She hung her head. Long, auburn locks curtained her graceful face and the lantern beside the bed flickered, the arcane flame inside stuttered briefly. The elf gently set a small, pale blue orb back into its velvet-lined case before slipping it into a pocket in her forest green robe. She sighed, resting her elbows on her knees in a position which her mother insisted was “unladylike.” Kiressa didn’t care. She dreaded the aching gnaw of her addiction - a gnaw which she had thought to be gone forever. “How weak our race turned out to be – how vulnerable.” Behind her, Ferris, her pet dragonhawk trilled impatiently.
Quickly she regained her composure, one deep breath and the pathetic, worried look was gone from her perfect features. A glance in the mirror across the room portrayed a calm and collected, almost cold redheaded elf, her face carefully betraying nothing of the worry that tore Kiressa up inside. She stood, smoothed her robe and flattened her hair unnecessarily and slipped through the luxurious silks that covered her quarters behind the throne room in Grommash Hold.
“News from Silvermoon, Ambassador Dawnsinger?” Thrall nearly grunted at her. Kiressa calmly made her way to his right hand side, her little gold slippers barely making a sound as she crossed the large room. “Eh, no matter,” the orc settled himself further into the large chair and began snacking on a bowl of Buzzard Bites. “I hear your sister is becoming quite the jouster! Your mother must be proud to have such a celebrity in the family huh? Grand Champion of Silvermoon!” The Warchief chuckled and having not bothered to swallow, flung bits of masticated food from his mouth. Kiressa attempted to discreetly remove what used to be Buzzard from her left sleeve.
“Yes, she is, M’lord. My mother is very proud.”
“Enough with the M’lord already Kiressa! Now, tell me what ol’ Lor’themar is up to now!”
“I’ve had word that your troops from the Isle of Quel’Danas have retreated to the capital. General Savagedawn and her team are being tended to and ... well, my source says that very few of the draftees returned with them. And nearly all those that did are in critical condition. I’m sorry, M’lord. It seems they’ve failed.” The Ambassador hung her head, another deep breath clearing her face of all emotion before watching Thrall’s reaction.
“It worked so well last time...” a giant, green hand reached up to scratch his goatee.
“My source has reason to believe the demon has fully emerged from the portal, unlike the incident with Kael’thas. It’s possible he is using the portal to funnel an army through to our world from the Twisting Nether and it’s also possible that, unlike the Horde, Kil’jaeden has endless resources.”
“Tell your ‘source’ that Savagedawn is to find a solution. Tell her to take the whole damn Division with her. I’m sure, somewhere deep down, this is her fault. She’s not to come back unless she has a solution!” Thrall’s fist slammed onto the armrest, punctuating his declaration. The orc continued, mumbling under his breath about ‘gods damned druids’ and ‘effing twins.’
Knowing when she’s been dismissed, Kiressa returns to her lavish quarters, settling the same pale blue orb in the palm of her hand.
In a room, far above the red and white city, a matching blue orb was nestled in the palm another elf. The mage’s pale, noble face was equally as emotionless as the Ambassador’s before him, suspended in the transparent orb. “She looks tired, worn – much too old.”
“... The Warchief sends his gratitude to the soldiers who returned with you and his sympathy to those who did not. He has requested that the 43rd find a solution for the disruption on the Isle at any cost and that you do not return unless you have done so. The naval blockade of the island will remain while the Warchief recalls a portion of his troops and trusted Generals from the battle in Northrend.” The Ambassador’s composure falters – her proud eyes look worried and her smooth brow is furrowed. “Good luck, Sei,” she whispers before replacing the communication device back in its case, ending the connection.
“Essentially banished,” the mage stares at the floor in front of him, his eyes not seeing the swirling gold pattern on the rug. He stands slowly, stepping away from the bed to the open window, his impossibly light, white hospital robe settling gracefully about his form. On the bed across from his, Mukesh slept peacefully and he knew the Tauren would wake for nothing less than a voodoo gnome invasion. The Death Knight snorted and rolled onto his side, groaning as he unconsciously lay on his injured leg.
