To mortal eyes, Crown Guard Tower is simply Argent territory guarded by the enemies of the Scourge. To your eyes, it is so much more. Your personal space is a carefully constructed base of arcane magic from a separate time, built so you can safely investigate the time stream of the Eastern Plaguelands without risking the attention of the Lich King’s servants. But just because you’re working from another time doesn’t mean you aren’t simultaneously present in this one. Someone approaches you, a figure both familiar and not, and you turn to face them with a knowing smile.
“There is something timely about your visit. You're not from the future, are you?” you ask them, your head tilting in your curiosity. They shake their head and present you with the sword they’ve come all this way to show you. You have little experience with weaponry; you and yours have always left the armories to the flightless kin. You raise your hands at the same time that they lean over, and take the blade from their grasp.
“What is this? A war sword? A butter knife?” You sigh at your own ignorance. “I'm useless when it comes to blades. Let me see...”
You only need to focus your power and the steel’s history comes to life. You see it forged by the hands of an experienced smith in the nearby town of Darrowshire, then handed off to a local defender. You see him proudly show the blade to his wife, daughter and brother before sheathing it. And you see him fall in battle, slain by a bony corpse thrusting a rusty sword through his gut. Around him Darrowshire’s defenders meet similar fates, murdered by rotten undead bodies and skeletons tortured by dark magic.
The defender’s suffering doesn’t end. Another man, flesh and skin sloughing from his bones, stands over his body. His icy eyes scan the corpse before he summons dark, unholy energy to take hold of the man's soul. You watch as the death knight’s magic defiles his very being, turning him into a ghostly grotesque monster that is then set upon the rest of Darrowshire.
You watch as the once-warrior slaughters innocents alongside the undead he opposed. You see him meet his end against a line of soldiers, humans, dwarves and elves who wield Holy magic as well as they do swords and shields. And you know what you can do.
You turn your attention from the sword to the person waiting patiently for you to say something. “Ah! This sword was once in the hand of a great man, but there is much tragedy in that man's past,” you tell them. Solemnly you also say, “Are you here to help him? It's far too late for him now…”
They look disappointed, their shoulders hunching. But then they pick up on the twinkle in your eye and the confidence in your smile.
You’re buffeted by snow and biting wind as you travel north, far above an ice-sheeted sea. You know the way well, as do your companions. You turn your frost-covered head to peer at one of them. They look back at you and their eyes catch the dim light and glow like newly shined bronze before they focus on the path ahead. There are more like them flanking you, following you over the shore and across a frozen tundra until a familiar structure comes into view.
Wyrmrest Temple. It stands as a symbol of the destruction of Galakrond, the terror of prehistoric Azeroth, at the claws of the Dragon Aspects, as well as the Wyrmrest Accord. As the chosen representative of the Bronze Dragonflight, you will answer directly to the Dragonqueen.
Your party does not go unnoticed. A squad of red dragons comes to meet you and surrounds your dragons to secure their safety as you travel together.
One of them slides into the place of your bronze companion to speak to you.
“The Life-Binder will be pleased to see you’ve arrived, friend. I will take you to her,” they say. As you fly closer, you see blue and red dragons, dying or dead, littering the grounds. It’s a solemn view, witnessing the result of ancient allies relentlessly attacking each other. You’re led to the top of the temple by your red ally. They hover beside the platform as you land and transform in a small cloud of magic.
You approach the Dragonqueen respectfully. She’s much taller than you and much more powerful, but by the way she looks at you, she thinks well of you. You trade smiles before introducing yourself.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Life-Binder. My name is Chromie. I’ve come to represent the Bronze Dragonflight.”
Alexstrasza briefly bows her head. “I am relieved to see you, Chromie. My flight requires your aid. Wyrmrest Temple is beset by both the Blue Dragonflight and the Scourge.” She gestures to the side of the temple with one of her gold-plated hands. “With the cooperation of your dragons, we will secure the survival of this world.”
“Say no more,” is your stern reply. “We are yours to command.”
