She knew where she was although she had never been there. She heard the stories of course, she read the scrolls, she knew the surviving images, but although she never truly set foot there it still felt like she wasn't here for the first time. As she breathed the miasmic air, there was some familiarity to the scent. A formula of decay and fel energies. Without a doubt this was the work of the Burning Legion. Oh, how they had destroyed the lives of the Draenei, forcing them to live a life of exile for millennia. Even her own grandparents were survivors from the diaspora. But as she wandered along, she quickly had to admit, however odd it seemed, she had woken up on Argus.
Although she realized where she had been transported, she couldn't grasp how she had traveled here and more importantly when. What was the last thing she could remember? Northrend? No she had traveled home from the continent after she aided in the defeat of the Lich King. She knew Arthas to be dead, for good this time. After traveling to Stormwind together the Longbeards had celebrated their victory in a tavern in the dwarven district. As her dwarven and gnomish friends were dancing on the table, spilling beer everywhere in the process, Phetatarei had enjoyed an iced tea. She was happy to feel some warmth again after a long year of fighting the Scourge on the arctic continent. The cold always reminded her of the Twisting Nether.
So the last thing she could remember was sharing a drink with Tashlyn? By the Light, how did she cross the Twisting Nether this time. She tried to look around for a vessel somewhere nearby, but she couldn't spot any kind of transport. As she peered towards the sky she immediately recognized the green hue of fel energies. But as she turned around she could see a setting sun hugging the horizon in a field of bright reds, yellows and orange. Was Argus not completely turned by the Burning Legion? Was she the first Draenei to travel back to their true home planet? Was she the first drop of Light that could cleanse the demonic influence?
Suddenly she saw a herd of Talbuk hastily running by. And behind them were some Draenei. One of them was stuck on the Talbuk saddle and was being kicked on the head while the Talbuk tried to loose the weight. Everyone involved seemed frightened! Then suddenly one of the Draenei addressed Pheta. "Young girl! Why are you standing around here, don't you know we need to run to Velen? Our prophet is waiting for us on the highest mountains. The mysterious Naaru have promised us a cure from the fel."
Could it be? Was it really him? Although Draenei are known to live for millennia they were capable of aging. The young man talking to her, he must have been her grandfather. It seemed like he already had lost a tentacle at a young age. Maybe in a recent fight against the Burning Legion Manari? "Papa.. I mean Pantrocleias, let me aid the wounded. I am voiced in the ways of the Light."
Could she dare talk about the power of the Naaru? Would it confuse her Grandfather. At least Phetatarei now had some clue as when she was? About 10 millennia before her own birth. By which strange powers had she been summoned here?
"How do you know my name, stranger?" Pantrocleias' brow was sweating, he clearly had been struggling recently. Now Pheta could get a closer look and she realized he was splattered with the green blood of Manari. He must have been fighting them. "It doesn't matter much at this moment. We must continue. Guard the rear, we need to protect the elders and children there. The Manari are right on our heels!"
While the Talbuk ran on towards the top of the mountain. Phetatarei descended. There she found a group of stumbling elders and young children. One of the elders was losing blood through a wound in her knee. She was hopping on her good leg, while two children tried to keep her stabilized. With a smile of compassion Phetatarei summoned her gift of the Naaru. As a blue holy symbol glowed in front of her eyes, the knee seemed to mend within seconds.
"How? Who? What did you do?" Asked one of the marveled children. Of course they had never seen the gift of the Naaru before. Although it was known to all Draenei native from Draenor, it made sense that the people of Argus had never seen it. Pheta, felt embarrassed. "It's a trick I learned," she replied quickly, "It helps me connect my own spirit with the wounds of those surrounding me. It's a way of healing without exhausting myself. Come now, child, we must continue."
Although the Draenei caravan had gained some speed with the mending of wounds by both regular priests and the aid of Pheta. The Manari were gaining on them. For these pure Eredar, it must still feel strange to encounter such demons. They had never before encountered the scourge, they didn't know about the Dreadlords. It pained Pheta to think about these horrible things, but at the same time it gave her confidence. How many demons had she killed with the aid of her newfound friends of the Alliance. The Exiled still needed to wait for millennia, but in a way, it gave her comfort that in the end, they would find new allies. Argus and Azeroth were lightyears apart but still, she felt the warmth of her friends aiding her.
