Laronar Stormclaw spent three thousand years of his life in Val'sharah, and those days would be, in the future, fondly looked back upon as some of the most peaceful he ever had. As it turned out, he rather liked female druids, or rather, they seemed to like him, and his lack of a shirt. As he'd honed his skills in the Feral Arts further, usually by the advice of Ashamane herself, his elven form's cat-like influences had increased. His body became his strongest weapon, and the rippling muscles stood out rather obviously, drawing looks from all sexes, when he'd visit the Dreamgrove, or Shaladrassil. He increased his knowledge of healing as well, for Cenarius trained with whoever wished to learn from him, and his grove was often lined with eyes of druids from many sects, all eager to watch and learn from the Forest Lord himself.
After such an extended period of peace, his people had, upon repopulating from 'casual' relationships rather effectively, once more shifted to a preference for life mates, and children with two parental figures. In Val'sharah at least, where defending the Dream was something they could yet do while they were awake thanks to the Dreamway's connection, there were members of the Circle belonging to both sexes in ever-growing amounts. The mainland, by all reports, remained split as the druids there slumbered and dreamed.
Eventually, the split by gender made its way to Val'sharah as well, and Koda's generation of females became the only one, as the gender roles of their people were embraced, even in the isolation of Val'sharah. With this new decree from the mainland came several other apprentices that Laronar greeted with his usual ambivalence, though he would soon come to regret not checking to see who had trained them.
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Eventually, he learned that Fandral had evidently managed to poison Val'sharah's opinion of him, as the Silithus bound druid had snuck an apprentice with an oversized mouth through the Dreamway portal. With his Highborne heritage once more common knowledge, those who studied under him differentiated themselves from the mainland druids, by claiming not to care. Anyone with eyes could see Ashamane favored him, and for her Ashen, that was enough for most of them to ignore his Highborne blood entirely.
Kota, the fifty second son of Kota, had eventually passed on, but Laronar had the distinct pleasure of being considered a family friend by his son and mate. His son, also Kota, went on to become a druid of the sky much as his ancestors had, and Laronar taught him as much as he could, and promised to continue to do so for all of his descendants, as long as he was able.
The immortal Archdruid lived through thirty two generations of his mentor's family line, and trained every one of them, when the time came. It was fair to say that, as the years passed, he spent more and more time around Highmountain. Several times he had even rallied the Ashen that he'd deemed were combat worthy, and had them sharpen their fangs on the harpies that ever plagued the Tauren. In this manner, he trained them for the wars that would inevitably come, and once they were ready, he gave them the title of Sharpclaw, and sent them on to guard the Dreamway portal beside Koda's own Druids of the Claw.
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Despite his subtle notoriety, he did receive several offers for magical advice after word spread about his heritage, though he dissuaded most of those, as his knowledge of spellcraft was outdated at best. One invitation specifically came from a master of the spellcasting Balance Druids, a druid who had, in his day, been a master sorcerer of the Kaldorei Empire. Though not endowed with high blood, his magical might had made up for it, and the man, Isoraen Nightstar, had proven himself in the ancient war, and among the druids that followed immediately after.
It was safe to say that he was one of the founding minds behind their current balance spells, and his study of the craft never ceased. He had taken an interest in Laronar when he'd heard the feral Archdruid was a natural at fighting, and healing, but never seemed to call upon the spells that he had access to. His Sharpclaw students also tended to eschew the mixing of arcane and natural magic, in favor of more powerful healing, and thus survival.
Isoraen had come to him with an offer to share knowledge. He claimed that there were depths yet unplumbed by his Druids of the Moon, yet another sect Malfurion had ordered to train in Val'sharah, though their specialty was spellcraft, and most of them spent their waking hours in the Dream, or at the relatively close Temple of the Moon that had once been a part of Suramar. While still somewhat reluctant to consider himself a caster, Laronar had agreed to help his fellow Archdruid, and the two soon became good friends.
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They had studied for well over a century before they made any real progress, for Laronar's skill with spellcraft had been genuinely unrefined, and most of the arcane learning had changed over the course of eight thousand years of druidic study and advancement. At the same time, some of the older Eldarath runes and sigils, what he could remember at any rate, had been new and ultimately useful to Isoraen in the long-term.
Once Laronar refined his arcane knowledge to Isoraen's satisfaction, the two began looking into ways to increase the Balance Druid's powers, and that, was where Laronar's expertise came in. They were sitting at one of the Moonwells within the Dreamgrove one evening, enjoying a bowl of the herb that had exploded in popularity once word got out that the Druids of the Claw had seeds, and were willing to give out more.
"Nothing you've taught me seems like it could become stronger, Isoraen. Your Arcane mastery surpasses mine, though I think I handle the natural magic as well as you. I do not know what you expected me to help you figure out, but it seems like our research of late keeps hitting dead ends." Laronar took a toke on the well-used cat-head pipe, amber eyes on the sparkling water before them.
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"You have a perspective that I do not, Stormclaw. We are approaching this the wrong way. Don't try to increase the spell's power using one of my methods. We've reached the max potential, with our current knowledge at least, where spells are concerned. They aren't likely to change much from Sun, Moon, Wrath, and Starfire. Use a method that a master of the Feral Arts would. Surely there must be something." The azure-haired elf was staring at him, expectantly, and Laronar sighed.
"I...may know of something. One could argue that our Cat and Bear Forms enhance whatever fighting ability we have naturally, be it offensive or defensive, and lately, even in my true shape, I'm finding that I'm stronger. Enhanced by the connection to my patron. Master Elothir has a similar tactic, as you know. He fully embraced nature to better understand the Restoration Arts by enhancing his Treant form, and I would say it has succeeded." Isoraen nodded, and Laronar continued. "The next logical step would be to find a Wild God that has a connection to the Arcane arts. My first suggestion would be Ursol, but the Bear's form is primarily defensive. Some make good use of the combination between spellcraft and shifted form, but in my experience, they are still weaker compared to those like you."
Isoraen nodded again. "So we need to find a new Wild God, one in Balance with nature. It doesn't have to necessarily be part of a species that casts magic, either. The connection is what will strengthen our spells."
Laronar shrugged. "A magical connection would help, but I do not know of such a creature."
His contemporary grinned at him. "Don't you?"
When understanding failed to show, Isoraen took the druid to the very cave he inhabited, most nights, and shared with the small tribe of Moonkin that had descended from his original cavemates. Much like the seemingly endless line of Kota Skyhorn, they too had learned from the druid, though their knowledge had grown when it came to smoking, rather than combat or magic. He had considered them creatures of the world, sentient, capable of speech, but shy and still very much isolationist. They were to be defended, not thrust into danger. That mantle had, quite literally, been placed primarily upon his people, with all that Nordrassil represented.
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Isoraen gathered the small tribe in the cave they called home, and as the two elves started another session of smoking and stories, the Balance Druid posed a question to them. "Tell me, allies of nature, do your people have a...deity or god that you all, more or less, pay homage to? You know, the way we elves praise Elune."
The assembled Moonkin hooted mirthful chuckles, and their current leader, a female by the name of Loonuru, answered him in surprisingly coherent elven, after passing on the smoldering pipe, and exhaling the pungent smell of the herb. "We praise the Moon Mother as you do, Star Elf. It is she who created us from her favored beasts of the land, and it is her influence we spread."
The two druids shared a look, and Laronar spoke then. "I think Isoraen means someone more akin to Ashamane. You know the panther. She lives rather close, and of course, within me." More mirthful hoots filled the cave.
Loonuru seemed to understand, more or less, and nodded. "There is one we tell tales of, a hero of our people, who in ages past fought for the Moon Mother, and was rewarded with power. Power not unlike what your people once indulged in...yet, the tales suggest it was more than simple arcane. Some believe this hero persists in the Green Beyond, and aids our people by way of reincarnation, in times of war. I have never seen him. Your kind travels there often, do you not know of Lunaclaw?"