Seishougen looked out on the city he had begun to know as home, its towers and spires as familiar to his eye as his face in the mirror. Below, the brooms kept up their sweeping and the sound had filled the night with its hypnotic regularity. He had fallen asleep listening to the brooms countless times. In the garden around the fountain at the Royal Exchange a stray cat hops and pounces on a butterfly. It was that fountain that - Kiressa drenched from head to toe, sitting in the fountain laughing. Red hair fanned out across the grass in Farstrider Square. A blushing cheek, soft under his fingertips. Green silk-covered hips swaying to the beat of a tambourine in the Bazaar. The gentle curve of a bare foot. A perfect pout. Berries shared at Stillwhisper Pond. Her face alight as her dragonhawk nuzzles her cheek for the first time.
The mage sighs, knowing he’d miss Orgrimmar most of all.
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“So let me get this straight,” Doogie set down her mug of ale, ignoring the cringes of the elves as a water ring formed on the delicate wood, “We’re supposed to fix this. We’re supposed to single-handedly, without any more troops, defeat the most powerful demon in Azeroth and his endless supply of demon soldiers?”
The mage nodded grimly across the table from Doogie, choosing to stand and not aggravate the burns covering the majority of his body. “And we can’t come back until we have a solution,” he added.
“Well I guess that’s one way to see the world!” Cloe chirped from her end of the table. The entire Division turned as one, varying expressions on their faces.
Ren’s hand flew up and smacked her own forehead, “Does anything ever get you down Cloe?” The priestess appeared to think for a moment, but Ren continued, “We’ve been banished from the Horde! Everything gone! Military ranks! My stuff! No more comfy barracks, no more taverns or fancy clothes!” The huntress paused to catch her breath, but Seishougen interrupted her.
“Calm down Ren, we’ll figure something out.”
“No, I will not calm down! We’ve been banished Sei! Banished! What will – Oh, gods, what will my parents think?!?” She sunk down into a finely wrought dining chair, head in her hands. Before anyone could comfort her, Ren had hopped up again and was heading for the door, mumbling about a walk.
The room was silent and tense. Ren’s breakdown had brought to light the gravity of their situation. Before, it had been accepted as another mission – albeit a very difficult one, but just another mission. However, as Ren pointed out, banishment isn’t a mission but in fact lack thereof. At the back of the room, leaning against a wall, Leda sighed. She’d been banished before and it had turned out quite nicely, she thought. Even Iyo, who hadn’t been banished but had followed her anyway, was no worse for wear. They’d all be fine and back in the capital of their choosing in no time. Next to her, Iyo shuffled back towards the stairs, squeezing around elven furniture and the odd floating decor they preferred.
Iyo loved towers. All his favourite books had been found in towers. The Tauren wandered up the stairs, taking his time and pausing at the windows along the way. While Leda preferred the practical, straightforwardness of the Bluffs, secretly, Iyo loved Silvermoon. Thunder Bluff only has one tower and there aren’t any books at the top (or strewn about the floor or piled next to overflowing bookcases). But Silvermoon! Silvermoon is entirely comprised of towers! And all of them hold the promise of dozens and dozens of books. He had already checked out the other rooms while everyone was sleeping, but found nothing. His fingers itched, but that was likely because of the burns on the tips. Iyo glared at the bandages covering them. He’d take them off but Leda would probably yell and throw her arms up like she does. Best just leave them on.
His hooves clicked on the marble stairs as he passed his sister’s room – now empty, but old habits are hard to shake. Probably why they’re called habits and not things you do occasionally. Something you do occasionally would be easy to shake. Iyo sneaking past his sister’s sleeping form to find more books was definitely a habit and not something he did occasionally. Iyo ducked his head under the low ceiling as the stairs continued, almost having to crawl for the last couple steps. Finally the ceiling gave way and his eyes and nose popped up over the edge. The room was empty.
Usually the elves populate every room with a least one red-tinged painting, a large purple rug and some of those odd floating shrubs. But not this room. Suspiciously empty. Pulling himself through the little opening at the top of the stairs, Iyo set to finding at least one book – his clear blue eyes calmly and methodically searching the floor. The afternoon sun was high overhead and like the top floor of most elven towers, this one had no windows but sported two generous balconies. The room was mostly dark, but even in the dim light, Iyo could tell that there had been furniture here. The dust lay in odd patterns, blocking out spaces for bookcases and chairs. Nails protruded out from the walls at random intervals and the Tauren wondered where it all had gone. Why had it been so hastily removed? The balconies revealed nothing except an empty planter, dismally resting on the floor.
