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Ketyru walked away, more than a little concerned about leaving Khromie and the Dwarf together, but mostly stinging from the Human's remarks about Orcs. Her chin drifted towards her collarbone, a pose that now ached more than it soothed. It had been years since she had hung her head in shame.
What troubles you, daughter of my son?
Ket recoiled at the inaudible whisper, drawing the concerned look of a nearby guard. The heavy tread of her boots echoed as she entered the Forlorn Cavern, but they could not drown out the whispers of the dead.
What do Humans know? Do not let his words bite so, granddaughter. Humans, they enslaved and murder and destroy wantonly. They--
"Be silent, Azati." Ketyru hissed into the shadows. "I have heard your speech. I do not wish to hear it repeated."
The grating voice in her head went silent, as Ketyru could feel the Orc woman's presence withdraw. She shook herself mentally, squinting as she exited the Cavern.
"Hey there, princess."
A Human lurking in the shadows made a bee line for Ket. Whether this was bravado or sheer stupidity, she couldn't tell. He reeked of ale and.. other things.
"Looking for a good time?"
"If you value your life, Human, you will leave me alone." Ket growled, increasing the length of her stride. The Human scurried to match her pace, but started to fall behind.
"Just looking to have a good night!"
"You will not find it here."
He opened his mouth to say more, but was struck mid-vowel as he walked into a directory pillar. She ignored his yelp of pain and strode across the Explorer's Hall and into the Tram station. Flames licked up her arms, responding to her emotional upheaval.
Earth Mother, I grow weary again. Of these days, of these people. Of those who have only hate in their hearts. Please, release me. Release me or give me new purpose.
Something alighted next to Ketyru as sat waited on the bench, eyes closed. Her prayer, an oft repeated one, would surely go unanswered again. The Spirits rarely heed those who call in such selfish desperation.
"Ah, I thought I might find you like this."
Ket's eyes snapped open, alighting on the tiny figure beside her. He stood no taller than Khromie, who was tiny even for a Gnome, although his tufted hair almost made up for it. Orange eyes gleamed in the dim light, bouncing a rusty light of his plated armor and hers.
"Shardniron. I did not expect to see you again."
The little Gnome-dragon flailed his arms comically. "Shh! Don't call me by that name! Somebody might catch on!"
He looked all about, scowling at Haggle, who was busy sifting through the trash.
"Look, I've been going by the name Sharpy Needlesticker. I know, it's great, right? Anyways, I saw you earlier, with all those people. I wanted you.. well.. I.. I missed you."
Ketyru blinked her eyes at the whelp, gnome, whatever he was right now in surprise.
"I.. have missed you as well.. Sharpy. Are you doing well among your chosen allies?"
"Oh yes," He nodded hugely, his hair rustling. "I like these Gnome people, they're much better than those other stuffy races. I'm learning so much!"
Shardniron hopped in his excitement and toppled off the bench with a squeak. Ketyru couldn't help but chuckle as she scooped him into her lap.
"I'm glad to see you well and happy. It was a long, hard time coming."
Shard nodded, then his face became serious, ancient. Surreal.
"I want you to be happy too, Ketyru. You helped save me. You helped me be.. well, me! Isn't there anything I can do to help you?"
You could make me anything other than myself...
You could give me purpose.
"Shar..py... What sort of terms are you on with the Bronze dragons?"

(( Delightful. ))

((^-^ Thankies))
Later that night...

She was having the nightmares again.
A warrior in plate, bristling with spikes, looms over her. His axe is held high, eyes burning with a savage glee. There is no one close by, which is odd for Dalaran these days. It's so quiet, but she can hear his ragged breath and her stuttering heart. The warrior grunts savagely, bringing the axe down on the fallen child. The abomination. Orders. Just orders.
The Orc explodes into a fine, red mist.
Ketyru slipped out of bed and into the nearest set of robes. Too big in the shoulder, they had to be Nani's. She ran her fingers through his hair once before fleeing the room.
Like a thief, she prowled down the dark hallway and up the stairs. Turning the corner, she ducked into the half-open door of the spare bedroom. Nani called it her Vision Room.
She settled down in the center of the room, pulling baskets full of herbs, crystals and candles to her. Lighting a black candle, she touch a bundle of sage to the flame. Silversage, her favorite. Rummaging through another basket, she brought up a bundle of dried flowers. She ground them in her palm and dashed them over the sage. The fragrance of peacebloom filled her with calm, and eased her aching heart.
Fathers, forgive me for what I have done in the shadows.
No answer came, not that she expected one. Her real father, Krondorl, had not been a shaman in life. His death had been true, and horribly final. But it pained her to know that Ruun, her foster father, would ignore her so. Somehow she knew Azati had something to do with that. For years she had turned to his wisdom, to the simple life of the Tauren. And that was something her grandmother just could not accept.

