Chapter 186
Nightmare Lord
Malfurion relished his newfound freedom.
Long had he languished as Xavius' prisoner, and the Satyr lord had mocked and belittled him and their entire people, without end. Now, fair fortune had brought a sect of druids that were somehow unconnected to the Dream, and therefore immune to the corrupting influences of the dark master that the former demon worshipper had turned to. What was more; they had brought his Beloved to his side, allowing Malfurion to set in motion the process of purging the Dream of the Satyr's influence.
Galloping steadily through the endless forests of the Dream, Malfurion led the way into the deepest parts of the gnarling rot that had twisted a large portion of the once beautiful reflection of how Azeroth could be if nature was given free reign.
Unfortunately, a portion of the Dream had been left forgotten for a long time, and only now did Malfurion see the truth of why. It had been Xavius all along causing the druids of overlook this place, in order to bend and twist the Dream into a corrupted reality where he could flourish and regain some of his lost strength.
No more; he would route out the corruption once and for all, and banish Xavius from both the waking world and the Dream in one fell swoop.
Shifting back to his natural form, Malfurion glimpsed the den which Xavius had claimed as his fortress, arrogantly thinking that the reflection of the Moonglade would be a suitable place for his abode.
"There," he said, pointing at the place for his Worgen allies. Curious though he was of their origin and ability, Malfurion would wait until they met in the waking world to ask his burning questions.
"Many demon-spawned creatures are in that dark place," the leader, Remus, replied, smelling the air, "Are you sure we few will be enough to drive them out completely?"
"We are not alone…" Malfurion said, turning back to the forest they had passed through. The denizens of the Dream, typically shy and reclusive of outsiders, even most druids, would answer the call of battle for their own lands.
First to appear, as ever, were the daughters of Cenarius: the Dryads. "What is Nature's call?" the leader asked, glancing between Malfurion and the other druids with concern in her eyes.
Flittering through the trees after them were the fairie dragons. Not related to those kin of Yesera or the other flights, nevertheless these little sprites would be excellent against the magic of the Satyrs.
"We will cleanse the Dream of Xavius and his ilk," Malfurion said, a plan already forming in his mind, "they will be wary of us trying to sneak into their den, so I fear we are set for a long siege until the Ancients can arrive to break open their fortifications."
"I suppose that means we need to take to the front, and hold the line for these allies to utilize their skills from a distance," Remus said, already identifying their need and the preparing his people for that role.
"The others will come to aid us, but until they can arrive, yes it would benefit us greatly to have the buffer from our enemies." Malfurion affirmed, and as one, the Worgen slipped into their bestial forms. Great cats and bears surrounded them, and Malfurion wondered how they had attained these forms without connection to the great spirits of Ursoc and Ashamane who had embodied those forms for the Night Elves.
Still, there was no time for these thoughts, as the noise of their assembling force drew out the scouts and lookouts of the Satyrs, and with them various demons that had been dragged through into the Dream itself. The sight of the Fel creatures boiled Malfurion's blood, and he leaped into the massive form bestowed upon him by the great bear, landing heavily on one of the swiftest Satyrs and raking through a pair of demons with a swipe of his paw.
Thus battle was joined, and the forces of the wild tore around the outside of the corrupted den, harassing Xavius' servants everywhere they tried to appear aside from the main tunnel into the depths where their master no doubt laid in wait.
For all his bluster, Xavius had always been a coward, but knowledge that his physical form still existed in the waking world would eventually embolden him to come out to fight, and he would be dangerous until that form was severed by death from this dreaming state.
As if in awareness of Malfurion's thoughts, the ground rumbled as a hulking Satyr appeared, the brutish form betraying the fact that it was Xavius himself. "I will sever you from the waking world!" he bellowed, rallying his satyrs and mustering a charge against their lines.
The Worgen druids scattered, allowing the behemoth through and closing ranks around him, separating Xavius from his followers. While the other druids took to fighting the smaller satyrs, Malfurion and Remus took on Xavius directly, the humanoid wolf reappearing and brandishing the Scythe of Elune as astral moonlight flared down from the sky onto Xavius.
Meanwhile, Malfurion roared, and met Xavius' charge head on, antlers scoring deep wounds on the Fel-empowered hide of the Satyr lord.
