As Shandris enters Astranaar, the Sentinel Guards watching the Eastern Bridge go wide-eyed upon recognizing her, snapping off a pair of salutes that she returns with a smile and a nod. Stepping into the Night Elven Town, Shandris Feathermoon breathes in the air, admittedly happy to be among a sizable concentration of her people once more.
Don’t get her wrong, she enjoyed her time with the orcs… perhaps more than was appropriate. Though, she wasn’t the only one. Still, her duty to her people and her High Priestess would always come first. That was why she’d made sure she wasn’t there when Rognak woke up the following morning of their night together. As fun as it had been, he needed to know that nothing too serious could bloom between them. At least not yet.
Mannoroth’s presence in Ashenvale was an aberration… and Lord Cenarius suspected that it would also turn out to be a terrible premonition as well. When reports from another group of Sentinels about dead things returning to a corrupted state of unlife had reached their ears, Shandris had left the orcish encampment immediately in order to bring word to Tyrande. The High Priestess of Elune needed to know what was happening in their lands. She needed to know immediately.
In doing so, Shandris had left her sisters behind with Rognak and his Warsong Clan, but she wasn’t too worried about that. With Lord Cenarius also there to watch over them, she knew her fellow Sentinels would be in good hands. Still, a part of her did wish she could have stayed and enjoyed the feel of one orc’s hands in particular a little bit longer… but no. She was not a slave to her desires and she never would be.
Making her way through Astranaar, Shandris doesn’t have to look very hard to find Tyrande. All she needs to do is look for the center of the village. Not the physical center, but the spiritual center. Where do people naturally congregate? Where does it feel as though the light of Elune is strongest? After ten thousand years under Tyrande’s wing, it’s almost second nature at this point.
Stepping into one building in particular, she’s not surprised to see Tyrande tending to some of Astranaar’s civilians. The green-haired High Priestess, dressed all in white, has a calming and serene smile on her lips, even as she offers a kind word to one worried male, and a hand on the shoulder of another concerned female.
Of course, when she sees Shandris watching from afar over that same shoulder, Tyrande quickly makes her excuses and pulls away from them after making sure they’re all as reassured as they can be. There’s a tension in the air that Shandris hadn’t noticed initially. Perhaps because she was already living in a world where that tension had been fully realized.
“Shandris.”
Tyrande’s voice is as warm and inviting as ever and it takes every fiber of her being for Shandris not to step forward and embrace the older Night Elf. But no, she hasn’t been a child in a long, long time… and besides, this is much too public for such a thing. Instead, Shandris puts a fist over her chest and drops to a knee, bowing her head low in supplication.
“High Priestess. I have news from the border… and from Lord Cenarius.”
A low breath leaves Tyrande as she exhales softly.
“… Rise, Shandris. Please, let us take this conversation somewhere more private.”
Shandris stands back up and nods, letting Tyrande lead her upstairs to a landing that overlooks some of Astranaar. There’s no saying that their voices won’t carry if they raise them too high, but there is privacy, even with such a view.
“Tell me what’s happened.”
Letting out a slight laugh, Shandris shakes her head.
“Where to even begin… High Priestess, there was a demon. A large one. Larger than any I have seen in ten thousand years. He was called Mannoroth and he was… he was truly monstrous.”
Removed from the battle and the adrenaline of the moment, Shandris can allow herself to face some part of her fear. Mannoroth was the worst enemy that she had faced in battle yet. Perhaps in her entire life, even including her experiences during the War of the Ancients. She hadn’t let that stop her of course. She hadn’t frozen at least. But even still…
Tyrande’s reaction, meanwhile, is to be expected. This time the Priestess inhales sharply, and with them in private, she lets more of her true response through as her eyes widen and a look of extreme concern and worry comes over her face. Stepping forward, she places a hand on Shandris’ shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze even as she begins to rapidly ask questions.
“Is Lord Cenarius alright? How many of our sisters were lost? Do you know where Mannoroth is now?”
A slight smile spreads across Shandris’ face at that. Her heart is buoyed by the news she gets to deliver.