So easily her tongue slid back into the language of her wandering tribe, her blissful youth. She remembered the waving grasses of Mulgore, the way the rain brought a freshness to the plains. She remembered her family, the only family she truly cared for anyways. Ruun, his wife Mara and her father, Hamman. The sound of kodo lowing in the distance and thunder over the bluffs.
"Earth Mother, bless this child with your strength to weather another storm. Breath across her spirit and lend your wisdom and patience. Shower her with love and forgiveness. Sate the fire that burns within."
The small candle flame guttered as a zephyr whirled around the room. The smoke that drifted up from the herbs solidified into a form. His shaggy, white fur was cleaner than it had been in life. Short horns protruded in a way that set him apart from the Tauren. As did the heavy shawl of furs and antler. A Taunka.
"Dovewing. I was not expecting a visit from you."
'Yet, here I am young Pathwander,' Dovewing's spirit intoned. His voice was soft, like the Spring, as it had been in life. Yet there was a darkness in it that she'd never heard before.
'You cry out in pain, child, and yet you never call on us directly. So,' he smiled, spreading his arms, 'here I am to show you that you can always rely on your family.'
Tears fell onto Ketyru's face as she looked up at Dovewing. He had died saving her. Sparing her a cruel end. The guilt had ravaged her for a long, long time. Even now, it hurt to hear his voice so full of love.
"Forgive me. For what I am, and what I bring with me. I never.. I never meant.."
'I know,' he soothed, brushing an insubstantial hand against her chin. 'That is over and cannot be changed. You should let go of the past, Ketyru. I have already forgiven that day. It was never your fault.'
Dovewing turned and crossed his arms in a way that made him seem smaller, somehow. His brow furrowed into a frown as he looked back at her.
'Do not follow your chosen path. I know what it is you plan to do.'
Ketyru opened her mouth to object, but the Taunka wheeled on her and leveled his eyes with her own. Something stirred in them, hard and wicked. It was unnerving.
'Remember your place, child! You are the conduit, not the source. If you value anything about yourself, abandon this foolishness. Let the past go! Let it go...'
The sage burned out, and Dovewing dissipated, leaving her alone in the dark. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed, her breath catching in her throat.
One of the window shutters quivered and swung open. It was broken, and often did. But she flinched when a downy, white feather brushed her cheek and stuck there.

The clang and clatter of busy Gnomes rang in Sharpy's ears. He was loving this experience. He loved being a Gnome. Of all the people he had met along his journeys, they were certainly the happiest, the most open. And the enterprise! Oh the myriad of magnificent, wonderful, admittedly-often-pointless things!
Taking a break from his energetic exploration of Gnomish culture, Sharpy settled himself into a relatively quiet corner and borrowed a roll of schematic paper. With an over-sized, steam-emitting pen, he scrawled out a note to his former handler.

To Ketyru Silverdrune, beloved caretaker,
Things are going amazingly well for me here in Gnomeregan. They're quite the industrious lot! High King Mekkatorque is certainly a determined fellow. Remember how you told me the story about the way he reclaimed part of his city, and then withdrew? Well, I'm very pleased to tell you that they have not given up after all! Something about an unforeseen complication and airborne contamination protocols...
Anyways. I know you fret about far too much, and I didn't want you fretting about me. Surri checks on me at the end of every day. Soon, I think I shall learn to teleport myself and come visit you in Stormwind. I hope that is okay with you! I'm going to be a mage!
By the way, none of my old clothes fit anymore. They're too big! Do you know any good tailors?
Much love from your favorite whelp,
Sharpy Needlesticker

Sharpy looked around, an orange glow coming to his eyes. Carefully pulling his sleeve down, he let his chubby little hand change into his normal talon. He wrinkled his nose, displeased with how small he still truly was. Well, size was no indication of power. He pressed his paw into a squirt of ink at the bottom of the page, so that Ketyru would know his true identity.
Not that she'd forget his new name so quickly, right?
...right?

To "Sharpy Needlesticker", cherished orphan,
It is good to hear that you are enjoying yourself so. I'm sure even the Gnomes are having a hard time keeping up with your progress. I'm glad King Mekkatorque hasn't given up on his city.
You would be right to assume my worries for you. However, you are not the only one Surri is still in contact with, little mage.
I would absolutely love it if you came to visit me. I find not travelling, and not having you by my side, to be both dull and unsettling.
Somehow I knew you would have need of fresh garments. Plated armor ill suits a magi of your budding skill, so I have taken the liberty of having a set of robes made for you. I hope you don't mind the color, the tailor was out of Orange Mageweave.
With love,
Ketyru Silverdrune

Rolling up her brief letter, Ketyru dabbed a stick of wax along the edge to seal it. She laid it carefully on top of the neatly folded robes nestled into a water-tight crate. She did not bother to mention the tiny staff or flamboyant hood she'd also chosen. Sharpy would surely love the surprise.
Pressing the lid down and tacking it in place, Ketyru took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her long, blood-red robes swept the floor, lending to her height. Her eyes gleamed in the afternoon light, turning them from yellow to green.
With a sigh, she carefully hung the package from a nearby postbox. Hopefully it would reach Sharpy within a fortnight. For now, she was going to pursue her curiosity. She clutched the wrinkled paper in her hand, an announcement for a tournament in Icecrown. She loathed to return...and yet...
She missed her father so much...
Ketyru huffed, her mind made up and trotted briskly to the stables to retrieve her horse. She'd take the boat, yes, and ride her way there. And why not? The past was over, her enemies gone. She would walk the Northern Wastes and remember all of the good things this time.

For even the most terrible events in her life had brought her to some of the most blessed.

[Fin. For now.]