57. The Wild Council

The Wild.

This was an organization born from the alliance of the kaldorei, furbolgs, taurens, and kobolds. It has evolved for the better in the short time since its founding.

Mortal matters were far from the dragons' usual purview, none more so than for the Green Dragonflight, yet this was the greatest exception.

This wasn't solely due to the presence of the night elves, as the flight's work rarely involved the waking world.

By its very nature, the Wild sparked great interest and intrigued many, even among the less inquisitive dragons.

But their relationship and ancient alliance with the elves within was certainly an aiding factor. It was unique even compared to the Red Dragonflight's love for all life.

The kaldorei were among the green dragons' staunchest allies–mortals or otherwise–and, in many ways, friends for tens of millennia.

Their ties were on a surface level closer than with even their draconic kin, as they rarely interacted with other dragons due to spending most of their existence inside the Dreaming.

Some younger green drakes had never left the primal nature realm. Kaldorei druids and children of Cenarius had been their only non-draconic contact with the waking world.

They had died and bled countless times for one another to protect the Emerald Dream and Azeroth, and the War of the Ancients had been the beginning.

Their histories were intrinsically rooted together.

The Battle of Mount Hyjal was the most recent proof of that bond, though the dragons deeply resented being forbidden from joining the fray despite their wishes.

Only a set number of dragons were allowed to fight, or it would have risked smothering Archimonde's arrogance.

The rationality behind such a choice did little to quiet down the frustration. For this first reason, the Wild was not to be ignored. Itharius shared this sentiment, as did Lady Ysera and others in the flight.

It was the very reason for his presence on this day and the dozen more past. The recent events only furthered this. Undrassil had been the source of discussions, but ultimately little else.

It was a clone directly produced from Nordrassil and was created under the watch of a widely respected Wild God with the blessing of another of similar standing, if not more.

It was a curiosity not to turn a blind eye given history, but not a source of concern to their task, given where and how it was grown.

Ashdrassil differed as it was a product of Fandral Staghelm's deadly arrogance, but it was a tiny part of the interest. The World Tree was to be similarly watched, but its place was significantly diminished, leading to rising problems.

The attention wasn't from internal and petty mortal political discords, most of which were brutally and efficiently resolved. Yet, it was tied to them.

Ursoc's rebirth caused waves, and they were even larger ones resulting from Cenarius' own scant two weeks past the bear demi-god's.

The Lord of the Forest's violent demise brought grief and rage to She of the Dreaming, of the likes nearly unheard of since the first demonic invasion.

She had been his mother in all but blood, and the green dragons his adoptive family. They had shown immense restraint in not fully battling the Burning Legion's second coming.

Now Cenarius was again of the living, and years ahead, death may be lighter on the Wild Gods, but it was not any easier.

How they came back was largely unknown and was as varied as life itself, yet it always took time and at a cost.

It was a piece of news to be elated about.

But it was unheard of for one to be reborn so soon after and free of any burden. The Bear of Might, a smaller size, was caused by complications from Ashdrassil's appearance and was fixed in short order.

Something not even the Aspect of Life knew how to do when she was informed of the great news by her sister.

The two demi-gods joined the Wild soon after, not as mere supporters, but as integral members of its constitutional power.

It was no longer a wholly mortal empire, even if it never was with the Wise Bear.

The Wild wasn't entirely dissimilar to how trolls such as the Zandalari Empire operated.

But the Wild treated the Ancient Guardians as an integral part of its inner workings, whereas Loa were usually distant mythical figures of worship.

Though both could be true, the tendencies of one and the other couldn't be denied.

The crucial distinction shaped what the Ancient Guardians became once they joined.

They became permanent ruling members with great advantages and equal obligations to the cause.

They could be worshiped, but they had to abide by the laws set, or they would suffer the consequences.

And the cause of the Wild was in its name.

They were to protect the Dreaming, the natural world, their territories, and Azeroth.

Be that as it may, it was scarcely enough to convince those demi-gods to accept the constraints of society.

