“Lord Cenarius, I must admit that I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,” said Krivax, fidgeting with embarrassment. “The Aspects don’t really keep me informed about everything that’s going on and my confidant in the Red Dragonflight is away on Draenor.”
Cenarius hummed thoughtfully before responding. “I see. Then we will discuss the events concerning Princess Theradras, the centaur, and the tauren first. Discussion on what to do with Fandral and Illidan will require me to spend some time explaining kaldorei politics.”
“I’m more than willing to share my perspective… but I’m a bit curious about why you’re seeking my counsel,” Krivax asked hesitantly. He was used to immortals being much more… stand-offish than this.
Cenarius’ expression remained impassive at Krivax's inquiry. His eyes, deep and ancient, studied Krivax as silence filled the space between them. Krivax was startled as the demigod gracefully lowered his body to the verdant forest floor and folded his legs beneath himself. Where he chose to sit, grass and flowers grew thick around Cenarius’ body.
“As one who has walked this world far longer than most, I have seen times change and people adapt to them in many ways. I’ve seen wars rage and end, watched empires rise and fall, and observed the dance of nature at its most resplendent and its most ruthless.”
Cenarius paused, his gaze drifting over the glade, over the land that resonated with his essence. “In my experience, it has seldom been necessary for me to seek the counsel of others. I have relied on my own wisdom, my own experience, and my deep connection with Azeroth. However, we now stand at a precipice of significant change. A time where every perspective, every piece of wisdom, and every unique understanding of the world will be crucial to the survival of all living beings.”
A gust of wind passed through the glade as Cenarius’ words sank in. The demigod continued, his voice filled with sincerity. “It is in light of this that I seek your counsel, Krivax. You have walked paths I have not and have seen things from a perspective completely unique to yourself. Even the smallest piece of information or the most insignificant observation could prove invaluable.”
As the demigod finished his speech, Krivax wasn’t quite sure how to feel. It was certainly a much more humble perspective than he had been expecting from Cenarius.
“I would be honored to help in any way that I can,” said Krivax as he folded his legs beneath himself and sat down on the grass. “Please, tell me about what’s happened with Princess Theradras and how it is related to the centaur.”
Cenarius nodded and began explaining the situation.
Princess Theradras was one of the threats that Krivax had brought to the attention of the Aspects. She was the daughter of Therazane, Elemental Lord of Earth, and a powerful earth elemental in her own right. Krivax remembered her clearly because her lore was really strange. Theradras mated with one of Cenarius’ sons, Zaetar, to create the first centaur, who promptly murdered their father.
It honestly sounded like something he would have read in a book about ancient mythology, but he now lived in a world where ridiculous things like that actually happened.
Princess Theradras then captured Zaetar’s soul and kept it imprisoned in a massive cavern system named Maraudon that the centaurs worshiped as holy ground. Influenced by the Old Gods, she had then transformed her lair into a den of corruption and suffering.
Apparently, the Aspects had seen this as a relatively simple issue to address. Every single corrupted being in Maraudon had been exterminated, Zaetar’s spirit had been returned to the Emerald Dream, and Princess Theradras had been banished back to Deepholm. The only reason the Aspects hadn’t killed her was because her mother was one of the only two Elemental Lords who wasn’t endlessly hostile.
It sounded to Krivax like the issue had already been resolved, so why did the demigod feel the need to bring it up?
“After Theradras was banished, the centaurs tribes became furious and immediately fell into a state of frenzy,” Cenarius explained once he asked that very question. “Not only are the tribes attacking each other more than usual, but the chaos of their conflict is also affecting the surrounding region as the centaurs grow even more hostile and violent. The tauren, who were already experiencing difficulties, are being driven from their lands by the increase in centaur aggression.”
Helping the tauren was one of Krivax’s main goals for his expedition to Kalimdor, as they were one of the most peaceful and honorable people in Azeroth. Not only that, but they had a lot to offer Azjol-Nerub as natives of Kalimdor. They knew these lands like the back of their hand and could help the kingdom a lot once the nerubians began to establish a presence on the continent.
