Galen did not stay to watch the naval battle between the Bloodsail Buccaneers' First Fleet and Rivigaz's Blackwater Pirates.
The outcome of that engagement was practically a foregone conclusion.
As he departed from the western sea, he received a notification that a large number of heroic spirits had entered the Altar of Kings, indicating a decisive victory for his forces. However, Rivigaz himself was likely to survive the encounter and "willingly" join Galen's retinue as a follower.
Despite the goblin's avarice and unscrupulous business practices, he still held a certain degree of influence within the Steamwheedle Cartel, and Galen intended to use him to infiltrate the organization.
With a flash of white light, Galen teleported to the northeastern corner of the Swamp of Sorrows: Swampsong Post.
This was the location where he had subdued the first group of Broken Draenei to arrive on Azeroth.
However, Galen did not linger at this base, using it merely as a transit point. His ultimate destination was the Temple of Atal'Hakkar, situated in the lower central region of the swamp.
The construction of this temple was inextricably linked to Hakkar the Soulflayer.
This was not the first time Hakkar had been summoned to Azeroth by the Gurubashi trolls.
Tens of thousands of years ago, a foolish troll had attempted to summon Hakkar the Soulflayer into this world, resulting in the deaths of tens of thousands of his own kind. Although the Zandalari tribe had ultimately resolved the crisis, Hakkar's faith had taken root among the troll race.
Later, as the Gurubashi Empire teetered on the brink of collapse, the remnants of that once-mighty civilization, driven by a desperate desire to restore their former glory, once again sought to summon Hakkar's avatar, hoping to exploit his unholy power to expand their territory. This occurred approximately 1500 years before the opening of the Dark Portal.
Hakkar the Soulflayer possessed the ability to plunge his followers into the depths of their darkest emotions, driving them into a state of violent, bloodthirsty madness.
As he consumed the blood that flowed in his name, Hakkar's power grew exponentially, and his connection to the mortal realm became increasingly tangible.
However, the renewed wave of massacre and bloodshed once again drew the attention of the reclusive Zandalari. This sovereign state of all trollkind once again united the disparate jungle troll tribes to openly confront the bloodthirsty Hakkar the Soulflayer.
In the end, Hakkar's avatar was destroyed once more, and the Atal'ai tribe, the most devoted worshippers of Hakkar, were hunted down to near extinction.
The survivors of this ill-fated tribe eventually fled into the fetid swamps of the Swamp of Sorrows, where they constructed the Temple of Atal'Hakkar to continue their study of forbidden and malevolent witchcraft.
Not long ago, the trolls had once again attempted to summon and control their ancient blood god. The Green Dragonflight, ever vigilant, had established a presence around the Swamp of Sorrows. Upon discovering the trolls' activities, Eranikus had ventured into the temple, intending to imprison Hakkar's avatar and purge the temple of its evil influence.
However, in Galen's timeline, Eranikus's efforts had been thwarted. The Shadow of Hakkar and the encroaching Emerald Nightmare had struck simultaneously, ensnaring both Eranikus's physical form and his dream self!
In his prime, Eranikus would have been more than capable of defeating Hakkar alone or purging the corruption of the Nightmare's power.
Unfortunately, this powerful green dragon had been dealt a cruel hand by fate, forced to confront two formidable enemies at once.
Eranikus's situation was dire. His dream form had been corrupted, transforming him into the monstrous Nightmare Tyrant, while his physical body remained trapped within the depths of the temple.
However, a glimmer of hope remained. Thanks to Galen's subtle manipulations, Hakkar's true form had been summoned in Zul'Gurub, the capital of the Gurubashi Empire.
High Priest Thekal and the Atal'ai zealots had seized control of the city, and empowered by Hakkar's dark magic, they had summoned and enslaved the avatars of the loa: the Bat, the Panther, the Tiger, the Spider, and the Serpent.
With trolls sacrificing living beings to him in Zul'Gurub, the Blood God, his power greatly diminished, focused his attention on his true form, leaving his avatar in the temple to be controlled by others.
The Atal'ai trolls, led by their fanatical leader, Prophet Jammal'an, had injected Hakkar's tainted blood into the bodies of captured Green Dragonflight members, corrupting these once-noble dragon warriors.