"For the Dream!" sounded a warcry, as more of their wild allies arrived to join the fight. Malfurion spotted Keepers Orremin and Albagorm, sons of Cenarius and good allies of his people, leading a host of Druids of the Claw, in both Bear and Night Elven form, to assault two flanks of the Satyr's position.
"You're fighting a losing battle, Xavius!" Remus shouted, trying to taunt the Satyr into making a mistake, but the hulking form only growled in anger, before slashing at Malfurion with razor-sharp claws.
Shouldering the attacks with his resilient hide, Malfurion dug in his paws and thrust back at the Satyr, pushing him away from the wolfin Druid, even as lunar spells continued to rain down upon him liberally.
Despite the heavy bombardment, nothing seemed to slow down the satyr, and Malfurion knew that this battle here was nothing more than a diversion. The more they kept Xavius focused here in the Dream, the less attention he would have in trying to protect his physical form in the waking world.
He just hoped that Tyrande found it with haste.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Nobu'tan stared at the ever-growing pile of correspondence and reports with growing frustration.
There was a never-ending series of notes, information, requests, and even demands for his time and his ability. For a long time, Nobu'tan had done everything in his power to handle these tasks on his own, so that those who followed him could focus on their own lives and needs rather than be burdened by the weight of the entire Dark Horde, as well as the Black Harvest and those refugees from Old Terra.
However, as much as he did not want to admit it, there was a fine line of what even he was capable of handling on his own, and this mountain of tasks was starting to strain at the very limit of his ability.
Lucius had long told him that delegation of these needs was not a sign of weakness, and perhaps, now that he was started to feel the effects of it, Nobu'tan had little choice but to accept that he was right, and relinquish some measure of control…
It was not an easy thing. Trust had been a rare gift for Nobu'tan to give, but now his willingness to follow through with it was being tested. There were candidates, naturally, but letting go was a trail he was not sure if he was prepared for.
At the least, Nobu'tan thought as he glanced at the topmost of many parchments demanding his attention, he would not be able to delay for much longer… "Bah," he said aloud, turning away and starting for the door. He would not think of unhappy thoughts of the future at this moment. There was still work yet to be done, and a gathering had been requested and issued. All the members of the Black Harvest that could were to attend Nobu'tan in the realm of Outland. Word had reached to him of a demon portal that Legion loyalists were trying to reactivate, and that could not be allowed.
Warlocks from all over Azeroth were going to attend, to be organized in one united faction, and they would take control of this supposedly secret Shadow Council location for their own, and from there govern the actions of the Black Harvest to counter the inevitable counter attempts of the Legion to invade their worlds.
The gateway to Hellfire Citadel practically hummed with the flow of magic between the two worlds as Nobu'tan passed through to the desolate land. "Grand Warlock," the portal chamber guard said respectfully, "A mount is being prepared for you on the ramparts…"
"Thank you, I will be departing swiftly," Nobu'tan replied, his mind already entering a cleared state of preparation for the coming conflict. He knew of the land that he would be flying to, but he had not as of yet visited the rolling grasslands of Nagrand. From what he had heard, it was the picture of what Draenor was before the sundering of the land, but personally, Nobu'tan had had little connection with the orcish homeworld outside of what his mentor had told him of it.
The Feldrake was antsy as Nobu'tan approached, ready to take to the sky. While it was true that Nobu'tan did not specifically need a mount to be capable of flying across the vast expanse of Outland, there were some secrets that he felt needed to remain so. Not to mention there was a certain amount of dramatic flair to arriving on dragon-back that catered to Nobu'tan in a way he never could escape.
Once up in the air, the drake settled into the rolling sweep of flight, and Nobu'tan gently urged it toward the west, allowing the drake to take its own time as they passed through the red rocks of Hellfire into the rolling grasslands of Nagrand.
While there was a glimmer of curiosity on the history and where the peoples that he was raised by came from, Nobu'tan knew that he specifically would not be welcome among the Mag'har. Not only had the uncorrupted orcs joined with Thrall and his Kalimdor Horde, but their distrust of warlocks and anything related to the Fel would prevent him from any level of friendly conversation.
No, Nobu'tan's business was elsewhere in this place. On the far fringes of the land, where the endless abyss of the void dropped away from the rocky landscape, lay the Twilight Ridge, and it was there that he would meet the Black Harvest.
