The Argent Stand

Clouds hung low and oppressive on the horizon as the death knights passed out of Grizzly Hills and into Zul’Drak. They rode single file with Necrothirst taking point and Tamasi bringing up the rear. Kyladriss wandered in and out of the column of riding knights on all fours, her hackles bristling at anyone who so much as glanced at her.

It was not difficult to keep her controlled as long as there were no enemies in sight. Just the day before, she had spotted a pair of renegade worgen from the pack that had been hers for mere days. Before anyone could stop her, she sprinted for the treeline. Thankfully she was too occupied with killing the worgen to go to ground again, and Necrothirst easily caught up with her. Now if she stopped to sniff something on the side of the trail, Necrothirst called her back before she could get very far.

Saelessa still moved stiffly, but she was better than she had been in the battle. She was getting used to the injury. If Necrothirst had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t have that injury much longer. As much as it pained him to have to look after a kaldorei, he needed her in peak condition. This was a war front, not Azerothian wilderness.

The snow on the ground gave way to packed earth and short, scrubby bits of grass. To their right as they rode were rows of what had probably been crops at one time. Necrothirst could smell troll voodoo from his saddle. Elementals, barely bound by their troll masters, wandered around the crops. They didn’t have the clear blue color healthy elementals would - rather they were dark blue or green, a symptom of scourge taint. If Zul’Drak had ever been a beautiful place, it was a long time before the Lich King arrived.

They rode toward Light’s Breach, the Argent Crusade’s forward base in Zul’Drak. It was a modest camp, surrounded on three sides by a crumbling wall. A defensible position. The Scourge would only be able to overrun the crusaders here if they brought vastly superior numbers.

Vastly superior numbers was what Necrothirst and his knights were there to prevent. There was nothing better than a death knight for thinning out one’s enemy’s numbers - except six death knights. Kyladriss, with her recklessness and lack of fear, probably counted as two death knights.

Crusaders stared at them or backed away as they rode into camp. Kyladriss appeared to be the source of their consternation, and the worgen knew it. She bared her teeth and growled, hunching in on herself and sidling up to Necrothirst’s mount.

The Deathcharger vanished in a puff of smoke as Necrothirst dismissed it, walking toward the paladin who appeared to be in charge. “Necrothirst of the Ebon Blade, reporting. Thassarian sent us as reinforcements.” He reached into one of his bags and produced his written orders, handing them to the paladin.

The human read over the orders quickly, folding them up and returning them. “We’re glad to have you,” he said, although he didn’t sound very sincere. “Drak’Tharon Keep has fallen to the Lich King, and his forces are well entrenched in its walls. They launch raids on our position regularly.”

Epyon sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, frowning. “We could do without that fortress being in enemy hands,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best if we cleared it out?”

“We’ve tried,” the paladin said dryly. “Not just the Crusade, either. The Ebon Blade sent a handful of their own in there and none of them came back out. Arthas is using it as a new Acherus of sorts, raising troll death knights and sending them after us.”

“Wonderful,” Epyon muttered, gazing at the shadowy figure of the keep on the horizon. “Just what we need.”

The paladin cracked a wary smile. Necrothirst resolved to have Epyon interact with the crusaders for him. He did not deal well with their holy attitude and disdain for the Ebon Blade. “Where are we most needed?” he asked.

The paladin shrugged. “We have enough manpower to hold our position for some time, unless Arthas decides to raise more bezerkers. The Ebon Watch to our east is short-handed since those knights disappeared in the keep, perhaps they will have orders for you. We report in at the Argent Stand. Commander Falstaav is in charge of the forces in Zul’Drak.”

Necrothirst turned that over in his head for a moment. Thassarian had sent him here specifically to assist with communication between the horde faction of the crusade, the Sunreavers, and the alliance faction, the Silver Covenant - but he had also been ordered to assist in the war effort wherever possible. If they were short-handed at the Ebon Watch, it was his duty to send reinforcements.

“Laiza, go check in with the Ebon Watch and report back to me at the Argent Stand.” Laiza nodded and nudged her mount into a gallop, leaving the small camp. Necrothirst turned his attention back to the paladin. “I will take the rest of my forces and report to the commander. It is possible one of us will end up stationed here with you, to protect against the Drak’Tharon threat.”