With a sigh, Iyo slips back down the stairs to the bottommost room, the one he shares with Doogie. He rummages around in his bag, pulling out three books and, after due consideration, putting two back. The bed is soft and on the short side, but he found it oddly comfortable to have his knees curled around the end of the bed with his hooves resting on the floor. Content, even though having to reread, Iyo wiggles his head further into the feather pillow and begins translating the ancient Draenei in his head.
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“We could use Invisibility Potions to sneak in! I’m sure 10 of us could kill the worst demon in Azerothian history,” Seishougen grinned weakly.
“No, it would take at least 25,” Doogie mumbled, not bothering to look up from the map she was busy memorizing.
“Sergeant An’telas could teleport us in?”
“How many times do I have to tell you Mukesh? Call me Seishougen, or even better – Sei.”
“What about teleporting a hundred giraffes in?”
“How would that help Em?”
“We could throw him a party! Maybe he’s just misunderstood?”
“And Cloe wants to give Kil’jaeden the birthday bash he never had. We’re never coming back are we?” Doogie sighed and let her head fall onto the table with a bang, a resounding groan following as she remembered the concussion from earlier all too vividly.
---------------------------------------------
Upstairs, the druid sits up suddenly, falling off the bed in his haste to get downstairs. He nearly trips over his hooves on the landing and runs right into the middle of the conversation, almost destroying the flimsy elven table.
“Hey!” he yells, “Hey, hey! Hey!” He flings around a decrepit book, dust puffing up into little smoke clouds above their heads.
“I think he’s trying to tell us something.” The 43rd’s heads swivel to find Ren standing in the open doorway having returned from her walk calm and collected. Behind her, Brock pets a butterfly resting on his finger, making disturbing kissy faces at the bug. “What is it boy?” She grins, poking fun at the jumping, stuttering Tauren on the opposite side of the room.
Cloe’s giggles set everyone else off and the priestess asks in between gales of laughter, “Wh-what is it Iyo?”
He takes a deep breath and cradles the book to his expansive chest, “I found it. I know how we can get rid of Kil’jaeden.” Eyebrows are raised around the room.
“Elaborate, please Iyo,” Leda sighs, used to not understanding him, but frustrated all the same.
He grins, takes his time getting comfortable on a tiny chair and opens the book up to the first page – the strange symbols nearly dancing across the parchment. “Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a race called the Eredar.”
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I have begun this journal as an aide for all the Eredar, so that they may know their leader’s minds and hearts and so that they may understand the decisions we make. This is the chronicle of our time and I am Velen, a leader of my people. Currently, our triumvirate consists of myself, Archimonde and my most trusted friend Kil’jaeden. We reside in Mac’Aree, the capital city, in the tallest of many tall towers. The view from our meeting room is incredible, but unfortunately often goes unappreciated. We are very busy and must watch the screens in front of us rather than gaze at the beautiful city below. I must admit, there are many days I would rather be strolling in the soft lavender glow of the Aranium crystals or watching the tilenies swim beneath the sparkling waters of N’don Lake. While we are fortunate to be living in a time with no sickness, no hunger and all our people housed and happy – there is still much for the triumvirate to accomplish.
------
I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting you, journal. My last entry was nearly 2 weeks ago – how quickly the days pass! The triumvirate has been busy negotiating a treaty between an Aranium mining company and a group of naturalists who wish to preserve the area which is to be mined. This treaty has taken up the vast majority of our days and I have spent many nights attempting to solve this sensitive problem. But this treaty is not why I have resumed this journal. A strange being, alien to our world, approached the triumvirate. He calls himself Sargeras and he wishes to unite the universe with our race as his most powerful followers. He has chosen us to spread the light! We need only to pledge our allegiance to him and this power and this mandate will be ours to uphold. Archimonde and Kil’jaeden have already begun to spread the word amongst our people. Many are excited by the promises of visiting new worlds and spreading the light and happiness we share with the entire galaxy. I will go to bed early tonight, as I find my best decisions are made after a good night’s sleep; however, I believe Archimonde and Kil’jaeden are likely to accept this generous offer before my eyes shut.
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Deceiver! I have had a dream, a vision, of what is to come! Sargeras does not speak truthfully and wishes to betray us. In my sleep, I saw myself spreading the light and joy he spoke of and the next moment, I saw his true intentions. The Eredar were no longer themselves, but horrific, malevolent shadows of their true nature. We were not spreading light and joy, but death and destruction. It is already too late for Archimonde, Kil’jaeden and the Eredar that follow them. They have gone from Argus and I fear they know not the deception of their new master. When I woke from the horrific nightmare that was to be, I prayed for guidance. How could I escape from this powerful being? How could I lead the Eredar still left on Argus from this terrible fate? A bright light appeared in my room, as if in answer to my prayer. It spoke, whispering in my mind. We are to flee the city, gather our forces, those who oppose Sargeras, and meet atop the highest mountain south of the gates.
