The Great Forge, Ironforge - Khaz Modan

  The pit of roiling lava that surrounded Ironforge’s largest anvil roared with molten heat, its eternal flames casting deep shadows across the towering stone walls and intricate;y carved Dwarven homes that encircled the Great Forge. Laronar stood beside his friend Hjaldi, a seasoned blacksmith, though never before had he undertaken a task of such magnitude. The Storm Claw lay upon the Great Forge’s central anvil, sparking with the power of Xuen and a Storm Dragon Matriarch, kept in check by Ashamane’s gift.

  Hjaldi ran a rough hand along the weapon, his brow furrowed with a mix of determination and doubt. "This be unlike anythin’ I’ve worked on before, Laronar. Ancient magic loike this...ets older than you, ets temperamental. Unforgiving." He glanced at Laronar. "If ye’ be certain this ritual of yers will work, then we best be gettin’ started."

  Laronar nodded in agreement. "This weapon was forged with techniques that have been lost since before I was even born, Hjaldi. It will take both our crafts, and all of our knowledge, to empower it. Thankfully, we have enough absurdly rare and powerful materials to do the job."

  Hjaldi let out a deep sigh before setting to work. He brought forth ingots of Elementium, harvested from the darkest veins where the Black Dragonflight once hoarded their cursed treasures. He laid out bars of Khaz’gorite, their bluish gold surface gleaming with the power contained within. In a carefully warded case, a chunk of Eternium pulsed with dormant power, harvested from the far reaches of Outland, imbued with that doomed world’s powerful, chaotic energies. "These’re rare. Damn near impossible tae get. Ye have the rest?"

  Laronar stepped forward and emptied a satchel full of Truesilver and Thorium onto their work space as well. The rare ores were as potent as the other materials they’d gathered, including carefully stacked and divinely blessed Mooncloth from Darnassus and the Temple of the Moon, an Eternium Rod, and several Greater Eternal Essences. "This should be enough. The ritual will draw the innate power from these materials, while you combine the modern metals with what my ancestors used."

  Hjaldi nodded. “Aye…this will take some time. Let’s begin.”

  As the ritual commenced, the Great Forge flared, responding to the infusion of raw elements. Hjaldi’s hammer rose and fell in precise, ringing blows, folding layer upon layer of infused metal carefully into the already existing claws, lengthening and enhancing them, while Laronar opened the ancient spellbook he’d pulled from a half-sunken library in Azsuna, with the help of a rather friendly disembodied Kaldorei spirit librarian who had yet lingered in their world. He began chanting in the tongue that had predated Darnassian and Thalassian both, a tongue few still remembered, but he at least knew how to read and speak. Sparks erupted, the fusion of heat and magic being drawn from their materials, forging something stronger than either could create alone. The Storm Claw trembled upon the anvil, drinking in the power hungrily, the once-dormant runes around its gem settings now flickering with renewed life.

  Time passed, and both Hjaldi and Laronar were sweating as the fires of the Great Forge intensified with their efforts. The teamwork of Dwarf and Night Elf, as well as the materials and energies they were wielding had drawn a crowd of smithing enthusiasts, and while there were guards too, so long as things didn’t get dangerous, they would not interfere with such an obviously skilled blacksmith. To do so would practically be sacrilege to the Dwarves. The tension was palpable as the final strike echoed through the chamber, and the Thorium and Khaz’gorite fused to the metal already present in the weapon. The Storm Claw pulsed violently before stabilizing, arcs of intense blue-white lightning crackling along its surface. The very air around it hummed with power. Hjaldi took a step back, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow as he beheld their work. "By the ancestors... we did et, Laronar. Et’s aloive again."

  Laronar exhaled, running his fingers over the awakened artifact. "Now...it’s time to infuse it with power. Power enough to bring down the Burning Legion."

  Hjaldi set about the preparations as they took a brief break, carefully arranging a collection of powerful artifacts and weapons that neither could use, but that they required the inner magical essence of, on the stone table beside the Storm Claw. The Storm Claw trembled as they began, and Laronar used the Eternium Rod in conjunction with his ancient ritual to guide the energies drawn from the powerful materials coiling around them like living strands of power. Sparks of natural and arcane energy wove together, as the raw magical power was pulled from the materials they’d arduously gathered, into the waiting Storm Claw. The runes etched into the weapon glowed brighter with each passing moment, drinking in the boundless magical energy until, finally, the infusion was complete. The very air around the weapon pulsed with renewed energy, and for the first time in ages, the Storm Claw was again awakened, and empowered.

  Hjaldi roared as he brought his top tier smithing hammer down one final time, his entire body straining with the effort. The sound rang through the chamber, deeper and more resonant than any before it. The Storm Claw absorbed the impact with a hungry surge of power, its ancient elvish runes igniting like stars bursting to life. Lightning arced across its surface and flared into the air, before Laronar’s will guided the flaring plasma around and back into the weapon, illuminating the chamber in bursts of pale blue and silver. The Storm Claw trembled, then let out a deep, reverberating hum, as if singing its return to the world.