“Lord Cenarius is unharmed, High Priestess. None of our sisters were lost in the battle against the demon. And Mannoroth… Mannoroth is dead. Even his corpse was destroyed to the point that it could not taint our forests.”
She is treated to the extremely rare and amusing sight of a Tyrande Whisperwind struck speechless and left completely at a loss for words. Slowly, Tyrande’s shock morphs into happiness… but there’s still an undercurrent of confusion to it, even as she slowly shakes her head.
“That… that is amazing, Shandris. But how?”
Here, Shandris’ smile grows even wider, and she allows just a bit of her childish glee to shine through. It’s not strictly professional… but it’s just the two of them, so what’s the harm?
“Do you remember all the tales you told me of Broxigar, mother? Of his warrior’s death in the War of the Ancients?”
Tyrande furrows her brow and slowly nods, her lips pursed in thought. Shandris lets the anticipation build for a moment longer before delivering the news.
“His people are here, High Priestess. The orcs have come to Kalimdor in sizable numbers. And they are just as strong and honorable as he was.”
Tyrande’s eyes widen in shock once more, her grip on Shandris’ shoulder growing tighter.
“What? How can that be… he was…”
Shandris just nods along.
“He was one of a kind. That’s what you always said. Ten thousand years and we’ve never heard of another creature like him in all of Azeroth. But no more. They’ve come, mother. And best of all… they’re led by a druid, not a warrior.”
At this, Tyrande looks even more bewildered. But Shandris has had enough fun at her adoptive mother and High Priestess’ expense. It’s time to focus up. With that in mind, she begins explaining herself properly, telling the story from the beginning. Tyrande nods along, listening carefully and soaking up Shandris’ words. From Lord Cenarius plucking her and her Sentinels off of their patrol route, to watching the orc druid Rognak fight his former Chieftain to the death in an honor duel.
Obviously, hearing that the orcs were going to cut down their sacred trees did not make Tyrande happy but hearing that the druid among them had not only put a stop to that but also earned Lord Cenarius’ respect in record time quelled any anger she might have had. In the end, Shandris explains how it was that Lord Cenarius emerged unscathed from their battle against Mannoroth, and how they didn’t lose a single Night Elf Sentinel in the fight against the hulking demon.
Ultimately, it was the orcs who held the majority of Mannoroth’s attention. His fury over their rejection of his corruptive ‘gift’ had caused him to focus entirely on wiping them out first… to his ultimate detriment. While he’d killed a number of the Warsong Clan in the ensuing battle, he had not been able to finish off the one who truly ended up mattering… and with Lord Cenarius’ help, Rognak had delivered the killing blow and wiped Mannoroth completely away with that Blessed Axe of his.
She doesn’t tell Tyrande the details of what happened afterwards, but something must have tipped the other Night Elf off, because when Shandris’ story comes to an end, the High Priestess gives her a knowing look.
“Mm. A celebration was had, was it? And did you and your sisters partake in a… cultural exchange of sorts, Shandris?”
She would not blush. She was over ten thousand years old, and a Sentinel Warrior of the Night Elves besides! Keeping her head held high, Shandris instead offers her mother a slightly salacious grin.
“It was important to secure our new relationship with the Warsong Clan in the aftermath of such a successful battle together, High Priestess. I did my part, as did several of my sisters. The druid Rognak was wise enough to leave Lord Cenarius in charge of any… punishment regarding those who got too deep into their cups and acted without thinking, so there was nothing to truly worry about.”
Tyrande hums and nods at this, looking slightly put out that her attempt at embarrassing Shandris had not had its intended effect. Rather than try and fail again, the High Priestess of Elune cuts her losses and changes the subject.
“… I have felt a darkness stirring in this forest for days now, I must admit. Hearing what you faced… I wonder if Lord Cenarius felt it too. There have been incidents. Sightings of dark creatures. Reports of missing citizens. From what I know of Mannoroth, I believe we have found the source of our woes… and hopefully dealt with it once and for all.”
Shandris winces at that. Tyrande sounds hopeful but also hesitant… as though she wants to believe her own words, but also doubts them already. Unfortunately, here is where the fun must end. Here is where Shandris must be the bearer of bad news.
