(2024-01-17) War Against the Nightmare: Calling All Allies

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	The final battle in the War Against the Nightmare.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: War Against the Nightmare

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some violent and gory imagery, kissing, some romantic themes

Malfurion Stormrage is waiting by the ruined building that was once Fandral Staghelm’s sanctuary, and at his side is a figure who is and is not any sort of elven offshoot.

Lush tresses of fiery hair - there are actually licks of flame constantly escaping the wild mane - cascade down her slim shoulders. Alexstrasza is clas as a warrior maiden, with long, armored boots rising to her thighs. Her hands are shielded by intricate gauntlets reaching almost to the crooks of her arms and a crimson cloak that resembles a membraned wing in form flutters behind her. What might have been her horns have become what looks like an intricate headpiece well-placed atop her head - though they might actually still be horns. Her clothing is crimson and violet, with touches of blue-black, all framed with gold edging, and her skin is a soft brownish red. Her face is rounder than any night elf, almost as if mixed with human traits. Her hair forms a widow’s peak and frames her face on both sides.

Thorn stands at the ready, remaining remarkably calm considering the circumstances. He seems more focused than normal, however, and isn't absently sniffing his surroundings like he usually does.

Wyriel kneels, currently in her kaldorei form, her head bowed. Her expression is determined.

Lode is lingering around with her arms folded in her usual reticence, swaying slightly with a hint of impatient agitation.

Caspis stands between Thorn and Imrolane, his expression grave.

Florande stands amidst the druids, looking calmer than before, with an unusual grim determination in her eyes.

“My friends, as the Nightmare reaches into Azeroth, it has been sealing off the portals back into the Dream. However, I have found something here that will aid us,” Malfurion says. He crouches, setting one hand on the ground before the sanctum.

As he does, the damaged structure trembles. The once-deadly vines become ash, and the artifices set in place by Fandral fall away. The sanctum reshapes, becoming something familiar yet astounding - a gate into the Dreaming.

Linwel makes an excited chirp, just an alert sound in case anyone was falling asleep, when they see the gate.

“It is still open…” Alexstrasza says.

“It is all up to us,” Malfurion says to the others. “We must make the final stand against the Nightmare. This is what our calling has prepared us for. A taint seeks Azeroth; as those who tend the forests, plains and other lands that are its gardens, encourage the bounty of life that is its fruit… we must end this infestation.”

"As you say, honored teacher," Caspis says quietly.

“What would you have of us?” Broll asks.

“What I should not ask,” Malfurion says solemnly. “I need you - and all those we can still summon to come together, be they druids or not - to march upon the Nightmare itself through this, possibly the last portal on Azeroth. I will not go through physically. I will use this as a conduit, and draw us and all of our allies into the Dream together.”

“Can we trust this portal?” Broll asks, eyeing it. “It must have been made by Staghelm in secret.”

“It will stay open,” Alexstrasza says. “I will see to it that it does. Do not question, and do not hesitate. Even now, the Nightmare senses that the portal of its pawn is discovered.”

She stands before the swirling energies and stares into the portal. The fiery glow about her body intensifies and shoots forth into the portal. If anything were on the other side, it would have been incinerated.

“Nothing will come through and nothing will seal up this last portal from the other side,” Alexstrasza says in a tone that does not brook disagreement.

Caspis looks impressed and possibly a little turned on.

Thorn is of the same mind as Cas.

Cas shares a Look with Thorn. Because right??

Thorn nods at Cas. Yup. So right.

Lode eyes the portal with a brief dubious look then straightens, punching one fist into the opposite palm. The last time she went into the Dream she was able to bite things, so presumably this remains a viable approach - so she signals her readiness to do so while holding her tongue in front of all the dragons and things.

Imrolane has held her elven form for the time being. Communication has become rather important of late, and she finds she often has something worth saying. In this moment, however, she is speechless.

Wyriel lifts her eyes to watch Alexstrasza.

"Hamuul, Broll and I will enter via meditation," Malfurion says. "The rest of you may enter now. The others I will call will meet you inside."

Malfurion settles down in a meditative pose. Then he does something he has never done before - he reaches into Teldrassil and through Teldrassil into Azeroth. Teldrassil and Azeroth give him what he seeks.

Malfurion lets out a tremendous gasp as he suddenly sees everywhere in the world at the same time. He fights to maintain his focus and sanity. He looks upon the besieged world and finds those for whom he is seeking. There are not nearly as many as he had hoped, but he finds what Azeroth needs.

The Call

He reaches out to every receptive, sapient, waking mind with a message.

I am Malfurion Stormrage. There is a war going on, but it is not on a conventional battlefield. Instead, it is in the minds of your loved ones, and in their dreams. You see it now, in those trapped in nightmares they can’t escape, lashing out now in desperate terror. This war cannot be fought in the streets of Stormwind or Orgrimmar or anywhere in the physical world, because there your combatants are only the people you love.

It can be fought in the world of dreams. That is what I ask you to do. Accept this invitation, and fight the Nightmare within the Emerald Dream itself. What I ask of you will require trust, but in this moment you must abandon what you cherish, if you are to save it.

If you choose to trust me, then you must do this: secure yourself against those who are trapped in nightmares, and… go to sleep. I will bring you here.

—-

Somewhere in Northrend, a beleaguered pair of Argents, Vond and Etone, are struck with the strange message from nowhere and everywhere, and one has to assure the other that he is not imagining things. They argue between themselves for a spell - What will happen? Who can keep the infirmary under control? What is the alternative? How can they even manage to sleep?

The conclusion that the rapidly falling apart Northrend Campaign will not be salvaged without taking drastic chances is reached.

Etone finally turns on Vond and huffs, "Well, might as well - I'll try and connect to it through meditation - You got me?" He reaches his hand out to the paladin with a wry grin as if they were about to head into battle.

After they've delegated some few remaining watch, Vond takes the Confessor's hand, looking somewhere between exhausted and desperate for some change of conditions, and nods. "That's what I'm supposed to ask you. Don't let me get pulled from you and I got ya." They slump inside the nearest cabin to sink into sleep.

—-

At a clinic in Ironforge…

"I'm goin' for it," Estel tells Niris, hanging up her apron. She ducks behind the divider screens and faceplants into one of the cots in the back of the clinic.

—-

Somewhere in Stormwind, a severely sleep-deprived Elohad Ference finds a quiet place to give into exhaustion without guilt.

—-

Crim is caught in the middle of his meditation on top of a butte in Mulgore. He had returned to Kalimdor from Northrend to have a more peaceful environment to commune with the spirits and seek answers to these strange happenings. However it seems that he now has the answers he seeks. Crim takes a deep breath and sinks deeper and deeper into his meditation until he eventually drifts off, still sitting upright in the cold winter wind and snow of the prairie.

—-

A noble dwarf, Thalstan, leans against his mother's bedroom door and falls asleep. Ominous thumps sound from inside.

—-

An armored woman kneels in vigil in a small chapel to the Light, her head lifting slightly as she hears a voice speak to her. "Well, that wasn't the sign I was expecting," Dame Lydia Harcourt murmurs to herself. She closes her eyes and gives in to exhaustion.

—-

Erixa makes a skeptical face at the plan, but she follows orders. She secures her inn door in K3 and goes to sleep.

—-

It was a dark night in the crowded Atley home, in more ways than one, when Dane heard the call. He had thought himself half mad before the graveness of the voice reassured him. With a pang of guilt like a dagger to the chest, he looked upon the faces of his large, new family. The bright eyes of his son, the weary eyes of Ivrianna. He looked to the lights of the few Eastvale cabins left populated and their tormented inhabitants, the people he had sworn to look after, before he made up his mind.

Having told her to bar the door, lock it, and even slay him if he escaped in the same madness as all the others to protect her son, Dane uneasily settled into bed… prepared for war. Prepared to strike back at this unseen tormentor.

—-

In a dark room in Ironforge, Vesyllah Rivenheart sits cross-legged before a bowl of water. Her eyes crack open to glowing slits. "About fuckin' time." She closes her eyes again, settling into her meditation.

—-

In a guest room at Fallon House, Annai Curran takes a calm moment to carefully remove her hairpins and her spectacles, which she orders neatly on the nightstand, and then she sinks onto the bed and curls up in oddly catlike fashion, and is promptly asleep.

—-

Somewhere in Dalaran, Ben Hazan snores in an armchair.

—-

Almeiria, who has definitely already secured a babysitter so she can shut herself in a dark room by herself, narrows her eyes at the call, but as she is already sitting in bed, closing her eyes into sleep is a simple matter. Besides… anyone who tries to trap her in dreamland is in for a nasty surprise.

—-

A forsaken warlock, Liyen, is not really sure how this works. She lies down and closes her eyes, and that apparently is enough. The druid eases her into sleep.

—-

Taeavon is startled by the sudden message, but rushes to bed as soon as he hears it. He has to rush back out immediately after because he realizes he's too excited to sleep, but after he finds some alchemical aid, he's soon fast asleep.

—-

Somewhere in Dalaran, after gently kissing his husband one more time, Colson Aspenwood heeds the call, and lies down beside Mordecai, going to sleep and allowing Malfurion to pull him through.

—-

Inside a yurt in Kaskala, a death knight props himself up against the wall and closes his eyes, falling asleep under the watch of his sister-in-law.

—-

Elsewhere, a dwarven hunter with long brown hair and a very, very old gun held in her hands, an inquisitive warlock gnome with bright pink hair and a staff, and a person of indeterminate gender dressed in all black and with a bow strapped to their back all fall asleep, ready for the call.

—-

In a boarding house room in Ironforge, Mayellen Mullby, all alone, quietly cries herself to sleep.

—-

The acrid smells of the Plaguelands linger on disturbingly still air. Auralind pauses as she scales a steep hill into the southern mountains. So, Malfurion is awake and battling this Nightmare. If she accepts, she might be helping Nilunelle. But if her Nilu is not taken by the Nightmare….

Auralind shakes her head with a murmured apology and continues her climb.

—-

Theris pauses on the stairs. His father, mother, and little sister have all been crammed into the cell in the basement. His father reaches through the bars. His mother kneels, banging her fists slowly against the ground. Ally sits, a blank look on her face, her body gone dormant now that Theris isn't close enough to strike at. Theris shakes his head and goes upstairs to the library. He lies down on one of the reading couches in his full saronite armor and tries to fall asleep for the first time in over a year.

—-

Celaven shadowmelds in the forests of Ashenvale, and then drifts off to sleep.

—-

Cressidha Aspenwood looks at the other tired mages around her, most but not all of them wearing uniforms or insignia that mark them as Kirin Tor. She shakes her head and continues to channel power into the shield that protects Dalaran. They cannot afford to rest.

—-

Anareline tests her daughter's bonds and sighs. She has to trust Malfurion Stormrage. Besides, Caspis should be there. She sits across the little hut from her daughter, and then goes to sleep.

—-

A bedraggled and sleepless Elowel Aro'ephel snaps her eyes wide open at the mental call. A chance for vengeance against these wretched nightmares? "Lead the way, dirt elf!"

—-

Amadeus Aspenwood blinks slowly at the surface of his desk. "Ms. Landry, did you… hear that?"

"Yep. Heard it. Wasn't just your imagination, sir," Eileen Landry says. She yawns, and Amadeus struggles not to yawn in turn. "You going for it? Get some actual sleep? Please use your bloody room for once in your life, sir."

Amadeus looks at his desk, where he gets most of his sleep. He looks at the little bedroom door just off of his office. He sighs and goes to lay down.

—-

Bertrand Aspenwood, sitting up in bed in his unit's barracks at Wintergarde, sets his letter-in-progress aside. He stretches out, closing his eyes, and tries to sleep.

Nope. Can't do it. There is no way Bertrand can fall asleep on demand like that. He was even tired before Malfurion spoke. Now he's wide awake.

Into the Dream

Those who accept soon find themselves appearing in dreamform in a place most could not even imagine - the Emerald Dream. In this small corner of the Dream, due to the Life-Binder’s influence through the portal, it looks something like it once did. Trees overhang the growing group with lush, dangling leaves, and flowers blossom amidst the soft, waving green grass. It is a place of beauty, peace, and safety, but it only reaches so far before it fades into the darkness of the shadows and the mists.

Malfurion’s dreamform stands at the front of the crowd, his proud antlers arching over his head and his green beard hanging down over his bare, muscled chest above a brown kilt.

In the crowd, there is a paladin of the Silver Hand, Colson Aspenwood, clad in old silver and gold armor, in the ceremonial pauldrons, a sword and shield held down, waiting patiently for orders and direction.

Roper Sunstrike seems to be a living man with dark brown eyes, black hair, and a warm brown complexion, clad in old SI:7 uniform and insignia, but with two saronite runeblades in his leather gloved hands, waiting extremely impatiently for direction.

Caspis spots Colson Aspenwood in the crowd and… smiles. It's very faint, and very brief, but it happened.

Crim's dream form looks much the same as he usually does, but his tusks are longer, his body hairier and more bestial, and his eyes glow a lustrous crimson.

Elohad Ference has a magnificent golden mane of hair and an unlined face.

Mayellen Mullby is smaller, thinner, and even plainer than she is in real life, but there is no halting or asymmetry in her steps now.

Theris' dreamform is devoid of color, composed only of shades of gray. He is, however, clearly a death knight.

Thorn and Taeavon emerge in the Dream, appearing more or less identical to their waking counterparts. Although Tae appears to have actually trimmed his hair and beard recently which he definitely didn't do.

A footman of Lordaeron finds himself in this strange place. The tabard of Lordaeron is ragged and stained dark. His armor drips with red and black blood, giving the lion emblem on his mighty kite shield the appearance of crying oily tears. The blue hairs of the crista on his helmet seem to be half plucked and gnarled.

Nevertheless, his musculature nearly bulges out of his armor, as if he had almost rapidly expanded within it. Blood stains his face, he unconsciously licks it off his lips. His wild green eyes are near feral with rage, but his movements convey a demeanor of control, like fire contained by a furnace.

At second glance. those who know him would recognize Dane. He stands wider, and nearly a head taller. His improved strength gives him a brutish, almost monstrous appearance.

Upon closer inspection, some may note that the blood trickling down his armor, sword, and shield, mixed red and black, never seems to come from anywhere, or run dry. They might also see the vague reflection of a burning human city in places where the once polished steel isn’t caked in carnage.

Vesyllah is always cloaked in shadow, wherever she stands, and her eyes are pure black. Elowel, by contrast is a gleaming beacon of golden light, her hair impossibly lustrous, clad in red and gold armor and wielding a glowing sword like some champion straight out of a fairy tale.

Almeiria Fey joins the crowd dressed in black, revealing clothes vastly unlike anything she wears in public. (Think black mageweave set.) Her bearing is cold, confident, and powerful, and shadows swirl easily around her.

Harvey Morningdew appears as well, a golden haired paladin who just happens to have runes on his sword. It's fine. Decoration, surely.

Annai Curran remains a human woman in a trim, modest ladies' suit, but she is incongruously barefoot, and her dark hair is a leaf-caught tangle down her back. Her eyes are strange black hollows, and she has a pair of small antlers — or are they branches? — jutting from her brow. She clasps her hands demurely in front of her and gazes intently at Malfurion.

Ben Hazan looks almost exactly like he usually does, except he is a good foot taller. When he spies Elohad and breaks into a huge, slightly awed smile, his front teeth are unbroken.

Once in the dream, Anareline moves unerringly to Caspis's side, relief evident in her dreamform's stride.

