Welcome to Nazjatar

Nazjatar: a hidden world of unimaginable beauty and indescribable brutality. The innumerable army of serpent men, the Naga, slither about in the broken shadows of Zin-Azshari, the once magnificent capital of the Highborne elves, back when the world was whole. The dreadful roar of the water held back by Tidestone of Golganneth deafens the weeping of the spirits that have been cursed for eternity. These specters’ moods are as chaotic as the tides that ended them, caught in the cycle of blind devotion to the lives they lived before the Sundering and the terrifying realization of their betrayal by their Queen. All around the air is thick with the revitalizing smell of saltwater and the overwhelming stench of rotting seaweed left out to dry in the newly emerged sun. One could stop to take in the vibrant forests of coral and rock, twisted into alien formations, but lose oneself and one would be torn apart by vicious hydras or venomous snapdragons, or even mercilessly enslaved by Naga and their Old God masters.

There is still some debate about which fate is worse.

The survivors of the wreckage that was the mighty fleets of Azeroth would have perished within minutes of arriving in this land of duality if not for the timely aid of inhabitants opposed to Queen Azara, the tyrant that embodies her empire perfectly. Whether it was preordained or just the luck of the draw, the Alliance forces had been rescued by a group of humanoid fish-men, similar to the Jinyu of Pandaria. These Ankoan Waveblades said to have come in response to the command of Neptulon - the elemental lord of the water. The Horde, much to the dismay of many, including the adamantly vocal King Greymane, survived the collapse as well. They had been given refuge by a group of escaped slaves fittingly named the Unshackled. Gilblins, Sea Giants, even the crab race of Makuru made up their ranks, and opposed the Naga not because of honor, but because they sought to free all those that had been enslaved as they had. 

Thankfully, it had seemed that the lessons of Pandaria still cling to the leadership of all factions involved. The Horde and Alliance still spilled blood over this ridge and that rise, but these were isolated events, and the Waveblade and Unshackled seemed to do their best to stay out of the fighting.

“Lady Alia, I must ask you, what is that strange little orb you are carrying?” Kyoshi, an Ankoan hunter with a green-blue belly, interrupted by deep blue scales that contrasted a dotted trail of aqua bioluminescence spots running down his shoulder and along the length of his arms, spoke up behind her. His massive weapon clattered against his armor, a series of small iron plates and leather scale, connected to each other by rivets and silk cords. Yellow fins and webbing ran down his back and in between slim fingers and toes that ended in black talons, unimpeded by helmet, gloves, or boots.

The Magna Alia Atherton, known by very few as the newly-eloped Alia Chess, stopped halfway up the cliffside path her and her companion were walking on. Below them was a valley of underwater geysers that rose from the ground and hissed steam like a dragon would bellow out fire from its maw. Unsurprisingly, this exact phenomenon is what gave the valley the name of Dragon’s Teeth Basin. Did the Ankoan give it this name or the Naga? I suppose if the naga had named it, they would have included ‘Azshara’ somewhere in there. Bloody fanatics. She shook her head, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair before throwing a smile over her shoulder to her companion before returning her eyes to the item in question. “Kyoshi, please, there is no need for such titles. I am no lady. Just Alia will do.”

Kyoshi bowed his head. ”My apologies. They call the white-haired woman Lady Proudmoore. I assumed that is what all of those with your abilities were called.”

“Like how you are referred to as ‘Hunter’ and the elder of your clan is called ‘Wavespeaker’? I understand the confusion. No, she is called that because she comes from a very noble family. A distinguished clan, if you will. She is a …an important figure for our people.” Alia sighed, doing her best to bite back the discomfort that churned in her stomach, turning to face Kyoshi fully. Holding up the orb so he could see, she continued, “This is a scrying orb. We can use these to see or locate…anything, really. Just depends on what is required. In this case, I’m trying to map out the ley-lines.”

“Ley-lines? Those are the...sources of magic, correct?”