Galen assembled a force of a hundred elite soldiers from Swampsong Post and set off towards the south with purposeful stride.
As the primary base in the Swamp of Sorrows, the garrison here boasted a training regimen comparable to that of high-ranking knights.
Therefore, half of Galen's hundred-man contingent consisted of high-level knights, while the remaining fifty were comprised of powerful wizards and devout priests.
Marching through the oppressive humidity and treacherous terrain of the swamp proved to be a grueling ordeal. It took them the better part of a day to reach the imposing Temple of Atal'Hakkar from Swampsong Post.
The temple was situated within a vast inland lake, its towering structure partially submerged. From their vantage point, Galen and his forces could see the upper reaches of a massive, blue pyramid-shaped temple rising from the murky depths.
The Temple of Atal'Hakkar, also known as the Sunken Temple, had been submerged beneath the waters by the immense power of the Green Dragon Queen, Ysera, in an attempt to contain the evil that festered within.
At this time, with Stranglethorn Vale engulfed in a bloody conflict, most of the priests from the temple had journeyed to Zul'Gurub to perform their dark rituals and offer sacrifices to their malevolent god, leaving the temple largely unguarded.
Galen, with his characteristic pragmatism, employed a simple yet effective solution. He expended a considerable sum of gold to activate the Frost Road ability of a death knight, allowing his entire company to walk across the water on a path of solid ice. They soon reached the moss-covered summit of the temple, its surface slick with various forms of aquatic plant life.
From the temple's summit, a gaping opening descended into the darkness of the temple's interior.
"Knights, take the lead and clear the way!" Galen commanded, his voice echoing across the still water. "Wizards and priests, follow closely behind. I will bring up the rear with the remaining knights."
With Galen's orders, thirty of the fifty knights, clad in gleaming armor, took the vanguard, their heavy footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The wizards and priests followed, their hands gripping their weapons and spell components, their faces grim with determination. Galen brought up the rear, accompanied by the remaining twenty knights, his senses on high alert.
The internal passages of the temple were a labyrinthine maze, a bewildering network of twisting corridors and hidden chambers. The knights, anticipating the darkness, had brought torches from their supplies, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows on the damp, moss-covered walls.
The company had ventured deep into the temple for less than ten minutes when the silence was shattered by the sounds of combat. A large group of grotesque trolls, led by a gaunt and sinister-looking troll priest, attempted to ambush the advancing knights.
The ensuing battle was swift and decisive.
The leading troll priest barely had time to raise his staff and begin chanting an incantation when a bolt of arcane energy from one of the wizards transformed him into a harmless lamb. A well-aimed fireball followed, reducing the unfortunate creature to a pile of charred remains.
The remaining trolls were little more than animated corpses, their bodies infused with dark energy. They wielded crude stone spears and clubs, their attacks easily deflected by the knights' heavy armor. The knights, in turn, dispatched the undead trolls with brutal efficiency, their heavy swords cleaving through rotting flesh and bone with sickening ease.
The company pressed onward, venturing deeper into the temple's bowels. As they progressed, the floor of the passages became increasingly damp and uneven, littered with a disturbing assortment of unidentifiable objects that squelched ominously underfoot.
Galen, his patience wearing thin, was forced to continuously activate the Frost Road ability, freezing the passage floor with each step to provide solid footing for his troops.
They encountered no less than a dozen attacks along the way, each assault consisting of waves of fanatical Atal'ai clan trolls. Led by their Hakkari priests, these trolls swarmed Galen's company like relentless locusts, their numbers seemingly endless.
Soon, Galen and his forces found themselves hopelessly lost...
Within the labyrinthine depths of the Sunken Temple, even those equipped with maps found themselves disoriented and confused. Navigating the treacherous corridors required a combination of luck, intuition, and perhaps, a healthy dose of divine intervention.
However, Galen was not one to rely on such fickle forces. He had a contingency plan in place.
The temple was located relatively close to the Swampsong Post base, well within the range of the Altar of Kings' power. Galen, without hesitation, summoned the soul of Eranikus's dream form.
