"Ouch! Hurry up, kaldorei!" Syrise hissed, "You weigh a ton!"

"Excuse me?!" Syrene said as she looked down.

"You heard me!" Syrise huffed as she gave a boisterous shove at Syrene's backside.

The night elf gasped as she was shoved upward, and hastily grabbed at the ledge with her dainty purple hands. Her fingers knitted into the soil desperately, clawing for purchase like a wild animal. Pfft, druids. Once her hands clenched and stopped moving, Syrene began to pull herself up to the ledge. Syrise gave another hard shove, giving Syrene that final boost she needed. The night elf hastily pulled herself up onto the ledge, panting slightly.

"Now me!" Syrise ordered, holding up her hands expectantly.

Syrene's head poked back over the ledge and she looked down at Syrise for a moment. Syrise looked back at her, waving her hands in annoyance. After a moment, Syrene sat up a bit with a growing smile, tucking her silver hair behind her ear.

"Well, well," She said playfully, tapping her finger against her chin, "What a predicament you find yourself in, little sin'dorei."

Syrise growled in anger, withering back her hands.

"Quit playing around, you little-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Syrene interrupted, waggling a finger, "Mustn't lose your temper. You might say something you regret."

"Not likely," Syrise sneered, pausing to glance down.

The two of them had formed a hasty alliance of convenience against those crazy fire druids back in Nighthaven. Once they'd managed to escape the battle, they had to find a way out of Moonglade to get help. Who exactly they both considered to be the proper help was a matter for later debate. Unfortunately, the path Khail had previously shown her through Timbermaw Hold was blocked by the incoming forces. As a last resort, they'd taken to scaling the mountains surrounding the region.

And now that they were halfway up, it seemed like her unpleasant alliance was beginning to dissolve. And what was worse, the various outcrops and ledges were too high up for her to climb on her own. Or descend.

"Look, you need my help," Syrise looked up to the smirking night elf, "You can't climb all this on your own either. Now just hurry and help me up."

"Hmm, you know," Syrene tapped her chin, "I think I just remembered something rather inconvenient. Inconvenient for you, that is."

"And what's that?" Syrise asked flatly.

"I'm a druid," Syrene smiled, disappearing from Syrise's view.

And then there was a loud cry of a bird. A flutter of wings and a moment later, a large bird appeared flying next to her. Syrise narrowed her eyes, spinning around and leaning her back up against the stone. The bird cawed at her, almost mockingly, and turned to fly away. Syrise scowled, wasting no time to draw and nock the bow from her back. She loosed the arrow and it plunged into the bird's wing, causing it to stagger in the air. It let out a cry of pain, before plummeting into the rocks a short ways below.

Syrise returned her bow to its place on her back and crouched down, leaning over the edge of the stone to take a look. The bird was a few crags below, and slowly shifted back to the form of a night elf. Syrene groaned, sitting up and angrily prying the arrow from her arm. Syrise perked an eyebrow curiously when she didn't heal it.

"Look what you did, kaldorei," Syrise called down, "Now neither of us can climb. Hope you're happy."

"Why did you shoot me?!" Syrene growled, looking up.

"You left me to die up here!" Syrise scoffed, "What was I supposed to do? Just wave goodbye?!"

Syrene grunted in annoyance, tenderly crossing her arms, and looked away. Syrise furrowed her brow, sitting back and doing the same. The two of them stayed like that for several minutes, before Syrise finally broke the silence.

"Hey, I have a question," Syrise looked down over the edge, "Why are you so evil?"

"I am not evil," Syrene sniffed, tilting her nose up in offense.

"Yeah, yeah, nobody ever thinks they're the bad guy," Syrise waved a hand dismissively, "But seriously. What the heck is your goal in all this? Just to be annoying?"

"You wouldn't understand," Syrene muttered, looking down.

"Maybe not," Syrise shrugged, "But we might as well pass the time before we starve to death up here."

Syrene scowled, remaining silent for several minutes. But then she gave a defeated sigh and shrugged her shoulders lightly.

"Many years ago, my mentor, Archdruid Navarax, revealed to me the secrets of an ancient prophecy, foretelling the sundering. He explained to me that Lord Cenarius and his father, Malorne, shall be resurrected to heal the land. But they shall only return when blood is spilled."

"Not a very friendly prophecy," Syrise quipped.

"We called this prophecy the Emerald Prophecy, for we were of the Emerald Circle," Syrene continued quietly, "Archdruid Navarax explained to me that he could not leave his post at Whisperwind Grove, so it fell to me to ensure the Prophecy's success."

"Ugh, so typical," Syrise muttered, "Men never want to take any responsibility for themselves."

Syrene looked up at her flatly, before continuing.

"I began to spread word of the Prophecy within the Cenarion Circle, but Keeper Remulos came to me. He told me to speak no further of the Prophecy, that it was astray."

"I'm sensing a big but coming…"

"But when I returned to Archdruid Navarax, he revealed that Keeper Remulos had been overcome with greed. He didn't want his father to be resurrected, because he wanted to rule the Cenarion Circle himself."

"Hoo boy…" Syrise facepalmed, recalling when she'd met the Keeper.

"I understood then that I would not be able to rely upon the Cenarion Circle for aid. So I formed my own faction, the Emerald Coven, to ensure the Prophecy's fulfillment."

"Speaking of that," Syrise perked an eyebrow, "When you were saying it required blood…"

"The blood of the Emerald Seer and the Emerald Walker," Syrene explained, "Brothers, one who may see into the Emerald Dream and one who may Dream in waking."

Syrise's eyes widened.

"Zami!" She gasped, before waving her hand dismissively, "...And his annoying brother."

"Yes," Syrene nodded, thumbing at the wound on her arm, "They must die to allow Cenarius and Malorne to return and heal Azeroth's wounds."

Syrise furrowed her brow, sitting back again. It sounded pretty convincing, hearing it all laid out. But she wasn't quite convinced.

"Why?" She asked, looking down, "Why do they have to die?"

"Wh-What?" Syrene looked up, blinking in surprise, "I just told you."

"No, no," Syrise shook her head, "I mean, why do they have to die? What is that supposed to do? How would that bring back Cenarius and whats-his-face?"

"Malorne," Syrene furrowed her brow, "And, really, isn't it quite obvious?"

Syrise shrugged, shaking her head. In response, Syrene sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Obviously," She glanced up at Syrise, "The trolls are some kind of mortal incarnations of Cenarius and Malorne. They've merely forgotten. As long as they live, their souls will be trapped in the flesh. So they must die."

Syrise blinked down at Syrene, trying her best not to laugh directly in her face. She'd heard a lot of ridiculous things in her time, especially regarding religions-cults, most of all. But this one really took the cake.

"So Z's a god now?" She snorted, putting her hands on her hips, "Well, don't tell him that. It'll go right to his head."