The human seated opposite you presses his lips against his folded fingers as his eyes scan the map you’ve laid out between you. Though the map is written in the language of the Draenei, the human knows this world well. He was trapped on its original universe version for many years. You retrieve a second, smaller map and lay it over the map of Draenor, and tap a large circle you’ve already drawn.
“Kairoz and Garrosh came to this world through a portal in this part of Nagrand. I sensed that time within this perimeter is warped severely. He must be inside. I need your help to confront him.”
“At last, we’ll learn how all this came to be.” The human raises his head and your keen eyes watch as he subtly steels himself for the battle he knows is just ahead. He looks at you and you look back sympathetically. It makes him smile, if tiredly. “I am in contact with both the Alliance and the Horde. Give me some time and I will find us a champion.”
You trade apprehensive smiles. The two of you know what this means. You will track Kairoz down, approach him and, in all likelihood, kill him.
“Thank you, Archmage. I won’t be far. Come find me when you’re ready.”
The stone street turns into a dirt road as you pass through the mage portal and into Draenor. Stormshield, the Alliance calls this base, is as busy as you knew it would be. Merchants of all allied races craft and sell their wares to adventurers, other merchants, and the soldiers that march Stormshield’s grounds. Because the Horde operates from the other side of the island, the land between the two towns is a battleground in which the two enemies clash.
You’re trying to find a cartographer when a distant horn blows, signaling to some of the soldiers stationed in town. You quickly hop inside a stall as a few horses followed by armored men and women thunder up the path to battle. A fewunusual cats trail behind them. Once they’ve passed, business resumes. But before you leave, you listen to a curious exchange.
“I hear that Harrison Jones still isn't any closer to finding that artifact,” a guard mentions to another.
The other guard removes his helmet and angrily rakes his claws through his thick mane. “How long does he plan to take? We can't stay holed up here forever with the Horde breathing down our necks.”
“I hope it's not much longer,” the first guard, a human, says. “I haven't seen my family in Stormwind in months.”
The worgen’s lips curl back, baring even more teeth. “The Horde is growing bolder every day. They attacked another one of our outposts this morning.”
The woman, outraged by the violence, scowls. “Did those mongrels forget that we're supposed to have a treaty?”
“It looks that way.” The second guard jams his helmet back over his hairy head. “I think they fear that if we do find the artifact, we'll end up using it against them.”
There’s a sense of finality to the first guard’s voice when she concludes, “If they keep attacking our soldiers the way they have been, they may just drive us to it.”
An artifact? How fascinating! But it isn’t at all related to your reason for coming to Draenor. You leave the disgusted pair of guards behind and continue your search for a local mapmaker.
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Memory 1: Blades
“There is something timely about your visit. You're not from the future, are you?” you ask them, your head tilting in your curiosity. They shake their head and present you with the sword they’ve come all this way to show you. You have little experience with weaponry; you and yours have always left the armories to the flightless kin. You raise your hands at the same time that they lean over, and take the blade from their grasp.
“What is this? A war sword? A butter knife?” You sigh at your own ignorance. “I'm useless when it comes to blades. Let me see...”
You only need to focus your power and the steel’s history comes to life. You see it forged by the hands of an experienced smith in the nearby town of Darrowshire, then handed off to a local defender. You see him proudly show the blade to his wife, daughter and brother before sheathing it. And you see him fall in battle, slain by a bony corpse thrusting a rusty sword through his gut. Around him Darrowshire’s defenders meet similar fates, murdered by rotten undead bodies and skeletons tortured by dark magic.
The defender’s suffering doesn’t end. Another man, flesh and skin sloughing from his bones, stands over his body. His icy eyes scan the corpse before he summons dark, unholy energy to take hold of the man's soul. You watch as the death knight’s magic defiles his very being, turning him into a ghostly grotesque monster that is then set upon the rest of Darrowshire.
You watch as the once-warrior slaughters innocents alongside the undead he opposed. You see him meet his end against a line of soldiers, humans, dwarves and elves who wield Holy magic as well as they do swords and shields. And you know what you can do.
