World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume 3

by Blizzard Entertainment

  Defending the forests was not without its dangers, but the Sentinels could summon other creatures for aid. Sometimes, they would awaken the druids from their sojourns in the Emerald Dream or call on the fay spirits who dwelled in the wilds. The woodlands teemed with these potential allies: fierce chimaeras, faerie dragons, wise treants, dryads, and the ancient keepers of the grove.

  By far, the most powerful of these creatures was a Wild God known as Cenarius. He had taught night elves the art of druidism, and he cared deeply for their well-being and prosperity. Cenarius shared the night elves’ quest to protect Nordrassil and the second Well of Eternity. He had fought in the War of the Ancients. He had seen his fellow Wild Gods ripped apart by demons. He had witnessed the forests burning in towering walls of fel fire. Cenarius knew that to prevent such a catastrophe from ever happening again, the elves and the forest spirits needed to work in unison.

  And with Cenarius’s help, they did. The night elves and woodland creatures overcame every foe that threatened their lands.

  This vigil did not extend to the Eastern Kingdoms. Tyrande Whisperwind and her people were partially aware of events transpiring across the Great Sea, but they rarely intervened. When they did, their activities were always subtle and unseen.

  The druids were the first to notice the plague of undeath killing the wilds as it spread across the Eastern Kingdoms. From within the Emerald Dream, their spirits reached out to the physical world to stop the blight. Yet they had little success. Some of these druids told Tyrande of what was happening. Though she maintained her isolationism, she sensed a familiar force at work behind the plague.

  She sensed the Legion.

  When Sentinels reported that strangers were barging into Ashenvale, Tyrande Whisperwind expected the worst. She was somewhat relieved to find that these outsiders were not demons. Tyrande correctly assumed that the Horde and Alliance refugees were fleeing the plague across the Great Sea. From the way they fought each other, she also guessed that they were bitter enemies.

  Tyrande ordered her Sentinels to observe the newcomers from a distance. She hoped that the refugees were merely passing through Ashenvale en route to other lands. She was wrong. Some of the Horde’s green-skinned orcs made war on the forests. They stole from the woodlands without asking, felling trees with reckless abandon. Tyrande had no love for these creatures. They were brutish and violent. And Tyrande would suffer their presence no more.

  The Sentinels struck Grommash Hellscream and his Warsongs. Some night elves, perched high in the trees, unleashed a storm of arrows on their prey. Others, armed with razor-edged glaives, descended on the backs of winged beasts called hippogryphs or giant felines called nightsabers.

  The Sentinels were as deadly as any foe the orcs had faced. That didn’t frighten Grommash and his warriors; it excited them. They had been longing for a chance to fight a worthy enemy.

  Before long, the orcs found themselves severely outmatched. Cenarius had also been watching the newcomers, and he smelled the demon blood in their veins. Thinking that the green-skinned creatures were Legion servants, Cenarius attacked them alongside the night elves.

  The orcs stood no chance against the night elves and their forest allies. Though their battle lust remained undimmed, defeat seemed imminent. It was in this moment of desperation that a dark and familiar form of energy called to Grommash and his followers. They tracked this source of magic to a pool of emerald liquid, hidden in a dense corner of the forest.

  It was blood. Demon blood.

  Grommash Hellscream and his orcs had not stumbled across the demon blood by chance.

  On Archimonde’s orders, Mannoroth and Tichondrius had come to Kalimdor to weaken its defenses in preparation for the demons’ invasion. The continent teemed with creatures who were hostile to the Legion. The demons considered most of them harmless, little more than minor annoyances. But Cenarius and the other Wild Gods were different. During the War of the Ancients, they had fiercely resisted the Legion. If the Legion had any hopes of reaching the second Well of Eternity, the demons would have to get through Cenarius and his woodland allies first.

  To blunt the might of the wilds, Mannoroth and Tichondrius had brought the Skull of Gul’dan to Kalimdor. The artifact had changed since falling into the Legion’s hands. The demons had infused it with even more fel magic, making it far more powerful than it had been before. Mannoroth and Tichondrius could draw out these energies to poison Ashenvale’s woodlands and weaken Cenarius. The process would be slow, but it would be effective.

