Directions and misdirections ((story-RP))

The dream starts the same as it does almost every night since Argus. She was in a large chamber with several draenei and eredar. The draenei were drinking goblets filled with fel-laced wine. Voluntarily.

Each time it was offered to her Niashado refused. And each time an eredar would restrain her, while the other, Hraxxas, injected it directly into her blood.

“This is a good thing,” Jalleen, the younger of the two eredar whispered into her ear as the corruption spread through her bloodstream. “Once you are infused with enough of it, you will be able to wield the magic to change entire worlds. You can make a difference.”

Hraxxas, the patriarch eredar, stood silently, watching as she trembled. Her arm felt like it was freezing and burning at the same time. She could even feel the presence of the Light begin to occlude. That very realization spurred panic in her mind.

“This is the Gift that being a part of the Burning Legion brings,” Hraxxas preached to the draenei. They’d all been turned long ago. How could they not? They’d been kidnapped years ago from Azeroth and The Outlands. Years of Legion propaganda and no hope of return had eroded their ability to resist.

She wasn’t there, yet. She called on the Water and used the Element to gather the poison in her body. It burned so horribly. It felt like her insides were dying. Tears welled up in her eyes and she concentrated the poison into her stomach. With violent convulsions, she expelled the fel from her body; vomiting it on the floor before Hraxxas.

On all fours, she finished vomiting the viscous green fluid and looked up Hraxxas. She held his gaze, a fleeting sense of pride knowing she’d resisted him. Then a cramp hit her and she gasped and fell flat on the floor, shivering in agony. Another spike of pain hit and she cried out…



… and Niashado bolted upright on her bed, clutching her abdomen. She released a stifle cry as she swung around and started fumbling for the glass bottle on the nightstand. Popping the cork, she downed the contents of the potion and rested, massaging her belly.

The sound of rain hitting the roof filled her darkened room. Outside, a flash of lightning briefly lit up her room. The draenei sat up and walked to the window. Drawing the curtains aside, she saw the streets of Ratchet glisten in the rain. Another distant flash of lightning revealed the darkened silhouettes of ships docked at the port. The movement of dim lanterns along the streets revealed the path the goblin bruisers walked as they patrolled the town.

Niashado returned to her bed and sipped some water slowly. The abdominal pain was slowly fading, but it would come back. Six months ago, she and Jaou had been kidnapped. Jaou had endured torture at the hands of a nathrezim that he’d encountered years before. She’d been sent to an Eredar who specialized in returning draenei to the Legion. They’d been rescued by their friends, but not before the damage was done.

Jaou was a demon hunter, with a literal demon in his head. He was struggling to adapt to his new form and the needs that came with it. The worst part of it was that he’d finally regained his true elf form before it had once again been taken away.

For Niashado, her rescue had come at almost too great a price. When the fel had been forcibly injected into her, she had concentrated it in her body in order to force it out. That act of defiance had caused damage to her stomach. But the near constant pain and occasional upset stomachs paled in comparison to the loss of her connection to the Elements.

During the rescue mission, somehow, some of the crazed Elementals in Argus had latched on to her connection to them. But instead of working together, they’d taken over her. She’d become an avatar for them, but without control. They were using her to try to remove demons that had hurt the world for so long. And through her they attacked any demon, including the demon hunters who had come to rescue her. They had even attacked Jaou, despite her protests. So enraged and desperate, they would not consider reason.

In desperation, Hraxxas and the other eredar had cast some sort of spell on her. She wasn’t sure what they had done, but in the aftermath, she could no longer call upon the Elements.

She was no longer a shaman. Her calling had been taken from her.

The Earthen Ring had tried to help, but to no avail. She’d even begun experimenting with forcing visions through herbs and potions. As a shaman, these had helped in the past. But this time, all they nearly brought about was a substance addiction as she tried to desperately to fill this void.

Her friends had tried to help. They tried to encourage her to fill the void, but what could they understand? To have a relationship with the world like she’d once had. To be able to use an elemental connection to help people and the world was indescribable.

Now, Niashado felt like a shadow of her true self. And she knew she couldn’t remain among them. How could she? She wasn’t even sure who she was and what she could do now.

The draenei looked at a portrait that had been drawn of Jaou and her in Dalaran on the nightstand and sighed. They were both smiling and happy that day.

Now, they both needed to find out how to adjust to the new reality of their lives. And while Jaou returned to The Citadel to learn about life as a demon hunter, Niashado had chosen to take the opportunity to leave on her own walkabout.

Niashado wasn’t sure what she’d do or where she would go. She just knew that her friends would not understand. When she told them she was leaving to explore new opportunities she had put up a false façade of confidence so they wouldn’t be concerned. In reality, she needed to get away from their worry and concern. She needed them to stop telling her that there will be something else. She needed to stop hearing their advice.

She needed to think.

The draenei thought it somewhat ironic that she ended up in Ratchet. This was the town where her adventures had begun. It seemed it fitting that this might be where it will hopefully resume.

Next to the picture of Jaou Stormchaser was a small piece of parchment. She gently opened it and gazed at the small dried leaf of golden lotus that lay inside. Although it had been a struggle, the draenei had forced herself to stop trying to seek the Elements through the herbs and potions. It was a slippery slope and one that she was inching toward falling down.

But this expensive, nearly unattainable herb promised her answers. She held it in her slightly trembling hands before abruptly wrapping it up again and wedging it into the frame of the picture. The herb might promise answers, but it also had the potential to slam shut doors that might one day open again.

In the distance a rooster crowed and she noted that the overcast skies were starting to slowly brighten.


* * *


“Look, I don’t pay you for your concerns. I pay you to keep my ship’s sailing,” the goblin complained.

“I can’t heal scurvy with magic,” Grimble Bloodhorn fired back. “That can be fixed by packing some fruit. Sailors need more than just fish.”

Niashado took a sip of her warm tea as she watched the orc and goblin go at each other. It seemed like every time one of the goblin’s ships returned, his crew were in dire need of medicines and healing. Most of it could be remedied from diet, but compared to most shipping companies, this goblin ranked the worst for crew health.

The draenei set her tea back down and returned to compounding some basic healing potions. The argument didn’t phase her as much as it did when she first arrived. The infirmary in Ratchet where she worked was used to seeing injuries from mining and dock accidents, to sick crew who just arrived, to travelers. There were about three healers who worked at the clinic, and although she could no longer heal people magically, Niashado found some satisfaction in lessening the workload of those who could. She understood how taxing it could be healing and therefore, how valuable it was having someone who could handle the mundane.

And mundane it was. She took care of the paperwork, handled potions and bandages, checked on supplies and made sure even the healers were properly rested and cared for. It wasn’t easy. Healers make the worst patients. She knew that all too well.

But at least it gave her time to think.

Even if every night the nightmares kept returning.

Dawn in Ratchet was announced not by birds singing or roosters crowing, but rather by the staccato slamming of metal, the scream of gears and cogs grinding against each other and the roar of accelerants being used to jump start the various steam engines around the small village. Thin strands of gray smoke rose from the various chimneys around town, but it wasn’t long before they were joined by the thick black smoke that belched out of the larger chimneys. The welcome smell of wood burning in fireplaces was soon supplanted by the burning scent of coal in the air.

Despite her time in Ratchet, Niashado found the morning ritual disquieting. Ratchet was run by the Steamwheedle Cartel, which had a consistent history of exploiting Azeroth’s resources to a degree that can be described as abusive. While not as flagerent as other cartels, it still bothered her.

The streets were already lively by the time she left the inn. A large caravan of kodo driven carts loaded with crops and livestock were making their way through town. The orcs and tauren who drove them paid little mind to a draenei among the crowds. Ratchet may be overwhelmingly populated by member races of the Horde, but it was also a port town full of transients and coin was coin.

She walked parallel to a cart for time and turned to see an orc boy looking at her. He jutted his tongue out between his small tusks at her. She did the same back, exaggerating it for his amusement and felt a bit of victory at hearing the child laugh. They shared a smile before she had to turn away at another intersection.

The tavern was nearly empty, save for some of the patrons who were too drunk to leave from the night before and were still sleeping it off. Late nights at this particular tavern tended to be... vibrant would be too nice a word… in the evenings. It was the kind of place Niashado imagine Izdazi would enjoy.

But, not known to many travellers, the tavern made the best breakfasts in town. Apparently, the morning cook, a young orc woman, was trying to make a name for herself with her culinary skills.

“You want your usual?” the dour blood elf at the counter asked, paying more attention to her finger nails than the customer standing before her.

“Yes please. I also need three coffees,” she relayed. The blood elf scribbled the order in a fashion that could have almost made her mistaken for a Forsaken.

“How’s life treating you, draenei?” a gruff orc muttered at the table. Niashado turned and regarded the older orc. His dark green skin was wrinkled with age and one eye was opaque with cataracts. His gray hair and beard were light gray and disheveled.

Niashado walked over and glared at the orc, who was holding a large mug of steaming coffee.

“I would say it has been the same as when I first arrived here, orc,” she replied evenly. The two held their stares for a little while before dissolving in a light chuckle. “And how does the morning find Gresh Clanteeeth?”

“The same as the morning before, and the morning before that one,” Gresh replied with a huff. “It’s hard to fish with all these infernal goblin factories grinding away.”

Niashado pulled a chair and sat across from him. “And yet you remain here when Crossroads is not more than a couple of hours walk away.”

“Bahhh. I’m too old for that place,” the testy orc spat.

“You have many years of experience to share with those young ones.”

“The young have no time for my experience. I have served my years. Now I want my remaining years to be spent fishing.”

Niashado smiled and shook her head. Almost every day was met with the same conversation.

“You smirk, but did you listen to my last bit of wisdom I gave you?” Gresh asked.

“I have not had the time to meditate like you recommended,” Niashado confessed. “What is the point, when I am deaf to the Elements and they to me?”

“The young have no time for my experience,” he repeated. Niashado huffed and sat back, folding her arms across her chest.

“I tried to listen for them,” she repeated.

“Screw the Elements. I wasn’t telling you to meditate to hear them,” the orc snapped. He picked up his walking stick and jabbed it at Niashado’s chest, causing her to jump. “I was telling you to meditate for ‘you.’ How can you hear a whisper in gale?”

“A gale?”

“You know what I mean, Niashado. Even this old shaman has to sit still to listen to their whispers too.”

“I have lost my connection to them. We have discussed this before,” she replied, grumbling this time.

“Sometimes, sitting still is less about hearing the Spirits and more about hearing yourself,” he said. “Listen to this old orc. Sit still and just listen to you.”

“I will try to find the time, Gresh,” Niashado promised. Just then the blood elf arrived with her breakfast and coffee, which Niashado took with a thanks. She packed the breakfast and large coffee mug into her basket. “I hope you have better luck fishing today.”

The orc chuckled. “It is never about catching the fish. It’s about slowing down and listening. You need to learn again how to listen.”

Niashado shook her head and smiled. “I will think about it.”

“Well, at least promise this old orc you’ll bring some music to this tavern tonight?”

“I have to pay rent somehow,” the draenei replied. “But I will be here tonight. At least until eight bells.” She preferred to leave the tavern before the late night craziness began. “And now, I am late at the clinic. You know grouchy healers can be without their coffee.”

Gresh grunted as he took another sip of coffee. “Back in my day, we didn’t have coffee.”

Niashado rolled her eyes and smirked as she left.

Niashado quietly strummed her fingers across the strings of her lute, replaying from memory the melody she’d been practicing since getting this job at the Salty Anchor Tavern. Around her, the cacophony of voices threatened to overwhelm her ability to maintain her place in with the score she was playing. At least the tavern owners weren’t expecting her to sing. She’d have lost her voice weeks ago if that had been the case.

For the time being, the proprietors were content with having her play background music and it was task that the draenei enjoyed. It helped her unwind after a long day at the clinic and it was one of the brief moments when she could stop thinking about all that had happened in the past year. Even the near constant pain seemed momentarily quelled when she was lost in playing the instrument.

While the tavern had good breakfast, dinners were a bit on the mediocre side. However, it did host a more diverse crowd than at the other taverns in Ratchet. Most of the patrons were adventurers making their way to different parts of Azeroth and she had enjoyed listening to a few of their stories.

Closing her eyes, Niashado took a deep breathe and started a new song. Despite the multi-lingual chatter that filled the smoky interior, she could tell that some of the patrons were also listening. Perhaps they needed a little peaceful rest before they resume journey in the morning.

Healing is more than just applying bandages or using magic, she reminded herself.

The next hour was much of the same and she was surprised when her three-hour shift ended with the arrival of another musician. Returning the loot to its stand, she gathered her basket and made her way to the bar.

“You know, if you’d work more than two nights a week you’ll get paid more,” the goblin at the bar announced.

“I appreciate the opportunity to play for your fine patron, but I also appreciate my quiet evenings,” Niashado said with a smile as she took the coin and dinner, he had set for her.

“Right. Well, if you ever want more, just say the word. You’re one of least demanding musicians I have ever hired.”

“Least demanding?” she asked, taking a slow slip of water.

“Yeah. Leandra demands two glasses of Ethermead when she sings,” he said, gesturing to the blood elf who was now playing some kind of elven string instrument. “And the weekend folks only want the black label drinks. And that’s with their pay!”

The draenei turned back to face the goblin, with his ridiculous hat and fine linens.

“I am sure if your patrons did not enjoy their music, the free drinks would end,” Niashado said with an amused glint in his eyes. He could afford the little extras the other musicians demanded.

“Well, yeah, but… well, it’s about good business practices and… and,” the goblin looked at her and sighed. “The night elves have ruined the concept of profit for your people, Niashado.”

Niashado chuckled. “Perhaps they did. I am fine with that. Thank you for the dinner.”

“Yeah yeah. Gresh wants to talk to you before you leave,” the goblin muttered, grabbing a towel and tending to a dwarf at the other side of the counter.

Niashado shook her head and smiled before taking a bite of an apple on her plate. She didn’t leave Jaou and her friends for the sake of making money.

“Niashado,” a gruff voice called out. She turned to see Gresh approaching with Pandaren in tow.

“And how are you tonight, Gresh,” she said in greeting.

“Passable. Another day with no fish caught,” the elderly orc grumbled. “This is Zhao Lan.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Lan,” the draenei said with a polite bow.

“The pleasure is mine. And please, just call me Zhao,” the pandaren replied. Despite his bulk, she couldn’t help to note how effortlessly he had weaved his way through the crowds. He wore flowing robes of dark red with white trim. A Horde insignia adorned the left chest area of his robes. He didn’t wield any weapons, but for some reason, Niashado sensed that he didn’t need any.

“My friend Gresh has spoken of you. He says you need a little help,” Zhao continued.

“Did he?” Niashado replied, shooting Gresh a scowl. Gresh was unintimidated.

“I lead a small group in meditation just before sunrise. You are welcome to join us.”

“I am sure Gresh also mentioned that I work at the clinic and that it will be difficult to make such a commitment,” she counted a little more defensively than she meant to. The pandaren chuckled.

“We’ll be done before seven bells. Plenty of time for you pick up your breakfast and go to work.”

Niashado shot Gresh another baleful glare.

“I do not wish to intrude-“

“Great!” Zhao announced. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning. We start at sunrise. Gresh, have a pleasant evening, my friend.”

Before Niashado could protest he was already at the door, once again moving much faster and with more agility than his appearance led on.

“Gresh!” Niashado hissed. “Why would you-“

“Because it will help,” the old orc said with a grin. “Besides, my cousin served in the Shaded Hemlock garrison. He told me you used to teach such classes there. Sometimes, the teacher needs to be a student too. Anyway, my ale calls me to.”

The orc left, leaving Niashado huffing and a little perturbed at being ‘forced’ into this.

The horizon was just starting to turn orange when Niashado found her way to the grassy hill overlooking the sea over Ratchet. She’d spent much of the night debating on accepting Zhao Lan’s invitation. It seemed irrelevant to meditate when she had no connection to the Elements.

But as Gresh had pointed out, she encouraged others at the Shaded Hemlock garrison to participate in meditation because it was far more than just for listening to the Elements. Taking moments to release one’s stress and burdens had many benefits for one’s well being.

Perhaps, the reason she hadn’t made much effort to find the time to meditate wasn’t so much that she couldn’t hear the Elements, but because it reminded her that she no longer could hear them.

That would have to change, however. If she was going to heal and move beyond what she’d lost, something needed to change.

The draenei heard voices as she rounded a boulder and came upon the outcropping. Then she froze.

The voices stopped as the participants turned to regard the newcomer. Trolls, taurus and orcs studied her cautiously. There was even a nightbourne elf among them, studying her with a hint of distrust.

“Ahhh! Everyone is here! Welcome, welcome!” the pandaren announced loudly. “Please, please find your places.”

Immediately, the others turned to find a place and grassy hill and sit cross legged. Niashado felt suddenly tense being surrounded by a crowd completely composed of members of the Horde. She felt ashamed for feeling this way, but it was hard to ignore the hostility between the Alliance and Horde in the recent past.

Those members of the Horde who attended my meditation sessions in the Shaded Hemlock probably felt this way, the draenei considered. With a deep breath, she brushed her hands over her dress and found an opening nearby between a troll sporting wild purple braids and a bearded orc who had a large halbert on the ground before him. The blade was covered with a thick leather sheath.

The orc looked pointedly at the brightening eastern horizon and paid her no mind. She caught the troll’s stare and offered a smile, but she looked away.

With a sigh, Niashado looked straight ahead and closed her eyes.

“Find a comfortable position,” the pandaren monk began. “There is no wrong or right position. This is personal to you and only you. Then, take a deep breath through your nose, hold it a moment, then exhale through the nose.”

Niashado took a deep breath and soon felt her subsequent breaths follow suit with the others. Despite Zhao’s earlier boisterous announcements the pandaren’s subsequent instructions were far more subtle and gentle. He was good at leading these sessions, she realized. Before long, she allowed herself to fall into the relaxing rhythm.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she suddenly felt her face grow warm and with effort, she broke past the calmness to notice that the golden sun was rising above the horizon.

“Thank you for joining us,” Zhao announced quietly. “May the calmness you feel at this moment follow you through your day.”

What? Is it already over? Niashado realized. It only felt like a few minutes, but could have really been an hour? She hadn’t thought once about the Elements, or even realized that the dull ache in her stomach had returned.

A large shadow fell over her and she looked up to see the pandaren standing over her.

“I’m glad you made it,” Zhao said, offering her hand up.

“I am glad I came,” she replied with an earnest smile. “I have been living in Ratchet for some time now and never knew this was going on.”

“It’s not exclusive by any means,” Zhao replied. “But nor do we really advertise it. But I do encourage them to invite others as you were. Many are adventurers. Some just travel about. Some work in town.”

“It felt good to just think inward without the natural recrimination that comes with it.”

Zhao let out a hearty chuckle. “You should know that. You are always welcome. Our numbers vary a bit, but there’s always space.”

“Thank you,” Niashado said and offered a slight bow. “But I must be rushing to work.”

She rushed back in town, the calmness of the sunrise meditation fading, but the energy it left her with lingering. Still, she was already remembering the healing potion she needed to be compounding and the three patients who should be returning for follow ups.

She’d need to stop at the market to pick up more peacebloom and mageroyal as well. And coffee.

Niashado shook her head at how quickly the bustle of the coming day was already getting to her. She had just inserted the key into the door of her room when a strong arm wrapped around her head and pushed a cloth to her face. She could smell some kind of chemical in it and immediately held her breath as she fought to push the arm away, but the grip was too strong.

She pressed her hooves against the door and pushed back, forcing the assailant to crash against the wall behind them. His group didn’t loosen, but she heard a grunt. The grip tightened and her body was twisted away from the door.

Involuntarily, she took a breath and took in more of the chemical. The hallway started to spin, but the last thing she noticed was being dragged toward a portal that was forming.


* * *


When Niashado came to, the world was still spinning. She shook her head and looked up. She was seated before a small table. The room was large and dusty. The sun rays from the windows high up on the wall cast shafts of light against the floor.

She shook her head to clear the last vestiges of drowsiness and noted with alarm that her hands were tied to the chair.

“Is anyone there?” she called out. A moment later a door opened and a large hooded and robed figure approached. His hoofsteps sounded heavy on the wooden floor. She noted the tail, alabaster skin tone and white hair. But it was his glowing golden eyes that caught her attention.

“You are Lightforged,” she said.

“I am, Lady Niashado,” he said quietly, reaching down to untie her hands, then he turned and sat across from her at the table. “My name is Vindicator Boreth.”

Niashado knew of the great importance the Lightforged Draenei were to the fight against the Legion and the incredible power the Light they yielded. They were a group many of her people, her included, looked up to.

“I-I do not understand why you have reached out to me like this,” she asked, rubbing her wrists.

Vindicator Boreth merely sat there for a moment, studying her closely with his piercing gold eyes. Then, he pulled a sigel from his robes and set it on the table before her.

The awe Niashado felt at meeting a Lightforge immediately evaporated.

“I am an Inquisitor,” Boreth explained. “People like me are called upon when we need to investigate our fellow draenei who have had sustained contact with demons. And, as you can imagine, we have a very large file on you.”

“My faith in the Light remains as steadfast as ever.”

“That is for me to decide, young one,” Boreth said, again speaking calmly.

“And what happens if you do not like what I say?” she asked dubiously.

“My task is to protect our people from the dangerous influences of demonic corruption. Let us both hope I find none with you.”

Niashado sat quietly and studied Vindicator Boreth as he quietly leafed through several parchments. HIs long white hair was done back in a ponytail. He stroked his facial tendrils as he studied the files. She could see subtle scars on his face and hands, revealing that he was veteren of several battles. But his face didn’t carry the lines seen in those who had served for centuries.

He laid the parchments flat on the tabletop and studied her briefly before setting a glowing amethyst jem on the table between. The light emitted from the gem wasn’t particularly bright of distracting, but the flickering was always on the edge of her vision. When she looked up from the jewel, she saw that he had folded his hands on the table.

“Your parents were Delena and Nebel of Telredor, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Niashado replied.

“Local herbalists and apothecaries?”

“Yes,” Niashado repeated. “I do not-”

“How much contact did you have with orcs and other sentients of Draenor while growing up in Telrador?” the Vindicator abruptly asked.