However, Cenarius’ words brought to mind a question that he had been pondering for quite some time.
“Why haven’t you or the kaldorei done anything to help the tauren in their time of need?” asked Krivax, genuinely perplexed.
In the original timeline, the centaur had driven the tauren nearly to the point of extinction by the time the orcs arrived on Kalimdor, all without kaldorei intervention. The kaldorei and the tauren had even fought side-by-side during the War of the Ancients, yet the night elves allowed them to be slaughtered without helping at all? In the end, the tauren had only been saved thanks to the arrival of Thrall and the Horde.
Cenarius’ ancient eyes held a tinge of regret as he replied. “There are several reasons. One of which is that we were genuinely unaware of how severe the plight of the tauren had grown. My own duties relegate me almost exclusively to these forests or the Emerald Dream, and the kaldorei rarely venture far from their forests. When they do, it is generally by ship on the way to their outpost near Ahn’Qiraj.”
While Krivax found that excuse to be plausible given everything he knew about the kaldorei, it didn’t do much to absolve them from his perspective. Being insular to the point that you didn’t notice the genocide happening on your borders didn’t paint the kaldorei in a very good light.
“You said that you were unaware of how severe the situation was, not that you didn’t know about it at all. What other reasons do you have for not intervening?” Krivax asked neutrally, deciding to withhold judgment until he fully understood the state of affairs with the Kaldorei. “The way you’re speaking implies that you still don’t intend to do anything about the centaur even though you’re aware of the situation.”
Cenarius paused for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words before he eventually replied. “I see now that it was a mistake for me to attempt to separate the topics I wished to discuss with you. They all stem from issues related to kaldorei politics. Ysera informed me that you know very little about the structure of our society. Is that true?”
There were a lot of topics in Warcraft’s lore that weren’t covered in detail, and the political structures of the various nations was one of them. In the Eastern Kingdoms, all of the human kingdoms were absolute feudal monarchies as they had all once been a part of the same empire. Ironforge and Quel’Thalas were both ruled by governments resembling parliamentary monarchies while Gnomeregan was a democratic republic.
As for the night elves, Krivax didn’t have the slightest idea how they ran things. He knew Tyrande, Malfurion, and Cenarius were the top guys in charge, but he had no idea how they decided how to delegate authority or how to manage the administrative side of things.
Krivax shook his head and said. “I understand the basics, but not much else.”
Cenarius nodded, seemingly unsurprised by his answer. What followed was a long discussion, during which the demigod educated Krivax on the more important details of night elf society.
From what he could understand, kaldorei society seemed to be a theocracy with the Sisterhood of Elune, controlled by High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, functioning as the primary decision-making body. The Sentinels, headed by Shandris Feathermoon, answered directly to the Sisterhood, serving to both enforce their laws and act as the military force for their people.
The Wardens were a bit unique, as they were a paramilitary police force that was ostensibly under the control of the Sisterhood but was in truth loyal to their leader, Maiev Shadowsong. They even studied their own kinds of magic and lived lives that were separated from the rest of kaldorei society.
In contrast, members of the Cenarion Circle, led by Cenarius and Malfurion Stormrage, were not generally permitted to take part in governmental affairs and were expected to devote themselves fully to the ‘balance of nature’. These organizations were segregated by gender, with it being forbidden for male elves to become priests or for female elves to become druids.
It was immediately obvious to Krivax that forbidding half of a society’s population from the ability to participate in its governance would inevitably cause political tension, to which Cenarius readily agreed. According to the demigod, there had always been elements within kaldorei society that were unsatisfied with the status quo, but such groups were never large enough to be considered significant.
Privately, Krivax thought it was simply more likely that most of the kaldorei who were dissatisfied with their leadership simply decided to keep their mouth shut or left long ago, as was the case with the High Elves. When your leaders were immortal beings powerful enough to tear through armies alone, there probably wasn’t much that a discontented citizen could do.
