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Akairos123/Zo'shi's Flight

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The gloomy glades of Terokkar forest were usually quiet, woodland creatures foraging for food in the quiet dark, not today. The high treetops shuddered and howled in the wind, a deep groaning coming from their trunks. The rain pounded into the ground, driving all within the forest’s boughs towards shelter. In the heart of it all, deep within the heart of the forest. A heavily wooded area known as the Rasstok Glade, the terrible weather was the worst. Despite the unnatural weather, the untrained eye could dismiss the weather as a freak storm, a tesament to Draenor’s nether-fed chaotic weather, but The Shaman knew, and the Druids knew. The Forest was –crying-

Archdruid Zo’shi Ragetotem wept, he wept for his fallen brothers, whom had perished within this sacred glade. He wept for this world, which continued to suffer under the Illidari’s and it’s master’s iron fist. But most of all, he wept for his Friend, who had become as vile as the very legion he and his Illidari aspired to defeat. “How did this happen? He asked himself while tears streaked down his face and the thunder howled above. He forcibly calmed himself down, as usual underestimating his druidic skills, the environment reflected his emotions, sombered, but still saddened, he asked himself again, “How did this happen? Was there nothing I could have done?” Questions he desperately sought answers to. He had first met The Blood Elf who had once been his friend in the plains of Mulgore, over two centuries ago; Zo’shun was unusually long lived for his kind. He had been a young brave back then, when the strange pink-skinned beings known as high elves made their first journey to their lands. Akairos, had been more adventurous, it seems, as his tribe lived within tauren ancestral lands whereas the nomadic tauren wandered the barrens. He had tracked him for a day after his first brief look at him, yet when he finally caught up with him, Akairos only answered “About time you caught up with me.”

Zo’shi and Akairos had departed friends, when they parted; they assured each other they would meet again. “Zo’shi suddenly awoke, having finally succumbed to the need for rest. He found himself within the middle of the Rasstok glade, though the storm had quieted, high above him broken branches hung limply from their last strains of wood, and outside the glade, he could see fallen dreams, though he had dreamed of his friend, his dreams had not been pleasant ones. Rising to his full height, he let out an exhale. He could not let himself fall into regret. He had to find a way to reach Akairos, or stop him if he could not. Transforming himself into a Stormcrow, he flapped his arms-turned-wings and rose above the treetops, heading towards the city of Shattrath. As he flew, he passed over the now Abandoned Cenarion thicket, what could pass for a frown crossing his avian features, this sight was not welcome, It had become a monument to what happens when the desire for power runs out of control, dismissing the though, he had finally arrived at Shattrath, as his eyes looked over the city he immediately veered downwards, rather then the terrace of light, he headed towards the lower city, his last encounter with the Sha’tar leaders had not sat well with him, and would prefer to think things over before approaching them again. As he reached ground level, he resumed his tauren form. For his age, he was powerfully built, verdant greens and browns covering his leather armor, the wings of eagles crowned his shoulder pads, while a flowing robe of woven leaves carried down his chest and legs, ending in a crescent moon on the front and back, possibly paying homage to Shu’hago, or as the Night elves called her, Elune. Moving through the lower city, he allowed himself a look at the inside world. To his golden eyes, it was not appealing, the poor and hungry, homeless and hopeless littered Shattrath’s streets. Though he was loathe o admit it, below the Rises, Tier, and the Terrace of light, Shattrath city was rather negligent to its refugees. “Perhaps, I should speak with High Priestess Ishana…” he thought. “But until then…” Zo’shi spread his arms wide as he continued, and the air shimmered, everywhere around him, the vagrants rose, feeling healthier, orphans looked to him in wonder as their wounds healed, and even more happily to them, their stomached felt filled, Zo’shi smiled as he walked on, leaving behind more then a few bewildered faces

Finally, Zo’shi reached his destination, the worlds end Tavern. Though a bit unsavory, the Tavern was one of the few places in lower city where there was a high semblance of order. Walking inside, he met the gaze of every patron that eyes him suspiciously and looked at every patron too inebriated or too uninterested to look also. Weaving his way through the chairs and tables, he made his way to the back, waiting for the one he sought. He did not have to wait long, before long; he saw the one he was looking for stumble back to a table with a full bottle of junglevine wine in his hands. Archdruid Treelos was once an impressive man, powerfully built, and adorned in the most beautiful vestments of Cenarius, and like so few others, he had antlers. No more. The Elf sitting not far away from him was among the most desperate and pitiful men he had ever seen, his once beautiful robes torn and filthy, his well sculpted face was a mask of bitterness, the only thing he remembered about the man were his flawless antlers. Moving to his table, Zo’shi cleared his throat, yet before he could speak, Treelos grunted out, “Whatdya want?... here to spit on me? That’s understandable… my ineptness… “ Treelos mumbled off, taking a large swig of his wine and seeming to forget about Zo’shi, determined to make his point he began to speak, “You were a mighty druid, Treelos, you were chosen to lead the Cenarion thicket before all others, you were an honorable man, I believe you still can be.” Treelos raised the bottle almost to his lips, then lowered it, “Who are you?”

Zo’shi spent the next few days traversing the length of outland, even returning to the Moonglade periodically. As he traveled, he gathered what druids he could, not only druids, Druids, Ancients, dryads, even a keeper of the grove by name of Antelarion. As they traveled, a plan formed in his head. Akairos was powerful. Too powerful, he admitted, for him to defeat, if it had to come to that. But even if he was defeated, he would pose a threat, he would have to be contained, “If only I knew how…” Zo’shi thought grimly to himself. At this point, all he knew would come next in his plan would be to join the forces of healing and life with the Sha’tar. “But what can I do?...” he still did not know the answer to that question, his friend though he was, Akairos had become a monster, and he could not allow him to keep killing! He sighed, turning to Treelos, who had become his second in command of his party of druids and other servants of nature. “We will arrive at Shattrath by morning, tell the company.” Treelos stood still for a moment, finally responding, “All these preparations… Do you think they will be necessary?” Zo’shi sighed in sadness. “It looks more like that as each day passes… no, we must move.”

Zo’shi and his company of druids, Ancients, and much more finally reached the apex of the last peak of the barrier hills, Shattrath lay in sight below, “Akairos is lost to the allure o power” He thought to himself, the words echoed in his heart for several moments after that, “It is necessary.” He concluded. “This world has suffered too much already, been bathed in night to long, it is time, to let this night pass, and let night turn to day.” The Druidic Company felt welcome warmth upon them, and light cascaded over them, behind them, the Druidic Company turned to watch the dawn of a new day…

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