The time was drawing very near.
Daesalliss could feel rifts being opened between the Twisting Nether and the physical plane being opened at a pace much more rapid than he had experienced in his thousands of years within this torrid existence. Even Gul'dan didn't manage to summon as many soldiers as was being brought through the portals at present.
He searched within his field of vision for a battle nearest to the frozen lands of Northrend, which housed the majority of energy expenditure from the undead. Indeed, even the nether itself was known to quiver at the exhaustion of so much movement.
At last a field of vision opened up, a battle on the grasslands around the base of the mountains of Northrend. A small human force was battling for its survival, backed by elven archers, and some swordsman at that. Daesalliss looked on in wonderment at this new breed of High Elves that held their own with a broadsword amidst the strong human forces. A current of anguish ran through him, which he struggled to push down at the thought of how long he had been here. The years numbered in the thousands. Thousands of years stuck in this hellish nightmare.
He regained focus on the battle. One elf in particular caught his eye, riding a great steed and wielding a fairly large sword. This elf, apparently named "Azra" did not appear ready to fall in battle, but Daesalliss hoped against hope. Surely this body was meant to be the one he would inhabit.
The battle was a vicious and long winded one at that. Even for a force so small, the humans seemed to hold their ground. The night sky shrieked with the screams of the dying, blood cascading into the stream beside the grassland. The conditions were perfect for Daesallisss exodus.