Resistance-3 (Patreon)

"Just how much longer are we gonna be underground?" 'Licia muttered, staring up at the cavern roof far above. Sometimes, when the conjured lights shone just right, she felt like she was standing in the maw of some great beast – a thousand thousand teeth all ready to clamp down on her. She was a girl of the seas and headlands, salty winds and freezing wet spray cutting to the bone.

Only a dwarf could understand this maze of tunnels, not that Dougan seemed to be enjoying them. He and Littlewing had been bitching more than normal from the first moment they got down here.

"Not long yet." Cenarius answered, the bloody quiet giant deer-man stepping out of the shadows to all but scare the shit out of her. "We have passed from the roots into the Barrow Deeps, the Druids of the Claw slumber only beyond the river." He gestured forward – but through the darkness of the caverns, Alicia couldn't see a damn thing.

"Such an extensive cavern network is unheard of in the Eastern Kingdoms, this rivals even the tunnels dug throughout Khaz Modan by the dwarves and gnomes." Proudmoore said, raising a hand and conjuring more lights to cast out far ahead of the army so most of them weren't walking blind. "I can scarcely believe that they are natural, nor that the furbolg could have dug out such an immense system by themselves, and, forgive me Lord Cenarius, but neither you nor the night elves seem the sort to seclude themselves underground."

Furbolg? It took Alicia a moment to remember that it was the name for the bear-men with whom they – more Cenarius – had negotiated with to gain entrance to the 'roots of the world'.

Weird bunch, but if they were sensible enough to at least wear loincloths they couldn't be beasts even if they looked like them. Seemed more civilised than gnolls at least – not that that was a high bar. Bloody ettin were more civilised than gnolls.

Thrall grunted, running a green hand along one of the many stalagmites as they passed. "They are not. The stone remembers hands, shaping and... guiding, until it became something new. Yet it scarcely remembers a time before..."

"You have seen the kin of those that worked these tunnels, young shaman." Cenarius spoke as if he was dispensing ancient wisdom. "In ages long past the earthen walked this land, shaping the earth beneath the feet of all living things into a realm of wonders. When the world was sundered few survived, and of those that did, they dwindled quickly. Only the kaldorei remain who remember them."

"And the rocks themselves, apparently." 'Licia snarked, getting a disapproving frown from the orc Warchief in turn. Didn't like being joked with much, that one. "Figures the dwarves got here first, their histories have them waking up from some big underground place before they settled Khaz Modan. Few thousand years back, that."

Now it was Proudmoore's turn to shoot her a look, though just a curious one. "I'm surprised you studied dwarven history. The founding of Ironforge is quite fascinating, isn't it? If there truly are connections between their origins and these caves they will surely wish to know."

"I'm no scholar." She retorted at Proudmoore. "Dwarven history's just part of our history too, we were the ones who discovered them and first started trading and all that."

As Jaina started to ask more questions about the history of the caverns, the connections the dwarves had to the ancient earth, 'Licia tuned them out. Someone would find it all important, she was sure, but that person wasn't her.

Eventually, the river Cenarius had mentioned finally came into sight and they travelled down its length towards a crossing. Ancient ruins became more plentiful, including some great edifice of stone that set the elves whispering amongst themselves for some reason; General Feathermoon certainly didn't seem happy to see it, though she didn't explain a thing.

Not that 'Licia expected them to. Everyone knew stories of tight-lipped elves that weren't willing to open up to save their lights, holding themselves as superior to all the mere mortals. Feathermoon was apparently over ten thousand years old.

"We are here." Cenarius said, interrupting Proudmoore's questions and halting the column. He raised an arm into the air, fingers closing slowly and quietly. "Ursoc, Ursol, the Son of Malorne demands passage to the dens beyond."

The subsequent magic show, forming a bridge of shimmering light, was somewhat underwhelming to 'Licia's eyes. He'd dragged them more than a mile upriver to create a bridge?

Cenarius turned back to them. "From here only I and–"

"Turn back!" A shrill screech echoed as some owl-faced beast strode out onto the bridge. "You are unworthy to bask in the bear gods' presence!"

