Lost Lion
Disclaimer! I don't own Wow. Blizz does, and your soul too.
Volume 3: Interlude 1
***Redridge Mountains – Frostwolf Settlement ***
From inside the heart of the Frostwolf Settlement, Chieftess Draka had ruled the clan. All that had changed when the fallen Frostwolf chieftain rose once again. Despite being sickly and gaunt in a way few orcs ever were, that quiet strength of his still remained in his wasted frame. He had only just begun to take back the reins of the clan when Ner'zhul's messenger arrived, bearing an intriguing offer.
"...and that is what the Great Shaman said to tell you, mighty Durotan." The orc shaman bowed deeply to show his subservience.
Durotan looked from his wife back to the messenger. "Ner'zhul knew that my mate was in charge, and yet he still offered this to me?"
"I... I was only told to bring it to you," the shaman stammered. "And if your mate accepted on your behalf, the Great Shaman said that would have been acceptable."
"Leave," Durotan said tiredly. "Ner'zhul will have my answer within a few days. Until then, you are free to walk among the clan, but take care how you behave."
"You honor me, mighty Durotan!" Ner'zhul's messenger then pounded his chest in salute and retreated.
"My love, tell Drek'thar to keep an eye on him." Durotan turned to his strong mate. "And if possible, learn how Ner'zhul regained his abilities."
"I will do as you ask," Draka acknowledged. She then leaned down and placed her head against his.
For a moment, their troubles and the world faded away, as if they were the only two orcs in existence. Then Draka pulled back, and the world returned with all its troubles. Durotan watched as his mate walked away, leaving him alone in silence, but not truly alone. In the ensuing quiet, strong and heavy footsteps sounded from the back of the tent—a private area for when the chieftain wanted to be alone.
"So, Ner'zhul is so afraid of me that he would offer you leadership of the Horde," Orgrim Doomhammer, his brother in all but blood, said with amusement. "It is a good thing I arrived before he did. Who knows, you might have taken him up on his offer."
Orgrim was not dressed in his famed black armor but was bare-chested like any other grunt. The Blackrock chieftain wanted his visit to the Frostwolf Settlement to be discreet. His honor guard, composed mostly of ogres, was forced to wait for their Warchief outside the Frostwolf settlement. It was proof of Orgrim's trust in Durotan.
"Unlike you, I do not crave power," Durotan said bluntly. "Then again, you were born to lead, so I am not surprised you rose as high as you have...Warchief."
Orgrim snorted. "You could also be Warchief. Does Ner'zhul's offer not sound enticing?"
"Ner'zhul wants me to slay my blood brother," Durotan growled out. "Even though he left, he is still blood. I am not so desperate for power that I would shed family blood."
"If you do nothing, then orcs will slay orcs once more," Doomhammer said, sitting by Durotan's seat without any respect and pouring himself a horned cup of fermented elekk milk. The Blackrock orc then drank deeply from the cup. "And that would leave us too weak to exterminate the humans."
"We were wrong to have attacked them, and you know it," Durotan spat. Now that Blackhand was no longer Warchief, Durotan no longer needed to hold back his true thoughts. "Just as we were wrong for the extermination of the Draenei."
"I agree." Doomhammer faced his longtime friend's bitterness head-on. "We were wrong to have done what we did, but it is too late now. The elekk milk has been spilled, as they say. The humans and we are enemies now; they will never forgive us for what we have done, and more importantly, they will never understand our reasons."
Durotan inhaled deeply at the truth of Doomhammer's words.
"Our two species' fates are sealed; either we die or they do." Doomhammer turned to him then. "Any chance of peace disappeared when Blackhand attacked their lands. The question is, will you lay down and let them kill Draka and Go'el?"
At the mention of his mate and young son, Durotan closed his eyes. Damn Doomhammer, but his friend knew that for Durotan, nothing was more important than family. The humans might not show mercy to his people even if he approached them for peace. Too much blood had been shed.
