Chapter 9: Winding Threads
The light in the tent had dimmed. One of the two moon's of Azeroth had begun to filter into the tent through empty branches, casting dancing shadows across the canvas. Alaric ran his hands through long, blonde hair as he recalled his time in Outland. It was plain to Osra that the wound in his side still pained him greatly, but it was healing slowly.
"The Expedition...I still feel amazement fill my heart when I hear of their survival. Almost twenty years stranded." Osra remembered the portents and ripples of chaos and fear sweeping across the four corners of the world when the Dark Portal had reopened. Even here, so far north in this ruined land, uncertainty and terror gripped the air. From the south, the unknown doom behind the Portal, and in the north, the shambling undead hordes of the Scourge.
For many years after the sealing of the link between Azeroth and Draenor, the archmage Khadgar and those thousands lost on the far side of the portal were remembered as heroes. Their names were struck up in lists on every major town hall across the Kingdoms, statues and icons cropping up overnight. Even small cults, devoted to the sacrifices of the Expedition had circulated, claiming them saintly.
When the rumors and jumbled hearsay from the distant Dark Portal's reopening filtered north, the tidings told of those heroes of old, long thought dead, still roaming the dusty plains of the orcish homeland. Osra remembered her disbelief. Having since joined the Argent Dawn, the news had visibly raised the morale of its fighters, encouraging them further to continue the struggle.
"A hard lot they became." The elf replied. He stood, testing the bandages of his wound and flexing his right arm. He winced as reminders of the torn sinew and bone shot through torso.
"I still find it hard to believe anyone could survive in such devastation." Osra remarked "And isolation."
"I could say the same for anyone in these Plaguelands." Alaric considered.
"The blood elves led by Kael'thas had come to Outland seeking a sanctuary and a cure to the magic addiction we suffered after the tainting of the Sunwell, Lord Danath explained that to me. That much makes sense. In the wake of the Sunwell's corruption, I had half-heartedly proposed to Prince Kael'thas that we take whom we could and travel west across the Great Sea following the ancient nautical charts left from both our ancestors and Jaina Proudmoore's fleet so as to reach Kalimdor. There, we could find the magic we craved in the same pools that birthed our Sunwell."
"Instead, the Prince charged me and several others to lead the ships fleeing the wreckage of Silvermoon; to ensure the survival of the elves as a race, and to gather as many of our populace, cultural artifacts, and records as possible, and take them to safe harbor. Those few who still had the heart to fight, he would take south, gathering an army to aid the Alliance in the war. So compassionate he was that day, so full of hope and promise and life. He had inspired me."
"I had been broken, you see. The fall of Quel'thalas and the loss of the Sunwell had - extinguished my fire. The Prince had reignited it."
Osra watched as the elf's eyes glassing in memory.
"I dutifully obeyed my Prince, taking the refugees from Silvermoon to Southshore, Boralus, and Menethil Harbor and then I left for the front as soon as I could. Eventually, acting on that plan mentioned earlier, I eventually found myself there in the midst of the Alliance's greatest heroes, searching for Kael'thas. What I found on that world was a truth blacker than any I'd ever expected."
Outland, Two Years Past
Winds blew from the north echoing off the ramparts of the shells of castles and dwellings throughout the land. Lightning sparked to and fro in the distance, marking the battle between the warm northerly breezes and the bitter southern gales blowing in from the Void.
Alaric gazed out at the unnatural landscape of Draenor from Danath's solar. Honor Hold had been built as a towering testament to the might of Azeroth and the Alliance thirty years ago. The rock had been carried from Azeroth through the Dark Portal by the thousands of tons, making the walls and towers of the mighty castle seem to stick out like a sore thumb in the red wastes of Outland. Originally, at least.
Years of continued warfare had taken their toll on the fortress, and repairs were undertaken using stone cut from quarries, giving the castle a rather odd, varied patchwork appearance. The triple walls were increasingly redder rather than grey the further out one got, as if the essence of Draenor were with time slowly swallowing them.
