The Alliance's main sphere of influence lies far across the sea on the Eastern Kingdoms, and as long as they avoid a large-scale civil war, Andreas has no interest in meddling in internal Alliance disputes.
After finishing the business, and with Aurora urging them impatiently, the father-daughter pair wrapped up their day's work and walked together toward the garden bathed in the cold moonlight.
"Pa… pa pa~"
Seeing dad and sister arrive, little Sirius flailed his arms, opened his arms wide, and with a childish grin and a baby-like voice lunged at Andreas.
Andreas, who usually maintains the speaker's dignity in front of outsiders, broke into a goofy-dad smile, crouched, and hoisted the wobbly-footed Sirius up high, prompting a burst of giggling delight.
"Kid, call me 'dad' again."
"I want to! Call 'sister', I'm the sister!"
Not far away, Celeste smiled at the two playing around the child; under the moonlight, Moonshadow Manor exuded a warm family atmosphere. Unburdened, Andreas could stay at home with his child, but the Zandalari Empire's God-King Rastakhan was not in such a good mood.
Upon learning that a Night Elf envoy fleet had arrived by airship, Rastakhan felt both joy and worry.
He was pleased that the Night Elves, as he hoped, came of their own accord, but worried that the timing and circumstances differed entirely from his expectations.
As the High Council had concluded, Rastakhan, proud of being the rejuvenating ruler of the Zandalari Empire, could not admit defeat after the unexpected crushing loss, clinging to a final shred of stubbornness hoping to preserve at least some face when the war ended.
This ostrich-like mindset kept the war between Zandalari and the Night Elf Republic in limbo, while the recuperating Loa of Kings Rezan was deeply disappointed with Rastakhan's performance.
But Rezan is ultimately a being worshipped by trolls; a softer-minded god-king might have taken his advice, yet Rastakhan is clearly not one to heed counsel easily.
With a conflicted heart, Rastakhan sat steadily on the highest throne of Dazaralor, watching from afar as the Night Elf airship descended and docked at the harbor.
It had been several millennia since the Night Elves last sent an official envoy to Dazaralor, and Shandris had accompanied them then.
This time she remained a deputy envoy, but unlike the friendly reception Rezan gave before, most Zandalari civilians around the port now harbored strong hostility toward the Night Elves.
"Heh~"
Fandral sensed the uneasy atmosphere, tugged at the corner of his mouth and let out an ambiguous chuckle.
"Looks like Zandalari high-command's propaganda is spot on; this generation of Zandalari Trolls clearly display a hostile attitude toward us."
Shandris nodded lightly, "Compared with the curiosity and caution last time, there's now a lot more resentment and hatred. Perhaps some of their kin perished in the Pandaria War."
In the Pandaria War, Night Elves teamed up with the native peoples and wiped out over two hundred thousand Zandalari soldiers in one fell swoop; even the deep-rooted Zandalari could not absorb such a loss quickly.
To divert the domestic populace's growing discontent, shifting the blame onto the enemy is the most basic maneuver for any ruler.
The Zanchuli Council member who came to greet the envoy fleet was High Priest of the Loa, Yazma.
The female troll, adorned with abundant golden ornaments, wore a sour expression; Fandral could clearly feel her intense bitterness and humiliation.
"Mr. Archdruid Fandral Staghelm of the Cenarion Circle, welcome to the capital of the Zandalari Empire, Dazaralor."
Yazma glanced at Shandris in her exquisite ceremonial leather armor, and despite her reluctance, she assumed a welcoming posture and said, "We also welcome General Feather Moon representing the Night Elf Republic. The God-King is awaiting you; please follow me."
Although the Zandalari crowd along the way stared at the envoy with overtly negative eyes, the Zanchuli Council's upper echelons, represented by Yazma, did not display such blatant hostility.
As the helmsmen steering the nation's direction, God-King Rastakhan and the Zanchuli Council members felt a complex mix of emotions.
They knew that the heavily damaged Zandalari Empire could not continue to clash with the Night Elves in the short term; provoking them would only harm Zandalari without any benefit.
Rationally that makes sense, but sentient beings are not purely logical machines; emotional flare-ups happen, and even national leaders cannot stay calm at all times.
The Zandalari leadership's tangled mindset slowed the peace talks; they wanted to end the war quickly yet refused to surrender too much leverage at the negotiation table.
