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This article or section contains lore taken from Warcraft novels or short stories.

Thrall: Twilight of the Aspects is novel by Christie Golden portraying the efforts of the former warchief, Thrall.

Some highlights from Blizzplanet's Teaser #1:

  • Earthen Ring: Alliance Nobundo, Neutral Muln Earthfury, Horde Rehgar Earthfury, Neutral Aggra
  • Conclusion of Boss Malygos' demise and the fate of his dragonflight
  • The Search for Nozdormu
  • Betrayals and Revelations
  • Thrall's inner-demons and regrets revisited
  • Twilight's Hammer
  • What was really Boss Nefarian experimenting to achieve? Were all failures?
  • Infinite Dragonflight and their mysterious leader unraveled
  • All those Caverns of Time dungeons were about erasing Thrall from the gameboard. Wonder why? Wonder... how would Azeroth be without Thrall?
  • Boss Deathwing and the new Twilight Dragonflight
  • Grief and Mourning
  • The Hour of Twilight
  • Why does Deathwing fear Thrall? Why does Boss Fandral disperse his soul to prevent the ritual?

Excerpt 1

From article:[1]

Nobundo turned to Thrall and Aggra as they approached. He was a former draenei. His form was not proud and strong and tall, but bent, almost deformed, caused by exposure to fel energies. Many Broken were dark and corrupted, but Nobundo was not. Indeed, he had been blessed, his great heart opening to the shamanic powers, and it was he who had brought these powers to his people. Beside him were several draenei, their blue forms undamaged, sleek, clean. Yet, to Thrall and many others, Nobundo outshone them all because of who he was.

When the high shaman's gaze fell upon Thrall, the orc wanted to look away. This being—indeed, all the other shaman gathered here—was someone Thrall respected deeply, and had never wished to disappoint. And yet, he had.

Nobundo beckoned Thrall to him with an oversized hand. "Come, my friend," he said quietly, regarding the orc kindly.

Many were not so charitably minded, and Thrall felt angry gazes being cast his way as he approached Nobundo. Others came silently to join in this informal gathering.

"You know the spell we were attempting to work," Nobundo said, his voice still calm. "It was to soothe and comfort the earth. It is admittedly a difficult working, but one that all of us here know how to do. Can you tell us why you—?"

"Stop dancing around the subject," growled Rehgar. He was a massive orc, battle-scarred and hulking. One would not look at him and think "spiritual," but whoever made that assumption would be very wrong. Rehgar's life journey had thus far taken him from gladiator to slave owner to loyal friend and advisor to Thrall, and that journey was far from over. Now, though, a lesser orc than the former warchief of the Horde might have quailed before his anger. "Thrall... what the fel was going on with you? We could all feel it! You weren't focusing!"

Thrall felt his hands curl into fists and forced them to relax. "Only because you are my friend will I permit you to speak so to me, Rehgar," Thrall said quietly, but with an edge to his voice.

"Rehgar is right, Thrall," Muln Earthfury said in his deep, rumbling voice. "The working is hard, but not impossible—not even unfamiliar. You are a shaman, one who has been through all his people's true rites. Drek'Thar hailed you as the savior of his people because the elements spoke to you when they had been silent for many years. You are no inexperienced child, to be coddled and sympathized with. You are a member of this Ring—an honored and strong one, or else you would not be here. And yet you crumbled at a crucial moment. We could have silenced the quakes, but you shattered the working. You need to tell us what is distracting you so that we may aid you."

"Muln—" Aggra began, but Thrall lifted a hand.

"It is nothing," he said to Muln. "The work is demanding and wearying, and I have a great deal on my mind. Nothing more than that."

Rehgar uttered an oath. "You have a great deal on your mind," he spat. "Well, the rest of us do as well. Trivial things like saving our world from ripping itself apart!"

For a second, everything went red in Thrall's vision. Muln spoke before Thrall could. "Thrall was leader of the Horde, Rehgar, not you. You cannot know what burdens he bore and perhaps still does bear. And as one who until recently owned slaves, you cannot sit in moral judgment upon him!"

He turned to Thrall. "I am not attacking you, Thrall. I am merely seeking to see how we can aid you, that you can better aid us."

"I know what you are doing," Thrall said, his voice close to a snarl. "And I do not like it."

"Perhaps," Muln said, striving for diplomacy, "you are in need of some rest for a while. Our work is very demanding, and even the strongest must tire."

Thrall did not even grace the other shaman with a verbal reply; he merely nodded curtly and stalked off to his shelter.

He was angrier than he had been in some time. And the person he was most angry with was himself.

He knew he had been the weak link in the chain, had failed to put forth the ultimate concentration at the moment when it was most desperately needed. He could not yet drop deep into himself, touch the Spirit of Life within, which was what had been required of him. He didn't know if he would ever be capable of doing so. And because he could not do this thing, the effort had failed.

Excerpt 2

From article:[2]

"It would indeed be a good thing if we could work together—even before this Hour of Twilight." Alexstrasza regarded Kalec and Arygos. "The blues must determine how to select a new Aspect, and make restitution. You must show us that we can trust you again. Surely you see that."