  Laronar staggered back, as the ritual concluded, and found he was rather tired. No small amount of his own mana had been needed to awaken and bind these powerful, and now largely inert materials together. He could feel the weapon’s energy coursing through the air, crackling and alive. The bond was reforged, its essence restored. The Storm Claw was not only repaired, it had ascended to a level of power either equivalent or beyond what it had once possessed. The ancient relic pulsed with renewed vigor, radiating power unlike anything he had wielded before.

  Hjaldi stepped back, falling on his hands and knees, sucking in deep breaths as the final strike had drained his mana as well. He gasped, his voice thick with awe. "That be no mere weapon now…ets a force o’ Nature, reborn. Try et on, Mate."

  Laronar reached forward, sliding his hand into the gauntlet-like artifact. The moment his skin touched the metal and wrapped around the handle, a surge of power raced through him, an almost electric presence that sent shivers down his spine, and made his long hair flare with static and his amber eyes burn with flaring waves of power. He had wielded this weapon before, but never like this. Never had it sung to him, never had it pulsed in time with his own heartbeat. Not even Ashamane’s Fangs had been so thoroughly tied to his essence. A faint ringing filled his ears, and he could’ve sworn, in the corners of his vision, he saw the flicker of ancient Kaldorei Wisps. If they had wisdom to impart however, they kept it to themselves in that moment.

  He turned to Hjaldi, his expression grim yet resolute. "Now," He said, his voice steady. "It’s time to put it to use." Hjaldi nodded, in agreement. Some weeks had passed since Laronar’s strike mission on Draenor, and with the conclusion of that war in another timeline, Archmage Khadgar himself had warned of the Burning Legion’s impending return to Azeroth.

  Glancing over at the murmuring crowd as their noise rose and filled the air, Laronar and Hjaldi shared a look. They had been watching the pair, but now, some new fuckery was drawing their attention. Laronar’s ears twitched, and his mouth hung open as he heard the heavily accented Common of the excited Dwarves. “Can ye believe et!? King Magni! ‘Es back! An’ made o’ bloody Diamonds!”

  Sure enough, the gleaming figure of former King Magni Bronzebeard strode out from the depths of what was known as Old Ironforge, his daughter Moira and young grandson Dagran in tow. The gleaming Dwarf raised his hands for calm, as he addressed the crowd. “My people! I return now tae ye not as yer King, but as Azeroth’s Speaker! Just now…the Burning Legion opened another Portal to our world!” Despite being made of diamond, the former King’s face was expressive, stern and concerned. “The Burnin’ Legion ‘as returned. The Fourth Invasion o’ Azeroth has begun. Prepare yerselves…we’ll need everyone.”

  Laronar shuddered, with what he recognized as fear. The last time the Legion had come, his people had sacrificed everything to destroy them, or more accurately, their leader. Archimonde had apparently returned at the climax of the conflict on Draenor, and was yet again defeated, this time, of course, by a band of war-hardened adventurers, clad in the finest armor the world of Draenor could produce, with weapons to match.

  “I…I need to go, Hjaldi. Thank you, truly, but…they will need me.” Laronar said hurriedly.

  The tired Dwarf nodded. “Aye lad, I understan’. Go, go! The Dwarves o’ Ironforge will soon join the fight! Stay alive, Archdruid.”

  Without delay, Laronar shifted into his flight form, the storm-infused energies surging through his owl feathers, propelling him forward at speeds beyond mortal limits as he screeched and spun into the air out of Ironforge. He headed back to Stormwind, his large wingspan eating up the miles in mere seconds. He let out a loud, piercing shriek as he arced over the city, and then headed for Duskwood. Those who could understand the call, knew what it meant, and had long feared hearing it. The Legion had returned, and the World needed her defenders.

  Other Flight Forms filled the air behind him, and as Laronar passed over Goldshire, he briefly considered summoning the druids lurking there as well. Then, he shook his head, mostly in disgust. No, not even the Legion warranted calling on the darkness in the Lion’s Pride Inn.

  Some evils were best left undisturbed.

  He arced up over the once-corrupted World Tree that, despite its size, remained an apparent mystery to the inhabitants of the corrupted forest below. He saw maybe twenty other druids winging their way through his turbulent, sparking wake, and then dove down, masterfully dodging through the branches, and landing before the Dreamway portal.

  Had he waited before entering, he might have noticed the ominous red tinge around the portal, but the Archdruid was in a hurry, and the last thing on his mind was the state of Nightmare corruption in the Dream. As he entered the Dreamway though, he soon realized, with horror, that the Nightmare had indeed returned. An ever-present blanketing mist surged through the Dream’s vital webway, and without hesitation, he took his patron’s form, and began cutting into the corrupted flora and Nightmare spawn.

