Deep Beneath Shaladrassil - Val'sharah, Broken Isles
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In the wake of the global Nightmare attack, many things that had once been soundly sleeping for millennia, began to wake up. In Val'sharah, the Satyrs that Thaon Moonclaw had so passionately argued for killing, came to consciousness after millennia of being trapped in an endless dream. Archdruid Glaidalis, who was now essentially the keeper of the World Tree, did not notice the wakening Satyrs. Not because he was lax in his duty, but because the power of N'zoth, while weaker compared to the other now mostly fallen Old Gods, was very good at subtly dulling the senses of mortals, so that its dark plans could continue unnoticed in the shadows. With Malfurion awake in Teldrassil, it was more than free to set more of its foul plans into other Old Gods overwhelmed with numbers or corrupted beings of power to enhance their own, N'Zoth tended to throw multiple schemes into action, and further the one most likely to succeed in bringing about a return of the Black Empire.
Even now, the tentacled being was torturing Xavius, not unlike how Sargeras had tortured and re-made his very soul when he'd failed the Fel Titan, after the first time Stormrage blew him apart with lightning. N'zoth was remaking him anew as well, for he had been stuck as a tree thanks to Malfurion Stormrage for ten thousand years. Within the Dream, and beneath Shaladrassil's roots, N'zoth planted a part of its own self, a tumor that would grow to infest the Dream, the World Tree, and the druid's precious forest. As the tumor became protected by a massive, unsettling reddish-orange eye at the entrance to the hollow where the Old God had placed it, the Satyrs stirring to consciousness in the Dream began approaching it, pulling back, as the strange entity shifted its unnatural eye to look at each of them.
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You...will Serve…
One of the Satyrs sneered at the eyeball. "We serve only the glory of Sargeras, and the Lord Xavius. Not some...eyeball."
Sargeras is Nothing...Xavius is Mine… Serrated crimson tentacles rose out of the ground then, and wrapped within the being's painful grip, was the as yet still incorporeal form of Azshara's longtime advisor, firmly entrapped. Though after getting blasted apart by Stormrage's lightning, again, the clenching grip was like a pillow by comparison.
The horde of tentacles surged then, snagging the group of Satyrs before they could so much as move. Now, you will learn the Truth… The tentacles sank into the physical and Dream forms of the ensnared Satyrs via their foreheads and their eyes went wide as the spawn of N'Zoth revealed the secret history of Azeroth, a history buried by the Titans. Eventually, the tentacles released the Satyrs, including Xavius. They gasped as they fell to the ground, and their wounds began not to heal, but to reverse, their blood flowed back into them, even more tainted, and the demonic aspect of the Satyrs gave in to their new patron's influence. The Hour approaches. Prepare.
And with that, N'Zoth shunted the glowing crimson furred Satyrs deep into the Dream, within the Rift of Aln, where they did as ordered.
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Darnassus - Teldrassil
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Once the Dragons departed, and the fruit from the typically non fruit-bearing World Tree was devoured by Stormrage's guests, Laronar made his way to Malfurion and Tyrande, just another face in a long line of well wishers, but one Malfurion seemed genuinely glad to see. The two shredded Archdruids clasped each other by the wrist, and a rare smile cracked the Feral Druid's typically stoic expression. "Shan'do. High Priestess. Congratulations." The amber eyes darted to their daughter, who was standing with her found family on the eve of a momentous victory, and a union long in coming. He noted a fresh Alor'el plant in front of her, but did not need her to divulge its meaning. He'd been the one to show it to her, after all. "I know I'm not the only one who has long awaited this most welcome union. I would say you have both more than earned this day."
Malfurion thanked him, as he'd done with all the druids, while Tyrande watched. Most druids she said a few words to, or simply smiled at. But for Laronar, her face was unreadable as she took in his shadowed form, from his peripheral vision, at least. Even after ten thousand years of being under her rule, the High Priestess still unnerved him. He felt her silver eyes upon him, silently judging his shredded, but darkened skin. He began to have a clearer idea of how Goldrinn had felt, and he felt the old wolf watching him, and smirking. Tyrande was no enemy to him though, no more than Elune was to Goldrinn, and he endeavored to prove that to the stubborn Ancient.
"You mentioned corruption at Stonetalon, before we entered the Dream. You and Old Ironbark saw it beaten, yes?" Malfurion asked, seeming genuinely concerned about corruption in a barrow as deep as Stonetalon.
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Laronar nodded slowly, "We might have. Void taint is...like a persistent fungus. If we don't cut it out completely, it will regrow. I didn't stay long enough to properly search."
Tyrande finally spoke then. "This corruption you faced...what form did it take?"
Laronar frowned as he recalled the monstrosity. "It was... a vaguely humanoid shaped mass of writhing tentacles. Definitely a servant of whatever Void power is behind the Nightmare." He looked at Malfurion then. "It wasn't serving Xavius, or Fandral, and I'm sure there are more, appearing in other areas of the world."
Malfurion, who had recently been connected to the majority of the world, nodded. "Their reach extends far, beyond what I expected. I sensed it during our spell while I was one with Azeroth and Teldrassil. Dark forces have been at work while I have been asleep...you were right, Laronar. I should have paid more attention to the waking world."
