As the pair of sabercats traveled northward through the Stonetalon Mountains, they came upon a stretch of forest nestled between the mountains and the ocean, all but hidden from the main valley. It was in this stretch of forest that Laronar decided, for the first time, to set up a home. He had little shaping experience however, but he still managed to create a passable house with the aid of his druidic abilities. On his own for the first time in years, not counting his Stormsaber of course, Laronar soon fell into a routine.
He hunted in the morning, and brought his kills home with little trouble thanks to his versatility with the animal forms. While he cooked up the meat, he would meditate, asking the wind to support him as he floated on it, and communed with the spirits. Once he was hungry enough, the smell of his dinner would draw him away, and he would eat his fill, and then save the rest using the techniques Kota had forced him to learn and relearn so often, they became more of a second thought than a concentrated effort.
He continued this cycle for several years, letting Storm hunt as he pleased, where he pleased in this stand of forest nestled between Stonetalon Peak itself, and a barrier ridge of mountains that separated them from a sheer drop to the ocean below. He and Storm were tied together as never before now, and he knew Ashamane would warn him should his friend befall a danger he couldn't handle. She had done so before, and seemed to also favor his friend as she favored him. For over half a century, Laronar lived this hermetic life, and soon had a stockpile of dried meat that was so large, he knew he wouldn't have to hunt for some time. So instead, he practiced the basics Kota had taught him.
Talking to trees, the wind, the rocks, everything. He even gave his very energy to the land surrounding his home nightly before sleeping, and thus, the land flourished. He knew though, that someday it would end. He had needed this peaceful solitude. Needed it to heal, to come to grips with what he had lost, and finally become an adult in the mental sense, as well as the physical. His body had, almost without him noticing, become rather well-muscled the longer he practiced with his various shapes. Eventually, Ashamane explained that his elven form would likely take on animal characteristics, the closer he became to her. She'd purred almost an entire evening when he'd said he wouldn't mind sharing her cat-like features in both of his forms, and from then on he trained his elven muscles as well as his animal ones, now certain that the two were linked, he wanted them as strong as possible for the wars to come.
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His solitude did not, however, end in fire, like many of his dreams. One morning, as he was deciding if he should hunt or not now that his food stores had finally gotten slightly lower, he heard Storm growl low, and he turned, his concentration broken. The giant cat, much larger than normal, even for his breed, stepped up beside the druid, and stared ahead expectantly. Then, Laronar felt it. A presence the very forest seemed to react to with…pride? Surprise? It felt like a mixture of both, and as it came closer, Laronar recognized it, though only vaguely.
The last time they had met, his senses had been as dull as a rock. He bowed low, in what he knew was the Tauren fashion. He had no idea if the Night elves had changed their style yet, and had no desire to reveal his upbringing by greeting this figure in particular as a Highborne would. "Hail…Lord of the Forests...Cenarius."
As he spoke the figure coalesced out of seemingly thin air, and once more, the druid appreciated the Ancient's sense for dramatic entrances as he manifested from a localized hurricane of leaves and detritus. A booming voice met his in reply, revealing just how soft his was in comparison, mostly thanks to lack of use. "Hail Laronar Stormclaw…I must say, I never expected this region to be so…healthy. When I discovered it, imagine my surprise when I found its source of health and vigor was you! We heard little after you disappeared with Kota."
At that, Laronar arched an eyebrow. "We?"
The Forest Lord nodded once, sending the birds that had perched on his antlers flapping away. "Aye, Night Elf. We. Malfurion and the others of your race who have, like you, taken up the mantle of Druidism. They could use your expertise in the Feral Arts that Kota shared with you."
Laronar shook his head doubtfully, "I don't think I could be of much aid. I saw what Malfurion did during the…during the War. My skills, even now, cannot come close to his feats."
Moving into a sitting position by folding his powerful legs under him, and signaling he should do the same with one of the great bark-covered hands, Cenarius continued, "You would be surprised what a Druid can truly do when the need is great. There are, however, gaps in your training that I have filled in for both the elves and the Tauren years ago. You have much to catch up on…and yet you are also ahead, in many ways. The Night Elves have only just begun learning how to shapeshift…and here you are, already friends with the Ancients themselves, many of whom would gladly let you take their form. You, a Kaldorei of Highborne lineage, have managed to make covenants with more of the Wild Gods than any Mortal has for an age. Do not belittle your accomplishments Stormclaw, for even modesty has its limits."
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As he listened, Laronar's cheeks darkened, and he nodded. "As you say Forest Lord…you would have me teach them what I have learned, and I in turn could learn what you have already taught the others. Where will I find them? On Mount Hyjal, beneath Nordrassil?"