Members of the Stormwind Coven were already at the meeting spot, and Nobu'tan recognized Zardeth as he brought the Dark Horde Feldrake to a gentle landing and dismounted.
"Lord Nobu'tan," the man said, inclining his head in deference for the power that wafted off Nobu'tan as he spread his senses, "If I may introduce you to Demisette Cloyce, one of the senior members of the Stormwind Warlocks, and another prospect for this Black Harvest you made mention of so long ago…"
"All in due time, but for now we have three among us, so let us summon the others from their various locations across Azeroth…" nobu'tan said, opening his connection to the Fel to begin the Ritual of Summoning. Normally he would use the Nether gateways, but for so many across such a large area, he wanted a ritual that many lesser warlocks would be able to use without lengthy instruction.
Slowly at first, the warlocks started to trickle in, accelerating as more of them took up casting the ritual. Nobu'tan was pleased that a significant representation of all factions was present, and the levels of animosity were kept at a reasonable level as those of different allegiances joined together.
Soon there were over fifty warlocks all gathered together, with more appearing moment to moment, and Nobu'tan turned to address those who were waiting for further instructions.
"In the clearing beyond, supporters of the Legion are working under an Eredar Sorcerer in an attempt to reactivate a demon gate," he explained, "Not only can we not allow them to keep this in their control, but the demon needs to be subdued and questioned of the Legions motives and movements since Kil'jaeden's failure at the Sunwell…"
"And what of the Demon Gate?" an Ironforge Gnome named Thistleheart said; green in the small being's eyes.
"I see no reason that such a useful device should be destroyed…" Nobu'tan said casually, "The Black Harvest could make use of this gateway in monitoring and circumventing the Legion's future attempts to invade."
Whether or not the Gnome was pleased with the response, Nobu'tan did not care. If they wanted access to the Gate and the power that it represented, they would either join the Black Harvest, or do business with them in some fashion.
"Bring forth your strongest servants," Nobu'tan instructed, and amid the summoning of countless Voidwalkers he reached into the Nether, beckoning his elite Felguards to his side. "We strike hard and fast, before they have a chance to form a defense, and this will be an easy victory."
The various Shadow Council warlocks, resting or working to power the empty Demon Gate, turned as the screams of their dying companions, and even the Eredar had to take notice as their flood of minions started to pour into the valley.
"You will regret these actions, mortals!" the Demon lord boomed, but the Black Harvest paid his threats no heed.
Every Shadow Council demons summoned against them was swiftly banished back to the Nether, and the Legion loyalists met their end violently.
Nobu'tan knew that he alone would be able to contend with the Eredar, and therefore he advanced through the ranks of demons, allowing the other warlocks to be shepherded around to where the gate lay.
"Surrender, Reth'hedron," Nobu'tan said, spreading his arms wide in defiance, "There is no escape for you…"
"Pitiful insect, I will crush you underfoot!" the demon called the Subduer shouted, making a great show of pulling Fel and Shadow magic to himself.
It was almost cute the way that he blustered his supposed power about, and with a sigh Nobu'tan realized that this Eredar was an insignificant cog in the great machine of the Legion, set here to do a single task and nothing more.
Keeping him alive was not beneficial for the Black Harvest, and nothing but a liability that would have to be dealt with eventually. Pulling at the strong hatred that he felt for all the servants of the Legion, Nobu'tan pointed two fingers at the Demon, allowing the raw destructive power blast out as crimson lightning.
Reth'hedron only had a split second of shock and horror before the beam pierced through him, incinerating the demon internally and sending him agonizing back to the Legion's fortress on Argus.
"You will regret this, mortal! Reth'hedron will return… I will have my vengeance!" the demon blustered even as he died.
"I've heard that monologue before, and from demons far more powerful than you… be gone, and tell your masters that the Black Harvest will counter them at every turn if they dare to try and return to Outland or Azeroth… these worlds are under OUR protection!" Nobu'tan bellowed, overruling the demon and ending his rant until the Eredar passed from their world.
Without their leader, the rest of the Shadow Council warlocks lost their will to resist, not that Nobu'tan would allow any of the traitors live. Soon their bodies were all burning in a great heap, even as the other who had come under Nobu'tan called rallied around him near to the vacant Demon Gate.
