It was the that tiny bit of doubt, though, that knowledge that she had she had never actually witnessed Azshara’s death, that had caused the nightmares she had suffered on and off over centuries. […]
Despite her losing battle for air, Tyrande stared wide-eyed at the creature. It was and was not the queen. There was just enough of Azshara’s features in the scaled face, though the eyes were fieryred orbs that sought to burn into the high priestess’s mind.
And all around them, other slithering forms converged. Those that were female bore some resemblance to night elves, but themales were more primitive and savage. Their faces had become like those of carnivorous fish, and it was clear from their eager redorbs that they would not have been averse to tasting her flesh.
If this was Azshara, then Tyrande knew that these could only be the Highborne, the caste of loyal servants who had joined her in her madness. Nothing had existed for them but to serve her glory,even if thousands of other elves perished.
Now…they still served her. Now, they, like Azshara, had become a horror of which Tyrande was familiar. The serpent form was unmistakable.
They were naga. The foul underdwellers of the seas.
“Once I offered you a place in my court,” the queen murmured cheerfully as with her tail she pulled Tyrande so near that only inches separated their faces. A thick stench emanated from Azshara…a stench associated with a corpse left rotting for days inthe waters. “Such a fine lady-in-waiting you would have made…”
Tyrande struggled to call upon Elune. Yet the light she already wielded only faded more. As it decreased, the naga pressed closer, more eagerly. They crowded her…
“And serve me you still shall…” the queen said with a fanged smile.
The night elf’s legs began to meld together. Azshara was turningher into a naga.
Tyrande pulled tighter at the coil around her throat. She couldchardly keep conscious, much less think.
She is literally living her worst nightmare in the Dream.