At that the Forest Lord laughed, rising slowly as he spoke what was, clearly, his last contribution to the conversation. "No young Druid, your people now reside primarily in the ancient forests of the Ashenvale…I suggest you head there with haste. The Fel taint of Demons has been found once more, and I know your skills will be needed to stop it."
The moment he heard the words 'Fel' and 'Demon', things changed, for Laronar. His entire countenance changed, and his amber eyes began burning. He'd spent more years waiting for his enemy to appear again than he had living with his family, and his people, by this point. Now, as Illidan Stormrage had predicted, the Legion was returning. Or, more likely, trying to. "I will head there immediately." He said as the Forest Lord rose, bid him farewell, and galloped off into…seemingly thin air. Even his footprints simply vanished. Someday, Laronar thought, he would learn that trick as well. Now though, he looked to Storm. "How about it, old friend? Shall we go find our people? I'm sure the female Nightsabers would worship you as a king." He smirked, scratching his friend under the jaw as he spoke, and the great cat rumbled under his hand like the storms for which he, and his species, were named.
He spent the rest of the evening packing, and gave the land around his home as much energy as he dared, for it would be the last for many years, if he knew his people as he did. The two then left at dusk, and once more headed north, into Ashenvale.
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After several long hours of traveling in his Cat Form, Laronar decided to arrive in his 'homeland' on the back of Storm. So in tune were they that Laronar was sure he would not fall off his massive bulk, despite not having a saddle.
After traveling through the quiet woods of Ashenvale for several minutes, Storm came to an abrupt halt. Laronar, who had been lost in thought, looked up, ready to change form in an instant. He looked around the clearing they had stopped in, and then looked to Storm. Closing his eyes, he asked the trees and other plants what they saw. For some reason, they ignored his commands, so he instead turned his attention to the nearby animals. They resisted him at first, but since he had spent most of this journey communicating with the stag, bear, bird, rabbit, and other spirits, they eventually told him what he wanted to know.
He was surrounded on all sides by Kaldorei rangers. He held up his hands, and spoke in clear elvish, "I come in peace, sisters. Please do not shoot me." Their cover blown, the Sentinels melted out of the shadows, their bows still strung with arrows.
Their leader, a beautiful female atop a white saber with black stripes, spoke to him. "State your name and your business in Ashenvale, brother, and perhaps we will not shoot you."
Frowning at the seemingly new found distrust of their own kin, Laronar replied, "I am Laronar of...the Wilds. I trained under Kota, a Tauren of the Skyhorn Tribe, and was told by the Forest Lord, Cenarius, to seek out Malfurion Stormrage, so that we might complete each other's knowledge of the Druidic arts." The ranger's eyes widened slightly, and a smirk reached her lips. A smirk that Laronar recognized, as he lowered his hands.
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"Well well…" Her tone had lost its seriousness, and gained an allure that sent an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant chill down Laronar's spine. The other sentinels looked puzzled as their leader lowered her guard, and even seemed to be eyeing the intruder. "You've certainly…grown, Laronar. I thought you were dead." She rode closer; her saber eyeing Storm much like her rider eyed his.
Laronar patted his friend on the shoulder twice, indicating he could relax, and he did so. The other Sentinels had looks between confusion and amusement as Shandris prowled around the newcomer in a circle.
"So I've heard. As you can see though…" He rolled his neck, and, despite his better judgment, flexed, letting his new muscles stand out in the moonlight. "I'm very much alive." His body, he had discovered, was reacting well to his training. Ashamane had told him once that, unlike other druids, who would rely on magic, his main weapon would be his body. As such, he needed to hone it, and honed it he had. The results spoke for themselves, for even now he still lacked any kind of chest covering.
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Before the war, the only Kaldorei with any sort of hard muscle to them were soldiers, and evidently the other druids were not as impressive either. Yet. He had honestly forgotten he wasn't wearing any kind of shirt, though the sharp eyes of the females surrounding him, eyeing him like a piece of meat, made him remember. He didn't shy away from their gazes, though.
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His back and forth with Shandris brought several laughs from the other riders, as they watched the pair with knowing smirks. She pulled up next to him, far closer than normal, and his bravado evaporated, cheeks darkening as she nudged him. Gone was the rude child with a knack for archery. Like him, she had grown as well. "Come on then…let's bring you to Malfurion."
As they rode through the dark forest, Laronar suddenly remembered how he hated being the center of attention. This wasn't like his childhood sorcery lessons though. Good attention felt different. Better. This attention was focused on his physical attributes. After spending so long surrounded by males, and usually Tauren at that, being surrounded by females of his own species was new. He'd never noticed how aesthetically pleasing they were when he was younger, but then, he supposed he wouldn't have. The basic lessons of life, including how mating worked, had been one of the many things Kota had first taught him, when he realized his student had sizable gaps in his knowledge that the Tauren had simply considered common sense.
