Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 826: Tyrande’s Unveiling of the Threat

Tyrande flinched, startled, but the guttural voice of the green-skinned behemoth, speaking in a terrible, guttural Kaldorei, had undeniably uttered her name!

"You can speak Kaldorei?" Not just Tyrande, but even Illidan was visibly shaken. He would swear no elf had ever breathed Tyrande’s name, let alone her full title, in front of this monstrous green-skinned creature before he was escorted to Suramar.

The green monster bared his fangs, indistinct Kaldorei syllables rumbling from his throat. It lacked all the elegance and artistic cadence of the elves, yet it was Kaldorei nonetheless.

"I... Kaldorei... not... good at learning..."

Tyrande’s eyes narrowed slightly, then she turned to Illidan. "Release him!"

"But, he once..." Illidan’s reluctance was palpable.

"If it were you," Tyrande countered, her voice sharp, "and you awoke in a strange land, only to find an alien being threatening your life with a weapon, what would you do?"

Illidan was silenced, compelled to obey. Yet, as he unlatched the cage door, his left hand subtly tightened around an elven dagger. He was utterly confident in his agility. Even if instant magic failed to subdue this bizarre green monster, his speed alone was enough to plunge the blade into its throat.

Tyrande’s face softened into a gentle smile. She approached, half-knelt, and began to chant the sacred name of Elune. The Moon Goddess answered her prayer almost immediately, sending down a cascade of soft, warm white light from the heavens.

"Praise Elune!" The surrounding elves knelt in reverent awe, witnesses to the miracle.

The gaping wound on the green giant’s left arm began to knit, healing at a rate visible to the naked eye. Illidan sighed. Tyrande was too kind, too compassionate. She had used a precious daily allowance of divine favor on a monster whose very race was unknown. Yet, this boundless empathy was precisely why he was so utterly captivated by her.

Tyrande parted her lips. "I apologize for the rudeness of my people. Please forgive their overreaction. After all, you are a stranger in our territory. By the way... May I ask your name?"

"Apologize... My name is Bro... Garx! Not... Kaldorei... Enemy!"

There was no mistake. This green-skinned brute, tragically captured and nearly destined for a zoo exhibit to boost ticket sales, was Brox, the Orc hero dispatched by Nozdormu ten thousand years into the past to preserve history—or, perhaps, to simply cause chaos.

Brox, utterly disoriented by the unexpected separation from his companions, was completely bewildered. Fortunately, this encounter diverged from the original history Duke knew. In the original timeline, Brox had been flung through time without any prior warning. This time, at least, Nozdormu had given a heads-up, prompting Thrall to frantically enlist Duke’s aid. Duke, in turn, had hastily arranged for a high elf mage to give Brox and Grom an intensive language crash course before their temporal displacement.

Sharpen your blade before the battle, even if it’s not bright, it will still gleam!

It had to be said, Orcs truly possessed no talent for languages. With the exception of rare outliers like Orgrim and Thrall, most Orcs were simply too rough-hewn. No wonder, in most Dungeons & Dragons-inspired games, Orcs were born with a -2 intelligence penalty. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Tyrande and Illidan treated Brox with unexpected kindness, relocating him to a night elf inn. Though communication remained a monumental challenge, after a night of arduous, detailed discussion, Tyrande finally deciphered one crucial fact: five envoys had arrived in the Kaldorei Empire with Brox. Their purpose was to avert a looming catastrophe that threatened not only the entire Kaldorei Empire but the very planet Azeroth itself.

"Burning Legion?" The literal translation of the term sent a shiver of unease down Tyrande’s spine.

Recalling Queen Azshara’s recent, unsettling behavior, Tyrande felt an ominous premonition of an impending storm. It was as if she had glimpsed through the mists of fate, grasping a vague, terrifying understanding of the unfolding events.

"Illidan, return to the Moon Guard for now. Unless it’s absolutely critical, do not contact me or Malfurion. Remember to maintain your distance from us!"

"Understood!" Illidan’s eyes gleamed with sudden eagerness. Tyrande rarely sought his help. In a moment like this, with something monumental on the horizon, her trust felt like a powerful affirmation.

Unfortunately, Tyrande’s next words dashed his nascent enthusiasm. "The moon has begun to set. I cannot contact the goddess Elune for the time being. I will consult with Malfurion first."

A bitter taste filled Illidan’s mouth. Do you trust your brother more than me? It was an unspoken envy, a simmering jealousy he could not express. But Illidan said nothing. He turned and left, his resolve hardened: he would keep a vigilant eye on the Queen. He would unearth the secrets she deliberately concealed, determined to prove to Tyrande that he was the heroic partner she truly needed.

At daybreak, Tyrande received yet another unexpected, earth-shattering piece of news.

Malfurion himself approached her, his face grim. "Three strange beings have entered our forest. Cenarius has taken them in. Two claim to be ’humans,’ and one speaks a peculiar elven tongue—derived from Kaldorei, yet its words are distinctly different. None of this matters as much as the message they brought: soon, a terrifying demon army, known as the Burning Legion, will descend upon the Kaldorei."

Tyrande was stunned, her chest heaving with shock. This was the second time that night she had heard that chilling name. She desperately wanted to dismiss the term as utter nonsense, to banish it from her mind, but she could not.

"Let us meet these outsiders first. Then, we must reach a consensus with Cenarius and the others." A significant factor allowing Suramar to maintain a political stance divergent from the Queen’s was the unwavering support of the goddess Elune and a vast network of demigods. This did not even include the goddess Elune herself, who had yet to manifest in an incarnation.

Including Cenarius, the boar god Agamaggan, the furbolg brothers Ursol and Ursoc, the white stag Malorne, the storm crow Aviana, and other ancient immortals—the ancient watchers they formed stood like an unyielding mountain range, blocking Queen Azshara’s ambitions.

Just as Tyrande, now fully alarmed, began to react...

In Garhala, Duke, granted almost limitless power, was initiating a summoning ceremony directly upon the main ley line of the Well of Eternity. Though the Kaldorei, who proudly claimed to be the pinnacle of arcane mastery under the blue dragons, Duke had discovered after his own experiments that the methods used by individuals like Xavius were so brutally inefficient, so outrageously crude, they bordered on the barbaric.