It was night time in the southern hemisphere of Azeroth. The skies above the Broken Isles were vaguely clear which was a step above the typically drab and dreary skyline that often blanketed the sea. Prowling through the barren white sand dunes of Thal'dranath was a slender feminine figure, long hair bedraggled and wild, violet toned body glistening in the moonlight from salty seawater. She ambled over shifting hills of sand and dried dune grass until the shoreline evened out and transformed into a chunky thicket of green woods. The night elf, her pale purple skin shining in the open air, approached the bent boughs of a rather tall sapling from which hung her very few possessions.
Nylaria had over the years figured out a way to conceal herself by tying animal pelts to long strips of aged and dried out leather, then draping them over her body. The overabundance of wildlife, occasional blistering daytime sun and need to protect herself from the elements had taught Nylaria a great many things about survival. Though crude and barely a real substitute, Nylaria managed to cover just enough of her body to matter. The makeshift outfit was scant and loose-fitting, to be sure, but the nonrestrictive "clothing" gave Nylaria the opportunity to match the wildlife of the island, and allowed her body to breathe during quarrels with the less friendly neighbors, such as tribes of naga or the errant hydra. Like Nylaria, her clothes were overwhelmingly unassuming but did their job better than any counterpart ever could.
While Nylaria stood underneath the broad canopy of leaves, her bright eyes shifted towards the massive night elven ruins that had stood towering above the miniature island with unwavering certainty - the Tomb of Sargeras. It was an unholy place where many good soldiers - sisters - lost their lives violently and tragically by the hands of Illidan the Betrayer. Although it was now a crumbling mess years after the half demon attempted to bring it down in a heinous act of brutality, the tomb was still kept alive by strange and foul magic. For many months Nylaria was haunted by the savage and inhuman loss of her sisters, but over time those thoughts were slowly relegated to her dreams, simply plaguing her in her sleep instead of nearly every waking moment.
Coming back to her senses after having been gripped by dark memories for a brief moment, Nylaria soon realized something was off. The feeling in the air had tilted. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled and stood on end. She suddenly felt naked and vulnerable, the sensation that overwhelms prey in the moments before the predator strikes. But this was something more.
Nylaria felt dazed and disoriented, like she was been watched from all possible angles, being studied, figured out, dissected. As a warrior it was the worst feeling imaginable. The night elf swallowed an uneasy lump in her throat and sprang forward leaving the weald behind her. Perhaps she had unwittingly encroached upon the lair of some unseen beast, lurking just underneath the shadows, and it had put the girl under its cross-hairs.
But Nylaria had come across ferocious monsters before, and this was something else entirely. As the night elf's feet found a stumbling, tittering path to the beach, Nylaria could feel herself being dragged towards the Tomb, ripped away from the safety of the beachhead. Something was happening. Something was coming. The night elf unceremoniously lumbered across the sand dunes, and she kept her eye on the massive Tomb of Sargeras that eclipsed the shoreline. Drawing closer and closer to the cursed tower, ever destined to loom over the shores of Thal'dranath, Nylaria began to feel an empty feeling inside of her stomach, the kind that makes one's heart sink and their pulse start to race. The elf began to experience a sensation that she never thought would befall her again - the feeling of trembling fear and paralyzing awe at the same time. A foul taste started to overwhelm Nylaria mouth, that of sweetness and fire.
An unwavering blast of heat. A gut-rumbling tremor. The sound of crumbling rocks and clashing magic trumpeted in the distance. Something was happening at the Tomb of Sargeras. But how?
The Tomb of Sargeras had been defunct for at least a decade, if not more. To Nylaria's knowledge not a single mortal creature had entered or escaped alike from the Tomb since the night Illidan the Betrayer had tried to murder Maiev Shadowsong in cold blood. Had she failed her duty so wholly and horrifically?
A roar pierced the heavens so loudly it caused Nylaria to halt dead in her tracks. An enormous green line of chaotic magic appeared and split through the thick night air like lightning, seemingly unable to be stopped. Suddenly the sky was illuminated by hideous green magic and fel energies, putting great distress onto the planet almost immediately. Nylaria clenched her fists tightly and made a mad dash to the shoreline, swiftly diving underneath the shallow waves in an attempt to go undetected.
Nylaria struggled to comprehend just what could have possible made this a reality. The night elf woman feared the worst for her safety as her thoughts raced yet her mind was numb. The absolute unthinkable was happening right in front of her. The Legion was coming back.