With the powers she learned from her paladin mentors, she summoned the Holy Light, as she started glowing of her own. It was clear that the Manari were not used to such resistance. They averted their eyes, trying not to look at this young warrior. With a smile on her face, Pheta consecrated the ground around her and she saw how the demons close to her started to melt away.
With a smirk she threw a shield of holy power towards a group of flying demons, it bounced from one to the other and three of them fell down, defeated. The uncorrupted Eredar didn't know how to react to this phenomenon, but in gratitude they made their way to the top of the mountain.
As they reached the top. Phetatarei saw her own grandmother, Matreia. The woman would hate her and her father, but at this moment, Matreia was still shining with hope and confidence. There was no worry about children or grandchildren on her mind. With a glow of holy power, Matreia blessed all the people around her.
"Don't worry children of Argus," she voiced, "Our prophet Velen has arrived." Behind some kneeling figures, a giant Eredar appeared, gleaming with calm in these times of despair. Phetatarei knew Velen, she had seen him. She had met him personally, first on the remains of the crashed Exodar, which had served as the capital of the Draenei ever since. Later she had aided Velen to reach the Sunwell, where Velen used the essence of the fallen Naaru M'uru to redeem the Sunwell and cure the Blood Elves of their Fel addiction. She had known him as a calm but strong leader, with a beard with which he could have clothed himself, if ever the need would arise.
Here in this time and place, Velen was not young, but he wasn't ancient in any way either. He was gleaming with brilliance, and it was clear already that the Naaru had favored him. The promise of a life in eternity was smiling on his lips.
"Children of Argus," he repeated, "our time to leave our beautiful homeworld has come. Argus is not what it was once before. The Burning Legion has already started the corruption of our people and our earth. We will not stand to be corrupted like them. We will not join the army of infinite destruction. I have promised you another way. The way of the Naaru. Some of you have already been blessed with their words, but soon you will see the incredible power of the Naaru for yourselves. They are like angelic beings of Holy Light in which one can find only peace and calm."
Although the words of Velen had a soothing quality, it was not possible for Pheta's kin to relax completely. They were kind of helpless on top of that mountain and the Legion forces were encroaching from all sides of the mountain. It was all the Draenei could do to try and hold them back. But soon they were surrounded by Felhounds, Dreadlords, demons, Corrupted Eredar, Legion soldiers in all forms and sizes.
Suddenly a storm broke out. Out of nowhere some of the demons were zapped by lightning, while heavy rain soaked the steep slopes of the mountain and some of the felhounds got stuck in the mud. Several tornadoes were forming around the mountain and dragged away some of the flying atrocities.
Velen had raised his hands towards the sky and started praying in gratitude, as he knew this would be the blessing of the Naaru, as they had promised him. In the cold washing rain, the Draenei huddled up together. Children were brought to the inner circle, while the elders tried to keep warm their aching bones. As by accident Phetatarei was pushed in between Matreia and Pantrocleias. For the first time in her life she had been hugged by both of her grandparents. She knew the Naaru would arrive soon. She had not lived it before, but she knew the stories, some of them tainted by legend, some of them carried some truth.
Impatiently Phetatarei waited, as the storm around them raged on and grew in intensity. Some the tornadoes had dragged away some Draenei from the outer circles. The lighting which first had saved them from the demons now struck faster and faster, closer and closer. The Draenei got scared, the Talbuk that had raced to the mountaintop as well startled, began running and trampled some of their masters. And before she could blink, Phetatarei saw how Velen himself got struck by a bolt of lightning.
"NOOO!" Pheta cried at the top of her lungs. This was not supposed to happen. Where were the Naaru? Where was their blessing? She smelled how the burned flesh of Velen reached her nostrils. She threw up, as did other Draenei around her. People started running in fear and disgust. Some fell down the mountain, the ones that didn't die on the rocky slopes were torn apart by the Manari, who fed on the fresh bodies.
