Chapter 3

Vivid dreams haunted my slumbering mind. I found myself a wandering spirit drifting above a war-torn Azeroth without a will of my own. The shambling dead walked the lands, hungering for brains and the flesh of the living. Stratholme burned as her people cried out for help that would never come. Fire rained from the skies and from the flames were born immense creatures of fel destruction. I witnessed orcs battling their own kind with unbridled fury. I saw them united by a young Warchief, his eyes shining with Honor. I felt the pain of my people; a catastrophic disaster in my homelands... and a thirst...

...such... thirst.

I could not understand this feeling growing within me. I longed to throw myself into the Sunwell. To drink up its energies until it was dry. I craved that essence with an intensity that made bloodthistle withdrawal pale by comparison.

Flashes of that ghoulish magician entered my mind time and again but the fear I felt during the attack was replaced by a maddening desire to seize the foul creature and suck away every tendril of magic that he could produce. He was no longer an enemy, but a mobile vessel containing sustainance. Sweet, beautiful, lovely mana. I could feel it bathing me. Enfolding my very spirit in its comforting embrace. This was how I felt before. This was how I felt and I had taken it for granted every day of my life. Why now was this sensation so fleeting?

I was unable to move or to speak but images and sounds continued to play out before me as if seen through a Scrying Orb. I beheld the somber monument constructed to honor Uther Lightbringer. I knew in my heart that all hope had gone if our greatest Champion had fallen. Though my fondness for humans was indeed limited, Uther had been an exception.

True heroes are rarely seen in Azeroth. According to my people, a hero's spirit is exceedingly ancient and comes to our world to guide us to our destinies. Many have claimed to be heroes and many more have been granted that distinction by officials seeking to reward brave deeds.

Though he had countless commendations, Uther Lightbringer needed no such distinction. While he and I disagreed completely on the merits of the Light, I could not deny that his faith served him well. To be near him on the battlefield was to become courageous beyond imagining. His leadership, his honor and his charisma made him a bastion of hope in the midst of chaos.

He inspired me.

I sensed more than saw the Old Alliance crumble and scatter like ashes on the wind.

Its remnants could do little more than cling together and form a mockery of its former glory. The trivial child of a trivial king leading the shattered remains of a once honorable civilization from the safety of a makeshift capital-keep does not the Alliance make.

And yet, it is indeed what they chose to call themselves. The Alliance.

It seemed as though my blood was boiling. My thirst for magic again started to rise within me and, again, there was nothing I could do. Just as I felt that I would lose myself to this overwhelming need for energy, it was once again mysteriously sated.

I saw that the Horde had changed as well. No longer were the orcs a race of bloodthirsty savages. Their wise leader had forged alliances with both the peaceful Tauren as well as the Darkspear Troll tribe. They were working together to mete out a life for themselves, trying with everything in them to construct a home within some of the most inhospitable parts of Kalimdor.

The new "Alliance" was not making this difficult task any easier on them. Humans sailed across the sea to Kalimdor (something they had outright refused to do when it may have done some good) for no greater purpose than to drive the orcs out of their new home by force. Their attempts always failed but another was never far off.

My visions drifted between figures that were somehow important and, upon seeing them, my mind filled out their identities as though I had known them for some time. I beheld Tanta and Rain, two Tauren druidesses who barely knew one another on a never-ending quest to heal the blight that had swept the Eastern Kingdoms.

I witnessed Shakaku, the daughter of Magister Lightgale from Silvermoon City, struggling to contain the influences of fel energies that had been a part of her since she was born. Following this a vision of Klaive; the young Elf on his way to greatness, entered my mind. Smitten with a hopeless love for Shakaku, he departed for the very center of the war that raged between the living and the dead, intent on becoming a hero worthy of her hand.

A shift of perspective allowed me to view Yaluk, a skilled Tauren Hunter whose aim was true enough to rival my own. How he managed this with cow fingers, I'll never know. Another Hunter, this one a troll named Nodel, stalked his way through Stranglethorn Vale with his loyal turtle Tammy in tow behind him. As Yaluk refined his skills as a marksman, Nodel followed the trail of what looked to be exotic game. His hunt took him far to the North, drawing ever closer to the fallen lands of Lordaeron.

The flashes came more rapidly. Namshiel, the Mad Warlock bent on realizing his twisted desires, spent hours on end honing his skills so that someday he could usurp the dark powers which he so readily served and claim their might for his own.

A young girl by the name of Pammajay took her father's gun as he slept in the back room, whispered a faint apology and departed her home to embark on what may prove to be a much longer journey than she had anticipated.

A High Elven Assassin moved with unearthly grace, slipping unnoticed into position behind a human councilman as he fussed over his attire, intent on making a good impression before his colleagues in the hopes of securing a majority vote for his proposal to formally declare war on the Horde. The assassin's blades gleamed brilliantly in the faint light, her remorseless eyes burning into my mind as she deftly slit the human's throat and made her way out of the room before his corpse had even hit the floor. Her name was drowned out by the sudden flood of new names that began to enter my mind accompanied by images too rapid to decypher. Shino, Ahnri, Nadjaa, Nathroshaz, Fawnie, Pretz, Ashkevron, Terris, Sloat and Jajang.

Then, all at once, there was silence. Everything was black. I ached all over and I felt weak. Gradually, faint voices drifted into the silence and I could only just make out what they were saying.