Azeroth’s Death Track

Prophet, that's an old title.

In the barbaric era, before civilization was born, ancient creatures thrived in a strange world. They lived like wild beasts, irritable, restless, full of fear of darkness and the unknown, ignorant and violent, without the restraint of the original order , In the harsh environment of natural selection, it is difficult for them to survive. They need a wise leader to lead them through the dark fog and finally reach the realm of civilization.

Prophets appeared at that time. They often appease their cowardly and sensitive compatriots by interpreting weird natural phenomena. They are often the most daring and the group of people with the best brains. Under their leadership, A civilization will eventually get out of the quagmire, learn to walk on the earth, learn to unite, and eventually become the master of the earth.

Under this ancient title, what is hidden is the best praise for a soul, to be recognized, surrounded, and to overcome one challenge after another and survive one disaster after another in cheers and reverence.

Velen is the most perfect embodiment of this ancient will. Although the Draenei are not primitive creatures, they have spent and experienced those unimaginable setbacks during the 25,000-year-long exile of the stars. The trials and tribulations are almost exactly the same as those experienced at the beginning of civilization.

In the history of the Draenei, the figure of the prophet Velen appears in the footnotes of almost every page of civilization of this race. He is almost the spokesperson of this civilization, as well as the guardian and recorder of this civilization. In the disaster, Velen lost his relatives, so he regarded all the people as his relatives, just like the loving father of the Draenei people, everything he did was for the continuation of this ancient race.

There is no doubt that this is a man worthy of respect.

But now, this venerable prophet is walking in the temple that the Draenei once built with his own hands. He observes the changes of this temple with a silent gaze, as if he is examining his distant land. And the magnificent past is general.

The Temple of Karabor...

Rarely, Velen in black robe stretched out his hand and touched the cold stone wall of the dark temple. The murals carved on the wall by the draenei to praise the naaru and the new life are still vivid in his mind, but that is true for the new world. And the desire for a new life has become a cold joke decades later. At the moment when the violent orcs who drank the blood of fel energy raised their butcher knives at the Draenei, the childish expectations of these exiles for peace , was finally completely shattered.

The expectation of a new life made them, the entire race, and even the Prophet himself forget the threat that loomed over his back, and lived carefree in a small world like an ostrich for 200 years, and then Forced to return to the cold reality, that indulgence brought the draenei almost to the brink of genocide.

It was a painful past, but it was also an unforgettable lesson.

I still remember that on the day when the Karabor Temple was built, all our garrison officers, pastors and elders gathered in the square of the Holy Light Temple, and they sat on the polished stone steps On the stage, everyone was cheering, celebrating the arrival of a new life, and everyone believed that the establishment of this temple marked the end of the long exile of the Draenei...even me, I thought so.

Prophet Velen, who became extremely old because of the blow to his soul and will, stroked the murals on the wall, and whispered:

On that day, we bathed in the warm light, on that day, we sang the greatness of the stars and the tenacity of civilization, on that day, our hearts were filled with joy and joy, as if it was salvation The day is coming...

It was also on that day that you forgot the danger, the demons, and your own situation...forgot the sufferings of the Draenei, that day was not the day of salvation...the Prophet.

Following behind the prophet, Yrel, the death lord responsible for escorting and taking care of the prophet, this cold hoof girl without a helmet stood beside Velen, blinking her blue eyes, and said in an emotionless voice:

That day was the day when the draenei stepped into hell. The hell of war disguised itself as peace and deceived all of you. You are like the head sheep leading a flock of sheep into the slaughterhouse. You failed Sensing the danger hidden under the glory of peace, Draenor punished you and me, and I died, and many innocent people like me died...and you, you escaped.

Yrel's words made the tiredness in the prophet's eyes look heavier. He shook his head and took his fingers off the cold mural. He leaned on a wooden stick and continued to move forward. He said softly:

Yes, I fled, fleeing in embarrassment, just like abandoning Argus at that time. Between life and death, I also abandoned the new home chosen by the Draenei. I will leave a part of my soul here forever. Yrel, my children... I abandoned you, that is a sin that I cannot wash away, today, I come to this dark temple, I have come to atone for my sin.

