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87. Gate to Hell
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 15:50:02 +0000 UTCStability seemed to be a fool's errand, a toll of madness, where the closer one was to reaching it, the quicker fate reminded you of the sheer asinine nature of the act, as within a moment it vanished like sea foam in the waves.
And yet, Jaina hoped for it, working for a semblance of peace, at the very least within the Eastern Kingdoms.
There had been success, breakthroughs that even the most optimistic wouldn't have hoped for.
The high elves, now known as blood elves, or sin'dorei, pardoned the Alliance's crime. Naught was forgotten, but the rebuilding kingdom of Quel'Thalas executed any still living culprits. And it wasn’t a swift series of bullets to the head.
There was no further aggression, and Dalaran ensured that any further aggression was addressed. It wasn't the time to splinter; history had shown the grisly consequences.
If the Alliance had remained whole, the Scourge would have been contained.
Alas, it hadn't, and the present was the result, one Jaina Proudmoore, the youngest member of the Six, had to deal with to her great chagrin.
However, she wasn't alone in that endeavor, nor the only competent person, even less so with the recent return of the changed King of Stormwind. The entire affair was enough to declare full-on war on the Horde.
It was almost the case with most trolls from multiple tribes across the Eastern Kingdoms; the Horde supported them, and in return, they supported the Horde. The same was true for goblins, but gold could help, to a degree. Yet in recent years, the goblins started to become loyal to something that didn’t shine under sunlight.
The Horde was aiming for a foothold, and with the Dark Horde's brutal dismantling, they had a monopoly over both old and new allies.
Or any with grudges aimed at the Alliance, and they weren't few. It wasn't an absolute, as strange stone-covered trolls far larger than usual and using advanced naval force were seen, but they avoided direct contact.
Unless the Alliance brought the war to Kalimdor, little impact could be made, but much was done regardless.
It was incredibly frustrating. And in the same department was the Wild, where the mere suggestions of war were madness in Jaina's honest opinion. The SI:7 dossiers relating to the Worgen Affair were concerning.
A far too imprecise name for what was essentially an entire kingdom with the most stubborn and prideful king of the centuries bending the knee.
The Worgen Curse was dangerous, potentially even more than the Plague of Undeath, but that wouldn't have convinced Genn Greymane; he would have tried to fix his mistakes until he couldn't anymore.
Yet the obstinate king admitted defeat in a single day after a few sentences. It was shocking.
She had a good enough grasp of the Wild, of this superpower's capabilities; their use of kobolds made her and any sane person see them in a new light.
One that burned, they could infiltrate anything that wasn't as magically defended as Dalaran. Even then, they could easily slip through if it wasn't a wholly rune-brimming sealed room.
Telling a talented, trained shapeshifter apart from an actual animal required a certain expertise. There was no definitive solution. Rules were imposed, but where humanoids went, rats followed.
Rats couldn't be eliminated, more so when they could become cats, birds, or a plethora of arthropods. The plants themselves weren't safe; treants were caught as proof that there was no paranoia. And that was a fraction of a fraction of what the Wild could do.
Still, it was what she liked to believe, but she knew her knowledge was poor.
The likelihood of the bone-chilling opposite was uncomfortably high if they attacked the Alliance for some offenses.
And they took offense to a lot, from using the Arcane, and as of recently, less widely accepted energies within the Alliance, like Fel and Shadow magic.
To fight an enemy was to know one, and the Kirin Tor's warlocks weren't rogue agents, not anymore if their past actions weren’t too problematic. It was politics.
And it was amplified by the Alliance's growing ties to a number of the people of the Forsaken.
The Wild would be as reasonable as the Scarlet Crusade on those matters.
There was not the same enmity with the Horde, but the sorceress experienced enough similar situations to know peace was a fragile illusion.
The Wild didn't hold any pretence of gentleness either. They were brutally honest with their opinions and goals, as per their name suggested.
They had portals to travel across continents, known as Dream Portals, which utilized an alternate dimension not entirely dissimilar to the Twisting Nether.
Or so was the magocracy's rudimentary understanding.
All of which mainly came from Archmage Arugal, whose work on compiling research on the subject and his own had earned him his rank. Until he apparently lost his mind, that was.
A man whose fate was still unknown but likely very bleak.
He wasn't the only source; druidism or Nature magic wasn't a novel concept. However, its lore within academy libraries was lost, erroneous, or incomplete outside of what Arugal had done.
It wasn't the only information about it; still, the blood elves possessed an altered form through the use of the Arcane. However, it was closer to botany, using selective breeding and slowly guiding growth.
The harvest witches were known; their powers on crops and farm animals were more than folktales. It was tangible, and crop harvest records showed a significant dip as they disappeared, with no other reason given for their disappearance.
And then there were the Thornspeakers of her homeland.
But one wasn't druidism.
The second were disappearing, wrongfully chased away, steeped in superstition, and rudimentary by comparison.
The last was a group of hermits, even fewer in number, and they were both dying out, isolationist and aloof, with no solid allegiance to the Admiralty, as they were thousands of years older.
