The Coming of the Traveler

35

Kaldorei camp near the city of Seran. 26 days since the demonic invasion of Azeroth

“General, the demons are three hours away from us, fast approaching.” The voice of the scout brought Dath'Remar out of his thoughts, forcing him to pay attention to reality.

She just wasn't happy. A deep, withering feeling, reminiscent of thirst, and the one that occurs after two days without water next to a crystal clear pond, did not leave for a second, and only in such moments of thought it was possible to distract from it. The role of the reservoir was performed by magic accumulators, which were at arm's length and could give a brief feeling of bliss, only their use would be real madness, especially in anticipation of battle.

Even more unbearable seemed the views of close and simple warriors that did not leave him for a second. The elves remembered the words of salvation, that the curse that had fallen on the kaldorei would be lifted, and now they waited, waited with desperate, mad hope. And he was