Burn After Bleeding

This was it. The culmination of their journey. The final step in the long walk.

In some cosmic scale, it was a beautiful place. Sleek metals, angular designs, a view of the space between spaces. There, at the far end of the great chamber, through a wide window, Azeroth drifted in the dark abyss. Worse, though, it was wreathed in some otherworldly haze. This was not the focus, as it was in the shadow of a great challenger.

A handful of opponents in Suyo’s lifetime were shaped and sculpted enough to call such, and they paled in the raw molding of the titanic keeper. His dark flesh glistened in the light from tracks of liquid energy along the floor and ceiling. His beard was aflame with a fire that kept an outline despite a roiling and constant writhing within it. The eyes, though... That was where a chill crept through the Blademaster’s spine. Those were deep, dark eyes, lit by smoldering embers, powered by eons of twisted thoughts and corrupted purpose.

Her Apprentice did not show half as much fear. Her anger gave her boldness, but it was a negative in this case. The cub roared out before charging, fang-dagger in hand. Suyo had to snap into action, thankful to have her focused restored, but filled with a new fear as she burst after her apprentice. The dark keeper hefted one massive fist, slowly uncurling a pair of fingers as the shadows of the room swayed and flit. Molten energy collected at the tip of his digits before erupting outward in a wide splash. Tsu ground her heels into the floor, eyes wide with realization finally. Suyo snapped forward, blade wreathed in jade energy as it wrenched from it’s sheathe. She swept wide, striking in an arc that ripped the air and blasted against the oncoming magma. It spared them, splashing the hissing goop across the whole of the room, slithering down the walls and dripping from the ceiling behind them.

“Apprentice, this is a fight you can not participate. You are not ready.” The older bear grunted, throwing her free hand back to nudge the cub behind.

“No! I can... I can find an opening-” Tsu tried to argue. She was cut off as the Blademaster turned and gripped her by the vest, snapping back with her whole body to heave the cub toward the entrance. The younger bear bounced once before catching herself, claws scraping the metallic floor as she came to a stop. Her distant cries drowned out as Suyo immediately dived to the side, more molten metal coming down and slamming into the floor where she was. The Blademaster bounded to her feet, blade held ready in both hands as her stance cemented. She had but a few moments to get a clear view of the scale of her opponent, towering over her, as well as the massive molten shape of a blade, barely cooled enough to use. Though it was clear the massive keeper had little concern for the heat of the thing, nor did it seem physics were particularly concerned with it’s make. He hefted and trudged after her, rumbling in irritation so deep that it seemed to echo across the chamber and all the halls they had come from.

The titanic foe swung again, a wide arc that the Blademaster slipped under, stepping to close the distance between them. He followed up though, shifting his arm to send it forward in a thrust. Suyo willed the jade energy back over the blade and fell to a knee, catching the offending edge with that of her own blade. The force of it rocked her to the core, the whole of her body tensing and fighting to keep from being crushed under the weight as she heaved the strike overhead. Her body seared in agony as she forced back to her feet and rushed inward in the gap, slicing one leg and then the next as she dove between the behemoth’s legs. The keeper did not show much, but the rumbling faltered and deepened. It was not a deep, or powerful strike, but it proved exactly as much as the Blademaster needed to know.

The titanic keeper could feel pain. He could be subdued.

It was a dance she had to keep up for longer than most fights she had ever endured. At first, it was avoiding the massive swipes and heavy stomps as the keeper used his sheer mass to effect. When he found it’s effect was not enough, as cuts and slashes began to mar his earthen skin, the molten blade began to splash and toss waves of molten excess. Great lines of fire burst out from where his blade smashed the floor, and heat radiated from his flesh. The Blademaster danced, though. She danced and she glided across the floor, she sliced and she slashed through the dense muscle of her challenger. Every time she was bashed, when the dark flames washed over her, when she caught a blade or a foot with her own, her spirit flared and protected her. It swirled brutal winds that whipped away the sloshing magma, that sucked the life from flames, that put grit in her gut to match the colossal force her opponent wielded.

With a leap the bear threw herself over the oncoming thrust of raw metal. So wide was the thing, that she came down atop it, and ran with all the breath in her lungs. This, the keeper did not seem to expect, for the first it gave him pause. Shock. Her blade thrust deep, piercing the keeper’s neck and loosing dark blood like tar. The behemoth fell back, dropping his weapon before stumbling into the wall and sliding down. Though he was not lifeless, the dark glow to his eyes had lifted, and he had no energy to stand.

Tsu began to march in, brimming with excitement and praise for her Master. She was careful to step and leap over the molten remnants scattered about the room, grinning wide as she bellowed in victory.

“Master! That was a fight unlike any other! Your grace was unbound, and your endurance beyond mortal ken! You were right to send me back... I would only have been in the way and...” Her tone drifted and slowed as she passed the fallen keeper, sneering briefly at his unmoving form before catching the back of her beloved mentor.

Suyo was staring through the distant window. The haze over Azeroth had only grown thicker. It had begun to roil and twist with ill intent. Her head did not turn, not at her Apprentice’s praise and not as she inquired the fallen titan.

“... Your master is not here... Is he?” Her voice echoed through the chamber. Not commanding, not jubilant, but dark, wavering faintly under the breath.

“Sargeras reaches Azeroth... Now. To strike, while his prize is in reach.” The keeper heaved. It was odd, to hear something so huge, made up of something beyond flesh and metal, strain to speak. Tsu snapped her gaze back to the fallen keeper, glaring sharply with her maw stretched as if to remark. It caught, however, as she glanced back to her master. Her ears were twitching, and the violet petals woven into her armor were falling loose, drifting on a gentle breeze.

“M... Master? We... We won. You, won... We came as far as we can... It... It is time to go back, isn’t it?” The cub dared to take a step forward, lifting one hand up gently to reach toward the older bear. She was stopped by something gripping her leg. The dark keeper had sprawled, falling in his stretch to reach the Apprentice and hook a single finger around her legs. Tsu furrowed her brow, confused and worried. Then she felt it. The rising wind in the chamber. A wind that was not there before.

“I came... All this way...” Suyo spoke. Her voice was dripping with tension, so much so that her chords were already hoarse. “... We came to put an end to this business... To fight our way to the very top... To see that, if we were to die, at least this whole war would be put to rest...” The wind began to whip, the violet petals swirling and torn through the air as it expanded and whistled through the whole of the room. “... I was to face a foe beyond ken. Beyond reckoning and hope... I was to face a foe capable of besting me! I was to fight until a dying breath! I WAS TO FIGHT FOR A WORTHY GRAVE!” The Blademaster’s body shuddered with the barely restrained fury. The wind that whistled about her began to hum, reverberating in the echoing chamber as jade laced itself through the air. The force began to cut, ripping into the metallic floor, slicing into the keeper’s form, Tsu would not have withstood for long under such conditions.

But defeat had sparked something long forgotten, long lost to the old keeper. As the energy rose, he pulled the cub to his chest and shielded her body with his own. “WE WERE TO BE FINISHED! THE LONG BLOODY WAIT WAS TO END!” The Blademaster kept howling, blade in both hands as she focused all her brimming fury, her defeated anguish and lifetime of anticipation into wild energy. It was a fight to turn into the winds, flesh ripping as the keeper steadied toward the old bear. Options were limited, and most of his own energy had been drained in the fight. One hand lifted and opened wide, summoning the last of his own deep fires. The flames collected and writhed in his grasp, lashing out in every direction wildly. The keeper pulled back, heaving as he tossed it like a simple ball at the Blademaster’s back. At first, it seemed like it was sucked into the whirling jade vortex around them and dissipated into nothing.

The reality soon made itself apparent as the jade suddenly darkened and surged with black fires. The dark flames spread across the jade wind and rushed in toward the center, the Pandaren in breakdown. Suyo whipped about with her blade readied, a pair of swift slices surrounded by the jade force of her spirit to keep the oncoming assault at bay. But the fires were not so easily deterred, they fed on the life force and it only spurred them quicker upon her. The dark flames crashed into her, immediately setting the bear to shrieking and agony. Her armor was ignored, melting under the assault and peeling away as if nothing. Tsu squirmed and struggled against the titan’s grip, and earned herself just enough space to stretched and stare as her master transformed. The old bear cooked before her eyes, skin charring black and cracking in a myriad of webs, no blood escaping as it was dried before reaching the air. Near all of her fur was burned away, and her body soon collapsed.

Yet...

The titan released the cub as the winds died out and the flames sputtered away. Her instinct was to rush to her master’s side, but the keeper stopped her with a single finger to the shoulder.

“She will live... But the reorigination of her flesh will not be kind... Take her home, little one... Do for the world, what neither of us... Could...” The final words were the last the keeper had to offer, releasing the apprentice and easing down across the floor. For a few moments, Tsu seemed confused. As much concerned as simply lost. Instinct kicked in shortly after, though, and she rushed to the side of her master. The charred bear was barely croaking in breaths, but it confirmed at least she was alive. For now.

“Stay with me, Master... Please... I still need you. There is still so much I must learn!” Tsu gripped the older woman by the shoulders, heaving her to her feet despite pained groans. Despite the injuries, and the lack of armor, the Master was too much for the cub to sling over her shoulders and run with. Tsu propped the older bear up under a shoulder, reaching to the far hip and gripping the frayed remains of a belt to heave into marching steps. “You do not have my permission to go yet... Not just yet... Not like this...”

The chamber dimmed, the tracks of light across the floor and the ceiling cut out. After some time, as Tsu carried her master into the halls, a rumbling caused their path to shudder. Bits of ceiling came crashing down, and the walls cracked under distant force. The cosmic fortress, the citadel of hellfire, was crumbling. It was all the Apprentice could do to heave and step. She would find her master a way home. There was too much she still needed the old bear for. Training, and understanding. The only one she was sure knew deeply what she had suffered, how she had suffered.

Possibly, one day, even how to put into words or actions, what it would take to live not in such anger. If they could but make it out alive.

Beyond Beyond

The humming was the strangest part of the whole ordeal.

Not that gross, dissociating burst that came with the Vindicaar’s jump from one world to the next. Nor the constant rumbling and shudders from distant artillery. The cries of the wounded and the stench of strange oils or singed flesh didn’t compare. It was always that almost soothing, almost other worldly and frightening humming.

“All the crystals and all of the power of this ship resonate, in magic and in the Light.” One of the Artificers had told her that, as she sat on the ledge overlooking the ship’s helm. The Master was down there, arguing with several of the other Draenei. The weathered looking alien was looking off to one corner of the ship with his thick goggles, neck tendrils twitching as he recounted the many wonders and moving pieces that gave the ship it’s flight, and exchanged power between places. Tsu only offered her ear in courtesy. She assumed he was simply trying to keep the ‘child’s’ spirits up, a noble effort if misplaced.

Minutes passed. Hours passed. Bodies joined the heated debate below, her temporary warden left to check some gauge or some such effect, the debate was interrupted by a scout of some sort, a few bodies left then it flared up anew. Her warden eventually returned, finally gazing below for a time. His smile didn’t falter as he clambered down to sit a respectable few paces aside her. His mouth opened to speak, but her words struck first.

“I’ve made quite a stir… Seems ironic in a battle for life among not one, but all worlds, that you all would turn away trained hands.”

“Being that we aren’t the Legion,” The Artificer opened, after a moment’s pause, “We make an effort to uphold some ethical standings. It’s all we have that marks us apart… That and, of course, not being quite so immortal or green.” He chuckled at his humour, though Tsu couldn’t find the mirth in it herself.

“I will have my revenge. I know full well what the Legion can do… I’ll accept that cost. Whatever it takes to see them wiped away. Obliterated to the last.”

“I’d speak of the hatred in your voice… But not a single one of us has not thought the same. At least one time or another. Your mother seems-”

“She isn’t my mother. She is my Master.”

The Artificer didn’t skip a beat as he corrected himself. “-Your Master, she seems at least of some similar mind. To argue so long to keep you from going home.”

“I don’t have a home to return to.” Tsu growled, lips curling back. “The Master told me that, should I survive, it may well serve to be the lesson that teaches me the difference.”

“Between?”

A long pause thickened the air before she exhaled slowly. “Between a demon… And a Warrior.”

“And that is not something so simple as… Say… Not eating souls? Or fighting a fair battle?” The old creature queried.

“It is a very deep thing… It is… Something I do not expect to understand.” Tsu shuddered briefly as she sighed. The rings of her mail rustled and scraped as she leaned forward. "Master speaks of control. To be a warrior from a demon, it takes more than simply knowing right from wrong, or having the strength to take or destroy. They are supposed to blend, together..."

"Is that all?" The Artificer chuckled. "Yes, she is wise perhaps. It is a similar thing as they call the distinction between wisdom and intellect. More than simply knowing, one must also know when, or 'if'."

"All I know is that a Warrior is not a Hero. A Warrior does what must be, good or ill. Someone must extract justice... And vengeance. And it will be me." Tsu shuffled to her feet, one hand idling atop the grip of her bone dagger. The Artificer reached across slowly, gripping a shoulder to pause the young one, despite the piercing glare she gave in return.

"The best of us have been blinded many times before. Warrior, Engineer, or Prophet, no one is immune to the deceptions of the mind. Single mindedness, no matter the objective, will turn you away from the truth of things. These old words will not sway you, not in your youth or your rage. I do hope one day though, you stop and think on this. From one very old soul who has seen things I could not properly describe, from worlds to creatures to cosmic strangeness, I leave you with this."

"And that is?" The cub cut in sharply.

"That until you accept that there is a world beyond revenge, a world beyond failure... There will not be."

The old soul eased up from his seat, giving the cub a single pat before he trotted off back to some machine that needed attention. Tsu mused on the subject for only a few moments. Then she shrugged her shoulder of the weight that had long walked off. She carried herself down the steps with practiced posture, sharp and crisp. The Apprentice planted herself in the middle of the argument that had died on her approach, facing her Master with unbreaking eye contact.

"Are they still arguing?"

"Yes." Suyo replied flatly.

"I am here now. They will not remove me." Her own tone was commanding, though carefully inflected not to impose such against her Master.

"I know." Was all the Blademaster responded.

"We are blades. We are here to do what the trade hands and earth shapers can not. It is a blade's duty to strike where it is needed, when it is needed. It is not a blade's duty to make peace. I want to go to the ground, Master. We should do what we came to." Tsu did not turn or flinch once despite the aghast expressions and livid stares from the Draenei around them. Her Master lead onward, and they marched to the strange pad the bodies had been flashing up and down from. As they stood in the light that swelled and ripped them into a shape she couldn't comprehend, she glanced up to the higher tier. What sort of world did that old goat see, or not see, she wondered.

The Price of Failure

Two blades met on a field of scarred rock. There was no dance or finesse as they charged, the earth drank deep as they collided and fell. The vultures were soon to follow, emboldened by the scent of gore. For any warrior it would have been a fitting end. Perhaps not a glorious one, but fitting. Delirium set in from the loss of blood swiftly, and the world rolled in tumbling until darkness swallowed sight. She was not dead. It was the first thought that drifted through her pounding skull. The Pandaren tried to move, tried to think. The effort only brought sharp, searing flame across her side, her limbs shuddered and found pressure locking them down. Her maw stretched wide and her ursine roots expelled her agony. There was darkness all around. It was unclear if her eyes were open or shut, not like the outcome would matter much either way. Through the searing hurt and aching skull she managed to pick up a few scarce observations. The air was exceptionally dry, the immediate space reeked of smoke and herbs. Something like wind occasionally breezed outside her darkness and kicked up what she imagined was dust, or ash. It also jingled a strange clattering, something hanging nearby. Of what she did know was that she was alone. Bound tightly in some sort of cocoon, no quiet breathing or occasional twitching to give away some hovering body. She was trapped in a tomb made from her own failure, too weak to struggle free and too prideful to call for answers. Meditation as a practice generally came about much easier in better circumstances. Being locked at the limbs and stretched out prevent her preferred posture. The aching pain and searing heat didn't make focus unattainable so much as it required an intense understanding to compartmentalize. Understanding failure was a bitter thing to choke down. The process of reaching any sort of zen required breaking down the memories she had and what she could feel in the present. Flashes of cracked, red earth, the sun high in a dusty sky, some large monstrosity between her and the road. Her journey was halted regardless at this point, there was no meaning in holding bitter regret and anger. She let them simmer on the edge of her consciousness. Her skin was raw in several places. Particularly her knees, her elbows and paws. The only notable wound though was along her right side. Where it started and ended was tough to guess, but the pain clawed deep into her gut and her whole body howled with the recognition of it's hurt. Worse than being large, it had gouged deep. That she was alive was some sort of miracle perhaps, moreover though it left only questions. She accepted her pain and the discomfort of her prison, it boiled in joining the edge of her senses. Meditation was a gift as much as it was a curse, at least as far as the Pandaren was concerned. Her mastery of spiritual endeavors was spotty at best, and best utilized as an extension of her blade. Much that she understood reflection was a necessary part of empowerment, that did not mean her meditation was so flawless she could hear a pin drop a mile past. Such it was that her focus didn't snap, no matter how many minutes or hours it was, until a sudden roughness was peeling open her cocoon. With a particularly primal gurgle, she attempted some weak growl as the pressure released her arms. both hands were merely swatted aside as the body looming over her grunted and tugged at the bandages around her gut. "Be still. Your dressing requires changing." The command caught the Pandaren off guard. For several reasons. Most notably the fact it took her a moment to recall that she understood the common tongue. Grudgingly she went still as the crusty, pungent bindings were pulled away. "Let us see what's left of the damage." With a snap there was a brief illumination, a tiny flickering flame in the center of a massive jade palm. The Pandaren didn't bother glancing down as the other huffed and hummed, rolling the flame as they inspected the matter fur and stitched flesh. Discoloured and crusty from a mix of blood and poultices. The hand receded but the flame did not, it danced over the skin with an oddly comforting warmth, causing the shadows around to dance and twist. Half shaded, thick tusks jutted up between rough green lips, pursed as much as they could be into a pensive expression and the calloused hands returned, wringing a damp cloth over the wounded flesh. She was busy glancing around the single sized tent, trying to determine what sorts of hides made up the siding. She hissed at the starkly chill water that dripped over her wound, it earned her a hushing grunt from her tender. The looming figure was oddly meticulous despite it's hulking shadow in the flickering dimness, brushing through the fur that did remain, carefully cleaning the wound, reapplying the poultice, nudging the heavy set bear to shift her and wind bandages again. It was a largely quiet thing, the Pandaren largely obedient, if pained and huffing with every twitch and prod. The Orc appeared content to complete the task without any need to direct the aching woman. Then the task was done, the hides wrapped back tightly leaving the Pandaren locked away in her soft prison. "How long?" The Pandaren asked, straining to tilt her head enough as the figure turned to leave. There was no pause as blinding light flared, the tent pulled open for the Orc to depart. "As long as it takes." Was his reply.

