her.
“No,” he said. “But … this shaman would like to ask something of you.” He expected a sarcastic response, but instead heard the furs rustle as she sat up.
“I am listening,” was all Aggra said.
He sat down next to her on their sleeping furs. Quietly he told her of the encounter, and she listened without interrupting, although her eyes widened at several points.
“This seems … almost insulting,” Thrall said at last. “This is a minor task. To remove me from here, where my help is sorely needed, to save a tiny village in Feralas …” Thrall shook his head. “I don’t know if this is a test, or a trap, or what. I don’t understand any of it.”
“You are sure it was Ysera?”
“It was a large green dragon,” Thrall snapped, then added more quietly, “and … I felt that it was she.”
“It doesn’t matter if it is a test or a trap. It doesn’t matter that this seems like a trivial task. If it is Ysera asking something of you, you should go, Thrall.”
“But my help here—”
Aggra covered his hand with her own. “Is not needed. Not now. You cannot do what you need to do in order to be of aid to us here. You saw that yesterday—we all did. You are no good to anyone here at this point. Not to the Earthen Ring, not to the Horde, not to me, and surely not to yourself.”
Thrall grimaced, but there was no scorn or anger in Aggra’s voice. Indeed, it was gentler than he could remember it being in some time, as was her hand on his.
“Go’el, beloved,” she continued, “go and do this thing. Go and obey the Aspect’s request, and do not concern yourself as to whether it is a large thing or a small. Go, and bring back what you learn.” She smiled a little, teasingly. “Did you learn nothing from your initiation?”
Thrall thought back to his initiation in Garadar, which seemed so long ago. He recalled the plain robes he had been asked to wear, how he was reminded that a shaman balanced pride with humbleness.
He was most assuredly not being humble in thinking of refusing the request of an Aspect.
Thrall took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly.
“I will go,” he said.
The Twilight Father found himself a trifle disappointed at how quickly the reds, blues, and greens had fled. He’d expected that they’d put up more of a fight. Nonetheless, it made his task easier, and made him even more adored by the cultists, who obeyed his every command. Such was good, even if it lacked the sweetness that a more hard-fought victory would have provided.
He had watched, along with the girl, as the dragons had flownaway, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs or in groups. Now the only dragons that remained were quite lifeless, save for the ones directly under his command.
He had sent his lieutenants ahead to summon his followers, and now they gathered at the foot of the promontory and shivered in the cold. Their faces were so diverse, belonging to orc and troll, human and night elf—indeed, many of the races of Azeroth—and yet had a deep similarity in their expression of rapt adoration.
“And so our long journey has come, if not to its end, at least to a place where we pause, gather our forces, and grow strong. Wyrmrest Temple was once a symbol of the unconquerable power of the unified dragonflights. It has been said it was made by the titans themselves, and the dragons regarded it as inviolable and sacred. Today, we saw them abandon it—including two of their Aspects. It is our home now, for as long as we choose to make it so. This ancient place of power, like all things, must fall!”
Cheers erupted from hundreds of throats. The Twilight Father raised his hands, accepting the wave of adoration that poured off of the crowd.
“It is fitting that part of this place is broken,” he continued when the delighted uproar had started to die down. “The end of things is always with us, even at our moment of triumph. Now … let us take what has fallen to us, that
“No,” he said. “But … this shaman would like to ask something of you.” He expected a sarcastic response, but instead heard the furs rustle as she sat up.
“I am listening,” was all Aggra said.
He sat down next to her on their sleeping furs. Quietly he told her of the encounter, and she listened without interrupting, although her eyes widened at several points.
“This seems … almost insulting,” Thrall said at last. “This is a minor task. To remove me from here, where my help is sorely needed, to save a tiny village in Feralas …” Thrall shook his head. “I don’t know if this is a test, or a trap, or what. I don’t understand any of it.”
“You are sure it was Ysera?”
“It was a large green dragon,” Thrall snapped, then added more quietly, “and … I felt that it was she.”
“It doesn’t matter if it is a test or a trap. It doesn’t matter that this seems like a trivial task. If it is Ysera asking something of you, you should go, Thrall.”
“But my help here—”
Aggra covered his hand with her own. “Is not needed. Not now. You cannot do what you need to do in order to be of aid to us here. You saw that yesterday—we all did. You are no good to anyone here at this point. Not to the Earthen Ring, not to the Horde, not to me, and surely not to yourself.”
Thrall grimaced, but there was no scorn or anger in Aggra’s voice. Indeed, it was gentler than he could remember it being in some time, as was her hand on his.
“Go’el, beloved,” she continued, “go and do this thing. Go and obey the Aspect’s request, and do not concern yourself as to whether it is a large thing or a small. Go, and bring back what you learn.” She smiled a little, teasingly. “Did you learn nothing from your initiation?”
Thrall thought back to his initiation in Garadar, which seemed so long ago. He recalled the plain robes he had been asked to wear, how he was reminded that a shaman balanced pride with humbleness.
He was most assuredly not being humble in thinking of refusing the request of an Aspect.
Thrall took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly.
“I will go,” he said.
The Twilight Father found himself a trifle disappointed at how quickly the reds, blues, and greens had fled. He’d expected that they’d put up more of a fight. Nonetheless, it made his task easier, and made him even more adored by the cultists, who obeyed his every command. Such was good, even if it lacked the sweetness that a more hard-fought victory would have provided.
He had watched, along with the girl, as the dragons had flownaway, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs or in groups. Now the only dragons that remained were quite lifeless, save for the ones directly under his command.
He had sent his lieutenants ahead to summon his followers, and now they gathered at the foot of the promontory and shivered in the cold. Their faces were so diverse, belonging to orc and troll, human and night elf—indeed, many of the races of Azeroth—and yet had a deep similarity in their expression of rapt adoration.
“And so our long journey has come, if not to its end, at least to a place where we pause, gather our forces, and grow strong. Wyrmrest Temple was once a symbol of the unconquerable power of the unified dragonflights. It has been said it was made by the titans themselves, and the dragons regarded it as inviolable and sacred. Today, we saw them abandon it—including two of their Aspects. It is our home now, for as long as we choose to make it so. This ancient place of power, like all things, must fall!”
Cheers erupted from hundreds of throats. The Twilight Father raised his hands, accepting the wave of adoration that poured off of the crowd.
“It is fitting that part of this place is broken,” he continued when the delighted uproar had started to die down. “The end of things is always with us, even at our moment of triumph. Now … let us take what has fallen to us, that
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