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Isoraen and Laronar shared another look. Both elves were smirking, now. This was the closest thing they'd had to a genuine breakthrough in years, and now they had a tangible trail to follow. Isoraen glanced around at the small tribe. "No, I cannot say that we do...but I intend to. Who here will come with us to find this Lunaclaw?"
The Moonkin murmured in low hoots, something that Laronar had come to see as a sort of secondary language, that only they understood. Having lived with them for millennia though, and realizing his Owl Form could understand such sounds on instinct, he divined that they were afraid to travel to the Dream. To them, it was the afterlife, a place to go only when dead. Only the mysteriously powerful Kaldorei had ever traveled to and from that place where demigods dwelled.
Loonuru seemed unphased by the idea though, and since she had come from elsewhere before coming to lead the small tribe, who admired her beauty and knowledge, she was likely used to travel. Many of those hatched here did not wander far from the cave, and attempts by Laronar to bring them elsewhere had been adventurous, but ultimately they seemed to prefer staying in their home, smoking the days away.
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Ultimately only she proved willing enough to brave the Dream, and that was only after she had extracted oaths from the druids, and bound them with feathers from their Flight Forms, and some vines. She hung the symbol of their pact around her neck, and then journeyed the short distance to the Dreamgrove, and the portal to the other plane of existence.
The Ashen who guarded the physical entrance alongside a pair of Koda's own Druids of the Claw gave them a strange look as the two elder members of their order herded a Wildkin through the portal, claiming it was all for the advancement of knowledge. Once within, the properly awed Loonuru performed a simple ritual, normally used for gaining guidance by way of communing with nature.
What she found, was the Forest Lord. Once she'd finished casting her ritual spell, a whirling storm of emerald energy manifested before the three, and Cenarius formed from it, glancing down at them with a raised eyebrow. "Laronar Stormclaw, and Isoraen Nightstar. It has been some time. Did you require my aid?"
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The two druids bowed in the Kaldorei fashion, and bowed low. All who resided in the Dreamgrove had, at one point, studied with their strongest natural ally by way of the Dreamway, and the closeness to his own grove. Even now, that grove was likely where his physical body rested, as his mind traveled the Dreamscape.
"No, Forest Lord." Laronar said, as he stood, and stretched his limbs with a satisfying crack. He gestured then to Loonuru, who had become shy, and quiet, in the presence of such an obvious force of nature made manifest. "This one would ask your aid. There is one within the Dream who we are looking for. Lunaclaw, apparently. Isoraen and I believe that with his knowledge, we can make our spellcasters even more powerful, perhaps even on par with the sorcerers of our bygone empire."
Cenarius chuckled, and the Moonkin seemed to, like everything else around them, relax and feel more at peace. The overwhelmingly powerful, and almost fatherly presence of the Forest Lord affected everything around him, and in the Dream, this was much more obvious. "Malfurion is a step ahead of the two of you. He has been training with that very spirit for some time now, at least since he last awakened to stretch his limbs."
The druids shared a look. "Shan'do, the last time Malfurion walked Azeroth was when Vordrassil was broken…" Laronar said, arching a brow. "That was almost...what, just over thirty two hundred years ago? He's been training that long? Alone?"
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Isoraen shrugged. "If he's followed the same logic we have, he could be much stronger as a caster, by now…"
Cenarius gave a chuckle that had a bit of a darker undertone to it. "You could say that." The blazing amber orbs focused on the Moonkin. "Be welcome here, child of nature. You have sought honest guidance, and I freely give it. Follow the path to your hero."
Loonuru looked slightly dazed, as a flash of green briefly surrounded her head, but she shook it off, and nodded, then bowed as well. She hooted a series of noises Laronar had never heard, but of course, Cenarius understood, and the eyes grew distant. "You should stay close to the font of life, if that is your desire. And I do not mean Val'sharah." He looked up then in a specific direction, and the eyes narrowed. Cenarius sighed deeply. "I must go. Something has gone...amiss. Do not distract Malfurion from finishing his training."
With that, the Forest Lord vanished again, as the energy that was his dreamform blazed towards the direction he'd faced. In the chaos that was the Dream, Laronar had no sense of directions, and in his limited experience, they didn't matter much here.
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Loonuru led them well, and with the presence of two who were as much keepers of the Dream as the green dragons, they avoided angering or running afoul of the numerous fae creatures that flitted about the strange, spiral-shaped bioluminescent trees all around them. They had been walking the Dream for what felt like several hours, much harder while still having their bodies, when out of nowhere, a transparent gold-feathered Wildkin appeared in front of them, and held up a paw in the universal motion for 'wait'.
A low hum of some kind of energy, likely from a spell, filled the air. Then, came the boom. An explosion of burning sparkles lit the landscape before them as beams of fire from the sun and the moon strafed the area. Loonuru hooted a question at the ghostly figure, namely about who he was, but the creature had simply winked at her, and then vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared.
Another series of booms soon followed the first, and the three watched as the land being pounded by the explosive series of spells seemed all but unaffected by them. Any damage righted itself in moments, ready for another barrage. The two elder druids had quickly pinpointed the source of the magic, and spied a Wildkin with a truly impressive set of antlers, casting from atop a nearby cliff, wreathed in lighting and arcane power.
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They took the long way around, but by the time they reached the top, the Wildkin was gone, and all that remained was an incorporeal Malfurion, drinking some sort of sparkling liquid from a nearby flower that, from the look of it, contained a source of water within its bulb. Though Laronar could not recall ever having seen rain in the Dream.
He turned as he saw them, and smiled. "Stormclaw and Nightstar. I might've known. What brings you so deep into the Dream, old friends?"
The two druids bowed, and Loonuru joined them as well. Even among Moonkin, Malfurion Stormrage had a reputation. Isoraen spoke this time, as he was the one heading this venture, mainly. "We've come seeking the spirit of Lunaclaw, in an effort to enhance the spellcasting abilities of the Druids of the Moon."
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Malfurion nodded to himself, and chuckled. "I expected one of my Druids might come looking some day." The now burning amber orbs moved to Laronar. "But I did not expect Ashamane's Chosen to be with you. You do not like walking this realm."
Laronar shrugged. "I could not spend millennia in but a dream of the living world, no. But I do not dislike it. I understand its importance. I will answer the dragon's call to defend it. I do not wish to reside here, though. Not yet, anyways. Not until I'm little more than a wisp."
The elder druid chuckled again. "Even wisps defend the Dream. Come, sit, there is much I can tell you to aid your cause, I think." The eyes shifted to Loonuru, and he nodded his antlered head towards her. "And who have you brought with you?"
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"A local from the tribe of Moonkin I sometimes stay with. She is seeking Lunaclaw, as well." Laronar said, motioning for her to sit as well around the triangle of shaped logs that passed for the Archdruid's resting area.
Malfurion nodded. "That was who kept you from being caught in my spells earlier. He is a good friend, and a kind spirit. His time of rebirth is soon as well, or so he keeps telling me."
Isoraen spoke then. "There was another we saw, casting the spells. Who was that, Shan'do?"
Malfurion chuckled, and then pointed to himself. "Me. In a form designed for casting and enhancing our spells." He looked at the two druids again and chuckled. "I think I can guess how you came to think arriving here would lead you to advanced learning, and it has. You were wise to seek a master of shapeshifting Isoraen. Has his aversion to casting faded?"
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Laronar rolled his eyes, and the Druid of the Moon chuckled. "Not entirely...but he knows as much as any student I have given the title of Balance Druid to."
