“Mal… furion… my beloved Malfurion…”
Shandris runs a hand through Tyrande’s hair, feeling how grimy it’s become. She wipes a cloth through the sweat gathered upon her mother’s brow, cleaning it away with a sigh. At least the Priestess of Elune had finally found sleep… unfortunately, it seemed that she was not free of her torment even in her dreams. The older Night Elf slept fitfully, and Shandris could only grimace as she watched over Tyrande.
Their people’s first Druid, the one named Shan’do for honored teacher… was dead. Shandris still couldn’t fully wrap her head around it. Yes, she knew that Malfurion wasn’t truly gone just yet. He was merely cut off from this world, trapped in the Emerald Dream with the loss of his mortal body. He would exist for some time yet, but he was still dead and that… it felt impossible. It was maddening.
Worse still, Tyrande blamed herself and Shandris didn’t really know how to help her beyond what she was already doing. Beyond being there for her, there didn’t seem to be much that the Sentinel could do for her High Priestess. It hurt, because Shandris knew that it wasn’t Tyrande’s fault. Not truly. The only ones to blame here were the Scourge and their Legion masters.
It was the undead who had taken Malfurion from them, albeit in this slow and protracted way. It was the demons who had sicced their filthy, corrupted undead armies upon the Moonglade, dealing such a terrible blow to their people. At last count, Shandris estimated over half of their druids were slain alongside Malfurion. Some of the strongest warriors, healers, and leaders among their people… gone, taken in their sleep without even being given the chance to fight back.
The Legion and Scourge had a lot to answer for. And Shandris would make sure that they paid for what they’d done, even if she had to put an arrow down the throat of the Defiler herself. The blame for this atrocity was laid squarely at his feet and no others’ as far as she was concerned.
But of course, Tyrande would not hear it. If she had merely ignored tradition and the voice of reason in her own head, then Malfurion would still be alive. That was the end of it, as far as she was concerned. If she had simply gone straight to Moonglade rather than making for Cenarius, Shandris, and their allies, then she could have beaten the undead here and woken Malfurion up with the Horn.
Never mind that the path to the Moonglade was fraught with peril. Never mind that there was every possibility Tyrande might have been slain as well in such a foolhardy move, robbing Shandris and their people of both of their leaders at a time when they needed them most. Tyrande wasn’t ready to hear it just yet. She wasn’t ready to hear from anyone, even her adoptive daughter, that she’d made the right call.
Indeed, even Lord Cenarius had been rebuked when he stopped by a short time ago. The Lord of the Forest had offered to facilitate a meeting between Tyrande and Malfurion. With his power, Cenarius claimed he could summon a shade of Malfurion from the Dream, allowing him and Tyrande to speak for a time.
Shandris had been excited for a moment, knowing that if Tyrande accepted, Malfurion would have a far better chance of convincing his beloved that the death of his physical shell was not her fault. Better than the rest of them anyways. But while Tyrande had frozen for a moment, clearly tempted… in the end she had rejected the offer and begged Cenarius to leave her be. She wasn’t ready to face her mate just yet. Not when she still believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had gotten Malfurion killed.
Grimacing, Shandris brushes the hair out of Tyrande’s face and dabs her forehead with the cloth one final time. The Priestess of Elune is not truly relaxed… but she’s as relaxed as she’s ever going to be. Letting out a soft sigh, Shandris finally rises from Tyrande’s side and leaves her to her rest.
Stepping out of the High Priestess’ tent, the Sentinel Captain casts her eyes on the rest of Moonglade, finding it to be a hive of activity, with everyone scurrying about as fast as can be. For the briefest of seconds she finds herself reliving the moment where they’d entered the Moonglade in the first place. How it had been teeming with undead, swarming all over the place. How they had fallen upon them from behind, cutting through them like nothing… but all too late.
The moment ends as soon as it begins, with Shandris shaking her head clear of such thoughts. Now was not the time to wallow. Her mother needed her. Her people needed her. That said, she was glad for their allies. The orcs and humans, the tauren and trolls… she never would have thought that the Night Elves would find themselves fighting alongside such creatures before all of this. Not just because they were different and held to different beliefs, but because they were short-lived.