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"Malfuri-" Laronar started, but the married druid stopped him with a raised hand. "Naralex told me what happened in Nighthaven, with Fandral and the Tauren. For even you, who has learned to all but control Goldrinn's fury, to have lost control...Staghelm was out of line, crossing a line I myself drew, and you, along with many others, people I care for, have now suffered, because of my insistence on protecting the Dream."
Tyrande and Laronar shared a look, and Laronar spoke first. "Shan'do Stormrage, what you learned in the Dream may have quite literally just saved the entire world. I am not exaggerating when I say nobody, not even all the Archdruids together, could've replicated that spell on a global scale. Your decision to train was the right one, even if our enemy took advantage of it this time. Even if it had consequences, both foreseen and not." Laronar clapped a hand against the Archdruid's bare arm. "This is a good day, Malfurion. One we would not be having without you. Enjoy your reward, my friend." He congratulated the couple once more, and then padded off into the crowd.
Not long after that, the tone of the party changed, Malfurion and Tyrande retired to do newlywed things, and the crowd of gathered dignitaries became progressively more drunk. The druids, namely Broll Bearmantle, kept things from becoming too debaucherous, while others, like Laronar, celebrated their victory, and the restored blessings of their World Tree. Most of them, anyway.
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After an indeterminate amount of time, and on the word of a dare, he was fairly sure, Laronar ended up climbing the bank tree building, with naught but his upper body strength and arms. As he reached the top, from the other side, closest to the Temple of the Moon, he saw Shandris ascend as well, using only her leg strength, and jumping power.
She smiled as she saw him, her face flushed with what he guessed was the same amount of alcoholic influence as him. Realization suddenly came over her face, as druid-spurred fireflies began appearing in the tree's flowering branches, adding a decidedly romantic atmosphere neither had been expecting. "It seems we've been set up, Archdruid Stormclaw…"
She walked towards him, and he found himself meeting her halfway on the relatively flat tree neither one of them feared falling out of, even inebriated as they were. "So it does, General Feathermoon." From his lofty height he peered down both sides of the tree and then turned back to her. "They seem quite proud of themselves. It would be a shame for their efforts to come to naught."
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"What did you have in mind?" She asked him, staring up at him. He found himself smiling as he recalled the last time she'd looked so lovely, and had been so close to him.
"Do you remember Ordil'aran?" He asked, seemingly catching her off guard. His smile became a smirk, as her flushed cheeks answered for him. "Remember how we evaded Malfurion?"
Her eyes widened, and she chuckled. Her laugh sounded different, but that wasn't too surprising. Millennia had passed since he'd last heard it. She gave him a look he remembered well, and was glad that hadn't changed. It was her turn for a question though, "Do you remember what we did once we evaded him?"
That, drew an unbidden and unexpected purr from him, and he gestured at the tree's leaves. They shifted to whitish pink, and began 'falling' down both sides of the building. In reality it was little more than a pair of minor illusion spells, but it distracted the inebriated druids and priestesses who'd sent them up there, and when they faded, the two ancient elves had seemingly vanished.
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Several Weeks Later, Gilneas - Eastern Kingdoms
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The Satyrs beneath Shaladrassil were not the only ancient evils imprisoned within the Dream to stir in the wake of the globalized efforts of the Nightmare. Though the Archmage Arugal had slowly summoned the ancient druids and Sentinels lost to the Worgen's curse into Silverpine Forest at the desperate order of King Genn Greymane, it was their leader, the one the more intelligent beast men referred to as 'Alpha Prime', that the disgraced mage had been all but ordered to bring back to Azeroth. Doing so unintentionally woke the rest of the Worgen, a small number of which simply ran off into the Dream, while the rest followed their alpha back to Azeroth.
Ralaar Fangfire stepped back into the waking world after thousands of years trapped 'Dreaming the Dream of the Wilds', and after feigning obeisance to Arugal, disappeared with a large number of the Worgen beyond the Archmage's means of finding them. Those Ralaar summoned, were by majority his Druids of the Scythe. The Worgen which Silverpine had produced were weak, feral savages twisted from weak, nearly feral Humans. For the army he would need to assault the Night Elves, and more importantly, Malfurion Stormrage, they would need sterner stock.
Weeks passed into months, and Argual never heard from Alpha Prime again. Not long after summoning him, a band of Horde adventurers raided Shadowfang Keep, and killed the mage. Alpha Prime couldn't have cared less though. His sights were set on the isolated kingdom of Gilneas. From what his packmates said, it was isolated from the world, and boasted a significant population of hardy Humans. In short, it was the ideal incubator for the army of worgen he intended to create, and then lead.
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Alpha Prime's return did not go unnoticed however, and for the events that were to come, the Kaldorei would need to be involved, for once, in the goings on of the Eastern Kingdoms. It was Alaria Stormclaw who brought the vision to Tyrande at the same time as Priestess Belysra, and Tyrande dispatched Alaria, Belysra, and several other druids, one of them Alaria's own offspring, to Gilneas, and the tree the few Kaldorei who'd scouted the region in ages past had named Tal'doren, the physical world's mirror of Daral'nir, the tree Malfurion imprisoned the worgen beneath in the Emerald Dream.
