Ice Carrier

"By the beard of Light, how much arcane power does Duke have?!" Even though Duke had given him a heads-up, King Llane still looked like he'd just seen a gronn tap-dance. His jaw was practically on the floor.

Beside Llane, the last remaining master Palace Mage, a wizened old gnome with more wrinkles than a dried prune, sighed, a sound heavy with professional envy. "Your Majesty, if I were to attempt such a feat, I'd be lucky to conjure enough ice to cover a puddle, let alone half this area!"

Llane, Anduin, and Bolvar exchanged wide-eyed glances, their expressions a mixture of awe and utter bewilderment. This meant Duke's magical reserves weren't just impressive; they were off the charts, making even master mages look like apprentices trying to light a damp match!

On the shore, a collective gasp rippled through the ranks. All eyes were fixed on the colossal, shimmering expanse of floating ice, a crystalline ark that promised deliverance. But a new thought, cold as the ice itself, began to creep into their minds: if they stood on that thing for too long, would they turn into human popsicles? It was the dog days of summer, and while a little ice-cube play was fun, the sheer, bone-chilling aura emanating from the monstrous ice floe made even the bravest warriors shiver.

"Alright, you lot, clear a path!" Over there, Windsor, Duke's ever-efficient private soldier, was already barking orders, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

A flurry of activity erupted as a horde of soldiers rushed forward, grabbing armfuls of hay that had been conveniently piled on the dock. They began to spread it over the ice, transforming the slick, frozen surface into a surprisingly cozy, non-slip pathway. The hay not only insulated against the frigid air but also provided much-needed traction. And as if that wasn't enough, they even started erecting makeshift fences, just in case anyone decided to go ice-skating off the edge.

The elite soldiers and battle-hardened generals of Stormwind were completely dumbfounded. Was this even allowed? Could they do that?

Well, by the Light, it was certainly effective, and undeniably, ridiculously magical!

Duke strode forward, the ice extending beneath his feet with every step. After about 500 meters, and the ice stretching to a full 600, he finally halted. He glanced at the handful of mana gems in his palm, now dull and lifeless, their arcane glow completely extinguished. A bitter smile touched his lips. If even one of these high-quality mana gems had fallen into the wrong hands, the usually haughty mages of Dalaran would have come running like starved ghouls, tripping over their pointy hats in a mad scramble to snatch it. Just two of these gems could buy the unwavering loyalty of an Archmage. If all the mana gems Duke had burned through tonight were used as bribes, it would be enough to sway a Morningstar Mage, a powerful spellcaster on par with the likes of Kel'Thuzad, who would one day become a fearsome Lich serving the Filthy King himself.

Yet, Duke had used them all for what amounted to a glorified parlor trick.

Duke didn't regret it for a second. Human lives, especially 50,000 elite soldiers, were beyond any monetary value. Losing these men would have crippled the entire war effort, turning the tide irrevocably against them.

"Alright, Old Man Medivh," Duke muttered under his breath, a wry grin playing on his lips, "you spent your life hoarding this fortune to protect Stormwind. Now that I've used it to save a few thousand souls, I reckon you owe me a thank you."

Of course, Duke himself didn't possess that much raw mana. But by tapping into the vast reserves of mana gems Medivh had left behind in the dusty, forgotten halls of Karazhan, he had pulled off this impossible miracle. To prevent the massive ice floe from cracking under the weight of thousands, Duke had employed his unparalleled magical control, layering the ice into three distinct strata: the top for carrying the troops, and the middle and bottom layers for structural support.

Finally stopping, Duke waved a hand, his voice carrying across the water. "Alright, everyone! All aboard!"

In the hazy night, a brilliant, ethereal light of light blue flickered, casting an otherworldly glow. It painted the blood-soaked, flame-scorched Stormwind City in stark relief, creating a truly magical, unique, and strangely beautiful landscape. The cold air began to condense, and the light reflecting off the ice surface created a dreamlike spectacle – the sheer, fantastical beauty of the colossal ice ship made everyone forget the crushing sense of loss from their capital's fall, their minds captivated by this surreal vision.

Under the crisp commands of their officers, 50,000 troops marched in an orderly fashion along the dock, their boots crunching on the hay-covered ice, boarding the shimmering ice vessel.

A low hum of whispers filled the air. The biggest question, of course, was how in the blazes this gigantic ice ship was going to move.

