Darnassus - Teldrassil, Kalimdor
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Things had not improved in the days following the Cataclysm, as the return of Deathwing had come to be known. Every race felt the effects of the world shifting and breaking. The Warchief Thrall, an Orc many Kaldorei had equated to Broxigar of the Red Ax in terms of honor, had abdicated his position as Warchief, and handed the reins to Garrosh Hellscream, of all people. Laronar knew the full story though, for there was rumor that his initial choice had been Baine Bloodhoof, a sensible, powerful leader of the Tauren. The ideal choice, for this time of turmoil, and someone who might've tempered Garrosh's Orcish rage, had fate, or perhaps darker forces, not had other plans. Through trickery, deceit, and a bit of poison, the hotheaded Garrosh had been played like the fool that he was, to Magatha Grimtotem's tune, and the Grimtotem clan had made their play for Thunder Bluff. They failed, but at the cost of Cairne's life. Thus, the title of Warchief fell into the murderous hands of Grommash Hellscream's son, and Azeroth would forever pay the price for this series of stupid and unfortunate decisions made by the Horde.
One could argue that few paid as dearly for this as the Night Elves. Cut off from the Alliance races on their ancient home of Kalimdor, they had to contend with the brutally clever new Warchief, and his desire to tear down the sacred glades of the Ashenvale. With Felwood lost and Hyjal still recovering, not to mention Darkshore now shattered into several chunks, the elves desperately needed Ashenvale, to maintain their hold on the eastern parts of Kalimdor. Garrosh was having none of that, though, and had begun his own plans to take the ancient forest of the Kaldorei.
While Laronar wished to cut down the invaders to the sacred woods in which he'd trained once as a novice and frolicked with his first lover, Malfurion Stormrage had a different task for him, in the form of the displaced Gilneans, the vast majority of whom were now Worgen, as well as Human. His knowledge and ties to Goldrinn, something no other Kaldorei had, apparently, made him one of the ideal teachers for these Humans to learn to control their urges, and their rage as scions of the Wolf Ancient. In the end, it was Genn Greymane himself, kneeling to the shirtless Archdruid, that swayed him. Genn recognized his scent from his curing in the Blackwald, and begged his wisdom for his people. Laronar did not have the heart to refuse him, and so, he left worrying over the battle lines of Kalimdor to the Sentinels, as he focused on training the Worgen in the proper ways of honoring an Ancient as volatile as the White Wolf.
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His niece Vassandra also helped with this, and while she was determined to find a permanent cure, Laronar had used other methods, already knowing what Goldrinn would expect of those who wished to control his form. Thus, he began educating every Gilnean that he could, about the ways of Druidism. Namely, their new role as predators and dealers of death, in the cycle of life. They were hunters, and thus he led them on hunts through Teldrassil's forests. Each kill, they offered to Goldrinn, each animal, they used every part of, returning what they did not need to the forest. Many claimed that hunting was a better way to clear their mind than any of the other druid's potions, and while the other druids lamented at the hit to the deer population of Teldrassil, Malfurion himself had decreed an area for the wolf men to hunt within, and that was the end of the argument. Laronar was not concerned, for the rituals he taught the mutated Humans honored the sons of Malorne as much as they did Goldrinn, and that was by design.
This process of teaching the remnant population of an entire nation took many weeks, and not all caught on to his ways. One student in particular kept him busy, as one night while he meditated with the pack, Goldrinn had singled one of the Worgen out to the Archdruid. Ragnar Whitemane was not the only wolf man to be unable to remember his past, but the more time Laronar spent training him, the more he was convinced that Ragnar was no Human. It did not matter what he was though, for neither spell nor potion would revert him to his base form, and even appealing to Goldrinn offered little. When asked, all Goldrinn said was that his current form was the one Ragnar apparently desired, and he refused to infringe on a being's choice of shape in that manner.
Thus, Laronar had taken Ragnar, and several other worgen, under his tutelage as proper druids. This was, again, not a popular idea among the rest of the Circle, but again, Malfurion saw the wisdom in teaching them their ways. Even among the other students though, Ragnar was different. Once he began communing with Goldrinn, his powers had changed, becoming unlike any Laronar had seen before. When he left combat, his wounds healed rapidly. Instead of fighting with a polearm, stave, hammer, or daggers, he preferred two Gilneas-made bastard swords, wielding each two handed weapon with a single claw. His ferocity unnerved many, something Ragnar did not intend, and so Laronar moved their training sessions further into Teldrassil's wilds.
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Thus, secluded as he was, Laronar did not learn of the sudden murder of one of the newly accepted Highborne of Dire Maul immediately. Nor did he see the return of the presumed long-dead Commander Jarod Shadowsong. Upon hearing the man was alive, Laronar had returned to Darnassus to thank him for saving their species in person, but his thanks had died in his throat when he saw the man. Gaunt, thin, pale, and wracked with grief, Laronar heard the tale from the pair of Sentinels who guarded the causeway leading to the Temple of the Moon. Shadowsong had returned to his people, desperate, his dying wife in his arms, only to finally get her before Tyrande in time for her to be accepted by Elune.
That wasn't all though, for one of the Sentinels, evidently one who'd maneuvered himself and Shandris together on the eve of Malfurion and Tyrande's wedding, had let slip the General's reaction to seeing her old crush. Apparently, despite literally just losing his wife, Shandris had all but confessed her affection for him, something which Laronar found hard to believe. Then again, given what she'd gone through with the fall of her stronghold of Feathermoon, he supposed she was allowed to be eccentric and act outside of her usual character.
It was this that prompted him to speak with her. For the first time in many millennia he'd thought they were becoming close again, a thought that had appealed to him, though where Shandris Feathermoon was concerned, he'd always maintained a healthy skepticism. Fate had a habit of wedging them apart.
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"Come in, Laronar." She said, once he'd found her, currently going over reports in the Darnassian Sentinel barracks, located atop the city's main gate. She gestured for the other Sentinels to leave, for all the good that would do. His mere shirtless presence here would spark rumors, and what he intended to say to her would likely leave her in a foul mood. Once they were alone, she said, "I take it word has reached you…about Commander Shadowsong."
He nodded, and then sighed, heavily. "Shandris, tell me you did not all but confess to him mere minutes after his beloved Wife died."
Her eyes narrowed. "You do not dictate to whom my heart belongs, Laronar Stormclaw."
He met her gaze evenly, and even made his eyes burn for effect. Her ears fell back, as she recognized the casual, almost perpetually chill Archdruid was genuinely irritated, and he let his tone show it. "I am not here for myself, General Feathermoon. I had hoped things might change for the better between us after your parent's marriage, but it seems all it took to kill that hope was an old flame. I admit, it hurt to hear, but I am not here for myself." He stopped slouching then, and towered over her where she sat. "Jarod Shadowsong has experienced a loss neither you nor I can properly fathom, and as I heard it, naught but a short time after his wife's death, you all but confessed your feelings for him. Do you deny it?"
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Shandris glanced away, unable to meet his hurt, burning eyes. "No. I do not. I will not."