Inside the massive wall complex, the bailey and squares had been cleared for herding animals and horses, the descendants of the creatures that had made the trip from Azeroth. Specific officers were assigned to the personnel to make sure they met quotas and properly separated livestock in terms of their nutritional values and roles.
Everything here had a role. Alaric could see that all was ordered and calm. The people here knew what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Most had repeated the same processes near their whole lives now. It was necessary in order to survive deep in enemy territory, cut off from everything.
"We grow our own crops in the fields and in the glasshouses, keep our own animals, irrigate our lands, mend our walls and roofs, smith our broken swords, mine our minerals, gather ice from the mountains, and all else a functioning society performs." Danath mentioned as he observed Alaric staring out at his castle-city.
"How do you irrigate? There is no water here. I know once there was a sea, but the rupturing of this world drained its shores from this land."
The old soldier motioned his head for the elf to follow. They walked around the rimmed battlement of the drum keep in the middle of the Hold. The mountains, jagged and every bit as characteristic of Outland came into view. Their shadows cast dark spears across the valleys and plains below. A distant line of green swept from the white caps of the mountains, descending into a valley just beyond the northern outer wall.
"A river. I see." Alaric smiled.
"No, you do not. It is a aqueduct. We built it some twenty and five years ago when the last of the lakes wisped away. It supplies our fresh water and allows us to grow." Danath explained, waving his hand at the land beyond the walls. Palms and green vegetation, all familiar and recognizable, grew in neat rows surrounded by paddies of rice fields.
"All of the seedlings were brought from Azeroth before the Portal collapsed. We were fortunate to have a horticulturalist accompany the Expedition. Master Kathirne had studied the herbs and flora at the Acorn Academy in Lordaeron before the war. She came with the Expedition along with many civilians to study this new world and support our operation. She was a master of her art."
"Was?"
"Kathirne contracted the white flux and died long ago. Her expertise lives on though, as you can see. Our engineers who built the aqueduct, they too have long since departed. They were dwarves of the Badlands, and with the mountains in their heart they departed for the Blade's Edge and never returned. We never found the scantest trace of them since." Danath stared hard at the rugged mountains that seemed to pierce the very sky itself.
"How many have you lost throughout the years?" Alaric asked tentatively, knowing it would be a painful subject for the man.
"Too many. A hundred and fifty thousand marched these lands before Khadgar sealed the Portal. There remain here in Hellfire Peninsula some nineteen thousand souls. About a third of that number are too old or young to handle a sword. We have other strongholds spread across Outland though. Their numbers equal ours if combined. Most died of starvation, thirst, or disease in the first years. Not even orc blades killed as many of us as hunger and cholera."
Alaric nodded. Such was usually the case in war.
"As callous as it sounds, I am still surprised at the number of survivors. Against all odds you have not only survived, but flourished it seems. " The elf stated.
"Floushied. Pah!" Danath's mood grew dark. "If you fight against all odds to merely exist you are not flourishing. There is no joy and relief here. We have not built a civilization or society. Everyone knows their role. If they step out of line, they are expelled, imprisoned for labor, or hanged if they commit crime. Every man woman and child can perform their duties, else wise they are a leech on our meager resources and I do not suffer leeches."
Alaric was taken aback by Danath's brutal truthfulness. The measures seemed harsh, but the elf could see the necessity. In Quel'thalas, such actions would have been seen as wicked and atrocious, but then again, the elves had always likened themselves as enlightened above humankind.
"You mentioned children."
"There were a great many children. In our first years, nearly a thousand births. Those that survived childhood are among our youngest. The number of men to women is disproportionate, so our numbers decline with every year. Honor Hold insists on as many children born as possible so we may replenish our ranks."