“Lord Cenarius believes otherwise, High Priestess. He sent me here not just to tell you about the orcs and our battle against Mannoroth, but also to have me warn you… we have seen creatures coming back to life. But not in the right way. They are sick, twisted, and rotting. Undead roam the forest, hunting the living in all of its forms, polluting our lands with their presence. And… Lord Cenarius believes the demons are behind it. That Mannoroth was only the tip of the spear.”
Tyrande closes her eyes, grimacing at this news. For a moment, Shandris sees the weight of ten thousand years of responsibility and duty on the other woman’s shoulders. She has led their people faithfully since the War of the Ancients, guiding them through the last ten thousand years without hesitation, without faltering.
But she was never supposed to be doing it alone. Theirs was a people divided, as much as Shandris knew better than to voice such thoughts out loud. For the past ten thousand years, their druids had spent the majority of that time in the Emerald Dream. While their real bodies slumbered here in the waking world, they served in the Dream. And yes, Shandris knew their work was important. She understood that. But it didn’t change how she felt.
Malfurion Stormrage was Tyrande’s mate. Her beloved. They had been together for ten millennia but had perhaps spent only a handful of decades together in all that time. Malfurion might come out of the Dream for weeks or even months at a time, but he would always return for years, decades… sometimes even centuries.
For this, though she held love in her heart for him, Shandris had never quite been able to call Malfurion father. Not in the same way Tyrande had become her mother.
“… I hope for all our sakes that that is not the case.”
Tyrande’s words, when they finally come, come in a whisper. The High Priestess of Elune lets out a shuddering breath and this time it’s Shandris who reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in comfort. Tyrande leans into the touch, before continuing on.
“We pushed the Legion from this world ten thousand years ago. We gave up… so much. Azeroth gave up so much. The Sundering… I would never wish to see something like it happen ever again. If they are back, then I do not know how we will stop them this time.”
Shandris grimaces, trying to think of a response to that. But before she can, Tyrande rallies, marshalling herself and straightening her back. She gives Shandris a smile that doesn’t quite reach her glowing eyes.
“But for now, there is no use in worrying about that which we do not truly know. Lord Cenarius’ suspicions remain suspicions for the time being. There is no evidence quite yet that anything worse than Mannoroth lurks in our forests.”
Frowning, Shandris opens her mouth to respond. It is unlike Tyrande to stick her head in the sand. Luckily, the High Priestess’ next words, while overriding Shandris, prove this isn’t the case.
“I shall commune with Elune herself to find the truth of these matters. Nothing may hide from the Light of the Moon and one way or another, we will discover just what our enemies are planning. In the meantime, I wish for you to return to Lord Cenarius and these orcs that you have allied with. Continue representing our people with the same level of professionalism and honor that I know you to be capable of.”
Caught off guard by the slightly teasing, knowing tone that that last sentence is delivered with, Shandris does end up blushing just a little bit… something that she knows Tyrande immediately picks up from given the way her adoptive mother’s eyes dance with mirth. Scowling a little, Shandris nevertheless salutes the High Priestess.
“As you say, High Priestess. I promise not to disappoint, your orders will be-eep!”
Before Shandris can finish her sentence, Tyrande is suddenly holding her, the older Night Elf having stepped forward and pulled her into a hug before she could so much as blink. Sighing into her hair, Tyrande embraces her tightly and closely.
“Stay safe, Shandris. Stay strong. I could not bear to lose you. But so long as you keep your wits about you, I know you’ll be alright.”
Now she really is blushing, but she honestly can’t bring herself to mind all that much as she hugs Tyrande in turn.
“I won’t let you down, mother. And I won’t let our people down either.”
Pulling back, Tyrande gives her a soft smile and a single nod.
“I know.”
Their meeting ends after that, and Shandris finds herself making her way back out of Astranaar not even an hour after she arrives. She could have spent the night, she supposed… but she’s not in the right frame of mind to relax, no matter how advised a moment of rest might have been. She needs to get back to Lord Cenarius, Rognak, and the orcs. And they need to figure out just what it is they’re up against, as soon as possible.