Of course, that was just his personal speculation. It was entirely possible that the kaldorei were just as monolithic as they were depicted in the lore. He had lived as a nerubian long enough to know that projecting a human perspective onto non-human races was not always a good idea.
“This system worked well until circumstances changed less than a millennia ago with the War of the Shifting Sands. The kaldorei’s war against the qiraji was their deadliest conflict since the War of the Ancients,” Cenarius said solemnly, his eyes distant as if lost in memories. “The kaldorei have never dealt well with grief. They are far less accustomed to death than the mortal races of Azeroth, and the loss of so many was a devastating blow. After the war, many kaldorei began questioning their leaders and the fundamental structures of their society.”
Krivax could easily see how that would be the case. The night elves were a race of beings who didn’t age, had the ability to heal almost any wound or sickness, and were the dominant power on Kalimdor. The death of so many night elves must have had a profound impact on them.
“The kaldorei society that you described to Ysera is currently a fiction. That society only existed as everyone in that time was united by a common enemy,” said Cenarius, his voice calm but sad.
With that, it became obvious to Krivax why Cenarius had decided to explain kaldorei politics.
“Then the reason that the kaldorei still aren't willing to help the tauren is due to internal politics? I imagine that there are a lot of people who aren’t eager to fight another foreign war after the casualties suffered in the last one,” Krivax guessed, seeing where this was going.
Even in a society in which power was held by a few people, they still needed to care somewhat about public opinion. He had no doubt that Tyrande could mobilize the Sentinels against the centaur if she really wanted to, but that would increase discontent among her people.
“Very perceptive, Vizier Krivax. That is correct,” Cenarius agreed, a glimmer of approval passing through his eyes. “To be more specific, Archdruid Staghelm has positioned himself as the voice of those kaldorei who are dissatisfied with the current state of affairs. He is well-known for advocating for the dissolution of gender restrictions in kaldorei society and the idea that kaldorei are superior to the other races. He has the support of the Wardens, a significant portion of the Cenarion Circle, and much of the civilian population.”
Krivax didn’t like the sound of that. It brought to mind the moment in Warcraft when Tyrande ordered Illidan Stormrage to be freed from prison, only to immediately slaughter the Wardens guarding his prison when they refused her orders. Tyrande’s decision certainly made more sense when you knew that she considered the Wardens to be political enemies.
“I see… then what do you intend to do about it, and what are you asking from me?” Krivax asked after a moment of silence.
Cenarius considered the question as he studied Krivax. After a long moment, he said. “Ysera has convinced Tyrande and me that aiding the tauren against the centaur, diminishing Fandral’s political power, and… perhaps making an effort to rehabilitate Illidan Stormrage, are all in the interests of Azeroth. However, each of those endeavors would come at the cost of increasing unrest among the kaldorei, which is why we have not made a decision on how to proceed. I wanted to speak with you before we did so.”
“Me? Why?” asked Krivax, genuinely surprised.
“Because you are the one who has seen the future and shared it with Ysera. I wish to hear your recounting of Illidan and Fandral’s fates myself. In my experience, it is best to receive important information directly from the source.”
“Ah. I understand, Lord Cenarius. But, you should know that any details I know about them are limited. I’m sure you’re more familiar with both of them than I ever will be.”
Cenarius nodded calmly. “I am well aware, Vizier Krivax. However, even a sliver of foresight may be invaluable when making decisions that impact the future of Azeroth.”
That’s true, I suppose.
Seeing no reason not to agree, Krivax spent the next half hour telling Cenarius everything he knew about Illidan and Fandral. The demigod kept mostly silent, but asked many pointed questions about Illidan in particular, which he answered honestly.
Illidan Stormrage was one of the most well-known characters in Warcraft’s lore and was a relatively complicated figure. He did a lot of things that could be considered either stupid or egregiously immoral, but he was also genuinely dedicated to the destruction of the Burning Legion. He was extremely powerful and played an important role in defending Azeroth.