Something cold struck Alaric. The honesty and casualness of the statement brought a wave of sadness and shock over him. Indeed, these were people with their backs to the wall. Every year the bulk of what remained of the Expedition grew older, and every year there were less to man the walls and farm the fields. The situation was starkly similar to those enacted this very day in the remote pockets of Lordaeron that still held out. He himself had issued decrees for "population control and replacement" among his elves so that they may not die out so meekly as their numbers dwindled with the fall of Quel'thalas.
Necessities. Alaric thought darkly. Sometimes he himself wondered if not everyone in Azeroth, and now here in Outland, had lost a little piece of their souls in the wars that washed continually over them all. When acts committed in innocent love became preordained laws, then a line had been crossed. Alaric mused if anyone but the children of the next generation could ever go back across that line and recapture some essence of normality.
"And the orcs. They lived through the sundering of this world, as I have already seen. How many of them remain?" Alaric turned his thoughts to the old enemy.
"A great many. Most of their hosts are led by my nemesis, Kargath Bladefist. Kargath calls himself Warchief and likes to think himself Orgrim Doomhammer's successor. While he is a great fighter, he is not a great leader." Danath smiled slightly, no doubt thinking of his past battles.
"Had he half the mind Doomhammer was, there would be nothing left of Honor Hold nor the Sons of Lothar."
Alaric loosed a rare chuckle. Many orcs had sought to prove themselves worthy of Doomhammer's legacy. None had succeeded.
"Not all the orcs follow Bladefist. There are some in the hills and plains past the Blade's Edge Mountains. Their tribes are native in nature. They never travelled to Azeroth, and if we do not bother them, they leave well enough alone. Our fight is with Kargath, the demons on this world, and your brethren."
"They came some years ago." Alaric began, somewhat hesitantly. "You might not have heard of what has occurred in Azeroth since their arrival."
"Nay, I've not. I fear the worst though. Has the entire world been touched by war?" Danath rubbed a scar that crossed his balding head. It was white and ropy, inflicted long ago. Alaric glanced at the shields that hung on the wall.
Each bore the sigil of its former owner. The elongated heart for Tallhart, a purple flame billowing white smile for House Aetreus. The quadrant field of House Holmne bearing its star, tower, stroke of lightning, and sword painted on a buckler hung in the far corner of the room. Shields from all seven kingdoms of man hung here. Two longer, more ornate barriers formed from living wood and painted with golden leaves marked two elves from the high blooded Durdan Irr's estate-fortress in the Eversong Wood. They must've been of the noble Arr family. Alaric reminisced briefly about his travels through Quel'thalas and Azeroth as a child. Then he remembered.
"The last I heard from Stromgarde was of the pain of your countrymen. Your King, Thoras Trollbane, is dead. He was slain by an assassin's blade while we fought against the Lich King in Northrend. I grieve with you for he was a friend, and it pains me to bring dark tidings in already dark times." Alaric said.
Danath sat down, casting his head downward. For a long while silence filled the solar.
"My uncle rides with his ancestors in the glory of the Light then." The balding commander stroked his grey stubble somewhere between thought and sadness. "A mighty man Thoras was. I always aspired to be like him when growing up. Then I decided my skills lay in pure soldiery, not statecraft and traditions. Has Prince Galen taken to the Arathi Throne?"
"I've not heard. I would assume he has. The young man has a lot of work cut out for him. Stromgarde suffered greatly during the Third War. Both the Legion and the undead Scourge rampaged through its lands, and a great many battles were fought there. It was in Stromgarde that the tide of the war turned and the Alliance halted our enemies."
"I see." Danath reached for a cup filled with what looked like warm, malted beer. "To you, Uncle." He raised the stein and drank deeply.
"I can hear more of home later. You wish to know of your people here in Outland." Danath changed the subject.
Alaric turned grim.
"Tell me of them."
Danath stared hard into Alaric's eyes. The elf felt the man's gaze boring deep into him. Alaric knew what he was about to hear would not be pleasant.