"We will start easy. Your name." The Orc sat, legs crossed and posture as straight as the low hanging tent would allow.

"Suyo of the Blade." The Pandaren rasped, barely managing to sit up herself and still surrounded by the hides of her bedding. The Orc grunted, rubbing a hand over his chin before slapping a palm over his bare chest.

"Vrash of the Frostwolves."

"I owe you a debt, Vrash of Frostwolves. But I must ask why you have healed me." Suyo groaned, reaching down and lifting the skin to her maw. As much as the water trickling into her throat washed down the dust, it was the chill that soothed her flesh much more.

"It was a... Difficult decision. We decided that bringing our warrior back, wounded as he was, was worth keeping you alive to gain answers. Or collect justice." The words seemed like the sort that should be grave, the Orc though merely chuckled in his gruff tone.

"Your warrior... We clashed..." The Pandaren coughed, Vrash was ready and picked up as she took another drink.

"You faced Moxra of the Burning Blade... Long diluted of that blood." There was a harsh snort in pause. "He lives too. Though his healing has been slower, he refuses to settle and lengthens the process. His word is what keeps you a guest rather than prisoner." Suyo frowned a moment, processing slowly before shifting despite the stabbing pain to bow low over her knees. "Don't rip those stitches! Ancestors damned if I have to replace them before the sun's rise... Easy to see why you two carried each other here." An exasperated sigh rippled out from the Orc as his palm scrubbed over his face.

"We... Carried each other...?" Her focus was torn from the Orc's tone as she rose and set into a perplexed stare. Her confusion only doubled when Vrash erupted into a full sort of heartfelt laughter.

"That you did. You each had one hand around the other's guts, holding them in as you wobbled on those knives across the rock. Collapsed on the edge of camp in quite the mess, the vultures were licking your blood trail up before you hit the ground."

Suyo couldn't quite comprehend what of the situation was so humorous, but at least there was some context to her arrival. The memories were still hazy, more clues might piece it together if meditation did not first. Vrash caught the uncertainty in her features, though his assumption was not in the same line.

"Honor demanded we fix the pair of you. As much as the Horde needs every body we have left after the last few years, the Valley isn't the most secure location yet. Moxra tells it that you purged the Quillboar on the southern bluff. Those were his task. But that is his problem, and what it meant was that perhaps you could be an ally for us here... You are an ally, yes?"

Suyo did not hesitate with her reply, as steely as she could manage with lungs full of fire and dust.

"So long as I have honor in me, I am indebted for the life you have spared. Beyond that, so long as your "Horde" shows honor... I can be considered their Blade."

Vrash clapped his hands together with a laugh. "A little wordy, but acceptable. Glad I don't have to send you out to the pit. Haven't seen a bear like you in some time... Big guy came through once, they say he was something else. Love a challenge, but just as well, always glad to have another pair of hands." The Pandaren merely remained as perplexed and pensive in expression as she began, though at least the Orc's enthusiasm was vaguely encouraging. It was the most emotion she'd seen in the days following her first waking. She tried to dip in another bow but a sudden sharp growl from Vrash cut that in it's tracks. Seemed some seriousness was left in the big guy. The burning question remained of course.

"When do I start?"

Vrash's grin was wide as he responded. "Whenever you have healed."

It was exhilarating to feel adrenaline in her veins again. Not like trying to walk for the first time in days. Not just swinging her sword for the first time in weeks. Real combat. Life or death combat. Her opponent wasn't the most glorious challenge. A snap forward and she barely stumbled back from the sharp pincer, Scorpid clattering and hissing in rage as it skittered about and tried to impale with it's poison dripping stinger. Her wrist flicked and she knocked the strike aside with her blade, the very motion caused her side to erupt in agony, but it was a fight between life and death, there was no room for comfort. It wasn't the most graceful dance, but for the first time in weeks she was dancing the blade again. The beast surged and snapped, and she had to match step to keep her limbs in tact. The mere stretch and stress on her muscles, all of them, was an exercise in fortitude as much as rehabilitation. Pain clawed across the whole of her form, her fur was slick with sweat and matted down across her body. Her breathing was heavy and rough, her posture was slouched and stance pitiful. In all she was a mess, covered only in tight bindings over her torso and a ragged cloth hanging from her waist. But by the gods, Suyo knew she was alive.

"Stop dancing with it and kill the damn bug!"

Her colleague was not so patient. The perpetual scowl on his face caused by the sharp rend in his lip was only deepened by an actual scowl as her glowered from across the field.

"Do not bark at me just because you can not walk without a crutch." Her retort was sharp and swift, and clear by the reddening to Moxra's face that it stung true. She allowed that amusement to curl her lips in a smirk. He was not wrong though, there wasn't enough time in the day to dance with scorpids and meet with the Shaman. Plus whatever task he may have been storing to keep them earning place. With a swift stab she pierced the chitin and scrambled the bug's brain, taking care to back away from it's dying lashes before offering it a gentle dip in bowing. Not the most appropriate but she couldn't manage proper form if her life depended on it, which it luckily did not quite.

Not that proper form meant much where she had landed. If she had learned one thing in her few weeks in the Valley of Trials, as the Orcs had taken to calling it apparently, it was that structure was incredibly lax. The sort of inspired chaos was breath taking, in it's own right. Orders came down from on high but the nature of how anything really got done or the order to rank and file was jumbled and without law. Groups of peons were tasked by overseers, actual 'Seers' were some sort of mystics but it was a term she'd learned was both somehow at once and not synonymous with the other Shaman. Raiders had wolves, but there didn't seem to be a great deal of raiding to be done which made for an incredibly vague position to hold. There were grunts, there were taskmasters, there were overlords. The only real constant she'd learned is that any higher order was to be treated as such, and superseded the lower ones. Not that she was always quite sure who's title was more weighted than the other's. What she did know though was that her keeper was the one relaying most of her objectives, and that was enough direction to start.

Moxra had been paired to her as soon as she was fit to walk again. Initially of course there was tension, even still the young grunt wasn't particularly proud of his position or his shameful return to camp. Part of him clearly despised her swift recovery, every opportunity she took to stretch her limbs he tried to double the act and stay ahead. Each time he'd get pulled aside to have his stitches checked, fussed at by the Shaman, or gradually beat down by his own flagging body until he had to stop and lean aside something stable.

The walk to the rise where Vrash sat in meditation was a long and fairly vertical one around the valley's edge. As per the usual he seemed to know they were there long before they spoke. As the pair rounded the corner they were met with a drenching blast, water spraying across their faces and dripping down their bodies as the good natured keeper chuckled. Fire and rocks circled the air around his head as he motioned them forward over his shoulder.

"The day boils. I figured you two could use the refreshment."

The other Orc merely grunted at the humour, brushing himself off and leaning against the cliff face at his side. Suyo took stance toward the other and stared over the Valley and it's small sea of tents.

"It is good to see you're faring well Pandaren. Although I heard your feet dancing in the dust. We expect tasks to get completed, not toyed with." Suyo's head dipped at the Shaman's words, frowning to herself as she exhaled in a frustrated sigh. "And you in the back. Don't think I can't smell the blood on you. You tried your own hand at one of the bugs thinking to take the Pandaren's task?" Moxra's scowl deepened, if such a thing were possible, the gruff sort keeping whatever dour opinion to himself as his own head briefly bowed to their overseer. The accusation and sharpness of tone didn't last long. The Shaman rose with a reserved chuckle, hands clapping together as the elements dispersed around him and the earth clunked back to the ground it came from. "It will do the pair of you some good to be reminded of humility. As well as accept some cooperation into your pride. The majority of peons are busy carving out the rock that will serve as home. You two will carry rocks for the front gate while they are busy."

Moxra immediately erupted with fury, barking and snarling in Orcish as he stomped forward without the support of his crutch. Vrash turned about with an oddly calm posture, but his tone snapped into a steely and commanding sort. Or so Suyo had to imagine given how guttural the Orcish tongue was on it's own. Back and forth they went. Moxra would stomp and throw an arm, the Shaman would snort and bark something curt in return. Vrash crossed arms at his chest, the younger Orc snarled and postured as if contemplating a strike. From the tales she'd been told, Suyo was surprised when the two merely turned backs to each other. The younger, arrogant body hobbled his way down the cliff in pain and anger, the Shaman simply drifted back to his meditative stance with a rumbling hum under his breath.

"What... Was the nature of that argument?" The Pandaren inquired.

"Hrmph? Oh. You are still here. Go on, off with you, there is work that needs to be done. If you want to know what the source of Moxra the Arrogant's issues are-" The elder shaman barked a laugh. "-Then you may consider it an optional addition to your task to coax him to explain."

It was not a process of hours, but weeks their allotted task required to complete. Not simply for the nature of a large gate needing manpower and time. Morning after morning the Pandaren and her rival would trudge across the valley to the cave quarry and begin hefting slabs of rock and chiseled blocks onto an awaiting cart. Then as a pair they pushed it across the valley, unloading by the pass where peons would take them up and slot them unto the growing wall. Then the process would repeat, one load after the next, one rock after another. Moxra continued his attempts to one up the healthier woman, throwing around chunks nearly his own size, huffing and snarling through his bleeding gut as he refused to slow or pause. Suyo did not need to exert to outdo him, his body always flagged and fell long before the day's end even if he himself refused to quit. She took up the slack, with great chagrin and gritting of teeth under the stress, but she held.

One day, under the scorching sun, they struggled with a slab beyond their combined strength even to throw, barking and shouting back and forth before the Pandaren had to roll aside to avoid the crushing weight. Moxra dropped his end with a gasp and near collapsed, red earth drinking deep his trickling blood. Be it the heat or the Orc's arrogance, Suyo's patience snapped and she stomped forward with fangs bared.

"What kind of pitiful warrior are you? What childish death wish do you have that you are going to kill us both? Your pride?"

The Orc did not suffer the scathing well, already beyond irritated and infuriated. He tried to rise but failed, stumbling to a knee and coughing up a splatter of blood as he barked through the gurgling. "What do you know of pride, bear? What do you know of honor and humiliation? I will regain my standing, if it kills me, you, or anyone in my way!"

"Tch. Honor? Dying under a heavy rock? Do you listen to yourself or am I expected to use your skull next to break these stones down? There's no honor in falling to a boulder!"

"I know!"

The pair of them gradually fell to the ground, rumbling in the dust as they caught their breath and fumed. "There's no honor in this... Or killing bugs... Or fetching water. They're peon tasks." Moxra snorted sharply, slamming a fist into the cracked earth. The Pandaren pushed herself up enough to prop onto her shoulders, spitting dust from her maw as she grunted.

"... What is the matter? It is work that must be done. Hard work at that. These peons need direction and handling, you do not. Should this not prove-"

"No." The Orc's retort was snappy and snarled. "Peon work is for peons. Or the infirm. The weak. The weak work, or they die, the Horde has no place for cowards and failures... I failed. So this is my punishment. My humiliation. In the eyes of my Horde I am worthless."

The Pandaren considered this in silence as the Orc slumped. For a moment. Moxra was not to wallow in his angst, pushing his battered body from the dust and turning back to the stone and heaving will all his withered strength to little avail. Suyo wasn't fully sure how to continue for a time, so she waited and stormed her brain. No matter how she approached it, there was at least a few constants. The work had to get done, it was her task as well and she would also not be some drain on these new benefactors. The Orc was to be her partner until they were healed regardless, Vrash had been clear on these instructions and for all his ignorance Moxra at least was pushing her to her own limitations and growth. There was only one practical solution it seemed.

Rising out of the dust with a degree of renewed determination she focused intently on carefully placed motions. She squared up with the Orc at her side to continue the task at hand, and with a great heave the massive slab ripped from the earth and rose over her head. Moxra balked, he could feel the great lack of pressure on his palms, the sudden surge of power confused him, and the sense of inferiority left him oddly humbled rather than enraged. He simply couldn't comprehend what the Pandaren had that he lacked.

"We have a great deal of stone to carry. Come. I will need your help." That was all she spoke, motioning for him to follow.

Most days followed a similar sort of archetype, for many weeks. They would labour under the sun and stone. Some days were smooth, others they would get heated and bark back and forth. Never again did they drop a single stone though. Suyo refused to. Though she made sure that every massive rock and slab she carried, the Orc was hanging on, step for step.

It was a strange thing to be a part of another people, as temporary as it was to be. Some evenings around the fires, she would listen to the tales of great hunts and strange beasts from a far off world. Some days it was games of strength, wrestling arms or bodies, challenges of throwing axes or lifting stones. Mornings, the few that were not explicitly regimented for work or meditation and exercise, were much different. She'd watch tanners and their hides, the smiths with their grindstones. Children were an incredible rarity, but a handful still roamed the valley though they were a treat when she saw them. She had assumed it was the nature of their raising, one day she found one of the older girls wrestling boar sows to the encouraging cheers of her mother. She had asked why the child would be allowed such risk, rather than training with a blade or hefting boards. The response had something to do with their nature as a culture of warbands and hunters, the very notion was as foreign as it was dangerous to the Pandaren but when she expressed concern the huntress of an Orc merely laughed and waved it off as their ways. The lack of children though was not the danger in their upbringing, as oft as she saw the young toying with rock spiders and chasing lizards. It was something with their past an their exodus, though it seemed prudent not to inquire too deeply from the looks on faces whenever she danced around the subject.

She meditated with the Shaman, Vrash as well as others. She carried tools and stones, cleared pests and hunted meat. It was a serene sort of daily chaos, something different every few days at the least. As her body strengthened, her tasks grew more intensive. From stones she moved up into hunting, from hunting, she was directed to the raiders for patrols. Every opportunity she shifted up, Moxra was not far behind. He swelled and postured under all the dubious gazes and glares, though his recovery had been slower his strength returned in pieces all the same even if it was taxing to keep pace with the Pandaren. Their status became known, and though there were but a few skirmishes with Quillboar, Centaur and the like, their combat prowess vastly outshone both their enemies and the grunts that directed them. It was a crawling, clawing process to regain respect, but it was a humbling journey. Mostly. Moxra never lost his fire and demand for ever bigger threats, stronger opponents, and heavier tasks, but the Pandaren's composure gradually rubbed off in some ways and even he learned how to keep his tongue checked just so.

But two wanderers were not meant to confine to a valley. Noble though the hard work may have been, it was a waste to keep them where they could not do the most. Vrash gathered them to discuss their options and the three meditated on the ridge to the valley for a full evening considering the best use of their skills. Early in the following morning though a terrible screech echoed across the valley from the pass. From their ridge they rose and looked to the east, a lone rider with a plumed wooden mask tore into the valley on the back of a tall creature with sharp teeth and wicked claws. The Shaman chuckled, waving a hand across. "Ask, and the earth will provide."

"Ya ain' seen da kid?" The runner gave a long, rasping sort of sigh, feathered mask rustling as the Troll's head shook.

"Just the other day? You are certain? I can gather the watch but I felt nothing in the earth and we heard no call of riders or otherwise." Vrash rumbled, serious and perplexed as he rubbed a thumb over his chin. The Pandaren and Burning Blade stood a few feet back, joined by the Grunts of the pass, all mostly quiet if hovering inquisitively.

"I believe ya. He not our best runna, figured he could at least stick to da road. Supposed to tell ya, be needin' hands if ya have spare... Might be havin' to ask ya help find him too." The paired warriors glanced to each other with the same thought, frowning quietly in the background as the Shaman continued his humming and consideration.

"How many? What ails our brothers?"

"Barring poor runnas, got sometin' waylaying caravans up da road. Raiders be coming to fix dat, but we need some big kills if we gonna make up da losses. 'Less ya got the spare resources, gotta ask if you got some bodies ta spare."

Vrash's usual grin slowly returned around his stubby tusks as he turned. "I think we just might."

By the evening the runner was gone, raptor dashing through the gate with a parting cry and troll whooping from it's back. Suyo and Moxra set out the following morning with packs bursting of hide and smoked meats. Their objective was simple. They were to venture off the road and sweep the red dunes in passage to Sen'jin, hopefully finding the missing runner and at worst arriving to deliver the goods before cutting back across south by the ocean to complete the search grid. Were it so easy, of course, but it was a start.

A slow start though. Near fit as they were, neither had committed to long marches yet and it was indeed a march. Their feet padded over rock and soil one step by the next. Climbing dunes, cresting hills, circling the outcroppings of jagged rock. They sat time and time again in the shade of the mountains or beneath the boughs of gnarled trees and their spiny branches. Familiar scavengers soared about between the occasional cloud, lizards and beetles skittered from behind rocks and out of crevices as they passed. Moxra retained his ever permanent scowl, the expression twitching every time a wrong step pulled his weak muscles or sore gut, eyes forward only and never scanning beyond the immediate sight. Suyo was somewhat more attentive, albeit in a relaxed fashion. It was good to move again, not just walk but wander and explore. Hers was the gaze that picked up the shift in every breeze and the texture of each rock. While Moxra set his pace and took point, the Blademistress remained a step behind to observe what she had traded her life at home for.

For the moment, it was mostly dust and rocks. But it held it's own sort of charm. A challenge of survival, and she loved a good challenge.

Unsurprisingly they did not find any large tracks or clues as to where the missing messenger may have been pulled from. In the distance the road looked largely unperturbed and tranquil, as much as it could through the warping heat and dust clouds. The sun rose and fell through the sky, from orange to bright and back as it crept toward the horizon and threatened it's departure. It was staring into the sky Suyo caught the same harbingers of her own death, circling some ridged trench. She'd seen them time and time again over the course of the day and hadn't realized their disappearances weren't past clouds or into the plains, it was dives into and from the trench. With a grunt she pointed them out to the Orc, the pair of them watching with narrow gazes. The Burning Blade immediately waved it off as average carrion, unworthy of the attention. Their primary objective, as he saw, was to deliver meat to the weak not carry the corpse of a failure home. The Blademistress disagreed. They argued on it for a time, marching all the while. It was a subtle victory it took the Orc some time to notice, but when he did he bristled and grumbled the rest of their trip.