This anxious attitude irked the hot-tempered Fandral, but for the sake of the Night Elf Republic's dignity and international image, he forced himself to keep his temper in check and patiently negotiated with the Zandalari delegation.
Although Shandris held the title of deputy envoy, her primary mission was to deter Zandalari with her formidable personal power, preventing them from acting rashly.
Rastakhan had long been warned by several High-Priests of the loa that the ever-silent female elf was extremely dangerous and should never be provoked in front of the envoy.
After another day of tedious negotiations, Shandris returned as usual to the temporary quarters the Zandalari had prepared for the envoy team to rest.
"Hmm?"
Upon entering her room, Shandris' booted feet suddenly halted.
The room's furnishings were visibly disturbed, and the perpetrator left a trail of tiny footprints, as if deliberately luring her to investigate.
She crouched to touch the leaf-shaped three-toed prints, pondering, "A small but agile beast?"
Following the tracks outside, every Zanchuli guard responsible for surveillance collapsed unconscious, and the footprints stretched toward the city's western outskirts.
Aside from Shandris herself, everyone in that block seemed hypnotized, each falling to the ground in a deep sleep.
Exchanging a glance with Fandral, who had just stepped out to check the situation, Shandris stayed alert and kept tracking, while Fandral remained at the base as a precaution.
Shandris suspected a trap set by the Zandalari and resolved to proceed as cautiously as possible before breaking it.
"Hehe~ they really followed me."
When she tracked the trail to a filthy, chaotic alley that seemed like a slum, a sharp voice suddenly echoed in her mind.
"Who?"
The Divine War Bow was already slung off her back and gripped in her hand; as she entered high alert, she unintentionally exuded her own aura.
"Hmph~ Mortal demigod, how impressive."
The voice, sneaky and threatening, added, "Little girl, hand over the treasure you carry, and the great Gani will let you go safely."
"Gani? Treasure?"
Before departing, Andreas had given Shandris a quick knowledge briefing, and she instantly recalled the origin of that name.
"God of Scavenging Gani?"
Gani is one of the many loa living on the island of Zandalar; his original form is that of a Raptor.
Raptors are also called Swift Raptors or veloci-Raptors in some translations.
This not-very-large species excels at hunting in packs and is highly intelligent. As the apex Raptor, loa Gani possesses all the strengths and weaknesses of his kind.
Not every loa dwelling in Zandalar obeys the strictures of Rezan, loa of kings; quite a few proud or freedom-loving individuals have no interest in living alongside Mortals, yet still desire Mortal offerings and faith.
Gani is one of them.
He is called the God of Scavengers—a euphemism. If one split hairs, the title the Zandalari Trolls gave him should be God of Theft.
Gani is obsessed with all kinds of treasure and never acquires it through proper channels—he simply helps himself.
Because his methods are so furtive, most Zandalari dislike him; only thieves with ulterior motives or desperate daredevils on the edge of death worship him.
Lacking sufficient believers, Gani's power grows slowly, the gap between him and the more popular loa widening by the day.
Though he wants more worshippers, he has no idea how to proselytize effectively; eventually the Raptor loa hit upon a simple, blunt method—lure them with treasure.
Gani was born with a powerful sense for valuables; the rarer the treasure, the stronger its pull on him.
From Shandris he felt an allure stronger than anything before, so he risked sneaking into Dazaralor to steal whatever treasure she carried.
But Shandris was vigilant; all her valuables stayed on her person, and Gani could find no opening.
Afraid that lingering in Dazaralor might attract the attention of higher loa—including Rezan—and get him driven out, Gani decided to strike first.
He deliberately lured Shandris away from the city's core, planning to rely on his loa might to defeat her and "openly" claim his prize.
Shandris' mind turned once and she understood the origin of the "treasures" Gani spoke of—one was the divine war-bow in her hand; the other… Shandris touched the metal necklace at her throat, a cold smile curving her lips.
"Want the treasure? Then come and take it."
"Hmph! A Mortal who overestimates herself."
A sharp wind brushed Shandris' cheek; sensing danger, she instinctively tilted her head, dodging Gani's sudden strike by a hair.
A small red Raptor, about half her height, appeared before her, its beady eyes greedily fixed on the divine war-bow in her grasp.