Laronar nodded, and his tone softened slightly. "Nor should you. If I am anything to you after these many years, Shandris, I hope I am a friend, at least. Take your friend's advice: it will be decades before Jarod Shadowsong is ready to hear your words, if he ever even manages to get over the loss of his Wife. By all accounts, he loved her truly, and given that they vanished into the wilderness together for the better part of ten millennia, I would say those accounts have truth to them. Right now, Ashenvale needs its General, Shandris. Now is not the time for childhood crushes to flourish."
Shandris seemed to go through several emotional states, namely fury, anger, bitter defeat at the truth that rang from them, and then finally, begrudging acceptance. He was right, after all. The Horde was on the warpath. Again. She looked at him, sighed, and said, "I must have missed when you became so wise…my friend."
Laronar exhaled softly, and the intensity of his aura seemed to relax a bit. He cracked a pained smirk for her. "I only hope my wisdom, such as it is, has helped you…I should return to training the Worgen. Stay alive, General."
"Don't get bitten, Stormclaw."
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With that, Laronar left, exhaled heavily into a soft snarl, and for the first time in almost ten millennia, finally, properly, gave up on Shandris in his heart. He'd always hoped things would turn around, with time, but that was simply not the path they were going to walk, and it was long past time he admitted that they would never work. Not in this timeline, at least, as the Bronze Dragons would say. He wondered if there was one where things had gone better.
Laronar was about to return to his efforts in the woods with Ragnar and the others, when Malfurion Stormrage stopped him just outside the Cenarion Enclave. "Laronar Stormclaw…my friend, I believe I could use your advice. You have heard of the summit we're having with the other Alliance leaders, yes?"
Laronar blinked, astounded for a moment that evidently two of his people's three primary leaders needed his advice this day. If the High Priestess asked his council next, he'd start to suspect something foul was afoot. "Erm…no, Shan'do. I've been training several Worgen to be Sharpclaws out in the woods. They're coming along nicely." Laronar answered.
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Malfurion nodded, taking his words in stride as he continued. "Well, between the murder of one of our Highborne guests, the Worgen stalking the woods outside the immediate city area where the murder occurred, and Varian Wrynn openly decrying his fellow King, I…I am at the end of my wit, old friend. I could use another's advice."
Laronar looked Malfurion over, and chuckled. "I know exactly what you need, Shan'do. Come. Take a moment to rest."
Five minutes later, the two shredded Kaldorei men were waist deep in one of the Moonwells situated in the treehouse that was central to the Cenarion Enclave, and which also acted as Malfurion's office, of sorts. He'd ordered it empty, so they could talk of big things in relative privacy. "So." Laronar said, as he exhaled and passed the cat-headed pipe full of crushed herb. "Which dilemma shall we examine first?"
"Varian Wrynn." Malfurion rumbled with a sigh, eyeing the pipe, before nodding, and accepting it. He took a truly impressive, and lengthy, hit and seemed much calmer after doing so. "I don't know how to reach the man. He's too brash…aggressive…volatile, and angry. After his aid during the Nightmare crisis I had hoped he would see reason, or at least counsel my words, but so far…his anger is pent up, and it is distracting his mind from seeing sense in allowing Gilneas to join the Alliance."
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Laronar nodded, pondering as he toked, exhaled, and then passed back. Finally, he said, "How about a hunt?"
"A hunt?" Malfurion asked, pausing before his own hit.
Laronar nodded. "It worked for the Worgen. Many claim it helps them keep their inner wolf's restlessness in check. You saw him as I did during the Nightmare conflict. Goldrinn favors him, and that favor may be affecting him as it has affected the Worgen. Offer to hunt with him. At the very least, it will give you something else to talk about that won't further enrage him, and, he may just come across Genn out in the woods, where they can settle this bad blood with contest, instead of blood."
"That…is actually brilliant." Malfurion said, somewhat impressed. He stared at Laronar for a long time, then, like his daughter, he realized the Archdruid was surprisingly wise, for a quiet loner. Malfurion glanced at the herb in the pipe, and shook his head with a light smirk before he toked again. "You are a credit to Kota of the Skyhorn, Laronar. You were well trained before you ever came to us…to me. I will try your method. As for your Sharpclaws…I have heard of Ragnar. I think it would do him good to visit Goldrinn's shrine on Mount Hyjal. Several former Kaldorei who were bitten and since cured have already gone to pledge themselves to him…and you did mention to me you wished to visit there as well."
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At that, Laronar's face darkened. "Aye…I would have words with Fandral."
Malfurion nodded his antlered head sagely. "Just…do not murder him, my friend. He must face justice."
Laronar glanced at Malfurion, tempted to argue that death was exactly what Fandral deserved, but he knew how that would go. As well as it had gone when Thaon had argued against putting Demons to sleep under Shaladrassil, instead of simply slitting their throats. "I may live to regret obeying you…but I will do as you ask, Shan'do Stormrage."
With his final hit done, Malfurion handed the ashed pipe back to Laronar, who did a double take as he realized that, between the two of them, it hadn't even lasted ten minutes. The Archdruid stood from the well of Nordrassil's water then as the magic water rolled down his kilt, drying relatively quickly as it did. He inhaled, taking in strength from the mana. His tattoos glowed with power, briefly, and then faded. "I have tasks to return to. My thanks for the herb, Thero'shan. Your insights remain invaluable to me."
Laronar bid him farewell in the typical elven manner, and Malfurion departed. Laronar looked at the ashed pipe then, tapped it, finding that it was well and truly ash, sighed, and then got out of the water as well. He also had things to do.
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The Circle of Cinders - Summit of Mount Hyjal
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Laronar and Ragnar came upon Hyjal to find it on fire. Mortals in dark robes of black and purple were setting fires across the summit, and they landed not far from the Barrow Dens, leaping into the fray without hesitation. While Ragnar did his thing, unleashing the fury of Goldrinn upon the flame elementals, Laronar ended up tearing into the cultists, and like his patron, inspired fear within them to send them fleeing. One by one, he leapt from the shadows, ripped out their throats, and sent the cultists scattering. The druids he passed labeled them Twilight Hammer cultists, though he had no idea then the scope or size of the cult, let alone their plans.
He injured one cultist, and pretended to let them get away. Weakened and bleeding they ran, all the way to their command post. Laronar followed, easily. "Overseer!" The injured coward cried as they arrived, "We are being hunted! We need more reinforcements!"
"More will be sent." The ogre growled confidently. He turned then, grinning up towards the ridge of the camp, the very presence of these cultists seemed to corrupt the ground of the sacred mountain around them. Scenting the air, curious as to what made him smirk, and begin monologuing about how 'doomed' Nordrassil and its defenders were to his minion, Laronar understood. He had a prisoner.
The injured cultist, perhaps from pain and blood loss, seemed euphoric, hanging on the ogre's every word, at least, until a massive black paw separated her head from her shoulders. The tearing sound made the ogre turn, which was when Laronar leapt, masterfully tearing out his throat. With a pitiful gurgle and a thunderous thud to the ground, he died, and Laronar resumed his elven shape as he retrieved the key, and wandered up towards the only cage with a prisoner inside of it.
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The prisoner in question was a female Kaldorei, who looked up as he coughed to announce himself, and then held up the key to her freedom. "Archdruid! I am Larandia. I was scouting these cultists when they captured me. Please, you have to inform Malfurion, or someone, anyone in charge, this attack is a distraction! Yes they wish to burn Nordrassil, but the cultists are also trying to free Fandral Staghelm! Someone needs to stop them!"