She'd quietly stepped to nudge him closer to the vultures, keeping wide to his side and inching in and ahead to distract his steps on his need to be at point.

When they reached a point, a soft warbling echoed into their ears. At times it was low and abrupt, others it was like a long croaking. The pair were perplexed by the unknown sound, one that even the Orc had to admit he had not come across in Durotar yet. Occasionally, suddenly, it was broken by a sharp cry, hoarse and shrill accompanied by the scavengers ascending back to circle denied or spooked from their claim. Strange as it was, fear was not the sort of emotion that a warrior of cold steel emulated, so they marched around the rock and found a cut into the ridge to stumble through in casual approach. The worst, they expected, was some wild or dying beast drowning in it's own blood. When they stomped into the wide basin of the ridge, they found that they were half right, and half wrong. Immediately a pair of bloodshot eyes snapped to them, the spindly thing scrambling over a mound in the shadow of the ridge, scraping it closer to the dark with a streak of crimson stretching under the motion. Moxra must have known what he was looking at, Suyo was still trying to piece it together.

She did not get any help from the Orc as he growled some particularly harsh phrases in the Orcish tongue. The context she did not know, but what she had learned to differentiate, narrowly, was tone. Even if the majority of Orcish tone was bellowing or grunting. Fringes of brick red hair and rounded tusks poked out of the dark, there was a brief sniffling before a raspy retort in the guttural tongue. Suyo saw a pair of fingers gripping tightly at scaled flesh, they shuddered and twitched as the Orc barked back. She stood frowning, something wasn't adding up in her head, or perhaps it was just the context that was lacking. With a soft grunt, she nudged the Orc, disregarding the continued babble from the shadows.

"What does he say?" The Pandaren inquired.

"Coward claims he was ambushed. Raptor fought off whatever tried, died fighting. Doesn't have a scratch on him, he must have hid or run." The Orc spit on the ground as he explained in the Common tongue. The male in the dark flinched, visibly receding and continuing his warbling in half-choked tones. Suyo frowned even deeper. Something was missing.

"Do you speak Common?" The Blademistress stepped forward as she spoke. There was a long pause.

"... Yah."

"What is your name?" She continued with a cordial tone. Not soft, but without aggression. There was another long pause.

"Jimbda of tha Darkspear."

"Hail, Jimbda of the Darkspear. I am Suyo of the Blade. This, Moxra of the Burning Blade. You are the messenger lost?"

"That me, yah." The Troll sniffled again, trying and failing to catch his breath and steady his frayed nerves. "I tell ya friend, they come out o' da dust. Surrounded Shar'ran. She cut dem good but she was one, dey was many..."

"And why is your spear not stained in blood, Coward?" Moxra snapped up, arms crossed and muscles tensed. Playing to his strengths, and terrifying the poor troll.

"I ain' got a spear! I run, das my job, I good at it. Shar'ran she run good too, she be my spear when we hunt, but this..." The Troll tried to muster some sort of courage or composure, but it fell flat and he collapsed atop the dead beast, shuddering and weeping as before. "... It all my fault mon. I try to cut across the dunes... I was sure we be too fast but... Cut us off... Had blades and we had nothing... She tossed me and she gave 'em hell. Bloody before I even got out tha dust. All I saw was she take a sword right through the heart. Had to go right back down or..." Jimbda continued in his mourning, sputtering between breaths as he caressed and clung to his passed companion. The Orc fumed and stepped forward, directly into the Blademistress's hand as she turned and shoved him back a step.

"He is not a warrior. His cowardice is not damning. Leave him be." She set her foot down with a tone of cold steel, Moxra only trembled with seething fury.

"His honor is stained, he fled from combat, abandoned his blade-sister to her death! We should be bringing back his -head-! The Horde has no place for cowards and parasites, the children learn early or they get left behind." The Orc snarled particularly sharp with that. Suyo glanced back to the Troll a moment as it finally dawned to her. With renewed viciousness she suddenly slammed her gut into the Orc's, forcing him to stumble back as she stretched her spine full.

"A -child-!? This is how you treat the young!? He is not a spear dancer, he is a gods damned messenger. Outnumbered and out armed, his beast chose his life over her own. As a good -warrior- sacrifices. You would dishonor the warrior's rite? I'll cut you apart where you stand if I hear you yell at this child one, more, time." The ursine roots of her genes showed as her teeth gnashed between words, tone heaving with breaths as she growled and roared each word. Silence fell over the trench for a moment, even the mighty Moxra was taken aback and unsure how to react, his stance softened and he just barely shrunk under the woman's aura despite their equal stature. With a huff she turned from him in disregard, approaching the Troll and kneeling down aside the fallen beast. "Jimbda of the Darkspear... We were sent to find you, and bolster the stock of your people. Vengeance will come to the monsters who took your beast's life from you, but you must-"

"I can not do dat." Jimbda raised his gaze to match the Pandaren's, Suyo blinked at the shocking resolve with which he spoke.

"... Can not?"

"Nah. Big one dere is right... My honor be stained... Shar'ron grant me her power if I give her the justice she deserve... I failed her, Suyo of da Blade. She haunt me if I don't make it right, and she be right to do so. I ain't da best at no thing, they make me run because running the only thing that don't require thinking. I failed dat too. I gotta make up for it, or I go back and they just turn me away like ya big one there... It da price... Of failure."

The Pandaren took each word in and carefully considered. Even in the back, Moxra held a contemplative frown, but after a moment he was the first to huff and point out a simple flaw. "What tracks? What scent? We have nothing to follow."

The Troll shook his head. "That where ya wrong." He strained and huffed, hunching and pushing with all his might to roll the raptor over out of the dark. Deep gouges were carved in her flank and a wicked rend displayed the shattered bone of her ribs and ruptured heart. That though was not the unexpected. The unexpected was the figure impaled on her claws, equally lifeless and bloodied around the holes in it's own chest. Wrapped in dark leathers, a black bandanna concealing the jaw and leaving only grey, lifeless eyes and short chopped muddy brown hair exposed. Suyo was again not well versed, but Moxra whipped forward to inspect the corpse before howling in rage.

"HUMANS? In -our- home? They dare to brazenly abandon peace, I'll collect their lying tongues and drown them in their own blood!"

Suyo rolled her eyes at his incredibly sudden enthusiasm to help poor Jimbda claim his vengeance. "They're likely opportunists. Look. It lacks a crest, no colours or standard... Where are the nearest humans on Kalimdor? Or they could be pirates."

"What they will be is -dead-." The Orc snorted.

"So ya be helping me? We kill 'em good, den head home as... Well you two be heroes maybe.. I just be a disappointment." The outcome of his fate did not seem to faze the Troll much. There was a weary resignation somewhere in those eyes, but his voice held the first glimmer of hope he'd had in a day. Suyo of the Blade gave him a nod.

"On our honor... We will restore yours."

They made camp in the sheltered den, striking a small fire near the center and sticking Jimbda on first watch at the only sizeable entrance. The Pandaren and the Orc set to stretching a hide over some sticks. Not the best tent, but serviceable enough for one evening. They took the time to dip into the mest from their packs and even stomped a few skittering lizards to rotate over the soft flame. Moxra took the second shift as the Troll surprised the pair of them, butchering the remains of his companion and cleaning the bones. Suyo was the only one who declined to feast of the raptor flesh, despite reassurances from the Troll that it was quite common practice among his people. Eventually they shifted to the cramped tent, Pandaren setting her blade against a rock on the exterior while Jimbda collected up the raptor skull and tucked it tight to his chest while he slept. The crackling of fire and soft whisper of dust on the eind took over. It was an oddly peaceful thing.

Then like shadows under the moon, three figures crawled over the rocky ridge and carefully crept down to settle on the basin floor. Daggers in hand they split and stalked on painstakingly silent steps to ambush the sleeping party and their vigilant watcher. Who would have expected such dexterity and cunning?

The answer was, evidently, exactly these three misfits.

The assumption was that the Troll was not a fighter and that with stealth they would have the advantage, three against two. The assumption was not incorrect, of course, but the advantage they did not have.

Moxra was well aware of the two shadows across his back, their bodies blocked the flame and set a chill across his spine. Both hands gripped the hilt of his massive sword as he knelt in barely patient anticipation. He waited until the shadows crossed the threshold of no escape. Then with a roar, he wheeled about and bounded across to strike.

When the cry went up, Suyo snapped into action herself. The brief distraction stayed the blade inching toward her neck, gave her just the opportunity to twist and grab the extended arm. She pulled the would be assassin down and slammed an open palm into his face, a sickening crunch confirming the blow. With the man disoriented she threw him overhead, propelling him into the rock with a kick before rolling herself up with his weapon now in her hand.

And just like that it was over.

Towering over the lithe body, Suyo could only heave in constrained, adrenaline fueled breaths. The human was writhing in pain, clutching his masked face with soft moans and wriggling up against the ridged wall with pathetic whimpers. She couldn't take such a weak life. There was no honor in it. To her side Jimbda had awoken slowly, equally terrified and clutching the raptor skull as if some divine protection would leak from it. The Pandaren pursed her lips in a frown, rumbling as she considered.

Moxra stomped to them some time later, carrying the pair of heads by their hair with his bloodied blade over his shoulder. Immediately he spat to the earth, barking at the Pandaren in disgust.

"Why do you delay? Kill this wretch. Be done with it."

Suyo glanced over the trembling human before shaking her head. "There is no honor in it."

The Orc snorted hefting the blade up and stomping forward to do the deed himself. The Pandaren stepped aside for him, tongue clicking under her breath. "Stain your own then." The weapon hovered just off his shoulder for a few moments, eventually Moxra snarled and brought it slamming down. The tip bit deeply into the earth and sunk further when he leaned over it's hilt to sneer.

"Run little coward. Come back to me with a blade in your hand... Otherwise for every pink skin I see in our lands again, I will collect their skulls, and bury you in your failure. Now leave. GO!"

The harsh shout caused the defeated man to stumble as he rolled and scrambled around the tent, huffing and whimpering under his breath as he scattered into the dark. That was that.

They returned to their rest, Suyo took up the next watch, the moon passed through the stars until daylight seeped over the horizon and shadowed the ridge once more. Together they collected what little needed to be and set to finding the road. In this Jimbda at least had helpful directions, recognizing seemingly indistinguishably normal trees from others, or the vague curve of one ridge from the next. Before midday they had arrived on the edge of Sen'jin and a rider had hustled out to meet them around the border. He seemed visibly relieved at first, whether for the meats that would feed the village or for their safety was undetermined.

They recounted their tale to the forerunner, whom grew quite agitated not only with Jimbda's failure and the loss of a strong raptor but also the news humans had dared to cross Durotar. In the end the two Blademasters were welcomed into the village and greeted warmly. They were offered fresh water and strange brews to refresh themselves, Moxra was more than content to accept such offerings. Suyo however went seeking the fate of their young charge, wandering the collection of fairly open huts and navigating the many hanging chimes and charms with a degree of trepidation. Eventually she found a small collective of brightly garbed Trolls surrounding the lone child. Their tongue was far beyond her comprehension but she watched as the young one flinched and twitched at the odd bark and harsh, guttural tone. One of the older looking stepped forward, tusks chipped and mask bleached in age. He dipped a thumb into gourd hanging around his neck, swiping across the young ones head and leaving a bright red streak. The collective grunted and spat to the earth before turning and loping back to the village.

Jimbda merely scuttled off and pulled himself up atop a rock, cradling the raptor skull he'd refused to set down and hunching over with gentle sighing. He didn't hear the Pandaren approach before she set down aside him and grunted in greeting.

"O-oh! Suyo o' da Blade. I ah... Just resting mah feet before I face da elders..."

"You lie. I saw them surround you. What is that mark?" Her retort was swift, if not quite gentle. The Troll merely sighed.

"... Spirit brand. Da ancestors be seeing I a failure. Now mah flesh brothers do too. Won't wash off, da skin stain and scar over time. It a permanent sign of shame... Not gonna be welcome among many of my blood for a long time." His expression slumped right back into that huddled, defensive tone.

"So what is your plan?" She didn't seem particularly empathetic, her tone wasn't seeping with any particular warmth or sympathy. Her gaze did shift just enough to give the Troll her full attention. Evidently Jimda did not have one. He hummed and mumbled under his breath for a time, seeming to wait out until the Pandaren inquired again before grudgingly replying.

"... Don' have one. I walk off into da dust. Hope I learn enough to catch meat, live like da lizards do."

"Unacceptable." Suyo's tone was much more firm this time, the Troll flinched at first assuming it was reprimand. "... Where from I come, abundance is shared regardless of worth and standing. The noble and the wise ate aside the fools and the maids. It was an understanding that each body, no matter how infirm or weak, had their place and responsibilities." Jimbda shifted just slightly as he listened, softly brushing a thumb along the snout of his raptor's skull. "On the Isle whence I learned the way of the warrior, I too learned about the delicate balance... A warrior's duty is to live, and die, in blood and honor. Are you an honorable sort, Jimbda of..." The Pandaren frowned at her immediate misstep, but the Troll merely gave a wry chuckle and waved one hand off before returning to his token.

"I just be Jimbda now... Jimbda da Exile... Exile or no, I be wearing what little honor I have left. I ain' about to give up on being a better Troll just 'cause mah people don' think I have what it takes."

Suyo gave a slow nod. "That is what I expected... The way of a warrior is to die bloody and screaming into the night. Moxra is a warrior, the Orcs are warriors, your people seem to think themselves warriors... But there is a fatal flaw in your cultures."

The Troll barked a sort of laugh at that, his eyes spoke volumes of his doubt even in his detached state. "What flaw dat be?"

"You can not all be warriors." The Pandaren spoke flatly. Assured, as if common sense. "They told me, in the Valley, that an Orc was a warrior and a hunter before all other things. Do you know what I noticed about the wall the peons built while I healed?" As expected, the Troll merely shook his head. "It is a mess." She said, again flat as if obviously apparent. "It will last exactly as long as it needs to until anything heavy comes to push it over. Because the peons were directed, treated like slaves, beaten to keep working and most importantly... Not an Overseer there would match to an engineer from the Isle. They make walls second... Their axes come 'first'. So instead of being masters in their field, they are mediocre at both."

"You speak bold words Suyo o' da Blade. What your point be though? I ain' a warrior, I ain' a runner, I ain' good at no thing."

"No. You merely have not found what you are prepared to master. You do not make a master out of the student who gives up, and you do not make a master out of the student you refuse to teach. I will not teach you to be a blade. You may, however, come with me on my travel. Perhaps you will find something that you can master, or a teacher who will take you. I can not, on my honor, leave a child and an exile to his own. Not when I accepted his charge, even if his people have revoked that task. The honor of it is not chosen by leathery hides and long beards, the honor is in the act. Would you act in honor to earn your place in this world?"

Jimda shifted to slide from his rock but hesitated as he ambled to his feet. Though it could well be the last opportunity, doubt plagued his thoughts. What if he failed this strange, ursine guardian? Could he really regain his honor or would the stain remain? Shuffling aside he brought himself to his knees before the Pandaren, taking a pair of steadying breaths before lifting the raptor bone above his head cupped in both hands.

"Shar'ron as mah last witness and loa, I do what you need to da best o' mah skill, until mah honor be redeemed or ya decide it be my time to go."

"Your little oaths are cute. You understand that such things are not to be trifled hmm? I'll not have my honor blighted because you two soft skins can't heft the weight of your words."

The pair turned at the Blademaster approached, cleft lip curled into the faintest semblance of a smirk rather than it's perpetual scowl. Something about his tone seemed an attempt to mask what one assumed was his humour, though the Pandaren merely scoffed.

"I assumed your honor would have you return to the Valley. This task is done, should you not seek another?" Suyo crossed arms, the Troll scrambled up to his feet and tried to maintain some sort of dignified posture. It wasn't exceptionally effective, half hunched and standing in tattered shreds of old cloth. He was largely disregarded as the Orc focused on the Pandaren.

"I owe you an honor debt."

"You killed two humans, and we carried each other bloody to heal. That seems even to me."

"Even, yes. But even is not enough. I must surpass you, it is my rite of Blademastery to shadow you as the inferior warrior." Jimbda quietly glanced back and forth between the pair as the squared off, tense but a moment before the pair chuckled.

"I see... The Troll comes along all the same. I call the direction, until I ask for expertise. Are we all clear?" She found no challenge to the claim, Moxra scoffing and shrugging as Jimbda bobbed his head in excited, eager anticipation to be of any use. "Good. Then we go north."

"Why north?" The Troll inquired, immediately flinching as the Panaren turned to respond.

"We go to the larger hold they build. Orgrimmar. They will have challenges for even mighty Blademasters. That is our purpose, and for now, it is your purpose to make sure we get to and from these challenges. Clear?"

"Ya." An eloquent response, but at least it seemed fitting from the simple boy of a Troll.

So they went north. They crossed the red dunes and cracked plains and braved the endlessly buzzing hive of Orcish homeland. They spoke with many, bartered little, argued some. Those tales though were minor in the Pandaren's story. A long story though it is, but like the road of a thousand tiles, the lesson of failure was merely one of more to come. Another time.

Though Ended, Not An End

It is the duty of the Warrior. We carry the blades, we take the lives, we reap the war. There is no gentle rest, no cool evening to greet when the sun sets on our time. Happiness, sanctuary, salvation. These are the costs of power in this life. Sooner or later every warrior faces their death, that is the agreement they sign in blood when they hold the sword. Remember this Suyo, and mark it well. It is the first, and heaviest lesson to learn. To take up this path is to wither into the realm of spirits, and know no peace ever again. To take up the Blade is to exchange life and afterlife.

The Blademaster took little solace in the fact that she was free from her broken, withering frame. It was a wry victory, to finally escape the curse of decaying flesh.

Instead she had simply exchanged one prison for another.

Her essence twitched... If one could call it that. Everything was beyond her. Like a dream nothing seemed to hold a tangible shape, the world was overcast in some veil that only twisted and took form when directly confronted. She moved, much like her dreams, simply being from one place into another. Sometimes she could have sworn her arms were there, fingers stretching out trying to grab a hold of anything. Sometimes she felt convinced there was ground under her feet, soil between her toes and the discomfort of leather souls on her footpads. Sometimes death tried to convince her she was still alive, that her lungs were clenched and wrenching for any inch of air. She was already gone, though, so the sensation would eventually pass. Sometimes she wished it would come back, just to give some point of reference, some direction in this endless grey mockery of the world she once knew.