"Heh-heh—since you're courting death, don't blame me!"
Gani's lightning speed strained even Shandris' keen dynamic vision; she relied mostly on instinctive pre-judgment, barely evading his repeated pounces.
Those filthy claws, flickering with an odd green light, were clearly venomous—one scratch could cripple her fighting strength.
For a full five minutes Shandris launched no counterattack, focusing solely on adapting to Gani's abnormal speed.
Had the opponent not been Shandris the hunter, few could have kept pace with the Raptor loa.
A single scratch meant GAME OVER; the venom wasn't deadly, but it would knock the victim out cold in seconds.
Gani was anxious: the longer the fight, the likelier the Zandalari Trolls or other loa would notice; he wanted a quick end.
But haste makes waste. Relying on danger sense and instinct, Shandris gradually synced to the Raptor's rhythm until her eyes could finally track him.
Without changing her expression, she shifted tactics while outwardly maintaining the same tempo.
As Gani leapt at her again, Shandris held Cala'dorei horizontal before her, the divine bow's sturdy body blocking his claws.
"What?!"
Before the stunned loa could react, Shandris used a sharp jerking motion to send a violent shock through the bow, flinging the lightweight Gani away.
Still gripping the bow with her left hand, she held it crosswise and, in one fluid motion, conjured two moon-white energy arrows on the string.
"Swish! Swish!"
The twin arrows, loosed under different forces, flew one behind the other toward the stumbling Gani.
Though surprised that Shandris had matched his speed, Gani kept his cool.
Planting his feet, he whirled and lashed his tail like a steel whip, aiming precisely at the leading arrow.
If that arrow maintained its speed, the tail would strike it, letting him use the rebound to shift his balance and dodge the slower second shaft.
A sound plan—but Shandris' attack did not follow the rules.
Just as the first arrow was about to be hit, the trailing shaft suddenly accelerated, fusing its energy with the first.
"Shk!"
Caught off guard, Gani's tail swiped empty air; the enlarged, accelerated moon-arrow grazed the scales along his back, tearing out a sheet of flesh and blood.
"Agh!!"
Shandris had already held back; this was foreign Dazaralor, capital of the Zandalari—who knew whether King Rastakhan had sent the Raptor loa to test her?
A small lesson would make any backer think twice, yet not irreparably shred diplomatic face.
But Shandris over-thought: Gani took orders from no one; greed alone had driven him.
The wound, far from Quel'ling his avarice, roused the beast within.
"Mortal! You forced me!"
Under Shandris' startled gaze, Gani's body ballooned, swelling until he stood twice her height.
His speed unaffected, Shandris saw the muscles of his hind legs bulge and instantly dove aside.
"Boom!"
Gani's mighty hind feet slammed the ground of the slums, leaving a gaping crater in the neat flagstones.
Shandris frowned slightly as she nocked an arrow. "Still want to fight?"
Attacking again, Gani roared, "Hand over the treasure or I'll tear you limb from limb!"
Recently ascended to demigodhood, Shandris was, in raw might, no match for the seasoned loa Gani—even with her divine bow the odds were slim.
That was why the cautious Raptor had dared strike; Raptors only hunt when victory looks likely.
Yet Gani sensed only the irresistible lure of her hidden treasure, never piercing Andreas' seal to feel its danger.
"Tch—what a pain."
Shandris wanted no complications, but the situation left her no room for hesitation or mercy.
She tapped the necklace beneath her leather armour; dense moisture spilled from the unsealed talisman.
"Hm?"
Deep inside a heavily guarded mountain temple, a gold-armored Mogushan Raptor snapped his eyes open toward Dazaralor.
"This power… could the negotiations have collapsed?"
Dazaralor is a majestic mountain capital, founded by the first Zandalari god-king Dasa leading his followers.
Like all intelligent peoples choosing a settlement, Dazaralor sits against mountains and beside water; its advanced waterways bring great convenience to the residents.
Because of the city's great elevation changes, the river running through Dazaralor forms spectacular waterfalls; traveling merchants would usually pause to enjoy the view.
Yet now those scenic waterfalls revealed another face to the citizens of Dazaralor.
Several plunging cascades eerily reversed, huge amounts of mist converging on the slums of western Dazaralor, drawing cries of alarm from the Zandalari populace.