Alia nodded, and her smile brightened under the dark hood she wore, distracting from the band of freckles across her face and her bright violet eyes. She tossed him the orb, which he caught and continued to inspect as they began walking again. It was a perfect sphere, just larger than Alia’s palm. It swirled and hummed with arcane energy, faint light pulsing from within the center, like a sonar radar not picking up anything within range. “Yes. They run all over the place, underground like…veins, carrying blood to the heart. Most places that are considered to contain great power or are sacred by one person or another, are built on where these ‘veins’ meet up because these places contain the most power. It’s like applying poison to your blade to ensure a kill. You want as much power flowing into whatever you're doing so it is successful. But I am not looking for powerful, so I need to find the smaller, less obvious ones.”

“Poison often spoils the meat, making it unfit for eating, and I believe you are referring to venoms rather than poisons, but I understand your point.” He continued to palm the thing, directing with a nod further up the path.

They crested the hill, and immediately their vision was filled with vibrant pink and light blue coral that was as tall as pine trees, at least fifty feet tall. At their bases grew smaller kelps, anemones, and tubes of various bold colors that swayed and shifted with the breeze. Crustaceans and gastropods in a myriad of colors scuttled across the ground, skittering into hiding holes as the two grew closer to them. Fathom rays floated from one massive formation to the other, feeding off the flora. The hunter motioned to a fairly defined path in the sand, and they continued walking.

Alia didn’t take the orb back right away, but her eyes constantly watched it as the light brightened and dimmed as they navigated the landscape. How the ley-lines come together weren’t the only important part of their power. She had learned in her years studying in Dalaran that ley-lines are kind of like threads in a cloth. The patterns formed were just as important as how many lines were intertwined, if not more so. A smaller convergence could be just as potent as a major one if the lines formed the right pattern. Her instructor at the time had demonstrated this by first clasping her hand into a fist, then weaving her fingers together, but doing so in a manner that left her grip weak. The second method might have appeared elaborate, but it was messy and could have been easily pulled apart. The first was simple, ordinary, but it was stronger. 

Alia, for her part, had been wrestling with the portal that was their only lifeline back to the surface for weeks. So far she had managed to keep it open, but it was weak, unstable, and there was no telling when the portal would close, or if the portal would take someone to Boralus, or right into the middle of the desert of Vol'dun surrounded by scorpions. With Azshara’s sorceresses entrenched around the major ley-lines, their empowerment meant that they could impede her and Proudmoore’s spell work till the sea cows come home; that was not even including the very real possibility that the Queen herself was actively toying with them in conjunction with her followers. 

They did not have that kind of time. 

A plan was proposed to scout out the minor lines, in hope that in their arrogance, the Naga would have left them abandoned. With any luck, there will be a pattern that would suit the Alliance’s need, and the power could be redirected back to Mezzamere, and finally get the portal stabilized. As the one who conceived of the idea, Alia had to be the one responsible to find it.

“I understand that you are not fond of Lady Proudmoore?”

“What gave you that impression?” Pale fingers messed with the hem of Alia’s hood, shading her eyes so she could get a better look at her surroundings. Kyoshi handed her a water skin - with fresh water - which she took gratefully as they sat in the shade of one of the larger corals. 

He pulled out something akin to bread that smelled suspiciously like kelp, breaking off a piece for the both of them.“There was a bitterness in your voice when you spoke of her. Has she slighted you in some way?”

Alia froze. Had Lady Jaina Proudmoore slighted Alia Atherton? Not in any official capacity. Jaina was long gone before Alia ever set foot in Dalaran. Even when her presence was confirmed with the vast network of gossipers in the city, Alia always had her nose stuck in a book, or on one or two occasions, getting into some scheme to get more books from the library with Pixisticks, a goblin with an affinity for frost magic and technological wonders, and the young mage’s best friend since their meeting during the Cataclysm. No, the new Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras had never personally slighted her.

It was just the bitterness that comes when seeing your idols fall.

Through example, Jaina Proudmoore had instilled in Alia the ultimate goal of peace. When it came time to defend the slopes of Mount Hyjal, she was able to look past the Fel corrupted appearance of the orcs, and see that they were more than what the Legion had made them. When a sect of undead betrayed the living at Wrathgate, and the Alliance and Horde liberated Undercity from the traitors, Jaina stopped King Varian Wrynn from continuing the bloodshed. Even after everything he had done, she tried to find a way to rescue Arthas Menethil from the Lich King. Time and time again Jaina was the avatar of peace and diplomacy. Then the mana bomb dropped on Theramore. 

