World of Warcraft®

[ Go with your gut. It is doing awesome things. ]

((Oh geez! Things are looking bad! I would really like to see how she gets out of this situation))

The inside of the rotted out downed tree stank of sewage and carrion. More than once, Izby's hand sunk through what she thought might have been a rat. At least that was the hope. When she couldn't crawl any deeper into the chasm, she painfully righted herself into a seated position and swore at how the muck and smell clung to her like a child suckling. Taking nourishment from her body except against her will.

A thump reverberated through the trunk, knocking detritus onto her head and down her robes. In the mix were a few centipedes and other numerous legged poisonous creatures and she tried not to squirm and make a sound while the footsteps above her passed. Looking for my path, she thought as she plucked an aggressive purple centipede from between her bosom. The back had black spots that made it look like a series of purple skulls connected together and it wreaked of sulfur and sour sweat that can only be found on a corpse. She flung it towards the entrance and gasped when another thump pushed against the side of her hiding hole. Then another. Were they sitting on the trunk?

They were talking to one another and Izby strained to hear what they were saying. She leaned forward and stifled a scream of agony at the pain that shot through her broken leg. The two orcs, presumably, stopped talking. She didn't move for fear that she'd utter any type of sound, even exhalations were too much. That's when she noticed the black widow crawling up her arm. Sweat collected on her brow and slid through the murk caked to her face creating tiny rivers as the spider crawled further up her arm. The talking resumed and Izby tried to move carefully and slowly to flick the spider away. She was a few millimeters from removing the spider, her breath lodged in her throat and sweat dripping in rivers when she heard one of the Orcs yelling, perhaps to another in the distance, but the words brought Izby even more fear. Panic set in.

"Get the dogs. We sniff her out."

The pressure eased on the tree and more debris and insects fell at her hooves. She flicked the spider away and considered her options. The instinctual nature of her training kicked in and she offered her former commander silent thanks.

First, evaluation. Injuries; broken leg, punctured sole and frog, infected. Possible ankle sprain as well. Equipment; a bag with a burnt and shredded carpet, a few long vials with temporary energy boosts to it, only to be used when she collapse afterwards and sleep to recharge after burning through herself, a staff, a sword, and a dagger. Situation; if found hiding in the tree, Orcs will likely take pleasure before killing, dragging out all the pain and suffering as much as their vile blood will allow them. Cannot appear crippled before them.

Parting the robes around her leg, she could see the protrusion of the bone under the skin. The deformity scared her. Normally, she's simply let someone take care of her for the injury, but that luxury was gone. Izby gritted her teeth, knowing what she had to do and what she didn't want to do. Removing the driest strips of torn carpet from her bag, she rolled them into a ball and stuffed them into her mouth. Strip after strip, until no more could be crammed in and no noise could escape without severe amputation. Bile threatened to rise past her throat as the foulness of the swamp touched her tongue. Worse than the most vile cheeses or dry rotted shark that some humans considered delicacies.

They were crazy.

Not that she could judge, she wasn't about to do something people would consider sane. Laying her sword flat against the protrusion, she swore, raised her fist and brought it down on the blade with as much force as she could. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Pain ripped through her entire body, exploding outwards. Every cell on fire and frozen and coursing with electrocution at the same time. Sensations of pain never felt before sliced through nerves and her body shook and seized up. She screamed into the gag as the pain raced through her body up to her brain. Where the collision stripped her of all senses except touch and she thought she had been flayed and then dropped into the ocean's salt water.

Then everything went black.

((Have a follow up but it'll need to wait until later to post. I feel mean at the moment for what I just did to my poor girl.))

The world was covered in blackness. A blackness without sound, without smell, without touch, without taste. A numbing experience that left the mind wandering around searching for tethers and only finding them in self-doubt and self-recrimination. At least it was peaceful.