The paladin nodded, although he didn’t look particularly happy about it. “Go with the Light - er,” the paladin cut himself off, uncomfortable. Necrothirst heard a soft snicker from behind him but didn’t turn to find out which of his knights was taking amusment in the paladin’s floundering. “Er, uh... be safe?”

Kyladriss growled softly at him and Necrothirst elbowed her. She was standing so close that if she had body heat, he would have felt it through his armor. She glared evilly at the paladin and everyone else in camp.

I should get her out of here before she decides that crusaders annoy her, Necrothirst thought, and mounted his Deathcharger again. He signaled the knights to move out, and they rode on.

“Drak’Tharon in Arthas’s hands,” Epyon said, riding beside Necrothirst. He shook his head. “I had hoped for better news when we finally got here.”

“It is not as bad as it could be,” Necrothirst said. “He appears to be using it not as a staging area for an invasion, but as a base to produce more troops. Both are bad, but if he were building an invasion force, Light’s Breach wouldn’t still be there.”

“Necrothirst,” Tamasi said, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. She gestured at Kyladriss when the worgen’s back was turned. “There bound to be quite a lot of people at the Argent Stand. How do you suppose...?”

“If things get out of hand, we can take her,” Necrothirst said. “I believe she respects me.”

Kyladriss looked up at him, then back at Tamasi, narrowing her eyes at the draenei. Necrothirst kicked her pauldron from the saddle, drawing her attention back to him. “You, behave yourself,” he said. “I will not hesitate to lock you up again if you prove to be a nuisance.” The worgen held his gaze for longer than she had since the boat ride to Northrend, but in the end she looked away.

“It is fascinating how similar her behavior is to a wolf, even now,” Saelessa said. “The worgen we locked away long ago had not even a semblance of sanity. You can see that she at least thinks, and possibly reasons.”

Kyladriss growled viciously at the night elf, baring her teeth again. She barked something unintelligible and then went back to sniffing the ground around the hooves of Necrothirst’s mount. “I believe that is her way of saying that she does not appreciate being spoken about like she is a mindless beast,” he said.

Saelessa shook her head. “Of all the people who would develop a soft spot for that creature-”

“I value her as an asset of war,” Necrothirst snapped, his eyes narrowing at the implication that he had a soft spot for anything. Kyladriss let out her barking laugh and skipped away from the kick he aimed at her. “And if she is not careful, her hide will end up on the wall in Acherus.”

The worgen’s laugh subsided into a growling chuckle, and Kyladriss stayed out of range of his boots for the remainder of the ride.

The Argent Stand was a converted troll temple. It was open on the sides - not the most defensible building Necrothirst had ever seen - but it was crawling with crusaders. Arthas would have to be supremely stupid to send a force here.

As they got closer, Necrothirst could see that the crusaders here were being harried by the Scourge. Batlike gargoyles circled overhead, occasionally swooping in low to try and grab an unwary crusader off the ground. Most of the crusaders appeared to be alert, able to fight off the gargoyle before they were grabbed, but Necrothirst could see the sad, broken figures of some who had permanently lost their battle with the Lich King.

When they got close enough, they were greeted with a shout from the dwarven scout standing watch, who immediately rode out to meet them. “State your business!”

“We are of the Ebon Blade,” Necrothirst said, once again producing his orders. The scout looked them over as quickly as the paladin had. Thassarian gave concise orders. “We have come to reinforce your efforts - and I am here as a translator.”

“Aye, so it says,” the dwarf said, sticking Necrothirst’s orders into her belt. “Ye speak Zandali?”

“Fluently.” The other knights rode up to flank him, and Necrothirst saw Tamasi raise a curious eyebrow at him. It was rare to find a night elf who spoke the language of their anceint enemy.

“Good,” the dwarf said. “Th’ troll priests from th’ Sunreavers speak Common passable well, but th’ Zul’Drak natives...” she shook her head. “Can’t understand three words out of ‘em. When they do speak Common, their accent’s so thick ye could slice it with a knife. Follow me.”