Laronar also caught word of these developments, though it was from one of the Worgen who had quite suddenly and unexpectedly leapt from the Dreamway portal, and into the Dreamgrove. Laronar had happened to be nearby at the time restocking his stash of herb, and followed one of the Worgen whose scent he recognized. Mathrin Wildclaw, another of the ancient Feral Druids who had been taken in by Ralaar's ideals. Laronar tracked his scent, and after binding the feral Worgen with vines, Laronar came before him, and blew some crushed up Peacebloom into his face. It was no cure, but it would calm him somewhat. In the wilds of Val'sharah, the Worgen wouldn't do too much damage, and they had seemed intelligent enough to hunt.
"Mathrin Wildclaw." He started. "Last we saw you, you were imprisoned with Ralaar. What happened?" In halting, growling speech, Mathrin relayed that someone had awoken Alpha Prime and the other remaining Worgen. He, and several others, had chosen to run off into the Dream instead of follow Ralaar to wherever the portal to Azeroth was bringing him. Laronar frowned at that, but let Mathrin resume his hunt, and while the Worgen looked ready to bite him, he eventually turned and ran off. Laronar's one time apprentice, friend, and fellow early practitioner of the Feral Arts had evidently returned to the waking world, somehow. He intended to find out how, when, and where, before he returned to Malfurion.
Thus, the few Kaldorei ships that dared the treacherous crossing to the Eastern Kingdoms had an owl tagalong, which found them as they passed the Broken Isles. After learning their mission and sailing with them for several long days, Laronar agreed to aid their mission before they finally reached the Eastern Kingdoms, and made landfall. After hiding their ships, they flew by way of hippogryph and Flight Form to the imposing tree situated in the middle of one of Gilneas' largest forests. They spent roughly a week there, preparing their concoctions to help the Worgen, when one day, a feral one approached them.
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His fur was white, and his bearing was regal, if injured. What was more impressive, was that the Human within was still able to talk, and in the presence of Tal'doren, that ability improved. Priestess Belysra was able to turn the feral wolfman back to his former shape with her potions, and a request from Laronar to Goldrinn. Luckily the White Wolf acquiesced, and the Night Elves learned just who it was that had come wandering into their freshly made camp. King Genn Greymane himself, currently thought missing after going out on a hunt. Alaria and the few Sentinels with her had taken to dropping eaves on the local Human populace, and naturally, none of the Humans had so much as noticed.
Genn relayed what happened to him, both during his attack, and after, when a figure calling himself 'Alpha Prime' had strongly suggested he join the alpha's efforts in creating a wolfman army. Genn had escaped with no small amount of violence, and had then wandered into the Blackwald, half dead and expecting to be taken out. Before that could happen, he had found Tal'doren, a place that Ralaar and his ilk avoided for reasons the elves knew but did not mention.
Belysra became the king's unofficial confidant, and she began meeting with him regularly once he returned to Gilnean society, relaying to the Human the story of how the Worgen had come to be, and her own part within those events.
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For Laronar's part, he eventually decided to track down this 'Alpha Prime' himself. It was a small thing to track Ralaar's scent, and Ashamane's form was more than enough to stay out of the sight of the oddly accented Humans who lived in this area they'd dubbed Gilneas. It had had an elven name once, but it seemed his people were ignoring it for the Human's moniker instead. Finding the Worgen was rather easy, and it hurt Laronar's heart when one of the guards he approached sniffed the air, and then spoke in a voice he recognized. That of a druid he'd long thought dead in the War of the Satyr, one of his first apprentices.
"I know that scent…show yourrrself, Laronarrrrr." The Worgen looked around, and his fellow guard unsheathed his claws, making them even longer by several inches.
Deciding talking was the best chance to reach Ralaar, since he couldn't hide his scent from noses as sharp as Goldrinn's, Laronar melted from the shadows, and returned to his elven shape, palms open, in a general gesture that said 'I have no weapons'. "I know that voice…is that you, Kaladius? We'd…thought you dead."
The Worgen's eyes seemed to soften, for a moment, before the unbound rage of the perverted Pack Form burned it away. "What do you want, Storrrrmclaw…you never apprrroved of us…of the purity we embrrraced…you'rrre just anotherrr of Malfurrrrion's blinded Cirrrrcle."
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Laronar snorted. "I succeeded where every one of you, failed. I spoke with Goldrinn. I won the White Wolf's respect, the way a Druid of the Feral Arts is supposed to, rather than trying to force his form to submit. Your leader should've asked my council, I could've told him it would never work. Take me to Ralaar. I would have words with him."
Kaladius snarled, and his friend joined in. "There is no morrre Ralaarrrr…there is only Alpha Prrrime! Go…you know how to follow the scent…"
Laronar walked past the Worgen then, not so much as glancing back at them. They'd intended to slash him as he walked by, wanted to even, but some part of their form quailed when they made to move for him, as if on some level their inner wolf knew, messing with this druid would end in certain death. Laronar quietly murmured to Goldrinn in his head, as he walked deeper into the uncharted tunnels under Gilneas. "Are you with me, White Wolf?"
"For this, Stormclaw…I am. If Ralaar can be redeemed…"
"I will try, great Goldrinn…but he was stubborn even before he perverted your form."