And yet, in the time that she had fought by their sides, Shandris found that there was purpose in their short lives. They moved with a frantic speed that most Night Elves could barely even begin to fathom, doing all they could to accomplish all they could in the short time they had on Azeroth. To leave behind a better world then they’d found for their children and their children’s children. Their perspective was honestly refreshing.
Though… as Shandris’ eyes catch upon a brewing commotion, she reflects that not everyone among her people was like to feel the same way. Frowning, she finds herself drifting over to where she sees a group of orcs, Rognak’s neophytes, squaring off from a group of newly awakened Night Elf Druids. The orcs look agitated and some have their arms crossed over their chest defensively, while others are clenching and unclenching their fists at their sides.
At the head of things on the Night Elf’s side is a druid who Shandris swears she should remember. There’s something familiar about him, but for the life of her, she can’t put a name to his face. He sneers at the orcs, also crossing his arms over his chest as he very deliberately looks down at them as lesser.
“You lot are supposed to be druids? I sense no true connection to nature from any of you. Frankly, you’d be better off sticking to those axes you seem so fond of. Those are not druidic weapons; I’ll have you know.”
Shandris can tell immediately that this confrontation has been happening for a short while now. The orcs of the Warsong Clan who have been learning at Rognak’s feet and Cenarius’ hooves the past few weeks all share glances, shifting from foot to foot. Not because they’re nervous… but because they’re holding themselves back. Shandris can tell that they want nothing more than to launch themselves at the Night Elf Druid in front of them, or at least challenge him to a battle.
… But some of the lessons they’ve been taught must have sunk in, because they recognize that not only are they outmatched here, they are also being provoked. Still, for all that they won’t initiate a physical fight, one of them finds he cannot hold his tongue in the face of such disrespect and steps forward, growling.
“We are learning from our Chieftain and Cenarius himself! Who are you to question us?”
Shandris leans forward, curious to hear the answer to that question herself. If she could just put a name to the familiar face, she might know what to do in this situation. Stepping in seemed like a bad idea… she was only a Sentinel Captain after all, for all that she had friends in high places. Unfortunately, it might be the best of a list of bad options. She certainly wasn’t going to stand by and let things devolve into a battle. That was the last thing they needed right now.
The Night Elf Druid sneers rather than answer the question.
“You will address Lord Cenarius with respect, creature! And though I do not know why the Lord of the Forest lowered himself to teach you savages anything, rest assured that such lessons are at an end! We, his true people, have awoken… you are no longer necessary, so begone with you!”
The contempt in the druid’s voice is palpable, and Shandris’ breath hitches as she watches the orcs bristle in anger and rage. These were not a people to be treated so insultingly, but at the same time… they were barely neophytes at best. They could not hope to stand against the might of fully trained druids. Shandris tenses up, preparing to step in… but then she hesitates, seeing some movement from within the crowd of Night Elves standing behind the outspoken druid.
“Enough, Fandral. We all grieve the loss of our brothers and sisters, as well as our Shan’do. But taking that grief out on these newcomers is not the answer. If Lord Cenarius saw fit to pass down his teachings to these orcs, it is not our place to question him OR them.”
Oh. Fandral Staghelm. Right. Now she knew why the first druid was so damn familiar. Archdruid Fandral Staghelm was pivotal in winning the War of the Shifting Sands a thousand years ago… a war that Shandris had not actually taken part in. To be fair, Archdruid Fandral Staghelm was also the one who started the war in the first place.
Thanks to her relationship with Tyrande and Malfurion, Shandris was privy to information that not everyone was privy to. Like for instance, the fact that Fandral Staghelm was something of an egotist. He always had been, and while Malfurion had never had a truly bad word to say about the other Archdruid, Shandris had been able to read between the lines. Fandral hated that Malfurion was first. He constantly compared himself to the other man and sought to surpass Malfurion in any way possible.
This had led to Staghelm taking their people down to Silithus almost a thousand years ago on an ambitious quest to make the desolate land flourish with life and nature once more. And in doing so, he had awakened the Qiraji, an insectoid people who worshipped ancient and terrible gods.