"This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening," Pheta repeated to herself as she saw how her own grandparents had been trampled. Their faces distorted by the hooves of their friends and followers. If they had died on Argus; how could she herself been born? As Pheta started to question her right of existence she saw how her hands started fading away. As sand running through an hourglass, her whole body started to blow away with the wind. She wanted to cry out in panic, but even her voice had disappeared. Something lifted her off the ground, she never knew what it was. The last thing she remembered was to see her legs falling down on a pile of desecrated bodies. Somewhere in between all the mud, blood and puke, she could see the staff of Velen, glowing in vain.
”How long has she been like this?” The friendly night elf priest had asked Melrien. Melrien and Phetatarei had taken the boat from Menethil Harbor to Auberdine together. “We faced a storm on her way around the north of Kalimdor”, Melrien explained. “Pheta was so relieved to be travelling back to the Exodar. Although she does not have any surviving relatives from Outland, she felt like only the Draenei could understand what she had lived through. She was looking forward to speech in a ceremony for all the fallen Draenei near Azure Watch. The storm hit us at night, I couldn’t catch any sleep so I watched over Pheta as she was moaning in her sleep. I think she still is in real pain.”
Melrien and the priest both looked at the tormented expression on the young Draenei’s face. The Night elves and Draenei had felt connected as both their races suffered for millennia after facing the Burning Legion. The Draenei had lost their home, the Night elves had lost the gift of life, they were a dying people incapable of birthing any children. The priest sighed and caringly squeezed one of Melrien’s hands.
”I’m afraid your friend is not the only victim. Word has travelled by crow and pidgeon. People have been facing these nightmares all over Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms alike. From what we’ve gathered both the Horde and Alliance are suffering, even Sylvanas, queen of the undead is caught in a vengeful slumber. All over the world sleep walkers are attacking friends, family and lovers.”
Melrien knew what the priest was trying to say. As a druid she was well versed in the mysteries of nature and the importance of the Emerald Dream. “You’re trying to say that the Emerald Nightmare has spread outside of the dream? What happened to Stormrage?”
Of course Melrien knew that Malfurion Stormrage had disappeared within the emerald dream for a very long time. Supposedly he traveled within to fight a corruption, known as the Emerald Nightmare. Now that Melrien had travelled to Darnassus together with Phetatarei, she learned that while the Lich King lay defeated, a new threat had already arrived.
”The good news”, the priest declared, “Is that Tyrande and Malfurion are reunited. Together they are engaging leaders of the Alliance and Horde to fight against the nightmare lord. Who this so called lord could be, I do not know.”
Melrien thanked the priest for this explanation and nodded a curt goodbye as he sped on towards his other patients. The sleepwalkers were strapped to their beds for the safety of both others and themselves. Compassionately Melrien lay a hand on her friend’s forehead. She seemed to be burning from the inside out. As she strained to break free from the leather straps that held her back, the bands only tightened. “I’m sorry, Pheta. I have to go, more and more people need my help. Stay strong, wherever your mind takes you.” Saddened, Melrien strode away, but she knew her paladin friend would understand. She herself would give her own life, to save others.
Nagrand, this time she immediately recognised her environs. She remembered travelling here as a youth with her father. Before the war, she had accompanied him looking for Khorium, a rare ore that had travelled with comets striking Draenor. Or was it Outland?
The last thing she remembered, was seeing how The Prophet had died, struck by lightning. She was on Argus? Wasn’t she? Then how could she have traveled to Nagrand this time? Were there still any Draenei around? A horn sounded, followed by drums of war. Orcs! Knowing her luck they were on the warpath. Phetatarei anxiously scanned her surroundings looking for a place to hide. Where to hide in a savannah? A clefthoof herd was grazing in the distance. Safety!
As she hugged into one of the younger clefthoof’s furs. She thanked the Naaru that this time she had not materialised in her clanking armor. Instead she was wearing a loose tunic with an earthly tone. She tried to peek out from her hiding place without grabbing the orcs’ attention. It was hard hiding in a green savannah of brown hues when your own skin happened to be blue.
