World of Warcraft®

In the days of the Third War.

Fear gripped Veronika harder with each step deeper into the ever darkening caves of the Red Mountains. Strength Talent. She thought, often calling herself by her family name.

You are a Talent. Strike hard. Strike fast. Strike often... The words of her father whispered in her mind. As the knot grew tense in her chest she repeated her father's last words to her.

Your Aim Be True.

It was a family motto, a solemn charge, and a father's blessing.

Before entering the caves the young would-be warrior removed her simple iron-scaled boots. She kept on the softer leather boot inserts. She figured that her long iron great sword would be too long and unwieldy in such confined spaces so she left the heavy item behind, stashed away along with her pack and boots, hidden beside a lonely tree near the cave entrance.

She wore a light iron-scaled leather jacket, leather pants, and thick leather gauntlets with the fingers cut out. Strapped to her back was a small wooden buckler rimmed with an iron band. Hanging by a leather frog on her right hip a simple but short copper sword. Every which item she had to 'acquired' along the way. This was all apart of her proving.

Near the mouth of the cave a spring bubbled up into a small pool. The water overflowed cascading down the rock face and gathered into a small stream that rapidly flowed deeper into the dark unknown, slowly wearing a shallow trough into the rock.

Veronika crouched alongside it. Her long wavy red hair fell around her face as thickly coiled locks, like so many dirty red snakes. Coupled with the mud she had caked on earlier that day the young would-be warrior presented a rather ghoulish appearance. All part of her plan. A little theatrics for when she engaged her target in combat. A little theatrics that might give her an edge. A little trick from daddy. Appear unhinged and few will want to challenge you.

She cupped the waters in a hand and drew a mouth full. Sweet waters. Exactly where the master said it would be.

She knew what she needed to do. She knew what came next. The task the master had laid before her was simple. Hunt the orc warlock. Kill the orc warlock. Return to the master with a trophy from the orc as proof. Last but not least, don't die and don't be taken.

The young and rather sinister looking woman stood in the near darkness, legs bent, center balanced, exactly as she had been trained. She began her descent into the bowels of darkness.

Strike hard. Strike fast. Strike often...but above all Strike First. Your Aim Be True.

Silent as she went.

These caves were home to a small band of orc numbering near fifty. Their leader, her target, was a particularly nasty warlock who liked to terrorize campsites, small villages, farm steadings. All fell victim to his vile experiments.

Sickness. Disease. Demons. All manner of ills cast upon the innocent and down trodden. Honest people just trying to survive and make their way through life.

That would all end today, or at least that was her goal.

The orc had been busy recruiting other like-minded green skins to his cause, apparently with some marginal success. Veronika had only entered the caves after several days of careful observation, and it would seem his numbers were swelling a little each day.

Now was her time to strike. Right now he would be too distracted. Comfortable. Confident. She could catch him off guard but she had to be silent and swift. Should any of the other orc discover her presence, her job would become impossible. Even more doubtful was if she would make it out alive.

With careful measured steps the brazen young woman crept along her stone path, one hand upon the damp cave walls, descending down into the depths. The sound of the rushing spring rivulet her only guide.

A head some distance the path eased its descent. Torchlight danced against stone outcroppings, casting all manner of eerie shadows down the corridor. Near the end it gradually opened wider and wider, splitting into two separate chambers. She paused to listen.

Voices echoed from the distant deep. Grave voices, grunting, growling and snarling. Orc speech. She detested its guttural utterance.

She stopped, sensing movement not too far ahead of her.

Light steadily grew brighter revealing a corridor previously hidden by the darkness. Two orc were approaching with torches in hand. A quick appraisal of her surroundings revealed a slight nook which receded far enough into the uneven cave wall to offer descent concealment.

Pulling loose the strap holding her shield in place she dropped the small wooden buckler to her feet, then pushed her sword behind her. Doing so would make her sword difficult to get to in a rush should she need it but she couldn't risk the copper blade glinting in the torchlight. With a bit of effort she pressed her back into the nook and flexed her elbows out to hold herself in place.

Slow, deep, even breaths kept her heart from racing. Her pulse slowed. She could hear every approaching step. The orc pair had turned the corner.

They were coming in her direction.

The old Night Elf made his way along the long stone path arching up toward the entrance to the Temple of Elune in Darnassus.