Laronar snarled, mostly to himself, and then met the scout's gaze. "We should've ended him after the Nightmare incident…Fandral Staghelm will escape justice over my dead body. Return to the summit, Larandia. Well done. Leave this, to me."
With that, he shifted into his Owl Form, and began power flapping towards the Barrow Den. As he did, he spied a Green Dragon below, perched among some ruins, and though he'd intended to fly on, she stopped him, telepathically bidding him to land. He repeated what Larandia told him, and the Dragon, Alysra, seemed alarmed. "Staghelm must not be freed…it's risky, but we can move him to the Moonglade through the Emerald Dream. Bring him to me, Archdruid. Even now I sense cultists attempting to free him from the Wardens. Stop them. I will ensure his prison is moved."
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Laronar nodded, for he had no reason to question one of Ysera's flight, a being older than even he was. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, nothing seemed strange in the way Alysra acted. By all appearances, she was a loyal member of dragonkind, seeking to aid the mortals. With Ashamane's swiftness, Laronar dashed into the Barrow Dens, past the Wardens guarding the outside. He hurtled like a furry comet into a Twilight Assassin fighting in the tunnels against a Warden, and before she could even offer thanks as he dispatched the assassin, he was already moving deeper.
The feral Archdruid left a trail of corpses in his wake, and a small but growing crowd of Wardens followed after him, guessing rightly that he was here for Fandral Staghelm. The chamber in which the Wardens held him was inundated with assassins, and he took out several, as the mob of freed Wardens behind him then charged in to engage the rest. Their Captain was standing by Fandral, who seemed thoroughly bound. Laronar shifted back as he glared down Staghelm. "Ysera's Dragons want to move him through the Dream to the Moonglade."
The Captain's eyes seemed to narrow, but then she looked around, and sighed. "That…may be best. We cannot hold off all of these cultists forever. Just…be wary, Archdruid. Your kin say the Nightmare has resurged around here…"
Laronar snarled, one hand becoming claws as he moved it towards the obvious source of Nightmare corruption, the man who'd literally channeled it on a planetary scale not so long ago. He felt his arm stopped by the Captain as his claws grazed Fandral's neck. "Stormrage and Whisperwind ordered him alive to face Justice."
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Laronar glared at the Captain. "It would be better to end him here. Now. While he's weak. Waiting is the height of idiocy. If he is corrupting the Dream again, he could overpower the Dragon, and break free. He's corrupted them before!"
The Warden stared at him. "You have your orders, Archdruid."
Laronar snarled, left Fandral's neck with three tiny, bleeding scratches, and instead grabbed his chains. "Come, Traitor." He growled. As he exited the room, the world shifted around him. Nightmare monstrosities began crawling towards him, but a simple barrage of Moonfire was enough to end them. "If this is all you can conjure…perhaps you are not a threat…"
"So close…and yet so far…Stormclaw…" Fandral croaked, as he grinned and giggled like a true madman. Irritated, Laronar dragged the man he'd hated for millennia now through the barrow den, purging any Nightmare offspring with extreme prejudice. In this shifted plane, he was alone with Fandral. He could take him out, and hide. The Wardens wouldn't even see him, and he could blame the assassins for the death. All he had to do was turn around, and end the obvious threat. Every instinct he had was telling him to dispatch Fandral, and then, suddenly, they were at the exit, where Alysra was waiting.
"I will take him from here, Archdruid." The Dragon rumbled. Once clear of the den, and the Nightmare festering there, he once more saw no reason to distrust the Green Dragon's words. She was an ally, and a powerful one at that. She would see Fandral to the Moonglade, where he would be held until the chaos of the Cataclysm abated long enough to deal with him properly. Yet, as he handed the chains to the Dragon, and she flapped into the air with Staghelm in her green claws, Laronar could've sworn the mad Archdruid was smirking down at him and looking far too confident.
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Meanwhile… - Wolf's Run, Hyjal
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Ragnar Whitemane had slaughtered his way through the majority of the Twilight Cultists near the Circle of Cinders, once the elemental calling itself a Baron had been slashed to nothing by his swords. Well made as they were, they'd begun to melt from the heat, but Ragnar didn't care, nor did their deteriorating state stop him from dispatching more cultists as his instinct pulled him towards a large cliff, leading down into a valley.
Looking down, he saw it, the massive white statue of Goldrinn, desecrated with markings by the Twilights Hammer. His furious howl echoed through the valley, and the pillagers of the shrine barely had time to look up, before Ragnar was leaping upon them, unbothered by the fact he'd just descended from a cliffside. His battered swords cut them down easily, and as he turned his rage on the last remaining Human scent in the area, he paused. This one, was in a cage. Moreover, he was Worgen.
"By the Ancients…" The man muttered, as he took Ragnar in. Standing at a height of at least nine feet tall, the white furred Worgen was covered in blood, so much so that he was more red now, than white, and the crimson was broken up by splotches of blackened, burnt, fur. He wore plate armor, of a kind. It was more akin to scrap metal than any gleaming paladin set, just enough to tank the heavier hits, but like his swords, it too was almost slag. His eyes, though. The Human, one Ian Duran, recognized those burning orange eyes.
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"You there! Worgen!" The Human rasped, "Don't worry about freeing me, take that incense…take it to the cave opposite this shrine…burn it at the altar…these cultists, they're trying to replace and corrupt Goldrinn's spirit. You must stop them!"
Ragnar wasn't the smartest being, but he had enough mental capacity to accept, and complete a quest as easy as that one. He grabbed the incense, and then fell on all fours, leaping into the valley as he headed for the cave in question. He'd been taught enough by his Shan'do to understand that corrupting an Ancient like Goldrinn was an unforgivable offense.
Ragnar found the cave in question, slaughtered the cultists in and around it with ease that once might have unnerved him, and then set the incense alight, with a spark from striking the hilt of one of his increasingly battered greatswords.
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A dark wolf form manifested in the cave then, and a foul mist surrounded him, one that was supposed to inspire terror and fear in mortals. All it did to Ragnar, was make him angrier. He started slashing into the ghostly usurper, certain that the White Wolf was with him. About halfway through the trading of slashing blows, one of Ragnar's blades got caught in Lycanthoth's fanged maw. His reaction was to rip it free, and in doing so, several of the dark wolf's teeth came out, but so did the blade, from where it had been inserted into the hilt during its forging.
Being down to one weapon did absolutely nothing to deter the white Worgen though, and if anything, his strikes using both hands were just as offensively powerful, if not as fast. Finally, after a solid thirty minutes of slashing, being slashed and bitten, and powering through the fear effects the dark wolf tried inflicting on him, Ragnar claimed victory by stabbing his remaining blade into the dark Ancient's heart with an execution strike. The wolf's foul body disintegrated then, and his dark blood rusted his sword upon touching it, making it useless and brittle. While he could fight with his claws, Ragnar preferred having weapons. It was at that point, that he heard Goldrinn speak to him, clearly, in his head, for the first time.