"Another arrow in the heart of the Legion's attempt at conquest of our home," Nobu'tan said, relishing the victory for a mere moment before pressing on to the more important business, "But we cannot let our guard drop… As you can see, our enemies are subtle and diverse, but when we, warlocks of all races and kindred band together, there is nothing we cannot overcome!"
Another moment of solemn silence followed, each of the warlocks eagerly awaiting his words. "We of the Black Harvest have reached out to you, now formally request that every warlock here pledges themselves to our cause, to fight against the Legion for the good of our mutual worlds, and acknowledge that against the demons there cannot be any dividing lines. Politics and wars may rage, but the Black Harvest must transcend all those things. From this place we shall set up our stronghold, and utilizing this demon gate we will strike against the Legion, and take the fight to their worlds, and plunder the secrets that they would hide from us mortals!"
A single cheer arose from the assembled warlocks, before excited muttering surge through their ranks. Nobu'tan knew that keeping the lot of them together would require much in effort to prevent any and indeed all of them from desiring to wield the power of the Fel for their own ends, but he had plans for that.
For now, they would be more than satisfied with the knowledge that he would spread throughout their ranks to take back with them to their homes, the research that would be needed of what the Shadow Council had accomplished with the Demon Gate, and plotting what they could hope to achieve with it now that they were in control.
"Yaxley," Nobu'tan said, turning to the oft-overlooked Fourth of the Council of the Black Harvest, "I will trust this location to your care. Your patience has at long last paid off."
"Thank you, my Lord," the stoic man said, bowing swiftly as Nobu'tan turned away from the empty archway of the Demon Gate.
With the Black Harvest now underway on its own agenda, he was freed to return to the movements of the Dark Horde, and unfortunately the mountain of paperwork that came with it.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Lucius had been somewhat uneasy about the entire vacation trip for his family to Theramore Isle, but one by one his concerns were toppled in short order. Not even little Aurora had any issues of seasickness, nor did any of the other passengers have anything short of respect for his family, due to the famous nature of his wife's doings in Stormwind.
That only left two major sources of unease. Whatever happened to await them at Theramore, and what mess they were leaving behind with Nobu'tan. He was vastly aware that the other two factions were breathing down the neck of the Dark Horde, and their eyes were directly on Nobu'tan personally. However, at the same time, Lucius trusted in the others that Nobu'tan had surrounded himself with, and the loyalty that the man engendered to himself in those he befriended.
He hoped that they would avoid any world-ending disasters for the month or so that they would spend in Kalimdor. The Sorceress that they were visiting on the other hand, Lucius was less comfortable about. While his wife may have found the young Lady Proudmoore endearing and charming, Lucius was not nearly as enamored with her. She was talented, to be sure, and she had some manner of connection with Draco that could not be denied, but there was a wild streak in her that just reminded Lucius too much of those that they struggled with so mightly back on Terra, and he couldn't bring himself to lower his long-established guard against such types.
Then there was her connection in the upper ranks of both the Alliance and the Kalimdor Horde. She was poised as either their greatest potential ally, or their direst enemy, if the situation with her was mishandled. And Lucius was not one that liked to leave things to chance or the fickle nature of young love.
Therefore, it was with a caution mind that he stepped off the ship when it arrived at the island fortress port, following in the wake of his family. The elderly maidservant that Lucius had seen a time or two alongside Lady Proudmoore was waiting for them at the end of the dock, smiling at them, but the Pureblood wizard could see that the emotion did not go past the woman's mouth. She was watching and judging them, just as much as Lucius would be them.
"Lords and Lady Malfoy, welcome to Theremore," she said with a small nod of acknowledgement as they approached, "I am here to chaperone you to Lady Proudmoore's tower, and see to whatsoever need that you have during your stay."
The mood of cool neutrality was broken however, when ambitious little Aurora hopped right up to the old woman and looked up at her, eyes sparkling as she understood in her child's mind that this one was to be her chief playmate for the foreseeable future. The old woman on the other hand, seemed to soften ever so slightly as she met the gaze of the youngest of the Malfoys. "Such determination in one so young, Little Miss," she said, suddenly affectionate and grandmotherly in tone and demeanor, "whatever shall we do to make sure that you are appeased…"
"Aurora loves butterflies and flowers," Narcissa advised, "as well as nearly all types of magic… as you can no doubt sense."