Izby spent the time without senses thinking about the plans she was orchestrating for her anniversary date with Gala and wondering if maybe this gift might be a bit over the top. Her circumstances were pushing her closer and closer to the edge of life. Not that she hadn't lived a good one. Many of her kind never lived to reach her years. Many more never maintain her youthfulness. But she was here in blackness, alone and remembering how much trouble she might be in.

A crack ripped through the tube she resided in and echoed through the log. Dirt fell upon her and a soft whisper of light appeared before her. The mark upon her forehead, a blessing from the Naaru like a kiss on a favored child, began to warm and glow. The pain slowly returned to her body along with a warmth and she remembered the broken leg. The blessing would not completely heal it, but would at least start the repairs to the bone.

I must have fainted from the pain of pushing the bone into place.

Two cracks, one after the other, rang through the log and more light shown through. Izby grimaced as she shifted up more and began to reacquaint herself with the items on hand. A plan would be nice too, but information was necessary first.

In her lap, rested the ball of soiled carpet strips and her sword. At her wrist was the concealed stiletto that her chala trained her to use. It was a sleek dagger, almost needle thin, but with rings instead of a hilt so that she could use them as a set of brass knuckles or spin the blade to recover from a missed strike more quickly. Plus when you couldn't move your hand, you could still move the blade. On her belt, hung a few vials of temporary energy boosters. They would allow her to tap into her personal core to power her spells, but they came at a cost. Near unconsciousness.

Two more cracks, as if two people were outside striking the log in staggered order. The tip of the second axe head shown through the wood and cheers from outside along with the anticipatory howls of challenge from wolves shook Izby. At least three distinct howls and possibly five or more Orcs.

That's right, I burnt down their staging camp. This retaliation. Savagery for the sport of it.

A plan. She needed a plan. With the energy she currently had from resting, there was a chance she could take perhaps half of them with precise execution. Unfortunately, her situation didn't reveal that likelihood. Best chance to emerge from the tree unscathed was to blast her way out, but that would require a lot of energy and would only stun them. The others would charge instantly. No, she needed more energy.

Eyes closed, Izby shifted her presence in this plane one step to the left and could see all of the leylines and energy running through the swamp. It was a risk, but she called to them, drew upon them to fuel herself. She started by using the soiled strips of carpet as the boundaries of her circle and etched runes in the moss above her head. Layering the spell to increase its power with the complexity of the setup. Two more thumps. Then the contents of one of the vial fell into the circle to act as the conductor and Izby touched it to connect herself.

The feeling surged through her body with the refreshing feeling of cucumber or mint water. Or of a menthol bath. Her skin tingled and powers grew. The mud loosening. Finally, she noticed that the surge of arcane energy fueling herself was also powering her mark's blessing. The sprain in her ankle and knee gone, but the puncture and break still there.

A whole broke in and light washed over her face. She fell back into this plane. Staring up into the face of the ugliest tusked Orc, she'd ever seen. His face hid behind boils and his grin revealed rotten egg teeth.

The stench... do they not know how to bathe?

Of all the things to think about in this situation, that was probably not the best idea, but she couldn't help it. Hands pulled at the wood, increasing the size of the hole and their laughter and glee echoed against the trees before the swamp murk absorbed the sounds.

She sat calmly, fighting the fires that raged inside her. Not yet. Maintain control. They pulled her out by her neck and she struggled, playing the part of panicked prey as best she could without letting the notion overwhelm her as well. A whole gamble balanced on a knife's tip.

"Aw look, she's got blood on her. Her blood. We gonna have good time with her."

The others in the small clearing laughed and made obscene gestures, but she could see them all now. Six of them. Two axemen had pulled her out of the log and held her up off her hooves as best they could despite the size difference. There were two spear weilders with throwing knives and two roan wolves. Then there were two carrying bows, the furthest from her. Each with a tracking wolf of mottled gray. They had to go first.

The comments poured on with each man cajoling and describing the indecencies they would put her through. The abuse. The depravity. She flailed and clutched at the hand around her throat, forgetting this was an act when the biggest axeman holding her spoke.

