Author Notes
Hello. This my first time posting and basically I'm after feedback. When I say feedback I mean all kinds, from how far off the lore is, to how bad the writing is. I guess I'll also add the dream for this is to be the start of an official story... sigh... that's the dream. Anyway I hope you find this entertaining. Enjoy.
Prologue
Calm rose with the moon, its light glistened like crystal off the still sea. Voljin's forethoughts were always of the future, since becoming Warchief. He knew the Dark Portal was in good hands, though the horizon of Azeroth was never one of lasting peace, a reality which had always deeply troubled him.
The peace of the Echo Isles and such beauty, were fleeting respites Voljin silently appreciated, hiding his feeling if only to reaffirm his persona to the Alliance and his position to some within the Horde.
Being able to visit the Echo Isles for a day was a welcome, rare retreat for Voljin, however, even away from the heart of Horde politics and recovery, the future chased Voljins present.
"Who be the mon standing in the shadows?"
Stated Voljin in common, still gazing into the calm his peripheral senses serving him well. Ever since the incident in Pandaria, Voljin promised himself to never be caught off guard again, even in sanctuaries such as the one he was standing in.
In the far left corner of the open hut, shrouded in shadow, a Troll voice spoke.
"Not a foe, nor a friend, just a messenger."
Voljin turned to the emerging troll.
"So what be de…" Voljin paused. Purple skin beamed under the moonlight. Voljin would have sworn he was looking at a cloaked night elf if it wasn't for the swan off tusks.
"Troll…?" Voljin continued uncertain.
Addressing the hesitant Warchief in fluent Zandilari, Voljins hesitance was put to rest as he became certain he was talking to a Troll.
"Yes, Troll and my message is one which cannot wait."
Inspecting the messenger for any signs of deception Voljin picked up on something the initial shock had hidden. The messenger did not carry a single weapon or magical artifact. It was obvious to Voljin he was not a Monk but for no alarms to have been sounded, without any signs of violence, was quite a feat Voljin acknowledged.
"Speak." Whether the messenger was lying, Voljin cared not, the message in itself would be revealing.
"The Twin Mountains still tower." The messenger continued in Zandalari.
"And with such where a king should have fallen, he still stands."
Locking eyes with Voljin the messenger's words became informal though, resonated with severity.
"You know Shadow Hunter; a King never forgives deserters, or usurper."
Voljin knew he had made enemies of the tribes ever since he denied the Zandalari, though the ire of Rastakhan himself was news and a confirmation.
"You call me a usurper mon?" Queried Voljin.
"I never wished for my titles and have no plans for his."
The messenger began to walk towards the door.
"I am for filling my role Shadow Hunter, I know of your feats and I do not comment." Tempted to subdue him, Voljin stopped at the thought of the cryptic information given.
Why tell me about Rastakhan, thought Voljin. It was obvious after the Throne of Thunder he supported conquest. This messenger has only confirmed my suspicions. So why tell me about Rastakhan specifically, especially during this time of renewed trust, were all threats to the Horde are abroad? Even if he attacked it would be… Should?
Voljins thoughts darted to the memories of Admiral Proudmoore and the reports of Onyixa. The questions Voljin asked now were "Who be the hidden enemy" and "Who wished us to succeed"?
Deciding to let the messenger go, Voljin wished to test his proclaimed innocence.
"Who be de mon who sends this message?" The messenger stopped and turned, looking past Voljin into the calm.
"We follow her light as she cares for all and wishes all safety, no matter their digressions."
Voljin noted that the messenger had been fairly straight forward when being informal till now. The explanation lacked the severity of his previous words.
"Though Shadow hunter, a warning." The messenger's eyes snapped to Voljin, his voice stirring in hate.
"We are not her, we are less forgiving and we are becoming tired of your war.
"Silence fell, Voljin was surprised how much anger emanated from the Troll yet for some reason, Voljin found it, becoming of him. With a slight nod Voljin accepted the Trolls anger and turned back to the calm.
"Ya warnings understood. Now leave."
Hours passed since the messenger left and Voljin still pondered his last words coming to the sad reminder and reality.
Pandaria was brought into the war without choice and was decimated in the process. It was neither the undead, nor the legion that wrote such carnage, but the sin of both Horde and Alliance and Voljin knew it. Knowing the future held threats both sides would have to face, Voljin questioned the conflict with the Alliance and wondered what other people would be drawn to arms because of their war.
Meanwhile in Darnarsus
Roused from her prayers by the faint sound of what seemed to be blades clashing, Tyrande moved to the bottom of the temple, bow in hand. Tyrande had always prayed under the moon, though lately her connection to Elune had felt waning. She attributed this to the new magical wards placed around the Teldrassil since the taking of the Divine Bell. Distrust of arcane magic made Tyrande hesitant of their creation, though the infiltration of Darnarsus, without magic, was still considered impossible and her people's safety was always a priority.
