Chapter One: Escape to the West
Illidan Stormrage was a very patient man.
He'd spent a thousand years in cold darkness looking for a weakness in his prison. A weakness that Maiev would not notice and immediately fix. It took a great deal of time for her to let down her guard. Illidan had been a model prisoner, saying nothing and remaining in meditation. The only break from this was meals and his daily exercises.
Outwardly he must have seemed tranquil. Inward, he seethed with unending fury and a desire for revenge that could not be quenched. He knew not what exactly had become of the Night Elves since he had saved them from magical addiction. But he knew that the Wardens disapproved of tilling fields or using arcane magic.
Often he'd hear the screams of those who violated their fragile sensibilities. Pleas for mercy always went ungranted. Illidan thus concluded that Maiev was either the hangman of his brother's regime. Or that things were even worse than he had anticipated.
In either event, Illidan found his weakness.
It came in the thousandth and fiftieth year of his imprisonment. A crack formed in his cell, and no one noticed. It happened due to a sudden earthquake. That earthquake had destroyed a cell door elsewhere in the complex. There had been a jailbreak, and that had been put down.
Illidan had contemplated joining it.
However, he knew that he must wait for the right moment. If he struck when Maiev was here, unarmed and in her seat of power, he would be overwhelmed. Even if he was not killed, the security would be doubled. And all chance of escape would be gone.
So Illidan waited another twenty years, listening keenly to the conversations. For the guards no longer took any notice of him. They had grown forgetful of what he was capable of, and likely he was submissive.
Naisha was the one who revealed.
"Would that Mistress Shadowsong could be here," said Naisha. "We're not nearly as many as we used to be. And Tyrande has drawn off much of our strength in order to combat the satyrs. Even the Sons of Cenarius are far from here."
"We need only stay resolute," said the other. "This prison has never lost a prisoner. And the most dangerous of them is resigned to his fate-"
All Illidan needed to hear.
After a hundred years of silent meditation, Illidan Stormrage moved a muscle. Several muscles, actually, and as soon as he did it, his fist broke the bar off. The move took them off guard, and they were slow to act. By that time, Illidan had slipped through between the gap and was out.
"What the-" Naisha halted.
Illidan grabbed her companion in a grip that sent her into unconsciousness. Raising his bar, Naisha shuddered and realized the situation. She, a highly trained warrior in full armor, was facing down a lone warrior with nothing but a broken bar and no armor. Illidan had not fought a real battle in millennia, while Naisha had fought several.
Naisha ran like hell itself was behind her. He could tell by her footsteps that her armor was slowing her down. They must have introduced a heavier variety in the last century.
"...Excellent strategy," said Illidan.
He did not hurry after her. For one thing, now that he was out of the cage he could sense the lives around him. There were precious few, and even fewer were wardens. Maiev's unique signature was nowhere to be sensed. Though it was nice having so large a field of 'vision' metaphorically speaking, of course.
For another, Illidan was getting his mana back. So he moved after Naisha at a leisurely pace and ended up catching up to her as she ran to a room filled with Watchers.
"Illidan Stormrage! He's escaped!" said Naisha.
"What?!" said a Watcher. "Sound the alarm! Where is he?!"
"I think I outpaced him but-
"Oh, Elune, he's here!"
Raising a hand, he turned Naisha to stone with a single spell. With another, he transformed one of the Watchers into a rabbit. By the time the others had drawn their weapons. The ground beneath their feet turned to mud, sucking them down. Then it rehardened around their necks as they fell.
It had been a long time since Illidan had cast any of those spells. But he had practiced and rehearsed them mentally for ages. Not once had he forgotten a single line. More of them rushed through the door with blades drawn. That ended with their armor stiffening around them and trapped them in place.
Looking around, Illidan kneeled down by one of the Watchers. "Where are the prisoners, Little Warden."
"I will never tell you any-"
Illidan raised a finger.
"Down that hall!" said the Warden. "They are recent arrivals who were caught practicing arcane magic! We haven't touched us; just please don't kill me!"
"And here I had thought the Wardens were made of sterner material," said Illidan. "You seem to have fallen far from the War of the Ancients!"
"I wasn't even alive during that," said the Warden. "Most of us are recent arrivals! Just please don't kill us or leave us here!"
"Pitiful fool," said Illidan. "Very well then." He waved a hand, and Naisha lost her stone shape.
"You..." said Naisha. And she went for a dagger.
"Do you think your pitiful skills will be of any use again me?" asked Illidan. "All of you get out. Go to my dear brother and tell him the true ruler of the Night Elves is coming home."
