"I will keep you alive to witness the end, Fordring. I would not want the Light's greatest champion to miss seeing this wretched world remade in my image." Arthas crowed as he sealed the Highlord of the Argent Crusade in a block of ice, along with the Ashbringer. Alaria Stormclaw and the thirty nine other warriors made up of twenty of the best from both the Alliance and the Horde, began converging on Arthas Menethil. Barely noticing their attacks and spells, and with a casual wave of his hand, ghouls and other horrors of flesh rose from the Frozen Throne's floor to answer the call of their King. Infestations of plague manifested on the raiders, but was countered by one of the many combinations of light, natural, and arcane spells to remove such things. The healers of both factions, by this point very used to working together, were on point for this, the climactic battle of their lives. Probably.
Massive shambling zombies waded into the sea of eager damage dealing champions, but were soon brought down with ease that unnerved Arthas. Slowly but surely, the damage from their spells, bleeds, curses and arrows were making it through his magical defenses, and hurting him. Finally sick of it, he moved to the center of the Frozen Throne, and raised Frostmourne skyward. The sky above roiled with what almost seemed like black smoke, tinged red, and then a surge of Death Magic erupted from Arthas, manifesting as a bitter, remorseless blast of wintry death. "I will freeze you from within until all that remains is an icy husk!"
Anyone close to Arthas began to freeze, but their healing was quick to fix them up, and free their movement away from Arthas. For some reason, his icy power did not simply blast them off the top of the throne, a surefire way to kill pretty much anyone, no matter how good their gear was. The raiders held on the edges of the icy circle of nope, as yet more shambling horrors and ghouls assaulted them. From within his safe space, Arthas lashed out at the raiders with black lightning from Frostmourne that seared their very souls, and spirits trapped within the blade, driven mad and summoned by its wielder, joined the corpses in attacking Azeroth's finest.
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Then, suddenly, Arthas changed tactics. "Watch, as the world around you collapses!" The icy ridge the raiders were standing on began to crack and crumble, but every champion present was ready for Arthas's shenanigans. Alaria in particular had grown tired of his lightning, and as the lines of his power surging through the Frozen Throne faded, she leapt, beating Fordring to the rejoined melee, as Kal'serrar tested itself against Frostmourne. The other raiders soon followed her lead, and Arthas's eyes narrowed. He tried to defile the Moon Priestess with his magic, but she leapt away, as the Death based spell sloughed off her form onto the ground, to create a damaging morass of pain.
By that point, the Lich King looked quite rough. His cape was more tattered, his saronite armor was pierced and the blackish-red blood of his Human body beneath ran over the cold, corrupting metal. Arthas, growing tired of not killing at least one of the powerful champions, readied Frostmourne. All he needed was a target. At that moment, Alaria came hurtling back into the fray, as she brought Kal'serrar down on the Helm of Domination itself, ringing Menthil's head like a bell.
Even that failed to so much as stagger the Lich King, as his flaring blue eyes settled on one of the more powerful healers, a druid, in their Treant Form. His target chosen, Arthas raised his Mourneblade at the Restoration Druid, and he crowed triumphantly, even as Alaria and the other raiders continued to whittle at him. "Frostmourne Hungers…" The sword drained the life from the druid, who lost their form, and then their life as Frostmourne consumed their essence. Their tenure within the blade was mercifully short though, for Arthas then turned it on Alaria, and pelted her with a barrage of tormented souls, a payment for her earlier critical strike.
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Despite their untimely death, the druid was soon restored, by a Balance Druid, who called for their spirit to be rebirthed, and had the reagents on hand to do it. Their body rose again, despite Arthas's efforts, and they rejoined the raid, once more falling into perfect sync with the other healers, as if their soul's foray into Frostmourne hadn't happened. Alaria, and others hit by the discharge of volatile spirits was revitalized, and the raiders pushed harder, as they sensed victory was close.
That, was when Arthas snatched it from them. The fury of Frostmourne rippled out through every member of the raiding party, killing them instantly, as the Mourneblade claimed their souls, and its wielder started monologuing. Alaria only heard pieces of it, though the Lich King's intentions were now clear. Assemble the finest fighting force on Azeroth, hone them against the Scourge itself, and then turn them into leaders among the dead, before sending them into the world to corrupt and kill in the name of their King.
"Light…grant me one final blessing…grant me the strength…to shatter these bonds!"
As the Lich King began enacting his penultimate plan, the Light answered the call of the Highlord as he finally broke free of Arthas's prison, and leapt higher than a man his age, and garbed in plate armor, should've been able to. The Ashbringer swung mid-air in a holy arc, and finally, shattered Frostmourne to pieces.
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Arthas just stared, in genuine disbelief, as the blade he had sold his soul to, the blade he killed his own father with, lay shattered on the floor before his throne, in pieces. "Impossssible…." He hissed, as the souls trapped within Frostmourne began to howl with their newfound freedom.
"No more, Arthas! No more lives will be consumed by your hatred!" Tiron said, as the Lich King was drawn into the nexus of escaping souls.
Then, one soul in particular floated free, one Arthas had, in the deepest pits of what was once Human, dreaded seeing again. "Free at last…" The shade of Terenas Menethil rasped, "It is over, my son…this, is the moment of reckoning." He raised a hand, and even in death, the former follower of the Light had one big spell left within him, the result of a lifetime of faith, and a moral choice made, in regard to the fate of the Orcish Horde. "Rise up, Champions of the Light!"
Light surged within each of the fallen corpses, and as the breath returned to their bodies, forty pairs of angry eyes focused on the trapped, swirling form of Arthas Menethil. And with the Light empowering them, they put a final, decisive end to the Lich King's reign of terror.
The events that followed after were either purged from the minds of the less trustworthy raiders by the gathered priests, or simply not spoken of. Not publicly, at least. Alaria did eventually return to Darnassus, covered in grime and the remnants of war, and dying for a bit. Tyrande and Shandris were told of Bolvar's fate, but it was one that let the leaders of the Night Elves focus on other tasks, with the worry of the Scourge now ended.
