People are often in high spirits when good things happen. Iraneus, invigorated by the news of his impending freedom and the restoration of his power, quickly dealt with his four younger offspring, sending them to the newly established follower transformation facilities.
"Come with me, Great Lord," Iraneus urged, his voice filled with a newfound urgency. "My physical body is hidden within the innermost hall of this temple!"
Galen followed the ancient green dragon through the labyrinthine corridors of the temple. Iraneus led him to a secluded chamber deep within the structure, where he began to chant an arcane incantation, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. As the last syllable faded, a shimmering portal tore open in the fabric of reality, revealing a glimpse into another dimension.
Galen peered through the rift and beheld a sight that filled him with awe. Curled up within the dimensional space was a green behemoth of immense size. The dragon was so colossal that Galen estimated even Ysera's dragon form could not compare. Perhaps only the likes of Deathwing, Malygos, and Senegos could steadily overpower such a creature.
"Huh? Where did Isarios go?" Iraneus exclaimed, his voice laced with surprise. His friend and fellow green dragon had entered this rift with him, yet only his own physical body remained.
Galen, his expression impassive, provided a logical explanation. "He must have fled after regaining consciousness. That treacherous cur likely escaped from the Temple of Atal'Hakkar and sought reinforcements to rescue you. The fact that there has been no sign of him for so long suggests that his injuries have yet to fully heal, hindering his efforts."
"Do not hesitate, Great Lord," Iraneus urged, his voice filled with a desperate longing. "I must quickly enter my body and merge with it, becoming whole once more!"
Iraneus's physical body had suffered greatly during its battle against Hakkar's avatar. Deprived of most of its power and corrupted by both the Nightmare and Hakkar's dark influence, the ancient dragon had long fallen into a state of slumber. Now, Galen intended for the dream soul under his control to reunite with its corporeal form, hoping to restore the dragon to his former glory.
As the incorporeal soul beside Galen entered the dimensional rift, the slumbering dragon within began to stir. The colossal green dragon, who had been motionless for centuries, suddenly opened his eyes, their emerald depths glowing with renewed life. His massive limbs twitched, then stretched, and his entire dragon body began to shift and move.
After the green dragon rose to his full height, he stood upright and began a remarkable transformation. His massive wings shrank, quickly becoming small protrusions, then vanishing altogether. His forelimbs twisted and elongated, transforming into powerful arms, while his hind limbs contorted outward, becoming sturdy thighs.
His draconic maw receded into his face, morphing into a nose and mouth, respectively. His clawed feet gradually shrank, becoming more humanoid, and thick hair sprouted across his once-scaled form.
In a matter of moments, the dragon's transformation was complete. A tall, imposing night elf stood in the dragon's place, emerging from the dissipating smoke with an air of ancient power and wisdom.
This night elf was a perfect mirror image of Iraneus's dream soul, possessing the same regal bearing and piercing gaze. He took a step forward, his movements fluid and graceful, and with a few spatial folds, he walked out of the dimensional rift.
"Great Lord," Iraneus declared, his voice resonating with newfound strength, "let us now confront Hakkar and reclaim my stolen power!"
Iraneus's shadow, that twisted and malevolent entity that had absorbed the power of the Dragon Summons, contained a significant portion of Iraneus's dragon essence.
But no matter how powerful it was, it was ultimately just a puppet, a vessel of power devoid of a true soul. Upon awakening, Iraneus easily defeated his shadow and reclaimed his stolen power.
After the dragon essence was absorbed, a simple yet elegant one-handed sword lay on the ground, pulsing with residual energy. The sword was adorned with intricate, lifelike patterns of vibrant green branches and leaves, a testament to its connection to the natural world.
The ancient dragon noticed Galen's interest in the fallen weapon and, with a gesture of gratitude, offered it to him.
"Great Lord," Iraneus explained, his voice filled with a hint of pride, "I once poured all my power into this weapon, imbuing it with a portion of my very essence. Although I have just reclaimed most of that power, a significant portion remains within the sword. Coupled with its unique material, it is still a weapon of considerable power, an epic artifact comparable to the legendary Quel'Serrar!"
Galen was certainly familiar with this weapon.