  It was a sign of how unnerved he was, that he didn’t bother with his usual stealth tactics, and with the Nightmare very obviously preying upon his fraying nerves, it deafened him to the baritones of a welcome ally. Finally, his voice cut through the fog on Laronar’s mind. “LARONAR STORMCLAW!” Blinking, the druid stopped charging at what he thought was a blighted monstrosity of Nightmare, its form coalescing as Keeper Remulos. Returning to his elven shape, Laronar shook his head.

  “My apologies, Keeper…the Nightmare is…clouding my mind. A moment. I’ve prepared for this, but was not expecting it now of all fucking times.” He muttered the words for an ancient spell brought forward in time and altered to cleanse Void taint by his efforts, and the efforts of his friend Isoraen Nighstar, a spell designed specifically to Remove Corruption. The cleansing arcane light swirled around his heavily muscled frame, and his thoughts became focused and calmer again. “There…my senses are cleared. I am glad this works.”

  Remulos nodded sagely. “The efforts of yourself and Archdruid Nightstar are a welcome boon against this resurgent corruption. It is no coincidence that the Legion’s return is marked by this unholy taint upon the Dream…Archdruid Naria was also here, though I seem to have…misplaced her. Find her, end the source of the corruption, and I will endeavor to reopen the Dreamway’s portals, and clear a path to the Dreamgrove.”

  Eyes widening at the Keeper’s words, Laronar wasted no more time, and dashed back into the fog once more as a Nightsaber. The Dream was his ally, and this corruption was fresh. Each manifestation of Void taint he ripped apart made it easier to follow the scent of his former lover, and eventually, he closed in on her location. He wasn’t surprised she was here either, the Sharpclaws were long tasked with maintaining the Dreamway, and upon sensing this foul taint, she would have leapt in without hesitation.

  Laronar knew her scent well, and in short order found her convulsing on the ground beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient, corrupted, red-limned oak, her body convulsing as glowing red tendrils wrapped around her arms and legs, burrowing into her skin as they siphoned her very essence. Her eyes flickered between clarity and madness, her connection to the Emerald Dream fraying at the edges, barely holding on. A cold fury surged through the druid as he saw the state she was in. He would not allow the Nightmare to claim her.

  He raised his hands, calling upon the energies of nature, channeling a perfected Remove Corruption spell. Arcane and Nature magics intertwined, forming a blinding spiral of blue-white magic that burned the corruption away from her limbs. The air vibrated with power as the Nightmare recoiled, some foul entity within the mist screeching as its grasp on Naria was forcibly removed. Her body went limp, and then stirred, her eyes opening and a small smile appearing on her lips as clarity returned to her gaze. She looked up at him, her amber eyes shimmering with gratitude, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she seemed glad to see him. “L-Laronar…? Is this…another false vision?”

  He helped her up to a sitting position, and pressed his forehead to hers. “It’s really me. I’m here. Remulos sent me to find you. The Nightmare almost claimed you.”

  She gave him a small smirk that he found he’d genuinely missed seeing. “And you and Isoraen’s silly little Cantrip freed me…” She sighed, and leaned into him, taking in a familiar and welcome scent. “My apologies for ever mocking it. You were both right to study it so hard…even if it distracted you for so long.”

  Laronar returned her smirk, and brushed her sweaty green locks from her face. “The only thing that could have pulled me away from you, was fighting the eternal Void taint in the Emerald Dream.” He pulled her to her feet then, and suppressed a chuckle as he felt her eyes on his muscles again.

  “Did…did you…somehow get even stronger?” She asked, incredulously, as her cheeks turned a shade darker.

  Laronar winked at Naria, and gently squeezed her shoulder. "You can see for yourself laterrr. We must go. The Dreamway needs to be cleansed. Remulos is waiting."

  Naria, still regaining her strength, steadied herself, nodding. "Then let us not waste any more time."

  They moved on the source of corruption within the Dreamway then, a massive cyclopean abomination, which they dispatched rather easily, between their bleeds and their bites. Laronar could tell Naria was eyeing his new lightning, and how familiar it looked, but they didn’t have time to get into why he was sparking like a certain August Celestial. Once they arrived in the Dreamgrove, Keeper Remulos galloped straight to Archdruid Greathoof, who remained the leader of those who dwelt there.

  “I felt the Legion’s return, Keeper. These are dark days, but it lightens my heart to see you again.” Resnar started.

  Remulos nodded his head urgently. “Always a pleasure, Archdruid Greathoof. But we’ve no time for pleasantries. The weapons of old must be retrieved, and reawakened. And there is more…when Malfurion comes through, warn him that a new Nightmare taint has befallen the Dream. Archdruid Naria was nearly consumed by it, and would have been, if not for Archdruid Stormclaw.”

  Rensar Greathoof nodded sagely. “Your skills in dealing death are as potent as ever I see, Laronar. Very well. I have some students who may prove capable of wielding such artifacts…I would have suggested Stormclaw take up his patron’s Fangs again, but…it seems you already wield an artifact of great power, Archdruid.”