"They came in a great host from the south, emerging from a portal. There have been sporadic rifts opened between this world and others, remnants of the orc shaman Ner'zhul's meddling with dark magics."
"Ner'zhul lives?" Alaric questioned. He recalled rumors of the Horde's warchief in Draenor, the one who took over command of the clans after the defeat of Doomhammer. There was even talk that the old orc's pupil was the great warlock, Gul'dan.
"Nay. Ner'zhul was killed at some point or another. Just another thing slain in the endless conflict that engulfs this world. We never found his body, nor did the any of the orc clans that we know of. The warping doorways he opened were similar to the one your kin travelled through to arrive here."
"Their mages felt the ripples of our wizards tapping magics and sought us out. They told us of their journey through Outland, and of the wars that burned the old world to cinders. Their tales were dreadful. For so long we held onto the fact that we had sacrificed ourselves to remain behind on this hell and secure a better future for Azeroth...then these elves tell us the undead Scourge and the demon Legion destroyed all we fought for." Danath scowled, hiding pain and helplessness behind a mask of anger.
"The elves had arrived some years ago, settling in the far eastern reaches of Outland that we call the Netherstorm. It is as violent and unstable a place as any on this world. The evil of the Twisting Nether runs strongly through that dark place. A perfect place for such vile creatures."
Alaric leaned in, puzzled as to what must've happened that drove his people and these survivors apart so harshly so as to end in violence.
"After working their way into our graces, breaking bread and drinking mead with us, they began asking questions. Things such as where Khadgar was, what magical artifacts we had, what we knew of the orc's positions, our numbers and strengths. They worked their way amongst my men, drinking them down in the taverns and in the fields. Our spirits, though crushed by the news of home, were lifted by the arrival of friends."
"When they heard what they wanted, they turned on us. Honor Hold was engulfed in flame as they called down demon infernals upon us. They raided our supplies, taking three of our amplifying amulets. They hunted down our wizards, killing six of them here at Honor Hold. Gilda was able to commune with Khadgar, who returned just in time to drive off the traitorous sons of whores." Danath spat.
"I lost more than a hundred. Our most powerful amplifying siphons, each able to make our casters a dozen times more powerful, were stolen. Most of our mage contingent was lost, and our homes cast down and flamed. And for it all, these blood elves used fel demon magic. They are traitors to their people, their honor, and the memory of their country. I would suggest you abandon your folly search for them. You will only find disappointment and enemies." Danath adviced gravely.
Alaric considered all that the grizzled veteran had told him, the confusion in his mind growing into a swirling horror. Slipping deep into thought, he tried to imagine the proud Kael'thas killing his own people and allies. How could it come to that?
"I cannot imagine my kin doing such a thing. I won't believe it." Alaric said staunchly.
"We could not believe it either, when counting our dead." Danath retorted.
"There must be some reason; some cause as to why they would do such a thing." The elf shook his head in disbelief.
"They've fallen to some corruption, no doubt. Lotus tel Tallon, one of your captors, speculates their use of demon magic drove them mad."
"I'd be lying if I said I'd not dabbled in fel energies. They have a potent kick, and certainly intoxicating - but my blood elf bretheren and I always agreed they were for short term use only...until we found an alternative source of magic. For them to actively insinuate themselves amongst you then strike...that is not madness. That is calculation." Alaric pondered.
"It cannot be Kael'thas. He is the hope and rightful king of our people. I reclaimed Quel'thalas for the blood and high elves. We are one people, not two. Kael'thas is family to me, and I spent many years with him, studying at the Conclave of Quel'danas. He would not do such things. Have you had word of him?"
"Nay, but for the fact he came here with his zealot followers."
"He must be held captive, or dead. I cannot imagine my own blood doing such acts against those we've fought alongside for so long. Against our own kind! I must find him." Alaric looked toward the ominous mountains.
"I warn you now, do not pursue such folly. There are few places safe for friends of Azeroth on this world, especially lone wanderers." Danath clasped Alaric's shoulder, dragging him back into the solar. The shields of his fallen knights glinted as the sun's last light bathed the room in orange.
