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SI:7 Training yard - Stormwind City
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Mathias Shaw may have been limited by his humanity but he was keeping up with the ancient elf who, over drinks celebrating Deathwing's demise, had mentioned he had learned an ancient martial art from a thunder tiger god in a distant land who had a whole temple devoted to teaching the 'Pandaren' who inhabited said land those same martial arts. Naturally, Shaw had laughed, as had several other members of the more stealthily inclined Alliance forces, several of whom were his own Stormclaws. Laronar had then asked if Shaw wanted a demonstration.
The Human had his own style of brutal, honorless melee combat that exploited every mistake Laronar made, and the Kaldorei found himself irritated with how sloppy his elven instincts had become. As fast as Xuen's style was, its powerful strikes left one's limbs open to manipulation by wiry bastards like Shaw. Despite the Spymaster's dexterity, the Human took damage from Laronar's long, well muscled limbs when they hit. They struck with the force of a charging Tauren, and their explosive speed made dodging them hard, but Shaw made the elf pay for those hits with repeated kidney shots. Hitting the absurdly well defined musculature of the druid also took a toll on Shaw's fists.
The Human had also gone shirtless, and neither of them was using weapons or magic, as they dueled in the training ground of SI:7's HQ. Shaw noticed his bleeding knuckles, and chuckled, bantering as his feet kept moving. "It's like punching a brick wall."
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"You're as sturdy as a Dwarf." Laronar replied, recalling how Hjaldi had once also made him brawl fist to fist, also in a similar state of undress. Shaw claimed that every city on Azeroth had groups of mostly males who went out in the cover of night to punch each other senseless for fun. Some of the more adventurous members of these 'fighting circles' had started roaming, city to city, eager to punch someone in the face, and prove they were the strongest. The Spymaster had apparently become second only to Varian Wrynn, who had little time for brawling these days, but was still the undisputed King of the Fighting Circle in the capital.
Shaw came in close again and once more Laronar let him wear himself out on his flexed core muscles. In the moment Shaw realized what he was doing and pulled back, the elf tripped him with a quick shift of his foot, striking at just the right moment into his heel to slam him to the ground, and knock the wind from his lungs. Hitting their lungs hard enough to knock the air from them was a known weakness of Humankind, and Laronar had accumulated many different tricks for manipulating the weaknesses of Azeroth's mortal denizens over the course of this latest war. Tauren were easily distracted by bright red or other similarly loud colors. Trolls became much more malleable if one could get a solid grip on their tusks. After personally taking out Fandral, Shandris had asked for him, and anyone else he could bring, to help Ashenvale against Garrosh Hellscream's unhinged brilliance for war. He'd started studying and learning such exploitable weak points in an effort to remove the Horde from Ashenvale, and his Stormclaws had been eager to answer his call to the ancient forests. He liked to think their efforts had helped finally shift the tide of Hellscream's new war to the usual state of indefinite conflict the Warsong Gulch found itself in.
Shaw groaned, as the air came back to him and Laronar hit him with a Rejuvenation, as he pulled the drunken Spymaster to his feet. The Human's smile slowly shifted to a frown, as his eyes became more focused and his body became sober. "Your magic killed my buzz."
Laronar smirked. "Then let us find more alcohol. Unless you'd prefer some…herbs, instead?"
Shaw held up a hand. "No. Nono. No. No more magic Druid leaves." He strode quickly in the direction of the nearest tavern, shaking his head as the druid chuckled and in a matter of seconds, had his pipe lit.
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Some Time Later - Stormclaw Retreat, Stonetalon Mountains
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The Stormclaw Retreat had offered an alternative to the students of Thal'darah's Grove, a sect of novices of both elven and Tauren Druids. Then, Garrosh Hellscream's Horde had bombed the retreat, leaving nothing but a crater full of acolyte body parts, both elven and Tauren, behind. In response, Laronar had turned his lesser known retreat into an alternative safe haven, but currently he refused to teach Tauren anything beyond healing techniques. While some of their druids had objected, eventually they understood why Stormclaw made the decision. Though he considered them Stormclaws, many were also sworn members of the Horde. Laronar refused to sharpen knives that would be used against his own people or their allies, but he had no objections about enhancing their healing training. The Stormclaws in question accepted their teacher's edict, understanding, eventually, why it had to be this way. For now. Hellscream had driven his point home when he had gone on to destroy Theramore too, and the hero Archmage Rhonin along with it.