"Ima gonna enjoy killin you like I did your kind on draenor."

Izby straightened her face to look him in the eyes. Fires burning behind her blues and whites. Her lips curled upwards at the corners.

And then, she snapped.

********

She remembered a time of peaceful interactions with the Orcs on Draenor. Her late husband would train her in the fields around the downed ship Oshu'gun. Hours under the summer sun practicing various sword thrusts and slashes. The fresh smell of wheat grass and his musk permeating in the air as she licked the salt from her lips and prepared to lunge forward to try and mark him with the powdered tip of a reed. He would smile and remain a step out of reach. Always a step out of reach.

The best defense is a smart offense, he would say. She never forgot his strength as he captured her against his chest. His reed across her collarbone. A pink mark smeared in its wake.

Day after day drilling for the day that always inevitably comes, because it was not a matter of if but when.

She remembered watching him fighting a group of rampaging Orcs so that her parents had a chance to retreat. He pirouetted and ducked under reckless axe swings. His movement graceful in a way that no one expects of a man so large. An axe would come within a hair's width of his shoulder and you could tell it was not luck, but by design. He fought smart against the cluster of Orcs, but not smart enough to prevent the arrow from catching his throat.

She remembered screaming until her vocal chords bled. She remembered feeling the unbridled hate and passion that fire brings. She remembered unleashing it upon every Orc within sight. No mercy granted. Only to collapse upon her late husband's dead body paralyzed with exhaustion. He received a proper warrior's burial by pyre so that he may join the stars and help guide their people in the future.

She remembered his words; the best defense is a smart offense, and the words of people in the tavern; you are an evil, evil woman.

********

((Thank you for so many views guys. I don't think I've ever had a more or less solo story ever creep into triple digits before. It means so much.))

Grabbing the Orc's wrist, she placed her fingers into the vein and artery and unleashed fire like on that fateful day. The Orc howled in pain. His hand charred black. The fingers loosened from her neck and she spun, closing her eyes.

When she reopened them, she stood behind the other axeman. The stilletto up her sleeve across his throat, tearing open the artery. Blood sprayed forward and he flailed as he went limp. The first Orc howled again and she saw an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. He backhanded Izby with such fury that the air left her lungs as she flew across the murk towards a tree.

Again she closed her eyes, sliding to a stop on the other side of the tree. Her partially broken leg buckled, a razor's pain screaming through her side as she stumbled. A wolf lept through the air to attack her and with effort, she kicked up the swamp water to cover the creature and extracted the heat from it with a word and an intense focus of will. The wolf froze and shattered as another arrow pierced it.

Izby dove behind the tree she narrowly avoided and drank the remaining vials of energy reserves. Then, with a deep exhalation, she disappeared from the woods. At least, that's what the Orcs would see. The reality was she stood before them, the light bending around her to render her invisible to the eye. Quickly, she moved as both spearmen came around the trunk to stab her.

The sloshing of her hooves through the water gave her away and realizing her mistake, she altered the light refractions to make several other images of herself appear slumping away and kicking up water in a variety of directions. Arrows flew everywhere and pierced two of the images, shattering their illusion as she limped.

Turning back to her attackers, she took a deep breath, raised up her staff, and brought it down into the murk with a crack of lightning. A swath of water rose up from it in a wave coating and freezing the two spearmen and a gray wolf. She ran through them and cut through them with her sword. The two archers still out of sight.

Damn, they were supposed to die first. That was the smart offense.

An arrow grazed her wounded knee and she gasped as more pain tore through her side. She stumbled and fell in the murk. The sword flung from her grasp. She tried to push herself up and a second arrow struck her, this time in the shoulder and she screamed in agony. The fire inside her roared. She smiled.

Following the trajectory of the arrow, she closed her eyes and appeared in front of the Orc who shot her. He was notching another arrow and fell back when she pushed him. She grabbed his face in her hands and unleashed a blast of flame. Laughing as the madness of fury took her.