“Some. We traded regularly with other local villages nearby and at the outskirts of Nagrand,” Niashado asked.

“How old were you when you met an orc?”

“What? I do not understand what-”

“How old were you when you met an orc?” he repeated with the same tone and cadence in his voice.

“I- Thirteen, I think,” Niashado replied. She closed her eyes briefly to try to clear out the small headache that was growing.

“You attended the arcane academy in Shattrath City after being sponsored by Markal, who is of an influential family. Yet, you left after less than a year. Explain?”

Niashado closed her eyes again as she tried to think past the fog growing in her mind.

”What do you mean you do not want to go back?” Markal asked incredulously. “Do you have any idea how it looks to just drop out of such a prestigious academy?”

“I-I am sorry, Markal. It is just that, this magic is not just coming to me. The arcane is just not clicking.”

“You should stay with it some longer. Maybe it will,” he pleaded. “You can not live your life with me just picking flowers. You know you want to do more.”

“Niashado,” Vindicator Boreth said, still speaking in an even tone, but nevertheless snapping her from the memory. “Why did you leave the academy after less than a year.”

“I-I just want to pick flowers,” Niashado said distantly. Then, as if realizing what she just said, she shook her head. “I was having a lot of trouble understanding the arcane arts. And I was coming to understand that I lacked a passion for it that my fellow students had.”

The vindicator nodded and looked back at his notes.

“And yet, when a small group of shamans visited Telredor just as the orcs were beginning their campaign, you found interest in that kind of magic. Why?”

Niashado felt like refusing to answer him. She wanted to know why he was asking these things, but her mind felt too muddled to formulate an argument. Instead, she caught her answering him

“I watched as one was calling on the Winds and at that moment, I realized I too could hear the Winds. And at that moment, the gateway to a whole different world revealed itself to me. I just had to learn more,” she answered.

“And did your parents approve? Did Markal.”

“You need to talk to her,” Niashado overheard Markal whispering to her parents. They didn’t know she was listening from the backdoor. “Niashado keeps attending meetings with those strange magicians. People are starting to question these draenei practicing filthy orc magics.”

“Shamanism has been a part of orc culture long before we arrived here,” she heard her father reply. He was never one to raise his voice or was prone to anger, but she could hear the strain in his voice as he discussed this with this future son-in-law.

“And now the orcs are trying to exterminate us. What these draenei shamans are, are an embarrassment at best. Traitors at worst. She shouldn’t be participating in this thing,” Markal countered.

“Our daughter is an adult and we have faith that whatever she choses, she will do good with it,” her mother said.

“People will talk,” Markal warned.

“As they are prone to do,” she heard her father say. “We will speak to her.”

“What do you see?” Vindicator Boreth asked softly.

“Markal and my parents talking about me?” Niashado asked almost mechanically.

“Is this about you learning shamanism?”

“Yes.”

“And how do your parents sound?” he asked.

“My parents…” Niashado repeated. Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled a memory long forgotten. “My parents had faith I would use whatever I learn responsibly.”

“And have you?” he asked. Niashado’s eyes abruptly sharpened as she tried to fight off the fog in her mind.

“Of course I have,” she snapped defensively.

Vindicator Boreth switched to a new parchment and read it over.

“On the day you released the turned-satyr Jaou Stormchaser from Exodar, do you remember what you did?”

Niashado closed her eyes and she recalled the memory. That was such a tumultuous moment in time.

The stomping of the elekk's ebbed slightly as the vindicators slowed their mounts near the edge of the fog bank Niashado had summoned up. She could hear their voices, but still she quietly chanted on. She needed to buy Jaou, Sundar and Ravenstar time to escape from Azuremyst Isle.

"What unholy magic sets this fog against us?" one of the vindicators called through the thick miasma.

"Oh, I have an idea," a familiar voice replied. It was Markal.

Niashado looked up as a trio of elekk's burst from the foggy shroud. They were much closer than even she had anticipated. As soon as they saw her, they began racing forward.

Without hesitation, Niashado finished the elemental call, fell to her knee and drove her staff into the water. A brilliantly shard of lightning fell from the sky, connecting with her staff, and then driving into the water. From there, the raw electricity radiated outward.

Feeling the electricity in their legs and being startled by the deafening clap of thunder, the vindicators' elekks reared on their hind legs in sudden fright. All three vindicators were thrown off their mounts and landed in the water with a metallic thud.

As she expected, Markal was the first rise. He pulled a massive two-handed sword out of the water and stormed toward her.

"Have you completely lost it?!" he bellowed in rage as he charged toward her. However, unlike paladin, who was bogged down by heavy armor and trudging through the ankle deep water, Niashado was actually walking on water and thanks to Wind, much faster and nimble. She thrust the end of staff forward; the end of her staff thudding hard against the chest piece of his armor and knocking him tail first back into the water.

“Do you remember what you did?” VIndicator Boreth repeated, shaking her from the memory once again.

“I-I attacked vindicators to buy Jaou Stormchaser time to escape Azuremyst Isle,” Niashado replied with an uncomfortable gulp.

“You attacked Vindicators. And what kind of magic did you use to attack them?” Boreth asked.

“Shamanism,” Niashado confirmed through the pounding headache.

She expected the inquisitor to say something or to call out her confession triumphantly. Instead, he picked up the flickering jewel and placed it inside a small box. As soon as the box was sealed Niashado felt the headache begin to diminish.

“Do you think your parents would still have faith in you if they knew you would attack Vindicators with the magic you were learning?” he asked, still using the same steady voice he did in the beginning.

She glared steadfast at the Vindicator as she recalled the memory of her parent’s conversation with Markal.

“Yes. I think… They might have been troubled by my course of action, but they would have believed in my reasons why I did what I did,” she answered, never taking her eyes off his golden eyes. “I stand by my choices.”

Vindicator Boreth studied her for a long tense moment before abruptly standing. He gathered his files and turned to leave the room.

“May I go?” Niashado asked, standing up as well. He turned and regarded her.

“I am afraid not. We are just beginning our interview, little one. And until I am satisfied, this will continue.” He stepped out and shut the door behind him. That was followed by the sound of a heavy bolt lock sliding in place.

It was another hour before the inquisitor returned.  While she waited, Niashado spent the time pacing around the room and contemplating the situation.   Her hoof steps echoed across the dusty wooden floor of the expansive room.  She surmised it was maybe a vacant warehouse in Ratchet.   There were many of those.

She had tested the doors earlier and found them to be secured.   The windows were too high up for her to reach.   But in reality, these attempts at escape were half-hearted.   Vindicator Boreth finding her in Ratchet was no coincidence and this reality bothered Niashado the most.  If she were to escape, he would likely have little difficulty finding her again.    

No, it would be better that she faced this problem now.   And in coming to this conclusion, Niashado found herself the most surprised.   In the past she’d have fretted to no end about this situation.   Now, she found herself oddly calm and she wasn’t sure why.  As an inquisitor, Vindicator Boreth had a frightening amount of discretion with his investigation.  If he suspected she was compromised by the Burning Legion, she could find herself imprisoned. Or worse.  

Despite this threat, something didn’t seem right about all of this, but Niashado wasn’t able to put her finger on what it was exactly. Finally, she sat down on the floor under a shaft of sunlight, closed her eyes and began breathing deep slow breaths.  

A half hour later, the door abruptly opened and the staccato sound of rapid hoof steps grew echoed across the room as he approached the table.  She knew the sound of military hoofsteps well.  The surety and pride was unmistakable in them.  

Standing up, Niashado brushed the dust off her dress and returned to the table. He had set a cup of water before her, which she grateful consumed.   Ratchet was hot and humid and lack of ventilation in the warehouse had done nothing to cool the building down.

“I need you to know that you can trust me,” the Vindicator began, as he set the parchments down.  “What I want to do is build a relationship between us.  My job isn’t to cast guilt but rather to help make sure you aren’t slipping toward the shadows.  Do you understand?”  

“A relationship is based on trust and equality.  You have not earned my trust and we are most certainly not on equal footing,” she said, speaking each word carefully.  “My future is in your hands and if you do not like what I say then Light only knows what is to become of me.”

Boreth studied her a moment and then nodded his head.   “Can we at least try to trust each other?”  

“Trust?” Niashado repeated, thinking it over.  Then she nodded.  “May I ask you a few questions first?”  

The inquisitor chuckled, but it didn’t come across as a mocking sort of laugh.  Rather, it was as if he knew what she was going to ask.  Nevertheless, he motioned for her to speak.

“Why now?” Niashado asked, crossing her fingers on the table top.  

“Why now what?” Boreth asked.  His confidence faltered for a moment as he clearly wasn’t expecting that question.
 
“I was hospitalized in the Exodar for nearly a month.   Why interview me here and now?” she asked, gesturing at the empty warehouse.   “This seems very irregular.”

The inquisitor seemed to ponder what to say before finally nodding.  “Strange.  Most people I interview ask ‘why them’ or 'what did I do.'  You, though, ask ‘why now?’  

“The reality is that some powerful people have intervened to keep such an interview from happening.   After Jaou Stormchaser’s trial, my fellow inquisitors were calling for you, but that was blocked at the highest level.  After you participated in Jaou Stormchaser’s escape from Exodar, the inquisitors were even more ardent that you be investigated.  Again, it was blocked.  

“Your exile to Stormwind City made it impossible for us to conduct our investigation.  Our jurisdiction is confined to draenei territories and the kal’dorei lands,” he explained, quickly but clearly.  

“I have been working among the kal’dorei for years since my exile ended,” Niashado noted.  She was taken aback by how suddenly forthcoming he was.

“Again, you have powerful people who have shielded you.   We have no interest in political entanglements, especially when Archdruid Sundar Stormchaser and Warden Snowraven, can create a stir if they were so inclined to.  We thought it best to stand by.  But then you returned with tales of you ordeals in Argus and again, there were calls to have you… interviewed.
 
“I did not think anyone in Exodar believed me about what had happened in Argus,” Niashado remarked.

“Our agents in Argus verified your incarceration at Hraxxas’s Manor.”

Niashado’s eyes widened and she felt her jaws clench in sudden anger.  “You knew there were draenei imprisoned in Argus, yet you did nothing to rescue us?” she asked, heatedly.  

“Those assets could not risk exposure,” VIndicator Boreth said.  To his credit he sounded contrite, but it did little to quell Niashado’s disbelief.  He cleared his throat and continued.  “Once we confirmed that your story was accurate it was decided that we must meet.  Hence, here we are.”

“Ratchet is not in your jurisdiction,” Niashado stated.

“Nobody is going to care that we are having this discussion here,” he stated flatly.  “And, you may consider me more of a contractor.  I am not affiliated directly with the Exodar Inquisitory Office.   But, I do get asked to handle some of their investigations from time to time.”

Niashado took a deep breath and sighed.  “Using deception and technicalities to have your way hardly seems righteous.”  

“These are uncertain times.   They require unorthodox methods,” Vindicator Boreth said flatly.  He pulled out the metal box containing the gem from earlier and set it on the table.   “Are you ready to resume?”  

“As if I have a choice,” Niashado replied darkly.

For what felt like hours, Vindicator Boreth asked questions about her past and Niashado found herself answering automatically and almost without thought.   He asked about her childhood and then would turn around and ask about her captivity in Argus.  Then, he’d ask about when she first met Jaou Stormchaser in Raynewood Retreat and switch around and ask about her relationship with Markal.  

Niashado struggled to be careful how she replied to him, but she was struggling to keep her mind on track.   She suspected Boreth was switching wildly between time frames on her in order to keep her confused from being more thoughtful with her responses.  His voice was always calm, steady but also rapid.  He spoke in a steady, emotionless tone and never betrayed what he thought of her responses before inquiring about a completely different situation in her life .  

The heat of the room and the gem flickering dimly in on the table added to the difficulty she was having in trying to be evasive.   The gem wasn’t particularly bright, but it could always be seen right at the edge of her vision.  She was suspecting that it was the cause of her headaches, but she found it difficult to dwell on that.    

“Following your participation in Jaou Stormchaser’s escape the Council exiled you to the Eastern Kingdoms,” the Inquisitor began.  He leafed through some forms.   “A few months into your exile an assistant to Emissary Taluun, the assistant to our ambassador in Stormwind City, sent a letter requesting that several vindicators come to retrieve an artifact known as a Karo Arrokoa.  She claims you suddenly appeared with it at her apartment.   Please explain.”

“I-I do not understand.  I found the Karo Arrokoa and… and returned it.” she said, speaking slowly and shaking her head a little to clear the fog from her mind.
 
“You worked as an assistant in an herbalist shop in Stormwind.  A shop that was finding itself under extortion by a criminal syndicate.  Then, one day, in a warehouse in the Canal District, all the members of said syndicate were found murdered.  The reports detail that the crime scene was very bloody.   The very next day you leave your employment, ask Emissary Taluun about the Karo Arrokoa and a month later, show up at her door again, offering it to her.”

Niashado closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts.  

“Lady Niashado, please answer the question.”

“It is complicated,” she snapped, for the first time.  “Why do you need an explanation?  I found a dangerous artifact from Draenor and returned it before it could fall in the wrong hands.  What is the sin in that.”

Vindicator Boreth leaned back in his chair and studied her closely.  “The sin?  I am just asking how you were able to embark on such a quest?  Actually, I am more interested in why you would participate in such a quest funded by a criminal organization and working with a  dangerous entity such as Death Knight.”  

Niashado sighed and took another sip of water and struggled to figure out how to answer this.  

“It’s simple, little Niashado,” she heard a familiar voice suddenly say. She glanced up and her white eyes widened at seeing Acantha standing behind the Boreth.  The beautiful kal’dorei had a dagger in her hand and made a show of flashing it in front of the vindicator’s neck.  She cringed at the thought of the fellow draenei in front so close to being eviscerated.   “You asked me to help you with the extortion problem.  And I did.  And then, you felt like you owed me a favor, and you helped.”  

“I-I was helping you as a friend?” she said, barely above a whisper.

“A friend?  Who?” Vindicator Boreth asked, leaning closer, but with a carefully neutral countenance.  

“And then you betrayed me and poor Kaz’kah  Thraze,” the vision of Acantha said, speaking as she usually did as if nothing really mattered.  But Niashado knew that was just as much a facade as the name, Acantha Mistbringer.  

“I-I never meant to betray you, Acantha,” Niashado said, looking past the seated Vindicator and at the vision of Acantha standing behind him.  “The artifact was too dangerous to be given to Kaz’kah.  I-I had to do the right thing.”

“Who is Acantha and Kaz’kah?” the inquisitor asked. His chair creaked as he leaned closer to her.  “What do mean by the right thing?”

“You gave Kaz’kah your word and then you betrayed him.   You gave me my word and then you betrayed me,” Acantha declared.  

“Who is Acantha and Kaz’kah?” Boreth repeated.  

Niashado covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes tightly.  

“You play at being righteous, Little Niashado,” she heard Acantha say.  “But you knew what was going to happen when you accepted my help with that syndicate.   Your hands are just as bloody as mine.”  

“No, no, no, no,” Niashado muttered repeatedly, shaking her head and trying to close off the voices.  

“When you betrayed us, you proved that you’re just as capable of underhanded cunning as the rest of us.   You did what had to be done,” Acantha said, her voice echoing in Niashado’s mind.  “I have my reasons for what I do.  You have yours.”

“Lady Niahado?” Vindicator Boreth asked, speaking more harshly then he had all during their interview.   She looked up at him but her eyes were glazed and unfocused.   “I think we need to take a short break.”

He replaced the crystal back in its metal case and departed, leaving Niashado with her thoughts and the apparition's words still echoing in her mind.

“Why did you testify against Jaou Stormchaser during his trial in the Exodar?” Vindicator Borth asked.

The hourly bell of the Ratchet town clock had tolled twice since their last interview and she’d taken the brief respite to collect her thoughts, but once again, with the crystal flickering on the table and his questions she found her mind again muddled.

“You spoke so strongly in his defense, but once you were put on the stand, you spoke negatively. Why?” he pressed on. Niashado shook her head. The headache was again building up and she was feeling too fatigued to really give him the answers he was demanding.

“You must have read the transcript from that trial,” Niashado replied tiredly. “Surely you can discern why I said what I said.”

“In that case, why defend someone if you are not, without a shadow of doubt, sure they are not evil?”

“Because deep down, you knew that inside Jaou there was someone like me, little mouse,” Morvai said, standing behind the inquisitor’s chair.

Niashado shook her head and the apparition of the crimson satyr that had terrified Ashenvale, and the Stormchasers, faded away.

“Lady Niashado? How could you insist that Jaou Stormchaser, who was a satyr at the time, would not be evil.”

“Yes… mouse. How could you know he wouldn’t become me?” Morvai’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Lady Niasha-”

“I just knew!” Niashado snapped, rising to her hooves and knocking her chair back in the process. “I cannot explain it! I cannot quantify it! I just knew!” She glared angrily at the VIndicator.

The vindicator stood up, forcing her to look up, but she didn’t back down. Her fists were balled up tightly, tail taught and ears folded back as she glared back.

“Do you see how we would believe you being influenced away from the Light and toward corruption?”

“I do not,” she replied angrily. “Jaou Stormchaser, as a turned satyr, saved my life. He believed me. He… he always believed in me even when I had my doubts about him and myself.

“Acantha was the first person outside of Exodar who had enough confidence to depend on me during a dangerous adventure. Even when I did not have that confidence, she did.

“And my ex-fiance, a decorated and respected Vindicator, assaulted me. You look for the Light and the Shadow through a small lens, Vindicator Boreth. I have been forced to look at it through reality.”

The inquisitor merely nodded his head and then sighed. In his golden glowing eyes she could see that he was reluctantly coming to a conclusion.

“I think we will need to complete this interview back in Exodar.”

“Respectfully, Vindicator Boreth, I am done. I have duties at the clinic here and you have made me very late.”

“The clinic has already been told that you left Ratchet. Your room in the inn has likewise been paid for and your belongings have been brought here.”

Niashado hissed angrily. “You already assumed my guilt.”

“You are in danger of falling into corruption. This is for you,” Boreth replied.

Niashado leaned over the table, carefully pressing both her hands over the table top. “I must confess, I am not surprised by this outcome.”

“You will see,” the vindicator said as he picked up his paperwork and started to make his way out of the room. “I will have some food brought over. We will leave in the morning.”

Once he left and the door was locked Niashado allowed herself to breathe easier. She lifted her palm from the tabletop and studied the flickering crystal he’d forgotten about.

Niashado ignored the plate of steamed vegetables and cured boar meat the inquisitor had left on the table. Considering the warmth of the warehouse where she was being held, she didn’t hesitate to drink the water provided. Even with the sun starting to set and the room getting darker, she noted that the room hadn’t started cooling.

Vindicator Boreth had tried to start a conversation with her when he delivered the food, but Niashado had stayed silent. There was nothing to say. His desire to trust her was a lie from the very beginning.

Yet, her anger towards the inquisitor was tempered by the realization that this had been a long time coming. With all the encounters she’d had with demons and shadow casters, an ‘interview’ like was bound to happen. Her people liked to make sure none were straying onto a path towards the Burning Legion. And unlike anchorites and vindicators, she was considered a ‘civilian’ with no training towards these threats.

“And yet, somehow I never wavered,” she whispered to herself while walking around the perimeter of the room. The glow from the dirty high set windows suddenly extinguished and a low rumble of thunder echoed around the room. A minute later rain started striking against the metal roof of the warehouse. The sound became almost deafening.

Picking up the candle from the table, she went to a corner of the room and sat on the floor. She closed her eyes and steadied her breaths. The flickering of the candles and brilliant flashes of lighting from the windows along with the droning patter of the rain upon the roof helped to calm the sea of thoughts.

She thought of Jaou and the new home Azsuna he mentioned that his family was moving to. She thought of how not too long ago, she’d have heard the Elements in the wind and rain outside. And her thoughts darkened as she began recalling the loneliness, both because she was no longer a shaman and because she was so far from her friends.

“So quick to contemplate the problems. So slow to do anything about them.”

Niashado’s eyes bolted open and the draenei abruptly stood up and searched for the source of the gruff voice that just spoken.

“Calm down, blue blood,” the voice repeated. She looked down and in the brief flashes of lightning that lit the room she was an orc that was seated before her.

“Azgard?” she asked.

The old orc snorted and gestured for her to sit down. Niashado sat, looking at her mentor with a mixture of confusion, distrust and curiosity.

“Have you never seen a dead orc?” Azgard grumbled.

“No. I mean, yes. The last dead orc I saw was you,” she remarked. “You… you saved our lives.”

Azgard chuckled. “The old die and the young live. Mine was a good death.”

“And yet, you are here now. I do not understand.”

“Neither do I,” he remarked. He looked around the room and then back to her. “And what are you doing here?”

“It is a long story,” she replied quickly.

“I have all the time in the world. You don’t. Tell me a long story.”

So, Niashado told him all that had transpired. Her captivity in Argus. The loss of her connection to the Elements. Her obsession with reconnecting with the Elements and her current situation.”

For a long time, the two sat in silence, with the dim candle between them. The storm outside raged on.

“I have only heard stories about shamans becoming avatars,” Azgard said. “A dangerous thing indeed.”

“So I have been told,” she replied. She already knew that. Through her the Elements in Argus had killed many of the Legion demons, but also hurt several of her rescuers including Jaou. They had completely controlled her body.

“And what of this Vindicator Boreth who holds you captive here?”

“What of him? He is a Vindicator and an Inquisitor. He is operating within the mandates of his Order. They protect us from the influence and evil of the Burning Legion.”

Azgard chuckled mirthlessly. “Do you trust him?”

“He is a Vindicator. He is Lightforged.”

“Do you trust him?” Azgard repeated more forcefully. “Titles and honors are irrelevant. Is he here to help you?”

“I-I… do not know.”

“What does your gut tell you?” he asked calmly.

“I do not know. I do not know what he wants from-“

“What does your gut tell you?” he persisted, speaking more harshly. “Not your head. Instinct, Niashado. Lessons of your past experiences. What is your instinct telling you about all of this?”

“That, I should not trust him,” Niashado confessed.

