Syllandrial tapped her fingers nervously on the broken door frame, half inside and half out, as she waited for the druid. There was little time left, and with the undead masses closing on this position, every moment was precious. The Forsaken had come in force, having ravaged their way through Ashenvale and fighting tooth and nail with the night elven defenders all the way through to Darkshore. In their wake was an unmistakable sign of undeath; vile green clouds rose just above the treeline, showing the release of the Forsaken’s blight. The wretches didn’t find it suitable just to stomp through the lands, but had to actively sour it upon their leaving. They’ll pay for this transgression dearly, but one must first remain alive in order to deliver justice.
“Geraleth,” she said with a creeping urgency in her voice. “The mist is almost at our feet…” Still, the druid tore through the rubble and searched frantically for whatever scrolls and maps he could find. He seemed to care more for the papers than his own personal safety.
“Go without me then! I can’t let them…” he trailed off as he carefully lifted a collapsed desk to reveal a few tattered papers.
Beware the druid. He seeks knowledge, and will find power. His stars will fall upon your head.
“Quiet!” Syllandrial called out, responding to what was in her head. It garnered a quick glance from the druid, but he went quickly back to his search. The whispers had been getting louder as of late. They had been with her ever since she indulged in the shadow magic of the void. As a priestess of Elune, the practice seemed to run counter to everything she’d learned, but with the undead coming into their lands she would do anything to protect her people. Even sacrifice what she felt was a part of herself. Perhaps, even a part of her very sanity.
Ignoring the whispers, she turned to the task at hand. Unfortunately, if the druid wasn’t willing to save himself, there was little she could do. She left Geraleth to his teachings, heading east to find the night elf battle lines and continue the war that was quickly turning to one of bloody attrition. The Forsaken were gaining ground, but they were paying for every inch of territory with the broken bodies of their kin.
She had never thought this place would come to such violence. Taking one long look back at Auberdine, her former home, she lamented how much the once peaceful land had suffered so much through the cataclysm only to see it invaded by these monsters.
Knowing they were close now, she ran through the forests, giving her a stark reminder of doing much the same in the carefree days of her youth so many, many years ago. There used to be the sounds of birds and the gentle joys of nature. Now, the cries of battle and the clashing of weapons replaced the birdsong and lapping waves. One such skirmish seemed to be near, just beyond a few trees. It sounded like a small battle of just a few combatants; a fight where just one additional spellcaster could make the difference.
Peering through the trees, she saw a lone warrior crouched low behind a broken down meat wagon. Two undead, both of which were wearing gas masks to protect themselves from the blight, lay dead near him. The aging warrior, a human with long grey hair and a steely determination so common with those of his calling, was already wounded. He looked over the meat wagon, down a path cut through the trees, just peeking over the edge.
The humans would cut you down in a heartbeat to save their own. Beware their treachery. Turn your back, and his sword will find it.
Shaking her head and ignoring the voice, she followed the warrior’s eyes to find the threat he was watching for. Just beyond were a small party of undead soldiers. Two were armed with crossbows, one with blight canisters, and the last mounted atop a horse clearly long dead itself. They carried with them a terrible menace, emerging slowly out of the green mist, their faces obscured by their masks and their protruding bones shining white in the moonlight. Never would she have imagined she would see aberrations such as these in the land of the night elves. Not since the legion...
The warrior spotted her and gave her a nod, then held up five fingers, then four, then three. She had to act quickly. The moment the human had only a fist remaining, he stepped out from behind the wreckage and ran headlong into the undead force. Syllandrial followed suit, stepping from behind the trees and ready to fight with the whole fury of the night elves, meaning to send these intruders back to their bile-encrusted city from where they came. As the warrior artfully dodged the first crossbow bolts with a grace defying his age, Syllandrial reached into the void and summoned from it the dangerous, mysterious power within. Targeting the undead holding the blight canisters, she sent an assault directly into his mind, causing him to double over in pain. Perhaps it was the vengeance for what they’ve done, or perhaps it was the raw power itself, but the strength she drew from the void was... intoxicating.
Give in. Pull further from the void. Destroy those that wish you ill.
Firing a stream of shadow energy from her hand, she assaulted the closest crossbowman as the warrior engaged the other. Her grip on the weapon loosened, and the undead fell to one knee. That, however, got the attention of the cavalry who stormed down on her position. Syllandrial’s very skin had turned dark with shadow now, thin, wispy mist emanating from her body.
They’ll tear you to pieces. Limb from limb. Unless you open your mind to possibility.
She drew further into the void as the undead beast galloped towards her, the man atop the horse holding a massive lance leveled squarely towards her. The warrior threw his sword in a moment of desperation, and it glanced across the undead’s shoulder. It was just enough to disrupt his grip, causing the lance to shift and miss his target.
Suddenly, as the horse made its return, the world seemed to shift and change, and the horse’s hooves began to glow red and leave a trail of flame. Its armour grew spikes, and embedded upon them were the heads of night elves. The rider himself had grown in size, tearing off his helmet to reveal grotesque features and an impossibly large mouth full of jagged teeth. She sent more spells of shadow and pain towards them both as they slowly revealed themselves to be more horrible than she could imagine. She had no other choice but to dip further into the void to defeat the monstrosities attacking her. The world itself swirled in shades of purple and black, as if the universe itself was collapsing at this very place in Darkshore.
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There are monsters worse than your soul could bear. Reach into the void. Use its power. Embrace the truth.
