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Act I: MeetingEdit
It rained heavily outside. Tyrande Whisperwind was sitting alone at a table in the inn, quietly muttering to herself and reading a newsscroll (the headline of the day was "Still no clue in the Astranaar child abduction case" as she drank her murky brew. The Jolly Treant, the inn was called, a quite new establishment owned by a good-spirited (in all meanings of the word) dwarf known as Jolly Uncle Woodenmug. Too good-spirited, Tyrande though. She had drunk quite an amount of the dark liquid, and for each drink, she became more and more depressed. Not many others were in the inn at the time, and most of them dwarves from an Explorers' Guild expedition passing through the night elf capital. No-one of seemed to pay much attention to the kaldorei leader at the corner table but for one person, a night elven male, a noble, by the looks of it. He had long, dark blue hair, a dark purple complexion, and wore a pair of small, elegant glasses. He was dressed in elegant green and blue clothes, with a short cape trailing after him as he approached Tyrande.
"May I sit down?", the man asked.
"Sure, can't possibly get any worse," Tyrande mumbled in reply.
The man sat down on a chair at the opposite end of the wooden table, and attempted to start a conversation.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, high priestess, even if it is in an environment such as this. I am Meranan Shadoweye."
"Shadoweye, huh? Don't think I've heard of your house before."
"Alas, the House of Shadoweye is, and has always been, a small one. I come from Ashenvale, where we live in our humble abode, me and the other quasi-nobles. Tell me, how come the high priestess of the kaldorei is sitting here and drowning her insides in this foul stuff?"
"If I had any problems, why would I reveal them to a complete stranger?"
"You are quite right, of course. I just guessed you needed someone to speak to, and if I may say so, I have a small reputation back home for being a kind and gentle soul."
"Does that line usually work?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Ah, I guess it can't do any harm. I'm just wondering: what is the meaning of all this?"
"And here I thought such questions were usually asked to you."
"It's just that, that, ah, it's kinda hard to tell."
"If anyone can, it's you."
"Well, I guess it's Furion's fault, in a way."
Now Tyrande's behavior changed, she became quite loud.
"Does that man just expect me to wait for him? He's always gone in that Emerald Dream of his. He's doesn't have what it takes in a relationship. It could have been so much more had he just at least tried. By Elune, that man is irresponsible! At least his brother tried, but he went mad. I'm starting to think it runs in the family.
Several of the partying dwarves were now listening eagerly to the conversation.
"And even if we don't mention my so-called boyfriend, then there's that moron Staghelm. He thinks he's so superior to everybody else, especially to me."
"Don't you dare interrupt me when I'm ranting, mr. Eyeshadow!"
"Whatever. Where was I? Ah, Staghelm! He's probably sitting in his fancy throne, planning to overthrow me as we speak! Eh, did you want something, Eyeshad, eh Shadoweye?"
"I was just going to inform you of said archdruid's spy sitting a few tables behind us. Don't look."
"A spy? I knew it! You see? It's just not my paranoia!"
"I think it's Fylerian Nightwing, that druid spy of Fandral's. We'd better leave."
"You may be right."
"You know a good place?"
"My house is close by. I think."
"What, you though I stood in the temple all day? It's a simple house, much like yours, I guess. Come, let's move. Oh wait, what about the spy?"
"Let me take care of that."
As he rose from the table, Meranan shouted in a loud voice: "Bar brawl!". At this exclamation, all the dwarves (and a few inebriated night elves) started chucking chairs, tables, mugs, and various pieces of equipment at each other. Meranan shrugged.
"Dwarves, you know."
Tyrande couldn't help but chuckle. The confused spy lost track of the couple as they slipped out the back door, and after a short run in the rain, they arrived at Tyrande's house.
"You think we lost him?", Tyrande asked.
"Most probably. I have worked with that guy before. He's not really that great a spy."
"And what do we do now?"
"Well, do you have any spare clothes? These noble's clothes are suprisingly vulnerable to rain."
"I know what you mean. The same goes for my clothes, I'm afraid. I have some spare robes in the bedroom, but not much for you, I'm afraid."
"Ah, too bad, then. Wait, I think I have an idea: why can't I sleep here. If you have any spare bed, of course. I stayed at the inn, and I don't think going back there tonight is such a good idea. By now, Uncle would have found out I started the fight, and will be wanting my blood in a mug. Besides, these clothes dry fast, and I'm sure they'll be as new in the morning."