“Then what are you still doing here?” Azgard asked.

“I do not know where to go. I have no Elements to call upon. My friends are half a world away. I feel so lost.”

Again the orc grunted and looked at the candle. When lightning flashed through the windows she could see through the orc.

“You’re a wanderer, Niashado. It’s one of things I didn’t like about you when you first came to Silithus,” Azgard confessed. “I thought those shamans who were aimless weren’t dependable or trustworthy. But you proved me wrong. You were the leader we needed in Silithus.”

“H-how can you say that?” the draenei asked in shock. “So many died because of my choices.”

“We stopped the Twilights.   We stopped Seyanoxia.  Your choices were morally right. I never saw you compromise. You knew the Twilights were dangerous. You knew we had to act against them. You knew what had to be done. You may not have liked your choices, but again, you knew what and why a thing had to be done. Even when I said we should leave, you stood up to me,” the apparition quietly explained. “I thought you were weak because you were a wanderer, but you have a strong moral compass. That compass didn’t come from you being a shaman. It came from you being a just and compassionate person.”

Niashado furrowed her brow and studied this apparition of Azgard a little more closely. “We-we never talked like this before, Azgard. This is not a vision.”

The orc grinned and picked at his left tusk. “I am no vision.”

“You died. In Silithus.”

“I died,” he confirmed. His brown eyes turned to look in her direction. “And yet, we are talking.”

“So, you are… dead?” she asked quizzically.

“Last I checked, I have passed on to the Shadowlands.”

“How are we speaking?”

“I do not know. I felt pulled to this place, but I know my time here is short.”

“I know shadow casters can do such things. Necromancy also,” Niashado began, trying to ponder how this was possible.

“Shamans can too,” Azgard added. Niashado snapped her head towards him and he continued. “Shamans of Nagrand could commune with our ancestors. And this… this feels right. There is no shadow magic or necromancy involved.”

“Only a farseer can do something like this…”

“A farseer is but a title. Any shaman has the possibility.”

“But, I am no longer a shaman,” Niashado corrected. Azgard chuckled.

“That’s not what I see from this side of the veil.”

Niashado gasped. Could… could she still have a connection to the Elements. But, why couldn’t she hear them?

She regarded Azgard quizzically.

“What is it like… beyond?”

“Nothing you need to ponder about,” he replied sternly. “You have decided that this inquisitor is untrustworthy. If you want answers, you need to evade him.”

“There is no way out of this warehouse except through him,” Niashado replied.

Azgard chuckled. “Well, then that is the way you go. Trust your compass, Niashado.”


* * *


“You seem unsure of your investigation,” Trellia said as she reviewed the notes strewn over the desk. The draenei mage curled her fingers around her platinum hair and pushed it past an upturned horn.

“I have interviewed close to a hundred of my brothers and sisters who were suspected of corruption by the Legion,” Vindicator Boreth said tiredly. “I have always been confident that the ones I felt were corrupted were indeed in need of an intervention. But this one…”

“She has been to Argus. She was rescued by those wretched Illidari. She has had repeated encounters with satyrs in the kal’dorei lands and she has no training to protect herself from the corrupting influence of the Burning Legion. It seems fairly cut and dry to me,” Trellia replied as she set the report down. “How does someone like her get into all of this?”

“Light save me, I do not know. Azeroth is rife with these adventurers and I suppose the lifestyle is attractive to some of our own,” the Inquisitor replied as he carefully set his armor on the floor. “Thank you for arriving on such short notice, Trellia. How long can you have a portal ready to the Exodar?”

“A few hours of rest and a meal and I should have a portal ready before sunrise.”

“Take all the time-“

Both draenei shot to their hooves when the door abruptly slammed open and Niashado rushed in holding a sword pointed at him. She looked at the two of them, clearly not expecting to see Trellia there. With a look of trepid determination, she dashed forward and brought the blade tip close to Boreth’s neck.

Her hair, dress and face were covered in dust and there were small cuts in her hands. He quickly surmised that she must have found a way through the walls. The warehouse wasn’t rented for quality, but rather for privacy.

“I want my backpack,” Niashado demanded.

“You would point a sword at Lightforged?” Trellia hissed. Her hand began glowing purple as she prepared a spell. Niashado quickly moved around so that Boreth was between her and the mage.

“Why not? I-I have been lied to by one,” the younger draenei shot back. “Put everything back into my backpack and give it to me.”

“Or what? You will kill me?” Boreth replied. He suppressed a smirk at the naivety of her threat. With her arm fully stretched out, he could almost effortlessly twist the blade from her grip. The blade was rusted and dull. He mentally chided himself for not removing the discarded weapon from the vestibule when he’d rented the place.

He could end this silly confrontation quickly, but he was also curious to see where this rash course of action was going to go.

“Trellia. Give her the backpack.”

“Inquisitor?”

“Return her backpack.”

The mage immediately shoved the contents back into backpack and started to approach her.

“Stop. Toss it into the vestibule,” Niashado quickly corrected. With a snort, the mage did as she was told. “Thank you. Now step behind the inquisitor.”

“This does not improve your case,” Boreth calmly said.

“I do not believe there is anything I could have done to improve the case you had against me,” Niashado said. He noticed her arm slightly trembling.

“If you step out that door, I will have to hunt you down. I will have agents watching your friends within a day. I am the only way you will ever be able to return to Azuremyst.”

“Azuremyst stopped being my home a long time ago,” Niashado replied as she slowly began backing toward the vestibule. “I was the victim in Argus. Everyone but my friends either thought I was making it up or are treating me like a threat.”

“You are not a threat. We just want to make sure you are not enduring the corrupting influence of the Burning Legion.”

For a moment Boreth thought he’d gotten through to her. He could see her thinking it over. She telegraphed her emotions so freely. She cocked her head to the side for a moment and then shook it. Her eyes narrowed as she snatched her pack from the floor.

“You already judged me guilty before we even spoke.”

“With a history as colorful as yours, can you blame us?”

“Please, do not follow me,” Niashado said as she got to the doors that led outside. The storm was intensifying outside and the rain hitting the tin roof was becoming even more deafening.

“If you leave, I will have to hunt you down,” he warned.

“I am not a threat.” With that, Niashado stepped out and slammed the doors shut.

Growling, Boreth raced down the hallway intending to shoulder open the double doors, but they didn’t budge. He continued to charge the doors but the heavy wooden double doors only shook.

“Trellia!” he barked but the mage was already anticipating his order. It took three arcane bolts but the doors finally exploded out into the rain drenched street of Ratchet. He stormed into the middle of the street and noted that she had wedged the old sword between the doors to jam them shut. It was a clever delaying tactic.

“Damnit!” He yelled out in the street. The dark flooded street masked any hoofprints.

“Why did you not allow me to stop her?” Trellia complained.

“I do not know!” he snapped in frustration. “I do not know,” he repeated more calmly.

“She cannot go far,” Trellia surmised. I will start searching while you get your armor on.

“We do not return until we find her,” Vindicator Boreth declared, causing her to pause. “I will not allow a commoner to escape.”

“Have you ever?” Trellia countered with a shrug. “Are you still confused about her?”

“No more than she is,” the inquisitor replied before storming back into the warehouse.

Southfury River, Ratchet
Several hours later

The wooden chair creaked in protest to the pandaren’s weight as he laid back with a fishing rod in his hand.   Nearby, the wrinkled gray haired orc grunted as he cast his line and sat back.

“I can see what you mean, Gresh,” Zhao remarked as he felt the sun on his white and black fur.   “Fishing can be a form of meditation.”

Gresh grunted and shook his head.  “How many months have I been telling you to try this?”

“Most fishermen I know seem very stressed,” Zhao said with a knowing grin.

“They’re doing it wrong,” the elder orc grumbled.  He suddenly began fighting with the fish line, jerking the rod side to side and pulling the line in.   After a short struggle, he pulled a thrashing grouper out of the water.   The orc chuckled as he studied the diminutive fish.  

“All that fight for such a small prize,” Zhao remarked.  

“This young one is quite a fighter.  I thought he would be much larger than this.”  Setting the pole down, he tenderly unhooked and cupped the fish in his calloused green hands.  Then, he gently set it back in the water and it swam to the depths of the river.  

“Catch and release today?” the pandaren asked.

“Just that one.  Too small to enjoy.  Besides, it was young.  Perhaps it will learn from this.  Dead fish don’t learn.  And if I catch him in the future again, it’ll be all the better.”  

“Hmmmm.  You see the warrior in the fish?”  

“The opponent is skillful, treacherous and swift,” Gresh explained.  “Sometimes, they take the worm without me even realizing it.  Sometimes, they get away.  Sometimes, they know it’s a trap.  Fishing is a battle.”

“Earlier, you were saying it was relaxing.   You seem to be contradicting yourself my friend.”  

“I have spent much of my life fighting for my people. For the living.   For our identity.   I would rather fight the fish on the end of my line then the undead or demons.   This is what makes it relaxing.  If I lose the battle today, I dine in the tavern.   If I win, I will make a campfire here.   These are the battles I enjoy.”  

Zhao gave a hearty chuckle and pulled two bottle of ale from his bag.  He handed one Gresh.  “To relaxing battles.”  

Gresh laughed and tapped the clay bottle to Zhao’s.  “Relaxing battles.  I will toast to that any day.”  

Looking past Gresh, Zhao suddenly frowned.   “We have some visitors coming and they don’t look keen to relax.”

Looking over his shoulder Gresh took note of the pair of draenei approaching.  The male was wearing heavy ornate plate armor of silver with gold trim.  The female was wearing more non-descript robes but he still sensed she was a caster of some sort.   Their approach was deliberate and brisk.  

“So much for a relaxing afternoon,” the orc complained.  

“Maybe they just want to talk about fishing?” Zhao said with a shrug.  Greth merely shook his head.   He could tell from the way the paladin was approaching that this was not a social call.    

“Are you Gresh Clanteeth?” the male draenei asked.  

“Depends on who’s asking,” Gresh grumbled.   The female draenei huffed derisively while the male crossed his arms.  

“I am Vindicator Boreth.   This is Trellia.  Several of the people in town mentioned that you fish here often.   They also said that you are typically seen conversing with an individual we are looking for.”

The orc regarded Boreth with a carefully neutral expression until the Vindicator finally relented.  

“Have you seen a draenei recently by the name of Niashado?” he asked, finally getting to the point.  

Gresh again grunted and cast another line into the water.  “Not since two days ago.”  

“Do you know where we could find her town.”

“Is she in trouble?” Zhao asked.  

“I am not at liberty to say,” Boreth quickly replied.  

“Then, I don’t think at liberty to answer that,” Gresh grumbled, turning completely away to face the water.  

“We’re here to take her back to Azuremyst.  She’s not in trouble, but there are some people back home that want to speak to her.”  

“I haven’t seen her since the day before last,” Gresh repeated.  “We usually have coffee together but she missed this morning.   She works at the clinic.”

“The clinic says she hasn’t been in in two days,” Boreth replied.  Gresh and Zhao shared a puzzled glance between themselves.  .  

“You need to learn to lie better, draenei,” Gresh said.  “She never misses a day at the clinic.”  

“We can’t find her anywhere in town.  I have checked everywhere,” VIndicator Boreth said, beginning to sound more impatient.  

“Ratchet is a port town full of transients,” Zhao began, as he reeled in his fishing line.

“Your point?” Trellia snapped.  

“His point is that people come and go from this town all the time,” Gresh interrupted gruffly.  “Why are you asking these things about her?  Who are you to her?”

“We are friends of hers,” Boreth answered.  

“Lie.  I can see it in your eyes, draenei,” the orc snapped.  

“We need to bring her back to Azuremyst,” Boreth amended.

“Now, that was the truth.  You need to bring her back, but I don’t think she wants to go to your home.”  

“Azuremyst is her home.”  

“A person who chooses to stay in Ratchet, does not have a home,” Gresh replied.  He turned to Zhao and said, “She seems to be avoiding these two.”

“It does seem like she is, my friend,” the pandaren responded.  “It looks like your search is just beginning.”

“Where do you think she’d go?”  

“That’s your problem, draenei,” Gresh replied.  “Wherever she goes, she’ll be fine.   Leave us to our fishing and ale.”  



South of Ratchet

Captain Vartigan studied the objects that had just been emptied from a backpack and arrayed across his chart table.  A large notebook, a picture of a night elf, some dried herbs, a little money and a string of four crystalline totems.  All in all, it was really nothing of value.   The notebook had some nice sketches and notes, but nothing of significant value.  

The blood elf sighed and dropped the book on the chart table.  He looked at the she-elf seated on the couch.  

“I swear, this happens every time we dock at Ratchet,” he complained.  She laughed and brushed her red hair from her face.   “Let’s just get this over with.   We have a schedule to maintain.”  

Together they stepped out of their quarter and outside into the bright sunlit deck.   The diverse crew were going about their duties, save for a large black furred tauren holding a draenei whose arms were restrained behind her back.  

The tauren abruptly shoved her toward him.

The snow-covered ground crunched under her hooves as Niashado followed the trail.   The golden light of the sunset was flashing through trees as it descended toward the horizon.   The temperature was on the edge of being too cold for comfort.   She readjusted her cloak tighter around her body.    

The path seemed familiar, yet completely new.  Inviting, and yet somewhere just beyond the periphery of her senses, was a near undetectable, yet present feeling of threat.   More than a few times had she stopped to take stock of her surroundings.   The feeling never got closer, but nor did it fade.

She continued on until she was at home.  Like the trail, there was a sense of familiarity, but she wasn’t sure where it came from.  She couldn’t remember ever visiting a house like this.  

Inside, the it was distinctly kal’dorie in design, but it was an older style; one she hadn’t seen often.   It smelled of tea and incense.  The bluish glow of the lanterns filled the shadows where the yellow glow of the sun wasn’t able to.   A warm fire flickered at the hearth and its warmth was welcoming.  

Her hoofsteps echoed hollowed on the wooden floor as she slowly explored the house.   But the feeling of familiarity and peace was still warring with the faint sense of danger just beyond the next shadow.  

Opening another door, Niashado suddenly smelled oils and paints.  All around her were paintings and sketches of plants and animals.   A figure sat with his back to the doorway, concentrating mightily on the painting he was dwelling on.  

“Jaou?”

He shook his head, and, seemingly not hearing her, continued to study what was on a sheet of parchment. "Hmm, that's not what a tree looks like," he said with exasperation. The sheet of paper revealed the drawing to be nothing more than nonsensical scribbles.

Niashado carefully approached and touched his shoulder.  "Jaou?" She repeated, knowing how he was when he was lost in drawing.

Jaou turned around from his seat. "Oh, you're here. That reminds me, I had some tea brewing." As he stood up and walked to the kitchen, the walls of the house began to ripple. From the ground up, the walls fell away like broken glass and revealed a dark forest and a campfire.

Over the fire was a kettle and three cups. Jaou retrieved the hot kettle and poured the liquid into a cup, offering it to Niashado. "It's not as cold as it should be, but it might hit the spot."

Niashado took the offered tea with a confused look of her countenance.  She looked around the forest.  "It will be fine," she said slowly, looking at the tea and noting how the cup felt ice cold in her hand.  She noticed a third cup waiting.  

"Are we expecting a guest?"

"What are you doing here?" a voice growled out from behind a tree.  Niashado spun around to see another Jaou step towards the campfire.   It appeared to almost look like Jaou, but his skin tone was darker in color and there was mistaking the large wing silhouettes that flickered in opacity.  He reminded Niashado of the demonic form Jaou had taken during the battle in Harrax’s mansion.    
Niashado dropped her tea, hearing the small cup shatter.  She stepped back and took stock of the startling doppelganger in Jaou's form.  The draenei suddenly realized that this must be the demon that had been placed in Jaou’s body by Ghazeel.  

The inner demon eyed Niashado curiously, but with a frown. "You don't belong here."

Jaou looked at the inner demon and back at Niashado. "Ah, a conjuration. That makes more sense."

"What?   I-I who?" She stuttered.   But even more surreal was Jaou's calm reaction.  And then, the pieces came together.  

She cautiously said.  "What, why are you here like this?"

"What? You expect me: a collection of fragmented demon essences, to know what I looked like before I was forcibly shut into this body?" the inner demon shrugged. "I don't even have the privilege of knowing my own name, so of course appearing like this vessel was the most logical course of action."

"Really, is this going to be the fourth time you're going to prevent me from sleeping?" Jaou asked, with a growing sense of annoyance.

The inner demon regarded him incredulously. "You... You are asleep. And your girlfriend is right here even though she isn't in the waking world!"

"Oh no, I'm not falling for that. That's a clever trick you're fabricating, but I'm not falling for it."

"You can't be serious." The inner demon seethed. He looked at Niashado with an unimpressed expression. "My condolences that you know such an imbecile.

Niashado glared angrily at the demonic form.  "You, taking residence in his body was not his choice," she snapped.  

She turned away and reached out to Jaou.   "This is not a dream.  Well, not completely. "

The environment started to shift again, this time the forest rippled away to the ranger camp in Azsuna. Though oddly, it featured Falathir and Ganymede sharing coffee over a card game.

"No, this is very much a dream," Jaou said with a shrug.  Niashado sighed as she watched the sabre and owl sitting at a table and calmly studying their cards.  

"Yes, it is. However she isn't," the inner demon retorted while pointing at Niashado.

"What if you just made her up to trick me?" Jaou pointed out in suspicion. "Are you looking to toy with my emotions?"

"Why would I...? Alright, that does sound like something I would do, but I didn't this time!"

“How is this possible?" Niashado pondered aloud.  She looked at the camp and then back to the Jaou's.   That's when she noticed that her clothing and hair were soaking wet.  

It  was raining in Ratchet when I was running from the Inquisitor, she mentally recollected. I-I hid near some crates that were under a tarp near the docks.  I must have fallen asleep, but somehow, I am here in Jaou’s dreams.   How, how is this possible?

As Jaou and demon Jaou continued to argue she paced near the fire.  The drug in my food.  The meditation.  My conversation with Azgard.   I must still be going through the effects.  But, to share Jaou’s dream...
 
Niashado looked back at the two figures and noted Jaou’s fatigue.  Had he been enduring this every night since this demon had taken residence in his body?   Is this normal for a demon hunter?  

She turned reproachfully toward the demon.  "What have you been doing to Jaou?   He is so confused."

"I might have kept him up for a couple of nights," the inner demon said with a carefree shrug. "But have you been in a standard dream? Nothing makes sense."

"I have walked many of my dreams and visions.  This, this is symptomatic of someone who is psychologically exhausted,” she said, gesturing to the surreal forest  “What are you doing to my mate?" she demanded.

"Well, I might have kept him up for forty-eight out of nearly seventy-two hours," the inner demon quipped.   Her eyes widened.  

“Why would you do that?” she snapped angrily.

"I just want some sleep, do you mind keeping it down?" Jaou interjected.

"And I just want some acknowledgement that I exist, but we can't have everything we want," the inner demon said with hands on his hips and a roll of his eyes. "And you already are asleep."

"I acknowledge your existence on a daily basis," Jaou argued back. He then turned to Niashado. "Well, dream-not-dream Nia, why are you here? I may as well humour myself if you are a figment of my imagination."

Niashado gave the demon an eye roll before turning to Jaou.  "I am not sure why I am here.  I do not completely understand this,” she explained, sitting near him and taking his hand.  The draenei could see the exhaustion in him.   "But, do not worry about me.   You look exhausted."

"That's just the way I look," Jaou said in a confused manner. "Anyway, you seem quite real. Are you sure you're not a fabrication of my mind."

The inner demon sighed and sat down. "Accuses me of making this up," he said under his breath.  She shot him a reproachful glare before looking back at Jaou.  

"I think I am really here.  I do not know how," she said, deliberately ignoring the demon.

"Well, if I may, you looked pretty distressed," Jaou said, as they held hands. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what's wrong?"

Again the environment changed, but this time a crystalline forest emerged and started to blend in with the existing scenery.  She looked around in awe, never having seen such a thing.  

"I have been better.  But nevermind me," she replied quickly. "I miss you.  And I am worried about you and what that thing is doing to you."

"'Thing?' How rude!" the inner demon scoffed, actually feeling insulted by the remark.

"I miss you, too," Jaou said to Niashado. "You're becoming quite convincing that you're actually her. But you needn't worry about me, things are fine! You just worry about yourself."

"Jaou," she began, pausing to collect her thoughts.  "This is not ideal, the situation you are in.  But…  but we need to find a middle ground for you both."

Jaou looked at the flame of the campfire. "I do want to say that I need to learn to live with this," he said.  She could see the pained resignation in his eyes.

"I can't say I'm particularly fond of the company," the inner demon added. "And I think the feeling is mutual."

After considering Jaou’s situation for a moment, Niashado stood up and regarded the demon.  

"And what happens to you if Jaou dies?   As you said, you are nothing more then fragmented essences.  When you return to the Twisting Nether, you will never be able to reconstitute yourself.  You will survive as a mere echo of what you were.  And I feel no pity for you in that regard.  

"Perhaps you should adjust to the reality of the situation.  It is in your best interest to help Jaou."

She turned to Jaou and took his hand.  "I loathe to tell you this, but it shares your body and mind.  Perhaps..." She paused, not believing what she was about to say.  "Perhaps you will need to accept Junior.  Hear him.  Accept his advice, when it aligns with your morality.   He may have wisdom to impart, if only because it allows it to exist longer."

Jaou looked between Niashado and the inner demon. "Maybe I should have more patience, trying as he may be," Jaou said. He looked again to the inner demon and said, "If he has no qualms with that, I'll work with him."

The inner demon looked as though he had a palpable eye-twitch as he crossed his arms. "I would like to contest that name the others have given me." For a moment, the fel being appeared defeated. "She does bring up a good point about the state of my being, as much as revolting as the reality of it is. I'll play nice... I... suppose..." he said, trailing off in the end, as if a child that was being chided and told to behave.

Jaou looked rather surprised that the only form of true protest made by the inner demon was the silly nickname, to which he chuckled slightly. "We'll think of something more suitable. I don't really want to have the connotation that you're like an offspring to me."



Jaou looked back to Niashado. "Here you are worrying about how I am when you need to look after yourself and heal as well. Try to focus more on what you need, we'll be fine here."

