Hey y'all! Long time no see. You miss me? Good. So, I should have published this months ago when I finished it but...I just forgot. So, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.
I do not own the Inheritance Cycle or Warcraft.
The dangers of the deep, twisting forest encompassing the Emerald Dream were not unknown to Bloodmane, more so were the realms within the Emerald Nightmare. He swept his claws through the scaly back of a sickly green dragonoid as he pounced on top off it.
It stumbled and gasped faintly but refused to topple spurring the Druid to clamp his yellow fangs around the thick serpentine neck. They didn't get far, maybe a few inches but that was far enough. Before, it could respond, Bloodmane released his paws form the creature and let gravity take effect.
Now the dragonoid toppled, the rough sinew and muscle of its neck hanging from the Worgen's jaw. He let it fall from his maw as he muttered a small prayer for the fallen defender. No emotion spurred him to do so but the quiet sadness binding kindred spirits such as they were.
He moved deeper into the Nightmare, treading on all fours below the coiled, rotting ribs of that encased the world and past the gutted corpses of ancient elks. The ground was damp with an olive green slime that secreted out of the grainy earth at each step. It almost seemed…alive, a creeping material that sought to cover anything and everything it came in contact with.
He moved fast, the slime already wrapped around his ankles. Ahead the path he followed ended with a brief breach in a line of obsidian trees. He approached cautiously, taking in the scents of at least four dragonoids and something much larger behind the permeating stench of putrid mold that filled the Nightmare. Calling his magic's to him, he slid dropped through the gap without a single glace at what lay before him.
Not that he needed to, so strong was his memory of this place. It was where he'd trained in the druidistic art, within this glade. Many had trained at this ancient niche of beauty, this alluring realm of flowers. There was once every color, every shade of light glimmering off the flowers. Now, only thorns covered leaves remained at the clawed talons of four dragonoids. Shadowing the realm was as ingle drake, small by their standards but a formidable, fearsome foe. Like the land surrounding them they took on a sickly synthesis of rotten mahogany and pungent lime.
Tarol didn't hesitate, for hesitation spelt death among such enemies. Leaping towards the closest dragonoid he transformed into an albino dire dear midair. His mystically empowered claws cleaved clean through the steel scales like they were paper. He did not stop with two or three swipes but six clean strikes across his foes spine. Against any normal bear the Nightmare's minion would have stood a chance, but at this point the distinction mattered little.
His brethren turned sluggishly to the intruder, shocked that one would enter so deeply into their realm. They shrugged this off as their brother fell. The dragonoids bolted forward, spinning double-sided glaives as the drake called upon his twisted magic.
Tarol reverted back to his Worgen shell, all the while fighting a battle of two fronts. From below and above serpentine roots and branches sought to entangle him before the glaives could cut him in two. Mystical emerald lightning came to his aid, searing the Nightermare drake on its way down to the coiling plants. It resounded off the ground with a bang, lighting the glade aflame and biting back at the spidery tendrils.
Withdrawing a few seeds from his belt-pouch, he scattered them into the flames. They ignited instantly, flaring up with a purifying light. It healed, in a sense, purging the dragonoids of their corruption but leaving patches of flesh and muscle exposed. They dropped their glaives simultaneously, some because bloody stumps were all that remained of diseased talons and others due to shear agony.
Tarol pulled further on the light, filling it with the most basic of healing spells. In a blink they took affect, rejuvenating the bloody warriors with fresh flesh and muscle and bone.
A flicker at the edge of Tarol's eye forced him to cancel the spell, snuffing out the light as he blasted the dragonoids to the side with a quick gust of wind. Where they once stood a corrosive flame ate away at the dry leaves. It moved quickly towards Tarol, spewing from the Nightmare drake's maw.
He rolled to the side, transforming into a swift panther. The fire still weaved over his fur as he leapt to the safety of the surrounding trees the thick branches blocked the winged foe's view of him, allowing him too easily outmaneuver it.
He reverted back to his Worgen form from the safety of a large oak, exhausted and mentally drained from using too many spells too close to one another. Still, if he hoped to save the glade he would have to pull further on his magic.
My eyes see all, hummed an ominous voice before smoke and ahs assailed the Worgen. He did not retreat, but rather dove through the fire, utilizing the gnarled branches as stepping-stones to the drake. He broke through the thick crown of leaves with a howl, digging his thick claws into exposed back of the drake.
It ceased its fire immediately, swerving from side to side. He could feel it calling upon the Nightmare's dark magic in the form of a sticky blood he gleamed from its back. He didn't relent, not even when the blood tightened around his fur with a agonizing death grip. He fought fire with fire, tearing the sky open with another emerald lightning bolt aimed directly at him. like before, it did not burn so much as it cleansed, a further purifying spell. The drake tumbled down into the glade, roaring as the light ripped through its body.