  Laronar smirked, and nodded. “An old family relic I found in Pandaria. A tale for another time, Rensar. Do we know from whence this new corruption spreads? We must stop it. Quickly. If it has already reached the Dreamway, it must have taken root in Val’sharah.”

  The aged Druid of the Antler pondered for a moment, then said, “I will dispatch the Druids I have in mind to retrieve the weapons of old. You and Naria should venture into the depths of Val’sharah, and find this corruption’s source. And tread lightly, Stormclaw. The Nightmare appearing now, of all times, is no coincidence. Watch yourselves. The Legion’s return will have brought Satyrs with them.”

  It was strange to think, but said Satyrs had probably been preparing for this fight almost as long as Azeroth’s mortal races had. Now, both sides would see which methods yielded stronger results. The Legion had numbers, but their quality was, typically, quite bad.

  Together, Laronar and Naria took off, sprinting through the ancient forests, towards Ashamane’s Shrine, first. Before all else, they had both quietly agreed that making sure she was safe was a priority. All around them the signs of the Legion’s return were painfully clear. The ground beneath them trembled violently with each thunderous impact of Infernals plummeting from the skies. The land itself cried out in the wake of the Legion’s relentless invasion, great fissures cracking open as Fel fire consumed everything in its path. Towering columns of emerald flame erupted in the distance, a clue to just how bad things were going in Azsuna. But they could only deal with one crisis at a time.

  The sky, once filled by the gentle glow of Elune’s light, was now clouded with a maelstrom of darkness and destruction. Massive black Legion warships loomed above, their jagged hulls bristling with infernal artillery, their cannons hissing as they rained devastation upon the land. The air reeked of sulfur and burning flesh, a cacophony of screams and battle cries mixing with the guttural roars of monstrous demons pouring forth from the portals that had been ripped open across the Broken Isles. Even the Temple of the Moon was under assault, but the druids focused. Getting distracted in a conflict this large was a good way to end up dead.

  The quiet tranquility of Val’sharah was now very much gone, and Laronar wondered if it would ever truly return. Darkshore, Ashenvale, Felwood, everywhere the Legion touched, they left taint and ruin. Then, he remembered, it had taken quite a long time for Kalimdor to recover from their first invasion, if one could call being sundered apart into countless pieces recovering. Each year saw the shores erode further, and such things were only increased by the Goblins of the Horde blowing everything up every other week.

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  Ashamane’s Grove fared little better as they arrived, and it pulsed with ancient power, its protective wards struggling against the tide of Fel energy pressing in on all sides. Ethereal green barriers flickered erratically, their strength waning rapidly under the overwhelming corruption. With a growl, Laronar went right, while Naria took the left, and the two powerful Feral Druids tore their way through the embattled Ashen defenders, taking down infernals, doomguard, and several swarms of imps. Each defender they freed increased the speed at which they took down the next demon, and soon, the grove was clear of attackers, but this wasn’t a true invading force. Laronar recognized Legion cannon fodder when he saw it.

  Laronar met Delandros Shimmermoon, and warned him that one of Greathoof’s students would be by to wield the Fangs, apparently. Laronar and several of the Ashen had mixed feelings about that, but he knew very well that the Circle had far more naturally gifted druids than himself. What he had achieved over ten millennia, they could gain just by taking up a portion of Ashamane’s power, and in a war like this, they needed as many powerhouses as possible.

  With Ashamane safe, they took to the skies, daring the demons in flight to test them, and test them they did, but Laronar’s sparking talons tore through all of them, while Naria’s owl eyes just watched, impressed. As they flew towards Shaladrassil though, the awful truth was revealed. The source of the Nightmare’s corruption…was the World Tree itself. Unnatural abominations of demon and Nightmare swarmed them in the air, and the two druids struggled back towards the Dreamgrove, not daring to land within the heaving crimson hellhole that northern Val’sharah had become. Laronar understood immediately though. He’d known as soon as he saw the World Tree, what had caused this latest shit storm atop a Legion Invasion. The timing reeked of Satyric planning.

  And he had words for Malfurion.

  They arrived on the outskirts of the Dreamgrove, and saw Malfurion Stormrage himself, with most of the assembled Cenarion Circle, inducting new Archdruids into their midst. Naria moved to join them, but Laronar held out a wing, eyes narrowing, as the legendary druid, first of his kind, among Kaldorei anyway, came running down the path towards them. Laronar’s sharp ears caught mention of him heading to Cenarius, so now was as good a time as any.

  Falling back from his perch on a branch over the pathway, Laronar masterfully backflipped, and landed as an elf before Malfurion. “Ahh, Laronar Stormclaw. It is good you have returned to the Isles. I was just on my way to Cenarius-”

  “Have you seen Shaladrassil?” Laronar cut in, eyes practically burning with rage. “Do you have any idea what they’ve done to the World Tree!?”