He hoped the gloom of the forest was covering his darkened blue cheeks, but since they only grew darker the more he heard the murmured laughing behind him, he doubted that was the case. He made a mental note to find a way to get these emotions under control, but for the moment, enjoyed them.
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As Laronar approached a budding tree just outside the newly built city of Ordil'Aran, he saw the same bearded, antlered elf he had seen the day he became Kota's apprentice. Hands behind his back, Laronar patiently waited for Malfurion to finish speaking to the nine male Kaldorei sitting in a semi-circle in front of him.
Looking up, Malfurion's own amber eyes met Laronar's, and he motioned for him to approach saying, "Novices, this is Laronar, apprentice to the wise Kota Skyhorn, a Tauren Druid of Highmountain. He has come to teach us how to take the forms of the Ancients, and with them, help aid in the defense of the world."
Laronar looked at the eight elves, all who were, he guessed, around his age, some older, some younger, and bowed. Malfurion pointed at each of his students and said, "Laronar, this is Fandral Staghelm, Tenaron Stormgrip, Kerlonian Evershade, Melithar Staghelm, Thaon Moonclaw, Lathorius, Naralex, Arvell, and Ralaar Fangfire. They will be your students, as will I, for a time."
"I understand," Laronar replied, "That you had things to teach me as well?"
Malfurion smiled, "Yes, we will get to that my friend, but for now, let us begin learning how to shapeshift." Laronar nodded, glancing back at Shandris as he joined the others. She waved, and he did the same, an action not unnoticed by Malfurion, who gestured with one hand and a suddenly stern look, showing he should begin.
"First," Laronar started, raising his voice and clearing his throat, "We reach out to the Ancients…"
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An hour later, the eleven gathered druids sat in a circle, silently calling out to the spirits of the Cat, Bear, and Storm Crow. Laronar had explained that these spirits had already agreed to help the druids, but Laronar himself sought a different spirit. The Spirit of the Stag. He was hoping to contact Malorne, the White Stag, and gain the ability to take his form.
So far however, he had received no response. Just like he had on his trip to Ashenvale. Then, out of nowhere, a faint voice spoke.
It was filled with pain, and was irritated at the intrusion to its regeneration. "Who dares disturb Malorne while he recovers from his grievous wound? Who dares to disturb the White Stag?"
Laronar responded the same way he did when he last spoke to the stag spirit. "I am Laronar, of the Wild, I seek permission to take the noble form of the Lord of the Forest, so that I may better defend it from those who would see it harmed."
Silence followed for a long while; however, a reply finally came. Laronar did not lose his patience once, as he waited. "You have shown great patience and humility Laronar of the Wild, and your contribution to Malorne's rejuvenation has not been forgotten, but this is a difficult time for the Stag Lord. It is only because the other spirits have spoken so highly of you that we grant your request. We must ask however, that if you do engage in combat, you will switch to another form."
Panic filled Laronar. Switch forms while shape shifted? Impossible. "You can do it young Druid," The voice responded to his panic, "it is difficult to switch whilst already shifted, but not impossible for one such as you. We will show you how…"
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The other druids had long since transformed into cats, bears, and crows, while Malfurion had become all three. Only Laronar remained perfectly still, in meditation. Malfurion forbade anyone from distracting him. He had a feeling the young elf was trying something a bit trickier than cats, bears, and crows.
As Malfurion knelt before Laronar, who was sitting cross-legged on the leafy forest floor, the young druid's eyes opened, and the amber orbs, so much like Illidan's, blazed with the raw power of nature. Malfurion jumped back as the young druid started to transform. Antlers sprouted first, from his forehead, his neck elongated, his hands became hooves, as did his bare feet, and Malfurion looked on in surprise as Laronar became a proud stag, whose coat was not unlike that of Malorne's. As white as the Moon herself.
Having seen Malorne fall in battle, the Archdruid felt a flicker of hope for Cenarius' father. Perhaps he still survived in some way. Now fully transformed, Laronar looked directly at Malfurion, and nodded his antlered head, as though he could read his thoughts. A smile appeared on the Archdruid's face as he nodded back.
Laronar then began to change his form again, this time into his favored Cat Form. This caught everyone's attention, as even Malfurion had thought that shifting while in another form was impossible. Clearly, the only limit on the powers of a druid was one's imagination. This became even more apparent, as the group saw that his Cat Form was unlike theirs. Where they had become sleek, multicolored panthers, his was undoubtedly a Nightsaber, judging by the fangs, but there was more to it. With fur as dark as the night, and those unchanged amber eyes, he looked remarkably like the Ancient to whom he was closest.