Tarol no longer clawed at the ancient guardian but the ancient pathogen that coated its scales, stripping away the diseased parts with shining claws. The renewed dragonoids joined him, wielding now mystically imbued glaives that they used to amputee their master's corroded flesh.
When every inch of darkness was sought out and cut clean, Tarol redirected his spell. This time, however, he pulled from the very evil he'd just had amputated and filtered out the magic from it. This became the fuel for his healing spell. He plunged it into the drake's body, directing it towards the heart before it stopped beating. The spell flowed from there, reforming every cell the dragonoids and Worgen had torn away.
He toppled off the guardian with a groan, now completely drained. The dragonoids were at his side instantly, glaives lifted to defend their newfound ally. The Nightmare was powerful, and would not allow minions so pleasing to it to leave its grasp.
Tarol tokk a minute to catch this breath before rising up on his hind legs. Much to his surprise, the drake did so too with a battle ready look in its eyes. Though small, the druid could tell this drake made up fro its size in magic.
"Druid," It spoke in a soft, almost lyrical voice. "Join me in purifying this realm."
Tarol nodded, feeling the shadows wrap around them. "Defend us," the drake ordered the dragonoids, "until our spell is complete."
They complied, creating a tight ring around them. the darke and druid threw their minds together quickly, serenely but roughly mixing their spells. A dual part casting, one striking at the veil while the other purified.
The Nighterma'es minion came in a wave of imps, satyrs, and felguards. Responding accordingly, the dragonoids swung with wide cleaves and spun their dual blades in like deadly windmills. Noxious green organs tumbled out of the demons' stomachs as their rolled over themselves. Any that survived had their skulls and chests caved in under the dragonoids' heavy talons.
A second wave came, this one bolstered with a gathering of Trents. These new foes deterred the defenders' efforts, now forced to contend with the thick, wood armor. Emerald blood draped their scaly armor as they struggled to protect their vital regions from the deadly Satyr claws while at the same time kicking the vexing imps.
Moments before the dragonoids were consumed in the shadows, the casters struck. The drake flung its head from side to side, belching a sleek and shining flame all around the glade. Where it burned at the rotting landscape, Tarol's spun his spell in its wake. From the charred earth rose up the tendrils of newborn flowers, buds opening in glorious colors. Grass and tree roots joined in, sweeping up in a steady wave that extended beyond the glade.
From one druid such a spell would be nothing against the might of the Nightmare. But Tarol was not alone, for further of Malorne's students unleashed such a spell in other key glades. The interconnected spells weaved through the Emerald Dream, forging an extensive path of pure life. No, not a path, but a perimeter against the Nightmare.
The spell took each Druid into sleep, sleep within a dream. They were brought to a central glade where the Dream's guardians congregated. Tarol was one of the first to wake, gently nudged by the sharp horns of Malorne himself.
"How do you feel, Bloodmane?"
He though on this question, weighing both his exhaustion and the oneness he now felt with his home of Azeroth. "Renewed."
"That is good. Can you walk with me for some time?"
He nodded, and silently they stalked away from the sleeping dreamers. The glade was lovely, a glorious realm untouched by sentient life.
"Shadow Talon seeks to drive you from the rest of us."
"That one is quite persistent. Nearly killed me in his efforts."
"While his methods may be a tad insensitive, he would not attempt such a feat if he did not feel it was necessary. As nurturers and guardians of life, we all must play our part in combating that which strives for the opposite goals. Thus, some come here and fight the Nightmare while others go to Outland and combat the Legion."
"Or beyond." Tarol said with a touch of bitterness.
"Or beyond." The White Stag echoed. "You will be the first to go so far from home in pursuit of our goals and I pray that you will to be the last we cannot simply—"
"Defend anymore. We must seek out and combat evil." Tarol gave an odd smile at the idea. "Shadow Talon said something of the likes once."
"You do not agree?"
"On the contrary, I say we embrace the idea. Too long have I sat idly by, simply protecting and nurturing when much more should be required of me."
"You are ready then for this mission?"
"I am."
They stopped at the edge of the glade where majestic trees larger than the sky mounted the hills.
"Then go, my student. I hope your efforts here will aid you in your next battle."
Tarol nodded, understanding that his Shan'do's words pertained not to metal and blood.
And then he awoke. Before him one of the crew stood in the threshold of his door.
"We've reached port." Was all she said before slamming the door.
Darkshore a dreary land much akin to Tarol's home of Gilneas, decorated with massive shadows and arching branches. The damp sea breeze also comforted him. Despite this he remained on the main road heading north, having caught the whiff of a number of demons the moment he'd gotten off the boat.
He didn't waste time asking the native Elves for directions; he'd visited his destination once before when he'd first began his training. It sat on a hill, barely rising above the surrounding forest. The Tower of Althalaxx, once the home to one of Queen Azshara's favored servants and sanctuary for a cult of warlocks, now hummed quietly with powerful defensive runes designed to repel demons. The top window leaked the light of an oil lamp and a tall figure let his shadow fall from it.