These were prideful beings for some as old as dragonkind, if not older. They were unpredictable at the best of times with their agenda, grievances, and desires.

To have these immortal creatures in a stable, lasting entente would require exceptional conditions, with the rare few demi-gods willing to listen.

Both of which were met and went beyond.

It started with the Twin Bears, the Son and Daughter of Ursoc, and then the Lord of the Forest.

This number was to increase. An invitation was sent to the Mother Wisp, and she was willing to listen and interested in the proposition.

Aessina was as much of a friend of the night elves, the caretaker of their souls, and the wild spirits of Ashenvale and Kalimdor.

But living was inconsequential to who might join. It was the highlight of the green dragons' notice. Ursoc and Cenarius' rebirths were all but the most spoken about.

And the one capable of such a feat was already famous in name and character for his action, the Furbolg Representative of the Wild.

Puzzling, though it was to regard him as one given his appearance and smell.

The dissonance grew with the power he wielded with only a select few superior and equal among mortals.

And Itharius, under the guise of a horned night elf as the Ambassador of the Green Dragonflight, found it even more challenging than last time to see the Greenweald bear man as a furbolg.

There were more leaves and bark than fur across his shelled titanic form; only his face was somewhat clear.

The furbolg in the shape of a jalgar carved a striking figure among the circle of flowers and wisps where each of the Representatives stood.

There was no grand building, for none was needed.

The Wild Council was bare to nature, and the elements. The only shelter came from the mending roots of Nordrassil in the creaks of the second Well of Eternity.

And the roots were healing quicker than initially predicted, likely due to the World Tree's clone and the potent web of mycelium in the mountain's endless caverns.

His musings were broken by a firm and aged feminine voice.

"Lord Itharius, at last, you arrive safely. May the Eartmother welcome you." An elderly female tauren, politely greeted with the fluidity and strength of a mortal in her prime, yet with the wisdom and confidence of the opposite.

It wasn't acting; she had been healed of the ailments of old age by the very same bear that reversed death with the wave of a paw.

Itharius nodded to her and went to his seat, a bed of soft, glimmering moss. But his eyes lingered briefly over the Elder Crone.

Magatha did not fool him. However, her character was of no concern to him, for he knew where her interests lay.

Mortals were uncomplicated animals, and her dreams were clear to the wyrm's ancient eyes.

And the Wild was many things; among them, it was a growing, invaluable ally to the green just as the night elves had been for ten thousand years.

She was ruthless and strong of mind and magic.

Of all the shamans he had met in his long life, she ranked among the most potent.

He learned never to underestimate the elements, and the painful memories of the primalists felt just as fresh.

And the green dragon was anything but weak; he wasn't his brother, Eranikus, second only to the Aspect as her Prime Consort. But few were his betters in the flight.

Mortality and incapacity weren't synonymous.

Her taurens made for promising druids, proving it this much.

The Green Dragonflight required their assistance. The Emerald Nightmare had grown excessively more erratic and aggressive in recent years. And it was only worsening.

The why remained a mystery, but it was deeply concerning. The Wild was a relief against this festering threat, and the Wild's taurens were but an important, if smaller, part of a whole.

His eyes then shifted to the diminutive but muscular albino form of the Kobold Representative, Brightwaggle.

An elegant, if comically tall and large, candle with an ever-burning golden flame of Light rested atop his bald head.

It would crush his ears if not for the gold leaves and branches holding it with the armor of vines he wore, where more candles alight with the Light grew like flowers.

The kobold gave him a quick, nervous wave of a paw that earned a nod with an amused snort.

The green ambassador would have never believed such an insignificant creature, commonly seen as a pest and defenseless prey, to be of any importance to his flight, and yet here the kobold was.

Unlike the taurens, might was not their strong suit, be it physical or magical, but they had the numerical advantage. And it was by a lot. A lot.

Cowardly they may appear at first, but it was anything but, and their absolute dread of darkness carried to the Emerald Nightmare.

