What does it mean to be an Archmage?
I had asked myself this question before laying down for the night. What does my title really mean. It had been so long since I was called upon I had almost forgotten. But the sleeping mind never seems to forget. Of this I was soon to be reminded.
Blinking I turned, the battle field was covered with ice and blood, The rotted meat of the dead stank and he could smell it here even on these solid fortifications. The tower within was built when the grounds themselves were established. And yet the armies were failing to hold the line. Soon the hordes of undead would pass the last of the defenders and be on the gates themselves. He strode through the inner encampments, unblemished, untouched by the trials of battle. Around him injured and exhausted were the armies. One even spit on the ground as he walked by. “What is your magic going to do for us now.”
Instead of responding Logaine walked through the encampment taking each snide remark with ease. He hadn’t been on the field. A stray arrow or a lucky shot and all of the plans would have been for nothing. As he walked into the tower he looked into those there. “Leave here.. Go to the men. Erect your barriers. It is time to lay the trap.
He didn’t feel as confident as he sounded. Watching the Mages from Dalaran go out to erect a barrier against magic. It wasn’t magic threatening to over run the walls. It was an army of dead, and even their own recently falling clawing with fingers worn down to bone at the gates themselves. Soon the giants would be through the pass, and the walls would do little good.
Logaine walked out onto the top of the tower, his robes beat around him. At this height he was above the barrier. Raising his staff in his right hand he looked down onto the enemy below and channeled the arcane magic for all he was worth. This was the moment, this would decide of the the men and women below, Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Orc’s, Trolls, and others would live and love again, or become the Litch King’s minions like so many before.
Sucking in the cold air he felt it pass through him. Looking into the sky he saw one of the undead dragons pass over the cliff wall and dive down in his direction. It was now or never.
You never felt your body be torn to parts by the magic of his and reassemble, that was just what you told yourself you wanted to do in an instant. But there was no time to reflect as he was now above that undead dragon and wrapping himself in arcane magic. He hoped for an instant that the arcane barriers would hold as he took the relic of magical power of his staff and broke it to unleash all that was within. The surge of power that he welcomed became overwhelming.
From within soldiers shielded their eyes as the purple bolt of arcane power glowed bright as the sun and then it dove, the bones of the undead dragon shattered but the bolt of power did not stop. Crashing into the ground outside the walls they felt the ground shudder. Then a terrible noise crashed against the wall and the barrier wavered, wavered but held. those on the walls or upper parapets were thrown to the ground as the same purple light seemed to explode from the ground outside the walls.
Soldiers held their breaths as males and females alike ran to look again. the ground outside was destroyed, no enemy or stone larger than a hand was left. The heat from the amount of energy unleashed had caused the cliff face to be blasted smooth. Looking around nobody saw the Archmage.
Walking using his new staff, not near the power of the artifact thrown away so this fortification could survive the offensive. He staggered and picked himself up again. He was weak now, he needed rest, and to prepare, and hopefully find something else to help gain an edge verse the enemy again. He used his staff to beat against the scorched gate, it took a while but it was opened. This time as he made his way to the tower soldiers stood, the one that spat at him gave him a shoulder to lean on. The would live to fight again this night, because the Archmage acted... they didn’t question the lives lost, they were thankful that tonight they could rest, and could recover to fight again.
As Logaine awoke again he blinked at the ceiling. Giving a shiver at the memory of the cold. Yes... he remembered what it meant to be an Archmage. To act to save the lives of others in the time of extreme need. He had done that and other acts that he could recall since then time and time again. Yet he lived and the enemies of Azeroth fell again and again. What did it mean? As he contemplated the title he knew.. Azeroth would call, and when it did, when the times were desperate enough that the Archmages were called, would he answer, and would Doriandrin be there by his side... or would she damn him for being called?