An ancient path, one which he had walked for centuries. Each time he would stop at the wide open archway and just linger for a moment. He never entered. The space was much too sacred to be defiled by his presence. His path was not that of Elune. He followed ...another.

Even still, he appreciated the priestesses and their sacrifice to make this world a better place. He respected Elune and all that she stood for, even if he did not venerate her.

The tall statue of the goddess graced the temple space with her presence, standing gracefully upon her pedestal in the middle of a natural spring fountain. The ambiance quiet. Peaceful. Dignified. Inhaling deeply the old Night Elf tilted his head back, eyes closed, and just stood at the doorway, alone.

The temple had a profoundly positive effect on him. It always had, even in his youth.

His eyes opened and fell upon a much younger Night Elf. She knelt beside the fountain, her head of long neatly braided white hair draped down her back like a thick rope. She stood after a time and clasped her hands behind her, then turned and almost intuitively caught his gaze watching her.

She smiled kindly and strolled toward to him, her long white robes swishing gently with each step. She stood near, just inside, maintaining a respectable distance. The ambient sunlight filtering in cast her with a faint glow.

She inclined her head. “Alah-darnana'dor, Shan'do Erfax.”

The old Night Elf returned the gesture. “Ishnu-alah, Thero'shan-Falore Snowen.”

The two conversed in their native Kaldorei tongue.

He smiled. “<It is good to see you again Snowen.>”

She returned the smile. “<Likewise honored teacher. What brings you to the temple?>”

“<Clearing my head as always before heading out.>” Erfax exhaled. His gaze fell distant. “<There is another.>” Snowen's smile faded.

“<You swore that you were finished.>” The priestess grew more concerned. “<An oath sworn to dedicate the remainder of your existance to peaceful communion with nature. To seek the way of the Druid.>”

Erfax pursed his lips and scowled at the distant statue of Elune over her shoulder. “<I know it.>” He confessed. “<The old one came to me.>”

The white haired Night Elf shifted her stance at his mention and scoffed.

“<Him again? Surfal, you know he is dangerous. He is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. You can not accept any word he presents as truth, you said so yourself.>”

Erfax grinned, giving her a sidelong glance. “<It has been too long since I have heard you call me that.>” Snowen looked at him confused. “Surfal.” (Beloved.) He muttered, answering her unasked question. She smiled and pulled back a little from embarrassment. He turned his gaze back to the far statue of the moon goddess. His expression turned grim as he scratched his chin.

“<It has been nearly a thousand years since we last spoke. Hundreds more since he last asked a favor of me.>” He grinned, recalling a memory. “<And if memory serves, the last name he presented me was your own>, Nor'dora-Serrar.”

Snowen grinned, and nostalgically exhaled.

“<Ah yes. At times, I do miss the old names.>” She considered Erfax. “<But those times have long passed for me, as so it should be for you. The path the old one walks breeds of nothing but strife, death, and sorrow. The so called sacred work wrought of his own hands have made him blind to his own bitter prejudice.>” She considered him gravely. “<Follow him, even this once, and you risk the same fate befalling you.>”

“<Long have I known the truth>, Surfal'dalah. <The path of the peaceful druid is one which I can not follow, nor can I follow you along the ways of the White Lady.>”

Erfax turned to Snowen. A faint tear forming in her eye. Words she had always dreaded hearing, he knew. Seeing her, he reached out a hand and lovingly cupped her cheek.

“<Know that I have tried so very hard for so very long. This is not something I do lightly. My fate is sealed. I can no longer deny it. The road I must travel is my own, and for better or worse it is indelibly entwined with his.>”

A thumb gently swiped the tear rolling down her cheek. His hand fell away. His tone turned hard. “<The Gorgon is chosen and the cycle begun a new. It can not be stopped.>”

Snowen swiftly regained her composure. She considered him again formally.

“Shan'do.” She inclined her head a little. “<Should she pass her trials, would she then be given a name?>”

The old Night Elf considered her a moment before answering flatly. “<Yes. As one was once given to you.>” He smiled at her fondly. “<I am glad you have decided to keep it>, Snowen.”

“<It is a beautiful name, full of meaning to me, and I owe you a great debt. All that I am I attribute to you.>” She inclined her head again. “<Elune be with you in all your journeys.>”

There was no longer any point in continuing the conversation. They both knew it. His mind had been made up long before they spoke and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him once he set his course. All she could do now was wish him well.