Dragon Summons was a visually striking weapon, but in the early days of its existence, it did not garner much attention. On one hand, it was considered a relatively low-level weapon, lacking the impressive attribute values of its contemporaries. Aside from its unique ability to summon green dragon whelps during combat, it was largely unremarkable.
Later, however, it gained popularity among adventurers seeking to customize their appearance. In his previous life, Galen had specifically sought out this weapon for its distinctive appearance, adding it to his collection of transmogrification items.
Therefore, when Iraneus presented him with the sword, Galen accepted it without hesitation, recognizing its potential value.
"Also," Iraneus continued, his gaze shifting to Galen, "there is the matter of the Shards of the Scepter of Shifting Sands."
Speaking of the Scepter of Shifting Sands, one could not help but recall the epic conflict known as the War of the Shifting Sands.
This was a war between the night elves and the Aqir, a race of intelligent insectoids.
The Aqir were descendants of the Azj'Aqir, an ancient and powerful insectoid empire. These intelligent insects possessed a relentless desire for expansion and were inherently malevolent. They sought not only to unify the ancient continent of Kalimdor under their rule but also to exterminate all non-insectoid life forms.
Unfortunately for them, the dominant power on Azeroth at that time was the ancient troll empire.
The trolls' Zandalari Empire and the insects' Azj'Aqir Empire clashed in a series of brutal and protracted conflicts. The insects possessed overwhelming numbers, while the trolls boasted an astonishing ability to regenerate and recover from their wounds.
In the end, the trolls emerged victorious, completely shattering the Azj'Aqir Empire. The surviving Aqir insects scattered, fleeing to the north and south, respectively.
The scorpion-like variant insects established the Ahn'Qiraj Empire in the southern deserts, while the spider-like variant insects, now under Galen's control, migrated to the northern frozen lands, establishing the Azjol-Nerub Empire.
In fact, Azeroth also harbored a third lineage of insectoid descendants. Before the Azj'Aqir Empire completely disintegrated, a faction of insects, realizing the futility of their war against the trolls, fled in advance.
The Ahn'Qiraj Empire happened to be built atop the prison of the ancient god C'Thun. The ancient god used his immense power to transform the Aqir insects of Ahn'Qiraj into the more intelligent and fanatical Qiraji, completely dominating the empire and turning it into his most loyal and devoted servant.
The War of the Shifting Sands was triggered by C'Thun's machinations. After spending ten thousand years breeding and strengthening the Qiraji within the confines of Ahn'Qiraj, the ancient god deemed his forces ready to conquer. The Qiraji insects launched a massive invasion of night elf territories to the north.
The war was fierce and brutal, involving even the elite warriors of Eldre'Thalas. Galen had witnessed the seemingly endless army marching towards the border in the time tunnel.
Originally, the red dragon Vaelastrasz would have perished in this conflict, slain by the seemingly unstoppable insectoid hordes. However, thanks to the return scroll provided by Galen, his life was spared.
The later stages of the war drew the attention of the bronze dragonflight, who resided in the deserts to the east. The bronze dragon prince Anachronos, invoking the ancient pact between the dragonflights, sought aid from his kin. The green dragon queen Ysera's daughter, Merinthra, the red dragon queen Alexstrasza's son, Kaelestrasz, and the blue dragon king Malygos's son, Arygos, led their respective dragon legions to join the fray.
However, the insects' reproductive capacity was simply too great, and their numbers were overwhelming. Coupled with the less-than-wholehearted efforts of the Eldre'Thalas army, manipulated by the treacherous Smargos, the dragons and the night elf leader, Fandral Staghelm, were eventually forced to formulate a desperate final battle plan.
They decided to use powerful magic to erect an impenetrable barrier, completely sealing the entire city of Ahn'Qiraj and imprisoning the insectoid creatures within. The intention was to wait until future generations developed more effective strategies to deal with the threat.
The green dragon princess Merinthra, the red dragon prince Kaelestrasz, and the blue dragon prince Arygos bravely volunteered to charge into Ahn'Qiraj, hoping to buy their allies time to complete the sealing ritual.
The world believed they had all perished in the battle, but in reality, they were merely trapped within the sealed city.
The high priestess of Elune, Silithus, also played a crucial role in the sealing.
