Thank you to everyone who read chapter 1! A special thanks to WolfPaladin, Saviikins, and Emiliex for the comments and Gabbriel and Kronos274 for the fav'ing.

As always, the following characters, places, etc. are the property of Blizzard Entertainment and do not belong to me.

Enjoy!

Hate and High Tides

Chapter II

The ruler of Darnassus, of the ancient and stoic night elf race, paced her private quarters in the Moon Godess' temple – her every step filled with anxiety and stomach-wrenching fear. Surrounded by the opulence of the Temple, Tyrande preferred to keep her room as simple as custom would allow. The room was office, sitting room, and make-shift living quarters all in one. She rounded the desk, hidden under masses of scrolls to be read, signed, or catalogued, and turned toward the velvety green lounging chair at the room's far end. Pacing about in the near darkness of the room, favored by her race, Tyrande's heart raced.

For most of the younger races, and even many among her own kind, the answer to her frantic movement would have been easily understood had they known the true nature of the cowled figure in the farthest corner, barely touched by the sconces' dim light. For, though in his present form he preferred the moniker Krasus, he was much more than the simple elf-like humanoid he appeared to be. Krasus' eyes evinced wisdom beyond the mortal ages; the magic he wielded with ease would have easily killed many a caster who might try to repeat it. In an eerie manner, his pale skin was akin to that of a night elf that had passed and had been long buried deep in Teldrassil. Being a great dragon of the Life-Binder's brood, and consort to the mistress of the crimson flight, allowed Krasus to become the winged behemoth Korialstrasz at any time he chose and space allowed.

Yet it was not the dragon in disguise that currently stressed the High Priestess of Elune so. Nor was it the willingness of the love of her life, the great archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, to involve himself once more in the red's dire plans. She expected as much when first Krasus appeared out of nowhere and uninvited in her quarters. And though the three remained good friends and allies throughout the millennia, she knew too much of the nature of the leviathan to suspect him to simply drop in for casual conversation. Dragons, even the mortal-loving red flight, reveled in their seclusion from the lesser races. Her heart sank at the thought of the ill news Krasus must carry with him.

Tyrande set herself with all the grim and solitary determination- acquired from a life of conflict and global strife- that she could muster. She listened patiently, absorbing the news and composing the early stages of a plan to action. To be High Priestess was to be ready to do whatever might be necessary to protect the people, even at the expense of her own inclinations- a quiet home deep in the forests, a child. But the steadfastness she had set her mind to crumbled just as quickly as Krasus moved into further detail of the threat he perceived. With each word Tyrande's fierce spirit eroded until she was left with only fear and a preoccupation to pace about the room in silence.

The dragonmage's words filled her head, pushing thoughts of comfort and peace to the smallest recesses and leaving room for little else apart from the soul-chilling dread she still felt – even though some ten thousand years had passed. Krasus spoke of an evil from the seas come back to haunt the land-dwelling races. Unexplained murders, disappearances, and foul weather that materialized in an instant and evaporated just as quickly characterized the tempests that left merely carnage and destruction in their wake. These things Tyrande could have handled with an unwavering ease but Krasus continued still, a tone of disgust reaching his usually reserved demeanor.

"I have watched these events unfold for some time without the intention of intervening. However," the dragonmage paused, regaining control of his voice, "a far greater evil than I suspected has revealed itself. The naga are returned to the surface world. If there discovery was deliberate or by chance, I still don't know. "

"Naga!" Tyrande burst, her fear finally reaching its boiling point. "But how can you be sure? This kingdom and the Sentinels have a widespread network and I have yet to –"

"Tyrande," Malfurion interrupted, "Krasus has long been a respected friend and ally. I trust with all my being that what he says is true. The entire sphere of events is easily explained by their return."

The cowled form stepped forward, removing himself from the shadow of the corner. "Do not let your fear, as well-founded as it may be, distract you from your duty to your people, High Priestess." He knew his remark, though offhand in delivery, would wound the elf's pride even as she attempted to conceal it. As consort to Alexstrasza, the conservation of life on Azeroth was his paramount goal- through what means he achieved that end was still a matter of debate by some. Often charged with manipulation of the mortal races, by those races themselves and his own kind, Krasus recognized moments that called for tender-footing but he distinguished just as easily those that required the small sting that would inspire action.

It worked. The High Priestess blushed and quietly prayed to Elune for strength. She desperately wished the nightmares of her past to quit her conscience. Finding tranquility through Elune's influence had marked her as a talent among even the best priestesses, but she too had her moments of doubt- made worse by her battles with the Nightmare Lord in the Emerald Dream. The deity blessed her in turn with a quick answer, sending the images of tentacles and serpent-shrouded heads fleeing under the warm presence of the Mother Moon's assurance.

"Very well, Krasus. What do you propose we do?"

"I have traced the storms' trajectory. All are within easy travel of one location. Your search begins in Vashj'ir. A large force has, however unwillingly, revealed itself in the city. I have probed the area and find more than just naga present. This may explain the disappearances."

"I know my kingdom well, Krasus, and I believe the portion which you refer to is under water, rendered so by the Sundering, eons in the past."

