Chapter 180

Varrus exhaled a great breath as he had managed to force Quel'Vanar into the Drop Zone. 

When he was about to pull out some Mana Stones, and drain the deathly cold ice magic that encased the city, it suddenly melted. 

The cry of a phoenix resounded throughout the air, and any traces of Death energies disappeared along with the cold. 

Once the ice disappeared, a noise resembling something like a stalling engine came from the fortress. 

Lights flickered along the various Arcane Towers, and after a minute, Quel'Vanar lifted off from the ground, and hovered in place. 

“Come on Syra, let's find out what the hell has been going on.” Varrus motioned towards his wife, and they both hopped on his flying carpet. 

Frowning to himself, Varrus decided he would give that glory hogging king of his an earful. 

The fact that they were so close to losing the majority of their army was crazy. 

Flying into the city proper, Varrus was grim faced as he saw how empty it was. 

Just an hour ago, the main mustering hall was full of vibrant, cheering people. 

Now, it was especially gloomy. 

Fortunately they didn't lose over half or anything so drastic, but every loss was something that weighed heavily on his mind. 

At the very least, it appeared that all of the Undead had been purged, and the Necropolises were nothing more than burned out husks. 

The living were grieving in their own way. Some cried, others sat down silent, some gorged themselves on food, and more worked piling bodies for a pyre, keeping their minds occupied so they didn't have to think of the horrors of war. 

Whilst Varrus was watching the sad state of affairs, he noticed that most of the buildings on Kael's front were singed black, as if he had been forced to burn an inch off every layer of masonry. Likely Kael did this to completely purge Quel'Vanar of taint. 

Looking at the ugly, bruised city from the top of his flying carpet, Varrus was reminded of Silvermoon when he had repaired it. 

Holding out his hand, Varrus tightly held onto Syra for emotional support. 

Purging Stratholme, and experiencing the thanks of many ghosts had touched a sore spot in his heart. He didn't consider himself altruistic, but it felt good to know he had done good. 

That positive feeling had all but collapsed as the remaining Undead had their souls drawn to some unknown plane as a sacrifice for power. Varrus could only speculate, but it was likely these souls would undergo torture for all of eternity. 

“You are strong Varrus. Stand tall. Breath.” Syra held onto him tightly, and whispered. 

Varrus clenched his fist in an effort to remove a slight tremor. 

“I was too greedy. Their immortal souls are gone forever.” Varrus quietly muttered, as a tear dripped onto his cheek. 

“Then you know what to do. For me, your family, for them” Syra stared him in the eye, then glanced down to the living, lost souls down below. 

Varrus looked into her brilliant golden pupils, and took a deep, shuddering breath. 

Standing erect, and to his maximum height, Varrus squared his shoulders, and affixed a confident look on his face. 

Kael could wait. He needed to do what needed to be done. 

Varrus then lowered the flying carpet, and stepped up to a weeping man. Covered in grime and blood, he was cradling half of a Kobold's corpse. 

As Varrus drew near, the man didn't bother looking up. 

“I'm sorry, but he has to go now.” Varrus said so quietly, it was barely a whisper. 

The man made no move to reply, but his clenched fists wrapping tightly on the Kobold said it all. 

Varrus silently walked up to the man, and as his grip tightened further on the Kobold, more blood leaked out of the corpse. 

Taking a candle out from his inventory, Varrus placed it on the ground in front of him. 

“Light this for him when you're ready. Everytime you pray, light a candle with him in your thoughts.” Varrus softly said, then moved on. 

As he traveled, he offered a few words here and there, and eventually came across a trio of men arguing. 

“The necklace is mine!” A robed female mage argued against two men. 

“There's loot aplenty on the other corpses.” A hook nosed soldier complained in a nasally tone. 

“Don't do something you fellas would regret.” The third man said in a high class tone as he waved a rune pistol threateningly. 

Varrus felt disgusted that the looting had already started. 

This feudal society, it really was something. 

For a peasant, this whole ordeal must seem like a golden opportunity for social advancements, and any wealth they could get their hands on would go towards securing that future. 