"There's the famed Frostwolf warrior resolve that all the orcs respect." Doomhammer grinned as he saw Durotan's expression.
Durotan could only glare at his longtime friend, but there was no heat behind his gaze. "We did not get a chance to discuss things before Ner'zhul's messenger arrived, but what are you doing here, so far from the Horde?"
Orgrim paused and, instead of answering his friend, poured another cup of fermented elekk milk and drank deeply from it. Durotan did not prod his friend but instead, let the orc take his time. Finally, after a short stretch of silence, Doomhammer spoke.
"I was not expecting you to have recovered when I journeyed here," Doomhammer began. "Though I had hoped that was the case, seeing as your wife had consorted with the foul draenei magick to do so."
Durotan's eyes widened in alarm, but Doomhammer held up a hand and snorted loudly.
"Did Draka believe she could hide the fact that she kept some humans with draenei magick a secret?" the current Warchief of the Horde asked with a raised eyebrow. "Just who do you think helped her cover her trail?"
Durotan's eyes widened even further. "You knew?"
"Of course, I did." Doomhammer shook his head at his friend. "Have you forgotten that you and I once walked the Draenei city as guests and were healed by them? Such magicks are potent, and if they could be used to help you, then I would allow it."
"And you think Gul'dan would allow the Horde—"
"Gul'dan," Doomhammer interrupted in a dark tone. "No longer holds the influence he once enjoyed. Draka has told you what has occurred with our war against the humans?"
The Frostwolf chieftain nodded. He could still scarcely believe the tale, but more than anything, he lamented the death of over three hundred thousand orcs. They might not have been his clan, but they were still fellow orcs. Even the Draenei never fought them that savagely.
"Among them was Gul'dan. For whatever reason, the Draenei magic had gravely wounded him," Doomhammer elaborated, his eyes becoming distant as he remembered the scene. "In his absence, I wrested control of the Horde from his Shadow Council. I allowed them to live only so that they may serve me, as will he."
"You cannot trust him," Durotan rose to his feet in a hurry. "You should strike him down now!"
"Perhaps I should have, but the time has passed. Gul'dan's awake," Orgrim said, though he did not look worried in the slightest.
"Orgrim...Brother, I am willing to take my best warriors to go with you now and end him once and for all." Durotan walked over to his longtime friend. With his good arm, he put it on the larger orc's shoulder. "Let's end the orc that had destroyed our people!"
"I can't." Doomhammer shook his head. "I still have need of him."
"Still have—what could you possibly need from that monster?!" Durotan shouted in anger. "What he did—!"
"ENOUGH!" Doomhammer roared. He then grabbed Durotan by his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "You may not like it, but he still has his uses and can serve the Horde. No doubt he schemes—I would do the same in his position—but he is not an axe that I fear because I can see his attack coming from a distance."
Durotan wanted to counter, but his friend was not finished.
"It is Ner'zhul's dagger in the dark that troubles me more," he finished.
While Durotan might have issues with Ner'zhul, the once-respected Shaman did save him from drinking the demon blood. "Ner'zhul brought back shamanism—"
"He brought back nothing!" Doomhammer growled. "They are not communing with the ancestors like in the old days, but with a darker master."
Durotan's eyes widened. That he did not know. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I have spies in his camp who have questioned the Dark Iron Dwarves, the very people who introduced our people to their...dark shamanism," Doomhammer explained. "Ner'zhul is no better than Gul'dan and his warlocks. But at least with Gul'dan, he obeys me. Ner'zhul fears me and wants me dead. The messenger he sent to you should tell you all you need to know."
"Then how are we to regain our people's honor?! To obey two foul masters..." Durotan trailed off.
Doomhammer poured the fermented elekk milk into the horned cup and passed it to the Frostwolf Chieftain.
"We need to save our people first before we can even think about honor," Doomhammer said. "And to do that, I need you by my side—to be my second in command of the Horde when I am away. Ner'zhul has the right of it; all orcs respect you. They would follow you."