It made zero difference to Laronar that Hellscream had apparently killed the Orc who'd bombed the retreat, or waited for Alliance civilians to escape by ship before detonating Theramore. He'd seen what Garrosh was, in Ashenvale. These sad attempts by the Orc to stay 'honorable' would fail, and Garrosh would inevitably become like every other dictator Azeroth had seen. An over-hyped corpse.
Shaw had ordered him specifically to not attempt killing Garrosh, and Laronar had been made to swear he wouldn't try it. He mentioned nothing about his students making the attempt though. All they needed was the right moment.
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Down in the retreat's inn, one of the newer female students approached the innkeeper. "Eltharius. I was wondering who that muscular male with the smoking pipe is."
Eltharius smirked. "You're going to have to narrow it down, sister."
The woman sighed. "Green hair. Bearded. Currently floating in the air somehow and smoking a pipe. Never wears a shirt, never seems to descend from his perch."
"Ahh." Eltharius said, nodding. "That would be Shan'do Stormclaw."
Her silver eyes widened. "Stormclaw? As in the Archdruid who landed the killing blow upon Fandral Staghelm? That Stormclaw?"
Eltharius sighed and nodded. "The very same."
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The woman finished her Moonberry juice, and smiled at the innkeeper. "Thank you."
"Of course." He answered, watching as she walked out of the inn and made the climb through the treehouse to Laronar's lofty perch. Eltharius just shook his head. Females who arrived at the retreat for training sometimes did as this latest had. One way or another, they took note of Stormclaw, and came to him to ask about the druid, before going to meet him themselves. To call the Archdruid a recluse was generous. He appeared to train his most promising Stormclaws, and then typically vanished from the retreat for days at a time. If one wandered the woods long enough though, they'd eventually see him hunting or napping in his massive Cat Form. This was his version of meditation, as he always encouraged the forest to grow further with his own energy stores, whenever he napped in it.
In the months since ending Fandral, this occurred often enough for the innkeeper to grow sick of it. He joked to himself that the woman who ignored Laronar for him, would be his mate, and that was how he'd know he'd found the right one.
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Before the woman even made it up to Laronar, an owl floated down in front of him, with a message attached to its leg. By the time the woman had climbed the stairs, Laronar had also become an owl and taken off, leaving his unnoticed guest frowning in disappointment.
It was a short flight to the rendezvous for Laronar and Thal'darah, as well as the leader of the newly established Alliance settlement near the border with Desolace, Malyk. Chieftain Cliffwalker was the one responsible for calling them here. When Laronar had first returned to Stonetalon, it was to the news that the majority of the Cliffwalker Tauren had been wiped out, by the Horde's own Kor'kron forces. The unarmed, peaceful druid acolytes under Thal'darah's tutelage had been deemed a threat by the orcs, and Hellscream's war machine could not simply ignore them, if Stonetalon was to be claimed for the Horde.
The unarmed trainees who had spent most of their time meditating before being blown to pieces were not the only ones the mighty Orcs had been afraid of, though. The Cliffwalker Tauren, rightly outraged by the slaughter, were also deemed a threat around the same time. Before they could so much as summon their hunters together in a force that could match the Kor'kron, the Horde burned their village to the ground, nearly completing their slaughter of the Cliffwalker Tribe.
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"Earthmother's blessings, Archdruids…" The Chief rumbled. It was obvious the grief of his tragedy still weighed on him. Laronar resisted frowning, but he knew, in their culture, assuming it hadn't changed much in thousands of years, an event like this could be taken as a personal failure on the part of the Chief. In reality, his tribe had simply been in the Horde's way. Just like the Night Elves were. It was one of the many reasons Laronar was sympathetic to the Chieftain's plight.
The druids returned the greeting, and the Chief rumbled again in his sad baritone, "We found more of my people these past days. Mostly hunters, and what remains of their families." The Tauren stood straight, at his full height, and Laronar leaned back, as the sharp horns and feathered headdress came down suddenly with the massive bull man's bow. "Cliffwalker Post cannot sustain them all. I beg the aid of you, who also have suffered the Horde's brutality. Please take them in."
Thal'darah and Malyk shared a look and winced as they knew how their Alliance friendly settlements would welcome Tauren, but Laronar spoke first. "They can stay at my Retreat. We're technically with the Circle, so the Horde can't just attack us, and I'm fairly certain they don't even know it exists. I've seen their maps, it's not marked, or anything. I will give them a place to call home. At least until the tribe gets back on its hooves, eh?"
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Again, the Chieftain bowed, and again, Laronar narrowly dodged his horn situation. "We are forever in your debt, Archdruid Stormclaw. They will arrive in the sacred grove during the night."