“Ishnu'alah, Surfal'dalah Snowen.”

He inclined his head to her. She returned the farewell.

“Ande'thoras'ethil, Shan'do Erfax.”

The pair parted ways.

Snowen returned to the fountain. Erfax departed from the temple doorway.

The wide stone landing opened up before him as he made his way toward the craftsmen' terrace. He would need to retrieve all of his gear for the journey ahead. Much needed repairs were being completed on his armor and weaponry. Work that he could have done himself, but he needed the time to reflect and visit with Snowen. He also did not mind supporting a fellow craftsman now and then. Even if it was just tedious maintenance.

The old elf's ears perked up as he walked, sensing a familiar presence. He decided to take a detour and stop at a small shrine, one of several nestled in odd corners or sitting along the paths throughout Darnassus. As he neared the small shrine he spotted a familiar robed human figure seated on a stone bench . The hood she wore over her head and the mask that covered her face did little to hide her identity and nature from him. The moment her clear green eyes caught his the old elf remembered her.

“Come to fetch me have you?” He spoke perfectly in the common human tongue. No hint of an accent.

“No one fetches the great Erfax.” She mocked. Her smooth soft tone masked over the layer of sarcasm in her reply.

“I'm merely here as a convenience.” She smoothed out the folds at her knees, crossing her legs casually beneath.

“The old one thought you would prefer the swift travel by mage to a lengthy sea voyage.”

Erfax folded his arms. His visage fell to a hawk-like glare.

“I have half a mind to refuse. The last time I took a mage portal I ended up further from my intended destination, and in the middle of hostile territory no less. A long sea-sick voyage seems very agreeable to the other.”

The hooded woman shrugged. Any expression she might have hidden behind her mask.

“The price you pay when I am forced to cut corners on a lengthy and complex summoning ritual. You of all people should understand that.”

“Hmm.” He glared at her. “Wait here then, and make your preparations Mage. I'll return when my business is complete.”

The mage nodded, folding her arms beneath her breasts and reclining slightly.

“My preparations were completed in advance. I am ready when you are, so please take what time you need.” Her back rested against a tree behind her and her eyes closed. “But please don't dawdle. I have pressing matters to tend elsewhere.”

Veronika held her breath.

She could feel the warmth of the torches on her face as the pair of orc passed in front of her. Neither of them appeared to notice her wedged into a nook. The mud caked on her face and armor seemed to do the trick, dulling her figure to diminish the chance of a reflecting light. Even a faint shine on an armor-scale can throw with a glimmer.

Torchlight dimmed as the pair moved farther up the cave corridor. It was safe to continue.

She mentally retraced her footsteps into the dark cave system, then thought back to the various maps and charts she had studied while trying to locate her orc target. The town of Lakeshire proved invaluable. Their archives held the most complete and accurate collection of maps, surveys, charts, graphs, deeds, and any other kind of record one could imagine about anything that had been done within or around the Red Mountains. Some of their record went back generations decades.

Those old deeds and maps were what interested Veronika most. She surmised that if her target were in the Red Mountains, as her mysterious benefactor had stated in his summons, then it would stand to reason that the orc would want to hide away. Someplace deep and alone. Such were the ways of their vile breed.

Filtering through the records she began to note a pattern. Several exploratory mines had been dug using existing cave systems as framework, and then promptly abandoned when they failed to produce. Banking on the hunch that he was hold up inside one such abandoned mine she put the layout of each to memory.

Now was the time for all that effort to pay off. She had a good idea where that unseen corridor headed, and that was the path she would take to her quarry.

Her plan set, she confidently stepped from her nook and turned sharply down her original path, headed for that hidden corridor. Her progress halted abruptly as she ran straight into something solid. A thick, hard, fleshy mass. Immediately a foul odor threatened to turn her stomach.

Shocked and confused she stepped back. Before her stood a dark hulking shape. She followed it up to a broad head with a wide jawline, a thick brow, and deeply set beady little eyes that stared right back at her.

ORC!

She froze.

What happened?
Where did he come from?

Within that beat between thoughts, the split hair defining between action and reaction, reality rushed back. Her mind cleared. Her focus sharpened.

