Kora's Story : Taming Black and Gold

It was in the midst of the Feast of Winterveil, and the blood elf huntress stood, hand steady on the hilt of a worn blade, the best she could afford. Her green eyes watered in the icy cold, blinking away wind stung tears as she watched the grass waver and move across the Barrens.

There! She squinted, and the shape of the leopard she had been tracking resolved out from the wind torn shadows of grass and branch. It yawned, topaz eyes blinking briefly. Her breath slipped soundlessly from her mouth, even as her fingers clamped down on the blade, then went soft as the ears flicked towards the sound. She glanced again at her feet. The trap was set. She rose from an easy crouch and her eyes locked with the topaz ones of the beast.

The leopard roared and leapt, fangs bared and claws unsheathed. Kora flung herself backwards, hoping the trap would hold long enough for her to convince the golden furred feline that she was not attempting to kill it, but befriend it. The cat yowled its displeasure, and a bladed paw raked through her shoulder in a lucky strike. Blood sprayed across the frozen ground, and the cat hissed and raged. Her hand briefly touched her shoulder, coming away bloody and then she held it out to the feline, ignoring the gout that ran from her shoulder.

A chant older than herself and the race she came from flowed up and out, wrapping a chain of the spirit around both the huntress and the cat, both who stared into the other's eyes, both needing something that only the other could give. Time slowed, and the wind fell silent.

The trap shattered and Kora's voice faultered, breaking the enthrallment. The cat leapt for her, she dropped the blade and threw up a hand. The crack of a totem hitting ground dazed both huntress and cat as a large wolf threw itself between the two. Kora made a wordless sound of protest as the cat skidded to a stop, fur rising along its back and the growl that issued from the wolf froze Kora in her tracks.

She recognized the pendant that hung around the beast's neck and realized abruptly that the wolf was not a wolf, but a shaman. Lupine lips curled back and fangs bared as the shaman looked between the hunter and the great cat that hissed and spat. A voice flickered through her mind, and she tipped her head up, then down, an aproximation of a nod. She didn't take her eyes from the gold fur. A small part of her will was keeping the feline still.

Her trap dropped at her feet, and she settled into the easy half-crouch, took a breath and the chant rose again as the shaman stepped aside. The cat leapt, and the trap held. As her eyes blurred she heard the shaman snarl, but her soul was locked to the chant her mind twined with that of the cat, she could not look away. When a heavy hand landed on her shoulder she blinked, dazed and trembling. Her eyes jerked up with a flinch, and realized that the shaman had taken his natural form, and a large tauren stood over her, holding her blade out. Then the feline nudged her hip and she realized just how cold she really was as she stumbled. But it was done.

"Thank you, Chieftain. I could not have-"

"We are a clan. You only had to ask."

-Bloodriver Rocks because help is always there-

Fragments of the Past

The floor was hard, sticky, and slick with offal beneath her as she pushed painfully into a sitting position. She had a dim memory of being held in a magical stranglehold by... something and then being dropped. There was an even dimmer memory, barely there of a battle against ghostflame blue eyes, bone drakes filling the air, and a mount... A mount.... a ... She shook her head, she couldn't remember.

Come to me. You are made anew.

She blinked and struggled to her booted feet, plate scraping across stone, the gauntlet scraping up some of the guck that was on the floor as she levered herself to standing. A set of stairs and a being stood above her, looking away. Something inside her strained to run towards that being and kneel at its - his - feet. Another sense awoke as she realized there were others of her kind already around him. No sense in looking like a groveling fool like rank and file.

Where did that thought come from?

Ryvia, good. Look, my forces assemble.

She started slightly, hearing a name.... her name. She got snippets of memory, weilding a sharp steel blade from the back of.... something. A shadowed face woman welcoming her home, white hair streaming as she rode through the gates of... some place. It was cloudy and hard to focus, especially when that voice whispered again.

Go now, below with your blades, lay waste to anything in your path. In my name slaughter them all.

The hilt fit smoothly between her gauntleted fingers, as she re sheathed the blade. A scratched out shape on her armor glimmered like a silver crescent moon for an instant and she flinched away, almost ripping off the gauntlet. She shook her head sharply and looked up as the voice of her commander reached her ears.

A gnome commander... a wry smile stretched her lips briefly. She waded through the blood and hacked off limbs, not slipping as she stalked through spilled entrails and the heady scent of blood and death. Her body remembered how to move. That was all that mattered now. She stepped into the building and froze.

A Night Elf female, no an Argent Dawn member, knelt sobbing before the gnome. Her mouth locked into a grimace of pain as her hands again drew her blade. If she could just get the woman to look up the killing strike would be swift and true. The gnome stepped away, the woman stood up, and Ryvia froze. She knew that face, remembered taking sweets from that hand, and the cool, blessed water of Elune on her pains.

"There... There's no more time for me. I'm done for. Finish me off, Ryvia. Do it or they'll kill us both." She snapped, and Ryvia remembered that voice both gentle and harsh, telling her when her own mother had died. She forced herself to blink away tears.