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The Dreamgrove - Val'sharah
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While many druids stayed and faced Arthas in the same formation of roughly forty of their faction's strongest fighters, Laronar gave his spot up to his sister, for he, and several other Archdruids, had received a summons from Malfurion Stormrage himself. Since Nordrassil had begun to regrow, Malfurion had taken a less involved role in the Circle, while Fandral continued to hold, and grow respect among druids both old and new. These druids were loyal to Malfurion, but against Staghelm, the word of a druid like, say, Laronar, carried little weight.
Thankfully, the arrogant Archdruid had enough sense to stay out of the Dreamgrove, and Val'sharah, to the point of detriment. In the absence of Kalimdor's restrictions, several very powerful druid sects rose to even greater heights, as the Horn of Cenarius had woken up most of them, too. Druids of the Antler, Moon, and Branch, created new techniques for their chosen specializations, now finally having a chance to test them after thousands of years within the Dream. The Ashen were no exception to this, and Thaon was just as active as Laronar was, in sharpening the fangs of their followers, though after he heard about how only a few of Illidan's Demon Hunters had taken on most of his new generation of Stormclaws, the two Ashen agreed they needed to take things to the same level. There was no shortage of Fel taint left in the world, and the Ashen began departing on solo or trio missions to deal with such threats, over the course of which, they became stronger.
It was in the Dreamgrove, far from Fandral's reach, that Malfurion seemed to wish to hold this gathering. Only a few druids had been pulled from combating the Scourge, and they were all Archdruids, or old enough to be considered such. New titles would have to be awarded after what had been lost defending Hyjal. That, was the first thing their Shan'do did, when they had all arrived. Laronar glanced at his contemporaries, finding that many had begun to grow moss or leaves on their person, rather than keeping such things in a pouch. Most likely, they had slept in one place for too long, and being what they were, the bits of leaf and moss were a part of them now. He checked his own mane, and found more than a few stray leaves that shook loose easily enough.
Malfurion described to his contemporaries the shadow of a threat within the Emerald Dream that had corrupted five of Ysera's wyrms, trapped him for a time, and was continuing to spread throughout the Dream. He intended to investigate this corruption, by entering the Dream once again from the Barrow Dens of the Moonglade. He was convinced that such a sacred grove protected by Elune and Remulos both would keep his physical form safe from whatever corruption had ensnared him before.
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Laronar was, naturally, one of the three or so Archdruids that seemed to be against this course of action, and he made a good argument for it. Azeroth, real, waking Azeroth, had never needed them more. The Scourge, and the rot it spread, had wreaked havoc on many races. They were an abomination that directly defied everything the Circle stood for, and they could no longer be ignored. Not only that, but another void power, similar to what Laronar had faced under Ahn'Qiraj had appeared in Northrend, but had been dealt with, thoroughly, by entire guilds worth of adventurers. The younger generation of the allied mortal races had, somehow, found a way to achieve power usually reserved for the legendary figures who governed Azeroth. With it, they had struck down menace after menace, and each time it had made them stronger. The 'old' ones taught the new, and the cycle repeated with each year.
Despite his well reasoned words, Malfurion had assured Laronar, and the others, that this would not be like before. It became clear to Laronar then, that Malfurion had gathered those who vocally did not approve, or had not approved in the past, of Fandral's decisions specifically for this impromptu meeting. Malfurion then set each of them a task, to find the source of the shadow based corruption, to study it, and how to remove it, that the Dream might be saved.
Laronar was one of the last to be set a task, and it appeared that was because his Shan'do and old friend had words for him. "I know you think this is folly Laronar…"
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The Feral Druid sighed, though from him, it sounded more akin to a snarl of exasperation. "It is folly, Shan'do. The damage the Scourge left in their wake will take time to repair. We should be helping the High Elves, if only to heal their land. A gesture of good will to the Horde. If we don't keep them sated, they will find an excuse to rampage again, and eventually, we will be forced to eradicate them. Even now, they hack at the Ashenvale. How long, before they want Teldrassil? Nordrassil? How long before they decide World Tree lumber makes better ships?"
Malfurion shook his antlered head, and Laronar had to admit, not even the stags he hunted tended to boast such a magnificent rack. "The Circle must remain neutral. Unless the Blood Elves ask for our aid, we will not give it. They were exiled from our lands for a reason, and the threat to the Dream takes precedence. We cannot let it fall to this darkness. I need you, Stormclaw. You have faced this evil before, and lived. Those who left here as newly raised Archdruids have done the same, in Northrend. If I am trapped again, I leave it to the group of you to handle."
Laronar raised a lengthy green eyebrow. "And what of Fandral?"
Malfurion's visage darkened, and his tone grew shades of irritated, and disappointed. "Fandral will do what he always does, to try to atone for growing Teldrassil expressly against my orders. Ask forgiveness, instead of permission. I want you, and the others, staying focused on rooting out this corruption in the Dream. The rest, will likely do as Fandral desires, whatever that may be. I am still master of this Circle, and you, Archdruid, now have duties to attend to."
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Laronar acquiesced, as Malfurion directly confirmed that he did still hold that title, despite Fandral's wishes. Evidently, the arrogant bastard had tried to strip it from him, and to those concerned, that had seemed to work. It had been many years since the Circle had sought him out for anything, but once Malfurion woke up, Laronar had begun receiving invites to gatherings, and new students sent his way by Malfurion's authority. Since Fandral had not gotten his way, Laronar expected that now, Fandral would turn to slander and libel to keep any would-be students from finding the reclusive master of the Feral Arts, and learn instead from those under his sway. Laronar had seen the techniques of the Feral Druids under Staghelm's influence, and while he was irked that credit for them had been personally claimed by Staghelm, countering his lies with a show of who the superior Feral Druid was would only seem petty, and after all, Xuen had wished for him to pass that knowledge on. Evidently, the mastery of flowing between a single killing bite and bleeding a foe to death had been effectively passed on, and that was more than enough for Laronar. It didn't really matter who took credit for it, so long as the techniques kept people alive, and defending nature.