Time was no longer a part of her vocabulary. The thickness around her was not limited to whatever senses she still seemed to have, some breaths would come quick and shallow, others would draw and draw and draw, long enough she was convinced to pass for several days at a time. Were she living. Not that the living world was of much consequence to her either. It kept moving by too quickly for her to comprehend, or she would grow incredibly and intimately aware of very small corners and fragments of reality before they were wrenched away into oblivion. Though, even in the miasma of misunderstanding, she did come to know two things were consistent.

The first, was steel. This much she was very grateful for. It left her chill more often than not, but it was also comforting and empowering. Despite unreality, despite feeling very much lost in a sea of states, her spine was iron. Her convictions remained, it was only the small qualm of not having a cause to be convicted to, but it gave her enough sense of self that even lost she had a cornerstone that separated her from the endless murk.

The second, was leather. That one was much more strange. It wasn't comforting, and it wasn't defining, not like steel was. It was there, though, wrapped around her, keeping her separated as much from the dark of death as the light of the living. There was no way to describe the sensation, if she felt things really, beyond something like a familiar scent on the breeze or an unmistakable landmark from afar.

Some days, she felt heat, and tasted copper. Waves would crash over her, or a trickling would drip over her face, slipping between her lips. Occasionally it made her feel... Thicker. Bloated perhaps. Sometimes it simply made her sick. Other days a more cleansing stream would pass, or a gentle caress would brush her and tug at her fur. Eventually she began to understand, learned how to twist her focus to see or hear and feel. Mostly she only caught gazes of the blue sky, she wondered if it was blue because it was real or because the beauty of it brought her to tears. Faces and bodies would streak by, fragmented or broken, limbs or torso or head.

One day a particularly distressing encounter left her more confused than understanding. Another body collided with hers, and in that odd space outside of the living she saw another soul. It was only a few seconds, a breath and a half maybe. It appeared humanoid, there was just enough shape, like lines cut into clay. The face did not give away much, but the eyes... The eyes held life in them, for a few moments. And fear, a great and chilling fear. Then it burst, first into chunks before becoming a mist, then flaring into fire before snuffing out sharply. The whole thing was done and gone in an instant, but she found herself still screaming days later.

She wasn't entirely sure why.

After the first, when more came, she did not scream more than individual, brief cries. Like killing, the first was the hardest, but it gave perspective sorely needed. And conviction. She had no arms, no legs, no lungs, so there was no purpose pretending that she would accomplish anything by trying to run or claw or cry. She honed her focus and expanded her mind, trying to stretch the boundaries of what she could feel. Like meditation, she pulled everything that she had together and slowly pulled them apart one string at a time. This was done each time, every time she focused, like a novice slipping in and out of their trances. She was a student again, no mastery or prodigy to propel her forward. The world did, though, fill in slowly. The twisted shapes, the incomprehensible density that hung between all things, the misty static that shrouded her, it all melted away to show the world as it really was.

Mostly.

Trying to manually create and control each sense was a burden she could not have imagined. Every shift in focus was like being reminded of your breath and suddenly each one was a new trial. Sometimes the world was awash in conflicting sounds, showing her where all was in vibrations and barely comprehensible whispering. Others she could see colours, clashing and melding in ways that did not make sense. Fields would sway and swell like the ocean, or walls would splotch and starburst like blood dripping on a floor. Faces would pass, stark as bone, masked in shadow or bright like a lantern. If she could see clothes, or armor, it would ripple with colours or textures, shifting with something deeper, a chameleon skin to match silent auras.

Her growth was not the only one however. Suyo of the Blade grappled with the reality of unreality, this caught the attention of others. A few times she felt herself wrenched in one direction or another, on occasion passing presences would loom like eyes in the dark, more than once sharp pains would rake over her and it was only the strength of steel that allowed her to endure and throw off whatever would press upon her. Then one came without aggression.

"What are you?" Came a quiet, caution inquiry.

"I am a Blademaster." Was Suyo's reply. Silence followed, first. Then there was apprehension, tinged with a softer, smothered sense.

"So it would seem. Where are you?" The voice asked.

"I... Can not be sure. This feels like... The ocean."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I feel... A breeze. And heat. And salt. It is humid, very, it discomforts me." Suyo admitted with more than a hint of disappointment. The voice paused again, for a few moments.

"That is correct. Can you... Move?" The voice continued, she could feel the uncertainty in it. She asked for clarification, the voice instructed her to move about at all if she so could. So she did. A handful of paces one way, though the whole world seemed to rock and churn to her, it took a moment to focus and fight to make out what had changed.

"There is... Rope. And wood. It leads up, I can follow but... I can not see far."

"You are still right here, to me."

Suyo paused, perplexed, though the fog of her world did not lead well to thought. She was dead, this much was clear... This voice could see her and yet, clearly it could not. Though it was difficult to understand relative space, she had learned enough to know she was far from the comforting cornerstone of steel as she knew it.

"I can't not imagine how so. I lack a body to sit with."

"Your body is below deck... You... Are not aware of it?"

The Blademaster felt, for a moment. Though she hovered, spacelessly, she felt the iron in her spirit. That did not come from near low enough to be in the belly of the ship. "I am not" she answered simply.

The other presence frowned. It was not accompanied by a face, yet, but the whole air between them sank, thick. "Then... Are you aware of this?" As it spoke, a thick claw coalesced and drifted forward. Like an arrow it drifted, homing right to Suyo's face. The massive, monstrous digit curled inward, then with a flick her whole world trembled. Her ears rung like waves of iron bells, she tumbled from her rigging post down to the deck, rocking and twisting from side to side. She had to fight to silence and squelch, the world snapped back into focus and she flitted forwards like paper folded over. She could make out no features, but he growled and glared with the intensity of fire. The presence did not recede, although something about it wavered, like static.

"Whatever magic this is you insult me with, I will-"

"It is not magic." The voice cut in. Suyo was not convinced, immediately. But the claw returned, and with it stretched wide a full, furred paw. It encroached, pressing in until the fingertips rested gently, placed flat over the Blademaster's shoulders and arms. "You are... Not with your body."

"We have determined this prior, yes." The Blademaster retorted sharply. "The hand?"

With sudden apprehension the limb pulled away, retreating into the blurry space as the shuddering presence shifted hue. Shame. "I am... Sorry, Master. I... Did not know what to expect... This is very confusing, I did not mean to disrespect."

Suyo quirked a brow. The tone of voice, and that title. She eased forward and focused, trying to wrench the world around her to hone in on this one presence, no matter the effort. The mess took shape, gradually, first naught but smudged curves and lumpy blobs. Slowly though, it sharpened, colour seeped into the mass and the shape melted down to a perfect likeness. Almost perfect. Wisps like smoke trailed from the Pandaren woman kneeling before her, faint marks like the impression of chains snake and slithered over her fur. The Blademaster could see her Apprentice, and more.

"You have grown, Tsu."

The Apprentice tilted her head up... But not. Her shadow was looking down, at her own lap. Suyo noted this, the pieces were clicking together.

"I... Yes, Master. You have been gone for the better part of a year. Much has happened but... For your deeds... I sought help, and we are returning you home to be laid to rest." Tsu's body flickered a moment, jutting from one side to the next. Regret, pain, shame, her face contorted and howled, then it was pride, uncertainty, and reverence, before collecting together as normal. Suyo eased one hand forward, gently grasping the younger Pandaren's shoulder.

"I am not to rest. Not then, not now, not forever." She started, firm but careful. "My body may return, but I see how you carry. Ruan Feng must not be sent home. She... We... Are Blades. Our duty is to the people and the living. Like you."

"You have done your duty! We have ended the threat! You told me, told me to go on with life-"

"Your life. Not mine. Which, while ended, is not the end of my journey." The Blademaster planted her second palm atop her Apprentice's other shoulder. With a guiding nudge, she forced the girl's head up, staring intently. At first, there was little reaction, but Suyo knew. The shadow had followed, that time. She took in a slow breath, and focused, like a stance between strikes. Like her energy during the battle. Tsu's eyes went wide, and her maw slack. Only momentarily. Some lessons she had learned, like when to hide her fear. Suyo could still see it though, those wisps that danced around her Apprentice, but that was a discussion for another time. "I can see, Apprentice. There are stains upon your paws. There is yet blood you have spilled... Recently. I tasted it, even here. So you must answer me now, Apprentice. Have you taken my lessons to heart... Or have you decided on your own path?"

Tsu's eyes were transfixed. Her body was not, nor was her spirit. It sank, wreathed in uncertainty and apprehension. The wisps of smoke only gathered thicker, biting and burning Suyo's eyes. She would not be removed.

"I... There are... Things within me I can not simply deny. Nor purge. It is a part of me. Though you have taught me much, in our short time, I can not... I can not simply give up the blade. Not now, not yet. Things loom on the horizon. If I am to live, then I must defend that life. Whatever it may yet be, whatever I may yet know or feel, it is a Blade's duty sword and true to stand when there is a fight. No matter the cost. So long as I know for why I do so."

Too Stubborn to Live

It was a bright day. The parched soil had drank deeply in the storm that had passed a few days gone, but already it was beginning to crust. It was just as well, soft soil did not make for calloused hands, and the weathered grip of the old hoe always served to calm his nerves. The looming rock in the sky set every one of those on end, even as he chipped and worked the garden, but it was all he could manage to keep daily life chugging along. One of the distant wards tripped, but that was a fairly common occurrence, he'd long ago learned not to be so paranoid after a few sleepless nights. He wasn't done more than a few rows before one of the nearer wards echoed out. His lips curled into a frown around his tusks. The tool was replaced with a hatchet as he loped back and pulled himself up the lookout tree.

His wards were fairly far and widely spread, even with the second layer crossed he could only make out blurry outlines on the horizon. The Troll shook his head with a rumble. He barked a call down to the hut, a woman stepped out with concerned eyes. With a stretch and a lean he took her hand and helped pull her up so she could use her better eyes. It was a few seconds before she rocked back with a wordless rasp. Her hands were a flurry of motions, indicating something it took even the Troll a moment to understand. Then his own eyes went wide.

"Really? It be?" He whispered, glancing from the horizon to the woman and then back. She had a wide grin, lengthy ears flicking as she bobbed her head excitedly. They scrambled down the tree and took to the plains at a run, charging to meet their visitors with reckless abandon.

They skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust, standing before their guest and catching their breaths. The woman bounced giddily, hands together and flat over her collar as the Troll threw both arms high. "Loa spit in my eyes... It is you!"

"Yes, it is me." Responded the cool, iron tone. Dull eyes glanced from the Troll, his puff of beard and it's iron ring, across to the lithe woman and her soft, pale violet skin marred by thick scar tissue around her neck. "I see the rumors were true. You settled." Her muzzle peeled back, revealing sharp teeth collected into a wide grin.

The Elf was swift with a storm of signals and motions from her hands. Occasionally the Troll would nod and vocalize something difficult to understand from the twisting fingers alone. At one point she gestured, then motioned to the second, smaller Pandaren. The Troll was quick to bark about manners.

"I am an Apprentice only." The cub replied for herself, shuffling awkwardly as she looked up to her elder. The pair lightly clad in lighter vests and leggings with not an ounce of armor between them, it was only the lengthy sword and dual sheathes and single bone dagger that marked them as much more than lost Pandaren.

The Elf frowned, for but a moment, then she perked right back to her cheery nature and began waving them in. "Ya," the Troll added, "Come, come! Dere's so much to catch up on. And ya got to explain the young one. We get you feed and watered good, too hot to be flapping tongues in da sun." So they strode back across the golden field and slipped into the spacious hut, the Elf was swift back and forth from the nearby well, the Troll collected some jerky and passed it between the two Pandaren as they sat down on the straw covered floor.

"It is good to see you again, Jimbda. And you as well Maeldis." The older Pandaren nodded to the Elf as she returned and offered both of the furred warriors mugs of water. "This is Tsu, my Apprentice. Tsu, these are old friends. Clearly. Treat them with the respect you would treat me." The cub nodded slowly, regarding the Elf and the Troll before bowing her head to them.

"Nah, the old bear just be teaching you the good ways. But, Jimbda and this lovely star, we don't need so much respect. You just watch your words, we get along fine." The Troll thumped a fist to his chest before reaching it across to tug the Elf down. And down she went, fumbling and nearly tumbling but for the Troll catching her as she dropped. The Troll chuckled, the Elf made a few, awkward and raspy short breaths, but they smiled and huddled close together. "No, you gonna catch us up, yeah? We ain't seen you since the big sunder! Worried sick after everything fell apart."

"I know. Much has passed... I wish that I could say I was here on a better note. But there is much to discuss."

So they discussed. For quite some time. Suyo had to recount the earth throwing her unto the sea, getting picked up by a merchant ship, the tribulations that followed before she even reached landfall and was thrown into war yet again. Jimbda and Maeldis both had many questions, oft interrupting and drawing the process out. A pair of cubs, the feline kind, came out from beneath the mess of straw under the interior hammock and spent their time circling Tsu in curiosity. The interruptions turned into small stories of their own, Jimbda explained how he came across Maeldis following the sunder and they turned away from Durotar and Ashenvale both. Suyo recounted her disappointing trek across Pandaria, the other pair described the tension and outright terror of hiding while the Kor'kron swept over the Barrens. Tsu eventually made friends with the lion cubs, they bounded up and over her lap, chasing each other and darting at her hands. Then the sun gradually fell away and Maeldis set to starting a fire and boiling water, throwing vegetables into a pot while the Troll idly stirred it. Bowls were passed around, Tsu ate and drifted into a corner with the cubs before eventually falling asleep. Suyo helped to wash the dishes so she could continue her tale and get to what she considered the important bit.

"... We are going to the distant hellscape together. We will find her justice. I may find a good death, finally."

Maeldis was swift to frown, disapproval and concern apparent as she gestured wide out the door, across the field and over the small garden to the side. Jimbda nodded his agreement, though his tone held a weary and distant hope like a dying ember. "Ya can always live here, if you decided... You done good by us. By me. I wouldn't never have been the Troll I am now if ya hadn't been there to show me." Suyo merely shook here head, and the Troll sighed. "We can't stop ya, I know how you be when it comes to these things. A lot going to happen up there, the Loa say things but I seen enough to know, even for me. But that one..." He glanced over his shoulder, to the cub sleeping covered in cubs. "... I ain't no parent Suyo, we both know it's beyond me... But it won't be good for her. Or you."

"I know." Was all the Pandaren said.

"Why you doing this then? You lived a long life, brought a lot of good honor to your name. You made differences, many of 'em. It may not all have been good, but you ain't a bad one. You're throwing a lot away by keeping on like this."

"I know." The Blademaster repeated.

Maeldis made a fervent pair of gestures. Jimbda translated. "You ain't answer the 'why'." Suyo slumped for a moment, from the shoulders, as if that was where she carried all her weight.

"It is what I know. It is what I must do. There isn't anything else for me, Jimbda. Not like you. Not like Maeldis, or Barkhide... Tsu reminds me very much of how I was when I was young. She's driven, determined... A few notches more angry than I was, but she has fair reason. If I do not guide her, she will still throw herself at worse until she is like me. There is still time for her to learn, maybe. But she has to have this demon settled, and this is the only opportunity she will have. Since we stand upon the precipice of the end of all things, this is also the final opportunity I have to find the worthy opponent that can fell me. Before my body decays and I rot, too weak to fight, too stubborn to die."

"Sound to me like you just too stubborn to live." The Troll snorted. "You make this choice yourself. You just remember that the choice you make? It reflects on more than just you. It reflects on all of us. The old cow, me and this radiant star, your apprentice there too. Choices like these that you make say more than just how well you swing that sword, or who you swing it for. The choices like these? I learned from you what it means to make em. Guess you have to learn yourself what your stubbornness is costing you."

What your stubbornness is costing you.

Her reflection in the crystals of the Vindicaar was not familiar. Though molded, the faceguard and it's deep set eyes looked hollow and dark. The fang like curves and it's bare contours made it look more dead, like bone. In the background, there was still the buzzing of several angry Draenei that were reprimanding and damning her for bringing a child to fight. Most of that was pushed aside as she stared at her empty reflection. If she let her vision go blurry, she could just catch glimpses of outlines and figures aside her own reflection. The inner turmoil that wracked her shaped them like old, dead friends, even if she knew the reality was that it was but the crowding Draenei around her. She was snapped from her reverie as the buzzing came to a halt. Suyo turned, and her apprentice was standing before her.

"Are they still arguing?" The cub asked.

"Yes." Suyo replied flatly.

"I am here now. They will not remove me."

"I know."

"We are blades. We are here to do what the trade hands and earth shapers can not. It is a blade's duty to strike where it is needed, when it is needed. It is not a blade's duty to make peace. I want to go to the ground, Master. We should do what we came to." Tsu did not turn or flinch once despite the aghast expressions and livid stares from the Draenei around them. Suyo kept her face smooth and expressionless as she nodded. With a flick of her wrist she motioned, stepping in time and marching to the strange pad that teleported troops up and down. She kept her gaze straight as she walked, avoiding turning her head or glancing at the faces. The sorrowful faces. The faces of pain and anguish and disappointment. It was a good lesson, to understand that all choices and their consequences are not made simply against one's self.

Whether or not it was Tsu that needed to learn, or if that lesson was being heeded... That was something only the end of another tale could define.

The Hand that Wields

Steel clashed against steel. Blades sung, throats roared, the earth trembled. Two fighters on parched soiled, the dirt ripping apart around them as liquid rock sprayed into the sky. Smoke rose, wind surged, but they fought on. The Pandaren danced from foot to foot, her green-tinged opponent was strong but his attacks were slow. Heavy. The rocking of the world didn't matter to either of them. She was determined not to be budged from her one spot, no matter the cost. He was going to crush her, no matter the shame. The jagged marks that sleeved his right arm with dark ink rippled and flexed, his eyes were alight with the blood rage of old, boring unto the Pandaren with hatred. That hatred only burned deeper, cried louder, as her own strikes matched even his behemoth might and the anger behind them. Somewhere in the background and white noise, several bodies were shouting and scrambling, but as combat oft goes, the Blademasters were only aware of the fight.