"Do it, Ryvia! Put me out of my misery!"

Her entire body went into the blow, the move fluid and controlled as the blade whistled dully, already saturated in blood and the bitter cold of an icy rune's power wrapped around the killing edges. Her throat closed up and she turned away gagging slightly, the elf's head landing with a sodden thud as the rest of her body slipped sideways to rest on the floor. Her blade hung limply in her hand, streaming crimson blood onto the floor in a bleak series of plips into a puddle forming at her feet.

She turned away, met the eyes of her commander as she stepped from the building and silently trudged toward where her mount waited. She paused before mounting and carefully wiped the blood on the tabard of a crusader that lay dead nearby. Her gorge rose sharply when her mount lifted its head and she realized it had been ... grazing... on remains.

The next set of orders were taken and followed dully as her mind shivered and shuddered under the blow of what she had done. It had to be done. She knew that. She knew Yazmina meant what she said.

She surfaced a bit when the bones of a drake lifted her skyward with at least a thousand others. She was numb still, unfeeling, but her eyes lit on the Scarlet City and her lips peeled back in a true snarl as she realized that 'Mina would not have been here of her own will... the Crusade had forced her here and deserved to die.

As the drakes bore down on the city she carefully guided the giant monster at the crusaders. She bared her teeth, watching blast after blast of icy flames eat at the walls and set light to the Crusade like the perfect tallow candles they were. She swung the flying monstrosity around for another pass when again, her commander's voice brought her up short and forced her back to base.

She grimaced as she changed the bone drake for her mount, again grimacing as she realized it was gorging itself on things better left unthought about. She slipped into the saddle and pulled its head up, forcing it away from the pile of limbs. She rode with the remaining Knights through a pass and out onto a blighted plain.

As the all rode down onto the Chapel, she swore to herself that she would pull her blows and try and avoid as much of the killing as she could. Some of those that stood ready to defend Light's Hope were of Mina's Order. That would grant them safe passage in her eyes. Any Crusade that stood to defend on the other hand....

The battle was a blur and then the great Tirion Fordring himself stood, crippling Darion with a sheild. She watched quietly, eyeing the bodies of the dead and grimacing every time she spotted an Argent tabard. She trembled when HIS voice rolled over her again. It was instinctive, flinching away from pure evil.

She felt her mouth drop open when Tirion pushed the Lich back. She knew she wasn't the only one, but closed her mouth before anyone else noticed... wouldn't do any good to stare about like rank and file always did. She was an officer after all, only a Sargent, but still...

* * *

The gates of Stormwind rose above them. The new blade settled comfortably on her back, even though she desperately wished for a clean set of clothing she knew it would have to wait. She had to present herself to the King of Stormwind first. As they all pounded across the canals she deadened her ears to the taunts and jeers of the guard. She had proved herself in ways these pups never would. She had lived three thousand years already, their lifespans were over in a a mere 80 years.

As she thundered by, she noticed a child's toy falling from a girl's hand as she squashed herself against a wall to stay out of the way of the thundering hooves of what they all rode. It dropped into the canal. If she remembered the canals like she thought she did... a ramp should be to the left.

Ryvia didn't think, she just kicked her mount over the railing and into the water, knowing the beast could swim. She snagged the doll before it could become too waterlogged and nudged the animal back towards the ramp, shivering slightly as the now cold wind bit at her clean armor. She dropped the doll into the hands of the girl and then, much cleaner, rode for the Keep.

The acceptance was wary, but she remembered the way the humans had reacted to elven help in the past, and just sighed, leaving the keep as swiftly as possible. It would take the people a bit longer to realize that the Ebon Blade was not evil like those control ed by the Lich. Yet, now she was a warrior for the Blade, instead of a Warrior for Elune.

That chapter, she realized, was ended. Now only the Blade stood before her. The Blade and the sorrow of killing an old friend.

Rhok'delar, Longbow of the Ancient Keepers

Her fingers ached in the cold, making finding the trigger for the release of the crossbow stiff and slower than she should have been. The ache was a clean one though, without the taint of undeath and decay in the air. She was in Winterspring, and the moon glow over snow was less blinding than during the daylight, but still eye-watering. She was already tired, and jumping at shadows and sounds, even though she knew the land better than most hunters. She was exhausted. She'd covered Burning Steppes, Ungoro Crater and choked through swarms in Silithus, and all after assisting companions and bondmates in the hellish flames of the Core. And now she was walking through the mountain passes without so much as a mount to bide her company.

Tzia shook her head and stumbled in the snow, slipping to one knee and bowing her head for a moment. The wind whistled through the trees and unfamiliar familiar noises filtered out from the dark. If the task hadn't been set by Ancients, she would have quit long before now. Yet the cost, she'd not expected the cost to be as high. She was alone, truly and utterly alone, the way no hunter had been since before their tenth winter and the granting of a friend and companion in the guise of what others called a "pet".

