Planetfurry BBS

[Aslaug]

It could have ended there, with me bringing the still nameless night elf to safety, before going back to the troll encampment to get my friend off his rocky perch. No doubt, he'd have a thing or two to say to me once I got there, about my tardiness...but he'd simply have to cope.

Somehow, though, that would've been too easy.

I did bring the elf to safety with the rebel camp, and after healing him, I made sure to buy him some food from the quartermaster, to help him recover his strength once he woke up. He was still fast asleep, but he would be fine once he woke up. The humans at the camp promised to look after him and one of them even wrapped a blanket around the hunter...a small act of kindness which I found particularly touching.

I got back on my Talbuk and patted his neck, before heading off to find my old friend.

Suffice to say that was a pretty routine affair. It was early night before I got there, though, and what I found was an amazingly vitriolic dwarf who had suffered first through scorching heat, then through biting cold, all the while he had to endure the scorn of the trolls beneath who were taunting him to come down and hop into their cooking pots...

And of course, he'd run out of ale. I think he'd have forgiven me for all the other discomforts, but the lack of ale was something I had to apologize profusely for. Though at least he understood my reasons for being late once I explained the whole thing to him.

I got him to safety too.

By which time I was starting to consider setting myself up as a search-and-rescue business.

In any case, I found myself seated at a table in the tavern in Booty Bay late that night. It was close to midnight before I got there but I was too upbeat from all the combat that day to go to sleep. I was nursing a large mug of hot, mulled wine and hoping it would make me sleepy, when the door opened. Through it stepped a Blood Elf wearing the same tabbard as the undead priestess I had seen earlier the same day. She moved elegantly and she carried two long daggers at her hip. Her armour was of fairly good quality, too, if not spectacular. She had a couple of well crafted rings on her fingers and some gems lodged in her armour.

As a jewelcrafter, I could recognize the deliberate way their angles had been cut to channel potent energies. No doubt this elf was going to be a formidable opponent one day, though she clearly still needed a bit of training.

Nonetheless, it was her tabbard that interested me.

Again, I had to struggle to keep my natural loathing in check. Blood elves are, after all, the only creatures I detest more than the undead. But had I not been proven wrong in my generalizations earlier that same day?

I sipped my mulled wine, trying to drown out the noise and chatter of the room in general. Two tauren were having a drinking contest with an orc and losing badly...

A human paladin was trying to impress some young maiden with his ENORMOUS virtue...

...

I simply disregarded that one...

...

It seemed the most prudent thing to do.

Goblins and gnomes were having a loud and heated argument about the best way to make something blow up. I really didn't want to get involved in that discussion.

Instead, I scanned the room to locate the Blood Elf. I saw her seated across the room, talking to someone but unless I moved, I couldn't see who she was having a conversation with. However, I could venture a guess. Still, I wanted to be sure, so I simply swapped to the opposite side of the table. This also enabled me to look at the Blood Elf's table, without actually appearing to be constantly doing so.

As I suspected, she had sat down opposite the priestess. I wasn't in the least surprised to learn that the undead woman had made it back out of the ogre-mound. She seemed very confident going in there in the first place.

I couldn't understand what they were talking about. It sounded orcish...which is apparently the language of choice for the Horde. I am not an expert, obviously. But I saw the priestess extend a hand mostly made up of bare bone, pointing towards the Blood Elf's ears, before making a rather telling gesture.

They were talking about the incident at the ogre-mound! I was sure of it. Paying closer attention, I tried to figure out a few things from their gestures and body-language. It wasn't easy, obviously. Especially with the noise and bustle of the inn going on around me.

A second undead came in. This one was male, but he headed directly for that table. He sat down, placing a dented shield and an axe next to his chair. Even at this distance, even post-mortem and even with the leather X across the woman's face, the family resemblance was clear.

Siblings.

I could only wonder how they had both come to their unfortunate, horrible fate. They looked like they had died as young adults, though I admit my knowledge of human appearances is limited to 'bumps equals female, hairy faces equal males, wrinkles equals old...usually'

Otherwise they all look alike to me.

They seemed to be in reasonably good cheer. The male took something out of a good quality silk bag that he wore on his belt and showed it to the other two. There seemed to be a general consensus that whatever it was, was something impressive. Then they simply resumed talking and the male undead flagged down one of the waitresses.

He hacked and coughed an order of some sort, but at least the waitress seemed to understand what he wanted and she went off to get it. The gestures resumed.

The male didn't seem too impressed with the female's tale of rescue. He shook his head and looked weary, rather than upset. He waved a hand dismissively, like he couldn't relate to what she was saying. The two females...blood elf and undead alike...started talking agitatedly, apparently trying to explain something to him.

I don't know if it worked.

The two heavily inebriated tauren got up and walked over to my table, singing and dancing. They looked like they were in a fantastic mood, and while it was contagious, I really wanted to see what was going on behind them. One of them even tried to pull me out of my seat to dance with me.

I think he liked my horns and hooves...

After a few panicked moments, I think I managed to make it clear to him that I wasn't available. Shrugging, he simply started singing all the louder, grabbing a mug of ale from a tray as the waitress carried it by.

They just wouldn't move, and moving around them would make it very obvious that I was looking at that particular table...

I realized I wouldn't get any more glimpses, and I resigned myself to my mulled wine.

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After finishing my wine, the general mood of the tavern had become quite exhuberant, and I decided that while it was amusing, it was also a little too excessive for my tastes.

I decided to rent a room. I really needed some sleep, anyway. The goblin owner of the tavern gave me an extremely toothy grin as I paid his rather extreme fee for what I already knew would amount to an old bed in a messy room...

I just hoped I could sleep next to the bed without the oversized bedbugs trying to eat me. Laying down on a bed owned by a goblin in a place like Booty Bay seemed wrong on so many levels I wasn't even willing to consider it. Nonetheless, amidst many joyful carousers, I hauled myself up to the room I had rented.

Then I had to throw out the Paladin and the maiden who apparently HAD been impressed by his gigantic...virtue...

I told him what my hooves could do to his virtue if he didn't get a move on and he suddenly didn't seem to think the room was all that desirable anymore...nor the maiden for that matter.

As I laid down, my I hoped I could block out the noise from the party downstairs. It turned out not to be all that difficult. The floors are thick oak, and if I laid down behind the bed, after pushing it up against the door to make sure no more over-enthusiastic paladins invaded my privacy during the night, then the door formed a far more effective barrier against the sound than I had thought it would.

Sleep, however, did not bring much rest. I kept seeing the look on the night elf's face before he collapsed. He'd been terrified. Scared not for his life, but for his soul. And I remembered the look on the undead woman's face as she turned. She was so clearly aware, right from the beginning, that I was there. Even with my feeble attempt at getting her attention, I realized that was not what had brought her attention to me.

She had known I was there all along. Would she have acted differently if I hadn't seen her? Would she have killed the elf then?