As Shandris enters Astranaar, the Sentinel Guards watching the Eastern Bridge go wide-eyed upon recognizing her, snapping off a pair of salutes that she returns with a smile and a nod. Stepping into the Night Elven Town, Shandris Feathermoon breathes in the air, admittedly happy to be among a sizable concentration of her people once more.
Don’t get her wrong, she enjoyed her time with the orcs… perhaps more than was appropriate. Though, she wasn’t the only one. Still, her duty to her people and her High Priestess would always come first. That was why she’d made sure she wasn’t there when Rognak woke up the following morning of their night together. As fun as it had been, he needed to know that nothing too serious could bloom between them. At least not yet.
Mannoroth’s presence in Ashenvale was an aberration… and Lord Cenarius suspected that it would also turn out to be a terrible premonition as well. When reports from another group of Sentinels about dead things returning to a corrupted state of unlife had reached their ears, Shandris had left the orcish encampment immediately in order to bring word to Tyrande. The High Priestess of Elune needed to know what was happening in their lands. She needed to know immediately.
In doing so, Shandris had left her sisters behind with Rognak and his Warsong Clan, but she wasn’t too worried about that. With Lord Cenarius also there to watch over them, she knew her fellow Sentinels would be in good hands. Still, a part of her did wish she could have stayed and enjoyed the feel of one orc’s hands in particular a little bit longer… but no. She was not a slave to her desires and she never would be.
Making her way through Astranaar, Shandris doesn’t have to look very hard to find Tyrande. All she needs to do is look for the center of the village. Not the physical center, but the spiritual center. Where do people naturally congregate? Where does it feel as though the light of Elune is strongest? After ten thousand years under Tyrande’s wing, it’s almost second nature at this point.
Stepping into one building in particular, she’s not surprised to see Tyrande tending to some of Astranaar’s civilians. The green-haired High Priestess, dressed all in white, has a calming and serene smile on her lips, even as she offers a kind word to one worried male, and a hand on the shoulder of another concerned female.
Of course, when she sees Shandris watching from afar over that same shoulder, Tyrande quickly makes her excuses and pulls away from them after making sure they’re all as reassured as they can be. There’s a tension in the air that Shandris hadn’t noticed initially. Perhaps because she was already living in a world where that tension had been fully realized.
“Shandris.”
Tyrande’s voice is as warm and inviting as ever and it takes every fiber of her being for Shandris not to step forward and embrace the older Night Elf. But no, she hasn’t been a child in a long, long time… and besides, this is much too public for such a thing. Instead, Shandris puts a fist over her chest and drops to a knee, bowing her head low in supplication.
“High Priestess. I have news from the border… and from Lord Cenarius.”
A low breath leaves Tyrande as she exhales softly.
“… Rise, Shandris. Please, let us take this conversation somewhere more private.”
Shandris stands back up and nods, letting Tyrande lead her upstairs to a landing that overlooks some of Astranaar. There’s no saying that their voices won’t carry if they raise them too high, but there is privacy, even with such a view.
“Tell me what’s happened.”
Letting out a slight laugh, Shandris shakes her head.
“Where to even begin… High Priestess, there was a demon. A large one. Larger than any I have seen in ten thousand years. He was called Mannoroth and he was… he was truly monstrous.”
Removed from the battle and the adrenaline of the moment, Shandris can allow herself to face some part of her fear. Mannoroth was the worst enemy that she had faced in battle yet. Perhaps in her entire life, even including her experiences during the War of the Ancients. She hadn’t let that stop her of course. She hadn’t frozen at least. But even still…
Tyrande’s reaction, meanwhile, is to be expected. This time the Priestess inhales sharply, and with them in private, she lets more of her true response through as her eyes widen and a look of extreme concern and worry comes over her face. Stepping forward, she places a hand on Shandris’ shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze even as she begins to rapidly ask questions.
“Is Lord Cenarius alright? How many of our sisters were lost? Do you know where Mannoroth is now?”
A slight smile spreads across Shandris’ face at that. Her heart is buoyed by the news she gets to deliver.