She presided over the ritual, invoking Elune's divine blessing to conjure a massive wall of yellow sand, rock, and intertwined plant roots, effectively blocking the ground approach. An invisible force field was also erected in the sky, preventing any living creature from passing through.
Finally, Anachronos created the Scepter of the Shifting Sands, a magical key capable of unlocking the seal in the Ahn'Qiraj region.
In the original timeline, the scepter was shattered by the grief-stricken Fandral, driven to madness by the loss of his son. The scepter was broken into four fragments, each entrusted to the care of one of the dragonflights.
Logically speaking, in this altered timeline, with Vastan spared from his tragic fate, Fandral would have no reason to destroy the Scepter of the Shifting Sands.
However, after hearing Galen's words, Ysondre still produced a fragment of the scepter...
There could only be one explanation: someone had tampered with history!
And the individual who had participated in the War of the Shifting Sands in Silithus, who was intimately familiar with the events of that era, was none other than Deathwing, reborn as Ancagalon.
The Black Dragon King, reborn as a blue dragon, had masqueraded as a green dragon to participate in the War of the Shifting Sands, and then taken on the role of the bronze dragonflight, subtly altering the course of history.
The situation was undeniably dramatic and ironic.
"After the conclusion of the War of the Shifting Sands, Grand Warlord," Ysondre explained, his voice filled with a mixture of reverence and sadness, "you shattered the scepter on the spot, entrusting a fragment to each of us: myself, the Red Dragon Aspect, Vaelastrasz, the Blue Dragon Aspect, Arygos, and the Bronze Dragon Prince who forged the scepter."
"We all understood your intentions. You sought to ensure that we would never forget the bonds of friendship forged in that life-and-death struggle. At the same time, by entrusting each dragonflight with a fragment, you reminded us of the ever-present threat lurking within Ahn'Qiraj, a threat that demanded our vigilance."
Holy crap! Galen thought, stunned by this revelation. I'm actually part of this convoluted historical drama!
He had almost forgotten that Ancagalon, under the guise of Galen Hellscream, had commanded the Eldre'Thalas army during that conflict, and had even bestowed upon himself the title of a green dragon druid...
Damn it! Galen cursed inwardly. This is getting increasingly complicated!
What could Galen possibly say in response?
After accepting the green fragment from Ysondre, Galen offered a perfunctory explanation, his face betraying a hint of embarrassment. "Ah! Yes, yes, yes! After thousands of years, my memory of certain events has become... somewhat hazy..."
With the green fragment in his possession, and the red fragment presumably in Vaelastrasz's care, Galen resolved to contact the red dragon and request his shard.
As for the blue dragon fragment...
Galen decided to notify Ancagalon, requesting that he send it over.
In any case, Arygos was a relatively weak dragon, a far cry from the power and influence of his father, Malygos.
The new generation of blue dragons, in Galen's opinion, were generally unimpressive in combat, and their romantic preferences were... peculiar, to say the least. Falling in love with humans was at least somewhat understandable, given their humanoid forms and relative... compatibility. But Arygos had taken it a step further, falling in love with a soul healer, a creature of pure energy and light...
The final fragment was in the possession of the Bronze Dragon Prince. Galen had less leverage with the bronze dragonflight. He held the soul of the Eternal Dragon King, but he had never found an opportune moment to use it.
It seemed that he would have to rely on his position as the Grand Marshal of the Alliance, requesting Chromie to provide him with the last piece of the Scepter of the Shifting Sands.
With his purpose in coming to the temple fulfilled, Galen decided to leave the damp and oppressive structure.
The task of purging the remaining evil from the temple was left to Ysondre.
Meanwhile, in Stranglethorn Vale, the conflict for control of the jungle raged on.
The allied forces of the Bloodscalp and Skullsplitter tribes had initially surrounded Zul'Gurub, threatening to overrun the Gurubashi capital. However, after Hakkar sacrificed half of the troll civilians within the city, the tide of the battle had turned decisively.
The Soulflayer Hakkar was a recognized evil god in troll culture. As his followers offered more and more blood sacrifices, his power grew exponentially.
Empowered by Hakkar's dark magic, the Gurubashi trolls, led by the fanatical Jin'do, launched a fierce counterattack.