"Then he dies." An image of Laronar's Pack Form, tearing Ralaar's esophagus from his perverted form's throat, filled the druid's mind.
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Laronar nodded grimly, and felt the Wolf Ancient's aura fold over him like a primal orange cloak, not unlike how he'd empowered Varian in the Dream. He smelled the other Worgen in the tunnels before he saw them, but like the two guards, they didn't have the charisma to challenge him. He eventually caught Ralaar's scent and knew Ralaar could smell him in turn. He sensed the altered druid's pheromones shift to that of an animal ready to fight. His hackles were up. Another alpha had come to challenge him, or so he thought.
Laronar found Ralaar as a king amidst squalor, seeming quite satisfied after recent events involving his pack. A large, deep cavern that had once been a Human mine now only played host to spiders and mutated wolfmen living amongst the bones and carrion of their kills. There he sat, his signature white streaks in his dark furred mane, every bit as feral and disappointing as he'd been when Malfurion locked him away. "I wasn't sure, when I caught the scent…but it is You. Laronar Stormclaw. The Druid who showed us the Animal Totems of the Tauren, and lit the way to the purity of Essence that we have achieved." Howling echoed through the mine, in approval, and Laronar found he could understand their noises, cloaked as he was with Goldrinn's power.
"Ralaar Fangfire…It has been many ages, my old friend." Laronar said, looking him over. "You look underfed…feral. Like a mutt with mange."
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A chorus of snarls filled the chamber, and burning amber eyes glared at him from the shadows, but Laronar didn't spare them a single fuck. If they wanted to attack, they would have already, and they would have regretted it. Ralaar simply smirked, in a manner that was downright unsettling with his too-long muzzle. He stood then, from his smashed minecart turned 'throne' and stalked towards Laronar. "I am Alpha Prime, now. You…look quite feral yourself, Storrrrrmclaw…the light of Elune has abandoned you, as it abandoned our Father! Surely you see! The Moon Goddess has made slaves of us! Turned us from the primal beauty of what we once were…into this…" He gestured at Laronar's form. "Forms that wither without her precious Mana to sustain them. Weak. Our power is the Wilds, Stormclaw. Join us…I am…fascinated to see what Purity manifests in you."
"You want to see purity, Ralaar? Take a good look at what a true Pack Form is!" Laronar snarled back, and then shifted before the worgen's eyes. The day Laronar had become a stag when all the others had become bears or cats, had impressed Ralaar. That instance of the druid's natural ability for shapeshifting had led Ralaar to apprentice himself to the chill natured male. Faint memories of smoking Tauren herb and sitting around a Moonwell passing the loaded, smoldering pipe filled his head, before they were again lost to the torrent of rage that was his default mental state. A cold calm filled him as he took in the massive black wolf before him, still as furious as he remembered, but different. Focused.
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Peering closer, Alpha Prime finally saw it then. The manifested power of Goldrinn. Two burning amber eyes staring back at him, daring him to challenge. "Imprrrressive….most impressive…some of us can yet return to the Pack Form…but we prefer the Scythe Form instead! Our rage is unsurpassed in its purity!"
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Laronar and Goldrinn snarled a single, choked word at Ralaar. "Aaabomination!"
Ralaar answered him with a snarl of his own, spreading his claws wide, and crouching low as he and Laronar began to circle each other. "Let us see who is the true master of their Feral nature! Come, Stormclaw!"
The black wolf snorted, and Laronar spoke to Goldrinn as the circling continued. "Perhaps if we show him what Xuen taught us…" The massive black wolf's lips pulled up into a grin, and with a thunderous snarl, its already impressive mane stood on end, as blue lightning sparked over the wolf's fur, fangs, and claws.
Ralaar paused as he sensed his opponent's rage shift and become more focused, and Laronar leapt, as the lightning shifted in intensity, becoming more black and red as the wolf tore into the Worgen. Ralaar's beefy, well-muscled arms took the hits, but after millennia of no use, they were far weaker than they looked. Eating well helped, but one did not recover from millennia of muscle decay in a few short weeks.
Awed at seeing someone finally mark Ralaar, and recognizing a controlled Pack Form, a few of the Worgen began to chant. "Nahlen'do. Nahlen'do. Nahlen'do." Others joined in, as they saw Ralaar as the true 'master of the fang'. Neither side could deny though, this, was a clash of two masters.
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The Worgen's alpha was bleeding heavily when Laronar was seemingly done shredding his arms, and as Ralaar moved to counter bite, his enhanced eyes saw the much faster true wolf shift around his awkwardly long muzzle, right for his neck. Furious, Ralaar's eyes narrowed, and he sank his claws into the wolf's sides, too late did he realize the druid had hardened his spiked fur with silvery Ironbark. More blood fell from Ralaar's arms, but he had managed to shift the druid's fangs to his shoulder muscles, which were tough and gamey as a rule and therefore not the decisive killing blow Laronar had been aiming for.
With an enraged howl, Ralaar ripped Laronar from his shoulder, uncaring of the chunk of flesh the druid took with him, and hurled the wolf into the stone wall of the mine with the kind of pitching force only a form like his could match. Laronar took over then as he felt Goldrinn was stunned, and landing like a cat against the wall, he then explosively launched straight back at Ralaar, who'd expected that throw to earn him a victory. Instead, it earned him three claw marks down his left eye, though the heavy Worgen brow saved him from losing the sight organ.