The ensuing War had been a brutal one, and while it had ultimately ended in victory for the Night Elves, it was not without loss. Shandris had only heard about it after the fact, but she knew that Fandral’s son had been slain in the fighting, and that the Dragonflights had been forced to step in and assist the Night Elf Army in sealing the Qiraji once and for all.
Shandris had never met Fandral Staghelm in person, but she’d seen depictions of him. The man could have probably received quite the victory celebration on his return to Night Elven lands, but it was said he was in such a rage of despair and sorrow over the loss of his son that he’d gone into seclusion upon his return.
Until now, it would seem. In the present, Fandral grits his teeth as he turns to face his peer. This Night Elf Druid, Shandris does immediately recognize by sight. But then, to be fair… there aren’t many out there who can say they were born with antlers.
“Broll. How droll of you to think that it is grief that has me questioning the value of these… mortal creatures polluting our forests.”
There’s a beat… and then a shift in the air, as Broll Bearmantle tilts his antlered head to the side at that. Shandris blinks and then finds herself cracking a grin as she realizes what Broll just did. He’d given Fandral a way out, an easy escape… but also laid a trap for him.
In admitting that he was not lashing out at the orc neophytes because of his grief, Fandral had made the other Night Elf Druids who had been watching the exchange question his words. Broll speaking out against him also furthered that questioning, and all of the sudden the druids who had seemingly been on Fandral’s side are giving him concerned looks, no longer nearly as unified behind him as they might have appeared to be mere moments before.
There’s a brief pause, as even Fandral realizes what’s just happened. The Archdruid stiffens for a moment, his face twisting as if he’d just bitten into something incredibly unpleasant. Then, he spins and leaves the area without another word. Shandris watches him go and then watches Broll turn to the orc who had talked back to Fandral and offer him a hand. She smiles slightly before continuing on her way as well, confident that with Broll’s assistance, Rognak’s neophytes would be in good hands.
Though that did leave Shandris wondering where Rognak even was. He definitely should have been there, to defend his students. Moving through the Moonglade, Shandris eventually finds out where he’s actually been almost by chance, stumbling upon a private conversation taking place between the orc druid… and the Lord of the Forest.
“Without Malfurion, we’re not as strong as we need to be. We need allies wherever we can get them.”
There’s a strange emphasis that Rognak is putting on the word ‘wherever’. Shandris doesn’t fully understand what it means until Cenarius speaks.
“Hm… you would have me free those who have been imprisoned for thousands of years. Some for ten thousand years.”
Wait, what? Shandris blinks, listening a little closer. Rognak, meanwhile, doesn’t back down.
“If that’s what it takes. If you think it’s best. Surely some of them have been rehabilitated enough to fight the Legion, right? And if not… then we don’t let them out. Simple as that.”
Cenarius is quiet for a moment before humming.
“Malfurion had a brother… Illidan Stormrage. He was imprisoned for his actions during the last time the Burning Legion tried to invade Azeroth. However… he has never been the Legion’s ally. Not truly.”
Rognak perks up at that, looking almost… excited to Shandris’ eyes.
“Perfect. I’m sure that he’s far from a proper replacement for his brother, but the enemy of our enemy is a friend, yes?”
The Lord of the Forest shakes his head.
“An interesting way of phrasing it, but no. I would not call Illidan Stormrage ‘friend’, even if we do move forward with freeing him. He had such potential… but he squandered it long, long ago. Still, we are in dire need of warriors for the battle ahead. And he is a warrior if nothing else.”
Cenarius sounds appropriately grave, considering who they’re talking about. Shandris, meanwhile, slowly backs away. She can’t believe her ears. Illidan has been imprisoned for ten thousand years. He was called the Betrayer for a reason. And yet… before all of that, before the actions that had led to him being locked away for so long, Shandris knew that he had been Malfurion’s brother and Tyrande’s friend.
… If nothing else, this news might get Tyrande out of her stupor. And so Shandris begins making her way back to the Priestess’ side, intent on informing her of Cenarius and Rognak’s plans.