Closer to the base of the temple, the shouting of sentinels became clear. Breaking into a sprint Tyrande's concern for her people grew as well as anger towards anyone who would dare attack the temple. Half way to the ground level insight of the pool at the base of Haidene's statue Tyrande stopped in shock. A Sentinel flew crashing backwards into the statue, cracking the base, her body falling motionless into the pool.
Inspecting the ground level, twenty sentinels lay defeated across the grass. A single figure crouched over one of the sentinels the only standing entity. Glimpsing purple skin under the black hooded cloak, Tyrande saddened by the sight, leapt to the ground floor drawing her bow upon landing.
"Rise slowly and I will not harm you." The figure complied. Tyrande kept her calm hoping an explanation from one of her own would calm the boiling anger and deep regret she was feeling.
"Why have you done this to my sisters? Why in a place you know is of peace?"
The figures face rose into view, Tyrande sadness turned to a pure rage as the white tusks reflected in the moonlight.
"Horde."
Tyrande's voice seethed with her thoughts.
The destruction of Ashenvale wasn't enough. Your people dare step foot in here and attack my sisters. Voljin.
A brash resolve overcame Tyrande. We will not be safe till the Horde is removed for Azeroth.
Arrows flew from Tyrande's bow in quick succession her intent to kill clear. Dodging with surprising speed and agility the infiltrator moved towards the incline to the top of the temple.
I was surprised he didn't move to the entrance though it didn't matter, he wasn't escaping. An intriguing point about this Troll was his skin color. I had fought and killed many Trolls, though this was the first time I'd seen one with such similar skin color, even in the midst of battle it felt as if I was trying to kill one of my brethren.
Tyrande slowed her rate of fire, lining up an anticipation line for her next arrow.
"You fall now assassin." Stated Tyrande, drawing back her bow string. The infiltrator stopped dead catching Tyrande off guard. The arrow leaving Tyrande's bow inadvertently. Crossing the face of the infiltrator it broke his far left tusk as it passed. Un-phased, a glare of amber met Tyrande's eyes. Hesitation struck Tyrande as his eyes brought back familiar sights.
Illidan… Ashara…
"I am no assassin." Avowed the infiltrator insulted by the notion.
"And I am most certainly not a part of the Horde."
It was as if listening to a scholar. His Elven was perfect. The thought of a Troll being able to learn Elven was not a new concept to me, humans has been learning since the early formation of the Alliance. No race however had ever been able to speak with such fluicion and eloquence as if they were a part of the Elves of old.
The infiltrators words threw a shadow over Tyrande's resolve. The notion of attempting capture entered Tyrande's thoughts. Her vision slid from the infiltrator to the ground where she was met with the back of one her fallen sisters, still as ice. Tyrande's resolve solidified once more. No person in her eyes could do this to her people and not have justice served.
Footsteps caught Tyrande's ears; the infiltrator had begun to move again. On reflex, Tyrande shot an arrow with the intent to kill, her running prey. Missing all vitals the arrow did hit the infiltrator's achilles, just as his foot disappeared from sight.
In quick pursuit Tyrande emerged on the second level to an unorthodox sight. Illuminated by moonlight, beneath the same skylight Tyrande had always prayed under, since the temples creation, knelt the infiltrator.
I could hear the mumble of what seemed to be the native tongue of all Trolls. Unable to understand his words I drew my bow back once again. I hadn't the opportunity to ascertain any of the Trolls abilities in my pursuit and the chance of him using something destructive was high, especially with his injury. Creatures are always more dangerous backed into a corner, I couldn't take the chance.
Tyrande unleashed her arrow, its tip directed towards the back of the infiltrators head. Certain in her shot Tyrande began to move forward, when she caught the sound of the Trolls final word in the sentence he was mumbling. It was a word Tyrande could never miss hear.
Elune?
A blinding flash filled the upper temple. Tyrande went for her bow realizing, the light was a distraction not an explosion, however quickly faltered when the lights warmth began to resonate a familiar warmth.
It can't be?
Adjusting to the light regaining her vision slowly, the blurred silhouette of the infiltrator stood facing Tyrande, illuminated in the dark by a piercing white light shining through the sky line.
Sight fully regained Tyrande couldn't, wouldn't accept the sight before her.
"What have you done?!" Tyrande screamed, hopelessness welling in her voice. Three arrows sped from her bow, to no a veil, all deflecting off the pure white light. Tyrande's heart gave way with her knees.
Tyrande's faith had been shaken to its core, for as long as she had lived, Elune had been the light of her people, the light which warmly smiled down on her faithful. The idea she would protect someone who had committed such violence against her faithful began to push corrosive despair into her heart.
"The light of her people?" Tyrande looked up to see the disgusted look of the infiltrator bearing down on her. The blinding light had faded but Tyrande found herself unmoving in her turmoil.
"Her spiritual children." Mocked the infiltrator.
"Chosen by her to be in her image, Kaldori." The infiltrator voice filled with pure disgust and hatred on stating the name.
"10 000 Years to find where one comes from, only to claim god ship. The arrogance. Dark elves all of you."