"Away?" Durotan frowned. "Are you leaving the Horde?"
"Eventually, I must go north," Doomhammer said, turning his head in that direction. "The Horde cannot remain divided like this. I must unite them."
"But Fenris is..." Durotan looked sharply at his longtime friend who nodded. "You mean to kill him. That's why you came here; you intend to kill my blood brother."
"He will never bow to me, and he has always been jealous and desired your chieftain position." Orgrim nodded. "I will challenge him to Mak'gora, and then I will kill him."
Orgrim said it with such certainty that Durotan knew his blood brother's days were numbered. Only a few orcs could claim they were Doomhammer's equal. He was one of them; the other two were dead.
"And once you unite the Horde?" Durotan asked, also turning in the direction of the north.
"Then, we wipe out the humans," his friend answered without hesitation.
"Can...can we not really come to some sort of...agreement with them?" Durotan asked in desperation.
Yet from the look his friend gave him, he knew it was a foolish question. Doomhammer's gaze was knowing; as always, his friend understood an orc's heart better than those like Blackhand or Grom Hellscream. Still, he wanted to save their people, and so a line must be drawn.
"After the humans, we stop," Durotan told his longtime friend. It was not a request; it was a demand.
"After the humans, we'll stop," Doomhammer acknowledged.
"And Gul'dan dies," Durotan added.
"And Gul'dan dies," Doomhammer agreed without a second thought.
***Lordaeron – Outskirts of Dalaran ***
Dalaran was not a typical nation like the other human kingdoms; its borders did not extend far. Unlike most other nations which had numerous towns and villages scattered throughout their lands, Dalaran could only support a few. These towns existed mainly for trade and to mark their borders with Gilneas, Alterac, and Lordaeron.
Thanks to the portal system network, these towns had suddenly become bustling and overcrowded almost overnight. Armies and delegates, supply wagons, and the like flowed to and from Dalaran due to the war against their monstrous foes to the east. It was here that the Silverhand paladins, headed by Supreme Commander Uther the Lightbringer, had come to rest before moving on to the Hillsbrad Foothills. Just his presence alone would have warranted the best the town had to offer.
However, Lord Uther did not arrive alone. Accompanying him were esteemed lords and nobles from all over Lordaeron. There was Tirion Fordring, Lord of Mardenholde Keep, an amiable-looking man in his early forties. By his side stood a large man over six and a half feet tall, Saidan Dathrohan, a famed knight throughout Lordaeron. Wherever injustice reared its head, tales of him arriving to crush it would be told.
These three nobles alone would cause a major stir in any kingdom, but alongside them was the recently renowned Lord Othmar Garithos, Elf-friend and heir of Blackwood. Tales of his heroism against the despicable trolls and his rescue of the ancient allies, the mysterious elves of Silvermoon, had become legends told in taverns far and wide. These four men, with their impressive pedigrees, cast a long shadow over almost everyone.
Turalyon, son of Dorus, knew he was not one of those exceptions. Formerly a priest of the Church of the Light, the lesser-known paladin found himself feeling like a fraud among his peers. He knew it was unworthy of him, yet he could not shake the feeling. While he was noble and well-known among the people of Capital City, he had yet to achieve anything of note to be inducted among their ranks. It boggled Turalyon even now why Archbishop Alonsus Faol had selected him for the Church's new organization, the Order of the Knights of the Silverhand. Why had he been chosen to be a paladin over warriors with a lifetime of experience?
These men outshone him in every regard save one. His faith was as strong as theirs, of that Turalyon was certain and would wager everything he had as proof. Unfortunately, the paladins of the Silverhand did not combat the vile orcs solely on faith but with strength of arms. In that respect, he found himself extremely lacking. To date, he had yet to win against any of his paladin brothers in mock spars. He had pushed himself to the limit, yet they defeated him as easily as if he were a babe facing an adult.
"What's on your mind, Turalyon?" Uther's voice drew the former priest out of his thoughts.