Yet they didn't run like their numberless kindred elsewhere; they learned to resist the dark.

They fought the abominations with courage and conviction, and only death was the claim of the Nightmare, for they would prefer to end their lives than be swallowed.

Yet, for one killed, six were born. And with the Wild, diseases and hunger were now bygone limitations to their population.

A great boon for a people wielder of the elements, Nature, and the Light that were individually weak. They never were alone.

Then there was the Kaldorei Representative, her lips in a serene smile as she gazed at him from where she sat, kneeling in a bed of pure white flowers.

"Elune-Adore Lord Itharius. It is an honor to have you with us on this beautiful night. Is Lady Ysera well?" Tyrande Whisperwind said, and he also answered with a nod, and for the latter part, 'yes.'

In many ways, the night elves in the Wild were the opposite of the kobolds. They lacked the number and sheer exponential growth.

Instead, they carried the wisdom, experience, and skills cultivated over millennia and passed them on to empower the force of nature. Number had a quality of its own, but quality was quality.

Their roles had not changed from the Great Vigil beyond the sacrifice made.

Adding female druids helped quite well in the Emerald Dream, even if the vast majority were far inferior in abilities to their male counterparts. Still, many were sentinels, and they were not found wanting.

Tonight was also Cenarius, and the Wild God did much the same as the other, and greetings were exchanged. His place in the Council allowed him to influence the decisions made directly.

Finally, the green dragon refocused on Ohto of the Greenweald, the Furbolh Representative.

But he was the four bear demi-gods' opinions in their absence, even if his vote still counted as one. His influence was such, and it was undeniably earned.

The furbolg mastery was not unprecedented in either Life or Nature, but it was growing.

Most importantly, it was shared in two magic inferred by the Aspects to have been kept apart by the Titans for a grand purpose left unsaid, but relaying to the balance of Azeroth.

Culture and prejudice to the side was why if dragons of distinct flight mated, the hatchlings would always be of the stronger dragon's color.

This anomaly relating to his connection to the Dreaming less ordered depths gave the hybrid of bear and flora unique abilities.

But his mind made the above stand out more than they already were. His creations led to the rebirth of Wild Gods.

He had control of evolution and biology unlike anything ever seen for a mortal, and even outside, his skills were the epitome of rarity.

To Itharius' understanding, only Keeper Freya possessed these abilities, if incomparably superior to Ohto.

And she had not been seen for a very, very, very long time, though the tie wasn't forgotten. She was known for experimenting, and that furbolg, if Ohto was hers, might potentially lead to her return.

For those reasons, a furbolg twenty years of age was perceived as conflicting among the Green and the Red Dragonflights. A wait-and-see approach was taken.

Mistakes were not to be repeated as they had been with mortals drowning in their power, but hasty action would prove catastrophic.

Ohto had shown time and time again his true self. He was an ally, yet he was to be observed, as hard as it was to do so.

His help against the Nightmare came in armor and tools of every kind and usage.

The symbiotic living weapons using treants stood above the rest. Itharius found them a worthwhile investment for the flight.

Sadly, among the Wild, the furbolgs were the most vulnerable to the Old Gods' fleshy pestilence. Their connection to the Dreaming was not inferior to the Ancient Guardians'.

It was why the demi-gods did so little against the Void infection; this wasn't a matter of willingness. It couldn't be further from the truth.

They simply could not assist without risking losing themselves.

Nothing was absolute, and this was no exception, but the risks were too big.

A corrupted Wild God of even middling power would endanger all but the Green Aspect herself if mishandled.

Green dragons were almost equal in this tie to Dreaming, but the blessings of the Titans coursed through them, protecting them.

And it wasn't enough; madness could easily claim their minds, even with every precaution taken.

The kaldorei and now mortal races of the Wild they were part of were of such importance to the Green Dragonflight for that very reason. Mortals were more resilient to the Nightmare from their weaker inborn connection to nature.

Yet it did not mean furbolgs were unimportant; it would be the height of foolishness to believe it. The Wild's existence depended on them.