Laronar closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again said, "They will be met by a Son of Cenarius. Tell them not to fear, or attack. He will show them a safe path through the grove, to the Retreat. The innkeeper will give them a roof to sleep under until you can construct your own."
The Tauren looked relieved. "We will not forget your kindness, Archdruid. If there are any problems just send me a message."
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Laronar waved a hand. "I don't foresee any issues arising. Your people know how not to offend the spirits of Nature."
Just then, a raven landed on Laronar's pauldron, nestling in the black fur atop it. "Storm!" It crowed, before offering a leg with a message tied to it.
Laronar chuckled. "Seems the Spymaster has need of me. Excuse me." He said to the others, as they continued conversing with the Chief. He heard them offering to send supplies to the Retreat, to support the larger population. The Alliance was always happy to aid a Cenarion outpost.
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Shaw's message was, as usual, short and in code. It read: The Barbs have discovered a new piece of the pie in the southern mists. The White Pawn has disappeared into the mists as well. Head south, rendezvous with our mechabird. Find the Pawn.
Knowing the code as he did, he deciphered that the Horde had somehow found a new continent in the south, likely the physical realm that Xuen and his colleagues ruled over. The most important bit though, and the part that spurred Laronar to urgency, was the mention of the White Pawn. Anduin Wrynn was still young, but apparently mobile enough to both have his own ship, and get lost with it. The 'mechabird' he assumed was one of the Alliance's airships.
He bid the others farewell, and was soon flapping on his own power through the skies of Kalimdor, with roughly twenty of his best Stormclaws flying in formation behind him. Many had been skeptical when he'd told them of their destination, but one did not simply pass up a chance to train under Xuen, and Laronar knew the White Tiger would do for his students what he had done for Laronar. Most denizens of Azeroth had never been far to the south before, thanks to the all-encompassing mist that surrounded the southern remnant of the supercontinent. They either disappeared, or washed up weeks later near Booty Bay, long after their return date, delirious, half starved, and ripe for the pirates who camped on those shores after large storms.
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Laronar headed over Feralas, close to the new Sentinel stronghold, when he sensed something from below. A signal only a druid, and only an elven or worgen druid at that, would recognize. He banked downward to investigate as the others continued on, and came upon the sight of a gore-drenched Ragnar, conversing with a Sentinel dressed as a Captain, though Laronar didn't recognize her.
Once she and her retinue departed for the main building that had been crafted from a tree, Laronar flapped down from his perch, and clasped the worgen's arm in a firm shake. "Ragnar. I'm glad you're still alive. And keeping busy. Was there something you needed?"
The wolf man rumbled his response, still not super great at talking in general. "Trrraining. I feel like…I'm not getting…stronger. Anymore."
Laronar stroked his beard, and pondered. He too had reached a plateau of strength before, but he always ended up finding there was always a way to grow and improve. "I'm heading south with a few of the other Stormclaws, for a mission, and to see an old friend. Come with me. The word is, there's plenty of Horde there."
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At the mention of the Horde, the worgen's amber eyes started burning with rage manifesting as streams of energy. Laronar nodded. Xuen's teachings would help Ragnar, and potentially even unblock whatever was keeping him from becoming his former self. "I will go…lead on, Shan'do."
And so, he did. Storm Crows were more suited to sea flying, as Laronar had learned the hard way after trying to skirt a hurricane as an owl. Despite his surname and his mastery of the silent hunter's form, the chaotic but beautiful patterns an owl might otherwise find and ride on in intense hurricane winds were beyond him, as he had no grizzled owl teacher to show him how they flowed together. Ragnar's form was more ragged looking than Laronar's, but they both had the iconic black feathers, and wide wingspans.
Eventually they went further south than Laronar was familiar with, the last land mark being Zandalar. None of their party had wanted to chance landing on that island of ancient Loa and savage Trolls.
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The next 'land' they found was a large island covered in some parts with buildings, and though Ragnar and the others were very ready to land and rest, Laronar squawked, and had them hold off. The island was moving, something that islands did not typically do, even in Laronar's experience.
The architecture he recognized as Pandarian in essence, though the buildings were much more colorful than Xuen's temple. Then, the sharp-eyed druids saw a giant fin rise and fall in the ocean, and Laronar guessed this must be a specimen of turtle spoken of in the history of Azshara's time. While they had been recorded as massive, this one seemed excessively large.