There were still one or two of the stronger Feral Arts that hadn't made it into the mainstream quite yet, and Laronar was still working on many of them. They required one to control their rage with intense focus, and in his Cat Form, Laronar had learned to cover his claws, and then his Nightsaber body, in intense natural lightning at will during such a frenzy. The undead Scourge had made for good target practice, but now, he would learn if his techniques would be effective on this new form of void madness infecting the Emerald Dream.
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Several Weeks Later...
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"Four hundred and ninety eight...four hundred ninety nine...and five hundred. I'll take my Reagents now, ladies." Laronar Stormclaw said, as he hung upside down from one of the sturdy building signposts, this one in particular being outside the Retreat.
The two Dryads he was speaking to, chuckled, and around them, the forest flourished with their amusement. "Very well, Archdruid." Said the less flushed of the pair. She paused, and whispered to her sister, who broke down laughing, and nodded, as she hid her face in her hands. The bolder Laughing Sister looked back up to Laronar. "Get to a thousand, and we'll double it." She said, sounding confident.
Laronar shrugged, and took five deep breaths before swinging back upside down. It was about ten minutes later that he finished, panting hard, as he hit a thousand inverted ab crunches, and dropped from the sign with a graceful flip. He landed in a tri point pose, and rose slowly, towering over the two Dryads. They flinched, as the Archdruid snarled, and red-orange lighting sparked briefly around him, then sank into his body. He held out a clawed hand then, and smirked at the pair. "Double, was it?"
The now equally flushed but still bolder Dryad nodded, and tossed a hefty sack of natural spell components at Laronar, before she and her sister dashed off into the forest, giggling. "Having fun?" Came a voice from a druid that Laronar recognized, and even liked. Rensar Greathoof strode up through the relatively empty grove, and stopped before the sweat-covered Feral Druid. "I'm surprised you're goofing off with Dryads, and not at the Convocation on Teldrassil."
Only a few elders of Val'sharah, who were awake, had been invited to the new World Tree. Many in Val'sharah had seen the planting of the Crown of the Earth as a rash one, but then as now, Malfurion Stormrage had once again been trapped in the Emerald Dream by a mysterious force that Laronar was aware Rensar had been investigating. Like him, Greathoof had fought in both Silithus conflicts, and survived. Many druids had made studying the powers that aided the bugs a priority, and Laronar had helped with a few of the spells, mostly runic enchantments that allowed weapons to damage shadow beings, and their widespread use. Removing curses was another recent but useful trick that had been developed, and mastered, after much study of shadow based magic, and how to disperse it.
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Laronar raised a lengthy dark green eyebrow. "There's a Convocation?"
Rensar nodded, as he affirmed how much Fandral Staghelm disliked his feral contemporary. "Yes, a Convocation that Fandral has called to heal Teldrassil." Rensar gave Laronar a look. "He took the Idol, Stormclaw."
Laronar's eyes widened. "That would serve as a powerful source, if it was corrupted…" He knew how the Void Gods fought. Even in his own epic clash in the bowels of Ahn'Qiraj, some of their number had, briefly, been turned against their fellows, until their priests freed their minds. For all Fandral knew, he might be corrupting Teldrassil, instead of helping it, and even after all their clashes, Laronar did not once think the Archdruid would betray them purposefully. Staghelm was an ass, but he'd been with the Circle since the early days. There were precious few of those first students left, but Laronar was convinced none of them would betray the Circle. Getting an idea for the problem Laronar had been facing, namely, the newly found severe corruption in Stonetalon Peak, he bowed to Rensar. "Your wisdom has given me a fresh idea for the corruption we face in the Dream. Forgive my abrupt departure."
Rensar just gave the Feral Archdruid a light smirk. "This is not the first time you've abruptly left. I doubt it will be the last. May the Forest Lord watch your path, Archdruid." Laronar nodded, and with a front flip into his Owl Form and a few power flaps, he was heading for Kalimdor, and Stonetalon Peak.
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The trip, as the owl flies, took several days, and while his landfall was made in Horde territory, the savages in the midst of training and questing never saw so much as a footprint. He was sorely tempted to remind them who Kalimdor belonged to, to make them far less carefree and secure behind their truly primitive walls carved from the stolen wood of Ashenvale, but he had other tasks to see to.
The whole trip took the better part of a week, and in that time, Laronar could sense a vague change in the Dream. What he sensed from the planet itself however, concerned him far more. He'd smoked up enough shamans to know when the spirits were crying out in pain. It wasn't too terrible yet, but he knew with time, whatever was making them scream would likely erupt onto Azeroth with the same amount of terror and imminent death as the last two global catastrophes. He didn't know what was up with this decade in particular after ten millennia of relative peace, but it seemed like everything was kicking off.
When he finally came within sight of Stonetalon Summit, he immediately sensed the wrongness of the corruption here. Being a 'neighbor' of the mountain, with his own favored grove not being far at all from Stonetalon Peak, Laronar had a vested interest in keeping it, and the druidic den there, free of void corruption. From what he sensed, things had only gotten worse, in his absence.
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The exact moment Laronar landed, Azeroth cried out, stunning him as what had to be every earth elemental screamed, like a female about to give birth. The planet's crust was heaving, and as Laronar sensed this, the ground beneath him began to break. Foul fumes filled the air, and he quickly covered his breathing holes with a large hand as the intense amber eyes searched the area. He saw corpses of fallen Sentinels, even what looked like a sleeping Ravenoak, a druid he had trained and befriended, when he'd woken up to take a brief respite from the Dream.
Without warning, Laronar was suddenly trapped in a dense fog, and as he wandered it, a familiar green glow lit it up. He kept walking, and emerged from sudden inexplicable foliage to a memory he'd purposefully suppressed for the better part of ten millennia. His father, sprinting for all he had away from Eldarath, Storm in hot pursuit behind him. Then, came his younger self. Gangly, awkward, thin, weak, he'd forgotten how pathetic he'd looked before Kota trained him, and his muscles filled out.