At first, Jaina allowed the Sunreavers to stay in Dalaran. When it was discovered that they had used Kirin Tor resources to help steal the artifact that was used in the bomb’s construction, Jaina accused Archmage Aethas Sunreaver, leader of the Sunreavers, of treason. The accusation was denied. In her fury, Proudmoore allied with the Silver Covenant to forcibly and violently remove all members of the Horde from the city in what would be known as the Purge of Dalaran. That night there was blood and screams as chaos ensued; many of the blood-elves among the Sunrevers ranks had been there since the city's founding, and they proved defiant in the face of exile from their homes. Some surrendered and were imprisoned within Violet Hold -  though, in Alia’s opinion, they had traded a quick death for a slower, more excruciating one. Many more took up arms, however, and they were dealt with extreme prejudice, opportunistic thugs taking the chance to rob, murder, and otherwise harass the civilians of their political rivals. It left Alia with a difficult choice. She could’ve abandoned the values she held close, betray the legacy of Dalaran and the Kirin Tor as she knew it, and step aside as they took her friends, their only crime of being in the wrong company at the wrong time, or she could do her best to stand up to the enraged mob; however justified they were in their rage, their fear, and their despair. 

As it turned out, if you weren’t with Jaina’s new Alliance-aligned Kirin Tor and Silver Covenant coalition, then you were against it. Some of the more zealous members sought further vengeance upon not only the Horde itself but those who in their eyes were despicable enough to sympathize with the Horde - and that included Alia, due to her involvement in aiding the escape of several supposed “high priority” targets, that in truth were only civilians. A portion of her leg stung in a ghostly reminder of one of the many prices she paid for her actions that night.

Running for my life in the Krasarang Wilds, with my old peers hunting me down like some rapid animal while I bleed out from gashes in my leg; a reunion gift from when they pushed me off a cliff expecting me to die from the fall. How can I explain it to this stranger if I can’t even explain it properly to Jon? 

Alia took a moment to gather her thoughts, "It is...complicated. Lady Proudmoore made a choice. The choice was necessary, in hindsight - made out of pain, grief, and unimaginable rage- but it hurt a lot of innocent people, some of them included my friends. I- I couldn’t let the pain cycle on, as pain of this magnitude does, but I also knew on some small level that the choice she made was… ultimately necessary. Rather than fight and lose everything, I did what I could to salvage the situation, and left, never to return until… much later."

Kyoshi just nodded solemnly, then the Ankoan unstrapped the weapon on his back. It was a massive engraved sword, large enough that would require two-hands to wield, and looked a little top-heavy. It had an end that reminded Alia of a fish hook. There was even a lure; a large serpentine fang on a blue cord threaded through a pocket on the edge of the blade. The engraved lines swirled like waves and spotted like scales. 

"I was not born into the Waveblade clan, but into another. My clan was destroyed by the Naga, I being the only survivor. Not because of my battle-prowess, but because I was away, gathering medicine for one of our little ones, when they came. It took many years, surviving in the deep wilderness, alone and surrounded, but I eventually found them. The Waveblade are legendary warriors among our kind, sworn to fight Queen Azshara and her legions until the last of the blood is spilled on the sands. Even if that spilled blood is ours."

“I feel like you’re trying to draw parallels, but I’m afraid I’m not quite following.”

Kyoshi’s fingers ran down the length of the blade, half polishing, half thoughtful caressing, ”No parallels, Alia. A hunting party is only as strong as the connection between its members.”

Alia let go a breath she didn’t mean to hold in soft chuckles, “Fair enough. Shall we continue?”

Kyoshi nodded, helping her up from the sand.