  Before the demons could begin, another opportunity presented itself. The orcs.

  Years had passed since the orcs had drunk Mannoroth’s blood, but the curse still lingered in their veins. It bound them to the pit lord and made them susceptible to his influence.

  CENARIUS BATTLES GROMMASH HELLSCREAM IN ASHENVALE FOREST

  Mannoroth’s mere presence in Ashenvale had already started affecting the orcs, particularly Grommash Hellscream and his Warsongs. Being near the pit lord had made them increasingly violent and aggressive. Their unbridled fury had drawn them into a war with Cenarius. The orcs stood no chance of winning, unless they had more power.

  And that was exactly what Mannoroth would give them. By drinking his blood, the orcs would become mighty enough to defeat Cenarius. They would also become slaves to the Legion once again. Mannoroth spilled his blood in the forest, and then he retreated from sight.

  As expected, Grommash found the pool. He suspected the dangers of drinking the blood, but he knew it was the only way his orcs would survive the battle against Cenarius. Unable to resist the temptation of power, Grommash drank deep. His followers did the same.

  With otherworldly power surging through their bodies, the orcs rampaged across Ashenvale. Scores of night elves and forest creatures fell to their hungry blades. Grommash Hellscream himself clashed with Cenarius. The Wild God fought with all his primal fury, but even he could not withstand the orc’s supernatural might. Grommash’s axe sank into Cenarius, and the Warsong vanquished his foe.

  At the moment of Cenarius’s death, the wilds around Hyjal darkened and trembled. Dryads, chimaeras, treants, and other fay creatures retreated in horror. Though some would return to aid the night elves, many would remain in hiding for the duration of the war.

  Only later did Grommash discover where the source of his new power came from. By then, it was too late for the orc or his followers to resist. They were bound to Mannoroth’s will.

  While Grommash Hellscream was battling Cenarius and the night elves, Thrall and Jaina Proudmoore led their followers into the Stonetalon Mountains. They took different paths up the rocky slopes, and only when they had ventured into the caverns at the peak did they come face-to-face.

  In an instant, blades were drawn and battle lines formed. Jaina and Thrall had wanted to avoid open conflict with each other, but now violence seemed inevitable.

  Before blood was spilled, Medivh revealed himself. Jaina and Thrall froze at the sight of the hooded figure. It was the man who had lured them to Kalimdor through dire warnings.

  Medivh had only one chance to win Jaina and Thrall to his side, and he held nothing back. He told them of the Burning Legion’s plans, and that the demonic invasion had already begun. The world teetered on the edge of oblivion. Alone, the races of Azeroth were doomed to annihilation. But together…together they stood a chance of saving their world.

  To convince them of exactly what was at stake, Medivh revealed the fate of Grommash Hellscream and his Warsongs. They had drunk Mannoroth’s blood and were once again the pit lord’s slaves. This was the fate that awaited all orcs unless a united front was formed against the Legion.

  This news about Grommash horrified Thrall. He had vowed that his people would never again live through the dark days of the Horde. If uniting with his enemies in the Alliance was the only way to make good on that promise, so b
e it.

  Jaina Proudmoore considered it madness to join forces with the Horde, but she eventually saw the wisdom in Medivh’s words. During her studies in Dalaran, she had learned fragments of knowledge about the Burning Legion. All of it had terrified her. If a demonic invasion was truly unfolding, it would be foolish not to do everything in her power to stop the Legion. Failure would mean more than Jaina’s own death; it would mean that everyone who had sacrificed their lives to defend Lordaeron had died for nothing.

  Thrall and Jaina brokered an uneasy truce. They did not completely trust each other, but they were willing to put aside old hatreds and work together for the time being.

  The first test of this tenuous alliance was dealing with Grommash Hellscream and his Warsongs.