Once Krivax was done speaking, Cenarius fell into thoughtful silence for a long moment before letting out a weary sigh. “Illidan’s situation was always a difficult one. He has always yearned for power, ever since he was young. Power to protect, power to shape, power to understand. That yearning was responsible for both making him great as well as dangerous.”
Krivax listened attentively as the ancient demigod spoke, his eyes distant as he reminisced about the past.
“I taught both him and his brother Malfurion the ways of druidism. But where Malfurion thrived, Illidan always struggled. He was impatient, always seeking the easiest and quickest path to power. This led him to pursue the arcane magic of the Highborne with which he thrived. I had believed that this is what ultimately led him to the demonic energies of the Burning Legion, yet you tell me now that he remained loyal after all these years? That he would dedicate his life to the destruction of the Legion? Hearing that brings me both great relief and great sorrow.”
Krivax wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. He didn’t think he was qualified to comfort a demigod mourning his wayward student.
“Does that mean that you intend to free him from his prison?” Krivax asked curiously.
None of his future plans really centered around Illidan, but it would be nice if the guy was given a second chance. Imprisoning someone in an underground cell for ten thousand years was just cruel in his opinion. At that point, it would be better to just execute them.
“Tyrande seems open to the idea and I don’t find myself opposed, but we must approach the matter with caution,” Cenarius admitted. “Many of the kaldorei view Illidan as being similar to Azshara herself. They are both powerful and dangerous mages who were born with amber eyes, a sign of great destiny among the kaldorei. Freeing him will cause great dissatisfaction, especially among the Wardens. However, I believe there is a way that you and your people can be of help.”
“Really? How so?” Krivax asked curiously.
“I need some more time to consider the matter. There are a few matters that I need to first discuss with the High Priestess. The kaldorei intend to escort you to their capital city of Nighthaven to meet with her. I will speak to you then,” said Cenarius, gesturing dismissively as he changed the subject. “For now, there is one last matter that we should address before your return to Auberdine.”
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Krivax couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy about how Cenarius intended for Azjol-Nerub ‘to be of help,’ but it wasn’t like he could force the demigod to share his intention. “What matter is that, Lord Cenarius?”
“The Fel corrupted creatures that Ysera claims you wish to relocate to this continent,” said Cenarius, his eyes growing flinty as he started at Krivax. “After these ‘orcs’ have done so much damage to the lands across the sea and their own homeworld, why should we allow them here on Kalimdor? What assurances can you give that they won’t continue the destructive path they tread in your vision?”
Krivax hesitated as he considered how he should respond. He hadn’t intended to bring up the matter of the orcs until he and the kaldorei were on better terms, as he knew it would be a contentious topic.
It didn’t help that Cenarius knew the orcs murdered him in the original timeline…
“The orcs are capable of great destruction, but I believe that they could help us out a lot with the proper guidance,” Krivax said as diplomatically as possible. “Once they are free from the influence of the Fel magic that corrupted their race, they can be reformed into a people who can live peacefully on Kalimdor.”
“Do you truly believe that? From what Ysera has told me of your visions, the orcs remained a threat long after they were free of their demonic influences. They brazenly desecrated these forests and instigated many conflicts years after they killed me, did they not?” Cenarius questioned, his tone heavy with skepticism.
Krivax couldn’t deny the validity of Cenarius’ concerns. The Horde had been locked in a state of constant conflict with the Alliance, but that wasn’t a future that he intended to let happen.
“I understand that what I’m asking sounds… more than a little unreasonable from your perspective, Lord Cenarius,” said Krivax, maintaining a respectful tone. “But I have seen for myself how the orcs behave without demonic influences driving them to madness, and they’re just… people. Scared people who made horrible decisions and were manipulated into becoming monsters. I know it’s hard to believe, especially given the terrible things they’ve done, but I genuinely believe they can learn to live in harmony with nature and the other races of Azeroth.”
Krivax found his mind wandering to the several occasions over the past year in which he checked in on Thrall, or Go’el as he now preferred to be called, and the Frostwolf Clan via scrying. The kid was always happy to see him and was flourishing well under the guidance of Drek’Thar. The Frostwolves hadn’t done anything to harm the people of Alterac or made any attempt to attack the internment camps. All they did was… keep to themselves and live in peace.