The rest over, they covered up signs of their presence and returned to the sandy path. They traded stories and secrets of herb gathering; Alia filling Kyoshi’s head with useless trivia about plants native to Kul Tiras, and Kyoshi instructing Alia on how to efficiently harvest Zin'anthid, a plant with multiple violet blooms, each with a fuchsia center and possessing a notorious habit of tying up attacker’s fingers with winding tendrils. They passed several as they navigated the forest. It moved with no wind, the blooms opening and closing in seemingly alien ways. 

There came a point when the sand did not shift under their feet but started to give way to broken cobblestone in which the sea bed had long overtaken. Ten thousand years ago, these streets were once the glorious epitome of the night elf civilization. The city served as a sprawling center of arcane and political power that surrounded the edges of the Well of Eternity. Stories held that the city’s manicured gardens were vast, with crystal pools housing vibrant colorful schools of fish that swam in intricate patterns. The grass was greener than emeralds, with bushes and trees styled into impossible shapes. The white stone towers and walls sparkled like diamonds, the roofs were inlaid with gold trim to turn the domed roofs into artistic reliefs of the night sky. Once, the city held another name, one that held reverence to the moon goddess Elune, which the night elves worshiped as their primary deity. However, upon Azshara’s coronation day, her subjects were so enamored by their queen, that as a gift to their queen they renamed it Zin-Azshari, or “Glory of Azshara”. Highborne and commoner alike celebrated this change, the ultimate reflection of their devotion that borderlined deification. It was to mark a new era of prosperity for their empire.

Now, Zin-Azshari was a ruined graveyard, tribute to the folly of blind devotion.

The architecture was mainly intact, the ravages of millennia under the sea having been less than expected, or somehow magically altered. The stone was still white, but now they were dull and scarred by barnacles and. There were no trees, only kelp stalks, and more pink coral which spiraled up and over ruined walls, growing no shorter than Alia’s height. No pools but the water left behind by the in the separating of the waves. The air was quiet, a gentle whisper carrying nothing but the sea, and if one listened closely, the mournful wails and terrified screams of the past. The pair stood in what may have served as a promenade. Alia could almost see it; stores, workshops, and boutiques lining both sides of the street, all funneling into a wide-open square. Here there was room for markets and public meetings. Music and children's laughter filled the air as people all went about their lives under the watchful gaze of their Queen. Her statue was dressed in grand attire, posed with her arms outstretched, almost as if to embrace those that gazed upon her.

“Alia, the orb is beginning to pulse very quickly.”

Kyoshi’s words snapped the Magna out of her daydream. Indeed, the orb was pulsing much more consistently now. The sonar had become a steady heartbeat. 

“We’re close then. Let me see it.”

Alia carefully took the orb from his hands, wiping off some water that had splotched the surface, and begin waving the orb in front of her. First to the left, then right, then to the left again, before taking off in a half-jog further into the ruins without warning. Despite Kyoshi having much more experience with the rocky terrain, he had trouble catching up with the mage. On several occasions, he’d turn a corner hot on her heels, only to run into a fading cloud of arcane mist, and Alia several feet, waving the orb around again. It was one such occasion that she “doubled back”, and startled the hunter by returning to where the mist was just falling. She didn’t even seem to register her companion's disorientation.

“Sorry, this way.” She looked to him partially, then to the orb, which was now just all light, then back to a side street that led up some stairs. She did not make it far before his hand came down on her shoulder.

“We must be careful here. Ghosts are not the only danger here. The Naga have made this area a hunting ground for their snapdragons.” He pointed out a pillar where the stone had been clawed apart.

Snapdragons were the Naga’s favorite pets and hunting companions, bred and trained at a young age for war under the tides. They were a lizard-like creature, with a snakelike head, a fin extending down its spine, and two large fins that flare from its head and tail. They hunted in packs and took down their prey with a debilitating toxin that ate at the flesh, delivered through a bite, or spat into the face to blind the eyes. 

Alia slowed down her gait, her head on a swivel as they followed a side-alley that led them to an area overlooking a courtyard, with a grand building that would have served as a temple of Elune in the distance. The massive wall of water surrounded them on two sides.

“We’ll be quick then. We just need to-”

“Do what, landwalkersss? Then what will you do?” A shrill voice asked.

