A Savage Nature (Warcraft)

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“Come. We shall see if the Dreamer is taking visitors.”
 
Tyrande finds herself swallowing thickly, even as she follows Lord Cenarius into the Emerald Dragonshine. Along with them come a handful of others. Her highest ranking Priestesses, the most senior Night Elf Druids, Rognak and his best students, the Warden Pair Maiev and Naisha, and Kael’thas Sunstrider.
 
The Blood Elf Prince looks slightly constipated even now, his pride keeping him from asking for more clarification on exactly what they’re doing here. Though even he has wonder in his eyes as he gazes around at the vibrant life that fills the Emerald Dragonshine. Compared to the icy frozen wastes they’ve trekked through in order to get here, it’s like night and day.
 
Beautiful massive trees fill the space, forming a canopy overhead that is unlike anything else in the region. The ancient bones of long dead green dragons can be seen here and there, but they’re covered in even more greenery, having been reclaimed by nature itself… no doubt as those green dragons would have wanted.
 
A shiver runs down Tyrande’s spine as she sees those bones, reminded of the certain death she’d found herself facing down mere days before.
 
The moment that she’d laid eyes on the enemy’s secret weapon for the first time, Tyrande had known the battle was lost and a retreat had to be called. In truth, she almost hadn’t even gotten an opportunity to call for the retreat in the first place. If it wasn’t for Rognak’s last moment sacrifice, the Fel-Infused Bone Wyrm’s breath attack would have likely destroyed them.
 
She imagines Lord Cenarius would have survived, though not unscathed. The truth was, while all of Azeroth was his home… the Lord of the Forest had tied himself to the Forests of Kalimdor long, long ago. Ashenvale Forest and the other woods that the Night Elves called home was where Cenarius was his strongest. He was all but untouchable by most mortal weapons in those forests in fact.
 
But Northrend was a long way from home. Tyrande hadn’t spoken of it out loud of course, but she’d be a fool not to notice it, especially after spending the last ten thousand years alongside the Forest Demigod. Here in this frozen waste… Cenarius was weaker. Not incredibly so, but he still didn’t have access to his full power.
 
If he did, she thinks he might have been able to destroy the Bone Wyrm in a one on one battle… but not without losses. And he couldn’t have fought that thing on his own and kept all of them alive either.
 
The fact was, if not for Rognak’s actions, she would be dead right now. And so would most of the Priestesses she’d brought with her, to say nothing of their druid brethren and the Watchers that had been protecting their flanks. Weathering the blow had clearly caused Rognak no small amount of pain… even now, he was leaning on the shoulder of one of his fellows, regaining his strength. But Tyrande was grateful for what he’d done all the same.
 
She knew that they couldn’t defeat the Scourge’s Bone Wyrm without matching its firepower with something of equivalent or greater strength. But she had to admit, it had been a long time since she last saw Ysera. The Aspect of Dreams had been Tyrande’s teacher over the centuries. She was the closest of the Dragon Aspects to Tyrande’s people, even choosing to take a Night Elf form when she needed to interact with them.
 
… She’d even been the one to preside over Tyrande and Malfurion’s joining ceremony, the one to declare them mated and as one before their people.
 
Ysera was their best hope against the massive Bone Wyrm. If they tried to press on without finding some sort of counter, they would surely perish. But it remained to be seen if Ysera would even be available to help them in the first place.
 
“L-Lord Cenarius! When Alystros said that you were sighted approaching the Dragonshrine, I almost didn’t believe him!”
 
Tyrande blinks as what appears to be a Night Elf comes running up. But of course, she immediately recognizes that this is not the case. Dressed in druidic robes and wielding a staff covered in leafy greenery, the female Night Elf is not a Night Elf at all… she’s a green dragon in disguise. One that Cenarius greets warmly and with familiarity.
 
“Nishera, Keeper of the Garden. It is good to see you again. Just as it was good to see Alystros flying overhead, keeping a watchful eye over the Dragonshrine’s surroundings as we approached. Unfortunately… this is not a social call, as much as I might wish it to be so.”
 
Nishera blanches at the grave tone Cenarius takes, her eyes flicking past him. She gives a small nod to Tyrande, one that Tyrande returns, but as her gaze falls over the rest of their party, she becomes more and more bewildered by what she sees. Finally, she looks back to Cenarius and lets out a shuddering breath.
 
“No… no, I suppose it’s quite obvious that it is not. What seems to be the matter, Lord Cenarius?”
 