Turalyon looked up to see the older knight holding a mug of ale and sitting down at his table.
"Well, brother?" Uther addressed him casually. Turalyon flushed at the respect given to him by the famed knight. He had not earned it.
"I...I am...concerned that I will not be ready to face the Horde when the time comes," Turalyon confessed. He was not worried about being overheard in the loud tavern atmosphere. "I am far behind everyone, and even now I find it hard to understand how exactly I can use the Light to strike down another living being..."
Uther made no comment but gave the youngest of the five paladins time to gather his thoughts.
"I know it can be done, that it has been done, but...I'm finding it difficult to make the Light take life when I have only ever used it to save," Turalyon admitted. "What if I become the weakest link that our enemies take advantage of? Even now, I haven't been able to land a blow on any of you in our spars. What good am I?"
Uther silently called the distracted barmaid, who had been listening to the music, over to refill his cup. The barmaid hurriedly filled Lord Uther's cup, flushing red at her lapse, before offering the same for Turalyon's. In response, the newly appointed paladin covered his cup, letting her know he was okay. The barmaid, seeing this, gave him a pretty smile before rushing to take care of the rest of their guests.
"Lad." Uther's tone became serious. "What I am about to tell you is something that should not go to your head, but never have I seen a person with battle instincts like yours."
Turalyon's eyes became downcast, only to hear Uther chuckle while shaking his head at him.
"For someone who has just picked up a sword in a few weeks, you are actually pushing us in these spars," Uther told the shocked younger man. "We cannot fight you as we would a novice, and our pride as veteran warriors refuses to let you land a hit on us. So we might have been... overzealous in defending our pride."
Turalyon was stunned. He was actually good?
"As for wielding the Light." Uther's eyes moved to the stage where a man whose fame and prestige could match all five paladins was singing. By the man's side was a handsome elf playing a variety of instruments. "As the Hierarch had preached to us before, don't just believe in the Light—"
The first paladin then turned to the youngest and laid a hand over his heart.
"—instead, you need to believe in the Light that believes in you," he finished.
The words were confusing to Turalyon. Was it not enough to believe in the Light? What did it mean to believe in the Light that believes in him? He could sense some kind of wisdom in the words, but it eluded him. His eyes moved to the stage where the original speaker of those words was serenading the audience.
Hierarch Callan Lothar—or rather, just Callan as the Hierarch had instructed him to address him in the future—was on stage with Lirath Windrunner. Turalyon was surprised to find that the hauntingly beautiful Sylvanas Windrunner not only had a brother but two other sisters. As far as he could tell, the elven bard held no official rank with the military. Yet many of the elves showed him respect, and the humans—erring on the side of caution—afforded him the same courtesy.
Though it was not difficult for most of their retinue to do; the women, both commoners and warriors alike, were all smitten by the handsome elf. The elves, both male and female, were as beautiful as the legends described and more. Their appearance in such a public venue was eye-catching, and even Lirath Windrunner's bodyguards were stunningly beautiful.
How a human warrior woman ended up working with the beautiful elven mage, Turalyon did not know. However, the two were diligent in their roles, reserving a table near the front but out of direct view of Callan and Lirath. Their table could seat six, but any attempt by both men and women from either race to join them was sternly rebuffed. Even Turalyon found himself intimidated by the strikingly beautiful woman with black hair and eyes as red as rubies.
The human female had not deigned to remove her expensive black-plated armor, but the way it molded to her form made Turalyon's mouth dry with the promise of what lay beneath. She was said to be a mercenary, possibly from Stormwind, judging by the blue lion's cloth wrapped around her arm. Even the few male elves in the room could not help but glance at the stern woman with admiration. However, as beautiful as the human mercenary known as Eris was, her beauty was overshadowed by her elven companion.