Do or die.

With a swift glance and deft hands she snatched a rather crude looking knife from the front of the orc's belt. As the lumbering creature reached for her with open arms she shoved the short blade up under its chin and deep into its neck.

Its mouth closed. Its voice gargled. Warmth flowed over her hand and down her arm. The beast lurched forward. She tried to hold it up, to shove the hulking mass to one side or another, but it was just too much for her.

Shifting her stance didn't help. All she could do was buckle her knees and fall with the creature. The lifeless corpse fell atop her, and she laid beneath curled almost into a ball on her back. At least she could keep from being completely suffocated beneath its weight.

She tried one way and then another to shift its weight off, to try and shove herself out from beneath it, but it was no good. She was stuck.

Awkward. To say the least.

Her mind raced to find a solution in the darkness. Running into something unexpectedly, like this, was one of her worst fears. She had taken every conceivable precaution to try and prevent it, but it appears she may have missed something. It was foolish of her to step out of her hiding spot without first checking. She had been too confident, and it nearly cost her life. Lesson learned.

Now she had discovered a new fear. That of being trapped beneath the hulking corpse of one. It stank. More than she had anticipated. All she could do was to scramble to find a solution before another torch patrol of orc discovered her.

Veronika's ears peaked and paused. In the distance she heard the soft thudding of orc foot steps. Dim torch light was growing brighter. That same patrol was returning.

No. No. NO! She panicked and thrashed but gained no ground.

She paused, struggling to find her calm.
She can't panic now. Not now!. Think Nika! Think!

She had never killed an orc before.
She had never even been face to face with one.
They were much larger in person than she had thought.
This meant... that... to them... she was much smaller.

Atop her as it was, she must be fairly well hidden. That means she had an element of surprise.

Surprise.

She thought back to when she made eye contact with this now lifeless orc. It was confused. She had surprised it! The orc was just as shocked to see her there as she was of it. Add to that her gruesome muddy appearance and it was likely trying to figure out what she was, giving her ample time to react as she had.

A plan was taking form. A rather devious plan formed of necessity, and it just might work. Veronika fought back a slight grin, gathering her faculties. She needed to relax and focus if she was going to survive the next few moments.

Down the darkened cave corridor, the pair of torch carrying orc drew near. As their torch light illuminated a familiar form laying in their path they rushed to its aid.

Each halted on either side of the fallen orc' head and grunted. One shoved the body with its foot uttering something in their thick guttural swine speak. When the orc didn't respond the pair reached down and each seized an arm. With little effort they hoisted the body to its knees.

The torches, held aloft roughly behind the kneeling corpse, cast a thick shadow where he had laid. A dark form moved out from beneath the shadow. Its sudden appearance startled one of the orc. The fearsome visage of some creature bounded at the other orc. The startled orc watched as this creature stabbed his companion's chest, several times in quick succession.

Alarmed the startled orc dropped his torch as well as the arm of the corpse. He pulled free his own crude iron dagger from his belt, but it was too late. The creature growled with a hideous hiss and lunged.

Stunned as he was, the orc managed to grab a fist full of hair of the wily beast but as he raised his own dagger to strike at the thrashing dark form. A sharp pain pierced his own neck.

He choked.

The iron dagger in his hand clanged as it fell to the cave floor. He gurgled a final breath, and darkness fell.

Veronika stood among the three corpses.

The light of the two lit torches danced eerie silhouettes across the cave walls. Her vision focused as she gradually became aware of her surroundings. Her heart raced, threatening to beat a hole in her chest. Her pulse thumped in her ears drowning out the crackling torches. She gazed down at her hands. They were slick with blood. The whole of one arm was painted in the gore. The dagger thrusts. Looking down the front of her was much the same scene. She suddenly became aware of her heavy breathing and fought to regain control.

Move. She had to tell herself.

One of the orc had a skin loosely threaded together as a shirt. She wiped her hands clean as best she could and dropped the now blood bathed blade in favor of the other two. They were clean and gave a better grip.

Remembering that she had a copper sword she looked around briefly but could not find it. Must be beneath one of them. As she pulled and tugged on the thick limp corpses Veronika noticed her hands were trembling. A shockwave rumbled through her. She balled her fists and closed her eyes, fighting back a well of tears.

