Many long years passed as the druids experimented with taking the forms of all sorts of animals, and practiced fusing their natural magic with the arcane. Different specialties had begun to develop within the Kaldorei, and each year saw more young males, and only males, rising to join Malfurion. The females who might have wanted to try to learn their brother's new skills were absorbed into the Sisterhood, as the power to wield Elune's Light spread among their people as it had not for generations, but only among their females did Elune's chosen rise. Any males who might have been Priests were gently guided towards Malfurion and his druids. While the civilization of the Kaldorei began to regrow in this dual duty-bound society, primarily under the watchful eye of Tyrande Whisperwind, there was relative peace among them, but memories of the Legion remained fresh in their minds, and always the Kaldorei remembered the consequences of their actions.
More often than not, the painful emotions from the war were focused on the group of Azshara's own Highborne who had fled the capital and, with the aid of Elune herself in the form of Tyrande Whisperwind, survived the Sundering. Despite the turmoil their arcane magic had caused, these Highborne remained convinced that it was the path the Kaldorei should continue to embrace. To a man, they had refused to give up practicing their simple magics, something Malfurion had allowed, while warning against greater works. Feeling shackled and unwelcome, a rift had grown between the significant population of surviving Zin Azshari bloodlines, and those who now abandoned their Highborne heritage in favor of speaking to trees, or worshiping the moon.
Laronar himself had been approached by their leader, Dath'remar, for he had gone through the surnames of elves who'd survived the war, and had sought out former Highborne in hiding, hoping to gain more followers. At first, it was easy to sympathize with them, for they had lost much themselves, and carried the blame for starting the war. In reality, he'd been told, they had been forced to comply with Azshara, and her lord advisor Xavius, which was the only reason their surviving people had allowed them to 'rejoin' them in the first place. That hadn't stopped the hatred however, and it was commonplace for the Highborne to literally be spat upon when they walked the streets of the new elven cities in broad moonlight.
Laronar had flatly denied Dath'remar, for he enjoyed being what he was. He'd given up his heritage long ago, and had no desire to reclaim it, or use it as leverage over others. In Dath'remar's people, he often found aspects of what he'd disliked most about his caste, still somewhat intact. The haughty attitudes, the unearned sense of superiority, the flamboyant clothing, and even the delusion that Queen Azshara had somehow, as the mightiest mage of their age, been magically controlled by Xavius into summoning the demons to their world. He wanted none of it, and many the Highborne leader went to had told him much the same. After learning from Dragon Aspects and Ancients as to what the right path was, the majority of the Kaldorei people followed their examples, and had no wish to deviate from the course of redemption. Those like Laronar buried their past, and embraced their future.
Eventually, Dath'remar became convinced that a visceral display of power would convince those who'd denied him to rejoin their people, and to that end, the Highborne pooled their might, and unleashed a mighty storm upon Ashenvale which was arcane in nature. Instead of awing the elves with their might, the druids frantically tried to calm the enraged winds, and return nature to balance. Eventually, Malfurion himself subdued the storm, and once more, peace reigned. Tensions rose, as many saw the display as an attack on the elves' new home.
With the exception of druids, who used the arcane in conjunction with natural magic, sparingly, using arcane magic by itself in the fashion of a mage was illegal, on pain of death. Unwilling to kill so many of their kin for violating their society's most important new law Malfurion ordered them banished. Forever. The Highborne were given naturally crafted ships, and exiled across the sea, to the other half of the sundered continent of Kalimdor. It would be millennia before the two peoples met again, and many Kaldorei expected them to simply die in the potentially demon filled wilderness of the far eastern lands, lands their empire had largely ignored.
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Finally, the day came when each of Malfurion's students were considered to be master druids, including Laronar, who had since mastered walking the Emerald Dream. He was one hundred and seventy years of age now, although his body had stopped showing signs of aging not long after he'd arrived in Ashenvale. The Dragon Aspects had not lied when they claimed that Nordrassil would make them retain their immortality. Their promise of survival was evidently granted as well, for in that century-long peace, the elves had more children amongst them than ever before. Strangely, Tyrande and Malfurion remained heirless, but nobody commented. Life mates weren't as common anymore in the face of such low numbers, but their affairs were still given privacy.