"I came to this world using a power I can no longer touch. If I can find Kael and gather those of my people whose hearts are still true, perhaps I can find a way for us all to return."
"Were it possible I would aid you, but the mucker orcs have moved into the area of the Gates of Zangar." Danath noted the confusion that flashed on Alaric's face and realized his mistake. "Our name for the native brown-skinned Mag'har tribes. They're feral orcs that never made the crossing to Azeroth or joined the Horde. They follow traditional migration patterns."
"A few orcs do not scare me, regardless of their color." Alaric harrumphed, smashing a fist into his open palm.
"They should. The Mag'har are unlike any other greenskin you've encountered. They use strange powers dare I say even you have never encountered. We've left them alone and they us for the most part. In fact, we've even traded with them from time to time. I would ask you leave them be and steer clear. Honor Hold and the Sons of Lothar need not more enemies."
"There must be other paths I can take. Through the mountains, or-"
"That would be the only way to journey to the Netherstorm at the moment. The Twisting Nether has drawn closer of late." Danath pointed outside the doorway to the balcony. Great wispy bands of what seemed spiraling gases streaked across the skies, diffusing the sun and starlight into fog.
"It is prone to contractions. When they come, more demons than normal are spit out through the cosmos. They congregate in highly magic-saturated areas; Shadowmoon Valley to the south, the Netherstorm, and the Blade's Edge Mountains. You can ask Gilda more about the phenomenon. All I know is that when it begins, we deal with more attacks and roamers than normal."
"Paths rather than the Gates of Zangar would be as if marching through the Nether itself." Danath cast his huge hand across a map of Outland that plastered the wall.
"You can ask Gilda more about the phenomenon. All I know is that when it begins, we deal with more attacks and roamers than normal."
"How long do these contractions last?" Alaric asked, growing annoyed.
"Who's to say. We've experienced three in our three decades here. One lasted a few days, the longest more than a year. Those were lean times."
Alaric sighed in frustration. He could not demand that these old veterans lift their swords to march for him alone on so much as a hope, and his pride kept him from pleading.
I have come at the worst possible time.
Alaric tore himself away from the map, angrily pacing about the room.
Trapped on an alien world - helpless. A kinstrife among my own people when they need to be united the most. What am I here for?
Silence filled the room for long minutes. Eventually, Danath spoke up.
"If you wait - if you remain here with us, helping us grow strong, teaching us your craft, plowing the fields, scouting and raiding, then there will come a time soon that the opportunity to search for Prince Kael'thas. I can assure you, the Mag'har will not camp in the north eternally. We have seen them come and go year after year."
Alaric considered.
"I cannot wait long, Trollbane. Every day that passes is another that more of my people die."
"Aye, such is the shadow that hangs over us all." Danath finished his mug with a deep swig.
Later that Day
Danath watched as the elf strode out the door, escorted by a still distrustful looking Gilda. He turned to the keg behind his desk, proceeding to fill his stein again with the thick, warm beer. It was malty stuff, made with hops that had surprisingly taken to the natural soil here.
With Uncle Thoras dead, young Galen will take the throne. He was but a babe when I left. I can't even remember what he looks like.
He felt a slight itch when he thought of Stromgarde. The itch had long since disappeared, until those sons of whores blood elves had arrived. Their coming meant that return was still possible. Escape from this place was feasible. Before their appearance, he'd all but given up on a homecoming.
Alleria, Turalyon, did you ever manage to find Azeroth? And did the horrors that now live there kill you? The long lost commanders of the Expedition had departed long ago, stepping through one of Ner'zhul's last portals to find help or passage home. They'd never returned.
Khadgar went north into the forests of Terrok to find his mysterious 'answers' and never returned. So many had gone and never come back.
I want to return home. Danath thought. But in the back of his mind a voice echoed If half of what the elves say is true, there is no home to return to. All has changed.