Rastakhan, whose throne sits at Dazaralor's highest point, naturally saw this too; staring in shock at the gathering water, he barked at War Druid Lothi, "Lothi, find the source of this anomaly at once!"
The druid Lothi, a woman, stiffened. "Yes, my king!"
"No need."
Before Lothi could leave, a huge Devilasaur spirit appeared before the throne; members of the Zanchuli Council dropped to one knee in reverence.
"Ah…" Rastakhan smiled, arms open in greeting. "Rezan, your wounds are healed at last?"
Rezan shook his head. "Not fully—half a year more, but that's not the point."
"Rastakhan, I know what stirs the waters; you'd best calm that artifact's wielder quickly, or…"
Rezan warned the stiffening king, "In the worst case, all of Zandalar could be drowned beneath towering waves."
Meanwhile the Raptor Loa Gani was utterly dumbfounded; the Scavenger God, manifest in true form, hung in mid-air, limbs and tail bound by condensed water.
Shandris looked no happier; she had never meant to use the Tidestone, but her foe had pushed too hard.
"Scavenger God, you brought this on yourself."
She stretched out her right hand, condensing mist into a pale-blue arrow, and nocked it with solemn care.
"Wait! I surrender!"
Every scale on Gani felt the lethal threat of that water-arrow; a simple hunt had turned life-threatening.
The flexible Raptor Loa shouted, "I was wrong! By the name of Gani the Scavenger, I swear never to covet your treasure again—spare my life!"
You beg only now? Too late."
Shandris' face was cold; a general must be swift to kill.
Twang!
The bowstring about to snap, a familiar deep voice sounded beside her ear.
"Shandris, show mercy."
The poised arrow paused; she turned to see a spectral, gold-armored devilsaur forming.
"Loa of Kings Rezan?"
"It is I."
Rezan glared at the dangling thief-loa; one look told him the whole tale.
"On behalf of every loa of Zandalar, I offer sincere apology—please recall the Pillars of Creation."
Rezan gave a wry smile. "Loose that arrow, and this year's harvest fails—millions could starve."
To avoid awkwardness with an old friend, Rezan had meant to stay out of these talks.
But Gani's folly forced his hand; if Shandris' killing intent were not checked, battered Zandalar would sink further.
Shandris narrowed her eyes, easing the bow yet not lowering it.
"Explain—can you prove this loa acts without Zandalar's hire?"
Rezan straightened, swearing solemnly, "By the Loa of Kings Rezan, Gani's deeds are no act of the Zandalari crown."
Weighing the oath, Shandris finally let the arrow disperse and lowered her bow.
"Very well—I accept your word, but…"
Her gaze shifted to the Raptor Loa still bound in mid-air.
Following her gaze, Rezan's distant true form arrived, merging with his spirit.
"Hmph—death is spared, punishment is not."
Thud!
Rezan stamped the ground; the flagstones stayed intact, but Gani overhead screamed in agony.
"Aaaaargh!"
Rezan coughed; wounds from the war against Ghuun still lingered, so instead he called out.
"Bwonsamdi! Come forth!"
"Aye aye—no need to shout, I hear ya."
A flippant voice sounded beside him; a humanoid loa holding a staff appeared in the air.
"Ahem…"
Rezan, still weak, said, "Discipline this fool—teach him a lasting lesson."
"Heh—no problem."
Bwonsamdi eyed the terrified Gani with relish. "A loa soul—oh, delightful."
"Fear not, I won't kill you—but your soul is mine for a while."
Rastakhan arrived on Pterrax-back, having learned the truth through Rezan's distant word.
"General Feathermoon, by the god-king's name I swear Gani's acts have naught to do with the Zandalari Empire—please stay your wrath."
Shandris nodded coldly. "This loa still falls under your jurisdiction—deal with him. I reserve the right to pursue the matter."
"…Sss…"
Far away in Astranaar, Andreas winced, oddly telling Celeste, "I just promised Loken the Pillars wouldn't be used in racial strife—talk about instant karma."
He had given Shandris the Tidestone only for self-defence, never expecting she'd need it on the Zandalar mission.
He knew his wife well—she'd never flash a Pillar lightly; only mortal danger would force her to reveal that ace.
Little Sirius breathed evenly, curled in Celeste's arms; after a day's play he'd finally dropped off.