“Lord Cenarius is unharmed, High Priestess. None of our sisters were lost in the battle against the demon. And Mannoroth… Mannoroth is dead. Even his corpse was destroyed to the point that it could not taint our forests.”
She is treated to the extremely rare and amusing sight of a Tyrande Whisperwind struck speechless and left completely at a loss for words. Slowly, Tyrande’s shock morphs into happiness… but there’s still an undercurrent of confusion to it, even as she slowly shakes her head.
“That… that is amazing, Shandris. But how?”
Here, Shandris’ smile grows even wider, and she allows just a bit of her childish glee to shine through. It’s not strictly professional… but it’s just the two of them, so what’s the harm?
“Do you remember all the tales you told me of Broxigar, mother? Of his warrior’s death in the War of the Ancients?”
Tyrande furrows her brow and slowly nods, her lips pursed in thought. Shandris lets the anticipation build for a moment longer before delivering the news.
“His people are here, High Priestess. The orcs have come to Kalimdor in sizable numbers. And they are just as strong and honorable as he was.”
Tyrande’s eyes widen in shock once more, her grip on Shandris’ shoulder growing tighter.
“What? How can that be… he was…”
Shandris just nods along.
“He was one of a kind. That’s what you always said. Ten thousand years and we’ve never heard of another creature like him in all of Azeroth. But no more. They’ve come, mother. And best of all… they’re led by a druid, not a warrior.”
At this, Tyrande looks even more bewildered. But Shandris has had enough fun at her adoptive mother and High Priestess’ expense. It’s time to focus up. With that in mind, she begins explaining herself properly, telling the story from the beginning. Tyrande nods along, listening carefully and soaking up Shandris’ words. From Lord Cenarius plucking her and her Sentinels off of their patrol route, to watching the orc druid Rognak fight his former Chieftain to the death in an honor duel.
Obviously, hearing that the orcs were going to cut down their sacred trees did not make Tyrande happy but hearing that the druid among them had not only put a stop to that but also earned Lord Cenarius’ respect in record time quelled any anger she might have had. In the end, Shandris explains how it was that Lord Cenarius emerged unscathed from their battle against Mannoroth, and how they didn’t lose a single Night Elf Sentinel in the fight against the hulking demon.
Ultimately, it was the orcs who held the majority of Mannoroth’s attention. His fury over their rejection of his corruptive ‘gift’ had caused him to focus entirely on wiping them out first… to his ultimate detriment. While he’d killed a number of the Warsong Clan in the ensuing battle, he had not been able to finish off the one who truly ended up mattering… and with Lord Cenarius’ help, Rognak had delivered the killing blow and wiped Mannoroth completely away with that Blessed Axe of his.
She doesn’t tell Tyrande the details of what happened afterwards, but something must have tipped the other Night Elf off, because when Shandris’ story comes to an end, the High Priestess gives her a knowing look.
“Mm. A celebration was had, was it? And did you and your sisters partake in a… cultural exchange of sorts, Shandris?”
She would not blush. She was over ten thousand years old, and a Sentinel Warrior of the Night Elves besides! Keeping her head held high, Shandris instead offers her mother a slightly salacious grin.
“It was important to secure our new relationship with the Warsong Clan in the aftermath of such a successful battle together, High Priestess. I did my part, as did several of my sisters. The druid Rognak was wise enough to leave Lord Cenarius in charge of any… punishment regarding those who got too deep into their cups and acted without thinking, so there was nothing to truly worry about.”
Tyrande hums and nods at this, looking slightly put out that her attempt at embarrassing Shandris had not had its intended effect. Rather than try and fail again, the High Priestess of Elune cuts her losses and changes the subject.
“… I have felt a darkness stirring in this forest for days now, I must admit. Hearing what you faced… I wonder if Lord Cenarius felt it too. There have been incidents. Sightings of dark creatures. Reports of missing citizens. From what I know of Mannoroth, I believe we have found the source of our woes… and hopefully dealt with it once and for all.”
Shandris winces at that. Tyrande sounds hopeful but also hesitant… as though she wants to believe her own words, but also doubts them already. Unfortunately, here is where the fun must end. Here is where Shandris must be the bearer of bad news.