He knew what came next, and wanted to avert his gaze, but couldn't. The hellbeast from his nightmares emerged soon after, in this version of events, scenting Laronar, and chasing him. His mother's impaled corpse, was still atop the spear.
You Failed them…
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He didn't even notice the voice, until it repeated. You Failed them…they Died…defending You…
"I was a child…" He snarled, more by reflex than anything. His sharp ears knew nothing had actually spoken to him, and vaguely, he knew this voice was entirely in his head.
The scene continued, as he knew it would. C'thun had used similar tactics, but whatever voidspawn was responsible for his current vision was a lot more subtle than the Qiraji had been. He watched himself trip, and unceremoniously sail into a bush, which would have been comical, if it hadn't made his father stop, and turn around for him. It was weird seeing this from a new angle.
He knew it was a fabricated lie, drawn on what his subconscious and repressed memory contained. It didn't make seeing his father's face, worried and in pain for his child, any easier. Laronar had almost forgotten what it looked like, but in this moment it was faithfully recreated, no doubt to inflict more emotional damage. Once more, the Doomguard struck with the lance, and once more, his parents came face to face in death.
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This time though, he could understand what the foul demon was saying, and that, was where the void made its edit, which was also what Laronar was waiting for. His perspective changed to that of his younger self, and the stench of the demonbreath was almost overpowering as it washed over his face.
"Your World...will Turn…" An image of Azeroth, somehow from above its skies, filled his mind. The planet slowly began exploding with purple energy, becoming quickly engulfed by the void. "Your Only option is to Submit...give up...hide... your world Cannot be saved! We are Endlessss….."
"You're right…" Young Laronar mumbled weakly. "If we give up, we'll never save Azeroth from your endless, entropic hunger!"
"What!?"
The source of this illusion, and the leader of this attack in particular for this stage of the Old One's plan, recoiled in shock as the mind, and only the mind, of the ensnared druid shifted its form from a child, into an orange-gold, opaque Nightsaber. Because of what he was, and the time he'd been strongly pressured into spending within the Dream, Laronar was able to keep his real self, and his Dream self separate. Whatever entity was attacking his mind, it was even then trying to take over his body, and corrupt it with void energies.
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In short order, Laronar's Dream Cat Form had torn out the throat of the Doomguard, which then in turn became the tentacled, writhing form of the Nightmare creature, and reality shifted back into the primary focus of their fight. Laronar was already shifted, and he stood before the physical source of the mind he'd fought off.
The aberration screeched at him, with a multitude of hoarse, high-pitched voices all at once as barbed, flailing tentacles erupted up from the ground around him. "Heeeaaaarrrr the Caaaaall!"
The amber eyes of the shifted druid narrowed, and crimson lightning sparked around his claws as he sank into the shadows. Normally, such tricks wouldn't work on a creature of the void, but Laronar was not a rogue, and employed a very different, more natural form of stealth. He'd tried passing it on to the Human Shaw, and his minions, but only Shaw had been able to understand how to read the natural shadows of the world, and bend them to cover his movements.
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Thinking of his allies, and his past fights, Laronar realized he needed to take the advantage of numbers. He could bleed and shred the tentacles supporting the creature, but he would need consistent damage on it, to keep it from recovering. Several Qiraji had bodies that had writhed like this one, and they'd been quite hard to kill. Thankfully, Stonetalon Peak was home to significant forests, steeped as it was in the energy of nature. He awoke the trees around him and they began to form into Treants. He blinked in surprise, as within the stand just behind his current hidden position, directly behind the entity, there had been a sleeping Ancient of War. Laronar broke into a wide, cat grin but he would need his elven form to rouse an Ancient like Old Ironbark.
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The last Laronar had heard of his old friend was that he had faded back into the Dream after aiding some adventurers in Dire Maul. Evidently, he had joined the druids resting here, in this place of natural power to recover from his ordeal. Laronar silently shifted forms, kneeling on the ground, and staying Shadowmelded. Perfectly still. He summoned nature then, and gave his own energy as well, to the sleeping Ancient, who was almost healed.
Seconds ticked by, as the faceless monstrosity began ordering the tentacles to surround him with constant spinning strikes, that would reveal anyone coming close.
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Then, suddenly, the earth began to rumble, and the aberration screeched, flailing as it lost balance. The trees behind it leapt with suicidal abandon onto the flailing mass of void tentacles, and their sharp bark claws tore into it. Then, a shadow loomed over the creature, as Old Ironbark rose under the light of Elune. His magical protections meant for war burned to life, with runes not unlike those Laronar used on his own chest 'armor'.
A massive gnarled foot came stomping down on the Harbinger of the Old Ones, pinning it in place, and then, like a crimson meteor, came Laronar, leaping down from Ironbark's 'shoulders'. The tentacle monster didn't have a 'neck' like other life forms, as a long piece of chitinous armor hung down its face and nose bits, making a bite hard to land.
Laronar laid down his bleeds instead, tearing into the mass of tentacles. Black and blue blood spattered everywhere, but Laronar kept his jaws firmly clamped shut to avoid contamination. He continued his clawing efforts, as Old Ironbark began smashing apart its armor with titanic blows.
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The creature screeched incoherently, and its foul words seeped into the minds of the creatures attacking it. "Yoouuur foooorm is Meaninglessssss! We are Endlessssss!"
Despite the screeching, the following punches reduced the creature to void goo, and finally, it gurgled and died. The summoned Treants, those that yet lived, collapsed into a pile of tinder as the spell animating them faded, and though the fissures in the earth remained, the void taint receded. Laronar cast a Remove Curse on himself and Ironbark just to be sure.
Old Ironbark rumbled to Laronar as the foul mist covering Stonetalon Peak began to fade. "The Dream is under siege. Malfurion calls for our aid, Stormclaw."
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Laronar nodded. "See to the locals. Then head into the Dream. There's a portal nearby I can use to join you."