The Lord of the Forest’s tone remains deeply grave as he explains the situation in full to the Garden Keeper. As he speaks on the ‘powerful Necromancer’ that has taken root in the northern reaches of Northrend, as he talks about the Lich King and the forces arrayed to protect him, one of Tyrande’s hands clenches at her side, spasming in and out of a fist that shakes with raw fury.
 
… She’d been careful not to speak until it was the proper time at that impromptu war council a few days back. Not because she was trying to make everyone happy or let them all get their reservations and anger out before bringing up her plan… no, she hadn’t spoken until the time was right because if she’d spoken early, she knows she would have blown up in rage and anger.

 
The Sunstrider Prince was not entirely wrong to be angry or upset. Tyrande understood exactly where he was coming from. All too well, in fact. Did he think she WANTED to run away? Did he think she enjoyed having to set back their goals in Northrend by turning and marching in the opposite direction?
 
No, what Tyrande wanted more than anything was to dole out justice. What she wanted was her vengeance against the Lich King. To end the Scourge’s Master once and for all. Justice for her mate. Justice for Illidan. THAT was what Tyrande wanted.
 
Hearing Kael’thas speak as though she were a coward, or as though she wasn’t just as committed to seeing the Lich King dead as he was… had been infuriating. But Tyrande was supposed to be more than just her fury. She was supposed to be above such things. So she’d let the others put the Sunstrider Prince in her place. Though, the High Priestess was a little surprised that Maiev stood up for her. The two women had never really gotten along, not since ten thousand years before, when Maiev had designs on Malfurion but Tyrande was the one who actually won him.
 
And yet, it would seem the Warden had put that in the past. Or at least could differentiate between her personal feelings and what was right in front of her. Either way, her support had been appreciated.
 
Now… now here they were. And as Lord Cenarius’ tale to Nishera comes to a close, as the Demigod finishes describing the events that led them to the Emerald Dragonshine, Tyrande straightens up, waiting expectantly for Nishera’s response.
 
The Garden Keeper presses her lips together thinly and looks around at them all once more before letting out another sigh.
 
“… I do not know if you will find the assistance you seek here, Lord Cenarius. The Dreamer… she slumbers. And based on previous patterns, she likely will for quite some time. It was just over a decade ago that she woke last and spent her strength on… on the Battle of Grim Batol.”
 
At this, Nishera’s eyes slide over to Rognak and his students. Tyrande blinks as she watches the orc druids all collectively stiffen. Rognak in particular seems to gather himself, pushing off of the other orc he’s leaning against and looking as though he’s ready to once again apologize for the past actions of his people. Tyrande’s not sure what it says that she’s beginning to recognize that look on the orc’s face whenever something like this comes up.
 
However, before Rognak can speak, Cenarius intercedes.
 
“Ah yes. The fight against the Destroyer. Hm, I have been remiss in introducing my companions. Apologies, Garden Keeper. You know High Priestess Whisperwind of course. As well there is Warden Shadowsong, of the Watchers. Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, of Quel’Thalas… and Chieftain Rognak of the Warsong Clan… my student.”
 
The disguised green dragon’s eyes widen at this, even as Rognak straightens up a bit, throwing a look filled with gratitude in Cenarius’ direction. The Lord of the Forest merely smiles as he waves a hand of branches.
 
“Everyone here is devoted to seeing the Scourge Threat ended once and for all, Nishera. And I believe my mother, once she understands what exactly we’re facing, will agree that her assistance is necessary. Please… take us to her.”
 
To her credit, the Keeper of the Emerald Dragonshine only hesitates for a moment longer before bowing her head.
 
“Of course, Lord Cenarius. I would never dream of keeping you from your mother. I just wished to… temper expectations. She might not be capable of being roused at this point in time.”
 
Cenarius hums, acknowledging Nishera’s words.
 
“I understand. Allow me to deal with that.”
 
Wordlessly, the disguised green dragon turns and leads them deeper into the beautiful, verdant green valley. Tyrande has never been to the Emerald Dream herself, but she’s had it described to her by her mate and seen glimpses of it in other ways. Even this place is but a pale imitation… but it still manages to be a place of extreme beauty, despite being nothing more than a shadow of the Dream.
 
Eventually, they come to the heart of the Dragonshrine… and there, before them is the Dreamer. Just like that. Except… not quite.
 
The Sunstrider Prince, in his ignorance, is the first to speak.
 
“Wha-… is she a shade? A specter of some kind?”
 