The Orc with a Charred Hand struck her with his shoulder and sent her sprawling into the murk again. An arrow barely missing her as it tore through her robes.

Too close.

Charred Hand lurched forward with his axe and she rolled away from the blade. Rolled closer to the Archer. She could feel herself draining, weary. Her periphery blackened with the mists of exhaustion. No time. Not yet.

She stood and closed her eyes, reappearing before the last archer with her stilletto piercing his heart. Spinning, she looked to see what was left. One roan wolf, one gray wolf, and Charred Hand. Her vision narrowed. The wolves flanked her on either side as Charred Hand charged her.

With the last burst of her energy she shot a nova out from around her freezing the wolves and Charred Hand in place. She picked up the dead Archer's bow and shattered the two wolves with it as ice slowly entombed Charred Hand.

Bending so that she was eye level with the Orc, she could see the panic in his eyes as she spoke.

"I hope you enjoy this."

She kissed the ice with a frozen but searing heat. The mark of her lips creeping through the ice towards his forehead at a glacial pace. Retrieving her sword and placing her weight on her staff, she limped away as her vision blurred and darkened. She needed to find a place to rest, soon. A place that didn't smell of decay and sewage and taste of rotten eggs. Behind her, she heard the scream of Charred Hand as her kiss burned through his brain tissue and exploded out the back.

A smile crept up her lips. Perhaps she was a little evil.

The sound of clanking of hooves off stone echoed off what could only be crystal and stone walls. The sharp metal rang with a healthy clack and Izby wished it would go away. Each clank, each clop, each footstep roared through her mind and reverberated in her bones. The headache that followed punched her between the eyes and she gasped. Tiny footsteps, softer against the floor, shuffled towards Izby's prone self and all Izby wanted to do was open her eyes to see who it was, or where she was even. The not knowing was a pain as intense as the physical ones she suffered, but her eyes didn't respond.

No, that's not right. They did, but when they opened, her eyelashes scratched upon crystal encrusted gauze pads. Ice crystals she thought to help cool the fires if she came to while being treated for her injuries. It rendered her power impotent and that unnerved her. She went to lift the bandages with her hands, but neither would budge.

The hollow echo of a hand thumping against a crystal siphoning chamber reverberated around her as she adjusted to the circumstances. Words from the person thumping came through but Izby couldn't understand them. They did magnify the pain in her head and she moaned through pinched lips. The thumping stopped and the footsteps retreated. Their shuffling scratch fading away.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. The air was wrong for a siphoning chamber, so she breathed in again. The tangy, bitter smell caught her off guard and again she gasped, but this time because she knew where she was without question. And it did not bode well.

The crystalline gel holding her rigid was referred to as many things, but Izby knew it as a containment crystal. One they use only on the magi of her people and only if they had gone critical. Mages who practiced magic the way she did suffered a very distinct problem. They contained the magic they channeled within, like a battery. Meaning any loss of control acted like a leak in the container with catastrophic results. The amount of magic someone her age contained and controlled, unleashed...

She stopped herself from seeing the leveled cities and feeling the tears she couldn't wipe away. Tears she hadn't felt in millenia since they turned to snowflakes on her skin. That magic was contained within her, but that didn't necessarily mean she had access to it though. She was strong, but not as strong as the Proudmoore woman even with a greater pool to call upon.

The shuffling returned with a clack of hooves and Izby winced. The pain in her head throbbing. She'd never been in a containment crystal before. The pain was excrutiating. Her body ached in every joint and in places she didn't know she had nerves to experience pain. Scar tissue from past injuries burned as if freshly made. The memories resurfacing for each one and hitting her like a freight barge. She was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionall. And she'd just woken up.

A gentle tap rang through the crystal, not as painful, but still very much there when she heard a clear precise voice speaking to her through it. No, there was no way it could be through the crystal. The gem and gel would distort any sound by muffling and garbling it. Still distinguishable, but warped like a piece of metal left in the heat of a furnace.