“Mal… furion… my beloved Malfurion…”
Shandris runs a hand through Tyrande’s hair, feeling how grimy it’s become. She wipes a cloth through the sweat gathered upon her mother’s brow, cleaning it away with a sigh. At least the Priestess of Elune had finally found sleep… unfortunately, it seemed that she was not free of her torment even in her dreams. The older Night Elf slept fitfully, and Shandris could only grimace as she watched over Tyrande.
Their people’s first Druid, the one named Shan’do for honored teacher… was dead. Shandris still couldn’t fully wrap her head around it. Yes, she knew that Malfurion wasn’t truly gone just yet. He was merely cut off from this world, trapped in the Emerald Dream with the loss of his mortal body. He would exist for some time yet, but he was still dead and that… it felt impossible. It was maddening.
Worse still, Tyrande blamed herself and Shandris didn’t really know how to help her beyond what she was already doing. Beyond being there for her, there didn’t seem to be much that the Sentinel could do for her High Priestess. It hurt, because Shandris knew that it wasn’t Tyrande’s fault. Not truly. The only ones to blame here were the Scourge and their Legion masters.
It was the undead who had taken Malfurion from them, albeit in this slow and protracted way. It was the demons who had sicced their filthy, corrupted undead armies upon the Moonglade, dealing such a terrible blow to their people. At last count, Shandris estimated over half of their druids were slain alongside Malfurion. Some of the strongest warriors, healers, and leaders among their people… gone, taken in their sleep without even being given the chance to fight back.
The Legion and Scourge had a lot to answer for. And Shandris would make sure that they paid for what they’d done, even if she had to put an arrow down the throat of the Defiler herself. The blame for this atrocity was laid squarely at his feet and no others’ as far as she was concerned.
But of course, Tyrande would not hear it. If she had merely ignored tradition and the voice of reason in her own head, then Malfurion would still be alive. That was the end of it, as far as she was concerned. If she had simply gone straight to Moonglade rather than making for Cenarius, Shandris, and their allies, then she could have beaten the undead here and woken Malfurion up with the Horn.
Never mind that the path to the Moonglade was fraught with peril. Never mind that there was every possibility Tyrande might have been slain as well in such a foolhardy move, robbing Shandris and their people of both of their leaders at a time when they needed them most. Tyrande wasn’t ready to hear it just yet. She wasn’t ready to hear from anyone, even her adoptive daughter, that she’d made the right call.
Indeed, even Lord Cenarius had been rebuked when he stopped by a short time ago. The Lord of the Forest had offered to facilitate a meeting between Tyrande and Malfurion. With his power, Cenarius claimed he could summon a shade of Malfurion from the Dream, allowing him and Tyrande to speak for a time.
Shandris had been excited for a moment, knowing that if Tyrande accepted, Malfurion would have a far better chance of convincing his beloved that the death of his physical shell was not her fault. Better than the rest of them anyways. But while Tyrande had frozen for a moment, clearly tempted… in the end she had rejected the offer and begged Cenarius to leave her be. She wasn’t ready to face her mate just yet. Not when she still believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had gotten Malfurion killed.
Grimacing, Shandris brushes the hair out of Tyrande’s face and dabs her forehead with the cloth one final time. The Priestess of Elune is not truly relaxed… but she’s as relaxed as she’s ever going to be. Letting out a soft sigh, Shandris finally rises from Tyrande’s side and leaves her to her rest.
Stepping out of the High Priestess’ tent, the Sentinel Captain casts her eyes on the rest of Moonglade, finding it to be a hive of activity, with everyone scurrying about as fast as can be. For the briefest of seconds she finds herself reliving the moment where they’d entered the Moonglade in the first place. How it had been teeming with undead, swarming all over the place. How they had fallen upon them from behind, cutting through them like nothing… but all too late.
The moment ends as soon as it begins, with Shandris shaking her head clear of such thoughts. Now was not the time to wallow. Her mother needed her. Her people needed her. That said, she was glad for their allies. The orcs and humans, the tauren and trolls… she never would have thought that the Night Elves would find themselves fighting alongside such creatures before all of this. Not just because they were different and held to different beliefs, but because they were short-lived.