They alleviated the heavy burden in the waking world by aiding the Green Dragonflight and were foremost warriors, healers, and farmers of the forces of nature.

"May Ursol share his wisdom, and Ursoc give you strength, Itharius." And there was no reverence in the shaman ursa totemic's tone, though there wasn't disrespect either.

It was strange, but it was the least of oddities around this furbolg. Though with who Ohto was, one wouldn't have to wonder for long why he didn't kowtow to any.

Regardless, the green wyrm exchanged a nod as the procession began. The green wyrm was here to report to Ysera, be queried by any council members, and join if he deems necessary.

Many subjects were spoken about.

The main one was the crea tion of what Itharius understood to be an elite organization obeying the Wild Council alone and only to the majority vote.

The Wild Hunt was its name. Its goals were to detect, study, and eliminate internal and external threats to the Wild. It was the reactive force to neuter scenarios like Fandral's failure before they ever grew in influence.

It was a little more than ideas, but he foresaw its growth.

Then, the discussion shifted to another subject, and Magatha led it.

"I have gathered dire news in my search of Agamaggan; his remains are in Razorfen Kraul. But it's heavily defended." She paused.

"To have bloodless access even with reviving the Great Boar, Charlga Razorflank, their leader, demands our assistance against both the Horde and what I fear by her brief description is a Scourge incursion. My informants only confirmed it. And the quilboars are losing ground fast. Razorfen Downs won't hold for much longer against the undead tide while also suffering from the Horde's attacks. Ohto, she asked for your help specifically and anything the Wild may bring." The Elder Crone finished sharply, and the Resilient Bear tilted his head, ears flicking and expression grave.

It was the same for all present. Cenarius was frowning, hooves digging in the rich soil. Brightwaggle stopped his constant twitching, and Tyrande narrowed her eyes.

Itharius was no different. Mortal matters were never only mortal matters when they came to the Wild, more so when undead horrors were involved.

"This is… bad. I will go then. The Scourge will be culled. It might be a trap given that a quilboar wouldn't just demand help, but the risk is too great. Worse came to worse, blood would flow with ichor, and Agamaggan would be the judges of their souls. As for the Horde… she can wait on that. We don't need a war right now." Ohto rumbled with clear worries, claws flexing on instinct.

Iharius found himself staring at them without realizing it.

Young proto-dragons had been common prey to jalgars, and older ones usually knew better than to approach the jalgars, even less so to fight them head-on.

Only the largest could hope to assuredly win in melee against more than one primal bear man at a time, and they wouldn't fly unscathed if they could fly at all. They targeted weak points.

And for any solitary predators, it was a death sentence.

Unless you were Galakrond himself, but his tastes had been inclined to his own kind over the ancestors of the furbolgs.

It had continued after their ascension to dragons.

It only ended when the most formidable iron vrykul clan and their new proto-dragon allies, as well as smaller clans that had greatly suffered while doing so, managed to push the jalgars to defeat.

The Ambassador of the Green Dragonflight vividly remembered this ancient danger at the sight.

Those metallic blades at the end of those thick, muscled limbs could rend through dragon scales with gut-twisting ease. Those very same claws that stabbed the Defiler in the eye.

'It is no wonder he does not bow.' Itharius thought.

"The kaldorei are with you, Ohto. Those abominations daring to sully Kalimdor would be smitten without fault, but we won't be able to send an army without alarming the Horde." Tyrande said coolly.

Then she continued, a frown forming, "I fear I bear no better news. The search for Lady Aviana's body is still fruitless, but the goddess has given vision of an egg of hers lost in Mount Hyjal. Would this be of help, Ohto?"

"Yes, preferably alive, but I need little to work."

"Brightwaggle turn-turn, yes-yes! Very-very old tunnels were found and I me know great-great tears on walls and ceiling like-like huge shelled-"

The Wild Council went on as the wyrm patiently listened and spoke when he thought necessary or was asked.

*

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