Krivax wanted to believe that if given the chance, the orcs could be better. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that the orcs were innocent victims or that the traumas of the past could be easily healed, but was there anything wrong with believing in a better future?
Cenarius was quiet for a long time after Krivax was done speaking, his gaze impassive as he studied the nerubian. It was hard for Krivax to gauge what the demigod was thinking. He seemed neither outright dismissive nor particularly convinced. After what felt like an eternity, Cenarius finally broke his silence. “If you are so convinced in their capacity for goodness, then I suppose I should take a look for myself.”
More than a little confused by the demigod’s words, Krivax was about to ask what he meant by ‘take a look’ when he suddenly noticed the world around beginning to shift and twist.
One moment, he was sitting in a grove with Cenarius in the middle of the night, and the next he was surrounded by ethereal plant life that looked nothing like anything he had ever seen. Krivax could feel the vast amounts of Life energy in his surroundings, and everything had a strange dreamlike quality to it. The air was too fresh, the plant life was too vibrant, and the colors were too bright.
Krivax felt as if he had suddenly been transported into a painting that was too beautiful to be real.
“It is a surprise, isn’t it?” Krivax turned around quickly to see Cenarius standing behind him, admiring their surroundings with a fond gaze. “I can still remember the first time that I saw the Emerald Dream. I explored this realm in wonder for nearly a month before Ysera found me and guided me back to my physical form.”
Krivax… wasn’t quite sure he felt the same wonder that Cenarius felt. The Emerald Dream was certainly beautiful and he wouldn’t mind exploring it, but he was far more concerned about why he was there than anything else. “Why am I here, Lord Cenarius?”
The demigod turned his gaze back to Krivax before responding. “I put you to sleep and pulled you into this realm so that you might guide me to the dreams of the orcs. I have found your words to be convincing and would seek a better understanding of their plight.”
Krivax shuddered as he realized how easily Cenarius had put him to sleep. He hadn’t felt anything at all, and even now Krivax still couldn’t tell when the demigod had used his magic on him.
“Think closely about the orcs you believe I should examine. Allow their images to fill your mind, and I will guide us to their dreams,” Cenarius instructed.
Pushing away his reservations, Krivax did as he was told and focused his thoughts on the Frostwolf Clan in Alterac Valley. As Krivax concentrated, the landscape around him began to twist and reshape until he found himself standing in the harsh, snow-covered lands of Alterac Valley.
“It seems that the orcs you have chosen are currently awake, but it matters little. Their dreams echo throughout this realm like waves upon the shore,” Cenarius explained. The demigod gestured casually and their surroundings began to shift once again.
Krivax watched as the dream-like version of Alterac Valley began to be shrouded in a green mist, and strange sounds began to echo in the distance. The noises made little sense to Krivax as they varied wildly from harsh battle cries to the soft sounds of children playing. Cenarius remained silent, his eyes closed as if he was listening to a beautiful symphony.
After several moments, the demigod began walking toward one of the more violent sources of the noises, and Krivax hurried to follow after him. As they moved, the landscape shifted and changed until they found themselves standing on a corpse-filled battlefield. The sound of clashing blades echoed in the air as an army of bloodthirsty orcs charged a group of blue-skinned humanoids with hooves and long tails.
Krivax found his attention being drawn to one orc in particular as he realized whose dream, or perhaps nightmare, they were in. Drek’Thar’s face was twisted in a grimace of pain and misery even as he killed the draenei warriors. It was a very… incongruous scene.
“Hmm. These are the dreams of the Frostwolf Chieftain?” Cenarius murmured as he took in their surroundings. “What an atrocious scene, and yet his guilt and self-loathing are palpable in the fabric of his dreams.”
Krivax winced as Drek’Thar plunged his axe into the side of a draenei, his eyes filled with a wild mix of fear, regret, and anger. With each life he took, his despair seemed to grow, and the dream around them darkened.