As they flew to where Laronar guessed the head was, it rose from the water to meet them, and upon reaching out to the turtle and meeting his gaze, Laronar knew immediately who this was, and guessed rightly at how he'd grown so massive despite not living for tens of thousands of years like others of his species. Apparently, the growth ritual Laronar had performed had been quite successful. It should have stopped eventually though. Shen-zin Su was definitely special, and likely to become an Ancient, given enough time.
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Laronar landed on his peninsula-sized schnozz, and shifted forms. He felt the ancient turtle's eyes on him and the others, who were still flapping, not landing. Laronar put a hand against his nose as he communed. "Is that you, Shen-zin Su? Do you remember me?"
To his surprise, he felt the turtle answer with physical speech. "Laaaronaaar. Stoooormclaaaw!" He rumbled, his large lips pulled up into a smile.
"Is Liu here?" Laronar asked, before thinking. At that moment, he was hoping to see two old friends again.
Shen-zin Su nodded, which took a full minute, and was actually quite a bit of a thrill ride for anyone standing on his head. Mentally, Laronar felt the turtle guide his gaze towards a part of his back covered in noticeably unique trees.
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"It was good to see you, Shen-zin Su!" Laronar said, before quickly shifting into an owl, and heading towards the area the massive turtle had guided him towards. Ragnar and the others followed after him, still confused as to what exactly was going on, and why their teacher seemed to know this giant turtle.
As Laronar landed in the Wood of Staves, he transformed again, and the other druids did the same, as they landed beside him. Laronar's face fell. The calm air and ethereal creepiness of the area informed him it was a graveyard. Then, he remembered just how long ago he'd seen his Pandaren friend. Shen-zin Su's head in the distance was turned towards him, and as their eyes met, the ancient turtle gave a slow, knowing nod, and then returned beneath the sea as he continued on his journey.
Ragnar sniffed the air, and then snorted, finding the incense at some of the graves overpowering. "What is this place…" He growled.
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"A graveyard." Laronar answered, gesturing to the staves marking the graves. He headed for the oldest, guessing rightly that it would be his friend's.
Laronar typically avoided visiting the graves of his friends, but he'd come this far, and it would be disrespectful to simply leave. He bowed his head, and read the Pandaren's last words to his gigantic friend. After several minutes of silence, one of the other Kaldorei Stormclaws finally spoke. "Shan'do, whose grave is this? How do you know this turtle?"
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Laronar recounted then, the tale of his meeting Liu Lang, teaching him elven and Taur-ahe through an old spell he'd learned in Eldarath. "He was a brilliant individual, and a genuinely good person." Laronar finished, turning back to the grave.
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He blinked then, as something within the grave moved. Liu Lang himself appeared from the tree as he manifested his spirit on the mortal plane, and smiled at his old friend. "Laronar. It is good you are here. I can now repay my debt to your Patron. There is an ancient relic of your family, in Pandaria. The Storm Claw. It is a weapon of great power. When Azeroth's need is dire, you must find this weapon, and wield it against your foe."
Laronar, while initially surprised, now narrowed his eyes. "Which foe, Liu?"
Liu just smirked at him. "You must decide that for yourself. But understand…bad luck will follow you if you decide to wield its power for personal or selfish reasons against mere mortals. This is all I have been allowed to tell you."
Laronar was quiet for a moment, then said, "Which Patron?"
Liu chuckled again. "She who gives you life."
With that, his spirit faded back to wherever it currently adventured, and Laronar was left wondering who Liu had meant. Elune? Ashamane? Aessina? He did not know, and no answer seemed right, to him. Yet at that moment, in his grief he could not recall any other female Patrons of his. He looked back at the grave, and sighed. He'd come to hate graves, as they were a poor representation of those whose bodies they marked. Though, admittedly, Liu's was better than most others Laronar had visited. Certainly more interesting.
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He guided his party towards a stand of trees adjacent to Shen-zin Su's neck, at which point they guided several branches together and formed a circle to nest in, before they departed further south. Laronar communed with the massive turtle, and found his own grief was still quite potent, when he thought or spoke of Liu. They were also bonded in spirit though, and Shen-zin Su was certain he would, someday, join his friend in traversing whatever realms awaited beyond the threshold of death.
Their departure was delayed, as the druids had discovered, eventually, that the great turtle had been recently injured in a rather effective attack. Being what they were, and who they were led by, Laronar had no intention of leaving his old friend to suffer a slow recovery. Powerful druids in their own right, all but Ragnar were able to help soothe the giant turtle's pain, and after recovering from that effort, they flew into the night, on the heading the great turtle had given them, if they wanted to reach Xuen's temple.