In the eyes of the newly inducted paladin, the female elf—and apparent leader of the group—was as beautiful as Sylvanas. Unlike Sylvanas, who was a ranger or warrior, this elf was a wild mage. Wild mages were elves who had not received formal training from the Quel'Thalas magi order, the Magisters. Her mage staff, even to Turalyon's untrained eyes, appeared highly valuable and of superior quality compared to those of the Dalaran mages in the area.
Yet, even that was not her most striking feature.
Unlike the somewhat armored magisters he had seen during his time in Lordaeron, or the scintillating dress robes of the sorceresses of Dalaran, her style outshone them all. Her flowing, luxurious hair was a lighter shade of dark compared to her human companion. In contrast to her companion's ruby eyes, hers were a deep blue, like a tranquil lake. And then there was her dress, which made Turalyon blush and avert his eyes as it was exceedingly enticing.
The elven wild mage clearly knew she was beautiful and had no qualms about showcasing her generous upper assets with a top that fit like a second skin. Moreover, her thigh-high boots left a visible amount of smooth, unblemished skin exposed, as they did not extend all the way up beneath her dress. The dress itself was extremely short, barely covering her modesty, and the combination made Turalyon's face flush just from seeing it. Despite his efforts to avoid looking, he found his gaze drifting back to that exposed area almost as if by magic.
His eyes weren't the only ones drawn to the elven beauty. Out of the corner of his eye, Turalyon noticed many humans—both male and female—glancing in the direction of the wild mage. Even Uther, his superior, let his gaze wander for a moment before forcefully looking away. Turalyon grimaced; he needed to learn to get used to the elven beauty. They were to be fighting side by side, and it wouldn't do to ogle at your allies!
"Light have mercy," Turalyon muttered softly. There was probably a Silvermoon contingent waiting at his family estate in the Hillsbrad Foothills.
In contrast to his mood, the next song was a jaunty tune sung by Callan about a warrior named 'Lo'gosh.' It was catchy, and for a time, it distracted Turalyon from dreading what the next day would bring.
Southern Hillsbrad Foothills - Dorus Estate
It was midday when they arrived at his estate. His father had sent one of their vassals to prepare the area that would be their training grounds for the next several months. They were not alone; scattered in unorganized masses but distinct from one another were people from every kingdom. Each group carried their kingdom's banner, and oddly enough, the color of their clothing often denoted their origin.
The Lordaeron levies were the most numerous in terms of bodies but the least well-armed. Many of them only had shields and swords with no armor beyond basic leather. In contrast, the Alterac militia was the smallest group, only having a few hundred men at most. However, they were slightly better armed, with boiled leather armor and larger round shields. To Turalyon's surprise, Gilneas had sent over a thousand soldiers. The men in brown and black chainmail cast suspicious glances around, as if expecting an attack.
Turalyon noticed that the Kul Tiran and Stromgarde men had gathered close to the Stormwind flag. Stormwind's might was renowned throughout the kingdom, and seeing their soldiers now, the former priest turned paladin could see why. To a man, they were all clad in plate armor and wielded well-crafted swords, presenting a uniformity the other kingdoms lacked. In fact, one of their commanders marched out and removed his helmet, revealing a tall, blonde-haired woman—
"—Aloman?!" Callan Lothar exclaimed in surprise.
Before Turalyon knew it, Callan rushed toward the tall woman and then pulled up short. The two clasped arms together as if they were long-lost friends, which—given their smiles—was most likely the case. More and more people came out to greet Callan, names like 'Jenkins,' 'Priest (?)' and 'John' were uttered, but Turalyon had no idea who was who. The group moved closer to Callan to be introduced to the Hierarch's companions. However, before anything more could be said, the Silvermoon contingent made their presence known by emerging from the Stormwind encampment.
Lor'themar was someone Turalyon had seen a few times, but as his eyes slid from the Ranger Lord to his companion, Turalyon felt his breath hitch. She was as lovely as he remembered, no, even more so if possible. His heart pounded furiously as he felt his mind turning to mush.
"Sylvanas..." he whispered the name as if in a prayer. Her presence seemed to catch Callan off guard, and for a moment, Turalyon felt envious that he had not been the one to fight at her side.