“These are not the dreams of a creature who enjoys inflicting harm for its own sake,” Cenarius observed thoughtfully, gesturing casually as he shifted the scene once again.
As the vision of the past faded, the dreamscape transitioned to a different time and place. They soon found themselves standing in a valley of snow, surrounded by orcs laughing around a fireplace. Drek’Thar was quietly teaching Go’el the ways of the elements, demonstrating his skills by forming the fire into a variety of shapes.
Drek’Thar’s contentment was obvious as Go’el watched his display with open awe. The flames danced brightly in response to the young shaman’s joy.
“These dreams are far more recent. This orc dreams of a past filled with regret and a future filled with… hope,” Cenarius noted, his tone thoughtful as he watched the orcs by the fire. “I suppose this is what you see when you look upon these orcs. I can sense your emotional connection to the young shaman whom the old one is teaching. Is he the one named Thrall that Ysera mentioned?”
Krivax nodded in agreement. “Yes, Lord Cenarius. He’s the one that I hope will one day lead the orcs to a better future.”
Cenarius remained silent, his gaze still locked on the heartwarming scene before them. After nearly a minute of silence, he finally turned back towards Krivax. “I believe that we have spoken enough for the day, Vizier Krivax. It is time you return to Auberdine. A single regretful orc is not enough to change my perception of their people, but I intend to continue wandering through their dreams.”
With a wave of his hand, Cenarius pulled them from the Emerald Dream and Krivax soon found himself back in the grove near Auberdine, still seated across from the demigod.
“I will think on this, Vizier Krivax. You have given me much to consider,” Cenarius said, his gaze distant. “We will speak again once you arrive in Nighthaven.”
Krivax bowed respectfully, acknowledging Cenarius’ words. The demigod then stood and disappeared into the forest with but a few steps, leaving Krivax alone with his thoughts. He had come away from their conversation with the impression that the night elf leadership wasn’t completely opposed to his ideas, but the greater kaldorei society would be much harder to convince.
Krivax was suddenly pulled from his thoughts as he sensed the sentinels from before beginning to return to the forest around him. Deciding that he didn’t want to get on the bad side of the sentinels, he started making his way back to his lodging in Auberdine where he could think more about his future plans.
Cenarius wasn’t the only one who had a lot to consider.
----------------------------------------
Tyrande Whisperwind looked up at the night sky and gazed upon the physical manifestation of the goddess to whom she had dedicated her life.
Elune bathed the tranquil glade on the foot of Mount Hyjal in ethereal silver light, and her most devoted servant felt the goddess’ power resonate all around her. Tyrande reluctantly turned her gaze away from her goddess and walked toward the private Moonwell that she had constructed near her personal home. The well, a reservoir of pure magic, bore a spiritual connection to Elune and was incredibly useful when the High Priestess wished to commune with her divine matron.
Once she reached the shimmering pools of the Moonwell, Tyrande knelt down beside its edge and looked upon her reflection as it rippled in the mirror-like surface of the pool. Her expression was serene as her green hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall.
With practiced ease, she extended her hands over the water’s surface and closed her eyes in anticipation. She reached out with her spirit and wholeheartedly invited her goddess to commune with her.
“Elune,” she whispered, her voice filled with calm certainty. “Your faithful servant seeks your wisdom.”
She waited in patient silence, the moonlight around her casting a peaceful glow. The forest hushed as though holding its breath, awaiting the divine goddess’ response.
But the response did not come.
Opening her eyes to the still pool, Tyrande Whisperwind was greeted only by her own reflection staring back at her. There were no celestial visions, no divine whispers of wisdom, or cryptic signs to decipher. Only the serene silence of the moonlit glade responded to her call.
A ripple of disappointment passed over her features before it was quickly replaced by calm acceptance. Tyrande had been seeking Elune’s guidance from the moment that Ysera had come to her with proclamations of a dark future. She wished to ask the goddess about the veracity of these predictions and about the prophet who had delivered them, but it seemed that Elune had nothing to say on the matter.