"Bring me the false wolf's broken fangs…"
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And so, Ragnar did. When he returned to the shrine, there were more Worgen, but lording over all of them was the revived form of Goldrinn himself, manifested once more upon Azeroth and Hyjal for the first time in millennia. Ragnar knelt, as he approached the Wolf God. "The usurper's fangs…" He said, scattering them before Goldrinn. The Ancient growled to his left, and a Worgen in his Human form came forward, depositing a pair of swords beside the broken teeth.
The White Wolf eyed Ragnar. "You are one of my most ferocious scions. A true hunter, a master of your rage. You have been trained well." His large, wet, black nose poked the broken teeth then, and then glowed, as an intense orange aura reworked them and the Orcish-made swords into a pair of long, pulsing, greatswords vaguely shaped like fangs. They had various spikes by the hilts, but they were by every measure magnificent weapons perfect for cutting through one's foes. "The fangs of my dark incarnation. The shamanic blades of Orcs who worshiped me. These swords are yours now, Ragnar Whitemane. Listen well… I intend for you to use them…"
Goldrinn then explained his mission. He was to visit each shrine upon Hyjal and one by one, help their worshipers bring back their respective Ancients to Azeroth, to defend Hyjal in this time of peril. Goldrinn had his followers armor Ragnar as well, giving him whitish-gray plate armor, lined with his own fur in most cases. He left the valley of the Wolf God a plate armored and heavily armed juggernaut, and in short order, proved just how effective the sons of Goldrinn were in repelling the Twilight Cultist's invasion.
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The Ashen Valley - Southern side of Mount Hyjal
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Ragnar Whitemane was by no means the only hero that helped stop the Twilight's Hammer and their foul plans for Mount Hyjal, and while those heroes did their tasks, aided the Ancients, and brought back Aviana, Tortolla, and even Cenarius, Laronar Stormclaw had other plans. Ashamane, like many Ancients, also had a shrine upon Hyjal, for she loved the wilds on and around the sacred mountain. Like the other Ancients, she had been drawn to them long ago.
It was to this area that Laronar traveled, once he handed Fandral Staghelm off to Alysra, and though he did not know it then, it was this area that Majordomo Staghelm chose, for the manifestation of Ragnaros's burning keep on the prime material plane. This was, entirely, a purposeful choice, for the followers of Ashamane on Hyjal were quite powerful, and the last thing the Firelord's minions needed was an army of stealthy sabercats taking out their leaders.
Laronar arrived at the edge of the forested valley, a place he'd visited often over his long millennia, just in time to see none other than Deathwing himself live up to his name, as Destroyer. Massive black wings darkened the sky, and the entire mountain began to shake with his mad rage. He tried to move forward, to fly up and distract the mad Aspect, to stop the destruction he knew was coming, for he'd seen what the Dragon had done to the Park District in Stormwind as well, but Ashamane held him back, her form completely refusing to move. "You mustn't…you need to Live, Laronar…live…burn these tragedies into your mind…and let your emotions build until you need them."
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He watched, helplessly, as Deathwing's power easily remade the Ashen's valley, and utterly wiped out almost every single druid still within it. Molten lava breath melted down her shrine on the first of the Dragon's passes, while Nightsabers roared in agony as the next pass landed among the trees, and blackened the land. Some of the druids below managed to flee, turning into birds as they flew away, but too many of those tried to do what Laronar had wanted, and only proceeded to burn up their feathers upon nearing the barely contained molten hate ball that Deathwing had become. When the Dragon was done, the Ashen valley was unrecognizable as it became a Throne of Flame. "There will be a time to strike, Laronar…" Ashamane counseled him, "But it is not now. Not here. Not yet. Gather other heroes, as they did in Ahn'Qiraj. Ready them to take the fight to the Firelord."
Laronar's brow furrowed in confusion. Ragnaros was defeated, long ago now it felt, but once more Ashamane's wisdom proved prophetic. A burning orange spire manifested in the lava pit that was once home to Ashamane's shrine, and from the lava below the still hovering Aspect of Death, came Ragnaros himself, roaring in renewed fury as he manifested once more upon Azeroth, seemingly under Deathwing's control.
Stolen story; please report.
The Black Dragon flew away then and Ragnaros entered his keep, from which came all kinds of fire elementals. Some looked like naga, some like the elementals the Twilight cultists had summoned up near the summit, and others, were massive, living giants of molten rock that manifested as Ragnaros had, by rising up through the newly situated lava pool that had claimed the shrine and lives of many of his yet living friends and allies. These were creatures that Laronar knew he could not contend with, not alone. Even the Ancients would have trouble beating such entities, and so, still hidden in shadow, the massive prowling Nightsaber did as his patron commanded, and began seeking out those he would need to personally take the fight to Ragnaros.
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He'd never intended to lead a 'raid' as such groups had come to be commonly called. Many who joined such groups were, in his opinion, little better than loot-hungry murderers that were capable of, and willing, to kill as many minions of whatever foe they launched themselves at as possible. It was how quite a few adventurers had become absurdly wealthy in recent years, and the Cataclysm provided no shortage of large, dangerous enemies to band together against.
This was different though. For what Ragnaros had done, for what Deathwing had wrought on Hyjal's own slopes, things had become personal. Little did he yet know just how personal things would eventually become. In the days that followed, he gathered several Archdruids who favored the bear, and several who had mastered the healing arts to a degree he simply had not. Once he had them, it was only a matter of finding those with blades and arrows and magic to take with him into the depths of the Sulfuron Spire, and end the Firelord. Again.
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Some Time Later…
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Laronar had spread the tale of the tragedy of the Ashen Valley among his allies. Hjaldi had answered the call for damage dealers, and brought with him several powerful Dwarven fighters who were only too willing to help murder Ragnaros. Word had reached the world of a group of heroes who had slain the Windlord, Al'akir, and now Laronar intended to try the same thing with Ragnaros. In slaughtering and claiming Ashamane's shrine for his own, he and Deathwing had opened a portal into the Firelands. They would come to regret this.
"Stormclaw." Came a gruff voice, as Laronar looked over dossiers borrowed from Spymaster Shaw. The Humans had, upon hearing his tale, also pledged to help slay Ragnaros, permanently. These papers were their gathered records of worthy adventurers, of all races, who he might recruit. The voice in question belonged to Vanastaris, an adherent of Aviana who'd been one of his first 'recruits' to the forming raid. "Shan'do Stormrage summons the Cenarion Circle. The Earthen Ring and the Dragon Aspects are here as well. They intend to heal Nordrassil, as we build for a counter attack upon Ragnaros."
Only too eager to help, Laronar stood, hid the dossiers away with a wave of his hand, and joined his fellow druids. Several shamans, mostly from the Horde, flew in on wyverns whose barding he recognized as belonging to Orgrimmar. There was still bad blood between the Orcs and Kaldorei after what Garrosh Hellscream had done to Ashenvale, the Stonetalon Retreat, and any other zone of Kalimdor his presence befouled, but it seemed these shaman, at least, were not here to further the faction conflict. These were strange days indeed, as Trolls of the Darkspear had also come to join the Cenarion Circle, alongside the Worgen. Indeed, as Laronar realized most of his order was gathered now, he was startled to see that the racial makeup of it had radically shifted. He felt his chest twinge as he realized just how many of their druids the Kaldorei had lost to just the past few decades.