A cluster of embers wreathed in a nest of ribbonlike scrolls, suspended a few feet into the air, meanders among the crowd, until wisps of shadow form around it in a standing figure - appearing at times like smoke, at others, ink. The dim light rising from the core forms passing, scattered glimpses of the solid image of Vond, peering up at the surroundings in a mixture of awe and disorientation through armored goggles.

Etone stands proud with his arms crossed over his chest, he seems a bit taller and longer of ear than he usually does. His white and black robes seem to give off a light sparkle, his red hair slightly wisping about his shoulders as if it were flickering flames. He gives Vond a slightly skeptical huff but reaches out and grips the shadowy figure by the hand tightly - as if pulling him in or stabilizing the paladin.

Amadeus is visible above a portion of the crowd mostly because he has appeared on top of his horse, a paladin charger named Devotion. He wears blue and gold Alliance armor with the Alliance tabard, and he looks much like he does in real life. He practically radiates charisma. This man looks like a leader.

Elohad throws his arms around Ben at around the same time Caspis spots Anareline and, after a moment of wide-eyed wonder, gives her a kiss that would be more appropriate to the final scene of a theatrical production than the first scene of a war.

Imrolane gives a toothy grin at Caspis and Anareline smooching.

As Anareline kisses Caspis back, her dreamform becomes more beautiful. She doesn't seem to notice the change.

There's a flash of bright light as Lydia's dreamform manifests, a human paladin in shining white and gold armor who looks like the Light is burning her alive. It radiates from her eyes, her mouth, her silver-blonde hair… the woman is consumed in holy flame.

Estel blends easily into the crowd. She looks like her normal self in her blue robe that she was wearing just now in the clinic.

Ismene Hazan appears in a ripple of dreamlight. She's tinier than she usually is, losing maybe 2 or 3 inches of height, but otherwise completely identifiable. She glows softly golden, radiating a gentle light that reaches out with slender fingers to brush those nearest her. She looks around, trying to orient herself in this disorienting place.

Atley stares around in wary awe, sword raised, as if expecting an elven ambush before he snaps out of a daze, shaking his head. He glances around, and upon noting familiar faces, the fresh streams of blood cease, and go dry. Otherwise he remains much the same.

As he catches sight of those he knows in the crowd, Colson sets his sword into a scabbard, and raises a hand in greeting to them all, his face blooming into a broad, expressive smile, easily readable and open.

Roper has focused on Malfurion like he can will this man into talking and explaining where the fight is. He was promised fighting to kill whatever is holding onto Syarra. Where is the fight.

Crim looks over the mass of heroes gathered to answer the call and his heart swells as much with pride as it does with competitiveness. He lets out a bellowing roar. The sound washes over the crowd and they can feel their blood heat, growing stronger for the coming battle.

There's a bit of shouting from in the crowd as two goblins play something in the vein of Marco Polo to try and find each other.

The Explanation

King Varian Wrynn steps forward. “What is this place?”

“This is the place where dreams and waking meet,” Malfurion explains. “It was once a place of gentle communion, but now it is all but overrun by the Nightmare. It is only here that you can make a difference in this war, only here where your weapons will find use.”

There’s milling about in the crowd, as people begin to organize themselves by race and by the lines of Horde and Alliance.

Ismene definitely mills around the Alliance folk. She makes no attempt to find anyone she knows, but does try to nudge her way forward. Too tiny. Cannot see. Dumb talls taking up all the space.

One of those dumb talls turns his head in instinctive response to the presence of that gentle light in the crowd, and a moment later Ben is holding her hand. How did he get there? Unclear. It's a dream.

Ismene looks up… and up and up and up at Ben. She smiles and ceases trying to move forward. The glow around her brightens, a soothing warmth that touches Elohad as he nears.

"Hello there little lady," says Elo very dadly, despite looking like a young leading man type.

Ismene also picks up more than a foot of height rather abruptly, making her the perfect height once again to snuggle under Ben's arm. "Elohad!" she says, laughing. "You look wonderful."

Atley immediately marches to Varian’s side. Some shine returns to his sword and shield. He growls unfavorably at orcish roaring, and all Horde races are given withering scowls, but otherwise he remains … ‘peaceful.’

When Caspis spots in the crowd he pretty much looks like his life is complete. He loosens his grasp on Anareline to give Sir Atley a crisp salute.

Atley double takes Caspis, gaze lingering with recognition before some tension leaves him and he loudly sheathes his blade. He gives him a slow nod back, warmth in his eyes, before the salute is returned.

Amadeus has to wait for space to clear for him to begin to move towards the king so his horse won't trample anyone. He makes eye contact with his little brother and gives Colson a formal nod of acknowledgement. Amadeus actually looks well-rested. That's how you really know it's a dream.

Elohad tries to at least briefly grip the shoulder of everyone he recognizes — lingering for a moment to gaze wonderingly at Colson's expression in particular — before returning to Ben's side.

Atley stands straight, giving Elohad a slow, bowing nod of respect as he passes. His tabard has turned from Lordaeron to Stormwind.

Imrolane spots Dane. Oh yeah, she knows this human! She gives him an excited wave, hopping up and down to be seen amidst her taller kaldorei kin.

As Harvey moves to blend in with the Alliance side of things, his gaze catches on Annai Curran and he seems to be trying to determine why she seems so familiar.

Roper falls in line with the Alliance. When he sees Harvey, he does a double take, up nods him, and then says, "Hey."

Harvey acknowledges Roper in turn, with only a slight lift of the eyebrows. Yep, dead people pretending to be alive. Normal things.

Lydia moves to the side of Elowel because clearly this woman is also a holy warrior. She realizes this has placed her in the Horde section of things a little too late.

The presence of several people like Lydia and Elowel practically bursting with Light and Etone radiating confidence seem to solidify Vond into something more generally ordinary - an armored human in the throng, scanning faces familiar and not, with only lighter trails of smoke coiling him. He grips Etone's shoulders briefly as if testing their solidness, then orients toward Malfurion, expectantly.

Taeavon looks a bit lost as well, but eventually spots Elohad in the crowd and scurries over.

"Taeavon! Fancy meeting you here!" Elohad grins, then puts a finger to his lips and winks. They appear to share some sort of Secret.

Tae tries to wink back but just blinks instead (he cannot wink) "Still plenty of time for both of us to be heroes today I hope."

Celaven spots Florande, and goes over to stand by her side.

Wyriel, standing unobtrusively next to Florande, smiles at Celaven.

Celaven smiles curiously at Wyriel.

Estel locates Almeiria. By the time she reaches her in the crowd, she is dressed in black leathers instead of her work robes.

Almeiria's confidence only seems to grow, seeing Estel, and her eyes take in the black leathers with clear appreciation. The shadows around her deepen in color.

Celaven shoots a friendly wave at Almeiria.

Lode is a bear, but like, an even better bear. Huge, hairy, toothy, no picnic basket is safe. She grumbles impatiently at all the coalescing dreamers, despite only just learning to come here herself.

Colson has fallen in with the rest of the Cobalts grouping up around Elohad and Ben, nodding politely back to his brother.

"Looks like I'll be taking to the field with you one last time, Cobalts," Elohad says Dramatically.

Atley fosters a dark smirk in his helm and nods slowly before he yanks his shield strap tight. He looks around to his other fellow Cobalts, locking eyes with each to pass out stern nods.

"Hey!" That's Lucy, dressed in shiny battlemage attire with some ridiculously convoluted gnomish goggles on over her eyes. They have so many lenses that can be snapped down, and most of them are up, making her face look a little bit like a butterfly mask. Her Cobalt Company tabard appears on her a moment later.

Ismene's soft glow touches each person she knows as they near, spreading wider to include each though it grows no brighter.

The Call for Cooperation

Malfurion frowns. “You need to be one, not many. Varian will lead you.”

King Varian turns towards the cluster of orcs in outrage. “I won’t lead this filth! Let the Nightmare take them and be damned!”

Atley says nothing. A loveless gaze shifts to the orcs, green eyes narrowed, but his tabard shifts again, from Stormwind to Cobalt Company.

Lydia seems to realize that maybe she might be in the wrong spot, but it's too late to move.

Crim clenches his jaw but remains still.

Annai Curran's hollow-eyed face turns in Varian's direction and regards him, a cool, blank mask. Her branch-antlers have thorns.

“As it took your son and so many others in Stormwind City?” Malfurion counters. “Only by defeating the Nightmare can you ever hope to have Anduin returned to you. And that can only happen if we all work together.”

“I-” Varian visibly struggles with this concept. “Very well.”

The Horde members, however, did not look altogether happy about this situation. Some of the orcs seem reluctant to follow a leader who clearly despises them. Some of the forsaken don’t seem entirely thrilled to follow a leader who instigated a surprise attack on their capital in the midst of an attempted coup.

Atley stays by Varian’s side.

Elohad is very determinedly not looking at the orcs or the Forsaken.

Mayellen has not joined the little Mizzy-lit group of Cobalts, but she stands where she can see them, and watches them wistfully.

Ben waves at Mayellen. Then, in case she didn't see him, he grows like another three inches and waves more furiously. He does not call to her because Important People are Speeching, but he mouths YELL, grinning.

Mayellen shyly shuffles over, looking like she's trying to be invisible despite Ben waving at her really really visibly.

Elowel scoffs and rolls her eyes…and then they land right on Elohad. "Sun above," she murmurs, "It can't be. Didn't he die or something?" With an impish grin she starts to casually maneuver through the crowd toward her former stage partner.

Lydia, relieved, follows Elowel. Good. They're going to the correct place now.

When Elohad spots Elowel, he bristles, his oddly youthful face reddening with rage. But he visibly controls himself, taking a deep breath and the high road. He gives her a cool nod of acknowledgement.

Elohad gives Elowel a long, level look at her greeting, and then just turns toward Malfurion. gasp The cut direct!

Undeterred by his reaction (perhaps encouraged by it), Elowel strolls right up to the old knight. "ELOhad, DARling! It's been absolutely AGES! My aren't you looking well? Had some work done?"

Elowel sidles closer to Elohad, allowing her arm to brush his. She leans over (and strangely not up, as she is much taller than she is accustomed to) and whispers, "We'll catch up later, darling. One way or another."

Elohad shivers as though he's just turned over a rock and found slimy things writhing under it.

Elowel receives a scathing scowl from the inside of a bloody helmet’s visor.

Atley can’t resist. He turns to the Horde and tries to make eye contact with the largest, strongest orc he can find as he otherwise remains by his King’s side.

Crim steps up to rally the heroes of the Horde, "Brothers! Today we find ourselves in most uncertain times. The Lich King threatens to destroy our homes and now this Nightmare would steal from us even our waking moments! This day we stand together! Not as Alliance and Horde, but as the warriors of Azeroth itself. Our warchief is trapped here as well as the great tauren cheftain and the Dark Lady. There are few here fit to lead such an impressive throng such as us. So I plead of you: this day we follow Lo'gosh! Today, forget the bloodshed and grudges of the past and follow a true warrior into this hell and win! For the Horde! For the Alliance! FOR AZEROTH!!!"

Atley finds his orc. His brows slightly raise in silent surprise at the words.

"FOR AZEROTH!" calls a voice from the Horde section, surrounded by tauren. It's… a pink-haired draenei. Mansia seems confused, but she's got the spirit.

Etone doesn't seem to care either way about red vs blue as he stands at attention.

Vond looks nervous about the widely mixed crew starting to tally their slights and wounds, then relieved as they begin to respond somewhat positively to the raised voices. He exchanges a brief signal of assent to Etone. In the absence of usual command, he is prepared to follow the dream-summoner, Malfurion's word on this, and fall in on Varian.

Lode is clawing the earth and looks itching to charge at something.

Baine Bloodhoof steps up beside King Varian and nods at Crim. “As the son of Cairne Bloodhoof, leader of the tauren, I will trust that this one chosen by a friend of my people will act with honor toward all. It is true that we must be united.”

At all of these words of unity, the grumbling starts to subside, and people reluctantly start to move into a more unified group.

While this happens, Malfurion is staring into the distant mist. He looks to Varian and points in a direction. “Take our forces this way, toward the center of the Nightmare. I myself will be working on another task in concert. Good luck, my allies.”

The Advance

"Finally," Roper mutters, gripping his runeblades harder. He's been waiting for over a single minute, and that is too long. Center of the Nightmare. Let's go let's go let's go.

What, the elf isn't even sticking around?" Almeiria murmurs, her sharp eyes watching Malfurion with distrust.

"He summoned us here. That probably took a lotta energy." Estel shrugs. "Ugh, it looks like we have to march. I was hoping maybe we'd all be able to fly or something."

Atley raises his head, and speaks. His voice is supernaturally deeper, and harsher. “I didn’t abandon my family in the waking world to sit about bandying words and bleed my ears with your whinging and moaning. Malfurion Stormrage leads us true as he did on Hyjal! It’s time to fight.”

Atley looks to Varian and waits.

Malfurion heads into the mist, and Varian leads the group onward in the direction indicated. As they travel, more and more people who answered the call come into existence in the Dream and join the throng. There are ancients, their shapes as myriad as the species of trees of Azeroth. With them come the treants, smaller and less powerful but more numerous than the ancients. As well, there are the dryads, powerful daughters of Remulos.

In addition, other creatures begin to join at the edges, perhaps not officially taking orders from Varian but lending their strength all the same. Flying hippogryphs by the scores come, joined in aerial endeavor by other denizens of the sky, including gryphons, gargantuan moths, carrion birds, dragonhawks and dragons of the red and green flights.

Kobolds and other creatures with great enmity towards all else also had agreed to join the mighty throng. Fearsome ursine fubolgs, more comfortable among the wild animals than as part of Varian’s force, let out howls of anticipation at combat. Giant panthers, tusked boars, fearsome basilisks, crocolisks, hyenas and other animals, many of them in part herded by the more sentient raptors, are just part of the animal legions that follow. The druids feel Malfurion urging them to guide the wild creatures. The animals may not fully understand the fight to come, but he had been able to communicate that their lives and progeny were at stake.

Crim leads his clan in a traditional Warsong battle chant as they advance into the Nightmare.

Elohad twitches at the sound.

Atley growls lowly, and stomps a bit louder. He’s heard the battle chant before.

There is a sort of shadow-ripple where Annai stood, and a sound like the sharp creaking of winter branches, and then in her place is a creature — a thing shaped vaguely like a wolf, but constructed of branch and bone and vine, its head like a skull. It lopes after Varian.

Linwel marches a short distance behind Elohad. Friend: located. At some point they might jump scare him just by being there and looming.

Erixa and Thalstan fall in with the marching. Erixa keeps her distance from the orcs, unity or no unity.

Celaven walks easily by Florande's side. He spots Roper, and looks at his dreamform curiously.

Anareline stays by Caspis's side, her wonder dimming to dismay as they see how the Nightmare has ravaged the Dream.

Colson follows calmly, his hands bare of gauntlets, his wedding ring glowing with the Light like a small beacon, marching in military time alongside Dane.

Atley turns to Colson, and meets his eye. He gives a firm nod and produces his bloodied sword.

Colson smiles back, an easy to read look of calm faith and camaraderie in his expression. His feelings are open and clear, that he believes in what they are doing with his whole heart.

Atley grunts through his helmet and goes back to looking forward.

Roper is just barely restraining himself from a full out run, his runeblades glowing blue and covered in frost. He still looks like a living man, but ice and shadows grow around him as he stalks forward.