“Thank you,” Niashado replied tiredly.  “Thank you for always caring about me.  I know I have been… distant.  I do not know what I am or what I can do.  But I need to know that you are well.   That you and Junio- and your friend here, are going to work together.”

Niashado looked around the crystalline tree forest and smiled.  “This is beautiful.  What is this place?”

Jaou looked at the forest she was referring to. For a moment he struggled to remember, but he managed to recall the memory.

"This is Crystalsong Forest, in Northrend," Jaou stated. "That is, if my memory serves me right."

“Crystalsong Forest,” Niashado repeated.  “When we are together, we should visit this place.”  

Niashado turned back to Jaou.   “I do not know where this path I am on will lead to, but I hope it ends here with you.”  

"I'll wait for you, for as long as you need," Jaou said with a smile.

Niashado smiled back and started to say something when the Jaou, the demon and the dream suddenly shattered.   Her world began to spin and she…




… and she was abruptly awakened by an ebon furred Tauren who was roughly hauling her upright by her upper arm.  The draenei fought to break his grip, but his fingers only tightened more painfully.  He sniffed her and then dropped her roughly on her hooves.  

“I knew I smelled something different in here,” he rumbled at a troll that was standing next to him.  “Wet draenei,” he added with a brief chortle.  

“The captain be hatin stowaways,” the troll said, snatching up her backpack from where she’d been resting.  Niashado noted that she was inside the cargo hold of a ship.   The gentle rocking of the ship was making her a little dizzy.  

The pallet of crates she’d been hiding between must have been winched onto a ship while she’d been sleeping.   This was not good.  

“I-I apologize.  I did not realize those crat-”

“Save it, stowaway!” the tauren snapped.   He shoved her forward and toward a stairway.   “The captain will decide what to do with you.  Move!”  
With a sigh and a nervous gulp, Niashado climbed up the stairway to the bright sunlit deck above.  She squinted as her eyes adjusted and when they did, to her dismay, there was nothing but ocean all around the ship.  

“Oh no,” she whispered.   The dream or vision must have put her into a very deep sleep for her to have slept through all of this.  

“Move!” the tauren once again ordered, shoving her.  Together, the three made their way toward the stern of the ship.  

The crew consisted of a diverse collection of races.  She saw blood elves, trolls, humans, orcs, night elves, a vulpera and a pandaren.  They watched her but for a moment before continuing with their tasks.  

Finally, she was stopped at a door near the back of the ship.  The troll knocked and entered carrying her backpack.  As Niashado waited, she studied the crew and the ship.   The design looked too small to be a bulk carrier.  And she spied cannons covered with tarp arrayed along the sides of mid-deck.  

“If I have to eat anymore of that damn dwarf’s cooking,” one of the orcs nearby grumbled to a nearby crewmate.  

“Don’t remind me,” a night elf replied as he tied off some rope around the sails on the main mast.  

“If you don’t tie that down properly you won’t have to worry about whether you like dinner or not,” the tauren behind her shouted.  He barked several more orders, but never released her arm from his grip.  

Niashado let her mind drift back to the dream. It felt like a dream, but the fact that she could remember the details so clearly, so long after the dream, made her wonder if perhaps it was more.   Had the demon inside Jaou truly been torturing him for so long?   He looked so tired, even amidst a dream.  

It reminded her of her own exhaustive ordeal with Vindicator Boreth.   He would no doubt be searching for her around Ratchet.  She wondered if her situation had improved or gotten worse.  

The door abruptly opened and two blood elves wearing fashionable, ornate and clearly expensive clothing stepped out.

“And what, pray tell, has my bosun found hiding in my ship?” the elf demanded.  Niashado surmised that this was the captain.  

“She was sleeping among the cargo that were brought in at port, captain,” the tauren reported.

The captain nodded and looked back at the red-haired female behind him. She merely shrugged as if to say she didn’t care.  With a sigh, he turned toward her.

“Alright,” he began.  Turning to Niashado, he clasped his hands together.  “Let’s make this game.  GIve me, in one sentence, a good reason why I shouldn’t just throw you overboard.”

Niashado was startled by the response.  She was hoping she could explain how she got in this mess and try to barter or something.  But, this was completely unexpected.    

She tried to consider what her friends would do, but completely came blank.  

“Is she deaf, bosun?” the captain asked.  

“She talks, captain,” the tauren replied evenly.  He gave her a rough shove.  

“I…” Niashado’s mind raced as she tried to figure something out.   And then, she thought of what Acantha and Izdazi would do and suddenly said:  “You are not a fool.”  

The blood elf’s eyes grew wide for a moment and then stroked his goatee while nodding.  

“I have to admit, that’s the first time anyone has responded that way.  Please, draenei, tell me why you don’t believe me to be a fool.”  

“You did not become captain of this ship by foolishly casting away skilled people,” Niashado continued.  

“And you are a skilled sailor?”  

“One of the first jobs I had upon arriving in Azeroth was to serve on a fishing boat similar in size to this one.  I served as a cook and a medic on board that ship.”  

The captain shook his head.  “We already have a cook.”

“You do have a cook.  But your crew is not satisfied with the meals your cook has produced.  And I recognize some of them from their visits to the clinic where I worked in Ratchet,” Niashado explained calmly.  “A well fed healthy crew is a productive crew with high morale.   I apologize for explaining this, because surely you understand.”

The she-elf standing behind the captain suddenly laughed aloud.   “I like her, captain.”   He shot the blood elf reproachful glare and then turned to her.  

“My crew work for a percentage of the take, draenei.  They’re not going to think too highly of having to share their spoils with a stowaway,” he explained.  

Niashado looked back over the deck and sighed.  

“You are pirates,” she stated, having already surmised this by the way the captain spoke and the cannons hidden on the deck.  

“Pirate has such a negative connotation.  We don’t like to describe ourselves like that,” he corrected.  

“But you’re right, draenei.  We’re pirates,” the female elf added with a mischievous glint in her green eyes.   The captain scowled at her again.  

“I do not ask for any money.  I will work as a cook and medic until we make the next safe port.  Then, I will leave.  All I ask is for passage,” Niashado said.

“And what can I expect from you when I need my sailors fighting?”

“I will cook and I will be a medic,” Niashado repeated evenly.  “I will not harm or steal.”

“Such a brazen thing to say, when your life is at our mercy,” the blood elf captain said.  He turned to the other she-elf standing behind him.  “What do you think?

“Anything has to be better than Mudfall’s cooking,” she replied dismissively.  “I say let the crew decide.”   The captain nodded and turned to the tauren bosun.  

“I agree with Sarafina, captain.  If she can prove her worth, let her stay,” the tauren replied.  

“Very well,” the captain said with a clap.   He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled so loudly that Niashado winced.  The crew stopped what they were doing and turned to the captain.   “I want a vote.  We have a stowaway who claims she can cook for us.   Who wants a new cook?”  

There were resounding, almost exuberant ‘ayes!’ from around the deck.  

“The new cook you are.  If you fail to impress me or my crew, you’re off the ship.  Got it?” he said.  

“I understand.  Thank you, for the opportunity,” she replied with a polite bow of her head.  

“Thank the crew.  Not me.   What’s your name?”

“Niashado.”

He pulled her totems from his pocket.  “And besides being a cook and a medic, can I assume you’re also practicing a shaman?” he asked.  

“I-I am not.  It is complicated,” she reluctantly replied.  

“I don’t like complications among my crew.  Speaking of crew,” he said, shoving her totems back in his pocket.  “My tauren bosun here is Boomer.   Sarafina Venrie is my first-mate.   I’m Captain Vartigan.   If you have any issues, bother these two.”

He looked up at the sun and then back at Niashado.  “It seems you have four hours to impress the crew.   Get to work.”  

With that, the three of them left her standing in the middle of the deck.   Sighing deeply, Niashado looked around and pondered what new misadventure she’d just been set on.  

“Well, at least it will be difficult for the Inquisitor to find me here,” she muttered to herself, brushing her bangs from her eyes.

Dear Jaou,

That last half month has been… eventful to say the least. I am currently serving as a cook and a medic aboard a ship unfortunately named ‘Bad Idea.’ I swear, I am not making this up.

The crew is a diverse lot. I have hardly seen the captain since I started. He is a blood elf by the name of Vartigan. I do not know his first name. The first-mate, Sarafina Venrie is also a blood elf. I see more of her and from what I can see, she seems to do most of the work. She is much more personable, if not a bit flirtatious, but not especially close to anyone in the crew, save for the captain.

Boomer, is mostly quiet, when he is not barking orders. He keeps the crew efficient and… loyal to the captain. I have heard stories from the crew on how he handles disloyalty. He probably hails from the Grimtotem tribe although he has not shown me any animosity. As I said, he is quiet.

My employment on this ship has been contingent upon my ability to keep the crew fed and pleased with my cooking. So far, thanks to your past cooking lessons, this has not been too difficult. The dwarf whose duties I took over was, to say the least, somehow worse than I was before your patient lessons.

As I told Captain Vartigan when I started serving on his ship, I will not harm anyone or steal. I suppose my stance can be construed as academic, though. I serve those who harm and steal so one can argue, I may as well be harming and stealing. As you can imagine, I am not exactly pleased with this situation, but for the time being I am also stuck here until we make the next safe port. That is the arrangement for my ‘passage’ on this pirate boat.

Perhaps I would be in this position if I had not run away from my problems back home. Perhaps this is a learning experience. Or perhaps my life is to be rudderless until I find what I am looking for.

I can promise you, being a pirate is not what I am looking for.

Since I cannot send you this letter while I am sea, hopefully by the time you receive you, I will be in a better situation. But, do not worry. I am managing fine.

I can only hope you are doing better. A few weeks ago I had the oddest dream about you. Strangely, unlike most dreams, the memory of this one is not fading. It almost seemed like a vision, but I have not had one of those since the Elements abandoned me.

I do not dare to believe that this was a vision. To believe it is would be to believe that maybe the Elements are returning. I do not want to be disappointed again if it turns that this is not to be.

And if it was a vision, then what has that demon inside you been subjecting you too? Is this normal of all demon hunters?

I miss you,
Niashado

Niashado folded the letter, sealed it and carefully put it in the book Jaou had given her so many years ago. Around her, the bulkheads creaked as the Bad Idea continued sailing through the night. The last of the crew had long since enjoyed their meals and the kitchen had been straightened out in preparation of tomorrow.

There was talk among of the crew of making port tomorrow and she was looking forward to continuing her walkabout away from such unsavory activities.

It wasn’t that she disliked the crew. Despite their professions, they’d been amicable towards her. But they were pirates. They did what pirates did. This was something she couldn’t imagine ever being comfortable with. She didn’t want to be comfortable with this.

The door to the galley opened with a loud creak and a draenei stepped in, pausing when he noticed her sitting at one of the tables.

“My apologies. I did not mean to intrude,” Alton quickly replied, as he started to back away.

“You are not intruding. Please, make yourself comfortable,” Niashado said. “There is still some bread and Stormwind cheddar on the counter if you were looking for a late night snack.”

The young draenei glanced at the counter and then smiled. His hoofsteps echoed across the galley as he made his way to the counter.

“This is the first time we have spoken since I have come aboard,” she continued. “I must confess, I was a little surprised to see another draenei on a pirate ship.

He paused a moment, then finished cutting a slice of the cheese and came to her table.

“If you are here, why should you be surprised I am?” he replied. He didn’t sound reproachful.

“Fair enough. But, I am curious about your story.”

Alton shrugged as he took a bite of the bread. She had baked it early this morning and had since become very brittle. The crumbs crumbled down to the table and the floor and she made a mental note to clean the floor again before she retired for the night.

“Azeroth, is an interesting world,” he began, wiping his mouth. “I wanted to see the world and, I suppose after what our people suffered through on Draenor, I felt a little addicted to the power.”

“The power to steal from other people?” she asked, cocking her head slightly.

“I do not like hurting people. I avoid it if they let me. But the stealing is harmlesss. I know, it is not how our people were raised, but I am closer with this crew then I ever was with my family,” he remarked. His eyes met hers for a moment and he sighed. “I can hear the judgements already.”

“The judgements? Yes, I suppose I have some feelings about the stealing and harming,” she confessed. “But I completely understand what it is like to be closer to others than your own kind.”

He responded with a dubious glance. “What landed you on this boat anyway?”

“Believe it or not, I was running from a Vindicator,” she replied calmly. She nearly laughed aloud when his eyes grew large. “It is a long story and not one I care to share. Besides, once we make port, I will be off.”

“Fair enough,” he said, echoing her words with a rueful smile. “I do not like harming people. But, when we fight, we fight. Piracy is as much about reputation as it is about power. If people fear Captain Vartigan’s flag, then they will surrender without a fight. If they don’t surrender, well, unfortunately, we have to make them fear, so we don’t have to fight next time.”

“I see,” Niashado said. In truth, she understood the logic, but couldn’t get past the lack of morality in it. Apparently, her indecision wasn’t lost on Alton.

“Something, always comes at a cost of something else,” Alton explained. “It’s the law of the universe. The orcs wanted Draenor for themselves, so they took it. The Alliance wanted more soldiers, so they accept us. I want the freedom to live the life I want to live and that means weeks on boat pirating so I can enjoy a weekend at port with my gains.”

Niashado’s eyes drifted downward at the table as he spoke. She couldn’t accept the world as Alton described. But, she’d seen it in her adventures. There was some undeniable truth to his words, but…

“I have seen Captain Vartigan tell us to run before,” Alton continued. “The way he says it, if they want to defend what they have that strongly, they deserve to keep it. But if we can take it, it might as well be ours.”

“Alton,” Niashado began, looking at the tabletop for a moment longer before meeting his eyes. “I cannot accept that that is the only reality that matters.”

“I know.”

“Is that why you were the only crewmember who did not vote for me to join this crew?” Niashado asked. “I noticed you did not raise your hand.”

Alton sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“Our people can’t see past sermons. We see everything so black and white. Just like you do,” he said. Again, there was no scorn in his tone, but she felt it nonetheless. “Are you not tired of being the victim? I am.”

“You sound just like an eredar I once met,” she replied sadly before standing up and gathering her notebook and pen. “Have a good evening, Alton.”

Three days later.


“I am sorry, but this will sting,” Niashado said as she pressed the soaked rag into the orc’s open chest wound.   She roared at the shock of the pain, but soon the orcess quieted.  Nevertheless, Niashado knew she must be in pain, if only because the iron grip the orcess had on her wrist will surely leave an angry bruise.  

The rag, soaked thoroughly with a dark blue healing salve, soon turned black as it mixed with the her blood.    

The draenei sighed, wishing she could heal magically, rather than the cruder, but reliable medic training she’d kept honed since she’d left Outland.  

“I need you to hold the cloth to the wound, please,” she gently asked.   The orcess, her brow sweat soaked, nodded and took over.  “Keep it pressed tightly.  Let the salve do its work,” she reminded her before moving to the next patient.  

Every time a cannon fired, she involuntary flinched.  And every time their ship took a hit, it sounded as if the vessel were groaning in pain.    

Her next patient, an older human mail nursed his left arm.   Only a cursory examination revealed that it was a bullet injury.  There would likely be many more before this battle was over.  

“I need some painkillers here,” she called out the cabin boy whom at the moment, was serving as her nurse.   The young troll boy handed her a vial that was nearly empty.  

“Dats the rest, Niashado,” he said with a fearful shrug.   She looked out over the mess hall, now converted to a makeshift infirmary.  There were at least half dozen injured, but most were thankfully minor.   The orcess she’d just treated was by far the worse.   She hoped it wouldn’t be worse than this.  

“Go to my room.  My bag is on my bed.  Inside is a blue vial.  Bring it here,” she ordered the troll boy, who nodded and raced off.   That would be the last of her personal painkillers, but the safety of the crew was the priority.    She'd have to find ingredients to make a fresh batch if this battle ever ended.

Giving the human the rest of the painkiller, she began working on carefully removing the bullet over his cries of pain.  

As most pirate battles were at high seas, it was over half hour later.  She could hear the chorus of cheering above the deck signaling that they were victorious.    Looking across the mess hall, she saw little to celebrate.  Many of her patients would have injuries that would follow them for the rest of their lives.  And for what?   More ill-gotten gains?    

She sighed and shook her head in revulsion.  The deck was covered in sawdust to absorb the blood and water that had spilt while she worked to save them.   The room smelled of blood, bile and vomit.  

“We won?” Cresh rasped through her tusks.  Niashado turned to check on the orcess’s shoulder.

“It sounds like we did.   But it may be longer before you will be able to climb to the yards.”    

“I wonder what the take will be?” the orcess asked, completely uninterested in her wounds.

“I am sure the captain will announce it this evening,” she replied dryly, careful to bite back her frustration.  

I do not belong here, she thought as she continued checking the patients.   Unlike her patients, who were eager to hear news from top side, she had little interest.  

It was another hour before First-mate Venri entered the mess hall to check on the wounded.  

“How are we looking?” Venri asked, navigating her way carefully between the cots, not so much to disturb the injured, but so that none of their blood would make their way to her leather outfit.  

“No deaths.  Two serious injuries and the rest are moderate,” Niashado reported.  

“Alright.  That sounds good.   We’re moving the cargo over.   Looks like there’s lots of gold thanks to the Venture Trading Company!” Sarafina announced proudly.  This was met with celebratory exultations from the infirmed.  She turned and noted that Niashado didn’t share in celebration.  “Cheer up, draenei!  We’re returning to port rich as princes.”

“We are low on medicines and supplies,” Niashado replied quietly.  

“I’ll see if they have any to ‘donate’ to us,” the blood elf cheerfully replied, slapping Niashado in the arm before abruptly leaving.  




That Evening.

“And so, with those figures in mind, this is the best haul the Bad Idea has ever raking in!” Captain Vartigan announced.   Almost all of the crew were congregating in the mess hall to hear his announcement and they roared with excitement.   “When we get to port, everyone will be disembarking with at least four hundred gold pieces!  Spend it wisely!” he added, to even louder jubilation.    

The mess hall had been cleaned and returned from its emergency infirmary setting back to a dining hall for the impromptu and highly anticipated announcement from the captain.  

Niashado watched from the galley, but didn’t share the excitement.   Light only knew how many people died or got hurt just to steal from someone else.   And while she shared no love for their latest victim, Venture Company, she didn’t feel like reveling in their loss.    

Curiously, Niashado was more intrigued by Boomer’s stoic disposition during all this.  While Serafina and Captain Vartigan were busy cheering the crew on, she couldn’t help noticing that something was bothering the ebon furred tauren.    

“Captain!” one of the crew rushed down the stairs and burst into the mess hall.  “Captian!   Two flyers are approaching!”  

“To your stations!   Now!” Boomer and Serafina exclaimed as the crew suddenly rushed to leave the mess hall.   Niashado cringed as she watched dishware and food fall to the floor and cascade across the table in the chaotic rush, but dutifully, she followed the last crew member to the deck to see what this meant.  

After hours spent below deck, the late afternoon sunlight was blinding, forcing her to wait just inside the doorway as her eyes struggled to adjust.   She heard the heavy beat of wings and the screech of a hippogryph before two heavy forms landed squarely in the middle of the ships.  

Her vision slowly cleared and she could see the gleaming silhouette of a figure sliding off the mount.  The sun was shining brilliantly off the silver and gold armor, but then she noted the tail and hooves on the figure.   As quickly as she could, Niashado ducked back into the shadow of the doorway and behind the door.   She struggled to control her breathing as she spied through the gap near the hinge of the door.  

“My name is Vindicator Boreth.  This is Arcanist Trellia.  I apologize for the intrusion, but a ship matching this name and design was listed as being docked in Ratched a month ago.   I am looking for a fugitive.”

“I don’t know how things were on Draenor, but in Azeroth, you ask permission before boarding a ship,” Captain Vartigan replied evenly.   “And everyone is a fugitive from someone here, isn’t that right lads?”

The crew replied back defiantly with chuckles of their own.  

Vindicator Boreth didn’t look amused.  He pulled his hammer out and allowed the hammerhead to drop heavily on deck.   The deck reverberated with the impact not unlike the damage blows the Bad Idea had taken earlier today.  The threat was clear and their defiance mellowed a little.  

Niashado fought to still her breathing as her heart raced.  

“I am looking for a draenei.   Her name is Niashado,” the inquisitor demanded.  Behind him, Trellia eyed each crew member carefully.  “There is a reward for her capture or information that leads to her capture.”

There was a palpable silence that fell upon this ship.   All that could be heard is the sound of water slapping against the hull of the ship.  

“I have been a crew member here for four months,” someone called out.  Heads turned as Alton approached the draenei.  “I’m the only draenei here, Vindicator.”  

Vindicator Boreth approached the younger draenei and glared down at him.  “And what, in the Light are you doing among these miscreants?”  

“Finding my way,” Alton replied evenly.  

“Then you won’t mind if I search this ship?”

All around the deck, crew suddenly pulled out swords and pistols and aimed it squarely at the two draenei.  

“Oh, if you tried to search our boat, you’d find that our welcoming nature will abruptly end,” Serafina replied quickly getting between Alton and Vindicator.   “There’s only our friend Alton here.”

Niashado shook as she pressed herself deeper into the shadows.   Vindicator Boreth abruptly picked up his hammer.  The runes on his armor and weapon glowed brighter as if to announce the coming violence.   Trellia’s hands glowed purple and she watched his back.  

The Inquisitor studied the crew on deck and for a moment and she swore his eyes fixed on the shadowed doorway where she hid.   She doubted he could see or sense her, but it took all her willpower to stay frozen at that spot.    

If he attacked the crew, there would be casualties, and she’d have no choice but to surrender to keep more from being injured.  She could only pray it wouldn’t come to that.  

After what felt like eternity, he looked back at Alton.  “You can do better than this, brother.”   Replacing his hammer, he turned to Trellia and motioned for her to mount her hippogryph.  Calling out, the two hippogryphs took to the air and the tension on the deck almost immediately faded.  

With her back still pressed against the wall, Niashado slid to the floor and released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.  Inquisitor Boreth was clearly not done looking for her and even on this ship in the middle of the ocean, she wasn’t safe from being his quarry.  

