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Topics - Sakinra/Akanra

The Campfire / Cannonfire
June 03, 2016, 04:34:49 PM
((Disclaimer: Mine and Saki's view of last nights events, written with sleep deprived memory; Any issues, inaccuracies, feel free to correct me.

Disclaimer2: She's not dead. I'll write part2 later.))



The roar of warning cut across the field of battle too late, punctuating the low rumbling thunder of the ships mortar. Screams rang out as goblin, pirate, and Orc alike were caught in its deadly blast. Cut down and thrown aside. Some had been missed, others fortunate enough to dive aside.

But not all.

"Rageheart, Rageheart, get up..."

Rhonya's voice echoed distantly. The world strangely muffled as if under water. Sakinra reached up, taking the orcess's arm, bracing herself for balance her left leg still caught in its splint, as she hauled herself upright.

"Are you alright?"

The voice so dim and deadened. Blinking, she watched the concern etched in the healers face, Sakinra struggling to focus on the world around her. So many hours had already been poured into patching up the unfortunate warrior.

'That's the eternal battle, you warriors want to be out there helping, while we healers want to get you rested and fit....'

Sakinra nods.

"I'm fine. Go. The others."

She spoke shortly, curtly, the pain bloomed dull and throbbing in her chest. Something was badly wrong...

...her eyes followed Rhonya, settling on the bloodied burned body of another, clinging to life...

... But not as bad as it could be.

Sakinra stumbled over to lend what aid she could. Disguising spluttered coughs and wheezing, as bullets and explosions tore through the air around them, she lifted the younger, smaller Orcess from the sands and carried her away from the field of battle, before leaving her under Rhonya's supervision.

Blood dripped from her shredded ear, as she got close enough to see the tribe. They fought ferociously.

There was a job to be done.

Wheezing for breath, Sakinra steeled herself to speak.

This was a distraction.

"Push on, I'll guard... the wounded."

Guard the wounded? You are the wounded.

Feraleye glanced to her, as his axes found their mark in another pirate. The human spluttering in a bloodied heap with his throat open.

"Your call Rageheart. Rejoin us when you can, we're going to need every one we can get..."

She nodded curtly, not trusting herself to speak. As swiftly as she could, she returned to the injured and Rhonya, putting the barricades between herself and the portside cannons of the ships.

"How... is she?"

Sakinra grimaced, choking on her words. The shaman lifted her hands away from the young Orcess, Pushing herself to stand she looked up to Saki.

"I've done all I can for her here, the rest shall have to wait until we're back at town."

Sakinra nodded. Looking over the females form. Laid in the sands, already her burns were sealed over and beginning to heal.

"Go help the others. I'll call, if needed."

The Shaman hesitated for a moment, before she nodded and left, headed quickly to rejoin the Red Blade as they lived up to their name, carving a bloody path to the ships.

Sakinra looked to her charge. The sounds of battle were still painfully close.

They were exposed here. All it would take was a handful of fleeing pirates. Making a decision she bent down and scooped up the Orcess, murmuring apologies as her 'patient' grimaced in pain, her armour disintegrating and falling abandoned behind.

Never was there a worse nursemaid than you Rageheart.

Step. Drag. Step. Drag. Step.

Progress was slow. The light sand would have made difficult work for her splinted leg in even the best condition, but like this?

What had started as a dull ache of pain has blossomed and bloomed into an inferno of agony raging in her chest. Her arms locked she could barely bring herself to look down at the Orcess in her grip, the unfathomable weight, light enough to begin with, now nearly unbearable, slowing them down.

Drag. Step. Drag.

The beach had never seemed so long, the cave so distant. Wheezing with every breath. The hot, wet, metallic taste accumulated at the back of her throat, splattered inside her faceplate.

She slumped onto her knees, beneath the tree.

Less than forty paces to the cave. Forty paces too far.

Carefully propping up the Orcess against a tree. .

"I'm sorry, you'd rather be out there fighting, with them...."

She spoke softly, quietly. Seeming to Sakinra almost as if she expected a scolding for dragging her away from the field.

Sakinra laughed softly, her face contorted in pain as the laugh morphed into a vicious cough.

She removed her own faceplate hacking blood into the sand. Wiping her blood splattered mouth with the soft palm of her Gauntlets.

"What I want...and what I should do... Are two vastly... Different things..."