And then he walked past them without any more words. They weren't worth the effort, really. Moving on, he came to the cells where the prisoners were kept. The Warden stood and was immediately bound by tendrils of black energy. Illidan moved on past and broke the locks.
Within, he found dozens upon dozens of his own race.
"Who are you?" asked one.
"Are you here to save us?" asked one.
"That depends," said Illidan. "What crime were you accused of?"
"I tried to learn more about the spells of the Highbourne," said one. "Others were caught trying to farm."
"Well, it matters not," said Illidan. "Fan out and find the other's cells. Find everyone and everyone and rouse them. I am leaving this wretched place and taking anyone who will follow with me."
"Did you kill the guards?" asked one.
"They are not worth the effort," said Illidan.
A somewhat tedious affair concluded as they fanned out. Illidan had to politely explain to the Wardens that they had lost control of the prison. And that if they tried to interfere with his servants, he'd do worse to them. Naisha had already left, of course. So with everything done, they locked the remaining wardens in their own cells.
Then they left.
Apparently, the others found the sight of the sun breathtaking. Illidan would admit that the feel of the wind on his face was refreshing. However, at present, he was more concerned with rallying support. "Tell me, where are your villages? And will they take you back?"
"They will," said one. "The Watchers draw from our numbers, but they are not among us. When they come, we live in constant fear. Few will be upset at their defeat."
"Excellent," said Illidan. "I shall return you to your proper place before I kill my brother."
"But how will you do that?" asked one. "He's in the Emerald Dream."
"What?" asked Illidan. "Well, then who is ruling things now?"
"Cenarius, of course, though he seldom interferes in our affairs. Priestess Tyrande is the one who usually handles things," said one.
"Cenarius would be difficult to kill," mused Illidan. "And I have no desire to bring harm to Tyrande. Maiev could be a problem as well.
"Even I might experience some moderate difficulty fighting the assembled hosts of Ashenvale. No, I must group. Are there any port towns I could go to?"
"I live at one," said one.
"Then you will find me a ship once we come to your town," said Illidan.
It all went remarkably well. A full-on manhunt was sent out to chase Illidan. Not that it did much good as he walked. He walked right past a troop of soldiers who saw him in plain view and was not stopped at several points.
It turned out, said his companions, that Cenarius had chosen to portray Illidan as a demon. His creation of a new Well of Eternity had become a kind of original sin for the Night Elves. Either no one knew or cared that it was the only reason they didn't waste away from magical addiction.
It was probably a mix of both.
The point being, the Night Elves searching for Illidan were not looking for Illidan. They were looking for a pure evil demonic figure cackling about vengeance. So they walked right by him.
Thus the next week was a surreal experience.
Illidan Stormrage dropped off one of his companions after another covertly. Wherever they walked, he ran into concerned citizens warning him not to go out at day. Illidan Stormrage had returned and was no doubt plotting the downfall of all that was good.
Then he got to the last town, and there was a sense of panic there.
"Hold where you are," said a watcher. "What is your business here?"
"My name is Illidan Stormrage; some call me the betrayer," said Illidan. "I have escaped imprisonment. And I have come to this place by walking past my enemies in plain sight. I now wish to seek passage into the Eastern Continent or what is left of it.
"There, I will create a bastion of power for myself and seek revenge upon my brother. Possibly. It might take a while."
"This is no laughing matter," said the sentry. "The one responsible for the survival of Arcane Magic lives. He's evaded all of our sentries, and we believe he'll be trying to escape.
"Now, answer the question."
"Very well," said Illidan. "I am an ordinary blind night elf who has heard a great deal about the Western Continent. I want to see the colonies there. Is there a ship that I might take?"
"If that is your goal, we won't stop you," said the sentry. "But you should not be so quick to make such grandiose lies. A more paranoid individual might have believed you and shot you dead."
"I'll take it under advisement," said Illidan.
So it was that Illidan managed to barter passage onto a ship heading into the west. They circled around the Great Maelstrom and into the unknown. Absolutely no one suspected who he was, and he doubted the word of this would ever get to his idiot brother.
He found the whole thing rather humorous, and it did much to temper his unyielding ages of hatred. It was probably better to just move on and focus on defeating demons or something. Revenge wasn't all that profitable a venture.
If Illidan Stormrage had been imprisoned for ten thousand years, he might have been a bit put out. Though not enough to not save his people from the consequences of their idiot leaders. He'd just do while being somewhat snide and bitter even as they tried to murder him for no reason.
Illidan Stormrage had the patience of a saint, he realized.
One more reason Tyrande should have chosen him.