  After descending the Stonetalon Mountains, the united Alliance refugees and Horde moved against Grommash Hellscream and his blood-crazed followers. The Warsongs were so lost to the depths of rage that they could not differentiate friend from foe. They cut down Alliance and Horde with equal ferocity, spilling the blood of orcs whom they had once seen as brothers and sisters.

  As the battle raged on, Thrall led a daring assault through Warsong lines and captured Grommash. In unison, Horde shaman and Alliance priests called on their magics to purge the bloodlust from his veins. It worked. For the first time in days, the cloud of hate lifted from Grommash’s eyes. He saw the monster he had become, and shame overwhelmed him.

  And then he remembered who had done this to him. Mannoroth was out there, somewhere, stalking through the forests, reveling in the carnage he had unleashed. Grommash and Thrall both knew that if they did not confront the demon, their people would be doomed.

  While the Horde and the Alliance refugees worked to pacify the rest of the Warsongs, Grommash Hellscream and Thrall tracked Mannoroth to a fel-corrupted canyon in southeastern Ashenvale. The pit lord found the two orcs more amusing than threatening. He saw Thrall as little more than a harmless pup, and he cast aside the orc with ease. The pit lord expected no retaliation from Grommash. He would never dare raise a hand against Mannoroth, his master.

  The pit lord was only partially right. The blood-curse burned bright in Grommash’s soul, but there was something else that burned even brighter: the desire to set his people free.

  Grommash Hellscream buried his axe deep into the pit lord’s chest, a mortal blow that caused the demon’s body to rupture and disintegrate. Mannoroth exploded in a blinding flash of light, and searing fel energy washed over the canyon.

  The pit lord was no more, but his defeat had come at a price. The explosion had mortally wounded Grommash.

  He drew his last breath with Thrall at his side, content in the knowledge that he had redeemed himself by destroying Mannoroth. By vanquishing the demon, he had finally purged the blood-curse from the orcs.

  They were free.

  DEMON FALL CANYON

  The orcs would regard Grommash Hellscream as one of their greatest heroes. The site of his noble sacrifice would become known as Demon Fall Canyon. Many orcs would make pilgrimages there to honor the warrior who had liberated them from the Legion’s curse.

  Though Mannoroth had fallen, he had accomplished his mission. Cenarius was dead. The forest spirits would still resist the Legion’s invasion, but their primal strength was greatly diminished.

  The time to invade Kalimdor had come.

  Archimonde left some of his demons and undead in the Eastern Kingdoms to ensure that the nations there remained pacified. He launched the rest of his forces into Ashenvale. As infernals rained from the sky, thousands of undead and demons appeared at the eastern edges of the region. Archimonde and his followers soon met resistance from the night elves, forest spirits, and the combined Horde and Alliance armies. But these defenders fought on separate fronts, scattered across Ashenvale. The Legion easily overwhelmed them. Archimonde’s unyielding army marched steadily inland toward Hyjal Summit, trampling the woodlands and all who stood in its path.

  Progress was swift, but Archimonde would leave nothing to chance. He had led wars beyond count, and he knew the value of securing every advantage that he could, even when facing an inferior foe. There was one weapon he had not used: the Skull of Gul’dan. Tichondrius still had the artifact in his possession. He no longer needed it to kill Cenarius, but he could use it to weaken the forests and clear a path to the second Well of Eternity.

  Tichondrius forged ahead of the main Legion army and found a tranquil corner of the forest near Hyjal. The dreadlord drew out the Skull of Gul’dan’s fel energies and infused them into the earth. Toxic magic seethed across the land, mutating trees and local wildlife into monsters that served the Legion. The pristine river that snaked through the wilds turned a sickly green. This poisoned forest became known as Felwood.

  The fel magics continued to spread up Hyjal’s slopes, corrupting everything they touched. Soon, the energies would reach the very shores of the second Well of Eternity. This would allow the Legion to march through the darkened wilds with little resistance.