Tyrande froze with his last words. The only thought that came to her mind was a myth. Tyrande had only heard those words uttered once, in impossible whispers before the War of the Ancients and even then Dark elves were considered myth and myth alone.
"I come with a message from her." Stated the Infiltrator now, standing over Tyrande.
"Your brethren from the sea are rising, you are best to be prepared."
My initial thoughts began to waver. As much as I wished this a terrible dream, the miracle I had witnessed and felt was the same as the one I had thought only to have happened once, so many years ago. Not only was this Troll a messenger but a messenger who claimed to be able to speak to Elune. I wished answers, truth, time, however, for my people, I needed at least some verification this was real, even though in my heart I knew it to be.
"How do I know you're telling me the truth, Troll?"
The first real question, she had asked me and with such lost and protective eyes. To be millennia old and so lost, pathetic. But to still wish her people safe, inspirational. Our hatred however does not subside in the light of inspiration and these elves have earned our ire.
"How?" Questioned the infiltrator rhetorically, squatting down to Tyrande's level.
"You think only one crystal was made? You think we would lie about her word? We are her devout, we follow her teachings and unlike you, we do not use her name in violence."
The infiltrators voice clamed like sheathing sword.
"Though as you have seen, our edict is changing. As warning, we will be coming after you, Dark elf, and not even her light will save either of us."
Tyrande was never one to take threats, even in her current mind set, but the infiltrators words rung strange.
Warning? Either of us?
His hatred was genuine, that I was certain of; however, contradiction crept in his intent.
Glimpsing movement in the infiltrators right arm, on reflex, Tyrande caught it with her left. However the feeling of a prick met her skin. Trying to strengthen her grip, Tyrande's arm went numb slagging down her side. With her senses beginning to falter, Tyrande caught the sound of footsteps below. The infiltrator had already begun to stand, also hearing the footsteps. In an attempt to speed up the progress of who Tyrande assumed were Sentinels, she endeavored to shout to no avail, her voice silent were he mouth moved. With her sight and touch the only senses that hadn't rapidly failed and her strength and focus dissipating, Tyrande knew she had been poisoned. Already past the point in which she could heal herself, Tyrande in a vain attempt, fell on her face trying to grab the infiltrators leg. Tyrande's will never allowing her to concede defeat in granting his escape. Face down Tyrande's last fading sight was of the infiltrator walking uninjured towards the skyline.
"Tyrande you must rest." Malfurians concern fell on deaf ears as Tyrande still stood alone, staring at the skyline contemplating what had happened. Seven days had passed since the infiltration, for six of those; Tyrande had been unconscious and was still recovering her strength. The Prick Tyrande had felt had injected her with an extremely potent poison. Malfurion, along with the most powerful druids and priests in Darnarsus had attempted to cure her with no success.
"My love, how could I have been so wrong?" Tyrande's words echoed with doubt.
Once the temple was secured it was found that the twenty, initially assumed dead Sentinels, were also affected by the same poison. The assumption was their conditions of near death would remain the same indefinitely, until the first of the Sentinels began to wake. Examinations followed and the poison was found to be non-lethal however this remained a theory because of the still unknown nature of the poison. The discovery was made that while under the effects of the poison, one experienced the passage of time, revealing some magic had been used in its creation. Every Sentinel and Tyrande, recalled darkness for 6 days, attempts to contact them in the dream had also failed, deeply worrying all involved as to what type of magic was use in the poisons creation.
Malfurion, about to answer, fell silent as Tyrande continued.
"Are the preparations being made?"
"Yes, however the emissary we sent to Stormwind has not returned yet." Responded a worried Malfurion.
I understand the wisdom in not revealing how she obtained the information but even so; an unexplained absence for the past six day. No source for the information provided. At least 20 witnesses. That ominous look in her eyes. Someone will find out. I pray she regains her strength before the storm comes, for as much I know she harbors hate against the Horde, Tyrande would never fully wish us into a war of slaughter.
"Thank you my love I'll be finish soon I promise."
Malfurion accepted the already broken promise. He knew mattes of faith could only be settled by ones self yet wished as he left, he could do something for the one he loved.
Your brethren from the sea.
As insulting as it was, Tyrande couldn't deny the Naga were once her brethren, however their coming was not what disturbed Tyrande.
"Dark elf", "Kaldori", "chosen to be in her image," "devout," "her name in violence," "were one comes from," that light. The more Tyrande though the more questions arose.
The Night elves had always accepted their origins had come from the Kaldori and that their form was given to them by Elune. But the infiltrators words cut deep.
Claim god ship? 10 000 years?
Memories of what her race had done still ran deep in Tyrande's mind. The addiction, the greed, traits Tyrande knew they still battled with to this day. She knew her race had reason to be hated after the…
Dark elf.
Tyrande's heart skipped a beat. A paralyzing thought struck her mind creating a void which answers could only fill.
"What if our form wasn't given? But stolen?"
"...when Shadows rise comes to pass Lights despair will hinder…" Prophet Velen.