Without a word, Malfurion applauded the young druid, as did his peers. The group then broke for supper, and the two brothers, who had the most cause to be interested in the Stag Form, began pestering Laronar about how he had managed to complete that particular transformation.
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As they entered the local inn, Laronar caught the gaze of several Sentinels, and noticed Shandris was among them. Moving his gaze back to the others as if he hadn't seen them, the druid's placed their orders. Laronar was in the midst of trying this 'Moonberry Juice', when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
The others had since stiffened at the new arrival, and Malfurion simply turned his gaze down the bar towards the newcomer. Laronar noticed all of this, recognizing with ease the faint but welcome scent of she who was tapping him, before he turned, and grinned, "Shandris. And here I thought you'd be out looking for more outsiders to shoot."
He felt a small victory at his cheeks refusing to darken, despite her closeness. That changed however, as she leaned on the bar as well. Only a completely inexperienced fool would miss the obvious signs of attraction, but unfortunately, Laronar had not previously had such experience. Females were a total mystery.
"My patrol is covered," She said, smiling, "So I had some free time. Unlike some people, I prefer a warm bed and a roof over my head." Malfurion's ears twitched, and several of the other druids stared with open mouths at Laronar, not Shandris, despite the good-natured jibe.
Still, the reason for their strange behavior eluded him. Had he known why they acted so, he probably would not have said, "I enjoy a warm bed as much as anyone. Though I haven't been assigned one yet…"
As he let the words hang, and slowly realized what they implied, the imposing bulk of Malfurion Stormrage suddenly appeared behind Shandris, and she turned slowly as the two looked up into the burning eyes of the Archdruid. Shandris shrugged, and opened her mouth to speak with an embarrassed smirk. Malfurion's tone brooked no argument as he cut off whatever she had to say. "You should go practice your archery, Shandris." His tone was serious, and as Laronar saw the look in his amber eyes, he felt a chill run up his spine, though it was not a pleasant one. Still, he hoped he simply misread Malfurion's all-too-familiar expression. One he had seen on his father's face only once, when one of the boys in Eldarath had taken a liking to his sister.
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"But I-"
"Now, Shandris." Malfurion spoke with a hard tone, cutting her off.
The Sentinel left without another word, and all eyes turned to Laronar, who kept his expression as neutral as possible. Technically, his ignorance could save him the wrath of the druid whose power had saved the entire world. Technically. Malfurion simply stared at him for a long moment, before he said, "Come."
Laronar heard several deep exhales, and realized he too had been holding his breath. He followed the master druid out to the back of the inn, vaulting over the railing as he had. Once they were far enough away, the Archdruid began to speak, "You have been away from us for a long time, Laronar, and because of this I can expect you to not know certain things. Shandris is like a daughter to me, and my mate, the High Priestess Tyrande, is like a Mother to her. So, when it comes to…romance…you can understand my...hesitation. You are one of us, a brother Druid and yet, are still a stranger."
Laronar nodded, but held his tongue as Malfurion continued, "Now, you may be an honorable Kaldorei, but I do not know that. Tyrande does not know that, and most importantly, Shandris doesn't either. If you intend to pursue her…at the very least, wait a few months. Learn of what our people have become. Understand what we are becoming, and be very certain of what you choose to do in the presence of she who is like a daughter to me."
Laronar responded carefully, choosing his words. "With respect, Archdruid…I do know Shandris…somewhat. We met during the war. I…assume that your mate was the one who healed me when I first arrived amongst the refugees. She pushed us together more than once, and looking back now, I think I can guess why. I am unsure of my intentions at the moment…but at least consult with her, before you assume I lack honor."
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Laronar kept his face passive as he spoke. Malfurion turned to eye him again for a long moment, and nodded once. "Hmmm…I shall do as you say. There is a tree by the area we practice meditation, at the top floor you will find the other beds the druids use. You may choose one of them, and tomorrow, we will begin catching you up on your training."
With that, he walked past the younger druid swiftly. Laronar leaned then against a nearby tree, and exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Of course Shandris would have the druid who was supposed to be his master, and a legendary war hero at that, as her guardian. Who else would Malfurion Stormrage take on as a daughter, but the one female he'd ever felt a real attraction to?
He sank to the ground, shifting into his Cat Form without even thinking, and melted into the shadows. He decided that it would be better if he found a quiet bush or something to sleep by tonight. He'd had more than enough of his people for one day.