I suppose I belong here a little longer.

“He could have killed us all!” the blood elf roared with a fury Niashado hadn’t seen since she joined the crew.   And most of the anger was directed at her.    

The blood elf paced around his opulent quarters as he seemed to consider what to exclaim about next.    

“She’s far from the only crew member wanted by some authorities or another,” Serafina quipped.  

“Piracy, petty theft, the occasional ransoming is one thing.   That was a fucking paladin!” Vartigan snarled back.   Serafina didn’t recoil from his ire, but nor did she respond again.  

“I did not intend to bring this threat upon your crew,” Niashado replied.  “Drop off at the nearest port and I will go.”

“Oh, no no no no,” the captain snapped, wagging his finger at her.   “You don’t get to go that easily.  If that paladin returns, knowing you were on this ship, he will raze us down. Besides, maybe we profit off that reward while deflecting his anger from us.”

“There is no assurance that will do any of those things you suggested,” Niashado said.

“You do not know that,” Alton corrected.  Besides the two blood elves and Niashado, Alton and Boomer were also in the quarters for the meeting.   “He is not just a vindicator.  He is an inquisitor.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Captain Vartigan asked.   Serafina and Boomer also turned to Alton with sudden interest.  

“Inquisitors are only sent after draenei who have had contact with demons,” Alton elaborated.  He turned to her with a carefully neutral expression.  “Or, if they suspect a draenei has been turned to serve the Burning Legion.”

“And what if he suspects that we are working with a turned draenei?” Serafina asked.   Niashado took a deep stuttered breath and waited for what she knew Alton would inevitably say.  

“Inquisitors have broad discretion.  He could detain us at port, or he could smite us all if he feels she may have turned us to serve the Legion,” Alton remarked.    

The room fell silent except for the creaking of the wood framework and the lapping of water against the hull.  

“I am not an agent of the Burning Legion.  I want no harm to come upon this crew, or for that matter, Azeroth itself,” Niashado replied in a steely voice.  

“Everyone says they’re innocent.  This is a boat full of ‘innocent’ people, draenei,” Captain Vartigan responded.   He turned to Alton, being the only draenei that he apparently trusted.  “What are our options?”  

“You have no options,” Boomer grumbled before Alton could speak.   The others turned to ebon furred tauren.   “She is popular with the crew.  She has mended wounds, fed us well and counseled us.  If you surrender her to this Inquisitor, after that big display about how we watch out for each other, the crew will take it poorly.”

The captain glared at Boomer, but couldn’t seem to put a response together.  

“He’s right, captain,” Serafina added.  Alton also nodded in agreement as she continued speaking.   “She listens to the crew and they appreciate that.   We can’t afford to betray her, if only because it could lead to mutiny.”

“They’re about to get their best payday ever,”  Vartigan grumbled.

“Which is why it more important that when we make port, the crew remain vested in returning to our ship.   The pirate code is that we don’t press-gang people into joining the crew.”

“Except for me?” Niashado said, making a point that she didn’t have a choice in serving the crew.   Of course, she was also a stowaway and it was either serve as crew or walk the proverbial plank.    In this case, the plank was more literal then figurative.

“Shut up!” the captain, Serafina and Boomer exclaimed back at her.   Niashado folded her hand across her chest but didn’t respond.   Instead, she listened as the three officers began arguing, seemingly becoming oblivious to Alton and her standing quietly in the corner.    

“This was not my intention,” Niashado quietly said to Alton.

“And to think I did not believe you when you said you were being hunted by a vindicator,” Alton jested.   But when he turned, she noted a serious look in his visage.   “Your vindicator found you out here in the middle of the ocean.   He is clearly driven at searching for you and it is likely he will return here.”  

“I need to leave,” she whispered back at him.  “Before anyone is harmed.”

“You need to leave to protect us.  The officers want to keep you to protect us.  Whatever you are running from, you are now stuck with us,” the draenei remarked, looking at Niashado.   “There is nowhere you can go.”

The hand tenderly stroked her neck and tendrils in a soothing, almost feather like matter.   It caused chills to radiate along her body and she started to sigh involuntarily.   But almost as quickly, she remembered who it was who was touching her and spun away from him.  Her tail was taught and hands clenched into tight fists.  

Jalleen threw his hands in the air and took a step back.   The young eredar was handsome, if not the crimson skin and the stench of fel that emanated from him.  He wore ornate robes that she’d often seen the wealthy draenei wear in Shattrath before the fall.

She was wearing the teal dress they’d provided for her when she’d been taken to Argus.  It wasn’t too revealing or delicate, but nor was it practical for field work.   It was just another way of reminding her that Eredar are the ones in control.

“Your magic has abandoned you.  Your people abandoned you.   When are you going to accept that you have a place in the Burning Legion?” he asked earnestly, almost pleading.

“I will never join the Burning Legion,” Niashado nearly snarled.  “Never.”

“Your people knew we had taken you.  They knew where you were.  They did nothing,” Jalleen continued, speaking in a calm and inviting voice.  “We have our spies just as they have theirs.   Nobody came for you.”

“Jaou came for me.  My friends came for me.  The Illidari came for me.  They rescued me.”

“Jaou.  Illidari.   They are closer to the Legion then your people are,” he explained.   He crossed his hands in front him.  “Hraxxas and I owe you an apology.  We had no idea how special you are.”

Niashado cocked her head to the side, completely flummoxed.  “What?  What are you…”

“The census information and academy records we had taken from Draenor, and even Shastress’s mind tap did not reveal just how powerful a shaman you are.  We dismissed your magic as primitive when we should have learned from it.  Learned from you.”

“I-I do not understand,” Niashado stuttered, still at a loss for words over this sudden change in conversation..  

“You: a dropout from the Shattrath Arcane Academy.  You, the girl of a poor herbalist from some speck of a swamp town, who broke off an engagement with an aristocrat,” Jalleen said.  “For a brief moment, you were the most powerful person in that battle.”

“I… I do not understand,” she repeated softly.

“The Burning Legion looks for strength and we failed to see the strength in you.  Imagine, Legion shamans who can terraform entire worlds?  Imagine shamans who can forge Elementals and Fel magic into powerful constructs.”

“I am no longer a shaman!” Niashado snapped.  “Hraxxas took that from me!  You praise my Calling after you stripped it from me!”

Jalleen approached her and brought his hand to fingertip close to her forehead.   “A simple dispel couldn’t strip your connection.”   He tapped his fingertip to her forehead.

She was blinded by a powerful flash of light and she fell to her knees with a scream.  When she opened her eyes she was back in the chamber amidst a battle.  Around her Illidari fought felguards.  In the distance, she saw the elder Eredar Hraxxas and Nathrezim engineer, Gahzeel watching the battle unfold.  Jaou was nearby, but he was barely recognizable as a massive transformed winged demon.  He was battling Taur, the satyr turned into a hideous ur’zul.  

Niashado felt her heart thrumming powerfully in her chest as she stood up.   She wasn’t controlling her body and that terrified her all the more.  With a wave of her hands, stalagmites shot up from the floor, impaling demons, whether they were of the Burning Legion or Illidari.  

Inwardly, Niashado screamed and tried to stop, but she was merely a passenger in her own body.   The Elemental forces of Argus had latched on to her and were forcing her to channel their energy into destroying demons, whether they were friend or foe.   They would not listen to her.   They only used her.

She looked back at Hraxxas and Gahzeel.   They were safely behind an arcane shield.   Hraxxas was drawing a rune in the air and Niashado recognized it as a powerful, but basic dispel, just as Jalleen described.   The spell shot out at her and she felt the Elemental possession being torn from her body.  

The world flashed in bright green light and when her vision cleared she was dangling off a cliff.   The draenei looked around and saw numerous narrow mesas rising above a barren canyon.  She looked down, seeing her hooves dangling precariously hundreds of feet above the canyon floor.  

She glanced up and saw that she was holding on to her totem bracelet.   Crystalline totems dangled from the bracelet as another massive hand also held it.  Her eyes drifting higher, she saw a tauren also holding her bracelet.   He looked familiar but it was difficult to get the details with the sun just behind him.   He tried to pull her up by it, but suddenly the bracelet snapped.  

Niashado fell, watching as the tauren on the top of the mesa grew smaller.  The crystalline totems sparkled in the sunlight as they fell with her.   Her body twisted and she watched the floor of the canyon explode towards her…

~

Niashado screamed as she bolted upright from the floor of her room where she’d been meditating.   Her vision spun and her abdomen spiked in pain.   The flashing purple light was causing her headache to spike and she scrambled to put the crystal back in the box.  

Once the crystal was secured her head began to clear, although the pain hadn’t.  Niashado had almost forgotten about the stomach aches.   She glanced at the box with the sealed crystal that the Inquisitor had used to interrogate her.   She had taken it when she escaped although at the time she wasn’t sure why.  Lately she's been experimenting with trying to induce visions, but the results were difficult to discern.  

Like everything she’d tried in the past, the Elements were still silent toward her.

She pulled out some ingredients and started working on a potion to alleviate the pain.  It’s a potion she’d been making for so long she could produce it with her eyes closed.  Around her, the bulkhead groaned and the boat rocked slightly.  

The near month she’d spent on this ship full of pirates, misfits and adventure seekers had been filled with excitement, terror and  more importantly, a feeling of usefulness and service.   She still didn’t have a connection to the Elements, but she knew how to cook (thank you Jaou Stormchaser) and she had her training as a medic (thanks to those terrible years on Draenor running from orcs and demons).   And somehow, she was someone the crew seemed to gravitate towards with their concerns and worries.  

If she had to hypothesize, she supposed the crew appreciated sharing with her their concerns and problems because she wasn’t an officer.  They could confide with her in a way they couldn’t with Boomer or Serafina.  

More importantly, while the crew of the Bad Idea were pirates and did raid shipping lanes, the captain had honored his part of the agreement and had left her out of the fighting.   The moral quandary of it was still there, though.  

Regardless, to her surprise, she hadn’t felt the stomachaches in weeks.   She’d almost forgotten about them. But then, four days ago, Vindicator Boreth had landed on the ship and demanded to search it.   The crew had persuaded him otherwise and he didn’t discover her, but it was clear he was still searching.   She had hoped he would give up when she escaped from him in Ratchet.  

The draenei finished compounding the potion and took a tentative sip.   The taste left much to be desired, but the cramping subsided a few minutes later.   She rubbed her abdomen, as if to further sooth the damaged organs to calmness, and not for the first time, pondered if the cost of purging such a small amount of fel was worth the pain she’d been enduring since.  

It was clear that stress was exasperating the wound and likely delaying any possible healing.  

“I suppose I will add that to the growing list of concerns,” Niashado muttered as she replaced the ingredients.   A brief smell of burning onions wafted through from the galley.

“Trill!  You need to keep stirring the vegetables,” she called out while stepping out of her room which was adjacent to the galley.   She entered the kitchen in time to see the young troll lad vigorously stirring the pot of onions, peppers and mushrooms.

“How long until they be done?” Trill asked, trying to see past the thick steam rising from the pot.

“At least until you can almost see through the onions,” Niashado replied, remembering that piece of advice from Jaou.   She’d been trying to teach the young kid how he can help her in the kitchen, and to his credit, he’d been learning the culinary arts faster than she had.  

“Once the vegetables are ready, go ahead and add the chicken,” she said while checking the oven.   The bread rolls were almost ready.   It was at that moment that Alton rushed into the galley.  

“Trill!  We need you on the deck.  There’s a ship giving us chase.  Get to!” he exclaimed.  

The shocked young troll turned to Niashado. As the youngest and unskilled crew member he was at the call of anyone on the ship who needed an extra pair of hands. Niashado shrugged at him.  “They need you.  I will finish here.”  

He nodded and raced past Alton to the deck.   Niashado noted the uncharacteristic look of concern on her fellow draenei’s visage.   When the crew had gone on raids, Alton normally appeared calm or excited.  This time there was worry in his eyes..

“What is it, Alton?” she asked, feeling a sudden trepidation at this seriousness.  

“The ship following us is Horde,.” he said quietly.  

“We have outrun merchant navies before,” she replied, not understanding his worry.  

“We have always stayed as far from the Horde and Alliance navies for a reason.  Their ships are faster, their weapons have more range and accuracy and their sailors are the best,” he explained.

“What do we do?” she asked, quietly.  

“We run.   We run as fast as we can.   And, when… if, they catch us, we fight,” he added almost in a whisper.  

“Surely we can find some way to parlay with them.  A bribe or-”

“We’re pirates, Niashado.  Navies do not parlay with pirates,” he snapped.  With a huff he turned and stormed out of the galley leaving Niashado suddenly alone.

With every passing minute since Alton’s warning the activity on ship grew more hurried. She could hear steps from the deck above running to and from and shouts of orders becoming more insistant. And maybe she’d become accustomed to living on the ship because even she could feel The Bad Idea gaining more speed as the sails were trimmed to maximize efficiency.

Niashado threw her backpack on the counter and frantically loaded it with bandages, healing potions and other triage instruments. Having already tended to the crew during several raids, she had a good idea what kind of injuries to expect. The draenei rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed wash clothes and towels. When she returned to the dining room, with the intention of converting it to an infirmary, she nearly ran into the Serafina.

The blood elf somehow had even more weapons strapped to her body then she’d ever seen on other raids. Her crimson hair was tied back in a hasty ponytail. She glared angrily at Niashado.

“Why aren’t you on deck?” she demanded.

“I-I was preparing to receive wounded.”

“Everyone needs to fight for this battle. Get up top,” she ordered.

“No,” Niashado stated. “I will not fight.”

The elf’s countenance grew even angrier. In a flash she unsheathed one of her swords and pointed it at Niashado’s chest. Niashado quickly raised her hands, but the elf’s temper didn’t abate.

Serafina threw the sword on the counter near the draenei, causing her to jump. "You'll pick up that blade and get on the deck to help defend us. I don't care that you told the captain you won't fight, you will or I'll throw your ass into the ocean myself."

"This was not part of the-" Niashado started to protest but the blood elf cut her off

"Shut it! If that Horde ship manages to catch up to us, we will all hang, you included. We don’t need a healer. If anyone dies in battle, they’ll have earned a far more peaceful death then you or I will. They won't care that you don't steal or kill, you’re part of the crew and you will suffer with us. You're a damn pirate just like the rest of us!"

The elf started to leave but paused at the door. "This crew is my family. We protect each other. Maybe you're good with turning your back on your family, but we don't do that here.”

Niashado heard her footsteps trail off as she stormed off. Then, she looked down at the sword. It was a short cutlass, with a slight curve. The hilt was stained and scratched, but the blade itself was clean and sharp. With a trembling hand she carefully lifted it. It was heavy, but not nearly as much as she had expected.

She thought back to the first time she’d picked up a sword. It was Acantha’s blade on her first adventure in Azeroth. The night elf had called the type of sword a katana and it was in far better condition than this cutlass. Niashado had little doubt that Acantha’s sword had been used to take many lives.

“Now, I am the villain,” Niashado said, cringing as she looked at her reflection on the blade. The Horde sailors were only doing their jobs keeping merchants and others safe from piracy. But she was on a pirate ship. She was helping pirates. And if she didn’t help to protect her fellow pirates they would all be executed as pirates.

“I-I am a pirate,” Niashado said aloud. She hoped by hearing herself say it, she’d convince herself of what to do. But, her words were shallow. She looked out over the empty galley and suddenly felt incredibly alone.

Still holding the sword, she went to grab her backpack full of medical supplies. Then, against every fiber in her body, she laid it back on the counter. If Serafina was correct, this was a survive or die situation.

She made her way topside and squinted in the bright light of the sun. Above decks, every cannon had already been preloaded. Rifles and swords were strewn in various places, ready to be used.

“Niashado! Over here!” Alton called. She made her way to her fellow draenei and he quickly gestured to several pistols arrayed on a table. “Have you ever used any of these?”

“No,” Niashado said softly, with a slight shake of her head.

“I am not going to bother teaching you how to load them. They are all preloaded. Pull this hammer back, take aim and fire. Do not pull the hammer back until you are prepared to fire or the powder will blow away in the wind, or you might shoot your own foot,” he explained rapidly. “Once you have shot, throw it down and grab another. But, if they board us, forget these and use your sword. Do you understand?”

“I-I think so,” she said. His instructions were a blur, but she’d seen enough firearms used to know the general principle of how they operate. She looked over his shoulder and barely noticed the ship many miles away astern. The red sails were unmistakably Horde. “Is there any chance we can outrun them”

“None,” Alton stated matter-of-factly. He looked up and noticed several of the crew struggling to unfurl the topsail completely. “Do not shoot at them until I tell you. They have a limited range. Until then, stay out of the way.”

He stormed off to climb the rigging and help them. Niashado looked down at the mismatched collection of pistols and rifles. Then, she glanced down at her sword which she still held with a tight grip. Her skirt flapped in the strong seabreeze. Brushing back her bangs from her eyes, looked back at the Horde ship. She could almost make out tiny figures running about.

Somewhere beyond her sight she could hear Captain Vartigan and Serafina arguing over strategy.

Why is the anticipation of battle the worst? she pondered. If she died would her friends ever find out? Would they keep waiting for her to return, only for her never to?

She brushed such uncomfortable thoughts out of her head and turned to hear Serafina shouting orders to the crew on the masts. Her orders sounded almost like poetry and her voice betrayed no nervousness or fear.

She’d somehow always been surrounded by the bravest of people. Jaou, Sundar, Acantha, Snowraven, Azgard, Ravenstar, Izdazi, Baeylth and so many others. How had she not learned any of their fearlessness?

Niashado looked back at the sword and felt her stomach twist. She didn’t want to harm anyone, much less kill sailors only doing their jobs. Captain Vartigan liked to give merchant crews the opportunity to surrender their loot without the risk of harm, but the Horde navy was not going to give them the same reprieve.

And, Niashado wasn’t prepared to die. There was still so much she wanted to see and do.

“Make a path!” one of the sailors shouted. Niashado jumped out of the path just as a heavy cannon was pushed by. A half dozen of the crew helped drag it up the stairs to the stern deck. She was about to offer to assist, but they were experienced enough, and despite the weight, soon had the cannon up the stairs and wheeled toward the stern.

For the first time, she noticed Boomer standing at the stern, looking out over the ocean. But he didn’t have a spyglass with him, so what would he be doing just standing there?

The draenei climbed up the stairs and cautiously approached the black furred tauren. Just like Serafina, he had several pistols strapped across his chest and two cutlasses. In addition, a large double-sided ax was strapped to his back.

She noticed he was tightly clutching something in his large hand. Her eyes widened as she realized he was holding her crystalline totems.

“Boomer? What are you doing?” she asked quietly. The ebon furred tauren’s ears flicked before he turned to her.

“Begging, pleading, hoping,” he rumbled. “But nothing comes of it.”

Niashado studied him for a moment and then noticed for the first time since she’d returned from Argus that her totems were glowing faintly. When she listened, she could almost hear the Elements, but their voices were not for her.

Still, it was the first time in months she’d even been able to perceive them beyond the normal senses.

They both flinched as the Horde ship fired a cannon. The splash down was several ship lengths away, but it wouldn’t be long before that distance closed.

The tauren snorted and his shoulders sagged a little.

“Have you… have you tried just asking them?” Niashado asked.

“What?” Boomer grumbled, turning to glare down at her.

“You are a shaman. Ask them.”

“I was never shaman,” he snapped.

“Yes, yes you are,” Niashado replied earnestly. “I once was. And I can hear them around you. They are listening to you. You need to listen back to them.”

“What do you think I have been trying to do?” he snarled.

“Begging and hoping is not the same as asking. At least not for shamans,” Niashado said. She laid her sword against the rails and turned to him. “For a shaman, the first step is to observe. What do you feel?”

The concussive sound of a cannon being fired echoed across the sea and a geyser of water shot into the sky closer to the ship.

“I feel a threat growing closer to us,” Boomer said, as he turned to leave. Niashado grabbed his arm to stop him and the tauren bosun shot her a murderous glare. Undeterred, Niashado directed him back to the deck rails.

“We are not going to win this through speed or arms. You are a shaman and we need you. The crew needs you,” she nearly hissed. “Think of the Elements. What can you do?”

“I want to burn their ships. I want an elemental to rise out of the sea and destroy it. But I cannot!”

“Because it does not work that way. Close your eyes,” she ordered. Boomer narrowed his eyes and attempted to pull back his arm, but she held it tightly. “Close your eyes,” she repeated.

Niashado had no doubt that if he really wanted to, Boomer could have thrown her across the deck. It was clear to her that part of him wanted to make this work.

With a reluctant sigh, he closed his eyes and relaxed.

“What do you sense?” Niashado asked softly. She rested her hand on his.

“I feel the wind and I hear the waters,” he said.

“The wind is fickle. It goes here and there. The water is adaptive. It can find its way into many places. There are no flames to help us. There is no earth to help us this far out to sea. So, call out to what we have nearby.”

The tauren began a soft call, but she could feel his frustration mounting as nothing changed.

“We are but blades of grass in a large field,” Niashado explained. “The winds come from lands far beyond and push us about. But how can we know why the wind does that? We are so small in this grand mechanism of our world. See your place in this world and listen. Do not overthink this.”

“I-I feel the water and air. They are listening to me. But, I do not know what to do with them.”

“You are not a mage. You cannot summon a fireball. You are not a warlock. You cannot demand anything for the Great Beyond. You are not a paladin. You are not gifted in the ways of the Light.

“But you are a shaman, and this world is ready to listen to you. You, a single blade of grass among millions in a large valley, can ask the wind whatever you want. Use your imagination.”

The tauren growled. “I can think of nothing that will turn the tide of this battle.”

“What do all sailors fear?”

“Storms.”

“Then ask them to make a storm,” Niashado suggested. “Ask them to build it up. Let their voices grow.”

Niashado felt the tauren relax as he went about the task. She could hear the voices of the water and air elements grow and felt the heat of the sun fade. When she opened her eyes, dark clouds were forming above them.

