Guild illustration I did to celebrate the beginning of The Sha’tor’s BfA plot!
A lot of time, energy and love went into this piece, and I can’t even express how much I enjoyed working on it. More than 30 hours of work, almost 140 layers, and now it’s here. This might be the biggest and most detailed illustration I’ve ever done. It feels almost unreal to see it finished, haha.
Huge thank you to our GM @hoganlegdrop for commissioning me and being so patient with me!
“We need some more ballista closer to the Warp Piston, how many can we spare?” Vindicator Kuros bellowed, as he marched past the defense crystal in the center of Blood Watch, as he headed to the northern exit out of the town. A few Peacekeepers trailed after him, muttering something among themselves, before one of them broke from the pack to inquire about the ballista question.
Vivaaldi had made some last minute repairs on the defense crystal in Azure Watch, declaring it working again, before moving to the other town. While she trusted Padruk’s skills, Viv was meticulous and wanted to double check his work, especially during times like these. Paying little mind to Kuros barking, Viv continued her inspection of the main crystal.
The draenei were in no position to be helping the kaldorei in defense of Darkshore. But they were their allies. From the moment the draenei crash landed on the islands, to the brokered peace and promise they will decontaminate the land - in no part due to the Exodar-. To the kaldorei lending the islands to the draenei to live on. Though it started off unsteady, the draenei and kaldorei had become close allies and-neighbors. But what was happening now, while it was too close for comfort geographically, it reminded the draenei too much of Shattrath. Of Draenor.
So, with what little they could spare was sent to Darkshore. It was the least they could do.
The First Archon’s brow furrowed as she ran an arcane layden finger over the circuits, sending controlled pulses to test the frequency sent out to all the auxiliary crystals. It was very hard to impress Vivaaldi, truly, but she had to admit Padruk did an excellent job.
Brow raised, she pursed her lips and she nodded her head in acknowledgement, before pausing abruptly to cough into the crook of her arm.
It was nearing the seasonal change of fall on this planet, but the ever present heat of summertime was still kicking around. The air around the islands were usually thick with humidity this time of year, so it wasn’t that uncommon to find it frustrating to breath when it was hot, but…
…. This year, it was unseasonably cold…
Slowly, Vivaaldi stood up and sniffed the air. It smelled of… smoke? Did someone light a pyre? It wasn’t night yet, there was no need. A fragrant wafted though the air, one that would pompously note during a dinner party with a group of nobles, as you dissect their “oaken flavoured wine.” for hints of fruit and what not.
But, the old wood they used for the pyres didn’t give off any fragrance.
From the corner of her eye, the Archon noticed something lazily floating in the breeze. A dark piece of debris. Something that looked akin to ash, as more and more and more appeared until…
“Oh Light... Oh Light! The tree!”
Quickly turning her head, Viv followed the panicked voice, as she and the people of Blood Watch beheld a horror so unfathomable none of them could immediately understand what they were watching.
For years, the draenei could behold the glorious world tree Teldrassil from their islands. It stood tall, imposing, as it sheltered the kaldorei within its branches. It was as much part of the horizon line as the setting sun at the end of the night.
But now it burned.
Vindicator Kuros was the first to speak, breaking the blanket of silence that befell them.
“Arcanists! Open a portal to Darnassus now”
Three mages snapped out of the revere, before scrambling off to the side, as they prepared to open the portal.
“Light help us, I hope we are not too late. Do we have word from the Exodar? Has someone contacted Velen?”
By now, the entire town was scrambling, people were quickly preparing for the survivors that would eventually find themselves upon their shores. Messages were coming in from all over Bloodmyst, Azuremyst and even the small island of Silvermyst. Peacekeepers, Vindicators, Arcanists, Anchorites, Shamans, all trying to believe what their eyes were seeing, while at the same time, preparing for the worst.
For the Horde navy, the Exodar would just be a hop, skip and a jump and the next likely target.
Closing the panel, Viv started to make her way over to the three arcanists. Three was, obviously, too many. While yes, one person could open a single portal, but in order to summon a portal large enough to ensure a massive amounts of people could get through, three would suffice.
“Portal opening in 3…” the countdown had begun, as the large arcanist announced over the panicked hum of the crowd.
“Do we know if the Vindicaar has been contacted yet? Can they send a teleporter down to Darnassus? Where is the Army of the Light?” Kuros continued to bellow.