I don't know. Why would one of the undead save a night elf? Not only was he an enemy of the horde, by default...but the socalled Forsaken are not supposed to have an ounce of pity in them.

I was tossing and turning in my sleep.

The leather X across that pale, necrotic face kept haunting me. I had to get a that empty bottle she'd given me to either Eanna or my little sister, Melanchta. Eanna would probably be the better choice, though. As an accomplished killer, she knew more about poisons than my sister would...

Eanna, for the record, is the Lunatic's sister...in case I forgot to explain that detail in the past. I may have, really. What's more, Eanna isn't a rogue...and she resents being called an assassin. She claims that it's too fancy. She usually introduces herself as a 'backstabber in good standing with the alliance' or something along those lines...

She's the bitterest woman I've ever met. Frankly, I can't blame her. But she's an exceptionally skilled poisoner, and she knows alchemy very well indeed.

Even in my sleep, I realized that was what I had to do. I forced myself to wake up, sitting upright, gasping for breath...

Only to look into a pair of pale, golden eyes, peering at me from the darkness. The window was still closed and the door was still shut and barred...yet there was someone in the room with me. I hurried upright, grasping for my weapon...but the figure in the darkness shook its head, slightly. Very slightly...

But enough to be noticed.

It said something...revealing itself to be female. The words sounded like she was singing. It was beautiful to listen to. Deceptively so, and I understood this was a Blood Elf. It felt as if the blood in my veins froze to ice, but what could I do? She had me at a distinct disadvantage.

She stepped out of the shadows and drew her daggers. For a moment, I really thought my end had come. I started summoning up a spell, but again she shook her head, before throwing the weapons at the door, off to the side. They burried themselves deeply in the wood...

She had me at her mercy...and now she had disarmed herself? Why?

I was very confused. I was also trying very hard not to show the instinctive loathing I felt even being this close to one of these magic-devourers.

She stepped up closer...looking at my face. Inspecting me, perhaps. I don't know. She was so close. I could smell her hair...the scent of the leather from her armour...her natural scent. It was almost intoxicating.

Shaking my head in absolute confusion, I shut my eyes and offered up a prayer to the spirits. I have never looked at another female in that way before, and I doubt I ever will again, but there was something almost magically enticing about her.

Something preternaturally beautiful. Everything was perfect. Her pale, almost luminescent skin, her hair, fairer than fair. Her golden eyes. Her lips...the arch of her cheekbones, the straight lines of her nose...

I wanted to scream at this point!!

And what made it all so awful was that I really don't think she was trying to be seductive.

She just...was.

I took a step backwards and filled my lungs with air, shaking her my head at her, briefly but firmly. She seemed to understand that something was wrong and she nodded and politely took a step back herself. Again, she said something in her own language. It sounded like she was asking me something...but I couldn't understand her.

I answered in Draenei. I hoped that would make her understand that I couldn't understand.

But right then, I wished I could. She wasn't hostile. She wanted to know something, and I wanted to answer her, if I could. For some reason, I wanted to answer this unbelievable creature...

I took a chance and pointed to her ears...then pretended to prolong my own ears like those of an elf. Then I ran my hands down my chest swiftly...straight down, hoping the charade for 'male' was the same to a blood elf as to a Draenei...

Her eyes almost lit up and she nodded, hurriedly. She wanted to know how the elf was doing...

This was getting stranger and stranger, but I put my hands together at my left cheek, pretending to sleep. After all, I'd left him asleep but recovering. Then I took out a bandage and showed it to her. She nodded, slowly...as I applied to her. She wasn't wounded, but I wanted to show her that I had bound the wounds of the male elf, and that I had done my best for him...

She seemed to understand, and to be satisfied with my answer. She looked relieved. I really didn't get this. For a moment, I wondered if I was actually still asleep, but it was all a bit too real.

I pointed to myself and said my name...slowly. She smiled crookedly, but didn't speak her name in return. That was alright really. She had no reason to trust me, after all...

After an awkward moment, where she simply stood there, observing me...she put down something on the table, before walking to the door and pulling her daggers from the wood. I looked to the table, for just a brief split second, but when I returned my eyes to the door to look for the elf, she had vanished.

Like she had never been there in the first place.

I went over to the table and picked up what she had left there. It was a piece of gold- and silver-smithing work of a quality I would have been proud of producing myself. It wasn't a large piece, but it was very beautiful. A tree...made from gold and silver...topped by an expertly cut green semi-precious stone. It was standing in what looked like water...made from a blue gemstone.

How fast had she made this? It would have taken me hours. The Night Elf capital of Darnassus is...basically a tree, standing in water.

I still don't really understand what she meant by that gift.

I didn't get much sleep the rest of the night, either. The next day, though, I left very early. I caught a gryphon and took off for Stormwind.

Eanna usually slinks around the shadows there, in the back alleys and the SI:7 headquarters.

I just needed to get her to tell me what the bottle contained, exactly...

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[Aslaug]

When I finally arrived in Stormwind, I had little initial idea of where I should start looking for Eanna. I don't normally go looking for her. She can be a nice enough person, but to be completely honest, she scares me. No matter how tragic her story is, she just scares me.

Reeth, her older sister, scares most people in that way, but by now I have come to some kind of quiet understanding of her predicament, and she no longer frightens me. I do pity her, though. Eanna, however, is keenly aware of her own actions and she still undertakes them. Not out of spite, not out of lunacy, but out of sheer, unbriddled rage.

I mean, what person would introduce herself as with the title "professional murderess and backstabber in good standing with the Alliance"? I've heard her do so. When the person she spoke to found it amusing and chuckled, she just looked at him, asking him if he thought she was jesting.

The more I travel Azeroth...the more of its native inhabitants that I meet...the more I understand how the impact of the last ten years of wars have devastated lives and fates everywhere.

Look at the Vanguard? Many of the members have lost their families. Loved ones. Homes.

I admire the races of Azeroth, for not giving up...I think most others would have, long ago.

Still, I had to find Eanna. Melanchta, my little sister, is a potion-maker as well but she knows nothing of poisons, so I had little choice. The apothecaries of the undead specialize in poisons and diseases and I wanted to make sure I got an expert opinion.

Somehow, I no longer thought the bottle had contained anything poisonous, but I had to be sure. It could be something really insidious that wouldn't work for days or weeks, and if that was the case, I'd need to go back to the rebel encampment and help find a cure for that elf.

I hopped off the gryphon at the Stormwind landing site, and looked around. Stormwind never struck me as much as a city as a major fortification where civilians just happened to live. But there were plenty of places to hide, and Eanna doesn't like the light of day much. She does, however, tend to hang out at SI:7 a lot. As far as I know, it grates the nerves of more than one of the spymasters, but she's earned her place there, I guess. Otherwise they wouldn't tolerate her at all.