"You turned your back on us!" Moxra roared, a massive overhead swing sundering the earth. Suyo had sidestepped, yet again, her own blade swiping upward in retort and slicing his exposed chest. A shallow wound, she was holding back and he knew it. It fueled the aggression. It also did not slow him, it lacked the force to move him, so he continued forward. They grappled, his shoulder into her chest, feet scraping over the dirt before she caught and they locked. "Time and time again you stepped in my way. Standing for these curs. We were supposed to be blade brothers. What is left of your honor, wretch?" Suyo heaved in choking breaths, the smoke was not helping. Her muscles seared, but she refused to back down. She could not. Taking in more air, despite the pain and delirium from the ash, she surged and shoved the Orc back.

"I am the only one still standing for honor, Moxra! You stand blinded by prejudice and blood lust. You deny the warrior's way to drink of revenge. You are the one stained!" The Pandaren choked as she spoke, waving a hand to discourage the smoke and catch a few brief swathes of precious oxygen. Her tone was pointed, but not vicious. That mattered little though, clearly the Orc did not see it that way. He swelled, bellowing like a monster before charging again. Their blades clashed, Suyo deflected and slammed forward. He lashed out with a hand, she ducked and smashed her hilt into his gut. For every step he had pressed her back, she began to make up with careful strikes and precise application of force. "I have offered every possible opportunity. I was harsh, but fair. I was critical, but encouraging. We have disagreed, and fought... If this is how it must be..."

"Then it will end in one final clash!" The Orc finished her thought. His body trembled with fury, both hands on his own blade. The Pandaren matched stance, posture sharp and straight. The pair of them leaned, one leg sliding back as their blades lowered in time and sheathed at the hip. The first time they met, they had gouged each other deep in this very same manner. The last time they clashed like this, both their blades rang for hours afterward. Unlike both previous bouts, their sheathes erupted in concentrated energy. Moxra's blade wreathed in raging flames, Suyo's in the glow of warrior spirit. The pause was difficult to gauge. Seconds or minutes, neither knew. Their instinct though, it knew, and in a flash the pair charged. Moxra held his blade close and waited. He would not flail like their last clashes, he would await the last possible second, past all her defenses, and cleave her in twain.

Suyo drew first. She saw Moxra twitch, lips curling around his tusks. A pity, she thought, that he was to lose when he just finally started using his head. Her blade trailed through the earth, carving a line behind her as she swept under his strike. Then she swung upward, kicking back to her feet and pivoting as she scraped to a stop. Her blade whirled, circling before gliding back into her sheathe with a click. Moxra rounded with easily apparent fury, stomping and cursing setting to charge a second time. "We were to clash! Where is your nerve!? Let us end-"

But it was already done.

From her trailing line the wind collected, whirling before snapping into a torrent. It ripped forward, tearing the ground as it blasted through the Orc, carrying him forward before throwing him unto the sky. Then he fell, spinning once before cracking the earth on impact and sinking as he coughed up blood. His own blade followed suit, impaling but a few inches from his head with an ominous ring. There was little pause before a foot came slamming down onto his chest, giving way to another spray from his throat before a second blade pressed firmly against his neck.

"Yield." Suyo commanded. The Orc grudgingly did so, hands turning over as he coughed his surrender.

"What now?" Moxra asked as the Bladmaster sheathed her sword.

"You are my blade now." She answered, extending a hand down to help her opponent up. Moxra tentatively accepted, groaning as he hefted from the hole he'd created figuratively and literally. "It has become clear... You are not the only one. The time has come."

"For what?" The Orc grunted.

"You can not be left to cut your own path. You are not the only one. I have spent my time as a blade, learning what it means to be a tool. To kill and to fight. I have learned now, what I was missing. What we are missing."

In another world, across a mirror, Moxra fell in that battle. Carved and broken on the Pandaren's blade. In another world, disillusion and confusion lead a Blademaster to pursue her path alone, seeking an atoning death of bloody proportion.

But in this world, they lived.

They collected their friends and fled from the erupting field. The Barrens ripped in two, the world roiled in new chaos. There were disagreements at first, but Suyo squashed them with an iron hand. She had a banner sown, that she could carry with her at all times. As did Moxra, to start. Jimbda was no fighter and Rowan's skills were not for an open field. They still patched the symbol onto their shoulders. A fist of jade, fingers made of swords.

The process was a slow one. Suyo was not a sociable sort, and her efforts were not for the common rabble. The world turned though, and new conflicts crawled atop old, shedding blood across every corner of the world. They followed these, to start. At first, as mercenaries, only for causes Suyo deemed fitting. They made little in way of coin or supplies, but their legacy took root swiftly. After only a handful of jobs, curious sorts and fledgling adventurers sought their band. Most were turned away, to begin with, but it was a necessary evil. As was their frequent turning of sides. One week they would be cutting down Alliance in the south of Kalimdor. The next, pushing Orcs out from Ashenvale. It was no small feat, the amount of ire this gained them from both sides. So too, however, did Twilight, or Demon, or Scourge fall. A necessary evil, it appeared. To start.

A trend appeared, though. Their band took no prisoners, yet their numbers increased. The disillusioned, the confused. Mighty blades without proper causes, fighting for people who didn't understand or respect their sacrifice. Suyo knew, though, and she bled them to an inch of their life before winning their favor. Only the loyal, only skilled and the driven. Not turncoats or backstabbers or cowards. Their band grew slowly, but their overall threat swelled vastly with each warrior they consumed. The first few, the most loyal and proven, they took up the banner as the Master before them. The newer, the less skilled, the noncombatants, they still wore the colours and the symbol all the same. Loyalty wasn't simply encouraged, it was a necessity. No one was allowed to stay that would not stand and die at the order of their Master, trusting in the blood of their brotherhood.

So Suyo stopped being a blade herself, at large. She took to the field still. Often. It was no longer her purpose to fight and die though. Her blade brothers were her new philosophy. They were her tools, her blades to carve and kill. She was their Hand.

Of course, from the outside, it was heretical. Zealous. The Hand and her Seven and Seven Blades were rarely looked on without disdain, or fear. Owing allegiance to none but their own, many considered them traitors and blood thirsty marauders. Rarely were they pushed back, or defeated. An elite corp of free killers, who would trust such a thing?

The Seven and Seven Blades, of course, cared little, their Hand even less. She would lead them, she had decided. Teach them the truth of sacrifice and justice. That death held little, and living was hard. They would learn, as she did, that to be a Blade was easy. To be the Hand, with all the consequence that came with it, was hard. As she had learned, so too would her Blades. As would the whole world. One blade at a time.

But the Hand of Seven and Seven Blades was another story, in another world and another time.

Reckoning

"If that is another world, what is it called?" The voice that questioned held a similar, disconnected sort of chill to her tone as Suyo's, but the lighter pitch and shorter breaths spoke of her young apprentice. Tsu was staring up into the sky at a most obscure sight, the scarred fissures of a distant place suddenly very, very close. These things however did not invoke any of the usual sorts of fear one would expect out of normal folk. The Blademaster and her Apprentice were long since no 'normal' folk. "I believe I have heard it spoken as 'Argus'." Suyo mused, fingers tapping lightly across the hilt of her blade. "And that is where the demons come from?" Tsu queried, the faint spark of a malicious fervor in her breath. "I do not know, for certain. I do know that it is where many demons assuredly are. Many seem to speak of it as the cornerstone for all the Legion." "Then we will go. Yes? I know I am not... Ready. Not fully. But-" "I would not rob you of this right, no. We will go. For your closure, and hopefully, for my death." They stood in silence for a time. Tsu was brimming with silent energy, a grin spreading her face wide with hateful eyes gleaming up at the distant, yet not so distant, hellscape. Suyo had some contemplative, almost wistful ghost in her eyes. Her posture was iron, though, and her features otherwise empty. There was no joy in the glory of an honorable, powerful death. Merely release, and fulfillment. Interestingly enough, time passed as it always did. The sun seemed to disappear behind the hellish rend in the sky, though a faint, eerie twinge of fel light seemed to linger even in the dark. The Blademaster collected her apprentice and the wound down the spire. There was much to collect and prepare, smuggling a youth through some portal into the abyss would be no easy task. Beyond that, neither would remaining alive and rationing provisions on what seemed like a dead rock. Perhaps neither of them were truly ready. Perhaps both of them were as ready as they could be under the circumstances. Fate cared not for their timelines, it moved along irregardless. This time, together, they would face their fates head on. And there would be blood.

Of Frost and Friendship

“The Earthmother sleeps.” The telling rumble of an old bull, interrupted by a brief pause as he breathed. “The land rests in preparation for the great bounty to follow. Her heart beats softly, and so the beasts in turn tread softly, and we too slow behind them.”

A few snorts and grunts drifted around the crackling flames in the center of their lofty tent. Most were content to slurp down the soup in their bowls, Suyo though kept her gaze steadied on the aging Tauren across from herself.

“We slow because the snow makes the march difficult. The wolves slow because tracks are harder to find.” The Blademistress responded with a frown.

“That’s da Earthmother. She be who we walk on, we all be a part o’ her cycles… Da’s right, right?” The Troll spoke up, one massive digit pointing aside to the Pandaren before reaching up to scratch the tuft at his chin. The elder bull merely rumbled in a soft laugh as he was looked to for clarity.

“She is the ground that holds us as much as she is the deer that feeds, and the fire that warms us. It is in these cold seasons that the Shu'halo gather close and we give our thanks. To each other, to our Earthmother, and to our Ancestors.”

“The only thanks the earth gets are my bones when I die, and if I’m lucky, the Ancestors get a worthy battle to regale with me when I join them.” Everyone glanced to the Orc, who had already hefted his bowl to his lips and began sucking down what was left of his ration. To Suyo’s surprise, the Tauren merely waved a hand dismissively.

Everyone returned to their idle distractions around the fire. The Orc soon finished his bowl and stacked it with the rest, pausing on his knees to bow his head before trudging out into the frigid night. Likely to meditate, not that it was Suyo’s place to guess, but if there was a single thing trait one could define Moxra by it was his dedication to his blade mastery. She shuddered faintly at the brief gust and the icy flakes that came with it, catching Jimbda out of the corner of her eyes doing the same. The Troll clattered his teeth, rounded tusks twitching as he leaned in closer over the fire. The old bull pulled up his gnarled pipe, tapping it out and packing it full of strange, ground herbs. She was left to her own meditative stance, knelt before the flames with her head low. So lost in the relative peace was she that it took several calls before she realized she had been addressed. “Yes, Elder Barkhide?”

“Your watch approaches… Your eyes held questions but you did not speak. Come. Grant this old one his curiosity, it will stave the cold for a time at least.” The Blademistress merely bowed her head before creeping about to collect her gear. A thick hide of a cloak, a long wound scarf, she had to dance between the sleeping Orc and snoring Troll to collect Ruan Feng sheathed and angled against the tent’s wall. Elder Barkhide peeled back the exit flap when she approached and together they emerged into the pitch of night, greeted by Mu'sha’s pale light and the biting frost of the early morning. There was mostly silence in all directions, but for the crunching of snow between paw and hoof, and the rustling of hides as they trudged to the dug out watch-post. Rolling hills twinkled with the occasional glint of fresh powder, the distant dark shaded towering cliffs and copses of needled trees. Somewhere out there, Centaur roamed in pairs and small warbands trying to rally against the Tauren resurgence, but so long as the watch was tranquil it was a worry for the morning. Suyo took one knee and rested her arms on the remaining, keeping her profile low and her gaze wide. The Elder merely sat with crossed legs, as much as the strangely jointed limbs would allow. His voice remained low in respect for their post, but his tone remained uplifted and soft. “Do the Pandaren celebrate the changing of seasons?”

Suyo’s gaze remained forward, though for the time her tone drifted just faintly from the distant chill it usually held and brought forth the smallest semblance of comfort. “In different ways. Our respect for the land is not so… Personified. Gifts and tributes are much more of a political statement than the bounties you describe.”

“Hmm… You would not share the harvest and give back to the earth that sustains you?” The Tauren mused.

“We as a people are already at large quite… Gluttonous, in a sense. Revelry and debauchery, while sometimes restrained to appropriate hours or ceremony, can be… Downright excessive. When there is drink, there is drink for all. When we feast, we feast on all things, and everyone eats until they can eat no longer. Our dance of the Earthmother’s gifts are… Perhaps more indulged as an act of reverence rather than reciprocated.” A brief distaste crept into the Blademistress’s words, though the old bull appeared too lost in thought to make comment on it.

“Ahh… A bit heavy leaning on the enjoyment of the Earthmother’s gifts. But there is some merit in rejoicing our link in her chain. It is, of course, but one of a few traditions here. The Goblins have taken the old values and perverted them into some gold fueled mockery but even in this, there are blessings hidden.” Barkhide finally stirred, reaching below the many layered pelts over his chest and extending the closed fist across for the Pandaren. Suyo narrowed her gaze a moment before gently waving the offering away.

“It is not my place to accept gifts. I am a blade, I kill-”

“The only thing you kill is the mood, child. Accept an old bull’s lesson.”

The Blademistress blinked at the direct retort. She frowned but reached over to steady her hand under the bull’s. A thin string of hide dropped into her hands, threaded through a pair of sharp, curled claws. She pulled the necklace up to her face to inspect, ears twitching as she tried to derive the meaning or purpose, though Barkhide spoke before she could question. “And that lesson is to recall that we are all creatures of our Earthmother. No matter how steely your hide, or sharp your wit, you are flesh and blood as the rest of us. You have opted into the warrior’s way, and as the times change perhaps you will be one of our Horde’s greatest weapons. But as the claw is an extension of the wolf, so too are you an extension of our people. As well as your people. You are still of a people, Suyo of the Blade. Do not take after Moxra’s fanaticism.”

“… You offered me a necklace to lecture me?”

“I have offered you a gift. I believe by your own words, it would be disrespectful to turn down such a thing?” Suyo didn’t have to turn her head to see the smirk that stretched the old bull’s cracked lips, he rumbled into a rolling sort of chuckling shortly after regardless.

“So what am I to take away from this? A lesson? A gracious offering? Am I supposed to be… Moved and suddenly an empathetic and emotional woman?” Her tone echoed a touch bitter into the night as she clenched her fist around the necklace and pulled it in under the thick cloak and it’s growing layer of snow. The aging bull was largely unaffected by the display, still sitting content and motionless but for the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“I do not expect you to change much at all child. Not now. But perhaps one day long forward when you come to be my age, you will remember this fondly. And if so, that is the best I could hope for. You are of a people, Suyo of the Blade… And the people are of you. The Earthmother, Myself, Moxra and Jimbda, your people. As much as we want the best for you, we also wish to give you our best. Just because you are focused on your path, do not forget that there are others who you will walk with, and will wish to walk with you. Do not forsake them in blindness, child. Or you will grow old, and cold, and alone. Like some old bulls.”

Silence settled in after that. Suyo was a mix of misunderstanding and slow dissection of the conversation, frowning and twitching her ears as she tried to piece apart every phrase. The Elder merely remained, breathing slowly and occasionally shuddering to brush the collecting snow from his shoulders. After a few minutes the old bull rumbled something under his breath and eased to his feet, trudging back to the tent for sleep proper she assumed. It left the Blademistress to try and comprehend the many parts. The dawn came and past before she had made any headway into the mystery. Camp broke, dishes were washed, the tent was bundled, their tools were strapped back to the massive lizard beast the Tauren called a mount. She didn’t budge an inch until the Troll approached and shook her out of the trance. The march continued across the plains, Jimbda goaded Moxra into some argument about the taste of scorpions. The old bull puffed away on his pipe, rings of smoke drifting out of his wide snout. but the Blademistress remained distant, and distracted. Her thumb brushed over the paired claws at her neck, and she marched to the whispers in her head that reminded her a blade’s purpose was to cut, and to kill. Nothing more.

What We Are

 Tsuzhu. That was her name. She used to run across the hills laughing, chased by the boys when chores were light. Mother went too and from the river, day in and day out. She gutted and cleaned and cooked. Tsuzhu wanted to be just like her mother, dependable, a provider. Father worked on one of the larger farms of the Orchards in Nectarbreeze, collecting the honey and nurturing the soil. She wanted to be just like her father, careful and fearless despite all the gross bugs and muck. She was a countrypaw if ever there was one. She rolled in the dirt and wrestled with the other children. They would explore the far banks of the river, they tested the bees and got stung and reprimanded in equal measure. Most days were the same, chores in the morning and free roaming in the afternoon. Evenings brought help with cooking and cleaning. Once a week there was a feast for all, to ease tensions and ensure community.

It wasn’t a glorious, opulent lifestyle, but Countrypaws were simple folk. Tsuzhu never thought much on grand adventures, or wonders from outside the mists.

One day though, the mists fell, and so much happened in such a short time. When the fires started, she was with her mother. They sunk into the river and drifted south with the current. Though the sickly sweet aroma of burning blossoms carried on the breeze, it was a terrible reminder of what they had narrowly escaped. The Jinyu passed them on the way north, and with small luck, they managed to find refuge from the oncoming storm of war. Though stories drifted, and strange faces drifted passed over time, they returned to rebuild the orchard with the other families. Tales of heroics and terror, of harsh whips and tight chains. But they were safe now, heroes from beyond the shores had come and saved the day. The entire continent rippled with the after aftershocks of full scale war, but the distant farms and orchards like Nectarbreeze skated by the concentrated brutality.

Tsuzhu saw the after effects, but the scope of carnage was something she had prayed to never see in person. How could she hope to stand where adults had fallen, what could a child do against cracking whips and blades of steel? All she wanted was to fish from the river, or tend the trees that gave her family life.

The years passed and her body grew, though her mind less so. To return to a simple life was a hard thing, every shadow loomed all the darker. Every bark or cry sent cold shivers down her spine. Nothing came, though, for a long time, and it was not perfect but life seemed normal a second time.

A last time.

Unlike when the Mogu tried to rise, and enslave her kin anew, the spark was not as silent and methodical. It was not a cunning trap that marched in on key sides, with nets and rope. It did not come during the day, though she couldn’t even tell the sun was just rising at the time.

Vicious rumbling shook their hut, Tsuzhu thrown from her bed while her mother gripped tightly at the wall for support. Somewhere outside, a great flare rose up, fragments of earth and scorched stone ricocheting through their home. Tsuzhu tried to drop to the ground, covering her head and her eyes. Stinging pain and dribbling hurt oozed from her arms, her back, and her legs.