Tyrande rose gracefully from the Moonwell, her gaze shifting back to the starlit sky. Despite the disappointment of unanswered prayers, her voice was steady and full of undying devotion. “In your silence, Elune, I will find my own way.”
She loved and believed in Elune with all her heart, but there were times that she wished the goddess would be more explicit in her guidance. With a quiet sigh, Tyrande rose from her position and began making her way out of the glade and toward her home.
As she reached the treeline, a rustling from the thick undergrowth alerted her to an incoming presence. A few moments later, Tyrande was surprised to see a sentinel step into the clearing and kneel before her, awaiting permission to speak. The sentinels knew better than to disturb her in this sacred place and only did so when the situation was truly important.
“Report, Sentinel Amberwing,” said Tyrande. Her voice was one of stern authority and she could feel herself shedding her role as a priestess and donning her mantle as a General and leader of her people.
“High Priestess, the outsiders have been escorted to their temporary lodgings in Auberdine,” said the sentinel. “Lord Cenarius requested a meeting with the individual that you designated for additional surveillance and ordered his escorting sentinels away so they could speak in private. Their meeting lasted for approximately two hours before the target returned to his lodgings in Auberdine.”
Tyrande hummed thoughtfully as she listened to the sentinel’s report. It was no great surprise that Cenarius was interested in meeting with the nerubian who had been blessed by the Dragon Queen, especially given his visions of a possible future. Tyrande was quite interested in meeting the young prophet herself. Still, it was surprising to her that they had spoken for such a long period of time.
“What else do you have to report?” asked Tyrande, knowing that the actions of Cenarius didn’t justify her being disturbed.
“High Priestess, Sentinel Wildsky has reported back from her investigation,” said Sentinel Amberwing. “Maiev Shadowsong left for the Isle of the Watchers several weeks ago, and is not expected to return for at least another month.”
Tyrande felt a mixture of surprise and mirth at the sentinel’s report. Eythae Wildsky was the sentinel that she had assigned to monitor Shadowsong’s activities. The Warden was too skilled and cunning for normal surveillance to be effective, so Tyrande generally only learned about her activities long after they happened.
The very day after she had spoken to Ysera, Tyrande had ordered Wildsky to inform her the moment Shadowsong left to visit the Watchers’ various facilities outside of Kalimdor, as she frequently did. Now it seemed that the troublesome woman had done so at the most opportune of moments.
“Summon my personal guard, sentinel,” Tyrande instructed decisively. “Inform them that I intend to visit the Barrow Deeps and that they are to bring Ash’alah, my saber cat.”
Without hesitation, Sentinel Amberwing gave a crisp salute and departed. Alone with her thoughts, Tyrande considered what she was about to do.
She hadn’t seen Illidan since the day that he was imprisoned. The only person who visited him was her mate, Malfurion, and he had stopped doing so a millennia ago. She didn’t know all of the details, but the two of them had apparently had an argument that resulted in Malfurion abandoning any hope his brother could be redeemed.
Even their conversation with Ysera had done little to change Malfurion’s opinion of Illidan, as he seemed intent on ignoring the good Illidan would do in favor of the bad.
However, Tyrande was much more open to the possibility of Illidan’s release and had been considering the wisdom of doing so for more than a year. If Azeroth was truly destined to grow as tumultuous as the prophet claimed, then his aid might prove invaluable. Of course, the largest obstacle to doing this was Maiev Shadowsong.
The leader of the Watchers was obsessive in her duties to an irrational degree and would doubtlessly oppose any attempts to free Illidan. The Watchers were fanatically loyal to her and would follow her orders above all, perhaps even to the point of treason.
That was why Tyrande felt it best to take any action related to the Betrayer while she was away. Shadowsong would find it difficult to do anything about the situation after Illidan was already removed from her custody.
Tyrande didn’t actually intend to free him today, but she did feel that it would be worth paying him a visit. She hoped to glean some understanding of what could be expected of Illidan, should his release become necessary, and gauge his current state of mind. While she trusted Ysera, it was Illidan’s own actions and words that would ultimately decide his fate.
