For The Horde

She was very unsure what had brought her to the Barrens. She had heard a group of people talking about it in Brill. And she was mostly just curious about the Orc clans. On the zeppelin ride over she realized she knew more of Sylvanas's story than that of Thrall's. She knew that he was a very strong and valliant warrior, and that his people would defend him to their last breath. She also knew he was an extremely considerate ally: choosing to unite with her people even though he had little reason to trust them.

The dust settled on her skin, the grass nearly piercing the exposed flesh of her middriff. She felt insecure in this new armor she had mostly been given as reward for completing various missions around Eversong. But she was grateful to be free of wool in this hot climate. Beads of sweat had already formed on the back of her neck.

The Barrens were dusty, empty, filled with strange aggressive creatures. She talked to a few of the citizens at Crossroads, recieving her first duties. There were several more people there than she had seen around Eversong. She realize just how lonely she had been on her travels now.

A gruff orc stood beside her, recieving a similar task to kill centaurs. He looked at her, his features hard, his skin tough. She had never seen such a war-torn creature in her life.

"What are you staring out, elf?" He bit out.
"Um," she trembled with nerves then. "Would you help me kill these centaurs...I'm not sure where they are."

He huffed, walking away then. She stood there, unsure, holding the folded up parchment with the instructions scrawled out on it.

He stopped in the middle of the road, and shouted back at her: "Are you coming, elf?!"

She skipped along to catch up.

For several days they accompanied each other. It made things much easier having such a strong battle ready friend along. He could take quite a beating, which contrasted nicely with her frailties. She could stand back and focus on calling forth her spells in precise orders. The two of them hardly spoke words, unless something dire was about to happen.

One evening she awoke, sore and in pain from her journeys, in the inn at Ratchet. She ventured out onto the balcony, to find him there smoking from a hookah. He nodded at her, acknowledging her presence.

She started to babble something about it being a nice night, or some other such pleasantry, but was distracted by a book she noticed on the table. She quietly picked it up, reading its contents. She looked up at the orc in disbelief.

"Your kind is also addicted to magic? To fel magics?" She asked, bright eyed, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

He only huffed a quiet reply, nodding.

"But it is not our fault," He claimed. "It was fed to us, this demon blood."

She felt the arcane in her pulsating suddenly as her body recalled the feeling of a blissful mana tap. She closed her eyes, keeping it at bay. She suddenly felt very connected to this orc, as if the two of them shared the deep secrets of power between them. How strange, that she should feel this tenderness toward a battle hardened orc, covered in scars.

She sat down before the orc then, touching his hand. "I am sorry." She said.

"Don't be sorry, little one," His blood red eyes softened. She smiled up at him.

She now felt an even deeper connection to the people of Thrall, the tough race quietly trying to keep the legion at bay. Her sympathies for their kind felt as rooted into her blood as the sympathies she felt for the wretched.

They sat on the balcony, talking until early morning. And before she retired to bed, she had decided that this Orc had as much, if not more, to teach her of the world than Cendari. She took out her small journal before she drifted off to sleep, writing down her second life lesson - Survival takes more than spells.