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As Laronar had these dark musings, the former Warchief, Thrall, who was apparently going by Go'el now, was speaking with Malfurion and the other Dragon Aspects. Ysera had been at Hyjal for weeks, protecting its roots from the sinister flames of Ragnaros. Alexstrasza had arrived first, and aided her sister, until the others arrived. He'd heard the blues had replaced Malygos, and only hoped that this Kalecgos would not suffer the same tragic madness his predecessor had. Then there was Nozdormu. If the Aspect of Time had actually shown up, that suggested these efforts were important indeed. He'd never deigned to so much as fly near Teldrassil.
Laronar was close enough to their position to hear the Timeless One mention that they should hurry, and almost as if on cue, five fireballs rained from the sky, and fell near the gathering of important personas. Murmurs filled the banks of the second Well of Eternity as the Circle and the Earthen Ring watched this display, and before anyone could react, the casters around their leader figure cast a spell to hold the others in place, Laronar included. The magic was a potent mix of fire and void trickery, but Laronar began working at it immediately, staring at the fiery caster's leader as he did so. There was something far too familiar about him. His posture. His voice. It made his hackles rise, but he was too focused on breaking the spell to realize who exactly it was in that moment.
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"Not so fast, Son of Durotan! You and your allies have certainly set us back. but the Hour of Twilight Cannot be averted!" The stranger crowed, as he started monologuing, "The Twilight Prophet knows that You - and you alone - are our final obstacle. He's sent me to remove you from the game."
"I do not fear death." The former Warchief answered.
The stranger laughed, a mad cackle that Laronar finally recognized. He grew furious, struggling to free himself of the spell holding him in place all the quicker. "Death? Who said anything about death? You may be this world's greatest Shaman, Thrall, but you are only Mortal. This is my master's curse upon you - turning your great bond with the elements... into your undoing!"
Thrall began to levitate in the air before the arrogant bastard monologuing to him. Thrall then began to split into the four essences of the elements, air, water, earth, and fire and when all four essences appeared, Thrall himself disappeared. The essences turned into spheres of elemental energy.
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"Even now, the elements are tearing you apart, and they shall feed upon your doubts and fears 'till the last spark of life on this wretched world has been snuffed out."
The spheres flew away and disappeared. Malfurion finally ran towards the cultists. The cultists that were casting the spell were knocked down, their concentration broken. Laronar shifted into his Cat Form, and began sprinting at the fiery elven figures.
"You'll regret this, stranger!" Malfurion shouted, as he summoned entangling roots to snare each of them, holding them in place for the furious Nightsaber bounding towards them even then. He'd seen Laronar work enough times to know how to set up a killing blow for the Feral Druid.
"Will I?" The pompous ass answered his teacher. The cultists burst into flames, burning the roots and the Twilight's Hammer robes hiding their identities from Malfurion, and the others who had not recognized them. Fandral Staghelm, Leyara, Valstann Staghelm's widow, and three other Druids of the Flame were revealed as the smoke began to clear. "Come, Shan'do, certainly you recognize your former pupil?" Behind him, Leyara cackled.
Malfurion Stormrage stared in disbelief at his old friend and former student. "Fandral…what have they done to you?"
Fandral Staghelm sneered at Malfurion. "Naive as always, I see. Your pet Orc cannot save you now, Malfurion." At that point, the Archdruid of the Flame finally turned to regard the enraged Nightsaber mere feet from leaping for his neck. Fire erupted around him and his disciples. "I hope you enjoyed what we did to your precious panther's valley." With that, pillars of flame engulfed the fallen druids, and they vanished as Laronar leapt, and caught only ash in his mouth.
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Malfurion rumbled something about other druids being corrupted, and informing the Moonglade, but Laronar barely heard him. Thrall's mate bemoaned his fate, but the Archdruid ignored her, and the adventurer standing near her. He shifted forms, and strode up to Ysera. He'd intended his words to be harsh, but seeing her visage evoked calm, and cleared his head in her presence. He felt the eyes of the Dragonqueen and the Timeless One upon him as well, as Kalecgos tried to comfort the female brown skinned Orc.
Laronar couldn't have cared less for Thrall, in that moment, as he was unaware of the shaman's importance, and still held him personally responsible for Baine Bloodhoof's death, and the rise, and following carnage, that Garrosh Hellscream had caused. "What madness is this, Dreamer?" He snarled. "I handed Staghelm personally to one of your Flight. How has he escaped the might of a Dragon!?"
Ysera lowered her head in sadness. "I fear Alysra may have been complicit in his escape…if you would, Archdruid Stormclaw, go to her. Find the truth of things."
"Oh, I intend to…" Laronar snarled again, and with that, he was off. Partly because he wanted, nay, demanded answers, and partly because there was a certain look in Nozdormu's eye, as if he had recognized a certain blessing upon the Kaldorei, and its source. The last thing Laronar needed was to become a curiosity of the Aspect of Time. Such creatures tended to vanish from the timeline, never to be seen again, unless one trekked down into the Caverns of Time.
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It was a short flight to Alysra's perch, and as the Dragon sensed him coming, he noted her body language. Tense. Coiled. As if she was cornered, or rather, about to be. Laronar landed directly before her, shifting in the air, and meeting her closed eyes with his burning amber orbs. "Alysra. You've handed Fandral Staghelm over to the Twilight cult. Why have you betrayed the Dragonflights!?"
Alysra snarled at him. "No, NO! I didn't "betray" the Dragonflights. We were all betrayed! Ysera was lost in a Dream while this whole world came undone!" With that, the Dragon inhaled, and Laronar's eyes went wide as corrosive poison breath came his way. He dodge rolled to one side, landing on all fours and shifting forms as he did so. He'd never dared to so much as spar with a full grown Dragon, and after Onyxia, had no desire to face one again in combat. Let alone single combat.
He was still furious though, at being unable to tear out Fandral's throat during his monologue, at how the murderous traitor had escaped, again, at how he should simply have ripped his throat out by hand in the Barrow Dens, like he'd wanted to. Once again, Malfurion's reluctance to end a threat had set it loose upon the world, and innocents, both elf and animal, had suffered. The face of Hyjal would be marred for centuries, at least, before the Sulfuron Spire's damage was mitigated. All because he had not pushed a losing argument against his soft hearted Shan'do.
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Lightning covered his claws as he ably dodged the slower, larger Dragon, and he strafed around her side, tearing into the softer skinned underbelly. His raking claws left her bleeding, and he caused the wound to fester for good measure. He slid under the Dragon then as she turned futilely to face him, and he shredded her two more times, before dragging both claws down her other side, and ripping apart the skin. Dragon blood poured from the torn wounds, and Alysra shrieked in rage.
Again came the poison breath, as she flapped slightly into the air, and again he dodged, running under her body and out of her area of effect. He leapt onto her mace-like tail, though that soon proved unwise as she flailed about, roaring about how doomed their world was, how it should end in fire. At that point, several spinning glaives came for the Dragon, four tearing into and through her wings, and another two curving down her neck and soft underbelly.