Looking back over his shoulder, Cenarius chuckles good-naturedly.
 
“No, young Prince. The Aspect of Nature straddles the line between this world and the next. She is the Mother of Dreams, the Emerald Queen. While she sleeps, she resides within the Emerald Dream, a reflection of Azeroth in its purest form. And while she resides there, her corporeal form becomes as you see it now, completely untouchable.”
 
Indeed, it is as Cenarius says. Ysera slumbers and the Dragon Aspect’s massive form is transparent, almost like it’s not even there. Tyrande can understand why the Prince asked if she was a specter. By all rights, Ysera is positively see-through at the moment. She’s also massive. Tyrande can see awe on the Blood Elf Prince’s face as he processes what Cenarius has just said and understands how someone like Ysera would be just what they needed to shatter the Scourge’s defenses and make it the rest of the way to the Frozen Throne.
 
… First, however, they have to wake her up. Nishera the Garden Keeper stands off to the side, biting her lower lip as she leans in close to Ysera’s massive translucent head.
 
“Milady… apologies, but your son is here to see you. Lord Cenarius hoped to speak with you on a matter of grave importance…”
 
There’s a brief pause before Ysera twitches and for a brief moment Tyrande wonders if that might just be enough. But then the slumbering Aspect snorts, shakes her head, and curls up even tighter, never once opening her eyes or becoming any more corporeal then she currently is.
 
Nishera sighs and looks to Cenarius, shaking her head.
 
“Apologies, Lord Cenarius. If you wish to try yourself… perhaps the sound of your voice will rouse here?”
 
Nodding, the Lord of the Forest steps forward. His branch-like hands reach out and brush against the incorporeal form of his slumbering adoptive mother.
 
“Mother… it is I. We have need of you. If you can not help us, I fear we must return to our task alone… and risk being lost in the process. Please, Dreamer. I beseech you, open your eyes.”
 
Once again, silence falls as everyone pauses and waits with bated breath. Will this do the trick? Will Cenarius’ voice and touch be what rouses Ysera from her slumber?
 
… But again, there’s no true response. Ysera’s transparent body continues to rise and fall as the slumbering Dragon Aspect breathes in and out, but not even Cenarius’ direct presence at her side is enough to wake her. Tyrande watches as Cenarius frowns, deep in thought for a moment. And then, something must have signaled her, because Nishera blanches from where she’s stood off to the side.
 
“Lord Cenarius, I’m not sure that’s the best idea! The Dreamer has not been sleeping entirely peacefully of late! I fear that trying to forcibly rouse her will only manifest her nightmares in her place!”
 
It’s only after the Garden Keeper speaks that Tyrande and the others all begin to feel what Cenarius is doing. There’s a thrumming in the air, as though he’s calling upon every bit of nature in the Dragonshine. Reaching out, the Lord of the Forest frowns, his expression one of deep concentration as he shakes his head.
 
“It… is… necessary.”
 
Nishera, to her credit, makes no move to stop him. But the disguised green dragon does wring her hands a bit in front of her, even as Cenarius grimaces, reaching for something that only he can seem to see. And then he pulls, seemingly pulling on the Dreamer’s very essence itself.
 
However, when he rears back a moment later, it’s not Ysera who comes with him. It’s not the Dreamer who is roused from her slumber… at least, not truly. It’s just as Nishera had warned, Tyrande realizes in horror. Ysera herself remains curled up on the ground of the Emerald Dragonshine, still slumbering away in her transparent visage.
 
But suddenly growing between her and her adoptive son, forcing Cenarius to backpedal rapidly, is a massive draconic shadow. A Shade of Nightmare in the form of the sleeping Dragon Aspect. It towers over them all, VERY ‘awake’ as it looks down at them… and lets out one massive draconic roar.
 
“TO ARMS!”
 
Cenarius’ voice is solid and commanding as he prepares for battle and urges all of them to do the same. But Tyrande has known the Forest Lord for more than ten thousand years. Certainly long enough to note something in his tone she’s not sure she’s ever heard before. Panic. Just a hint of panic.
 
Blanching, Tyrande calls upon her Goddess’ Light as her fellow Priestesses do the same, as the Warden Pair draws their weapons, as Kael’thas Sunstrider calls upon his Arcane Might, and as both Night Elf and Orc Druids ready themselves for a fight.
 
But even as all that happens, Tyrande can’t help the pit suddenly forming in the depths of her stomach. Had she brought them away from one massive draconic threat, only to lead them to their deaths at the claws and fangs of another?

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