Malfurion's gaze fell on Laronar again. He met it evenly, but without challenge. Malfurion had made it clear early on in their shapeshifting training that, in all their arts, he was a prodigy. Still, he'd never actually outright beaten Laronar, as the two had only wrestled to a draw when they had clashed in their Cat and Bear forms, and eventually, they'd stopped risking serious injury just to test something as arbitrary as personal strength. "So you have mastered the animal totems, healing arts, and now our spells. Am I correct?"
Laronar glanced at Isoraen, who kept his face neutral, but he nodded all the same. "I am more skilled with the first two, but I could instruct a novice in the ways of Balance casting, yes."
Malfurion nodded. "Then I congratulate you, Laronar Stormclaw. I had hoped you may one day reach this level, so very few ever do, but after I'd heard of your warranted hesitance with spells, I didn't think it would happen."
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Laronar arched a bushy green eyebrow. "Level? To which level are you referring?"
Isoraen spoke up then. "The level that all current Archdruids, with the exception of yourself and a few...overzealous followers of Ursoc, are expected to have mastered. We just finished your training, which technically, makes you what Shan'do Cenarius calls a 'Druid of the Wild'. One who has mastered the arts of each branch of Druidism."
Laronar shrugged. "I wouldn't call myself a natural spellcaster…"
Malfurion chuckled, and drew some sort of edible root from one of his many pouches. His dreamform brightened as the semi-corporeal form gnawed on it. "Not in that Form, no...Ashamane's influence has shifted you to a more natural power. That is why you can reach out to the Spirit of the Wilds so easily. I've learned what she is out here, you know. As will you, in time. You were right to choose a Moonkin spirit, but as you likely know, they were made for the Mother Moon, and are as much her children as nature's."
He leaned in then, and the other two druids, with their Moonkin ally, did the same as the Archdruid's tone went low. "The Moon Goddess, from what I have divined in my...limited knowledge... has been shown to have power over the healing light, and the arcane, amongst other forces. Her aspects are many, but for our interests, it is the moon's arcane power that the Moonkin tap into so well, and fuse with the natural powers of the world. The Tauren have made a similar connection, though they view it as an eye of a deity. The fact remains that they draw arcane power from the moon as well. Lunaclaw thinks there is a source of mana up there, but I suppose we will never find out."
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Laronar nodded. As was common amongst the scattered and free Kaldorei, those who could fly had, early on usually, tested the heights of their flight range. Many had discovered, sometimes to mortal peril, that at some point, the sky's air ran out, and without a means of sustaining it, they would soon pass out. More than a few druids had fallen prey to frozen wings as well, and it had since been strongly advised that, if they wished to test their skills, they do so against Hyjal's height, or in Val'sharah's case, the neighboring Highmountain.
Isoraen spoke then, "So where is this Lunaclaw? I wish to try this Form...and I wish to see what it does for that one." He nodded at the Feral Druid. "He could potentially match you, Shan'do. The Highborne blood is strong, though he won't admit it."
Laronar sighed, and Malfurion laughed. "We will soon see. Come, my friends. I will show you what I have learned…"
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Some Time Later…
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Time was a bit wobbly in the Dream, one of the many reasons Laronar disliked walking it. He could be gone for years sometimes, awakening to find that in those years, close friends had passed on, and new generations had replaced them. Koda had eventually suggested that he should make stronger ties to those who would not perish so easily, that he invited perpetual heartbreak if he did not, but he insisted on his involvement with the Moonkin and the Tauren.
Both tribes saw him as a wise elder, an ally, even if he was Kaldorei, and a bit...feral. Such things did not bother the mortal races, though truthfully, only the Skyhorn of Highmountain liked him. Many of the other tribes had snorted in distrust upon learning of the 'position' he'd supposedly had in their empire. Nevermind that he'd been a child, or even a 'rebel'. The Skyhorn, at least, understood he was a kind spirit, and every Kota he trained reminded the naysayers of that fact.
Learning under Malfurion again had awakened old memories of the days when they had eagerly, and unknowingly more often than not, attempted to contact a new Ancient, and hopefully gain their form. The Moonkin's form was rather different to the others he had taken in the past. He felt the Moon Goddesses' presence constantly while he casted, and it made his hackles rise. Her staring was ceaseless, and the more he used her form, the more he felt a growing sense of disappointment from the spirit just outside the reach of his senses. She was no Wild God, of that he was certain, but there were enough similarities between how he drew from Ashamane, and how Isoraen drew from her, to make him wonder.
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Eventually, his unsettled feeling began to show in their training. Isoraen, being what he was and having a personal faith that was, in a word, unshakeable, had excelled, and it was clear he was enjoying the form, the progress he was making, and learning once more under Shan'do Stormrage. Training sessions with the master Archdruid were always...unique.
For Laronar, they brought a growing sense of irritation, anger, and frustration. His spells did not, as Isoraen termed it, 'boom' like his own and Malfurion's. Strangely, Malfurion had remained silent when asked his opinion of why the Feral Druid was having such difficulty.
Isoraen had remained puzzled, and eventually, as he always did, Laronar turned to the Wild Gods, his oldest friends for advice in this latest of his endeavors. Strangely though, while they were glad to hear from him, they pointedly avoided his question, and as always, forcing the ancient entities to give him an answer would end in failure. Even Ashamane had hesitated, and advised him not to worry about it. She had quoted the Kota who had mentored him then, and told him to continue to practice until he got it right. It was clear she had an idea of the issue, but in the end, there was only one of the Wild Gods who was more than happy to give the frustrated Feral Druid an honest answer.
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The Wolf Ancient had, for obvious reasons, been one of the last Laronar sought wisdom from, but as the powerful tones of Goldrinn thundered with the ring of truth, and genuine power within the Feral Druid's skull, he once more found himself admiring the wolf's desire to embrace his natural power, regardless of the Moon's opinion. "The Moon Goddess is a harsh mistress. She demands the best of those she grants her power to, and always, she has held a…prrrrejudice for those like you and I. I have watched you a long time, Laronar Stormclaw. I sense a kindred spirit...one that, upon the advisement of my fellows, I have decided to trust." The wolf ancient had inclined his head in respect, through his visage within the Dream. "Always know that when, not if, the Moon abandons you because you are too 'savage', My power will be here...waiting to embrace you, a true child of the Wilds, as the Moon never could."
Laronar's eyes shot open from his trance, as he'd been sitting cross-legged. He found himself sweating, and moreover, the most famous druid in existence was sitting across from him. Staring. Malfurion's thick green eyebrows crashed together as they saw Laronar's expression. "So. You have an idea of what is holding you back. I expect you're rather...angry?"
In truth, he hadn't been, until the Archdruid insinuated he already was. Laronar felt the rage rise, and he snarled, despite himself. "I don't...I don't understand her reasoning. My family gave a mother and daughter to the Moon's service. They died defending Her temple, when all the other Sisters had ridden off to the front lines. I lost both of them, largely because their devotion put them directly in the Demon's path, and now I am judged to be 'lesser' because I embrace the true nature of the Wild Gods!?"
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Malfurion sighed. "You have a choice to make. Though I suspect I know which you will choose...if you embrace the Moon, and put your faith in Her, as we have, you will likely have access to impressive spells, as we do."
Laronar stared at him. "I do not require the Moon's aid to cast spells, and the alternative is a Pack Form granted by Goldrinn himself with the promise not to drive me mad with fury. The Wolf Ancient may be too 'savage' for Elune's liking, but his word is more than enough for me. He at least knows himself, and does not shy from what he is!"
Malfurion's eyes darkened. "We have been down this road, Laronar. The Pack Form will never be mastered. If you accept the Wolf's offer, you will lose the Moon's favor. It will weaken you greatly. That much, I know."
"This would be much easier if I could but simply talk to her...but I have never heard her voice, or felt her presence. Not even when her light has mended my wounds. Not one single time, over the better part of eight thousand years, Malfurion. Is that truly so much to ask? One audience? Even the Zandalari's Loa gave me at least that, before demanding my total devotion for their power." He met Malfurion's gaze, evenly. "Goldrinn said it himself. I am a child of the Wilds. Not the Moon."
