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36. The Last Step
🕑 Added 2025-03-01 20:00:11 +0000 UTC
The 'Great Alliance' was formed, and to put it mildly, it was equally tense and shaky as it had been before, even if now the night elves didn't lead anymore.
Shandris hadn't been a tyrant, nor had she been cruel, but that was the least unpleasant option. It was marginally better. It was an arrangement everyone hated, night elves among all else.
I wouldn't have given free rein to the Shadowleaves Captain to act like this anyway, not because I cared morally to any significant degree but because it was a path forward to end us raised into undeath.
Well, for now, the kaldorei were still leading, but it wasn't directly put this way, and it was far less heavy-handed. Still, Thrall and Jaina couldn't say no to most stuff; the Great Alliance wasn't equal in most things.
But in the end, it was based on necessity and survival, something even Grommash's existence couldn't beat. The ungrateful psychopath was on a very tight leash for that very reason and kept away from any non-Horde.
And I mean, it just wasn't widely known it was him at large, given I broke his toy. For a kaldorei, most orcs must look the same. And again, his Warchief was strict and Hellscream more obedient.
If it was depression or something genuine, I didn't care. It worked, for now. It would blow up fast.
This convergence of force was as effective as it was short-lived. And that was all it needed to be. It didn't need to last and wasn't meant to.
The presence of the Burning Legion had grown immensely, and at any moment, we could be attacked. But we had a plan, the same as I remembered on a conceptual level.
There weren't many other alternatives, to be truthful, if any at all. Regular demons and undead were a plague, but against non-civilians, they struggled.
Numbers were their greatest strength, and in time, winning was assured, but it took time—a lot of it, given that they had lately relied almost solely on brute force.
Archimonde–whom Tyrande confirmed to be the demon lord's identity as she escaped his grasp–could kill everyone here with minimal effort.
As history demonstrated, we were facing a threat Dragon Aspects would be uncertain of winning against or would have lost from my memory regarding their less-than-healthy states.
And since they weren't here to help and do their jobs–besides the green who were fighting the Emerald Nightmare and they sent us help even if it was a token force–it was up to us.
It was better this way, as unpleasant as seeing, but the lack of assistance remained a raging reality regardless.
We had a plan to obliterate that demonic lord filth based on the supreme arrogance he was endowed with.
Mannoroth was banished, as was his second in command Azgalor, Tichondrius, and the corruption of Northern Ashenvale was stopped by his death… yet the eredar lord kept on playing with his food—us.
We understood his personality if the War of the Ancients wasn't enough with the properly ancient Tyrande Whispewind and her Archdruid husband retelling how he was.
It was a fatal flaw of his character.
Archimonde was to learn the consequences of such mental retardation and that far too late for it to matter.
The plan in question remained hasty, and to say the chance of failure was immense would be putting it lightly.
But we had no alternative; we couldn't overwhelm him with numbers or overpower his magic.
It would have been less of the case if the oh-so-wise High Priestess accepted my offer nine days ago, but I didn't lose the most in that entire debacle.
My people were secure, a village could be rebuilt, and the land healed, but death was final.
I didn't heal Death; I saved Life. I didn't do miracles.
Too many furbolgs had been lost already, and only I would be at risk in the coming conflict.
However, the loss remained less for the kaldorei population than it could have been. Or so I could guess with relative certainty.
Nordrassil and the surrounding elven population had been evacuated to Moonglade and the area under Ursol's protection days ago.
Not everybody was gone in the strictest sense, but the vast majority of people unable to fight weren't there anymore.
Regardless of it all and my frustration at the overcomplication and increase of risk from Tyrande's idiocy, the World Tree was to be used as a bomb.
Something she didn't like, but Malfurion was the one to enforce it.
And for this to happen, we climbed Mount Hyjal, we were at Hyjal Summit, to be precise, and we walked there.
It was the heart of kaldorei culture for the past ten millennia, far from the virtually unexplorable and hostile terrains of the Stonetalon Mountains.
It would have been impossible to move a hardly functional army of three opposite loyalties to climb otherwise. And now we were preparing for what was to come.
It was a pain in my furry ass.
"No, go this way and lower the thorns. We must strangle the abominations, not the outlanders in their retreat. If you want them dead, at a bare minimum, make it purposeful." I said sharply to the night elf druid as we reinforced our defense with the local flora and seeds I had.