"You can come out, Lotus." Danath rasped.
From the rafters above, the lithe form of Lotus tel Tallon dropped like a silent shadow, her bow still in her hands.
"Did you have your sights on him the entire time?"
"He is not to be trusted." She warned, brushing her light, creamy hair from her face.
"I decide who is to be trusted and not." The man said in a grizzly voice. "You would do well not to shoot my guests."
Lotus scoffed, barely shrugging her shoulders .
Insolent.
"You are a young girl. You wouldn't know."
"I'm older than you." The elf protested.
"Aye, and your kind mature slower to make up for those ridiculous life spans of yours. Most of what you remember is from this red planet. I've fought a hundred battles on different worlds each."
"My whole life has been a battle!" Lotus nearly shouted. His authority restrained her...barely.
"Aye, it has." Danath admitted. "But you barely recall what a blue sky was like. You can't see clearly the spires of cities, the smell of thatched roof or pine needles, the sea breeze as the great salt oceans stretch on forever. You can't imagine a world where peace, justice, and trust reigns, because you've never known it. But you are one in ten thousand who are like this. To you all, home and everything it stands for is but a dream."
Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't come here to be patronized. I came to finish him swiftly should he attempt malice."
"I do not trust Alaric either, Lotus. He is not telling the whole truth. Perhaps we've forgotten how to trust outsiders...it's been too long since we've seen any."Danath strode to the balcony of Honor Hold's drum keep, Lotus following.
"Keeping him prisoner would not suffice. Alaric'Quel has power. And he has the greatest bargaining chip of all: the way home. If he came here, he knows how to take us back to Azeroth."
"Clap him in chains until he agrees to return us. If we recall the other mages from Allerian Stronghold in Terrokar-"
"Were you not in Hangman's Square this morning? Did you not see him shatter Gilda's dampener? She is among the finest mages I've ever seen, including Antonidas. She is second only to Khadgar in Outland, should he still live. If this elf so wished, he could level Honor Hold right now. This Alaric'Quel...he might well be equal to Khadgar himself. We must play him for the time being, until we know his true character."
"That is why you lied to him about the Mag'har?"
"Indeed" The mucker orcs did not wander when the Nether closed in. The dangers were too great.
I will not have our last chance of return wandering off to die or disappear like Alleria, Turalyon, and Khadgar. He does not know Outland. He does not understand its pitfalls and nature. This place is unlike anything even he has seen before.
"He must be handled delicately. With the Nether's contractions, Kargath and his minions grow stronger. The Horde will rally from the Ramparts, the Black Citadel, and the eastern fringes of Hellfire Peninsula. They will come here and strike at us. No time is as ripe for them to do so than when their allies draw closer. We need Alaric's power on our side. I must have him in this army. We all must have him." Danath explained.
"Escort Alaric'Quel at all times. Familiarize him with everything here. Make him feel at home. Give him your bunk to sleep in, seduce him if you must. Keep him within Honor Hold for the time being." Danath nearly chuckled when he saw her face contort. She was pretty, graceful and charming...when she chose to be. No doubt she'd caught Alaric's eye. He did not seem past the age of elfhood where the desire to couple faded.
"You-what?! No!" She recoiled. "I am not some tavern slut!"
"Keep-him-here. I don't care how you do it, or what you do." Danath's voice was cold like steel.
The elf's face reddened as she grew more flustered and furious.
"You're obsessed with Azeroth. You heard Alaric and the other blood elves when they came here; Rommath, Tae'thelan, and Astalor Bloodsworn. It's gone. Quel'thalas is a burned husk, Lordaeron crawls with the undead, Dalaran was pulverized by the demons, and Kul-Tiras is kingless and without its navy. Even your precious Stromgarde was mutilated beyond recognition. We are better off here."
Trying to change the subject, eh?
"If Azeroth was nothing but a burned cinder, we would march into its blackened ruins to the drums of our ancestor's ghosts. You have my orders. Now go."