The Ancient of War rumbled an affirmation, and stomped off to handle checking on the unconscious locals, but determined that they would not be free until the Nightmare war ended. Once Ironbark was on his way to answer Malfurion's call, Laronar had several places he wanted to check, before leaping into the Dream in its current state. The shadows had fallen, and the extent of the corruption spreading within that realm was felt even by him, one who had never really prioritized going there, when he could hone his physical skills in the real world.
First, and closest, was Shandris and Alaria, who were both in Darnassus at that moment. He could see the faint outline of the World Tree even from Stonetalon, though he tended to avoid the new capital of his people.
Laronar, like his Shan'do, had never been overly fond of the newest World Tree, but the rest of their kin were, and so the Cenarion Circle had devoted significant amounts of effort to protecting the tree from Nightmare incursions under the guidance of Fandral Staghelm. That, was another reason Laronar avoided the otherwise rather lovely boughs of the Kaldorei's latest capital. The Cenarion Enclave was home to those with undying loyalty to Fandral, and all of them knew Laronar by sight and scent. The closer he came, Laronar saw more of the tree, and instead of starlight and a faint purple glow, Darnassus was now seeping mist from the boughs of the capital city. He reached out to the owl, and urged it for more speed, as he began flying upwards towards the boughs. He was unaware of the portal that sat at the World Tree's base.
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Darnassus - Teldrassil
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Shandris Feathermoon and the other Sentinels of Darnassus were fighting a losing battle. This 'Nightmare' as the druids had termed it, was unlike anything she or the others had fought before, and evidently, it was what had snared one who was like a father to her. Indeed, the only reason they were not yet possessed by Nightmare was because of the sheer amount of Moon Priests among their forces, keeping the void based entities struggling to manifest at bay with the power of Elune's light. None was more effective than Alaria Stormclaw. Recently returned, victorious, from defeating the Lich King and then witnessing the events that followed, Tyrande had given her leave to recover, and for the first time in Alaria's recent memory, praise for her efforts after she'd shared the worst kept secret on Azeroth, the new identity of the Lich King.
Regular weapons were useless, and those who remained either blessed their blades with Moonwell water, or were capable of wielding her light. For Alaria's part, the Nightmare kept assaulting her brain with images of her death. How easily she'd fallen, how dead she would have been if Tirion had not been able to escape, and shatter Frostmourne. She shook the visions off, and summoned a storm of divinity, smashing each of the foul visions trying to manifest into reality back from whence they'd come. There were always more, though. Eventually, she returned to Shandris, bags under her eyes. "General…what are we…holding out for? This enemy is endless. We cannot keep this up."
Shandris' brow furrowed further. If even Alaria was running out of stamina, things were more dire than she'd originally thought. "We hold out for Malfurion, and the Druids. Now that he's back, surely we can defeat this…" She fired another arrow that spun a holy swathe through the horde of Nightmare creatures, but as always, they simply reformed.
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Seeing the dire straits his sister and the General were in, Laronar's Owl Form let out a furious, attention grabbing shriek as he dove into the fray near them. The Nightmare creatures fell upon him, but Shandris knew what came next. If a swarm of Qiraji couldn't kill Laronar Stormclaw, a pile of shadowed dreamforms would do little. "Everyone back!" Shandris ordered, and shortly after her Sentinels retreated, the pile of void creatures was illuminated by crimson lightning, the empowered version of what Xuen himself used.
The Nightmare pile exploded in gobbets of 'flesh' that soon faded into nothingness, and Laronar's somewhat iconic Cat Form made short work of the foul entities. With his bleeds applied, Laronar resumed his elven form, blasting the creatures left with bolts of Sunfire. The orange-gold energy of their planet, and nature's ferocity, burned them to the nothingness their companions now enjoyed. Shandris just stared for a minute, remembering just how strong and fast the druid could be. He also seemed fresh from another fight, as the tentacle lashes the void creature had given him had not disappeared with his shift in forms. He hadn't noticed, but they were actually rather deep wounds. Alaria noticed though, and she ran to her brother, giving him several flashes of healing light as the foul wounds purified, and closed.
Seeing the threat in this part of the city waning, he turned to Shandris. "They're not real! The Nightmare is playing with your minds. The better to hide the Real danger." He glanced at the Sentinels then, each of whom were young enough to have a genuine connection to Darnassus, but old enough to hide their despair. "The Nightmare feeds on your hopelessness. Don't let it! It takes much for it to actually kill someone living, and far less to make them sleep, and pervert their Dreamforms. Those afflicted may yet survive...if we end this quickly. Keep your minds sharp, and it will find no purchase in you!"
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"Malfurion goes even now to combat the taint within Teldrassil! The Enclave could use your aid too, Archdruid. The rumors say Fandral has fallen, and Broll Bearmantle has been leading them with other experienced Druids." As Shandris all but ordered him to rejoin his kin, he saw the General had things in hand. His dynamic entrance had given them a welcome reprieve, but already there were the figures in the foul mist reforming.
He sped over the short distance to the Cenarion Enclave, and found a group of their kin, surrounding a bound and gibbering Fandral Staghelm, as well as a pitiful few of his followers, the very elves Laronar knew were responsible for 'blacklisting' him from having new students, or generally being welcome in settlements like Nighthaven or Darnassus. As he arrived, and shifted from his Cat Form, there was a fresh quiet over the gathered group. His face must have shown his intense dislike, for Broll Bearmantle met him with a firm hand on his shoulder, as he stalked towards Fandral. "His mind is gone, Stormclaw. This isn't the time-"
"Oh, this is Exactly the time, Broll Bearmantle. Time for a reckoning long in coming." Laronar shouldered past the antlered druid, and stood before the bound, gibbering Fandral.
"They killed him…they killed my son…the Traitors! They killed him…Valstann…Valstann…Valstann…" Fandral's psychotic babbling continued, and as Laronar took him in, very aware of the eyes of his contemporaries, most of whom were his juniors. Archdruid Fandral Staghelm rocked in place, his eyes unfocused, and the more he gibbered, the more his followers looked down in shame, eyes and faces blank as they understood they'd been yoked to a madman.
