Andorhal

The sun was just slipping behind the mountains as Miria rode past the guards into town. They didn't look up as she passed – they might stop humans on this road to make sure they were not Forsaken, but there were few enough of her people that they knew her by sight.

 "Miria! Bring any pelts back for us?"

 "Nothing worth skinning in Scholomance," she said to the local leatherworker as she rode past.

 Andorhal was a small town as far as human towns went – at least, it did not compare to Stormwind's size. Miria remembered the first time she had arrived in that vast city of stone, the walls rising so far above her head that she stepped into their shade as soon as her hooves left the wood of the docks. At least Andorhal boasted an inn, a convenience that Miria was grateful for after the dark horror of Scholomance.

 It was not as bad as it could have been, she thought to herself. Despite her unease at his presence, Necrothirst had made her task easier. She was forced to admit that she couldn't have done it without him, although the reverse was not so. He could easily have defeated Ras Frostwhisper without her.

 So why had he brought her?

 Towns such as Andorhal frowned on 'wild' animals, even hunters' pets, in their midst. Naru wandered the wilds at the town's edge, but Miria didn't worry. The bear would find her if Miria called. It would be nice to sleep somewhere besides an open field under the fetid winds. Luck was with her, and Weldon Barov was at the bar when she came in, not drinking but simply holding a conversation with the barman.

 Miria drew some stares as she stepped out of the threshold and into the common room. For once, she didn't think they were because of her race as much as they were because of her appearance. She may not have been injured, but Scholomance left a mark on her nonetheless. She was covered in dust and patches of cobweb clung to her mail. Many of these people declined to leave the safety of their town, relying on hired travelers like herself to walk into the wilds for them.

 Weldon looked up as she stepped up to the bar, leaning away from her. "The hunter!"

 "Did you expect I would not return?" Miria asked, watching him with glowing blue eyes. "I returned with what you asked for."

 The erstwhile baron's eyes widened when she produced not one, but all four of the deeds she'd been sent for, sliding them across the bar from him. Of course, she hadn't cleaned a one of them, and he picked one up delicately in between his fingers, eyeing the stains. "Is this plague or blood?"

 Miria shrugged. "Both are equally likely. If you expected them restored, you should have hired a scribe rather than a hunter."

 Weldon dropped the paper as if he thought it would infect him just by touching it. "Yes, of course," he said. "And the keep, was it...?"

 "Infested and foul," Miria said. "If you would like my advice, I would raze the keep and have the grounds sanctified. Then perhaps you could build a replacement."

 "Raze Caer Darrow?! My dear, er, woman – do you have any concept of how important that holding is to the history of these lands?"

 "Not at all," Miria said dryly. How could she? Her people had been on a different planet. "Do you have my fee?"

 "Ah – of course, of course," Weldon muttered, negligently sliding gold coins across the bar to her. Miria put them in her bag and walked away, hearing him mutter to himself as she went. "This will take months of restoration... recovery with the legal offices..." She supposed he thought the coin thanks enough. Well, she had done it for the coin and not the thanks, so she could not very well blame him. 

Unlike many bars in mid-size human towns, the barman was not also the innkeeper. There was a sign over the end of the bar that indicated it was the place to inquire about lodging, but no-one was there. "Innkeeper?" Miria asked, leaning over the front counter. She waited for a few moments, but no such man appeared. She frowned, tapping her hoof impatiently. "...Innkeeper?" 

"He is drunk in the back, most like."

 Miria turned in surprise. She hadn't heard an accent that thick since Draenor – and indeed, it was one of her people who had commented, a broad-shouldered fellow with engineering goggles perched on his forehead. He was still coming down the stairs as she saw him, but even in the dim light she thought he looked familiar. The mustache... the horns... in fact- "Treize?"

 "Arkanon poros, naMiria," he replied cheerfully, an affable grin expanding across his features. "It has been a long time since we spoke face to face, sister."

 "Treize! I did not know you had taken the Exodar – how did we not meet aboard it? I know there were many who came to Azeroth but still, you should have told me you were coming."

 "We did not exactly expect to be leaving at the time we did," Treize reminded her. "In the confusion, many were separated. You remember."

 She did. Those first few days after the Exodar crashed on Azeroth stood branded in her memory as if seared in by the Light. The hundreds injured, the confusion, the desperation of those trying to find family... 

...The knowledge that your family may not have made it aboard, or may not have survived. Miria threw her arms around Treize when he finally came up to the bar, squeezing as hard as she could. "I'm so glad you're alive," she said. "I feared the worst when I did not see you at launch."

 "Sweet Light, what are you covered in?" Treize asked, prying her off him to hold her at arm's length. "You stink!" 

"Oh, ah..." Miria hesitated for a moment. Treize had always been protective. "Scholomance dust."

 "You went there? Miria..."

 "I am one hundred and twenty-seven years old, Treize, I'm a grown draenei woman and I can take jobs that send me to dangerous places if I wish to, so there." Miria crossed her arms and leaned on the bar. She was not about to be badgered by her older brother.

 "I suppose," Treize said. "I still wish you wouldn't."

 "Let's talk about something else, shall we? What brings you to Andorhal? How are your studies progressing?"

 Treize patted his belt, and Miria's gaze followed to the two fist weapons secured there. "They go quite well – although of late, I find that the elements are restless and difficult to treat with. Almost as they were on Draenor, before..." he shook his head. "I came to this place seeking the mage-city of Dalaran, but they tell me it has removed to Northrend to oversee the war effort."

 "A war on two fronts," Miria said. "Of the two, it seems the Kirin Tor's efforts would be better expended combating the scourge than some overgrown warp stalkers."