  Malfurion bumbled over his words. “Wha- Laronar, I don’t understand what-” Once more, Laronar cut him off. Normally, for ages now, he had considered Malfurion wise, but this latest fuckup, the latest in a long line of fuckups, was the breaking point for his respectful demeanor.

  “The Nightmare, Malfurion. The Nightmare rules all of northern Val’sharah…and it spreads further as we speak…it's probably reached the Temple of the Moon by now…” Laronar snarled, “And do you have any idea why? How did such foul powers slip past every single ward, defense, and Protector we set upon this sacred vale? What force let them pass Thousands of Years of defensive protections in a fucking Day!?”

  Malfurion's eyes widened, as he understood why Laronar was so enraged. “Oh no…the Satyrs…they’ve woken up…”

  “OF COURSE THEY FUCKING WOKE UP!” Laronar roared, shattering the tranquility of the Dreamgrove and drawing curious stares of nearby Dryads and Treants. “WE WARNED YOU THAT THEY WOULD! HUNDREDS OF TIMES!” His voice quieted then, as he realized Naria was holding his shoulder. He hadn’t moved to attack Malfurion, but he did have a history of losing his shit. A history they both knew well. But his rage, while potent, was focused, honed by Xuen’s teachings. He saved it for the Legion, but sparks still began rolling along the Storm Claw’s surface. His voice was low and furious then, as he practically whispered to the Archdruid. “Every Keeper…every Druid…every sacred shrine to an Ancient, every powerful artifact, every murdered resident of Shal’anir who now lies twisted and broken before the Satyrs you refused to kill when you had the chance…is on your head, Malfurion Stormrage. Go. Run to Cenarius…while I clean up your fucking mess… Again.” Guilt came over the antlered Archdruid’s features, as he very vividly still remembered Fandral, and all he had inflicted upon Hyjal. And who had ultimately slit his throat after, in a quite similar situation, Malfurion insisted that he be kept alive and imprisoned, instead of simply ended.

  With a genuinely irritated snarl, Laronar was once more in his Cat Form, dashing through the foothills around the Dreamgrove, as getting to the heart of this spreading corruption by flying simply wasn’t possible with the demons so active over their portion of the Isles. Naria was left standing awkwardly with Malfurion. She shrugged, as Laronar and Thaon had told him, for eons at this point, that keeping a cache of Satyrs sleeping beneath Shaladrassil was a genuinely bad idea. They’d both last brought up the notion of slitting their throats after the Nightmare War, and once again, Malfurion had denied Thaon his vengeance. Now that denial had cost them almost half of their oldest, most sacred grove, and likely its defenders.

  Laronar was an enraged blur as they reached the crimson, blighted lands of north eastern Val’sharah. The bodies of slain Kaldorei were everywhere, if one knew where to look, stabbed repeatedly by gleeful Grell infused with the crimson void taint. Laronar understood by this point, how the Nightmare worked, and if he wanted to draw out the goat-like cowards behind this latest infection, he knew his anger towards Malfurion would draw them like moths to a flame. It was justified, righteous anger, the kind they loved to twist, and that urge would spell their doom.

  He tore through anything that possessed the Nightmare’s taint, flora, fauna, and no small amount of demons, of course. He didn’t know how long it took them, but he did wait for Naria as he proceeded. Strong as his mind was, it could be manipulated subtly, but the visions it caused were Always unique to the mind processing them, and it was that flaw that would keep them sane.

  The Nightmare was aware of this flaw, and its minions spent great effort to drive them apart, to no avail. Everything that came for them was mercilessly ripped to shreds by the feral Archdruid. He relied on his claws for this, as he had in Northrend, as ingesting any of this taint, even accidentally, was probably a bad idea. They eventually made it to Shala’nir, where it was clear that the town had been the epicenter of the darkness that surged into Val’sharah.

  As they reached the center of the ruined town, prowling in the shadows, their surroundings were quiet. Too quiet. Laronar had no doubt the Nightmare understood there were yet uncorrupted defenders of Nature in its midst, yet its minions stayed hidden from them. All but one, meant to draw them out. Ironbranch was as close to a son of the Ancient known as Oakheart as such beings could have. Ironbranch was to Oakheart what Oakheart was to Shaladrassil, an offshoot of the older flora, which had grown into a valiant defender…before paying the price of Malfurion’s passivity. Tired of the Nightmare’s games, and unwilling to watch a once vaunted defender of his home’s most sacred grove paraded before them, Laronar signaled to Naria, and the stealth sabercats moved to pounce upon the corrupted Ancient.

  The fight was quick, brutal, and inherently depressing. Ironbranch roared as they ripped and tore into him, promising to stomp them into the ground, and yet like every other scion of this new, but noticeably weaker incarnation of the Nightmare, Ironbranch fell before their bleeds and well-paired tactics. “My leaves…have fallen…” The Ancient groaned, before collapsing in a heap of dead wood and red particles. Laronar’s eyes narrowed. It was always hard to tell with Shadow entities, as they loved to overplay their own power, but the facts were undeniable at this point: this version of the Nightmare was simply not as strong as that which had overcome the majority of the planet. Xavius had spent ten thousand years planning that war, but this…this was an infestation born of opportunistically placed Satyrs, and convenient demonic timing. The result, was a fast-spreading but ultimately weaker strain of corruption. It would not stay weak though, that much, he was sure of.