All her life growing up alone on the streets of Stormwind she'd had to fend for herself. She had become accustomed to the fight, the constant struggle to survive, and when it was necessary she had drawn her fair share of blood among the back alleys and dark corners. She had also had a fair share of her own blood spilt along the way. This was different. Never had she taken a life.

She knew she would be ending at least one life this day. There was no way to really prepare for it, though she tried to steel herself. Ending it. That is how she prefered to think on her task. She was ending the life of one so that others will survive. She was protecting the innocent, even avenging the victims of this evil orc warlock. Even still, watching the life drain from another being all over your hands. Even if it was a loathsome orc...

The young woman exhaled a strong steady breath, tightening every muscle in her body until the shock had passed. The blood from the three had beginning to pool at her feet. She had to move.

Her resolve renewed Veronika slid home the pair of iron daggers at her belt. Her copper sword would have to remain lost. She turned to find the hidden corridor. She snatched up a lit torch and tossed the other into the small stream of water that ran along the cave wall dowsing its flame and set off.

She raced along the path as it wound back and forth.

Small pocket rooms had been excavated long ago by prospectors looking to strike it rich. These rooms were now filled with what looked like supplies. Crates and barrels, likely foodstuffs and other provisions. She was on the right path.

The twisting corridor finally ended. It opened up to a wide mouth and a ledge overlooking a much larger chamber. She snuffed her torch and crawled to the ledge low on her knees and elbows. She carefully peeked over.

Bellow her sprawled a large room with high stalactite ceilings. A cavern. Torches in wall mounted iron sconces and tall iron candelabras illuminated the area well. It appeared to be largely a naturally formed cave. By the looks of it the prospectors had dug out and flattened large portions in the middle and along the walls to use the space as a hub of sorts. Veronika thought back to the old claim maps she had memorized. She realized the miners likely set up cots, cooking fires, and a supply store in this area; but that was long ago.

Now this area, this chamber, had been re-purposed by the orc warlock into some sort of base of operations.

A large table sat against the far wall, a myriad of random items and books covering its surface. Another table sat against the adjacent wall along with some chairs. Likely where much of his planning took place. A bookshelf sat next to it, filled with stacks of books and nicknacks to include various white skulls.

To the other side of the room, almost directly below the ledge where Veronika silently perched, was an alchemist set up. She had seen a few before in Stormwind, but not one quite so intricate. Glass vessels of all shapes and sizes sat above several lit burners bubbling colorful liquids around a twisting confusion of clear tubes. At the station stood one orc, donned in a long dark robe.

It was him.

It was her target. The one orc she had to end. To kill. The one who had spread so much fear and misery. Now was her chance to end it.

She hesitated. Could it have been so... easy?

Veronika gripped her dagger tight in one hand and carefully peered over the ledge. A sharp drop onto his back should do it. Plunge her dagger to sever his spine and it would all be over for him.

A strange noise distracted her. She dropped back and listened, eyes peeking just over the ledge.

It sounded like an animal. Something caged. It came from a direction she couldn't see. Perhaps inside a small room around an unseen corner. These caves were full of them.

She heard voices. Faint human voices whimpering and fearful. The orc grunted something in its slimy language and threw an item. It crashed hard against what sounded like a cage. Perhaps cages?

He has prisoners!

She hadn't counted on this. Their presence was an unforeseen complication. Now, of course, it was an obvious complication that she should have factored in. She would have to rescue them, of course, but they added more to her task.

Killing the warlock orc would be simple enough and it would eventually raise an alarm, especially if they got into a scuffle, which she was trying to avoid. Either way she could slip out in the confusion, but not the prisoners. She had no idea what condition they were in.

Could they run?
Could they fight?
Would she be forced to carry one?
What if he had children in there?

Veronika's face burned as she took a deep breath. She wanted to kill him now more than ever.

Hmph, she grunted in her head. Alright, Talent. One thing at a time.

More heavy foot padding echoed as a few orc entered the room. They didn't sound like they were in a hurry. She peeked over the ledge to the scene below her. Three other orc entered and conversed with the warlock. He appeared to be giving instructions.

One grunted to the other, the other grunted back. None of it made any sense but it didn't have to. All she needed was for another window to open. In the mean time she peered around the room noting the locations of barriers and obstacles like furnishings. Potential hazards like a weapon stands or a fiery brazier.