The bleak figure of the prophet fell into Yrel's eyes. No matter whether she was alive or dead, she had never seen such a prophet. He was no longer embraced by the holy light. He bent his body like an old man on the verge of death. , The whole body exudes a smell of death.

This is not the prophet in her memory, this is not Velen, the spiritual leader of the draenei, this is a poor old man who lost his last relative and hope... He can predict the future, but in the game with the cruel fate, he In the end he lost, he lost everything...

He even lost himself.

Yrel knew what the Prophet was going to do. She knew that the life of the old man in front of her would come to an end today. It was a call of death, a call that could not be refused or disobeyed. From now on, The Prophet will become one of them, and like them, will embark on the dark road created by death, but, at this moment, it is impossible for Yrel to feel even a little bit of joy, even a little bit of relief.

Destroying a beautiful thing is not a pleasant experience, even for the dead.

No, Prophet.

Yrel took a few steps forward, and sister Hoof stretched out her cold hand to hold Velen's arm. She said softly:

It's not your fault, it's not all your fault, I was born in Draenor, I lived through our time in Draenor completely, the whole race, all clansmen long for long-lasting peace, no one realizes The danger is around, or we all selectively ignore it, everyone is at fault, and the weight of this tragedy should not be borne by you alone.

Yrel's explanation made the prophet couldn't help raising his head. Velen looked at Yrel beside him with his slightly cloudy eyes. After a while, he reached out and patted Yrel's cold hand. A difficult smile appeared on the old face:

Good boy... Yrel.

Even after death, you are still so kind... But it doesn't matter, let me, an old man who has done a lot of things wrong, continue to bear all this, and let me move on.

Prophet, you...

Yrel wanted to say something, but was stopped by the Prophet. Velen leaned on his staff, and looked at the halls and corridors around him that had been redecorated by the undead. He whispered:

Don't talk about those heavy things, little Yrel, chat with a lonely old man for a while, and walk with me through Velen's last journey, okay?

Um

Yrel shook her tail. She supported the prophet and walked towards the top platform of the Dark Temple. While walking forward, Velen suddenly said:

Little Yrel, tell me the story of Amberley Village...It's been too long, I seem to have forgotten...that small village, that small village full of vitality, always likes to hold large-scale The story of the little village of the ceremony...I remember, I've been there, I love that village...'

We've already told so much about my past, so tell me, tell me about that, your story.

——————————————————————

Push it away for me, will you?

Velen and Yrel did not take the mechanical elevator to the top platform of the Dark Temple. They were like a grandfather and granddaughter walking, stepping on the long steps to the entrance of the top platform of the temple. The prophet looked at the closed stone door in front of him. , leaning on a wooden stick, he smiled and said to Yrel beside him:

I'm too weak, kid. I really want to face your leader decently. When facing Tyrion, I don't want to look too embarrassed in front of him... After all, I'm also a leader, right?

Velen's last joke made the corners of Yrel's mouth twitch. Sister Hoof stepped forward, stretched out her hand, and pushed open the slightly heavy door engraved with necromantic runes for the prophet. In the middle, the road leading to the platform is in sight, and Yrel made a please gesture:

The High Lord is waiting for you, Prophet, don't keep him waiting.

Ok, I know.

Velen straightened his black robe. As a prophet, he rarely wore such gloomy clothes. It could be seen that he tried his best to straighten his waist again. As he said, he didn't seem to want to He bowed his knees in front of Tyrion, and the moment he stepped onto the platform, the Prophet seemed to suddenly remember something. He turned around, took something out of his arms, and put it in Yrel's hands.

He patted Yrel's wrist, with a kind smile on his face, like a grandfather saying goodbye to his granddaughter, he wiped Yrel's hair, and said to Yrel:

I don't need it any more, boy, use it well.