Neither Ruka, nor Helki stood at her side. She had left all in the care of a stablemaster, and had walked alone into the unforgiving darkness. She was one that others had called a Beast Master, enjoying a deep bond with an animal companion that had chosen to work in tandem with her, forsaking its wild kin for a place beside her fires, food from her hands, and a willingness to protect in open combat all that the hunter held dear. Now, she stood without those bonds, safely confined in a trusted friend's stable as she alone faced down demons at the behest of Ancients from 10,000 years gone.

Pushing herself upright again, she took a breath and checked the action of the crossbow, resettling the bolt that had fallen to the snow when she stumbled. She bit her lip and looked up. The last of the demons was here, in Winterspring. One more and she could consider a rest.

She forced her mind back to thinking over the other three that had fallen to bolt and dagger by her hands, grimacing slightly as her left shoulder twinged. The black drake from behind had been a nasty suprise as she led the Burning Steppes Demon on a dance up and along a cliff edge. Though, she thought, with a muffled icy chuckle, dodging a Devilsaur in Ungoro, while avoiding the female demon's felhound had taken a bit of footwork too. Especially since a wrong step there would have brought a swarm of silithids boiling down on her head. The silithids made her think of the last she'd faced. She'd walked up to the gates of Ahn'Qiraj itself to track down that demon and had stumbled over scorpid aplenty. Now, thanks to a mage's skill with portals, she stood once more in the ice and snow, and the last demon she had to face waited ahead.

Movement caught her eye, she stilled, only a glance to the bolts hanging in a quiver at her side gave anything away as a tauren stalked through the snow. She almost lifted her hand to hail the fellow in greeting when the odd bit of bark strung round her neck flared and burned in a warning. That then, settled any doubt. The bark was a location beacon for the demons, gifted from the Ancients. It only reacted to the demons it was attuned to find, and this then, was the last.

Lifting the crossbow, her aim only faltered slightly as she released, the first bolt taking him in the shoulder instead of the heart. Her second struck true in the throat, and then she dropped the weapon, drawing daggers, slashing before leaping away to lead over snow crusted ground. The wicked slash of claws kept her agile and twisting away, hoping she remembered the bare stretch of ground, even in the dark.

Claws lashed out again and again, sometimes ringing off steel or tearing across her cloak as they tangled far too closely for her comfort, leaving thin black demon ichor in the snow along with bright claret splashes of her own blood. She danced and spun, dodged and struck, parried and ran; leading the demon on and on, dodging around bear, large cats and chimera. Then startling owls into flight as she thrashed and stumbled through the snow and brush, hoping that her last reserves would be enough. Finally, back to a cliff face, no where else to retreat she struck out, slashing and finally finding her mark. The last demon fell at her feet.

* * *

Later, standing weary before the Ancients again she felt a small sense of peace as a bow was pressed into her hands, formed from an ancient staff and the enchanted sinew of the black dragon's own daughter. The hunt for the demons was symbolized here, in an ever blooming branch that would serve as a reminder of just what strength she had, when everything else looked bleak, she'd found that she could depend on her own wits. That, was more valued than the token of respect, though she was grateful for the gift and bowed her head out of respect for the ancients that had sacrificed so much to keep the land whole. A small measure of peace had been won for them, and that was enough.

A Tabard

Tzia shifted slightly in the saddle, her mount snarling slightly as she picked up on her rider's unease. A comforting scratch of an ear around armor plating seemed to settle the large canine as it slowly stalked down the main street of Orgrimmar, the front gates looming up behind her. She knew her longtime friend was catching her worry, and tried to keep it suppressed. The frostwolf lashing out in a crowded street, trained or no, would be devastating to the reputation of the Horde and her Clan.

The creak of leather and the soft grunt from the Frostwolf met little notice as traders jostled around her, pressing close; and yet still wary of the shocking white wolf's maw. When a trader blundered into the flank of her mount with some piece of gear, the wolf snarled and a second sound suddenly cleared a bit more space. Tzia glanced down and stifled a quick grin as the large lavender feline that glided beside the wolf had made her presence loudly known. Tzia still kept one hand resting easily on the bow strapped to the side of her wolf, and her eyes tracked through the throngs of orc, troll, tauren, and goblin that were flooding the city for the Moon Festival. Her lip curled, she hated the crush of people more than Moka, her Frostwolf, did.

She was looking for a particular orc in the mass. He'd said the Drag near Gotri's Traveling Goods. She automatically flicked her gaze up, checking the heights out of habit, even though she was supposedly safe in the city, it never harmed any to be too careful. She found nothing but those going on about their business before a familiar voice hailed her.

"Tzia! Sister! As the Spirits exist! Thought you'd never get here." Korrig, her foster-brother called out, and she and Moka pivoted, moving as one to face the scarred orc, grinning so that her short tusks showed plainly as she took in the well loved face, barely pausing over the missing eye that she knew he'd lost to a Storm Pike Lance on his first raid.