"One of the ancient watchers." Feathermoon muttered with narrowed eyes. "But why?"

The creature, Watcher, flapped its wing-arms and screeched at them once more before taking its overlarge body and sprinting away.

"So. I'm figuring this isn't part of the expected nap time for these Druids of the Claw?" 'Licia said, glancing up at the giant beside her. "Something disturb their hibernation or some such?"

"There is more to a druid's slumber than mere sleep." Cenarius answered tersely. "The Emerald Dream requires tending and renewal, shattered as it was during the Sundering of Kalimdor. Over time much has healed but new evils have slipped into my realm; despite the Barrow Dens being made to prevent such things, it seems one such evil has corrupted the guardians and taken root here."

Feathermoon clicked her tongue loudly and made a series of gestures that saw her people rushing forward across the bridge. "A failure of our watch." She hissed darkly. "Our brothers sleep to mend the world, and we stand as sentinels to guard them from all that would threaten their task. Whatever ill ails them, we will slay it."

Sniffing the air, Hellscream snorted, his nostrils flaring wildly. "Dragons. Black dragons, I remember that smell. Like the forges of Blackrock."

"Buggering hell." 'Licia spat, and her curse was but one of many that came in response to that. Nobody liked fighting dragons; though maybe that was more nobody sane, as Hellscream had whatever passed for an orcish grin plastered across his ugly mug.

Cenarius shook his head. "No, this is not the work of the black aspect or his children. I do not doubt their presence but they would not allow one of Elune's favoured to roam free without some way to enslave it to their will."

Weren't that a wonderful thought, dragons enslaving things that could talk. Maybe there was some truth to the more nasty stories about the bloody things. "I'll get the cannon brought up." 'Licia said without much enthusiasm. "If there's dragons we'll want something to shoot them with that they'll remember."

-oOoOo-

As they returned across the spectral bridge, their task complete, Jaina had to admit she had learned less than she might have hoped from witnessing Cenarius awaken the Druids of the Claw from their slumber; or rather freeing them from being trapped in their animal forms. That they had lost themselves indicated some connection to standard polymorphic magic, which denied the ability to retain a thinking mind, yet otherwise... nothing.

Their transformations were fluid and smooth, without distortions, as if each step of the process was a fully realised creature, viable in nature. And though it was not instantaneous, it was swift enough that she had to utilise her knowledge of temporal warping just to observe it properly.

Still, though she had hardly gained any insight into how she might mimic such an effect – more of an intellectual curiosity than a practical desire, something she had time for with events coming as quickly as they were – she had seen enough to determine that it had little in common to the more painful, and twisted, shapeshifting the prophet utilised.

Much closer to Gwyneth’s, adding credence to his statement that her secrets were not his to share. She had come by it on her own, further adding to the many questions she would have to ask her when they next met.

But such were thoughts for another time. There were more important matters that required her attention, such as the fractious alliance between their forces.

"I must thank you again, Thrall." She said as she steered her reluctant horse near his wolf. "Your efforts against the drake were impressive and spared us from expending resources that can be better utilised later."

Grommash Hellscream's nose had proven correct about the presence of dragons, though they were little impediment to a force as well appointed as theirs. A single drake and a clutch of whelps might have proven a danger to a lesser force but Lady Candren had not had time to bring up her cannons before they were dealt with.

"The Earth reeled at their presence." He grunted in answer, but only elicited more questions in her mind.

"A shame you didn't leave any for me, Brother." Grommash chuckled. After a moment he turned to look at her, a grimace flicking across his face before he inclined his head. "Though you took your share as well. You were taught well."

She smiled back at the compliment, awkward as it was. "My Master has been the most prominent Archmage of the Kirin Tor for many years, and I am glad to do him proud." Her smile flickered as she thought of her master for the first time in weeks, knowing his plan must have failed. She had to hope that he was alive and well; there was little she could do to change events a world away now. "Do you mind if I ask about the methodology you utilise, Thrall? It is unlike the magic the orcs were recorded to use during the first and second wars."