Celeste whispered, "Actually this lucky hit worked in our favour—Zandalar's former arrogance melted overnight, cutting talks short."
Andreas gave a bitter smile. "Good outcome, sure—but I never thought we'd seal the deal this way."
The recent pneumonia has everyone on edge—take care, avoid crowds, and if you must go out, mask up.
Andreas had already braced himself for the Zandalari to stall indefinitely; Shandris' awe-inspiring performance in Dazaralor sped the negotiations along.
Rastakhan and the other Mortals knew nothing of the Pillars of Creation, but the ancient and worldly Rezan knew very well.
Most of the elder high loa were the very primal animal spirits the Titan Keepers had once recruited as wardens; Freya had awakened them to guard Uldir and its seal on Ghuun.
In primordial times Rezan had dealt with the Keepers; when Freya told them the tale of the Dark Empire's fall she spoke of the Pillars, one of which was the Tidestone of golganneth, able to command all water in the world.
Depending on the wielder's habits, the Tidestone manifested in different ways.
In Hodir's hands, for instance, it served as a temperature regulator—he would flash-freeze moisture into ice.
Andreas had once studied the stone himself and even devised a water-jet cutting spell whose ultra-high pressure made it lethally effective.
Though Shandris' method was crude, that very crudeness let Rezan recognize the stone, arriving just in time to stop her from firing.
Gani answered to neither Zandalar nor Rezan, yet outsiders still saw the loa as one of their own; failing to control it was Zandalar's fault.
A sulking Rastakhan swallowed the bitter pill and, per Shandris' demands, rushed the peace accord to completion.
The final pact: Zandalar, having started and lost the war, must fund Pandaria's reconstruction in full.
It must also withdraw military aid to the Gurubashi and Amani Empires, restoring peace to the Eastern Kingdoms.
With the empire needing rest, and Rezan pressing him, Rastakhan reluctantly signed.
Andreas attended the signing in person.
Rezan excused himself, citing old wounds; Andreas understood the loa's mixed feelings and did not force a meeting.
After the treaty, the Cenarion Circle would oversee compliance; Andreas and Shandris returned to Mount Hyjal.
The year-long war in southern Eastern Kingdoms was over, to the Alliance's relief.
United under Zandalari advisors, the Gurubashi had fought far above expectations, prompting Stormwind to heighten vigilance against Jungle Trolls.
Meanwhile, Hordes of Zandalari Trolls filed out of ZulMashar in Eastern Plaguelands.
The Knights of the Silver Hand, forewarned, chose not to pursue the trolls boarding ships for home.
Queen Jaina had already set her next objective: retake Stratholme, so ending the war quickly was welcome.
Zuljin raged in ZulMashar, cursing the Zandalari for their betrayal.
As Scarlet Crusade and Argent Dawn withdrew, rested High-Elven armies—sanctioned by Lordaeron—advanced on ZulMashar.
From Quel'Thalas Cabin in Eastern Plaguelands, Ranger-General Sylvanas led relentless assaults with ever-reinforcing elves out of Amani Forest.
Against the mainly physical Knights, the zombie garrison had held, but elven long-range firepower proved overwhelming.
Massive Flamestrikes ignited the narrow canyon outside ZulMashar, turning scores of troll zombies to ash.
New ambassador to Quel'Thalas, Feren, predicted the fortress would fall within three months.
With Jaina present, Argent Dawn and Scarlet Crusade finally clasped hands at Lights Hope Chapel, sacred to all who follow the Light.
With Dathohan stepping aside, Tirion Fordring took command of the reborn Silver Hand; Saidan Dathohan became his deputy, both factions merging into one.
While the elves pinned ZulMashar and blocked Stratholme's east gate, Lordaeron attacked from two sides.
The western force—Queen Jaina and Prince Rhonin—crossed Sorrow Hill to assail the main gate.
The eastern force, the Silver Hand, marched through scorched Mushroom Valley toward the Servants' Gate at the rear.
Forsaken leader Nathanos had foreseen this; before wiping out the Scourge in Eastern Plaguelands he ringed Stratholme with defenses.
Low-tier zombies seized from the Scourge now packed both gates, forming an iron wall.
After briefing the Council, Jarod estimated Lordaeron would need at least another year or two to breach Stratholme.
