Warcraft: Old Guard

Prologue

What this project is and what it isn't: First off, I really appreciate you taking the time to check out my story C: It's been something I've wanted to start for years, but I never felt my writing skills or grasp of the lore were quite there. Essentially, this is an alternate timeline that branches off from the main one around the start of the Third War. My goal here is to bring Warcraft back to its more classic dark fantasy roots, when the world felt more grounded and personal, at least to me. To set my work apart from the rest, I've decided to predominantly stick with lore from the RTS games and the Vanilla version of World of Warcraft. Anything that came out after that, like novels, guides, or in-game content, will be used sparingly—only when it feels necessary to give certain characters more context. So, for example, concepts like the connection between the Draenei and Eredar will not be considered canon, as that was retconned into existence in TBC. In other words, the newer the lore, the less likely I am to treat it as canon. The story itself will be told through a kind of campaign structure that mimics the RTS games, but instead of following factions, each "campaign" will focus on a specific character. Lastly, while, yes, this project is an unapologetic nostalgia trip, please don't interpret my work as some sort of FU to Blizzard. While I may be partial to the old games and their genre of storytelling, as I'm sure many of you are, I have nothing against the people who enjoy Warcraft as it is today. Sharing opinions is fine, but please be respectful.

A waning sun. Blood splattered upon white stone. The howls of the lost and those whose deaths were callously undone, coalesced into a hideous cacophony. Plumes of smoke ascended from pyres of elven bones, yet even its choking embrace could not mask the stench of rot. It pervaded everything; a creeping corruption, poisoning the very soil beneath her feet.

Quel'Thalas, Land of Eternal Spring, lay broken. Its last remaining people now gazed upon its festering carcass, the final vestiges of hope draining from their eyes. And she was among them, a child clinging to her father's arm—one of the many innocent souls she had failed.

There was no point in running. The shadow would soon engulf them as well; the shadow in the guise of a man, a rider. A butcher. A prince turned tyrant, with a heart as dark as his armor and as ice cold as his blade.

She looked up to her father's hallowed face. His tears had long since dried. Nothing remained now but absence. This was where the nightmare usually ended, but on this occasion, his lips began to part. Words came forth, first as a whisper, and then as a resonant voice that clawed at her unconscious mind.

"There is still time; none of this need come to pass. You can prevent this, all of it. I will show you how. It is time, Ranger-General. Seek me out, and I shall reveal more."

...

Sylvanas awakened with a gasp for air, as though her head had been held beneath water. She put her hand to her forehead, and when she pulled it back, her palm was slick with sweat. What was happening to her? This marked the fifth consecutive night she had been having these same prophetic dreams, all involving her homeland being mercilessly desecrater and her people slaughtered. The bedframe groaned in protest as her human swain stirred beside her. A weathered finger, hardened by decades of drawing bowstrings, gently brushed aside a few strands of golden hair. Sylvanas offered her bedmate a weary smile, for she could not summon more.

"Trouble sleeping?" Nathanos asked.

Ordinarily, his concern for her might have struck a chord. Barring her younger sister, perhaps, her former apprentice turned lover was arguably the closest thing to a confidant she had left. It was for this reason she had come to his stead, hoping his company might distract her and ease her thoughts. It hadn't helped. If anything, since setting foot on human land, that ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach had only grown stronger.

Sylvanas arose without saying a word. The room was dark, illuminated by a solitary, half-melted candle on the windowsill. The elf's slender silhouette glided about the space like a specter. It was as if her feet were barely touching the floorboards. Even without conscious effort, grace seemed to come so naturally to her kind. Why she chose to lie with an awkward, brutish thing such as himself, Nathanos still couldn't quite comprehend.

"Are you thirsty? I could—"

"Can I trust you, Nathanos?" Sylvanas cut him off.

The question landed with all the candor of a slap to the face. Now completely awake, the human ranger sat upright in his bed.

"I...of course, my lady."

Her eyes, like two blue embers, burned holes through the depths of his soul. Whatever she was about to reveal to him was undoubtedly of great importance to her.