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ebook, pages. Author(s). Richard A. El día del dragón (World of WarCraft, #1). Published April by Dzień Smoka (Paperback). Published by. Birthright; Scales of the Serpent; The Veiled Prophet. Warcraft · Dzień Smoka ( Day of the Dragon); Night of the Dragon; 30 Dec Warcraft novels collection | EPUB/MOBI/PDF | 1Link Warcraft: Dzień smoka Warcraft: Of Blood and Honor Chris Metzen World of.
While on one hand the archmage could appreciate the elements of its creation, on the other she despised it for what it was doing to her Kalec.
With that last sentiment firmly entrenched in her heart and mind, Jaina formed the reversed symbol and sent it flying toward the artifact. But as the icon touched it, the relic shimmered. Its energy reached through the link Jaina had to maintain with the symbol and caught the archmage square before she could dismiss the spell. Jaina's world turned upside down. That was followed by utter darkness and then a babble of voices with a particularly reptilian hint to them.
And that was followed by a mad array of images, including creatures she recognized as proto-dragons. In the midst of those, Jaina realized that she was a proto-dragon herself-and one whom she knew, albeit in a far altered form. I'm part of Alexstrasza? It was a very young Alexstrasza, an Alexstrasza whom Jaina had never really known existed.
Through Alexstrasza's eyes, she saw other proto-dragons whom she vaguely recognized but would not have specifically known if not for her host. Each of the scenes lasted barely a breath, and many appeared to Jaina to be out of sequence.
Most made no sense, and more than a few filled her with dread. The archmage saw horrific, rotting proto-dragons that were surely undead. She saw the wasted corpses of others.
Most daunting to Jaina was the monstrous reality that was Galakrond, and she felt Alexstrasza's chilling dismay as if it were her own. It was all too much. Jaina almost passed out under the strain. At the last moment, she imagined the reversed symbol and tried to impose it on every image that confronted her. With a gasp, the archmage discovered herself stumbling back from the artifact. If not for her protective spells, Jaina would have fallen and likely cracked open her skull.
As it was, she had to plant herself quickly against the nearest wall and stand there for more than a minute as she fought the residues of vertigo. The voices still echoing in her head, Jaina looked from the relic to Kalec.
She had some notion of what he was going through, but suspected that her experience had been only a fraction of what the blue dragon was caught up in.
The moment that Jaina felt able to, she returned to Kalec. With gentle hands, she turned his face to her. Up close, his condition was worse than she imagined. He reminded her of how it had been said some of the more severe victims of the Emerald Nightmare had appeared, when thousands had fallen to the power of the Nightmare Lord and his master.
They had lain helpless, unable to wake from their tormented sleep even as their minds began to waste away. Jaina shuddered. She had been one of those victims-one of the earliest, in fact-but until now, the extent of her condition had not truly registered with her.
That, in turn, only magnified her current fear for Kalec. He mumbled. Jaina leaned close. His eyes opened wide-eyes that were pure dragon, not those he had when wearing this form.
The archmage pulled back in surprise. A frosty exhalation enshrouded her.
Had she not protected herself, it was very likely she would have died. Even despite her spells, the archmage could feel the intense cold. Yet this was not the breath weapon that she knew Kalec used. Rather, from the fragmented vision that she had experienced, Jaina realized that Kalec had acted as young Malygos had. Kalec settled down again. Jaina cautiously touched his cheek, then his throat. What he was currently experiencing in the vision, she did not know, but his blood raced.
Casting a spell, the archmage searched for the link between the artifact and Kalec, only to find no trace. She had been certain that she could locate some connection and take steps to sever it.
That forced her focus back to the artifact. Moving more warily, Jaina inspected every visible side. She neither saw nor detected anything new. However, as she started to pay attention to the aura surrounding it, the archmage noticed something about the pulsations. Jaina quickly returned to Kalec and felt his pulse. To view either, simply click on the buttons below Secondly, please contact us should you require any technical assistance. All rights reserved. They may not, in whole or part, be copied, photocopied, reproduced, translated or reduced to any electronic medium or machine-readable form without prior consent, in writing, from Blizzard Entertainment.
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Sound Manager 3. If you do not use the Warcraft Installer, you will need to install Sound Manager 3. You will need to reboot your system for Sound Manager 3. Quicktime 2. If Quicktime 2. From his mouth spilled forth more fiendish vermin- He vanished. Thura shouted out Broxigar's name again.
With effort, the dying warrior managed to look her way. One hand broke free of the strangling weed, then stretched forth, the magical ax held out. His mouth whispered a name- Thura awoke with a start. She lay there for a time, still shivering despite the fact that the woods in which she currently traveled were of a comfortable temperature.
The dream played over in her mind, just as it did whenever the orc was not reliving it in her sleep. With some effort, Thura finally rose. The small campfire that she had built earlier had long died out, only a few faint wisps of smoke left in memory. Momentarily setting down her weapon, Thura used some dirt to smother what remained of the fire, then looked around for her pack.
Seizing up the small, leather sack, she retrieved the ax and started off. It was always like this. Walking until she was dead on her feet, catching her supper, then sleeping until the dream woke her up and left her in such a state that she knew it was better to move on.