"How are you feeling, my Lady?" She recognized the voice as it caressed her mind. Soft and feather-like. A priestess' trick through mental applications. A skill that Izby greatly admired and coveted.
"Pain everywhere, Kahlia. Even the Small One's shuffle rakes my ears."

"I can try to ease the pain some, but you are still a little dangerous to release. Perhaps a day."

"A day? How long have I been here already?"

"Two days. The Small One found you radiating near the edge of the swamp near her keep and called for someone right away. You were brought here."

Izby tried to nod her understanding but her immobility made that impossible and she heard the faint whisper of laughter. Not a mocking or condemning laugh, but of understanding and sympathy. Of course, Kahlia was still in her head and could see or feel her thoughts.

"Is the child still here?"

"Yes, my Lady. She asked that she be here to see you through since she has never attempted to heal someone such as yourself in such a state."

There was another light set of feet moving through her mind and Izby shivered as another voice appeared as a vision of the woman. Human, tall and wiry, flat as a teenage boy, but still distinctly feminine in curve from the right angles. She stood besides a mental vision of Kahlia that appeared before Izby's eyes.

Izby looked over the girl and marveled how similar she looked to the twins without looking related. It must be a byproduct of poor nutrition or childhood development. The poorest reaches suffered these problems some times. Women with sunken eyes, stiff hair, and exposed bones. Izby wanted to feed her and both of the other women laughed as if she had spoken out loud.

"Do either of you have something to put me back to sleep or do I have to be awake through this pain?"

"Unfortunately, you will remain awake since we cannot enter the chamber to administer any medicine without exposing ourselves." Kahlia's voice was matter of fact and unyielding, but soft. Izby thought about what that might mean then if she were to be awake, would the pain of noise still cause her body to revolt against her to avoid the pain? She sighed wanting to see, to move, to taste. This had been the hardest favor she'd ever performed for anyone, but the reward was worth it.

"Whatever you need, my Lady, please let me know." A second softer voice speaking in Common said. The girl who found her. Izby managed a thank you in her mind and the human woman curtsied.

"What is your name child?"

"Esmer. It's short for Esmerelda. I'm Dolingen's youngest cousin."

Izby was shocked, but couldn't move to express it. How had she known that Izby knew Doli... Because she can see in your mind. Obviously.

"It is a pleasure to meet you and you will have to forgive my not greeting you properly. I have been incapacitated the entire time you have known me it seems."

"Yes, so long as her Ladyship gets better any supposed rudeness is forgiven and forgotten. But you should rest. This couldn't have been easy for you. We can discuss things in greater detail when you awaken."

Again Izby tried to nod and failed to remember that she was frozen in place. Like a fly trapped in a piece of amber. The throbbing pain she suffered earlier subsided and for the first time since waking, she felt that she could sleep. Her eyes closed behind the gauze.

Sleep taking her.

((Hopefully, I can keep this updating once a day this week.))

When she woke again, Izby found herself laying in bed. The young woman, Esmer, sat by her side. Able to finally see, she looked at the woman, through half-lidded eyes and took her in. She wore her hair pulled back and white, a distinctive tone Doli kept even though it aged her young face. Whereas Dolingen kept rings in her brow and nose, Esmer wore jewelry modestly. Only two small loops in her ears, no necklace or rings that were visible upon her. No makeup.

Now there was flesh, she could also see that the smaller page boy shape was partially due to the restrictive undergarments she wore. Although for the life of her, Izby couldn't figure out why this beautiful young woman would want to punish herself in such a capacity. She may not be bountiful, but she was distinctive and pretty. And perhaps that is why she restrains herself. She was a healer of sorts it seemed and it could be for religious reasons that she restricts herself. Or maybe to refuse the attention she would surely get.