"Are...are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Sakinra waved a hand dismissively.

There's no point concerning her. Speaking hurts. Fel, at this point breathing does.

"I miss home...My stories.... I miss... My sister..."

She spoke softly, dreamily. Sakinra dragged herself from her own self pity. She was here to look after the girl.

"Where's home?"


The Orcess slumped sideways. Sakinra dove to catch her, trying to prop her against the tree, tapping her face.

"Oh no, no no, no you don't get to go to sleep on me. You were telling me about your home..."

Blinking back to consciousness, she was forced to keep talking, made to chatter vaguely about her home, her family, with Sakinra prompting with questions whenever she fell silent.

The name of 'Emrest' attached itself to something in the Warrioress' mind. But grasping the conversation was becoming harder.

Across the mental link she listened to the panicked shouts of the Tribe.

'Is this moving?'

'Did you feel that,'

'Shit, does anyone know how to drop an anchor on this thing?'

A flicker of concern crossed her face. Help would not be returning soon. Grasping for a topic Sakinra asked the Orcess to tell her what her favourite story had been.

'Emrest' lit up almost instantly.

"It was about a princess, who travelled to a strange and dangerous land, and had adventures so one day she would return as a wise and noble queen... I... I always wanted to be her as a child."

Sakinra laughed softly. The sound once again betraying her into the grasp of another coughing fit. Balling her hand into a fist, she tried to mask the severity into it. Spluttering to a halt.

"Look at you now. Off having adventures in a strange land..."

Sakinra watched as tears brimmed in the Orcess's eyes. Her voice catching.

"But I'm not, I'm not a princess, I'm not having adventures, I just end up needing saving all the time by the tribe..."

Nice going Rageheart.

Sakinra reached and took hold of her shoulders, hushing her.

She's seen so little, and is so afraid...

"Each of us need saving... from time to time...And the Tribe will always be there to.... Sometimes it's just...your turn to be unlucky..."

....there's nothing she could do...

Sakinra smiles briefly. Her speech becoming more laboured as she wheezes, a sick, crackling gargle edged every word.

....She doesn't need to watch this.

"Can you ride?"

"I... I think so..."

Sakinra nodded, whistling sharply.

Her worg ran towards them from out of the cave, where he had been waiting.

"I want you to take him...he'll carry you to Gadgetzan... Keep you safe until they... we... return"

The Orcess climbed into the saddle before looking down to Sakinra.

"What about you?"

Sakinra forced her smile.

"I'll be fine, I'll join the others."

"You promise you'll be alright?"

She nodded grimly. Not able to utter a promise she can't keep.

"Go, it'll be okay, don't worry."

She smoothed a hand through the Worgs fur, before striking its flank.

She watched in silence, as the worg bore its cargo away.

"Ride swiftly..."

In her mind, the voices of the tribe seemed so distant. They were too far to help.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The eternal, rushing, throbbing hiss, grew slower.


She cleaned her faceplate with the palm of her glove. Carefully refastening it on.

The world swam around her.

Quiet. Almost Peaceful.

She carefully removed her axes, laying them beside her.

The pain in her chest was complete. All consuming. Each coughing fit, each wheezing breath having driven shattered rib and bone deeper into delicate flesh and organs.

Blood pooled and gathered in the lower reaches of her lungs.

Breath shallow.

Patiently she waited, Each moment the pain seemed to matter less.

Pain so complete, but somehow detached from her.

Blood loss taking its toll.

She lay down in the sand, she could feel the blood oozing from her mouth.

Above the stars were clear and bright.

No. She didn't need to watch.

Not when there's nothing to be done. It's better this way.

Without fight.

Without fear.

Sakinra closed her eyes, lips parting, soft, embracing darkness.

"Ancestors welcome me."

Off Topic / Blood Infusion
May 29, 2016, 08:15:39 PM
*hammers to noticeboard*

Required: 3 shamans or Warlocks for fun and games and self-sacrifice in Icecrown Citadel.

You will be required to stand in a room, do nothing until you are bitten and then die in a fire.

Dying in a fire prior to being bitten will be frowned upon.

Meager compensation towards armour repairs will be available through goblin solicitors.

Thanks in advance.