As I walked through the crowded streets, I felt like the outsider I was. While I did see the occasional Draenei there, most inhabitants are human or dwarven. There are a few gnomes as well. I stood a head taller than the tallest human and the gnomes barely reached my knees. Quite a few civilians glared at me. Melanchta is better at this than I am. She'll turn around and happily ask such a person what he or she is looking at, and offer to demonstrate how digigrade legs works...she'll even explain why we have a need for a tail to keep our balance. Me? I feel self-conscious and uncomfortable when stared at by strangers.

Sighing, I turned down a narrow passage and crossed over a horribly over-crowded bridge. I wondered if it was market-day or something along those lines, but I didn't ask anyone. Finding Eanna in this throng would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack. At least I could sit on the needle by chance. If she wasn't at SI:7, or if they couldn't at least direct me to her, I might as well not bother.

Pushing my way past a group of young males, I overheard them growl something about 'space goats' to one another. I turned around and showed incisors, raising a mailed fist as if to strike the speaker down, and suddenly they were in an incredible hurry to be somewhere else...

I hate that expression.

Space Goat.

Do I look like someone who urinate all over myself to attract members of the opposite sex?

I find the term deeply offensive, and I consider myself justified in lashing out at anyone who uses it towards me. Shrugging my armor back into place, I sneered to myself and continued. SI:7's stout walls and tall tower was visible just up ahead and I headed up the stairs. Suddenly I found myself amongst the shadier personalities serving the alliance. I stuck out like a sore thumb here as well, but at least most of them were capable fighters and recognized me for what I was.

It was less unpleasant, at least.

I walked through the gates and across the courtyard. Two Night Elves were unsuccessfully trying to learn how to throw knives at a round target. An exasperated looking gnome seemed to be the teacher. I didn't feel like adding to the annoyance-level and I headed indoors to find someone to ask. The moment I entered, the bustle and commotion of Stormwind was left behind. SI:7 was quiet. A few people were moving about but there was no running and certainly no shouting to be heard. A human looked me over, from hooves to horns and back again.

"What does a Draenei want from SI:7?" he asked. His voice was inquisitive but not demeaning or unpleasant.

I looked at him, trying to gauge him as a person. It was nearly impossible. He was dressed in a non-descript black linen shirt and some dark leather pants, but he could have been just about any face in the crowd out there.

"I am looking for a comrade in arms," I answered, truthfully.

"Not a friend?"

"I don't think she does the friend-thing..."

The man nodded. Clearly, that description fit a lot of individuals around here. He beckoned for me to go on. I don't know Eanna's family name, but my guess is that there wouldn't be too many night elves around with that name. If nothing else, I could give a good physical description of her.

"Her name is Eanna," I started.

The man groaned audibly and nodded, before I could continue. "I see. That one. What do you want with her?"

Blinking at the sudden hostility in his voice, I shrugged lightly and tried to seem as inoffensive as possible. "I just want to ask her about something she happens to be an expert on."

"Messy killings?"

"Potions."

He nodded again and sighed. "She's downstairs, I think."

He left. I don't think I was all that welcome after that, but I can't say that bothered me. There were some stairs nearby leading downstairs, and I descended them.

It wasn't hard to find Eanna. Or more precisely, she found me. The basement was full of all sorts of boxes and barrels, and suddenly I found myself between two large stacks of crates, and with a dagger pressed lightly against my back.

"What are you doing down here, Vidayi?" the cold voice behind me said.

I tightened. Obviously I did. I didn't think Eanna was going to hurt me but as I said, she does make me nervous. One could never know. I tried to relax but it wasn't easy.

"I've come to ask for your help with something. I need to know what this bottle contained...exactly," I said, and slowly took out the bottle to show it to Eanna.

The dagger was removed from my back. I could hear the elf take a step backwards. I hadn't heard her come up behind me in the first place so I realized that she was showing me it was safe to turn around and face her. I did so, slowly.

"Could you put the pig-sticker away...?" I asked, pointing to the long blade in her hand.

She grinned from under the deep hood she'd taken to wearing lately. "Oh this? Come on, I use it for trimming weeds..." she teased.

"I'm a weed now?"

"Nahh...I have a mushroom patch over there in the corner. Ghost mushrooms...not that I really use them anymore. It's for sentimental reasons, I guess."

Nodding, I held out the bottle for her to take. She did. There was a tiny bit of liquid left at the bottom of the bottle and she sniffed it, carefully. She took some of it between two fingers and rubbed them together to feel the consistency, before finally tasting the tiniest bit of it.

She shrugged and handed me the bottle back again. "That's hardly a challenge. It's a healing potion. Nothing spectacular either, but the taste of liferoot is all pervasive. Why do you want to know what it is?"

"So there's no poison in there?"

"It kinda defeats the purpose of a healing potion, Vidayi..."

I chuckled, despite myself. I knew she had a point but I had to ask nonetheless. "I know. But I got this bottle under the strangest of circumstances."

"Stranger than you standing in the basement of SI:7 asking me what a healing potion is?" the Night Elf asked.

Nodding, I put the bottle away again. "A lot stranger," I said.

I had to explain the whole story to her, but the point was clear to me already.

The priestess had saved the male night elf's life. She'd done so despite being in a position of strength. He was wounded, alone and exhausted and she had him at her absolute mercy. She could have killed him in any number of ways, yet she had saved him for no apparent reason except that it was the right...and the decent...thing to do.

It was all there was to it. It flew in the face of everything I thought possible, but it was what had happened.

I had witnessed the decent dead.

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Just one story left to post. I might write more in time...not sure...

[Aslaug]

This is the last piece (so far) I've written about Vidayi and her thoughts and past. It's called 'to the bitterest end' and it is not exactly a happy story, so don't say you haven't been warned. It does tell the story of how she came to be who and what she is, though...

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I respect magic.

It is a living force in and of itself, and it is unwise not to pay proper respect to something that can shatter mountains or dry out the oceans.

But there are times when magic can be nothing but a curse. There are times where I wish I was immune to it. Or at least to the side effects of it. Particularly when it goes wrong.

Much as I respect magic...I also dread it. And yet, I use it.

Channelling the energies of the Spiritworld is simply one way of harnessing magical energies. Different from the holy powers of priests or paladins, farther still removed from the arcane energies of mages and almost diametrically opposed to the demonic machinations of warlocks.

But my kind of magic does deal with spirits...and spirits can be many things. Some spirits, like the great world spirit of the Earth Mother and the Elements, are vastly powerful entities...way beyond the comprehension of any mere mortal, no matter how strong. Others, like the tiny spirits inherent in pebbles or the freeflowing spirit inhabiting the wellspring of a small brook, are so small one has to really listen to hear them...

Yet they do have voices of their own, and each can teach you something, if you know what to listen for.

And then, of course, there are the ancestor-spirits. The dead who linger. The voices from the past. Loved ones...family members...long gone enemies.