“You are doing it. Let it build up. Let the Elements feel your voice, Boomer. Hear their voices,” Niashado continued, speaking softly. Her hope was to help Boomer remain calm as he continued the Elemental call. “This is a relationship few understand. How can others even begin to understand the relationship we have with the very forces of our world? They cannot. We cannot summon the Elements. We cannot demand them. All we can do is ask of them. And if they want, we can guide them. And with them, we can do wondrous things.

“What do you hear?”

“The winds are almost deafening and the water is so heavy. They want to fall, but they are also listening to me as I ask them to stay aloft,” Boomer explained. He sounded almost in awe.

“That is the power of this relationship. Sometimes, they will say ‘no.’ Sometimes, they will give you so much. Treasure this relationship, Boomer. Cultivate it. It is like nothing,” Niashado added, fighting back the slight lump in her throat.

Above them, the clouds were turning and roiling. Parts of it flashed as lightning flickered above. Thunder issued from within its depths.

“I do not think the storm can hold much more,” Boomer grunted.

“Then, imagine a place between our ship and the Horde’s, and let it fall,” Niashado suggested.

Boomer issued one last call and Niashado could almost feel the sigh of relief from both the Elements and the tauren. And the cloud opened up.

Almost in slow motion, they watched as a narrow column of rain and wind fell from deep inside the storm cloud. The draenei grabbed the rails tightly as the column slammed into the ocean between both ships. And like water splashing into the floor, the downburst radiated outward. She heard Serafina and Captain Vartigan yelling for everyone to brace just as the gale struck their ship.

The Bad Idea’s bow jumped out of the ocean as the sails were thrown into full tautness and the ship surged forward with an unexpected speed. The rain and wind blasted her body, soaking her to the bone almost instantly. She lost her grip and started to be hurled back, only to be caught by Boomer.

She lost sight of the Horde ship and it was everything she could do to regain her grip on the handrails. Then, as quickly as it began, it ended. The rain, the wind, everything was like it was before the storm manifested.

The ship slowed from its speed boost but continued on its original course. Brushing her water-soaked bangs from her eyes, Niashado saw the Horde ship much further in the distance. Boomer was looking through a telescope as Captain Vartigan and Serafina joined them on the deck.

“What the hell just happened?” the captain demanded. Both he and Serafina were also soaked.

“Boomer just saved us,” Niashado announced quietly, with a smile.

The tauren, his black wet fur glinting in the sunlight snorted. “Their main sail mast is broken and it looks like the remaining sails are in tatters. The navy will not be catching us today.”

“Just like that?” Captain Vartigan asked. “A freak storm saves our asses just like that?”

“A freak storm that our bosun, Boomer, summoned,” Serafina corrected with a broad grin. “Not the first time you’ve saved our collective asses Boomer, but this time you did it with style.”

“Serafina, get someone on the tiller. Once we’re out of sight of the Horde ship, change course. Boomer, let’s make sure we didn’t sustain any damage from that storm of yours,” Captain Vartigan ordered. “Draenei, we have some crew who got tossed about in the storm. Tend to their wounds.”

His orders were met with a collection “ayes.”

“And Boomer,” the captain called out.

“Captain?”

“Good job.”

“Thank you, sir,” the tauren grumbled uncomfortably. He clearly didn’t like the attention, but wouldn’t dismiss his captain like that.

Niashado and Boomer made their way midship. She knelt down to check on a dazed crewmember with a large angry knot on his head.

“Niashado.” She turned to see that Boomer was offering her totems back. They were still glowing in his large hand.

The draenei smiled, although the joy didn’t quite make it to her eyes. She took his hand and closed his fingers around her totems.

“These totems are yours now, Boomer,” she said after a moment's pause. “Promise me, you will celebrate and cultivate the relationship you have with the Elements. They will depend on you, and you them.”

She turned and helped the crewmember up to his feet so she could take him below decks.

Captian Rubis Bloodtide stormed across the soaking shambles of the deck of his ship shouting orders for the sake of shouting orders.  For the first time in his maritime career, the grizzled sailor had no idea what to do next.   The main mast had fallen to the starboard and would have slid into the ocean if it weren’t for the messy tangle of lines holding it in place.  

The downburst that had struck the ship had blown sailors and equipment from the deck.  The remaining sails were in tatters.  His crew even more so.  

The old orc looked up at the sky in bewilderment as the freak storm that had struck them rapidly disappointed.   Before his very eyes, shards of sunlight were already peaking through the dissolving storm clouds.  And miles away he spied the silhouette of his quarry, sailing away.  

Shaking his head, he scanned the deck once again, this time catching the eyes of his shell shocked sailors.  He always had orders and they were looking to him for answers, but he had none.  He stormed toward a nearby troll and hauled him to his feet by his arms.  

“Get up!   We have crewmen overboard!  Pull them out of the water!   Now!” he bellowed.  To the slimmest of satisfaction, he watched as most of the crewmen shook off their stupor and immediately rushed to the aid of those in the water.  Like soldiers, sailors needed direction, especially when the unexpected happened.  

Speaking of unexpected, he spied a robed figure still huddled under some of the fallen sails.  He stormed toward the figure, threw the sail off and hauled the overweight orc to her feet.  

“What happened?” he demanded of the young orcess.   She shook her head, but no words came to her voice.  “What happened?” repeated.  

“I-I don’t know, uncle,” the younger woman replied.  “I had the spirits pushing us towards the pirates, but suddenly, they stopped listening to me.”

Captain Bloodtide growled and leaned closer, bringing his yellow tusks almost to touch her nose.  

“What do you mean they stopped listening to you?” he said, bringing his voice to a menacingly low volume.  “You told me you were a shaman.”

The fear in the younger orcess’s eyes were swiftly replaced by frustration and then resentment.  

“I was training to be a shaman,” she replied in barely a whisper.  “But you convinced my father that I’d learn by practical experience rather than training.   I told you shamanism isn’t like sailing. They had a more experienced shaman than me, so the spirits chose to listen to them.”

The captain started to growl but quickly checked his temper.   Yetu was right.  He wanted a shaman, but didn’t want to pay for one.  Reaching out to his brother to convince him to take her on this voyage was more about saving money than training her.   This was his fault.  Not hers.

And despite not showing it, he appreciated that she replied quietly and didn’t make a scene before his crew.  The last thing he needed was his crew being in doubt of his leadership.  

“I was told there were no magic casters on the pirate ship,” the captain said, speaking with less hostility.   “Are you sure there was another shaman?”

“I’m not completely sure, but the way the spirits suddenly ignored me was similar to what happens when I train with a master,” Yetu replied.  “And that storm felt too unnatural and targeted to be anything other than magically influenced.”

The captain snorted and then nodded.   He had come to the same conclusion.  

“Go help the wounded,” he said quietly.  

“I’m sorry I failed you, uncle.”  

“You did your best.   Their shaman had more experience and training,” Rubis Bloodtide explained.  “Learn from this for next time.   Now go.”  

She nodded and ran to the nearest injured crewmen.   He made his way to the front of the ship where his first-mate was looking through a telescope at the departing ship.  

“Dey got us good with some voodoo, Captain,” First-mate Naruz announced.  

“Did you see anything before the storm?” the captain asked, knowing the troll’s eyes to be better than most marksman he’d known.  

“A tauren and a draenei woman were on the deck looking back at us.  I don’t know if they were shamans though.  But they were doing nothing but looking at us.”

“Very well. I’ll make a log of it.  Let’s get the ship repaired enough to sail back to port.  Captain Vartigan gets to delay his execution a little longer,” Captain Bloodtide grumbled.


---------------------------


In the weeks she’d been aboard The Bad Idea, Niashado had learned to play her fiddle alongside the shanties the crew sang.  And after the victory they’d had evading the Horde naval ship, everyone was in the mood for a celebration.  

Niashado had prepared a feast for everyone (thanks in part to the foodstuffs they’d taken off a merchant ship a few days ago.)   In addition, she’d been asked to bake a large cake.  Captain Vartigan had even produced a jar of pure sugar from Silvermoon City for her to use in the desert.  

He may be a greedy pirate, but even Niashado had to admit he was very generous giving back to his crew.  

As best as she could, Niashado followed the singing with the fiddle.  It was challenging since she wasn’t completely familiar with the songs and usually, she did the singing, but thankfully, they were loud enough to mask her mistakes.   Besides, no one really cared.  Everyone, save for Boomer, was singing.  The ebon furred tauren was content with his ale and judging by the flicking of his tail, he was enjoying himself.  

Niashado tried not to think about all of this as she moved the bow rapidly across the strings of the fiddle.  The instrument, like the food, was yet another spoil from a raid.

She didn’t want to think about the conflict within her.  She just wanted to share the revelry the crew had.  They had just survived and escaped those hunting them.   What was so wrong by celebrating this?  

Inwardly, Niashado understood what was bothering her.   The fiddle was stolen.  The food was stolen.   The goods stored below decks were stolen.  And innocent people had gotten hurt in the process of acquiring these ill gotten goods.  

When the song ended, she put the instrument down and politely excused herself from the galley.   Some of the crew shared how delicious the food was, which she replied with a quiet thanks.  

But it wasn’t until she wasn’t outside, standing at the stern of the ship that she breathed a sigh of relief.  The night air felt so refreshing after being trapped in the mess hall with two dozen crewmen.  

She looked out over the starry sky and wondered what Jaou and her friends were doing.   How is Jaou coping with the demon within?   The draenei thought of what Serafina had said earlier.  About how Niashado must be so at ease with abandoning her family.  

It was hurtful, but mostly because maybe there was some truth to it.  She wasn’t just running from her sense of impotence.  She was running from the changes going on all around her.  

But what was she running towards?   Was this even a walkabout anymore, or was she settling into this life?  Was she becoming like Alton?  Was she becoming satisfied with a life earned by harming others?  

“I have lingered here too long,” she said aloud to the dark ocean bespeckled with reflected starlight.  

“You have,” a low voice rumbled, startling her.  Niashado spun around to see Boomer standing nearby.   How had she not even heard the massive tauren’s hoofsteps on the deck as he approached.  

“I-I need to leave when we reach port,” she blurted, not even sure why she’d reveal such a thing to an officer.  

“Captain Vartigan and First-mate Serafina have no intention of allowing you to leave,” he revealed.  

“What are you talking about?  He promised…”

“They are pirates.  We are pirates.  You made yourself invaluable, especially after what you did today.  The captain knows that losing you will affect the crew.  And, if you can teach me to be a stronger shaman, that makes you all the more valuable,” the tauren explained.  

“The deal is I would be allowed to leave at the first free port we make.  I have done my side of the bargain.  I have paid for my passage for the near month I have been here,” Niashado seethed.  

The tauren shrugged.  

“Why did you tell me this?” she asked.  

“So you can prepare yourself,” he said, leaving Niashado to ponder what was there to prepare for.  


-----------------

Four days later


“Gryphons approaching from the starboard!” the troll at the crow’s nest bellowed.  

Captain Rubis Bloodtide grabbed his scope and peered through it.  Silhouetted in the day sky were a pair of gryphons flying straight towards them.  

“Should I prepare the crew for an attack? Naruz asked.   The orc shook his head.  

“There’s only two.  We’ll keep our guard up, but do not attack unless I give the order.”

“Aye captain,” the Darkspear troll confirmed.  Looking through his scope he looked curious.  “Dey be two draenei.”

The captain grunted but said nothing until the gryphons were within shouting distance.  

“Permission to land!” the male draenei called out from his grphon.  He was wearing gold and silver armor and a hammer could be seen attached to the saddle.  

Captain Bloodtide’s first thought was to deny the pair permission, but that wasn’t the best maritime etiquette.  Giving his crew a calm but appraising glare, he motioned for them to land, which they did midship.  

“My thanks, Captain,” the male draenei announced as he slid off the gryphon.   “My name is Vindicator Boreth.  My associate is Artificer Trellia.   We are searching for a fugitive, another fellow draenei.”

The old orc chuckled slightly.  “There are no draenei on my ship, vindicator.  My name is Captain Rubis Bloodtide.  I’m afraid I cannot spare water or refreshments for you, her and your mounts.  We’re running low on supplies.”

He watched as the draenei paladin seemed to take stock of the damage to his ship and some of the crew who were still wearing slings and bandages.   Vindicator Boreth carried himself in a carefully neutral fashion.  From his mannerisms to how he left his hammer on the saddle seemed to indicate that he was doing everything in his power to appear non-threatening.  

The female, a mage he assumed by the title, wasn't as skilled as he was with keeping his emotions in check, but she seemed content to watch his back.  

“I hadn’t seen any storms while on my searches,” Boreth stated.  

“A pirate ship we were pursuing conjured a storm before we could bring them to justice,” the orc replied.  “Our main mast is gone and what should have been a few days will now be a little more than a week to make port.”  

Boreth nodded, seemed to think it over.  

“With your permission, I can help heal your wounded sailors.  Trellia can conjure some food and water to help make your return voyage less tenuous if you like.”

Captain Bloodtide’s first and more basic reply would have been to refuse any charity from Alliance pukes, but he needed to see to the wellbeing of his crew first and foremost.  

“That would be a very honorable thing.  I thank you,” the orc replied evenly.  

In the hours that proceeded he and Boreth spoke of the ships they’d encountered on their patrols.  Rubis had to admit that the draenei knew how to heal well.  While his niece had tried her best, she was just starting her path as a shaman, while the Vindicator was very seasoned.   HIs golden eyes differed slightly from the few draenei he’d met, but the orc captain seldom interacted with others beyond the races of the Horde.  

Meanwhile, the other draenei, Trellia, had conjured nearly two barrels of water and some basic bread.   While it wasn’t the variety his crew enjoyed, he was impressed with her power with the arcane to summon the quantities.  Despite that, he could see that she’d grown fatigued and was resting by leaning against her flying mount.    

For a moment, the old orc entertained the notion of detaining these two, but he dismissed them.   While he’d lost friends and family to Alliance aggression, these two had shown themselves to be honorable.  

And then, Boreth mentioned the name of one of the ships he’d encountered.

“The Bad Idea?   You saw that ship?” he asked, suddenly very keen on listening to everything intently that the draenei said.  

“I did.  Do you know of it?”

“That’s the ship that caused all this damage,” Captain Bloodtide replied.  “They had a shaman summon that storm.  A draenei and a tauren, I believe.”

“A shaman?” Trellia perked up from her rest.

“My niece is a shaman and she could sense that another shaman was onboard and disrupting her spells.”    

Vindicator Boreth turned to Trellia.  “There was a draenei and a tauren on board.”

“Yes, but I didn’t get the sense that the tauren practiced any magics,” she responded.  

“And the draenei, well, I do not think he practiced magics as well,” Boreth replied, thinking aloud.  

“The draenei was female,” Rubis corrected.  He turned to a troll that was standing near the wheel. “Naruz!  Come over!”

A moment later the lanky troll was among them.  “What joo want, boss?”  

“Was the draenei you saw on the pirate ship female?” Captain Bloodtide asked.  

“She was female, alright.  Hard to miss dem horns,” he added, pointing at Trellia.  “But da draenei on the pirate ship had her horns pointed down.  Not straight like dis one here.”  

Vindicator Boreth and Trellia looked at each other.   “I knew I should have searched that ship,” the draenei paladin seethed.  

“I take it that’s your fugitive?” the orc captain asked.  

“She more than likely is.  I need to find that ship.”

“When you do, can you do us a favor?” the captain asked.   “Destroy them.  When I catch them, it’s to the gallows for the lot of them anyway.”

Vindicator Boreth thought it over and then nodded.  “They obstructed my investigation and harbored a criminal.  They have earned their judgment.”

A gust of desert wind chilled her to the bones as she huddled against the rock outcrop. Her clothing, a loose fitting blouse and light skirt did little to dampen the bite of cold. Looking down, she gasped at how far the moonlit desert floor was below. An avalanche of small stones started pelting her head and she waited until it ended before risking a glance up.

The pinnacle was so close, and yet she wasn’t sure she could make it. The large shadowed figure above was struggling to lift himself the final way up.

Breathing fearfully, she looked for a good handhold. Thankfully, both moons were high in the sky and bathed the rock face with sufficient light. She found a place to grip and with a grunted lifted herself up a little higher. Her hooves barely found purchase and she hugged the face of the rock tightly.

She looked up and saw the shadowy horned figure holding out a strong arm. She reached up and her fingers grazed his before ground her hoof slipped. The hand tried to clamp upon hers, but her fingers slipped through. She screamed and twisted her body as she fell only to watch helplessly as the desert floor surged toward her-

-Niashado bolted upright on her bed with a loud gasp. Her heart thrummed rapidly, fueled by adrenaline despite her mind quickly realizing it was a dream. It was only a dream.

The same dream that had replayed most nights for the last week, but only a dream.

“Niashado!” a voice boomed from outside her door. She swung out of bed, still fueled by the adrenaline, and slid a sweater over her nightgown. Her room was next to the galley where the voice had been calling her.

Upon entering the dining room, she saw Boomer and Serafina standing over an injured sailor. He was laying on one of the dining room tables clutching his arm tightly.

“What happened?” Niashado asked as she rushed to his side. His arm was broken and he was growing pale from the pain. She gently felt his arm from inside the shirt and froze when she felt a sharpness. A compound fracture. He was going into shock.

“He slipped on the yardarm,” Boomer answered. “He hit the deck rath-”

“Please get my medicine bag. It is behind the kitchen counter to the right,” she asked Serafina, interrupting the tauren. The bood elf immediately rushed to the kitchen. Turning to Boomer she said. “We need to remove his shirt, but do not move his arm.”

The tauren nodded, pulling a knife from his belt. Carefully, the two of them tore off the shirt. All the while, the sailor cried out in pain. Serafina brought the bag.

“I need more light, water and rags,” Niashado ordered. She gave the blood elf instructions as to where the water and rags were while Boomer lit the lanterns in the room. Meanwhile, Niashado looked through the medicines in the bag and withdrew several potions which she quickly gave to her patient. “I have given you a painkiller and healing potion, but what I need to do is going to hurt very badly. I am so sorry, but try not to move.”

With a wordless glance at the ebon furred tauren, Boomer immediately moved to hold the patient down. Clenching her jaws tightly, Niashado began trying to set the bone in place.

* * *


It took an hour before she was satisfied that he would recover. He wouldn’t be able to do his normal tasks for weeks, but her patient would eventually recover.

Niashado struggled to scrub the blood that covered her hands.

“I am used to magical healers. Where did you learn that kind of medicine?” Serafina asked, leaning over the counter and watching Niasahdo scrub her hands.

“Draenor. Fleeing to the Exodar,” Niashado said quietly. From the way the blood elf’s posture went from relaxed to stiff, the draenei felt that she didn’t have to add that she’d learned being a medic while fleeing demons, orcs and blood elves.

Bringing up past slights did little to heal the present.

“I learned practical medicine during those times,” Niashado began, still speaking barely above a whisper. “Magical healing, either from an Anchorite or Vindicator, always seemed so painless and fast. But practical medicine is slow and painful. I do not like adding to people’s suffering. I wish I could just make pain go away.”

“We’re all running from something on this boat, Niashado,” Serafina said. Her normal nonchalant demeanor was replaced with an earnest tone that took the draenei by surprise. “But the pain always catches up with us. We just do our best to stay just a little ahead of it. Peter owes you his life and eventually wellbeing. So, for what it's worth, thank you.”

Niashado considered the blood elf’s words for a moment and then nodded. That the sin’dorei thanked her for a skill she learned while fleeing from sin’dorei pursuers wasn’t lost on the draenei. She doubted it wasn’t lost on Serafina either.

“Thank you, Serafina,” Niashado finally said. The blood elf nodded before leaving the galley and Niashado returned to washing her hands.

“Attack!” Alton shouted.

With a gulp, Niashado raised her cutlass up and surged toward her fellow draenei. Her first two strikes were easily parried by the veteran pirate. However, when he switched on offensive, she was able to deflect his strikes. Just barely.

Yet, Alton stopped his attack and gave her an approving smile. “You are doing better.”

“It does not feel like it,” Niashado said with some disappointment. “No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to break past your parries and dodges.”

The draenei laughed and took her sword, placing both blades on a rack at the back of the mid deck of the ship.

“We have not gotten to that part of the lessons yet. These drills are to train you to defend yourself. But to fight offensively is very different,” he remarked. “I want to give you more time to practice on defense before I move to the next step.”

Niashado frowned, but stifled any complaints. She had mixed feelings about learning to fight with a sword, but also knew that she needed to learn, if only to protect herself and others. Learning to fight offsenviles was the next logical direction for her lessons to go, but it was one she was very reluctant to use. Maybe he sensed her trepidation about this and was trying not to push her too hard.

“Tomorrow we will be arriving at Gadgetzan port. Boomer wants you to prepare a supply list for the galley and medicines,” Alton explained. “Trill we help gather the supplies you request.”

Niashado started to say that she intended to disembark at Gadgetzan, but decided against revealing her intentions. If the officers weren’t going to allow her to disembark as it had been promised, then maybe it was better not revealing to the others her desire to leave, in case they too tried to stop her.

“I can prepare a list. Do you know how long it will be before we make port again? I need to know this to know how much supplies to request,” she replied.

“I don’t know. Plan for a month for now. We do not often make port,” he answered. “If you will excuse me, I have some tasks I need to finish.”

Niashado nodded and watched as Alton rushed off to his own duties.

Another month at sea. She’d been on this boat for nearly five weeks and if she didn’t find a way off, Light only knew how much longer until another opportunity presented itself to escape.

She’d been training the young troll boy, Trill, how to run the galley for almost half the time and he was quick to learn. And unlike her, he was excited about this life at sea.

But, she was ready to move on. She wasn’t sure where she’d go next, but what she was looking for was not going to be on this ship or in the life of a pirate.

And she still had an Inquisitor pursuing her. At least on dry land she had more options for escape, but on a boat she felt like she was cornered.

With a sigh, Niashado went below decks and checked on Peter’s bandages. His injury was healing, albeit very slowly. But surely they’ll find a healer in Gadgetzan that could expedite the healing he needed. His pulse and temperature were normal for a human, which meant there were no infections. He complained about pain, but she didn’t have any more painkilling potions. She made a note to add medicines to the resupply list.

She made her way to the galley. Sunbeams were being cast from the opened windows, giving the room a bright golden aura. The dishes and tables were clean. In an hour she’d have to start cooking, but for now the draenei had a little time to herself.

