Letter to Morgeth

[Nazkhur]

((Only reason i'm doing it here is because i'd never fit it all onto an in-game letter. Damn you Blizzard and your short messages.))

Me Sister,

Tha time has come for me to leave. I can not pretend to live as if me was alive. Me died for the Horde at its peak, when it was loyal to Doomhammer. Now it seems the shattered remains of its once might, filled with the Outcasts that seek only personal gain.

In tha end me is dead, to dead to be hold onto anything but tha slaughter of the Alliance. My actions must be my own and not of the Tribes, me must fight as me see and not as the living order me.

Tha more me stay around tha Tribe tha more me know that me have lost 'n' will never regain. Me will count ye as me Sister even beyond death, but now me must fight as the last of a Horde that died out.

Blood, honour and much Poundin'

Nazkhur

*Along with the letter is Nazkhur's Battle-worn and blood stained tabard.*

((Due to an ever busy life and less time to play, i've taken the choose to RP Naz out of the guild. I will still be around in the ooc channel and Naz will still try and RP around the Tribe but as a lone Spirit Champion.))

[Morgeth]

((<3 All the love to Nazkhur, both OOC and IC, for all the fun times. I sure hope you'll be around for RP and random talks.))

The note felt coarse against the touch of her hand, as Morgeth kept reading the written words. Again, and again. It was hard not to think back to that day in Ratchet, when Nazkhur had first emerged. She had set the shining example for the knights to follow, and proved that even beyond death, there was still honour within the orcish flesh and spirit. But most of all, beyond the shallow words and fleeting notions of orcish pride, Nazkhur had been a sister.
"Still 's..", the warlock muttered, as her head began to sway. "Still feckin 's.."
A questioning growl came from the worg pup at Morgeth's feet - Shrewd's own son - and a few green, but tainted fingers were spared down to absently stroke at its matted fur. She leaned down, curling the tabard closer to her face, and eventually sniffed its soiled cloth. A familiar scent of blood and death hit her nose, and Morgeth sighed. The clawing sensation of loneliness, that had built up inside her these passing months, made her lower a hand to the fatness of her stomach, as for a reminder of sorts.
"'ave t'stay strong, eh? For m'mate, for m'sister.. bu' most o' all.."
Her fingers caressed the round shape of the orc-to-be, and a low whisper, said in confidence, escaped the warlock's lips.
"Most o' all. I 'ave t'stay strong f'you."
With eyes finally closed, Morgeth heaved another sigh and leaned back against the wall. Keeping her sister's tabard locked to her gut, as if thinking it should offer protection of some sort, she gave a soft mumble.
"Poundin' t'you, m'sister. We be tied t'gether f'ever."


---
The actual letter:

Alone but a trickle
In a never-ending flood
But together we be tied
United by our blood

Shared be the words
Visible be our scars
My strength is yours
Sisterhood be ours.

Nazkhur, my sister. Strength in your heart, blood in your veins, and pounding where you be. We are sisters in arms and spirit, and your life as you are now, has brought change to my own. You and Bugor gave me more time together with my mate, and the opportunity for me to bring my son to this world, with hopes of a different future. Never think yourself lesser. Come back to us, to me, when you are ready.

Until then, may our enemies cower in your presence.
         Morgeth