Tides of Darkness - CH4 Preview

Light mist filled the quiet streets of Dalaran, diffuse sunlight tinging the morning sky pink behind scattered cloud cover.

The sound of murmured conversation and dozens of boots on worn flagstones broke the quiet, and Sylvanas struggled to pick out any one thread. Words here and there, but no one seemed to speak of anything she didn’t expect, and if they did she would hear about it later.

The Kirin Tor were out in number, standing resolute alongside Tirisgarde enforcers throughout the grounds and halls of the Violet Citadel, their eyes as sharp as the arcane ravens perched high above, watching for any sign of disruption.

Genn stood with Tess at the bottom of the Citadel steps, who seemed withdrawn and closed off from her father, brow pinched, poised to turn away as soon as she could. They conversed in hushed whispers, of which Sylvanas heard only the tail end as she and Jaina passed by.

‘-can’t trust a word she says! You have a duty to our people!’

‘Remember who you’re talking to, father. I’m not a little girl anymore, I am your queen.’

‘How could I forget?’

Tess shook her head and hastened up the stairs, leaving Genn scowling.

The blue of his eyes burned to amber when he caught sight of her and Sylvanas raised an imperious brow. He snarled and whirled on his heel, storming away.

Despite the saturation of guards and defensive magic, there remained a level of tension to all in attendance, but as everyone filtered into a chamber deep within the citadel, the burble of civil discussion began to fill the space.

Tess sat talking to Anduin, leaving Nathanos to stare a hole into the table and steadfastly ignore Velen to the ranger’s right.

To his credit, the Prophet appeared unbothered sitting next to an undead, calmly discussing some matter with Shandris Feathermoon. That was a last minute announcement from the kaldorei, their High Priestess was too focused on her mysterious Order of the Black Moon to be personally present.

Sylvanas was not surprised by Tyrande’s behaviour, she was responsible for her people’s safety, and they were very nearly wiped out on her watch, their home left in ruin—she knew that grief and rage intimately, and what lengths it could drive someone to.

Dismissing that thought before it could drag her somewhere deeply unpleasant, she took note of those in attendance, putting names to faces she had yet to see personally but read about before the summit. All the major Alliance leaders sat across from them, of course, with neutral parties to one side, and the Pact to the other.

The latest arrival represented one of the latest groups to take up with the Pact directly. Harte Sagehowl led the reclusive Crystalfall pack, hailing from an isolated valley between Duskwood and Stranglethorn. As a druidic practitioner, the Matriarch first made contact when Archdruid Starwing felt her distress through the Emerald Dream and investigated.

N’Zoth’s influence rendered their home inhospitable, and they tried to negotiate with the humans of Duskwood out of desperation only to be met with fire and gunpowder, and found little better treatment from the orcs at Grom’gol. They were lucky the Cenarion Circle found them in time.

As she understood it, the pack was nearly done migrating to a suitable region in north-western Azsuna, per an agreement between the Pact and the rest of the Broken Isles’ inhabitants. It wasn’t dissimilar to the plight of Hatuun and his ‘Broken’ leaving behind the ashes of Argus to settle in the cleansed ruins of Felsoul Valley. Friction with their Draenei and especially Lightforged brethren made reintegration untenable for the immediate future.

There were quite a few disparate people coming out of the woodwork to align with the Pact, as it represented an alternative to the dangerous factionalism that plagued their world for so long.

Katherine Proudmoore sat in the front row of the neutral parties, holding a three-way conversation between Queen Talanji and Taran Zhu. She seemed at ease with the former despite the history of naval conflict between their nations, and so did Talanji—both it seemed were practiced at pragmatism.

Jaina quietly talked with Saurfang to her right and Sylvanas briefly listened to the old soldier puzzling over what steps the Kirin Tor took to keep everyone safe and Jaina explaining it to him, all too happy to talk about the intricacies of spellcraft.

Lor’themar sat to her left, also watching the room like a hawk, ears tilting surreptitiously in one direction or another.

“I see your eye remains as sharp as your blade,” she said.

“You know as well as I do that rangers never really turn off,” he muttered back, a smirk at the edge of his mouth. “Even at parties we’re terrible."

She canted her head, ears subtly swivelling to catch snippets of conversation. “True enough. This gathering paints quite the target.”