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Very suddenly, and without warning, a familiar pair of orbs, one blue, and small, one white, and impossibly bright, appeared in the aether that was the Dream's sky. Isoraen and Malfurion knelt. Laronar stood, wincing as he stared the two down. This, at least, was a tangible method of communicating. It was to be short lived, however. Moonlight surrounded him, but as he opened his mouth to petition the Goddess of his people with the respect he, even then, felt she was due, he found himself unable to make a sound. Instead, a feminine and unfamiliar voice filled the area.
Your choice is made. My light will no longer guide you. Embrace your savagery, and waste your potential, if that is your true desire.
Just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she vanished, bringing the smaller moon with her. Once more the sky was emerald, and opaque. Isoraen gasped as he looked at the Feral Druid he'd come to like, and Malfurion sighed. "It seems you have what you desired. But you will never be considered a Druid of the Wild while your spellcasting is, undoubtedly, crippled."
Laronar's brow furrowed. "I can still become a Moonkin. I can still use the power of Nature's spells. I freely give up the Arcane if I must, as I have before. I do not need it."
Malfurion sighed, and with a wave of his hand, created a small, still pool of water in a natural depression of the Dream's landscape. "You have lost much more than the Arcane, Laronar Stormclaw. I tried to warn you. You may come to regret this choice."
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Laronar gazed at the pool, and his amber eyes widened. Gone was the pale, light blue skin of a Highborne. Now, it was darker, more blackish purple, and unquestionably more savage. His elven form had a feral leanness to it that he'd seen before in starving wild animals, and while his muscles were still impressive, they were almost too defined. To the point that he almost seemed to be starving, or for lack of a better word, feral. His eyes burned with a rage and intensity that, before now, he had hidden well. He smirked as he eyed his familiar, and yet brand new visage. It would do nicely for intimidation, though it would likely dissuade any lingering female gazes. At that moment, he didn't much care. He had about as much success with the fairer sex as he did balance spells. They went off, but he could rarely get them or their effects to stick.
As he saw what the Moon Goddess had wrought upon his form, a change he had not requested, and felt more than a little irritated by, he decided that he had been correct in his choice. Elune had stifled his tongue in his first ever audience, when the Ancients had at least heard him out. She had shifted his form without his permission or desire, something every single other Ancient had been hesitant to do, at first. She had been silent throughout his life, whereas the guardians of nature had always left him with wisdom to ponder, even if they considered him a nuisance at first. He knew who he would give his life, and power, to. Those who deserved it.
"So be it. I will leave you and Isoraen to master the Moonkin Form…" He shifted as he spoke, and examined his Wildkin shape. Gone was the healthy bulk. His form was thin, ragged, almost sickly looking, and he felt an irritation grow at the back of his neck the longer he held the shape. He dropped it again, quickly. "This is for those who desire stronger spells. Our Feral Druids should focus on the shapes they always have. This one should be kept...exclusive. Separate from those who embrace the Wilds. It seems that is what Elune desires."
He walked off with an irritated snarl then, leaving Isoraen and Loonuru to train alone with Malfurion. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he paused before the shimmering trees that did not cover the rise the Archdruid had made his camp upon. "Hold a moment, Laronar. Where do you intend to go?"
He met the Archdruid's gaze evenly, and saw Malfurion flinch under the hardness of it. For some reason, that felt more than a little satisfying. "I am going to enhance my own craft, and the tools I will need for whatever war we are called to next." He shrugged the hand off his shoulder, ready to stride forward into the unknown, but paused, and turned to Malfurion. "I have never believed it is my place to intrude on your personal business Shan'do...but it has been over three thousand years since last you walked the waking world's lands. From what little gossip I hear...your mate misses you, and three millennia of training is more than enough for a well earned, if brief, respite I think. Just something to consider, once you have finished here."
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The other druid regarded him for a long time, and as the seconds ticked by, Laronar began to worry that he'd finally overstepped. But, he reasoned, someone had to tell him. As far as he was aware, Malfurion had been all but isolated since breaking Vordrassil. Finally, he spoke. "Your words are...appreciated, old friend. Indeed, I cannot claim to know the Moon's power if I ignore one who is regularly blessed by it. I will return to the waking world soon for a lesson. Travel safely, Stormclaw."
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The two druids bowed, and then parted. Laronar felt Ashamane as he strode boldly into the wilds of the Dream. She knew what he intended, and guided him to where the other Wild Gods resided. First, was Ursol. He found the magically inclined bear in a mirror of what the Grizzly Hills had once looked like, before Andrassil was planted, and shifted through several layers of the Dream, an even more difficult process while still corporeal, until he found the right one. A more recent version, this layer of the ephemeral realm depicted an unbroken Andrassil, and the spirits of deceased Furbolgs walked the area in peace, giving him nods of respect as he sought out their master.
He described to the wise old bear what he intended, and after completing a series of semi-meaningless tasks for the Ancient that evidently greatly aided his people, the bear agreed to empower his kilt with the strength of both brothers, as Ashamane had. A minor blessing by all accounts, but still one very much treasured, as it would strengthen his Bear Form, and enhance his natural defenses in all the others.
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He continued his walk, then guided always by Ashamane's wisdom. He found Aviana, and begged from her a blessing as well. Though the Ancient he spoke with who represented the Owl Form he took did not show themself, Aviana agreed to enhance his form. It seemed she, like Goldrinn, did not approve of what Elune had done to him, but he was not so prideful as to refuse her pity. Even one blessing could mean the difference between surviving, and dying. Once he departed from Shaladrassil's vestige on the Dream plane, for that was where Aviana now resided as she recovered, he sought out other Ancients.
Tortolla and Agamaggan gave what they deemed worth giving, marking his garment with similar paw marks. The power of each Wild God complemented the other's nicely, and he began to understand why such blessings seemed common amongst his fellow Archdruids. When he finally came upon Malorne, or rather, those who served the revered father of Cenarius, they had offered instead to enhance what Ashamane had given his gauntlets, to make the enchantment as immortal as he was, tied to his very life essence. He made sure that they would bond with the essence of whoever took them up after his eventual demise, and departed after profusely thanking the wise stag spirits.
He ventured on in the Dream without a direction then, as Ashamane had led him to every Ancient she knew of. She warned him that seeking others was to court death, but seek them he did. After hours, or perhaps days, of fruitless searching, he found a quiet place to meditate, and water that seemed safe to drink, according to the nearby fae dragons.
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He thought for a long while then. On life, nature, Balance of course, and then finally, he pondered the Dream itself. Why did the Makers refer to it as a Dream? The green dragons had always been tight lipped about the mysterious figures from prehistory, but even the Kaldorei had discovered traces of the ancient past. It was impossible not to, with an empire that spanned the world.
He pondered the concept of gods then, naturally comparing the Wild Gods to Elune. Some seemed much weaker by comparison, but Malorne, perhaps, could match her. She was said to have taken the White Stag as a consort, to create Cenarius after all, and he doubted courting a Goddess or an Aspect was an easy task. Nobody ever really agreed on who Malorne had gone with, though, Elune or Ysera. The green dragons had, in his experience, been of the opinion that it did not matter who'd mothered the Forest Lord. He shared close ties to all three of them, for his visage had adorned the Kaldorei's temples right beside the Moon's.
Laronar sighed heavily, and muttered, mostly to himself before toking on his cat-head pipe. "Where is the god that embodies the Wilds? Where is the god who won't judge me for embracing my nature?"
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His hackles rose then, as quite suddenly, and from seemingly nowhere, multiple familiar and yet powerful presences suddenly filled the small glade. The fae dragons blinked away, more by instinct than anything, and he looked around at the familiar faces, realizing now that he'd spoken with each at one point or another. Some, rather recently. Their paw marks upon his kilt flared in their presence.
