The Key To Victory: A Magic Stick

"And that is what I would have you do."

Darion Mograine's words echoed through the hall. No one else spoke; even Tirion Fordring seemed to be pointedly ignoring the conversation, and if he had an opinion, he did not voice it. One got the impression that it wasn't the first time this had happened. Darion's gaze bored into the one person he had been addressing: one of his most experienced knights.

Julica Latchet, who had only fairly recently reclaimed full control over her own soul. That, however, is a story for another time.

Julica looked pensive (to say the least). After Darion's words hung in the air for a few moments, she spoke. "So that's why you sent me tromping across Azeroth, looking for weapons?"

"It is," the Highlord replied. "I wanted to ensure that the hammer was where I thought it would be before I sent someone else to retrieve it."

"And you really think this is the best way to fight Arthas?"

"We must be sure. We must have a backup, another way of besting Frostmourne. Shadowmourne, if we can complete it, would be the one weapon aside from the Ashbringer that could stand before the most powerful weapon ever forged. And you... if your recent history is any indication, you are one of the few who may be able to wield the blade without it destroying you in the process."

Julica looked away at that; while she didn't particularly like the flattery, it was, after a fashion, true. She had resisted the power of the thing she had pulled from the carcass of the dead god in Ahn'qiraj, so if anyone could resist a near-sentient weapon's pull, it would probably be her, especially considering her experience. But what he was suggesting...

"You're certain there is no other way, Highlord?"

Mograine's gaze continued to bore into Julica. "What else could defeat Frostmourne? What has that power? What would not suffer the fate of Saurfang?"

Julica sighed, and looked down the hall beyond Light's Hammer. The Damned were already taking position again, and the remains of Marrowgar and his massive axe lay where they had fallen beneath the onslaught of the Meddlers. Mograine had a point, again; above all else, engaging Arthas Menethil in direct combat was suicide. Any weapon Julica had encountered, both in her recent travels and throughout her time with the Meddlers upon being freed from the grip of the Scourge, would shatter like match-sticks from a single strike from that monstrously powerful sword. Dranosh Saurfang had wielded his father's legendary Reinforced Arcanite Reaper against the Lich King... and he may as well have been wielding a toy for all the good it did. Julica couldn't let that happen to the Meddlers... which meant she needed...

The Meddlers. She thought of them again, of how they'd helped her find herself when she didn't even really know she was lost. The words of the most recent meeting echoed in her mind, as she described how even the most legendary weapons known to Azeroth were useless before Frostmourne...

"Sulfuras? Useless, the cold would defeat it. Thunderfury? Too light, too airy. Atiesh?... well, it's a friggin' stick."

"But it's a magical stick!"

And then, with those words echoing in her head, a thought began to take shape in her mind.

Was Highlord Mograine's assertion entirely correct? If, or when, she went into the final fight against the Lich King, she wouldn't be alone. She would have her friends at her back; together they would be more potent against Arthas than any of them would be alone. Fordring had a point there. Given that, was it really necessary to have a weapon which could best Frostmourne in power? Hadn't she been sent to find a weapon which could withstand the blows of Frostmourne? And wouldn't that be enough - if her weapon lasted long enough to ensure that Frostmourne didn't claim the souls of her compatriots, did it matter if what she wielded was necessarily an exact match for that terrible weapon? Wouldn't it be enough to just have a weapon that wouldn't get shattered like a tree being hit by a steam tank?

And, looking at the remains of Marrowgar, the idea took full form as Julica rubbed her chin idly with one hand. If metal wouldn't withstand the blows, in that case, the best candidate was...

"A magical stick..."

Julica looked back over to the Highlord, who seemed completely puzzled.

---

It was another dull day at Acherus for Drogan Truthhammer. He'd been left in charge of the hold's defense while most of the order was away in Northrend; since nearly everyone was gone, though, the place felt... empty. Rather like a nest missing all of its fledglings. Drogan stalked the halls in a foul mood; he was in no mood to debate the finer points of culinary art with Corpulous again. He would much rather be here telling an abomination his food was terrible instead of in Northrend, where Mograine seemed hell-bent on bringing an even larger abomination into the world. And he did, perhaps, miss the company of one of those fledglings a little more than others... and he was terribly worried that Mograine had plans for that one in particular...

"Drogan!"

He spun around so quickly that he almost fell over. Running up to him was a certain red-haired gnome (who was still keeping her hair short now, he noted) who he was very glad to see safe and sound. And she had with her a... sack?...

"I... thought you were still in Northrend," Drogan began, before being cut off.

"Drogan," Julica began, panting a little, "I just got back from Icecrown, I got a little help from Mielle Stormhand's group in gathering something from the Citadel. I need your help if I'm going to make this work."

While Drogan was somewhat annoyed at being cut off, his curiosity over what could bring Julica back to Acherus this quickly overcame it, especially as she opened and up-ended the sack, spilling the contents on the floor for his inspection.

He looked at the contents of the bag. For several moments. He then looked up (relatively) at Julica again... with a grin.

"I'm glad to see that someone, for once, actually listened to my lessons. Now let's get to work."