“Run, Tsu!” Her mother cried, hands already pulling the child from the dust and shoving her to the door. Tsuzhu stumbled, coughing as tears washed down her cheeks. Some odd sound croaked out of her throat as she wheeled about, vision blurry and mind fogged. Cries were beginning to fill the orchard. Alarmed cries, pained cries, and something much worse, like the yowling of a dying beast that only grew more and more intense. Tremors erupted again, sickly green light began flooding in on all sides, smashes burst from all directions as huts snapped into sprays of splinters and twigs. The home in front of her was one such, crumpling before popping in a spray of smoldering fragments and throwing the child back across the ground.

This can’t be real.

She thought, she prayed, she cried. Tsuzhu stumbled forward, she threw a hand up and called with a hoarse bark as smoke fumed up from the hole that was once her home. Some massive, sulfurous stone lay where her mother might have been. She couldn’t even tell if there was blood from the impact or if the fire engulfing the rock had eaten it away already. Then the stone began to rise, rolling and stretching as it did so to reveal some horrific mockery of a face, carved into the construct as if by a child and forever locked as if screaming.

Someone’s hands at her shoulders pulled her away, rapidly giving her instructions and warnings, urging her to run but mostly pulling her along as she sputtered and scrambled behind. Waves of flame roiled up from one side as they ran, so they quickly skirted that road and turned another way. More crushed homes gradually greeted them, and worse. Cackling fiends crawled over the trees, wreathed in flames and throwing the pungent fire carelessly. Baying hounds from eldritch nightmares trampled down the road both over and into prey. With every turn and cut off road, they picked up more survivors. Then lost more. With twice as many casualties sprawled across the dirt or left to burn in the homes they died in. Every turn she retched anew, every bloody scream she winced.

Until she came across one of the other children.

The refugees were swift to scramble away despite her stop. A few of the adults tried to reach back and stop her, but she was a step beyond them, and terror was a powerful motivator. Tsuzhu fumbled and loped down from the path, between ruined shacks, staring intently despite stinging eyes at a pair of scaled beasts that ripped and snarled between gore filled chomps. Ripped open at the middle, eyes staring up in misty release, one of the younger boys. Had he stumbled out, like her, into the chaos? Was no one there to grab him, or were more bodies nearby that had failed to escape?

Mother and Father had joked, when she was younger, that if she kept trying to heft so much soil, if she kept carrying the ladders and the fish, they’d never need for a boy to round out the family. Whether or not that held deeper meaning was not for a child to guess at, but if they had ever had a son, he wouldn’t have been much older than the lifeless mess before her. Lifeless like her family, like her friends may very well be now. Like her father had become, during the Mogu raid. When she could do nothing but run.

She was still young, yet. If she ran, she might still live a long and peaceful life. Everyone else’s instinct, young and old, had been to run after all, why should she be any different? She just needed to make the orchard’s edge, into the distant fields she would know better than these... These... Things. She could weave and sneak down, down to Paw’don, where the militia would protect everyone.

So why would her feet not turn her away?

The hounds turned, finally, looking up as amidst the brimstone and smoke they caught whiff of her scent. Blood dripped from their teeth and seeped over their maws as they advanced and growled at the Pandaren. Her fists clenched, shoulders hunching as she leaned forward. To their surprise, she roared, throwing herself at them with abandon and fury. She fell into them and it became a whirl of gnashing teeth and slamming fists.

Their undersides.

Her mind snapped, and all her decisions automated into instinct. If they were like any regular beast, their weak sides would be beneath, near the joints and the gut. Her claws were not the sharpest, her arms were not the biggest, she was not the fastest child when she would race against the others. But she was the one here, now, rolling through blood and worse in the mud grappling monsters. With vicious tearing, she jammed her claws under the neck of one, raking as she held it with her other arm. It jumped and tossed, keeping her away from the second in it’s frenzy.

Rip and tear... Rip and tear... RIP AND TEAR!

Her claws grew slick, that’s how she felt it was working. More, and more, and more. Until she gripped the jaw and wrenched with all the might she had. It popped and twisted sickeningly,she released and slammed her elbow into the skull before throwing it off into the burning rubble of a nearby hut. It cried, but she didn’t have time to think, only act. The second hound pounced, but she was ready. She gripped in like the first, one arm wrapped over the neck, letting it tire itself with flailing and rolling. Her other arm pulled back, and she slammed her fist into the monster’s head. Over, and over, and over. Slamming and crunching. Sometimes she slipped and smashed it’s jaw, or it’s shoulder, but she never relented. So thorough was she, that she wasn’t actually sure when the beast had finally died. She did remember roughly when she heard each crack of bone as the skull caved, and the jaw shattered, and teeth spilled over the ground, but she didn’t care to mark it or pause.

When her shoulder finally cried in agony from the exertion she crumpled, sobbing and rasping and still trying to gurgle vicious shouts and enraged howls. Her good hand patted about, gripping the first object she could reach. She’d need a tool, any kind of tool, if she was going to get up and continue the bloodshed. The tooth of her first kill seemed a reasonable choice. Perhaps even poetic for the circumstances, but her mind had no room for such trivial distractions. After just long enough to gather her stamina, she pushed her aching body up, sleek tooth shank gripped tightly in her left hand as she lumbered toward the road.

Vengeance was all that she cared for.

She swayed and looped around the orchard and the village, pouncing from behind smoke and leaping from rubble to cross large gaps. Tsuzhu fell upon imps and hounds alike, viciously stabbing with her new weapon and then skittering to the next kill with each adrenaline filled breath. None were nearly as difficult and drawn as her first two, though she was far from clean. The bodies she left behind were half dead, in most cases, or blinded in others, all bloody at the least. At first, from the sheer numbers, she questioned if she was the only one left, the only one who had fought back.

Then, she found her.

Another Pandaren, standing in the road. Layered in wide plates, a single armored pad over her right shoulder. She wasn’t quite so tall as her mother, but she was much thicker and she stood with a certain stoic posture despite the crawling fiends and hounds that circled and snapped at her. Some kind of warrior, a fighter with both hands to her blade. One demon suddenly leaped, but barely did it cross the distance before falling apart in a flash. The Pandaren had moved, sliced through the air in a surge of jade, yet though she awaited in another stance Tsuzhu couldn’t understand what had just happened. What she did know is that the warrior had killed a demon, and her eyes went wide as this happened a second time.

She called out to the warrior, though if her voice shaped words she couldn’t recognize from the sounds and the haze in her head. The Warrior though snapped to stare at her, and the pinning focus swept a cold chill down her spine. Her posture, her presence, her focus, the Warrior was a tried and true killer. The cold kind, she could feel it. Not like herself, or the monsters that clawed and feasted on the chaos.

Another fiend leaped, and another almost immediately following. The Warrior spun and caught the first mid air, again, but the second wreathed in flame crashed into her. Her hair seemed to singe, only briefly, before her massive arm gripped the demon and crushed it’s neck, throwing it aside like refuse before squaring her stance and preparing.

“Run!” The Warrior commanded. Tsuzhu assumed it was directed to her, but even the demons seemed hesitant at the call. As a child, even deranged and blood covered as she was, she could only watch in awe.

A warrior. A real one. Cutting swaths, like in stories... She thought as the demons all began to rush in now, like a swarm. Look how she kills, how strong... I need to be that strong. I need to know how to kill, like she does.

Petals and embers from the breeze began to drift in from all directions as the warrior danced between bounding cretins and howling stalkers. Each swing was followed by a flare of bright, green energy. Not the sickly sort that the flames of the demons gave off, but a pure essence, like jade. The bodies crumpled and seeped as they fell around the Warrior, sliced open, into pieces. More began to surge from the edges of the orchard, maybe even from the hills passed. How many had there been? Had the others managed to run away?

A terrifying roar went up from nearby, soon after a similar joined it. The ground trembled around Tsuzhu, and she stumbled before thumping onto her rear. With crashing steps, the rocks from the sky now in humanoid shape, they marched and rushed toward the Warrior on the road, followed by swarms of imps and packs of hounds. The child was ignored as the demons surged, but that was not why her jaw clicked open and hung wide. The Warrior stood, near surrounded with a wave of monsters bearing down upon her. Then sheathed her blade at her hip.

Though she couldn’t hear, Tsuzhu stared, and saw the Warrior’s lips press tightly, corners pulled back and teeth gritted. The jade glow returned around the blade, softly at first before growing intense and engulfing the sheathe. In the air, the dancing petals and singing embers began to vibrate and pull inward, all swirling toward the Warrior on a breeze even she could feel from so far away. The demons did not slow, nor sway, but the urgency did not rush the Warrior a single bit. Unmoved, undeterred, she stretched her stance wide, one hand holding her sheathe steady as the other gripped her blade’s hilt tightly. The Warrior took in a slow, calm breath, chest swelling, arms flexing, Tsuzhu saw it all. Then there was a war cry like no other, booming and firm that echoed into the hills. The blade ripped free faster than the child could perceive, but what she did follow was the eruption of jade as it carried the petals and embers in all directions. They sliced, the embers burst, bodies in all directions ripped and punctured, sliced and fell. Even the infernals were pushed back, stony limbs cracking as the empowered embers and jade fire burst and wedged through their shells.

Many demons died as the whirlwind washed over, but not all, the wounded and the remaining stumbled and roared their return before attacking anew. But the Warrior had already advanced. Both hands on her sword, she crashed like the waves over rock, slamming fiends with her body and slicing through flesh like stone parting the river. No matter the numbers, despite the cracks in her defenses and the blood trickling from scrapes and punctures along her arms and sides, the Warrior did not relent.

It was some time, but soon Tsuzhu was standing, surrounded on all sides by bodies. Not just Pandaren, her family and village, but demons. So many demons. Her home was ruined, but the aggressors, the monsters... They had paid.

Thanks to Her...

She stumbled, ambling to her newfound hero. Standing before the Warrior as she panted, both of them clutching their sides and heaving in breaths. The much, much older woman sized Tsuzhu up. That gaze, the cold and distant bore as she saw much, much more than the child could even guess. Tsuzhu wasted no time.

“What are you?”

The Warrior thought for but a moment, before exhaling slowly, in measured pace. “A Warrior.”

“Are you a monk? A hero? Some kind of master?” Tsuzhu pressed, taking a step forward with a dangerous glaze in her eyes.

The Warrior grunted, shaking her head twice before pausing. Her unarmored shoulder rolled, back stretching to a rigid posture, straight and controlled. “I am a Blademaster, perhaps. So I would call myself, at least.”

“Who are you?” The child continued.

“Suyo, of the Blade.” The elder responded. “Who are you, child?”

Tsuzhu blinked, for a moment, going blank as her mind tried to think. Everything felt like a lifetime passed. Her head was still hazy, memories awash in a filter of blood and screaming.

“Run, Tsu!”

The words echoed through her mind, and her lips peeled back into a brief scowl as she choked a sort of grunt. “Tsu.”

“Just Tsu?” The Warrior queried. Her tone remained very clipped. Little emotion seeped into the words, though there was a ghost of some... Concern, perhaps? Or maybe Tsu was just imagining it.

“Just Tsu.”

Suyo hummed a moment, brow furrowing. Then she turned, without another word, and set to cleaning the blood from her blade. Tsu just watched, intently, twitching faintly, fingers tightening and rapping over the wicked bone shank. The Warrior peeled her armor just enough to glance at the wounds dotting her flesh, rumbling under her breath softly before wiping herself down with a rag from her belt. Then with a toss the cloth slapped into Tsu’s shoulder, and without thinking she began dabbing at the blood on her own body.

“You should seek the ones who ran south, child. I know at least several small groups managed to flee while I held the road, others may have escaped into the wilderness but I would not suggest that route, the demons may already have fanned out. They do not oft stick to their assault points.” Suyo waved one hand down the road before sliding her blade over her shoulder and into the sheath at her back. For a moment she stared south before turning back to the child, brow arching as she noted the young one had taken another step toward her.

“... I’m not going south.”

“You can not stay here, I am afraid. Seek shelter, child, and one day you can-”

“I AM NOT A CHILD!” Tsu snapped, fists clenching as she thrust herself forward on one foot and growled up at the older woman.

Suyo tensed, briefly, though her posture did not change. She frowned, deeply, brow furrowed as she considered. “What are you if not a child?”

Tsu didn’t pause. “I am a monster.” The words seemed to shake her. Her small body trembled and tears began to drip down her cheeks anew, over the dark fur that painted her face in a similar pattern.

“... Young one, you can not possibly know that.”

“I stand here covered in blood... The blood of beasts I killed, and the blood of my people. My family! What am I if not a monster!” Tsu heaved and choked between every breath, but her legs refused to give and her back stretched up in mimicking the Warrior’s posture. “I’m not some young girl anymore!”

Suyo stared for a few moments, peering intently at the child. “... You are not a monster, Tsu. I have slain many monsters. You are right, however... You are no longer a child.” Leaning forward, the Warrior lowered just enough to level her eyes with Tsu’s. “However, you must still choose what you wish to become.”

“I want to learn, I need to know how to kill, like you do.” There was no hesitation, Tsu set her gaze and stared with as much cold focus and steel she could muster. Just like how she saw the Warrior appraise her enemies. “My life is gone... My family is gone... There’s nothing left in me but this need... This burning desire... I will become strong, and I will kill all these... Things... I will grow to destroy everything that threatens my people, ever. I will sate this pain and anger in my heart!”

Suyo did not flinch. She could not let the child see any such sign of weakness. But those words, and the ferocity with which this child roared them, and the anchor in her stance despite the wobbling of her knees. There was no lie, and no question. This was a young girl burned deeply by the world. It had left embers, and those embers would be dangerous. Left untouched, they could consume her from within.

But molded and fanned, fed the right fuel...

Suyo crushed those thoughts in her mind. A child was no suitable subject to be thrust such a burden onto. To take up the blade, like she had in her own youth.

Yet...

The fire would remain, and the child would ache, no matter what path the Blademaster might leave her to. If there was no lie in the young one’s voice, she had no family to seek or return to, and in her state with that frothing tenacity, she would possibly even hunt down the demons she hated so much. The young one had so much life left in her, yet her future was tainted forever more by flame. Suyo was aging, and her life was slowly coming to it’s weakest years, with no story or glorious death to show. This could be a contingency... But it was no call to make without surety, and it would not be without great sacrifice and commitment on both sides.

They both had to be sure.

Tsu could see it in the older woman’s eyes, and her youthful drive urged her to speak first. “I will endure whatever the cost. I’ll accept whatever the terms. I must learn that power. I will become strong, no matter what. Take me, teach me, shape me! Give me a chance to make something out of this!” The child threw an arm back, gesturing to the remains and the destruction. “Please!”

Suyo eased back up, standing in the gentle breeze and soft, sickly glow of unnatural flames. She remained, for a time, silent and contemplative. Eventually, the Blademaster had to respond, and she gave little more than a quiet nod. That was all Tsu needed, though. The child fervently nodded in return, and the pair weakly marched from the ruined fields. For now, there was an agreement. Later, though, was when they would formally confirm Tsu’s apprenticeship.

And an actual commission from http://sketchbear.tumblr.com/ which I can say I am quite pleased with (sarcasm and usual snide aside). Suyo in her more game-friendly mog with that very apt stare.

A sketch of Suyo, done graciously by the laer-si-atnas.tumblr.com on whim of charity.

Blood may be life, Though living is conflict, Does that then make blood a blade?

The ground thundered with the paced marching of feet, and hooves, and iron clad toes. No two pairs of armor were alike, no two crests were the same, no colours matched and no eyes strayed from the path. They were warriors, each, no matter the weapon or the plate they wore. Elves marched astride Orcs, marched astride Gnomes, marched astride Trolls. Anywhere else, maybe it would have seemed out of place, a queer sight. The Broken Isles had lost the luxury of uniformity and faction, all that was left was the necessary struggle for survival against insurmountable forces. The forested outskirts of Suramar might, at one point, have been picturesque, leaves occasionally trailing on soft breezes. But this was tainted by the drifting reminder of sulfur, and the distant glow of foul magics beyond the horizon in most directions.

It was the perfect grounds for a stubborn old bear seeking a warrior’s death.

The front and it’s overseeing companies however demanded cooperation, so even rough and tumble adventurers were made to respect rank and file, forced into small parties to commit to small operations to shake up the buckled in Nightborne of the besieged city. Suyo of the Blade, with her hair carefully bound and dutifully brushed, armor gleaming in the dull light and hanging just so off her bulky form, was placed to fill the open space left between an Orc and a Draenei whom apparently were quite familiar with each other.

“What are the flowers for?” The Orc barked with more humour than derision in his tone, sweeping a hand across to gesture at the thick vase the Pandaren had carried the march in whole. “Come offering peace to our enemies?”

The Draenei merely chuckled, leaning aside with a gesture inward before blocking in mock whisper. “Urog is upset because he worries there will be no flowers offered to him.” Though it was brief, even Suyo snickered at that, mostly visible only in the faint pulling back at the corners of her lips. The Orc, Urog, was very swift to bark some dismissive retort.

“Pah, I need no girly tokens. Especially not from strangers.” Urog scoffed.

The Draenei merely grinned as he eased back to proper marching posture. “Girly tokens hmm? So you insult our new comrade?”

The Orc blanched a moment, caught with his tongue in his throat as the Pandaren leveled a rather blank, yet somehow threatening stare into their equal eyes. “Of course not… I meant… They’re merely courtship offerings in weak, human traditions. Usually tokens for girls. Not for warriors, which clearly we all are here… And if I -were- to receive any such offerings, it would be a great honor to receive flowers of such quality as the Pandaren possesses.” Urog nodded as he struggled to regain his posture and grandeur, arms crossing and pinning the graying tuft of his thick, single braided beard to his iron chestplate. Suyo’s chin canted up in response, eyes narrow as she peered at the Orc in prolonged evaluation. She was distracted as the Draenei shifted again and she found his thick digits hovering in offer. Her free hand came up and clamped firmly, easily matching the pressure she felt in return as they shook once and parted.

“And I am Aalmos. It is good to have a shrewd and sensible woman as yourself at our sides Miss?”

“Suyo, of the Blade.” Her retort was right back into the usual cold and formal tone.