Honestly, Varrus couldn't really blame them for wanting a better life. On Earth, for example, a major component of the birth of the Renaissance was because so many people died, that the labor a peasant could provide increased in value, giving them more bargaining chips. 

Varrus wouldn't be surprised if some sort of emancipation developed as a result of the Scourge. One day, he might even help it along and open many public schools to provide free education. 

However, this looting had to stop. Gold may become valuable again once society had been reestablished, but now wasn't the time for infighting. 

Without thinking about it, Varrus cast a calm spell on the trio of looters, instantly ending the threat of violence. 

The three of them looked at Varrus with placid expressions. They resembled baby deer exploring the world for the first time. 

Varrus didn't like inducing forced calm on his allies, and generally preferred to let them process emotions on their own. The way he saw it, if he used a calm spell on say the soldier earlier, it would be like a drug. Calm magic was great in the moment, and for providing temporary relief. 

Yet as soon as Varrus stopped renewing the spell, then the man was at risk of spiralling back into depression. He couldn't reasonably be casting Calm on everyone who suffered, so he tried to heal them in a natural way, like with the candle. 

However, that being said, it wasn't as if he couldn't try and help them where he could. 

There was one activatable perk in the Illusiom tree that had some serious potential for mental health. It was Neverworld. 

Neverworld - Those affected by a Calm spell or effect within the radius of Imposing Presence are enraptured by a lotus dream from which they may refuse to return to reality.

By influencing the parameters, Varrus could grant people a good night's sleep, and positive dreams.

As someone whose grandfather on Earth had survived as a POW, Varrus understood the value of rest.

Gently lowering the previously arguing people to the ground, Varrus moved on from group to group. 

Eventually, he came across a disturbing sight. 

At the lip of Quel'Vanar, about a dozen people had gathered, and were staring longingly at the ground. 

Just as he had arrived, someone had jumped. 

Holding out his hand, Varrus was going to yoink the person back up, yet Syra had grabbed ahold of his arms, and prevented him from moving. 

“Syra?!” Varrus growled at his wife. 

For the first time in a long time, he had grown truly angry with her. What was she thinking?! 

“It is their choice.” 

“What?!” Varrus raised his voice in disbelief. 

“Listen.” Syra said. 

Before each soldier jumped, half of them would say a little something. 

“My entire regiment got wiped out. My father, brother, and husband were among them.” A young girl said despondently before she made the leap. 

“I just don't know. I joined for the food and a roof over my head. They say, t-they say we're due for another offensive soon. I can't, THEY CAN'T MAKE ME!” A young man-practically a boy-scream cried as he ran head first off the edge. 

“Poor kid, wish I held him back.” A man in his 30's sighed between puffs of a cigarette. As he drew his last puff, the man hacked up a large chunk of purple phlegm. His veins were black, and breaths short. “See you on the other side, boys.” The smoker saluted, then fell over sideways. 

Before long, the ledge was virtually empty. Only Varrus, Syra, and three other people remained. 

One of the soldiers walked right up to Varrus all casually, then drew his sword with the intent to kill him. 

Ebony Flesh coated Varrus's form before the blade could strike his skin. 

“Come on ya bastard, do it!” The man shouted in maddened zeal. 

Varrus closed his eyes and sighed. 

This guy was really trying to ‘suicide by cop’ on him. 

Tossing out a calm spell and placing the man in a state of Neverworld, Varrus turned to the other two. It was a teenage girl and a young man in his twenties. 

“How about you two?” Varrus questioned. 

“...I'm scared.” The girl looked at her feet, displaying a peculiar emotion.

‘Is that…embarrassment? Is she embarrassed that she won't jump like everyone else?!’ Varrus felt all sorts of complex emotions go through his system at that moment. 

Sadness, anger and impotence hit him like a wall of bricks. 

Yet he recalled Syra's advice, and didn't allow himself to shed a tear, or shake in place. 

Softening his stance, Varrus took a seat on the ledge, and dangled his feet. 

“And you?” Varrus questioned the boy. 

“Not in front of others.” Was his response. 