The pair turned, and Alia felt her stomach sink. She counted six; three naga, two male and one female, and three snapdragons, as they came out of the water and slithered towards them. They each stood a foot taller than her, looking down at her with cold, angry slitted eyes. The males were bulky, not a trace of kaldorei to be seen. They had the heads of dragons, with razor fins running down an arched back, and tendrils that hung loosely from their fanged maws. Barnacles grew atop their rough clothes of leather and steel that were stained, worn, dented and filthy. One had his spear raised and aimed at Kyoshi, who had drawn his own weapon from his back, getting into a readied position. The other brandished two, large twin blades, that curved upwards into jagged edges.

The female, however, had maintained most of her proud visage. Once she may have been an alluring elf, a fitting addition among Azshara’s handmaidens. The Old Gods had seen to it that only her face remained untouched. Soft spines ran down her back as well, along with extra fins on her four arms and hands. Tendrils ran off her neck and hung on her shoulders. She was dressed in fine purple robes, with bronze embellishment, and a manner of armament that established her of high rank among their kind. Her amber eyes were filled with malice. The Magna knew the presence of another sorcerous when she felt it, and when this witch locked gazes with Alia, she felt her blood run cold as ice. The Naga witch grinned and readjusted the grip on her own staff.

“Hass the frusstration become too much, landwalker? Tired of being worthlesss againsst our superior magicsss?”

“I don’t know about that. You haven’t been able to close the portal so far.” Alia took a step back, summoning her staff from thin air, holding it at her side.

The witch snarled, and the ground hissed as a wall of ice was conjured behind them, blocking retreat. The Snapdragons drew closer.

 They were well and truly cornered now.

“Sssuch arrogance. You sshould be taught a lessson.” The twin blades scraped loudly against each other.

Kyoshi looked over. Two soft glowing violet eyes peered at him from under the hood with a silent warning, then her lips moved. He could barely hear her mutter something about holding still.

“What did you ssay, you ssniveling child?” The witch hissed at them. 

“I asked if you enjoyed being a puppet!” Alia viciously mocked, turning now to face them, “Serving so many masters in such a short span of time. Being pulled this way and that! How do you keep up with it all? Oh, well I suppose it’s not you specifically who is, if I may coin the term, spreading her legs? I wonder if that’s how your Queen became queen in the first place. Did she sleep with the entire court to curry favor? Surely as her devoted handmaiden, you would know!”

“Heresssy! You sshall pay with your blood!”

The witch let out an ear-splitting shriek.

Several things happened at once: The warrior with the blades charged. The spearman reared back his arm and threw the spear with deadly precision. A snapdragon lunged toward Kyoshi, who went to cleave the beast in two, but was pushed off balance by a hand grappling his shoulder plate, and pulling him in an unknown direction. The world faded away, then snapped back into focus.

When Kyoshi regained his footing, the Naga were gone. His back was against a stone column, hidden from direct view. He could hear yelps behind him, as presumably, the beasts crashed into each other. Screams of rage as the witch ordered her guards to find them. Alia was with him, behind another pillar, blood seeping through her hand clasped on her arm while she tore a section of fabric from her cloak. He picked himself up, still maintaining cover. Out in the field, there were two mangled bodies. One of the snapdragons had been impaled the thrown spear. The other had been cleaved in two despite the imperfect slice. 

“That evens the odds a little bit. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I am fine. We can not stay here.”

“No, but running is also a bad idea. We will be chased down before we get out of this maze.”

“Then let’s use that.”

Alia tightened her bandage and stood up. “Use what?”

The Hunter looked directly into the Magna’s eyes with a wicked grin. “The maze. If we are trapped with them-”

She smirked now. “-Then they’re also trapped with us.”

---

Three hours later, Alia once again slumped behind a broken pillar. Her throat burned, and she could taste blood.

The remaining snapdragon stood no chance between Alia and Kyoshi, a simple polymorph spell and one good decapitating swing left it harmless. The two males had given them more trouble. The Ankaon hunter had put on a dazzling display of steel, wielding his blade like a painter would a paintbrush. He did not get bogged down in direct combat, rather wearing the Spearman down, inflicting minor wounds through gaps in the brutes armor. The Naga fell with a visceral severing of a tendon in his arm and a slash through the stomach. However, Kyoshi’s singular focus, while effective, had left Alia open to the twin blades of the second male. 