Tyrande was pulled from her thoughts as a small group of sentinels appeared in the glade. Each of them was clad in finely crafted armor made of pure elunite, and had been guarding her for millennia. At their center was a majestic white frostsaber with brilliant blue eyes that glowed in the night.
Tyrande approached her trusted companion and placed a gentle hand on Ash’alah’s sleek neck. The frostsaber responded with a gentle nudge and a rumbling purr. Mounting gracefully, Tyrande addressed her guards. “We ride for the Barrow Deeps to visit the Betrayer.”
None of her guards questioned Tyrande’s orders, and they quickly set off. The journey itself was relatively uneventful as the entrance they were approaching was hidden. The Barrow Deeps was a large cave system beneath Mount Hyjal known as the place where the Druids of the Claw rested, but also was less widely known to host the Watchers’ prison vaults. There were many guards assigned to prevent anyone from disturbing the druids, and even more Watchers who would kill anyone not authorized to approach the prison.
They soon reached the entrance to the Barrow Deeps and made their way inside. Nobody dared to stop Tyrande and her guards as they made their way deeper into the caves, to where nobody but the Watchers were authorized to enter. Tyrande could feel the moment they passed through the ancient wards protecting the prison, and she wasn’t surprised when a Watcher came to confront her soon after.
“High Priestess,” said the Watcher as she emerged from the shadows, her voice betraying her surprise. “We were not informed that you would be visiting. Why have you come?”
Tyrande met the Watcher’s gaze unflinchingly, her eyes glinting with quiet authority. “I’ve come to visit Illidan Stormrage, Watcher. I trust you will not stand in my way.”
The Watcher hesitated. Tyrande knew someone would already be running to Maiev if she were here, but there was little the Watchers could do but obey their High Priestess with Shadowsong absent.
“Of course not, High Priestess,” the Watcher replied reluctantly. “Follow me.”
Grateful that she wouldn’t be forced to resort to more forceful methods, Tyrande nodded to the Watcher and began following her through the labyrinthine prison. They passed by an impressive number of guards on the way to Illidan’s cell, one of which was even a Keeper of the Grove. Tyrande idly wondered how Maiev had convinced one of Cenarius’ sons to join the Watchers, as they were almost all members of the Cenarion Circle.
Then they finally reached the enchanted gates that led to Illidan’s cell, Tyrande ordered the Watchers and the guards to allow her some privacy. The Watchers attempted to protest, but Tyrande firmly reminded them of their place and silenced any objections. Once they had all left and she was finally alone, Tyrande took in a deep breath and pushed open the doors to Illidan’s cell.
Tyrande was immediately struck by the absolute darkness of the cell and called on Elune to illuminate her surroundings. When the light from her spell washed over the room, she finally saw him.
“Illidan, is that you?”
Tyrande watched as Illidan stirred from the corner of the cell that he had been slumped in.
“Who disturbs my…” His voice trailed off as he lifted his head, turning his sightless eyes hidden behind a blindfold in her direction. A moment of silence passed before Illidan spoke again, his voice a disbelieving whisper. “Tyrande? Is that you? After all these ages spent in darkness, have you truly come to visit me?”
The sight of him left a pang in her heart. He was just as she remembered, but also so much different. His body was covered in intricate tattoos that pulsed with Fel magic subdued only by the wards around the cell, and faint emerald lights shone through his blindfold, a stark reminder of the power he had been gifted by Sargeras.
“Yes, Illidan. It’s me,” Tyrande confirmed. Her voice echoed through the hollow, somber room as she approached his cell.
“Why are you here, Tyrande?” asked Illidan, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and anger. “After leaving me here to rot for so long, why have you come now?”
“A great many things have happened since your imprisonment,” Tyrande said softly, unable to hold back the sympathy she felt as she looked at the man who had once been considered a hero of their people. “And many more things are going to happen in the near future. There is… much that we need to talk about.”