And yet, in the time that she had fought by their sides, Shandris found that there was purpose in their short lives. They moved with a frantic speed that most Night Elves could barely even begin to fathom, doing all they could to accomplish all they could in the short time they had on Azeroth. To leave behind a better world then they’d found for their children and their children’s children. Their perspective was honestly refreshing.
Though… as Shandris’ eyes catch upon a brewing commotion, she reflects that not everyone among her people was like to feel the same way. Frowning, she finds herself drifting over to where she sees a group of orcs, Rognak’s neophytes, squaring off from a group of newly awakened Night Elf Druids. The orcs look agitated and some have their arms crossed over their chest defensively, while others are clenching and unclenching their fists at their sides.
At the head of things on the Night Elf’s side is a druid who Shandris swears she should remember. There’s something familiar about him, but for the life of her, she can’t put a name to his face. He sneers at the orcs, also crossing his arms over his chest as he very deliberately looks down at them as lesser.
“You lot are supposed to be druids? I sense no true connection to nature from any of you. Frankly, you’d be better off sticking to those axes you seem so fond of. Those are not druidic weapons; I’ll have you know.”
Shandris can tell immediately that this confrontation has been happening for a short while now. The orcs of the Warsong Clan who have been learning at Rognak’s feet and Cenarius’ hooves the past few weeks all share glances, shifting from foot to foot. Not because they’re nervous… but because they’re holding themselves back. Shandris can tell that they want nothing more than to launch themselves at the Night Elf Druid in front of them, or at least challenge him to a battle.
… But some of the lessons they’ve been taught must have sunk in, because they recognize that not only are they outmatched here, they are also being provoked. Still, for all that they won’t initiate a physical fight, one of them finds he cannot hold his tongue in the face of such disrespect and steps forward, growling.
“We are learning from our Chieftain and Cenarius himself! Who are you to question us?”
Shandris leans forward, curious to hear the answer to that question herself. If she could just put a name to the familiar face, she might know what to do in this situation. Stepping in seemed like a bad idea… she was only a Sentinel Captain after all, for all that she had friends in high places. Unfortunately, it might be the best of a list of bad options. She certainly wasn’t going to stand by and let things devolve into a battle. That was the last thing they needed right now.
The Night Elf Druid sneers rather than answer the question.
“You will address Lord Cenarius with respect, creature! And though I do not know why the Lord of the Forest lowered himself to teach you savages anything, rest assured that such lessons are at an end! We, his true people, have awoken… you are no longer necessary, so begone with you!”
The contempt in the druid’s voice is palpable, and Shandris’ breath hitches as she watches the orcs bristle in anger and rage. These were not a people to be treated so insultingly, but at the same time… they were barely neophytes at best. They could not hope to stand against the might of fully trained druids. Shandris tenses up, preparing to step in… but then she hesitates, seeing some movement from within the crowd of Night Elves standing behind the outspoken druid.
“Enough, Fandral. We all grieve the loss of our brothers and sisters, as well as our Shan’do. But taking that grief out on these newcomers is not the answer. If Lord Cenarius saw fit to pass down his teachings to these orcs, it is not our place to question him OR them.”
Oh. Fandral Staghelm. Right. Now she knew why the first druid was so damn familiar. Archdruid Fandral Staghelm was pivotal in winning the War of the Shifting Sands a thousand years ago… a war that Shandris had not actually taken part in. To be fair, Archdruid Fandral Staghelm was also the one who started the war in the first place.
Thanks to her relationship with Tyrande and Malfurion, Shandris was privy to information that not everyone was privy to. Like for instance, the fact that Fandral Staghelm was something of an egotist. He always had been, and while Malfurion had never had a truly bad word to say about the other Archdruid, Shandris had been able to read between the lines. Fandral hated that Malfurion was first. He constantly compared himself to the other man and sought to surpass Malfurion in any way possible.
This had led to Staghelm taking their people down to Silithus almost a thousand years ago on an ambitious quest to make the desolate land flourish with life and nature once more. And in doing so, he had awakened the Qiraji, an insectoid people who worshipped ancient and terrible gods.
