Shattering

                Pain. Excruciating mind destroying pain. That's all that had become the shaman's mental world as he felt the Earth rip apart. The Elements were raging, and felt it fit to inform every Shaman on Azeroth of their fury. The book he was reading lay on the floor next to the tipped flagon of water. Shadoren lay on the floor of his house in Ironforge writhing in agony, mouth open in a silent scream, Elemental energies going haywire within the small living space.

                After what seemed to be an eternity to the shaman the pain subsided and there was an urgency. Get something done. Aid where you can. Heal. Some compulsion to get something done. As he lay there, trying to regain his wits about himself he realized who he could contact to see what he could do.

                He slowly pulled himself, making sure he was stable on his hooves before allowing his weight to rest. When he realized he wasn't going to collapse in pain once again, he first went to work on taming the elemental imbalance in his immediate area. With that completed he went to work on a letter.

                Walking around briskly to the nearest mailbox he noticed others recovering from whatever happened. But he needed to see if he could help, and the only person he could think of aiding was Jacob McSars. Because the Earth finally told him what was troubling it, and the result was terrifying.

                Deathwing.