They are all there. Many of them don't speak to the living any more. By far the majority in fact. Not because they can't, but because there's no reason to. Their families are long extinct, and all they knew is gone. To them, the comfort of the afterlife is enough. But some do speak to those who knows how.

The difference between a Shaman and a Necromancer dealing with the dead can be summed up in one single word.

Respect.

A shaman would never violate the dead. While we can ressurrect the recently deceased, we would never create undead. It is an abomination...a travesty against life.

Shamen understand that death is a natural part of the life cycle, and that it is not to be feared. No one fears death as much as the Necromancers, and that is why they fight so hard to control it, master it and stave it off...yet death always comes for them too in the end, and what awaits them in the hereafter is...

...

......

Well, let's just say I don't really know of words suitable to describe the kind of horror they suffer once they pass on, in any language except Draenei, and I fear my tongue would rot and fall out if I actually spoke them.

But the dead are there. Watching us from beyond the velvet shadow, often benevolently...sometimes in anger...always distanced and removed.

It is as it should be.

I have come to understand that. I have accepted my place in this world. But it was not always so. I have given out...tidbits. The occasional snippet of information, but I have never told how it all started. Not in any detail worth mentioning, at least. True, I have told people of the first time I met Harken, and I have told people that he died in my arms at the stairs of the Temple of Telhamat, but that is pretty much it. The level of details I have gone into.

I think it is about time I admitted the whole truth. To myself, as much as to anyone else.

Maybe it will help me. Maybe it will help heal a few bleeding wounds.

Just maybe.

I don't know to be honest. I really don't know if it will make any actual difference but I think it's the only fair thing to do. There are elements in this story I never told anyone before. Things even my own sister remains unaware of. A lot of...secrets...

Things I have never been ashamed of, but never wanted to share with others, for fear they would not understand.

I suppose it needs to be said that my family was well off, before the disasters that struck Draenor turned everything upside down. I was born into a life of comfort. Compared to many others, I suppose I had an easy life as a child. My younger sister Melanchta as well. My parents ran a successful business in a part of Draenor that no longer exists. I try not to think of it too much, but they traded in valuable commodities. Spices. Exotic food and furs. Luxury goods.

They were wealthy, and both my sister and I were considered good prospects for that reason. Me in particular, as I was the eldest. Couple that with the fact that my father was old-fashioned and believed in very traditional values when it came to the duties of children in relation to their families, and you have a recipe for severe heartache. He never cared much for Melanchta. She was the younger of two, and since she too had turned out female, there was no male heir to leave the family wealth to. Instead, my father began to concentrate on finding a proper match for me. One that he could groom and accept not only as his son-in-law, but his son, full stop. In that game, I was merely another commodity to be bartered off.

If anyone ever tells you that the Draenei can't be heartless, callous and cruel, I can tell you in absolute certainty that they can. All I have to do is remember his facial expression when he summoned me to tell me that he had finally decided upon my future husband. He looked...gleeful. Like he was happy to be rid of the needless expense of feeding me.

I didn't even protest at first. You have to understand...I was raised for this. I didn't understand that I was only so much meat in a butcher's shop to him. That what he was doing was cruel.

I knew that my prime reason for living was bearing children. Male children. I also knew that I was fortunate that my loving, caring father had managed to find a husband willing to marry me, since I knew...for an absolute fact...that I was unattractive, badly mannered and stupid.

These things I knew, because I had been raised to know them. I had managed to shield my sister from the worst of it, and besides, less had always been expected of her anyway. It made her life easier...something for which I am grateful. Nowadays, I would not wish what I had to accept on her head.

Somehow, she always had the ability to disconnect herself from the world. She smiled a lot, even then.

She was so beautiful, even as a child...and she still is. I was the dour, sullen, ugly one and she had all the charms and looks, and sadly, I had been born first and consequently I was the one that had to be married off to the right individual.

This too I knew...because I had been raised to know it.

It was not until my father told me that he intended to marry me off to one of his business partners...a male more than twice my age and five times my weight...that I realized something was wrong. I had met the individual in question a few times and he repulsed me to the point of nausea. When my father went on to explain my marital duties of childbearing, I understood that unless I wanted to lose what little dignity I had then...and my mind...I had to somehow stop this.

The problem was how to do so. There was no real way for me to say 'no' to my father.

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I knew I had to run.

I had to escape from this grizzly fate awaiting me. I didn't want to marry this horrible male, but what skills did I have that anyone could use? What skills did I have that I could use, for that matter? I had lived a sheltered life. A life where physical work had been scorned as something lesser creatures did.

The idea of actually breaking into a run and trying to escape that way immediately made me think 'undignified'. I had to actively remind myself that dignity was exactly what was on the line here, and the lesser of two evils was by far preferable.

Melanchta ended up being my rescuer. As I said, Father had never really cared much for her and she had been left to her own devices for much of our childhood. She had spent much of that time under open skies. She knew the lay of the land in a two-traveling-days radius around our home, and she was resourceful.

So three nights before I was to be shipped off to my husband-to-be, she came to my room late at night. I woke up, surprised to find her there and I was about to ask her what she was doing when she put a finger against my lips to shut me up. She then gave me some clothes. Comfortable, loosefitting clothes of sturdy quality rather than fancy fabrics. It took me only a split second to realize what she was about to do...and I did not question her.

I wanted to escape. Very badly.

And so I got dressed. We snuck out of the house and Melanctha led me away. We moved all through the rest of the night and didn't stop until the sun came up. Then we went to ground and hid in a small, well concealed cave. Melanchta had hidden provisions and some money there.

I was exhausted, but excited at the same time. This was the start of a new life for me, and Melanchta was literally my savior. I wanted to thank her but she wouldn't hear of it. She said I had kept Father off her back for so many years, at the cost of taking all of his unpleasantries onto myself, that this was the least she could do in return.

We both knew we would eventually have to go each our seperate ways. At that time, it was obvious that she was bound for a life in the wilds, and I had no real desire to go on great adventures except for this one. I had claimed my freedom, with the help of the only family member I could trust, but I would have to find my own hooves on which to stand...and I would have to do so fast.

I also knew I had to get as far away from my father as I could. If he found me, there'd be all kinds of horror to pay.

We hid in that cave for two days. Twice we heard search-parties come so close we could hear them talking to one another. They didn't find the tiny cave entrance, hidden as it was in the forest bed, under moss and leaves. It was comfortable enough inside. Easily large enough for Melanchta and me, but the entrance was very well hidden indeed.

After two days, we moved on. Under cover of darkness. And we escaped.

We traveled together for almost three weeks, before finally, we split up. By that time, we were so far away from home that Melanchta had no idea where we were anymore. But she was exuberant and overjoyed at being out on her first real adventure. I, on the other hand, wanted to find some kind of employment somewhere.