Eyes narrowed his nostrils flared, but, after a moment he released his brooding anger in one great breath. "I am no warlock that enslaved my people. The elements speak, I listen, and as I hear their call they hear mine; the Earth reeled at the presence of the black dragons and was more than willing to aid in ending them."

As good an answer as she could have hoped for! And hope for the alliance between them, while still fragile, was rekindled.

Events had changed so drastically she had feared that it had been lost; the grand moment of alliance, saving Grommash from his fall and allowing his redemption against Mannoroth, had been averted. To the greater good, with the Wild God leading them and speaking quietly to the druids assembled under his banner, but the friendship she was supposed to have formed with Thrall had never appeared.

"Interesting." She answered honestly. "My own people have similar practices, all young children in Kul Tiras are tested to see if they can hear the whispers of the Tidemother, the words of wind and the call of the waves. I was not so blessed, though I still have an affinity with water elementals and frost magic befitting any good Kul Tiran."

"Hah. That explains much." Eitrigg said from his position on Thrall's left.

He fell back into silence, but as their questioning gazes fell upon him he started to speak once more. "I was part of the crossing of the sea from the Wetlands. At every turn, the ships flying the anchor flag would catch the wind and move to intercept us. The very elements themselves were against us." He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

Thrall shifted uneasily on his mount. "I know that the elements had forsaken our people, yet for them to turn against us..."

"They didn't forsake us." Eitrigg said quietly, scarcely a whisper. On Thrall's other side, Grommash bared his teeth and nodded so stiffly he seemed pained. "We fell for Gul'dan's lies and forsook them. All save Durotan did so willingly... or died for their refusal."

The last chief of the Frostwolf Clan, Thrall's late father. The one for whom Durotar, the land in which they had fought Mannoroth, had been named for.  Hearing about the deception, that they had been betrayed, was also an excellent way to build rapport, to share a hurt if they would listen. Yet her heart ached at the thought of speaking of those events, of just how Lordaeron had come to fall.

Swallowing, Jaina gathered her nerve to speak of the nightmares and doubts that still haunted her. "The Legion is clever, they did not defeat Lordaeron through open warfare. P-prince Arthas was m-manipulated and deceived–"

"Oi! Jaina!" Alicia yelled from the front of the column, both a relief and an awkward interruption that left Jaina stumbling over her words. "Scouts say Ironblast's lot has showed up! Bunch of elves and orcs with 'em too; Stormrage and Whisperwind is my guess."

A large green hand rested lightly against her arm. Eitrigg's. He said nothing but there was understanding in his gaze – a deep feeling of failure that may never fade.

For all she had been trying to build kinship with Thrall, form a connection with the orc that she had been destined to befriend... she instead found it with one that Gwyneth had never even named. Things may not be as they would have been, but she, no, they all, could hope that they would be better.

"Saurfang will be with them. Shall we go, Thrall?" She said, putting on a mask of surety she did not feel.

"Yes, let's."

-oOoOo-

After traveling through the dark and infested caverns for several days, at last they came to some semblance of a landmark. “The pathway cuts off to the south, but this doorway looks promising.” They had left Cairne and his tribe to aid a tribe of furbolg, while Saurfang’s orcs cut through the corrupted creatures. Only the earthen and his followers, better suited to navigating these caves, followed them deeper.

Though she could not deny that she was glad they had been saved, to have the satyr the orc had taken under his protection out of sight for the moment was a weight off her mind. She could not help but suspect treachery from them.

Furion paused to examine the gateway beside them and began to pale. “Oh, no. How could I have forgotten?”

Fearing the worst, some ancient evil sealed deep beneath the earth, Tyrande moved closer and laid a supportive hand upon his arm. “What is behind this door that worries you, my love?”

“This door leads to Illidan’s prison, Tyrande.” He said with a growing grimace of anger. “We should go… now!”

