varian! Tell him to get out of ‘ere! We’ll rally! I will not let this city fall again!” Van shouted at one of the other generals. “Move your men! We can cut them off!” Van looked back to his plans as some dust fell from the ceiling.

The battlemagi behind him looked at each other for a moment and looked back to Van. “Sir. The city is falling.”

Day 79

“Die!” Van roared as he shoved his staff forward, a blast of arcane force shot forth and disintegrated several orcs. “Forward!” He shouted and ran towards the orcs, what guardsmen were left in the city and alliance soldiers who had decided to stay behind with the battlemagi. Van flowed from orc to orc, discharging blast of ice and arcane force around him, taking care not to hit his allies. He leapt forward at an orc, a torrent of flame shooting from his mouth as he swept his gaze across several orcs. In this corridor, the orc’s numbers did not count for much, they could be held back. Held back while the last men could be evacuated. To regroup to fight back. “We’re almost there boys!” Van shouted at the soldiers with him. “We’ll hold them back!” Another commander shouted. Van cut down another orc as an artillery strike rocked the keep again, he lost his balance for a moment, but recovered too late. An arrow sailed through the air and into his mouth, tearing a hole out the back of his cheek and out through his hood. “Auuurghh!” He shouted and stumbled, almost falling to his knees, dropping his sword. As the orcs closed in and began cutting men down, one of his battlemagi, Zodian Spellseal grabbed him by the shoulder and began dragging him backward. “Time to go, General!” Zodian was dragging him through a portal to Dalaran. “Neugh! Noeugh! Ah can schteel gah!” Van tried to say, blood pouring out of his mouth. “Sschteand down! Gaht bahck an’ fiahght!” As Van was dragged back, his legs weak, his arms heavy, he managed to raise his staff and shot off a barrage of icicle spears, some orcs fell, but he accidentally struck a mage, who was shredded. “Dahmn…it…” Van muttered before losing consciousness.

Day 173

“Keep her contain’d.” Van said grimly. “I’ll kill the firsh man to even consider letting her out.” Van sharply turned around and walked through the dark halls of Dalaran.

Things had fallen into disarray quickly one Stormwind fell. Alliance outposts were going dark as fast as the Horde ones. The dwarves were still holding out, but he wasn’t sure for how long. The Night Elves, always concerned with the safety of their city had fallen back to their lands. Last Van had heard, the Orcs were having a very hard time breaking into Hyjal, though some faction of Orcs was very happy to get to Felwood.

Van walked through the section of the city since claimed by Councilor DeVin. Since the fall of the bulk of the Council of Six in an attempt to recovery and consolidate Dalaran forces. They failed.

Dalaran had been a sanctuary for a while, flying and remaining above the chaos spilling into the world below. But there was only so much room in the city and the city of magi could only do so much. The last of the council of six had perished in the riots. The Magus Senate was the only faction left in the city to maintain control. And control they did take.

“Happy, Vani?” Arranax said in his usual smooth tones. Van looked to him on his left, behind him two battlemagi walked. “No, I’m nevah happy.” Van said, his facial wound slurring his words. Arranax smiled. “You need to lighten up, have some ale, I still have a couple barrels left from my lands.” Van stopped walking and looked hard into Arranax’s eyes. “I’ll conshider that bribery. Counshilor. Do not think for one moment I will not think t’exshterminate yer little cult without a second thought.” Arranax didn’t even blink. “Such big words.” He said with a smile. Van kept walking out of the darkened part of Arranax’s section, ignoring Arranax’s taunts. To combat the Orcs, rules had become more lax, more soldiers were needed. And as Orcs fell, that was more fuel for the armies. Necromancy. Forbidden magics had been unleashed. Dark powers contained within the vaults used. Unprecedented. As the city began to fall apart, splitting into factions, the Ministries of the Interior and War had turned up policing. As Arranax turned more and more to Necromancy and with the revelation of the old god madness of Councilor Lausten, Van had taken increasing control of the ministry of war, order was kept in the city as the Chancellor and other chancellors retreated into their own little enclaves. Zanbor to his little place of magic, Vorien…eugh…Van didn’t like to think about that insect. Weak. He had let his own power wither him away over the loss of a few thousand men. There were always more. There had to be to fight the Horde.

As Van walked through the streets he had to pass through the section of the city claimed by Councilor Baelheit. Full of Titanic magics. Van hated this district. Too bright. His guards kept vanishing or becoming enthralled by whatever power Baelheit had found. Van kept having to…recruit…new soldiers.

Day 284

“Mage-General?” A man said. “What?” Van asked, turning around from his desk and looking up from logistics plans. “Did you fuck shomething up?” He said to the soldier. “N-no, sir.” The alliance soldier said, straightening up. “The intel you wanted is here.” He held out the scroll. “And latest training reports.” “This’ll be good.” He said taking the report and reading it over. He sighed and held out the report, setting it ablaze in his hand with black flame. “Tahke me to the men.” Van said coldly. The soldier nodded and they walked out of the war offices.