With no mist to obscure their way, the flock of druids soon found themselves flying over a landmass that hadn't been seen since their empire collapsed into the Well of Eternity. They also saw that the Horde and Alliance had also made landfall. From their perspective, the Alliance seemed to have incorporated their forces into a local village, and were engaged with the Horde. They also spied the airship Shaw had mentioned, but at that moment, Laronar ignored their allies, and flew onwards.
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They soon found the Horde's landing area, and as usual, the barbarians had left only blood and death in their wake. Laronar couldn't tell who they were fighting, but they flapped onward. By the time the sun had begun to rise, they had all but reached the Temple of the White Tiger. As they approached for a landing, a horde of arrows came towards them, and the druids scattered. Laronar squawked a simple order to them: dodge, and stay alive.
For his part, Laronar expertly swooped in above the archers, as the speed gained from folding his wings and diving straight at their arrows helped him stay ahead of their aim. He landed behind them, behind some cover in the form of currently unused barricades, and then transformed, stepping out with his hands raised, and palms empty.
Another arrow came at him, either fired in eagerness or by accident, which was when Ragnar came down suddenly in front of him, snatching the shaft aimed at his mentor's unprotected chest, specifically his heart. Ragnar transformed back as well, and his low snarl echoed across the area. The building the Pandaren archers were in heard every growl, and Ragnar's ears twitched as he heard one of the natives speak, and then step out. "Om! Om nom."
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The worgen snapped the arrow in his claw, letting it fall, and then Laronar, having cast a quick spell, moved past him, arms still raised. He also started speaking. "Om nom! Om nomnomnom. Om nom. Nom nom, om."
Ragnar just stared, looking somewhere between confused and amused, as the ancient and respected Night Elf Archdruid conversed in a language with seemingly only two words. Once they were done omnomming, Laronar turned towards Ragnar. "They're assuming all outlanders are enemies at the moment. I've convinced them I trained under the White Tiger, but their leader wants proof. Gather the others to watch and uhh…don't make any sudden moves."
Ragnar grunted an affirmation, and then moved towards the other druids through the pagoda full of Pandaren. He glanced at them as he passed through, and though their bows were out, they were no longer knocked. Ragnar reached the others unmolested, and explained the situation. The Pandaren who'd wanted proof of Laronar's training faced him in the octagon, and dropped into his stance.
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Laronar took his own stance, and had a feeling he was about to be shown just how out of practice he was. The Pandaren across from him was garbed in the white and black colors of Xuen's temple. There was a symbol on most of his armor, each of the limbs, and later, he would learn, largely displayed on the back of the master Monk's clothing. A pattern with two swirls within a circle, dividing said circle with an S shape. One black, one white. He'd seen it when he'd last visited, but no one had offered its meaning. His right shoulder bore a carved stone depiction of the White Tiger, and Laronar sensed it was akin to his own armor, a direct link to a Wild God that bore their blessing. Around his neck, similarly swirling large circular black and white beads hung around it, another sign of the esteem his fellow Pandaren held him in.
The master martial artist wasted no time as a gong signaled the start of the match, and he leapt forward, striking hard all in the same explosive motion. Laronar spun and kicked, surprising the veteran as his ridiculously muscular leg blocked his strike. His limb was left open like that, but Laronar pulled it out of manipulation range before his opponent could make use of it.
The Pandaren's eyes narrowed into a mix of irritation and disappointment. Laronar blinked, as his face, in that configuration, looked exactly like one of the Pandaren he'd trained with back in the day.
They exchanged a flurry of fists too fast for most watching to follow, and just from that, the Pandaren knew the foreigner wasn't lying about knowing their techniques. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Shin-Zu Thunderfist, would you?" Laronar asked, realizing he didn't actually know exactly how long Pandaren lifespans were.
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The Pandaren facing him lost some rigidity. "I am Thunderfist." He answered. "The only one…at this temple."
Laronar nodded. "I believe I sparred with an ancestor of yours. You look very similar."
The Pandaren snorted, unleashing a brutal flurry on muscled elven forearms before he answered. "If one of my ancestors trained you…you would be better than this."
Laronar could seemingly barely block the onslaught, and Thunderfist sent him sliding backwards across the octagon with a finishing open palmed strike to his ridiculously muscular forearms. "I haven't practiced as often as I should have…" Laronar admitted, "but we did spar together."
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Once more, the Pandaren snorted. "You foreigners. Liars and honorless warmongers, all of you. I will remove you, and then your friends, with Xuen's power!" He narrowed his eyes, and the skies above them rumbled with a low rumble of thunder.