"Korr. I made good time coming from the North. Where's that baleful runt you dare call a wolf hiding out?" She asked, slipping easily from the back of her companion. She and her brother embraced in the form of warriors, clasping one another's upper arms, face to face, making the other incapable of drawing a weapon.

"Ashre is lounging with Ogunaro, the kennel master. He'd even be willing to stable your runtling for a time." Korr stated releasing the taller troll and scratching Moka under the chin while Ruka stalked up to her hunter while glaring at the orc, tail lashing back and forth.

"Still haven't forgotten the time I stepped on your tail, eh catling?" Korr muttered, and bared his tusks when Ruka snarled, confirming his statement.

"She wouldn't. Why a calling, Korr? Where are Seb and Mavli? Shouldn't all of us be together if a Call was sent out?" Tzia asked, swiftly moving from greeting to business, especially since the missive she'd received had been signed by Korr and had made no metion of either of their other two brothers.

"I've met and talked with them already. They were close to home when Mother- " He paused and took a deep breath, grief and pride warring in his eyes. Tzia clenched her jaw, dreading what was coming, the look told her.

"She took a Storm Pike arrow through the throat, died a clean death. Took five of them with her off the bridge. We recovered her after the raid. Kemora tore the throat from three gryphons then slid off the bridge to join her. She won a victory for us that day."

"Lok'tar Ogar, Mother." Tzia said, turning away from her brother's outstretched hand to briefly bury her face in the comforting fur of her own mount, a pup of Kemora's. The nudge and rumble from Ruka did something to stem back the grief, so that she was able to turn back to her brother. She glanced down to realize he held a bundle in his hands and a lump formed in the back of her throat. She knew what that could be, and shook her head wordlessly.

"It was always meant to come to you. The Clan Elders made a foolish decision the day they denied you this. Kemora's own chose to carry you. You are a Blood Speaker. The tabard always passes from mother to daughter. Sons earn their own tabard by right. You earned yours the day you brought down a dwarf from the Ice Blood Tower. They refused to give you it because you were a girl. Mother couldn't give you this while alive. I found it among her things later. It was wrapped in your founding blanket. Wear it. The Elders will have to deal with you now in Council. You are a Frostwolf."

Tzia glanced down, the soft material of the blue and white tabard of the clan she'd always claimed kinship to now in her hands, a formal recognition of her status, the ability to have a voice before the Council now hers. Hers because her mother had died, and none of her three brothers could speak at the Elder's Council. That was the daughter's right. Sons spoke at War.

A single tear fell, and her hand moved to her arms belt, deftly freeing the buckle so that she could slip the material over her head. The tabard settled easily around her shoulders, and she gave a bitter smile in response to Korr's nod of approval. She would grieve the loss of her mother later. Now, now was the time to briefly celebrate how she had lived and died, as was a child's right.

Casavel & The Culling

The hand that brought the blade through its cleaning stroke was strange, pale gold kissed flesh with short stubby fingers, unlike her normal ones. She frowned briefly, then her head jerked up as the next wave of undead converged onto her small band of adventurers. The illusion that wrapped around her was forgotten as she once again faced a thing she knew how to kill.

Her lips peeled back in disgust and she looked to the right, dropped her shoulder and pulled her shield arm in close, half ducking behind the wall as ghoul claws clanged off the titansteel shield. She shoved back, a low sound slipping from between her teeth as she struggled to open enough space between the press of undead and the shield to bring her sword back to bear.

Another ghoul slammed against the shield, a full body contact that caused the vile corpse to begin smoking as the holy blessing in the metal reacted and flared gold. She snarled this time, her voice lost to the squeals and thrumming power of undead locked in combat with her group. Her lips shaped the one word she needed to gain herself space and the sound of a bell tolled, holy flame blooming from beneath her booted feet and pushing the undead away.

Her blade flicked around the shield, shearing off a clawed hand as the undead threw itself forward, probably thinking to kill her. She whirled as a chopped yell reached her ears, sword flashing a deadly arc and gutting a zombie that was in the inevitable path of the blade, she leapt back towards her companions and the throb of an old church bell once more filled the air as flame rolled from where she stood.

Lightning leapt from the shaman's hands tracing a potential path in the air as it ripped through three of the zombies. Casavel saw the brown eyes of the human before her widen and she turned, shield upthrust as the next wave of abominations and spider lords blocked them at the corner.

"Come, we must press on. Mal'Ganis will not wait."

Casavel flinched as the voice rolled over her. She had heard that voice much colder and deeper when she stood at the Wrath Gate. Only her loyalty to the Dragonflights kept her from running her blade through Arthas and doing the Infinite Flight's work for them. Arthas had to survive for the good of Azeroth. Chromie had stressed that before she wove her illusion over the group. Arthas could not die in Stratholme. And with the Infinite Flight again interfering in the time stream, Cas had agreed along with a group of other adventurers to keep history on course and cull the city along side Arthas.