Alia was not formally trained in combat, but she was slimmer than her attacker. She weaved in and out of range until the warrior caught on, and slammed her into a wall. In one desperate moment, the length of her staff was all that stood between cold steel and her neck. With a wave of arcane force she managed to drive him back, and the wall was splashed with dark blood as jagged shards of ice rose from the earth and ripped into his flesh.

Now all that remained was the witch, but they were tired, wounded, and severely out matched. 

Almost.

“I can not get close enough to her.”

“I...I have an idea. It’s risky, but it should work.”

Instead of responding, Kyoshi gave Alia a hard look, then shifted his gaze to the witch. His hand readied on his bloody blade.

Alia sank to her knees, leaning on her staff. Despite its main metal composition, she could feel it bend under her weight, just a little. The blade of the warrior had cut into the metal, revealing the slimmer, inner rod underneath the thicker shell of reinforcements, wrappings and ornamentations. The green crystal top was cracked and chipped in several places. She grimaced, knowing what needed to be done. Closing her eyes she began her spellwork, muttering the incantation as she channeled. Channeled and prayed.

“Sssurrender, and I may let you live!” Somewhere beyond their sight, the witch destroyed a harmless reef formation in her hunt for them.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Kyoshi looked down, and watched as Alia’s form shimmered, like a reflection in a pool of water. From her position, her face cold and distant as she muttered, three identical wisps of energy separated from her main body, taking on the form of an exact copy of herself, also kneeling in the sand. These mirror images traded glances between themselves, then nodded to Alia herself, who returned the gesture. She stood, and the copies followed her, before running out from the cover in different directions.

“Follow my lead.” Pulling the hood over her head, Alia stepped out into the open.

To the witch, the human sorcerous darted out from behind a section of coral, her hands ablaze with fire. 

They locked eyes, and with a roar, a bolt of flame raced forward.

The witch raised her staff, erecting a ward to defect the flames, and a spell in another hand. With a hiss, lightning whipped over the womans face and chest with a sharp, unmistakable crack. The human’s skin blackened, and she fell to the sand, crumbling like dust, nothing more than an illusion.

Sharp pains pierced into the witch's side in quick succession. One after the other, three long, thick icicles had buried deep into her scaled flesh. The witch turned in the direction they had come from and hissed, enraged. There was the mage again, standing next to the wall of ice that the Naga had erected to keep her corralled, but was providing more projectiles that broke off in misshapen chunks suspended above her head.

The witch extended her hands. Another crack.

A wall of ice intercepted the strike however, and the energy backfired, hurling a shard filled hailstorm back at the naga that tore at her face. She shrieked. Crack. Another cloud of dust.

From her other flank, a staff swung wide. It battered her head, the force knocking her prone before curving around her throat and ramming against her windpipe. The witch started to choke.

There was a crack, but it was not from the witches lighting.

The mage came into her view once more, another illusion or the real thing the Naga couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. She threw her whole weight into a flurry of spells. The air burned with the fury of storms. 

The mage never stood a chance. But still there was only dust.

The rod was still there crushing her throat for all the strength her aggressor had. There was a hum in the air, but the witch did not have the attention to identify it. Her vision grew dark. She started gasping. Her four hands found purchase on the rod and in the arms holding it, and she serrated the armor and flesh. There was blood in the air; this was the real one. She forced the staff away urgently. Her lungs began to fill with air. She started an incantation to fry them, herself included if need be.

The Ankoan hunter with his long polearm lunged from somewhere high, a section of pillar broken and cast off from the main building they had first taken cover in. In a fluid swing, he severed the two hands that had been in mid-casting. At the same time, another resounding crack filled the air, and the staff fell away in two pieces.