Each of the former apprentices congratulated the other, and one in particular, Ralaar Fangfire, was determined to convince the reclusive Laronar to celebrate with them, for often after training he would meditate within his Cat Form, and ask the spirits for stories and wisdom, rather than waste time in the inns and taverns his fellow druids frequented after long days of practice and meditation. The fact that he wasn't after any females also helped, as it was a poorly kept secret as to who he had his intense amber eyes on.
That night was special though, and the so-called 'feral druid' gave in to his friend's demands. Thus, he soon found himself surrounded by his peers as they made their way to their favorite spot within Ordil'aran. Once he was out of his reclusive shell, the druid who could shape shift as skillfully as Malfurion was actually quite entertaining, a fact that Ralaar and the others who preferred shapeshifting to spells had discovered the first time they'd successfully dragged him out to imbibe in alcoholic beverages. What little Laronar remembered of that night, spent drinking, feasting, and dancing upon tables whilst shifted, would help him in the many wars to come. Though he didn't yet know it, those years spent training would be some of his fondest memories.
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With the word out that the first generation of druidic masters was now finally free to take apprentices, the requests to learn flooded in, far more than they had after Nordrassil was planted, and now it was the student's turn to understand the hell that was sifting through potential students, searching for the best, as Malfurion had done. Males, females, everyone wanted the power, and prestige, that came with being one of nature's defenders. Soon though, many found that they simply could not handle the lifestyle required. Often, training involved hours of meditation, and Laronar soon began to understand why Malfurion had chosen the students he had.
They had sharp minds and patience, whereas many of their people did not. Many did not even make it to communing with nature itself, but those who did were assigned to a master. Eventually, Malfurion officially decreed that the druids should be entirely male, as the priestesses of Elune were entirely female. Given that they'd had few females even show interest in truly learning, none of the druids Malfurion had elevated disagreed. Long had the women of their race held superior status. This division of power would balance them, or so Stormrage claimed, and none could find fault with his logic. Sharing power equally was a popular idea. Neither sex wanted another Azshara.
Time continued to flow, and six whole centuries passed Laronar by as he trained new druids, adventured with Shandris, and honed his skills. Often he would ask Ashamane, and the other Ancients, how to improve his skill with their forms. Though pulling knowledge from them was like draining water from a stone, what clues he did receive helped tremendously with harmonizing his mind with the mind of the animal within the forms he took.
After seven hundred years since the demonic invasion, Kaldorei society had once more flourished under their new path and the blessings they'd been given. Being among the 'Archdruids' as he and the first generation had begun to be called, came with some measure of fame, and even political sway, in certain cases. Though he was, compared to many of the survivors, still quite young, Laronar's words carried weight, and he found himself enjoying when people actually listened to what he said. He did not claim to be wise, but he tried to dispense knowledge where he could, and often, his students would name him their Shan'do.
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This was common amongst his fellows as well. Those who had been the first to learn had been ideal to become master druids, and it was a long time before Malfurion himself admitted that he hadn't been convinced Laronar would work with those he'd initially chosen. He was, supposedly, glad that he'd been wrong though. Given the inherently awkward nature of their dynamic, for Shandris' affections had not been forgotten or unnoticed, Laronar took what compliments he could get from the legendary druid.
Shandris herself had been reassigned elsewhere in the budding Kaldorei territories, which spanned most of Kalimdor, often in areas that the Tauren did not inhabit. Though they were not hostile, the bull-men were not overtly friendly either, for they had no qualms about placing the blame for the state of their sundered world entirely on another race. Still, they remained generally friendly, and traded often, a far cry from how they'd acted when the empire yet stood. Tasked by Tyrande with focusing on training Sentinels, for she had agreed that the demon's return was inevitable, given their nature, Shandris had created a stronghold in which to forge her new warriors off of the coast of the region known as Feralas.