For, without this culling, she would not exist. Chromie had been very blunt. Her race would not exist. She would not have been born. To keep the stream stable, she had to do this. She had also said something strange, that her own life wouldn't be the only one affected in a negative way, but that her decision would affect the entire Bronze Flight.

The jarring of her sword arm returned her thoughts once more to the fight at hand. She realized suddenly that she had been going through the motions, letting muscle memory do much of the work for her as Chromie's words had rolled through her head... her group thankfully had picked up any slowness on her part and the last shambling corpse had impaled himself onto her blade... apparently in an attempt to get at her, as she realized her blood was tracing a path over her breastplate.

"Look, up ahead. One of the dragons." She heard the murmur from one of the death knights in her party, and lifted her head. He was right. A bronze drake and an infinite were entangled in combat, the bronze drake being used to fuel the alternate portal. This she would not allow. She stepped forward, ignoring Arthas who could not see what she saw, and would not even realize she and her small group had slipped away from his side to help the bronze dragonflight.

Her lips shaped a word, and an ethereal copy of her shield, formed of holy power arrowed towards the head of the infinite drake. It snarled and roared, partially blinded and definitely angered by her interference. She braced herself for an impact and sucked in a breath as the drake slammed into the holy shield that had been woven into her armor. It blunted the impact of foul body and breath. Fire rolled from beneath her feet, and she heard the distant roar of her companions as they launched themselves at the drake.

When the carcass of the Infinite Drake lay cooling at her feet, she turned as a humming groan pricked along her shields. The bronze drake lay crumpled, wing snapped oddly and smoke rising from its gilded flesh. She stepped forward, knowing a gout of blackening dragon blood could burn through her armor and flesh instantly; yet she was honor bound to assist the drake in any way she could. Even if it was only a swift and merciful death.

The drake rasped in a breath, and lifted its head, and her eyes flared for a brief second, and the drake inclined its head.

< Young One, you honor me. May I assist you? >

"No, Wise One. My only wish is to help you." Casavel said softly, gauntletted hand resting lightly on her blade.

< A noble wish, Young Daystar. Our meeting was foretold. I have been waiting for a rider. You are she. Greetings to you, I am Aois. >

Cas stepped back as the wings suddenly became whole and the drake stood before her, one wing extended for ease of mounting. She inclined her head, palms pressed together. "It would be my honor, Aois."

< We will speak later, Young Daystar of the Blood Elves. Finish what Lord Nozdormu expects you to. I will be waiting. >

The drake shimmered from view, and Casavel turned back to her companions and nodded towards the trailing tail of Arthas' army. They hurriedly moved through the men and women, returning to Arthas' side at the head of the battle as the demon stepped into view.

Casavel leapt for the demon, even knowing exactly how this would end and her companions sprang with her. Some good had already come of her time in this wretched place, even if more evil would follow Arthas, and she would be returned to her own time and freed of the human illusion that hung over her entire group. That thought would carry her through this battle, and a gilded drake would carry her into the ones that came after.

Casavel : Story

Note: This story was written sometime last year for a writing course, which is why the WoW elements are very toned down. Just consider this the first installment... there is a second story brewing on the horizon.


Casavel
“I believe in my Prince. He is just! If we do not act now, our homes and families will be destroyed! So ride this day. Ride for our prince, our families. All depend on us.” The voice rang out over the surrounding knights, as horses shifted and whickered, those that sat in the saddles easily moving with their mounts. The waiting tension was getting into the men and into the horses. A hand gently moved down the arch of a silken neck, soothing a restless animal so that it would stand quiet, waiting, like its rider for the word that would set the mass loose upon the swarming army below them.

Casavel shifted in the saddle, peering out through the visor, watching the scuffling skitter of some of the individuals on the hillside across from them. Her lip twisted back, in a grimace of loathing. It had been breathed during the night, while she stood with the icy wind, keeping watch, that the men they faced today were not men, that the leader was more than man. It had been whispered for weeks. She snarled silently.

“I believe in my Prince. Gods protect you with my own blade.” She breathed, repeating part of her oath to her liege, what had set her feet on the path to this dawn. She had been honored that the Prince had even noticed her, but he had, and she was now on a horse, a Blood Knight for her people.

Shaking her head slightly to clear the memory from her mind, her eyes swung back to the red and gold standard that dipped towards the ground once, twice, thrice, then snapped upright again. Horses moved forward at a walk, in an easy line. Horses picking up pace, hooves drumming the ground and down the sides of the hill like an arrow loosed from a bow. The other army swarmed forward to meet them, swords oddly glint less in the morning sun, while armor winked and flashed from the charging knights.

Fingers curling, waiting for the down stride, so that the horses own motion helped to lift free the long blade, she drew breath with it, and was engulfed by the cloying mass. Sound sharp in her ears, a strange buzzing scream as a horse went down, and the clash of shield on shield. Men yelled and others screamed. Her own mount gathered, muscles bunched, and sailed clean over the downed knight, into the up thrust, thirsty, red marred spears.