Amadeus, by now, has a good portion of the Alliance cavaliers riding with him - some from his unit in real life with their horses, some complete strangers.

Mizzy stops being tucked up tight against Ben as the allies walk after Varian. The sound of marching feet is obviously familiar; her plain white robe picks up bloodstains and soot like road dust.

Thorn plods along in his bear form, taking the fore. He seems particularly large today.

Caspis effortlessly shifts into the form of a massive treant with midnight-blue leaves, creaking as he marches along.

Mayellen trails behind the Cobalt crew, for once having no trouble keeping up.

Etone hums thoughtfully a moment before offering coolly to Vond, "Shall we then?"

Vond sets off immediately after signaling quick agreement, moving them closer to the forming Cobalt members they had worked with before as the rest of them set out.

He momentarily stares into the reflection of flames in Dane's armor and trails spirals of ashy smoke in turn, before setting his attention past to find more Light users to mirror himself opaque again.

He briefly entertains some consternation as to how all the tall dudes got even huger.

Almeiria does not march so much as she drifts, shadows obscuring her feet. Marching is not for her.

Harvey glances around as he walks, perhaps a little unnerved by the sudden influx of animals and other wildlife. Hopefully no pigs have decided to show.

Estel calls, "Hey! Up there! One of you guys!" Within a minute, she has befriended a red dragon who is willing to let her ride on their back.

As they march, Ben seems to unfurl somehow, straightening and growing sterner. He also seems to draw in — or to reflect? — the glow of Mizzy beside him, as well as a certain shine from Elohad's presence, until he is radiating a quiet aura of light himself. There is a hammer in his hand, white-hot and trailing Light.

A female figure in a white wedding gown stained red with blood, a veil over her face, starts singing a [Hymn of Hope] as she walks. The Scarlet Bride carries no weapons and leaves bloody footprints behind her as she walks.

Elohad spots Vond and gives him a dadly smile, though he may in fact at present appear Vond's age or younger.

A wide-eyed blink then a bolstered smile is returned to Elohad from Vond - there is clearly some uncertainty there, wrung from the dire straits the bizarre occurrences of recent days have put everything in - but the sight of Elohad looking as he does amid all the remaining determination of the dream-called thickening into a directed focus is a driving sight. He straightens in his march, shouldering a fantastical tower shield that appears much lighter than it would in reality.

Just in case Elohad had managed to forget Elowel was present, she nudges him. "Oh look, Haddie," she points at the bloody bride figure. "She looks just like me at the end of An Inconvenient Marriage. Remember our performance in Capital City? Ahhh…good times."

Elohad keeps his gaze fixed resolutely forward, looking neither at her nor at what she pointed out. Elowel has seen this exact demeanor before - Elohad was famous for not breaking when heckled by audiences. And now he's treating her like she is the audience. To his heroic tale.

Taeavon does remember this performance! However judging by Elo's reaction he imagines that this memory is a much fonder one for him than it is for his boss.

Erixa smiles at all her paladin pals marching in the Dream.

The Attack of the Shadow Satyrs

It is time to face the Nightmare. The dreamform army surges forward to meet the darkness. As the Nightmare converges on them, shadow satyrs form in multitudes, their claws sprouting more than a foot long. It is time for the druids and Varian’s defenders to press the attack!

Varian strikes. His dreamform blade cuts through satyr after satyr, and they fall like ribbons of sliced silk, in tatters that are crushed underneath the encouraged defenders’ feet, hooves, and paws.

At the sight of the satyrs, Imrolane jumps into action, literally shapeshifting mid-leap to land on heavy paws. Her claws dig into the earth to propel her forward, and with a howling roar she is on top of a satyr, her saber-fangs deep in its neck.

"Lok'tar ogar!" Crim roars in Orcish and follows up in Common, "Victory or death!" He brandishes his greataxe totem and hurls it ahead where it sinks into the chest of a satyr before activating and bolstering everyone nearby with the strength of the elements. Crim charges forward with his claws to rip and tear into his new foes.

When the march seems to have halted against a wall of enemy forces, Caspis shifts from treant to tree, rooting down into the dream-soil and pulling the essence of Life from deep, untainted reaches of it. Green healing energy radiates from his every branch, pouring over the battlefield and seeking out his allies.

Broll turns to Caspis, and then glances over the other druids, his dreamform eyes blazing. “There is still life in the Dream. Help me nourish it!”

A few strands of Caspis's green light swirl and close around Broll Bearmantle as though in a tender embrace.

Wyriel is happy to lend her aid to Broll.

Florande gives her aid freely to the druid offensive, though she seems like she'd rather be on all fours.

Broll's words are lost on Imrolane. She throws herself into the satyrs, bristling with unbridled fury. Her rage grows with each kill. As before, a change overcomes her as she fights, her appearance more and more like an enormous, savage wolf.

Lode grumbles at Broll with a mouthful of squirming satyr as it thrashes and claws at her shaggy neck. Nourish? The word rolls off her like gutterspeak as she chews, which seems more fun than nourishing, but ultimately joins in to help a little with bolstering the other druids once she's had a few more bites.

Broll tries to connect with Caspis, Wyriel, Lode, and Florande, and reaches out to any other willing druids. Together, they reach into the remaining part of the Dream that thrives and make seeds of trees become a rain of furious missiles that land and sprout. Within seconds, trees grow tall among the satyrs. One satyr slashes at a tree, and then pulls back with a hiss as it spurts a thick, burning sap. He is not fast enough, and the sap burns him entirely away within a few scant seconds.

The trees begin to extrude sap from everywhere, especially their branches high above. A rain of searing droplets guided by druids falls upon a vast swathe of terrain, burning shadow satyrs.

Lode doubles over with laughter in an awful kind of delight when her contribution to the collective druid effort actually pays off and swarms of shadow satyrs begin sizzling and poofing in the sap infused with burgeoning life. It's the next best thing to personal bone crunching. A dream manifestation of a studded magnataur cudgel is wielded to scatter and half-melted shadows, spraying fountains of darkness and resinous residue. It's probably sticky.

Ismene darts away from Caspis, spreading out to cover another rank of allied forces.

Separated from Ben, she dwindles back to just under her waking height. Her light coalesces into pinpoint brightness, touching a fallen ally and visibly knitting wounds from the inside out.

Colson takes up position in the mid-field, warm, steady healing Holy Light forming across his hands, ready for those who need it. He seems to be only an ordinary man, the Light streaming across his hands from his wedding ring.

Roper is a silent shadow himself, frost and death wielded against the army of nightmares. There is no mercy offered for them. Every strike is brutal, and obliterating.

Thorn rushes ahead and plows through the ranks of satyrs, disrupting their formation. He seems completely unbothered by the attacks he suffers in the process and keeps swiping and shredding everything in his path to leave the enemy open for his allies.

"Oh hell, I told you the shadow people were real," Vond barks at Etone before diving toward the front to bull satyrs back with shield and Light, drawing on the strength of the Confessor's music. No, Vond, you are the shadow people.

—-

A soothing tendril of green radiance slides its way to Imrolane, wrapping itself around her without entangling her.

Imrolane feels the gentling touch of Caspis's energy…and whirls to give him a fierce growl before removing the head of the satyr pinned beneath her. In open battle with her hated enemy…her tormentors…she is slipping.

Roots writhe up from beneath the ground and attempt to ensnare all four of Imrolane's ankles and draw her back toward Caspis. The soothing green light intensifies.

Imrolane pulls against the roots with terrifying strength. They slow her down, but only seem to feed her fury. A particularly ancient druid nearby stumbles away from her in shock, gasping, "…the Pack Form!" It isn't…not quite. But she is on a dangerous precipice.

The sounds of battle fade away, muffled under the sound of Imrolane's own heartbeat…and a whisper, telling her she has been betrayed…her so-called friends would deny her rightful vengeance….

Suddenly the ghostly image of a half-grown kaldorei boy appears in front of Imrolane, scrawny and filthy, his blue-black hair a dark tangle.

"Please," he whispers. "Help me."

Imrolane snaps her teeth at the image of the young elven boy…then immediately recoils, lashing about as if fighting herself. Her shaggy, wolfen shape diminishes, and a moment later she is crouched before the boy, covered in the remains of her enemies, one arm extended to him. "Cas…Caspis…I-I'm sorry. Come….come here…" The pained rage twisting her face has given way to sorrow, hot tears streaking down her cheeks.

The boy points back toward the great tree with its midnight-blue leaves, which has become surrounded by shadowy assailants that Caspis's current companions are struggling to fight off on their own.

The satyrs around Imrolane recoil in shock for just a moment, but soon see that the druid is vulnerable and start to close in all around her. Just as they are about to strike her down, Thorn comes barreling through the horde of enemies, some of them clinging to or impaled onto his bristly fur. He swings his massive paw and thrashes the satyrs around Imrolane to the ground.

Imrolane gasps, shocked out of her moment of grief by the enormous bear druid leaping in to her rescue. She looks around at the satyr corpses in awe. "Shaha lor'ma," she says to Thorn in thanks, giving him a firm nod of camaraderie.

Following the boy's gesture, she sees the true Caspis under attack and her heart seizes. "Thorn!" she shouts as she shifts into cat form again. Pausing to allow her vision boy to cling to her back, she bounds toward her thero'shan…her family.

The dream boy clings to Imrolane and then just sort of… disappears into her, like snow melting into a warm blanket.

Thorn follows close on her heels, ready to back her up again should she need it.

—-

Harvey still seems uncertain about the animal swarm, but he does join the fight. Runes blink out on his runesword, and while the Light doesn't actually come to him, he seems to glow with the appearance of it. Despite everything, he still identifies as a paladin. Just don't mind any spreading diseases.

Another young paladin falls in beside him. One with short brown hair and pale blue eyes, though he, too, appears to possess a runesword. Though he notices, Harvey doesn't question it. Surely there are many former paladins in the Ebon Blade. They take on the enemy side by side.

For all his varied paladin tools, dream-Elohad is approaching this battle much as his younger self might have, hacking away with his sword and protecting himself with his shield.

Thorned vines sprout and grasp at satyrs as the strange bone-and-branch wolf slides snarling and slashing in and out of the shadows among them, claws and teeth dyed red, its hollow eyes now blazing green with the same light that spreads among the kaldorei druids.

Celaven hangs back, shielding everyone he can.

Lydia throws herself into the ranks of enemies, her greatsword burning with holy fire as she fights.

Ben, at Elohad's side, swings his hammer in arcs of Light, scattering satyr ashes. Occasionally he just caves in a skull, the old-fashioned way.

Mayellen keeps setting shadow-creatures on fire. She does not call on any of her other talents.

Almeiria takes up a position near Celaven, supporting from the back by assaulting the figures with her own shadowy energy. Maybe she intends to keep him safe. Maybe she's decided that next to a healer is the safest place for herself.

Ismene's light flares and shrinks and flares again, touching the wounded with Light and reassurance at the same time. You are well, is her message, I am here and I will not let you fall. You are well. Rise up.

Elowel finds herself fighting by Elohad's side (though whether deliberate or not is debatable). Her style is not unlike his own, relying much more on swordplay than the powers of the Light. At one point, she flashes what might be a genuine smile at him, as if momentarily forgetting he is her hated rival.

Erixa dives into the fight with enthusiasm. This time, she was free to join the call to battle.

Etone's songs fill the air bolstering his allies' abilities with a rather flamboyant flourish of sparking and glittering light motes.

Vond is moving with Etone in a concerted movement to head off anything encroaching on druids who are trying to concentrate - his form solidified and illuminated by a rising inner light, acting with a practiced trust in the dramatic-sounding healer and occasionally forging him a path toward an ally in need.

The Forsaken, Liyen, calls roiling darkness to her hands and fights shadow with shadow.

Taeavon hangs back, slinging spells and arrows from a distance.

—-

A lone swordsman with long brown hair fights on his own like he's in some sort of meditative trance, moving with extraordinary grace through the ranks of the shadow satyrs - dangerously far from his allies. He cuts down dozens before he is overwhelmed by sheer numbers and drops, trampled underfoot by satyr hooves.

A DPS time out bubble [Hand of Protection] goes out Kyris from the Silver Hand clad paladin, a flash of Holy Lightning bouncing off another to Kyris in a shining beacon of light, as Colson casts, his face calm and filled with faith.

As Colson's Hand goes out to Kyris, the two former paladins, Harvey and his newfound combat partner, push forward, attempting to clear a path to him to draw him back (hopefully) into the safety of numbers.

Kyris does not stand. He stares towards Colson in obvious confusion, disoriented, as some of his injuries reverse themselves.

Theris rushes after Harvey, runes flaring up on his runeblade. "Kyris!"

Harvey and the other young man take up a defensive position in front of Kyris, and Harvey glances back at Theris. "Can you get him up? This is a poor position, and we will not be able to hold for long."

Colson keeps healing, bouncing the heals off those nearby, something done with the Light to dim the potential aggro on Theris as he calls out.

Amadeus, drawn by Theris' shout, calls his cavaliers to push the shadow satyrs back, nodding to Harvey.

Theris reaches down to help his brother up, but Kyris recoils from him, eyes wide, and Theris backs away.

Kyris staggers to his feet as the safety bubble vanishes. "You died." One of the cavaliers flings a healing spell at him, and some of the color returns to his face. He adjusts his grip on his sword and seems to realize just how many people have come to his rescue at this point. "Thank you."

Harvey nods in acknowledgement of Amadeus and Kyris, and the brown haired man with him bows his head. Theris, however, captures most of Harvey's attention. Using the moment of reprieve, he draws closer to him and murmurs, "I apologize. I was not aware of the…situation." The Kyris-knew-Theris-when-he-was-alive situation, presumably. He does not know they are related.

"My brother," Theris says quietly.

Harvey's expression is one of sympathy, and he reaches out to pat Theris on the shoulder. "You helped save him. You did well."

Theris nods. "So did you. Thank you." He looks out at the retreating satyrs. "I'm Theris Lysander."

"Lysander…" Harvey murmurs. Maybe the House name is familiar. "Harvey Morningdew." The u is left out of the name, not that anyone listening can tell. He is a Pretend Paladin today. With a slight turn, he attempts to include the other young man, who sizes them both up before responding.

"Silver," says the brown-haired man at last. "Call me Silver." By the way he says it, it is probably not his actual name, but he does not seem willing to volunteer more.

—-

Thalstan swings his axe through satyr after satyr, occasionally shaking out his flowing hair, even more luscious in the Dream.

Elohad falls into a rhythm with Ben, fighting with him as something more than simply a united front. He seems almost preternaturally tuned into the swings of Ben's hammer, staying dangerously close without ever getting caught in the momentum of it, then lashing out with his own sword as Ben recovers.

Something very faint, the ghost of the shape of a tower, seems to coalesce in the air behind them.

As soon as the shadow satyrs appear, Atley rushes one, moving far too fast for someone that big with as much cartoonish steel as he’s got on. His opening blow is a head butt with his helm. His second is decapitation by shield. He forges his own path, beside King Varian, but on the side of Varian closer to Elohad.

He grunts and growls with each below, but despite his savagery, his raw brutalism is melded seamlessly with years of training, almost flourishing with his blade in athletic performance, his shield both defensive and weaponized, seemingly weightless in his grasp.

He perfectly timed a thrust and impales one charging shadow satyr through the throat and lifts it off its cloven hooves with a snarl. Marching forward, Atley shoves the satyr off his blade, onto the ground, and stomps through its shadowy face.

Linwel rips a shadow satyr in half with their claws.