Like the other druids, Laronar had learned to fly early on, and though the flight wasn't terribly long, the distance was far enough for the embers of…whatever they'd had, to cool. It also didn't help that the Sentinels, much like the Sisterhood of Elune, were almost entirely female. Every move he made on his visits to the isle ended up being gossiped back to Shandris, and eventually, she'd 'ordered him to visit her'. The tone and expression of the Sentinel who'd given him that command was unreadable, and he was obliged to obey it, as it came directly from their General, who had the power to draft any Kaldorei, technically.
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Upon arriving on Shandris' island stronghold, he was well aware of the looks he was receiving as he made his way to her quarters, which doubled as her office. He gave a bow as he arrived. "General Feathermoon..."
"Don't 'General Feathermoon' me." She said, already irritated. "I keep hearing of your 'exploits' around my Stronghold, Laronar. It's hard enough getting these women, many of whom are older than me, to listen to my orders. When my lover is breeding the medics behind my back, it gets that much more difficult..."
He could hear the hurt in her voice, though he had no earthly idea of what she was referring to. "I've only ever sold herbs to your medics, Shandris...my heart is yours. You know this."
She had her back to him, looking out the window behind her desk. She was hiding her face, but his sharp nose could smell the salty tears. "I thought I did. But it's become clear that I can't trust what you've told me. This isn't the first time I've gotten such a report. I've ignored them in the past, but I would be a fool to keep doing so. I can no longer afford the distraction our...fraternizing...is causing me. I have an army to build. This is the end of us, Laronar Stormclaw. Do not return to my island."
"I don't know what you've heard, but it's simply not true...I swear to you, by Elune hersel-" Shandris cut him off before he could finish.
"Swear by the Goddess you do not worship. Swear by the Ancient whose form you take. Swear by my own father if you must, it does not matter. I used to like your...feral insistence, but in embracing savagery, you're tossing aside everything that could make you a respectable Kaldorei...many see you as little more than a beast, Laronar...if you would just study the spells..."
Crossing his muscled arms, his lengthy green brows crashed together, despite the fact that her back was yet turned, she could feel she'd struck a nerve by his tone. "I will never rely on the Arcane again. Balanced with natural magic or not. You say my skill set bothers you? You've never said so before. You didn't mind my Cat Form pouncing upon you night after night. And why should I not worship the Ancients, Shandris? Elune was not watching out for my mother when a Doomguard speared her through her back. She was not watching my sister when she likely befell a similar fate. She did not come to my father's aid either, when he sacrificed himself so that I might live. Ashamane has always watched over me, ever since I found Storm, at least. It's not my fault your Goddess does not take males into her Sisterhood...once, I very much desired to be one of Her priests."
He saw her fist clench, and he knew he'd made her angry. That was good, for he also knew that anger would keep her from weeping too long over losing him. He had no idea what fabricated report she'd received, and he found that, at this point, he did not care. A woman who would trust a baseless rumor over his own word was not a fit mate. He'd been denying their incompatibility for a while, but now was as good a time to end things as there would ever be. "Enough..." She snarled, "You are no longer welcome on my island. Get out."
He did as he was bid, storming from her office with a faint orange aura about him that he simply did not notice, and avoiding making eye contact with the inhabitants of the stronghold as he leapt into the air, and took the form of an owl. He decided then that he'd had more than enough of Sentinels, and women in general, at least for a while, and focused on training his apprentices back home. Given that they were all male, romantic entanglements were all but nonexistent, as his students eventually noticed their master was, quite obviously, drawn to females, and only females.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
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Even though his first attempt at finding a mate failed, that didn't stop him from occasional attempts at romance over the long pair of centuries that followed. His mastery of what the druids had nicknamed the 'Feral Arts' had resulted in a male form that was incredibly aesthetically pleasing, and heavily muscled. After almost a thousand years of training, practicing his strikes, communing with the Ancients and learning their ways, Laronar was, by far, the most obvious example of what becoming a 'feral druid' could do for one's appearance, and as such, he had no shortage of downright embarrassing offers for coitus. Once the rumors of his 'relationship' with the Sentinel's General going up in flames had reached Ashenvale, such offers only increased.