"I don't think I have a spare bed, but..."
"You can sleep with me, if you know what I mean."
"Are you sure that's appropriate? I mean, you have a fiancee."
"I hate long-distance relationships. If he wants to be more than a generic friend, he'd better wake up from his Dream. So, what do you say, mr. Shadoweye?"
"Please, call me Meranan. And if that is the way you feel, I accept your challenge."
And so the night went by, rather intensely for Tyrande Whisperwind and Meranan Shadoweye. When the high priestess woke up next morning, she found her companio gone, with a note on the bed beside her. She picked up the note, and read it semi-loud for herself.
"Dear Tyrande. I greatly enjoyed our time together, but the thing is, I recieved instant summons from my family to return to Ashenvale. I hope you can come visit me soon. -Meranan."
Tyrande sighed. It was fun while it lasted, she thought as she rose from the bed. While she got dressed, she felt her stomach hurting. Hunger? No, not that. She didn't really know what it was, but she went to have breakfast anyway.
- - -
Fylerian Nightwing slipped into Fandral Staghelm's chamber. The Archdruid stood with his back to his spy, but still both noticed and recognized the rogueish druid.
"I can't help but notice the failure in your stride, Fylerian," Fandral coldly said, still without facing the subject of his words.
"You are right master, forgive me. I was careless, I lost the girl and her friend."
"You know what this means, of course. Only half a ration of grain for you."
"No! Please! I want it! I need it!"
"You may leave me now, Fylerian. And remember, always titulate me as Master."
"Two fifths, Fylerian. Leave me, I said!"
As the ashamed druid left, Staghelm took forth a pouch from a box on the floor, and emptied the Morrowgrain within into his mouth.
After doing this, he went forth to his desk and picked up two, tiny spheres of black crystal, held them in his hand, and inspected them closely.
"Soon it will happen. Not long now."
- - -
A week had now passed since Tyrande's meeting with Meranan Shadowsong. As she had did the previous mornings, she woke up in her bed, but now she felt her stomach hurting again, and more so than previously. She looked down on her belly, and to her surprise, discovered that it was larger than before. At first she didn't understand, she had not been eating more than usual, but then she knew. That fateful meeting a week ago. But pregnancies never went this fast! And besides, something felt wrong.
Tyrande decided to try to cover it up, but after another week, the pregnancy had progressed so far that it was impossible to hide it. The High Priestess decided to go find the father of her unborn child. She went to Ashenvale.
After some time of searching and inquiring, Tyrande found the abode of the Shadoweyes, but not in the way she expected: it was on fire. As she rushed to help, she noticed a note stuck on the still-intact front door of the mansion. She ripped it off the dagger with which it was pinned on the door, and read it.
"Priestess Whisperwind, we felt the need to take your lover into custody. We know all about your little will-be offspring, and if you decide to try to act heroic and attempt to rescue mr. Shadoweye, we will release the information to the public. Needless to say, your life as a respectable member of kaldorei society would be over. The same goes if you try to reveal the existence of this note. Have a good time, Tyrande, while it lasts. -The Archdruid Staghelm
Being the free soul she is, Tyrande Whisperwind wouldn't let any unscruplous political rival stop her from saving the man she loved. It was time she visited an old friend.
Act II: MissionEdit
"Interesting, to say the least," Shandris Feathermoon replied to Tyrande's story. "I always knew that Fandral was unscruplous, but not this much. Well, come to think of it, I shouldn't really be surprised. It seems just like the pretender Archdruid to do such a thing."
"Indeed. What do you propose we do about it?
"Of course we need to get your mister Shadoweye back. And I know precisely the right person for this endeavour."
"Let me guess... You?"
"Half correct. Other than me, there is one other person I'd like to bring along. Let me introduce you to my fiancee, Jarod Shadowsong."
Out of the shadows stepped a grizzled elf, wearing black garments and carrying a thin, lethal blade in each hand.
"Jarod!", Tyrande exclaimed. "How nice to meet you again! Where have you been all this time, all these centuries?"
"It's kind of hard to explain," Jarod tried to answer. "Suffice to say, I've been training."
"I can see that! What are you now, some kind of rogue?"
"Indeed I am, Tyrande, and without sounding too overconfident, one of the best around. Maiev would be either proud or jealous of me. I hear you have some problems with the so-called "leader of the night elves?"."
