The world seemed to flicker and blur at the edges of his vision. That and the odd way his spells worked — as if trying to shoot a bow in a high wind — told him he was no longer on Azeroth, but in the Dream, or something like it.
A darkness had seeped across the landscape, up to the feet of the great Temple, blackening the forest and causing the trees to swell and gnarl like the fingers of an old woman.
When Seryth stepped inside the confines of the blighted landscape, his perceptions sharpened. He could sense multiple vessels of magic, both the life essences of creatures nearby and the enchantments placed on the Temple and its amenities. He could also make out the outline of the blighting dark, see how and where it extended, like a road through the forest. He looked down that elongated darkness, like one might peer inside a tunnel.
There was something malicious and oppressive on the other end of the blighted land. When he turned his head that way, he saw nothing but darkness, accompanied by a fierce headache and a sharp pain from his chest. He struggled to look away, only managing with a severe application of willpower. Curiously, foolishly, he walked towards it instead.
As he walked, he became aware of voices around him. He recognized Elothir, the bear, and even the faerie dragon queen. He tried to turn to them, but only saw blighted trees: hunched forms in the darkness.
“I’m here to see a Wild God!” he shouted out. “I have questions only one of them could answer — questions about the blade of Nathssysn!”
Still the archdruids and ancient nature spirits continued to talk without heed, just outside his range of hearing. He pressed towards them, still calling. “You will give me what I want! I served you…now it is your turn!”
The darkness at the end of the blight shifted then, and with fear and a little thrill, Seryth turned fully towards it once more. The willpower required to drag himself away was higher this time, and Seryth stumbled just outside the circle of blight to sit hard on his haunches.
It was there that the satyrs attacked him.
Each time he cast a spell, the number of satyrs only increased. Seryth was eventually forced to flee back into the Temple. There, the evil creatures pounding on the door, he waited for the seance to end.
When he woke up, the faerie dragon queen was sitting on his chest, her wings brown like twin withered leaves. She was hissing like a viper, but not at him. He sensed the ancient spirits of the barrow den again, and the two archdruids in the background.
“Cenarius is gone,” the bear informed him when he asked what had happened. “He cannot answer your summons or questions now.”
“Why?” said Seryth. “You haven’t fulfilled your end of the bargain!” Rage rose up in him like beast. “I should burn this place down around your ears for your betrayal!”
The bear snorted derisively, and Elothir just looked solemn as he said, “That doesn’t matter now. It seems the Burning Legion has returned.”
“Demons…?” Seryth went quiet, confused.
“Yes,” said the treant. “For that is what satyrs are, and who they serve. Though not as powerful as they were in the past, there are still enough of them this time to threaten our forest.”
“They’re searching for something,” said the faerie dragon queen. Her tiny claws clenched through the front of his robes, little pinpricks on Seryth’s chest.
The archdruids looked at him.
“Send him back to Dalaran,” said the bear.
“No!” cried Seryth. “I want my answers!”
“You’ll have them,” said the faerie dragon queen, surprising him. “Not in the way you expected, unfortunately.”
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