With no reason to deny them any longer, the relatively young druid quickly learned much about women, though it was mainly physical learning that would come in handy in the ages to follow as he noticed patterns to the various spots his limbs reached. Their personalities, and rationale, continuously befuddled him however, and eventually he gave up trying to make sense of how females saw the world, for it was as different from his own experience as that of a brother druid's. He assumed that when and if he found a mate, it would all simply 'click', as the druids who already had mates had described it, when he'd mentioned his irritation with the fairer sex's seemingly irrational attitudes.
What he would only understand with time, was that many of those early encounters were purely for pleasure, and being that his only experience with such things had been long-term, spanning centuries, he'd often expected them to last longer than a single night. Thus, it came as something of a surprise when the females in question would eventually all but shun him after getting what they'd approached him for.
In those days, it wasn't entirely uncommon for those without mates to bear and raise the offspring of such unions, in the name of repopulating their devastated race, and though he would eventually suspect he himself had managed to father several such children, he never received word of any. Nobody asked where such children came from, and nobody told the children in question of their parentage. For their society, in that age, it simply wasn't important. Only with time, would the focus on life mates return. In those days though, repopulating had been a racial imperative.
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As with all times of peace on Azeroth, it was doomed to end with the outbreak of war. It began with strange reports. The Sentinels in Ashenvale reported burning rocks falling from the sky into a nearby valley to the east. The druids who had chosen to venerate the Storm Crow, along with Malfurion and Laronar, set out to investigate these rocks the next day.
All remembered the sight of the dreaded Infernals falling from the sky. Yet, there was no trace of them. Each druid scouted for miles around the valley they had been said to have landed in, but all they found were impact craters. No fire, no footsteps. Malfurion went as far as contacting Cenarius, and although the demigod said he felt no shift in the balance of nature, he warned that dark times were approaching.
Ever one to heed the Ancient's advice, Malfurion mobilized the elven army, what remained of the host that had fought the Legion, alongside the Sentinels and the druids. For a time, it seemed as though the rumors were nothing to worry about. Such meteors had been spied before after all, but this time, the rocks in question had indeed been what the Sentinels had suspected them to be. The green flames had given them away.
The demons first appeared in numbers not far from the Raynewood Retreat, and when they were sighted, the Night Elven host once more rushed out to meet them in battle. The enemies they fought turned out to be Satyrs; worse, they were Satyrs who worshiped Xavius, the Highborne responsible for summoning the Legion to Kalimdor in the first place. The Kaldorei who had been advisor to the Queen herself. It was his name they cried as they met the Kaldorei, and it was in his name that they forced the elves to retreat in that first bloody conflict through their mastery of vile magic, and the relentless power of their summoned Infernals.
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It was to the Raynewood Retreat that the elves went once the Satyrs routed them, and it was at Raynewood that Ralaar Fangfire once more tried to convince Malfurion to use what had been dubbed the 'Pack Form' by the few druids who had dared to take the legendary Goldrinn's form.
Like Ralaar and Malfurion, Laronar had also taken it once more, but the pure savagery of the beast within was simply untameable. Goldrinn had eventually warned each of them that they weren't compatible with his form, but it was Tyrande Whisperwind who, at that very moment, elaborated on why the druids could never control it.
Night Elves were the children of Elune, and Elune and Goldrinn had a rivalry that stretched back far, long before the elve's first empire. She said that, under the full shine of Elune's light, Goldrinn had gone mad with primal rage, refusing to be the noble creature Elune wanted him to be. Under the twin full moons, it was said he had felt like he was being stared at by the Goddess, judged to be little more than an animal, despite his noble demeanor, all because he refused to 'tame' his primal savageness. This had ignited the wolf Ancient's fury, and the resulting feud had lasted millennia.
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Ralaar seemed not to understand what that meant, as he continued to demand the Pack Form be used against the Satyrs, Laronar however understood quickly, for in the area concerning their Moon Goddess, Shandris had educated him thoroughly. The Kaldorei were allegedly the favored children of Elune, who had empowered their race in ways not unlike a Wild God. Her domains were many, and already the burgeoning druids had those who followed Elune as their patron, and were rewarded with a blending of arcane and natural power as a result, rather than her Light. The Kaldorei had always been her people, for as long as any of them could remember. That was why the druids couldn't tame Goldrinn's form. One would have to cut themself off from the Goddess, and no Kaldorei alive wanted that, if it was even possible. The Kaldorei had worshiped her for ages, even before Azshara and her Highborne took power.