Aalmos did not seem particularly perturbed, he droned on all the same with that slight chime to his speech as if there was some hidden humour in every statement. “I suppose I could have guessed.” His arm shifted, tapping knuckles of his free hand against the massive, shifting plates of the crystalline shield over his left arm. “You could call me a bulwark of sorts, Urog is very fond of his axes. He’s had that one for almost five years now.”

“-Six- years, and if I can get a strong kill streak this siege, I may just be able to take it home under the satisfying call of ‘Elfcleave’.” The Orc hefted his arms up in some sort of flex, the weathered plate’s banding giving a soft groan under the pressure. Aalmos, in turn, merely groaned in clear displeasure.

“ 'Elfcleave’? You’re still pushing that? Terrible name. Why not… 'Shadow of the Sal'dorei’ or even 'Mana-Blood Thirster’?” The Draenei waved his free hand up as he listed off alternatives, neck tendrils mimicking the motion to the gentle clinking of the golden bands that lined each thick tentacle. Urog however merely scoffed, barking off an Orcish denial. “Elfcleave. It’s a strong name! Would have taken it for a surname if those bloody women hadn’t pinned me to a tree. Can’t let -that- be my legacy. You, Pandaren, what about your blade? Clearly you revere it.”

“Ruan Feng. It has been in my family, and it’s namesake, for over ten thousand years, since before the mists parted our kind from the rest of the world. And later, our kind from the turtle my ancestors migrated to.”

Aalmos quirked a brow at that, but Urog merely barked a laugh, waving a hand aside to clap the Pandaren’s shoulder in some good natured roughness. “A ten thousand year old sword? Pah! You nearly had me going. I imagine the name is something Pandaren?”

“A dialect of, from the ancient tongue, yes. It means 'Soft Gale’. And your disbelief is irrelevant. The blade has survived more combat than I will see in my lifetime. Even with these… Back to back world sundering wars.” The Pandaren scoffed at that, lips peeling back into a rather tight frown with just a hint of fang poking through. Something in her gaze must have offered legitimacy to her claim, though Aalmos hadn’t seemed any less than his vaguely jovial self, Urog went quiet for once and tapped fingers up and down the stressed plates over his bulging biceps. “The flowers…” Suyo added, catching the eyes of both males with sudden curiosity. “… Are for a very particular set of armor I need made. A death dress. I plan to be buried in it but… I have no coin, and work no metal myself.” For all of a very brief moment, the Blademistress’ posture slumped. just a touch. Then she hefted the vase under her arm and returned to the straight backed march across the long road to the city.

Aalmos collected his neck tendrils into a single, twisting mass, catching it between a thumb and finger as her rolled in some thoughtful motion. “Well… As Battlebrothers, I am sure if you help get us out of this alive, we could offer our services.” The hulking specimen of pale blue flesh flexed his shield arm, the strange interlocking plates briefly flashing as their detailed joints caught the light, crystalline shoulder accents twinkling with mystical awe. Urog on the far side slammed a fist to his meaty palm, grunting. “What did I say of throwing around my services?” The Orc barked in contest. “Just because she walks a warrior, and talks a warrior, doesn’t mean we’ve -seen- that she’s a warrior. Only the worthy, and the honorable. We agreed on this the -last- time you had me bent over that forge smelting down molten truesteel for two weeks!”

“Oh come now, it was two days. And it was a child on his way to the first fight, it was only fair to equip him with the best.” “The bloody dragon ripped him, and some of our best work, to shreds in seconds.” “And he would have been dead -instantly- without it.”

Suyo scraped her free hand up and down over her face before sharply clearing her throat. “Gentlemen, please. We will fight, I will watch your backs, you will watch mine. We will punch through the defenses, collect our sum, and go home. Whether or not you accept that coin for service afterwards, we can discuss afterwards.”

For the first time, it was their turn to look rather pensive. Even jovial Aalmos offered the faintest turn to his lips, brows furrowing beneath the thick crest over his skull. Suyo arched a brow at that. She assumed her mediation had been fair. Stout Urog just shook his head, spitting off the road as they marched in their own bubble of silence. The rest of the fresh adventurers and heroes in their lines and parties were wrapped in their own mumbling or contemplation, only once or twice did those ahead bother glancing back as did those behind pay any focus to the bodies forward. The Pandaren found this acceptable, she was hardly inclined to make friends as was. Urog though only simmered in the nuisance of her words, twice his eyes flicked right to the larger Draenei and twice did the Draenei staunchly shake his head, a small gesture with great implication. Urog though was not one to listen to logic, he listened to his gut. “Have you no honor?” He growled beneath his breath.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Suyo’s ear flicked, heat rose beneath her fur and she could feel the tension in her jaw as she fought to prevent a snarl of her own. “Care to test me?” Her chin canted upwards, posture sharp and leaning toward hostile. “I have exactly as much honor as the battle demands. And likely a more than you carry, if so sore you’re to be about it.”

“Sellsword calls herself honorable. Tch.” The Orc spit to the ground, trampling it under a heavy boot as they marched.

“What he means.” The Draenei picked up on. “Is that it seems very… Questionable. The world sits on the precipice of destruction and you fight for… Coin? Prestige?”

“Death.” The Pandaren’s answer rang with a hollow chill. The two others glanced between themselves and only frowned further.

“And the coin?” Aalmos inquired.

“Upkeep.” The Pandaren tapped a fist to her chest. “Metal does not mend itself. Food does not come down as rain. I provide a service to those who can not do it themselves. The service I do because it is what I am good at. If I am expected to continue doing so, I expect to be attended. As it would be unfair to make slaves of everyone I kill for, coin is universal and as such, acceptable in place.”

“So you feel no need to fight in their stead. You simply do because it is what you are?” The Draenei only frowned further, though there was not bitterness in his voice. Urog on the other hand merely barked. “And how do you see honor in this?”

“Simply. I show my enemies respect. So long as they reciprocate. I show my allies respect. So long as they reciprocate. Then I fight. And I fight. And will keep fighting. Until I have died, honorably, or my enemy has.” Suyo idly hefted her vase amidst the walk. “Why do you two fight? For glory? For necessity? Duty? What hill do you plant your flag that you look down on me?”

“Compassion.” Spoke the Draenei. “Blood.” Grunted the Orc. “And above all. Hope.” The pair rattled off in practiced timing. It was accompanied by a long pause, Suyo briefly lost to contemplation before the two of them suddenly started shaking. Then the sounds bubbled up out of their throats, and they chuckled in goodhearted amusement.

“Why is this… Amusing?” The Pandaren inquired.

“Because we screwed up the phrasing, yet again.” Aalmos muttered between hearty breaths. “It starts with hope, and ends with compassion.” Urog filled in. “The point is that we’re an old pair of wandering souls. We’ve seen enough war in our time. Real war. The bloody, the dirty, the wicked. It’s not about fighting for honor, or coin, or anything more than victory.” “It’s about fighting for our kin. Our people. Our world. That this home, our home, be safe. If not for us, then the generations that follow. Our blood, our blood’s blood, even sellswords and arrogant Elves.” The Draenei spoke in a gradually more reverent tone. “The fight is had and won because we’ve seen enough war that no one else ought to. It’s about keeping the young and the weak out of the field. Every field. Our world is a volatile mixture, but it is now our world. It’s not about killing the biggest demon, winning the biggest fight, or taking home the most gold.” “It’s about survival. It’s about peace.” Urog rumbled at the world in a particularly strange tone. Was it inflection? Retrospect? Suyo couldn’t fully be sure.

The argument and discussion, however, was an old one. It did little to dissuade her stance. She fought, as always she would fight, until there was no fight left. As all warriors ought. As all warriors do. So she merely bowed her head, and mumbled some pittance of agreement. She agreed, of course, that it was all well and noble. That the weak and the soft should stay home where they belonged. There was no lie uttered as their discussion gradally drifted back toward inquiries of her nature. Who do you fight for, they would ask. She answered truthfully of course, for herself and the acquaintances she knew had no place in times of bloody conflict. Have you thought of settling, what were her plans beyond the battlefield? So she told them exactly those, about the ceremonial gear she planned to die in, about her acceptance for a bloody grave buried back on the Isle at best. They discussed materials for her gear, they bandied more quips.

Eventually they reached the front, and an Elven commander started splitting the groups and gesturing to maps and shouting orders like a machine. Suyo only briefly glanced at the map. There were crosses over choke points, circles over potential side passages, targets and names littered the field. Some were crossed out, others not. The trio before them were directed to the walls, taking the wide route to dismantle their upper defenses. Suyo and her Battlebrothers drew the short stick it seemed. There was a gate held quite shut on the southeastern end that needed battering. That would be their task, no clear start or end point past that. That much was fine, as far as Suyo was concerned. A bloody death made a pincushion of arrows and battered with magics would be acceptable, she decided.

The vase was hefted as Aalmos and Urog tightened their armor’s banding and stretched their limbs. It was only a brief respite given the march across Suramar, but it was all the respite war allowed. Break own the gate, kill whatever stood in their way, then Suyo could return home with funds for her project. Easy enough. Weapons readied they waded through the barricades and set through the burning city streets.

Not that anyone really follows this but with some personal ticks I’ve been having, I’ve decided on just shunting all of my writing up in here rather than being a per-character blog. Hence, mild aesthetic change.

“Has anything come out of that eye?” The voice was clipped, curt, tone sharp as much as it was tired.

“Nah. Warlocks say it’s no easy thing to make sense of what it shows them.” The retort was much slower, carefully enunciated despite a thick tongue that warned of a deeper accent. “They already sending off to talk with our Illidari friends. You got it deep in the Dwarf city, huh?”

The first voice exhaled in a ragged sigh at the hint of amusement in that inquiry. “Turned a crack in the tramway into a hidden sanctum. Then waited.” There was no attempt to hide the ire and snarl as the first voice recounted.

“Bah. They getting into everything, these demons. You hear they used a crafty corpse to infiltrate the Elf city? Lotta powerful magic there, still went right under their noses… But not ours.” Lips curled into a savage grin around a pair of thick, jutting tusks. “Come on, I got something else for you.” Leathers wrapped in bone and feathers gave a rustle as the towering Troll lifted onto his feet, turning to lumber out of the dark room and hunching low to fit through the ‘sewer’ tunnels.

The first voice rolled soft blue eyes, ringed and webbed with crimson veins that bulged and pulsed with stress and exhaustion. It crept into her voice as she spoke in a sigh, claws scraping the floor as they walked. “There’s always more. Vigilance is not a one time affair.”

“Dah.” The Troll responded flatly. “I’m not talking about paperwork and inventory though.”

Most of the rest of the journey was held silent, barring the shuffling through echoing halls and gentle flush of water behind the walls. Couldn’t very well hide an organization of spies, assassins, and unsavory thugs in an under-city complex if the disguise of a sewage system wasn’t actually functional and convincing. Occasionally they passed other agents slipping by in the dimly lit passages, all sizes and shapes, half clad in dark and ominous armor. The other half was civilian wear, or bright tabards and rich silks, thick plates or heavy robes. The organization was not one of discrimination, provided all played their part. Even the less discreet ones.

The pair slipped behind one false wall, entering one of several 'office’ spaces complete with a desk, several wooden chairs of rough design, and a wall of workbench and accompanying tools. The Pandaren grumbled, mumbling about the mess of scrolls and letters strewn over the desk and floor. The Troll paid little mind, one hand flicking over his shoulder with a grunt in some dismissal of the qualm. He slipped passed the desk toward the workbench, flicking up a few loose plates that snapped together into a very rudimentary blast shield and containment box. The Pandaren set herself down in a chair and busied with rifling through the clutter, immediately sorting letters by sender and what few dates she could find. Mostly scattered reports from all across the Isle, particularly the Broken Shore but that was to be expected when every bloody sellsword, adventurer, and would-be 'hero’ swarmed the damned thing.

“I picked up one of these among some other less useful wreckage in Stormheim. Showed it off to the Boss men.” That careful voice uttered as the Troll reached to his back and rummaged through the pack there to produce some mostly spherical hunk of mangled metal and drop it in the side-standing box. “The Bloodsail boys have been bringing good powder, but ordinance is thin. These though, they pack a mean punch if we can get more. The Legion been churning them overtime, but holding back on cutting them loose.”

The Troll’s hands shifted again, pulling a small phial from a pocket to the immediate sickly glow of an unearthly green and the stench of sulfur burst across the room as he popped it’s lid. The Pandaren blanched, even with the dark, tightly wrapped mask covering her snout. Her eyes went wider still though as the Troll poured the liquid fel into the strange device, it immediately brightened with the foul energy and set to thrumming ominously. It shuddered a few times, crackling with energy before the cracks it held oozed the inert and thick sludge that was inert fel into the box. The thrumming stopped almost instantly, and the glow winked out only moments after.

The Pandaren hissed softly as the Troll turned about to lean back against the bench, plucking the mangled, dripping mesh from the box. “Got plans already half constructed on the north coast of Highmountain. You going to be there.” The Troll grunted as he tossed the object lazily back into the box.

“Is that an order?” The Pandaren arched a brow, head tilting on just enough of an angle to display attitude.

“It a fact. You keep choosing not to share things like that toy-” The Troll have a hand across, gesturing to the Pandaren’s hands. Specifically, the dark metal plates that covered her right gauntlet. “- So you going to be the one in the field. We need to get some of these undamaged so we can pick them apart proper. As well as store. You got the tool for it.”

The Pandaren was far from pleased with this. Her maw twisted into a scowl beneath the tightly bound veil over her maw, but the fact was the Troll was right. The irritation in her tone matched that. “So what’s the plan?”

“Fortifications already put up around a couple key points toward the coast, near the mountains. We got the Skeleton Crew making a lot of noise, stockpiling ‘weapons’ and setting up the Ghosts. You going out there to wait. When the Legion drops next, hope is they’ll take notice and send the big ones. If not, you may have to scramble out to where they are, then do the job, and pull them back to the site. We pick everything up in a sweep after, leave like we never came in.”

The Pandaren took in a few slow breaths as silence crept after the explanation ended. The Troll seemed in no rush, staring across with unconcerned lack of focus, probably thinking forty steps ahead like the Pandaren was herself. Eventually she brushed aside the letters she had so carefully stacked, moving them to the far corner of the desk before motioning down with her other hand. The Troll took his place opposite her, pulling up his own chair and sprawling a map over the surface with a smirk.

“Fine. I needed a distraction anyways. I need all the details. Resources, choke points, geography, names. The usual run down.” Her voice finally showed some spine, grunting as the methodical nature set in. There was always work to do, after all.

... With a rush the Violet Wind snapped up, the thick quilt falling from her shoulders and slipping down her exposed chest, traces of faint chill trying to wriggle through the layer of fur and flab as her quickened breath steadied. Her eyes took a moment to adjust in the lack of light but the brush of something grasping at her left arm was quicker, Isang tore her arm away with a growl and turned with a fist readied to strike. “Isang... Calm down... You were having another nightmare... Breath in, hold, breath out and remember you are safe here with me.” The voice cooed softly to her, gentle hands collecting over top of her clenched fist. So she did that. Her lungs expanded full and exhaled slow, chest stretching under the expansion and body quivering as she calmed.

The Moon was somewhere behind the clouds, but her eyes adjusted all the same to the dark. Open windows tickled her snout with the scent of distant hills, nearby herbs in a bed under the window, and river lily mixed in with something indescribable. That same gentle voice mumbled sweet nothings, the other body in her bed lifting to wrap arms around the Rogue’s shoulders, covers wedged back up covering them thoroughly as the heat returned. Isang could feel the matting of her fur, under her arms, down her back, it was a cold thing. “I was on a farm... You were in danger...” The Miscreant breathed.

“Hush” was the response, gentle squeezes and hugs affirming the safety in their sanctuary. “You are fine. We are still fine. I am right here with you.” The other woman’s tone was sweet, honest. Isang did not remain convinced. There was a hollowness... Somewhere. Was it in her mate’s words, or deep in the pit of her own stomach? Her hands came up with something of a snap, gripping either side of the other Pandaren’s head. She brushed back dark auburn strands and the streaks of deep crimson, staring into the auburn irises that held no hint of fear. Yet...

Isang softened her grip and pulled the other bear into a rough kiss, pressing until her lips felt numb. Still the other woman did not protest, but for a brief squeak of surprise that held no condemnation or dissent. Her own touch was soft, gentle, encouraging... But Isang knew that something was lacking. There was a hovering darkness from her dreams, and she could not place it. Softly the two sunk back to the bed and merely idled in each other’s arms, face to face and legs entangled in singularity.

“I am still dreaming.” Isang whispered.

“Yes.” Said her mate.

“But it is a good dream?” The Miscreant inquired, almost fearfully.

“Whenever I am here, the darkness fades away.” The other Pandaren responded, methodical and practiced, yet still with a knowing gentleness.

“You are here every time?” Isang mumbled. The other woman merely nodded her head. “You will always be here, yes?” The Rogue trembled as she spoke this. Only at that did her mate have to consider her words in silence before speaking.

“You must let me go eventually, Isang.”

Instead, she only gripped tighter, head shaking violently. “No. You are here with me forever, Lei Su. My love for you is here forever. Your memory will be here for me forever. Forever. Forever...”

Lei Su frowned rather ruefully. Her voice was heavy with the most bitter of honesty. “I will be here for as long as you hold on to me, Isang. One day though, you must let me go. I can not be the prison for all of your love, your goodness, your sorrow.” The softer, rounder woman turned one paw over and brushed her thumb along the shallow groove of a scar on the Rogue’s cheek. “I am not her.”

Isang sniffled once, before canting her chin up sharply. She pressed her jaw down into Lei Su’s thick mane, rubbing from side to side in disagreement and pain. “I know... But you are her. As much of her as I will ever have. I need her... Now more than ever. You have the empathy I lack. You have the instinct I lack. You are the goodness in my heart. I need you, Lei Su.”

She was not having any of such. Not if she were real, not even as the shadow and puppet she was intended to be. “I am always deep within you Isang. You must yet learn the difference. You must still learn that a memory is only a memory. You are the true-” Lei Su was interrupted by crushing force, compressed chest to chest with her snout squished into Isang’s shoulder as the Miscreant made her own soft cooing sound.