"Illidan?" Tyrande said in surprise, her love's words making her look upon the gates beside them with new eyes. Within moments she caught sight of the murals, worn down by millennia, which still adorned the gates and walls and remembered; the Watcher's prison, sealed so long ago to hold their darkest prisoners. "It's been ten thousand years!" Oh, how had she forgotten Illidan, how long had he languished in the dark alone? "Could he still be alive? We should free him, Furion! He would be the perfect ally against the undead and their demon masters!"

"No Tyrande!" Furion snapped at her defiantly, both against her suggestion and good sense. Had he not said they needed every soul to fight the Legion? "That beast must never be set free!"

"But he is your brother!" She protested, recoiling and pulling her arm away from him. Illidan had committed a great crime against them, none could deny, yet ten thousand years of punishment was enough! He had fought beside them once, and would do so again!

Furion met her gaze, his eyes gravely serious. "Be that as it may, he is far too... dangerous. I forbid it."

For a moment she bared her teeth at him, scarcely able to see her love in those cruel eyes. "Only the goddess may forbid me anything. I will free Illidan whether you–"

"Listen."

The creaking and groaning voice of an ancient interrupting her had Tyrande whirling around in fury, ready to spit upon them for denying her when she led her people– yet Big Baobob's gaze was not directed towards her.

As the immense form of Aessina's foremost guardian bent low, the sound of straining wood filled the air. His crown of leaves shuddered as a titanic fist crashed into the ground before Furion. "Seek the Shadow's Song. Warn the Whispers of the Wind. Wake the Brothers of Storm's Rage." Eyes that were ancient before any of them were born bore down upon Furion and left him cowed. "Not. Brother. So spoke the Silver Tongue."

Tyrande smiled into the silence that followed. Her Furion was foremost amongst the druids, a leader of their people, but though he commanded immense respect, he did not rule nature. Big Baobob spoke for the Mother Wisp, for the very forests themselves.

No matter his opinion of his brother, she had won their argument. The very gods of nature themselves spoke for Illidan's release.

Yet just as she was about to declare their direction, to free Illidan from his cage, a grating human voice carried through the still air of the caverns.

"Ho there!" A woman rode at the head of dozens – thousands more. Orcs and elves amongst them. And towering above them all, the figure of Cenarius alive and well with the myriad Druids of the Claw at his side. "Good morning! Or afternoon, one can hardly tell in this place, but glad tidings nonetheless."

"It is night." Tyrande answered primly, feeling Elune's light upon the world even though she was far from her goddess' gaze. "Lord Cenarius, we feared the worst when word reached us – how fared your battle against the demons?"

"Mannoroth the Destructor lies dead." He said, one hand tightening into a fist. "Those with me aided in his defeat and reaching the druids that resided here. They had succumbed to their long slumber; no more can the druids lie unattended." The declaration was an order; the Barrow Deeps would likely have to be abandoned as a resting place, too difficult to be reached under normal circumstances. "However, I heard your words, Big Baobob. Are we to free the Betrayer?"

"We should not." Furion argued once more, clearly gaining confidence from his Shan'do's uncertainty. "Shan'do, you remember as well as I what Illidan did ten thousand years ago. Why we sealed him away in the dark."

A book snapped shut, the sound cutting through the air. "Illidan Stormrage has his part to play in events." A blonde human said as she looked up at the gates. "Not only would he stop the corruption that plagues your forests from spreading, he would strike a dire blow against the Lich King who rules the undead."

Beside her, one of the newcomer orcs snorted. "More of your personal prophecies, Proudmoore?"

Proudmoore nodded. "Much has changed, yet... why would we deny an ally whom we know fights for our world?"

Though she disliked these words of prophecy she did not know, Tryande was grateful for the support. "The matter is settled, Furion. Whether you join me or not, Illidan will be freed. Lend me your support, Lord Cenarius, so that his jailors dare not stand against us as my love has."

"Tyrande!"

Ignoring Furion's shocked protest she turned and walked through the gates, the greatest amongst them following her.

-oOoOo-

"Of all who might choose to visit me you were the last I expected." Illidan said sharply as footsteps approached. A voice he had not heard in ten thousand years – though those that he had could be counted upon a single had. "What brings you to visit your sister's home, Shadowsong? Reminiscing over family bonds? My own seem to have frayed these past few... thousand years."

