For centuries now, the Blackfathom strand had stood, awash in the ruins of ancient glories past. The sea had cleansed the memory of what had been; now all that stood were bleached columns and plinths that jutted out of the water like broken teeth, a testament to the wrath of the Sundering. In the shallows, in the middle of a ring of columns that Valerian had suggested once may have been a marketplace a youth stood, alabaster features raised to the moonlight as his silver hair fell in a gleaming length down his back. His ears were large, and pointed, like a typical night or void elf, his arms outstretched to the sky as if to invoke the moon goddess, or so Valerian believed as he began his long descent down the stairs set into a cliff near the ocean. It was a clear night, the moon full in the sky, and so as he continued his descent to the beach, Valerian had a clear view of the creatures that had come up from seemingly nowhere to surround the youth, tridents pointed menacingly at him, even as they communicated in a language he could not hear from this distance, but which he knew was utterly alien to him. That naga were in Blackfathom was not at all surprising, given that many of them had their lair in the deeps of the ancient city. What was baffling to Valerian was that instead of charging the youth, the naga were seemingly holding their ground, a move very unlike all naga he had encountered. Once a naga saw you, you died or it did; there was nothing in between. Had the youth said something to upset them? He could hear the a distant sound of hissing on the wind, and the naga slowly began moving inward, a couple of female naga casters coming up from behind his silver-haired friend as they began conjuring the blue ice magic that was native to all seaborne creatures. Their tridents were within inches of the boy now, and Valerian not close enough to save him. Not that Valerian was concerned for his friend. Aquillus could handle himself both in combat and in tight situations, and Valerian knew that, if the naga chose, he could execute every single naga that surrounded him in short order.
At the very least, these naga had listened to what his friend Aquillus had to say, which was a great improvement from previous encounters. Not that it seemed to have pleased them. Valerian was now resigned to the fact that among this group of naga, the message Aquillus had tried to convey would be lost. An unearthly cry escaped the youth now, beautiful elf male and deadly creature all wrapped up in a shifting spell that now came loose like someone had pulled an invisible string--features elongated, hands and feet became clawed, fins jutted from his back, his teeth became a gaping maw filled with sharp fangs.
Aquillus' transformation was no surprise to Valerian, who had by now descended almost to the bottom of the cliff; he had seen Aquillus in his true form in times past. He now thought differently of naga; no longer just something to kill, but creatures as deserving of life as every other being on Azeroth.
Lined in pale moonfire, the Naz'ja youth tried once more to appeal to his brethren as Valerian came closer to the scene, hoping for a different outcome-- but the naga facing Aquillus acted with sudden swiftness, so that the youth was forced to react. He ducked and dove, parrying a blow from the largest of them even as he moved with the speed of a striking snake, throwing what Valerian knew to be a last platitude before disappearing into the rushes.
Valerian watched cautiously as he ventured among the ruins--the Blackfathom naga did not trouble him, and would be easily dealt with if they spotted the druid, and attacked. He simply did not wish to kill--despite the Argent Dawn wanting to exterminate all naga, Valerian believed naga lives, like every life on Azeroth, had meaning and value equal to his.
He shifted into cat form, morphing with ease as he felt the sand fly up from beneath his paws, racing to join his friend in the forests of Darkshore. He came up behind Aquillus, saying nothing until they stopped for a brief respite near Maestra's Post.
"There were younglings in Blackfathom, were there not, Aquillus?"
The youth turned and nodded, his beautiful grey eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Valerian knew how much it had meant to him to bring the naga and their children to his cause. To be enslaved a lifetime to the Old Gods, and to the void, to the naga youth, was nothing less than slavery, a fate far worse than death.
It would be several weeks before Valerian, toiling at one of the digsites in Ashenvale, would see the first fruits of Aquillus' work. The female was a caster, with markings similar to the one who had tried to take Aquillus out with a spell at Blackfathom. In her arms she held a cluster of eggs, all she could retrieve from the hatchery before fleeing for her safety. Aquillus immediately ported her into one of his lairs, the moist pools teeming with fish and perfect for raising naga young. Valerian could hardly believe that somehow, something Aquillus had said had moved a creature enslaved to the naga hive-mind, moved her so that she had torn herself from her people and her enslavement to N'zoth. Over time, more came. As Valerian slowly followed Aquillus through Azeroth, naga began to follow. Some were from Blackfathom, one from the Throne of the Tides, some from Vashj'ir, a few from the area surrounding Suramar. One huge naga, a great warrior of his kind, arrived with several younglings clinging to his back--and still more came. Tidecallers, priestesses, stormcasters, warriors, mages. All came cautiously, and haltingly at first, for in their minds they were plagued by the voices of N'zoth, telling them that without the guidance of the Elder Ones, all was lost for them and their kin. Yet they came willingly, believing that in their hands alone they could shape a new future for themselves and their younglings. And Aquillus took them in, Valerian assisting him as the lairs grew full to bursting, and still more naga came, renouncing Azshara, their mad queen, and the voices of N'zoth. In a few years, the naga population that had joined Aquillus had swelled to hundreds. Valerian knew that soon Azshara, the naga Empress, would begin an invasion of Azeroth, and as such, that there was precious little time to lose in building fortifications should Azshara's naga come to exact a terrible revenge against those that had left and betrayed them. But in the lairs the naz'ja children would grow up in innocent wonder, much different in their ways than the children of N'zoth, perhaps not free of the hive-mind, but aware enough to make decisions that would perhaps not be merely to kill and destroy, The Cataclysm had passed; Azshara too would pass, along with her people. But in the tiny, clawed hands of the younglings, lay the future of Naga on all of Azeroth.
