Storm Clouds

There was a time when the air was alive with sound.  A constant hum from thousands of Silithid wings furious beating.  Within their caverns, swarming around columns of rocks, and even around the Cenarion Hold.

Wind kicked up sand into whirling dust devils.  Spectres from ancient battles fought from long ago wandered aimlessly.  Stuck in a loop of the former life.

The sun’s heat was brutal.  The walls of An’Qiraj were still strong, though half buried in the sand.  And deadly, overgrown scorpions skittered above and below the ground.  There was once a beauty to the dry, brutal, unforgiving desert of Silithus.

But that was before the sword of the titan had pierced the sands of Silithus, burying itself into Azeroth.

Now there was nothing.  Just a crater, charred sand and earth, and devastation.  Even the spirits of old had perished at the hands of Sargeras’ sword.

Silithus wasn’t empty though.  The Silithids remained, although their numbers were greatly diminished.  Most of their hives had not been spared and thankfully, many of the creatures had perished.

But so too had many others.  Cenarion Hold was gone.  No trace of it remained.  Patches of sand had even been turned into patchy sheets of glass.

Peering through the storm crow’s eyes, Silentsong took in the devastation below her.  The sword remained, seemly dormant after she and other champion s had siphoned its energy into their weapons.  An act that had finally taken its toll upon them.

The daggers, or fangs Cat had been so proud of, had threatened to vibrate apart until their edges had dulled and lost their sheen.

The paws bear carried had aged and their leather had dried out seemingly overnight, ready to crumble at the slightest touch.

Her wooden staff had cracked with the strain of containing such power.  The once magnificent wings of the owl that adorned it were now chipped and broken.

Even the power of the Scythe had faded.  It no longer shined like a full moon over Gilneas.

Everyone insider her was uneasy.  The Worgen most of all.

Cat’s restlessness was enough to drive any of her forms into a frenzy.  While Silent knew if she was feeling exposed and vulnerable, others must as well.

The Legion had been driven back and all but destroyed, but the cost was high.  They returned home to a world bleeding, possibly dying.  The weapons they had relied upon so heavily during their fight with the Legion were now empty shells.  Was it a wonder why people would be worried?  Scared even?

No.  It could be expected, she thought.  But people had a tendency to do terrible things out of fear.

And that was what worried her.

She had come to trust the others she shared her forms with.  While she had learned much on her own the last year, they had a stronger tie to nature.  They could read history, hear whispers and signs in the air that even her keen senses couldn’t quite grasp.

The last time Cat had been this agitated, the Legion began their invasion of Azeroth.  Like sensing a storm before the rains come, this was her warning sign.  “Something is coming.”

Below, she watched Horde and Alliance scurry between the crystalline nodes that had erupted and reached towards the sky.  All of them were clamoring to secure as much as they could.

“For what use?” she wondered.  “Will we find ourselves depending on its use like we did with these weapons of lore?  Or worse?”

This was where she found herself agreeing with the bear.  They would face it.  They always did.

The storm crow was getting ready to take them down for a closer look at a pack of Goblin’s movements when the Hearthstone came to life.

“They have started attacks.  They seem to be moving towards Teldrassil.”

The crow dropped several hundred feet as it was taken aback by the report.  “The tree.  They gave us their home when we lost ours.”

The bear roared as cat gave a battle cry.

The crow had already swung around to start north.

Cat was right.  It had begun.

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