"In that you are correct. Very correct."
"In that case, I think I might be able to help you. Do you know where that man of yours is being held?"
"I think I might have an idea," Shandris interrupted. "I happen to know of a quite sizable ship under the direct control of Staghelm, the Blade of Valstann. It moves around, but Jarod here should know it's location."
"The Valstann, you say? That elusive prison ship of Staghelm's is believed to be floating outside Booty Bay.
"Then Booty Bay it is. Come now, friends, let us rescue Tyrande's latest fancy!"
- - -
Landro Longshot eyed the black-armored night elven warrior with suspicion.
"You really expect me to do that for you? What have you ever done for me, huh?"
"Look here, mr. Longshot," the night elf said, quite annoyed. "Master Staghelm needs the goods this evening, at the latest!"
"If your master wanted it so badly, then why didn't he come here himself?"
"Look, he's busy! I'm his trusted lieutenant! You have no reason to distrust me! I have lots of money!"
"Normally, I would have agreed to it immediately, but this is no ordinary thing we're talking about! Sure I can't interest you with an imp in a ball?"
"Why in the name of Malorne would I need an imp in a ball?"
"It works miracles! And it's free?"
"Hah. Goblins never give away things for free. What's the catch?"
"You'll need the code."
"Not telling you!"
"That's quite enough! If the security wasn't so tight here, I'd stick this sword in your green little throat!"
"You think such talk is going to get you the goods?"
"I don't think any talk is going to get me the goods."
"At last we agree with each other. No go away before I call the guards! Shoo!"
"You'll regret this, goblin! If you won't sell us the goods, I'll... I'll go to the gnomes!"
"The gnomes won't be any more cooperative. They, too, abide by the Hogger Conventions."
"The what now? No matter, if the Gnomeregan Refugees abide by any convention, the current inhabitants of Gnomeregan are sure to not do so."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I would. Unscruplous, remember?"
"Ah, alright then. But I'll need twice your original offer."
"No problems. Tell you what, I'll give you triple the original offer if you can meet the deadline."
"Then it's a deal. We'll come by your vessel in sub later."
"I look forward to it. But, eeh, I think I gotta go now. Bye!"
"Wonder why he was in such a hurry? Ah, those elves, I'll never understand them."
As the warrior disappeared around a corner, three other night elves, two female and one male, walked along the buildings. Shandris caught sight of Landro, and they approached him.
"Are you Landro Longshot, goblin?", Shandris asked.
"Well, I sure ain't High Tinker Mekkatorque."
"Would you happen to know anything of a ship called the Blade of Valstann that's supposed to be in the area?"
"What do I look like, a far seer?"
"Don't be like that, Longshot," Jarod said. "We know you know what's going on wherever you happen to be."
"I don't see any gold."
Jarod took a pouch of golden coins from under his cloak and gave it to the goblin.
"It's lurking in the mists just outside the bay. Heavily guarded, they say."
"You know anything else about the ship that can be of use to an eventual boarding party?"
"Pirates, are we now? If so, you should be rich. Please sahre your loot with a poor, poor goblin who tries to make a living selling used codes to ogres."
"I had no idea what that was all about, but sure, I'm not against boosting the wealth of my dear green-skinned friends, and I don't mean the orcs."
Jarod handed another, larger pouch to Landro.
"That's better. There was another night elf here just a moment ago, he ran off when he saw you. Easily annoyed warrior kind of guy in black armor. Wanted to buy a strictly unethical device, he did. Still, he managed to convince me. Hey, I know! You could follow me on my submarine when I drop off the weap, eh, device tonight."
"We'd like that very much."
"Of course you would. You know what I'd enjoy? Paying passengers."
"Alright, Landro, you win this round. I hope you enjoy making a poor night elf even poorer."
"Hey, it's a living."
- - -
Aboard the submarine, which was despite it's size cramped, to say the least, due to both several goblins, the night elves, and the boxes carrying the "device". The elven party was sitting on a crude metal bench as Landro approached them.
"What do you think of her, heh? The first of the W-50s. I call her Landro's Bucket o' Gold, after me, you know. I hope it will be a pleasant ride!"
Just after he said that, the submarine took off with a tremendous boom.
"Hope is the last thing that leaves a goblin, they say. Ah, my guts tell me we're there! They also tell me I shouldn't have skipped breakfast! My mother always said "Landro, you cannot eat gold." Well, being the gambler I am, I tried. See this gold tooth? Yeah."