I found it with the inn-keeper I have mentioned in an earlier tale. He was in town to buy some items he needed, and he saw me counting out the last money I had. I think he instinctively realized I could use a break in life and he offered me a job on the spot. I happily accepted...but I did tell him I had no experience at the time. He said I'd learn quickly, and that the job wasn't difficult...just hard work.

I didn't mind hard work at that point, and I traveled with him to the plains of Nagrand and his inn. I worked hard. Very hard. In fact, harder than either the inn-keeper or his wife expected of me, but I would have felt bad about myself if I hadn't given them everything. They offered me a home when I was at the end of my tether, and they deserved nothing less than my best.

I got in shape, this way. I had been bred to be a thing to be married off, with soft skin and the physical conditioning of soft dough, but at the tavern, my arms hardened. My back ached for weeks, until the muscles began to tighten up. Whereas I had barely been able to balance a tray full of ale-mugs at first, I soon balanced one on the fingertips of each hand, weaving my way through a fully packed room.

The inn was placed...well...you might say a thousand miles from everywhere, although that would be an exaggeration. It was, however, far removed from civilization. But it was a popular stop-over for professional hunters and for hunting parties, and a few trade caravans made sure to stop by there as well. Some nights were completely packed. Some nights we didn't have a single guest. But it was never quiet for long at a time.

That is the short version of how it all started, but there is more to this tale. I could have ended up a career tavern-wench...if such a thing exists...if not for the providential visit of a hunting party, and my silly antics.

It was where I saw the love of my life the first time. I think I mentioned that too, at one point. I was resting after a long, hard day of work, with my hooves in the watering trough. When a voice then spoke to me and I looked up, I knew at once how I felt.

I've described Harken briefly. His purple eyes, his strong build and his gentle features. He fought with two swords and with tremendous skill and speed. He moved deftly and with great agility, turning his warcraft into a dance. His arms were thick and his chest was broad and he had crinkles around his eyes, deepening every time he smiled.

He often smiled.

He was pure safety in the flesh. Strong, wonderful...and all mine. I think we both knew that when first we looked at each other. He was the only person...of any race...who has ever made me feel beautiful. Like I too was desirable and worth having.

I wept when he left. He had stayed at the inn for three days but then he had to leave to help guard the hunting party on the way back to civilization. He promised to return soon, but I still wept. I wasn't sure if he would. I didn't know him that well yet, after all.

For ten days after he left, I did my work while walking around dazed. Then he returned. He had brought his guests to safety and immediately set out to return to the inn.

To me.

He couldn't stay long, but he had come back, like he had promised, and when he left again the next day, I wasn't worried. Now I knew he'd be back.

The inn-keeper and his wife were quite pleased with my romance. They told me so several times.

"He's a handsome one," they'd say. "You hang on to him, Vida. He'll make a good husband one day."

or

"He's bringing all his hunting parties this way. I never knew romance could generate so much business."

The latter was always said merrily. I knew they were genuinely happy that I had found someone special. But I had. Harken would bring me little souvenirs from his trips and explain all the strange things he had seen. The weird creatures and the great fights he had been in. Against fantastic creatures I had never seen, but only heard of in tall stories.

Somehow, I always believed Harken's stories though. They were far more realistic and better than those of travelers in tattered clothes, trying to impress everyone with how they once commanded legions. Harken always told stories of how bandits had tried to attack his hunting party or how wild beasts had turned out fiercer than anticipated. It always came across as realistic and his words always rang true in my ears.

They still do. I honestly don't think he lied to me a single time.

It could have continued like that. Draenei are not deathless, but we do grow to tremendous age. Nothing, however, is deathless. Not even the elves. The simply don't age past a certain point. That does not mean they are not susceptible to death. Violence, disease or poison may kill them off, and the same goes for my race. But a lot of time passed. Years. I don't know how many to be honest...but many. The inn-keeper often asked me Harken and I weren't going to get married. I think he wanted to host the event. He always got giddy whenever he asked, but I always had to tell him that while we were talking about it, we hadn't actually made the decision to go through with it.

We both wanted to, but we also wanted to be sure we had the money to pay for a place to live. Enough set aside so that we could raise children safely. Harken wanted to buy a herd of Talbuks and Elekks. The Elekks he wanted to train as mounts, the talbuks he'd sell for their meat. That would cost a small fortune. I set aside whatever tips I got at the tavern and Harken was saving up as much of his wages as he could, but he had expenses every time he took a new expedition out. He'd need to buy provisions, pay for repairs to his equipment and so on. He would leave the money he could spare with me, so he wouldn't suddenly get tempted to buy me something frivolous for it. It worked well. And our small savings grew steadily...but slowly.

I don't really know how many years this went on for, as I said. But it worked well, for everyone concerned.

Then the wars began...and everything changed.

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[Aslaug]

It began like all such things do, with rumors and hearsay.

And it ended as all wars do. In tears and anguish.

I will not waste your time recounting what happened during the wars as such. The stories are well known. Everyone on Azeroth has lived with war for long enough to understand the true nature of such things.

At the time, I did not know how to hold a weapon without harming myself. I had never worn any protective gear heavier than the mittens used to handle hot bread from the oven in the tavern kitchen. I had lived a peaceful life until this point. It was not to last.

Harken wanted to take me to safety. The inn-keeper and his wife allowed us to leave, but would not abandon their home themselves. I bade them a teary farewell, and sat out for my second escape. I promised them I would return one day and work for them again, as they had been so very kind to me. Circumstance would not have it so, but at the time, I did not know this yet.

None of us knew what terror the future would bring.

Harken and I joined up with a group of orcs leaving the plains, near the ancient crash-site of Osho'gun. It was ironic that my last escape across Draenor would take me past the very spot where my people had landed, only just over two centuries beforehand. The orcs weren't too keen on getting near the place, so we didn't get a closer look. Our traveling companions were of the brown-skinned, uncorrupted variety, and they were heading towards what is now known as Hellfire Peninsula. Then it was not the blasted landscape it is now. It was a beautiful place, with green grass and flowing streams. The orcs wanted to join their kin in the mountains where they thought they would be safe. Harken wanted to go to the Draenei Temple. It was easy to defend, he said.

Spirits, if only he had chosen to go directly to Shattrath.

If only...

But I followed him. I would go whereever he went. I would have died for him in the blink of an eye, and I did not question his purpose. He was so much stronger than I...so much more experienced in all things worldly, and I trusted him implicitly. And well I should. He would never voluntarily have placed me in danger.

Sadly, his good intentions were thwarted. We traveled towards the Peninsula, and made good speed. The orcs were good to us as well, sharing their tents readily with us. Harken helped hunt for the entire group in return. I came to know some of these orcs, and I saw the ways of the spirits in use for the first time.

I was fascinated...already then. This was not the bright magics of flame and ice that mages used, nor the lofty prayers of the Priesthood of the light. This was a deep, deep connection to a world I called my home. A reverence for the land and all that dwelled there.