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"Fandral Staghelm." Laronar said the Archdruid's name, and the unfocused silver eyes shifted to him. He saw recognition in the other druid's features.
"Laronar…Stormclaw…but you…you turned feral. Vanished into the wilderness. You were little more than a beast!" Fandral's eyes widened then. "YOU are behind this, aren't you! You helped them kill my son! My Valstann! I always knew you were a Traitor!"
Seeing his longtime adversary in this state slowly abated the anger, and indeed, the hatred Laronar had been harboring for his contemporary. Now, all he felt was pity, and loss, for the respectable druid Fandral had once been. Laronar knelt down to Fandral, and stared him down. "Fandral, listen to me. Valstann died thousands of years ago, in the War of the Shifting Sands. In Silithus."
Remembrance came over Fandral's features. "Silithus…you're…you're right…they…they…my son…" For a moment he seemed lucid, and then the moment passed, as the whispers returned. "Malfurion…Malfurion did this to my son!" The man broke down again rocking and gibbering, and Laronar realized that even here, surrounded by druids, the Nightmare was still twisting Fandral. He pumped a Remove Curse into the Archdruid, and his eyes cleared again. Only to then be clouded by sparkling tears, as he relived the horror of watching his only boy be ripped apart by the Qiraji general.
"We have never been friends Fandral…but even I grieved for your loss. Nobody should outlive their offspring. I would not even wish that fate on you…and now the Nightmare has made you suffer it twice over. You should die, for your betrayal…for what you have wrought in this Tree, and our newest generations of Druids. But that is not how the Cenarion Circle does things. Perhaps someday…you can atone for this. But right now, we've more important worries than You." With a deep exhale, Laronar let the hate go, at least for now, and he heard a few exhales of relief, from the other druids. It seemed they were well aware of his quarrel with Staghelm, and his feral tendencies. He wasn't bothered though, for Feral Druids had long been the butt end of many a joke among Fandral's ilk. In the future, Fandral would likely be more himself, and with that, Laronar had no doubt his dislike for the man would return.
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Just then, Malfurion's voice echoed in their heads. All of their heads. Every druid on Teldrassil was called upon by their Shan'do. "We are healing the World Tree. Prepare yourselves." Sensing the gist of what Malfurion had in mind, Broll, Hamuul Runetotem, and Laronar led groups of druids through the Nightmare spawn to points all around the edges of Darnassus. The rest of the tree, they would leave to Malfurion.
Over the next twenty or so minutes, the gathered druids gave all they had to Malfurion's spell, and Laronar sensed him guiding the tree's roots to draw deeper from Azeroth. Slowly, the taint of the Nightmare faded. Then, a roar from above made those who heard it pause. A golden crimson light suddenly bathed the World Tree, and Laronar blinked in disbelief. "I…know this power…the Dragon Aspect of Life has decided to bless Teldrassil."
The druids around him murmured, but felt the truth of his words. Laronar, for his part, was sad though. It was one more sign that the times had changed. Nordrassil was put even further out of mind, and he could already tell, efforts would be made to focus on the growth of this new World Tree, rather than healing the old one. He knew Nordrassil would recover in time, though whether its blessings did as well remained to be seen. Many of their order argued that the roots of Nordrassil, embedded in Illidan's recreated Well of Eternity, would eventually restore magical power to the Dragon Aspect's blessings as well, including their sorely missed immortality. Now, it seemed, even Malfurion was willing to leave that behind, and embrace the new era.
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Not long after that, Malfurion called the druids back to the Enclave, where it was revealed that Fandral had somehow created his own portal to the Emerald Dream, something Laronar had wanted for his own grove, but had been told was impossible to make by mortal hands. Alexstrasza herself appeared then in her 'elven' mortal form, and offered to hold the portal open, for this next part of their war against the Nightmare. Evidently, that was the catch-all term they were using for the void-fueled madness creeping through the world.
Broll Bearmantle and Hamuul Runetotem went with Malfurion, while the ancient druid began mentally handing out assignments to the rest of the Circle. With Laronar, he had a brief conversation, but one that seemed to confirm Malfurion's fears, when Laronar recounted battling the tentacle void monster, with some help. Malfurion charged him then, with calling on as many allies as possible. Nightsabers. Moonkin. Anything and everything with the capability to dream, and fight, would be needed.
Laronar went back to Old Ironbark, who was halfway to Ashenvale when Laronar found him. Once he found somewhere safe within the shadowed forest, he promised to enter the Dream, and answer Malfurion's call. Laronar flew on then, to his own grove, and the Ancient of Eternity who grew there, just outside his hut. Fangorn, as he was called, was slow to awaken, his own dreams of late darkened by the surging power of the Nightmare.
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Laronar called together the other denizens of his now ancient forest, and instructed them on what Malfurion needed of them. As one, they both protected Fangorn, and used his powerful connection to the Dream to appear exactly where Malfurion guided them, and like so many others from across the planet, they joined the incorporeal army fighting for the continued existence of Azeroth.
Laronar did not enter the Dream however, as he had another stop to make. His dreamform swallowed the miles between Kalimdor and Val'sharah, where he found the essence of the Nightmare surging through the Forest Lord's part of the Broken Isles in particular. He found the Moonclaw Den, suffused in Nightmare, but dispelled it with an area of effect fusion of Dispel Magic and Remove Curse. The foul mist receded from Thaon and his acolytes, and once more, Laronar told him of what their Shan'do needed. In short order, the Moonclaw Druids were also among the dream army with their stormy counterparts.
His dreamform flew to the Skyhorn tribe then, and like the rest of the planet, the Tauren of Highmountain seemed caught in the foul mist. Most of the druids Laronar floated past were already trapped firmly within their dreams, but there was one in particular that wasn't moving, that made Laronar stop. Kota, the ninety third son of Kota, his first mentor, lay dead, claimed by the Nightmare. Beside him was Kota, the ninety fourth son, and the latest scion in the lengthy line of his proud Skyhorn ancestry. Again, Laronar bid him enter the Nightmare willingly, to join Malfurion Stormrage in the fight for the Dream. Having met Laronar once, albeit as a child, Kota trusted the disembodied druid who'd befriended quite a few members of his lineage, and did as he was asked in lending the aid of Ohn'ara to the war in the Dream.