Lode discovers a reinvigorated appreciation for Linwel.

—-

Atley spots a group of healers, possibly some Cobalt paladins, druids, and priests. He also spies a shadowy satyr racing from the shadows to flank them. With another reckless sprint, he intercepts the foe to cut the dark enemy in half with a single blow.

Near the healers, he bangs the flat side of his sword against his shield three times. CLANG CLANG CLANG!

He hangs his head back and releases a challenging shout. “This is your best?!” he bellows, partially earnest in his taunt, though more focused on drawing attention from the healers towards him. “In your OWN realm?!”

It works. Nearby satyrs, either drawn by his taunting words or, unable to understand common, lured by his booming nonsensical screaming, flock to him like grease racing down a drain. He rallies, forming a one man shield wall, and charges one. He keeps rushing, the satyr stuck to his shield, until he ‘catches’ a second satyr, the two now pushing against him. His speed slows only slightly, until another satyr, and another, more and more all crammed on the opposite side of his shield.

He becomes to a near standstill, only his heavily armored trunk like legs tirelessly and almost comically keep pumping in place, powered by the memory of his innocent baby boy crying in terror, all while the closer satyrs reach around his shield to scratch savagely at his helmet, until finally they collapse. Some fall backwards, some stumble, and he moves to fall upon them until…

The army continues to force its way through the satyrs, and eventually the Nightmare line breaks, the satyrs falling back.

Though the throng is able to move forward through the dark mists, Varian looks troubled. “This is too simple. The Nightmare must have something else planned. Stay on your guard.”

Barrel chest expanding and contracting in a steel cage as he catches his breath, Atley glares at the retreating satyrs and nods once, responding to Varian, who is no doubt surrounded by many knights. “Yes, my liege.”

There is a deafening crackling of thunder up above followed by the bark of a deep orcish voice, "Storms! Heed my call!" Crim stands on top of a hill nearby, facing Dane and his collection of enemies, "Taste the wrath of the Windseeker!" He unleashes a mighty bolt of lighting that chains through each satyr in turn, leaving behind nothing but charred bodies.

Atley widens his eyes in surprise, whirling to face Crim, ready for another attack, this time of the orcish variety, before witnessing only the satyrs around him burn.

Still triggered by the shamanistic call out and display of power, Atley looks up to Crim for a long moment … before he slowly nods once and grunts through his helmet.

Crim grunts back and hops down from his perch to cut down a couple of stragglers before pulling back to hold the line.

—-

Roper doesn't have any other mode beyond be on his guard, but for a moment, as the satyrs withdraw, he looks like he might chase after them. Shadow and ice curl around him, and blue flames flicker in his eyes, as he holds position.

Among the people who answered Malfurion's call and partook in the fight against the shadow satyr are two completely opposite priestesses.

One, a blood elf, clad in a pure white gown. Her long dark hair floats behind her as she herself levitates above the ground, Light shining bright emanating from her body. Briyanthe, after locking herself into her room, hiding from her unconscious brother having fallen into the Nightmare, decided that it was now or never to be a hero. She heals indistinctly both Horde and Alliance member, and at her side is her white, fluffy cat, scratching at the shadows after falling asleep on her lap.

The other is a Forsaken woman, yet still elven-looking. She wears a dark dress, which ends in floating smokes of shadows. Dark Cleric Oryena, from her left hand, wields the shadows themselves against the satyrs, forcefully entering their minds and making them fight one another to death. At times, Oryena channels the Light to heal her allies, but it clearly comes at her own comfort, and the woman writhes in pain at each attempt.

Azizia also answered the call almost instantly as well. Her dreaform barely changes - although she has her longer curls back, and the jewelry on her shines like the sun. Some of it may look familiar to those who've given her gifts in the past. Her outfit looks like one of Cressidha's creation - although the tailor isn't there to witness it.

The draenei's fight against the shadows is intense, she puts a huge amount of anger behind every single one of her strikes. Eventually, however, after seeing wounded Cobalt Company members, she pauses. She seems to meditate, placing her whole focus on her breathing instead. Finally, she opens her eyes once more, and with the water in a glass bottle on her belt, she heals those who need it.

Eldau was present during Malfurion's reveal of the portal, and joined the other druids into the Emerald Dream. He fights tooth and nail in his cat form against the satyrs. He is precise, calculated, and swift in his strikes. Like Imrolane, he doesn't seem to hear Malfurion's call for help during the battle, and stays shapeshifted to keep fighting.

Sirie receives Malfurion's calls. She laughs, and sneaks her way into a human house to wreak havock on the sleeping humans.

She does have to fight one or two nightwalkers. So, she is fighting too, in a way!

Therald listens to Malfurion's call. He hesitates for a while, but decides that it's now or never. He walks away from the mist of Goldshire, finds a nice tree in Elwynn Forest, sits in the moss surrounding it and falls asleep. His dreaform looks exactly like him, except that he's transparent - almost invisible. He grabs his shield and a sword and protects both horde and alliance members alike from the Satyrs' strikes. He seems amazed by the animals fighting for them - but others would have a hard time to see it, as he himself is hard to see there.
Iphindra hears Malfurion's call. Motivated, the druid immediately finds a safe spot to fall asleep. What follows was just one of her many dreamless nights.

Instead, Faeryn is already inside the Emerald Dream, as she awaited for Malfurion and his army among dryads. She speaks to no one - especially not to the Night elves. She attacks the satyrs with roots and vines, striking at them, crushing these shadows, accidentally tripping less spatially aware allies.

After hearing Malfurion's call, Sandy goes to say goodbye to his sleeping mother, as well as Gwen, then falls asleep as well in his room, in Dalaran. He appears in the Emerald Dream a little after the others. His dreamform is a lot more similar to what he looked like during his time on the squads, but with his eyes back to blue. He looks at his missing leg, replaced with a wooden leg. 'Like a pirate's,' he thinks to himself, smiling softly. His outfit reflects this, with his shirt and its loose sleeves and the eye patch placed on his forehead. He joins the fight, but doesn't cast spells, instead hitting the shadows with his staff.

He trips on roots, and is helped up by Oryena. She silently nods at him tilting her head to her side, and goes back to the battle. Sandy observes the Forsaken's movements for a moment, and begins mimicking her, casting a few basic shadow spells.

The Attack of the Shades

It turns out that the Nightmare does have more terrible foes to offer. After the combined forces march for some time, nightmare forms begin to flow from the mists - hideous, cursed dream selves of the Nightmare’s thousands of victims multiplied many times over. Drawn from the sleepers subconscious, they come in macabre versions of the innocents, making them all the more horrific to the defenders.

Varian sees Anduin and Tiffin reaching out for him, and he steps back. Then he turns and sees another Anduin and Tiffin. He frowns in confusion.

“These… these are illusions,” Baine says, his own gaze traveling over the forms. “I see three of my father, and many others who have long passed away. These are not true dreamforms. They are not the people you love.”

“Then we will not let them slow us,” Varian says grimly. He slashes his sword through one image of Anduin and Tiffin, and the figure simply vanishes. Even with the belief that he did not just kill his son, Varian cringes.

Azizia roars and throws herself fists first, at visions of her parents. No more healing, for a little bit.

Harvey visibly hesitates. "How… How certain are we that this is the case? Could they not have hidden the true sleepers among these…illusions?"

No one has any answers.

Harvey is not the only one who hesitates, a dwarven hunter lowering her gun in shock and disbelief, shaking her head over and over. Oranna isn't sure what is real and what is not, who is a foe and who is a friend, and she takes no shots in the initial wave of the new army. "Are they… they cannae be. What if — how will we know?" She asks those around her, a small voice in the chaos.

Within the shadows of the Nightmare, a mountain of a man charges forward into the waiting army at the front line. He seems invincible, indestructible, a force of incomprehensible human nature that runs towards danger rather than away. A mighty roar of a battlecry emerges from him: "Flintlocke!!"

—-

Ismene's healing likewise falters as she confronts a vision of her dead father. She backpedals, bumping into people, her brown eyes wide and terrified. The glow of soft golden light around her flickers and dies. She doesn't scream or call for help; the squeak the escapes her can only be considered muted and soft.

Ben is there behind Mizzy, and catches her with a hand at her back. He swings his hammer, trailing Light like a comet, and the blaze cuts through the illusory Mr. Callis, evaporating him in a swirl like steam.

And then, where he stood, is a petite blonde woman, hollow-eyed and carrying a kitchen knife, her hands gloved red with blood, her gaze accusatory, and it's Ben's turn to falter.

—-

Thorn's usual indomitability falters for a moment as he is approached by a shadow of Tenniria Silverbloom. He cowers and backs away for a moment, unable to raise a paw against her.

—-

A figure resembling Velrin comes into view. It looks so much like her, but her vibrantly colored hair and skin now look dull and pallid. The markings on her face also look different. Her normal red marks now instead appears as silvery tears streaking down her cheeks. She walks hand in hand with another creature, what looks to be a malformed night elf woman with a long green braid. Her right leg is twisted and shriveled and she hobbles along with the false Velrin.

Celaven spots the pair and hesitates, staring at Velrin. It is not as easy for him to accept the necessity of attack as it was for King Varian.

A cohort of Gwenivenes appear before Sandy. Their limbs are just slightly too long, and the points of their hats each bend and twist into menacing, twitching shapes like broken spider limbs still thrashing at a foe. All of the Gwens bear a sweet smile, but beneath the too-dark shadow of their hats, their eyes gleam with menace.

"Sweet, sweet, Sandy…" one begins.

"…how innocent…" says another.

"…how foolish…" says a third, the words passing from one Gwen to the next: "Did you really think…that I loved you? Did….you imagine…I was ever with you…out of anything…but pity? Stupid, stupid Sandy…"

Sandy's eyes widen. "Gwen, I…" He lets out a sob, then a choking noise. He steps back, bumping into another illusion of Gwen. As they surround him, one of them disappears into dust, as a barely visible Therald stabs a sword into it.

"Sorry, Sandy," he says, before fighting the other Gwen.

"I…" Sandy chokes again. He shakes, then takes a deep breath. He slams his staff into one of the illusions. "Wake up, Gwen, please!" Ekorenines join the Gwens, and Sandy and Therald fight each of them, one by one.

Celaven spots Sandy in trouble and shields him. Then he shields himself, as he has taken no move to fight the shadow-Velrin and her companion.

Then he sees another shade moving towards the group with determination. Syarra is in her saronite armor, but with no helm, her blue eyes blazing and her expression blank. Her runeblade is glowing in her hands, and if not for her incorporeality she would seem ready to fight and kill.

Celaven backs away towards Sandy.

Almeiria does not hesitate at all in her attacks, as shadow crashes into shadow, destroying illusions left and right. "If you sentimental fools don't pull your weight, what are you even doing here? I suggest leaving before you become fodder." Her announcement is loud enough to be heard over the sound of combat.

Roper is there, immediately, an obliterating strike of both runeblades through the false Syarra without hesitation or mercy, his eyes glowing briefly with the true blue flame of a death knight. There's a look of satisfaction and rage as she dissipates into shadow. "You don't get to use her," he croons softly, at the Nightmare, presumably.

"Don't I?" Syarra's voice comes from the mist, and another of her form steps forward. "I'm not yours anymore - you've lost me."

Sandy nods gratefully at Celaven, then looks wide eyed at Roper. This is his first time seeing a Death Knight. They're kind of cool, at least to him.

"Never," Roper growls back, a strike directly at the shadow Syarra's neck, runeblade sending scattering shadows and chips of ice around him.

Celaven hears Almeiria's scold, and winces. He takes a breath, and his eyes darken as he sends a blast of shadow towards the image of Velrin and her companion. Then he turns to the other shades.

Celaven turns his shadowed eyes to Sandy and says, "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe. I'll keep everyone safe."

Almeiria spares a glance at Celaven and nods her approval.

—-

"We must continue on!" Varian calls, swinging his sword through another image of his late wife. "We must be on the right track, or the Nightmare would not bother to attack us so."

"Crusaders, STAND DOWN!" bellows the (presumably illusory) form of Sir Saidan Dathrohan from behind enemy lines.

—-

Thalstan recoils when he sees an older dwarf, one who looks much like him, advancing on him with a scarab in his hands and a wild light in his eyes.

"You're no' my father," he says grimly, swinging his axe through and dissipating the illusion.

—-

Initially, the footman Dane is greeted by many others, their armor in various states of disrepair.

One is missing a shield, one misses a helmet, another doesn't even have a sword. "Atley the Red… Wot' a joke, mate," growls one with a sardonic smirk. One footman, the one without his helmet, has long blonde hair that flows in an imaginary wind behind him. "Knighted, married, and with a child while the rest of us rot." The smallest of the trio, a man with ashy, almost gray hair shakes his head. "It's like we never even existed. Even lived."

They all slowly close in, joined by a knight in traditional Stromgardian raiment, his cloak flapping behind him as he brandishes a massive two-handed sword. "Always did note there was a weakness in Stormwind." He scoffs. "Some 'lions.' Ye' lot folded like wet parchment… and you're going to —"

Atley releases a growl and attacks these intruders, sword slinging in wide, strong arcs. "They're not real!" he growls savagely. "Slay them all!"

Crim echoes Dane's words, "Don't let this nightmare make mockery of our friends and kin! Strike them down to give peace to the dead and the living!" Crim rushes in and slashes wildly at the shadows.

—-

In time, Thorn manages to regain his nerve. He lets out a roar and strikes down the images of his old friend.

—-

Maybe it's Atley's growl or maybe it's feeling Ben hesitate, but Ismene proves as adept with the harsher aspects of the Light as with the healing. A Smite blazes from her upraised hand to bisect the woman in front of her, dissipating the shadow into nothing. She looks back and up at Ben, questions in her brown eyes. "Are you all right?" she asks, giving voice to one of them.

—-

"Ohhh, look who's here to play the hero," says a petite blonde woman who appears in front of Elohad. She is tiny, and beautiful, and her face is twisted with utter contempt. "Because that always turns out… So. Well."

Elohad halts in his tracks.

Lydia, sword blazing with holy fire, does not hesitate - she runs the illusory woman taunting Elohad right through.

Ben manages a halting, breathless nod at Mizzy, still staring at where the figure was, and then glances sidelong when Elohad falters. Oh no it is another petite blonde woman.

"Annie!" Elohad reflexively cries, his voice hoarse with grief, but then he turns to Lydia and after the pain clears from his eyes he says shakily, "Light… thank you. I couldn't have."

"I've got your back, sir," Lydia says, her eyes flicking towards the multiple Sir Dathrohans in the advancing illusory army.

Elohad belatedly notices the Dathrohans. "What the @#$%," he says, very unpaladinly.

Atley's sentiment echoes Elohad’s, but he can't help but look at Sir Dathrohans in grim astonishment and bewilderment at the sheer scale of them. "Bloody hell," he growls in his helmet.

Ben puts a hand on his dad's shoulder. He nods at Lydia as well. Don't worry, Dad, we got these nightmare tiny blondes handled.

And then another figure shoulders through the nightmare shades ahead of them, roaring, "BOY!" He looks like a bearded, hulking version of Ben, seven feet tall and with fire in his eyes, his face twisted in a permanent sneer.

Ismene sends Smite after Smite through the air, crackling into shadow forms wherever she sees someone falter. Another twist of her hands summons her ShadowFriend, the little lumpy form growling and swiping tentacles at illusions and tearing them from existence for the whole fifteen seconds it can maintain itself. She stops to look for Ben, then blanches at the figure that confronts her husband.