It was respectful. It did not make demands.

The orcs did not force the cosmos to bend to their will. They did not alter reality or call down the divine forces of the Light to tackle all the little problems of everyday life. Instead, they communed with their ancestors and the spirits in water, plants and animals to seek answers. I found it beautiful. Beautiful and effective. The sick were cured, the wounded were tended to.

Even the flesh of the beasts we ate was treated with dignity and respect. The bones of the animals were used for tools or boning in tents, so as to let as little of the creatures go to waste. I asked a wizened old female why, once, and she explained to me that the beast had brought the greatest sacrifice for us to stay fed...and it would be disrespectful to it, not to use as much as possible. Anything left to rot was just needless waste.

I was deeply moved. I was still so young and so impressionable...and it made a tremendous impact with me.

We split up once we got to the peninsula. The orcs graciously gave us provisions for a few days travel on our own, and we started moving towards the temple while they moved towards the village in the mountains.

We would never see them again. The mountains they tried to reach tumbled away into the twisting nether when Draenor was sundered. I still weep for them. They were kind folk, unselfish and gracious to strangers.

But as of yet, this had not happened.

As of yet...we simply had to get to the temple...

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It would have been better if we never went there...but hindsight doesn't help anyone. And I admit...it is selfish of me to think that way. Harken did a lot of good there.

I mostly felt useless, though I tried to help as best I could.

What was more, I was shocked at the appearance of the peninsula. Blasted red earth, scorched plant-life. It was a wasteland...and yet, many individuals lived here.

We arrived only half a day before the mess really started. Not attacks...not yet, anyway. But refugees in large numbers. Whole villages uprooted, making their way to the nearest fortified place. Sometimes, a single straggler, so exhausted by wounds or travel that he or she could barely make it up the stairs. Everything in between as well.

When we got to the temple, the priests were worried and concerned, but determined to stay and see it through. After two days, most of them had realized that this was incredibly serious, and that they would likely need to evacuate the temple grounds. Most of them were in a state of shock at the prospect, but the refugees were often in need of help.

I had no magic, save that which comes natural to all Draenei, and while I tried to help...I could do so very little. A few priests and priestesses tried to help as well. Others were almost catatonic.

But those who did help were magnificent. They worked almost around the clock, and I know now that they undoubtedly saved many lives. Sadly, though, the temple grounds were starting to look like a dwarven tavern after someone shouts 'free ale'. The worst part of it all was that we didn't know what was going on, exactly. The tales the refugees told us were horrible...but often contradictory. Brown-skinned orcs told of 'humans'...creatures I had never seen...sacking their villages and slaughtering everyone in a blood-frenzy. I was deeply affected by this. The orcs of Nagrand had been kindly creatures of great wisdom, and I respected them deeply...

And now this?

Surely, these 'humans' were monsters! I had never seen one, and I didn't know any different.

That was who I was then. A simple girl...a tavern-wench whose world was narrow and limited to the immediate. What lay beneath the skin was just flesh and bone, not intentions, as far as I knew. What lay beyond the horizon did not exist. Like all who have lived sheltered lives, as I had before my flight to the tavern, my world was limited to my own understanding. I came to realize at the temple, just how little I knew, and I was ashamed of myself for it...

In truth, by this time, many orcs had long since been tainted. Most of their tribes had fallen under the sway of the Burning Legion by that time. I had simply...never seen it myself. I had been so unfathomably lucky to live in one of the few corners of Draenor that had not been twisted and turned into a waking nightmare. And I suppose I had been blind to it. Most of those who had lived there had not wanted to believe it. No one ever spoke of it, as if that would ward off the inevitable.

As I said...that which lay past the horizon did not exist. How utterly foolish of me.

The refugees, still growing in number, had to get to safety, though. I thought Harken might take them...and me...somewhere safer, but he preferred to stay and help hunt for food for them. I could see what he meant. Most of them had not managed to bring any food, and those who had, had brought far too little for a long journey. The temple guards, instead, were arranged into groups who completed the trek to the marshes in just under a day...like Harken and I had, going the other way. They would then double back and hurry back to the temple to take the next group, resting only long enough to refill their water-flasks and stock up on other provisions while the priests and priestesses cast all the restorative and invigorating magics they could, to keep exhaustion at bay.

I don't know how many they managed to get to safety. In truth, I don't know if a single one of those many refugees managed to get from the marshes to safety, but at the time, there was little or no fighting there, and I sometimes think I see a face I recognize from those days, in a crowd somewhere. Maybe in Shattrath...maybe in Telredor. I am not certain, to be honest, but I have to believe it. I need those days to have mattered.

They have to...

Otherwise, I can't bear the memories of frightened eyes on the faces of children who had lost everything. Even hope.

We didn't really know what was going on. There was no time to send out scouts apart from those hunters...Harken included...who tried to bring back food for the many still waiting at the temple. What they told us were stories of deserted hamlets and burnt down villages. They had seen corpses, too.

Of orcs, draenei...what they thought were humans...and of demons.

Then the rumbling began. At first we didn't know what it was.

We would learn...

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At first it felt like the precursor to an earthquake. Then it vanished again, as quickly as it had arrived. Over the next three days, however, we felt it again and again.

It was as if something was tugging at the world itself. Trying to tear itself loose, almost. A few of the orcish refugees, one of them clearly a shaman, were talking about how the soul of Draenor was suffering more intensely than they had ever seen or felt before. I was deeply worried by this. They looked so serious when they spoke about these things. Serious…afraid…bewildered. As if they didn't know how to stop whatever was going on, while still realizing that they had to stop it.

Harken was concerned as well. He feared the tremors would scare away the beasts he and the other hunters caught for food for the refugees at the temple. There were still so many there. So many who needed help and comfort. The guards still brought many to safety, but not fast enough. I think almost every village in the entire region eventually emptied and came to the temple for sanctuary.

Then disaster struck.

The guards who had so selflessly…so bravely escorted hundreds of innocent people to safety were late. At first, we thought they had simply taken a detour to avoid getting caught by a hostile patrol or something, but after three days…we knew something bad had happened. They had set out, twenty guards and almost one hundred and ten refugees, trying to get to the pass to the marshes…

Only two guards, both grievously wounded, managed to return. One of them had lost the use of his arm. Even the magic of the most skilled priests could not restore it to working condition. The other had lost an eye and most of his teeth. His face was mangled, yet he had led his wounded comrade to safety…all by himself.

They had been ambushed. The guards had sold their lives as dearly as possible, buying time for the refugees to escape.

None of us held any illusions about whether those refugees had managed to get to safety. Most of them, we all knew, had been caught and slaughtered. The perpetrators had been strangely mutated orcs. Horribly deformed, with bony protrusions from everywhere on their bodies. Far larger…far stronger than ordinary orcs. Far more vicious.