The elven ranger moved toward Callan with a seductive sway in her hips that drew more than a few stares. When she reached Callan, Turalyon was surprised to see Callan almost back away and shoot a guilty look in his direction.
"H-hey, Alleria, how's your sister been?" Callan's voice sounded strained, and his eyes kept darting in Turalyon's direction.
That's when what Callan said registered. She was not Sylvanas? Turalyon stared wide-eyed at the elven beauty. As he noticed the difference between her and her sister, he came to a startling conclusion. While he had been infatuated with Sylvanas Windrunner, seeing Alleria and finally recognizing the difference between the two, Turalyon could say without a doubt—
"Well." Alleria then turned her blue eyes in his direction. "Who's your new friends?"
—he was in love.
***Everytime All At Once - Bronze Dragonshrine ***
"It is done," Soridormi, consort of the Aspect of Time, said. "I've sent the warning. Whether they receive it or not is up to fate."
"Then it is done," her mate's voice rumbled like thunder through the Dragonshrine.
Soridormi lowered the orb of time and let it dissipate. Those who were not present were on their own now. Looking up, she gazed at the impossible scene before her.
Nozdormu had returned and assumed his draconic Aspect form. Behind him were hundreds of the Bronze Flight, some as old as she was and others as young as whelplings. Opposite him stood another Nozdormu, tainted by the Old Ones' corruption for all to see. Behind this corrupted Aspect, the Infinite Flight gathered in almost equal numbers, though with no whelplings in sight. Soridormi did not like it; in terms of combatants, the Infinite outnumbered them by a quarter.
Soridormi had many questions for her mate, but it seemed that he and his corrupted counterpart were still measuring each other. If the two Aspects did not move to attack each other, then there was no reason for the rest of their brood to do so. In the ensuing silence between the two behemoths, Soridormi had time to reflect on what had transpired thus far.
Her senses were telling her one thing while her eyes told her another. She could clearly see the corruption on this so-called 'Murozond.' The blackened scales were a dead giveaway, making him resemble Neltharion's kin. Yet, her sense of smell told her that while the corruption and rot were old and festering, the bronze parts of their scales smelled fresh and clean. It should be the other way around, should it not?
The silence continued for what felt like an eternity. Even the normally rambunctious Chronormu was silent, having spotted her counterpart on the other side of the corrupted Nozdormu. Looking at the landscape outside their Dragonshrine, Soridormi saw a scenery that was changing at a breathtaking speed. Where it once stopped for a moment, it now accelerated, as if the changes outside were piling up and building toward something.
"I have always known my fate," Nozdormu spoke up first. "I have seen every future, every timeline. It always leads to the same end."
All Bronze dragons could potentially travel to a future where they witnessed their own death. That was nothing new.
"But—" the Aspect of Time scrutinized his counterpart. "I never saw this."
"And what is happening in your present has never happened in any of my pasts," Murozond replied, leaning back and pulling his wings to him—a sign that he was not going to attack.
Nozdormu mirrored his future counterpart, retracting his wings as well. The dragons on both sides appeared uncertain at the stand-down from their leaders. It took another long stretch of time before the silence was broken again, this time by the corrupted version of her beloved.
"Our creator was wrong," Murozond said. "Aman'Thul's hubris blinded him to his flaw. That flaw allowed Them to exploit our weakness."
"So what is happening now is beyond their sight after all," Nozdormu said, looking at his counterpart. "Am I right?"
"Yes, these—" The corrupted Bronze leader stood on his hind legs, showing off the bronze scales on his chest. "—this...reversal happened recently."
"Then our destiny is not tied to our fate..."
Soridormi, longtime consort of Nozdormu, could hear the sheer relief in his tone. Had the manner of his demise weighed on him that much? Why had he never thought to share it with her?
Once again, the two fell silent for another stretch, never taking their eyes off each other. However, the silence was interrupted as the shrine briefly rumbled from the collapse of multiple timelines.