The dragon's incorporeal form materialized as a tall, imposing night elf male, his features marked by an otherworldly grace. Upon his arrival, his eyes were clouded with confusion, as the Heart of Origin began to flood his consciousness with a torrent of information and knowledge.
Soon, however, the bewilderment faded, replaced by a sharp, focused gaze that surveyed his surroundings with an air of ancient wisdom and power.
"Greetings, Great Lord," Eranikus said, his voice a resonant echo that seemed to vibrate through the very stones of the temple.
"You are aware of the situation," Galen replied, his tone brooking no argument. "We have come to this forsaken place to recover your physical body and, while we are here, to eliminate Hakkar's avatar."
Hakkar, in Galen's estimation, could be considered a minor deity, and his avatar likely possessed the power of a peak Legendary being. In terms of strategic value, Galen calculated that the avatar's demise would yield a substantial amount of soul energy.
Of course, Galen's primary objective remained the acquisition of Ysondre's physical body and the legendary Scepter of the Shifting Sands, both of which were rumored to be hidden within the temple's depths.
With Eranikus as their guide, the company no longer had to blindly stumble through the temple's endless corridors.
Soon, they began to encounter a wider variety of enemies. In addition to the ubiquitous trolls, they faced packs of vicious wind serpents and groups of corrupted green dragonkin, their once-noble forms twisted and warped by dark energies.
"Years ago," Eranikus recounted, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and regret, "our Queen, Ysera, became aware of the Hakkari priests' plans to summon Hakkar the Soulflayer into this realm. In an attempt to thwart their dark designs, she unleashed her power, causing the Temple of Atal'Hakkar to sink beneath the waters of the Swamp of Sorrows."
Eranikus paused, his gaze fixed on the twisting passages ahead. "After the temple was submerged, the Queen's attention was drawn to the growing anomalies within the Emerald Dream. To ensure that Hakkar remained confined within the temple's depths, she tasked me and my dear friend, Itharius, with dealing with the remaining Hakkari priests."
"We believed that destroying Hakkar's physical avatar would bring an end to the threat, a decisive victory for the Green Dragonflight. However, I was caught in the throes of the Emerald Nightmare, barely managing to escape into the ethereal realm between the Emerald Dream and the reality of Azeroth. My physical body, however, was corrupted by the Nightmare's influence!"
Galen listened with rapt attention, piecing together the events that had led to the current state of affairs. Eranikus glossed over the details of his battle against Hakkar's avatar, but Galen knew that the encounter had been both thrilling and perilous.
In his previous life, Galen had completed the quests associated with this temple. He knew that in the most critical moment, Eranikus had unleashed the full extent of his power, summoning the very symbol of the Green Dragonflight's authority: the Dragon's Call.
Wielding the powerful Dragon's Call, Eranikus had managed to drive Hakkar back into the chaotic realm of the Twisting Nether, but in doing so, Eranikus's presence had faded from Azeroth, his energy seemingly expended.
This period coincided with the onset of the Nightmare's corruption, which not only twisted his dream self but also tainted the power he had imbued into the divine weapon, creating the twisted shadow of a fallen Eranikus.
Galen also knew what had transpired in the aftermath. Despite Eranikus's efforts, some Atal'ai had survived, continuing their efforts to resurrect Hakkar.
"We are here, Great Lord!" Eranikus announced, his voice echoing with a newfound sense of purpose.
Following Eranikus's guidance, the company finally reached the heart of the Temple of Atal'Hakkar.
They entered a vast, two-tiered circular chamber. Galen observed groups of corrupted green dragonkin patrolling the hall, their movements erratic and unnatural.
"It appears they have also fallen victim to Hakkar's corruption," Eranikus observed grimly, sensing the taint of the Blood God within their very essence.
"Great Lord," Eranikus pleaded, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination, "they are beyond saving. Please grant me permission to end their suffering, to purify them with cleansing fire!"
"No!" Galen countered, his voice firm and unwavering. "We will capture them alive! They are not beyond redemption."
In Galen's absence, death would have been the only release for these corrupted creatures. However, Eranikus now served under Galen's command. For the sake of their newfound alliance, Galen intended to save Eranikus's former subordinates.