Elune's essence was imbued in their very race, and her presence was the one thing that brought out the wolf god's rage more than anything else. As long as the druids followed Elune, Goldrinn's form would be impossible to master without falling to madness. The feuds among the Ancients were usually as long-lived as they were. As Laronar thought this over, the others departed Raynewood after a heated exchange he hadn't been listening to. He would always regret not sharing his revelation then, when there might still have been a chance to prevent the coming bloodshed.
After the discussion at Raynewood, a secret assault was mounted against the Satyr stronghold the elven scouts had discovered in a place the Satyrs called Xavian, and a plan was made to assassinate their general. It succeeded, but at a heavy price. Ralaar and his friend Arvell had been forced to use the Pack Form just to escape alive…but their lack of control had cost Tyrande four sentinels, and had wounded Shandris, who had returned with the reformation of the elven army. Laronar had avoided her like the plague, and though he'd felt her eyes on him several times, he ignored her gaze. She had, in his opinion, had her chance. She'd believed foul rumors over his own word, and that was the end of it.
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Tyrande demanded justice, and Malfurion dealt it by letting the two druids live with their guilt. To Laronar, who had helped Malfurion rescue the others in his Stormcrow form, it was too soft a punishment for someone like Ralaar, who now seemed only to understand violence.
For all his good attributes, Malfurion had a tendency to miss or overlook the flaws in his students. Ever since he had first tried to take Goldrinn's form, without Goldrinn's permission, Ralaar had been growing more and more…feral. Little did any of the other druids know that as they prepared for the next battle in this War of the Satyr, Ralaar Fangfire had darker plans.
His friend Arvell had been killed, in his eyes, because he refused to take the Pack Form, as he had promised Malfurion. While Malfurion and the others mourned the loss of yet another druid, Ralaar and Arvell's lover were creating a weapon that should not have been conceived. They combined a Staff of Elune with an object Ralaar called The Fang of Goldrinn, creating the Scythe of Elune.
It was, at its heart, a good-natured attempt to control that which the Kaldorei could never hope to use against the re-surging Legion forces, but it backfired. Goldrinn's essence refused to be tamed by Elune's power, even for the defense of the world, and in that backlash of furious, age-old power, the Scythe created the first of the Worgen. Wolf-men, who went beyond the basic Pack Form to become something much, much worse. Powerful, savage hunters who could spread this twisted Form like a plague, or a curse. All they required was a bite.
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At the next major battle with the Satyr army, the druids who had spoken out against Malfurion's banishment of the Pack Form failed to appear…at first. Over the past week they had become the beasts that would come to be known as Worgen, and as they ran through the charging Night Elven host, they ignored them, and tore into the demon's latest fortifications as living embodiments of the wolf Ancient's fury, wrought into flesh.
Despite the carnage, Laronar was personally impressed by their strength, if not their savagery. Goldrinn was truly powerful, something that he could respect as a fellow hunter, and a feral druid. As the demons fell though, the beast that was now Ralaar Fangfire attacked Malfurion, and the other wolf men followed. Malfurion routed them single handedly, tying them down with vines that, as druids, they should have been able to rid themselves of easily. Nature refused their call, however, and that proved in many druidic minds that these new monsters were no longer a druidic form, but an abomination of one.
The druids retreated to the ancient grove of the Moonglade, their last holdout, and it was there that Malfurion declared that the time for testing and experimentation with the druidic powers was over. That from then on, there would be an order and set practices for the druids of the future. Only those who were wise enough to know when to limit their experimentation with nature's forces would be allowed to research them in this new Cenarion Circle. A plan was then devised to rid the world of Ralaar and his beasts, for they had torn through most of western Ashenvale, attacking the demons as well as their own people.