Seriously though, this shadowmourne quest sucks. Any help?
The Campfire / Restless Warrior
May 26, 2016, 05:53:43 PM
Sakinra lowered herself carefully into the hammock. Laying in the dark silence, listening. Her eyes open staring at the peak of the tent above. The crackle of the fire outside and the movement of the occupants of Marshal's stead. But no voices of the Tribe. They had all gone off to hunt or rest in their various camps.

All that remained here was her and the Corpse.

Another fallen warrior on her watch. How many had it been? She had once been told that all are greeted in the afterlife by every life they took. She wondered how many she'd recognise and have to face for her failures.

Closing her eyes she rested her hand on her face. Her numb, lip swollen. An eye she could barely see out of. Trailing her hand down to her waist she could feel the black squelch of bruised blood beneath the surface, aching deep within muscles where her gut had been struck again and again. She could still taste the blood and bile, her mind slow and dulled, still grappling with consciousness and concussion.


She awoke with a start. It was much later.

Sakinra lay in the dark. Her back ached from how she had slept.

Something felt wrong, although she could not put her finger on it. Stretching over the edge she reached for her axe, her hand closing around its neck, she breathed in relief. The wood felt smooth and warm beneath her fingers.

She opened her eyes. The darkness was complete at this hour. She could not even make out her hand in front of her face. Nor the axe beneath her on the floor. Nor even the edges of the tent itself.

Having reassured herself the axe was at hand, she groaned softly releasing the axe and laying back on her side.

She lay there, something nagging at her thoughts, not letting her rest.

Something was still not right.

The Jungle was Silent.

Her eyes flew open.

She could see nothing.

She reached for her axe.

It was not there.

Then it began.

Soft, low. Barely audible.

She willed herself to move but found herself frozen.

She could feel the kiss of the breath as it moved the hairs on the back of her neck, hear it's sickly rattle with each exhale.

The ache in her back was not that of exhaustion, but heavy weight laid behind her, its form cold enough to chill the muscles.

She turned her head slowly, not daring to look behind her.

The empty, lifeless eyes of Rak'mal's bloated corpse bored into her own. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. She twisted and scrambled to disentangle herself from the net of the hammock. Thrashing trapped in its grasp.

She fell out, hitting the ground hard, her hand finding the axe. Closing around it, she tried to wrench it upwards, but it was too light, moved too swiftly. She stared at it, holding in her hand the shattered splintered haft of her axe.


She scrambled half under the hammock, arms spread wide to find the axe-head, her blade, anything.

A light flickered behind her casting her shadow against the inside of the tent. A terrible, ominous glow, growing brighter every moment. Sakinra scrambled to her feet, turning, seeing, as if in slow motion, as the sphere of flames struck the tent, the fabric consumed, seared away as it enveloped her. She raised her arms, only to see her skin and flesh bubble and melt away in the heat.


She awoke with a start. Staring up at the inside of the tent, her breathing ragged, skin drenched in sweat.

She stared wide-eyed up at the inside of her tent. Sitting up, she covered her face, gasping for air. She pushed herself to stand, picking up her axe, she pushed open the flap of the tent.

Outside there was carnage.

The camp was littered with corpses, mutilated and cleaved open. Faces she knew;

...Srelok, Rhonya, Calgron, Feraleye....

...and Too many she didn't. She walked, picking her way through them, horror etched onto her face.

"What have you done?"

The voice drifted from behind her. Cold and Ethereal. She snapped around. The Figure must have been an Orc, by proportion, but nothing could be seen but the dark robe engulfing it. Winds whipped around it, pulling at the fabric, making the figure appear as if it was coming apart at the seams.

"What have you done, Sakinra?"

The voice echoes strangely. She raises her axe. Backing away.

"Done? I haven't done anything?"

The figure glides towards her, turning the corpses as it passes. Their glassy eyes reflecting the empty sky above.


The figures voice hisses, edged with echoes of every voice silenced in the camp. Falling backwards she twists slamming into the ground.

Slowly, one of the bodies lifts its head, turning towards her, reaching its hand out.

"No, no, No! Please no!"

Okram Graywolf gasps, blood rattling in his throat as he stretches his arm out to her, her axe embedded in his chest where she had fallen.

"You -failed- them Rageheart."

She picks up her axe, hauling it free blood splatters across the field. Swinging it in a vicious arc towards the figure, it's halted in mid air. She tried to pull it free to swing again but it won't move.

"Sssaaakinraaaaa." Okrams voice echoed strangely, drawn out.