"We must?" echoed Arygos. "Why 'must' we, Alexstrasza? Who are you to determine what the blue flight must and must not do? To judge us so? You make no similar offer of restitution. Yet it is because of you that we need to find a new Aspect. What do you plan to do to show that you are to be trusted by us?"

Her eyes widened slightly at the insult, but Arygos plowed on. "How do we know you will not kill me? If I am chosen as Aspect, that is," he added hastily. "And your mate, Krasus, as he likes to go by—he is no friend to the blues. He has spoken out against us repeatedly. I cannot help but notice that he is not present at this meeting. Perhaps you didn't wish him to be here, either?"

"Korialstrasz saved your life, Arygos," Kalecgos reminded him. "When your father was so lost in his insanity that he abandoned you."

It was a very sore point for Arygos, and few were bold enough to remind him of it. The clutch of eggs that had contained both Arygos and Kirygosa had indeed been abandoned during Malygos's madness. It was Korialstrasz who had discovered that untended clutch, as well as many others, and taken it to Nozdormu to be cared for. Later, the clutches had been given to the red dragonflight. It was a glowing example of cooperation among three separate flights with a common cause: care of the unhatched, helpless whelps, be they red, blue, green, or bronze when they emerged from the shell.

"And even though he and I have certainly had our personal disagreements, that has not stood in the way of my learning to respect him. I have consistently found him to be reasonable and wise," Kalec continued as Arygos's eyes narrowed. "He has said nothing against our flight's behavior that I myself have not said."

"Really? And what does that then make you, Kalecgos?" Arygos retorted.

"Enough!" snapped Alexstrasza. She had not expected this meeting to go particularly smoothly, but she had hoped for better than this bickering. "Surely the flights have enough enemies out there that we should not waste precious time fighting among ourselves! Deathwing is back, more powerful than ever—and he has ripped Azeroth nearly to bits in the process. Now he has allies beyond his own flight: the Twilight's Hammer cult. Whatever the Hour of Twilight may be of which Ysera speaks, the twilight dragons are certainly an immediate threat. The Ruby Sanctum is still reeling from their previous assault. If we do not find out some way to put aside the petty differences and—"

"You murdered my father! How dare you call that petty?!"

Alexstrasza was slow to anger, but now she marched on the younger dragon and declared, "I say: enough! We must all move forward. The past is the past. We are in danger now. Did you not hear me? Do you not understand? Deathwing has returned!"

Excerpt 3

From article:[3]

It was not in the manner Alexstrasza would have wished, but it did seem that the sudden presence of the twilight dragonflight galvanized the other flights into unified action. Without another breath wasted in argument among themselves, they lifted into the skies, charging to attack the enemy, to protect this sacred temple from danger.

It was an incongruously beautiful violence. Dozens of powerful forms in hues of ruby and emerald and sapphire wheeled and turned in midair. Their foe was all the shades of day turning into night—purple, violet, indigo—and grace and brutality combined into a bloody battle.

As they clashed, a voice seemed to echo in their very ears.

"How kind of so many of you to gather together in a single place, that I might destroy more of you weak creatures so readily."

Alexstrasza flew directly toward a cluster of three dragons, diving out of the way of their deadly breath, colored as purple as they were. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the blues hover for a moment, casting a spell and then folding his wings and diving straight down. She swerved quickly and avoided the sudden storm of what looked to be icicles. One of the twilights managed to turn herself incorporeal, but the other two were too slow. Seizing the opportunity, Alexstrasza darted upward to clamp her massive jaws into the sinuous throat of one of them. Caught in his corporeal form with insufficient strength to transform, the twilight dragon let out a strangled scream and frantically beat the air with his indigo wings, trying to tear away from her. His black claws raked at her belly. Her scales blunted the damage from the attack, but white-hot pain still rippled across her stomach. She bit deeper, and the pain stopped.

She opened her jaws and released the limp body, not sparing it a second glance as it tumbled downward.

"Who are you?" she cried, her own voice amplified and carrying on the cold, clear air. "Show yourself, name yourself, or be known for the coward and braggart that you are!"

"Neither braggart nor coward I," the voice came again. "I am known to my followers as the Twilight Father. They are my children, and I love them."

A chill rippled through the great Life-Binder, though she did not know why. If the name was true, and he was the patriarch of these beings—

"Then come forth and protect your children, Twilight Father, or sit back and behold as we slaughter them one by one!"

Two of them dove at her from opposite directions. So intent was she on locating the source of the voice she almost did not sense them in time. With barely a tail's breadth to spare, she folded her wings in and dropped like a stone, turning over as she did so. Directly above her the two twilight dragons shifted into their shadowy forms an instant before their collision, their two bodies passing harmlessly through one another.

Laughter, harsh and smug, enveloped her. "You are as a foolish little girl, for all that you are the great Life-Binder. It will be delightful to watch you crumble to pieces beneath what is to come."


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