[OOC: The eyes of Hareveim are red, not blue.]

I take a deep calming breath, rubbing my fingers to my temples. The infinite eternal powers that control this world and countless others have freely been studied and manipulated by people in this city for thousands of years, and yet no one has discovered a simple cure for a head ache. Woe is me.

"I will take care of the problem with Lordaeron at Fenris Isle. Mindless brutes such as Sherman the Butcher rule that land, so intimidation will make them cower until we have taken care of the Kirin Mora. I'll show the King power. Until then, however, give the Hareveim full authority to arrest, interrogate or execute anyone of whom there is reasonable suspicion of being related to these assassinations."

I breathe and stare at the Archivists' ruined headquarters around myself. The walls are covered with scrolls. Each one could contain enough information to cause untold destruction and death, or even the failure of my plans. For the first time in years, I feel a small tinge of fear creep into myself. I turn back to Franek. "Have all the remaining prophecies buried under the Great Hall in the Violet Citadel. During the transportation, turn them invisible. If anyone who knows about them is found to have mentioned their existence, they will have a private appointment with a Harev."

I remember that after all this, Franek will still be the leading wizard on an army which leaves the city tomorrow. I smile at the man, honest gratitude to his work bringing a wide smile to my face. "Good luck with your military expedition, Archmage. When I restore the Kirin Tor, you will no doubt receive a seat. I will retire for the night now."

After receiving his thanks and good tidings, I leave the ransacked building. Perhaps I will turn it into a museum of Hesperian Culture after the war is gone. Nationalism is like a drug that makes men forget their own good and do things they would never do otherwise. What a wonderful tool, indeed.

After arriving to the Violet Citadel, I ponder the situation with Lordaeron more. They are in the middle of a civil war, but still. They have a small navy on Lordamere Lake, more than I can say for myself, and there aren't any nations between them and myself. If I make a wrong step, all may be for nothing yet...

On my wall is a painting. In it blue, red, white and green stand together. The symbolism is evident: Even if they believe in different things, the followers of the Four Gods should still bond together before crises. With the destruction of the Archivists, it seems Dalaran is de facto a pagan state.

Of course...

Kul Tiras.

I immediately walk to my desk and grasp a quill and a bottle of ink. I can not stand alone any more. Even if Hesperia is united, it is one country.

I close my eyes for a moment before writing. Admiral Proudmoore may not announce it out loud, but I know he is no Lightist. The islands are largely populated my Muharists and Mnesthians.

Just as my quill touches the parchment, my door is opened. A wizard runs in. Before I have time to tell him to learn manners, he shouts: "Archmage! It's Seashire. Their mayor sends word that a group of Tirasians are causing trouble!"

"Write of a demon and he shall appear..." I mutter and stand up. Rest and relaxation will have to wait. Instead of asking for further details, I simply walk out of the room and into the Port. This specifically enchanted room, created the Kirin Tor ten generations ago, allows wizards to use transportation and communication magic half a dozen times more efficiently. I focus on Seashire and without much more than a thought, vanish from the face of Azeroth and reappear, hundreds of miles south, in Seashire.

As soon as I arrive, I assure the mayor that I will take care of the problem. At first he seems thankful, but after I start ordering his guardsmen around, he remembers what I said back in Dalaran and questions me: "You said you're not a leader. Who are you to come here to boss us around?"

I give an irritated sigh, growing weary of this eternally out-stretching stressful day. "You called me to solve your problem. I'm doing that."

His men follow me, though looking for their leader for confirmation first. I march the troops to the street and walk to the Tirasians. Thanks to magical communication and travel, they haven't yet had time to turn violent. "Halt!" I shout, bringing up a hand and igniting a bright warning light to signify my arcane powers, a common procedure in events such as this. "I am Javali, Grand-Archmage of Dalaran and member of the Council of Hesperia. What is the problem here?"

There are more of them than there are us. I want to talk my way out of this. If I can't, I'll just have to burn them all to a crisp before any of them can move an arm. The teleport drained much of my energy, but I still have enough.


[OOC: Hope that wasn't too much godmoding in there. Feel free to tell me if it was.]

[edit OOC: Tim, you're doing fantastic. I'd never be able to juggle all of this.]

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