The figure threw its head back and laughed, the hood falling. A shadowed Orcs face turned to her, made of shaped mist, no skull, no body behind it. Just the mockery of a countenance.

"Perhaps you haven't yet. But you will. You will know every one of these faces in time Rageheart. And you will fail them all. All but the one who betrays you."


As her name is roared the figure vanished, everything burning away in the brilliant light.

Sakinra blinked in the gloom of her tent, trying to focus after the blinding light. Her axe still in her hands.

Okram stared into her face, worried and exhausted. Her axe immovable because it's being held in his fierce grip.

"Sakinra? Can you hear me? It's alright, it's alright."  

She let go of the axe, stepping back away from him. He carefully places it down, leaning it against a crate.

"What happened? I heard you yell..."

He trails off.

"I'm fine."

"You're not-"

"No. Okram. I'm fine. It was just a dream."

She tried to be reassuring before burying her face in her hands. He frowned at her, speaking softly;

"You don't end up brandishing an axe for a dream-"

She snaps her head up harshly, glaring at him.

"Enough! I'm not some child to be chastised and comforted. You're not my bloody keeper"

He bites his tongue, clearly bitterly wanted to snap back.

"I'm going for a walk."

Sakinra stands up, picking up her axes and breastplate, she stalks out. Leaving him without another word.


Sat by the edge of the pools she yanked off the armour that had been so hastily crammed on after she'd stormed out of the camp like some petulant child.

Sakinra Rageheart. There never was a bigger idiot than you, do you know that? A more stubborn, stupid, pig-headed-

Insult by insult pile up, scolding herself as piece by piece the armour was put aside. Peeling off the rancid bandages binding her chest she slipped into the hot springs, taking the tattered cloth with her. Letting the water ease away the pains and aches from the tired and bruised flesh she begins to clean the strips of fabric.

Images flicker from her nightmares, mangled with the words of the Soothsayer the night before.

"Three of Wands, Six of Swords."

"You Prepare to go forth, yet this is no walk to valour or glory."

"A Journey of regretful transition."

"Here at the end of your journey, you find a master of skill and tact, of Action and Resourcefulness."

"The Seven of Swords. A figure, whom you respect and trust, both mentor and friend, shall betray you, stealing away into the night."

"The Hanged Man... and leaves you to sacrifice yourself, a fate you accept in your final moments..."

His voice echoed in her memory as she clambered out of the water, stretching out the now vaguely clean bandages over a rock to dry. Slipping back into the pools, she submerged herself to clean her hair.

As her eyes close she sees the shadowy figure, his hand stretched out to reach her. She cries out, drawing in lungfuls of water. Snapping her eyes open she struggled and scrambled towards the surface, floundering onto the shore.

Sprawled on her back, she lay very still, listening to her heartbeat until the sun has risen high into the sky.

Sakinra pulled on her armour and began the walk back to the camp. It would not be long to the pyre.
The Campfire / Honour Bound
May 21, 2016, 11:53:27 PM
Honour Bound

She stood fastening her legplates as those two words rose in her mind. Snorting a laugh, Sakinra earned a glance from a nearby guard at the noise. Slowly straightening up she caught the guards eye, arcing an eyebrow. After a moment she bent down and lifted her chestplate into place. The guard swiftly looked away once more, not wishing to risk a report for leering no doubt.

Her hands smarting, the sensitive new skin not broken in, threaded the straps and pulled them tighter from her chestplate, cutting them into her naked back until it was held firmly in place. The individual pieces hinged just enough to give her mobility she needed. Her gaze drifted towards the tavern. Okram rested within.

Something had changed. Half a lifetime of friendship. From mere whelps. But now something had settled between them. As he had put it, He had "Grown up." She hadn't. Something had changed the day she had pleaded with him to vouch for her, the way he had regarded her, carefully, calmly, his inner thoughts inscrutable as always. Something had shifted in their friendship that day. Although it was never spoken of.

Perhaps he'd never noticed.

She grabbed the backplate from the ground, hoisting it over her head, she looped the straps through the buckles on the chestplate, pulling them in, until they were almost tight at the edges. Her hand slipped on the strap, splitting the skin. She hissed in irritation as blood oozed from the flesh.

He had Scolded her. Scolded. Like some pup.

"You never learn from your mistakes."

She looked at the low embers of the fire, that she had thrust her hands into to retrieve the food.