She had no intention on getting into a fist fight with the monster, but she need to be aware of her surroundings regardless.

No weapons stands. No brazier. Lots of furniture, but spaced well enough for ample movement, even with the other three orc present. The only intangible was directly below her. She knew the intricate alchemist station was there and that it extended off to the side, but more than that she couldn't tell.

She also had no idea where these prisoners were being kept. Were they being guarded by another unseen Orc? As the four below grunted back and forth she carefully rolled over onto her back, closed her eyes. She patiently listened, honing her senses. Adapting to her new environment.

Another plan began taking form as she played out various fight scenarios in her head.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Good good.” The orc warlock grunted in their orcish tongue.

“All is falling into its place then.” He smiled a wide black toothed grin back at his three lieutenants.

“Soon we will have the delivery of the supplies we need along with a few more specimen for my testing." The warlock rubbed his hair grisled chin.

"Once my formula is refined then we can begin.”

The tallest of the three grunted. “Introducing the fel-tainted toxin into the waters of Lakeshire might prove troublesome." The orc gave a sinister grin. "But once introduced the town's food supply will dry up. Their lake will become toxic long enough to weaken their position.”

The second spoke up with a chuckle. “Then all we have to do is sweep in and claim their town for ourselves.”

The third grunted with excitement. “When the key is introduced and the fel-tained reversed the lake will become pure again in time. Then we will control the red mountains."

"... and Stormwind will be within our grasp!” the warlock roared. “These are exciting times my brothers. Now go! Make sure nothing impedes that delivery. Our greatness arrives with it!”

The four slap each other on the shoulders and chuckle a deep menacing grunt. The three turn and move to exit the chamber. Their warlock mastermind resumes his work at the alchemist station.

"All that is needed is one more ingredient." The warlock stood tall with his hands on his hips, glaring down at the bubbling mixtures.

Once my beloved, He pauses the thought and corrects himself. Once my Hag pupil returns with what I require everything will be complete.

* * * * * * * * * *

Now.

Veronika quietly rolled onto her side and inched her way to the ledge. Peering over she spotted the warlock, all alone, directly below her. She shifted her weight, bringing her knees to her chest, and fell.

* * * * * * * * * *

The orc warlock carefully poured one brew into another.

It was a tedious process, but if done improperly the whole batch would be ruined. Not to mention the potency of the toxin at this stage was extremely deadly. Only a small amount absorbed through the skin was needed. Respiratory failure swiftly followed. Death followed the next agonizing minutes.

As he poured, a thin line of dirt and grime drifted down on him.

Odd.

He stopped and looked up. A dark mass fell upon him. It covered his head, face and shoulders jamming his neck back. Several stings pierced his back and shoulders. He stumbled backward struggling to get whatever this thing was off of him.

He howled in anger, grasped hold of something and flung whatever it was off of him and across the room. The dark mass slammed hard against the far stone wall then slumped to the floor.

His back and shoulders ached terribly. He reached back to feel and pulled forward a hand covered in his own blood. Rage burned. He glowered over at the thing that had attacked him.

A familiar figure began to take shape. It slowly stood on two legs. A human. A HUMAN! The room echoed with is howling laughter. After a moment he glared at the figure. His mouth full of blackened teeth bring to bare.

“FOOLISH HUMAN!” he roared.

“I will be the END of you!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Veronika stumbled to her feet. Her impact with the wall stunned her, but only for a moment. She was swiftly regaining her focus.

She knew she had stabbed him several times. Each missed his spine by inches. Some by several. He should be bleeding pretty badly, but she had no way of knowing how swiftly those blows would affect an orc, if at all. Bouncing off a stone wall didn't help her situation either. Though she was quickly recovering the world still spun and her head rang.

The orc grunted something at her. It howled and roared again.

Finally the world came back into focus. She locked gazes with him. The warlock charged. She'd dropped her daggers when she slammed against the wall, but she still had one more trick that might give her an edge.

The mud faced bloody woman with thick wild red snake-like locks of hair ducked under the monsters arm and began her evasion. It swung furiously at her, each time missing by a slim margin. She was smaller and by all accounts weaker, but much more agile. She swiftly danced around the creature as it lunged at her with arms wide trying to grasp hold.

She hopped up onto the table of random nik naks and ran across.