“Hush... I know what I am. I know what we are. You will always be the best of me, Lei Su. Heart of my hearts.” Isang snuffed the conversation as her mate sighed, resigning to comforting the distraught dreamer with dancing fingertips and soft, fluttering kisses along the neck. This continued for what felt like hours. It could have been seconds, it could have been years. A dream abides no reality, and Isang was content to huddle lost in the illusion of a life long lost for as long as she was allowed. They spoke through touch, they spoke through soft breaths and gentle shifts in posture. They saw through scent and taste, on tongue and cheek and snout. When the Rogue had calmed, and gone still, and curled around the smaller bear, she finally whispered like a child up well past her bedtime. “... Would you tell me a story, like when we were young?”

“Of course, my heart of hearts.” The softer woman spoke. “Long ago, in a distant land, there was a wanderer...”

Eventually Isang woke a second time. There was no cold chill, nor was there another body in her bed. Not this night. There was no window to greet her with fresh air, there was no smell of distant hills or soothing herbs. At first, she was crestfallen. Then, she caught the scent of something like a wolf. On the other side, another bear. Skittering echoed through the stone, and when she shifted it was not a well patched quilt but an array of cloaks in silk and wool and more that rolled free of her tightly bound chest. Her hands gripped something thick and she pulled it up to her snout, inhaling deeply as a hundred struggles and fights and escapes and friendships burst through her mind like a collapsing star. There was a pit in her stomach as she eased back onto her side and wrapped tightly in her favourite cloak, but also there was something quiet and pure. It was, of course, wreathed in thorns of terror and frustration, but beneath that when she could touch it’s soft petals, she felt... Hope. her life would never be perfect, but what she had... What she had was good. Her eyes closed and she drifted back into the pitch void of a sleep without memory. Lei Su was there though, still, watching with eyes soft and pained. As she always was. As she always would be. Chained between love, and despair.

Sneaking through brush was an incredibly painstaking process, despite what some might have thought. Everything had a very particular sound. Attached to some other plant, kicked over some small rock. Every step had to be precise beyond measure, and twiceover that with the squelching from the rain splashing down in the canopy breaks. There was the shadow of the trees, and the dark of the clouds, it would have been a fools errand had the Miscreant’s hooded targets not lit a pair of torches once deep enough into the forest to be far from the manor, and dark enough to require for the weak of sight. So Isang chased wisps through the night, far into the woods following just off some roughly beaten path. Every odd moment the lights would stop, bobbing as they circled about glancing forward and back to check the path was clear. Such stops did little to help the thick muddy coat that was gradually circling her leathers and weighing down her cloak, pressed into the trunks of trees and stretching long into the brush and through the mud to keep low. To that the rain was the faintest assistance. The final stop though was apparent long before she came into proper view of the clearing. The torches stopped and set at very particular points, their glow fixed and unmoving. After the usual short pause as before, when they had remained in place, the Pandaren drifted even further off the path, circling wide the destination before choosing a particularly thick cluster of fallen branches and their thin vegetation to wiggle through. With her spot carefully selected, just beyond the fringes of light, she settled and stared. There was a fourth figure awaiting the three. Cloaked like the rest, but his was left open to reveal some robes. Dark, practical in colouration. But the material caught the light all too well the same, not meant for physical work indeed. Regardless the lot were smart enough to keep their hoods up even in the assumed safe space of their alcove, faces shaded more oft than not, revealing little more than carefully trimmed beards and murmuring lips. Nothing held, nothing carried. The clearing itself however was set up with more than enough cause for suspicion. A crude sort of stone altar made from little more than collected rocks sat as a centerpiece, candles placed along it’s edges and corners in some balanced or ritualistic design the Miscreant had to assume. Scrawled in blood were runes of a script beyond her fathom at that, the dull crimson made in jagged streaks and sharp angles. Blood it most certainly was at that, a hare remain tied to the altar with wide gouges made that still faintly trickled. The work must have been in process as she had been stalking the stragglers. Together they gathered for a moment at the altar’s edge, still discussing whatever business had gathered them likely. Isang had to keep suppressed a quietly aching rage. Dark magics and some slaughtered creature, already a very poor start. To leap out and extract vengeance however was not her task, and even with the direct location she couldn’t be sure the Worgen would be able to craft an appropriately believable but disconnected tale. So she set to bide the time, and listened as sharply as she could manage amidst the rain and distant thunder. The cult looking fellows eventually returned to tidying up their altar, touching up the runes and adding a few odd reagents, baubles of some sort made of dark stone. Or perhaps glass, depending on how it caught the firelight. With their articles in place they set themselves at four sides, surrounding and stretching arms wide. An unearthly chant rolled out of their throats, a rough and guttural sounding thing with phrases the Pandaren couldn’t piece together by so much as the sound alone. As they invoked whatever ritual it may have been, the poor hare atop the altar began to twitch, growing more and more violent as the chant grew louder, bolder. Eventually the creature gave a shriek and collapsed, some wisps leaking from the corpse and collecting into a ball above the altar. It hung there for a time, as the dark robed one swung one hand inward and clutched at the air. The wisp responded, suddenly surging wide and stretching flat into a sort of disk. The remaining three swept their hands in together to clap, ringing out as the odd stones shattered abruptly and more bland wisps flung up to widen and destabilize the growing circle. It warped and twisted, falling over the altar like a blanket of fog. Spectacular in certain terms, though the Miscreant couldn’t prevent a gentle sense of nauseating dread claw up through her gut. The fog began to lift, not off the ground but it swelled, shedding around some obtuse shape and flowing from it’s core. The wisping souls seemed to shroud it, wrapped like an ever flowing cloak, thick curled horns attached to an obscured shape, humanoid and bleached like bone. It lacked any notable features, smooth and sightless, yet all the same it’s gaze eased from one side to another, taking in each of the arranged men before speaking in a dry, rasping tone. “Who seeks to pry into the Legion? So bold as to mark themselves and step well out of their turn?” “We as but servants to the endless army seek only guidance to ease their passage to this world, that it like all others burn.” The dark robed one spoke clearly, apparently taking charge, though his words and their groveling must have rung through, as both the entity and the Miscreant gave a sort of grunt. Albeit the latter an internal one. “More fuel for the fire I see...” The entity loosed an incredibly bored sigh. “All shall serve, then... What do you bring in offering to the Legion?” Immediately the ‘leader’ of the cultists began spouting off about the wealth they each held, their influence and their arms. No names of course, they were very carefully scraping the bounds of sensibility in what could be spoken loudly. Closer, closer, but never enough. Not quite enough.The weight of her cloak was getting uncomfortable. To the point breathing was difficult. Gently, ever so carefully she lifted, just enough to create space under her chest. The pressure shifted faintly and she frowned. Was one of the sticks sliding down, was her cover collapsing atop her? The vexing snare gave her pause, focused on keeping her breathing even. Silent. It took that switch to realize there was a sickly smell, and a gentle crackling that was only growing louder. The entity had already turned to stare in her direction. Only now were the cultists catching on. A voice like nails on chalk whispered in her ear. “Oh, my apologies, I assumed you were a rug.” A vicious cackling erupted as green fire flared and blew open her cover. Isang didn’t have time to contend with whatever response the altar group prepared, there was a damned imp crawling on her back and she intended to see it right back to the nether. First order of business was getting out of the muck, kicking off into a roll she crashed across through the brush to her feet. Claws into her leather and the weight on her back meant that the fiend had held fast. Her own claws snapped up over her shoulders and crushed around a neck, wringing viciously as she ripped the thing forward and threw it into the earth. Her heel crashed down into it’s skull. Repeatedly. Until sickening cracks declared her foe inert. A streak of sickly green flung past her head, a narrow miss from her right side. Another imp hanging from a branch, cackling and readying another felt bolt in it’s free hand. Her ears flicked up as she charged at the demon. That rasping voice was shouting vehemently in the foreign tongue, boots were pounding through the muck, and some third voice yet giggled from her other side. Four men, two imps, one Pandaren. Her blade flashed free of it’s loop, kicking off the ground as she bounded high and cleft the scrawny creature at the neck. The body and branch came slamming down with her as she jerked the blade free, rounding with a hand already slipping a dagger loose from her belt. Adrenaline was already surging through her veins, eyes sharp and focus wide as her senses stretched and clawed at everything they could take in. Her head remained balanced, a flurry of thoughts and tactics cycling through as she considered every potential attack and defense. The brush twitched to her side and she snapped in reaction without hesitating, the dagger whirling sharp as it pierced deep into the imps throat, gurgling as it fell. Those though were only distractions, and as her gaze shifted forward she set to squaring her stance. Four bodies, cloaked and wreathed in dark energies stood in line a few sure strides past. One on each end had already prepared and held ready some dark magic bolt, the center two were still mumbling some incantation under their breaths. She needed an distraction, or an advantage, the field was not in her favor. “... Joining up with the Legion? Turning your back on anything you may have ever loved?” Her voice was strained, the tension in her body carried into her voice, but it sufficed. The back of her mind set to reaching into her spirit. At first it was like trying to grip an oiled rope, so she did what always seemed to set her at ease. She clung instead to the memories of her halves, and the kindness they had shown her, and the support that kept her whole. “One to talk Pandaren. Shut the whole world out. You’ll see the return this time however, all will see.” One of the cultists on the end retorted after a pause. The brief interlude was all the time she had. A pair of shadowy bolts shot out and arced toward her. Her right hand came up, blade tossed to and caught by her left as she sucked the dark magic into the void plates of her gauntlet. The second thought she threw her spirit at, a flaring stretch of jade energy crashing across into the shadowy bolt that sent both bursting into nothing. With a stride forward her right hand snapped aside and the shadowy energy fired right back, colliding with one of the far cultists and breaking apart the dark shield that wreathed them. The longsword followed slowly behind and sunk deep through his chest, body crumpling into the muck and bleeding swiftly. Another stride and her second blade slipped loose, body twisting as she spun and fired the thing across. It crashed into the shadowy shield of the inner pair, falling flat as the energies waned. That opened the path for the following dagger she shot to pierce a throat, second body crumpling like the first. More dark bolts charged but the Pandaren had crossed enough to negate the ranged threat. She weaved and ducked as the magic shrieked past her head, unleashing a combination of punches and kicks into the shadowy barrier before it shattered. With a leap she was atop the poor man, without the magic to defend him he was weak, smaller and without training. She snapped his neck swiftly after the struggle to pin his arms away. That left one. Rolling from the corpse she gripped the mud and swung herself to face, mind and body focused on the singular task of survival as her spirit coalesced in her fist like a blade, thrusting forward. Connecting with a pitch void and sucking away into the dark. The energy didn’t just falter, as most her failed chi strikes might have. Far worse. Extended as she was the void sucked and caught her, locked in her posture as more of the jade energy seeped out of her form. Panic gripped her, manic distressed as she struggled just to break the stasis, dive away, strike again, anything. Instead her body and soul were wracked with pain as her life was slowly devoured by the fel magic. She needed any sort of distraction, or tactic, something unexpected or dangerous. She just barely needed past that energy to get at the soft flesh behind. With a surge of energy, her spiritual energy, the jade glow wrapped her form. Pressing up through the pain she used the suction to lift and flow toward her adversary, nerves screaming out in agony as she brought her hands and head above to grip the man’s shoulders. His muffled bark of admonishment suggested it was unexpected. That was all the proof she needed. Though the draining spell doubled in potency with the physical contact, it mattered little. Her head slammed forward to bash skulls together, dazing the cultist as the spell broke momentarily. It broke permanently as her teeth shredded the flesh of his neck, hair and skin flying about as she clamped and threw her head after each crushing bite. It took most of the remaining adrenaline in her system to keep from collapsing immediately. She wretched and spat up the blood and flesh in her maw, rolling away in through the muck as she tried to heave back deep breaths. Every inch of her frame was agony still, despite no visible scratches. Whatever she had interrupted had stayed interrupted it seemed, with a glance back toward the altar area there was no lingering magic or vision, just the distant thunder and pattering of rain through the leaves. There was nothing more for her to do in her state. She fought to reach her feet, instead managing only to her knees, accepting such as her limitation. On all fours she slunk from the scene and pulled herself through the woods, homeward.

It was raining in Duskwood. With a name like ‘Duskwood’ it should hardly have been surprising, between the perpetual sort of gloom and the overhanging thickness to the air the cacophony of thunder and water might as well have been a bounty of life to the melancholic atmosphere. The only real good that came from it was that it muddled scent and, with careful movements, masked the Miscreant’s slow crawl up the middy hill she’d decided to stakeout upon. The area in question was some minor noble’s manor. Or the remains of, given Duskwood’s state over the years. Some large abode of several floors once decaying, since begun a process of restoration but it was difficult enough to tell what construction had replaced with the quality of materials being nailed together. That itself was of minor concern. In fact most of it was, given her surveillance was meant as little more than just that. A look out for suspicious behaviour coming and going from the building, it’s state and flaws outside her realm of objective. So Isang had clawed her way through the muck up the side of a hill some several hundred yards across with a clear vantage of the building’s side, view enough of the front and back entrances. Barring any hidden passages she knew not of, it was all she needed to cover. So lay there she did, rain running off her thick, dark cloak and chin resting over one arm to keep from the mud as she squinted and peered unfailing for minutes. Which soon rolled into an hour. And from that hour, into three. What little faint trace of light began fading as the sun rolled toward the horizon, barely visible between the clouds and nigh unfaltering gloom of the woods. Luckily so her eyes had adjusted over the long wait, as with the oncoming dark hours she spotted movement at the back of the manor. Three figures obscured by cloaks as thick and dark as her own, hoods pulled low over their heads as they hurried through the rain and made for the woods. With a very quiet, and drawn hiss the vexed Pandaren pushed up and made a swift break long around her hill to catch their trail. All the while the discussion that sent her chasing questionable figures into the dark rolled over and over in her head. “I appreciate your availability to discuss such matters and the... Discretion that you’ve always shown in such endeavors.” The voice spoken was just deeper enough to sound masculine, though one might not have immediately paired it with the large, furred beast of a man in his carefully tailored tunic and appropriately fitting leggings. The Worgen was attentively seated behind his desk, a fairly neatly organized space with several differing stacks of notes and papers all dimly illuminated by the dirty window along the nearby wall. “As always, Mister Harmont. Mind you the requested meeting is an odd sort and lacked the usual sort of refinement in phrasing. Something recent, distressing?” Isang merely rounded back in her ever polite, ever carefully monitored tone. She’d resigned this day to standing aside the chair set for her, hands clasped firmly behind her back. The Worgen shifted, hands pulling apart as he reached for one of the many available pages and peered across it’s listed lines. “Mmm... One could say so... You see you did your previous work flawlessly, this is certainly no sort of sudden lawful retort. Every package whisked to appropriate buyers without delay or tax.” “There must be a ‘but’, else you’d not have called me in return. Specifically.” The response gave Mr. Harmont pause, setting the page down as he pinched the bridge of his muzzle in unspoken frustration. There followed a brief nod before he continued. “Of course, of course, I’m not trying to mislead you... The mistake was not on your end but my own... As you recall I personally inspect all goods to be passed along their way to the appropriate buyers trying to keep everyone ‘happy’ and contributing to our restoration projects... Heaven’s but that whole park debacle was a nightmare of scheduling, red tape, permits... Wasn’t even our own project but just trying to get a foot into the endeavor...” With a scoff the Worgen shook his head, taking a moment to settle back properly with peaked fingers. “The case in point, some very sensitive sort of texts may have been part of the many packages that were sent out from here. A few of which specifically carried by you. The hope of course is that the rumour is an entirely unfounded thing but... Unfortunately it’s a degree of risk I can’t quite sit on passively. With the smuggled nature of course I can’t bring this directly to any authority without great risk to the establishment here so I’m instead forced to do a bit of improvisation. This is where you would come in, with appropriate compensation for the work done of course.” Isang took a moment to consider, eyes straight if unfocused as the fingers behind her back tapped along an open palm. “Hmm. I’ll require a thorough outline of what’s expected before I agree to anything, but also, I won’t be taking anything on without knowing exactly what the circumstance of this ‘risk’ is.” “But of course, your standard procedure, were I adverse I’d have not approached you to begin. The outline is fairly simple. I’ve been keeping track of activity and a few individuals have been lately heard to go on outings for long stretches that don’t fully match up with their alibis. Particularly when I have people in other circles who see them not where they are said to be. Common for the ‘higher blood’ of course but the concern is that their choice meetings take place among the manor of one whom holds one of the texts that concerns me and well the concerning part...” Mr. Harmont trailed off as he gaze swept across the room to the window, frowning at it’s uncovered nature. With a gentle stretch the soft edged wolf of a man stepped across, pulling a thin curtain across the bright pane. He gave a weak sort of exhausted sigh before he turned about in the darkened room to continue. “... I had hoped the types of tomes returned from this ‘new world’ would have been mundane, cultural things. Most were, what few there were. But a select few slipped the cracks and it was my poor grasp of the alien tongues that did so. Glanced over their covers and inserts assuming them common journals of average Orcish folk. Should have known better perhaps that to pass of my curiosity at Orcs with books. I’d kept a few of the complex runes sketched for later checking that I put off for months and of course I find out half the writing wasn’t Orcish at all... It was the demonic tongue. Some sort of early soirees into fel magics, documented. I’ve no clue what they outline in full or how accurate any of it is but it’s in unsavory hands and when mixed with other context...” “I don’t kill the living-” “No! No no, no of course not. Please, Miss Fleetfoot, I fully respect your philosophical trepidation and I would never impose on those. The work itself is much, much less aggressive. I ask only that, with your swiftness and discretion, you spend a night or two and survey the situation closely. Any suspicious or odd happenings. With a bit more substantial evidence, I could craft an appropriate warrant with the authorities and handle everything legally. No need for any unsavory, bloody business. Blood is always bad for business.” “So that’s all, technically, to merely watch and wait and return with some sort of... Incriminating evidence if any is to be had?” “If evidence you can acquire, yes, but just knowledge alone of any suspicious actions should be enough if I have specific details to take with me to the appropriate forces.” The Miscreant gave a soft click of her tongue as she considered. There wasn’t much to consider though. Through her hands, fel knowledge had passed from body to body in this world. Worse that someone may very well be acting on it, if yet proof hadn’t quite been found. Who better to acquire such then? “... So be it then. For my part played in this, my part should too be played in it’s undoing. Give me a location, I’ll set to finding an appropriate watch point before night’s fall.” If only things ever remained so simple as they sounded when discussed in planning.