You turn your attention from the sword to the person waiting patiently for you to say something. “Ah! This sword was once in the hand of a great man, but there is much tragedy in that man's past,” you tell them. Solemnly you also say, “Are you here to help him? It's far too late for him now…”
They look disappointed, their shoulders hunching. But then they pick up on the twinkle in your eye and the confidence in your smile.
“But perhaps we can help him in the past!”
Memory 2: The Nexus War
Wyrmrest Temple. It stands as a symbol of the destruction of Galakrond, the terror of prehistoric Azeroth, at the claws of the Dragon Aspects, as well as the Wyrmrest Accord. As the chosen representative of the Bronze Dragonflight, you will answer directly to the Dragonqueen.
Your party does not go unnoticed. A squad of red dragons comes to meet you and surrounds your dragons to secure their safety as you travel together.
One of them slides into the place of your bronze companion to speak to you.
“The Life-Binder will be pleased to see you’ve arrived, friend. I will take you to her,” they say. As you fly closer, you see blue and red dragons, dying or dead, littering the grounds. It’s a solemn view, witnessing the result of ancient allies relentlessly attacking each other. You’re led to the top of the temple by your red ally. They hover beside the platform as you land and transform in a small cloud of magic.
You approach the Dragonqueen respectfully. She’s much taller than you and much more powerful, but by the way she looks at you, she thinks well of you. You trade smiles before introducing yourself.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Life-Binder. My name is Chromie. I’ve come to represent the Bronze Dragonflight.”
Alexstrasza briefly bows her head. “I am relieved to see you, Chromie. My flight requires your aid. Wyrmrest Temple is beset by both the Blue Dragonflight and the Scourge.” She gestures to the side of the temple with one of her gold-plated hands. “With the cooperation of your dragons, we will secure the survival of this world.”
“Say no more,” is your stern reply. “We are yours to command.”
Memory 3: The Fugitive Dragon
“Kairoz and Garrosh came to this world through a portal in this part of Nagrand. I sensed that time within this perimeter is warped severely. He must be inside. I need your help to confront him.”
“At last, we’ll learn how all this came to be.” The human raises his head and your keen eyes watch as he subtly steels himself for the battle he knows is just ahead. He looks at you and you look back sympathetically. It makes him smile, if tiredly. “I am in contact with both the Alliance and the Horde. Give me some time and I will find us a champion.”
You trade apprehensive smiles. The two of you know what this means. You will track Kairoz down, approach him and, in all likelihood, kill him.
“Thank you, Archmage. I won’t be far. Come find me when you’re ready.”
Memory 4: Stormshield
You’re trying to find a cartographer when a distant horn blows, signaling to some of the soldiers stationed in town. You quickly hop inside a stall as a few horses followed by armored men and women thunder up the path to battle. A few unusual cats trail behind them. Once they’ve passed, business resumes. But before you leave, you listen to a curious exchange.
“I hear that Harrison Jones still isn't any closer to finding that artifact,” a guard mentions to another.
The other guard removes his helmet and angrily rakes his claws through his thick mane. “How long does he plan to take? We can't stay holed up here forever with the Horde breathing down our necks.”
“I hope it's not much longer,” the first guard, a human, says. “I haven't seen my family in Stormwind in months.”
The worgen’s lips curl back, baring even more teeth. “The Horde is growing bolder every day. They attacked another one of our outposts this morning.”
The woman, outraged by the violence, scowls. “Did those mongrels forget that we're supposed to have a treaty?”
“It looks that way.” The second guard jams his helmet back over his hairy head. “I think they fear that if we do find the artifact, we'll end up using it against them.”
There’s a sense of finality to the first guard’s voice when she concludes, “If they keep attacking our soldiers the way they have been, they may just drive us to it.”
An artifact? How fascinating! But it isn’t at all related to your reason for coming to Draenor. You leave the disgusted pair of guards behind and continue your search for a local mapmaker.