Idly he traced a nail over the wall of his cell, countless gouges dug into the stone to count the days until there was no space left upon which to do so. He had begun again when his brother last came... some three thousand years ago.

Even as the footsteps stopped mere feet from his cell, he did not deign to face his blind eyes in Jarod's direction. What purpose would it serve, save to allow greater mockery from the man he had struck down all that time ago?

"As you can see, he remains unrepentant." Califax, Maiev's favourite Keeper of the Grove, said placidly.

What would his punishment be this time for talking back? Rancid apples as meals for a few decades? A fresh batch of compost kept beside his cell so that he could smell the leavings of his jailors? After so long there were few surprises, yet even something old repeated again could be novel after enough time.

Once, Maiev had attempted torture. Yet nothing could compare to the day the Dark Titan burned out his eyes and replaced them with the Fel flames that still burned in their sockets.

"To repent I would have to regret. My actions were for the good of the world." He spoke with certainty; the power of the Legion was all but absolute, to deny their birthright when it was the very power that had banished the demons from their world was rank foolishness. Though with the presence of Jarod... a wry smirk formed on his face in the darkness. "Perhaps I should not have struck you down so harshly. A failing, to resort to brute force to subdue someone so unskilled in battle."

Jarod Shadowsong was worthy of respect, a strong heir to Lord Ravencrest's legacy, and hardly weak. But even he had been blinded by a fear of magic, when it was the very air they breathed, the lifeblood of the world. Illidan had saved them all.

"I have no need for your mockery, Illidan." Jarod said flatly. "The Legion has returned. Their demons defile our forests, their monsters plague our lands, they march upon the Well of Eternity. Those that foresaw these events claim that you–"

The keeper stomped his cloven hooves. "Halt."

Why was apparent moments later, as without the grating sound of Jarod's voice, telling him things that he could already see with his eyes, the sound of hurried footsteps approached.

"Keeper Califax!" Saynna, one of Maiev's many petty apprentices seeking to emulate her skills. "Lord Cenarius has arrived with Archdruid Malfurion and High Priestess Tyrande! They have demanded the prisoner's release. What should we do?"

"Free him."

Illidan's head snapped around, sightless eyes boring into the threaded knot of magic that stood at the heart of Jarod Shadowsong. The very man whom he had beaten half to death wished him freed? What grand joke had Maiev devised this time – his brother had refused him millennia ago. Tyrande had forgotten him. And they all called him, the one who saved them, Betrayer.

When he had been the one betrayed.

"No matter your relation to the warden, you cannot demand that." Califax denied quickly.

Rising to his feet, curious as to how this new and novel torment would play out, Illidan gripped the bars of his cage. "You would deny the orders of your own father? How... brave of you." He whispered mockingly.

"Yet I can, Keeper." Tyrande's voice reached Illidan's ears. Her voice was like the pure light of the moon upon his mind. "He is prisoner no more. Illidan, your people have need of you once more. Will you fight alongside us as you did ten thousand years ago?"

How could she ask such a thing of him, after what they had done to him? Yet, he could not deny her. "Because I once cared for you, Tyrande." He lied, for he had never stopped caring, nor could he. No more than he could pluck the stars from the sky could his heart cease to yearn for her. "I will hunt down the demons. But I will never owe our people anything!"

-oOoOo-

Brushing off a few stray grains of sand from her robes, Chromie walked closer to the robed pair and sat upon a perfectly time-worn branch that was just the right height for a gnome to sit upon. Neither turned to look at her, though they both were aware of her presence – some people it just wasn't worth hiding from.

They knew better than to interfere anyway. She was just here to observe and make sure nothing went weird and off-kilter. This was quite a remarkable shatterpoint, after all!

Well, observe the armies below. Interacting with the mages was perfectly acceptable at this point in time.