Walking to the wood stove, she poured some of the boiling water into a beer stein filled with coarsely crushed tea leaves. Taking a sip, she returned to the dining room and sat on the floor in a corner.

Niashado took another sip and closed her eyes. She tried to slow her mind from the whirlwinds of concerns. The earlier sounds of swords clashing against swords still echoed in her mind, but with some effort, she managed to quiet them down.

As usual, she thought back to the calming memory of the time Jaou Stormchaser took her to Winterspring to see the Frostsaber cubs. The snow had muffled so much of the sounds that the woods seemed so peaceful, despite the mighty predators that Frostsabers were. Jaou was there, eagerly showing her how to safely approach and observe the cubs.

Even with her eyes closed, Niashado smiled at the memory. How the cubs played under the watchful calm gaze of their mother. How Jaou and her danced around their feelings for each other. How things just seemed so much calmer then.

I have been gone for too long, she mentally lamented, once again wondering how her friends were doing. And wondering, what was she even doing?

In her memory, she turned from the Frostsaber to look back at Jaou, who should have been standing behind her. But instead of the night elf standing on a snow covered trial, there was nothing but red desert and a steep cliff.

Suddenly filled with a sense of vertigo, she slipped, losing her footing and falling down the cliffside. Wildly swinging her arms, she tried to grasp anything that would stop her fall. A dark silhouette of a large tauren reached for her, and their fingers grazed each other, but it was for naught.

She continued to fall.

With a yelp, Niashado shook back to the real world. She was still sitting on the floor. The light through the windows had started to dim.

And on the floor, just in front of her, a small whirlwind abruptly dissipated and drifted out the windows.

Through the miasma of incense and the hypnotic effect of the strobing crystal, she felt herself swaying slightly and unsteady on her hooves.   And yet, despite the nausea, unsettling sensation of not being completely coherent, Niashado could once again clearly not sense the Elements.  

This latest concoction was yet another failure that was forcing Niashado to accept what she'd been avoiding for so long to accept: She couldn't force her way into having a connection with the Elements.  

The respect shamans needed to have for the Elements hadn't changed for her, even if that connection had been torn away.   She couldn't force them.   It was abhorrent and an antithesis to what it meant to be a shaman.  

Yet, she could hear them reaching out to Boomer.  That she could hear them at all was enough to bolster her hope that regaining that connection was possible.  

However, her attempts had failed.  This was probably the fortieth mixture of herbs she'd concocted to induce a connection and it had failed.  And she'd come dangerously close to forming an addiction back in Aszuna.  So close in fact that the Stormchaser family and friends had staged an intervention.  

Since then, she'd been careful not reveal that she was continuing these experiments.  But she was far more careful which herbs she used and the intensity.  
The hypnotic crystal that the Inquisitor had used on her had also induced some strange visions.  They were so lucid she was wondering if some of them were more.  
Visions or not, they were not the connection she was looking for.

"There must be a way to reconnect," she muttered aloud to the darkened room.    

"Funny, how we have that in common," someone said from a darkened corner of the galley, causing her to jump.  Most of the crew should be asleep by now or helping prepare the ship for arrival to Gadgetzan port in a few hours.  

Niashado stood up, unsteadily at first and turned to the corner where the voice had come from.   A pair of glowing green eyes stared back.  Then, the figure stood up and stepped into the light from the only candle in the room.   The unsteady flashing of the crystal revealed more details.  

Her face was almost like that Niashado saw when she looked in the mirror. Except for the crimson skin and glowing green eyes.  

"It doesn't matter what universe we come from, us Niashados are obsessive.  I am glad to see that we at least share that trait," the eredar version of herself said.  

"H-how did you get here?" Niashado stuttered.  The last time she'd seen the Sargerei Niashado, it'd been just before she escaped Hraxxas's mansion on Argus.  

"I do not know," the Sargerei replied.  She looked down at her hand and smiled.  "But I got what I wanted.  To shed the shame of being a powerless exile and to be returned to what I was always meant to be, a powerful, soon-to-be respected eredar."

Niashado remained quiet, staring at the dark version of herself as she walked around the dining hall and studied the room.  

"I was told you killed Hraxxas," Niashado finally said.  

"I had.  He betrayed me.  And then I tried to join the Nathrezim, Gazheel, but he too betrayed me.  He pawned me off to some battlemistress.  I think her name was Calenthys. There are just so many," the eredar explained. "Demons and betrayals I mean.  Anyway, Calenthys helped me find what I wanted, to be an eredar.  I accepted the gift of my heritage  My true heritage."

"You became one of... them," Niashado finished, sounding disgusted.  

"Eredar.  You can say it.  It is what we were meant to be," the demon stated proudly.  "Of course, then I was put on trial for Hraxxas's murder and I was cast about the Twisting Nether, waiting for a moment when I can be reincorporated.  It is annoying, but Hraxxas was respected and I was impulsive.  Being in the Twisting Nether is like being aware but without the power to do anything.  Like a coma while you are still conscious."

Niashado crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the dark reflection pacing around the room.  Now that she was studying her closely, she noticed that she could almost see through the apparition.    

"Why are you here?  With me?  Now?"  The specter issued a sharp fake laugh.

"You know what?  I do not know.  I assume maybe whatever you are trying to do and the fact that we are the same can make such a brief connection possible. Being unincorporated in the Twisting Nether is strange like that.   You never know where the arcane cosmic currents will take one's essence."  

"We are not the same," Niashado hissed.  "You have made yourself a demon.  Your hatred for even your own kind on your Draenor was a thorn to your people.  You are a traitor!"

"Oh please. Do not be so sanctimonious.  If the cards fate dealt us were reversed this same conversation would still be happening," eredar Niashado replied.  "It is easy to be a saint in paradise."  

"I am not a saint, nor is this paradise."

The dark version of herself sneered angrily. "What would you know of my life?  You clearly did not watch your village burn to the ground because of an orc war party.  You were not held down as they... they did things to you.  You were not left for dead, only to wake surrounded by ash and impaled bodies of the people you grew up with.  I was powerless and I swore... I swore to the Light, to my ancestors, to the Legion, that I would never be the victim again.   The Light was silent.  The Legion was not."

Niashado's ire evaporated at this telling. The revulsion she'd felt for the choices this version had made, made sense, even if she couldn't ever see herself choosing to join the Burning Legion.

"Do not look at me with pity," the eredar snapped, interrupting Niashado before she could say anything.  "You had it easy and I do not hate for that.  I hate you because you have a faith in the Light that betrayed me.  Because even now, powerless, you keep having this faith.  You do not even question it."

Niashado looked away and sighed.  

"I question my faith all the time.  I have doubts.  I stumble. I curse. I have a Lightforged Inquisitor pursuing me because he thinks I am on the verge of becoming you.  Everyone, myself included, questions my strength, doubts my integrity and my commitment.  I have been blinded, scarred, ignored even by the Elements that I try to help.  And all my doubts have been proven true at times."

The two Niashado stared silently at each other in silence, considering what had been said.  

"So why?" the eredar asked quietly.  The draenei looked at the floor, glancing at the flashing crystal and the spent incense.  

"Because you are right," Niashado replied, beaming a weak smile at her opposite.  "We are the same.  We are relentless, obsessive about seeing the world the way we believe it should be.  We try to live the life we wish others would.  And together we have been burned when reality strikes.  But still, we keep trying.   The only difference between us is what that belief is."

"There is no Light without Shadow," the eredar whispered.  

"Nor Shadow without Light," Niashado countered.  "The struggle for balance is the most natural thing in the universes."

"I feel my connection to this plane fading.  I suppose it is back to the Twisting Nether for me," the demon said, sounding oddly accepting of her situation.  

"I cannot believe I am going to say this, but I hope you find what you are looking for in the Burning Legion," Niashado said.  "And if not, there are always other options."

"A draenei wishing an eredar well.  How odd."

"Our existence is complicated.  Those who believe it should be nice and simple are perpetuating a deluded fiction," Niashado explained.  She noticed how much more faded the eredar was becoming.  

"Well said, draenei," her dark twin said. She appeared confused for a moment before chuckling darkly.  "I wish for you the same... sister."

Before Niashado could speak, the apparition abruptly disappeared.  

"Sister," she mumbled under her breath.   She mulled it over for a little while and then smiled.  This would be fine.  

Niashado quickly picked up the crystal and closed it in its small box, shielding the headache inducing flashing from the eyes.   She cleaned up the remnants of the incense producing herbs and noticed how the sky was beginning to turn gray through the windows.

Wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow, Niashado replaced the bandana over her forehead and pulled a binded book of parchment from a cabinet.  Despite all the windows being open, with the ship docked there was no breeze to clear out hot stuffy air.

Activity from the docks at Gadgetzan could be heard through the open windows as Niashado showed Trill to the various cabinets and drawers.  At each stop she highlighted what food products were usually stored there and where to find it in town.   The young troll lad nodded his head enthusiastically at each explanation.  At times Niashado wasn’t sure if he was fully paying attention.  Like a school teacher, she asked him to repeat what she’d just explained, and each time he did so without error.

Although she was ready to continue her journey, she wanted to make sure the crew of the Bad Idea were prepared with good food.   While she didn’t care to continue her life as a pirate, a term for herself she’d finally come to accept during this voyage, she did care for the crew.  They had provided her with a home and had protected her from the Inquisitors.  

But this wasn’t a direction she wanted to take her life.

“I have transcribed the recipes as best as I could to this book.   I know it is mostly in Common, but there should be some in the crew who can translate it,” she explained.

“I be learnen to read the Common,” Trill said as he reverently leafed through the pages.  “I don’t know if I will be as good you cooking.”   Niashado chuckled.

“My mate is a far better cook than I am.  He taught me much of what is in this book,” Niashado explained.  “There is no better teacher than experience, though.  You have been helping me cook for the last month.  I do not think there is anything else I can teach you.”  

She was about to say more but the door to the galley opened, and Captain Vartigan, Serafina  and Boomer entered.  

“Niashado!  Do you have your new replacement ready to take over?” the Serafina asked.  

“I believe he is more than ready,” Niashado replied, giving Trill a confident smirk, which he mirrored.  “I was explaining where in the markets he can find the supplies needed.”

“Perfect,” Serafina added.  She tossed a coin purse to Trill.  “Don’t let the merchants, or anyone else for the matter, see how much you have.  Now go.   We need to talk to Niashado before she goes.”

“Yes ma’am,” Trill said as he scampered off.  Once he was gone, the four regarded each other for a moment.

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay?” Captain Vartigan.   “The crew have taken well to you.  We all have.”

“Thank you.  I have, for the most part, enjoyed this experience.  But, I am ready to move on,” Niashado said.   And it was the truth.  Except for the actual ‘piracy’ part, the experience had been remarkable.  

“I have people looking for me, and I fear for you and the crew if they find me on this ship,” she added.  “I do not want anyone to get hurt because of me,” she added.

“You know we protect our own,” Serafina countered.

“I know that, but these people are powerful.   For the same reason you avoid the navies, we need to avoid these Inquisitors.”

The captain nodded.   He extended his hand and presented her with a coin purse.   Niashado looked at it, but didn’t accept it readily.

“Our arrangement was simply for safe passage,” she said, repeating the agreement they’d made when she’d been found as a stowaway on this ship.

“Agreements change.  You are a part of this crew; you receive a part of the earnings.  You earned this,” the Captain stated.  He put the coin purse in her hand.

“Besides, being in Gadgetzan penniless is dangerous,” Serafina added.  Behind her, Boomer nodded.  “But if you ever see us at port, don’t be a stranger.  

“I…   Thank you,” Niashado finally said.  They offered a final goodbye and left, except for Boomer.   The towering ebon furred tauren seemed to stare down at her for a long time.  

“Boomer?” she finally asked after the silence grew too uncomfortable.

“I don’t know why am I suggesting this,” the tauren began, speaking slowly and with an uncertainty she’d never gotten from him.   “Have you ever been to Thousand Needles?”

Niashado shook her head.  She’d heard of it and seen illustrations of the massively towering pillars of granite in the wide canyon.   Because the territory was mostly Horde controlled, she never expected she’d be able to see the site.  Besides, from what she’d read, the canyon was flooded during the Cataclysm.  

“I imagine you hadn’t had the chance.  It used to be a very beautiful place, before it was ravaged by Deathwing,” Boomer explained.  “Now, it’s completely flooded.   But there are still some camps and settlements atop the spires.  There’s one I think you should go to.”

Niashado raised an eyebrow.  “Why do you believe I should go there?” she asked, sounding perplexed.  

“Since you helped me reach out to the spirits to stop the Horde ship, I have been having dreams almost every night of this spire.  I have only been there once.   It is a sacred place among shamans of my kind.  A place for meditation.”

“But, why me?” she asked.  “Perhaps they are asking you to go.  Perhaps this is a place where you are meant to grow closer to the Elements.”

“I can never return there,” Boomer said after a pause.  The tauren’s broad shoulders sagged.  “The spire is in a tribal territory that doesn’t welcome those from the Grimtotem Tribe.”

“But you have been there before, many years ago,” Niashado asked, suddenly recollecting her own repeated dreams.  “You did not go there alone, though.”  

Boomer’s eyes grew narrow, and he growled.   “What are you talking about?”

“You climbed up the spire with someone else.  They slipped and you reached out, but…” Niashado stopped recounting, knowing if the visions she’d been having were truly about Boomer, it wasn’t a pleasant memory.

And from the way the massive tauren glowered at her, she suspected the vision was about him.

“How?” he demanded.

“I have been having dreams about climbing a spire.  Around me were many other spires.  Each time I almost reach the top, I slip, and I see the silhouette of a tauren reaching out to me, but our hands miss each time,” Niashado described, speaking very softly.  “I have been having this dream almost every night as well.  Who was it?”

Boomer snorted, turned away and walked toward one of the opened windows.  

“My sister,” he finally said.  “We were both young and were on the path to becoming shamans as our father was.  We wanted to visit one of the sacred sites held by the other tribes.  We were told not to go by our parents as Grimtotem were forbidden from enter this tribe’s land.  But we were young and thought we could do it.

“There were guards at the trailhead, so we thought to outsmart them by climbing the spire the hard way.   We were almost to the top when part of the wall face she was holding crumbled.  I was not fast enough to reach her.”  

He turned to her and sighed.  “I swore off the spirits that day and never looked back until the day you helped me repel the Horde ship.   And then the dreams of that spire returned.”

The two stood in the sweltering galley absorbing the story he’d just told her.  

“I apologize for bringing up such a painful memory for you,” she finally said.

Boomer sighed again as he looked out the window.   “It does not matter,” he stated matter-of-factly.  “You learning of my failure to protect my sister does not change anything.”

“What happened was an accident,” Niashado said, trying to lessen the self-incrimination in Boomer’s voice.

“Do you have siblings?” he asked.   Niashado shook her head.  “Then you wouldn’t understand the weight that an older sibling has to take care of the younger ones.  I should have never allowed her to join me going to the spire.”  

He looked out the window a little longer before shaking his head.   He approached the table between them and pulled a rolled parchment from his belt.  

“It’s been many years since I have been there, but I tried to draw up a map pointing to the spire.   Go there, bring a flower.  I don’t know what kind, but I see it in my dreams.  Put one petal in the fire and give the remaining to the winds.”  

“A flower?” she asked.

“A lotus.  I see it in my dreams.  It will be needed I think for whatever you are meant to do,” he explained.  He studied her, as if expecting her to elaborate on the flower which she didn’t.

“This is Horde territory, Boomer.  And you described the tribe as being very territorial about this spire.  How am I supposed to get there?” Niashado asked, completely lost as to the new direction her walkabout was about to go.  

“Some goblins and gnomes have built a large boat that circles a large lake called the Shimmering Deep, just south of the Needles.  There’s a convoy that routinely departs from Gadgetzan to the lake.   Get there that way.  From there, it’s up to you.”

“Join me.” Niashado offered, looking at the map and then to the ebon furred tauren.   He shook his head.  

“I cannot, and will not, return there.  My place is with my family on this ship,” he said.  “Your place is out there.”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked with an uncomfortable chortle.  

“Since the day I caught you as a stowaway,” he said, adding his own chuckle.  He extended his hand and held out the totems she’d given him after the attack.  

The draenei looked at them with momentary longing.  It was tempting to take them back.  They’d been hers since she’d arrived in Azeroth.  They’d been a lifeline through hapless adventure after adventure.   But the elemental connection that the totems provided were more attuned to Boomer than her now.  

“They are yours, as is your relationship with the Elements.  Despite the tragedy that befell you and your sister, the connection to the Elements is still there.   They need you, and you them,” Niashado finally said.   “Take time to listen to them, and when you need them, they will hear you.”  

The tauren sighed, but he eventually nodded.   She held out the sword they’d given her and this time it was his turn to chuckle.  

“Keep it.  We have lots of swords and you may need it,” he said.  He held out his hand and she took it.   “Safe journeys, Niashado.”  

“And to you and the crew as well, Boomer,” she said with a smile, before sliding her backpack over her shoulders.

Together they stepped out to the deck, and he showed her to the gangway.    Once on the docks, Niashado looked back and studied The Bad Idea.  It was the first time she’d seen the ship from beyond its confines in months.  

The ship was sleek and well ornate, as most sin’dorei ships tended to be.  It looked harmless, but she knew well the cannons that were hidden in redoubts around the outer hull.  

“I survived this adventure,” she said quietly.  And then it really sunk in that she’d survived this adventure without the ability to call upon the Elements and her eyes widened.  For a moment she felt panic surge through her nerves, but with some deep breathes she calmed down.

She’d survived this by herself.  Not as a shaman.   Not as someone just accompanying her friends on their adventure.  But truly, she’d done this completely by herself.  

“You thought you could leave without saying farewell to me?” someone called out nearby.  She turned to see Alton walking down the gangway to the dock.  

“I thought you would be happy to see me gone,” Niashado replied with a smirk. “As I recall, you were not happy with me being on this boat to begin with.”  

“You never belonged with us,” the fellow draenei said.  “But you will be missed.  Even by me.”  

Niashado smiled, blushed slightly and looked away for a moment.  “It has been a learning experience.   But this has reminded me that I have my own family to return to.  I should not have abandoned them.”

“As someone who abandoned our people’s way of life, sometimes you need to step back,” Alton explained.  “Only from the outside looking in can we learn what we find truly necessary.”  

“I can see that,” she said after a moment of mulling it over.   Then Alton handed her a small dagger.

“I-I already have a sword,” Niashado said, gesturing to the sword hanging from her belt.  It was difficult to ignore it with the scabbard constantly tapping her leg through the skirt.    

“On the best of days, a sword is so people think you’re not to be trifled with.  It’s what people see.  A dagger you keep hidden until you need it,” he explained.

“You know a sword, much less a dagger, will not stop what is hunting me.”

“No.  It will hopefully help protect you from everything but that,” he said with a chuckle.  He gave her the dagger.   “Safe journeys, Niashado.”  

“And to you, Alton,” she said with a polite bow before turning and weaving her way from the port area to towards the center of Gadgetzan.  

Like Ratchet, Gadgetzan was a neutral port rife with denizens of all kinds.  And like Ratchet, goblin machinery belched smoke and flames into the already blistering hot desert sky.  

Niashado raised a wide brimmed hood over her head to protect her head from the desert heat as much for privacy.  

The dreams she, and apparently Boomer, had been having were pointing her towards Thousand Needles.   Her walkabout had somehow led her so close that it could be no coincidence that it was now her destination.  

This was the first time since she’d left Azsuna that she even had a destination.

As Niashado crossed the threshold into the cantina she pulled the hood of her cloak from her head.   Despite having tried to shield her eyes from the blinding light of the Tanaris sun, it still took a few minutes for her to adjust to the darkness of the tavern.   Like most buildings in Gadgetzan, the construction was thick clay in a dome fashion that helped keep the heat of the desert out and cool air inside.  

“If you ain’t buying anything, get out,” a goblin at the counter barked, hardly glancing her way while he cleaned a glass.  The draenei walked to the counter.  

“I would like a glass of chilled moonberry juice, please,” Niashado requested while sitting at one of the larger stools in front of the counter.   She hadn’t had any moonberry juice since leaving Azsuna and the thought of the typical night elf juice instantly made her think of Jaou.  

“We don’t have that,” the bartender snapped.  

“How about ginger wine?” she asked.   The goblin finally turned and regarded her with a brief roll of his eyes.  

“Look it here, we gots gros, slogs, ales, stouts and punch,” he said, rattling off a very generalized list of which none sounded satisfying.  

“How about just some water?” she asked, disappointed at not being able to get something more familiar.  

“There’s a trough outside if you want water,” he snapped.

Niashado sighed.  “Well what do you recommend?”

He grabbed a clay mug, put it under a weird contraption and poured a nearly black drink that fizzled strangely.  He slammed the mug in front of her.   “Thirty silver.”

“Thirty silver for this?” Niashado nearly gasped.  “What even is this?”

“A delicacy from Kezan before it was destroyed.  Kaja’Cola.  Soon to be gone.”  

“Thirty silver is a lot for a single cup,” she retorted.  

“Ain’t no more of this being made, lady,” the bartender growled.

Issuing another sigh, Niashado pulled out the cash, being careful to keep the bartender or anyone else from seeing how much she really had.   She reluctantly handed the coins to the goblin while mentally scolding herself for being bullied into spending so much for so little.  

Taking the cup, the draenei took a tentative sniff and wrinkled at it.  As if it were champagne, tiny bubbles were streaming through the liquid to the top.  

Niashado took a very tentative sip and was pleasantly surprised by how cold and sweet the drink was.  The bubbles tickled her tongue and the drink burned her throat slightly.  

“This is… better than I expected,” she finally declared, taking another careful sip.  

“It better be.  The barrels I have are all that’s left of my supply.”  

Niashado took a few more sips, feeling the bubbles popping on her tongue and trying to process the new experience.   Then she looked back at the goblin.

“What is the best way to reach the Shimmering Deep?” the draenei asked.  

“Why would you want to go there?” he asked, making sure to draw out the ‘you’ in his sentence.  

“I suppose curiosity,” Niashado lied.  “I am  just exploring.”