Bloodthirsty, murderous monsters…

The stories from my childhood about the Legion came back to me. All the tales we'd heard at the inn…tales we had always chosen to dismiss in our peaceful little corner of Draenor…

They were all true. All of them.

And things would only get worse. We could no longer escort the refugees to safety. There was no way of helping them now, except to have a few of them flown away at a time, using the few nether-drakes stationed at the temple with the guards. They could fly the refugees to Shattrath City, but none of their possessions, and…spirits…it took forever and ever. Four or five being flown out at a time? It would take weeks to empty the temple, and that was provided no more refugees arrived in the meantime.

The flow was slowing down, but it hadn't ended.

A few more drakes returned with those that had set out with the first batch of refugees. Five or six flew, non stop, to save the innocent. I'll never forget the bravery of those creatures. I'll never forget it, and I am proud and honoured to have later befriended one of these magnificent creatures. She now allows me to fly on her back, but…then, I was still just a tavern-wench, trying to make sense of the horrors taking place.

I helped with the children, mostly. I knew all kinds of stories…stories that had been told to me by my nanny when I was just a spoiled little girl, and now I told these same tales to frightened children, in desperate need of a little normalcy in their lives. But I could make so little difference. Harken told me that he thought I should go to safety, as well. That I should get on one of the drakes and go to Shattrath.

He would meet me there, later…

He said he would…but we both knew I could not leave him. We both knew I had to stay there, till the bitterest end. It was never said aloud, but it was understood between us. Nonetheless, he had to say what he did.

More days went by. Finally, there were no more refugees arriving. No more were getting through. The bones of Draenei, slaughtered during those horrible days, still crunch underhoof when I walk across the scorched earth of the Peninsula these days.

It is literally the sound of innocence, dead beneath my hooves.

It sickens me to think of it.

The drakes kept flying. One was shot down over the mountains…two others volunteered to take his place. And nowadays, these valiant creatures are being hunted for their scales. It makes me want to rip the eyes out of anyone wearing that kind of equipment. Those drakes saved hundreds of lives. They gave everything they had to give to help and we are wearing them as armour now. It is vile…and a crime.

Eventually, there were only a hundred or so refugees left at the temple. We thought…we might make it. That we could complete the evacuation. We hoped. We really hoped.

The next morning, the number was down to eighty. Then sixty…

I kept staying behind, because Harken insisted to be amongst the last to go, and I would not leave without him. I kept giving up my spot on the drakes for an old, sick passenger…or a husband, whose wife had escaped to safety days before.

The children were all gone by this time.

The rumblings began again. They were stronger this time. Stronger and longer lasting.

And then they arrived. The Fel Orcs…

It wasn't even an army. There were maybe sixty of them, but they were well armed and thirsty for blood. They were just a scouting party, sent to test the defences of the temple, but the temple had preciously few guards left. We had strong walls but no one to man them. Harken and his hunters grabbed their weapons and fired at the incoming enemies…and drove them off.

Once…twice.

There were seven or eight corpses on the ground after each volley…and we thought maybe these horrible creatures would go away for good and leave us alone. Night came and what few guards we had took double shifts to keep an eye on the surrounding areas. None of the orcs came close. We thought they had left.

Then the next morning, as the sun rose…arrows came over the walls. Four of our number fell, pierced by so many arrowshafts they looked like pincushions. Two of the remaining guards…two of Harken's hunters…

We all knew the orcs outside had received reinforcements. There had been hundreds of arrows in the air. Hundreds at the same time. Harken looked at me…begged me…begged me to leave with the drakes. To get to safety.

I would not. I was stubborn, and said I would not leave without him.

He was my whole life. How could I go anywhere without him now? He was about to answer when once again, the rumbling started.

This time...it did not stop for almost half an hour. We were dazed and confused by the end of it. Several buildings had collapsed. Of those of us still at the temple, half were wounded. Many had died in the ruins.

Just two drakes remained...the rest took off with what refugees they could haul out of there. None of us thought we'd ever see them again. They had already done more for us than anyone could have reasonably asked for.

I remember these drakes so vividly. I have never seen their particular kind since. They were luminous creatures...of silver and bright purple scales. Proud features and kind, wonderful, intelligent and gentle eyes.

I think their entire tribe was destroyed. Yet somehow, I dare to hope that maybe they linger somewhere else in the Twisting Nether, on a fragment of Draenor that survived, but drifted away on its own. A place for them to live and fly free, without fear or concern.

I dare to hope...because if I don't, I'd never stop crying for them.

Then the Fel Orcs came back. This time, there were many more of them. They had battering rams...long ladders...bows and plenty of arrows to spare.

Thick armor...and hatred aplenty...

We all knew this was the end. No one said it. Not one of us...but we all knew it. Less than forty Draenei and Orcs remained in the temple. The orcs were the first to go. They gave their lives first...fighting with maddening courage, like wolves guarding their cubs...to avenge the wrong done to their once-proud race. Not a single one of them survived. The shaman who had said that the spirit of Draenor was in agony looked at me before walking outside. He just nodded to me.

"Remember us," he said.

Just that.

"Remember us".

I swore to myself I would. I don't know how he died. If he took any of the Fel Orcs with him. If he simply walked to his death with dignity. He was old...with white hair and beard, and wizened eyes and facial features. His voice was gruff, but kindly. He had a slight stoop and he used a cane, although he wielded the power of the spirits so effortlessly.

The hunters...Harken amongst them...shot arrow after arrow, bolt after bolt, through windows and firing slits. They must have killed dozens...if not hundreds.

I dared look outside once. The ground was no longer visibly up the stairs to the main temple. You could have walked from the temple sanctum to the main gate, stepping on nothing but dead Fel Orcs.

And then...I finally broke down and wept. I don't know how I had staved it off for so long. I think I had somehow told myself I couldn't cry because there was too much to do. That someone had to smile...for the children...

But the children were all gone. And all that remained for those of us who were still there...was to die.

So I wept. Bitterly. I looked at Harken with tears flowing freely down my cheeks and he stepped back from his firing slit. He put his arms around me, this one, final time and held me safe. For a few brief seconds, I wasn't afraid...for just a few seconds, I forgot the noise of the battle and felt like nothing in the world could harm me.

"Don't cry, Vida," he said softly. "We'll see each other again, when the time comes. There is nothing to be afraid of. Life is one big adventure, and you were my greatest treasure. If you should get out of here...I want you to always remember that."

I hid my face against his chest. I was choking with tears, as I told him how I wanted to marry him. How I had wanted to bear his children...how I had wanted to grow old with him...

And he told me that as far as he was concerned...we were long since married...by love, under the guidance of the Light and before the Spirits of our ancestors. He would meet them, he said, with that in his heart.

Then he kissed me, one last time...stroked me gently by the hair and let me go.