The depleted and demoralized Bloodscalp and Skullsplitter tribes were unable to withstand the onslaught. After suffering heavy losses, they were routed by the Gurubashi forces and fled back to their territories in disarray.
Just as Jin'do and his forces were preparing to consolidate their gains and annex the lands to the northwest, a new army marched into the jungle from the south, their arrival heralded by the rhythmic beat of war drums and the chilling cries of trollish war horns!
Deep within the verdant jungle, a large number of powerful trolls, their backs laden with javelin bags and their hands gripping battle axes, moved swiftly through the dense foliage, leaping from branch to branch with astonishing agility.
As they advanced, a leading blue troll suddenly dropped from the canopy, landing gracefully on the jungle floor. Upon landing, he prostrated himself, his long, hound-like ears pressed flat against the damp earth.
"Have you found anything, Rokhan?" another troll called out, descending from the trees with equal ease.
This troll was also powerfully built, though not as gaunt and emaciated as the Witherbark trolls. His face was adorned with intricate war paint, and two long, sharp fangs protruded from his mouth. He was Vol'jin of the Darkspear tribe, the commander of this formidable troll army.
The young troll named Vol'jin possessed a calm and collected demeanor, but his eyes were sharp and vigilant, betraying a keen awareness of his surroundings.
This young chieftain of the Darkspear tribe was a rare specimen among trolls, having mastered both the arts of the witch doctor and the skills of a warrior. He had achieved the impressive rank of a ninth-level powerhouse at a relatively young age, and he had also received blessings from several Loa spirits of the Holy Light Church, further enhancing his already considerable abilities.
This combination of talents and blessings was virtually unheard of in the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale. However, for Vol'jin, who had undergone rigorous training in the disciplined ranks of the Minas Tirith training camp, such accomplishments were not a cause for complacency.
He knew that Stormwind City, located just north of Stranglethorn Vale, was home to beings of immense power, capable of crushing him with a mere gesture. And beyond Stormwind, there were the awe-inspiring young talents serving under the command of the enigmatic Grand Warlord, beings whose power dwarfed even the mightiest warriors of Azeroth.
"Send scouts to investigate," Vol'jin ordered, his voice commanding and resolute, "and prepare the others for battle. Whether we face the defeated remnants of the Bloodscalp and Skullsplitter tribes or the vanguard of the Gurubashi forces, it makes no difference to us! We will crush any who stand in our path!"
Vol'jin issued his orders with practiced ease. This was not his first time leading troops into battle. He had once followed the Darkspear tribe in answering the Crusader Grand Warlord's call, participating in the epic Battle of Mount Hyjal. He had also fought in the Trial of the Champion, and even participated in the crusade against the Lich King in the frozen wastes of Northrend.
He, Vol'jin, was a young troll who had witnessed the grandeur of the world and the horrors of war. He was not easily intimidated.
Soon, the scouts returned, bearing news of the enemy's movements. The Gurubashi trolls were pursuing the fleeing remnants of the defeated tribes, their bloodlust evident in their every action.
Vol'jin and Rokhan exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes conveying a silent message: "The time to strike is now!"
Vol'jin raised his hand, signaling his troops. The Darkspear trolls immediately dispersed, melting into the dense jungle foliage, their movements silent and fluid.
The headhunters, masters of ambush and guerilla warfare, retrieved their javelins from the bags slung across their backs, their faces grim and determined. They prepared to unleash a deadly volley upon their unsuspecting foes.
Soon, a group of battered and bloodied trolls, bearing the scars of recent defeat, stumbled southward, seeking refuge from their pursuers. However, the territories of the Bloodscalp and Skullsplitter tribes lay to the north, and their panicked flight would inevitably lead them into the waiting arms of the Gurubashi army.
The Darkspear trolls allowed the fleeing remnants to pass unmolested, knowing that they would soon be caught between two opposing forces.
Moments later, the Gurubashi trolls appeared, their banners held high, their faces contorted in savage grins.
They gave chase, their bloodlust driving them forward, oblivious to the deadly ambush that awaited them.
Suddenly, a hail of javelins rained down from the dense jungle canopy, each projectile finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
The first javelin struck the lead troll, piercing his neck with a sickening thud.