The maid glanced pointedly at Narcissa, before smiling back down at Aurora, "I'm sure that Lady Proudmoore's flower garden will be of great interest to you. There are few pretty insects like butterflies here however, but I'm sure we can find something that you will find delightful."
The wide smile on the young girl's face threatened to melt Lucius heart. "Lead the way, then," Draco said, and the old woman nodded before starting steadily toward the center of the small fortified settlement, where a secluded tower law surrounded by an aura of Arcane magic.
The guards seemed warm enough, and nodded as they arrived at the tower. They were greeted in the entrance hall with a shimmer of magic as Jaina herself teleported down from an upper floor. "Narcissa," she said, embracing the older woman first before turning to the rest of them, "Draco, Lord Malfoy, a pleasure. And little Aurora, I am so pleased that you all could come visit."
"Lady Proudmoore," Lucius said, gently pressing his lips to the back of her hand in respect for the leader of this region.
"You all must be tired from the journey." Jaina said, glancing around at the family, "There are rooms prepared for your belongings, and I can have food brought up, unless you feel up to a formal meal all together…"
Lucius read between the lines all too easily. The girl had something plotting in the background, something that she needed to feel out how the family was feeling before springing on them. Unlikely though it was to be serious or dangerous for them from the minor worry lines that the young lady couldn't hide from her face, it was something potentially unpleasant. "I think Narcissa and Aurora are more than due for a short rest," he said, glancing at his wife, "But Draco and myself would be glad to join you."
If the Sorceress understood that her deception was known, she made no sign of it, rather smiling and gesturing for her elderly maidservant to guide Narcissa and Aurora toward a spiral staircase in a side chamber, even as a larger door was open and the smells of freshly prepared food wafted in.
Lucius was sudden very aware of how famished he was because of their journey. True, they had not suffered from a lack of food on the ship, but the variety had been limited to only whatever could be easily preserved. The fresh fish and sauces were mouthwatering to smell, and Lucius knew that he would be remiss to forget to have some of this feast delivered up to his wife and daughter.
As they entered and sat, the elder Malfoy resisted beginning into the food and instead studied their hostess as she arranged her own plate. Years of practiced diplomacy must have been in effect here, as the younger woman took some of everything there was to offer as a show of the safety of the food.
Lucius however, was not concerned about poisons or threats, but by the unspoken unease that the Sorceress expressed. "You seemed strained by our presence here, Lady Proudmoore," he said casually, watching hawk-like as the woman reacted, "is there something going on that we ought to beware of?"
"Was it that obvious?" the woman stated, setting down the serving spoon she had been using to pass Draco some of the aromatic sauces for his fish. "There are some things that will take place in a week or two that I am concerned about, and a visitor that I very hesitantly permitted to come to the tower at that time…" she admitted, starting to break apart her own food with sharp twists of her fork.
"And who would that be, to cause such disquiet in a Lady of your status," Lucius pressed gently, accepting a plate of fish from Draco, and adding a few to his plate.
Lady Proudmoore signed, stirred a small amount of sause from a bowl onto her plate, and answered, "Garrosh Hellscream had requested to visit Theramore, to observe and learn about human culture, in an effort to become more aware of how the different races of Azeroth operate."
To his credit, Lucius did not allow himself any visible reaction to that news. Inwardly, he was raging, already thinking up ways to get Aurora back to Stormwind with all haste.
"I take that this abrupt change of demeanor was verified by someone else?" Draco piped up, catching Lucius with the genuine curiosity that his son expressed.
"Yes, otherwise I would never have considered his visit in coordination with your own," Lady Proudmoore replied, "Med'an himself vouched for Garrosh's sincerity and would be accompanying him here to visit with his Grandmother."
"His Grandmother?" Lucius asked, puzzled. He admittedly was not very aware of the young part-orc's heritage, but he did not think there was human ancestry mixed in to the powerful young man's genetics.
"Yes, my Grandson," said an elderly voice from the doorway, and Lucius turned to see the same maidservant that had met them at the docks.
"Lady Malfoy and the little one are resting upstairs, but did ask for portions of the feast brought up to them," she continued, approaching and bringing out a tray to set a pair of plates upon.
"Lady Aegwynn," Draco said with a respectful nod of his head. Lucius froze at the name. He had spent much time in Dalaran pouring over their historical tomes, in order to understand the place of the Arcane magic in their world, and he had read much about a figure by the same name.