  What had damned Shaladrassil’s defenders, was their deep ties to the World Tree, not the Nightmare’s power. Whatever greater entity was corrupting the World Tree had taken over so many of its defenders through surprise and the sudden onset of the corruption, but Laronar had no doubt, it was seeking to grow more potent with each passing minute.

  As Laronar and Naria honored Ironbranch with a brief prayer from their Kaldorei forms, and then prepared to move back into the shadows as Nightsabers, the ground below them betrayed them before they could shift, bending to the will of the Nightmare’s scions. Strong, curled grasping roots dragged them through the earth, and they emerged…in the Sanctum of G’Hanir, which to their surprise, was still uncorrupted, somehow. Aviana’s statue still stood, but then, the druids saw what, or rather who, awaited them, and things became clearer: this patch of ‘untouched’ nature, was a mockery. A taunt to any defender of Life.

  Archdruid Glaidalis, one of Laronar’s own most naturally talented students once, now stood as a paragon of Nightmare corruption. His once masterfully enchanted bark armor made from Shaladrassil itself now irreversibly twisted, blackened, and glowing with that same red tinge. He was flanked by a Green Dragon, twisted and crimson, and Oakheart himself, the one no doubt responsible for dragging them here, who was as corrupted, if not more so, as his fellow fallen defenders.

  “Oh…Shan’do Stormclaw…” Glaidalis began. “I always feared your…Feral nature would bring you to corruption…and now it has brought Archdruid Naria as well…this…genuinely saddens my heart to see. I will do what I can to cleanse you but…the Nightmare’s taint already runs deep.”

  Laronar blinked in confusion, and then, spied the Satyr behind him, smirking with undisguised glee, and the pieces fit together. Glaidalis was naturally powerful, trained to purge Nightmare corruption…and he had been deluded, to the amusement of the Satyrs. “Glaidalis…you are the one who has fallen…look at yourself, Thero’shan. Your armor is tainted and twisted, your grove lies within the center of the Nightmare’s taint.”

  Glaidalis’s armored head tilted, and then looked at his armor. “Me? I…am not…wha- my armor!? I…” With an irritated sneer, the Satyr raised a hand to the twisted Archdruid behind his head, and Glaidalis looked back at Laronar. “Oh…Shan’do Stormclaw…it seems you have fallen to Nightmare as well…” Crimson eyes burned from within the wooden helm. “I’m afraid the only cure for you now…is Death.” The corrupted Archdruid raised a hand, and Laronar grabbed Naria’s arm as his corrupted student sent them tumbling into a deep tunnel, covered with serrated vines.

  Laronar wrapped Naria up and used Barkskin as they fell, taking the entirety of the damage for her. Unfortunately, this just helped the Nightmare finally taint his body more easily, as it corrupted the Nature magic. He decided to let it corrupt as much bark as it wanted, making his second skin grow larger, but appear to be corrupting him. The wounds were shallow, but potent, as the corruption stretched through the layer of conjured Ironwood. They were dragged by Oakheart to another thorn encased thicket, though this one appeared to be outside of Shaladrassil.

  Sure enough, the gloating Satyr leapt down after them, and chuckled darkly as he saw Laronar on his side, covered with bark and crimson rot, and Naria kneeling beside him, tear stains on her cheeks. Yet he did not move.

  Perched above them, the confident Satyr sneered, and Naria snarled at him, taking her Cat Form. It didn’t differ much in appearance from others, save that it was heavily armored with hardened bark, and occasionally sparked with a familiar blue-white lightning. “He doesn’t look so good, Archdruid of the Sharpclawsss…” The Demon hissed. “Not long now…before he ssservesss Xaviusss…”

  Naria’s heavy feline eyebrows rose in surprise, and the Satyr chuckled, as he continued monologuing. Naria flicked her tail towards Laronar, raising a barrier of thick green vines in a wall to defend him, as she left him and stalked towards the Satyr.

  “Oh? Didn’t know who was behind all of thisss?” The Satyr gestured to the crimson corruption around them. “The ssstrongest elven ssssorceror to ever live…that’s right, little cat…Xavius hasss returned!” He’d slowly matched the distance with the feline predator as she stalked towards him. Something about that vine wall looked off, and sure enough, as he came to the other side of it, the male Archdruid was gone, all that remained in his place, was a bunch of rotting Ironbark that had been made thicker.

  As the Satyr realized this with a hiss, he looked back at Naria, who was smirking. Then, the druid seemed to roll, along with the entirety of his view, at which point, the Satyr realized his head had been torn from his neck in a single blow. Laronar Stormclaw picked it up, and snarled at the demon as he shifted from Nightsaber to Night Elf.