Now half blinded by flowing blood and enraged, Ralaar dodged the druid's strikes, and then the bite that followed. That time Laronar left a long horizontal scar across his muzzle with one of his Pack Form's lengthy canine teeth.
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Thoroughly bloodied, and done with this fight, Ralaar shouted at his minions. "He's using spells! Mob him!"
That, was more than enough for the feral crazed Worgen that had followed their Alpha Prime into the mine as they waited for the assault on Gilneas. Seeing two alpha wolves, two different but mastered manifestations of Goldrinn's form going head to head had the blood of every Worgen for a mile around boiling just from the scent alone. For the druids present, what few of them retained something resembling a mind, it was a showdown they'd pleasantly relive in their dreams, though they'd always blur out the ending, for at Alpha Prime's urging, they'd become a living mass of fangs, claws, and rage all intent on tearing the stooge of Malfurion apart.
For all their speed though, the White Wolf was with Laronar. Ralaar leapt away, paw over his eye as he went to tend his wounds, and left his rival to his pack. Goldrinn suggested a retreat, and Laronar agreed, leaping away from the worgpile of flailing claws and teeth that formed as multiple Worgen high on energy from watching the fight collided, and began fighting each other instead. To Laronar, it was what he expected. Ralaar's grip on most of these newly turned Worgen was not as absolute as he believed.
As he ran, the mine began to shake, and while the Worgen paused between fighting or fleeing, Laronar continued to run, gaining precious seconds in outpacing them as he ignored the quaking earth.
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Dashing for the exit of the mine, and knowing the general location of it, Laronar swiftly bolted through, dodging falling rocks as the land shook again. His connection to Goldrinn was cut, but that did not stop him. Fast as the awkwardly proportioned Worgen moved, the perfected Pack Form was much quicker. Near the entrance, Laronar shifted to Ashamane's form, and while Kaladius and his friend were still there, and had apparently summoned reinforcement, by the time they caught his scent his equally swift Cat Form was already past them. They began to track his scent however, and at that point, he broke stealth, leapt into the air, and became the owl.
Wary of arrows the wolfmen may or may not have been capable of using, he flew in a spiraling serpentine pattern that had saved his ass in past conflicts. A few pitiful excuses for bolts fired his way, but they didn't come close to the druid. He did, however, hear a long, furious howl that the rest of the pack picked up as he flew into the night, and headed for Tal'doren. With an aerial view of Gilneas, it wasn't that hard to make out, thanks to its size, and notable characteristics. While in the air though, he noted something he had not before; ships off of Gilneas's coast, Forsaken by their design and color, unsettlingly close to the manor in which the Greymane family resided. It seemed the Banshee Queen intended to circumvent the Greymane Wall, and invade Gilneas proper by land.
She likely would have succeeded too, were it not for, at that very moment, the former Aspect of the Black Dragonflight, Deathwing, returning to the world in a cataclysm of fire and death. Gilneas's shoreline shattered, an entire town essentially went underwater, and all Laronar could do was watch in horror and wince as he felt Azeroth's pain. As the rumbling finally faded, though he had no idea yet the true scope of the latest disaster afflicting his world, he winged towards Tal'doren, intent on reuniting with his kin.
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As he landed, he found Alaria and her Sentinels readying Kali and the two other hippogryphs for flight, while she spoke with his niece, Vassandra. She was relatively young, as a female druid, which was a concept that Malfurion had embraced once Laronar, Naralex, Broll and others pushed for him to further unite their species once again and accept female students on the mainland. "Sister. Niece. I found the mine in which Ralaar is hiding…though it extends deeper into the land, and I'm sure he and his pack will move on after that…earthquake. Where are you going?"
"It seems the people of Gilneas have an Undead problem." She said, sounding both grim and bored. "We fly to aid them. Elune's Light is needed in Silverpine."
The priestess Belysra approached Laronar then, and offered him a scroll. "This is freshly arrived from Darnassus. Archdruid Stormrage has a request for you; bring this to the Dwarves of Ironforge. He and the High Priestess are forming a summit, to try to gain aid against Hellscream's Horde…and likely to deal with the repercussions of whatever caused the land itself to break."
None of them yet knew just how dire things would become in Kalimdor, but Laronar took the scroll regardless. "I will bring this to King Magni, and rejoin you and the survivors back in Darnassus."
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With that, Laronar took flight again, as the Kaldorei readied what weapons of war they'd brought to aid the Humans of Gilneas in their darkest hour. Laronar had seen several of the turned Gilneans with the potential for Druidism, and intended to find them, if they survived. He had no doubt they'd pull through though. His time in Gilneas had been short, but he'd learned how hardy its people were early on when a farmer had, instead of running from his Cat Form, tried poking it with his pitchfork instead. He'd lost the pitchfork, but not his life, and Laronar had taken care to be even stealthier around the Gilneans.
The flight to Ironforge took several days, but was largely uneventful. He landed at the gates of the city, and the guards gave him a slow nod, as they took in the tall, shirtless Kaldorei. "I've a message for King Magni Bronzebeard, from the leaders of my people."