It seemed impossible, and yet… if what was being im plied was true, it would make an exceptional amount of sense. "Magna…" he said therefore, testing to see if the woman was who she might have been attempting to claim.
"I see your people have at least done some amount of research about our world…" the old woman said, the small ember of pride and dignity flaring brighter as she stood straighter, the tray in her hands now piled with a helping of everything before them.
Without another word, the former Guardian of Tirisfal exited the room, reassuming the station that apparently she held here in Theremore. Lucius had anticipated many things as part of this trip, but meeting one of the most powerful Sorceresses in the entire world was not among them. "I suppose, even if things were to turn sour, the presence of the Magna would command a level of tolerance from even the wildest of brutes…" he admitted, turning back to Lady Proudmoore with a newfound level of respect.
"Her magic may have waned over the years, but her experience and knowledge is as invaluable as ever," the younger woman admitted, gesturing for them all to continue the meal, "but yes, I suspect that even without his promises, Garrosh would be on his best behavior if he had any inkling about who surrounded him here."
"Provided that his presence was not intended to provoke hostility…" Lucius countered, speaking one of the remaining worries of his mind.
"To that, I trust Med'an at his word," the Sorceress replied, unfazed by Lucius or his doubts, "and his own mother commands much respect in the eyes of the orcish race, despite her mixed blood…"
"I suppose… there could be no harm in at least giving the orc a chance to meet us…" Lucius conceded.
"I feel that it would be highly instructive for him to experience a wide array of humanity, and our strengths in differences rather than our similarities…" Lady Proudmoore added, smiling over her next forkful of fish.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Tyrande could only bless Elune that their ship went with all speed back toward Kalimdor.
She was well beyond working herself into a frenzy of worry by the time they arrived at the shores of Azshara, and was among the first to disembark astride Ash'alah, sand flying up from the Frostsaber's paw as she led the way up the beach.
She did remember the rough location that their scouts had reported, some lengthy time ago, that Satyrs had been spotted taking up camp in these land. While normally, a plan of attack would have been made to remove the traitors from so close to Ashenvale, the presence of the Horde as well as disagreeable memories of this land had stayed Tyrande's hand.
Now with the threat of Xavius in the Dream however, caution could be thrown to the wind, and she would route them from that place and locate the tree that was the physical remnant of the demon servant.
"Spread out, find the largest concentration of the traitors. You three," she added, indicating the swiftest of their Sentinels, "get to Astranaar and summon reinforcements, we will need whatever extra forces to break whatever defenses they have around Xavius."
"Yes, Priestess," the three replied, kicking their mounts into a full sprint to the west.
Turning about as they disappeared around a rise, Tyrande set her gaze northwestward, knowing what lay between her and the ridges that had been claimed by Xavius' followers.
The ruins of Eldarath, where one of the great battles of the War of the Ancients was fought, was still filled with the spirits of the past. She was not looking forward to seeing the ghosts of those she had known one thousand years ago, still locked in the torment of their final moments.
However, to save her Beloved, she would face all the horrors from those elder days and overcome them. Despite the steeling of her nerves, the first sight of her former sisters reliving their torment did shake her.
Many of the long dead Night Elves still knew her, and slowly they started to turn and follow as she dashed through the former Night Elven stronghold. Pausing in her racing thoughts, Tyrande came to a realization of how she might be able to help the poor trapped souls find the rest that they had been so long denied.
If they were trapped in the throes of battle, then a battle she would give them, and a victory that they had not accepted when the Well of Eternity was destroyed and the battle ended.
"Rise up, fallen of the Kal'dorei, you ancient enemies have returned!" she cried, garnering all the attention of the tormented spirits.
"Xavius, the traitor, and his minions, lie to the north, threatening our people once again," she explained swiftly. "Find the victory that you were denied a thousand years ago, and destroy these followers of the Legion. Restore the honor that you believed lost to you!"
Even as she rode, the armies of the fallen spirit started to form behind her, manifesting in the forms that they remembered from ages long past, the armor of their mighty empire of old shimmering in the misty daylight.
Knowing that word would spread, Tyrande sped to the north, leading these fallen to the nearest bastion of the Saytrs, knowing that the demons would have little in their arsenals in order to combat the lingering spirits coming for them.