"We're there already?", Shandris half-asked.
"Short but eventful," Jarod replied dryly.
As the crew was highly trained, they almost immediately placed the submarine besides the prison ship. And as the boxes containing the device were carried aboard, three shadows sneaked aboard with them. THe prison ship was like nothing they had ever seen before, a metal juggernaut laying very low in the water, carrying several foreboding metal towers, both for control and weaponry. The reputation of the Valstann was, in this case, underestimated. Knwoing that the black-armored guards would soon catch them if they remained on deck, the party sneaked via a hatch below-deck, only to find a surprisingly large dungeon hosted in the ship's hull, all below water. The cells hosted what appeared to be several deranged mutations, many of them either dead or dying, except for some, in which night elves, known adversaries of Staghelm, were being held. One of these elves was Meranan Shadoweye. Tyrande hurried towards the iron door when she saw he was there.
"Meranan? Meranan, how are you? What did they do to you?"
"Tyrande? How glad I am to see you! The assassins of that vile man Staghelm came to my family's mansion, slaughtered my family, and abducted me! I thought I'd never see you again. You think you can release me?"
"I have just the equipment for it," Jarod said. "A vial of dissolvant should do the trick. Good thing I took some with me."
Jarod took a vial of a greenish liquid from his sash and poured it on the lock of the door. After that, he had just to pull the door open.
"Ah, how good it is to be free. By Elune, Tyrande, that baby has grown."
"Yeah, I was meaning to ask you about that. Why is it growing so fast? It isn't natural."
"You're quite right, m'love. Natural is just what it isn't."
Meranan's voice darkened, grew sinister, and his eyes took on an unsettling, crimson luster.
"Not natural at all, Tyrande. You'll find that there is nothing natural about this. Fandral, seize him."
Taking them by surprise, a force of guards, led by Fandral Staghelm, came from behind and grappled the rescuing party.
"What?!", a shocked Tyrande exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this? You, and Fandral..."
Tyrande fainted in the arms of one of the guards, the same one who had previously been assigned to speak to Landro.
"Varo'then, I think she's ready to give birth," Meranan said coldly. "You'd get a double ration of grain, if you only were mortal. Ah, such is the life of the walking dead. About you, Fandral, I think you should go and prepare the new weapon dear Landro supplied us with."
"Of course, master," the Archdruid obediently said, before proceeding with his tasks.
"And Varo'then," Meranan added. "Take these two insignificants into custody. Oh, and take miss Feathermoon's bow and arrows. Just to be sure, I mean. I'm not too comfortable around those implements."
- - -
Tyrande laid in pain on a cold metal table situated below the deck of the Blade of Valstann. Guard Commander Varo'then took his long-knife and started to cut the baby out of her, as Meranan watched the screaming (un-sedated) priestess, half uncaring, half enthusiastic. When the baby was finally extracted, Meranan immediately grabbed the child, and let Fandral's druid perform healing on the baby's mother. But the child didn't look like a normal night elf, instead sporting short horn-stumps, a fine coat of blue fur, and a short, leonine tail. Meranan held his son high, and gazed upon him with a happiness that wasn't caused by joy for the child, but for the sake of his ultimate plan being fulfilled.
"You are my son!", Meranan exclaimed as his skin strangely began to ripple, as if it was made of water, until he changed. His muscularity increased, and he grew long horns, thick, blue fur, a long tail, and hooves. Finally, his eyes changed into pitch-black orbs with crimson streaks running through them. "You are Pan, son of Xavius, Lord of the Satyrs."
Act III: MasteryEdit
Xavius, leaving a trail of brimstone smoke behind him, walked up towards the deck. As he walked past the guards, they, too, changed into their real forms: felguards. Commander Varo'then also joined up with his master, and reverted into his "normal", undead state. They went up to the deck, where Staghelm, his druids, and some satyrs were working on installing a sizable device onto the tallest spire on the deck. The device, or rather weapon, appeared as a huge mechanical needle, floating above the spire on it's own power. The Satyr Lord inspected it, and seemed satisfied.
"Good work, Fandral. This brings us one step closer to final victory. With Azeroth in my hand, the Argus Throne is as good as mine. No Legionlord has been able to conquer this stubbon little world, not even Sargeras himself! Tell me, is the weapon ready to be used?"