The goblin issued a scoff.  “Well, pretty much the only thing you’ll see at the Deep is that boondoggle of a boat that’s stuck in the middle of the lake.   There are ferries that can take you to it, but from what I hear that thing is barely operational.   It could explode at any moment.  But beyond the lake is all Horde territory.   You’re the wrong shade of blue if you want to travel through there.”

Niashado chuckled.  “I suppose I will have to be content with seeing Thousand Needles from a distance on the boat.”

“Fine.  Fine.   Near the aviary, there’s a stand with a goblin named Zenek.  He leads a caravan that travels north to the Deep.  I believe he departs today.  His next caravan will be in a few days.   Pay up with him and you can join his caravan.  It’s the safest way there.”  

“The safest?” Niashado questioned.  

“Yeah.   You know, sand trolls, critters, raiders.   This isn’t a safe place, draenei.”    

“Good point.  Thank you for the opportunity to try this strange drink from your homeland.  And for the advice,” she added, giving him another silver.”  



* * *


Captain Vartigan slumped back on the plush velvet couch of his stateroom and sipped on a glass of Thalassian wine.  The bottle was definitely of a vintage before the Third War.  

“How many of the crew do you think will return from shore leave?” Serafina asked, as she sauntered over to the couch with her own glass.   “We need to make sure Trill got enough supplies if he’s going to be a new cook.   And we may need to resup-”

With a sigh, Vartigan grabbed Serafina and pulled her in for a deep kiss, successfully interrupting her business talk.  

“We’ll be at port for another day and a half.  No need to ruin the night with ship talk,” he said, beamer a smirk at her.  She smiled back, slightly.   While Vartigan inherited the ship and was technically the captain, he had no stomach for the minutiae of running it.  Serafina was captain in every sense but the title.  She never had any desire to be called that.  

“One day you’ll have to take this responsibility seriously,” his fellow sin’dorei replied.  She brushed her hair back and leaned against him on the couch.  

“Why would I need to when-”   The door to his stateroom exploded inward, pelting the two blood elves with shattered wood.   The elves stood up abruptly; Serafina grabbed a weapon as two heavy footsteps were heard entering the room.   The bright desert light from just beyond the door silhouetted the two figures, but Vartigan could still recognize the intruder’s shape.  

“Captain, get out!” Serafina yelled while pointing a pistol at the figures.   The blood elf was blown back by a flash of purple light.   She struck the wall with a sickening impact and fell to the floor unmoving.   The larger shadowed figure approached the frozen captain and lifted a massive war hammer.  

“You and your crew provided sanctuary for my quarry,” Vindicator Boreth said in a booming voice.  “I will give you this one last chance to make amends.  Where is Niashado?”  

“She- she left the ship this morning.  She’s somewhere in Gadgetzan,” Vartigan stuttered.  He glanced at Serafina’s unmoving body and then back at the armored draenei Vindicator.   “I-I don’t know where in town she could be.”

The draenei vindicator glanced at his partner.  “Trellia.”  

“By your command, Inquisitor,” she said, leaving the room.  A moment later he started to smell the acrid scent of smoke.  “What are you doing?”  

“Purifying,” Vindicator Boreth said as he lifted his hammer.


* * *


Five gold pieces later Niashado and the rest of the caravan began their journey north over the mountain that separated Tanaris from the Shimmering Lake and Thousand Needles.   Most of the folks in the caravan were of the Horde races, but there were a few humans and gnomes in the mix.  

She had purchased a few extra skins of water and some dried and salted food for the journey.  Her sheathed sword annoyingly tapped her right leg as she trekked, but otherwise the heat was so far manageable.    

Zenek, the caravan leader, started the journey later in the day and the plan was to camp on the trail and arrive at the lake by noon the next day.   That way they could avoid the worst of the heat.  

“That’s a serious fire,” she heard a nearby orc announce.  The caravan stopped and turned back.   Looking down low, they could see the distant shape of Gadgetzan.  Thick black smoke issued from the harbor.  From this distance it was impossible to tell where the smoke was issuing from.   It could have come from one of the warehouses or a ship.  

She silently prayed the people fighting the fire would be safe, but an unease formed in the pit of her stomach.

The walk up the slope was long and strenuous.   While not as steep as it could have been, the constant incline took a toll on the travelers and the few beasts that were carrying supplies.   The sun had set  and twilight was beginning to give way to full darkness when Zenek abruptly whistled and called for the halt.  

“We make camp here!” the goblin caravan master announced.  We’ll leave just before dawn and we should make it to the docks at the Shimmering Deep before noon.”

“Why can’t we continue a little further to the peak?” a human complained nearby.  

“Because this is the desert and it gets cold at night,” Zenek confidently responded.  “If we camp at the peak we’ll be at the mercy of heavy winds.  The slope will shield us.   This is where we usually make camp and there are some fire pits nearby.  Let’s get some fires going and my people will set up some chow!”  

Niashado found that she couldn’t argue with his explanation.  He had wisdom born of experience on this trail and his confidence showed.  

Setting her backpack to the side, she gathered some kindling from the caravan cart and helped prepare one of the firepits.   Soon, three fires were going.   Dinner was being prepared.  

With nothing to do, Niashado walked a little away from the campsite and laid her mat down.  She rested on the ground and stared up at the infinite blackness of the sky above.  With the desert air so dry, the stars appeared sharper and brighter than they did in many other areas.  The moons weren’t set to rise until after midnight.

It’d been so long since she’d just stopped and looked at the starlit sky.  She’d been so busy with her duties on The Bad Idea, she’d never taken the time to.    

“Ishnu-alah,” a young gruff voice suddenly next to her greeted.   She turned to see a young tauren boy looking down at her.  

“Ishnu-alah to you, young one,” Niashado replied, speaking the Darnassian greeting and finishing the sentence in orcish.  She noticed his tail freeze, indicating his surprise at her use.  

“You speak orcish?” he asked, switching to orcish himself.  

“I learned it as a child.  My family traded with the orcs of Nagrand,” she continued in orcish.  “Your elf speak is very good.”

The tauren child sat down next to her and sighed.  “I want to learn to hunt like my friends, but my father insists that I learn languages.”  

“My father made me learn the same,” Niashado said with a smile. “She leaned back and pointed to the stars.  “<Kal.>   It means stars in Darnassian.”

The tauren boy laid on the ground near her and glanced at the sky.  

“How many languages can you speak?” the boy asked after a few short moments of silence.

“Let me see.  I can speak Draenei of course.   There’s Orcish, Common and Darnassian.   I learned some Taur-ahe when I worked with the Earthen Ring.  I know some phrases of Zandali.”   She gave the young tauren a sideways glance and added in a quiet voice.  “And I know some of the dark language of Eredun.”

The child’s eyes grew wide.  “You know demonspeak?”  

“Only a little,” she said with a chuckle at his childlike shock.  “And what languages are you learning?”

“Well, there’s my language and Orcish.  I know Common pretty good.  I’m learning night elf and blood elf, but their words are very… long.  Some Zanzil,” he ratted off.  

“That is impressive,” Niashado commended.  “I know you wish to learn to hunt, but languages are very important.  Conflict almost always starts and ends with words.  Knowing languages will enable you to help so many.   And it gives you insight into the cultures of others..”

“That’s what my father says,” he said with the resigned tone that kids have when someone else confirms what their parents had been telling them.  “My name is Niko.  What is yours?”

“Niashado,” she replied.  “Ishnu-dal-dieb, Niko.”

“Just Niashado?  Don’t you have a family name?  My family name is Sharpwatcher.”

“Draenei do not have family names,” she replied.  

“How do you know your family and ancestors?” he asked.   The draenei wasn’t sure how to respond to that for a moment.  She’d never given it much thought.  

“I-I suppose they are remembered by the memories we share and what they have imparted upon us.  My father was a practiced herbalist.   My mother was a midwife and an alchemist.  Because of what they taught me, I also practice herbalism and to some degree medicine.”

“But, what about your family name and the deeds of your parents?  Like, I am Niko Sharpwatcher, son of Sani Sharpwatcher.  We have known the names of our family for almost 200 years.”

“That is impressive!” Niashado said.  “I suppose my people see our history in perhaps a broader way.”   She’d never given it any thought, but Niashado suddenly came to realize she didn’t know who her grandparents were.  Did her parents have siblings.  SHe was sure they did and had a vauge recollection of familial meetings when she was younger.   But it just wasn’t a thing with her family or her people.  

“I have friends who are night elves and they have a deep connection with their family and their history.   My people, though, seem to remember things more loosely.   We impart knowledge and wisdom for a whole, but there is not much emphasis on family history.”

“Niko,” a large tauren grumbled as he approached them.  “What have I told you about bothering other people?”

“I am sorry, father,” the younger calf said, looking up at him.

“He was not a bother,” Niashado said.  “We were just sharing the different languages we know.”  

Sani, she assumed as he had Niko had called him earlier, snorted and looked around as if trying to find what to say.

“She knows three languages, father!” Niko continued excitedly.  

“And Niko speaks very good Common for one of his age,” the draenei complemented.   She watched as Sani became less tense and after a moment he sat down.  

“He’s a good student, even though he does not find it exciting,” the father said, scratching the back of Niko’s head.  

“At his age excitement is craved,” Niashado replied, leaning her head against her backpack and looking up at the pitch black sky with twinkling gems of stars.    

“What brings you out here?” Sani asked.   Behind him, little Niko suddenly turned towards her, apparently also curious what she’d say.  

“I-I do not know,” she finally replied after an awkward silence.  

“A traveler without a destination,” Sani grumbled.   Niashado expected him to ask her to elaborate but he didn’t press any further.   Instead, he looked around the camp and then to her.  

“It seems the humans and other Alliance folks have set up camp around their fire.   We have room at ours if you do not mind the company.”

Looking around, Niashado realized the camp had been divided into three campfires.  One was for the goblins who were leading the convoy.  The others had divided among Alliance and Horde lines.   She sighed at the utter predictability of it.  

The Alliance camp was very tightly packed, whereas there was still room among the orcs, taurens and trolls.  

“If it does not bother the others, I would be happy for a space near your fire,” she said, tightening her cloak around her body.  The desert chill was starting to deepen.  

Of course, Niko was excited to have someone else to talk to.  


* * *


The night was spent with her listening to stories from Sani and the others at the camp.  Laughter surrounded the campfire as the stories shared were humorous in nature.   Maybe because there was a young child among them the others had elected to share more light-hearted stories.   Niashado could appreciate that and Niko’s laughter added to the merriment.   The only outlier was a troll druid who told (what she hoped was an embellished) spooky campfire story.  

Niko pressed closer to Sani as he became fully engaged into the story and though it ended ominously, hearing the other adults clap and give their approval for the story did relax the young child.  

She thought of the campfires and the camaraderie she missed having with her friends. She missed them.

It started as one scream, piercing the wind scarred landscape of the dirty brown desert.   Soon, other wails joined in a symphony of agony and despair.  

Niashado cried out, piercing the flap of the tent only to find herself surrounded by bodies sprawled all around.   Blood poured from their eyes, noses, mouths and ears.  Most were holding their heads tightly.   Rigor mortis hadn’t set in despite the bodies having appeared to have aged years in moments.

She recognized one of them as a troll shaman who’d been stationed at an Earthen Ring research camp in Silithus.  Rem’nef.   He and his wife had been healers at the camp.   His tusks, which were normally painted white, were stained red with the blood pouring from the edges of his lips.  

She turned as saw a dwarf stalking towards her.   She knew him, also from the camp.   In fact, all of the wailing figures she knew from the camp.   He was also clasping his heads and then abruptly stopped wailing and fell on his face.  

So many had died and most while she was the leader.   Some died in the first attack by the Twilight Cultists.  Others died when she led them into battle against the cultists.  

“Sssssso many dead because of you.   Your hubrissss.   Your… insistence,” a dark cloaked figure sneered as she weaved between the bodies.  “All you had to do was leave Silithusssss.”

Anger quickly replaced horror and Niashado balled her hands into fists.   “You had to be stopped,” Niashado hissed.  

The hooded figure pulled the hood from her head, revealing the face of a horribly scarred orc.   Before the draenei’s eyes the orcess’s skin turned black and scaly.  Her form grew in size and wings sprouted from her back.  Her face became more draconic, while still keeping the scars that marred the left side of her face.   Moments later, the shape shifting ended, revealing a black dragon glaring down upon Niashado.  

“How many died, ‘leader?” the dragon, Seyanoxia growled as she reared on her hind legs and barred her massive teeth.  “How many died to ssssstop us.”

“Forty four,” Niashado said in a dead voice.  “Forty one were my fellow shamans.  Three were mercenaries and others who came to our defense.  The first forteen you killed without provocation or warning.”

“Little mouse, who are you to tell me how I should dispose of pests?”  

“We stopped you.   We killed you and stopped your plans,” Niashado replied through gritted teeth.  “Our dead have peace knowing you will not repeat your vile hostilities again.  Our shamans died knowing your plans to harm Azeroth were stopped.”

The dragon issued a guffaw and paced around the draenei.  

“You are nothing but a vision,” Niashado continued, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.  “Shadows of memories past.”

“Your sinssssssss laid bare,” Seyanoxia corrected.  Niashado opened her eyes to see that the dragon’s snout was almost touching her face.   “You failed, little blue mousssssse.”

“You are dead.  Your plans are dust.  The cultist who followed you are gone; most by your own doing.  Who are you to judge me?  I remember the names and the faces of all those who died.” Niashado replied.  

“I know you do,” Seyanoxia growled.  She held up her right foreleg and opened the claws.  On her massive scaley palm sat a frightened Yevana, the troll teenager who’d helped them so much at the camp.  “You promised some that they’d return home safely.”

“Do not do this,” Niashado whispered quietly, her earlier bravado evaporating.   “Not again.”

“Niashado?  What gonna happen to me?” Yevana asked fearfully as the dragon’s massive and sharp claws closed in on the troll.  

“Quiet!” Seyanoxia snapped at the young troll shaman, before crushing her in her claws.   Niashado closed her eyes and looked away, but was unable to block the girl’s scream before she fell abruptly quiet.   “Another broken promisssssse,” the ebon scaled dragon jested.  

“This is just a vision based on a memory,” Niashado whispered, trying to keep herself grounded in reality.  “It has already happened.”  

Another scream echoed through the desert night.  

“You’re about to lose another child,” Seyanoxia chuckled.  “Failure repeated.”  

The scream repeated and…



… and Niashado abruptly sat upright on her sleeping mat.   The stars still flickered in the dark Tanaris night.   The white moon had already set and the smaller blue moon was high in the sky casting a blue tint to the dark desert surface.   The weakening campfire indicated that they’d been asleep for some time already.  

“Niko!” a voice called out.  

Others around the campfire were stirring and some were looking around.   Sani was racing around and calling into the moonlit desert.  

“What is happening?” she asked of a nearby troll who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  

“Niko is gone.  Sani is panicking,” the troll replied.  

Niashado stood up, putting on a thin coat to ward off the desert’s nightly chill.   The troll next to her suddenly shifted into a green furred tiger and began sniffing around the child’s sleeping bag.   She didn’t know he was a practicing druid.  She stepped away to give him some space and stared off into the desert landscape.    

Thanks to the moon’s dim glow they could see for some distance, but she couldn’t see any motion.   Sani’s cry’s for Niko echoed in the distance.  

“Maybe one of the Alliance people took him,” she heard a nearby orc whisper to someone else.  

“Why would they?” Niashado snapped quietly.  She felt a little defensive, but also annoyed that in this situation petty, old enmities would be brought up.  

Before the orc could reply the troll druid shape shifted from his normal form.   “Ain’t no Ally that caused this,” he announced.  Sani and several of the others soon grouped up around him.   One was an older tauren hunter who immediately brought a lit torch and studied the ground around Sani’s sleeping bag.  

“Sand trolls,” he said matter-of-factly to the druid, who nodded in confirmation.   “They must have snuck into the camp.”

“What’s all this racket?” Zenek asked, approaching their campfire area.   Niko surged toward the goblin grabbing him by his neck and slamming him to the ground.  

“My son was taken!   You said your porters would guard the camp?   Where are the guards?” Sani bellowed while squeezing the goblin’s neck.  

Niashado and the troll druid immediately tried to push the tauren off the caravan leader to no avail.  

“This is not going to help us find him,” Niashado whispered to him.   The tauren growled before releasing Zenek.  

“Sand trolls came into our camp and took Sani,” the older tauren hunter calmly reported.  “We have to get him back.”

Coughling, Zenek stood up and rubbed his bruising neck.   It took him a few tries to finally speak.   “L-look.  I’m sorry about your kid.  But I can’t lead my porters against the sand trolls.   Otherwise, they’d relentlessly attack my caravans.”

“They JUST ATTACKED your caravan!” Sani roared, forcing a few others to suddenly help hold him back.    

“We need to rescue him,” the hunter asked.  

“I-I can’t help you.   I need to get everyone to the barge before it departs.  If you go after the kid, you do it alone,” Zenek replied.

Sani growled even louder but a calm glare from the hunter forced him to quiet down.  

“Where is the nearest sand troll village?” the hunter asked.  

“It’s south of here, still hugging the mountain.  There’s a bunch of crevices where they build their villages,” Zennek replied.  “Look, I-I can’t help.”  

The hunter growled quietly, which Niashado found to be even more frightening than Sani's violent outbursts.  

“You all signed a waiver that releases me from responsibility if something like this happens,” Zennek continued groveling as he dredged up excuses.  “But… but if you make it to the shores of Shimmering Deep I’ll refund all of you.”  

The hunter growled but jerked his head, advising the goblin to make himself scarce, which he did without delay.  

“Thrum!   We need all the help we can get!   We need to get my son!” Niko growled, but his temper eased at another silent glare from the hunter.  

“Jaccoby,” Thrum called out.  The troll druid nodded in response.  “Scout the area south.   See what you can find.”  

“Got it, boss,” the druid said, shifting into the large bat and taking to the night sky.    

“The rest of us need to prepare.  Get your weapons ready.  Drink and eat.  We will start moving soon,” Thrum said.   He turned to Niashado.  “Go with your people.  They are preparing to leave.  We will look after our own.”  

With that dismissal, the others immediately took to their tasks with silent haste, leaving Niashado suddenly alone and unsure of what to do.

It seemed like every twenty hoof steps Niashado would pause and look back at the lone campfire where the people they were leaving were preparing a dangerous rescue mission. Meanwhile, she and the rest of the convoy people were tucking tail and trying to make it to the lake before sunrise.

No. That wasn’t true, Niashado reminded herself. They were running away because they didn’t believe the rescue would succeed and they didn’t want to be anywhere nearby when the Sand Trolls retaliated.

“No lollygagging, draenei! Keep up or get left behind!” a goblin convoy guard snapped when she stopped to look back again. Shooting the goblin a glare she picked up the pace, catching up with the others in the back of the convoy.

She was keeping stride next to a tall, dark skinned human wearing a large overcoat and a bowler hat. While still shorter then her (most were given the height of a draenei) he still came almost to her head. He carried a pack and a very large and complicated looking rifle over his shoulder.

“Finally decided to join us,” he scoffed slightly.

“What do you mean by that?” Niashado retorted. She bit her tongue to keep her tone civil but was annoyed by the implication of his words.

“You seem to like the company of the green skins,” he replied, confirming her suspicious.

“The fire was full at your camp. They had space and offered a spot near theirs. That hardly seems worthy of suspicions,” the draenei replied in a clipped voice.

“And now, in typical Horde fashion, they want to start fight with the nearest thing,” the human added. She picked up on the Gilnean accent in his words.

Niashado froze and glared daggers at him.

“They are going to rescue one of their own who was taken by Sand Trolls while we all slept. Would you leave one of your own behind if it were another human?”

At this the Gilnean stopped and turned to her. He looked past her at the distant remaining campfire. Then he looked up at the stars.

“Time’s short. They’ll never make it to the Shimmering Deep and there’s little chance the fellow taken would still be alive by the time they make it the troll village. It’s foolish to rile up a whole den of those trolls for one person,” the Gilnean grumbled. He started to turn and walk away but froze when she issued an irritated hiss.

What was wrong with this world? So many of the people couldn’t seem to see past the Alliance flag or the Horde flag. The wheel of racial violence, hatred and distrust just keeps spinning and it seemed like no one wanted to move beyond it. Hell, she found more civility and compassion among a crew of pirates than she did anywhere else on her walkabout.

And Niashado was tired of it. She missed how her friends didn’t push such petty racial hatreds.

“You are probably right. Now go tell that to the boy’s father,” Niashado snapped, angry at him as much as she was at herself for turning back on those who needed help.

She could still hear Seyanoxia mocking her for loss of Yevana. The thought of losing someone else was leaving a hole in her soul.

“I-I should have stayed,” she muttered to herself. Turning she started back down the mountain, shoving the goblin guard away when he tried stopped her.

She was about halfway back to the Horde camp when she suddenly heard rapid foot steps behind her. Her sword unsheathed she whirled on the newcomer only to find that the Gilnean was back. Still keeping her sword ready to strike, she cocked her head slightly; wordlessly questioning why he was there. As if he could read her mind, he responded.

“I got my reasons for coming, draenei. I ain’t telling you what those reasons are. Now let’s go see if they’ll accept our help,” he replied, still sounding standoffish.

“My name is Niashado. Not draenei,” she corrected, resheathing her sword and turning to resume her walk.

“Reynolds Addington,” he said with a quick introduction and a tap of his bowler hat.



---


They were studying the layout of the Sand Troll village drawn on the sand when Niashado and Reynolds approached. Some of the Horde folks picked up their weapons but didn’t raise them threateningly. Thrum stood up from his haunches and glared at the two. Reynolds returned the glare for a moment before pulling his large rifle from his shoulder.

“Where can I be helpful?” Reynolds asked. Thrum looked between the worgen and his rifle, then snorted. Niashado swore she heard a bit of mirth in the sound.

Thrum picked up his bow and stabbed a point of the sand drawn diagram that denoted a cliff. The spot overlooked an area marked with an ‘X’. Reynolds grinned and nodded.

Then the older tauren looked at Niashado and then the others and began to explain his plan.