Zin-Azshari, the capital of the Night Elf Empire.
This city, hailed as the glory of Azshara, appeared prosperous as ever on the surface. However, those who lived there knew all too well that under the Burning Legion's cruel slaughter, its population had plummeted by over 60% compared to its peak. The vast majority of those who lost their lives were commoners from the lower classes.
The green flames of fel energy burning near the Well of Eternity illuminated the entire sky. Surviving commoners huddled in their homes, shivering and afraid to step outside, while only the flamboyantly dressed Highborne walked the streets, conversing loudly and without restraint.
Azshara's palace sat upon a high terrace not far from the vast Well of Eternity. The once-beautiful azure waters had turned a sickly green, and swirling vortices completely shattered the tranquility of the surface.
A massive fel portal, powered by the Well of Eternity, stood by the lakeside. Hideous demons poured incessantly from the Twisting Nether on the other side into Azeroth.
A blue-skinned demon with curved horns and digitigrade lower limbs stood calmly by the well with his arms crossed, silently watching the demonic host grow.
Flash!
A fel portal suddenly appeared not far in front of the blue-skinned demon. A Dreadlord standing over three meters tall stepped slowly out of the portal; this was Tichondrius, the leader of the Nathrezim.
Without waiting for the blue-skinned demon to ask, Tichondrius knelt on one knee and lowered his head to admit his failure.
"Respected Defiler Archimonde, Tichondrius begs for your forgiveness. My mission has failed."
"Oh?"
Archimonde raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, a trace of a wicked, interested smile appearing on his majestic face.
"Tichondrius, you are Kil'jaeden's most capable lieutenant. He once promised me that you would play a vital role in the destruction of Azeroth. Out of trust in him, I entrusted you with heavy responsibilities."
"And now, you crawl back in disgrace to tell me that the mission failed?"
Seeing the fleeting murderous glint in Archimonde's eyes, Tichondrius couldn't help but shudder. He hurriedly lowered his head to defend himself. "I am willing to atone for my failure! No matter what task you set next, I guarantee with my life that I will do my utmost to complete it for you!"
A look of satisfaction and amusement appeared in Archimonde's eyes. "Humph... very well. You said it yourself; don't go complaining to Kil'jaeden later that I mistreated you."
"Begone. I will summon you again when needed."
"Yes, your subordinate takes his leave."
Factional infighting within the Burning Legion was not uncommon. From the top leaders, Kil'jaeden and Archimonde, down to every rank of officer, none did not wish to climb higher over the corpses of their colleagues.
Although Archimonde and Kil'jaeden were recruited by Sargeras at the same time, their personalities and methods differed greatly.
Over ten thousand years of working together, while they both followed the orders of the Dark Titan Sargeras, the friction caused by their differing styles had become increasingly obvious.
While they wouldn't openly clash in front of Sargeras, they never missed an opportunity to undermine one another when the chance arose.
Archimonde deeply revered power; this was the fundamental reason he was the first to pledge his loyalty after Sargeras demonstrated his might.
While the former master of the Eredar's arcane academies was by no means unintelligent, ever since he received the great gift of fel power from Sargeras, he usually didn't bother with careful thought if a problem could be solved with brute force.
The Deceiver, Kil'jaeden, was different. Although he possessed strength equal to Archimonde's, the Deceiver preferred to stay behind the scenes, weaving conspiracies and manipulating his enemies like puppets.
Their different styles resulted in a distinct division of the demon races under their command.
Archimonde valued the simple-minded but exceptionally brave Pit Lords, with their leader Mannoroth being his most trusted general.
In contrast, the insidious and manipulative Nathrezim were all under Kil'jaeden's banner.
This vanguard mission to invade Azeroth had been given by Sargeras to the more aggressive and valiant Defiler, while the Deceiver remained behind to provide support.
However, Kil'jaeden was clearly unwilling to let Archimonde claim all the glory. When the Defiler led his direct forces into Azeroth, Kil'jaeden sent his trusted lieutenant Tichondrius along under the pretext of "assisting" him.
Although Archimonde was displeased, Tichondrius, a master of reading people, had always shown him great respect, and his previous tasks had been completed flawlessly. This left Archimonde with no opportunity to lash out.
Tichondrius' current failure gave him that opportunity. He planned to find a much harder mission next time to "discipline" the Dreadlord leader and show him who the true number two of the Burning Legion was.
"Still..."
Archimonde stroked the pulsating tendrils on his chin, thinking thoughtfully. "Tichondrius is indeed a capable subordinate. To think he would capsize in the gutter of this frail world."
"The Sisterhood of Elune... mortals with fanatical faith are as troublesome as ever."
...
In a side hall of the Zin-Azshari palace, a woman wearing moon-white priestess robes sat silently against a large bed hung with purple transparent veils. Several maids in the room, armed with weapons, watched her warily.
Tap... tap...
The sound of crisp footsteps came from outside. All the maids present hurriedly put away their weapons and bowed respectfully toward the door.
Creak—
The door opened, and a rich but not cloying fragrance wafted into the room first. The green-haired priestess sitting by the bed opened her half-closed eyes.
"Hehe... look who we have here."
A magnetic and highly enchanting female voice came from the lead visitor.
This mocking Night Elf woman possessed brilliant golden eyes. From her breathtaking beauty and elegant, majestic aura to her perfectly proportioned figure, not a single flaw could be found on her. She was like the daughter of the world's will, born from the essence of nature's beauty.
Although the green-haired priestess also possessed a beautiful face, a fine figure, and an aura like a secluded orchid, her every advantage paled in comparison to the Night Elf woman before her.
"High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind. You didn't expect us to meet again here, did you?"
The priestess addressed as Tyrande remained calm. She stared at the woman opposite her and replied, "Queen Azshara, it has indeed been a long time. But I do not feel joy or honor in this reunion."
"Ha... you are as stubborn as ever."
Azshara waved her hand, signaling the other maids to withdraw, leaving only one head maid to serve by her side.
This head maid, who possessed a blend of heroism and beauty, was currently staring at Tyrande with a vigilant gaze. A hidden murderous glint occasionally flashed in her eyes—none of which escaped Azshara's notice.
Casually using the arcane to manifest a chair of pure energy, Azshara sat gracefully opposite Tyrande.
Her long legs, glowing with a faint violet hue, crossed naturally, creating a seductive curve. The somewhat unrestrained movement caused the white skirt on Azshara's thigh to slide down, revealing a large expanse of lustrous skin.
"Many years ago, when you were baptized by High Priestess Dejahna and joined the Sisterhood of Elune, I offered you an invitation. Today, my words remain the same."
Azshara rested her left hand on the armrest to support her cheek, looking with interest at Tyrande, who radiated an aura of holiness.
"Give up your status as a priestess of the Moon Goddess and become my handmaiden. I guarantee you will attain a status equal to, or perhaps even greater than, Vashj's."