Amidst the Nightborne's desperate plight, Galen's path intersected with that of Chief Arcanist Thalyssra. His gaze lingered for a moment, a connoisseur's appraisal of a living masterpiece, before withdrawing. The heroine of the renowned painting, "Liadrin in Stromgarde," paled in comparison. Thalyssra possessed a captivating visage, a generous bosom, a waspish waist, and legs that stretched into infinity – a far more substantial specimen than the aforementioned paladin. Alas, her dusky skin tone fell outside Galen's preferred aesthetic. "One shade of white," as the old adage went, "conceals a multitude of flaws." Galen's tastes leaned towards the fair and delicate.
"I am Galen, Lord of Eldre'Thalas," he announced, his voice resonating with a carefully cultivated gravitas. "I offer my deepest condolences for the dire straits in which the Nightborne find themselves."
"Forgive my disheveled appearance, Prince Galen," Thalyssra replied, her tone a blend of weariness and respect. "I have heard tales of your valiant stand against the Burning Legion millennia ago!" Born after the Sundering, she held Galen, an elder of a bygone era, in high regard.
"Oh? My exploits have reached even these sequestered ears?" Galen offered a wry smile. "In Elisande's estimation, I likely rose to prominence through less than savory means, wouldn't you agree?" He paused. "And please, dispense with the title of Prince. The age of the Night Elf Empire is long past. You may call me Grand Druid, or Highlord."
A blush crept onto Thalyssra's cheeks. Elisande had indeed harbored such sentiments. The memory of the Grand Magister, her fate uncertain, cast a shadow of gloom over her features.
Galen, ever perceptive, noted her shift in demeanor. "Fear not for Elisande. I intervened at the last moment, ensuring her survival. However, her injuries were grave, and I have entrusted her care to the Blue Dragonflight, requesting their healing expertise. Should you harbor concerns, feel free to dispatch an envoy to observe her recovery. I believe the Blue Dragons will extend me this courtesy."
"Blue Dragons?" Thalyssra's brow furrowed in surprise. "Legend dictates that the Dragonflights dwell in the distant northern reaches of the continent. What brings them to the Broken Isles?"
"You Suramar elves would do well to broaden your horizons," Galen remarked, a hint of disappointment lacing his tone. He found such insular perspectives irksome, a desire to awaken them from their self-imposed ignorance stirring within him. "This particular flight has resided in Azsuna for tens of thousands of years. Narthalas and Eldre'Thalas have maintained contact with them for eons. Compared to the wider world, Suramar is woefully behind the times! While you were content to bicker over meager arcane scraps behind your artificial veil, the Burning Legion had already deployed two vanguard forces! And the entity who just reduced your precious city to rubble was Archimonde himself, a titan of the Burning Legion! How much further do you intend to fall behind?"
Thalyssra fell silent, chastened. Though she had aligned with the more progressive elements within Nightborne society, she was acutely aware of her limitations. Even Grand Magister Elisande's millennia of prestige had failed to break Suramar's isolation and reintegrate the Nightborne into the global stage. Thalyssra herself had been powerless, merely a witness to the periodic exiles orchestrated by other influential families.
After a moment of somber reflection, Thalyssra addressed Galen with newfound earnestness. "Highlord, in the wake of this devastating catastrophe, I believe the Nightborne have been presented with an opportunity for profound change. Once we have stabilized our people, we will dispatch an envoy to retrieve the Grand Magister with all haste and discuss the formation of an alliance with you!"
"Nay, not an alliance with me," Galen corrected, his tone firm. "The primary Night Elf society still vehemently rejects arcane magic." The current Night Elves, untouched by Archimonde's wrath, remained the dominant power in Kalimdor, their pride and arrogance unwavering. Galen, intimately familiar with their mindset, knew that the Night Elf leadership – Tyrande, Malfurion, even his own headstrong disciple Fandral – clung to the belief that the Highborne's reckless use of the Well of Eternity's arcane energies had been the catalyst for the Burning Legion's initial invasion of Azeroth, the root of all their suffering. The conservative faction held immense sway, and Galen, unwilling to fracture Night Elf society by establishing a separate power base with Eldre'Thalas, was forced to temporarily align himself with the prevailing sentiment, biding his time until an opportune moment arose to reintroduce the arcane arts. Furthermore, the High Elves, the very descendants of the exiled Highborne, had been banished. Did Thalyssra truly believe they would welcome the Nightborne with open arms? "I possess no authority to sway Tyrande and Malfurion in your favor."
Thalyssra, now the de facto leader of the shattered Nightborne, felt her hopes plummet. Their population losses in the recent destruction, aside from the catastrophic decimation of the Duskwatch (over 80% casualties), primarily consisted of the nobles who had been too slow or too greedy to flee. Suramar could be rebuilt, even in its current ruined state, but the Nightwell was gone, the Twilight Vineyards destroyed. If even the powerful Eldre'Thalas refused to offer aid, the Nightborne, severed from their magical lifeline, faced the grim prospect of widespread Withered transformations and devastating attrition.
"But..." A subtle shift in Galen's tone offered a glimmer of hope, and Thalyssra leaned forward expectantly.
"I can facilitate an introduction to a group of allies from the Eastern Kingdoms. They call themselves the Scarlet Crusade, and the High Elves, descendants of Dath'Remar, are also among their ranks."
"Eldre'Thalas will discreetly provide you with the magical sustenance you require. The main force of the Burning Legion has already departed the Broken Isles. Your immediate priority must be to pacify your people, begin the arduous task of rebuilding Suramar, and restore your military strength. You will then join the Scarlet Crusade's forces in the coming conflict against Archimonde!"
"I will task Chief Swordsman Orelu'rel with training new recruits immediately, and conscript Hilgryn, the most formidable swordsman among the civilians, to assist!" Thalyssra declared, a spark of resolve igniting within her. She felt empowered to make this decision.
"Though you have forsaken the faith of Elune, I still offer a silent prayer for her blessings upon you, Thalyssra. Time is a precious commodity. We shall meet again at Mount Hyjal!"
"We will be there, Highlord!" Thalyssra vowed, her voice ringing with newfound determination.
In truth, had Elisande's resurrection not required a delicate and time-consuming ritual, Galen would have spared little time in this exchange with Thalyssra. He could have simply directed Elisande to Aegwynn and her allies.
Galen's parley with the Nightborne concluded. Under the guise of a Night Elf traveler, he continued his journey towards Mount Hyjal, intent on assessing Tyrande's preparations for the inevitable demonic onslaught.
Archimonde's arrival had been anything but subtle, his razing of Suramar a brutal display of power and a venting of ancient frustrations. Such overwhelming force sent shockwaves across Azeroth, alerting all sentient races to the looming threat. Demons poured through newly opened portals along the borders of Night Elf territory, launching a multi-pronged assault on Mount Hyjal. The front lines in Ashenvale and Felwood were in desperate need of reinforcements, Fandral leading the beleaguered armies in a frantic, exhausting effort to stem the tide. The Tauren and Scarlet Crusade allies, contacted by the Night Elves, were still en route. For now, the Night Elves stood alone against the encroaching darkness.
The relentless pressure on the front lines had pushed Tyrande to her limits. Having finally completed the arduous ritual to awaken her beloved Malfurion, her thoughts turned to a familiar face from her childhood – a companion from a simpler time. And so, she made her way towards the Wardens' prison.