“2…”
“Can we get in contact with Shattrath, to the Sha’tori Skyguard? Where is the Alliance army? Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?”
“1… contact is made, portal to Darnassus is op-ARRAAHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHH!!!!”
Kuros and the other draenei immediately stopped what they were doing, whipping their heads around as the horrid screams startled them. Blown back from the portal, covered in flames, the large arcanist rolled around in the dirt, to trying to put himself out. The other two mages stopped what they were doing to drag him away from the cone effect the portal was causing. As shamans, fellow mages and even some well meaning Vindicators, attempted to help put him out.
Vivaaldi rushed over, shutting down the portal as quickly as she could before running over to the group that crowded the crispy mage.
He was lucky, covering his face in time, the only thing that was severely charred was the sleeves of his robes.
“What the hell happened?” this time, it wasn’t Kuros that voice carried over the town. Vindicator Boros leap off his elekk and within a few strides, made it over to the group as they helped the poor smoldering arcanist up.
“W-We can’t…” the large man was struggling to breath, coughing because of the smoke caused by both the tree and his robes. Making a fist, he thumped his chest to try and stimulate his lungs, and get some clean air. “ We can’t open the portal sir, the flames…” he paused again, coughing. “... the flames are too intense!” the arcanist took a big gulp of air before looking Boros directly in the eyes. The despair and reality of the situation was finally starting to dawn on the people of Blood Watch, as the man finally said what they were all thinking.
“.... There is nothing we can do.”
In unison, the draenei turned, the weight of the situation bearing fruit as they watched Teldrassil burn.
“There is nothing we can do…”
The arcanists words echoed throughout each of their heads, as the blanket of reality - a blanket that was all too familiar with- fell on their shoulders. No matter how many soldiers they could sent to Darkshore to aid the kaldorei. now matter how healers they could send to aid the Priestesses and Druids…
... They could not, in all their power, in all their ancient knowledge and technology, in all their arcane prowess and tenacity, help them now…
“There is nothing we can do…”
Shiaan was one of the first shamans. Not Nobundo -esque first, but she did train under him and was part of the first wave of krokul to learn shamanism. She left Argus with her daughter and her family aboard the Genedar, like most of her kin who escaped from their home world. Due to her age, she was caught up in the Red Mist at Shattrath, causing her to de-evolve and subsequently be cast out from her friends and family. But, thanks to Nobundo, she was able to feel… normal again. Though losing her connection to the Light, Shiaan was able to make a connection that -in her opinion- was a lot more meaningful.
The element of wind always reminded her of her grandchildren.
Shiaan had seen many horrors in her day, but this tree burning, didn’t have the impact that it should have on her. It was sad, but, it wasn’t the worst thing she had seen.
Suddenly, she stood up from her perch beside the arcanist, pausing to listen. Looking out towards the eastern sky and her eyes narrowed before she scrambled away from her crestfallen kin, as she scaled a nearby hill.
The sudden action from the old krokul caught Viv’s attention as she watched, curious, at what she was doing. All the woman did was scale a hill and look out to the sky. But Viv wasn’t the only one that noticed, several people had already turned their attention from Teldrassil to sudden outburst from this old krokul.
After a brief moment of silence, Shiaan raised her arms towards the sky before closing her eyes. She took a breath, then began to move her arms in a rhythmic patterns.
The crowd murmured as more and more people started paying attention, wondering what the old woman was trying to doing. Even her fellow shaman were equally curious and confused.
A beat passed, then…
“Light, oh Light look! LOOK!”
The scout jabbed her finger into the air, pointing in the direction Shiaan had been looking, as a rather large, dark spot on the horizon was slowly moving towards them. Many scrambled to join Shiaan atop of the hill, squinting their eyes to get a better look.
As the spot got closer, they quickly realized…
There was still hope yet.
It was hard to make out, but many draenei recognized the familiar shape and horns of the hippogryphs. Noble creatures that live alongside the kaldorei, who also graciously lived alongside the draenei during the first couple of years on Azeroth.
But here, alone in the darkening, ash filled sky, was a hippogryph. Armored, as it were, carrying on it’s back what looked to be three kaldorei bodies, with one delicately held in one of its talons.
With the aid of the element of wind, Shiaan guided the exhaused beast it towards her.