Ashamane was grinning, grooming a paw beside Goldrinn, who drifted forward. His form was akin to Cenarius' in that it was more energy than physical matter, which made sense, for most here had fallen to the demons, on the waking plane. "I did warn you, did I not? The Moon is a judgemental mistress." The wolf snorted, irritated, and many of the others gathered, who by his recollection also held the Moon in high esteem, glared at the arrogant wolf.
The large midnight furred panther growled softly at the wolf, and all hushed as the panther spoke. "You should not encourage this…idiocy. Your useless quarrel has now weakened one of the world's defenders. No matter what we teach him, he will be less than he could be. That is the Goddess' punishment." The burning eyes shifted to her pupil, who had a sudden urge to pack his pipe away. "You should be on your knees before that Moon Priestess she so loves, asking, nay Begging, forgiveness. But you're too proud for that."
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Laronar glanced around at each of those gathered, smirking slightly as he saw a spirit he didn't recognize, but that could only be the patron of his Owl Form, that so loved riddles and clever conversations. It was as white as the moon, with antlers to rival Cenarius, and it winked at him with a large eye, as it stayed in the background, listening and not missing a word.. Goldrinn barked back at the panther. "None should be expected to apologize for their own nature. It is absurd, and You know it. She would turn on you as well, were you to truly bare your fangs."
The sleek cat continued licking her paw, but one eye, the closest to the wolf, opened, and the others, Laronar included, stiffened as they felt her killing intent. That feeling prey got when it was locked in the eyes of a Nightsaber. "Unlike some, I only bare my fangs when I intend to kill…"
The wolf gave a low snarl, and the panther's lips pulled back as she hissed in return, but before the bickering could devolve into a brawl, Laronar stood, and spoke loudly, physically, the non-mental words cut through everything else. "Enough! Is there a point to all of...this? Why have you all come? Tell me that at least, before you start weakening your Dreamforms in pointless combat."
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The two bickering Ancients shared a look, and the wolf huffed, in his manner of laughter. "Fine. He is right, there are more important things we must be doing." He stepped up to the druid, crossing the water of the small oasis easily to loom over the now darker toned elf. "For eight millennia, you have shown a dedication to defending the natural world, to helping us, and others like us who could not be here, that has not been seen amongst your kind for...a very long time. You have done so at the expense of the Moon's blessing. As I promised...the power of the Wilds will not abandon you as Elune has."
With that, the massive wolf turned his head to the sky, and howled, summoning forth another presence, one the Feral Druid had contacted only once, and only briefly. He felt the power of the very Spirit of the Wilds from before surge within him again, and then all at once, he knew exactly why his instinct had driven him to defend the world, and the Dream. He also knew, and accepted, that he would be defending Her until the day he finally passed on. He could think of no better way to go. Orange-gold and blue power suffused his form as the Ancients bowed their heads to the overpoweringly massive mental presence the wolf Ancient had summoned in their midst.
Laronar looked at his right hand, covered in Nordrassil's bark, and clawed. He curled it into a fist, and placed it over his heart. "I...understand. What we do...we do for Azeroth herself. My strength...is Hers." Goldrinn pulled back his lips into a grin, and nodded in approval. Behind him, Ashamane rolled her eyes.
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Ahn'Qiraj - Silithus
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Some people are born without any kind of greater plan for their existence. Some, find themselves involved in such a plan over the course of said existence, but every once in a while, there are those who are born at the whim of entities beyond their scope of knowledge and understanding. Such entities, manifestations of the Void itself, are quite adept at planning, and so it was that as Azeroth's nascent Titan stirred in the Dream, a curious young druid, the offspring of one who served the Old Gods well, was wandering in dark places, best left untouched, at the behest of his banished father. They were attempting to regrow Silithus, and return to the Circle's good graces. By no coincidence did these two events occur almost simultaneously, for the Old Ones had seen the Timeways, and knew the ultimate fate of this planet. Or at least, the one they desired for her.
Yessendra, one of several druids who had been ordered to accompany Valstann Staghelm on their efforts to revitalize Silithus, let the Starfire fly, and it brought down the giant wolf-faced stone colossus that had come to life after they'd entered these strange ruins. It had chased them far, but they had weakened it with numerous attacks as they ran, and finally, it fell.
As it did, a low hum filled the air, and the druids shifted shape, running from the ruined city, and darting across the sand as a pack of cheetahs, towards the small outpost they'd made just outside the ruins. The sky above the strange, unknown city filled with millions of dark, winged shapes as the entity below them drove them into a frenzy of madness, with a single purpose.
Retake the world, for C'thun.
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As the elves watched, more giant wolf-faced statues began to rise from the sands of the ruined city, and each of them towered over the walls as the insectoid things encircling them spiraled into the air. Valstann spoke, eyeing the absurd number of massive enemies. They had barely managed to take down one, and that was after losing their Druid of the Claw in sacrifice. "Yessendra...go back to the Hold...warn my father...tell him to call for aid. We...we're going to need everyone."
Yessendra gave a growl of acknowledgement, and then sprinted for the Cenarion Hold.
Though word of the insect horde's coming had been given, many who journeyed with Falstann died, usually in a stalling tactic, until they were inevitably overrun. The insects, whatever they were, outnumbered the elves in the area by a great margin, and they ran unchecked over Silithus, quickly forming new hives as they did.
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Fandral was not idle, however. The Cenarion Hold had, by way of its Lord's authority, access to Moon Priestesses, druids of various sects, and of course, the primarily male Cenarion Infantry, heavy-armored soldiers of the Circle who, while lacking druidic powers, more than made up for that with their glaive-wielding prowess.
Elven forces that received Fandral's call for aid throughout much of Feralas, namely panther-mounted Sentinels, climbed the treacherous mountains into the area known as Silithus, and almost immediately, found themselves fighting through the swarm, with some success, and minimal casualties, though many had deep cuts by the time they arrived at the Hold.
Fandral had put them to work, as their own forces had already formed battle lines against the swarm, and as the eastern forces grouped with the aid from the west, the apparent leader of these numerous bugs found himself losing soldiers, rapidly. The fighting went on for days, but eventually, the elves managed to push further south than they had since the conflict began.
It was as the spires of the city they had learned was called Ahn'Qiraj came into view that Fandral Staghelm received the information that would seal his fate. Southwind Village, the only elven village in this sandy death pit, was under attack. Though it was now behind their front lines, Fandral knew they needed to send aid to that vital outpost that held and supported the eastern flank's soldiers, and ultimately, that aid was given in the form of his own son.
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Days passed, and the elves saw only the ground variants of the bugs, their winged leaders, those the ground-pounders seemed directed by when they were hovering above the field, remained unnervingly absent. Fandral used the brief respite in the sudden and massive assault to call for yet more aid, but unfortunately for him, it would come too late.
After three days, they learned where Valstann and his forces had ended up. Their general, the one the Silithid called Rajaxx, demonstrated to Fandral Staghelm exactly what kind of war this was going to be by tearing his son in half before the banished Archdruid's eyes. Hive'Regal and Hive'Zora's forces, now melded and even at that moment reinforcing the main swarm, thundered down against the elven infantry, and purple limbs alongside sprays of blood filled the air. The lines buckled, and the disheartened Staghelm was forced to retreat.
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The elve's tactics were thankfully well adapted to facing an enemy that was legion, and constantly on the advance, and as with the demons, they were driven back hard, wherever the bugs met them in decent numbers. The Sentinel army had made way for the Un'goro Crater as the first reports of the enemy came in. They intended to use their skill in the trees to fight off the hordes, and provide shelter for the druids and priestesses fleeing the area.