After speaking, the Prophet breathed a sigh of relief, turned around, and stepped into the darkness of the platform. Behind him, Yrel lowered his head and looked at the crystal in his black gauntlet.

It was an irregular piece of purple crystal, with wisps of mysterious mist filled with the luster of stars shining in it, it looked extraordinary at first sight.

As a draenei, Yrel certainly knew what it was.

soul song...

One-seventh of the Atama crystal, known as the soul crystal that can predict the future, is the sacred object of the Draenei. The absolute core of the Atama crystal is a symbol of the identity and power of the prophet, and it may also be the prophet most important legacy.

And now, it belonged to Yrel.

Looking at the crystal shining with mysterious luster in her hand, Yrel's heart was mixed at this moment. She has always been the most special one among all the dark blade lords. Yrel's emotions and soul are complete. A dead spirit with a complete personality, her emotions are no different from those of a living person.

Yrel held the purple crystal tightly, put it on her chest, and folded her hands together. She was like the chosen priest who was baptized by the Holy Light in the Karabor Temple, kneeling on one knee and slowly closing the stone crystal in front of her eyes. In front of the gate, eyes closed, silently praying for Velen...

Although the prayers of the dead will not be perceived by the Holy Light, it doesn't matter... Anyway, this is not for the Holy Light.

Ah, here you come, my friend.

On the top platform of the Dark Temple, the high lord Tyrion sensed the sound of low footsteps behind him. Those shambling steps did not look like a draenei prophet at all, but he didn't care, his Touching the edge of the heavy sarcophagus in front of him, he said to Velen without looking back:

Come and see! It took the best embalmer under my command for several days to finally get rid of the evil energy in little Nuri's body... Come and see, Velen, come and see Your son.

He's just like you, a handsome young man.

Hearing the high lord's call, Velen took a few steps forward, and he also saw the young draenei who seemed to be sleeping in the cold sarcophagus.

That was his Nuri. After completely removing the influence of the fel energy, Nuri's face returned to that of a normal draenei. The cheeks looked very resolute, with a black beard and black hair tied into a short ponytail. Hair, looks very similar to the old prophet.

He is muscular and muscular. He looks like a healthy and energetic young man. That is what the prophet imagined his son would look like when he grows up. It is almost exactly the same as what he had imagined in the past.

The Prophet stretched out his hand and stroked his son's cold cheek. A smile appeared on his old face, and a sense of relief flashed in those cloudy eyes.

He stood up and took out the bottle of fountain of youth that Tyrion gave him from his waist. He unscrewed the cap and poured the cold spring water into his son's mouth carefully. The bottle was placed in front of his eyes, and in the emission of the lingering liquid, the prophet suddenly seemed to see himself when he was young.

The self who escaped from the world of Argus with countless people...

Tyrion...Last night, I saw the future...

Before drinking the cold spring water, Velen said to the high lord in front of him:

It's about your future. That may be my last prophecy, but I want to warn you that it's not a good future. The creature you've been protecting will eventually turn against you...she will hate you , because at some point in the future, you will force her to do those things...those cruel things.

oh?

The words of the prophet made the great lord narrow his eyes, rubbing his chin, and asked:

So, in the future you see, in the face of the ultimate threat, have I won?

You, maybe you did win, but...

No, I don't pay attention to others, as long as I win...that's acceptable!

Tyrion's categorical answer stunned the prophet, and then Velen let out a short laugh.

Okay, okay! You've always been like this, but it's okay, I see myself... I'm going to go through that future with you, the future where we got the win... Now, I'm going to go into The tomb...after three days, you will be reborn, like a boat going down the river, and those sinners will also drift in the long river of death, and finally, across the darkness, come...accept my judgment!

Under the gaze of the great lord, he raised the ice-cold spring water towards the great lord like a toast, and then drank the water from the fountain of youth like a fine wine.

dang lang

The exquisite crystal bottle slipped from the prophet's hand and hit the ground, completely...shattered.