As for the Forsaken, Andreas decided to let them return to dust.
Undeath is an unnatural perversion; these souls should have passed into the Shadowlands, but the Lich King's necromancy tore them back, trapping them between life and death.
The Shadowlands remain hidden; Andreas could not yet say whether some cosmic balance truly exists.
If it does, the wandering dead of Azeroth would surely upset it—better to send them home; perhaps they would meet again… Nearly ten years had passed since the Frozen Throne; the Northrend underwater corps, training all the while, now searched beneath the glaciers for the Lich King.
After successive gear upgrades, the new dive armor could finally endure abyssal pressure while keeping the wearer agile.
Meanwhile, Andreas' redesigned submersible carriers entered mass production.
Built for the Naga, one carrier on a test run detected strange activity near a large northwestern island off Northrend.
The island was rich in minerals, with oil visibly seeping from the ground.
Though the Night Elves cared little for polluting oil, Andreas seized the island to keep it from misuse, turning it into a rest base for the underwater corps.
Andreas' notes named the place as it had been known: the Isle of Conquest, a major resource battleground between Horde and Alliance.
The anomaly lay east of the isle, on a smaller island ringed by icebergs.
Scouts reported Scourge sightings there; Andreas authorized the training fleet to investigate with caution.
"Oh? So he really is hiding here?"
Andreas rubbed his chin, intrigued. "No matter whose will now guides the Lich King, he still hungers for the Frozen Throne—the closest gate to the Shadowlands."
Back then, Kiljaeden had thrown Ner'zhul to Icecrown Glacier precisely because he sensed how close this place was to the Shadowlands.
From the Frozen Throne, the helm of domination could far more effectively command every undead on the planet; lose the throne and the Lich King would cease to be the Lich King who could order the dead—just like the nickname Sea-Witch King Andreas had once joked he'd become.
According to the submersible carrier's reconnaissance, the Lich King himself had probably not appeared on this little island, yet he clearly intended to turn it into his future headquarters; hordes of Scourge were quietly converging upon it.
Playing the long game, Andreas chose not to startle the prey for the moment and let the undead keep gathering.
Herding all the undead together to deal with them at once suited him perfectly; it would keep them from running wild and disturbing the locals of Northrend. Before leaving the island after signing a peace accord with Zandalar, Andreas—while the others weren't watching—secretly contacted Bwonsamdi.
The death loa was cautious to a fault, flatly refusing to meet Andreas anywhere inside the Night Elves' core sphere of influence for fear of being ambushed.
Both amused and annoyed, Andreas haggled for a while and finally set the rendezvous on Alcaz Island, east of Dustwallow Marsh.
The island had previously been uninhabited; after the denizens of Draenor migrated to Azeroth, the Arakkoa took a fancy to it and made it their new home.
By now the island's big game had been almost wiped out by the bird-men; Andreas picked a remote, well-hidden cave to meet Bwonsamdi.
A black wind swept past, and a rather more subdued Bwonsamdi appeared. "So, mon, what deal ya be wantin' to discuss?"
"Let's get one thing straight—if it's some mighty being even you can't handle, don't be countin' on me. Old Bwonsamdi ain't tired of livin' yet; I ain't jumpin' into no top-tier brawl."
Andreas waved a hand. "Relax, I'm not asking you to fight directly."
"Helya—heard of her?"
"Oh?" A glint flashed behind the loa's mask. "Of course. A twisted val'kyr callin' herself the Goddess of Death, built that foul pocket-realm called the Abyssal Depths. Word is she's locked up plenty o' powerful souls."
"Good—then we can skip the introductions."
Andreas gave a cryptic smile. "How'd you like to get your hands on those souls?"
Bwonsamdi's mind was sharp; he quickly caught on.
"So dat's it."
Stroking his chin with long troll fingers, the loa finally grinned. "You want me to suppress her death-authority inside the Abyssal Depths?"
Andreas nodded. "Exactly. Just make sure me and the others fighting with me aren't bound by the Depths' rules; we'll handle the rest."
"Afterward, half of the souls Helya's hoarded go to you—you pick first—while I take the other half to Odyn as a greeting gift."