She had learned wounds healed, starvation didn't. She had learned that flames no longer hurt. Nothing did, not on the surface at least. Anything that broke the skin however, stung like fel.

She picked up the dress she had been wearing earlier, tearing a strip from the skirt, she wound it around her hand, she would rather bleed to death than ask for help and prove him right. She studied her hands in the moonlights glow The scars still showed. Webbed, winding. Fading now,a few years old. They reached to the crook of both arms. Only a few inches on both wrists were spared the deformity. The edges of these sparse clear sections marked by the thick welt that encircled each wrist, typically hidden by her vambraces.

She picked up her gauntlets and pulled them on one by one.

No. Fire didn't hurt anymore.


Kaghurk returned just after dawn, his maw still bloodied from whatever kill he had made in the night. He flopped down beside his Mistress, a soft keening growl humming in the beasts throat, before he rolled over in the dirt. The crash of her posessions in the satchels making such noise it was a wonder he'd caught anything.

Sakinra reached down and absently scratched at the fur on his chest.

"You could have at least let me take the equipment from you before you hunted."

The snap of jaws answered as he rolled back over and went to stick his nose in the extinguished fire, retrieving the burned remains of the meat he pinned it with his paw and began tearing chunks from it.

"At least someone appreciates Okram's cooking."

Naratha, A pale frostwolf female walked over at the sound of ripping flesh and snarling. She nuzzled at the male worg before stealing the pieces of dropped flesh from beneath his jaws. Sakinra watched with a smile, slowly flexing her fingers.

Around them, the birds of Stonetalon began their morning chorus.


The crack of the mace as it shattered the First-Sergeant's jaw rang through the training ground, splattering blood across the stone.

His heavy plated form crashed to the ground, the jeering crowd silenced as all eyes settled on her. Then it began. The roaring baying for blood, screams and accusations.

The First-Sergeant's insult echoed, voice upon voice until a cacophany of noise reached its peak.

The rush came all at once, hands pushing her to the ground, taking her weapons, twisting her arms behind, bound and secured.

Dragged to her feet, her hair was wrenched, forced to look into the face of who had hold of her.

His jaw swelling, black and blue already, blood oozed from his maw.

"Truth hurts."

His words mangled, likely some teeth shattered, it was a credit to him he could speak at all without screaming.

"Not as much as your Jaw does."

Her sharp tongue earned her a back-handed crack across the face, The plated gauntlet splitting her lip. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowleging any pain. Sakinra focused on the blood bubbling at the corner of the male's mouth with each word. He leaned close to her ear, his voice low and filled with promise of horrors to come.

"You'll learn what pain is, you honourless, gutless, worthless whelp."

He straightened up looking to the Grunts and Scouts holding her.

"Get her out of here."


"So how did you come to be here in this tavern."

Sakinra leant back against the barrels. arms rested over her knees she looked over the table at Okram.

"I find myself on leave, albeit perhaps permenantly, and thought I would seek you out."

The orc regarded her with slow patience. Despite there being only a few seasons between them, he exuded an air of age and calm she never did manage to cultivate herself.

"And here was I, thinking perhaps this was a chance meeting."

His blue eyes never leaving her. The pause in the air dragged out, before he simply picked up his ale and swirled it, peering in as if it may hold answers.

"Why are you on permenant leave then."

Sakinra forced the smile, the false reassurance coming more and more easily to her lips these days.

"Well. I might have punched the First-Sergeant."

"You might have punched him?"

"With a mace."

The long, tired sigh would have fit an Orc three times his age.

"Your temper never fails to astound me. So, what did he do to warrent this?"

She leaned her head back against the barrels. Setting her gaze on the underside of the tavern steps.

The lie she spun of the foolish Orc Commander sending troops into a trap was an easy one. Everyone had met at least one officer who should probably have been a Peon.

But not this one. No, this one had been far smarter than that.


Sakinra opened her eyes. Both worgs were sprawled at her feet, like overgrown puppies. Dawn had blossomed, but the light had not yet reached the valley hidden beteween the mountains. Sun Rock's chill clung to the stone.

Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde.

I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.

From this moment until the end of days I live and die - for the Horde.

The Blood Oath of the Horde rang through her mind, she'd know the words since she was a whelp, lugging timber in the Gulch.

But you didn't die did you? For the Horde, For your Warchief. You turned tail and fled when the odds shifted against you.