The few living Priestesses of the Moon covered the Cenarion force's retreat, and their spells wrought a massive toll amongst the newly awakened bugs. Eventually, all the elves had retreated into the crater, and whatever controlled the bugs pulled them back. The Sentinels began ordering those who yet lived, and new reinforcements arrived by the hour, all of them hiding in the gloom of the ancient trees that seemed to repel the bugs.
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The Dreamgrove - Val'sharah
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Laronar stumbled out of the Dreamway, muttering to himself in an older elven dialect, still pondering what he'd been shown. He looked up as he heard a familiar roar, from Delandros Shimmermoon, as usual in his cat shape. He had asked how Laronar had gotten so strong with his own, and aside from having eight thousand years of practice, more or less, on him he'd said that spending time in the form strengthened the bond between elf and animal, and that fighting the urge to be one, was as pointless as fighting one's self.
The sleek panther shifted as he landed from one of the higher branches above the portal with the same gracefulness most cats had. He bowed. "Shan'do Stormclaw...finally. We have been unable to reach you. You are needed. Now."
Laronar slowly arched an eyebrow, and then looked at the Dreamgrove. It was far more lively than he'd ever seen it, and over the past several millennia, after all the shaping and necessary building had finished, it had taken on an almost serene silence. That was gone now, as a sloth of bears rumbled by them, through the Dreamway portal. They were outfitted with bark armor, and Laronar sighed. Only one thing could disturb the peace like this. "Who are we fighting this time? Did the Satyrs under Shaladrassil finally wake up?"
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Delandros looked alarmed. "The what!? No, not...Satyrs...probably? Are there really Satyrs beneath it? They shouldn't be anywhere near the tree! They're Dem-"
Laronar held up a hand. "I know. I taught you most of what you know of Demons, remember? Though I am impressed you found that Succubus coven in Azsuna. They're hard to track by smell."
The Sharpclaw smirked. "Mine wasn't. So you don't know about the war, then? You were in the Dream for the past week." Like the other druids, he too was dressed for war, and it seemed that this time, their respective units would be sharing a set of armor. Leafy pauldrons of familiar, if slightly more serrated leaves now adorned the Ashen druid, and he had a kilt that was green and brown, though different in design from Laronar's. His hands also sported similar, if less bulky, wooden gauntlets that ended in impressive claws, and while Laronar's chest was, as always, lacking a shirt, the Ashen had evidently opted for some kind of chest protection, in the form of criss-crossing leather straps with various druidic runes inscribed on the leather.
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Laronar nodded, smirking at how well his longtime apprentice had copied his own attire, and still managed to keep his personal influences as well. "I suppose I was. Tell me. Who is heading this...new war?"
"Shan'do Stormrage and the High Priestess know of the danger. Shan'do woke up several days ago, and not long after, Archdruid Staghelm called for help, from Silithus. The world is again in danger of being overrun by darkness. It has fallen to us to defend Kalimdor." Delandros handed him a similar pair of leather straps, and Laronar sighed, putting them over his chest. They were rather comfortable though, for chest attire, and they enhanced what little magic he had access to still.
"Malfurion will always have my strength, should he need it, but I wouldn't be surprised if Fandral was the reason behind this whole conflict. I told you, and now you have your proof. He's doomed to be drawn into trouble." Delandros bowed to the crotchety druid's wisdom, as Laronar continued eyeing the various sects of druids, each garbed differently, but appropriately for their chosen specialization. He spied the Druids of the Moon, and a familiar figure among them, like the others, adorned with an appropriate blending of natural wood, and moon related sigils.
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Laronar looked around Delandros then as yet more druids moved through the portal, presumably towards the tree Fandral had planted in Feralas. "Where are the others? And Thaon?"
Delandros chuckled. "They're around. As for Shan'do Moonclaw, he was ordered to stay here, and train yet more Ashen. Malfurion tapped you to lead us in the war effort, but you were nowhere to be found."
Laronar kept shifting his eyes around Delandros, and finally, he understood what kept lingering in the corner of his vision. He let out a sharp whistle, one he usually used to call the Sharpclaws, and those who wished to be among their number, to attention. Over thirty pairs of burning amber orbs melted out of the shadows, and the branches around the Dreamway portal were filled with lounging cats, many of whom were smirking down at him, an unusual look on a cat, but an obvious sign said cat was a druid. He laughed, and gave them all an unsettling grin. "You've all gotten much better at hiding. Good. Who has the Fangs?"
Delandros produced a pouch then, and withdrew the faintly glowing 'daggers' from it. He offered them to his mentor. "Ashamane wishes you to wield them, for this. She feels it will be an appropriate test for them, and she wishes their power to be sung about in legends. She claims such a thing will ultimately help us recruit more Ashen, in the future."
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Laronar smirked, eyes flaring as he took up the fangs of his patron. The amber glow of his eyes went from faintly producing light, to burning with the natural power of the world in wavy streams of orange energy. He embraced Ashamane's spirit as he felt her stir, and nodded, placing the weapons on the belt responsible for holding up the heavy kilt. "Ten of you will remain to guard the Dreamway portal. Delandros, tell Thaon to send the rest of the Ashen he's deemed ready, as well. If Fandral is begging for aid, then the threat is serious. Otherwise, his ego would never allow him to call for help. Once you're done, meet us in Feralas...we'll be linking up with the Sentinels first. They'll know how to use us better than Fandral will."
Shimmermoon saluted, and flew off with speed towards the east, and Ashamane's final rest. Laronar shifted forms, and trotted towards the edge of the Dreamgrove then. He paused at the edge of the verdant woods, and let out an impressive roar, startling several Dryads, also geared for war, as the sound echoed through much of northern Val'sharah. Satisfied, he turned back, and headed again for the portal.
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To the druids, Ashamane's Chosen gave a single command. It came out as just a purr, but one each gathered understood. He sat patiently by the Dreamway portal as the Sharpclaws trotted through. Familiar as he was with wartime procedure, he knew many of the four thousand or so Sharpclaws they had on hand were likely already in the field, with assassination targets. He fully intended to have his own squad of them however, as he had trained them, and knew their uses better than Shandris or Fandral. He only hoped those who'd arrived first hadn't been thrown uselessly onto the front lines. That was for Druids of the Claw, the Ashen were made for stealth.
Laronar waited patiently by the portal, until he felt the presence he'd been waiting for. Storm, his ever loyal companion and friend, had come when he'd called. The massive cat had been busy building his harem over their time spent in Val'sharah, and several of his children trotted beside him, all young, and eager to test their ferocity in battle. Ashamane had been pleased by the rise in the Nightsaber population, as she was pleased now. With the Fangs in Laronar's possession, his Cat Form, ever a spitting image of herself, was almost as large as the Stormsaber, and the two veteran cats followed their allies through the portal with the pride of near-feral Nightsabers right behind them.
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They broke into a run once in the Dreamway, and spied other druids, usually in elven forms, all heading for Feralas as well. A familiar face guarded the gate to the jungle wilds, and Keeper Remulos arched an eyebrow as the pride of very large saber-cats strode through the crowd of other druids, most of whom still seemed like novices.
Storm wasted no time in brushing up against the Keeper, and purring, loudly. It was an unnerving sound, almost like a roar, but the large cat's jaws were closed, and the lips had formed into a good approximation of a smile. Remulos scratched the Stormsaber beneath his chin, and nodded at Laronar. "Your Ashen are waiting for you...though I will be honest, I do not know what stealth will accomplish in this conflict. It is much like the war against the Legion."
A faint orange aura rose from Laronar's black mane, not unlike a lion's, and the Keeper raised both eyebrows as he saw the Ancient, and then bowed his head with a nod of respect. "Stealth played a larger role in that war than you know, Keeper. Though I will grant you, it was not always an option. A master hunter adapts."