Laronar simply nodded, falling into his stance again. He knew what came next. White lightning flashed behind Thunderfist, and then he struck forward in a seemingly unblockable, but obvious strike.
Laronar knew this move's weakness already, though. The lightning and wind struck him somewhat harmlessly as he asked the wind to dissipate. His ancestor had shown the Kaldorei that all the actual force was focused in the fist. Thus, in the seconds before the strike, Thunderfist's eyes were wide, as Laronar smoothly sidestepped his strike, and locked his wrist in a firm grip. With a flash of movement, the Pandaren was on the ground, locked in a hold that made full use of the burly captured arm, a move that Stormwind's Spymaster had taught Laronar firsthand.
"I am many things, Thunderfist. A liar is not one of them. Yield."
The Pandaren struggled, almost managing to stand, but Laronar held him firm, and one of his longer legs kicked out the Pandaren's shorter ones, again bringing him to the ground. "You're not going anywhere. Yield. The match is mine."
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The Pandaren snarled. "I would rather embrace death than lose to the likes of you!"
Laronar just sighed. Large roots rose up from the ground, and wrapped around the prone panda's other limbs. Then the one Laronar had trapped. "When you have regained control of your rage, I will release you." He said calmly.
Just then, the sound of bows being drawn filled the space around them. "You will release him now, outlander! Or we fill your friends with arrows!" Those words, despite being more omnom, spurred the assembled Stormclaws into taking their own preparations to attack, and another fight seemed inevitable. Once again lightning rippled through the clouds around the temple's peaks, followed by thunder that almost sounded like an irritated growl.
Laronar opened his mouth again to try to instill reason in the gathered sentients, but he was cut off, as a massive bolt of white and blue lightning struck the center of the octagon. The Pandaren all bowed their heads, while the elves and Ragnar simply watched, as the White Tiger made himself known. Upon sensing what he was, the elves bowed their heads too.
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Only Laronar met his intense gaze equally, walking up before him, and bowing low, as he did before Malfurion, and other Wild Gods. "Master Xuen. It has been an age. Far too long."
The White Tiger's gaze was sparking with lightning, unflinching. "Laronar Stormclaw. Is there a reason you and your friends are attacking my temple?"
Laronar chuckled. "A simple misunderstanding between the latest Thunderfist, and I. It has been settled." Guessing Thunderfist wouldn't try killing him in front of Xuen, Laronar recalled his vines, and willed the stones to reform to their previous state. The Pandaren was on his feet in under a second, glaring at the kaldorei, but not attacking.
"What brings you back to my temple, Claw of Ashamane?"
Laronar bowed, again. "My students require more training, and now that Pandaria is no longer in the mists, I would humbly request that you teach us your ways."
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Xuen's eyes moved over his students, and settled on Ragnar, as he was one of the only worgen. "You have passed on what you have learned. This is good. The world will need all of you, before we enter another era of peace." The Ancient focused on Laronar's students, then. "Tell me, Stormclaws. Why do you fight?"
To Laronar, Xuen spoke simultaneously, in his head. "You may wish to enter the temple. There are visitors of some renown here, from your Alliance and the Horde."
Eyes narrowing at that information, Laronar left his students in the capable claws of Xuen, or a part of him at least, and made his way to the temple. Inside, he found none other than Prince Anduin Wrynn, accompanied by a Pandaren in golden robes, and a Tauren that Laronar recognized as a Sunwalker. Lately, these warriors of An'she had begun shifting from defending Mulgore to offering their power to the Horde and its war efforts.
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The Tauren and Anduin, much like his own trial in this temple, were facing down a Sha of their own making, while a split avatar of Xuen watched on, flanked by a Pandaren that Laronar had thought were a myth. From Liu's description, he recognized a warrior of the Shado Pan, and said warrior seemed immensely irritated that the foreigners were succeeding in the trial. Laronar stayed in the shadows as he listened to the group following their successful battle against the Sha. Both Anduin and the Sunwalker proved their worth with and impressive showing of the Light, and in doing so, earned passage to their desired destination: The Vale of Eternal Blossoms.
Quiet as ever, he searched out, summoned, and sent a raven, likely belonging to the SI:7 agents nearby, to whoever was leading the mission to retrieve the White Pawn, and where Anduin had intended to go. The Vale of Eternal Blossoms was yet another Pandaren legend that Laronar had thought was mostly myth. The young prince seemed to think it was quite real, though.