"I am surprised you have not spoken to them as you had planned." Aegwynn, the elder Guardian and Magna of the pair, though perhaps not wiser, spoke without any reprimand. Mere curiosity – which itself was curious. "Was it not your intent to guide them to the final battle?"

Truthfully, this entire event was curious! Certainly, there were quite a few convenient timings that had to be worked in to make everything fit, but nothing like it had been expected to happen.

Was this what it felt like to be Infinite? Wait, no, that was a terrible thought. They were mean and nasty. She was helping!

Medivh shook his head. "What need do they have of me to unite in the face of the Burning Legion?" He waved a hand in gesture towards the armies pouring out of the Barrow Deeps and onto the slopes of Mount Hyjal, a bright smile on his face. "Another has completed that task for me – and in ways I had never imagined."

The barest flicker of magic rippled in the air, a spell woven so tightly that even her blue cousins would be impressed – even awed, things had gone downhill since Malygos went crazy – and carried the voices of those below to them.

"If you are to hunt demons then I will join you." Grommash Hellscream told Illidan Stormrage. "I know you wish me to join you, Brother, but I... I am not a protector." Even through the spell, the vicious and predatory grin was audible. "I am a killer, a raider, a warrior. I will hunt and slay the demons until my debt is paid. That is my duty. Go and protect our world, that is your duty."

The spell shifted, changing its target to the Forest Lord himself.

"No matter your fears, Thero'shan, it must be done." Cenarius said stoically, his voice loud enough to carry even without the spell. "I shall delay the Defiler as long as I can. Go to the summit and prepare its defence; I will join you in time."

So many of his children voiced their intent to join him, from the frolicking Lunara to the wise Romulos. Many would fall, but Archimonde could hardly refuse such a hunt.

For one so old – and terrifyingly powerful – the demon general was remarkably predictable. Subtlety seemed to be a curse word for him. Unfortunately, his brother more than made up for that... Kil'Jaedan was such a nuisance.

As the spell faded away and the armies split into three, the greatest bulk heading up the slopes of the mountain, Aegwynn raised a brow at her son and hummed thoughtfully. "I shall have to take the first ship back to the Eastern Kingdoms after all this mess is done with."

"Mother?" Medivh asked, turning to her in confusion.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, clearly expecting him to already understand. "Adopted or not, I shall be meeting my granddaughter."

"Merely a ruse for her protection."

"If you did not intend to acquire a child you should not have convinced the entirety of the Kirin Tor that she was yours." Aegwynn chastised her son sternly, managing to look down at him despite his greater stature. "Whether or not she is our blood hardly matters; she is now our responsibility as others will consider her such by your actions."

Chromie giggled softly, she already knew how this ended and it was going to be quite amusing. "The position of father figure is entirely open for her, if you want it!" She chirped.

Finally acknowledging her presence openly, the two turned to look at her.

"Oh, and if you want something to do..." Chromie paused and pulled out a map, a scroll, and a pocket watch. "Ahem. Brave adventurer! I must plead with you to seek out a force that has become dreadfully lost and needs guidance through these woods, left to their own devices they shall flounder and fail in their task. Please, will you help me?"

Her delivery was purposefully wooden, read directly off a scroll her older self had prepared in advance. Clicking the pocket watch, a swirling portal of sand opened up beside her invitingly.

"I mean, you're not doing anything right now? And you'll arrive at the mountain in time for the battle either way!" Recruiting adventurers, or guardians in this case, was so much easier than doing all of the work herself.

After a moment of incredulous staring, Medivh took the scroll and read the further details of his 'quest'. "Very well." He said, offering a nod of his head. "I will see you soon, Mother."

Offering a quick exit from an awkward conversation rarely failed. He didn't even try to haggle over the reward!

Though, looking at the less than satisfied look on the elder Guardian's face... "Ah, look at the time! I have places to be. Goodbye Lady Magna, it was nice seeing you." Creating another time-portal Chromie moved to make her escape. "Remember, your granddaughter's birthday is just nine days before the Winter Solstice! She likes caramel!"

She only just heard the Magna's parting words. "Thank you, child of Nozdormu."