We are allies, Broll Bearmantle, the spirit insisted, spreading his open palms toward the night elf. As he “spoke,” Zaetar’s form wavered, as if he were part of the mist.
“He has led us throughout this trial,” Arei added. “And is one reason we still stand…”
Though it is doubtful that we can stand more than the few weeks we have…
“‘Weeks’?” Broll blurted. “You’ve been fighting this for weeks?”
The spirit’s expression darkened. He looked away.
“When I and mine entered, Zaetar and those he gathered had thought that they had been here for more than a year even though it had been but a few scant weeks,” the ancient of war answered.
The craggy face twisted into a frown. “What day was it when you entered, Broll Bearmantle?”
The night elf told him.
Arei’s shock was clear. “Only eleven days? I was certain that we had been here ourselves for nearly a season…”
The Nightmare twists time even as it is known in this place, Zaetar commented angrily. All is meaningless here save the struggle…
“You spoke of others in here who also fight against the Nightmare,” Broll said, thinking that perhaps one of them had found Tyrande. “I’m hoping that they can find she who was with me!
Where are they?”
Now the spirit wore a grim aspect. He gestured at the dark mist.
Druid, they are all around us…
As Zaetar said this, his hand seemed to sweep back the foul fog from all around. The air did not exactly clear, but Broll could now see for some distance.
And what he saw was the most shocking yet.
They stood alone or in small groups. They were scattered for as far as the mist allowed him to see, and he had no doubt that there were others farther on. They were druids, ancients of war, dryads, and others with ties to Azeroth’s nature and the Emerald Dream.
Some wore solid forms; others were in dreamform. A few were like Zaetar.
Among those in dreamform were some whom Broll did recognize and in that recognition was overwhelmed with horror. They were druids long lost on Azeroth, their bodies unable to cope anymore without food and water. Some had been dead for months, but their dreamforms appeared unaware that for them there was no returning.
Or perhaps they did know, for many of them remained at the forefront, doing what they could to halt the Nightmare.
And the Nightmare itself came in the form of the same dire darkness that had briefly overwhelmed Broll. It most resembled an insidious cloud or perhaps a massive swarm of black ants. It moved and weaved, and wherever one of those fighting it faltered, it poured forth with obvious eagerness. Lengthy tendrils darted well beyond Zaetar’s companions, proof that their efforts were not sufficient.
The defenders struck at the Nightmare with a vast array of spells, the only real defense against such a foe. As most were druids, they fought using their calling. Hulking bears battled beside swift, darting cats, each bite or slash of claw accompanied by flashes of power. Yet although this seemed to hold the darkness in check, Broll could not help feeling that the defenders did not truly injure what they fought.
Above, a dreamform storm crow soared over the edge of the Nightmare. It showed some desperation that even in dreamform the druids had to turn to their other guises to add weight to their fight. The Emerald Dream had been a place where their calling had known no bounds, yet now all that had changed.
Other druids retained their original forms. These sought to manipulate the Dream against the Nightmare. Under the guidance of some of Broll’s brethren, lush grass grew taller than trees, then, as if swaying in some tremendous wind, sliced the encroaching shadows to ribbons that dissipated.
There came an avian cry. Caught up in its attack, the dreamform storm crow had not paid sufficient attention to some of the tendrils that it had severed from the Nightmare. Now some of those loose bits of evil had snared its wings.
As it plummeted toward the sinister mass, the spirit of Zaetar moved to help it. His power reached out to the stricken druid —
But before Zaetar could finish his effort…a murky shape that resembled a great dragon’s head thrust out of the Nightmare and swallowed the storm crow whole. The horrified onlookers watched as the avian descended through the misty fiend’s “gullet.” In desperation, the druid reverted to his normal shape, but though he was in dreamform, he could not penetrate his monstrous prison.
The head descended back into the Nightmare.
The defenders returned to their overall efforts, but Broll sensed his comrades’ morale drop. This could not have been the first such loss and would certainly not be the last.
Twice this number and more were there of us once, the spirit sadly verified to him. Zaetar clenched his fists. But one way or another, they were taken…and now, as corrupted, they serve it…
“Lethon…” the night elf muttered. The shadow had reminded him of the foul green leviathan.
There are worse things than dragons even, but Lethon and Emeriss have served the Nightmare well…
Broll had seen enough…or too much. “I’ve got to find Tyrande
…she went in search of Malfurion! There’s an orc loose here and she carries a weapon capable of slaying him…”
I have already reached out to all to see if there has been a sign of this, the flickering Zaetar responded, confirming that he saw within Broll’s thoughts. None have responded in the affirmative…
“She headed toward what she thought a keep—”
There is no such structure…
“I saw the outline myself! I was following after—” Broll looked to Arei, but the ancient shook his massive head. “We saw it—”
The mist began to surround them again. One by one, the distant defenders faded from the worried night elf’s view. Somewhere out there was his shan’do and the high priestess.
And a murderous orc.
Zaetar looked disturbed. I know what you plan…it is foolishness! You will only give yourself to the Nightmare —
“If it’s to happen, it’ll happen one way or the other!” Broll said with a snarl. He thought hard. “Where’s the Nightmare worst?”
With resignation, the spirit pointed far to his left. The mist thinned enough to show the undulating emerald-black darkness.
That is only a shadow itself of what is within…stay and fight with us, Broll Bearmantle…
In response, the druid transformed into his cat shape and bounded toward the spot. Arei started after, but Zaetar shook his head. Let him continue on his quest…it may be that he will succeed and they will free Malfurion Stormrage…
“Is this possible?” the ancient asked.
The spirit turned back toward the battle against the evil tide.
Though he stood far from the visual edge of the struggle, his powers already assaulted the ever-growing evil. No…but just as we are doomed to failure and still fight…so, too, will Broll Bearmantle and others such as Malfurion’s love — the high priestess Tyrande Whisperwind — continue to seek him…even though in the end the Nightmare will consume them all…
She was almost there. Thura could smell her prey…or at least thought that she did. He hid somewhere in the shadowy keep.
The orc did not know this foggy land, but what discomfort she felt while traversing it was minor compared to her eagerness at finally closing in on the cowardly murderer. Soon, so very soon, she would avenge her kin.
Something moved in the mist. Thura had been aware for some time that there were others around her. They were more than beast, though they also seemed not quite like any foe she knew. In her mind, they likely served Malfurion Stormrage. Of course he would have others defend him.