He was going to respond, but eye contact worked miracles, and he lost his courage like snow under the first ray of spring. He grumbled a bit but followed my demand.
I huffed after that and stared at Nordrassil for a brief second. I had never been this close to it until now. And it was… magnificent, beautiful, ephemeral, and eternal, a glorious sight beyond most would imagine.
Undrassil was miniscule in comparison.
The trunk was easily over a fourth of the mountain's height. It reached the clouds, and its crown went beyond.
The name Crown of the Heavens was beyond rightful; it was a monument to Nature and Life. As solely focused on a species as it might be.
This picturesque sight was going to be gone in, at best, the next three days. For now, I could appreciate it while it lasts. Though the World Tree likely would regrow after a few years, its roots went deeper than it was tall.
We weren't alone in working on the defense and traps, and it was across the three bases.
And it wasn't elves and taurens druids alone; treants and their greater form, the Ancients, Keeper of the Groves, with dryads, and the scant green dragons and their draconic servant–both hidden in the masses–were doing the same.
Dark trolls had joined, too, the Shadowtooth tribe, a hyper-pacifist group of trolls living not far from here, more North East. A tribe the kaldorei respected!
Well, that they weren't treated as pests or a threat. Not that it would be unjustified, given the less-than-peaceful actions of smaller dark troll groups.
I brought furbolgs too.
They came from the bear head gate on Mount Hyjal, leading all the way down to Timbermaw Hold. Kobolds volunteered as well, though it was to build and dig tunnels and trenches rather than be a proper fighting force.
That didn't mean many weren't willing to fight, utterly terrified as they might be.
The wilds and nature were at work.
Each base was at a thinner part of the twisting valley right between the sharp cliffs–natural barriers–separated for the most part by general allegiance—the Alliance first, then the Horde, and us at the end.
Though I would oversee it all, if at any point it failed, we all died. I was the only one with the endurance and mobility for that.
The plain was inclined up and, after a few kilometers, led to the highest peak where the World Tree grew.
All in all, we were just far enough to avoid and be shielded from the blast zone, for the most part… we were going to make something I would compare to a strong human bomb, those 'nukes.' If I was in its radius, I was better off killing myself.
Plants and fungus were only one part of a whole, from the kaldorei freshly abandoned buildings to the Horde and Alliance with what they already had built fortifications.
Walls, towers, and the like are all hasty, even for the dwarves and gnomes.
Elemental shamans were manipulating the earth, fire, water, and wind to build, make traps, and reinforce their defense, and mages were doing something similar, if more advanced from the little I understood.
It wouldn't last, nevertheless, stop Archimonde, but that never was the goal; it was to gain time. The trap that Malfurion had set couldn't be activated with a snap of his fingers.
Before the Horn of Cenarius was blown, there was a rather long casting time needed to use Nordrassil's energy and let the spirits of the wild–mostly night elves–gather. All the while, the Archdruid must remain hidden.
Of course, the demon lord could ignore this path, kill us all, and rush straight to the World Tree, but we were ants to him. It wouldn't be fun for a creature like him. Why use pesticides when you can individually crush us?
My greatest fear was that he used his brain; that uncertainty was terrifying and anguishing. The next moment could very well be my last. Death was closer than it ever was, yet also exciting—it was the culmination of fifteen years.
'Ancestors be with us…' And there was little else to add; our plan was held by hope, dream, and prayer glued by demonic pride.
Then, a distinct musk in the air got my attention. Well, it was getting closer to me that got my attention. I could smell it from the other side of the valley.
I turned my head to a female 'kaldorei' walking around helping with the quilboar thorns–regular toxins were useless against undead and at best irritating to demons, so no stormvines and other of my engineered babies–growth whose burning green eyes immediately shifted away.
'Green dragon.' I thought the obvious. If the fact that this was a woman 'druid' wasn't enough, her smell was distinctively draconic, and I was ready to pounce.
Then there was her life force. As much as I was thirsting to study the visage forms of dragons, it wasn't as complete as shapeshifting. I could effortlessly tell either way, but it was flagrant with theirs from the little I had seen.
It was a wholly different process and, by its simple presence, was more of a mask based on Arcane transfiguration–a costume to hide the apex predator below–nothing more, nothing less. It was similar to what Medivh did.