The young woman hummed while she fixed a broken seam in the hem of a skirt. Izby sat up completely and noticed that they were her robes. That she was laying in bed wearing nothing but ember silk bandages. Her body covered from her decolletage down to her hips, both of her thighs, right knee and ankle, wrists, and her upper arms. At least she had on her silk undershorts.

"You should rest, my Lady. You are still badly injured even after the healing."

"You do not have to refer to me that way. I am not your lady."

"It is the proper sign of respect and should be observed since I am a guest here. It is good to see that you are well enough to move though. Many thought you too far gone to come back."

"What? From the wounds of the Orcs? They were not severe enough to kill me were they?"

"No, a few broken bones and lacerations, but all things that could heal. Someone had to explain to me what happened and I am still not sure I understand what I saw."

Izby ran a hand through her hair weighing those statements and her recollection of the containment chamber.

"I leaked."

"I'm sorry?" Esmer asked.

"No, my apologies. It is the way I use magic. I contain the energy within me and unleash it when needed instead of using rituals. Evocation. The drawback is that if I push myself too hard, too far. The energy inside me, hrmmm... 'overheats' and threatens to destory me by imploding."

Esmer grimaced and nodded. "That makes more sense that what the many people explained."

"Sometimes my people forget that not everyone has the same standing knowledge of all things as they do. You were at a severe disadvantage, but do not worry about it."

"I will have your robes finished in a few minutes if you can wait. I imagine you'd like to use the restroom though. I can turn away."

Until Esmer mentioned it, Izby hadn't even thought about the need to empty her bladder, but at that moment it flooded into her. An overwhelming urge and without waiting for the young woman to turn, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and walked, limped, to the restroom. By the time she was finished and had washed her hands, her robes laid across the counter as you enter the chamber. She struggled into them, emitting tiny noises and sounds that reminded her of a captured rabbit or squirrel as a dog tore through it.

When she opened the door to step back into the room, she was greeted with an open palm across her cheek. Her sister-in-law stood before her, aquamarine colored skin doing nothing to hide the burning fury etched into her face. A scowl that became permanent from unrelapsed use.

"What were you thinking!?" She screeched.

"Cami, I was doing a favor..." The woman brought her bow to Izby's lips and stopped her from speaking further.

"I know what you were doing. I asked what were you thinking. A few pathetic Orcs and you nearly pushed yourself into your funeral pyre. What would my brother say to that? Hrmmm... You unleash fury over his corpse and slaughter dozens upon dozens of the beasts that felled him and came out unscathed..."

"In a manner of speaking." Izby took Cami's hand and rest it against her cheek, holding it close, nuzzling it.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. We all lost a part of our hearts that day, but you know what I mean. You have always been passionate. Passionate, but not reckless. This mission, this task, should have been done without mistakes quite easily for you and here I am in the plaguelands getting a missive explaining that you were near death from it. That I should return home if I had any last words. Last words Isabella, by the Light. Last words."

Looking over her counterpart's shoulder, she spied some cushions on the floor along the bed ledge to sit upon and led her over to them without asking which would have been the more polite thing to do, but in this instance, manners could possibly fall secondary to familial issues.

When Cami was seated on a cushion, her bow resting in her lap, Izby sat opposite her. A few deep breaths later and she felt she might finally be able to say something, but instead she wrang her hands several times before proceeding.

"I am bound again Cami."

A sharp inhalation came as a response. "Legions, no."

"So soon?"

"Yes and more powerful this time."

"But how, you've stayed away from our people... a Short Lived?"

She eyed Izby and narrowed her gaze, before smiling. The image sent butterflies through Izby's stomach and she wondered what Cami figured out. Fortunately, the tormenting question was answered quickly because she spoke, voice calmer than previously.

"Tell me about her."

((I'll probably edit this post to include more in it since I seem to keep missing the 5000 character cap by small bits. So when I update again, just come on back to see what else I added. ))

So good! Keep up the good work!

