In a small room within the inner square of Silvermoon City, a solitary candle began to glow and a small flame caught onto the blackened wick. The flame spluttered briefly as it took hold, the green and blue at its heart indicating that it had been lit by magical means. A blank scroll, which lay on the desk beside the candle, slowly began to unroll itself until it came into contact with the raised edge of the desk and ceased its movement. The air around the scroll glowed a vibrant blue for a brief moment before the surface of the parchment began to change. Lettering began to appear, written in Thalassian, the language of the Sin'dorei, in a dark ink which appeared to be the same colour as newly spilled blood. As line after line of words appeared on the parchment, the scroll began to roll itself up at the top and unroll at the bottom, to allow the words to be written for those who came after to read and understand...
Some time later that night, Serennia, a magister of Silvermoon City and sometimes consort of Lor'themar, was on her way to an audience with the Regent Lord when she saw the light in the window of the room and knew something was not right about it. A friend to Loraya, the mage who called the room her home, Serennia knew that her friend was not currently in attendance in the city, having been sent on a mission some weeks before by the Regent Lord himself. Curious to see why the room was lit, she opened the door to the sparsely furnished living area where she had seen the light emanating from and froze at the threshold. Unable to move into the room due to the invisible barrier preventing her entry, she felt something was very wrong as she saw the scroll on the desk, and the pool of dark liquid on the stone floor beneath the desk.
"My Lord, we need you urgently at Loraya's quarters." Serennia sent the thought as strongly as she could, hoping the Regent Lord would hear her. The ghostly fingers of fear began to fold around her heart as she watched the ink drip slowly onto the floor, the liquid making no sound as it came into contact with the stone.
Lor'themar, the Regent Lord of Silvermoon City, arrived within moments of receiving the telepathic summons, bringing with him several others who had seen him hurrying towards the stairs which led to Loraya's rooms. Two factors had hastened his arrival; he knew Serennia was not one to cry "wolf" unless there was need, and he knew that Loraya had probably found or done something of great importance, given the mission he had sent her on. Ever since her return from Northrend, she had been acting strangely, as if what she had witnessed there had changed her beyond recognition of her former self. In order to try and break her of the all consuming depression into which she had sunk upon her return to the city, Lor'themar had asked her to investigate reports that High Elf ruins had been uncovered off the coast of Azshara. Whilst he had warned her that she was to return home if the ruins were located too closely to the Maelstrom for her to investigate safely, he also knew in his heart that she would probably not heed his warning.
A deep growling noise interrupted his thoughts and he looked at Serennia, just as the ground beneath their feet began to shake violently. He watched in horror as those around him were flung to the heaving ground like rag dolls, some landing so heavily that the snap of bones breaking could be clearly heard above the growling of the earth as it shook. Reacting on instinct, he shielded Serennia and himself until the worst of the tremor had passed; once the shaking had ceased, he watched silently as the young magister crossed the threshold, no longer impeded by the barrier which had been there moments before, and walked to the desk.
"What does it say?" he asked as she unrolled the scroll and began to read. He moved to her side as she dropped the scroll back onto the desk unfinished, a sob escaping her lips as she covered her face with her hands. With shaking hands, and a feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach, Lor'themar gingerly picked up the scroll and began to read it out loud...
My friends, please do not hate me for what I have done, even though I fear it will cost countless lives. I realise now that there was no way for me to have avoided my fate; I was bound into this the moment I left our beloved home to join the war against Arthas in Northrend. From the moment I stepped foot into the frozen wasteland of the Storm Peaks, my soul was lost and my actions became nothing more than the movement of a puppet being played by a master puppeteer. The kind ones among the survivors will say that I was not to know how I was being used, not to know how that fateful expedition into Ulduar would affect my future. But are they simply being blinded by their compassion? Could I have prevented this, had I realised what was happening to me? I imagine that is a question which will never be answered now. The whispers started as soon as I reached Dalaran, though at the time I believed it to be the whispers of the many minds in the city, seeping into my conciousness due to the abundance of magic in the air. I didn't realise then that he was calling to me from his prison, his hiding place deep within the earth. I was so fired up with the belief that I, a lowly and inexperienced young mage, could make a difference in this war that I was blind to the fact that I was being used. So, when we were called upon to venture into the strange fortress city of the Titans, Ulduar, I jumped at the chance, believing this to be my "destiny". We fought bravely and many of my comrades lost their lives within that ancient place, until finally we found ourselves in the strangest of places. Having freed the watchers within the Titan city, we found ourselves caught within the insane mind of an Old God, and that proved to be a crucial point in my corruption. Whilst those around me were driven mad by the visions which the Old God forced upon us, my own mind did not succumb to his madness. Instead, I seemed to be frozen in a moment of time which he had influenced, that of the final moment of corruption of the dragon aspect Neltharion. Unable to break free from that moment until the Old God was once more banished from our reality, I did not understand then that this had been the moment I had stepped onto the path which led me here.
Gasps of horror from those around him caused Lor'themar to stop reading and look up from the scroll clenched tightly in his hands. The looks of terror and revulsion on the faces of those around him told him that they understood what he was reading; the confession of one of their own kind who had done something terrible, involving the corrupted Neltharion. He glanced at Serennia and saw the tears running freely down her face as she came to realise the full extent of what was happening at that moment.
"Please, my lord, continue," she requested, her voice broken and full of despair. With a slight nod of his head, he began to read once more...