Roaring in pain, the Dragon landed, and six Wardens from the nearby Barrow Dens appeared, recalling their weapons with their magical ability. Laronar gave them a nod, as he was finally flung off of the Dragon. Seeing she was outnumbered, Alysra roared again, and this time, fiery balls of green flame began bombarding the area. Two of the Wardens were too slow to react to this, and fell, badly burned, as the area became awash in fire.
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For his part, Laronar ducked behind a nearby pillar, and then dashed out once the spell was spent. Again he raked his claws into green dragonscale, shredding the Dragon until finally he leapt for her throat, and bit through it. By that point, the Wardens had further damaged her, and with a pitiful roar, Alysra fell to the ground, dead. Laronar returned to his elven form, panting hard, and covered slightly with acid. He casted a quick heal on himself, and then regrew the skin of the wounded Wardens, though one had already died to her wounds as the poison had corroded her throat.
Their Captain, the same one from before whose name he hadn't gotten, nodded at him. "We heard as you did, Archdruid. Alysra delivered Staghelm unto the Twilight's Hammer."
As if to confirm that, familiar pillars of flame appeared again, and enraged, Laronar began sprinting towards the closest once more as a Nightsaber. "We're too late!" One said. "They've already killed her, as Fandral knew they would!"
"Ragnaros has already claimed this one as his own." The furthest speaker, Leyara, by her tone, said. "Do you doubt his power?" The Druids of the Flame began casting a spell upon her corpse then, but Laronar didn't intend to let them finish. He tore out the throat of one of them, and started in on another, but by the time that druid fell as well, focused on their casting instead of blocking his shredding claws, their ritual was finished. Evidently they did not care if they lost some of their number.
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As the spell finished, Alysra rose again, this time in the form of a burning firebird. She flapped once, and the resulting burning air pressure knocked an unsuspecting Laronar off his paws. He snarled as she flew away, and the other flame druids vanished with their pillar trick. He roared at them, knowing that as druids they understood his oath in the tongue of the wilds. He would see all of them dead, personally.
He invited the Wardens to join his raiding party then, but only two were allowed to, as the Barrow Dens still needed guards at that moment. Still, that was two more closer to the forty he needed. He was more motivated than ever after this hellish day to get their assault underway. Within a week, he'd acquired the rest of his damage dealers, quite a few frost mages among them, and sent out word for them to begin gathering beneath the World Tree.
It was not just his raiders that gathered that day, however. There were more. In the wake of the invasion of Hyjal, a new subsect of the Cenarion Circle had formed. The Guardians of Hyjal. Their members now gathered as well, druids from the Kaldorei, Worgen, Tauren, and Darkspear Trolls, as well as quite a few adventurers.
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Malfurion approached Laronar as he stood in one of the wings of the inn, watching the gathered crowds. "I was intending to address them, my friend…but…I believe the adventurers are tired of hearing me speak. I need to head to the Spire anyway, and claim the portal to the Molten Front. I leave inspiring them, to you." The burly Archdruid patted Laronar's black paw covered shoulder armor then, and shifted into his Storm Crow Form, as he headed south down Hyjal's slopes. Many druids watched him depart, in confusion.
Suddenly learning he disliked crowds, and speaking to them, Laronar persisted anyway, flapping his way up to the top of Nordrassil's inn. From there, he cast a spell on his voice to help it reach those below. "When the Twilight cultists began this assault on Nordrassil and Hyjal…many of you rushed to defend the World Tree. Even though for many of your peoples, it has never been your charge to defend it. You understood as we, Nordrassil's oldest defenders, do: without the World Tree, Azeroth will never recover from the damage inflicted by the Cataclysm."
He paused for a moment, looking down, then clenched his fists, encased by Nordrassil's own bark, from an age when its blessings were still intact. "The time for defense has passed! We are no longer on the back foot. Through your tireless efforts, we have forged the tip of the spear that will end Ragnaros forever! From this point forward…we are the Avengers of Hyjal! For those who died in the Ashen Valley, for all those many others who fell in the following invasion, we will not let their sacrifices be in vain! Onwards! To the Firelands! For Nordrassil!"
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The crowd roared, seemingly inspired, Laronar didn't bask in the roars of affirmation though, instead, he shifted to his Owl Form, making it larger this time. Once more he was in his armor, and once more, he had borrowed the Fangs of Ashamane, pledging to drive them into Ragnaros and Fandral Staghelm personally, before he was through wielding them, hopefully for the last time. They felt more powerful since the Shifting Sands, and he reckoned being wielded by Thaon had made them stronger. The other druids joined his metal-taloned Flight Form, circling under Nordrassil, as those who couldn't shift their shapes mounted up slower, and then joined them as well.
Then, he led them in Malfurion's wake, down the slopes of Hyjal, and straight for the Sulfuron Spire. It had taken weeks, but they finally had the momentum in this war, and he did not intend to let it fizzle out. As Malfurion met and led them into the portal at the spire, he and several others stayed behind at the breach to reinforce their foothold. Laronar, his raiders, and adventurers of both the Horde and Alliance had other plans, however.
Before them, was an entire field of burning enemies, all converging on their position, and with what Laronar swore was almost glee, the adventurers and his raiding party met the fiery hordes, and began tearing them down. Entities that had lived for countless millennia, trapped in this Titan-forged plane of fire, now cut down by 'mere mortals' with depressing ease. On the empty armor and smoldering carcasses of the more corporeal minions of Ragnaros, the mortals met to establish their plan.
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Laronar spoke first, and many recognized him as the druid who'd given them a speech under Nordrassil. Though some had fallen to the fiery defenders of the Firelands, even now their healers were bringing those heroes back from the edges of death. "In the east is a creature called Rhyolith. It's an elemental that's been spawning elementals for thousands of years." He looked to the Horde's leader of their ragtag adventuring group of roughly twenty five adventurers. "I leave his end to the might of the Horde." The one eyed blademaster gave him a grin with his uneven, broken teeth. "Thrall-hall!"
Laronar pointed on the other side of their newly drawn map then. "In the east is a foul fire spider queen. We know little about it, but I leave it to the Alliance and their people to deal with it. The Druids of the Talon will aid you." The Draenei Paladin leading his own band of twenty five nodded stoically, first to Laronar, then to the Archdruid of the Talon with them. "Finally…Fandral Staghelm has been sighted there." He gestured with the Fangs of Ashamane towards the center area of the region. "Scouts say there's novice Druids around him, as well as three giant firebirds, and their eggs. The rest of us will take them out, and then strike at Fandral. Without his Majordomo, Ragnaros will be weakened. Everyone knows their part?" They nodded. "We reconvene at the gate to the keep, to deal with Baleroc, Ragnaros's strongest guard. Good luck, and stay alive."
"Archdruid!" Came a perpetually angry female Kaldorei voice. Laronar and the others paused, though he remained in his Cat Form, ready to sprint and head out. Out of the shadows came a group of Wardens, with their Captain at their head. "I am Saynna Stormrunner. If you recall…Fandral was our prisoner, before we were tricked by the Dragon Alysra. We will join you on this hunt." Laronar nodded slowly in approval, and then roared. Ashamane's power infused the feet of his group, the largest of the three, and they took off running, cutting easily through the remaining hordes of fiery naga-like beings, elementals, and stone giants until they reached their destination.