  The sight of Archimonde and his vanguard defiling Ashenvale filled Tyrande Whisperwind with shock and fury, but she knew it was only the beginning. The Legion was not in Kalimdor to conquer the forests; the demons wanted to consume the entire world. With the second Well of Eternity, they would have the power to do so. They could open gateways for the rest of the Legion. Perhaps even for Sargeras himself.

  Tyrande needed every weapon at her disposal to defend Hyjal. That meant rousing the druids from their sojourn within the Emerald Dream. It troubled her that Malfurion Stormrage and his followers had not yet emerged from the Dream. They must have sensed the corruption spreading across Ashenvale. What reason could they possibly have for remaining in the ethereal realm?

  The reason was Cenarius. When he had fallen, his death had sent a shockwave through the Dream, weakening the druids and throwing them into a state of confusion. Malfurion and his followers sensed fragments of what was happening in the physical world, but they were effectively trapped within the Emerald Dream.

  When Tyrande finally managed to wake Malfurion, he was stunned to see what had become of Ashenvale. Fel fire consumed his beloved forests, while a toxic undead blight choked all life from the land. Malfurion hurried to awaken the other druids, eager to save the wilds.

  He and Tyrande trekked across Hyjal and into the snowy hills of Winterspring in order to visit the underground barrow dens where the other druids slept. Malfurion dispatched some of the newly awakened druids to join the Sentinels in battle against the Legion. He sent others to rally the forest creatures and rouse the remaining Wild Gods. These beings were elusive even at the best of times. Without Cenarius to command them, it would be near impossible for the druids to find and convince them to join the fight. Even so, the night elves tried.

  The quest to wake the druids was long and arduous, but it gave Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind time to reconnect. Centuries had passed since they had last met. Malfurion found that the long years of defending the night elves had changed Tyrande. She was fiercer than before, and more willing than ever to make any sacrifice if it meant protecting her people from danger. Malfurion didn’t realize just how far Tyrande would go to safeguard the land until they stumbled across an ancient gateway within one of Hyjal’s barrow dens.

  It was the prison of Malfurion’s twin brother, Illidan the Betrayer.

  Tyrande saw Illidan Stormrage as a potential weapon. He was a great sorcerer, and his knowledge of demons was without equal among the night elves. If she were to set him free, he could unleash his might against the Legion.

  Malfurion vehemently opposed liberating his brother. Time had not changed his opinion of the Betrayer, and he believed Illidan was still a danger to the world.

  After weighing the risks, Tyrande made her choice to free Illidan, and she set out on her own. All that stood in her way were the Watchers, an order of night elv
es who had guarded the Betrayer for millennia. When Tyrande called on them to release Illidan, they openly defied her.

  And for that, they paid the ultimate price.

  With the fate of Azeroth itself hanging in the balance, Tyrande Whisperwind would not suffer dissent. Not from anyone. She struck down the Watchers who stood in her path and cleared the way to Illidan’s prison.

  From the darkness of the barrow emerged the Betrayer.

  During his ten thousand years of imprisonment, Illidan Stormrage had languished in darkness.

  The endless solitude had tugged at the threads of his sanity. As time wore on, he had focused his thoughts on finding a way for Azeroth to defend itself against the Legion. Mulling over these scenarios led Illidan to a single conclusion.

  Azeroth could never defeat the Legion by fighting a defensive war.

  If the demons were turned away, they would come back again. And again. And again. On and on until they finally overwhelmed the world. Even the “victory” during the War of the Ancients had been nothing more than a momentary reprieve.

  The key to the Legion’s strength was its resilience. If demons were killed on Azeroth, they would merely rematerialize in the Twisting Nether and fight another day. In effect, this made the Legion’s numbers endless. The only way to permanently destroy demons was to kill them within the Nether or in areas inundated with its energies. And that meant taking the war to the Legion’s own domain.

  When he finally emerged from his prison, Illidan was desperate to begin his war against the Legion. He had no intention of working with the other night elves. He hadn’t forgiven them for his imprisonment. What was more, he knew they would never trust him. Even if he explained the revelations he’d had about defeating the Legion, the elves would either treat his wisdom with suspicion or see him as a madman.