Necrothirst followed, shaking his head. He didn’t find the Zandali accent hard to understand at all - it wasn’t that difficult.

The Argent Stand was far busier than the much smaller outpost of Light’s Breach. In the center of the temple, a large space had been cleared. A table stood there covered in maps, some of Northrend as a whole and some of Zul’Drak specifically. A large draenei with glowing purple shoulder armor was hunched over the table. The plates on his forehead and his short horns gave the impression that he had a permanent scowl fixed on his face.

“Commander Falstaav,” the dwarf said, and the draenei looked up. For a moment, Necrothirst could see something that looked very like despair in the back of the man’s eyes. This was someone who had been on the front lines too long, with nobody available to take his place. He needed a rest and he wasn’t going to get one.

“I am Necrothirst of the Ebon Blade,” he said, stepping up to the table. “These are my knights - Tamasi, Saelessa, Epyon and Kyladriss. The sixth member of our company, Lazia, is reporting to Ebon Watch.”

“I would say welcome, but the sentiment would not be genuine,” the draenei said. “It lifts my spirit to see reinforcements.” The scout handed him Necrothirst’s orders, and Falstaav looked over them with more scrutiny than any of the rest had paid them. “You speak Zandali.”

“I do.”

“Excellent. There is a troll shaman here who has been trying to communicate something of urgency, but I’m afraid the Sunreaver portion of my forces have been out on patrol for three days, and no-one has been available to listen. He is getting quite agitated. Perhaps you could see what he wants?”

Necrothirst nodded. “I require a priest to see to Saelessa. She was injured in a... worgen incident.” Falstaav’s gaze sharpened on Kyladriss, who bared her teeth at him. Necrothirst grabbed her by the nape of the neck and shook her. “Not this one, although it would be wise to put word out to your men that she is not to be approached under any circumstances.”

Falstaav shook his head. “I will tell them. The medical tents are set up on the north side of the fortress. They will see to your knight.”

Necrothirst nodded to Saelessa, and she separated from the group. “The rest of my knights?”

Falstaav pointed out at the walled-in, stone-paved area where the congregation would have gathered when this structure was still a temple. “The gargoyles are killing my men two and three at a time. I would appreciate if you would slaughter them with extreme prejudice.”

“Leave it to us,” Tamasi said with a broad grin. Epyon followed her out into the courtyard without waiting to be told, but Necrothirst had to give Kyladriss some encouragement with his boot. It didn’t take much. Once she noticed that Tamasi and Epyon were killing things, she pulled her runeblade off her back and charged into the action with a howl.

“Now for the troll,” Falstaav said. “Hexxer Ubungo, he is called. Over there.”

Necrothirst followed Falstaav’s pointing finger to the troll crouched over a fire, tension in the lines of his shoulders. Necrothirst walked down the temple’s steps to him, his stride loose and easy, trying to appear non-threatening. When he spoke, he spoke Zandali.

“Spirits be with you.”

The troll looked up from his fire, his eyes narrow. “What you think you doin’, your accent is terrible, mon.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken Zandali,” Necrothirst said shortly. “The commander tells me you have a problem.”

“How you be speakin’ my tongue, mon? Last I remember, de kaldorei took a lot of pride in slaughterin’ us on sight.”

“I lived among the Shadowtooth trolls in the days following Kalimdor’s shattering. They named me Kazral.”

“Fitting name for a death knight,” Ubungo said, grinning around his mouthful of tusks. Kazral translated almost directly to Necrothirst. “So! I find de only night elf in de whole of Azeroth who knows his roots.” The troll laughed heartily, slapping his knee at his own joke.

Necrothirst pressed his lips together, scowling. The Shadowtooth trolls had also found endless amusement in the fact that he’d sought refuge with their kind instead of his own, following the days of the War of the Ancients. “Falstaav tells me you have been trying to tell him something for days. If the trouble is truly important, speak.”

“Ubungo not be de only one in trouble, all us be in trouble. De Lich King be raising death knight trolls, but he also have another plan. De spirits here be very powerful, very old. If de Lich King could bring dem under his control, have all dat power at his fingertips...” Ubungo shrugged. “Well, I’d be callin’ dat a bad thing, mon.”