As Xuen split himself yet again to allow the young prince into the apparently closed off Vale, a fragment of him remained behind, to speak with Laronar. What was left was about the same size as the form he'd used to teach him and Naria how to make the most of their bites.
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"Scion of the Stormclaw line. You have seen your Prince, yet you linger. What is on your mind?"
Laronar smirked at the Ancient. "Anduin Wrynn is well protected. I wish to know more about the line of my family that you had contact with, in ages past. An…old friend of mine said that there is a weapon of great power, probably hidden in some ruin, that will aid me when the Legion inevitably returns."
"Ahhh." Xuen said, nodding his head. "You speak of the Storm Claw. The very artifact from which your family took its name. I think you will find you will have some trouble wielding it. It was made for…those who were more akin to Shaman, than Druids."
Laronar furrowed his brows. "But those callings are so similar. What do I need to effectively wield this weapon?"
Xuen's answer was simple. "Mastery over your Chi. You must be able to call upon it as easily as you do the forces of Nature."
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Laronar scratched his head awkwardly. "To be completely honest, White Tiger, I still don't really understand what Chi is. Your disciples tried to explain when last I came here, but I still don't quite understand what they're talking about…they said I would grasp it with time, but wielding it yet eludes me."
Xuen chuffed out a chuckle. "For one so old, it seems you are blind to some simple truths. Chi is the Element of Life. What Shaman refer to as Spirit. It resides in all living things, and in you, I sense a great amount of it. The Spirit of the Wilds is with you, Stormclaw."
As soon as Xuen called it the same as Spirit, it all clicked together, in his head. "Oh, I'm very acquainted with that particular Spirit..." Laronar said softly. "So…your Monks are…controlling their inner Spirit's energy? And it manifests as attacks like Thunderfist's?"
The White Tiger nodded, and then suddenly raised his head. "The Vale is threatened…I must gather myself, Stormclaw. I look forward to seeing what you do once you master your Chi." With that, Xuen vanished in a flash of lightning, presumably to rejoin himself, or rally his forces to defend the Vale.
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Laronar exited the main temple and reconvened with his druids. He explained that they were to stay and learn, while he went off to find the weapon Liu had told him of. Ragnar, for his part, claimed he would be of more use in the Vale, as soon as he learned what a Mogu was. Laronar also taught them the rather simple, but insanely useful spell that was Comprehend Languages. Being modern druids, they had just enough practice with Balance magic to grasp the basic arcane energy needed to use it.
As he was about to shift forms and depart, a voice called out to him, in Pandaren. "Wait, Druid! A moment, please."
He turned, and beheld Thunderfist, and then bowed to him, as he respected the level the martial artist had earned among his peers. The sign of this station, being his armor. "Sifu Thunderfist. What can I do for you?"
The Pandaren had a strange look on his face, a cross between constipation, and determination. "I was…impolite before, when we first met. I would know your name and title, if you would honor me with them."
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Laronar made his own face twist slightly from the usual passive expression he wore. "I do not put stock in such things, and neither does Nature…but I will honor your request. I am Laronar Stormclaw, Archdruid of the Ashen. One of Ashamane's claws, and a teacher to many Druids."
Thunderfist blinked, and inclined his head. "Truly, we are not so different. The Shado Pan you likely saw in the temple, Lord Taran Zhu, has charged me with journeying with you across Pandaria."
Laronar chuckled. "I appreciate the offer, but I will be fine. I need to find this Storm Claw with speed, and return to my Druids."
"Do you know where it is?" Thunderfist asked, "Do you know what dangers lie in such ruins? Or the dangers of flying blindly through Pandaria's skies? Do you even have a map?"
Laronar frowned. "Admittedly…no."
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The Kung Fu master nodded, mostly to himself. "I will be your guide, and ensure no more foreigners cause damage to our sacred places. Either on purpose, or accidentally."
Laronar sighed. "I intend to fly. How will you keep up with me?"
The monk simply smirked at him, and then faced the cliff-like edge they were standing on as he shouted, "Niiimbuuuuus!" A piece of seemingly random cloud detached from a larger one encircling the temple, and floated to a stop before the monk. Defying physics, the heavy Pandaren then stepped onto it, as if that was a normal thing one could do with something composed of air and water. "Follow with your wings. I will take you to what few remnants of your people linger in our land."
With no further preamble or explanation, Thunderfist began moving in a particular direction, as his seemingly somewhat sentient cloud shot across the sky. In moments, Laronar's Owl Form was behind him.