Atley spots the paternal monstrosity and after beheading another one of his comrades, he breaks out into a sprint towards the specter, snarling like a rabid dog, perhaps having thought about such an encounter for some time.

ShadowDad looms over Ben, grinning, reaching for the hammer in his son's hand. "Gimme that, you ain't know what you're doin'." If the nightmare is aware of Dane's charging presence, it doesn't react.

Atley's sword sings as it comes down on the extending arm with pent up anger. He throws the rest of his momentum of his shield into the side of ShadowDad's knee, before he shoves him over like discarding filthy laundry, and moves to stab through his 'heart.' "It's not real!" he booms, angrily, and towards Ben, reassuringly.

Ben jolts like someone waking suddenly and stares white-faced at Dane. He shakes himself off and nods, haltingly at first, and then grimly. "Yessir. Thank you, sir," he says, and turns back to the fray himself, his jaw set.

—-

"Brother…" Briyanthe whispers, looking a twisted illusion of her family member. 'Help me, Briyanthe, help me…' it whispers in a growling noise. The Light flickers in her hands. "Gosh… I've been taking care of you. for months now. Feeding you, washing you, maintaining your title. I can't stand to look at your face… But the real you is the only one I'd do that for," She screams, enraged, throwing a spear of Light right at the illusion. "Begone, you foul creature! Let him go!"

—-

Florande does not actually seem to have any particular shades, the ones around her amorphous. She slashes out at them with bear claws.

Wyriel remains by Florande, exhaling green fire at any illusion that seems to threaten or upset her.

Faeryn scoffs at the illusion, like Florande, the Nightmare doesn't seem to have found anyone to torture her with. She makes roots break from the dirt to grab and stab at a bunch of shapeless blobs surrounding her.

—-

A dark haired figure slinks silently through the battlefield, twisting knives into the shadows, their own dreamform taking on an increasingly dangerous likeness to the illusions. Callum hovers on the edge of being able to tell which are their allies and which are their foes, and that death to all might be the answer.

—-

The bone-and-branch construct that is Annai lashes out with claws and teeth, shredding nightmares to shadow-tatters. It is possible she sees no one she knows. Or no one she cares about.

—-

Among the spectral army is Mordecai in a simple white robe, beaten and bruised, his curly red hair stained with blood. He carries no weapons. "Please don't hurt me," he says as he tries to get closer to the Alliance army. "I'm not one of them. Don't hurt me."

Colson pales, and the Light of his ring flickers before a healing [Holy Shock] arcs across the battlefield to the Shadow Mordecai, a helpless reflex.

Illusory Mordecai's illusory wounds fade, and he smiles hopefully. He's getting dangerously closer. "I'm your Mordecai, right? I'm the real one?" he says to Colson.

But there, among the ranks of the illlusory army, is another illusory Mordecai, dressed in pajamas, also unarmed, bleeding from a chest wound. "Please don't hurt me," he says as he stumbles towards the crowd. "Don't hurt me. I'm not one of them. Please."

"COLE!" bellows Ben. "COLE, IT AIN'T HIM." He's too far in the press to get close enough to Handle It himself. "MIZZY!" he shouts.

The floating, translucent Faeryn attempts to slow down the illusory Mordecai with vines sprouting from the ground and grabbing at their illusory legs. She looks at Colson. "Don't listen to them! They are not real!"

Colson takes a step forward towards the healed Mordecai, uncertainty twisting his features, his eyes glancing from one Mordecai to another. He shakes his head, the light dimming further, as he takes another helpless step. As Ben's shout carries, he halts in place.

Colson closes his eyes, taking in a long, slow breath, before he holds up his left hand, the ring on his finger a bright, unfailing Beacon of Light, as a Divine Shield snaps over Colson, and he lets loose another [Holy Shock], this one for a foe, a smiting light from his ring to destroy the healed ShadowMordecai, as Colson clings to his faith.

Indeed, the illusory Mordecai breaks apart into smoke.

Ismene looks over toward Colson as Ben shouts. She eels through the crowd to Colson's side, resting her hand on his arm. "It's not real," she reassures him, voice soft and sympathetic. "Are you all right?"

Colson is visibly still shaken, looking down briefly to Ismene. He shakes his head, an honest truth reflected on his face as much as his action, but he lifts his gaze back to the field. "The Light will prevail." It's a prayer, more than an affirmation.

She pats his arm. There there, Tall Paladin Who Isn't Ben. There there. She lets go, hand stretching out to blow apart one of the frolicking Kehdas with a slash of holy Smite. "We'll get through this," she says, agreeing with Colson.

—-

Anareline pales as a tall, blue-haired elvish woman makes her way out of the mists. As she walks, her shape halfway changes… to a satyr… to a naga… "Sister, how long has it been since you abandoned me?"

Anareline's face is cold and devoid of feeling as she moves between Caspis and the apparition, and swings her sword through it without hesitation. It disappears into mist.

—-

Elowel laughs as she cuts through shadows, paying little heed to what poor soul they reflect. She takes pause at the blonde human women converging on Elohad. She almost doesn't recognize her, until she sees Elohad's reaction. Ah yes…the wife.

Elowel sighs and turns away to deal with-…she stumbles back a step. Twice her height, an elven figure looms over her. "Father," she whispers, a tremor of fear in her voice.

Elemaeo Aro'ephel's sharp features are razor blades of judgement. He scowls down at his daughter. "You think you are better than him?" He gestures toward Elohad. "Look at you, imagining yourselves a great, mythical hero. A legend in your own time. And what have you accomplished? A pale reflection of his achievements. How can you expect to rule if you cannot even live up to the standards of your rivals? Pathetic."

Elowel had easily battered away the swords and staves of her foes. But she crumbles under the harsh words of this shade of her father.

Briyanthe sends a warm, comforting embrace of the Light at Elowel, in the form of a blessing.

Elohad spots Elowel disabled by dread of her father's shade and, without thinking, pays it forward and smites the hell out of the jerk.

Feeling the warmth of the Light washing over her from Briyanthe's blessing, Elowel's features tighten into a frown of confusion. Quiniel…? No…a priestess. It felt strange, but bolstered her enough to rise to her feet…only to feel that looming shadow of her father as he drew his longsword.

Elowel has her own blade in hand, but it feels heavy. As Elemaeo lifts his weapon to slash at his daughter with the unbearable weight of disappointment…he hisses and his form dissipates into nothing but shadow. Elowel blinks in confusion, and as her vision clears through the vanishing shadow-dust, there she sees Elohad. The Hero. Her Rescuer.

Elowel expression of shock narrows into a glare. How very dare he save her!

Elohad gives her a strange, feral grin of triumph before turning his sword on the next nightmare. As though saving her was just one of many things on his to-do list.

—-

Erixa stands alone, cutting down draenei after draenei, tears streaming down her face.

Oryena stabs her shadow-covered claws right into one of the Draenei illusions' back. She stares at Erixa, determined and gives her a 'keep it together' nod.

Erixa stares back at Oryena for a long moment, not sure what to make of her. Then she nods, blinking away tears and turning back to the fight.

—-

Estel, still on dragonback, alternates between attacking illusions indiscriminately and shielding her allies.

—-

A pack of fel orcs led by a notable figure that others even in the Alliance might recognize comes into view. It’s Grommash Hellscream and a retinue of Warsong warriors, their skin red and eyes burning.

Atley grunts at Ben, and upon seeing the fel orcs, he starts to charge them, and Grommash Hellscream, before he pauses, turning over his shoulder.

"Dane?"

From behind a tree, a young pale face peeks around its trunk. She smiles, gnarled brown hair hanging well past her sharply defined collarbones. A woman, maybe ten years younger than Dane, and two full heads shorter, delicately steps out from behind the tree like an anxious doe. Her bare feet step lightly on the shadowy, undergrowth of the forest. She wrings her thin, emaciated hands together as she approaches him, stepping shakily with hunger, her skin pale like ivory with a layer of dirt and ash on it.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispers, somehow still audible over the roar of battle, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving thin lines in the dirt. "We can be a family again." A sudden frown, and she stops, brow furrowed. "You… haven't forgotten me, have you…?"

Atley takes a step forward, shield lowered, lips parted. "No, I'm here — I can defend you now. I'm strong enough, to defend you now…"

She takes a step back, hands still wringing. "I'm — I've been frightened, for so long. I want to see my grandson."

"MR ATLEY!" shouts Ben, now shoving through the crowd himself, hammer aflame.

Atley struggles in place, wrestling with himself. He feverishly shakes his head, grappling with the temptation. "It's alright — don't flee."

The peasant woman's features twist faintly, and she cranes her head, suddenly having an epiphany. "If I was childless I would have lived," she hisses, eyes flaring. "Saving you, killed ME." she observes, or accuses, voice rising to supernatural octaves. "I would be alive if you weren't so weak."

Atley works his jaw and stumbles towards her, extending his shield hand. "I can make it better now, I'm strong now."

"Mr. Atley!!!" shouts Ben, closer now. He flings up a hand and exorcises the woman in a blast of light, paying back the kindness.

The ghostly peasant disappears. Dane is left staring at the space for a long moment without blinking, before he shakes his head and looks to Ben in the battle, giving a silent nod.

He runs back into the fight, quieter now.

—-

Crim’s eyes go wild and he charges the fel orcs. He strikes down one after another until there’s just one left. He’s not a fel orc, just a regular green one. He’s the spitting image of Crim with one key difference. Instead of having blood red eyes, his are a wolfish yellow.

An arcane bolt blasts the yellow-eyed orc apart into illusory shadow. Lucy grins.

Crim blinks. He had been unable to bring himself to kill that last shadow. He looks back at Lucy with an expression that’s an equal mix of relief and fear.

Lucy yells, "Hang in there!" and turns to blast away someone else's personalized illusion like some sort of worst-nightmare sniper.

Crim slowly but surely shakes off the surprise at the specter of himself and continues to fight with the same vigor as always. He roars and chants out another battle song as he wades through the nightmares.

—-

The forsaken Liyen's dreamform seems a little unstable. Every once in a while there's the faintest flicker of a living, dark-haired woman over the rotting warlock. Around her are what seem to be the spirits of Lordaeronian villagers, reaching out as if for help. She's giving them shadow bolts instead.

—-

Two women dual wielding swords appear together in multiple instances, but somehow, always together. Ralaea Westwind, her blue eyes glowing, her hair faded, with runeswords in her hands, alongside Kaela Mondragon, looking… Well, just as dead as usual. Harvey defends himself from one instance of the pair, alongside Silver, but neither of them seem willing to attack the women.

A small black shadowfiend ("Shadowfriend," Ismene would object but she's busy) scrambles over Harvey's feet, making urgl-brgl sounds as it waves tentacles through the shadows of the two women fencing with him, lopping off their legs and sending them back to the formlessness they came from. It flails a moment longer, then scrambles away into the Dream.

Harvey stares at the creature for a moment, before glancing at Silver, beside him. "You…" he begins, but Silver only gives him a shrug. Maybe the young man just wasn't strong enough to take out the women. It wasn't trauma for him, right?

Almeiria spots another Rae/Kaela illusion pair, and a cold smile appears on her lips. With a twist of her hand, the Kaela illusion jerks, then suddenly murders the Ralaea illusion, before turning on the other false forms.

—-

Eldau fights other taurens surrounding him. His cat eyes blink as if in a prayer for every illusion he dissipates.

—-

Multiple shadows of Alaisa Lysander stand unmoving within the crowd, expressions empty and unseeing, just blank. Theris yanks one of them to him, shadow gathering around her like a net, and cuts her head off. That illusion dissipates into smoke.

Roper grabs another, cutting it down with a viciousness that seems more appropriate for a despised enemy than the form of one of the two people he cares about most in the world. "Not her." Does he mean it isn't her, or that the Nightmare is forbidden from using her? Doesn't matter.

—-

Several giggling female draeneis with black ponytails walk through the battlefield, not fighting with anyone. Some might recognize Kehda(s). In between their laughters they say in unison: "Not illusions! They are not fighting illusions! They are fighting the ones asleep, and they are winning." They giggle some more. "They are fighting their loved ones!"

—-

A well-muscled kaldorei in Sentinel armor, her violet hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, looms out of the mists toward Anareline. The usual red markings that trail down from her eyes have become animated rivulets of blood, and she stops and draws back her bow, aiming an arrow at… Celaven.

"I should have known you would leave me again," she says in a cold, unforgiving voice that is obviously not directed at the faraway figure she aims at. "I know you don't care that you lost me… but this time I will take your precious son. I will leave you childless. Unless you end me first. Go on. Show me which of us you love."

Caspis is en route to end the phantom of Cellara in defense of Anareline, but he is intercepted by a shadow of… Anareline? No, the hair is the same but the skin is darker, the facial features sharper. Whoever she is, she opens her mouth wide like a banshee and shrieks:

"You left her! I trusted you!! Where is my baby??"

"I am with you, even now," Ana says, her eyes wild as she seems to forget for a moment that the vision isn't real. She tries to step in between, to block the arrow to Celaven with her own body. "I will not lose you, not again."

The Cellara phantom shrieks in rage, casting her bow aside and drawing a pair of swords from… somewhere. "You would never sacrifice yourself for me! Only him! I'll cut my way through you to him!"

A burst of Moonfire strikes the Cellara phantom from above the moment she finishes her sentence. Linwel trills.

Cellara's phantom shreds as though torn asunder by claws, and then dissipates into a red mist.

Anareline had brought her shield up defensively, but made no move to attack. She cries out in anguish when the Cellara phantom is destroyed, but then sees the other one moving on Caspis.

Without waiting to see who it might be, she moves over to swipe her sword through the phantom woman.

The banshee-like kaldorei phantom disappears with a wail, and Caspis staggers over to clutch at his shalan's shoulder to steady himself.

"My wife," he explains. "Tirenda's mother." How nice that Anareline is finally meeting the rest of the family.

"She wasn't real," Anareline says, and she might be talking about Cellara or Amadora. "She didn't mean it."

—-

Ben turns back in search of Elohad and Ismene in the crowd, and casually swings his hammer through several strangers' specters as he does. Who were they? Who cares? Bad news.

"Thank you!" Lydia yells as Ben's hammer evaporates an illusion wearing the tabard of a Scarlet Crusader. She is continuing to fight by Elohad like a Retribution-fueled guard dog.

"I don't know who you are," Elohad says to Lydia breathlessly between swings, "but if I see you when we wake up, we need to talk."

"Dame Harcourt," Lydia says to Elohad without taking her eyes off the battle. "I'll find you."

Ismene steps carefully back toward Ben, doing her best not to look like a shadow person.

Ben salutes Lydia briefly with the hammer and turns to defend the approaching Mizzy in the fray.

"Are you all right?" Ismene asks Ben. She reaches past him to lay a Smite on another shadow, unrecognized and unlamented. By her, anyway.

Ben nods at Mizzy and puts an arm around her briefly, crushing her against him — look, they're both real! — before letting go of her to turn back to the fight.

The five minutes having elapsed, Ismene sends forth the Shadowfriend again. If you think you saw a shin-high [ed. note: approximate height] blob of tentacles rumbling past, tearing through shadows with gleeful abandon, you're asleep. It probably isn't real either.

"What is THAT?" Sandy exclaims out loud as it moves past him.

"urgl-burgl!" exclaims the shadowfriend passing Sandy before vanishing into the shadows. The other shadows.

Sandy blinks. Thank you, urgl-burgl for vanishing into an evil illusion of his not-evil mother.

