A voluminous bellow echoes through sandstone caverns, as the earth shakes and creaks beneath the incredible aura of magic which erupts from the east. A shadow descends from the North, but a nexus has collapsed; a rarified existence is born.

Brassy scales become shaken by a terrible tremor that echoes throughout Azeroth.

Breathing heavily, a weary sigh shakes the sand before the nostrils of the beautiful ancient being which rises from its slumber. The mist of ancient oaths and worn-down sigils fades from its eyes.

A wizened tone grumbles, its timbre shaking the walls of its hidden home in the desert: “Something has happened. Something great…something…strange.”

A voice cries out, one the same as its audience: “Indeed, something has happened. We are determining what precisely, but you, myself, we must be aware of what shall pass.”

In reply, a humble acceptance: “Time is a flat circle in which we are bound. I will seek out our solution; should we expect the worst?”

No reply would satisfy a mortal’s heart…this the creature knew. What would this mean for him? For the world as they knew it? To all the things they were responsible for? What of the End? The Beginning?

The Great Demons have been vanquished, but the world has yet to come to this conclusion; it is the same yet altogether its own. Spiraling, a man has died, the stream is diverted, the river flows to dry lands.

But no harm…all things are as they have been, as they will be, as they need to appear. A new life…a new path? It is…chaotic…it is…liberated…

“Chromie…” Nozdormu coughed… “daughter…come…I need you to do something for me.”

….
….

“My brother needs to speak with me…”
(Contributed by @Erezrim

Dawnstar Spire.

Staring up at the towering structure, some dozen meters down the winding cobblestone path leading up toward it, Aranaeyl remembered the place as one of horror -- the hive of villainy from which the downfall of Quel'thalas was orchestrated; Dar'khan Drathir's lair and the place in which he concocted his schemes and simmered against the supposed injustice of not being named the Grand Magister.

It was still that, for now -- in a manner of speaking. Many things were different, of course.

Dar'khan's arcane guardians, constructs typical of nearly every Magister's home turf, still did mill about the structure -- but they didn't spark and spit arcane energy, falling apart at the seams. They went about their duties as usual, as if nothing was amiss... Because it wasn't. The metal making up their bodies shone brightly with a fresh coat of polish, guarding the lifelong home of one of Quel'thalas's most famous, powerful Magisters.

But Aranaeyl knew differently. She lived the truth, and the consequences of what Dar'khan would become. She watched her friends and family be torn to bloody ribbons by slavering ghouls -- her mother, by Sylvanas's side, and her father, in a desperate but vain attempt to protect her and her siblings.

She remembered fleeing to the northwest in a desperate attempt to find refuge in the floating Duskwither Spire, narrowly avoiding the Scourge at every turn.

She remembered staring helplessly as Silvermoon burned in the distance, knowing that she would never see her aunts and cousins and uncles again; that her favorite candy shop and the kindly old woman who ran it would be dead next she saw her, and that she might never get to see her riding tutor again.

She remembered knowing, in her heart of hearts, that death would be a mercy for many of them.

Sighing, she extracted a small glass vial from an elementium lockbox at her hip, filled with shimmering golden sand, the bright blue glow of her eyes reflecting off of each individual grain. For several moments, all she did was stare, before finally shaking her head and stuffing the vial back into its hiding place.

No point in dilly-dallying, she silently reminded herself. She had everything she needed, after all. Stolen documents from another Dawnstar that would hopefully prove Dar'khan's guilt, a courier's disguise, and the package on her back that would change Azeroth forever.

One foot after the other, she began to move toward the Spire. If she was lucky, the Magister himself wouldn't come to greet her... But that meant making sure she could get close enough to the spire to plant the explosive in the first place

Mere moments after starting to move again, one of the tall ceramic constructs turned toward her, the brightly-glowing blue lines forming the runic bindings on their bodies lighting up the night. She could see the crystals joining their parts to their torsos, too -- tall, angular things, far less harsh than she remembered. The glowing filigree was much more consistent, too -- none of the empty carvings she remembered from her time.

