Then Malfurion tried something that he had never done before. It was his best hope of reaching all those still able to help Azeroth.
The archdruid reached into Teldrassil and through Teldrassil into Azeroth, using the fact that, no matter where someone could be found, it would be a part of the world.
And Teldrassil and Azeroth gave him what he sought.
Malfurion let out a tremendous gasp as he suddenly saw everywhere in the world at the same time. It was almost too much.
Had it been any other mortal than him, Malfurion understood that they would have gone insane as their mind fragmented into a million bits and more. There were things he had never known existed and things on the periphery that filled him with dread, ancient evils locked deep within the world that had a familiar hint to them but were pushed back as thousands of other things demanded his attention. With so much from the great to the very tiny assailing him, even he had to fight at first to maintain both his focus and his sanity.
Again, it was the World Tree and Azeroth from which he drew his strength. The danger of becoming forever lost faded. Malfurion looked upon his besieged world and found those for whom he was seeking.
They were not nearly as many as he hoped, but among them, he found those essential to his plan.
Varian eyed his beleaguered force. He knew that there were still pockets here and there throughout the capital and possibly beyond, but they were shrinking fast. That came as no surprise to him, for weapons were useless. Mostly, he and his men had to flee, an ignoble course, if necessary.
Fire seemed to slow the horrific throngs — at least somewhat.
The newest wave of terror — the sleepwalkers — on the one hand presented an even greater shock to the mind, but they were also a foe that could be physically battled. The only trouble was that there remained the inherent hesitation to do harm to an innocent, even if that innocent was wildly attacking.
But desperation had caused more than one of Varian’s dwindling force to bloody their weapons and he himself had had to strike hard blows.
Varian…king of Stormwind…
It was only due to the calm and comforting tone of the voice that Varian knew he was not falling to the Nightmare’s power. The Nightmare offered no reassurance; it seemed to drag its victims immediately into their fears.
Varian…comrade to Broll Bearmantle…I am Malfurion Stormrage…
He immediately straightened. Although Varian had not met the famed archdruid, like many leaders in both the Alliance and Horde he knew of Malfurion’s role as leader of the druids. The efforts of the druids had been critical in winning the Battle of Mount Hyjal and, consequently, the Third War. Varian had not been on Kalimdor at the time, but had heard the tale in great depth.
That the archdruid now spoke in the king’s head was not so surprising. However, as welcome as Malfurion’s presence was in some regards, Varian had little time to give him. Matters were becoming even more desperate.
“Whatever you want, better speak it fast…” the lord of Stormwind muttered low so as not to have his soldiers worry that he was talking to shadows.
Varian, I need you to lead those that will attack the Nightmare where it is most vulnerable…to attack it within the Emerald Dream…
“I won’t abandon Stormwind!” Without realizing it, Varian raised his voice. Some of his soldiers glanced at him, then went back to their frantic struggles.
Everyone must abandon what they cherish, if they hope to save it…
Varian gritted his teeth. “Damn you…but how do we get out of here and where do we go even if we make it?”
There is no need to leave…all you have to do is simply follow my instructions…
A screaming figure lunged at the king. It was one of his personal servants. The man’s eyes were shut and his face was drawn in such a terrible cry that it looked as if his jaw had become unhinged.
What he was screaming about, Varian did not pay attention. The sleepwalkers all suffered individual nightmares in which they tried to strike back at their tormentors — who were always the defenders.
Varian attempted to strike the wild-maned man on the side of the head with the flat of the blade. The sleepwalkers could be downed that way, although it generally took more than one blow.
But the servitor suddenly shifted position. Rather than the flat, Varian cut him deep with the edge.
Blood poured from the wound. The stricken sleepwalker collapsed onto the king. One of the soldiers immediately tore the dying man from Varian, but the lord of Stormwind did not notice. All he knew was that he had finally slain one of his subjects, another nightmare to add to those he already suffered.
“Whatever you want to do, do it, then!” he snarled at the unseen Malfurion. “And do it quick!”
The archdruid told him what to do. Varian looked incredulous, then surrendered to Malfurion’s suggestions.
“Lay down your arms!” he shouted to others. “Sound the call to stand down!”
I will have to use some force… Malfurion added. I will need to start with you, the better so that you can touch the rest…
“I hope you know what you’re doing! We’ve been taking a potion to keep from—”
That will not matter. My work will override all…
The king grunted. As his stunned supporters watched, Varian reluctantly shut his eyes…
And immediately went to sleep.
High above the rest of northern Mulgore — situated on the high bluffs near the Stonetalon Mountains — lay the chief city of the tauren. Until the building of Thunder Bluff, all tauren had lived a nomadic life. Only in recent times, with the expulsion of the centaur marauders from their lands, had Hamuul’s people finally established a settlement comparable to Orgrimmar, Stormwind City, and other capitals of Azeroth.
Four mesas made up Thunder Bluff, with the largest and most populated in the center. The great totems of the tauren stood tall over structures that drew much from the race’s past as perpetual wanderers. Even the great houses were built like the long, wooden structures once used by the tribes for the winter seasons, while the smaller domiciles surrounding them were fashioned after the pointed, wood-and-animal-skin tents which had for generations served the daily purposes of the nomads.
The tauren had chosen the location for strategic means, the mesas giving them great defense against most enemies. However, even the bluffs were of no protection against an enemy that was much a part of oneself…
This, Baine Bloodhoof, son of the great tauren chieftain, Cairne, understood too well…now. Ax in one hand and a short, thrusting spear in the other, he stood at the forefront of a band of warriors blocking the bridge leading to Middle Rise, where the tradeskill area had, until recently, thrived. Middle Rise was all that was left somewhat defended in the northern and eastern part of Thunder Bluff. The horrors had overtaken the rest, though there were a few tiny spots of resistance.
Cairne’s son thrust with the spear at a staggering figure just a few feet ahead, trying to fend him off without killing him. Baine knew the other tauren, a former comrade named Gam. They had fought centaur side by side. Now Gam, eyes shut tight and mutterings concerning the four-legged marauders slipping from his mouth, tried to kill Cairne’s son as if he were a centaur.
Gam kept coming. In the end, Baine had no choice. His dark brown coat and black mane already matted with blood despite the protective leather over his shoulders, hump, and arms, Baine drove the spear into Gam’s chest.
With a grunt, the sleepwalking tauren dropped his weapon, then fell off the rope bridge. His body plummeted to the plains below, fortunately disappearing into the accursed mists and thus saving Baine from watching his friend’s body shatter.