The young woman, Esmer joined the two women on the cushions and sat silently, wringing her hands as if she wanted to ask questions, but respectful and fearful enough to wait until spoken to. Izby quirked an eyebrow at the head down woman and looked to Cami to see what she thought. Her lighter skinned Draenei counterpart looked Esmer over from head to toe as best she could before nodding.

"You have a question, child?" Cami asked.

Esmer raised her chin to look at both women. An intense curiousity burned in them like a bonfire in the darkness of night. She stopped wringing her hands, the blood returning to her white knuckles.

"What is a binding?" Esmer asked. Cami spoke again.

"A binding is when the biology of one Draenei chooses another to be their life partner. It's stronger than a marriage ceremony in that the body can sense the presence of the other individual. It can feel their emotions and gather their strengths to become your own...

... and it is rare to bind to someone outside our own kind. In that I've only heard of one other such binding. So soon after being bound to another is equally rare. The combination of the two... is odd and dangerous."

"Why is it dangerous?"

Izby tucked a loose strand of hair behind her horn and smoothed out the wrinkles in her robes, playing with the frays Esmer had fixed.

"Because the body has not readjusted to its prime state. I am not entirely me yet. I have the remnants of binding from my late husband and now the beginnings of the binding to my chala, Gala."

Esmer thought about it for a second and chewed on a finger.

"It's exacerbating your control, isn't it?"

Izby only nodded and Cami frowned.

"Which is why she should stop playing with fire."

Cami stood and set about gathering Izby's things into a pack. Spare robes, spellbooks, runes, and other implements. She deliberately left the staff out of her gear and when Izby quirked an eyebrow, she responded simply.

"You need to pack light for your next task. This staff weighs too much. No sword either. We have a long walk."

Izby pulled her dagger and wand out and stood beside Cami, Esmer behind them.

"We?"

"Esmer and I are escorting you through the Barrens."

"I have not reported in on my last efforts in the swamp."

Both of the girls chuckled at that and Esmer spoke as she led the two women out of the chambers towards the chambers of mages holding open portals to other Alliance cities, including the ruins of Theramore. She explained how Izby explained everything while in her mind. That she relayed the events to the Naaru and they passed judgement. Approving, but not entirely pleased.

"They think your next two tasks will need to be tests of your thresholds."

Izby sighed resigned, standing before the portal and looking at her packed bag. If leightweight travel was required, the dagger and wand were a good start, but her robes left a lot to be desired. They were heavy and thick for preventing the moisture from penetrating to her skin and giving her a cold. She asked the women to wait and dug through her pack through the spare robes and shrugged. They were better and without asking anyone to turn, she disrobed.

Esmer turned three different shades of scarlet and was well on her way to a fourth by the time Izby had dressed. The two Draenei chuckled softly and stepped through the portal with Esmer in tow. Izby didn't know the details of this task yet, but a knot in her stomach told her, if it was a test, she was not going to like it.

The ledge provided a perfect vantage point into the village of canvas huts. From it all of the coming and goings were easily observed and it looked odd. People moved to and fro with purpose, but there was a lack of confidence. They stepped about with worn fatigue and sickly gestures. They were small. Not short like the Goblins and Izby's throat stuck.

She didn't know what to make of this refugee camp. Only that her task was to investigate it and report back. That this recently discovered encampment might have been a secret outpost for staging an assault on any who challenged the fel tempered Orc, Garrosh, but it wasn't. It wasn't even close. It was a camp filled with children and only children.

The children worked quickly on their tasks and that struck Izby as odd. Children did not usually think towards their survival at such a young age or understand the nuances of their tasks, but she watched as Troll young carried water and sharpened spears for hunting. Some boiled water in a cast iron kettle over a fire in the middle of the camp. A tent larger than the others sat at the middle of the ring around the fire and she noticed the two biggest Troll children standing guard with the only metal tools she'd seen in the camp fastened to their sides as weapons.