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I am glad I remembered this journal, for it will be very useful indeed to have a chronicle of the unsettling times we find ourselves in. We have fled Argus and left the beautiful capital Mac’Aree behind. The Naaru (for that was the strange light in my room that night) K’ure aided us in our flight and we have been living upon the ship Oshu’gun for many months. At last we have found our new home world and we have elected to call it Draenor and ourselves, the Draenei. Our new capital, Shattrath, is in construction as I write this and I reside in the Temple of Karabor while it is being completed. We have established friendly relations with the natives – the Orcs and Durotan and I have broken bread in Telmor many nights this week.
-----
I write hastily as I fear there will be none left to explain the events occurring. The Orcs have been attacking the city, killing merchants and couriers and refusing to explain their actions. I am not aware of any acts of hostility from the Draenei people, but the violence has been increasing rapidly. My temple in Shadowmoon Valley has been defiled and serves now as Gul’dan’s base, full of corrupt warlocks. The assault on Shattrath has begun and my personal guard are anxious to flee the city. We will flee to the north – to Zangarmarsh, in hopes of hiding from the attacks of the Orcs. I hope that w
-----
We are safe. Telredor, our new city, full of Draenei refugees, has been founded high atop a mushroom. Expeditions are being sent out daily for food and freshwater and we are forced to ration very carefully. Many are able to continue with their lives – the young are still taught their daily lessons, researchers are examining various plants for cultivation, etc. There hasn’t been an Orcish attack in nearly three weeks, but we cannot reside in Telredor forever. I am working to find a solution, to find a new, peaceful world where we can live in harmony with the natives. I am reluctant to turn to the Naaru again. If we rely on their generosity too much, I fear myself and my people will be unable to retain our independence and autonomy.
-----
It has been a year since my last entry and still we have no way to leave this world. Our situation is much the same as it was – we are still under strict rationing and many who leave the city to gather food do not return. I will write again when our situation changes.
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It has been five years since my last entry and I am writing now because the earthquakes began an hour ago. Again, I fear for my life. The large fungus our city rests atop has been stable so far, but many nearby have crashed to the ground. The shaking subsides only to begin again mere moments later and in increasing intensity. I do not know how long we can survive in Telredor....... Ash has begun falling from the sky and the quakes continue. Several Broken have taken refuge in the city and have told tales of many portals opening at the hands of Ner’zhul, chieftain of the Shadowmoon Clan. It is likely the stress of multiple portals which is causing Draenor to collapse. I do not know what will become of us and I mus
Our world has been shattered. The plains to the west of Zangarmarsh will no longer provide us with the valuable wild grains we use to make our bread. Scouts report that there is ... nothing – that the plains are now... emptiness. But the earthquakes have ceased. I do not know the outcome of Ner’zhul’s attempts or even his intentions. Regardless of the events in the east, now that the earthquakes have stopped, life in Telredor continues on as before. It may be possible for us to flourish again in Draenor if the bloodthirsty Orcs have travelled through the portal, as I suspect.
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It has been two years since my last entry. Since the shattering of Draenor at the hands of the warlock Ner’zhul, food has become scarcer. Without the bountiful grains from the western plains, we are near starving. Our plans to leave this world have begun to attract attention and the majority of our efforts are toward this end. I no longer believe the Draenei can make this world our home. Many have volunteered to collect supplies for our long journey east to the portal. Many have not returned and I fear the worst. Earlier today, a scout returned from the northeast, Netherstorm. She has found a ship; one so similar in design that she is certain it was once used by our allies – the Naaru. It now appears to be abandoned, but it may be our only hope of leaving this place.
-----
We have succeeded, but I have little time to write. When we arrived in Netherstorm, we found that our only hope of escape from Draenor was already occupied. An attack was mounted and we managed to escape in the engine wing of the large ship. Unfortunately, many of the recent inhabitants remained onboard when we disembarked. The fighting continues as I write this and many of the tall, slim creatures are adept at blending with the shadows. They elude us still. I am confident we will be able to eradicate them and continue our quest to find a peaceful home world. Even no
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Hours ago, our ship crash landed on the coast of a small island. I have been informed that the interdimensional engine had been tampered with, likely by one of our onboard adversaries. After the engine was engaged, a large explosion followed. This is likely the closest world to Draenor and I have fears that it was to this world that the eastern portal led. It is unknown whether this world is inhabited by sentient races, but scouts will be dispatched at the earliest convenience.
