A Savage Nature (Warcraft)

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“Damn it all… leave me! Protect the Priestesses!”
 
Rognak hadn’t thought there would be a fight here. The Emerald Dragonshine might have been a hostile place in his memories, but that was for other reasons entirely. If he had known there would be grave danger, he might have argued for them to bring more of their forces. Then again, that probably wouldn’t have gone over well, not with Cenarius nor with the Dragonshine’s defenders.
 
As it is, the few orc druids that Rognak HAD brought with him split down the middle, two of them rushing forward to follow his orders while the one currently helping him to remain standing hesitates for a moment.
 
“Chieftain, I-!”
 
With far more effort than he should have had to expand, Rognak lets out a bestial growl as he shoves the other orc away from him, standing on his own.
 
“Enough! I can stand on my own! Go to the Priestesses! They’re the only ones who seem to be able to hurt that thing, so they cannot be allowed to fall.”
 
“Yes Chieftain!”
 
And with that, he’s left alone, standing in the back of the large, verdant green clearing, huffing with exertion just to remain on his feet. Damn it all… tanking Sapphiron’s Fel-Infused Frost Breath had done a number on him. Sure, it might have been Mam’toth’s body that had taken the brunt of the blow, but that was just why Rognak was still alive. It didn’t mean he was anywhere near ready for physical combat just yet.
 
At the same time though… he was still an orc. And orcs did not sit out fights. They did not cower at the back of a battle, avoiding it at all costs. Not if they were true orcs. That way lay the cowards of their race. The likes of Gul’dan and his so-called Shadow Council.
 
Snorting angrily, Rognak draws upon the raw fury that courses through him as he compares himself to those mewling, conniving weaklings that had damn near driven his race to ruin. If it wasn’t for him and Thrall, the orcs would still be suffering the consequences of Gul’dan and his warlocks’ decisions.
 
Using that fury, Rognak remains standing… but he knows mere emotion won’t keep him on his feet forever. Instead, he reaches for Nature itself and feels vines and roots sprout up from below his feet, wrapping around his body. He plants himself in place… literally. In a few moments, it’s done. He can no longer move without ripping himself free of the wooden brace he’s made, but he can at least stay on his feet.
 
At the same time, Rognak takes in the battle progressing in front of him. For the most part at least, everyone is holding their own against Ysera’s Shade. The massive draconic shadow swings its tail too and fro, it swipes with its claws and lungs forward with a maw full of black teeth. Worse still, it proves almost impossible to hem in. The Shade is like liquid, moving easily around the battlefield despite its massive size.
 
However, Rognak realizes that’s also their only saving grace. That ease of movement, the fact that it is MERELY a Shade… it’s what’s allowing them to hold their own. As deadly as it strikes may be, they are still only a fraction of what the true Dragon Aspect the Shade is mimicking would be capable of, were she awake.
 
Even still, the only things that seem to hurt it even a little bit are Tyrande’s blazing arrows of radiant moonlight and the Holy Light of Elune cast from her fellow Priestesses of the Moon. Everyone else is stuck doing all they can to keep the Shade of Ysera off of those Priestesses’ backs, while at the same time steering clear of nasty claws and fangs of shadow.
 
As Rognak takes this all in, he grimaces, considering his options. He can’t move forward, not in his current state. Nor can he take on the form of an animal, not with how raw his connection still is to the Drakkari Loa. Even still, he has some strength to him. His arms are doing better than his legs at this point, and he slowly unslings Wolfsong from his back, hefting it in his hand experimentally.
 
The weight feels good enough while he’s braced by the roots and vines wrapped around his legs and lower back. And it’s that brace that gives him an idea. See… he’s a big fan of throwing his axe sometimes. It had worked pretty well with Fandral Staghelm anyways. But that had been a one time thing. Once he threw it, he couldn’t expect it to come back.
 
… Or could he? Slowly but surely, under his will, vines crawl from the floor of the Emerald Dragonshine to Wolfsong’s handle and also his wrist. It takes a little bit, during which the battle rages on in front of him, but this place is practically one foot in the Emerald Dream already. It answers his call eagerly and soon enough, Rognak is ready to try and put his plan into action.
 