Sitting back against the rock ledge, she wiped the frost from in front of her eyes and allowed them to readjust to their natural vision. It was a wonderful trick to improve one's vision by making ice pure and as solid as glass then curving it to focus the light and ice lenses. She rarely needed to use it, but the trick was invaluable at times like these. The only side effect being a mild headache and a period of blindness while her eyes readjusted.

When her vision returned, she drank from her flask and rolled back around to watch the camp with a more aerial view. Below her, not more than twenty yards away two female Trolls were positioned similarly and Izby watched them watching the camp as mothers plotting the safe return of their children. They did not approach the children and demand they return home to their chores or their duties and that gave her pause. If the mothers were not approaching, then there was a greater threat within the camp than they could handle.

Pouring some of her drinking water onto her fingers, she smeared and froze it to recreate her binoculars. She followed where the mothers were focused and once again peered at the larger tent. Ten minutes passed before a rustling of canvas and leather occurred and then an Orc dressed in Kor'Kron armor stepped through the flaps and began barking orders at the two guards. They saluted and left to the far end of the camp where the youngest children who could not help themselves were held captive in cages of branches and stone slabs.

One of the children in the cage cried out at the approaching youth. A cry of pain and terror that shredded Izby's heartstrings to hear it. She imagined the mothers below bristled and stopped breathing, fighting desperately to resist their natural instincts to swarm in and scoop up the baby. The tallest Troll with a budding blue mohawk and black painted tusks lifted the slab and pulled out the screaming child and tossed it to his partner, a shorter Troll with red tusks and war paint to match his hair. Red Tusk winced as he caught the babe and held it away from him the way a person holds a dead squirrel away to keep from inhaling too much of the offending smell.

They both looked somber as they handed the baby to the Orc. The Orc stood over a bucket and bent low, holding the baby an inch from the pail by her feet. With a flick of a blade, the screaming cries turned to a gurgle and the smell of iron carried on the wind up to Izby's nostrils. She heard one of the mothers wretching and the scraping of bone on stone from what she could only assume was the other one.

Izby swiped at the ice in her eyes and dropped a feather into a circle at her feet and muttered a word before leaping down to the women. Her headache roared through her head like a tiger but she pushed through the tightening pain and fell onto the blurry outline of the female Troll with what she could now discern was a bone dagger in her hand. Izby quickly clasped her hand over the startled woman's mouth and held a finger up to her own lips.

Now that she could see the woman better, she saw a fear subsiding in the woman's golden eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at Wretch and saw her wiping her mouth with the bottom of her torn cloth skirts. Wretch slipped a blade out of a small sheath on a tan leather belt and spoke in a near whisper.

"What want you demon?"

Izby looked at the woman startled for a minute before she realized that the Troll thought her an Eredar and that she spoke a particularly broken variation of Common. Izby held her hands up and began to respond slowly in Troll trying to wrap her mind around the words she wanted before using them.

"Not a demon, but want to help you."

"What are you if you are not a demon?" asked Golden Eyes in Troll from under Izby. She stood and offered the Troll a hand, which she took after a few minutes hesitation.

"I am Alliance Draenei."

They both glanced towards each other, eyes widening, before narrowing back to focus on Izby.

"Why do you help us?"

"How anyone look down and not?" She pointed towards the camp below and the mothers regarded her for a moment and nodded.

"We cannot take them directly. The Orc will kill us and we are not strong enough to face his magicks or axe."

Wretch kicked at a stone in frustration as Golden Eyes spoke.

"Our plan was to sneak in at night after the Orc fell asleep and cut his throat, then lead the children away to safety, but after seeing that. I do not think the guardian children will let us past."

Izby held up a finger and tapped it to her lips as their plan was explained in greater detail and she furrowed her brow at every point where something could go wrong, but as they talked it became more and more apparent to her. There was no way to do this without a big splashy scene. That was okay, she could provide one. She might even enjoy it.

And the fires burning deep within roared into a cackling flame.