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Like a well oiled Gnomish tank, Laronar and the other stealth fighters stunned the Druids of the Flame empowering the three fire hawks, while frost mages and hunters crippled the firebirds before they could so much as leave the ground. In short order, they'd ended them, and their hatchlings. In the distance, Laronar saw Fandral, and began sprinting for the kill. One of the raiders shouted for him to wait, but he was done waiting. He leapt, only for Fandral to turn, a smirk across his hated visage, as he sent Laronar flying backwards, rooting him and the rest of their forces in place as he, again, started monologuing.
"What have we here? A crusty old cat leading a pack of Mortals? How quaint. You remember Alysrazor, Stormclaw? The one who fooled you and those imbecilic Wardens into handing me over to my newfound freedom? Like me, she has been reborn! Reborn in flame! Much as I would enjoy watching her reduce you to ash…I am needed elsewhere."
With that, Fandral shifted into a fiery version of a Storm Crow, and flapped away, while Alysrazor popped up from a volcanic crater in the ground with a screech, and a wave of flame that burned away Fandral's roots. The firebird began dive bombing the raiders then, only for the mortals to dodge her fiery talons. More Druids of the Flame arrived to help her as the mortal's spells and attacks began to leave a mark, but Laronar and the other swiftly dispatched them.
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After about ten minutes of dodging attacks and dispatching minions, Alysrazor took to the sky, out of most of their reach. Laronar flew up to match her, undeterred by the superheated air of the Fire Plane that threatened to burn his feathers. "THESE SKIES ARE MINE!" She shrieked, but the giant owl answered her with a shriek of his own, met her talon to talon, and through his simmering anger at Fandral escaping again, and some clever flying, tossed the newly formed firebird, still unused to her altered wings, back towards the ground.
The raiders fell upon her like ants on a corpse, and with a pitiful shriek, she died, leaving behind only traces of the armor that had adorned her new form. Laronar spat on it, and it sizzled from the ambient heat of their surroundings. "Good riddance…" He snarled, before shifting back to his Cat Form.
They arrived at Baleroc's post the same time as the other adventurers. A few of the raiders had perished against Alysrazor and her minions, and Laronar took from both Horde and Alliance to replenish their ranks. Ragnaros's guard dog didn't put up a fight worth mentioning, and his only words were focused on how the mortals were 'not allowed' into Ragnaros's sanctum, as if that would deter them. He repeated this upon his death, and immediately following his passing, Fandral's voice filled the area again.
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"I admire your tenacity, Mortals! Baleroc stood guard over this citadel for thousands of your Mortal life-spans. But none may enter the Firelord's abode!" The image of himself he was projecting over them leered at the mortals below. "Beg for your lives, Mortals, and I may yet allow you to live! Well? What say you?"
Hjaldi and a few of the Dwarves chuckled. "Oi, Stormclaw, ye wanna take this one?"
"I have your answerrrr Staghelm!" Laronar snarled, striding to the front of the raid. Fandral's brows knitted, and a look of what might have been fear came over his haughty visage as he realized how close, and determined, his longtime enemy was. Laronar raised a fist, and then with his other hand, made a motion like one might do when turning a crank. With each rotation, his middle finger rose, until it was completely upright. The Dwarves broke into laughter, as the crank hand also formed a middle finger, and Laronar directed both of them at Fandral.
"You'rrrre going to Die, Fandrrrral Staghelm…and not even Malfurion can stop that, now."
Fandral's eyes widened. "Insolent-" But Laronar made a horizontal swiping motion, and his magical projection was cut off mid-speech.
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He looked over at the mages then, who were fiddling with some sort of fiery orb. "Have you figured out how to progress yet?"
One of them, an older Human, turned to meet his gaze. "Ah, well, you see-" At that moment, behind him, a younger but skilled newly trained Kaldorei mage simply lifted the orb up, and shook it violently. The entire raid turned to look as a bridge appeared between them and Sulfuron Keep, and then they all looked back to the mage, who was patting the young Night Elf on the back. Feeling everyone's eyes, he turned and gestured. "The way is open, and Fandral seems to be blocking the other side of it."
"Finally…" Laronar said, drawing Ashamane's Fangs as he strode purposefully across the bridge. The others followed him, slowly accelerating to a run, as Laronar did. By this point, through rumor or question, most of the raiders knew of his history with the man, or at the very least, that Laronar very much wanted him dead, and intended to get the kill. "Get the acolytes…Fandral is Mine!" Laronar shouted, as he shifted forms.
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Hearing his rival, Fandral shifted forms as well, as he shouted "Behold, the power of the Firelands!" He'd chosen a Cat Form as well for this, and unlike the burning orange Cat Forms his acolytes had taken, this one had armor on it, as Laronar's did. The power of Ashamane clashed with that of Ragnaros, as Laronar found his form becoming larger, to match the absurd size Ragnaros's Majordomo had taken.
The two massive felines began slashing and clawing at each other, though it was barely more than a minute before the rest of the raid focused on him, as the corpses of his Druids of the Flame lay scattered around the keep's courtyard. Fandral's Cat Form tried leaping at their ranged damage dealers and their healers, but Laronar leapt with him, blocking his strikes, much to the Majordomo's fury. Over and over this occurred, all while Laronar kept his molten blood flowing from numerous bleeding wounds, while the rest of the raid shot them full of arrows or magic, or made them wider with their own weapons.
After about five minutes, in an act of desperation, Fandral resumed his elven shape, and caught their healers within fiery tornadoes, while other spells fell upon the raiders. He opened his mouth to crow about his inevitable victory, only for Laronar to once again be there. Ashamane saw through the mirror images the fiery druid had scattered around the courtyard, and Laronar leapt with the power of his Cat Form, shifting to his own elven form, as he sailed towards the real Fandral, and knocked him flat on his back by sending his knees into the traitor's chest, and letting momentum and gravity do the rest. The resulting lack of air stifled whatever he'd been about to say.
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The Fangs of Ashamane hovered at Fandral's throat, and Laronar gave him enough time to realize his situation, and open his mouth to beg or sneer or monologue. But before a single word escaped the traitor's throat, Laronar's arms moved, the blades cut through his windpipe and vocal cords, and as the traitor tried a final spell, infusing his body with heat in a trick Laronar recognized as part of their druidic arts, he plunged them into Fandral's skull, and twisted. His body jerked, went limp, and the heat building within Fandral Staghelm died out, as his soul was sent screaming to the Shadowlands.
Charred by the battle and covered in soot, Laronar stood, and raised the traitor's head for the raid to see. "The traitor is dead! Now, we take this fight to Ragnaros, and Avenge those who died in his surprise assault on Hyjal!" Laronar tossed his longtime hated rival's head aside, and shifted back to his Cat Form. For Ragnaros himself, the raiders had agreed to have the tankier members engage first, as they had with every other figure of importance, or 'boss'. Fandral had been a special case, and Laronar had possessed the size to match him.
His Cat Form was back to regular size now, though, and he silently thanked Ashamane for allowing him to counter Fandral's enhanced and perverted form. He knew it had cost quite a lot of energy.
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There were three minor enemies before Ragnaros, barring the raid's way. They made short work of each of them, before gathering before the Firelord, who was ready for them, waiting, as he held Sulfuras high. A few of the raiders were veterans of the raid that had taken on Ragnaros in the Molten Core, and that was on purpose. Laronar had gotten as many of them as he could, though many had since died, gone missing, or simply refused, those who had shown up were all too eager to put a final end to what they'd started in Blackrock Mountain.
