Disaster, like hope, arrived when least expected.
The glorious age of the Night Elves continued, while Queen Azshara in the royal palace received some unusual information.
The great Light of Lights, Azshara of the Light of Thousand Moons, had her life endlessly prolonged by Arcane energy. This most beautiful of elves possessed more than merely ornamental beauty. Having drawn upon the power of The Well of Eternity for countless years, Her Majesty the Queen was also an exceptionally powerful Archmage. Yet beneath the Queen's supreme radiance, she had no need to personally act at all.
As usual, Azshara reclined languidly on the grand terrace atop the palace, gazing down at The Well of Eternity below while gently swirling the goblet of Moonlight Wine in her hand.
"Queen, your afternoon refreshments."
Head Maid Vashj approached softly, carefully placing the exquisite pastries from her tray onto the small table beside the lounge chair. She then stepped respectfully aside, awaiting any command from Her Majesty the Queen.
At the entrance to the terrace stood a male Night Elf clad in heavy armor, motionless as a statue, his right hand constantly gripping the rune-enchanted longsword at his waist.
Varone, the Queen's most loyal captain of the guard, had devoted everything he had to the great Light of Lights, guarding his master for decades without change.
Yet Varone did his utmost to conceal the possessiveness he harbored for Azshara deep in his heart. Sometimes, he even suspected that the Queen had already discovered his feelings, but Azshara said nothing about them.
The peerlessly beautiful Light of Lights would not fall in love with any elf, nor would she share physical intimacy with any elf.
She was inviolable. He had to protect her well. Only a great god was worthy of the Queen—at least, that was what Varone told himself.
Azshara thought the same.
Unfortunately, the gods offered no response.
Elune, the Moon Goddess, was not even worth mentioning. One could tell from her name alone that she was female, and Azshara had no interest in relationships between women.
As for Sarodar, the God of Magic... well, that god simply ignored her. Even though she had repeatedly asked the Highborne to act as intermediaries, the result was the same as with the Dragons: nothing further ever came of it.
Was she not even as worthy as those so-called Chosen Ones? Azshara felt somewhat aggrieved, and from that grievance, resentment arose.
As the saying went, disaster, like hope, arrived when least expected. Sometimes, one could not even tell the difference between them.
A mysterious being contacted her. His voice came from The Well of Eternity.
That voice told her that a god and his endless Titan legions wished to descend upon this world and cleanse it of all filth.
And the Night Elves would become the god's sole favored children, receiving the highest ascension.
Queen Azshara, meanwhile, would rule this world forever and might even become the god's wife.
The god's name was Sargeras.
And accomplishing all this was simple. The Queen merely needed to command the mages to gather energy, draw upon the power of The Well of Eternity, and turn the Well into a portal. Then, they could welcome the arrival of the Titan legions.
After that... the Titan warriors would help the elves stabilize and expand the portal until it could bear the god's glory and allow the god to descend upon the world.
Azshara was moved, and before long, she became immersed in the thought.
Sargeras... a great god...
The god's wife... Azshara...
That title sounded quite nice.
At the thought, a faint smile appeared on Azshara's peerlessly beautiful face.
And her rule would continue forever.
"Varone, my dear captain of the guard?"
Hearing the Queen's summons, Varone immediately strode over and lowered his head deeply, struggling not to look at the hazy, gauzy gown she wore.
"I wish to summon Dath'Remar Sunstrider. At once. Please notify him for me, can you?"
"As you wish, Light of Lights."
Varone bowed to accept the order, then quickly withdrew.
Several days later, a new order for the Highborne was issued.
Queen Azshara required a group of the finest Archmages to depart at once for Capital Eldorei and begin an unprecedented, glorious undertaking.
At the same time, a magical message from Dath'Remar Sunstrider in Eldorei was sent back to Suramar City, carrying a list of those selected.
The chosen Archmages dared not delay. After hastily packing their belongings, they immediately set off for Capital Eldorei.
Elisande would remain in Suramar, continuing to manage the city's daily affairs and Arcane studies. The Eye of Truth Council would fully support her.
Dath'Remar thought highly of Elisande, who had once been a librarian, believing her to be a person of great potential and political acumen.
Not only was she eager to learn, but she learned quickly. She was also deeply interested in government affairs and handled them extremely well.
Thus, Elisande rose through the ranks at astonishing speed. Appointing her acting speaker this time was also an opportunity to temper her abilities and observe the results of her work. Further decisions would be made after everyone returned.
But no one expected that once they left, they would never return.
In the forests outside Black Rook Hold, in the region of Val'sharah.
Above a weed-choked clearing, a mass of violent sand suddenly appeared, radiating energy fluctuations beyond mortal comprehension.
The next instant, two tall figures were spewed out by the sand and slammed hard into the ground.
"Ah... Nozdormu, couldn't he have been gentler...? My poor backside... Are we there? The War of the Ancients, on the eve of The Great Sundering?"
Rhonin climbed to his feet, vigorously brushing the dirt from his robes before reaching out to pull up his companion.
Krasus's crimson robes were likewise covered in dirt and in complete disarray, but he had no time to care about his appearance. Instead, he clutched his forehead, his face full of pain.
"I feel... something is strange. It is as though some power has been... Oh no... I cannot transform. I cannot return to my Dragon form. I am trapped in human form. This cannot... I understand. Two identical Dragons cannot exist in the world at the same time."
"Congratulations. It seems you will need to get used to how we humans travel on two feet. But putting that aside, why did Nozdormu send us here? He was so secretive and never explained anything. And where exactly are we... Enemy attack!"
Rhonin, who had been rambling nonstop, suddenly changed expression. He spun around at lightning speed and raised a magical shield.
Whoosh!
An arrow with black feathers tied to its tail was embedded in the dirt before them, its shaft still trembling slightly.
"Strangers of an unknown race, state your purpose! Black Rook Hold does not welcome outsiders!"
Seven or eight Night Elves emerged from the nearby forest. One of them, a mage, held up his staff, ready to attack at any moment.
"Black Rook Hold? Black Rook Hold?"
Rhonin froze for a moment upon hearing that. Both he and Krasus understood Elvish language.
What kind of damned place had Nozdormu sent them to?
Black Rook Hold, that ghostly ruin on the Broken Isles?
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