Fresh Growth – Prequel

As stated in prior posts, this is the story I was planning to write. It’s a work in progress of course, but I wholeheartedly appreciate constructive criticism 🙂 A knowledge of World of Warcraft is beneficial, as the story may not make much sense otherwise.


“Priestess Shadowsong. …Good morning.”

“If only the Goddess would, that that be true, Elrindia. How does your daughter cope?”

“She is little improved. I suppose we cannot expect her mood to be elsewhere. Any news of the mainland?”

“Badly hit, as are the other continents. Auberdine is lost to the tides – there are whispers of Feathermoon Stronghold underneath the waves, too. The High Priestess and the Arch Druid are searching for survivors. Indeed, there are few left on Kalidar who have not gone to help.”

“If I were not troubled so, I would aid too. Nekindir went to Rut’theran this morning to help. Did you hear – they say it was the Dark One, Priestess – they whisper the name of Xaxas..”

“That… I am not sure. He has been sighted. The events may be linked. This was definitely a deliberate occurrence. Such a traumatic blow upon our world cannot be anything else.”

“And how — how is Shalindra?”

“She lives, though she has not taken this… Cataclysm without mental anguish. We all feel it. The spirits scream. The ancestors scream. The elements scream, and the elementals with them. Nature herself screams. The world screams. Azeroth survived the Sundering with much duress – it will take a lot more luck for it to be so this time.”

Silence clutches at the morning air, Darnassus silent except for the two women’s hushed discussion, in the market east of the Temple Gardens. The spirits, the flora, the fauna, the very world tree itself – even the air is silent in a deadly mourning that the two kaldorei women seem fearful to break.

“Do they know what happened to – Goddess light his path, to Jalion?”

“Yes, there is a little information. Mother Moon rest his soul. They are saying it was the – the – ”

“The who?”

“They… The Below-Dwellers – the Azsh’dorei… Naga…”

“Goddess, no! They sunk the ship?”

“It could be seen from Stormwind, they say. The scouts watched the whole wretched tale, completely helpless.”

“The coast of Stormwind? Human lands.. they could not possibly be so bold as to-”

“Ruins surfaced after the rupture. An entire city of Azshara’s hand-picked soldiers beneath the waves. Vashj’ir, the old estate of Naz’jar… And her daughter, handmaiden to the Ruined Queen…”

“By Her Grace… We cannot tell her this now. She just gave birth with the world breaking beneath our feet. The knowledge that her beloved was — murdered — just off the coast of Stormwind itself… It could kill her.”

“I know. And so does Shalindra. Her sorrow matches her sister’s. This is a dark time, but we cannot stop fighting. Especially not Oriet. Children are rare even now we are mortal – the child will need its mother more than any other would.”

“Indeed. Good day, Priestess.”

“I can only hope, Elrindia.”

The women separate, one – the priestess – carrying the other’s basket of food into the Temple of the Moon, as her compatriot – the merchant – walks sullenly north towards the terraces, a defeated-looking figure in the lashing wind and rain.


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