Closing his eyes, Varrus realized he didn't have an easy cure all solution for this level of hurt. 

“What are your names?” 

“...Sophia.” “James.” Came the replies. 

“Hm, hello Sophia, James, I'm Varrus.” 

Introducing himself, he almost felt that he was at a loss of what to do.

Silence permeated the air. It was interrupted when Varrus noticed a few prompts from Rho'dan on his scrying orb. It listed the deaths, casualties, and readiness of their forces, as well as a few other recommendations. 

Varrus didn't pay it too much attention, but there was one thing that stuck out to him. 

“Say, why don't you two come with me, I have something to show you.” Varrus suggested in a way that wasn't really a suggestion. 

Taking out his flying carpet, Tekai took Sophia & James along for a ride. 

“W-wow.” Sophia said in fearful excitement as she peered over the edge of the carpet. 

James remained silent, but Varrus knew that anyone who had never flown before would be impressed at the very least. 

Finally reaching their destination, Varrus hopped off at a spot where the wounded had been gathered. 

Priests were working their best, and potions were being guzzled by the barrel full, yet it wasn't enough. 

Screams of pain permeated the air, and gruesome sights were around every corner. 

Varrus's companions were less enthused by this change of venue, but he had already put them to the back of his mind as he worked his magic. 

Casting Infinite Light, Varrus removed disease, regrew limbs, and saved the dying. 

A warm glow spread amongst the patients, and many of them fell to their knees, crying and swearing oaths of gratitude. 

Varrus accepted their thanks with grace, and excused himself, not wanting to overstay his welcome. 

As he was leaving, he nodded at Sophia and James from within the crowd. He didn't have an answer or cure for them, but he hoped that witnessing the injured people coming back, and celebrating life helped them in some way. 

Before his departure, Varrus hovered above the makeshift ‘hospital’ on his flying carpet so everyone could see him, and addressed the crowd. 

“Thank you, everyone for what you have done. It is because of you, and your efforts that we can survive this mass extinction event. I know that some of you wish to give up, that it would be so easy to close your eyes, and curl into a ball. I confess, I had done the very same thing the first day that I fought the Scourge. I understand what it is like. The fear, the terror, the loss of control. 

Each one of you became a soldier for a reason. Whether it was for food, a better career, pay, following friends, patriotism, or something else. Me, I fight for my family, to restore my homeland, to rid the world of the Scourge. 

The promise of the Covenant is to bring abundant food, security, and wealth to its member nations. 

As horrifying as it is to say, what many of you have suffered in the battle today is a scratch on the surface. A never ending nightmare awaits those poor souls trapped within those rotting shells that we call zombies. If we stand by and do nothing, then that too shall be our fate. 

I will not judge you, should you wish to bow out before our next engagement, for you have already done as much as any man could ask of you. 

Yet that being said, we are close. Very close. 

Victory is at hand. 

It was thanks to your commitments that the  orchestrator of Lordaeron's destruction-Kel’Thuzad-has met his end. I ask you to join me for the conclusion of this terrible, bloody war, to put an end to the Scourge once and for all!

One more battle. One more grand engagement to settle the fate of the Eastern Kingdoms.

This, I ask of you, not as a Lord, a General, or a Priest. 

I ask this continued struggle of yours as a son who was burdened by a father murdered at the Scourges hand. I ask this sacrifice of you as a man who will soon bring children into this world. 

Man, Elf and Kobold. 

Thank you for all you have done for the Covenant. 

Upon our victory, I promise food, wealth, and land to be distributed based on merit and contribution. 

The future is bright, my Covenant. 

Raise your voices, scream to the heavens to show that you still draw breath. 

Join me when I say: WE ARE NOT FINISHED!!!” 

Finishing his speech, Varrus looked at the two young adults. 

He couldn't force them to change, but he could provide hope. 

For the first time, Varrus didn't look at the Covenant simply as a means to project his & by extension, Quel'Thalas's power. 

In his heart, it was an organization that promoted peace through strength. 

Clenching his fists, Varrus flew towards the war room. 

It was time to end this conflict, to bring peace and rebuild these damned lands. 

For the Covenant.