Galen gestured to his forces, and the hundred-strong company sprang into action.
With a series of coordinated strikes, Ysondre subdued each dragonkin with surprising ease, his movements swift and precise. The captured dragonkin, rendered unconscious by the force of his blows, were then levitated through a hastily conjured portal by the wizards.
The portal led directly to the hallowed halls of the Minas Tirith Cathedral.
After many years of relative peace, the cathedral had once again begun accepting "orders," resuming its sacred duty of Lightforging new champions.
With the chamber cleared, four small green dragon whelps emerged from the shadows, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.
Galen recognized them as Demisekal, Dravovol, Hazzas, and Mopharas, young dragons who had been sent by Ysera to assist Eranikus in his mission.
However, judging by the intense emotion in Eranikus's gaze, Galen suspected that these four whelps were more than just mere subordinates.
"Great Lord," Eranikus began, his voice thick with emotion, "would you be willing to personally purify them, as you did with Layson and the others?"
While Lightforging could undoubtedly save the whelps from their corruption, it would ultimately alter their inherent power attributes, transforming them into beings of Holy Light. Ysondre, understandably, was reluctant to see his charges undergo such a transformation.
"These whelps... they are special to you, aren't they?" Galen inquired, his gaze fixed on Eranikus.
"They are my offspring," Eranikus confessed, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and paternal concern. "They are the children of myself and Queen Ysera."
Ah, Galen thought, a flicker of understanding dawning upon him. So, these are the dragon equivalent of royalty. Dragon princes and princesses.
"My and the Queen's most... exceptional offspring, Mylindra, perished in the War of the Shifting Sands, thousands of years ago," Eranikus continued, his voice tinged with sorrow. "These four whelps are the last of our line, the only remaining children of myself and the Queen."
Wow, Galen thought, impressed by Eranikus's dedication. Four offspring! That must have cost him a considerable amount of soul energy!
Even the mighty Deathwing, Galen recalled, had only four known surviving offspring to his name.
The birth of a dragon's own offspring consumed a significant portion of the parents' life force.
Ysera, as a Dragon Aspect blessed by the Titans, could largely ignore this drain on her vitality. However, the Dragon Essence that Ysondre had expended in creating these whelps must have severely depleted his own life force.
It's a testament to his resilience, Galen mused, that he has managed to survive for so long, continuing to serve the Green Dragonflight despite his diminished state.
"Great Lord..." Ysondre began hesitantly, unable to bear Galen's intense scrutiny any longer.
Galen, jolted from his thoughts, refocused his attention on the matter at hand. "Have them rendered unconscious," he instructed his forces, his voice decisive. "Then, send them to the palace to undergo transformation into followers."
This was, in a way, a more fortunate fate than that which had befallen Layson and the other corrupted dragons. The whelps would be spared the agony of death and resurrection, spared the pain of being killed and reborn.
"Thank you, Great Lord!" Ysondre exclaimed, his voice filled with profound gratitude.
"We are allies, Ysondre," Galen replied, waving off the dragon's thanks. "There is no need for such formalities." He paused, then continued, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "You need not despair for Mylindra, either. She, along with the red dragon Calestrasz and the blue dragon Arygos, is currently imprisoned within the Qiraji hive city of Ahn'Qiraj."
Upon hearing this news, Ysondre was stunned into silence, his eyes widening in disbelief. Then, a wave of overwhelming joy washed over him, his features softening with an almost paternal tenderness.
The loss of an offspring, particularly one as promising as Mylindra, was a profound tragedy for any dragon, a wound that time could never fully heal.
Dragons, despite their immense power and long lifespans, were fiercely protective of their young, viewing them as precious inheritors of their legacy.
The Titans had bestowed unparalleled power upon the dragons, and with that power came corresponding responsibilities.
Azeroth was a dangerous world, a crucible forged in the fires of conflict. The ancient wars, coupled with the recent corruption of the Emerald Dream, had taken a heavy toll on the Green Dragonflight. The loss of Mylindra had been a devastating blow, a wound that threatened to cripple the once-mighty dragonflight.
The survival of the Green Dragon Princess represented a beacon of hope, a chance to replenish their dwindling numbers and bolster their forces.