"Not long now, my lord," Staghelm replied. "The generators will be at full power in just a short matter of time, and then we can begin our grand campaign!"
The Archdruid's eyes lit up in sadistic glee.
"The world will finally show me the respect I rightfully deserve! Me, Fandral Staghelm, Satyr Lord of All Azeroth, servant of Xavius, Demonlord of the Burning Legion!"
"Indeed it is so, my loyal servant. After this has succeeded, I will be ready to cut you with the Dirk, and finish the transformation."
"I greatly look forward to the transformation, master. But first, as you so rightly pointed out, we need to make the world ours."
"Excuse me," Varo'then interjected. "But what about the prisoners?"
"Kill them, of course. All three. I have no use of them any more. No need to make them suffer, just make sure they are dead, then incinerate the remains."
"As you wish, my lord."
- - -
In the cell, the elven trio, stripped of their possessions and chained to the wall of the cell with fel-iron bonds, tried everything they could in order to escape, but it was all futile. Outside the massive door to the cell stood a couple of axe-wielding felguards, accompanied by a black-clad satyr warlock. Suddenly, the door swung open, and in stepped the putrid Varo'then, holding a serrated blade, ready to strike. But as the guard captain lifted his sword, Jarod Shadowsong launched a dart from his mouth. The dart struck Varo'then straight in the forehead, and he fell over on his back and dissolved into a pile smoking dust. Upon seeing this, the warlock ordered his felguard soldiers to finish what the commander had started. Seeing the charging warriors, Jarod reached out with his mind and ejected a wall of force between the party and the mo'arg. With the assailants busy, he used his telekinesis to sever the bonds. After freeing himself and his companions, he thrust the wall forward, knocking both the felguards and their satyr master unconscious. Jarod then took back their armaments from the pile of loot that had until recently covered Varo'then's body.
"Where did you learn to do that?", an impressed Shandris asked.
"Let's take that later," Jarod replied. "Right now we have to stop the satyr and dismantle that doomsday device of his."
"What is that thing, really?"
"I got a look at it at the sub. It's an extremely dangerous weapon, a Chaos Needle. I thought those weapons existed only in theory, and that they would never be made due to the planetary ban on such things. It would seem like the Black Flame is much more resourceful than we have been led to believe. It is driven by chaos energy, Shandris, and that, combined with the unique structure, makes it probably the most powerful weapon in existence. Wonder how that goblin got his hands on one so quickly?"
"If it's so dangerous as you claim, and I have no reason to doubt you," Tyrande said to Jarod. "Then the consequences will be disastrous for the free world. In the name of Elune, we have to put an end to it! Doesn't it have any generators or something?"
"Most likely, yes. They should be around here. Come, let's find them before it's too late."
- - -
Xavius hovered omniously over the deck in a meditative position, his black eyes closed. After a while, he opened his eyes and placed his hooves down on the metal.
"Fandral, tell the engineers to ready the weapon. The time has come to test it."
"If you don't mind me asking, master, on what will we test it?"
"It is a perfectly acceptable question, Fandral. In my state of mediation, I saw another ship, not far from here, a Kul Tiran patrol ship, to be precise. I have sent out a "psychic message" of sorts, compelling the ship to come to our position. As soon as the ship is within range, we will fire the Needle and behold it's effects."
It did not take long before the Kul Tiran ship appeared out of the mist. Xavius gave the order, and the needle pointed at the ship and started to glow with purplish chaos energy. From the point of the needle then emerged a beam of hyperconcentrated chaos. The moment the beam struck the hull, a huge explosion engulfed the are around the ship. When the smoke had settled, only a violet smoke remained of the vessel and the surrounding waters, trailing upwards and disappearing in the wind. Back on the Blade of Valstann, both Xavius and Fandral watched the destruction with great joy. The Chaos Needle worked flawlessly. And this was just practice.
- - -
"Wait, what was that sound?", Shandris asked.
"The generators," Jarod stated. "They've fired the Needle."
"That is not good," Tyrande said. "As far as we know, a major city could have been destroyed!"
"Don't worry," Jarod calmed her. "This was only a minor burst, probably a first test. Since I don't think they would fire on larger targets as practice, this must have been a ship or something. Still, the needle has tasted blood, I'm afraid."
"Wait," Tyrande interjected. "Didn't that sound came from awfully close-by?"