Then a burst of Moonfire hits the evil illusion of Sandy's not-evil mother. The Shadowfriend is unharmed, but it might be a little spooked.

Linwel chirps.

Sandy smiles at them. A moonkin, cool!

—-

Atley finds himself launching vicious assaults against orcish shades in particular for some reason, now. He's gaining back some of his earlier volume.

—-

"Azizia!" shouts Gaakhed from afar, "Come help me here, I'm surrounded!" Azizia looks around, noticing her parents' friend.

"Gaakhed, I did not know you were here." She makes her way through illusions and friends, punching the former, dodging the latter. As she reaches him, "Are you oka—"

She looks at Gaakhed. The clearly twisted, illusory Gaakhed, and his sword stabbing into the side of her stomach, barely missing any vital organs. She stares at him, wide-eyed.

Erixa twists away from the horde of draenei spirits when she hears her brother-in-law's voice. She turns in time to see the sword go into Azizia, and she vaults towards her, blasting killing light at nightmares as she travels. Finally, she blasts the illusory Gaakhed to pieces.

"Azizia, I will heal you," Erixa says, taking a deep breath. It takes a second, and it kind of sputters, but the light comes.

"Than- thank you," Azizia whispers, looking at the Light healing her wound. "I was careless. Do not trust Gaakheds, he must be sleeping too."

"I didn't know," Erixa says, looking at Azizia with tear-reddened eyes. "I do not keep in touch as I should. But we will save him. We will save all of them."

Azizia nods at her. "We will. Let us get back to fight, thank you for healing."

—-

Oranna is breathing slow, careful, perfectly spaced breaths from the bank of the ranks, a sniper position, as she takes shots as those she is sure are of the Nightmare, targeting the ones in particular who have cornered a dreamform warrior.

"Nice one!" says a cheerful voice from beside her.

Brannagen. Void pouring out of eye sockets that purr with maggots, hair waving in its own private storm like a wild brushfire. Otherwise he seems perfectly fine.

"Brelliant shot as always," he says amiably. "Say, would ye mind finishin' the job ye started by leavin' me all alone? I'll run away to range if that makes it more sportin' for ye."

Oranna's cry of pain and fear is quiet as she tries to stay scoped into what's in front of her, but her breathing catches, and her gun trembles enough that her next shot goes wide, narrowly missing an ally, and she drops the gun, falls, and scrambles back from it on the ground as if Boomstick was the real nightmare.

Thalstan spots the dwarven lass in distress and pushes over to her. "Miss! Are you alrigh'?"

Bran clucks his tongue… tk tk tk. "Ah, Boomer, I was hopin' ye could make it clean for me, but with aim like that ye'd probably give me a gut shot that'd fester fer a week, heh heh."

Oranna shakes her head, looking helplessly at Thalstan. "[I don't — he's not — I didn't leave. I'm not, I don't want to hurt — ]" Her words aren't entirely clear, in Dwarvish.

"[He's not real, miss,]" Thalstan says encouragingly in Dwarven, patting her gently on the shoulder. He throws his axe at Brannagen, and it whiffs through him, dissipating the illusion. "[See? Illusions.]"

Of course, now Thalstan is disarmed. Oh well.

Bran smiles amiably at the both of them, stroking his neatly braided beard. A maggot plops out of one of his eye sockets and bounces off his hand.

"Friend of yers, Boomer? Prospector Stillwall, good t'meet ye."

He holds out a tentacle for a friendly shake just before Thalstan makes him go POOF.

Thalstan stares at the place where Brannagen disappeared for a moment, then clambers to his feet after the axe.

Oranna turns large, bright brown eyes up at Thalstan, reaching up to touch his hand on her shoulder, blinking. "…Arnathorn Firststone?" And then he's off.

Halfway there, an older dwarven woman swoops out of the mists.

"[Yeh left me locked up, Thal,]" she says, her eyes pleading. "[Why would yeh do such a thing to yer own ma?]"

Thalstan flinches away from her. "[You were… dreaming… violent…]"

As the woman manifests, Boomstick appears back in Oranna's hand, a look of determination on her face, before a bullet goes through the illusion woman's eye with a sniper's precision. A second shot follows, in the exact same bullseye. Just in case.

Thalstan looks shocked for a moment, then he retrieves his axe and turns back toward Oranna. He smiles at her, and gives an approving nod. "Thanks, miss. And you can better call me Thalstan, though Arnathorn’s no' entirely wrong."

"Oranna. Oranna Stormbreaker," Oranna says with a weak smile, as she scopes back in, her breathing returning to that perfect cadence, a metronome to hit the right steadiness on the trigger.

Thalstan takes up position to defend the sniper lass, Oranna Stormbreaker.

—-

A small, pink haired professor of a gnome is pausing to ask questions of the shadowforms about their particular brand of pyschic horror, asking them to repeat what they said again if they would please, for Posterity, and please enunciate this time.

Oryena, makes the shadows he's talking to explode with dark energy. She looks at him, completely bewildered. What is that weird gnome doing?

Research! Pippinlopper seems to listen very attentively to each Shadowform, nodding as they conclude their work, and then destroys them with gnomish efficiency in a burst of felfire. He continues on, taking note in particular of human-small blonde ladies on the battlefield. An interesting development!

"Don't hurt me," says an illusory Mordecai. "I'm real. Please."

Pippinlopper nods. "An interesting approach!" Felfire whoosh. Bye, Mordecai.

—-

As Crim keeps fighting he eventually comes upon a shade of Terrineth wielding a pair of large swords chained in place on her arms. She screams and rushes him. Crim fights back to defend himself, but never seems to move to land a telling blow. The two merely trade strikes back and forth.

The feral construct that is Annai leaps at shadow-Terrineth from behind, bearing the shadow down and tearing at its throat with a snarl.

Crim's eyes flash crimson as Annai takes down the shadow, but Crim quickly recomposes himself and redirects his fury towards the remaining shades, "Blood and thunder! Press onward brothers!"

Atley echoes the sentiment, having found his voice again, sword raising into the area after shield bashing what looked to be someone elses Forsaken shade. "Fight on!"

An empty-eyed man wavers into being in front of the bone-and-branch thing and gazes stricken at her. "Tides, Annai. What are ye?"

The construct cowers.

Another man appears beside it, "Annai, where are ye? We need ye!" Then he gives a strangled cry and clutches at his gut, vanishing just like one of the lost defenders.

Roper cleaves through the empty eyed man with a dismissive violence, eyeing the bone-and-branch thing up and down. "Nice." It's sort of the tone that someone might use to say that's hot. "Very aesthetic."

Annai-thing hunkers indecisively, lashing its viny tail as it gazes up at Roper, its own eyes pits of green light.

It gives a growl that turns into a hollow whine and vanishes abruptly, winking out of the Dream.

—-

Amid the army of darkness, another beacon of Light cuts a swath of JUSTICE! Sophiette Valonforth radiates with a golden glow. Her light blonde hair shines like platinum. Her golden armor gleams with an impossible polish. "On your guard! Ha! Back to the darkness with you!"

Behind Sophiette is another woman, Dara Tennerow, a white-robed woman gripping her priestess staff with both hands. Her eyes are wide, and she's frantically smiting anything that comes close and looks nightmarish. She might be a little thinner, frailer-looking in this place, but she follows Sophiette diligently.

A man and a woman, who look like they might be related to Dara, move in from the mists menacingly. Dara shrinks closer to Sophiette, but still she smites them into smithereens.

"My parents," she says quietly to Sophiette. "I know they're not real."

Sophiette heroically heroes her way through the enemy army. "You'll not win this day, dastardly Nightmare!" She flashes a bright smile back at Dara, "We were right to heed the call!" But her enthusiasm falters at Dara's words, realizing what she's just had to do. Resting an armored hand on Dara's forearm, she leans close, nodding. "You acted with courage. The Light is with us, Dara."

"Sophie…?" The voice is quiet, but somehow drowns out the din of the battle.

The young paladin freezes, whirling to see the young boy with golden hair, so like her own. "Hugo," Sophiette gasps.

"Sophie…I'm scared," Hugo trembles with frightened sobs. "I want to go home."

Dara seems to grow stronger, bolder in form, as she turns, stepping up to Sophiette's side. She says as a reminder, "Not real."

Sophiette stares at the false Hugo, frozen. She knows he isn't real…but seeing her little brother here, she realizes this means he is trapped in the Nightmare while she was away adventuring. "He…Hugo is…" she fumbles over her words.

The golden-haired boy weeps in apparent fear. The tears fade into a pink, then a deep red as blood streams from his eyes. Suddenly he surges toward Sophiette and Dara. His fingers are kitchen knives, and when he screams his teeth are rows of hundreds of needles.

Dara is in danger; Sophiette does not have time to think. Her sword is swift, and the shadow Hugo's head falls grotesquely from his shoulders as his form dissipates.

Dara flings her arms around Sophiette.

"It isn't real. It wasn't him," Dara says over and over.

Sophiette clings to Dara, while also briefly checking her over to make certain she wasn't injured. Her voice shaky, "I know…I know. But…when this is over, I need to go home."

Dara nods. "We'll go immediately, mist or no mist."

Linwel drops moonfire on any illusions that try and approach Dara and Sophiette while they're having their moment. It's like mood lighting.

—-

Estel is just chanting, "Shield! Shield! Shield!" at this point as she puts safety bubbles around members of both the Alliance and Horde army both, her dragon mount flying above the battlefield.

A New and Unexpected Danger

The Nightmare’s attack on morale continues, but the forces continue on. Then, a garbled cry arises from one of the defenders. One of the soldiers from Stormwind clutches at his own throat and drops his weapon. He keels over and his form dissipates. A second, an orc warrior, grabs at his stomach, then tumbles over and fades away. Broll looks at Varian, and then disappears, without distress.

Hamuul steps forward to take his place. “Beware, it’s the sleepwalkers. They are attacking the slumbering bodies of those who make up this host, and somehow causing some of the dreamforms to perish at the same time as their physical shells. This should not happen! The dreamforms should remain alive!”

"I'm sorry, what?" Almeiria snaps. "Are you saying people are dying, right now?"

Crim speaks up in response to Hamuul, "All the more reason to make haste! Slay them all! The sooner we cut through these shades the sooner we can return to aid the waking world! Fight on! Lok-tar ogar!"

“What can we do about it?” Varian asks.

“The orc is right - the only thing we can do is continue the fight,” Hamuul says gravely.

Dara looks over at where the soldier was, in something like terror, and turns back to Sophiette.

Atley's eyes dart around as their allies start to diminish. "Hold fast, Ivri," he growls lowly, giving his sword a spin, burning excess energy.

—-

Caspis turns to Anareline and says gravely, "Is anyone guarding you and your daughter?"

Anareline shakes her head. "I… I tied her up, but…" She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "If anything happens, tell her it wasn't her fault."

Caspis grabs Anareline by her breastplate and yanks her closer, fangs bared. "You will not leave me," he snarls. "You will wake if someone tries to touch you. You will wake now," he amends, changing his mind at the last minute. "You have served here well enough. Wake. Protect yourself."

"What if I'm still needed here?" Ana counters. "She's bound, she should be… it should be fine. I could stay here unless I feel signs of danger."

"You heard him — they are hunting the sleeping warriors. Someone could have a knife to your throat before you even feel it. Go!"

Anareline looks for a moment like she might argue further. Instead, a decision is made. She steps forward, pulling Caspis in for a quick kiss. "I will guard her, and you will save us. And the next time we visit the Emerald Dream together, it will be a wondrous place."

Anareline's form fades into nothing.

—-

A group of night elf sentinels all turn to one another in horror, "Gods help us… Silverbloom and that demon hunter… They're here with us!"

Suddenly one of the women shrieks and collapses on the ground. One by one they all fall and dissipate into nothing.

Atley rushes over only to be far too late. He grasps at nothing, before looking in the general direction of Varian and Hamuul. "We lose fighters every second!" he warns with a growl. "We must press on!"

—-

Ismene leans toward a fighter who gasps, attempting a heal that lands on nothing. "I can't help!" she says, near panicked by this as nothing has panicked her until now. "I can't… I can't do anything!"

Ben looks toward Mizzy, panic in his eyes. "We're in Dalaran," he says hoarsely. "We're in Dalaran. We're — it's okay. Yeah?"

"Yes," Mizzy says, with total confidence that maybe possibly Ben's right, potentially. Right, Ben?

—

"Alfred," Briyanthe says to her cat fighting alongside her. "I have to see this through. Wake up, and make sure my brother does not come in. You are allowed to bite and scratch him," she pauses, raising her finger. "Just this time, do not get it into your head you always have my permission to do so!" The fat, fluffy cat chirps, then disappears, waking up into her room.

"Wake up if you think your body might be in danger!" Estel shouts. "Wake up NOW!"

Atley glances around at the others, apparently unafraid for his own self. He seems to be more concerned with keeping track of how many fighters and allies they'll have left.

Therald lowers his shield, heeding Estel's shout. "I… Sandy!" he screams, although he's standing close to his son. "We need… we need to talk soon. I'll wait for you in our world." Therald doesn't wait for his son's answer, and disappears.

Roper continues on fighting, seeming unconcerned whether or not Syarra has managed to get free of her bonds to attack him. What's it gonna do? Kill him?

Harvey does not seem concerned at all for his own body, perhaps because of a certain babysitter awake nearby it, but the dreamers suddenly disappearing in anguish does put him on edge. "How much further?" he calls to whoever might know.

The Breaking of the Boundaries Between Dream and Reality

The enemy seems to be endless, shadow satyrs and nightmare illusions. Varian’s force fights with ferocity and determination, pushing forward into the Nightmare. Still, as more fighters fall at the hands of the sleepwalkers, the tide slowly begins to turn. Then, a new wave of evil comes in from the mists. Armies composed of shadow-possessed drakonids, lesser drakes, and corrupted dragons. These are no shadows - the barrier between the Emerald Dream/Nightmare is beginning to break down.

“There is something else,” Hamuul says, staring into the mist. “This is not only the Nightmare - Xavius should not have such power after his long imprisonment as a tree at the bottom of the ocean, even with Ysera as a prisoner. What power might his roots have reached? We cannot succeed against this foe.”

Atley glares, setting his gaze on these new foes, jaw set with determination… before 'as a tree at the bottom of the ocean' rewards Hamuul with a gruffly quizzical look and a furrowed brow.

"Oh, sure, we can't succeed, why don't we all just put up our weapons now, then?" Almeiria's expression is an angry scowl, directed at Hamuul. "Idiot."

Hamuul gives Almeiria a long look, but he indeed does not drop his weapons. Hopeless or not, this fight is happening.

Caspis's eyes go wide. "Xavius is… a tree? At the bottom of the — Elune save us from fools!"

Imrolane casts a startled "Rawroo?" at Caspis, just as shocked and indignant as he is.

Florande looks up at Wyriel, and over at her shan'do and company. "Why a tree? Not everything needs to be a tree."

"Bad choices," Wyriel says succinctly, looking up at the sky. Some of her old friends are definitely up there.

Caspis just literally facepalms. With both hands.

Eldau shapeshifts back into a tauren, but only up to his shoulders. "Perhaps we should be more careful about who or what we turn into trees…" His face goes back into a cat's as he leaps and bites into one of the drakes that has been taking to the floor.

Thorn shifts back to his humanoid form and looks up to the sky, "Even the dragons would turn against us? How dark has this nightmare grown?" He sighs and shakes his head, "Well it won't do if we're all burned down from above. It's time to call on your old tricks, Duskwing. I hope I don't disappoint you." Thorn leaps into the air and shifts into a giant horned owl. He soars into the sky and attacks the corrupted dragons.