Lotus nodded, face still blushed with infuriation. She managed a stifled 'yes, sir' before leaving.
I believe I will die here one day. He thought to himself as he looked over the landscape. But as long as there is a chance...maybe, just maybe...
He turned toward where the Black Citadel stood. Though he could not see it beyond the horizon, he knew it well. A hundred meter tower made of a single slab of obsidian, surrounded by a compound built at the pinnacle of the Horde's power. Enclosing the massive complex, fifty foot ramparts bolted together over many years. Tens of thousands of orcs would be milling there. They knew the Nether approached. They could probably feel it. The thought made the hairs on Danath's arms stand on end.
Glancing at the sky, he watched as the spiraling, nebulous bands gradually enveloped the stars.
Light, if it persists as long as the last one... Kargath would march sometime in the coming days, weeks, or months, orc armies bolstered with unnatural demons and mutants. They would strike at the height of the squall, when their allies were closest and nigh endless.
We do not have the power to hold them here. We are too spread out. Danath thought of the other encampments strewn across Outland. When last the Nether had come near, all the remnants of the Expedition returned to take refuge within the walls of Honor Hold, presenting a unified force. This one though...it had come all too quickly. Within the last week there were already reports of felhound packs roaming thick through Terrokar Forest. From the Blade's Edge Mountains came distant shadows with monstrous wings. Reports of unnamed horrors to the east, west, and north came from bloodied, rider-less horses.
They want us to be afraid.
"Alaric'Quel, eh?" Danath muttered. "Luckily for us, you came at the best possible time." He placed the empty stein on the table, unsheathing his sword to knick the rust off it.
Bonus Entry: The Twisting Nether
Throughout the universe, innumerable worlds are scattered between the distant stars. Each world is wrapped in an infinite plane greater than itself, to the mortal eye giving it a rounded and spherical presence among the other celestial bodies.
Between these various realms and the other heavenly cosmos, even flowing straight through them, are the fundamental aspects of energy that allow for the coalescence of elements in all forms; the forces of binding and repelling, heat, light, and motion. Varying amounts of these energies can be harnessed by the mortal and immortal beings of the universe, given that they possess a set of inherited traits. The manipulation of these underlying, universal energies is called by some the channeling of magic.
In the eventual happenstance brought forth from the universe's primordial disorder , the regions where this magic energy was densest formed a twirling feature that stretched across the endless Void: the realm today known as the Twisting Nether. Older than the stars and the planes of existence, this realm existed long before the inception of Azeroth or its denizens.
Within the deepest core of the Nether lay an eternal engine of chaos, with random combinations of magic and matter resulting in the production of horrific and unnaturally vile creatures. Other beings, born from the material worlds that we associate ourselves with, flocked to the outskirts of the Void's greatest landmark. From here, they drank its dark energies and became twisted and malformed themselves.
With the coming of the Titans who sought to bring order to their disorderly surroundings, an inevitable war loomed. The forces of chaos and order clashed and since time immemorial have held a long, bloody stalemate across the Void.
It is in this stalemate that all we know has come to pass.
Authors Note: Hey all, I'm back! Sorry for the long absence. In the mean time, I completed my Master's degree and got a job so life's been all over the place. For the time being I'm settling back into a routine which will FINALLY allow me to write again.
I took extensive notes on my free time for both this story and future ones (fanfictions and otherwise), so rest assured my plans and dreams to keep writing have not faded, nor shall they!
Alaric is beginning his ride through Outland, which I'll say is a medium-sized arc that is necessary for the plot of the overall story. Before you know it, we'll have the pieces in place and he'll be returning to Azeroth the jaded elf we now know, unsure of his future and role in the world.
But that, and Alaric's greater fate, lie in wait for us in the months to come!
Thanks again for waiting on me, and I'm glad to be back. Looking forward to writing, posting, and hearing back from ya'll!
Omegatrooper