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In terms of speed they were fairly evenly matched, and as they soared down to Pandaria proper, Laronar quickly lost his sense of direction. He was glad though, as he hadn't been properly lost in unfamiliar lands for quite a few millennia. His form gave him many sounds to absorb with its superior hearing, and while he did catch the barbaric Orcish din of what could only be the Horde on the march, his guide wasn't going to wait while he went on a scouting mission.
Laronar had no Azerothly idea where exactly they were by the time they landed. They were in a forest of some description, with flora Laronar had either never seen, or only read about in very old books within the Dream. Thunderfist led him to an overgrown and sealed stone entrance carved from the white stone the kaldorei had once made their buildings from. Carved into the face of the ancient stone was a warning. But it was in elven runes so old, even Laronar couldn't read most of them. The erosion didn't help either.
What was intact was not using a runic system he understood, or had been taught back in the day. Finally, after about two straight minutes of silence as Laronar examined the sealed doorway, Thunderfist spoke.
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"I will be nearby. If this is not the right place, stir the skies. I will return." Laronar nodded, and the Pandaren was off in a flash. Finally alone, Laronar posted up against the stone door, and with impressive speed, had his pipe lit, as he started toking.
He reached out to the area's flora then, as was his wont, and found the wildlife reminded him greatly of what lived in the Dream. The woods were teeming with creatures strong of Spirit. He spoke with the flora and fauna, finding both creatures similar to those on the mainland, and other species that were completely different. Eventually, he steered his conversations towards the structure, and while nothing around had a lifespan near over ten millennia, they did direct him to a deeply buried system of tunnels beneath the surface that many of them made homes in.
Apparently, the wildlife avoided the lower levels of the tunnels though, since they were dangerous. With his information gathering done, Laronar packed his pipe away and stood, facing the door as he mentally consulted which spells in his repertoire could deal with it. Eventually, he settled on simply shaping the stone into a usable tunnel, which worked rather well, even as it drained him of quite a lot of mana. Whatever wisdom was carved into the door was lost, but the druid now had his entrance.
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The tunnels leading down reminded him, at least in layout, of the tunnels his people used in their barrow dens in the present. There was nothing to suggest what the builders of this place had been like, though. No pottery, no signs, not even ancient undisturbed footprints. The air grew colder the further he descended, and the path he was walking split into multiple areas, again, much like modern barrows. The spaces they led to were also similarly empty, their purpose long buried and forgotten.
He continued heading downward, eventually finding a singular path again. Finally, the air changed, and he felt an electric charge through it that made his neck hair stand on end. He followed it to its source, and sure enough eventually beheld an object upon a pedestal, behind ancient steel bars that were so corroded by time, they simply crumbled when he touched them.
He stepped into the room and looked around, sensing no magic but that of the object on the pedestal. He approached it carefully, but saw no traps. Sure enough though, as he stepped before the pedestal, runes in the floor began glowing blue. He was ready to jump back from them, but as their light surged over him, nothing happened. Eventually, they faded. Laronar cautiously poked the object on the pedestal, but again, nothing happened.
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He picked it up then, and stepped back, but once more, all was silent. He examined his prize then, properly. It was a weapon to be held by an enclosed fist. Almost like a glove, with a handle on the underside for gripping. On its top side were, most notably, two long claws humming with dull white energy. Near the wearer's wrist was a circular opening that, at the moment, was empty. Ancient runes were carved around its base, and most of the top side was covered in fur as black as his Cat Form's. The metal that was a part of the edges and filigree of the weapon was gold.
As he tried on the Storm Claw, a few white sparks of lightning jumped between the tips of the two claws, but it was still seemingly dormant. From behind the pedestal, from Laronar's perspective, a hole opened in the floor, slowly raising a platform up through the circular opening. What was standing on said platform occupied his attention, however.
Its skin was made of jade, and its construction reminded Laronar of the Titan Forged, in Northrend. He had not personally seen those creatures, but he had gone over the Kirin Tor's reports, and captured images. The jade-stone creature came to life slowly, re-powering itself to activation limb by limb.
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Once it was 'awake', its eyes scanned Laronar. "Impossible…and yet my magic does not lie." The creature said in ancient elven. It dropped to one knee, then. "Scion of the Stormclaws. I am Zhenwei of the Rajani. I served your family in the…distant past, and now, I serve you, the wielder of the Storm Claw."
Laronar glanced at the claw, and then smirked. He put the hand bearing the Storm Claw on Zhenwei's shoulder. The Mogu looked up at him, meeting the druid's amber gaze as he said, "Hello there."