Last, but by no means the least of his allies, Laronar appeared not far from Ashamane's den, amidst a pride of Nightsabers ruled by a massive, powerful male. Storm was in his peak, the very definition of all that an adult male Stormsaber should be, and then some. Like the matriarchs of the other Nightsaber prides around Ashamane's area of influence, Storm had been blessed with great size, a clear sign that the panther Ancient favored him as she favored his oldest friend. His pride was yet awake, and as Laronar bid them to sleep and fight, he also joined them, transforming his dreamform into a passable vestige of Ashamane, and the form she blessed him with in the waking world.
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Almost immediately upon joining the throng of dreamforms, Laronar felt that the entity behind this conflict was doing its damnedest to try to demoralize the defenders. The foul mist hid their true numbers, and all around the various races, be they Dwarf or Orc or elf or something else entirely, visions appeared of their 'allies' in this dream war dying violently beside them. Laronar had enough of the Void's mind games by this point, and with Storm and his offspring, led a charge into the ranks of the Nightmare, slicing open the throat of a fake Alaria with little hesitation. Their charge was but one of many, with Varian Wrynn leading the main one, and together, the sleeping hordes of as yet uncorrupted dreamers took the fight to the Nightmare. As much as they could, at least.
Fighting them was like fighting smoke. From some perspectives, this was a boon to the Nightmare, as it made them seem elusive, and everywhere. Laronar wasn't buying it though. His eyes and his senses, replicated and heightened by Ashamane in his dreamform, told him the true numbers of their foe, and as usual, the Void God was overcompensating. Thus, as he always did in war, Laronar melded into the shadows, an easy thing to do with all the mist infecting the Dream, and tracked down the satyrs leading this attack.
He recognized a few of them as targets he'd missed during the War of the Satyr, when he was younger. A few of the demonic former elves even seemed to recognize his massive, saber-fanged black form, before he tore out their throat. Though he knew they would reincarnate in the Twisting Nether, he also knew that a being like Sargeras and his lieutenants would punish them harshly for lingering so long on Azeroth at the behest of a power that was not Sargeras. Desertion compounded by failure carried a high price among the Demons.
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Somewhere during the desperate turmoil, Malfurion himself began a grand spell. For Laronar, he considered a grand spell something akin to what had broken Andrassil. Malfurion, as usual, upended his expectations. The storm the first Druid conjured was planet-wide. The wind dispersed the mists, bolts of lightning struck the almost zombie-like sleepers who were even then attacking their mortal counterparts, and stunned them, rather than burnt them to a crisp. Malfurion was holding off the Nightmare's entire assault on the physical realm single-handedly, and in that space between the blurring planes of Dream and reality, he recognized a truth: though the Green Dragonflight had and would always guard the Emerald Dream, his druids were of both the Dream, and Azeroth, and this dual nature was, in actuality, one of their greatest strengths. To Laronar, and the few others of their order who disliked the Dream, this revelation was obvious, but for Malfurion this was clearly a big moment, and it allowed him to draw deeper from both realms to empower his spell.
At that point, he called upon his druids, all of his druids, to also empower his global storm spell. Then, as Laronar made to do as his kin did, and found a secluded Dream tree withered only slightly by the Nightmare behind which to hide himself, he felt another mind touch his, one that Ashamane welcomed with a surge of emotions that redefined her relationship with the new contact, for Laronar. Xu'en, the White Tiger was all but a myth to the majority of the other druids, and only Laronar and two others of his calling had ever managed to travel far enough in the Dream, physically, to train with the White Tiger Ancient.
Now, his voice echoed in Laronar's skull. "Your Shan'do will need my aid for what comes. It must reach the entire planet, for even Pandaria has succumbed to this strange sleep sickness. Channel my power, scion of the Stormclaws. Your Malfurion will know what to do."
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And so, Laronar did as he asked, guiding the raw fury of arguably the most powerful substance nature could naturally produce; superheated plasma, into the spell Malfurion wove. Like a Gnomish engineer finding the right component for his Magnum Opus, Malfurion harnessed the power, and directed it into the final, decisive strike against the Nightmare and its avatar. The resulting roar of thunder boomed loud enough to be heard on every corner of Azeroth, but to Laronar, the White Tiger's voice within it was clear. He thanked Xu'en, as he felt the Wild God withdrawing back to his place in Pandaria. It must've taken quite a bit of energy to reach that far and provide for such a spell, but Xu'en had simply borne the burden without complaint.
Unbeknownst to Laronar, who was now helping the global storm like the others, Malfurion managed to align several desperate fights into the same moment. Somewhere, a female Orc with a Legendary axe swung mightily into the dreamform of Xavius, the being responsible for this latest surge of Nightmare. At the same time, Malfurion and Tyrande battled in the real world, against Xavius' real body, now risen from the cold abyssal depths of the ocean bordering what was left of Eldarath in all his Nightmare tree glory. Malfurion made more use of the lightning, striking the foul tree until naught remained but a smoldering husk.
Then, almost as quickly as it had come, the Nightmare faded. The mists in the Dream receded, the dreamform army gained a measure of their remaining foes, Satyrs all of them, and Varian Wrynn himself led the charge, oddly enough, shrouded in a cloak of Goldrinn's power. Laronar had tried calling upon the Wolf Ancient, but it seemed he had been contributing as well, in his own way, for Varian Wrynn was in command of the army of Horde, Alliance, and beastial races. As the conflict ended, Malfurion used his dual draw on Azeroth and the Dream both to guide the dreamforms of those who'd answered the call back to their bodies. Quite a few lives were saved by his efforts, lowering the total losses the Nightmare War inflicted to a minimal, and yet still depressingly high number, with the druids of the Cenarion Circle having suffered the most casualties. Xavius had murdered entire barrow dens within the Moonglade after trapping them in the Dream, and all the Sisterhood of Elune had been able to do was keep the greatest of them alive through that.