They had the most potential in truth.
They were willing to listen to her Mother, for they were on the brink of vanishing and were under another undead threat.
But their magic was distinct from what the Wild used, more morbid to an extent, focused on decay rather than regrowth in the cycle of life.
They would help; it was a worthwhile effort, but their joining wouldn't tip the scales of a war. Though for diplomacy it would, hopefully. The Wild was territorial and prideful; they may take offense.
Numerous troll tribes used a similar, if twisted, form of druidism, too. The problem was that they were trolls; it was a ridiculous notion even to conceive of obtaining a shred of cooperation.
They would see elves, gnomes, dwarves, and humans burn with the world rather than help put out the fire together. It was no wonder they never rebuilt their empires.
They were like crabs in a basket.
To make the situation more harrowing, unlike most forms of magic, it was nigh-impossible to access by yourself.
Nature magic was only ever possessed through special lineages, be it by being a certain species or an outside force that gifted the ability to you or your ancestors.
It wasn't shamanism with trees and animals, even though there were numerous similarities; that was true for every magical branch.
Alternatives were researched, but few results were found yet; nevertheless, they were worthwhile. Harnessing energy through force and using it naturally and properly were worlds apart.
It was obvious, but that never stopped the stupid and arrogant.
To put it in another way, these portal constructs were largely unknown.
Only enough was known that they could instantly transport entire armies from point A to B at no apparent cost or delay.
This was the tip of the iceberg, given one of their practitioners–perhaps an exception, but it showed the potential–could bend biology to his whims to the point that death was a mere inconvenience. Ohto didn't die from being burned to a smoking torso.
The three known were in the Blackwald, Hinterland, and Duskwood, all heavily fortified and virtually inaccessible unless expressly welcomed, as the flora was intelligent.
This was a show of force, and it was effective.
They were a clear enough message.
Many were rightfully restless among the Alliance, but attempts at diplomacy were strained and destroyed when the idea of regaining those lands was mentioned.
Besides the Blackwald Forest, since it was essentially handed over by Gilneas, whose discussion to rejoin the Alliance bore little fruit yet.
Those interactions didn't break into a fight; none were petulant children, but it was made clear when and where the Alliance wasn't welcome.
It spoke volumes that if the Wild decided to pounce, the Horde would likely be their allies, as without the Alliance, the Horde would be their next prey.
Alas, Jaina didn't foresee many viewing it that way; there was a worrying amount of underestimation toward the Wild.
They were seen at best contending the Alliance; otherwise, for most, they were a bunch of savage tree-hugging animals, dangerous animals, but animals all the same.
It was a grievous misconception that the sorceress feared only death would fix. It always was.
Peace was, in itself, an illusion, one shattered by the Dark Portal suddenly pulsing to life, a warning of its impending opening.
However, it was scarcely the strangest or most impactful event of the last few months.
A gargantuan ship comparable to the Flying City of Dalaran had crash-landed from a spatial tear in the fabric of reality, drawing the attention of every paladin and priest in the surrounding countries to the island of Tol Barad.
It was north of the island prison, right within the water of Baradin Bay. It had catastrophic consequences; the ley lines powering Baradin Hold were destabilized, causing a massive breakout.
The people of this hyperadvanced technomagical vessel, the draenei, had been of immense help in this catastrophe they had unwantedly caused. For the most part, some of the prisoners disappeared.
They were unlike any people Jaina had ever met. It was remarkable. The closest comparison would be elves. It would only be for the continuity of their civilization, attunement to the Arcane, and long lifespan.
They were more reflective.
Jaina wouldn't say it out loud to the sin'dorei, but excessive pride was their greatest downfall. Even after all the tragedies, it remained; it was their anchor.
An aspect in a different form with the draenei was toward their duty, and one forged in blood—the annihilation of the Burning Legion.
They were a civilization so old that biological life upon Azeroth was younger; perhaps they were diminished, but they carried wisdom and knowledge untold.
And they were willing to share that the Alliance was here for them, having greatly assisted with their predicament and the state of the Exodar, their trans-dimensional vessel.
Much was still to be done; the Exodar luckily had landed on a reef, but it remained deep. Deep enough for the entire structure to be largely inhabitable, but it was all they had left and rebuilt around.
It was to be a city of crystal, marrying Arcane and Light in ways both practitioners could have never conceived in thousands of years.
The Alliance wouldn't see it stolen, nor would their new members abandon the gnomes for the engineering marvel they needed after what unfolded in Gnomeregan–any faithfuls of the Holy Light and Dalaran itself.
There was tension with the blood elves, however.
Draenor, now the Outland, was a demonic realm led by Illidan Stormrage, and one of his highest-ranked and most loyal followers was someone Jaina had thought more and more of late.
Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider.
Yet Velen the Prophet, leader of the draenei and a man of inconceivable power, held no hatred towards him. He understood and had a pure heart that the sorceress could hardly believe; he reminded her of Alonsus Foal.