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The one advantage the newly formed Cenarion Circle had on the beasts was the Scythe of Elune, given to Malfurion by its creator, the redeemed Priestess Belysra, who evidently now regretted creating the weapon in the first place. Luckily, she was among sympathetic peers. A meeting with Ralaar was organized, under the pretense of Malfurion receiving punishment for his supposed transgressions.
Once the Archdruid had the Scythe however, it was over. The Worgen were banished to sleep under Daral'nir within the Emerald Dream for all eternity. With the Worgen banished and the demons leaderless and fearful of the untamed savage wolf-elves running wild in the forest, the Kaldorei regrouped and ended the War of the Satyr, shattering the Satyr power structure so effectively that they never truly recovered as a race.
The druids changed quickly after that, and Laronar watched as terms that had once been little more than nicknames became proper 'branches' of what was now called the Druidic Arts. Those like him kept the name Feral Druids, but after the war, their reputation suffered greatly, and compared to the other branches of Balance and Restoration, they received the most limitations. No longer were they to reach out to as many Ancients as possible, hoping to take their form. No longer would they revel in the ferocity and closeness to nature such forms provided.
While Laronar understood the need for such things after Ralaar turned mad, it left those who had mastered the Feral Arts with a sour taste in their toothy maws. What Laronar truly took issue with was the command, from Malfurion himself, to not embrace the 'savage nature' of the Wild Gods. To always keep a line between what was elven, and what was animal.
This, more than anything, crippled the new students seeking to learn. They refused to merge with the mind within the form, and in demanding their individuality, their shapes became lesser. Some, managed to figure out speaking whilst shifted, usually through a magic amulet, or similar item, but this only ended up, in many cases, making the beast within ever more unruly. Many who started on the feral path ended up switching to Balance mastery instead, and the gulf of power between them and the first generations of Feral Druids became wider as what they had once been freely taught was focused and diluted into following only a few specific animal totems; Ashamane's, the Storm Crow's, Malorne, and Ursoc, or Ursol, depending on the druid. Furious at the sudden lack of respect and veneration, many of the Wild Gods refused to share their power at all, something Malfurion took in stride, and ultimately ignored. He was of the opinion that Balance and Healing were more important, and that many of the Wild Gods were fickle at the best of times. If they were to defend the world, they needed reliable allies, and it was to Laronar specifically that he recounted just how long it had taken for the lauded Defenders of Azeroth to come forth from their ancient haunts and actually face the threat to their world. There was no question to the bravery of those who had, and had died as a result, the truth was that Malfurion, and several other druids, like Fandral Staghelm, saw the Feral Arts as a pathway to the kind of bargains the Zandalari Trolls made with their precious Loa.
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In a true display of controlling his fury at the lack of respect for what he and many others had spent much of their lives learning and perfecting, Laronar personally ignored this new directive from the Circle's leader, and often argued with Malfurion over what should and should not be taught. He had more experience with the Ancients than any of them, a fact he often found himself repeating, and he also claimed that blurring the lines of animal and elf did not have to result in abominations like the Worgen. His own form was physical proof that a positive link to the Ancients could be beneficial. By that point, in that form, his mind and that of Ashamane's spirit were one, united in purpose.
Despite his words and admitted skill, Malfurion's will was iron on this, and Laronar's stubbornness to change resulted in a serious decrease in new students given to him by the druids in charge of such things under the new order. Those he had trained, were watched, and over time, they too eventually bent to Malfurion's crippling edicts. That, more than anything else, was what drove the first wedge between Laronar and his fellow druids.
The new feral students focused primarily on the spirit of the Bear, and named themselves the Druids of the Claw, after the fallen Ursoc's own claws. Since Ursol himself was not all that different from a balance druid, Malfurion was of the opinion that their Bear Form was all the druids would ever really need. Sentinels, he argued, could do far more than those disguised as fierce Nightsabers in the shadows. That, was when Ashamane herself withdrew her power as well, though Laronar was able to keep her form, even Malfurion found himself unable to become the cat in time. This too, he took in stride, as he firmly believed his druid's future was within the power of the Emerald Dream.