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We have made contact with a civilized race. Calling themselves Night Elves, they hail from an island in the northeast and the mainland to the far east. Already they have brought aid in the form of food and medical supplies. I have great hopes for this world, which the elves call Azeroth.
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I fear that Kil’jaeden and Sargeras will find us here, in Azeroth. The portal in Draenor does indeed open into this world and it has recently come to my attention that the Burning Legion, as they call themselves, was behind the sudden Orc hostility in Draenor. I have taken measures. These are desperate times and we have no way of fleeing Azeroth at this time. I have created a weapon in secret. None but my most trusted advisors know of it. If Kil’jaeden steps foot in this dimension, this weapon will activate. Until then, it will remain hidden and passive. My weapon will destroy the Burning Legion, once and for all.
I have hopes that those who remained behind in Shattrath managed to escape to the portal, as they had planned, however I fear they have been corrupted. As I write this, an expedition is being formed; I will lead them to the portal in what the elves call the Blasted Lands, in hopes of finding our brave brethren.
-----
We have found them! Sadly, we can no longer call them our brethren. They have been corrupted and have lost the powers of light we used to share. My entourage has decided to call them Krokul, meaning Broken in the Common tongue. Magtoor, their leader, has told me of their flight and those who went insane with homesickness after crossing through the portal. The Broken of Harbourage reside in the Swamp of Sorrows and fend off these Lost Ones daily. I intend to assign Anchorite Avuun as ambassador to these Broken Exiles. Perhaps he can convince them to cease their dealings with the nearby Horde in Stonard.
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“And that’s where the account ends,” Iyo sighed. He flipped through various blank pages at the back of the book before closing it and placing it carefully on the table.
Around the room, Forsaken, elven and Tauren mouths hung open. Silence blanketed the Sin’dorei tower and Brock’s snores could be heard faintly from outside. Leda was the first to draw breath.
"Where the hell did you get that Iyo?” Behind his chair, his sister glared at him, hands on her hips. “I hope to Ysera that you didn’t steal that from someone! The diary of the Draenei prophet?!?”
“Yeah, Iyo. That’s not exactly something you can check out at the Exodar library,” Cloe whispered, fearing the worst.
“I found it. It was just lying on the floor. Floor books are always the most interesting.”
“Where was it on the floor?” Leda demanded.
“Well, remember the time we got lost in the swamp outside Stonard? On our way back from Outlands to check out Zul’Aman. It was just... on the ground somewhere.”
“On the ground somewhere? It wouldn’t have happened to be on the ground near that weird looking Draenei camp would it? Maybe inside one of their funky tree-houses? Hm?”
The Tauren shrugged. “It might’ve been.”
“Iyo!”
“But... but but floor books!”
“Enough you two!” Doogie’s fist hit the table and a couple thin-stemmed wine glasses tipped over, their contents staining the warrior’s map of Quel’Danas. “We’ve got the book; it doesn’t matter where it came from.”
“But it’s not like we can just request an audience with the leader of the Draenei. They wouldn’t allow a Horde military division within the city if their lives depended on it. What good is the diary, really?” Ren pointed out, picking up the map and attempting to blot the red wine off the Sunwell. Her nose wrinkled in frustration as she only managed to erase the lines instead of the wine.
“Well, at least it’s a start,” Cloe beamed at Iyo. Despite her misgivings about his somewhat sticky fingers, he had come up with the most viable option for them to see their families again. “I’m sure we can find this weapon, whatever it is. Velen was new to Azeroth at the time; he can’t have hidden it that well!”
“Well, where are we supposed to start?”
“Why don’t we ask the Broken where they got it? Why would Velen willingly leave his personal diary with beings he no longer considered part of his own race?”
Leda sighed, covering her face with her hands. They didn’t have much longer in the city before they would be thrown out. It was nearly sundown and they had to leave anyway. “Alright. Swamp of Sorrows it is. Be ready to leave in an hour. Oh, and someone find Berzhula, please,”
the Tauren sighed. She hated the swamp.
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