Illidan had never been known for his patience. In fact, it was only by the bonds sealing him in his prison that he had managed to stay in one place with nothing to do for ten thousand years. Yet now, in the corrupted groves of Felwood, he found himself tapping a hoof to the decaying grass, blind head still as his ears twitched relentlessly. All he could do was wait.

So frustrating.

He had gained the Skull of Gul'dan for himself, taking its power in and feeling the rush as a new form replaced his body. Tichondrius had sworn Illidan would die for this trespass. Despite the dreadlord's threat, however, Illidan found himself surprisingly dreadlord-free at the moment. For a small window of time, Illidan had sensed Tichondrius in the woods just to the east of himself. He ran as swiftly as he could, his new wings folded against his back, hooves learning to run better and better as he sprinted across the forest. He knew the dreadlord was ahead! He knew it! He could sense-

But nothing.

The dreadlord was gone. Where did he go? Illidan couldn't say. He had made sure to close all the portals he found. Perhaps there was one he had missed. But no, the huntresses would have sent their owls to alert him. So, in his impatience, Illidan had forged a path across the woods, searching as best he could for the dreadlord. He sprinted back and forth, leaping over fallen logs, ignoring scratches from brambles, searching frantically for the demon. The demon hunter had run several times through the area he had sensed the dreadlord. It was all to no avail. The demon had vanished.

All he could do now was furiously tap his hoof on the grass. All he could do now was wait and hope the dreadlord showed his presumably ugly face, bring his stench back into the woods, and face Illidan. The demon hunter scowled. This could be a very long wait.

Bah, he thought, I'd be better off searching the entire forest for him! And so he went, charging aimlessly into the woods. His search proved useful, for he happened upon unnaturally large spiders. After slaying the beasts, he glanced down, his spectral sight catching something bright. A box was there, left on the ground. Probably the property of whoever enlarged the spiders, the hunter thought. He knelt down, pulling the box open. Inside…

Boots.

There were boots inside the box. Illidan yanked them out, tossing them away in frustration. I finally find something and it won't fit my feet! Feet… I don't even have feet anymore! They aren't even the right shape for these legs! Roaring furiously, he launched a fireball at the boots, incinerating them instantly.

The player flung her mouse across the room, roaring furiously. "Where the hell is he, damnit? I saw the map ping! I SAW IT!"

"Quiet down!" The muffled voice of her mother from the other side of the wall signaled that her frustration was not only hers. The player checked the time. Six thirty AM of Wednesday morning. She had been playing for hours ever since the internet had mysteriously quit. Bah, she thought, I'd be better off just unplugging and plugging in the router. What the hell do we pay a hundred bucks a month for, anyways? Reminding herself of the usual quality of the internet service and therefore the unusual event that this truly was, she stepped quietly over to pick up her mouse, bringing it back and setting it on the pad as she sat back down. She aimed her cursor at the menu button, clicking it.

"Guess I have no choice," she muttered, selecting the option to load a game. "Fucking glitch."

Furion glanced to his comrades with a brave face while worry again inched across his consciousness. They'd been in the caves for a while, and though he knew them well enough to navigate to the barrow den, they had come upon someone in need of help. Furbolgs inhabited these caves, even during such dire times as these, and had paid the price. As the corruption above seeped down through the earth, it had poisoned their shaman. Ever the tribe, the furbolgs stayed at their shaman's side, refusing to move on until he was cured of his ailment.

Finding the barrow den was one thing. Now, Furion had to find a well of pure water from which he could fill a vial for the shaman to be purified. Tyrande sauntered over to his side on her saber, giving his shoulder a nudge.

"Shall we get going, my love?"

The arch druid smiled. He nodded, his antlers sinking low. "Yes. I think it would be best if we-"

"No. Fuck this furbolg guy. I don't care anymore. I just want to kill Tichondrius. I did this shit twice after I got lost the first time."

"-kept going. The furbolgs can take care of themselves." Furion stepped over to the furbolg chieftain, handing the vial back. "Forgive me. We must continue on. There are allies within these caves we must awaken."

The furbolg frowned, handling the vial delicately in his clawed hands. "You leave us in our time of need, druid?" He looked up to Malfurion, lip curling back in a snarl. "Where was it you said you were the arch druid of?"

Furion blinked, glancing to the others before replying. "I am the arch druid of Moonglade, chieftain."

The furbolg chieftain jabbed a finger forward, the claw glistening in the mist of the cave. "My people will construct a tunnel connecting the Moonglade to other areas. Felwood and Winterspring are nearby, are they not?"

Furion smiled. "They are, but you don't need to do such a thing. Please, trouble yourself only with your shaman-"

"No, no, I insist. We ought to help our elven allies when we can." He looked to the rest of his tribe. "Shouldn't we?" The bear-like people nodded quickly in agreement, seeming uncertain nonetheless. "Then it's settled. We'll dig through the mountains, providing easy access through them to those who would visit your glade!"

The arch druid lifted a hand to stroke his long, storm blue beard. "Very well, chieftain. I am honored you would give us such assistance. We shall repay this debt someday, I pledge this to you." With a bow, he turned, leading his comrades into the dark of the cave.

The furbolgs regarded their chieftain a moment as the elves left. Once they were out of earshot, one stepped forward. "Chieftain… He refused to help our shaman! Yet you promise aid to him?"

The chieftain grinned a sharp-toothed grin at his ally. "Of course not. We're going to build the tunnel, true, but we'll live in it. No one's going to get through there without proving themselves to us!" He folded his arms. "And if they don't prove themselves first, we kill them!"

Raucous laughter overtook the tribe, even from the ailing shaman, who choked out a few chuckles. Cries of "Hail Kernda!" burst now and then between the laughter. All were excited by the plan their clever leader had set forth.

The player's fingers danced across the keyboard, producing a keystroke to change the game before her into windowed mode. She glanced down at the router. The four green lights on its white plastic form blinked satisfactorily. Two solid, two flickering. She opened a web browser, reloading the saved page. It loaded perfectly. "Finally," she breathed, closing Warcraft III for now. As important as Malfurion and Tyrande's quest was to the history of Warcraft… It could wait.