The Dwarves shared a look. It seemed in these trying times of tumult and chaos, the Night Elves were not as connected to the goings on of the Eastern Kingdoms. "Lad," One of the Bronzebeards said, "King Magni was turned tae crystal…in a ritual of communin' wit the earth gone wrong." The other guard spoke then. "Ironforge is now ruled by representatives o' each Clan."
Laronar blinked. "Even the Dark Irons?"
The guards shared a look again, and their expressions seemed grumpier. "Aye. Even the Dark Irons." One said. The other spat, and in Dwarvish, called them traitorous garbage.
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Laronar just nodded. "Right…I guess I'll take this to your council, then. May your eyes stay sharp, guardsmen." The druid's words caused a pair of purple flashes over each of their heads, and they stood a little straighter, nodding their thanks for the boon to their stamina. As he wandered through the city, the air stank of smoke, not uncommon for a place called Ironforge, but Laronar could tell this smoke was not from forging of metal, but from the burning of hay, or wheat. Perhaps a stable had caught fire, recently.
As he wandered, he realized most of the citizens weren't in the usually crowded streets, and only the bank tellers seemed to be at their posts. Even they were preoccupied by something they were watching through a window in the back part of their station, though. Laronar took a small tunnel, and yet one still large enough to accommodate him, to the Great Forge, and found a large crowd of angry Dwarven citizens, of each clan no less, squabbling before the foot of what was once King Magni's seat of power.
He caught the tail end of what an oddly familiar looking Wildhammer Dwarf was shouting at the mob, his stormhammer raised high, as the royal guards tried to keep the crowd from slaughtering each other. "... the Wildhammers have chosen tae take a step forward, not back. Who among ye is wi' us?"
"The Bronzebeards are!" Came a shout from a Dwarf Laronar recognized as the late King's brother. That made the untrustworthy looking female with them Magni's daughter, the one who'd been stolen by a Dark Iron prince, and then fallen in love with him. The product of that disturbing union was laying in a crib, made of stone of course, always nearby his mother.
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Muradin Bronzebeard borrowed the stormhammer, something Laronar knew was not lightly shared with others, especially non Wildhammers, and with the legendary weapon smashed something lying upon an anvil. All eyes fell on the female Dwarf then, and with obvious reluctance, she and the other two representatives smashed a third piece of…whatever it was they were destroying. For Laronar, this seemed pretty much in line with what he knew of Dwarves. Another day in Ironforge, smashing metal apart. This seemed to have some greater significance though, so he stayed in the shadows, at least, until he noticed the source of the smoke he'd scented earlier.
Across the Great Forge, was a series of charred gryphon nests, and he was already moving towards them, once he realized they had somehow all been lit on fire. He immediately suspected the Dark Irons had something to do with that, but approached anyway. "Hail, Wildhammers. I smelled the fire on my way in. Are any of your proud gryphons injured? I can heal them." He let his hands shine with green energy, and the Wildhammers, while usually the more suspicious of the Dwarf clans, could not so easily turn down an offer of powerful healing magic from a Night Elven Druid, especially if it meant their beloved companions could be healed all the quicker.
A Wildhammer holding a pitchfork with a grip that suggested he'd try to impale the elf as soon as let him near their gryphons spoke then. "An' who're you, stranger? Yer aid is appreciated, but we don't know ye' lad."
"I am friends with Bjaldi, a Shaman of your clan. He can vouch for me, if he is present." Laronar answered.
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"I know'im." Came a younger voice, and a proud looking Dwarf with hair as red as the rest of his kin, burning with the flame of youth, came strolling up to the druid.
Laronar squinted at his features, and then his eyes widened. "Bjaldi? No…you couldn't be, he'd be ancient by now…you must be Hjaldi. The last time I saw you, you were just a babe."
The Dwarf seemed perpetually angry with the elf, but Laronar had learned over his time socializing with them among the Alliance that was simply how some Dwarves came off. If one actually angered a son of the mountains, it was rarely a subtle affair. "Aye, ye haven't been around, Archdruid. Me father an I 'ave had a lifetime in between the last time ye graced us wit yer presence, an' now. An' ye think tae call us friends?"
"Your father and I are friends." Laronar reaffirmed, knowing Bjaldi would care not the number of years he'd been away. "As for you, young Hjaldi, you have no obligation to like me, but at least let me heal your companions and share with you my pipe weed before you spurn me like some stranger."
Hjaldi looked at the Night Elf for a long time, and then finally sighed, heavily. "After the week we've 'ad…we could use some bloody pipe weed. Come then, Druid. The injured are this way."
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While the priests of Ironforge had also tended the wounded gryphons, Laronar's spells did more than simply close the wounds within and without, he encouraged their limbs to heal quicker, their skin lightened, and feathers sprouted anew, and then grew into fine replacements for those lost or singed. That in particular made several of the grateful eagle lion hybrids quite happy, as they could fly again now, and their riders thanked him profusely.
Then, in a tavern and not surrounded by the flammable gryphon's roosts, Laronar shared with the Wildhammers his secret blend of hallucinogenic ground up plants, and good times were had. Hjaldi shared some of his legend with Laronar, and Laronar in turn shared with the Dwarves tales of the Earthen, the brave Dwarven ancestors who'd stood toe to toe with the Burning Legion the first time, and had proven their equal with their thunderous hammers. He abstained from the alcohol, and suggested a feast instead, offering to pay for a boar to share.