Caspis is finally in his element. "Aviana guide me!" he calls out, stretching out his arms toward the sky. Then he shifts into the form of an enormous stormcrow and takes off in Thorn's wake.

Imrolane roars encouragingly after Caspis before leaping into the air after him, her fur and fangs melting away to feathers and a sharp beak.

Florande shifts into stormcrow as well, and then she glances over to see if Wyriel is going to dragon.

Wyriel flaps her wings. Guess she's going up.

Florande follows, seeming unconcerned at exactly how much smaller she is as a crow.

Caspis seems at ease in the air, moving with a fluid swiftness that belies his age. He is still too small to do terrible damage to a dragon, but he works with Imrolane to harry them, swooping in at their eyes when he can, nimbly dodging their strikes and distracting them.

Thorn wheels and turns in the air a bit clumsily, but with confidence. His huge form is able to harass the drakes, but this is clearly not his element. Arravas may have taught him how to use the owl form, but he's still no match for his old friend.

Ismene stares up at the dragons and drakes. "Th-those aren't illusions," she says, taking a glance around to confirm that the dragons look as solid as people around her, more solid than smoke and phantoms.

Faeryn helps a huge vine grow above her head, and from it shoots equally as big thorns at a Drake flying nearby, piercing its wings and making it fall down and crash to the ground.

Elohad approaches Ben and drawls wearily, "Well, looks it's time for the Ferences to defend ourselves from green dragons at long last."

Ben laughs a little unsteadily. "Yessir."

Ismene's jaw tightens. "Right," she says to no one in particular. Her glow is back, now a blazing thing of faith and will. Healing light spins through the crowd, touching a falling warrior before he can hit the ground. Smite strikes a shadow taking advantage of the confusion. Once again, she sends the shadowfriend off to take down as many illusions as it can whilst it is called forth. Fifteen seconds can save fifteen percent or more of those closest to Ismene.

Estel finds herself roped into an aerial battle she accidentally signed up for back when she got on dragonback. Oops.

Roper tilts his head, and then shrugs. Hey, it's free violence. He reaches out a hand of twisting shadows to pull a flying lesser drake to himself on the ground, chains of black ice pinning it the ground.

Atley charges in to start slashing at the constrained enemy, sword raising high only to swoop low in sharp, brutally timed arcs.

Roper's happy to help. Pass him a leg or something.

After the slaughter, Atley glances over at Roper, and doubletakes for a long moment… before the recognition sets in with a growl. "Take them down!" he bellows to those nearby, eager for more targets.

At Dane's shout, Roper pulls another drake out of the air, the same chains coming up, a death knight pulling for positioning, ready for someone to take main aggro off him.

Erixa attacks the flying enemies whenever they pass in range, as does Celaven.

Azizia looks at Caspis turning into a bird. She says to Erixa, "One day maybe I can do that too. The guy who did said I was blessed of his goddess, too." She shrugs. "We will fight this tree and save everyone before I find out, however."

"Turn into a bird?" Erixa raises her eyebrows. "If so, you must show me, in the real world."

"Deal," Azizia says, throwing an uppercut in a satyr's stomach.

Thalstan is even more on defense now, as he doesn't have Oranna's range for the attack.

Oranna's aim goes up, and her gun changes, expanding the barrel longer, the scope stronger, as she targets the dragons above. She is completely helpless to things that would get in her range, but she seems to be trusting in Arnathorn Thalstan to hold them off as she fires shot after shot, aiming for eyes or wings.

Dara shields Sophiette and then peers up at the sky warily.

"Stay by me!" Not that Sophiette expected Dara to do anything different. She stands firm, beating back the forces still on the ground, but keeping one eye on the sky.

Sandy throws shadow bolts at green dragons. "… I hope none of them are related to Lyra."

Kyris looks up at the sky and audibly sighs. His dreamform is just out here with a sword. Where are cannons when you need them?

Crim clenches his jaw seeing all the new enemies joining the fray, "Let their numbers only stoke the flames of our wrath!" Crim takes his totem axe and slams it into the ground before him, "Servant of the Firelord to me!" a spark from the totem quickly grows into a large fire elemental who begins spewing bolts of flame at all the enemies in sight.

Harvey looks relieved at the increase of satyr shadows, although he spares the dragons a look of apprehension. Flying is not exactly in his wheelhouse, so he opts to trust those who can, focusing on the ground battle.

Silver falls in naturally next to the Shadow Kaela being controlled by Almeiria, readily joining in her fight.

Colson remains mid-field where he can watch as many people as he can, healing those who are struck by the Nightmare Army, extending his range as much as he can as he moves a beacon of Light through the crowd where the fighting grows intense.

As the battle deepens, Ismene drops her attacks on the still-milling shadows in favor of shining shields, exponentially smaller than the one ahead, but sufficient to turn aside attacks from individual defenders.

The Prison of Ysera

The battle continues, but there is something just ahead of them in the mists, a vast golden dome, too perfect to have been made by mortal hands. Just inside that dome are swirling magical energies, and the beating wings of a powerful green dragon. Defenders at the perimeter hold the forces back away from the golden dome.

Hamuul looks at the dome with hope. “Ysera! We thought you were utterly taken by the Nightmare!”

Ysera’s gentle voice echoes over the battlefield. “Trust only lies to come from the Nightmare and its lord. I am a prisoner, yes, but with some resistance… fading, I admit…"

“What is this place?” Hamuul asks.

Ysera’s head twists to the side. “Long ago, when Azeroth was new and we were first sent to protect it and the Emerald Dream, those of my flight honored me by naming the field and that created within it the Eye of Ysera… this became the place from which we watched over everything. Now, thanks to Lethon’s betrayal, it has become my prison.” She shudders in pain. “The line between the Dream and Azeroth is blurring! Though I still fight, they are quicker and quicker leeching my will and adding my powers to the destruction of all!”

“What can we do?” Varian asks.

Faeryn absentmindedly listens to the Ysera's words as she grabs one of the allied kobold with a huge root and powerfully propels it upward at one of the corrupted dragons. She throws a healing over-time spell on it while scrambles to latch onto the scales. Now secured onto the dragon, it begins stabbing the beast with its pickaxe.

As Ysera begins to speak, Caspis falters in delighted surprise at the sound of her voice. His timing is bad; a dragon swats him aside like fly, and he plummets spinning toward the ground.

Florande dives for him, but she is a slightly smaller crow and will probably just tumble with.

Atley widens his eyes, seeing Caspis fly through the air. He races to try and catch him!

Thorn hoots in panic and dives down and shifts back into a bear to defend Caspis where he fell.

Imrolane screeches! Caspis! She tucks in her wings and dives after him alongside Florande.

Oryena catches the falling birds in her vision. She casts a levitating spell to soften the fall.

Between Caspis and those diving after him Dane ends up with a lot of heavy flesh and feathers bouncing off of him, but the fall is broken well enough that when Caspis hits the ground, falling on his back and transforming into elven shape, he is able to return to his feet almost immediately, dazed but largely undamaged.

Florande seems a little confused why the three of them aren't injured, but hey! Good fall!

Caspis clearly has no idea what's going on anymore.

Imrolane hits the ground harder than a bird should…because she's not a bird anymore. Returned to her cat form, she positions herself on the opposite side of Caspis from Thorn, growling defensively.

Caspis autofollows, prepared to heal.

Atley spits out a feather and shakes his head with a growl before he looks to Caspis, then points to the dome. "Fight on!" he growls, before leading by example.

Streaks of starfire and bolts of lightning strike down from the sky. Linwel stands beneath the center of the starfire storm, their arms raised as they channel. They are attracting a lot of enemy attention with this.

Ben, who can't reach flying dragons, throws blessings of protection on those around him — listen, in your dreams you can cast multiple — and then charges the nearest grounded dragon, roaring, hammer aloft. He is not listening to Druid-Dreamer technical stuff.

Briyanthe runs through the battlefield, dodging attacks on all sides. She tries to reach Ysera's prison. The closer she gets to it, the more she channels the Light at the dome, open to break its defenses.

Before Ysera can answer, another massive green dragon suddenly swoops down, landing by Varian. “It is you! I felt it immediately! They keep you at the Eye! I should’ve known! The audacity… and the foolishness of them in the end.”

“Eranikus, my mate!” Ysera calls desperately. “You are needed with Malfurion, please…”

“No, my place is here. This time, I will save you. I swear it!” Eranikus dives at the dome, attacking it viciously. He sinks all four sets of claws into the structure.

Briyanthe is propelled forward and rolls onto the ground, pushed bythe wind created by Eranikus's wings, and the weight of the dragon as it lands nearby.

Under Eranikus’s attack, the prison shakes and shimmers. Tendrils of corruption snake over his body from the mists, and his shape twists as the Nightmare attempts to overwhelm him. Still he holds on, pouring his might into the structure.

Then, suddenly, a powerful force rips him back. Lethon, the dragon who impersonated Eranikus to capture Ysera before, swoops down to batter the tenacious green dragon.

Eranikus turns to the defenders for a moment. “She’s nearly free! I’ll hold him off while you finish it!”

Wyriel streaks towards the prison, breathing brilliant emerald fire at it.

Celaven sends as much burning light to the dome as he can, and Erixa rushes in to attack.

Atley blinks, and something clatters at his belt. The Ornate Lion Horn of Stormwind.

He snatches it off its clip with his shield hand, hold it to his lip, and blows deeply into it. The loud bellow doesn't identically recreate the roar of a lion, but it with its felt effects, it may as well have.

After the sounding, Atley lowers the horn and points with his sword, following on Varian's side. "CHAAARGE!"

Colson focuses on healing those suffering under the attacks, holy lightning arcing across the field.

Roper sends out ice and shadow to the prison, a twisted smile on his face, his eyes blazing death knight blue despite the rest of his seeming living form.

Sophiette urges Dara, "Come! The Light is needed to free the dragon!" Because of course the Light is needed. She lifts her sword and howls a battle cry, charging at the dome. "FOR AZEROTH!"

Dara rushes after Sophiette, ablaze with the light. She seems very out of her depth, but she's doing her best!

Almeiria sends volleys of shadow into the prison, while Harvey, Silver, and the Shadow Kaela focus on clearing the way for others to get at it safely.

"I should have left you where I found you, dear, in that basket in the snow," a crawling Ekorenine says, catching Sandy's leg as he attempts to run to the portal. Her eye sockets are completely empty, blood dripping from them as she stares at him. "I made a huge mistake. You have only been trouble since."

He tries to shadow bolt her, but can't. He looks at everyone rushing to the prison.

The forsaken warlock, Liyen, shoots a bolt at the crawling Ekorenine, and gives Sandy a friendly wave. For half-a-second, she looks alive, then it fades away.

Sandy shyly waves back, nodding in gratitude. He gets up, and begins casting shadow bolts at the prison.

Crim roars and charges forward. He snatches up his axe from the ground and sprints toward the dome as two spirit wolves manifest and run at his side. "For Azeroth!" He leaps up and the strength of earth, wind, air, fire, and water fill his weapon as he strikes down on the barrier.

Ismene faces away from the shield. While others attack it, she watches their backs as best she can, calling Light, Shadow, and friend to her aid.

Briyanthe clears her throat as she gets up, she shields herself, dust the dirt off of her dress and begins channeling light into the prison. She took initiative, showed heroism. She was there even before the order was given, and somehow still ended up in an embarrassing position. That's not okay. She's not okay. She casts fade on herself, hoping people will forget about her, there.

As the defenders help, Ysera struggles from inside the prison. Her eyes are on her mate.

The fight between Eranikus and Lethon is not going well. Eranikus fights with sheer determination, but his hide is soon ravaged with injuries of claw and magic. Lethon is a much larger dragon, and empowered by the Nightmare.

“We need to assist the dragon,” Varian says, turning to Eranikus.

“NO!! She must be saved! I will finish with Lethon!” Eranikus cries.

Wyriel flaps her wings, darting through the air towards Lethon, and is swatted all the way to the ground by his tail as easily as a giant might swat a gnat.

A gigantic [Hand of Protection] goes out, cushioning her fall, as Colson concentrates on wounded, emergency heals flashing from his hands.

Eldau stares at Eranikus, then at Ysera, hesitating on who's help is more urgently needed. He decides to follow Eranikus' cries, and begins scratching at the prison like a cat trying to get in… but more violent.

"You heard him! We destroy this dome and free Ysera!" Crim's eyes begin to glow crimson as he lets out another roar. The spirits fill him and any of those willing around him with their wrath, doubling their strength, "Fight on! The ancestors guide us!"

Faeryn runs at Lethon, attempting to restrain him with plants. The beast is stronger, however, and swiftly hits her with his tail, just like he did Wyriel. However, Faeryn is only a ghostly night elf, she's pushed far back and slams her back into the dome, before falling onto the ground. She doesn't get up immediately.

Ismene flings a hand out, sending a Heal into Faeryn lying prone on the ground. "Get up!" she yells across the distance between them. Who knows if she's heard?

Faeryn difficultly gets up, groaning. She stares at Ismene for a second, but doesn't thank her with any gesture.

“It is you who will be finished, Eranikus! Give in to the Nightmare! Let it embrace you! The walls between Azeroth and here are weakening! Soon even those such as I will be able to fly Azeroth’s skies unimpeded…” Lethon mocks him.

“Azeroth’s skies…” Eranikus repeats. A glow suddenly surrounds him, and his face takes on a grim aspect.

“What are you doing?” Lethon asks, suddenly uncertain.

Eranikus says nothing. The power within him grows.

“The shift of the Nightmare into Azeroth is not yet complete,” Hamuul says. “He’s combining both within himself - but it is too unstable. The energy will annihilate them both!”

Atley stops a tremendous of momentum, skidding to a halt at what Hamuul says, and what he himself is witnessing of Eranikus. "Hold fast!" he bellows, warning all others as he raises his shield, pointing his sword at Eranikus, in preparation for a blast of explosive power.

“So be it, then,” Eranikus says, looking to Ysera for a last moment as he coils his claws against a now struggling Lethon. “Use the energy to free her.”

A fiery maelstrom erupts where Lethon had been. That maelstrom swallows up Eranikus as well, and he makes no move to escape it.

“Druids, mages, anyone who can,” Hamuul cries. “Leash the power, point it at the prison.”

Caspis, for once, happens to be paying attention, and does as Hamuul directs.

Florande, now starting to get the hang of this druid circle sort of thing, reaches out with her spirit to give her strength to the attempt.

Lucy focuses on moving the energy into the prison. This is actually pretty close to her wheelhouse.

"Light, be with us," Briyanthe says, helping channel the energies into the dome.

Imrolane (reluctantly) assumes her elven shape. She places her hands on Caspis's shoulders, bolstering him with whatever energy she can to fuel his efforts.

Crim raises his arms up to draw the power into himself and uses it to continue pummeling away at the dome.
Dara pulses her own energy into the dome, unsure about what to do with the massive burst of power.

Eldau turns back into a Tauren, and helps with the maelstrom. Sandy helps as well, as does Oryena.

Azizia attempts to control the flow of energy - 'it moves like water', she thinks. She doesn't help much, but that's something.

Almeiria sends Void energy to dominate and control the maelstrom, helping to channel it into the shield.

Harvey keeps clear of the horrifying amount of power. That stuff is not for him.