It didn't work against me, and the illusion was useless. She might as well be in her true form. At least, that would be honest. It was insulting how they assumed mortal forms to deceive and 'accommodate' us.
Also, her antlers weren't antlers; they were sharp, slightly curled horns pointing straight up.
"What do you want, green dragoness? Is anyone in need of healing?" I asked with a more or less neutral smile and tone. There was no reason to be too impolite to her. My grievance wasn't to the Green Dragonflight, but I needed to be careful not to let it bleed over.
But my fanged smile, almost a snarl born more from my instincts than anything else, kept on growing. It was a natural response to a larger predator.
Still, I kept expanding the walls of thorns as emerald and ruby mana coiled into thread from my paws, weaving my will into reality.
The false kaldorei shook her head and frowned, staring at my magic with wide eyes, "The rumors across the Dreaming and waking world were true then… you use the gift of the reds… strange. How are you doing this, young furbolg? I never heard of a mortal less than one of your kind using this power. What are you? Has anyone blessed you?"
"Uh… You're a bit nosy, aren't you?" I let out,t and from the deepened frown and pursed lips, she didn't like my irreverent attitude. Though I wouldn't say it got her angry either, annoyance mixed with amusement at best.
Heh, who cares, it was the truth. I didn't worship the ground my teacher–the Wise Bear himself–walked on. I certainly won't be for an unknown dragon, even if she was Ysera the Dreamer, for that matter.
Power and age didn't deserve respect by themselves, and she only had the last here unless she was hiding it really well, which would change shit.
"The rumors of your rudeness are no mere dreams either, Ohto. Do you know whom you are speaking to?" she said, and I flicked my ears while raising one of my false lighter-shaded furry eyebrows.
Arrogant then, well, she was a dragon. It was to be expected. But it didn't seem overblown.
"No, and undoubtedly, I'm too blunt for many, but I honestly owe you nothing. And I certainly can't answer your question even if I were inclined to. Not even Ursol and the spirits knew I was born this way." I replied matter of factly as I made sure this part of the thorny barricades was right.
"I presume… That is a fair respo-" Her words were cut brutally short by the violent rumbling of the earth and darkening of the sky as black clouds crackling with greenish electricity swallowed the sun's light, making it appear as a starless night.
"Shit…" I swore, my eyes widened and ears flicking around in disbelief. I wasn't alone as panic spread like wildfire, but it was quickly replaced by grim determination as we enacted our protocol. Many retreated to their stations as many more prepared themselves.
It was like a flip was switched, and the well-oiled war machine turned on.
I vaguely heard a worried 'Lady Merithra' as the green dragoness was rapidly dragged away by what I assured were bodyguards in elven forms. I wasn't surprised.
They weren't fighters, healer, and support, yes, but no fighters; their presence was a risk enough to make the demons worry. And they would be useless with their numbers anyway. Dragons outside Aspects weren't remotely near god-like.
My focus was on more pressing matters.
I grimaced at the sight of several dozens of burning toxic green fiery meteorites appearing like demented vengeful stars as they cut through the unnatural stormy sky raining on us.
It took seconds for them to impact everything in front of me in the distance. Each explosion resonating far and wide made my ears ring painfully, but I pushed it down as best as possible.
Those explosions and the following sound of artillery–gunpowder-based and magical–with that of battle were deafened in the next moment by a deep, bone-chilling voice coming from everywhere at once. It was both a whisper and scream, echoing and directly seeping down your very soul.
"Hear me, night elves and foolish mortals! The time of reckoning has come!"
But that glacial declaration wasn't the point at which I acted. I had been acting the moment darkness swallowed the sunny day.
I was building and growing my armor of bones and wood, which took far less time than usual. It was lighter; my chest plate, arm guards with crossbows, and helmet remained with more minor pieces of armor, but it was the price to pay for being able to take flight swiftly.
And did just that; the sea princess' base needed my help to hold even an iota longer—every second counted.
I caught a glimpse of him in the far distance as I gained altitude—Archimonde, the Defiler, the hated source of countless nightmares and fears of mine.
The time has come.
Comments
Mika Willems
That is either good or bad getting the attention of effectively the princess of the green dragonflight.
Bat
Love how upset everyone gets when Ohto isn’t all reverent. Agreed that just because your old doesn’t automatically mean they deserve deference.