 "Miria, you underestimate the situation," Treize said, and Miria frowned. It sounded almost like he was scolding her. "Malgyos and his blue dragonflight are intent on wiping out the Dalaran mages, and any other mortals who employ the arcane arts." 

"Which would be neither you nor me," Miria pointed out.

 "Nevertheless, a war on two fronts is not easy to win. Our people know that. You should remember that." 

 Miria looked down at the bar, picking at the wood grain. "Have you returned since we fled? I hear there is a portal from Azeroth to the peninsula opened."

 "I have," Treize said. "That is part of the reason I am here – I have been traveling the Eastern Kingdoms with a message for any of our people I encounter. It is safe to go home."

 Miria's head shot up and her heart skipped a beat. "The Legion?"

 "There is still Legion," Treize said, "but Kil'jaeden has been defeated. They are calling for us to return and help rebuild. Perhaps one day Draenor can truly become a home for our people."

 That the Legion still held any sway over the planet they had chosen for their refuge was disappointing, but Miria broke into a smile at the news of Kil'jaeden's downfall. "So the long war is over," she said.

 "Do not forget that Mal'ganis still lives. This is not over until all the leaders of the Burning Legion are erased from even the Twisting Nether."

 "What does Prophet Velen say of this? If Kil'jaeden is indeed defeated, and only one weakened lieutenant remains, should we not be seeking another world to settle? Draenor used to be a place worth settling, until the breaking, but as much as I would like to see it, I don't believe it can last much longer before it succumbs to the Nether. And we cannot stay here-"

 "Why not?" Treize interruped. "It is not as if we have not found allies here. True, we have found allies before, and they have often as not betrayed us, but this Alliance seems a different sort. There are so many peoples on this world, could we not be part of it as well?"

 "But we are outsiders. We are not of this place."

 "We would not be of any place we decided to settle, save Argus, and that place is lost to us."

 Miria was silent, picking at the wood again. She wasn't old enough to remember Argus – in fact, she was one of the few who called Draenor her birthplace. She had grown up with the mighty walls of Shattrath rising around her as the draenei built up their new homeland. And even then, she was too young to remember much of the city before it was sacked by the orcs, and her family forced to flee to Zangarmarsh.

 "How... have you seen our parents?" Miria asked, anxious despite herself.

 "Not for a long time," Treize said. "I was barely on the continent before I was dispatched to return. Besides, I find it... uncomfortable to remain there for long. The elements are more chaotic than on this planet. They haven't written you at all?"

 Miria was about to answer him when she felt a cold presence on her back. Treize stiffened next to her and she turned suddenly to find Necrothirst there, barely an arm's length from her. "You!" she said, startled. "Make noise when you approach!"

 Necrothirst ignored her. "You spoke of Kil'jaeden's defeat," he said to Treize. "You seem to know much of the campaign in Outland."

 "I was there," Treize said warily. Miria could tell that the death knight's presence made him almost as uneasy as it made her.

 "Tell me," Necrothirst said. "Have you any news of Illidan Stormrage?"

 "Dead," Treize said. "All of Kil'jaeden's followers are dead – Kael'thas, Magtheridon, Lady Vashj, and Illidan."

 Necrothirst's eyes narrowed in something akin to fury. Miria tensed, her hand moving to grip her bow, and she could see Treize's hands twitch as well. "Dead," the death knight repeated flatly.

 "That is the news," Treize said.

 "My brother does not lie," Miria added, her hand tightening further on her weapon. The night elf's eyes bored into them both for a long, tense moment that stretched out well beyond the point of tolerance. Finally he turned his back and left the inn without a word, his black armor clanking as he walked. Miria wondered how she could have missed his approach. People cleared the way for him to pass.

 "Who was that?" Treize asked.

 "A Knight of the Ebon Blade," Miria said. "One of the death knights who broke free of the Lich King's grasp and once more serves the Alliance. He helped me recover an item for a client in Scholomance."

 Treize frowned at her. "I wish you did not keep such dangerous company," he said, his voice full of reproach.

 Miria scowled right back at him. "I do not need looking after," she said sharply.

 Her brother didn't answer her at first, watching the doorway Necrothirst had left through with that frown still on his face. "Sister, you should go back to Draenor. Not just because I wish you away from this scourge, but because our people need your help. I have no doubt that you have become a skilled hunter, as I have become a better shaman. The Cenarion Circle seeks to help restore the balance to our planet, but some of the druids are too soft-hearted to do what must be done with the overabundance of tainted wildlife."

 "So you wish I would go back to collecting pelts instead of hiring out to dangerous recovery missions," Miria said dryly.

 Treize just smiled. "You know me too well," he said. "Promise me you will at least go see Shattrath. Much has changed since we were forced to leave – it is so much like the city of your childhood again."

 Miria's heart leapt once more. She did miss the walls of Shattrath, the soothing light of the Naaru, the presence of her people. It was more than tempting to return – it was an excellent idea. "If it is as good as you say, I suppose I should return."

 "Promise me," Treize said. "Promise me you will go back there before the Alliance's King drafts you into his war."

 "Is that what concerns you?" Miria asked.

 Treize shrugged uncomfortably. "I have not heard good tales of the front lines," he said.

 "Then I promise," Miria said. "I will go south to the portal, and go back to Draenor. If our people need help as you say, I will be happy to provide it."

 Now it was Treize's turn to throw his arms around her, and Miria squeaked. He had grown stronger than she remembered. "Good," he said. "Very good. I must remain in Azeroth and complete my mission, but I am not set to the task of finding every one of our people scattered throughout these lands. Once I am done traversing the Plaguelands, I should be joining you in Shattrath. Wait for me there."

 "I will," Miria said. "Now, by the grace of the Naaru... Innkeep!"