The terror grew as the horrors manifested all around her. She ducked beneath the next attack, the horse’s mane turning to wretched tendrils running from its back. Its rider was now wielding a weapon of jagged spikes, covered in gore. Syllandrial had never seen such a creature. As they came around for another pass, the priest still letting loose spells of shadow and death, she inhaled deeply. Just as they arrived, she let loose an ear-splitting scream, a wail of torment and horror that would send any but the most stalwart enemies - and perhaps even allies - fleeing in utter terror. The horse reared, tossing its rider off its back and leaving him to plummet to the ground, his heavy plated armour clattering to the earth and shaking him to the core.
They seek to murder you.
The horse ran off into the dark of the woods, and she wasted no time in sending volley after volley of shadow magic into the battered horseman. Still, the figure writhed, eventually standing, holding the wretched weapon again. The trees around her began to bleed, the very land dying at the foot of the warrior.
Finally, she reached further, pulling all the power she could from the void, reaching deep into its essence. Great tendrils sprouted from her back as her feet were lifted off the ground. The world began to spin, stunning colours of black and purple swirling around her like an ocean, the forces of shadow coming so naturally to her she felt as if they and her were one. The power swelled around her hands until she unleashed it, all at once, upon the undead cavalryman still walking towards her. Finally he fell, succumbing to the barrage.
Take further from the void. The path to avoid annihilation comes only through the infinite dark. Embrace your power. Beware the celestial one. Alliances fold and empires topple. They’ll go for your throat. Kill them all.
She saw the warrior now. A weapon that was thrown - was it directed at her? Without his sword, was he no longer a threat, or was it a ruse to distract her as he pulled a dagger? He moved towards the weapon. He wants the weapon back. What then would he do?
He will cut your neck. He will run you through. They will all betray you.
The power swelled again, and the warrior took a step back. His hair, so long and grey before, transformed into tufts, his skin turning dry and flaking. Bones began to protrude from his skin. Was he a member of the undead the whole time?
They masquerade as allies. Remove the facade.
The power swelled up again, and still levitating in the air she needed only to turn towards the warrior. She had no choice. He would soon attack her. She readied another blast of shadow magic. The warrior tucked and rolled to his weapon, holding it at the ready. Her spells would reach him before he could reach her.
Suddenly, a great force knocked her from her levitation and sent her sprawling. Strong arms grabbed and pinned her limbs while a hand was clasped around her mouth, preventing any spellcasting in defense. It was a great being, some astral giant, standing over her and trapping her beneath its weight.
The celestial being seeks your end. Embrace the void. END HIM. KILL HIM.
The world turned darker than ever before, and then suddenly…
It all passed. The warrior looked no longer skeletal. The trees showed no signs of blood. The monstrosity that attacked her, while still frightening, was no more than a Forsaken cavalryman. And the great, celestial being above her was Geraleth, the druid who she had abandoned.
“Get a hold of yourself!” Geraleth yelled at her. “You had almost attacked a member of the Alliance! He’s travelled all this way to Darkshore to fight alongside our case!”
She closed her eyes and nodded, slowing her breathing, realizing that her heart was nearly pounding out of her chest. To her, it felt as if she had just returned from a realm of madness. In many ways, she had. The images she saw were so real, the terrors nearly tangible.
“The powers you’re reaching for…” the druid began, fumbling with some of the scrolls and ensuring they remained intact. “You must be more careful. You used to be a priestess of Elune, Syllandrial! That meant something to you!"
“I still am,” she said, still breathing heavily but calming her mind now. “I always will be. But these monsters… it’s going to take something greater to defeat them. To defend our homes, Geraleth! Look at the devastation they’ve wrought…” The trees from the blighted areas had already begun to wither, the animals of the forest driven mad by its vile effects. “I cannot see Darkshore turn into another Felwood. I won’t let it.”
Geraleth seemed suddenly distracted. The druid stood up, brushed himself off, and walked away. He always was an intriguing one, more solitary than most. Syllandrial didn’t so much as receive a good-bye or good-luck. Instead, he seemed transfixed on a small flower he saw in the distance, and removed it from the earth with great tenderness and care. That was the last she saw of him; walking into the night, towards the line, closely inspecting the great example of nature’s resilience; a small, solitary flower rising up amongst the blight and death that had invaded the land so ravaged by the elements already.
As for the warrior, he seemed to have disappeared as well, likely thinking she had lost her mind.
Had she lost her mind?
The follower of the stars cares little for your well-being. The human kingdoms will betray your kind as they have so many others before.
She shook her head. “Allies,” she whispered aloud for her own sake. “Remember, they are allies.” Standing up from the dirt, trying her best not to focus too strongly on the savage destruction she and the warrior had wrought. Her focus had to remain strong. The Forsaken were the enemy here, and if her sacrifice was to witness horrors while enduring these whispers of madness, she would gladly bear the brunt of it in order to return her people to a place of safety and security.
There was still so much work to be done. The swirling whirlpool left behind by the cataclysm’s destruction still raged. Auberdine was broken and shattered, destroyed first by the elements and its memory trounced upon by the reckless, warmongering Horde.
You are alone in the dark. Your allegiances are frail. They’ve abandoned your people to die.
Syllandrial shook her head. The whispers in her mind were a constant barrage of hate and despair. Yet she remained resolute. As a priestess, she had learned the powers of discipline, and she would work to manage the insidious whispers. It was a burden she had to bear. She and her fellow night elves, aided by the Alliance, will push these invaders back. And when the time comes to bring the fight to Sylvanas, she swore to herself that she would be on the front lines. If the whispers demand blood, she will surely provide it then.