A mage can’t just pick up a stick off the ground and call it a staff. Staves are made through a process of infusing, enchanting, and inscribing power into them to aid in empowering spells, or at the very least lessen the toll to the casters physical condition as they bend reality to their will. Like cracks in the surface of a blade, a damaged staff is a danger to everyone around it. The power inside becomes volatile, reactive to the slightest outside influence, and made more unstable the more power used to attempt repair; It is a lit fuse with an unknown length.

This fuse had just reached its end.

At first there was an eerie silence, and from his place, Kyoshi saw the brief flash of confusion, then terror flush the witch’s face as a wave of blinding violet light and force flung him into the sand some distance away. Sand, stone fragments, and broken reef rained down on him briefly, his weapon landing an arms reach away with a thud. His body was broken and bruised, and there was a ringing in his ears that made even the idea he was alive difficult to focus on. He crawled to the closest thing he could make out, which after some investigation revealed the coiled, mangled body of the sea witch, her staff still in her clutches. There was an unnatural energy in the air around her that intensified when he touched the body, a spark that traveled up his arm, making him pull back in surprise. A few paces away from the corpse, a quiet voice whimpered in pain. Alia still had the two halves of her staff in her grip. It was splintered, the crystal gray and dull, and the metal gave off that same strange hum of power.

“Kyoshi, do me a favor… Tell Lady Proudmoore I’m sorry I failed and… not to tell Jon.”

  *     * *

Jon knew something was wrong the moment his head touched his sleeping mat.

Despite the constant exhaustion brought on by his duties to the House of Stewards, Jon Chess still made it a point to reach out to his newlywed wife, Alia Atherton, every night through a mental link he had managed to establish with her using his novice studies of shadow magic and the help of a shadow priest.  They talked often this way, though it wasn’t so much full conversations as it was feelings of love and a deep appreciation, or images to represent ideas. It was one of the small comforts he had, not being able to spend any time with his Beloved after they had been married, a fact that he deeply regretted.

So it came to his immediate attention when the time previously appointed for “talking” had come and gone, and the familiar sense of other did not come to him.

Perhaps she is still working on strengthening the portal?

A reasonable excuse. The surprising and increasing difficulty of her task hand been pressed upon him on multiple occasions.

Alia has never been late before. She would have said something beforehand.

Most people would chalk up this as the effects of exhaustion, or forgetfulness. Jon, however, was a paranoid bastard. Wary, he focused his mind and reached out to touch hers. If she was in the middle of channeling, or otherwise preoccupied, there would be a soft push back, a barrier, or a short quip, and he would know not to worry.

There was nothing. He might as well have been grasping at air in the dark, until, finally, there was a quiet presence, barely a whisper, inaudible pain and loneliness that tore at his soul, all with a small little smile that broke his heart.

“Jon...”

At once, Jon Chess prepared to travel to Boralus, and from there to Nazjatar.

*     * *

Come to Nazjatar, they said. Reconcile with your past idol, they said. Get back into the action, they said- 

Alia winced in pain, biting her lip to not make noise. She didn’t want to deal with the medics or healers at the moment. Not including bruises and a menagerie of minor cuts, she had a few cracked ribs - two at least - and her arm was completely broken. Supposedly a clean break through both bones, though that was probably the abridged version. 

It had been some time since any of her heroic stunts had left her bedridden. The Stormwind sewers perhaps, just a few months ago? A fanatical group of Lightforged had taken to harassing every shadow wielder within reach, with special attention paid to the Rendori. They even so far as to blow up one of her and Jon’s favorite bookshops, and take children away from the orphanages and keep them in their hideout in the aforementioned sewers. Which was all fine and good, except that their version of room and board included brainwashing. Alia and Jon had risked themselves on numerous occasions combating them, with herself taking quite a beating in the final confrontation. Ironically, it all coincided with her and Jon exploring, and inevitably cementing, their love for each other.

Jon. Alia missed her husband, now more than ever. Despite the constant visits from Proudmoore, Kyoshi, the medics, even Greymane, she was alone. She could deal with the barrage of questions and reprimands if he was here. Fel, she’d take her ward Rorik, the annoying little monster he certainly would end up being, just so she could have someone to talk to about anything other than how she was healing, how she had gotten these injuries, or how they were going to solve their problem now.