"You're right. The engine room has to be..."
Jarod looked around the corridor for a while, and then pointed to a seemingly normal door.
"There. Beyond that door are the controls of the weapon."
After saying this, Jarod placed himself into a state of concentration, and then blasted the door in with his telekinetic ability. Inside were several gan'arg engineers, who hardly had time to react before the elven telekineticist pinned them to the floor, rendering them unable to act. Before the eyes of Tyrande and Shandris, who still were outside the room, Jarod then unleashed a blast wave of phsychic energy, completely obliterating everything and everyone in the room, before returning to his companions, appearing completely unaffected.
"Jarod," Shandris said accusingly. "Did you really have to kill those poor engineers."
"We'll talk about that later, right now..."
"Don't you dare delay my questions again, Jarod!"
"Right now, we've got to get up to the deck and stop Xavius. While the controls are down, the needle may still be partly operational. Come, I think the stairs are near here."
- - -
As the night elves entered the deck, Xavius was already waiting for them, Fandral on one side, the ghostly apparition of Varo'then on the other, and several satyrs and druids behind them.
"Your plan will not succeed!", Tyrande exclaimed as she pointed her bow and arrow towards the satyr lord. "The Chaos Needle will not take any more lives!"
"What, the needle? Sure, if you say so, my dear."
Xavius fired a bolt of shadow towards the weapon on the spire, and it fell down point first straight through the deck of the ship. Seeing the surprised looks of Tyrande and Shandris (Jarod was surprisingly passive), Xavius chuckled again, and explained:
"You really thought the needle was my final plan? Your mortals never cease to amaze me with your pathetic little minds. You are lucky, however, for I will attempt to explain my plan to you in terms simple enough for you, before I release the mental barriers that prevent the ocean from rushing into this magnificent but expendable vessel. Let me start by giving you a briefing on the political history and current climate of the Burning Legion. You see, in ancient times, Lord Sargeras did what no-one had thought possible: he united all of demonkind into his army, the Burning Legion of course. It was no well-concealed secret that he wished his two chief lieutenants Kil'jaeden and Archimonde to take over when he was gone, and that was what happened. But after the disastrous Legionwide Second Invasion of Azeroth, Archimonde was vanquished. This was the beginning of a period of great unrest. When Kil'jaeden, too, experienced his fiasco at the Sunwell, the Legion broke apart completely. While Kil'jaeden still holds a power majority, and tries to convince all mortals that he is still the one true ruler, the truth is that there are many, warring factions, some of the most notable ones being the eredar, the annihilans, the nathrezim, the ered'ruin, the mo'arg, and, of course, the satyrs. The thing is, I wish to gain full control over the Legion. And to do this, I will accomplish what no-one else has done before, not even Sargeras: conquer Azeroth. I've already discovered that you mortals are more resourceful than I suspected: Zmodlor was so kind as to prove that for me. But now I have an ever grander plan, or rather, a weave of plans. For I, Xavius, will before long sit on the Argus Throne and rule supreme!"
"You're mad!", Tyrande said in disgust.
"I get that a lot. No, but seriously, ruling the world surely isn't that bad? Come on, power always has and always will be the prime motivator for all life. You are so smart, you should realize this to be true."
"Well, you have a certain point, but you cannot talk your way out of this! You will face final judgement!"
"I am tired of your holier-than-thou manners. Jarod, slay her."
With even more surprise, Tyrande and Shandris shifted their view towards Jarod, who was brandishing a wicked fel-iron shortsword, and holding it in an attack-ready posture against Tyrande, but holding back the strike.
”I… I cannot,” Jarod stuttered, and let the blade fall to the floor. “I cannot do it.”
“Well, if it’s going to be that way,” Xavius simple said and launched a beam of fel energy from his finger towards Jarod. As the beam struck, the night elf began to change, a transformation eerily similar to Xavius’s own when he first revealed himself. And so Jarod revealed his true form.
“Jarod?!”, Shandris questingly exclaimed. “What is this? What is going on?”
“It’s quite simple, really,” Xavius said in answer to Shandris’s question. “You see, at the end of the War of the Ancients, Jarod was assaulted by a vengeful satyr assassin. He survived, but was sadly infected.”
“Since when is satyrdom contagious?”, Tyrande interjected.
“Since I wanted it to, my dear. As I was going to say, Jarod then went away from elven civilization, ashamed of what he had become.