Ash'alah roared with fury as they came into sight of the Saytr outpost, and the demons sneered as they started to rush what they assumed was a single warrior. "Come minions of Xavius, and face the judgment of the Kal'dorei!" Tyrande shouted, even as the army of the vengeful spirits washed around her, sprinting at the demon worshipers with their ghostly weapons drawn.
The sinister laugher changed immediately to shrieks of fear and torment, even as the demon settlement was overrun, and Tyrande dashed inside, seeking any sign of a defended location or some sign of the tree of Xavius that she sought.
The first camp had noting, being little more than an outpost for the Saytrs to spy on those Horde and Alliance camps nearby. "Priestess, there is a larger encampment to the east," a Sentinel said, approaching at a full gallop upon her Nightsaber. "The further toward the coast, the heavier their defenses become."
"Xavius must be behind the uttermost of their forces, the coward was never one to threaten his own safety," Tyrande said, even as her forces swung round and awaited the next foe for their wrath. "Eastward, the enemy are on the defensive, to battle! Andu-falah-dor!"
The spirits screamed their vengeful fury, and swarmed after the mounted Night Elves, even as more of the Sentinel scouts found them and formed up behind Tyrande. Whatever assault the Satyrs were prepared for, an army of angered wraiths was not among them, and once position after another fell in short order.
Little by little, the dead found their peace, and the army of undead dwindled as they pressed onward, their need for death and victory sated and allowing them to pass on to the worlds beyond, and Tyrande hoped that Elune would embrace those that merited her nurturing presence.
Soon, the defenses of the Satyrs and their demonic minions started to pose even a hindrance to the remaining spirits, but so long as they were relieving her Beloved's battle inside the Dream, Tyrande would continue pressing forward. They would reach the mortal form of Xavius, and end his threat to their world, and his stranglehold on the Emerald Dream, or die in the attempt.
It did still seem as though they might be pressed back, but warhorns sounded at their rear, and Tyrande glanced back to see more Sentinels, as well as Druids and their other allies come rushing to battle from the direction of Ashenvale.
"High Priestess! Shouted the lead rider, and Tyrande recognized Sentinel Luciel Starwhisper, who had until now been heading their assault against the Horde and their lumber mill. Stomped up behind them was the hulking form of Gnarl, the Ancient of War that had been assisting their assault.
Tyrande loathed giving up the pressure in taking back their sacred forest that these warriors represented, but to defeat Xavius, sacrifices were acceptable. "Destroy the Satyrs, we must find their lord somewhere in their stronghold."
"Forward Silverwing, death to the Legion minions!" a dryad shouted, even as she and her sisters bounded to the front, their spears flying at the demonic hordes. Gnarl hurled boulders into the fray, shattering the defensive ruins that the Saytrs were trying to use as barriers, and opening the way for the Sentinels to press into the next fortification along their way to the end of the cliffs overlooking the Coral Sea.
Soon, through the myriad of howling demons and ancient ruins of their fallen empire, Tyrande spotted the gnarled form of a hulking tree, seemingly decaying and rotten. If not for the knowledge that she had from Malfurion of what she was to seek, the tree would have been easily overlooked, as it seemed so humbly mundane.
Momentarily, Tyrande wondered if it galled Xavius more to know that he was a tree in the waking world, or the fact that his tree was so utterly normal, which would fly against the former Highborne's heightened sense of his own importance.
More glaringly obvious that it was the tree she sought were the pair of Legion Doomguard that were flanking it, their flaming swords drawn and both sneering at the advancing Night Elf and ghost forces.
"Mother Moon," Tyrande prayed, feeling Elune's grace wash over her, "protect us in the coming fight."
The light of the Goddess washed outward, covering living and dead Kal'dorei alike with a vibrant shield of magic. And not a moment sooner, as the torrent of barraging flames from the Doomguard arc over the battle, trying in vain to consume the warriors on the front lines.
"Target their casters, keep their magic at bay!" Tyrande ordered, taking aim herself as the other Sentinals drew back their bowstrings. A flurry of arrows filled the sky, and the shrieks of the Satyrs echoed as they were cut down in droves from the literal hailstorm.
The Doomguard slammed their hooves into the ground, summoning a small grouping of felguard to reinforce their defenses, and Tyrande knew that their battle had only just begun.