Casavel hacked down, using the weight and momentum of the horse to add power to the swing, so that instead of just bouncing off the armor, it cleaved through it, splitting thin metal and opening up the throat beneath the guard to the seeking gleam of silver. Blood sprayed and misted, coating the blade and her gauntleted hand, as motion flowed out, her mount rearing, lashing forward with a hoof and backing three steps on its haunches, before crashing down on shield and spear, turning to the side. The sound of her screaming was lost in the clamor of men, horses, armor.

The stagger alerted her, and she threw herself free, as the horse crumpled, legs no longer supports, caving under its own weight. Her fall tucked the blade against her shoulder, rolling to the side, her helm coming free as she gained her feet, without shield, but still in possession of the long sword. She planted her feet, as her dark hair spilled free, showing the hordes in front of her that they faced a woman. Her eyes gleamed cold, clear green as she waited for the overwhelming rush. Three moved forward, all holding blood-caked blades, eyes glittering oddly blue flamed in the dawn. She had an instant to take her guard, and they closed in, blades hacking at her, forcing movement, which she took by throwing herself forward, knowing she was cut off.

One hand held the sword as she threw a handful of dust into the eyes of one with an axe, slowing and confusing him, so that when he swung, the axe buried itself into the thin leather armor of his companion to her left, instead of her own guts. She lashed out with a foot, knocking the blinded one off balance as he tried to yank his blade free and clear his eyes at the same time. Swift flash of bloodied silver ended the attempt as she turned to face the third of the trio, a shield coming to hand as she ducked and side-stepped the heavier claymore that the man bore.

The claymore gashed a furrow in the blood soaked land, and she lifted the shield in defense as he yanked his blade free and swung at her. She caught the weight on her shield arm, and slid left, deflecting much of the blow. She recognized the fighting style in that flash of the blade and stepped into it, ramming her shield arm into the down coming blade, sliding her own underneath, slicing open the leather and spilling entrails and copper blood onto the ground. Opening the sickening stench of death for her, she breathed in harshly, taking the smell with her forward steps.

She jerked back as two figures leaped towards her, teeth bared and short blades held in hand, wearing the same thin armor as their downed companions. An arrow took the one to her right, through the eye, sending a form tumbling like a starfish awash on the cresting blood red wave. The tip of her blade found the left, as his buried itself in her shield arm, just below the shoulder, slicing through chain mail and flesh, slicking the metal.

Then, between her ribs, from behind came the icy caress of a blade. She gasped, her eyes widening, and it slammed into her again, having found a chink in the mail. She gasped again as the blade withdrew and then slashed across her exposed throat, spraying blood into an arc in the air.

Her legs crumpled, the sword fell nerveless from her hand, and she heard again the words of her oath. “I believe…”

Casavel gasped as her lungs slowly flooded, breath whistling from her throat as her heart pumped out her life-blood onto crushed grass, escaping through the tears in her body, where a blade from behind had brought her down. She forced her mouth to shape the words again, “Gods protect you.”

Searching for Answers

A gust of cold air blew in with the next arriving zeplin from Kalimdor, causing the troll kneeling near the fire to shiver slightly and wrap her cloak tightly around her frame. She watched this group of adventurers pile off the zeplin and shook her head at their unbridled eagerness to get out there and kill things. They’d soon learn that it would take a little time to get used to the extreme cold of the region, and to take some precautions before they could rush out into it. Tzia had been helping the troll priests tend to some of the more severe frostbite victims earlier in the day. She knew some would be lucky to keep their tails, or even their legs.

Her mood brightened when a large yellow spotted cat wandered over to sniff at her. She smiled and gently patted the well fanged head of the leopard, a friendly exchange of one large predator to another. It rumbled a greeting to her, and she smiled while the cat’s companion, a female blood elf glared and stalked away.

Tzia sighed. Sometimes being a troll and working with blood elves proved to be more trouble than it was worth. She watched the woman lean back against the forge warmed wall, and nodded. Maybe that one would learn quicker than the others she’d seen. The woman was obviously chilled already, her garments not suited to a colder clime, which the Tundra certainly was. A rumbling yawn turned her attention back to her own companion as the large cat stretched, and shook itself to its feet.

The cat rubbed its head against her shoulder, careful of her large fangs; Tzia smiled and murmured a greeting to her companion. The large lavender cat rumbled a greeting in return, and settled down closer to the fire as the zeplin took off again. The cat’s tail tapped against one of the troll’s boots, signaling that she was bored of waiting and agitated.

“Easy Ruka. Just a bit longer.” Tzia murmured, scratching the large beast behind an ear. The cat leaned into the attention, nearly overbalancing the hunter. Its glowing eyes remained fixed on the empty space where the great air ship had been. The cat was better suited to this land than she was, but then what could she expect of a cat that the goblins called a Frostsaber Pridewatcher? The cat nudged her again, this time over-balancing her and knocking her to the floor to nuzzle into her hair.