The strike reduces the orb to nothing but vapor, and Ysera is free. Roaring her relief, the mistress of the Emerald Dream rises above what remains of the place of her confinement. An emerald aura surrounds her, an aura that briefly brightens the entire area.

“Thank you…” Ysera says with much sadness. “Thank all of you… and Eranikus, my love.”

The Cleansing Storm

A deep rumble shakes both the Emerald Dream and Azeroth, as of a coming storm. Then, the storm unleashes. Instead of two realms corrupted by the Nightmare, the two nearly merged realms embrace the purity and strength of nature. The wind roars, and the mists begin to swirl. In both realms, the nightmarish figures and shadow satyrs ripple, then dissipate like so much dust.The rain pours, the pristine waters washing away the Nightmare’s shadows and bringing new life, new growth. The carrion bugs melt in the rain, retreating with the melting mists.

Caspis lifts his face to the rain, eyes closed. He isn't crying. You can't prove he's crying.

Imrolane wraps her arms around Caspis, hugging him tight. There there, my baby boy.

Atley takes a step back, caught off guard by the sheer power of the cleansing, and soldifies his stance, raising his shield, just in case.

Thunder rumbles, a sound unlike anything ever heard in Azeroth. A hundred volcanoes could not match it. All the combined storms throughout history could not come even close to its fantastic power. And no creature, no matter how deeply asleep, deeply hidden in the lowest recesses of any cave or high up in some mountain or behind thick stone walls could avoid hearing it.

The thunder roils, and though those in the dream cannot know it yet, the imprisoned sleepers awaken. The hold of the Nightmare shatters.

Almeiria loses her hold on the Shadow Kaela as the cleansing begins, and Silver watches her fade away. Then he turns without a sound and vanishes himself.
Slowly, hesitating, Ismene lowers her hands. Her babyfine hair is plastered against her head and she struggles to catch her breath. "It's over? It's over." Exhausted, she drops to her knees and turns her hands palm-up to catch the rain.

Crim growls and pants. It takes him a moment to do so, but he calms down, his eyes return to normal and he closes his eyes and raises his face to the sky. He raises his arms up too and lets the rain wash over him. They had done it. Together, they had done it.

Briyanthe falls to her knees, sighing of relief, enjoying the rain pouring over them all. "It is over… We did this," she stays, before proceeding to whisper. "Thank you, Alfred…"

Almeiria glares at the storm sounds. "Thanks, I'm only a little deaf now…" she grumbles.

Thorn smiles at Imrolane and Caspis. He wipes his brow and finally takes a moment to tend to his own wounds, knitting them back together with his magic.

Estel stumbles off of her new dragon buddy and leans against them. "Good flying…"

—-

Sophiette turns to Dara in disbelief, the rain masking her own tears of joy. "Light's mercy, we're alive! We did it!"

"We're alive!" Dara says in delight, her former growing stronger and brighter. She takes a step in as if to give Sophiette a kiss.

Sophiette does not think. She only reacts. In the moment of victory, her heart pounding, emotions riding high, she steps toward Dara, her hands cradling her face, and breathlessly kisses her.

Dara wraps her arms around Sophiette and returns the victory kiss. Then she pulls back, a smile on her face and a hopeful look in her eyes.

Thought begins to catch up to Sophiette's impulse. She stares at Dara, awestruck and speechless. Still her hands wreathe Dara's face, and a gentle thumb caresses her cheek. A slow smile forms on her lips, slightly embarrassed, but mostly joyful.

"Maybe it's a good dream after all," Dara says, as the Dream blooms back into life as far as the eye can see.

Sophiette lets one hand fall away from Dara's face, trailing down her arm to tangle their fingers together. "This is my favorite dream."

"Let's not forget this one when we wake," Dara says, holding Sophiette's gaze as her dreamform fades away.

Sophiette's heart leaps, and a sniffle escapes even as she laughs. "See you soon," she murmurs softly, her voice echoing as she vanishes into wakefulness.

—-

Atley leans back, straightening up, and loses a touch of his monstrous traits as the world seems to turn good again. His expression remains as dour as possible as he looks over his comrades and where their foes had once been, running his tongue along his upper teeth with a glare.

Faeryn falters and falls back to the ground for a second, holding her stomach where the dragon hit her. She grabs Dane's armor around his arm and helps herself up. The 'copy/paste but in different colors Iphindra' doesn't apologize at all.

Atley's weight isn't shifted in the slightest by the grab. He does blink, and look to her, before recognition dawns on him. "Iphindra," he growls. He swiftly returns his sword to its scabbard before he moves to support her with both arms. "I've got you." He raises his head and barks. "I need a healer!"

Faeryn raises a hand up to his face. "No, you got the wrong person." she still holds her stomach. "And I'll be fine, you can all leave this place now." She speaks next in a very sarcastic tone, which clearly makes her not-Iphindra, although their voices are very similar. "Thanks for the help."

Ismene winks out, only to appear next to Dane. "I'm here," she says. She reaches toward Faeryn, resting a palm against her shoulder. Warm gold ripples from healer to patient, a Heal passing into Faeryn.

Faeryn sighs, letting go of her stomach as the Light soothes her pain. "I was fine. Really."

Atley frowns in faint confusion as her identity is clarified, and slightly leans his head back from the touch, but he still stands near in case he needs to support her as Ismene swoops in. "…Right. There you are, then," he growls.

Ismene snorts, a hmph of a sound. "Well now you're more fine," she says, nodding smartly. "Sir Atley, are you well?"

He looks to Ismene and nods. "I'm well. Well fought, my lady."

Ismene nods back and continues on her way, checking the battlefield for any lingering wounded even as people fade away back into the waking world.

Faeryn ignores both Ismene and Dane, and everyone else here, and just walks away into the forest.

—-

Colson makes a similar path as Ismene, looking for those who need a hand to stand back up, reassurance before they trust that the battle is truly over, ignoring any lines of the factions or creed. All are within the Light's grace.

Wyriel looks up at the sky where Eranikus once was, quiet. Flowering vines begin to grow from the muddy soil, twining around her legs and her tail, rooting her in place.

Florande turns back into a kaldorei, and staggers over to Wyriel. "I wish we could have saved him."

Wyriel lets out an acknowledging rumble and raises a wing over Florande to shield her from the rain.

With Ben's help (who helps, because he would), Ismene gets to her feet and starts walking through the crowd. "Are you all right?" she asks time and time again. "Is everyone all right? I'm a healer, are you all right?"

Colson tips his head up to the rain, letting it wash over him, a smile bright and open on his face. He seems utterly at peace, the look of a man whose faith is fulfilled, and turns his attention to the battlefield, for those who sustained any last wounds.

Roper makes a rolling sound of disgust as the rain comes down, and vanishes.

"Anareline is safe," Caspis exhales to no one, eyes still closed. "I can feel it."

It takes Oranna a long time to lower her gun, but she does, still breathing with a sniper's cadence, her eyes wide. For no understandable reason, her hair has come unbound in the rain, flowing out around her like Rapunzel, in long, luscious locks of warm brown.

Thalstan stares up into the rain in amazement, and then his gaze is drawn to Oranna’s transformation. He starts to take a step toward her, but then he disappears.

Taeavon is suddenly all smiles. He looks around at everyone, "W-we did it! Guys, we did it!"

Elo grins and tries to grab him up in a big dadly hug.

Tae goes stiff and almost yelps from the sudden hug, but eventually smiles and hugs him back.

In the wake of the battle, Vesyllah gives a curt nod, perhaps of approval. Her exploits will not be written about, her presence barely noticed. Just as it should be. For she is the faceless avenger of the innocent. She is the unseen knife in the dark. She is the Night.

Amadeus fades from the battlefield, leaving behind his horse, who fades as well a moment later.

Crim switches to his off-spec and makes rounds about the battlefield. "Well fought, all of you! If any are in need of aid, come to me. Let your ancestors mend the wounds you suffered here and bless you with their strength. We have overcome our struggles once more!"

Pippinlopper vanishes, eager to get down the information he's picked up from the battle. This has been an extremely fascinating as a study on horror manipulation, and he cannot wait to include it in a bonus appendix of his final dissertation.

With the battle finally over, Harvey glances around, taking note of the people he knows. He tries to find his new companion, Silver, but the man has already left the scene.

Malfurion shimmers into being at the side of Varian and Baine, his face lined with exhaustion. He smiles up at Ysera, mistress of dreams, and then addresses everyone.

“Thank you, all of you, for trusting me,” he says humbly, bowing his head. “You have saved Ysera, and in turn that made it possible for me to defeat the Nightmare Lord.”

Malfurion takes a breath, then decides to explain further. “He was Xavius, once an advisor of Queen Azshara. After the War of Ancients, I imprisoned him in a tree, which ended up at the bottom of the ocean. He bided his time there for over ten thousand years, sending his roots deep into Azeroth and into the Dream. That tree is no more. The Nightmare and all its power have been driven into the deepest recesses of the Dream, the Rift of Aln. I release you now, to return to your loved ones. They will be awake.”

Atley turns towards the Big Three as Malfurion speaks and listens with a stern look, brows raising as the elaboration is given.

Eldau, who by now has noticed Caspis's dislike of Staghelm, whispers near him. "Maybe… there's a lesson to learn from forgiving and rehabilitating the bad seeds amongst our ranks, there."

Caspis snorts something slightly too vicious to be called a laugh.

Eldau chuckles. His is definitely a chuckle.

Imrolane glances up from mommy-hugging Caspis, nodding firmly as if she understands his meaning. "Yes. The followers of Staghelm. They were deceived. Used." She almost understood.

Eldau nods. "That is true. Some may be redeemable after all. You should discuss… all of this with Malfurion, if you can," he goes, understanding. "I'm afraid these comments coming from a tauren may be taken the wrong way."

Thorn gives one last smile to Cas and Imrolane. He is about to speak up and add something, but decides against it and fades from the dream, "Well done, friends. I'll see you again in the waking world."

"I look forward to it, friend," Caspis says, a little awkwardly. This friend thing is new, okay.

Crim first goes to patch up his own Horde comrades, but makes his way over to the Alliance side once he's done to see if there's anyone else that needs help.

Atley leaves the healing to the… healers. He marches towards Elohad, clasping Caspis on the shoulder along the way. "Seems we've won," he grunts.

Caspis gives heart-eyes to his shan'var, watching him pass.

"Of course we won," Elohad says, as though it was easy. "We're Cobalt Company."

Atley grunts, eyes still on their comrades, before he squints up at the rain. "Properly strange lives we've found ourselves in."

Dame Lydia Harcourt seems to have silently vanished when no one was paying attention to her.

"Cobalt Company", an all-too-recognizable snort breaks through the cheers and chatter. "Typical Haddie ego, taking full credit for the accomplishments of the many." Elowel crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow at Elohad.

Atley's gaze flicks from the rain, then towards Elowel, and then Elohad.

"You all right?" Elohad says to Elowel as though she were a random delicate bystander who had not just insulted him in a very targeted and personal way.

Liyen looks like maybe she's going to join in on this argument, but then… no. Let the blood elves and the humans have it out. She vanishes.

"I'm fine." Elowel frowns deeply at Elohad, bordering on a pout. "I didn't need your help out there, you know. I was handling it."

Atley deadpans from within his helmet as the blood is washed away.

"Good for you, then, brava," Elohad says as he might to a twelve year old. And then he just turns away to go talk to… Caspis, I guess.

Elowel gives a forced laugh at Elohad's back. "Let's do this again soon, darling! Come see me in Dalaran! We'll do-…" She realizes he isn't listening. "WE'LL DO LUNCH!"

Sandy runs to Elohad and Atley, and also Elowel but he's not here for her. "Elohad, Dane, hi. It's good to see you."

Elohad goes in for a Dad-hug.

Atley blinks. He clasps Sandy on the shoulder and gives him a vigorous shaking. Big brother hug. "You're alright, then. Haven't seen you since the rescue, lad."

Sandy hugs Elohad back, then smiles at Atley. "I am. I'm in Dalaran, now, an- and both Gwen and mom were asleep. I had to come help when I heard Malfurion."

"You're a good boy, Sandy," says Elohad warmly. "I'm proud of you."

Atley gives him one last shake, eyeing Sandy up and down, as if looking for something on his dream persona. "Glad to hear it. I warrant they await you, now."

Sandy doesn't let go of Elohad's hug, but still casually talks to the two men. "Thank you." He chuckles, a little sadly. "Yeah, I guess I should get going. My magically sleeping body can't be the first thing they see waking up."

"I'd see you in the real world in time," Atley growls, giving Sandy another firm shoulderclasp, before he scans the crowd for Ben.

Elohad hangs around awhile, shaking hands, congratulating everyone — is he — is he networking right now. Or just avoiding returning to a possibly murderously cranky sleep-deprived wife? Both, both is good.

Ben is there, grinning, his hair sticking up and his height diminished, looking more like his usual self, his hammer gone. He is back-clapping and handshaking the people around him indiscriminately; several of them look sort of startled by this.

Oryena, the undead elf, stares for a long time at the random human who just shook her hand.

Atley moves to shake his hand and bid a growl. "Thank you." That seems to be all he wants to say on the matter.

"Sir." Ben nods respectfully, his smile going crooked and a little bashful. His front tooth is broken again.

He looks around for Mizzy as he begins to fade.

Atley disappears, and wakes up in Eastvale, behind a door locked and barred.

Oryena walks around the battlefield, silently healing the people around her. She shakes in pain each time she uses the Light.

Estel holds a hand up to Oryena. "Ma'am, we've got it," she says, respectfully. Apparently she is capable of being respectful.

Colson moves towards her, a hand going out in offer. "As Estel says. Sister, do not forget to heal yourself, and rest when you need. A healer helps no one if she falls."

Estel grins. "Hey, Cole! Been a bit. You and your family doin' okay?"

Colson grins back, bright and peaceful at once, the Light from his ring suffusing him. "We are now, thank you, Estel."

Estel gives him a thumbs-up. "Brilliant."

Oryena scoffs in disdain at Estel and Colson. She doesn't say they're weak for thinking she can't handle all this because her lips are shut tight with thread, but her nose turned up at them attempts to convey what she means. She shoos them away with her hand, pointing at nearby hurt people for them to heal. She keeps walking and heals others she sees in pain.

Estel shrugs and goes back to work, unoffended.

Colson watches her with compassion, but doesn't force the issue. You cannot help those who refuse to be helped. He moves to the next person who may need assistance, encouraging them to return to their waking body.

Crim heals anyone who comes up to him and parts ways with them after a few words of encouragement.

Azizia makes sure everyone she knows is okay, and when it's done, she vanishes, sighing of relief.

Caspis gives his shan'var one last solemn salute and then fades from the dream to go and find his shalan.

Eldau checks on the nearby people hurt, almost heals a Forsaken woman who stubbornly heals others with the heal although she looks in pain, and then decides to go for a nice little walk into the Emerald Dream.

Briyanthe makes her way to where the fight first began, to find any survivor in need of healing.

Ismene makes her way back to the Cobalt contingent. "All right, all right, that's enough. Wake up and go home." She makes shooing motions with both hands, fading even as she does so.

"Yes, do!" Whispers the voice of someone, hidden in the nearby trees' foliage.

Colson is one of the last to leave, waiting patiently with those who need another moment before they gather themselves to return to the waking world, unhurried and calm. When at last it is clear the battlefield has no further wounded or those willing to be helped, he vanishes.

Once it seems that everyone is safe and healthy, Crim takes his leave and awakes to find himself covered in a layer of snow.