On either side of her belt buckle she had secured two iron loops. She pulled them free and slipped her fingers through each as she ran. Each ring fit perfectly in her clenched fist. An iron bar the thickness of a finger and the width of two ran across her knuckles.

Reaching the end of the table she doubled back quickly catching the charging warlock unprepared. The fearsome mud caked woman swung an ironbound fist with all her might, planting it squarely in the orcs face. She could feel the visceral crunch of the orc's nose as it caved in.

The charging mass of the orc proved too much however. The shock of the strike rippled up her arm and jolted her shoulder hard. Hot searing pain ripped through and she relaxed.

As the orc warlock tumbled forward to the floor she fell to her back on the table top.

Tears welled.

Surviving on the streets as an orphan, she had been beaten many times before. Getting into fights was a part of her childhood. Pain was no stranger. This pain however was on a whole new level for her. Her entire arm fell limp and numb. She grabbed at her shoulder with the other arm and rolled off the tabletop to her feet.

She blinked through the tears.

At the other end of the table the orc warlock coughed and spat. He grunting something in a low tone. Across the room a glint caught her eye. She quickly glanced to find one of the iron blades she had dropped. It was laying on the floor nearby. She moved to it and lifted the blade, gripping it tight in her one good hand.

The orc, still on his knees, shifted to face her. Hand to his face, peeking through spread fingers, a long trail of blood streamed down his arm and dripped small pools beneath him. He shook with anger. She could see in his eyes a burning fury rising from somewhere deep.

The pain must have been more than he could bare at that moment. She watched as his anger turned to a brief whimper as he clutched his face. He coughed and gurgled, spitting up thick red phlegm.

While he coughed Veronika blinked away the tears, gritted her teeth to bear her own pain, and charged.

She buried the blade hilt deep into the orcs neck. A large bloody hand seized hold of one leg and pulled it out from under her. Veronika feel to her seat and began kicking his hand loose. He sputtered something and then exhaled. His bulky mass finally going limp.

Something burned her leg beneath his grip. She pried her leg free. Whatever it was had bypassed the armor and was burning her flesh. The armor of her leg deteriorated before her eyes. The armor-scales chimed as they dropped one by one to the cave floor. The leather pant began to wilt and fade, becoming stiff and brittle. As she stood the leather began to crack and open.

She didn't have time to wonder. The grip in the hand of her injured arm was returning, though the arm itself was still useless and painful. More orc would be coming soon and she had to get out, but not before she found the warlock's prisoners.

With one hand she grabbed at the wide leather belt wrapped around the orc warlock's corpse and found a small pouch. Inside was a key and a strange looking purple crystal. The crystal she shoved into one of her own belt pouches. Key in hand she followed the natural bend along the wall to a small dark room.

Inside, barely visible in the darkness, stood two large iron cages. A ragged woman, barely covered with dirty torn linen remnants of clothing, came to the cage door. Hope filled her eyes as Veronika worked the cage lock open and unlatched the door. The woman wearily exited followed by an equally gaunt man, barely able to hold up his own weight.

She moved to the other cage.

It looked empty but for a lump at the center which appeared chained to the far end. She worked open the lock and latch. As the door swung open the lump moved. Small wings unfurled revealing a little red dragon. It stood on two large hind legs like a chicken with two smaller fore arms barely visible beneath its larger wings. It appeared quite young, likely still only a hatchling. A wide iron collar chafed at the still tender flesh of its neck and heavy chains prevented its escape.

“Leave the beast. Please. We need to go.” The ragged woman begged. Veronika couldn't.

"No animal deserves to be caged." Especially not like this. It was a plight with which she could well relate. Against further protests she stepped into the cage.

The small dragonkin looked up at her expectantly. “I've got you.” She muttered, and bent reaching for its collar. The tiny beast didn't move. When the collar fell off it spread its wings and gasped a screech. Doing so revealed that it too was emaciated and gaunt. Its flesh looked to be barely holding onto its own bones.

The sight filled her with tremendous sympathy, but those emotions weren't going to save them. She swallowed hard and fixed a steely gaze with the little creature. “I can't carry you whelp. Be brave and follow me.”

She was certain that it couldn't understand her words, but just maybe it would understand her meaning. Her emotions. Her intent. She stood and left the cage.