Right as one of the Shade’s claws is coming down towards Cenarius, aiming to rake across the Lord of the Forest’s front, Rognak rears back… and throws. It takes a lot out of him to do so, but he manages the toss all the same, sending Wolfsong spinning end over end through the air. The glowing green axeblade slices right through the shadowy wrist of Ysera’s Shade and cuts off the hand, claws and all.
 
Of course, it’s not a permanent injury. It’s not even really a temporary one. Even before the amputated shadows have finished dissipating, the Shade has regrown that set of claws and is right back to continuing the fight. Rognak’s attack blocked one blow out of a hundred, so perhaps it’s not all that surprising that the Shade of Ysera doesn’t even react to his interference, not even to so much as glance in his direction.
 

No… rather, if he didn’t know any better, he would say the Shade was focused primarily on Cenarius and Tyrande. On trying to hurt them at all costs. So far it was failing at least, and as Rognak uses his control over the vine attached to his wrist and the end of Wolfsong to reel the axe back in, he can see that everyone else is managing to adapt admirably to the Shade’s attack patterns and aggressive strikes.
 
They might have left the majority of their forces outside of the Emerald Dragonshine, but it was safe to say that their best and strongest fighters were here, fighting this damnable thing. Well, them… and Rognak the Invalid. Snorting to himself, he hoists his axe up and waits… before throwing again, this time blocking one blow of the many that are being rained down upon a beleaguered High Priestess. Again and again, he reels his axe back in before winding up and looking for another throw.
 
This way he’s at least useful. But ultimately, the only ones seemingly making any headway are Tyrande and her fellow Priestesses. They seem to be the only ones who can do any true damage to Ysera’s Shade… but even they aren’t enough to bring it down in any appreciable time frame. Everyone is managing to hold their own… but how long can that truly go one, Rognak is forced to wonder. How long until someone slips up?
 
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Tyrande ducks under the latest swipe from the draconic shade, gasping for breath even as she pulls back her bow and fires a radiant arrow directly into the creature’s underbelly. In response, the Shade of Ysera screeches and rears back, but only for a moment before it comes slamming back down on her location. Fortunately, Tyrande wasn’t foolish enough to still be there, having rolled away and come up with another arrow already notched.
 
It was all they could do to defend themselves from the Dreamer’s Shade… from her Nightmare. Tyrande was growing more and more convinced that she had led them all to their deaths. Even Cenarius looked like he might start to flag if this continued and frankly, she’d never seen the Forest Lord tired before in all the years she’d known him.
 
Everyone else was already closing in on their last legs. Even Rognak was managing to contribute from the back, standing with his legs spread and that axe of his flying through the air at the monstrosity again and again. And yet… how much longer could this truly go on?
 
Just as Tyrande was beginning to consider the unthinkable… that is, calling for a retreat AGAIN for the second time in so many days, a cracking sound splits the air and for the first time, Ysera’s Shade whips its head around, taking its attention off of her and Cenarius. For the first time… it speaks.
 
“No!”
 
Tyrande blinks, caught off guard by the Shade’s deeply masculine voice. Familiar too. But where had she heard that before? She-!
 
“That is ENOUGH!”
 
Oh no. The High Priestess of Elune stops dead in her tracks as the air itself splits open, the Emerald Dragonshine alight in brilliant, verdant green energy. A portal to the Emerald Dream spirals into existence right in front of them all… and through it steps a familiar face. Not as a transparent emerald ghost, but as himself. More vibrant and more real than she’s seen him in millennia, Malfurion Stormrage steps out of the Dream and onto the world of Azeroth once more.
 
Reaching out with a glowing green hand, the Archdruid grabs ahold of seemingly nothing at all… but the action makes the Shade of Ysera SCREAM in rage and agony as it begins to writhe. Except… only now does Tyrande begin to see. It was never Ysera’s Shade at all. No, it was merely someone who had co-opted the Dragon Aspect’s form for his own ends.
 
Twisting and transforming into a much smaller creature of shadow, with a face that Tyrande recognizes despite not having seen it in ten thousand years, Xavius the Nightmare Lord struggles against Malfurion’s hold, emerald shackles clinging to his flickering, shadow-covered form. Malfurion’s eyes narrow and he squeezes down harder, making Xavius howl in even greater pain.
 
“You are finished, Nightmare Lord. Your last gasp of defiance, your last attempt to cause pain, heartache, and sorrow… ends here.”
 
“Storm… rage! No! I refuse! This is… not where I die! My Masters promised me my revenge! I WILL NOT FALL HERE!”
 