Glancing around as the sound of hammer blows on wood reached her ears, she smiled. A large section of boards were being nailed up. She noted the Orcish script over the top, and chuckled. They’d finally gotten around to her suggestion of a message board. It had taken them long enough.

Riffling into her pack, she pulled out a flat piece of Silverpine evergreen that was no larger than her thumb and a carving knife. With a few deft strokes she cut her message into the wood and slipped a leather thong through the hole at the top. Adding a touch of the blue paint she kept in a small kodo bone vial, the message became readable. She tossed that vial back into her pack, and her fingers brushed against a black choker, with a strange white-black feather and a stone troll carving that was diffrent from any that she'd seen before in Azeroth or in the Outlands.

Her attention was fixed on the piece. She touched it gently again and remembered what the orc woman that had raised her had said. It had been wrapped in the blanket she'd been found in.

Her orc mother had raised her as one of her own. There had never been any question amongst her siblings, she had been Tzia Bloodspeaker, and anyone stupid enough to question it had had her brother's large fists to answer for it. Her brothers had taught her to be a fighter. Yet her heart had led her to the life of a hunter, and she had even studied briefly under a hunter taught by the mighty Vol'Jin himself.

Ruka rumbled and nudged her again. The message stick rolled from her hand and into the flames. She didn't bother leaping for it, it was beyond saving already. She shook her head and re-wrapped the choker. Nobody here at the base in the Tundra had recognized anything about the carving or the feather. She'd have to look elsewhere for answers.

Shouldering her pack, she nodded to her companion and they made their way though throngs of new adventures and those that were heading back towards the fire coming in from outside, spattered with freezing blood.

“Tzia!” A voice called from behind her, and she turned and greeted the troll shaman with a smile.

“Good to see you, old friend. Ruka is getting impatient. I thought we’d go out for a bit, help clear up a few Nerubians from the gates.” Tzia said as the lavender cat nudged against her legs, obviously trying to hurry the hunter closer to the sounds of battle.

“A good idea, for both of you. I have a request from our stable master, Wolfbrother. He’s wondering if you would mind venturing far enough out to bring down a rhino calf. The meat supplies are getting short right now.” Sam’na said, her expression darkening, as yet another load of explorers and adventures rushed by, jostling the shaman, and narrowly missing stepping on Ruka’s tail.

“The Warchief and others have more things to worry about, like Arthas, than if the mounts or our companions are getting meat in their bellies. And with the Nerubians at the gates, it’s a bit harder for hunting parties to get in and out.” Tzia reminded, accepting the task with a nod, and placing a soothing hand on Ruka’s head as the large predator snarled after the group of adventures. The shaman sighed and smiled gratefully.

“ I have to get back to helping with frostbite. Idiot explorers. Come here unprepared for the weather.” The shaman grumbled, and Tzia smiled again, this time wryly. They were into a summer period right now, but the temperatures still would dip well below freezing during the day, the grasses here were hardy, and could tolerate colder temperatures better than almost anything she’d seen before. That gave many of the newcomers a false sense of safety. They figured if the grass was around, it couldn’t be that cold out. Only her time in Winterspring with Ruka had given her some idea of what to expect in colder climates, and she had come prepared.

She gave Sam’na a parting wave and altered her course to instead take her out through the stables, just so she could confirm with the stable master how much meat he needed, and to see if one of his wolves wouldn’t mind a hunting expedition.

“Huntress, I see Sam’na caught up with you?” the burly orc asked, and Tzia nodded, having learned early to let him speak without interruption.

“Good, good. I need meat for our brothers and sisters. A bull rhino would be too much meat, as would a mother. But a calf has enough meat for two to three days without it freezing solid. These wolves will not eat cooked fare, unlike some of their more spoiled cousins.” He said, shooting a glare at Ruka, who snarled, clearly reading the insult by tone of voice.

“Will your wolves be willing to help with the hunt, and transport? There are enough Nerubian legs and sinew to fashion travois for the wolves to help haul the kill back to a more retrievable location.” Tzia said, glancing at the mounds of frozen bug like corpses that piled beyond the door.

Wolfbrother grunted and shook his head. Tzia restrained a sigh, and motioned instead to Ruka. The cat sat down in front of the orc, willing to wait, while her hunter walked out into the cold and unsheathed her axe. She selected her corpses with care, hacking off the limbs and skinning some of the fresher kills until she had enough limbs and skin to form what she wanted. She then returned inside and nodded to the cat, who got to its feet and followed her to the forge area.

In the heat of the forges, Tzia found a small un-occupied corner in which to thaw the leather and sinew so that she could work with it. Once it was flexible enough to work, Tzia braided together strips of sinew into several long ropes, and set them aside. She then pulled out an awl and a bone needle. She took already tallowed sinew, and pieced together the bits of nerubian hide she’d managed to aquire, fashioning three long open ended sheathes for the mess of legs she’d hacked off the corpses.