"Half… for Odyn, huh…"
Bwonsamdi pondered a moment. "Deal. I ain't lookin' to wrestle the Prime Keeper o' Azeroth over shares—fifty percent it is."
loas of death, after all, are rivals. Andreas didn't believe Bwonsamdi and Helya could ever get along.
Death loas grow stronger by controlling more souls. Bwonsamdi takes all comers—any soul is welcome.
Helya, though, only picks the finest. Her Helagar was created to counter Odyn's Valarjar; souls too weak never even catch her eye.
The ones imprisoned in the Abyssal Depths are top-grade goods. Even just half of them would tempt Bwonsamdi, quite apart from settling scores with a rival he already despised.
Compared with the contract-honoring Bwonsamdi, Helya is fickle and deceitful, likely to rescind a promise the moment it's made. Bwonsamdi had suffered minor losses from past dealings with her.
Bwonsamdi is no saint, yet not wholly evil either—a principled egoist, if you will.
A chance to claim those choice souls and pay back that odious witch? Bwonsamdi was happy to help. Stormheim had been home to the Vrykul for tens of thousands of years; faith in Odyn ran deep across the land.
Local Vrykul might be ignorant of Stormkeeper Thorim or the Great Elder Loken, but they absolutely knew the great god Odyn and his val'kyr battle-maidens.
Legends of Valhalla were everywhere: any Vrykul who died a hero's death would be borne by a battle-maiden to the Halls of Valor, there to become a mighty Valarjar.
Even after death, those warriors could still revel in battle and toast victory with honey-mead—an incomparable honor for war-loving Vrykul.
Andreas had come to Stormheim once before when unlocking the aegis of aggramar. Completing the trials set by the shield's guardian, Yrtra, had taken some effort, but in the process he'd befriended many local Vrykul.
Vas'diran—the largest Vrykul settlement in Stormheim.
Close to Hela's Mistsong Harbor and hungry for battle, Vrykul gathered here to raid the Valarjar in the harbor and prove their valor.
What they didn't know was that any who fell in Mistsong Harbor would never be carried to Valhalla; Hela would drag their souls to the Abyssal Depths for eternal servitude.
Only two had come with Andreas to Vas'diran: Shandris and, freshly returned from The Maelstrom to Kalimdor, the Black Dragon Princess Onyxia.
Years earlier, Onyxia had volunteered to scour the world for an entrance to the Elemental Planes after Andreas told her Deathwing might be hiding there, spurring the other flights into joint action.
The red flight hunted for the Firelands; their best lead was Blackrock Depths inside Blackrock Mountain, where Ragnaros currently dwelt at the volcano's core.
The green flight sought the gates of Sky Wall; under Ysera's guidance they combed dream-portals across Azeroth for an entrance to the wind-realm.
The bronze flight scoured the ocean depths for the Abyssal Maw. Their under-sea mission was arduous, yet in some ways the simplest.
Andreas had given Chronie, their leader, a hint: start west of Stormwind City and follow the trails of the Naga.
The smallest group—blue and black flights together—probed The Maelstrom itself, researching whether Deepholm's entrance lay nearby.
Deathwing remained a thorn in every dragon's heart; until they confirmed his final death, the flights could not truly lay their past to rest.
The Elemental Planes had been sealed by the Titan Keepers themselves, but after the Great Sundering ten millennia earlier even they no longer knew where those realms now drifted.
Andreas offered a few pointers based on ancient memoranda, but none were guaranteed correct.
At least the Skywall spear had been ruled out over Uldum by the greens, and the Firelands was definitely not on Mount Hyjal.
The Abyssal Maw, relatively fixed in place, was likely still near Vashjir, while Deepholm probably hadn't strayed far. Onyxia had virtually confirmed The Maelstrom as Deepholm's gateway.
Yet until the Keepers finished sorting Ulduar, the seals on the Elemental Planes would remain closed. With her task done, Onyxia was finally free.
If Odyn could be persuaded to return, perhaps the Keepers' labors in Ulduar would lighten. Eager to rid herself of that inner demon, the Black Dragon Princess had rushed to Stormheim with Andreas and Shandris.
When the trio reached Vas'diran, many Vrykul were crowding the central square where a booming voice recounted tales of the great god Odyn—in flawless Titan.
Spotting the rune-robed, bald speaker in the square, Andreas blinked, then smiled a meaningful smile.
"Well, what perfect timing."