As their tanks engaged him, Ragnaros shouted, "The realm of Fire will consume you all! Die!" and the raid scattered as he brought the burning hammer down to hit them, only to miss. The tanks rotated the Firelord's attention among them after taking three dire burning wounds apiece, but thankfully their healers were more than capable of restoring them rather quickly, while keeping everyone else alive.
Laronar was with the other melee damage dealers to the back and side of Ragnaros, and while it was hard to make the Elemental Lord of Fire bleed, persay, his claws were doing damage, and it was clear Ragnaros was feeling the pressure of being assaulted from so many powerful attacks. Finally, evidently feeling cornered, Ragnaros smashed the ground, and spawned eight elementals. They began moving towards Sulfuras, presumably to empower it, but the raiders were ready for the Firelord's shenanigans, and in short order sent the fiery sons of Ragnaros back to nonexistence.
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"You will be Crushed! Sulfuras shall be your end!" The Firelord shouted as he rose again from his magma pool, and once more began trying to smash the raiders. Each of them managed to dodge his blows, and when he set most of the area on fire, many of them were able to run free of it without succumbing, thanks to the top tier healing coming from their group of healers. Ragnaros continued trying to smash them and entrap them on burning parts of the platform, but the raiders dodged, ducked, dipped, and sometimes dove out of the way of his attacks with enough speed for their healers to bring them back to full health, or at least, away from the edge of unconsciousness and death.
Once more he tried empowering his hammer with fire elementals, and once more the raiders stopped him. Furious at his lack of progress, Ragnaros erupted from his lava pool one more time. "You have come too soon, Mortals! I cannot be stopped!" Eight giant flaming meteors began falling and homing in on the raiders who scurried, trying to avoid and deflect them.
At that moment, another voice cut in, an impressive baritone that everyone there, druid or otherwise, had grown used to hearing over the course of defending Hyjal. The deep, inspiring baritone of the newly revived Forest Lord, Cenarius. "No, fiend! Your time is NOW!" Raising a minty green glowing claw hand, a wave of frost froze and then broke the meteors, and the panicked mortals cheered, as two more figures arrived beside Cenarius.
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Malfurion Stormrage and Hamuul Runetotem drew the air from Ragnaros's lava pit, rapidly cooling it, and the Firelord roared in fury. "Heroes! He is bound. Finish him!" Malfurion called, and Laronar roared, spurring the raider's feet towards the Firelord as he began forcefully stepping out of the cooled magma.
"This is not…your realm…outsiders!" Ragnaros roared, as he stepped free of the trap. "When I am finished here…your pathetic world…will BURN!"
As the tanks and melee fighters began beating down what little remained of Ragnaros's stamina, Hjaldi called out to the raiders, "Anyone who can summon the rain an' ice, git yerself over 'ere!" The shamans in the group, along with the druids, Cenarius, Malfurion, and several of the frost mages collectively pooled their powers then, calling down a magical storm of snow and rain over Ragnaros, as his fiery form dwindled under the simultaneous beating, and magic. Laronar helped as well with the spell, once his bleeds were applied.
"No! Nooooo! This…was to be…my hour of…triumph…" And with a last pitiful gasp, the final ember of Ragnaros the Firelord went out, Sulfuras fell to the ground, all but extinguished, and the mortals cheered.
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"It is finished, then! Hyjal is Avenged!" Malfurion said, cheering with the others, and igniting another cheer from the burned, battered, and smoldering raiders.
"Ragnaros may be vanquished…" Cenarius said, his tone sobering their cheers, "but the primal powers he represents will never truly fade. A new Firelord will rise, some day."
"Yes, Cenarius." Hamuul answered. "We must maintain a constant vigil over this realm. For now, let us celebrate this day, and the great victory we have earned here."
Cenarius nodded sagely, allowing himself a smile for the first time since reincarnating. "Indeed."
As Malfurion and the raiders departed, the Archdruid and Cenarius waited by the exit of Sulfuron Keep, and Fandral's headless corpse. "A moment, Archdruid Stormclaw." Cenarius said, as the equally tired Feral Druid exited the domain of the deceased Ragnaros.
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"What you have done here is no small thing, Laronar." Cenarius said with a nod of his antlered head. "Gathering and leading a group of heroes against an Elemental Lord…such a tale will be a fine addition to the legend of Ashamane's Fangs. I would have you continue to wield them, in the face of the Cataclysm."
Laronar's eyes widened, and he looked at the fangs of his patron. "I am honored to be considered as their permanent wielder Forest Lord, but…as I did during the Shifting Sands, I will return them to Ashamane's Fall. She spent too much power today…and it will take time to recoup it."
Malfurion nodded then. "Indeed. Tales of your feline duel with Fandral are already spreading. I am sorry we were not there to see it."
Laronar sighed, heavily. "It may be best, Shan'do…you would not have liked to witness such a thing, two of your students struggling to kill the other. Such things are only heroic in song…the deed itself…felt far less noble."
"I am glad you understand that killing one's enemy is not always the answer, Laronar. Mayhap you can pass that lesson on to Thaon." Malfurion said.
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Laronar had begun walking down the steps, when Malfurion's words, and tone, made him pause. "Let me be clear, Malfurion Stormrage." He said, turning and meeting his gaze as evenly as he had Shandris's when she'd needed a reality check as well. "Had we simply killed Fandral in the wake of his tenure as Nightmare Lord, and put his madness out of its misery, many of Nordrassil's defenders would yet be alive. My patron's shrine might yet be intact, and not sitting in a lava lake. I am in agreement with Thaon, and this disaster has only cemented that view: threats to the world should be ended, before they are allowed to grow and run rampant, and undo centuries of hard work."
Malfurion frowned, but Laronar was already walking away, tired, exhausted, but ultimately satisfied. He hadn't enjoyed killing Fandral, as he thought he would. In those final moments, he'd seen his fellow druid novice, in the moonlight of Ashenvale, sharing Moonberry juice as the other novices caroused and relaxed after a long day of Dream walking. Such memories did not blind him, however, as unlike Malfurion, he remained grounded in the reality of the choices Fandral had made since then. He ended a threat to the world, and a traitor to his order. That was all there was to it.
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Cenarius put a hand on Malfurion's shoulder, as Laronar walked away. "It is not always easy, to see our students grow…but you should take his words to heart, Malfurion. Sometimes, it is better to end the threat, before it begins."
Malfurion looked up at Cenarius. "Had you ended Krasus and Rhonin when they came into your glade, the Legion might well have burned the entire world."
"Indeed." Cenarius said, nodding sagely. "I chose to wait, to see the extent of their character, and the consequences of their meddling, and my choice worked out." He gestured to Fandral's corpse. "This one, did not. Learn from this lesson and grow, Thero'shan."
With that, Cenarius became a cloud of dust, coals, and wind, and headed for the portal to Azeroth. "Yes, Shan'do." Malfurion said quietly, brows furrowing as he looked one last time on Fandral's corpse, and then began putting his and his acolytes bodies to rest with beams of Moonfire.