“Lord Cenarius believes otherwise, High Priestess. He sent me here not just to tell you about the orcs and our battle against Mannoroth, but also to have me warn you… we have seen creatures coming back to life. But not in the right way. They are sick, twisted, and rotting. Undead roam the forest, hunting the living in all of its forms, polluting our lands with their presence. And… Lord Cenarius believes the demons are behind it. That Mannoroth was only the tip of the spear.”
Tyrande closes her eyes, grimacing at this news. For a moment, Shandris sees the weight of ten thousand years of responsibility and duty on the other woman’s shoulders. She has led their people faithfully since the War of the Ancients, guiding them through the last ten thousand years without hesitation, without faltering.
But she was never supposed to be doing it alone. Theirs was a people divided, as much as Shandris knew better than to voice such thoughts out loud. For the past ten thousand years, their druids had spent the majority of that time in the Emerald Dream. While their real bodies slumbered here in the waking world, they served in the Dream. And yes, Shandris knew their work was important. She understood that. But it didn’t change how she felt.
Malfurion Stormrage was Tyrande’s mate. Her beloved. They had been together for ten millennia but had perhaps spent only a handful of decades together in all that time. Malfurion might come out of the Dream for weeks or even months at a time, but he would always return for years, decades… sometimes even centuries.
For this, though she held love in her heart for him, Shandris had never quite been able to call Malfurion father. Not in the same way Tyrande had become her mother.
“… I hope for all our sakes that that is not the case.”
Tyrande’s words, when they finally come, come in a whisper. The High Priestess of Elune lets out a shuddering breath and this time it’s Shandris who reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in comfort. Tyrande leans into the touch, before continuing on.
“We pushed the Legion from this world ten thousand years ago. We gave up… so much. Azeroth gave up so much. The Sundering… I would never wish to see something like it happen ever again. If they are back, then I do not know how we will stop them this time.”
Shandris grimaces, trying to think of a response to that. But before she can, Tyrande rallies, marshalling herself and straightening her back. She gives Shandris a smile that doesn’t quite reach her glowing eyes.
“But for now, there is no use in worrying about that which we do not truly know. Lord Cenarius’ suspicions remain suspicions for the time being. There is no evidence quite yet that anything worse than Mannoroth lurks in our forests.”
Frowning, Shandris opens her mouth to respond. It is unlike Tyrande to stick her head in the sand. Luckily, the High Priestess’ next words, while overriding Shandris, prove this isn’t the case.
“I shall commune with Elune herself to find the truth of these matters. Nothing may hide from the Light of the Moon and one way or another, we will discover just what our enemies are planning. In the meantime, I wish for you to return to Lord Cenarius and these orcs that you have allied with. Continue representing our people with the same level of professionalism and honor that I know you to be capable of.”
Caught off guard by the slightly teasing, knowing tone that that last sentence is delivered with, Shandris does end up blushing just a little bit… something that she knows Tyrande immediately picks up from given the way her adoptive mother’s eyes dance with mirth. Scowling a little, Shandris nevertheless salutes the High Priestess.
“As you say, High Priestess. I promise not to disappoint, your orders will be-eep!”
Before Shandris can finish her sentence, Tyrande is suddenly holding her, the older Night Elf having stepped forward and pulled her into a hug before she could so much as blink. Sighing into her hair, Tyrande embraces her tightly and closely.
“Stay safe, Shandris. Stay strong. I could not bear to lose you. But so long as you keep your wits about you, I know you’ll be alright.”
Now she really is blushing, but she honestly can’t bring herself to mind all that much as she hugs Tyrande in turn.
“I won’t let you down, mother. And I won’t let our people down either.”
Pulling back, Tyrande gives her a soft smile and a single nod.
“I know.”
Their meeting ends after that, and Shandris finds herself making her way back out of Astranaar not even an hour after she arrives. She could have spent the night, she supposed… but she’s not in the right frame of mind to relax, no matter how advised a moment of rest might have been. She needs to get back to Lord Cenarius, Rognak, and the orcs. And they need to figure out just what it is they’re up against, as soon as possible.