Amusingly, both were wise and became brothers in all but blood, hard to when one didn't have the life-giving liquid or life at all.
Yet the elder draenei saw the undead Archbishop as an equal; it was inspiring. And by what was told, undeath could be theoretically cured, to be exact, reforged into a new state.
It wouldn't be life, nor a simple, painless, or perfect process, but compared to anything that inevitably led to madness, rot, and decay, it would be an improvement of immense proportions. It would make using the Light natural as well.
And this wasn't limited to undead; it was an incredible boon.
Regardless of this seemingly miraculous solution to a plague till then believed unbreakable, Velen was not naïve; on the contrary, but there was no ounce of malice or violence flowing in him.
If he did, Jaina held no doubt Kael'thas would have been turned to fine ash sediments.
Velen didn't throw it around, yet his strength was unmistakable; the greatest of priests and paladins were candlelight to a forest fire to him. It was terrifying to imagine him using it to harm. It shouldn't be surprising for one to have once been equal to Archimonde,
And his people trusted him absolutely. Why wouldn't they? For twenty millennia, he guided them, saving them countless times from damnation.
It was a bizarre bunch, all things considered, alien in both biology and culture within those lands of conflict and war.
And they worshiped even stranger creatures of pure energy that led to further complications with the sin'dorei.
The elves had kidnapped and enslaved one of them, a Naaru named M’uru, siphoning her power to hopefully restore the Sunwell and quench their hunger.
It was a complex and bloody affair.
Yet again, the draenei proved understanding; they were neither pleased nor lacking in anger, but they didn't enact upon it. They preferred talking over spilling blood, and that was… refreshing.
Alien again, but welcomed, a far contrast to the orcs who had massacred millions of the draenei in question.
And the tales told were sickening beyond sanity and reason; somehow, they committed worse horror than their war on Azeroth. Her Father hadn't been faultless, but she feared his judgment was in the right place to an extent.
They didn't change, not to the extent Thrall ever hoped. A son hadn't committed the crimes of the father, but that didn't mean he perceived those actions as crimes to begin with.
Among the Horde, a substantial portion of the older population believed their only mistake was partnering with demons; if they believed that, just as many diverted the blame to being tricked.
This reality trickled down to their children.
The draenei walked on, however. They were resilient; as such, with the blood elves, they worked together for a solution where both parties would be content enough.
Notably, in technology designed with Naaru in mind by Naaru and informed by the knowledge of what would happen if M'uru was abused further.
If she had been strained further, which would have happened sooner or later, Silver Moon and everyone inside would have died horribly. Naaru had two states of existence in an endless cycle, one of pure Light and the other of pure Void.
Ultimately, that wasn't for Jaina to handle; what mattered was that things were looking up except for the Dark Portal.
She knew of this Illidan before the Exodar crashed. The diarch of the night elves had extensively spoken of him.
Their words were far from praise, to say the least.
This was deeply confusing as Kael’thas chose to follow him, despair wouldn't have warped the kindhearted man into a heinous demon-worshiping cultist.
She refused to believe that. He had his faults, but having a large ego wasn't a crime. She herself was no exception.
Velen didn't describe him as a monster, and if he had been, the draenei would have fought far harder and killed far more. Something that would be warranted if the elven prince were sworn to the Legion.
But he wasn't as far as it seemed, a cultist, what he did to the draenei was certainly horrific and deeply disappointing, but there were layers.
It was to survive, and for that, coexistence was impossible as the blood elves would be starving. It was annoying and conflicting; life rarely was not.
It was very strange overall.
It was also the case for Velen. He may be genuine, and spoke honestly. He believed what he said, or a more cynical part of her told her he was not as truthful. One didn't lead for so long by simple kindness, yet he was an alien.
But there was something else going on, something much bigger, something that went unsaid, and if the draenei's ancient tie to the Burning Legion and mysterious Naaru was anything to go by.
This went even beyond Azeroth; it was dizzying, yet the present mattered far more, and so she found herself on the soon-to-be battlefield once more.
Awaiting with trepidation the opening of the portal, the Alliance wasn't alone; it was as if it were a reunion between childhood acquaintances.
Only those acquaintances were the greatest shaman alive, an orc, Warchief of the Horde. To his right was Grommash, and to his left was Cairne.
The other was alone; he was an animalistic creature of plant life and flesh, with bear characteristics the size of a small house. His eyes, piercing, glowing golden honey, were familiar.
Their intensity was unmistakable.
She had heard of his changed appearance, but facing him was something else.
“It has been some time, Jaina. You seem awfully stressed. Would you wish me to tend to this? When demons are invading, we join forces; allies ought to be healthy.” Then his voice came as a rumble; it wasn't louder per second, but it reached her bones.
“And you… have changed…” She trailed, then the earth trembled, Duke Lionheart catching her shoulder in time.
“We cannot strategize then,” Thrall said, but Ohto was long since gone, the entire Wild host meeting the pouring swarm of demons first billowing their warcry.
The Horde was next doing the same, and finally, the Alliance joined the fray.