  “Thanks for the intel, morrron.” He sank the Stormclaw into his face for good measure, filling his last moments of this incarnation on Azeroth with searing pain. “Let’s get out of here Naria…” Laronar muttered, not wishing to test their luck further. Sure enough, a moment later, the area erupted in rage and thrashing vines, but the stealthed panthers were already long gone.

  As the two Archdruids headed back to report the total loss of Shaladrassil and Glaidalis to the Circle, something else called to them, a pull of dread that neither could ignore. The scent of corruption was thick in the air, and they followed a large root of Shaladrassil heading southward, eventually leading them to Moonclaw Vale. The two druids shifted into their elven forms mostly out of shock, and disbelief. The remnants of battle were everywhere, along with corpses. Circles of demonkin surrounded fallen still-shifted Feral Druids, Moonclaw Druids, and Laronar began looking frantically through the carnage for the form of his friend.

  Naria wept quietly, having trained many of these young druids herself at one time or another. Unlike Laronar, she had chosen to emulate the ‘arcane claw’ of Ashamane, rather than the ‘nature claw’ that was Laronar, and his 'heal through damage and keep applying bleeds' tactics. The vale was silent, though in the distance the sound of the Legion’s ongoing and worsening invasion could be made out. “Naria…” Laronar finally spoke, following a trail of blood and claw marks that rivaled his own in size and ferocity. The body of a dead Night Elf adventurer lay beside a beheaded Satyr, one that Laronar recognized. “This is…Xandris. Xandris the Dishonored. It seems Thaon has finally taken his justice…” Looking up, he noticed a cage, within which was a weeping Kaldorei woman.

  In short order, he’d slashed through the chains holding her. “Please! Archdruid!” She said, looking at him and recognizing his battered, dirty form for what he was. “Xavius! Xavius is here! Archdruid Moonclaw went to stop him! Please, hurry!”

  Laronar’s eyes widened. Thaon was brave, but surely not stupid enough to challenge a being on Malfurion’s level, alone, with his power clearly on the rise. Although…the Nightmare had clouded his own vision, and Thaon had not learned to Remove Corruption. “See to her!” Laronar snarled, leaping into his Cat Form, and sprinting for the Archdruid’s Den. How many times had he and his oldest friend smoked in this very den? How many tales and memories had they shared? Laronar barely had time to take in the utterly trashed den, as he sprinted towards Thaon’s scent.

  He came upon a scene that made his heart sink. The admittedly terrifying false onyx eyes of Azshara’s Lord Advisor, now burning crimson with whatever higher power had dragged his soul back from death, again, and empowered him, again. “Ahhh…” Xavius crowed confidently. “The Storm Claw of Ashamane…lovely…I did want the set…” He raised a clawed hand towards Laronar, but the druid had already cast Remove Corruption, and leapt, biting through the arcane image with a single, thunderous chomp from his toothy maw. Xavius seemed properly pissed as Laronar’s power eradicated his spell, but his dark work had already taken over Thaon.

  “Laronarrrrr…” His friend snarled, feline lips pulled back into a smirk. “This powerrr…it is greaterrrr than Herrrsssss…” He hissed, as the two massive sabercats began to circle each other. Laronar knew what had to be done, and his eyes sparkled with light tears as he saw his oldest friend reduced to a slavering fool, a mere pawn of garbage like Xavius.

  “Imbecile…” Laronar hissed back. “Togetherrrr…we could have resisssted him!”

  “Why continue to rrrresist the inevitable, my frrriend? This powerrr! I have become stronger even than the Ancientsssss! Come…I will show you…” The crimson furred, corrupted form of Thaon Moonclaw lowered, ready to pounce on him.

  Laronar closed his eyes, squeezing away the tears, and when he opened him, they burned with the anger of a Wild Goddess spurned by her champion. She understood, of course, what had befallen Thaon…but it still hurt to see one she had favored and elevated for so long so easily turn away from her power, his duty, and embrace something as fleeting as the Nightmare. Both she and Laronar had thought better of Thaon…and yet Xavius had corrupted him anyway.

  “No, my friend…” Laronar spoke clearly, brimming with natural power. “It is I who will show You…and maybe one day…Ashamane will be able to forgive you for this…atrrrrocity.”

  With that, the two massive Nightsabers leapt, devolving into a flurry of claws and fangs. Laronar could barely bother defending himself. He was distraught, and Thaon…Thaon was as good as berserk. He did not require tactics to defeat, this was not how the Moonclaw Archdruid of the Ashen fought. This was how a mindless beast battled. Every swipe he made on Laronar, he countered with his own, and then used his Regrowth for good measure.