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The aura faded back into her chosen vessel, and the amber eyes of her chosen druid resumed blazing with waves of orange. One growl, and the Stormsabers rejoined the large cat. The two leading them lowered their heads with respect, and moved on through the portal. Remulos glanced back at the crowd of other, much younger druids, who had a fair balance of awed and worried expressions. Awe at feeling an Ancient amongst them, and worry for what enemy warranted waking up such a powerful druid.
Remulos spoke, and the words reached each of them, shocking them back to the task at hand. "Come, Children of the Stars! Do you want to live forever?"
The immortal Kaldorei shared a nervous chuckle, and began moving through the portal.
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Several Days Later - Un'Goro Crater
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With the local inhabitants of the crater pacified by the younger druids, who were maintaining their disinterest in the massive elven army hiding among them, the Kaldorei had fortified the narrow path into Silithus, but the swarms had been seemingly dormant for many days. Most of the newer arrivals hadn't even seen the threat yet. Malfurion, while apparently awake, remained absent, as did Tyrande. There was one they sent in their stead, however.
Laronar and the Ashen had taken to sleeping in the trees, ready to jump awake if and when the winged 'Qiraji' as they had been termed, appeared. They would herald the first sign of the Silithid waves, according to the survivors. Being the commander in charge, he kept to a lower, yet no less sturdy branch as he napped in his Cat Form, and waited for the battle every instinct he had said was coming, and soon. The low, ominous hum his sharp ears picked up did not cease once in all the time they'd been waiting.
A new sound intruded over the hum, and he was grateful, for the tones had an almost hypnotic rhythm to them. The other Ashen blinked awake, as they too had been alert, and yet almost hypnotized by the sound only they were picking up. He leapt down with a satisfying slam against the ground, and his enhanced form felt none of it. He was itching to test it in combat.
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He shifted then, and bowed to their new arrival, who was flanked by a pair of Sentinels that, at a second glance, the druid found he recognized. They'd visited his forest in ages past, and he made a mental note to check in on the old hut, if he survived this latest war. The three shared a moment of shock as they saw his darkened skin, and feral leanness. He crossed his arms, and waited for the higher ranked Ranger General to start.
"I'd heard you'd fallen afoul of Elune but Laronar...this is…" His eyes narrowed as he stared Shandris Feathermoon down, and her long ears fell back, by instinct, before the predatory gaze. "Right...we need you and your Ashen in Flight Forms, ready to divebomb any leaders that appear...according to Archdruid Staghelm, they only arrive when victory is certain, though he has reportedly taken out a few who were bold enough to seize an early advantage after Southwind fell. The bugs under those he dispatched became almost dormant. Easily killed. If you manage to take out a target, take out its troops, too."
The feral druid smirked, and the clawed gauntlets covering his hands shifted with his fingers in readiness. "Not a problem. We'll need cover in the sky, though."
A slight smirk appeared under the dark purple war helm. "There are Druids of the Talon, but not enough... I have the Sentinels, if you have the Hippogryphs."
Laronar glanced around, and then looked towards the northwest, namely Feralas. "I can provide you with willing allies. How many do you need?"
The Ranger General glanced up at the tree full of burning amber orbs, each belonging to a sleek Nightsaber outfitted for war. Many had bark armor similar to the bears, but they'd also fashioned metal coverings for their claws. Being relatively simple to forge, they'd crafted their own sets, after being taught some rudimentary smithing from the Highmountain Tauren, who were surprisingly adept at it. Far more so than their nomadic brethren.
Then, she glanced at the tree boughs to either side of the one Laronar was perched in, eyes brightening slightly. "My, you have been busy...bring as many as you can, and we'll find a purpose for the others."
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The Ashen worked together to summon their flying allies, guided by Laronar, as he had when he'd taught them. He found the Wild God who spoke for their race, as they sat in a circle beneath their trees, meditating, and begged his aid. They did not receive a direct answer, but roughly four hours later, hundreds of winged figures appeared in the sky, coming from Feralas, and soaring straight into the crater. A few were bold, and tested Silithus' skies, and those few were subsequently never heard from again.
As the Sentinels mounted the wild, and sometimes shy beasts, a few among them with Elune's gift calmed them, enough to ride, at least. The Ashen then took smaller animal shapes, and once they were settled, the Sentinels ascended into the sky. The plan from Fandral, Shandris, and the other associated minds leading this war, was to surprise the bugs with powerful druidic allies when they attempted to ambush the hippogryph riders.
With the skies hopefully cleared, the ground forces would charge from the crater, and begin the push to retake the Cenarion Hold, and Southwind Village without having acid spit upon them. From there, they could push the front line, and keep the bugs from spreading across Kalimdor. According to Shandris, the western mountains had kept her naval forces from aiding, but those who could cross such barriers already had, and were preventing the bugs from gaining any territory in Feralas. The wilds needed to be protected, for the druids and priestesses had agreed, the land around the Silithid hives possessed a dark, ancient taint not a single one of them knew how to combat.
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Laronar found himself aboard Jai'alator, as Shandris insisted he'd be riding with her in this assault, and he hadn't argued. Laronar knew her rank usually got her whoever she wanted on her various missions, and he was glad that his current form, a fluffy white rabbit with rather intimidating fangs and burning amber eyes, kept him from being able to converse. The other Ashen were similarly disguised as cute, but potentially deadly critters.
That didn't stop the Ranger General from talking to him though. She verbally tore him out as they ascended, and the rabbit ears flinched as they flew over the sands. She was furious, for Malfurion and Tyrande had confirmed that he'd genuinely earned the Moon Goddesses' ire, and such a thing was not quickly forgiven.
Laronar endured the shouting, as he knew it was a sign Shandris cared for his well-being, and when the first of the bugs rose to meet them, he shifted forms before anyone else, and met the flying enemies with the shriek only his Owl Form could make. It had grown larger after his time spent in the Dream, and now enhanced by Ashamane's power, the 'horns' on its head were slowly turning more triangular, almost like cat ears. It made short work of the bugs as it carved a bloody circle through their formations, thanks in no small part to the metal claws that adorned the natural ones. Ashamane had shown him how to draw a measure of defense from her artifact, and the result had been, consistently, metallic armor that shielded the natural claws or talons of his forms from damage, and added a measure of deadliness as well.
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A hail of arrows brought down the bugs he'd missed on his first bloody pass through the swarm, and before long, the sky was chaos as druids of varying forms, though primarily Storm Crows, fought and dived through the skies. The Ashen proved their worth in keeping the riders safe, and the Sentinel's arrows brought down more than a few of the bugs with their uncanny accuracy. Druids of the Talon from the Hold joined them before long as well, filling the skies with blood and death.
Below them, a massive mound of earth, under command of Fandral Staghelm himself, was bringing a cadre of Druids of the Moon, by their armor, towards the west with impressive speed. They were kept from uniting with the panther-mounted Sentinels still fighting in the west, and were stalled halfway across the desert, pinned against the northern mountains that acted as a useful, if at times irritating, barrier against those who could not fly.
Shandris and Laronar cleared their area, spreading their forces all across the north eastern part of Silithus, and they took down any aerial opponents that came to meet them. While numerous, the flying bugs had more weak points than their armored ground counterparts, but those too were falling before the massive Bear Form of Koda, and her own druids. They would be retaking Southwind, while the main forces, formerly of the Hold, would retake their own outpost, and prepare for a siege.
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Laronar shrieked again, gaining Shandris' attention, and he awkwardly fell through the air as he pointed with a wing at Fandral's increasingly dire situation. He was more interested in helping Isoraen, but for once, he had to admit that losing Fandral would seriously weaken them. Fandral's sorrow had manifested as rage, and his skill over manipulating the earth had evidently grown over the intervening millennia. It was him and him alone who kept the casters safe as their spells scorched the ever encroaching bugs.