She then took the sinew rope and the pole sheathes back outside and looped the rope to her belt. Tying the legs together with strips of sinew so that the ends overlapped, she stuffed the make-shift poles into the sheathes and quickly sewed the ends shut, binding the legs into the hides. She then crossed the three poles into a triangle and tied it off with the rope.

Stalking back inside, she took a bucket of water from the nearby well, and sluiced the bottoms of the runner poles, which immediately slicked them over with ice. She then untied the rope and settled it into a harness. She sighed and whistled for Ruka, who came with a bound. She looked over and sighed.

“Sorry about this, baby girl. I was hoping for more than just us. But, as usual, its us against a rhino.” She said to the large predator, who curled its lip up to show more fang and rumbled in disgust, clearly understanding the hunter.

Tzia offered a chunk of mammoth to the lavender eyed feline, who quickly took the piece and bolted it down; reverting to old habit, for the cat had been birthed and raised in the cold clime of Winterspring. Tzia shivered slightly in the wind, then turned as the cat’s gaze went past her and fixed on something else. She turned, as Wolfbrother appeared leading a large beast. Her lips creased in a brief smile. He held the reins to her Brewfest Ram, Kartok.

“I figured this beast would be best suited.” He grunted and Tzia nodded, before glancing down at the beast’s giant hooves, which she knew would handle well on the ice and snow. She’d used Kartok before for moving large kills. He had the stamina and the strength to handle it.. She made a few quick adjustments to the rope, and fastened the travois to the back of the ram's saddle.

As the orc stepped back, grimacing at the beast, which was normally an alliance mount, Tzia swung up, and looked to her companion. Ruka set off at an easy trot, already moving comfortably through the chilled air. Kartok bleated once, then with her heels nudging into the beasts' sides, he ambled off after the cat.

Tzia slid from the back of her mount when the large feline crouched in the grass, tail lashing back and forth. She let the reins fall as she picked her bow from its compartment on the saddle and easily strung it. Approaching with caution, she peered through the grass, spotting the rhino calf that Ruka's attention was riveted to. She ran a hand through the cat's soft fur, then knocked an arrow.

At a sharp nod from her hunter, Ruka stalked off, slipping through the grass, blending in enough not to be spotted by the grazing rhinos or the calf. Tzia remained kneeling in the grass as she watched the large predator circle around, to get between the rest of the herd and the calf, so that Tzia would have a better shot. She supressed a rueful grin as Ruka leapt with a roar. The calf bolted, the herd scattered. Ruka chased, leaping for the throat of the large animal, yet not going for the kill, her claws raked the throat as her hunter's bow sang.

When the calf crashed to the ground, Tzia sighed, whistled Ruka off, and unsheathed her axe. She mentally judged the animal, remembering her time hunting Talbuk and Clefthoof, and brought the axe down along the flank, parting hair and flesh easily, and slicing through the fat layer to get at the good meat beneath. The hide was largely worthless, ripped and gouged from the fight, better for little more than scrap. She excised a sizeable portion and tossed it to her pet, who licked at it when it landed in the grass, then bolted chunks down raw.

"Those wolves are pampered and spoiled. Anything that can hunt this is not spoiled, eh my girl?" Tzia asked, and the cat rumbled its agreement.Tzia chuckled and turned to the task at hand.

She carefully cleaned her axe before returning it to its place, and laid the flap of skin and fat back into position before pulling the extra length of rope from her belt. She looped a portion of the rope around one limb, and then tied another around a second limb and fastened a simple harness. She glanced at Ruka who was meticulously cleaning her paws and motioned the cat forward.

Ruka willingly stepped into the harness, and waited while Tzia made a second harness and off set it enough so that the ram wouldn't trample herself or the cat while they pulled the kill onto the travois. She then clucked to Kartok, her hands guiding the reins and they lunged together repeatedly to get the calf moving along the cold ground and onto the bug leather contraption that had served the Tauren for centuries.

Once the calf was on the sled, Tzia freed Ruka from her harness and used the rope to lash the kill down, before reattatching the travois to Kartok and taking the reins. She nodded to Ruka, who fell to Kartok's heels as she led the way back to base, letting the ram plod along.

***

"Here, eat, eat. You earned it." Sam'na said, shoving a mamoth bone plate of rhino steak infront of the huntress. Tzia sighed, and took it, sipping carefully from a wooden bowl of sweet plum wine. Ruka snuggled closer to her hunter, almost lying on her feet, offering furry warmth against the chill. Tzia smiled. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard a yip and a snarl, and had to smother a chuckle when she realized her own wolf, Helki had just stolen a rhino rib bone from her frost wolf mount, Moka.

With Ruka at her feet, and her other companions settling in well enough, she wondered if this frozen land could actually be home for a while. After all, that was part of what she had come looking for, a home, and some answers to her past.