From just under the surface of the bumpy waves, her loose straps of furs and leather nearly drifting away, Nylaria watched with horror the events that unfolded in front of her eyes. The very peak of the Tomb of Sargeras lit up like a beacon, beckoning to it swathes of demons as moths to a flame. The bright midnight moon was blotted out as literal chaos rained down from above, rocky demons plummeting to the ground and winged creatures screaming into existence, obscuring the night sky like swarms of locusts.
Gargantuan swirling magic portals appeared on the ground as if out of thin air, ushering in bevies of demonic foot soldiers and cannon fodder. They clamored across the craggy ridges of Thal'dranath with ease, whooping and hollering as they marched forward with their footsteps like drums of war droning in the air. Meanwhile, imps chattered relentlessly as they brought forth hellish fires, felguards grunted as they hoisted their over-sized weaponry, and succubi cracked their whips as the brazen demonesses barked commands to the others.
More demons yet spilled forth from the Tomb of Sargeras itself, the source of this waking nightmare.
All of these grisly images and much more rippled above the surface of the waves like a dream, Nylaria's eyesight distorted from being submerged in water. Nylaria held her breath and dove deep beneath the sea vigorously paddling away from the horrific sight in front of her towards safety.
The night elf's head spun sickeningly. She attempted to desperately figure out where she had gone wrong, what could have been done to prevent this, why she had wavered when it mattered most - but came up short every time. It began to tear cracks in her heart.
It wasn't until Nylaria's lungs ran dry of oxygen did she finally come ashore, hiding beneath a stocky thicket of trees that could barely withstand the heat hanging in the air at the moment from the demonic incursion. As Nylaria caught her breath, resting a hand on the bark of a thin sapling, she wiped her brow and gazed at the destruction that played out before her eyes across the way on the shore. The woman planted the wrist of her free hand against her forehead, leaning into her palm. Her body began to shake from the stress.
The sky above the earth darkened considerably, ironic considering how the night now glowered with demonic fel fire. Bright, glowing green lava poured freely from the Tomb of Sargeras, making a beeline down to the shore and turning the earth a sickly dark color. Short meaty demons with hunchbacks and mechanical limbs began heralding in ghastly demonic machinery and constructing magnificent stone structures that rose to completion in seconds thanks to demon magics. Although Nylaria was hidden from sight for now there was no shadow of a doubt she needed to move now, or risk trying to escape from the clutches of the Burning Legion.
Nylaria's allies were her first thought as the woman raced across the shoreline deeper towards the Broken Isles inner mainland. To be honest, she wasn't sure just what she was looking to accomplish by leaving the Tomb of Sargeras, as it's not as if she could suddenly rattle up an entire army and eliminate the greatest threat ever known to the living universe at the drop of a hat. Nylaria's steaming warrior blood urged her to take up arms and throw herself at the Burning Legion - after all, that's precisely while she exiled herself to the Broken Isles for more than a decade, to keep watch on the Legion. After all, she had failed Azeroth by allowing the Legion into her home.
The night elf was smart enough to not fall into such a trap, or at least her discipline had been honed enough to trick herself into thinking so, and she retreated from the area. Although she wasn't able to see much from her position before on the beach, it was hilariously clear to Nylaria that these Legion forces were not to be lightly trifled with. She would need a tremendous amount of help to contain this threat successfully, if at all.
Nylaria kicked up sand while she raced across the beach dunes that crested the shoreline of Thal'dranath. Bright arcane light began to wrap itself around the woman's ankles. Her steps became literally light as a feather and her feet stopped touching the ground entirely. Nylaria tread through the air as if she were a hot knife gliding through butter, hair whipping behind her back as she gained momentum. Soon the night elf was racing over the waves themselves, making literal bounds and strides over the ocean, leaving the impending destruction behind her.
To the far west where Nylaria was heading, separated from Thal'dranath by a narrow wedge of ocean, awaited Azsuna.*The salty sea air thrashed at Nylaria's sharp and weathered face, stinging her eyes while she raced across the waves with the help of her strange and arcane magic. To the sea, there was nothing momentous about this night - it didn't care about Nylaria's troubling plight or the unstoppable crusade of the Legion. It remained as bitter and wild as always, brutally uncaring, blissfully unaware of the troubles that beget mortal races.