"They are drawing nearer," Nozdormu said, eyeing his counterpart. "Both to imprison me once more and for whatever foul designs they have for you."
Soridormi was unsure if the others noticed, but her beloved's counterpart had a terror-stricken look in his eyes before a resolve hardened within them.
"We can resist, for a time, but our brood would pay the cost or—" Murozond looked beyond Soridormi's head, making her turn to see multiple eyes gazing at them from outside the Dragonshrine. "—we can do as that human did and shatter the board."
Nozdormu cocked his massive head to the side. "What do you have in mind?"
"Aman'Thul bound Azeroth to time; he bound us to Azeroth. He never understood that he was giving Them a weapon to use, to undo mistakes and defeats," Murozond explained. "I say we take that from them."
The Aspect of Time recoiled at his counterpart's suggestion. "But that would leave us, leave our flight—"
"Firmly out of their control forever," the corrupted Infinite leader countered.
"There is still the Emerald Dream. You know of its ever-growing darkness, and then there is Neltharion's plan," Nozdormu warned.
"Neltharion is acting on his own accord. His plan could spell doom for Azeroth, but I am placing my faith in that mortal," Murozond said, touching his bronze scales as if to emphasize his point.
"If we do this, we will only have one chance to defend Azeroth from now on. If we fail…" Nozdormu's tone was almost reluctant.
"Then we will have to stand beside the mortals to defend her," Murozond answered firmly.
Once again, the Dragonshrine shook, and to Soridormi's horror, more eldritch eyes opened from outside the shrine's protective bubble. Nozdormu looked directly at the eyes before turning to his counterpart.
"If they are this desperate to stop us, perhaps you are right in your theory," the massive Bronze leader said as he began to glow. His counterpart did the same.
"Hear me, my brood! Defend the shrine, defend us, and defend each other!" the united voices of Nozdormu and Murozond boomed through the Dragonshrine. "The hour of our twilight has come!"
As their power intertwined and began to condense, the flights from both sides looked at one another with uncertainty. Could they trust their backs to dragons who had recently been their enemies? Suddenly, the shifting scenery outside turned black, and for a moment, it seemed like they were in the void. Then, a massive eye opened and stared directly at them. Mere moments later, small void-origin portals began to open, pouring forth eldritch horrors.
However, as the first shapeless tentacle creature emerged, it was flattened by a familiar figure.
"You heard our fathers!" the corrupted Chronormu shouted. "Protect our fathers!"
At her battle cry, the Infinite Dragons surged past the Bronze and began attacking the Old Gods' minions. More importantly, their backs were turned to the Bronze flight. If the Bronze wanted to strike, now would be the time to wipe out the Infinite… but—
"Children of Nozdormu!" Soridormi roared as she shifted into her dragon form to confront the massive flying monstrosity entering their shrine. "Stand with our kin!"
Moments later, dragons from both flights joined her in the sky, fighting off the invaders.
TBC…
AN:
First off thanks to Icura for editing this! Beastly!
Secondly, thank you to all my patron supporters, your continued generosity continue to humble me.
Finally, I'm back! The Storm delayed my returned otherwise you guys would have had this chapter two days ago. I took so damage but not as bad as it could have been. That said, I will still keep up with the same release cadence, so next Tuesday will have Chapter 8. Then back to the usual two weeks. Thanks for your understanding!
Now as for this chapter...you ever heard that expression "if I can only be a fly on the wall to hear x and x conversation?" Well, for section, you , dear reader, are they fly. Second part gave you Turalyon perspective and of course, his canonical reaction to seeing Alleria the first time. Some might have wanted Sylvanas but she is her mother successor so she stays home. AS for the final part, heh heh, it all culminated to this. I know people hate the time travel stuff but I have made myself clear on it, hopefully this pay off was worth it.
Once again, please considering supporting us on patron at "icuraandvahn" , Thank you!
Finally, as always, CC and discussions are always welcomed!