But despite Xavius’ denials, despite his rejection of reality, he can’t change the facts. Tyrande’s heart soars with happiness as Malfurion simply shakes his head and brings up his other hand as well, adding to the flow of power coming from the Emerald Portal behind him. The power flows through him and into Xavius, making the shadowy monster shriek and hiss and squirm.
 
“You WILL fall here. Your Masters fed you nothing but lies, as is their way. But in your final moments, I shall give you the truth, Xavius. THIS is your end. Right here. Right now.”
 
For a moment, the Nightmare Lord struggles all the more violently. The gardener of the Emerald Nightmare, its caretaker… trapped and helpless before them, on his last legs. And then… he goes still. Tyrande blinks, tensing up and half-expecting some sort of trick. Xavius can’t possibly be accepting his fate, can he? But then the shadowy Elf-turned-Satyr-turned-Abomination slowly shifts his gaze over to Tyrande… and smiles a malevolent, evil smile.
 
“… You’re right. It’s over. But… but even in death, I get my revenge. You’ve over-extended yourself to save your beloved, Stormrage. My time might be up… but so is yours!”
 
Tyrande’s heart sinks to the depths of her stomach as her worst fear is realized. Malfurion remains stone-faced in response to Xavius’ provocation, unmoved as the Nightmare Lord cackles all the way out the door, until nothing is left and his shadows are suffocated entirely by blinding emerald light. The moment that his voice finally cuts out, Tyrande rushes forward, reaching for her beloved.
 
Malfurion… Malfurion is there to meet her, letting her hug him, letting her collapse against his chest. He’s real. He’s really there. She can touch him. But… he’s TOO real. And Xavius’ last words echo through her mind.
 
“Beloved…”
 
Letting out a sigh at her broken tone, Malfurion slowly nods his head.
 
“The Nightmare Lord was right. This is the end, Tyrande. I’m sorry. I tried to stay away. I tried to focus on my duties in the Dream… but the truth is, I watched you from afar every moment I possibly could. We’ve hunted Xavius for months now, ever since dealing with Staghelm. We’ve managed to clear out much of the Nightmare he tried to sow in the Emerald Dream. We backed him into a corner… and he decided to expend himself striking at my loved ones with his final gasping breath.”
 
Tyrande just whimpers, tears streaming down her cheeks. Already, she could feel him in her arms… fading. Moment by passing moment, he was becoming less and less corporeal.
 
“I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me, Tyrande. Both for this… and for my other failings as your mate.”
 
That causes her to jolt back, staring at Malfurion with wide eyes.
 
“Wha- no! Malfurion, you never failed me! Not once!”
 
A rumbling chuckle builds in his chest and he shakes his head.
 
“We both know that is not entirely true, beloved. Three thousand years. That was how long it was since I had last awoken and spent a day in this world with you. I have had time to reflect on much Tyrande. I have had time to accept my mistakes, to acknowledge that I was not perfect.”
 
Tyrande scowls, wanting to argue the point… but she’s not about to let her last interaction with her beloved be a fight. As though he’s reading her mind, Malfurion smiles knowingly, reaching up and caressing her cheek as his final moments of corporeality leave him and he becomes that same emerald projection of himself she’d seen before.
 
“I will never truly be gone, Tyrande. I become one with the Dream now. And I promise, I shall protect it well in death as I did in life. And in doing so… in doing so I know I will protect you as well. You, our people, and all of Azeroth. In return, if it’s not too much to ask, I would beg one thing of you, my beloved.”
 
Breath hitching, Tyrande nods, tears streaming down her cheeks.
 
“A-Anything…”
 
“Do not be alone. And please, do not shed too many more tears for me.”
 
Tyrande half-chokes, half-sobs at his words. Malfurion just smiles as he finally begins to fully fade away at long last, the portal behind him beginning to close. Before he can go for good, Tyrande reaches out to him, desperate.
 
“I love you, Malfurion!”
 
He’s gone the next moment… but his final words still reach her ears, a whisper on the wind.
 
“And I love you, my Tyrande…”
 
Silence falls as the portal to the Emerald Dream closes and the battlefield falls quiet. And then… from behind her, Tyrande hears it. The shifting of something massive. Or rather… someone massive. With Xavius vanquished, the Nightmare Lord dead once and for all… the Dreamer awakens at long last.

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