The ensuing War had been a brutal one, and while it had ultimately ended in victory for the Night Elves, it was not without loss. Shandris had only heard about it after the fact, but she knew that Fandral’s son had been slain in the fighting, and that the Dragonflights had been forced to step in and assist the Night Elf Army in sealing the Qiraji once and for all.
Shandris had never met Fandral Staghelm in person, but she’d seen depictions of him. The man could have probably received quite the victory celebration on his return to Night Elven lands, but it was said he was in such a rage of despair and sorrow over the loss of his son that he’d gone into seclusion upon his return.
Until now, it would seem. In the present, Fandral grits his teeth as he turns to face his peer. This Night Elf Druid, Shandris does immediately recognize by sight. But then, to be fair… there aren’t many out there who can say they were born with antlers.
“Broll. How droll of you to think that it is grief that has me questioning the value of these… mortal creatures polluting our forests.”
There’s a beat… and then a shift in the air, as Broll Bearmantle tilts his antlered head to the side at that. Shandris blinks and then finds herself cracking a grin as she realizes what Broll just did. He’d given Fandral a way out, an easy escape… but also laid a trap for him.
In admitting that he was not lashing out at the orc neophytes because of his grief, Fandral had made the other Night Elf Druids who had been watching the exchange question his words. Broll speaking out against him also furthered that questioning, and all of the sudden the druids who had seemingly been on Fandral’s side are giving him concerned looks, no longer nearly as unified behind him as they might have appeared to be mere moments before.
There’s a brief pause, as even Fandral realizes what’s just happened. The Archdruid stiffens for a moment, his face twisting as if he’d just bitten into something incredibly unpleasant. Then, he spins and leaves the area without another word. Shandris watches him go and then watches Broll turn to the orc who had talked back to Fandral and offer him a hand. She smiles slightly before continuing on her way as well, confident that with Broll’s assistance, Rognak’s neophytes would be in good hands.
Though that did leave Shandris wondering where Rognak even was. He definitely should have been there, to defend his students. Moving through the Moonglade, Shandris eventually finds out where he’s actually been almost by chance, stumbling upon a private conversation taking place between the orc druid… and the Lord of the Forest.
“Without Malfurion, we’re not as strong as we need to be. We need allies wherever we can get them.”
There’s a strange emphasis that Rognak is putting on the word ‘wherever’. Shandris doesn’t fully understand what it means until Cenarius speaks.
“Hm… you would have me free those who have been imprisoned for thousands of years. Some for ten thousand years.”
Wait, what? Shandris blinks, listening a little closer. Rognak, meanwhile, doesn’t back down.
“If that’s what it takes. If you think it’s best. Surely some of them have been rehabilitated enough to fight the Legion, right? And if not… then we don’t let them out. Simple as that.”
Cenarius is quiet for a moment before humming.
“Malfurion had a brother… Illidan Stormrage. He was imprisoned for his actions during the last time the Burning Legion tried to invade Azeroth. However… he has never been the Legion’s ally. Not truly.”
Rognak perks up at that, looking almost… excited to Shandris’ eyes.
“Perfect. I’m sure that he’s far from a proper replacement for his brother, but the enemy of our enemy is a friend, yes?”
The Lord of the Forest shakes his head.
“An interesting way of phrasing it, but no. I would not call Illidan Stormrage ‘friend’, even if we do move forward with freeing him. He had such potential… but he squandered it long, long ago. Still, we are in dire need of warriors for the battle ahead. And he is a warrior if nothing else.”
Cenarius sounds appropriately grave, considering who they’re talking about. Shandris, meanwhile, slowly backs away. She can’t believe her ears. Illidan has been imprisoned for ten thousand years. He was called the Betrayer for a reason. And yet… before all of that, before the actions that had led to him being locked away for so long, Shandris knew that he had been Malfurion’s brother and Tyrande’s friend.
… If nothing else, this news might get Tyrande out of her stupor. And so Shandris begins making her way back to the Priestess’ side, intent on informing her of Cenarius and Rognak’s plans.