I saw him draw his twin blades...his long, elegant swords...I saw him nodding to the few remaining defenders, who rallied around him.

He looked at me.

"Live for me, Vidayi," he said and smiled sadly. And then he was gone.

I tried to stumble after him, but I couldn't get my hooves to support me. And one of the priestesses held me back, saying I'd die if I went out there. I knew that. I hated that priestess at that moment...although later, I was grateful for her actions. If she had not stopped me, I could not have fulfilled Harken's last wish. I would have died.

At the time, we thought we were all going to die anyway. That any moment, the Fel Orcs would burst through the doors and butcher us all.

But they didn't...

Instead, the rumbling started yet again...far stronger than before. The temple walls began to crack...

Maybe ten minutes had passed since Harken had charged outside. I was terrified of going out there. Not because I'd die, but because I knew I might see him out there.

Dead...

No...

I couldn't bear the thought...but the walls were coming down and the roof with it and I had to get outside. I stumbled through the doors...

And stopped...at the sight of the most unbelievable carnage. Not a building was left intact. There was blood everywhere. Groans of dying Fel Orcs filled the air...

And he was there...Harken...dead, amidst a group of five Fel Orcs. His blades embedded in the largest one of them, run through up to the hilts. But I barely noticed that. I ran to him...fell to my knees, craddling him in my arms and screaming out my pain and misery.

Yes...I screamed. All I held dear was there in my arms, and it was gone. I could never have it back. All my dreams for the future...all my hopes were gone.

Gone.

I wept. I begged him to come back to me. I clung to him, cried and raved. How could this happen? I was just a tavern wench! A simple, stupid little girl who had run away from home to escape a fate I wasn't willing to face, and I had come to find happiness and love...and now I had lost it all. Everything was falling apart for me.

And around me, Draenor was tearing itself open. Long cracks opened in the ground. Clouds of steam and gas erupted. Rocks were dislodging themselves from the mountain sides in which the temple was nestled, and all was coming to pieces...

And I didn't care. All I wanted...was for Harken to open his eyes and smile. I wanted him to say it was all going to be alright. That it was all a bad dream...

"Little one...will you perish here, or honour his last request?" a gentle voice asked behind me.

I couldn't answer. At least not out loud. I looked up and behind me and saw one of the last two drakes. He was looking at me with those warm, kindly eyes of his, and he repeated his question.

I still did not answer. I think my eyes told him how I felt. That for all my pain, I could never...ever dishonour Harken's last wish.

Even if it meant living on in eternal pain, I would live on...for him.

But how could I? The world was ripping itself open. I would be dead in a few minutes anyway, wouldn't I?

The drake gently helped me stand up. Then it reached down and took Harken's necklace off of him and gave it to me. It was a simple thing, made from the claws of beasts he had shot. Nothing magical about it...nothing magical except it had been made with his hands.

Then...the drake lifted me onto his back and carried me off.

As we rose into the air, I saw the other remaining drake, picking up the few still surviving priests and making off for the safety with them.

They never made it...

I wouldn't have either...but something happened to me during that flight. We were all headed towards Shattrath City. However, while Shattrath City would survive the cataclysm that followed, the route there was blocked by Fel Orc armies and we would have been shot down.

I don't know what made me think as I did. I don't know what made me remember...but I did remember, and that is what matters. Maybe it was the old shaman's words, to remember them. Maybe it was Harken's request for me to live on for him. Whatever the reason, I remembered that I had looked at the Osho'gun crystal as I had set out on my last journey, to the temple. And I remembered what the crystal hid.

"The ships..." I told the drake. "The ships. Please, take me to the ships..."

He turned in the air, without a word.

And I fell asleep at last, right there on his back. When I awoke, he was nowhere in sight. I will never allow myself to forget his gentle words to snap me from my agony, amidst the falling ruble and corpses in the temple courtyard, and I pray that he found peace, either in life or death. He saved my life...

Unselfishly...

When I opened my eyes, my sister was there. I hadn't seen Melanctha in years. Not since my escape from home. She didn't speak. She was still as beautiful as when I had last seen her. She stroked my cheek, without a word...and I realized I was resting in what looked like a purplish glass coccoon, still left open.

I didn't know what to tell her. With all I had seen, what could I have said? She had probably seen things as terrible as me. Then she leaned down and kissed my forehead...and the coccoon closed.

I wasn't afraid. I just wanted to rest. Around me, I scarcely realized that hundreds of other such coccoons were visible. I only dimly noticed that Melanchta got into a coccoon next to mine, and that this too was closed.

Then I slept.

I slept for so very, very long...

I dreamt of Harken...and of Nagrand, and of happy days of sunshine and laughter. I dreamt of the inn-keeper and his wife, sweet, generous folk as they were. I dreamt of love...and hope...

It was the best and most restful sleep I ever enjoyed.

And finally, I opened my eyes again...

It took me hours to get used to being awake. But I realized that many coccoons around me were shattered. That my own coccoon was hanging at a very strange angle, apparently from the roof...

When I managed to open it, I fell to the floor...coughing up fluids.

A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up at a male Draenei I had never seen before in my life. He looked very concerned.

"We thought you were dead, Vidayi..." he said, softly. "We lost so many in the crash."

More death. More loss...

Something inside me first bent...

...then snapped and shattered...

...then hardened to steel.

I took two deep breaths and stood up straight. I looked straight at him. It did not matter how he knew my name. It did not matter where I was. It did not even matter why we had crashed...

The old Shaman had asked me to remember him and his people. Harken had told me to live for him.

That was all that mattered now.

"Remember us..."

"Live for me, Vidayi..."

I looked down, taking one more deep breath to steady myself. Then I looked back at the unknown Draenei next to me.

The tavern wench died...

"I must learn the ways of the spirits. I must know the elements...as my friends. As my family," I said.

The unknown male nodded and pointed towards a ramshackle building maybe a hundred paces away. He stepped aside, respectfully. Something in my voice, it seems, made him realize that I did not say this lightly.

"Then I greet you, Shaman. You will find teachers and equipment yonder..."

I started walking...

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Well, that's it for the time being. If I do write more I'll post it...

[Teric]

Hot DANG, Aslaug. You have brought the worlds of Draenor and Azeroth back to me, so vividly, so full of life and sorrow.

My character, Tholias, also chose to befriend the Nether Drakes instead of hunting them. I'll never regret that choice. They are elegant, powerful, noble creatures, who give without thought of reward.

You continue to live up to your reputation as an excellent storyteller, bringing this reader into fantastic, living worlds.

[Kristie_Kitty]

Wheee... Oriannia, the craziest pally the bloodelfs have ever known. Friends of all those who serve the light and enemies of those who bring harm upon others.

Oriannia charges into impossible odds battles to live for the rush, emerging with nothing but afew cuts. Loves her spiked shield, retrebution aura and her knacking ability to go crazy when faced up against more than one foe.