With the Old God banished from our realm once more, we descended into the deepest heart of the Titan city, only to be confronted by the most wondrous being I had ever laid eyes upon. Seemingly made up of stars, possibly even entire universes, he blinded us with his brilliance and beauty, and terrified us with his uncaring, calculating coldness. Deemed to be an aberration, a disease almost, we were to be wiped from existence without any further discussion and no chance of appeal against our execution sentence. We fought long and hard, lost loved ones (and ourselves) in the process but eventually we prevailed and convinced him to send the code which would allow us to continue to exist. Our return to Dalaran was celebrated with great feasts and much revelry. We mourned our dead and our friends and loved ones celebrated our return, even though they did not realise we had returned as shadows of our former selves. Some of my brethren from that fateful day went on to engage in the final battle with the Lich King himself within Icecrown Citadel, whilst others continue even now to fight the Scourge in Northrend. Sitting in an inn within the bustling city several days after our victory, I made the decision to return home to our beloved Silvermoon. I had no way of knowing that I came home because he wanted me to be closer to him, so that he could continue his corruption of what remained of my soul. During the months that followed my return, I gradually began to recover from my wounds, but at the same time I was being slowly consumed by them. Whilst the physical scars began to fade, the mental and emotional ones began to fester. Night after night I would sink into nightmares of Old Gods, Titans and the agonising death which so many of my friends had suffered. And each night, he would whisper softly to me, gently soothing my mind and erasing the pain of my memories. His whispered words would cleanse me, lifting me out of the darkness of despair and bringing me back into the light of sanity. Only, now I know that he was finishing what had begun in Ulduar... the stealing of my soul. In a vain attempt to rid myself of the horrific memories which I seemed unable to move beyond, I travelled throughout our world, going from hunting raptors in Un'Goro with the Goblins to planting crops with the Tauren in Mulgore. With the help of the Druids of Thunder Bluff, I began to piece my life back together and regain a small modicum of my former self. Feeling more at peace with myself, and the world around me, than I had since travelling to Northrend, I journeyed home, hoping to become a useful member of our city's own defences.
"I remember her coming home, seeming to be somewhat her old self again," Serennia murmured, unconsciously stroking the small wooden pendant she wore around her neck.
"Yes, she gave you that pendant when you met her at the city gates, if I recall correctly?" Lor'themar replied, a wan smile upon his lips as he recalled how happy he had been when he saw the two women laughing and joking that day.
"She did, and I promised her I would never take it off. She said it would protect me."
"Let us hope so..." he whispered to her, before raising his voice once more and continuing to read.
As soon as I entered the city, my best friend arrived to welcome me home and we spent the remainder of the day engrossed in our friendship, catching up on all of our gossip. I gave her a small pendant which I had crafted whilst studying with the Druids, in the hope that it would give her some protection from any future event which could possibly harm her. I can only pray now that it will protect her from what is about to be unleashed... Within days of returning home, the nightmares began again and I knew that I was in grave danger of losing my mind, or my life. It seemed to me that, while I was able to retain some semblance of sanity away from our homeland, I was not afforded such luxury when within the city walls. So, when our courageous Regent Lord offered me the chance to investigate the newly discovered ruins in Azshara, I leapt at the chance. I foolishly thought that it would help my recovery, that perhaps a little more time out in the world was what I needed to regain myself. I know now that it was the final step in his plan, the final distance to travel on the path which led to my own destruction, and possibly that of the entire world. The journey to Azshara was uneventful; the time went by quickly and it seemed like no time at all had passed when I found myself standing upon the shore and staring out at the ocean. The smell of the salt and the seaweed were intoxicating; the feel of the sand beneath my bare feet was like fire and the lapping of the waves a gentle caress which soothed the burning I felt consuming me. Swiftly weaving a bubble of magic around me, I dived into the clear waters and sank deep into their comforting embrace. It didn't take me long to find the ruins I had been sent to investigate and I documented all I saw, wanting to be sure I gave a full report. I surfaced just as the sun was setting on the horizon and made camp close to shore, feeling the need to remain close to the water. I presented my report that night, using the moonlight to send my shadow to our leader as I'd been shown in whilst in Dalaran. It was then, as my shadow soared back to that deserted beach, that he finally consumed the last of my sanity, sneaking back into my soul as I returned to my body. That night as I slept, I dreamt only of the serene ocean, the beautiful ruins I had seen and the warm voice who whispered to me to come to him. I wasn't to know who he was, or what he needed me for; all I knew was that I had to go to him. And go to him I did. With a full moon in the black sky above me, and watched by the naga hidden nearby, I plunged back into the inky depths of the ocean and made my way to his hiding place, his prison. More ruins loomed out of the darkness around me as I travelled, creatures flitting out of sight before I could focus on them in the dark waters. All I cared about was finding the voice that was calling to me, the one who promised to make me whole again and wash away the pain and guilt I felt for having survived when so many had not. And then, deep within the Maelstrom, I found him...
The room began to shimmer with light as Lor'themar stopped reading, unable to continue as there were no more words to read. Those in the room shielded their eyes as the light within became blinding for a moment, before fading away. Left behind was the soul of Loraya, a shadowy form they could see right through.
"I'm sorry," she told them, her voice little more than a faint whisper.
"I tried to escape, but his hold over me was too great, his corruption of me too complete to fight."
"Who did you find? What is happening?" Lor'themar demanded, his voice shaking with fear and anger.
"He used my life energy to free himself," she told them, her voice and form growing fainter by the second. "He's coming.."
"Who is coming?" Lor'themar shouted at her fading form.
The candle, which had been burning brightly on the desk, suddenly spluttered and died, plunging the room into darkness. As the ground began to shake, even more violently than before, Loraya's voice whispered the words which struck terror into those who heard them.
"Deathwing... He is free... he... is...coming..."