The kaldorei capital, Suramar, was once a thriving city of the night elves' love for both their Mother Moon and the arcane magic that flowed through them as effortlessly as water down a fall. Surrounding the beautiful metropolis were smaller townships, such as Vashj'ir, home to many of the Highborne. At their highest, the night elves prided themselves on their contrivances – a virtue soon to be their vice. After invasion by hordes of ruthless Burning Legion demons and the following destruction of Azeroth, innumerable night elves lay dead and decaying. Soldiers and citizens alike watched in horror as the body of their allies, not lucky enough to remain deceased, had been revived through fel magic by the demonic necromancers and sent to battle their brethren. Such abominations and the brutality of that war had been the worst ever faced by the night elves- made worse by the betrayal of the race's own leadership, Queen Azshara's court and her highest councilor, Xavius. At the insurrection's end, the shining city of Suramar and much of the surrounding country lay far below the tides of the Great Sea, or had been for the past ten thousand years.

For centuries, the elves worked to restore their homes and find peace with the younger races, but the demons returned. Tyrande, full of a fool's impetuousness that she still punished herself for, had freed Illidan from the Barrows Deeps. But it was not long before the demon-elf returned to his old ways. Reports of Illidan's latest treachery reached the elves, and Maiev Shadowsong, blind with hate and rage, informed Tyrande that parts of the old kingdom had resurfaced by the work of an orc warlock. A second, more sinister revelation had also surfaced at the time; the Highborne housed in the Azshara's palace at the time of the Sundering had not met their dissolution at the bottom of the ocean. In death's place, they had found absolution. Forces as elemental as they were ancient altered the traitorous Highborne into creatures of revulsion doomed to the the oceans' depths but suited to thrive there. No longer the models of perfection and high society, they had become naga.

"I don't believe it was among the islands raised by Gul'dan," Tyrande finished, confident that the dragon was indeed mistaken.

Krasus nodded solemnly, a slight smile reached the edged lines of his mouth. Malfurion, quick to comprehend Krasus' purposed silence, moved to take Tyrande's hand in his and found her palm clammy. Alarmed, he studied her face, discovering that it was a shade paler than usual.

"I have some cherries from Draenor, cultivated from the land of Nagrand which may aid us in this instance, my love."

In reply, Tyrande only sighed. She had hoped against better judgment that the leviathan had been mistaken – however unlikely that seemed to be. She was fond of swimming as far as recreation went but the thought of battle in such a place… She was not altogether sure of her skills with a glaive in such an arena; and reliance on alien vegetation to sustain their breath under crushing leagues of water and pressure put her in worse spirits.

"When are we to leave?" she heard Malfurion ask of Krasus.

"Soon, to be sure. But not until the full party is present."

"Need there be more? Mal and I have done much in the past as only a pair. I see no reason to amend that now." Tyrande knew that to be untrue. Each of their journeys to save Azeroth had been aided by countless others, but the world was smaller then. To include so many on a mission to restore balance was likely to incite old hatreds between the factions- hatreds the world had no time to abate.

"Ahem."

In the doorway, a young priestess of the Light stood looking uncomfortably out of place, particularly among the night elves' most powerful duo. Tyrande spun on the acolyte but found the girl engaged in a low bow with eyes to the floor. She searched the room for the dragonmage but apparently the form did not wish to be seen.

"Yes, Taelyn?" she asked, gesturing for the girl to rise.

"Forgive me the intrusion, High Priestess, but the human ruler of Theramore, accompanied by a party of two, wish an audience with yourself and the leader of the Cenarion Circle."

"Jaina Proudmoore? Did she disclose on what business?"

"No, milady."

The acolyte fidgeted under the intense, questioning stare of her favored ruler.

"Send them in please, Taelyn."

"Right away, milady." The girl vanished from the doorway, in a hurry to please the High Priestess. Moments later Jaina, Rhonin, and a female quel'dorei appeared where moments before Taelyn had stood. Seeing the full party gathered, the dragonmage allowed the darkness of his corner to recede behind him.

"You will need talents outside your own to assure this journey's success," Krasus intoned knowingly. "Much depends upon the five of you."

"How did you –" Vereesa began but a sidelong glance from her husband silenced the question. She suspected this to be the figure of the Kirin Tor whom had brought Rhonin and herself together on their first mission before tearing them apart many times more with half-crazed objectives. Her husband spoke well of his former mentor, but always in guarded tones. The cowled form was, to Vereesa, clouded by secrets.

"You have a great deal to discuss before your departure, which I hope will be swift." Krasus' outline, already dimmed by the surrounding shadow, seemed to move deeper into the darkness as he spoke. "I have my own pursuits to attend to, which may prove parallel to yours in the end." His shadowy form, head bowed in deference, evaporated from sight –

– reappearing leagues away in a massive cave that stood mostly empty. Remaining in his elven form, the red alighted up a stairway formed from the cavern wall and placed himself on a modest throne. Formed from the cavern's stone, the throne blended seamlessly with the rocky floor. Settling heavily into the chair, he summoned glowing orbs from their hiding places in the rock wall. Each of the immaculate globes revealed an image of the present somewhere on Azeroth. From here, Krasus continued his search into what he believed to be the source of the terror from the Maelstrom. The dragon did not fool himself or consider the situation below his means of intervention. He sensed the enemy, the true enemy, might not directly act in any incident now plaguing the world. Rather, the enemy used a series of puppets and disjointed leadership to compel conflict. His adversary was too cunning, too practiced in its malice to attend to any destruction by its own hand- not until that last moment when deliverance was too late. Yet, Korialstrasz was ever determined to trace this evil back to its source.

The globe before him displayed a torrent of rain and lightning occurring over the Great Sea. But, with all his efforts focused, the mage could not penetrate the scene any further than the visual image the storm presented. The concealment was too familiar to be denied.

"Destruction, you are not unknown to me," Alexstrasza's prime consort remarked inwardly. "You cannot remain unseen by me Neltharion… Deathwing."