Tarol let himself in through the sold wood door (ignoring the rotted Satyr head mounted atop of it), entering a large chamber lined with tattered and ancient tapestry, dusty and corroded tables. Cobwebs covered everything but the spiral staircase that wrapped around the walls. Blood caked the steps; he paid no mind as he mounted them.
The next couple of floors seemed more…lived in. One was a kitchen, or the remains of a kitchen. A rusted and grime covered stove greeted him with the repulsive remains of what might have rabbit. Plates, and remains of plates, covered the floor in piles. The following level housed a small library of thick tomes bound in flesh and fur.
At the top he entered a quiet study. A simple bed stood against one wall with the Icon of Wisdom imprinted on a tapestry hanging over it. It was the symbol of the Night Elves, three blades encircling a quarter moon with two arrows piercing it. Below the window was a large desk covered in scrolls and maps, pens and ink.
Leaning against it was an olive skinned Night Elf staring out the window. His maroon hair flowed past his shoulders, where a tattered brown vest hung.
"I see you took the care to let yourself in. Thank you for that. It's a long walk down those stairs, especially to the kitchen. Would you like some tea?"
Tarol nodded, and then realized his friend couldn't see him. Didn't matter though, for the Elf swiftly turned around and handed him a fresh cup. Their eyes met, Tarol's golden orbs and Maxril's empty sockets tightly covered by an azure strap of cloth.
"You must be tired. Sit. You've had a long trip."
Tarol looked around for a chair and, not finding one, settled for the bed. Maxril propped himself up on the desk, crossing his legs.
"This place seems nice."
"Thank you. I've been meaning to clean it up though. Ever since I removed the last residents it has been quite troublesome finding anyone to clean this place."
"I would assume so. There has to be some novice mage out there you could recruit though."
"I have this fear that they'd start stealing my stuff."
Quietly the moon crept into the room, turning their tea blood red. They sat there, slowly slurping it down and whipping their lips clean.
"I got your letter," Maxril finally said, picking a loose paper from the scattered mess on his desk. "I've sent my own out, explaining the situation as best as I can. Only a few responded, none of which can help."
"And the ones that can probably don't believe me."
"Not much we can do about that then. What about this dragon? Have you contacted him yet?"
"Haven't had the time or the means. Supposedly I have two weeks to meet him, and I don't want to unless I've gathered a few people to help us."
"What about that Draenei you mentioned?"
"Won't be able to get her without the permission from her leaders, and I doubt they'll listen to a half-mad wolf. There is a Gnome I'm thinking of looking up, but I think I'll run into the same problem with him."
Somewhere an owl hoed wearily. The wind picked up, rubbing a tree against the tower. Suddenly, Maxril hopped off the desk, dropping his tea on the ground, and went over to a large chest seated at his bed. He flipped it open immediately, weeding through a thick packaging of clothes and books.
"What's wrong?" Tarol asked.
The Demon Hunter responded with a large grin as he withdrew a long object wrapped in silk. Laying it on the ground and unrolling it, he revealed a pair of thin short swords, gleaming pieces of steel.
"Are those you—"
"These are my war blades. I haven't taken them out for a while. This seems like a fitting occasion."
"What does?"
"Our trip to Alagaesia."
Tarol was on his feat immediately, spilling his tea all over.
"You're coming with?"
"Oh don't act surprised. You knew the moment you sent that letter I would join you. I've been sitting in this tower for nearly a year flipping through old dusty tomes. I got to get out and see the world, or at least a world."
"You do realize you can't come back here? This is a one-way trip. Think carefully."
"I have, and I think that dying on some far off world is much more preferable than rotting away in this blasted tower. Besides, it will be a lot easier to gather companions if there is two of us looking."
"But like I just said—"
"I know, I know. All that politics and duties and such. But there are ways around that. We just have to talk to the right people."
"And who are they?"
"Why, the neutral ones. Jaina Proudmore of course! She'll definitely help us out."
"Either you're mad or she is. And I know you definitely are. What makes you think she'll listen to us?"
"Because she agreed to ally herself with the Horde to fight the Burning Legion because some bird told her too. I think she'll be up for listening to another one, don't you think?"
Tarol had to admit. It wasn't that insane of a plan. He slowly nodded to his friend.
"I knew you would understand. Now, I just have one consensus. No Gnomes. I don't trust those cretins. They're much too small and talk way too much. If I'm going to be traveling cross-planet, I do not want to have to deal with one of them. Understand?"
"You have to be kidding me?"
"You want my help or not?"
"Fine. But we'll need someone else to take his place."
"Don't worry. We'll find one. You don't have a problem with Dwarves, now do you?"
"No. Do you?"
"Not really, and we could use someone who isn't completely depended on magic. I know a marksman we can look up. Get that map over there. We need to do some planning."
Far away, the moon watched the two scurry around the tower, collecting tomes and supplies for their mad quest. A shadowy form crossed over it, feathery appendages flapping hard.