In a macabre way, that suited the orc just fine. Not only was there risk of late for any who were merely sleeping, but each step took her closer to her goal, closer to avenging her blood kin. And even more, she had come to realize, she was spurred on by another mission: The male orc, Broxigar, had been brother to her father, although their own fathers had been different. She knew of his legendary stand with his comrades against the Burning Legion, a stand which had resulted in Broxigar-or Brox-as the only survivor.
Even as a child, Thura could sense the guilt he had felt at living when his friends had not. And then Thrall, the great orc leader, had sent the veteran warrior on a mysterious mission with another. Neither had ever returned, but then, as rumor had it, an old shaman had brought back the wondrous wooden ax from the dream and left it with Thrall. That shaman had also spoken of Brox becoming a hero who had helped to save not only the orcs, but all else.
Some there were who said that the shaman had then sprouted wings and flown off into the night, transforming into a gigantic bird or dragon. Thura knew not whether all the last was true, only that when she had come of warrior age and proven her skills, Thrall himself had given her the fabled ax.
She was, after all, the only left of Brox's kin save for her sole remaining uncle, Saurfang the Elder, who had himself recently lost his son in battle. The ax might have previously gone to either of the other pair, but Thrall's most trusted shaman had seen in a dream that it should go to Thura.
Why, no one knew, but Thrall had listened. Thura felt honored to wield such a weapon, an irony, she knew.
Years ago, under the influence of the demon lord Mannoroth's bloodcurse, orcs under the legendary Grom Hellscream had invaded the forests of Ashenvale and slain Cenarius as he came forth to resist them. That had been in the days before Thrall had returned to his people their respect for nature.
The death was regrettable,,,but Thura had not been part of it and so, with orcish practicality, she assumed that the spirit of Cenarius would have understood that, also. The moment that Thura had placed her hands on it, it had felt right.
But the ax had brought with it something else. Not at first, not even through the initial seasons after she had been given it. No, its secret had not revealed itself until later, and at first she had ignored it. A dream was just a dream,,, Or not. It had not taken the same shaman to finally make Thura see the truth. The spirit of her lost kin had been trying to reach out to her to demand vengeance. The dream was a hint of the truth, of that she felt certain. She had been shown how Brox had actually perished,,,betrayed by one he believed a comrade.
The night elf. And although she could not say how she knew, Thura also understood that the night elf still lived and that he could be found.
All she had to do was pay attention to the dream. Each time she awoke from it, she sensed the direction that she had to walk. The direction in which she would find the brave Brox's treacherous slayer. Brox had spoken his name, which had rung in her head from the very first dreaming despite her never having heard it said out loud by the male orc.
The female orc had sworn an oath to her dead uncle. She would find Malfurion Stormrage, no matter how far she had to journey and no matter what her blood quest demanded she face. Tyrande Whisperwind tried to settle into her meditations. Darnassus, the new night elf capital, had been built to honor the survival of the race, as was appropriate, and not to honor a mad queen.
While it was far smaller than its predecessor, Darnassus was in its own way no less spectacular, in part due to its location high in the western boughs of Teldrassil ,,, the World Tree. So huge and mighty was it that the night elves had been able to build upon it such imposing edifices as the Temple of the Moon-crafted much of stone brought from the mainland and transported by magical means up the incredible height of the trunk. Indeed, greater than even the fact that the capital sat nestled in Teldrassil's boughs was that it was the largest of a handful of settlements existing among the foliage.
And much of all of that could be credited to the druids, who had raised up the tree. Tyrande tried not to let even the slightest of thoughts concerning the druids interfere with her need for peace. She respected their calling, for nature had been and always would be an integral part of the night elf existence, but thinking of them even in passing always brought to the forefront thoughts and concerns of her childhood friend, of her lover, Malfurion Stormrage. The soft light of the moon goddess shone down through the rounded, stained-glass skylight into the vast central chamber, temporarily turning from silver to a soft purple as it did.
Yet silver it became again of its own accord as it draped upon the glistening pool surrounding the statue of Haidene-the first high priestess who had, as a child, heard the blessed voice of Elune. As she was wont to do, Tyrande sat cross-legged at the edge of the pool upon the massive stone steps before Haidene's upraised arms, desperately seeking from both her predecessor and her goddess the blessing of comfort and guidance ,,, and to help her shake off her growing feelings of anxiety.
Though the chamber was often a place where priestesses and novices came for their own meditations and peace, Tyrande was this hour alone. Eyes pressed shut, she sought unsuccessfully to force any thought concerning Malfurion from her mind.
Their tumultuous bond stretched back to the beginning of the War of the Ancients, when she, Malfurion, and his twin brother, Illidan, had lost the innocence of their youth and become seasoned fighters. She still vividly recalled Illidan's betrayals and her own imprisonment in Azshara's palace.
And though the tale of her unconscious body's transport there was something she had learned after the fact, Tyrande occasionally relived how she imagined it to have been-captured by the servants of the queen's foul counselor, Xavius-himself transformed by the Legion's master into a monstrous satyr.