Delandros, and several other Ashen followed their patron's Claw as he passed by them, alongside their partnered Sentinels, who took formation behind Shandris. The bugs below, seeing themselves caught between the advancing talons from the sky, and Fandral's spells, turned to attack the aerial threat. Laronar noted their tactics, as he would've done the same in their position, to try to knock them from the sky. Unfortunately for the bugs, they did not yet know to fear Sentinels, and their leader in particular.
The druids arced up just before they met the bugs, and tore into their weaker thoraxes as they flew just above their ranks, who had taken their own equivalent of defensive positions. A hail of rocks from Fandral shattered or otherwise weakened the Qiraji armor, and the arrows that followed brought the Silithid down, to a bug.
The flying variants that had been harrying the Druids of the Moon were summarily torn to pieces as well. Once all was said and done, and the sand had drunk the blood of the fallen bugs, Fandral and the large armed owl shared a mutual nod, before Laronar returned to the sky, and Fandral led his gathered allies across the rest of the desert to reinforce the Sentinels.
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Several hours later, the front line from the west came rolling towards the Hold, as the forces from the western Hive'Zora forced them into a bloody stalemate. In their frenzy to attack, eat, and then do what life did best, the largely leaderless Silithid inadvertently realized too late that the Cenarion Hold had been retaken, and the skies belonged to the elves, for the moment. The mounted Sentinels, and Fandral, turned as they linked up with priestesses and infantry from the Hold. Horns sounded, and the push towards Ahn'Qiraj began anew.
The fighting raged well into the night, which only emboldened the elves as Elune filled the sky, and her chosen people with her power, and they began to push their lines forward in a concentrated effort. At around midnight, the horns of each of Fandral's outposts sounded once more and reinvigorated those fighting as the moon blazed above the elven army, but there was one figure that remained isolated from its light.
Laronar didn't much care, as it made him less of a target. He had, slowly, figured out what the 'smart bugs' looked like, in comparison to the Silithid. They seemed to be a different kind of being altogether, but the Silithid obeyed their orders unquestioningly, and became dazed and lost, more eager to retreat, when such a leader was taken out.
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The Ashen had made themselves invaluable both across the battle lines, and in the skies. Laronar had switched between both aerial and ground forms more times than he could count, adapting his form as the combat shifted, and the bugs forced them to reinforce the ground troops, or have the line buckle. No matter which he used, his metal-clad claws sliced through all of his targets. In his Cat Form, they broke through the heavy armored insects that mostly made up the front lines, and more than once, he and Storm had made a run through the center of the lines, where the elves remained weakest, giving the Sentinels on standby just enough time to reinforce them before everything broke.
Fandral told the Ashen, and the other stealth-inclined forces, that the Qiraji were to be their top priority. Nobody was entirely sure how to differentiate, as to most elves at this point, the only bug they cared about was a dead bug. The fighting went well into the night, and as the brutal heat of the morning sun rose on the exhausted elves, the bugs again retreated, and the horns sounded the time for rest had again come. After almost three straight days of pushing to the Hold and then fighting fang and claw to hold it, the elves were ready for a break, and their reinforcements, what few had been in reserve in Feralas and en route from Ashenvale, took up their watches as the war-weary fighters were given leave to do as they wished.
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The Ashen had returned, alongside their hippogryph mounted allies, to the boughs of Un'Goro's trees, and the main staging area of the army. Fandral was convinced that the Cenarion Hold would not fall twice, but wiser heads than his, namely Shiromar, the Moon Priestess leading most of her sisters, had insisted that they reinforce it for the bug's inevitable counterattack.
To that end, the priestesses had attempted to Mind Control the massive saurian figures that wandered the crater, to turn them to war. Right around when the first of them broke free of such bonds, furious at being forced to serve, especially after not devouring prey that was right in front of them for several days. Saurian roars of fury roared through the encampment around the crater's volcanoes, and the tired Ashen once more leapt into the fray as Nightsabers met raptor packs, and the largest cats among them charged the larger carnivorous variant of saurian.
Even after so much bloodshed, the druids were reluctant to kill, a reluctance the war-garbed priestesses had not shared. With each death, the remaining living saurians grew more furious, and the elves soon found their encampment on the brink of being overrun, this time by saurians.
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Laronar had been forced to take down two of the three largest predators that stalked the relatively small crater near their camp, and he paused, massive fangs against the throat of the last one as he felt Ashamane stir. His eyes flared, and the saurian's eyes gained a similar glow, though it was perhaps slightly deeper orange.
A voice echoed in his head then that Laronar did not recognize, but he knew a Wild God when he heard one. This one he had not met before, though. "Ahhh...Ashamane...I heard ya died." A dark chuckle followed next from the Devilsaur's toothy maw. "But your power is, as always, impressive...tell me night hunter, why do your favored mortals abuse and needlessly slaughter my kin? Are they not 'vaunted defenders of nature' now?"
Laronar roared, and at once, all the druids and saurians ceased fighting. The priestesses watched in confusion as their foes ran several yards away, and avoided any more attempts for fighting. The more eager priestesses were eventually restrained by the druids, though that did little to assuage their anger. The saurians had taken a large number of elves with their furious uprising, though nowhere near as many as the bugs did in a single hour.
Laronar met the saurian's gaze, but raised his fangs, slightly. The predator blinked once. He was being allowed to speak. He directed his thoughts towards the Ancient, as he had many times before, and found the presence to be many, and one, all at once. There was a familiarity though, a feral nature that he couldn't help but admire. "A mere misunderstanding, wise Ancient. Our priestesses sought to use your children to hunt the bugs to the west. Surely, you have felt them stir. I believe they had every intention of keeping them healed, and then returning them home, once the war is ended. This is a tactic we often use with the more...violent species of the land, but always, we are its defenders."
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Another chuckle, though this one was more dark than humorous. "It is custom to Ask a Loa for such aid, even among the star elves, is it not?" The glowing eyes shifted to the faint head of Ashamane that had, as before, risen from the champion empowered by her Fangs. "This is why I prefer the Trolls, sister. Why Bethekk prefers them too. These mana-mad elves are arrogant at their core."
"You are not wrong, Lord of the Hunt...but they are mine to protect all the same." The panther shifted back into the druid, and the eyes of every Ashen present around the mostly wrecked encampment burned with her power, thanks in no small part to their proximity to her Fangs. "Do not allow your children to harm mine, and there will be no conflict. You should send them to aid us instead. These bugs...they are an older affliction, not one caused by mortal foolishness. They taint what they touch with Shadow."
Laronar let the massive saurian up, narrowly avoiding a snap from the jaws as he uncannily dodged backwards, and stared the predator down. Individually, the large Devilsaur seemed well and truly done with the elves, and anything to do with them, but his Ancient, or Loa, apparently, still needed him. "You speak the truth...my children will follow your Chosen's commands...until the threat is passed. And then the elves will Leave…"
Laronar bowed, promised it would be so, but the ancient presence was already gone. He began peppering Ashamane with hundreds of questions. Who was that? What hunt was he lord of? All of them? Were there other 'Loa' Ancients out there? How many empowered the Zandalari? Did they have druids too? The panther sated his curiosity with what passing knowledge she had, and a name.
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He was Gonk, a respectable hunter, and in her time, a contemporary of the black panther. Compared to most of the Ancients the Zandalari served, she claimed Gonk was the most worldly, and progressive of the bunch. The others, she claimed, had grown fat and greedy on the devout, and sometimes perverse, methods of worship the Trolls engaged in, but for all their strange customs, it had certainly made the Wild Gods of Zandalar rather powerful.
Thoroughly exhausted, the Ashen and their flying allies, which now included a cadre of fresh Druids of the Talon from the Moonglade itself, rested above the mostly ruined camp as the Sentinels and menial workers spent the day rebuilding the smashed fortifications while those stationed at the Hold stayed awake through the scorching heat of the day, waiting for the next inevitable wave of bugs, and death.