  Thaon Raked his claws along Laronar’s dark hide, but the Stormclaw Archdruid did the same, with the difference being that his wounds were healing, and his damage was increased by the power of the Storm Claw. Its first true, proper test against an opponent that could match his strength…and he had to sully it with the lifeblood of his oldest friend. Blood poured from Thaon’s wounds, driving him even further into a frenzy, and though lightning sparked around Laronar he, for the first time in his long life as a hunter, hesitated. All the memories were clouding his vision. Racing through Val’sharah, dueling before Ashamane’s own statue, smoking some dank herbage along with Isoraen as the three shirtless males shared a Moonwell, and good vibes. Laronar retreated in that moment, leaving the Cat Form side of his shifted mind to take over, and do what he simply couldn’t.

  With a single, perfect, thunderous bite, it was over, and as quickly as Laronar had given up control, he had it back. He felt Thaon’s throat in his jaws, tasted his corrupted blood, and spat, then vomited, still shifted, gagging, and crying silently as he tried to process what had just occurred. He returned to his elven shape, and knelt/crawled towards his dead friend. He wiped his eyes on the freshly bloodied Storm Claw, and then cast Remove Corruption on his friend’s corpse, with as much mana as he could. He had no fucks to give about limits, he willingly burned all of it, just for the chance that it would save his friend’s spirit from corruption as well.

  Thankfully, as the ghost of Thaon Moonclaw rose, entering the Emerald Dream, as powerful Archdruids often did upon dying, his body was once more free of corruption. “Thank you, brother…” He said softly, his voice echoing.

  “I’m…sorry I wasn’t here sooner…I should’ve come sooner…”

  “Then you would have fallen as well, Laronar…stay strong. The Ashen will need you, now. You can no longer linger in the background, getting high and shirking your duties. They will need a leader against the Legion…and not all of my Moonclaw Druids fell. Train them well, old friend…”

  With his energy spent on his final words, Archdruid Thaon Moonclaw vanished into the Emerald Dream and the realms beyond life, leaving Laronar alone in his defiled home, with his corrupted body. For a long time, the Archdruid sat and quietly wept, but eventually, he had to move. Even down here, the sounds of the Legion’s invasion could be heard, their Fel taint omnipresent since their arrival, and growing worse with each passing hour. He raised a hand, and let the Archdruid’s home claim his body, buried deep in the soil, where the corruption would naturally be cleansed, with time. The ladies had apparently checked on him at some point, and were waiting when he finally ascended. The demonkin had been purged with Moonfire, while the Moonclaw Acolytes had been buried in a rather tasteful graveyard. Still, the lingering crimson thorned roots of Shaladrassil and the omnipresent Fel clouds did little to improve the scene.

  Naria guided the woman, Evelle, back to the Dreamgrove, while Laronar reported to the Grove of Cenarius, where apparently, Malfurion was waiting for Thaon to join him. Instead of the Moonclaw Archdruid, he got the Stormclaw, and upon seeing Laronar’s haggard form, stained with tears, dirt, and no small amount of blood, he assumed the worst.

  Laronar looked around as he arrived. Cenarius was unconscious, because of course he was already out of action, yet another tragedy heaped on to the fucking pile. Archdruids Elothir and Koda Steelclaw nodded to him as he arrived, but Laronar could only glare quietly at Malfurion.

  “Thaon Moonclaw is dead.” He said simply, unable to add anything else, and the silent weight of his words made their faces fall.

  Finally, Malfurion at least tried to say something positive, leader that he was. “I…I’m sorry to hear that, Laronar. He…was a powerful Archdruid, and a good friend to you, I know.”

  Laronar took a long, calming breath, his amber eyes burning with intensity. “Spare me your sorrows, Malfurion, and just…give me a task, or something. After this… after what has befallen Shaladrassil, I just need…a task. Or something. Anything that gets me away from you, honestly.”

  Elothir’s eyes widened, and Koda stared, shocked at the venom in Laronar’s tone. His ‘chill vibe’ was practically legendary, but then the Archdruid’s faces sombered as they put two and two together. They knew who had warned Malfurion, countless times, about the danger of letting Demons just sleep forever under a World Tree. It hadn’t stopped Saronite, just advanced Fandral’s plans, and now, once again, the Void made use of their assumption that planting World Trees on fonts of evil Shadow taint was a good idea.

  “I…I understand, Laronar. My brother’s Demon Hunters have joined our fight, and the Alliance and Horde both…your brother among them. They fight even now, in Azsuna, and could use our aid.”

  “Then I leave for Azsuna.” Laronar said, deadpan, turning and just leaving.

  “Laronar!” Malfurion called out, and the ancient druid’s ears wilted as he saw the fresh sparkle of tears in his contemporary’s eyes as he slowly turned his head back towards them. “I am truly sorry…your words earlier…you were right. You and Thaon both. You were right. I hope…some day…that you can forgive me for…yet another failure as a leader.”

  Laronar let out another shaky sigh, and steeled himself for the battle to come. Distraction led to death. Thaon had taught him that. “Some day, Malfurion Stormrage, I might forrrgive you…”

  He looked away again with a snarl, and continued walking, muttering, “But not today…”