"Is Duke planning to conjure some titanic sails out of thin air?" Llane whispered to Anduin, his voice barely audible over the shuffling feet. "And how in the world would he control them?"

Lothar just rolled his eyes, a classic "you got me" gesture. "Your guess is as good as mine, Your Majesty."

When Duke had first pitched the idea of using ice boats to ferry soldiers during their secret war council, it had sounded like a grand, if slightly mad, scheme. But when it came down to brass tacks, not a single soul had bothered to figure out the logistics of moving such a massive frozen behemoth. The high-ranking officials simply knew that without their last 50,000 elite soldiers, they might as well roll over and play dead. If Duke could rescue all these men, it was a small price to pay. Even if the orc army had been scorched by a fiery inferno, Llane and the others had imagined a grim retreat, ferrying as many trips as possible before the orcs caught on.

They had agreed to Duke's plan simply because they were fresh out of better ideas. And out of a deep-seated, if somewhat bewildered, trust in Duke, no one had bothered to ask for the nitty-gritty details.

Then, they had their moment of pure, unadulterated miracle.

Duke pulled out a strange, rune-etched conch shell, raised it to his lips, and blew.

A dozen heartbeats later, thousands upon thousands of bubbles began to burble up from the previously calm sea surface. Something, something huge, was emerging from the seabed.

Although everyone had been mentally prepared for something bizarre, they all let out a collective sigh of relief when they saw the ridiculous, bulging eyeballs.

Murlocs! Thousands of them!

They bobbed up from the depths in a chaotic, gurgling mass. In some places, the murlocs were so densely packed you could practically walk across them without fear of falling into the sea. In others, dozens of square meters of water remained stubbornly murloc-free.

Then came the Nagas, their serpentine forms slithering through the water. Burly male Nagas, their powerful tails propelling them, quickly scaled onto the ice floe, massive bundles of thick ropes slung over their scaled shoulders. Sharp, barbed hooks were tied to the ropes, and the male Nagas, with powerful swings of their hammers, began to chisel these hooks deep into the ice, securing them firmly.

At this point, the Naga priestess Wala arrived, her four crystal-adorned arms crossed regally over her chest. She bowed, but this time, her head dipped even lower, a sign of profound respect.

"Great Master, Zjara Avis is at your service."

Duke merely waved a hand, a dismissive gesture. "Let's go!"

A male Naga, wielding a massive hammer, slammed it down with a thunderous CRACK onto the last connection between the dock and the ice ship. A loud clattering echoed across the water, and with a final groan, the ice ship broke free from the land.

Wala pointed both of her right arms towards the dark, distant horizon, and let out a sharp, majestic, and utterly alien shriek: "Gaohaladuoh... (You lowly fish-men, for the great Lord of the Ocean, Lord Hashirama—PULL THE BOAT!)"

Like a colossal tug-of-war, nearly a hundred murlocs, each gripping a rope, pulled with all their might. Thousands of splashes erupted on the sea, a chaotic symphony of gurgles and grunts.

It started agonizingly slowly, a glacial crawl, but then, a subtle tremor ran through the ice. They were moving.

In the distance, the mountains blurred into the inky blackness of the night, and the torch-lit inferno of Stormwind City seemed to shift, to recede. Everyone knew, with a lump in their throats, that it wasn't Stormwind City or Stormwind Harbor that was moving, but the colossal ice ship beneath their very feet.

The terrified soldiers, who had been holding their breath for what felt like an eternity, finally let out a collective, ragged breath.

"Woooooah!" The veterans, grizzled and stoic, burst into tears, unashamed. Some had been born and raised in Stormwind, their fathers, grandfathers, and countless ancestors before them. Now, even if it was a glorious retreat, they couldn't suppress the profound sense of loss, the ache in their hearts. Before, their lives had hung by a thread, but now, finally certain of their safety, the dam of their emotions broke.

"Wuwuwu—" Wails and sobs echoed through the ranks, a mournful chorus of grief and relief. To the seasoned soldiers of Stormwind, to have been besieged by hundreds of thousands of savage orcs, outnumbered ten to one, to have inflicted such heavy damage on the enemy, and then to have retreated with their lives—it was nothing short of a miracle. But to the militiamen, the garrison members, and even the civilians who had only recently found themselves clutching a sword, it was a true fairy tale – a magical, impossible legend in the making!