Van paced back and forth in front of rows of armored men in the courtyard of what was once the silver enclave, several battlemagi were interspersed into the ranks of soldiers and guardsmen. “You hahve all done well…” Van said with a half smile. Half of his face couldn’t move much anymore. “…but a fehw of you need werk.” Van stopped in front of a soldier. “What ish your name, boy?” Van asked, leaning in close to the man. “Private Sloan, sir.” “You know the Iron Horde are coming?” “Yes, sir.” “Are you scared of them?” “Yes, sir.” “Wrong answer!” Van shouted and drew his hand back, his hand cloaked in crackling dark energies. His arm became immaterial and thrust his arm into the soldier’s chest, gripped, and yanked his arm back. An immaterial being came with Van’s arm, impaled on his arm. As he pulled away the man fell to the ground, Van looked at the spirit wrapped on his arm and squeezed, the spirit turning dark and falling into pieces. “You shoul’ all be afraid ohf me! And Wha’ will happen if we fail!” Van turned away and paced back and forth again, before coming to a stop. “Keep training, the Horde is nearly upon us.

Day 368

“This is it, men!” Van braced himself, looking through the viewportal. “They come for us!” Below Dalaran, the Iron Horde waited below. Their warlocks slowly draining the city’s spellwork. They could reinforce it…but there was nobody left with the knowledge to do so. The city shook and Van looked down into the city streets, his amplified voice booming. “Get the counshilors to the Blood Shitadel!” Van shouted. “If they do not go, you make them!” Van turned back to the viewportal, showing the Horde below, and another smaller one, showing Chancellor Haliwell. “Chancellor.” “General.” He said back calmly; his warped visage and wings disgusted Van. “I am ready to depart. Our alliesh have contacted ush, Counshilor Liridian shays the portal is shtable. I will bring my men through firsht an’ reinforsh the area, then shend the all clear.” “Very good, General. Do it. We have little time.” Van nodded and closed the viewportal, he turned to the Dragonkin next to him. “Letsh go.” He said and left for the portal in the courtyard.

They stepped through.

Mab Nimue
In a world where the Iron Horde had won, there was not much left to hold to. While Dalaran still had a sliver of hope as the magi there turned to darker and darker things to save what little of the world they could, the rest of the world had been long lost. It was if the sun never shined anymore. But that was only due to the rubble of destroyed cities being kicked up into the air, creating perpetual dust storms that ravaged the once green and fertile land. Even the trees in Mab’s quiet copse were starting to die. Evergleam it was called. A portion of Duskwood where the sun used to shine and the moonlight spilled down upon a perfect clearing. A clearing that was made for fairy-tales to take place, for spells to be born and for a gathering of people to dance and sing.

No longer of course. They were coming. Chopping down every tree to make the war machine grow. Destroying the land so nothing would again flourish here. If it was not useful to the Iron Horde, it was not useful at all. There was nothing but the Iron Horde afterall. Mab picked up a handful of dirt from her garden and let it fall back to the disturbed earth. Her garden too was dying, leaving her thinner than ever. Starving, like a frightened helpless animal. Her grey eyes were sunken, dark and tired. Her raven tresses were filthy, oily from being unwashed. Depression had ravaged the girl, leaving her a shell of the hopeful cheerful woman she had once been. They were coming. She did not have the strength to fight them.

Would she be taken as a spoil of war? A trophy, a slave, a source of amusement until she had broken just to be thrown away? Cast aside as if she were not living, not breathing, not full of dreams and fears? Would she be discarded straight away, cut down like the trees in the copse? Or would she be a source of entertainment, to see which parts of her bent the furthest before breaking, snapping like twigs, her bones hollow from malnourishment. Where was the shining light in the darkness, the abyss that surrounded her? Where was the single dim candle that called her to have hope, to have faith that a better day would surely be upon her? Where were the rebels that would fight for freedom, for a world worth living in? Was it all an endless pool of sorrow, darkness, shattered dreams, despair now?

So she sat, in her simple white gown. This one not tattered, not worn, not tired. No, this one was a special gown. Saved for a special day, saved for perhaps a joyful day of marriage, of love, of --bliss. Things that would never come to be. Things that -- were distant echoes, memories of friendships, of -- hope. Mab went to the clearing where she had spent so much time. They were coming. She could hear the shouting now, the guttural scream of the orcs tearing apart the land, searching- searching for anything, seeking victory and nothing more. She knew nothing to save the world now. Her lips went to the vial and finished it in a single gulp, letting so very little of it touch her tongue before it was gone. Vile terrible stuff. The most bitter of drinks, and would normally be a regrettable circumstance, but situations had far changed, leaving her without option, without desire to go further. Not one more step. Her grey eyes fluttered for the moment as the world spiraled in a dizzying mess. The green of the trees faded to a black and white surreal sight. The broken doll that had been a human woman once was fading fast. Collapsing, breathing shallowing. A life that had once been worth living snuffed out like a candle’s flame on a bedside table when the darkness was ready to pounce. Sleeping now, sleep forever, the little flower in the white dress. Her fingers grasped for nothing.