The broad, blue, horizontal slit across the construct's face pulsed as it approached her, a cold, robotic voice booming out from its face.

"CEASE YOUR APPROACH AND STATE YOUR PURPOSE IMMEDIATELY."

The Reaver echoed -- and so Aranaeyl did, freezing in place.

"I'm a courier!" She replied, breath quickening. Would she need to try to slay the Magister herself? She was skilled with the blade, sure, but he was an incredible mage, and a cunning one, too...

"I have a package for the Magister, from Commander Lor'themar Theron!" She said, reaching into her pack to extract a large, jeweled box -- nearly a foot long and half as wide, covered in the blue-gold colours of Silvermoon.

The construct approached her, spending a handful of moments staring at the box -- scanning it, she imagined -- and then, apparently satisfied, snatched it from her hands and wordlessly proceeded back inside.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Araneyl turned, wearing a small smile as she left at a brisk walk. Her part was done -- now, all she had to do was wait, and hope that the Magister wouldn't notice the true nature of the package until it was too late. It was something he he surely wouldn't recognize, but the elemental fire it was infused with...

Pausing, Aranaeyl glanced back over her shoulder.

"YOU IDIOT! USELESS GOLEM! IT'S A-"

Suddenly, the whining traitor's tirade was broken by a sharp crack, and a bright flash of angry light that bathed the forest in red. She felt her skin grow hot, as if burning, trees all around the spire sparking, all while a pathetic flash of purple light emanated from within the tower. An attempt at teleportation... Foiled by that Gnomish dispelling device, no doubt. Just as advertised.

Then, just as suddenly, the entire spire was engulfed in flame, and Aranaeyl felt the air being sucking out of her lungs, forcing her to the ground in a desperate attempt to protect herself. There was a great, roaring sound, like that of an entire city aflame...

Then a violent boom as the entire spire spontaneously combusted in elemental fire, arcane crystals melting into bright red magma, all while raging fire elementals emerged from the wreckage.

Aranaeyl smiled, rising to her feet.

Selama ashal'anore, she thought.

1. Don't be an asshole. No transphobia, racism, harassment... You know the drill.

2. NSFW content must stay in the NSFW channels.

3. As the GM, I will occasionally push things forward be making certain events happen, or by doing certain things with certain characters. Thanks to @Ezekiel for the inspiration for this metholodolgy! If you feel like the event is unfair in some way or have your own ideas for events and the life, please feel free to get in touch with me!

4. On the topic of activity requirements, while I don't have anything strict in mind as of the interest check, I will be keeping an eye on things -- if I feel that you're not contributing enough, I'll approach you for a discussion. Important nations and organizations will have a closer eye kept on activity. I expect to be informed of extended abscences of more than a week, however. IRL can easily be accomodated for!

5. Try to avoid map-painting. This is a collaborative writing project, not a competitive game -- conquests must be handled in a thought-out way that makes sense in-universe. You can't just conquer all of Gilneas in a single post if nobody's playing it. Take NPCs seriously.

6. On the above note, conflicts involving large NPC factions -- particularly external ones -- will require some degree of GM involvement. Don't go tossing the VanCleefs into the ocean or the Void Lords into a Holy Blender without asking first.

7. Discord participation, once it goes up, IS NOT required, but is encouraged -- it's a good medium for quick plot planning.

8. Even though you must be at least 18 to participate, we're still sticking to Guild rules, of course.

Namely since the attempt to break into Quel'thalas failed, the Scourge hasn't just been sitting around twiddling its thumbs. While its been busy rebuilding itself via invading kingdoms and slaughtering populations easier to assault, members of the Cult of the Damned have been sent to other regions, posing as survivors of Lorderan and other northern lands that the Scourge are actively present in.

One of those members (a still living Necromancer) has arrived in Stormwind early enough to join the Stonemasion Guild... and take part in the riots when the House of Nobles refused to pay. They are now a leading member of the Defias Brotherhood playing the long game as they have plans to assist/subvert the organization in its goal to destroy Stormwind... as well as attempt to secure Karazhan for the Scourge. It might not be the Sunwell, but still...