She had contacted her Shadow through their bond upon her first waking moments in Mezzamere, but beyond that, she had not felt his presence in days. Weeks maybe, time was not a solid concept at the moment. She had multiple times played with the idea of reaching out to him through their bond, but every time she would become flooded with guilt and shame. She knew that overloading the magical charge of her staff was a dangerous, dare she say suicidal, move. She had nothing to say in her defense. None of them had been there though. If they had been there, fought the battle she had fought, seen the power she’d seen-

A gentle cough. It was Kyoshi, standing in the archway of the ruined building where the wounded were kept.

“It is good to see you are awake.”

She slumped before the pain made her think better of it. “Same for you. Sorry, I’m not really pleasant to be around at the moment.”

Kyoshi was in far better shape than she was, only a few bandages around his chest and arms. Being farther from the blast had that effect, she guessed.

“No need. I understand that desire to do more, but the shame of...already doing enough, as that angry wolf-man would say.” The passing comment made Alia chuckle, which only made the pain worse. He bowed from the waist, slowly in an apologetic manner. “I have a gift for you, on behalf of the Waveblade and myself.” From around the corner, he produced a long pole, the head of which was wrapped in a dark purple cloth. The shape made it immediately identifiable. 

“Kyoshi...I ah..You didn’t need to get me new staff. You see-”

“-I know. Lady Proudmoore explained as much to us. But I think you’ll find this most agreeable.” 

He sat on the edge of her cot, laying it level on his lap before unwrapping. It was the sea witch's staff, no worse for wear than the day Alia had last laid eyes on it. It was made of a material that carried shades of deep purple, or at least artificially colored somehow to appear as such. The headpiece was a gem, deep and multifaceted as the Void while being smooth and polished, and glowed with a soft lilac, with the same metal material bent into a spiral that surrounded the thing before extending upward into a stiletto end that looked too sharp to be mere decoration. Somewhere in the back of Alia’s mind, was a memory of the distant Gate of the Queen, and the altar to Queen Azshara that depicted a staff of this very design behind wielded by the Naga monarch. 

Bloody fanatics.

More intriguing to her, however, was how the staff radiated power. Even from her distance, it was potent, and made her all the more confused and grateful she had survived the encounter.

“Proudmoore said that ten-thousand years under the waves, and the extra arcana you unleashed has made this a very powerful weapon. Better in your hands than back in the Naga’s, or destroyed.”

She wrapped her hands around the grip and smiled wide. It felt good to hold a weapon again.

“Thank you, Kyoshi. I really don’t know what to say.”

“Then perhaps this will help.” The Ankoan straighten out the cloth, folding it properly so she could see. It was a tabard, looking to be just about human sized, with the Waveblade tribes’ insignia elegantly embroidered in striking black detail. The fabric was of very high quality, soft yet strong.  “Blademaster Okani wanted to reward you for killing the witch, but a life at war has left our imaginations...lacking. As we have hunted together, I thought this token of esteem would suffice.”

“...It's perfect.”

“Alia! I see you’re awake.” Jaina Proudmoore politely nodded to the two as she entered, Greymane sulking right behind her, “I’m afraid to interrupt, but there is still the matter of how to stabilize the portal. Finding a different ley-line was a good idea, but clearly, it was also meant as a trap. We can not risk trying it again.”

The Magna looked down at the staff still in her hands and got an idea. “We won’t have to. M’lady, what if we repeated what you did in Dazar'alor?”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

“You used the void to mask the presence of your portal, correct? We can do that same thing here, but instead of using the void, we use their own power,” She tapped the staff thoughtfully, “To slip past them undetected. They wouldn't dare go tampering with who they think is one of their own.”

A new voice, a silver-haired, emerald eyed rouge, spoke from his spot inside the doorway, attracting no immediate attention except from Alia. His voice washed away her pain a little more for every second it graced her ears. Calm flooded her mind, and tears she’d deny the existence of later welled up in her eyes as she beheld a sight for sore eyes.

“A brilliant idea, as always.”

“You always say that, Shadow.”

“That is because you are always brilliant, Beloved.” Jon smirked.