The Dwarves were amazed that he actually ate meat, which was when he explained that while most of his kin abstained, he was a hunter at heart, and his body needed something heartier than herbs and berries to sustain itself.
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By the end of the merrymaking, Hjaldi had finally warmed to the druid. "Come by again after ye drop off yer message. My father isn't…isn't long fer this world. He'll join 'is gryphon in the sky soon tae fly with'em ferever. I know he'd like tae see ye again."
Laronar nodded. He had seen many a Kota before their mortality claimed them, and each one had made the ancient druid grieve for their loss, and yet rejoice in the next son of the ancient bloodline coming into their role as Windspeaker, and an adherent of Ohn'ara.
As he approached the High Seat of Ironforge, the Wildhammer representative was already gone, the Dark Iron's new queen seemed to be fuming quietly to herself, which left Muradin Bronzebeard as his go-to representative. "Can I help ye, Night Elf?" He asked, as Laronar approached, missive in hand.
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"Aye." Laronar answered. His voice caused the Bronzebeard-turned-Dark Iron Queen to face him as well, the storm clouds now absent from her brow. It was a bit unsettling, how easily she hid her fury, but her eyes gave her frustration away. "The High Priestess and Archdruid Stormrage humbly request your presence at a summit in Darnassus. The details are inside."
Muradin, who unknown to the druid had just helped foil the latest Dark Iron plot to seize power in Ironforge, let out a poorly concealed sigh. Right then, Darnassus felt like it was on the other side of the planet. Which it was. "Och...we'll have tae discuss this, an' it sounds loik the Wildhammers'll 'ave a new representative soon. Ironforge wasn't exactly welcomin' tae Kurdran." He shot a glare at Moira, though it might have just been a knowing stare, it was clear the Bronzebeard elder was done with his niece's shenanigans.
Laronar simply nodded. "I'm sure the Archdruid and the High Priestess will understand. I will explain the delay of your answer upon my return. I'll take my leave now." Laronar bowed low, to both Muradin and Moira, and then swiftly turned and headed back to the Wildhammer's encampment.
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He returned to find Hjaldi, helping an aged Bjaldi onto a gryphon who seemed less than enthused to have the old, incontinent Dwarf on his back again. An unflattering fart ripped from the aged ass of the Dwarf, and that, was the last straw for the gryphon. It raised its wings into the air and power flapped up into the heights of Ironforge as its handler shouted at it. It shrieked at him, and then began rubbing its fart-side against an old ash-covered support pillar in the mountain-city's ceiling.
Bjaldi just sighed, which was when Laronar spoke. "Yea, I'd run too. Age can't have improved that odor."
A few of the surrounding Wildhammers in the midst of packing stopped, shocked that anyone would address an elder shaman suffering the effects of age so callously, and as the old Dwarf shuffled around to look at the speaker of these words, his old face cracked with a grin, as Laronar stepped closer. The pain of seeing his friend, another friend, ravaged by mortality still hurt just as much as it ever had. "Laronar Sturmclaw. Wots it been? Three decades? Five?"
Laronar counted in his head, frowned, and then shrugged. "Probably closer to ten than I'd like…it's been a busy few centuries. Especially these last few years."
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Bjaldi snorted. "Few years? Lad, have ye not seen the effects o' the Cataclysm wit yer lofty bird wings? Loch Modan was emptied, when that black bastard Deathwing came flyin' over. He did even more tae Stormwind. An' Northshire. The Park District is gone, tae hear the Humans describe et."
"Not the Park…" Laronar said, frowning. Losing a Moonwell was always unfortunate, to say nothing of those who guarded such places.
"Aye.' Bjaldi continued. "An' tha's just the past few hours. Word is, your people were hit too, lad. They say the black bastard shot up not far from Teldrassil, an' then shattered Auberdine. He appeared near the Wetlands, too. Broke the dam creating Loch Modan, an' wreaked all sorts o' havoc everywhere else on the continent. We're on our way back to the Aerie, b'fore we fly tae the Hinterlands tae aid our kin there."
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Laronar eyed his old friend. "Surely not you, though…what do You intend to do, old friend?"
Bjaldi smirked. "I was goin' tae rest me arse an' enjoy me pipe while Hjaldi does the flyin' and the fightin'. It's a young Dwarf's game, that. I'm too old fer that shit." Around them, the other Wildhammers were taking off, leaving most if not all of the hay where it was, for the Bronzebeards to handle. Said handling, naturally, was most of the charred gryphon nests being pushed into the Great Forge, and the lava powering it. "Unfortunately, it seems me damn Gryphon left wit'out me."
Laronar frowned. "What happened to Stormwing?"
Bjaldi's face fell. "Age, lad. An' I'm too old fer another Gryphon chick."
Laronar sighed, but knew what his old friend needed. "I need to get back to Darnassus if what you say is true, but I can be your wings back to the Aerie. Just don't fart on me." In truth, he could tell the Dwarf maybe had days left to live, and he would be damned if he let a spirit as free as Bjaldi Galehammer die under a mountain, or ground bound on the road.
