You couldn’t see the sky for the stars…
He didn’t know why that thought struck him, as they stood waiting, fearful and angry. Watching as the eclipse sailed across a full and desolate moon. He could, though, think about how cold it suddenly grew. The howling in his ears, the way the blood rushed through them, the way his fists clenched and the air seemed to tremble and yet grow deathly still. Stars. Glimmering high and far away, and he realized that hell could not just be a place of fire, death, and destruction.
It was a storm of wind and deathly chill, Elune’s wrath shining cold and cutting through the air around them.
It was impossible to watch anymore, as Tyrande climbed the steps to the moonwell, as pale light began to fill the air. But perhaps he watched a moment too long, fascinated, horrified, and then filled with a hopeful vengeance as the first wave struck him. Then, he turned away, tears burning icy cold at the corners of his eyes, covering his face with his arm as cries rang out through the air in the ancient tongue.
This was hell. There would be no mercy for those that had wronged them. Just cold, implacable fury, glaives gliding through the night, a rolling wave of death, in all of nature’s savage anger.
When she walked back down, he could feel that angry chill. No wonder they spoke of how dangerous this ritual was. Not all of his kin were still standing, some taking a knee, some covering their face before Elune. He gripped his spear again, taking a breath and feeling how deep and dark the night now was. How much more alive everything felt. How…he felt different. More ready. Less afraid, and ignoring the faint pain and the shadows that now flickered across his vision
The storm was coming for you, Horde.