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Once Laronar returned to his body as well, Broll and Hamuul returned through Fandral's Dream portal, and upon seeing no need for it, Alexstrasza bathed it in gold and crimson flame, just incase it possessed an untraceable lingering Nightmare taint. Fandral Staghelm was imprisoned in the barrow deeps of Hyjal, and watched by the Druids of the Claw there. He was a mad, gibbering mess, and Laronar hoped they had all seen the last of his foul schemes and subpar leadership.
With Fandral gone and his sycophants largely shamed and called out by the other druids, Laronar now found himself welcome in Kaldorei society for the first time in millennia. And yet, despite his obvious seniority and status as either a very powerful druid or an Archdruid, one did not simply erase the quirks and awkwardness that came with socializing after thousands of years with minimal sentient contact.
Malfurion had, upon beating Xavius, fallen asleep once more, and both Tyrande and Shandris watched over him, keeping away all of his druids, until he awoke. Hamuul voiced concern that he might yet be trapped in sleep again, but eventually, Shandris let him and Broll in to speak with Malfurion. As they and the High Priestess talked, Shandris strode down the massive bridge leading into the center of Darnassus, and came upon a familiar Cat Form, snoozing among the roots of the bear/eagle tree the druids had shaped around Darnassus's bank.
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"Now there's something I never expected to see. It looks like this crisis has endeared both Mal and you towards Teldrassil." She said, stopping before him. Laronar opened one intense amber eye as she spoke, and jolted him from his nap. There weren't many people he'd shift forms for, especially as drained as he was after the druid's efforts against the Nightmare, but Shandris was definitely an exception. He stretched as a cat, and then rose, into a standing position in his elven form. Shandris looked him over, and then seemed to frown. "And yet Elune's Light still avoids you…even here…even now."
Laronar glanced at his darkened purple skin, and then shrugged. "Elune made her position on me quite clear, and I made my position on Goldrinn clear to her. Nothing has changed, in that regard, for thousands of years now Shandris. Why should today be any different? Your Goddess has no more use for me, just my sister."
Shandris' brow furrowed. "But Alaria told me you'd successfully communed with her. Surely she would forgive you if you just-" Laronar held up a hand. He knew what came next. The same words every single Priestess of Elune he'd gone to had spouted to him, despite the clear lack of evidence in the reality of his situation. Elune forgives all her children, who willingly embrace her. A common, if somewhat ancient saying among the older Sisters of the order, and one that evidently did not extend to him. By this point, he'd lived longer without Elune than he had with her blessing, and whatever redemption awaited him was, apparently, yet to come.
"Elune has no forgiveness for me, Shandris. She's made that abundantly clear. I never stopped embracing her, and I never forsook her. Using the teachings her Sisterhood instilled in me as a child, I empathized with a being I saw as being wrongly maligned for embracing his nature. For that choice, your Goddess cast me out from her 'favored children', and I refuse to go crawling back to her, begging and scraping for forgiveness. She would not give it, and Goldrinn would lose all respect for me, when next I attempted to take his shape. Let the matter rest. Do you not have more important things to attend to? Like a certain ceremony, perhaps?"
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The Sentinel General took in the words of her friend and former lover, and her heart broke a little, hearing the tone in his voice. The whole situation between all three of them, Elune, Goldrinn, and Laronar, irritated her to no end. It was a depressing and needless triangle of powerful egos vying for the rightness of their argument, and the only one who truly suffered because of it, was Laronar, who refused to do what was needed to absolve it. Mercifully, the Archdruid changed the subject, and for now, she let it rest. There would come a day to deal with this celestial drama, but evidently, it was not this day. "So you've heard, have you? I suppose that means everyone knows, already."
Laronar smirked. "In a city full of elves and sharp ears, you have to expect people to gossip when they learn the power couple of their race is finally, officially, getting married. I suppose ten millennia late is better than never. I did tell him to visit her more, you know. As you asked."
Shandris smiled, at that. "I had a feeling it was you! I remember that time he awoke, during the Long Vigil. I half expected them to marry then, but…the Dream and his craft consumed much of Mal's focus. But you are right, Archdruid Stormclaw. I have a ceremony to prepare for, as do you. I'll see you there."
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With that, she strode away, and Laronar found himself watching the sway of her hips as she did, before he shook his head free of the draw of male instinct. He returned to the Cenarion Enclave then, and began aiding in the druid's efforts to prepare Darnassus for the flood of dignitaries and celebrants that would accompany such a stately event.
It was, in short, a wedding. Esteemed personages from around the world came to thank Malfurion for his efforts, and even Thrall and the Horde sent greetings by way of some random female Orc that Malfurion and Tyrande seemed to know. Rhonin Redhair of the Kirin Tor made a display with ten rainbows magically spreading across the sky. Then, the ceremony began. Sisters and Sentinels represented their High Priestess on one side of Darnassus, and the Druids of the Cenarion Circle made up the other side.
Even the two Dragon Aspects who'd participated actively in this conflict came by, with their consorts in tow. Laronar smirked, amused by the reactions of some of the younger Kaldorei, upon hearing what multiple Dragons in mid flight sounded like. It was an assault on the ears, and a powerful reminder that the massive magical lizards were beings on an entirely different level from the mortals they mingled with. But that didn't stop them from officiating the wedding in impressive unison. Ysera gave her blessing to Teldrassil as well, and with two of the three Aspect's blessings now restored to the Kaldorei, Laronar felt better than he had in a long time. Hopeful, even.
The Dream was safe, Malfurion Stormrage was among the waking world again, Fandral was in chains, and as he let his amber gaze scan the crowd opposite him, he noted a few Sisters and Sentinels eyeing his unapologetically shredded musculature, but one seemingly shy silver haired Moon Priestess in particular caught his gaze and turned several shades darker purple, and it was towards her that the druid prowled, once the ceremony concluded, and the time for feasting began. The Kaldorei partied hard that night, and many nights after, and for the first time since Nordrassil fell, Laronar felt a measure of hope for the future of his people, and their world.