“Don’t stand there with your mouths agape like hungry marsuuls, HELP ME!” she ordered.
Quickly, several shaman joined with her, beseeching the element of wind to guide the feathered hero safely to shore. The wind, keeping it aloft, before finally -finally- it landing softly on the ground. The draenei were quick to removed the injured kaldorei, letting it know it’s duty was finally finished.
“Quickly, get Stephanos here to help the hippogryph! Get blankets and kits, hurry, HURRY!” Kuros carried a Sentinel in his arms, channeling the Light to relieve some of the burns.
The bird painted, Viv had never seen animals other than dogs do this, but she could only image the stress and heat it was under. A shaman cupped it’s hand as it channeled a pocket of air, holding it close to the hippogryph beak, so it could breath.
“More, there are more!” came Shiaans voice, though strained, the old woman didn’t seem to let up. She was right, on the horizon were three more dots, then four, then five, then another three more.
Shamans joined Shiaan, using the element of wind to guide the exhausted beasts who shepard their injured allies to safety. Feathers burnt and seared, the hippogryphs showed not a hint of weakness, only collapsing to the ground once they, and the survivors, were safe.
Some, much to Stephanos chagrin, died due to their injuries. They would get a heroes send off, honoured by both Elune and the Light for their heroic sacrifice.
Some kaldorei weren’t unconscious, like the first batch was that was flown in, but we're already so close to passing out. Vivaaldi and the other arcanists were already prepared, casting Slow Fall on those that fell from their saddles because they didn't have the energy to stay awake. Vindicators were at the ready, catching those that floated gently towards the ground.
It was roughly estimated that, about, fifteen hippogryphs made it to the island. Carrying anywhere between five to eight kaldorei, humans, gnomes, dwarves, worgen, anyone, on their backs.
Stephanos and other hippogryph keepers, even the elekk caretakers, were able to roughly save half the noble armored birds. Elekks carried them back to the Exodar on their backs, where they could be properly taken care of.
Blood Watch was a buzz as the wounded were tended to, while others were ordered to keep their eyes on the skies for more survivors.
Others -those that couldn’t heal or were much too antsy- watched out for any encroaching Horde.
Though ash from Teldrassil started to coat the central defense crystal, hope was never lost that on day, it was only renewed. The draenei knew well of hope and those that wander from it, were never lost.
Her first slammed hard against the crystalline windows of the Genedar as she watched Argus become no more than a spec in the grand Great Dark Beyond.
“No! We have to go back! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!” she screamed, her hands were already becoming blue and bloodied before the Praetors grabbed her, pulling away from the window.
“Calm down!” they demanded, pushing her hard against the wall on the other side. “We can’t go back, this is it! It’s done, it’s over, this is our fate now!”
But Vivaaldi wasn’t buying it. The Eredar were on the verge of space travel, they could turn this ship around, head back to Argus, where she could save her father, the town and everyone that didn’t deserved to be left behind.
“Tell the Prophet, tell the pilot that we need to go back! There are people that could have made it aboard this thing! I cannot be the only one that knows this!”
The Praetor looked crestfallen, she recognized the man as one of the formerly faceless officers that patrolled around Mac’Aree with the Vigilants. She didn’t pay him much attention, but he always seemed to be stationed around the Conservatory. He took a deep breath as he looked down at the ground.
“There… isn’t a pilot, not like a real one… It’s a Naaru.”
“A WHAT?”
“A Naaru, you know, the holy beings of Light. They answered the Prophet's call and saved us, saved us from becoming monsters, from becoming… man’ari. “ the man wrinkled his nose as he said the last word, like it was a disgusting and sour taste in his mouth. Even Vivaaldi had an adverse reaction to it, if this is what they are going to be calling the ones that sided with Lord Kil’Jaeden and Archimonde, then so be it.
By this time, Vivaaldi had calmed down, she rubbed her hands that had become raw as she pummeled the the window. A few scratches here and there, but nothing major. She took a moment, the air between the two coming tense as each were waiting for the other to say something.
“I thought they were fairy tales.” Viv had finally whispered, her gaze focused on the metal floor of, what she would later call the vessel, Genedar.
“Apparently not, apparently T’uure and the A’tamal crystals weren’t just ancient relics of the past. Well, yes, but they were also gifts and stuff.” the young man was trying to make light of the situation, but the weight of what was to come had already settled in.