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Bjaldi just smiled. "I make no promises. But how? Wot're ye gonna do, lad? Carry me wit yer wee owl talons?"
Laronar just winked and tapped his nose, before stretching his arms wide. They became wings, several times larger than any owl that lived in the Eastern Kingdoms, or even Kalimdor. The rest of the body shifted size as well, as he spent the magical power to enlarge his usual Flight Form to one that could accommodate riders. "Hoo." He said, crouching low for the Dwarf.
Hjaldi helped his father climb on, and once they were settled, Laronar felt a rumbling between his shoulder blades, and he heard a noise that was muffled by leather. His head turned all the way around to the Dwarf, and his great horned feathery brow furrowed as he narrowed his burning amber eyes. His old friend grinned, showing several missing teeth, and several in the process of rotting out of his skull. With the owl equivalent of a sigh, Laronar's giant Owl Form ascended swiftly through Ironforge, and Hjaldi balked as he realized he and his own mount would have to fly hard to keep pace.
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It wasn't a long flight to Aerie Peak, for Laronar went in a straight line, despite his passenger's desire to take the scenic route. Laronar flew him once around the valley the Aerie overlooked, before finally ending what was likely his friend's final flight. He would've given Bjaldi an entire day, and night, if the world wasn't literally on fire.
He stayed with his friend that night, long after Hjaldi bid his farewells, knowing it was likely the last time he'd see his aged father still breathing. Laronar helped his friend roast a brace of rabbits for dinner, which was ultimately made into stew and potatoes cooked Dwarven style until they were brown, crunchy, and lightly salted. In terms of food, even the proud elven druid had to admit the Dwarves and Humans far outclassed his people. The best they had was cheese, wine, and assorted vegetables, and that did little against the culinary mastery of Human and Dwarven culture, especially now that they had been connected more than ever for several years now by the Deeprun Tram.
"There's somethin' I should tell ye of, lad." Bjaldi finally said, once they were high as the gryphons hunting in the night sky. "There's an old elven ruin in these lands. Around which stands a massive tree, with a portal. I went there once, when I was a bit more red than silver, an' the Dragon there informed me, after threatenin' tae eat me, of course, tha' the portal led tae the Emerald Dream."
Laronar stared at the Dwarf. "I could…get home much faster, if I can open it. Thank you for sharing this secret. I won't forget this, Bjaldi."
"Aye, lad I know. Just promise an old Dwarf one thing, eh?"
"Anything." The druid answered, as he stood and readied to leave.
"Don't spend so long between visitin' me son, an' his kin. He's not like me, he'll take et personally." Bjaldi laughed then, a hearty sound that, inevitably, gave way to a coughing fit.
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Laronar affirmed his promise, and then shot into the night, leaving only a few black feathers to mark his passing. Bjaldi caught three of them, and began tying them into a charm. They'd only last as long as Laronar's form did, but by the time they disappeared, the old Wildhammer Shaman had begun to traverse the Shadowlands.
In the dark of the night, even with his vision, it took the druid longer than it should have for him to finally notice the massive outline of the tree that marked the portal's location. Upon landing, the owl noted nobody in the area. No Dragons. No critters. The woods seemed abandoned, and the trees seemed asleep, or in shock, after the planet-wide turmoil. He'd seen it in Gilneas, but it still hadn't fully registered.
He approached the portal, and as he'd done with the last one, he activated the runes, and entered the Dream. This time, the Dragon waiting for him was a drake, and it snarled at him, hastily closing the portal behind him. "You could let Deathwing's evil into the Dreamer's realm, Druid! Be more careful!" It hissed, before flying away.
Sparing no time, Laronar shifted forms and dashed for Hyjal's portal, one of the few besides the Moonglade that stayed open, at least in times of crisis. Flying up from the portal atop Hyjal's summit, Laronar surveyed the mountain, and found it pristine. All seemed well, in fact. Teldrassil still stood, in the distance, and the wilds of Darkshore and Ashenvale seemed intact.
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Laronar made a note to return to visit a certain contemporary of his who'd been imprisoned here, but right now he worried for those in Auberdine. As he descended from the peace pervading the regrowing World Tree, the winds became more chaotic, but Laronar had long since learned how to fly in stormy weather. Or so he thought. The wind had no pattern to it, this time. It was senseless, unbridled chaos. Upon getting closer to the land below, he finally saw just how hard not Auberdine, but all of Darkshore had been hit. It was more chunks of land now, than a solid mass, and all across the area Laronar spied his people working to mitigate the disaster amidst the roaring winds.
It got worse around Auberdine, and the druid was forced to land. Auberdine itself was now a ruin. Bodies were everywhere, and lording over all of them, a stormy colored air elemental, no doubt the source of the winds likely keeping hippogryphs and druid scouts from reporting back to Teldrassil.
Furious more at Deathwing than the angered elemental, Laronar stalked towards it, and tore into its wispy form. One might think it hard to damage the wind, but the druid managed, and the elemental gave a furious shriek before it, and its spell, vanished. Snorting derisively as it fled, Laronar moved on, casting several potent Regrowths on bodies still warm in the ruins, before he hurried on to Darnassus.
The next few weeks, months, even years, would be spent recovering from this disaster, and once Laronar reported in, he lent his aid and wisdom where he could.