The same argument rallied round her mind again. The First-Sergeant's voice echoed in her memory.

You Traitorous Kor'kron Bitch.

Weeks she'd put up with his shit. She didn't know, why she'd snapped, why she'd grabbed the mace from the crate beside her, seemingly some part of her self preservation was working, beheading a superior officer would have seen a far worse fate.

The sound his jaw made as it shattered.

The way his head snapped back.

The blood pounding in her ears so she didn't hear the roars until she'd been forced to the ground.

Sakinra shoved herself upright, forcing it from her mind. She threw one glance towards the Inn where Okram still slept. Fastening her faceplate she stalked out into the morning.

Scouting the route ahead whilst the Retreat still slept.

Game Related / Internet broked!!!
May 19, 2016, 09:23:25 PM
With flawless timing as I was coming to the event, my internet was cut off. Guess who forgot to pay a bill.

All paid now, may take up to 24 hours to be re-Internet-ed.


Immi / Saki
Applications / Application: Immika
May 12, 2016, 01:22:07 AM
Level:25?-26? "In Progress" Is probably most accurate.

Tell us something about your (role)playing experience:

I've been RPing on and off since Wrath Era. Started Horde, but mostly been Alliance (Sorry :-[ ). Been away for about 2-3 months and just could not find the love for it, decided to come back and try a fresh character, Horde side, as the thought of going back to Game of Thrones - Stormwind - made me want to abandon the game all together.

And finally, please write a short story and/or IC introduction about your character:

Immika walked along the road. The dust shifted in the evening air whilst the final drabs of sunlight painted the world in orange hues. Her gait swayed oddly, every other step a short, half hop, the foot turned inwards and brushing lightly through the dust, kicked it up until it stained the bottom of her well worn robes, a warm, fiery ochre.

Orgrimmar's great bulk and the blockade stood but a mile away, Clinging to its crevices between the mountains, the city squatted, like a spike collared beast in a cave. She stopped and leaned against the wall of the canyon, lifting her gaze upwards and peered at the sliver of sky that could be seen between the overhangs. In the distance the Harpies cries could be heard. Squawking and calling from one nest to another.

Immika smiled to herself, she had been foolhardy to insist she could make the journey before nightfall. To dissuade all offers of worgs to bear her weight. The scent of the sea carried inland on the evening breeze and mixed with the dry dusty air. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to wander.


She barely remembered the internment camps. She couldnt have been more than four or five summers when they were freed. They had travelled by the night, the younglings picked up and carried when they grew so sleepy their feet stumbled beneath them.

The sea air. She remembered the tang of it, the taste of it, filling her nose and her mouth as she was carried in the arms of an elder, her eyes flickering open in the pre-dawn light, not remembering being picked up.

"Throm'ka little one. Rest your eyes, it will be a while yet."

She did as she was told, curling her face against the neck of the male orc as he carried her, the sway of each step lulling her to sleep. It was the sound of the waves and the ships that woke her, and when it did, the dawn had risen and Immika stared. Having had every drop of water from the wells of the camp rationed, she could not believe there had been this much water in the whole world.


The evening had cooled. Opening her eyes she found herself stood in the blackness of the canyon. The firey torches and braizers of the Dranosh'ar Blockade danced in the distance.

As a child she had run the road from the City to Razor Hill most days. Tearing out of the gates and on to Far-Watch Post with messages, out to the farms with deliveries in exchange for a meal or a place by the fire. Oh the games, she was the fastest of her peers, she relished the races.

Thokran, the Orc who had carried her from the camps to the boats, saw her from time to time. He once sat her down and asked what she wanted to do when she grew up. Immika had thought long and hard, and answered "Run". The old Orc had laughed and laughed.

"Perhaps you have more sense than those who stand hm? You shall have to seek out the honour in running. Come back one day and tell me one day where your running takes you."


Immika looked down at the twisted foot, half bent beneath itself and shook her head. A wry smile forming on her lips.

Pushing herself away from her rest, she continued her slow trudge towards the city.

She paused and turned to look at the humbly marked urn, set back from the road, near a ring of stones. There had been so many added in the wake of the rebellion against Garrosh. She did not need to look hard, she had known his name was among those fallen. Perhaps that was why it had taken so long for her to come back.

The question hung in her mind, seemingly murmured softly on the breeze around her.

"Where has your running brought you?"