“I see…” was all she could respond with, monotoned and listless.
Raising her head, Viv nodded to the man, before wordlessly, taking her leave. The Praetor didn’t try to stop her, he knew she wouldn’t be the only one he would have to try to stop breaking the ship's windows…
Viv found a place, out of the way of the general chaos that was happening, to sit and stare off into preverbal space. The general roar and rumble of everyone trying to do something, trying to make sense of everything, became white noise.
As she sat there, massaging her hands.
What felt like hours, but was only a mere couple of minutes, Viv snapped out of her revere. She pulled a book from the shoulder bag she had, one of the few things she had with her, before she was ushered to this unknown future. The book was brand new, her father had just given it to her as a congratulatory gift for graduating the Conservatory with the highest honours.
Oh and he was so proud too.
In his letter he gushed and showered his “Little Astral Glory” with praise. Stating that the entire town was so proud of her too and when she came back to Azurelight, there would be a big celebration and Mumallus would host the finest feast.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
She would never get the feast, she would never see her father or the town again.
They were gone…
It wasn’t just her father that raised her, it was the town. They rallied around Onmir when the small bundle appeared on his doorstep, donating and contributing everything they could. The man was a saint, he did all he could do to help others, without expecting anything in return. So when the town decided to pay him back ten fold, he was beside himself.
So while Onmir was related to her by blood, the town was truly her family.
So that’s why, what she was about to do next, would cement her future.
Opening up the book, she pressed both hands against it, closing her eyes as she enchanted the item. This book, this journal, would serve a purpose to allow her to find a cure. What the cure was, she wasn’t sure yet, but Vivaaldi didn’t graduate the Conservatory of the Arcane with the highest honours for nothing.
A “gift” is something you receive without question, a “curse” was something you receive whether you wanted to or not.
For those left behind on Argus, for those that will have to take this Sargaras’ “gift” to survive. She will find that cure.
“To my dear father Onmir and the town of Azurelight.
I write this to you from aboard the Naaru vessel of the Genedar, a ship gifted to us by the fabled Naaru who have heeded the Prophet Velen’s call and saved us. As I write this, Argus is now a star in the Great Dark Beyond and nothing more, I can’t even tell the difference between our grand world and the rest of the stars.
But that makes no difference, for what I’m about to say.
Magic is vast and grand and even with the Eredar’s vast knowledge of it’s workings, there are still some things that remain a mystery for us. But one thing is known for sure, that words hold power.
Written with enough emotion and power, words can last a lifetime, can curse or bless a child or family blood line or save lives with enough meaning.
With that, I vow, until my dying breath, that I will save you and the town of Azurelight. I WILL come back to Argus and will sever the chains that bind you to the ‘savor” of the Eredar people. I promise that I will use my knowledge and education to find a cure for this curse that has been bestowed upon my people and you.
You all, most of all, do not deserve the fate that will be coming.
So I, Vivaaldi, daughter of Onmir and child of Azurelight. The last town you’ll visit before you head into Mac’Aree and the best stawapple pie this side of the city, vow to you all, that I will come back and save you.
This is my promise to you.
The lamp light flickered as she closed the worn journal.
Over 25,000 years had past since she wrote that impassioned entry into the book. Since then the newly deemed “Draenei” had seen many a worlds, had hope taken and snatched away from them. Had genocide brought onto them by the people they tentatively called allies, but yet survived.
The First Archon, a title she never thought she would carry, smiled tiredly to herself as her finger brushed against the world weary cover. She was smart to enchant it with never ending pages, for all the research and information that was contained within, was enough to make the so called library of Karazhan stand and take notice.
Information about the Krokul and Lost Ones, in which she was sure held the answers to breaking the “Curse of Sargaras”, as she deemed it. Because, even in the 25,000 years, her vow still held strong.
“First Archon, are you still up?” came the voice of Exarch Varistus over the communication crystal that sat on her desk. “If you are, the Arbiter and I need some assistance.”
Vivaaldi didn’t respond, as she stared out the window of her apartment in the magical city of Dalaran. The entire city hovered over the waters as it loomed over the Broken Shore and the adjacent Isles.
But even in the reflection of the shops just across the street she saw it, looming over them, taunting them.
Argus.
“Soon…” she said to herself, as she looked over at the book on the table.