“Arthas is trying to bend the loa to his will?”

“Na, mon. De loa too powerful for him to control while dey still be living. De Lich King, he be killin’ de spirits, and raisin’ dem from de dead.”

Necrothirst felt a prickle travel up his spine. He was a death knight, and he did not scare easily, but the thought of creatures as powerful as troll loa turned into undead shells, controlled by Arthas’s will... “This is more than a problem,” he said. “This could turn the tide of the war.”

“It not like Ubungo not been tryin’ to tell dat useless goat for de past tree days,” the shaman said sourly. “Ubungo speaks good Common, it not my fault nobody understand me.”

“What can we do to stop them?”

Ubungo’s shoulders went tense again, his brow furrowed, and he frowned. “Dere be only one way to make sure de loa never fall into de Lich King’s hands,” he said. “His followers, dey need to kill de loa in a very specific ritual to raise dem right. Loa be dyin’ and rebirthin’ all de time. Dey have to chain de spirit de moment de body dies.” He looked up, meeting Necrothirt’s eyes. “Kazral, mon, de only way to stop him is to kill de loa before he can.”

Necrothirst smiled slowly, a dark expression without humor. Zin’Shalla hummed at his back. “Then I will gather my knights, and we will go kill some spirits.”

The troll pinned him with another sharp gaze, looking him over. “You stand like a troll, mon,” he said. “De Shadowtooth, dey trained you to fight.”

“I learned much from them,” Necrothirst said.

“Good,” Ubungo said. “You be needin’ it.”

Shattrath City

“So many! I did not expect you to take my instructions so seriously.”

Ysiel Windsinger and two other druids watched as Miria and Kaster rolled out the hydra skins they’d collected. For three days, Miria avoided the southeast road, wandering back and forth across the marsh. She took her aggression out on the overpopulating wildlife. Mercifully, Kaster seemed content to let her shoot things. He was unusually silent.

Miria was also quiet. She could tell Naru was worried - the bear stuck close to her, where before she would wander off into the marsh until Miria called her. She tried to care, but found that she couldn’t summon the energy. Finding out the truth about her father drained her. She felt disconnected from the world, wrapped in thick wool. She gazed fixedly at the southeast while Ysiel counted out their gold into a fat purse.

Kaster rode up beside her on his felsteed, nudging her with his elbow. Miria flinched away, glaring fiercely at him, and he put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture - one that was completely ruined by the smirk plastered across his face. “So, hunter... where now?”

The refuge was at a crossroads. The road south led straight to Shattrath, and the road east back to Hellfire Peninsula, to the Dark Portal and beyond back to Azeroth. Miria felt a powerful compulsion to ride east and keep riding until she was safely in the land she’d spent her adult years exploring.

Naru nudged her hoof, snorting. She walked a few paces down the southern road and then sat down, turning to look at Miria over her shoulder. Miria sighed heavily and goaded her mount forward, taking the southern road. She had said she would visit Shattrath before she left, and she meant it - if only to give herself one final reason never to return to her birthplace.

She could hear the druids calling farewells behind her, but did not turn around. She did not want to speak to anyone, much less people full of so much hope for the land. She couldn’t see what they were so hopeful about. She remembered the marsh as it had been before the naga came, before the world shattered. It once was a thriving forest, smelling of moss and clean water. Now it smelled of rot and stagnation. The land of her birth was dead, and all the Cenarion Circle’s efforts to revive it were in vain.

“Not exactly the family reunion you were hoping for,” Kaster said. “I tried to warn you.”

“It would not have mattered if you told me they had sworn allegiance to Kil’Jaeden himself,” Miria said. “I still would have gone to see him. Were you raised by wolves?”

“No,” Kaster said, grinning. “Felhounds.”

Miria scowled, hunching her shoulders as they rode on. She had never met someone who was so... cheerfully unpleasant. It was like Kaster took delight in her every failing, like he was following her specifically to make her angry.

The road south was quiet. The druids went to great pains to make sure their refuge was safe, and that the road between it and Shattrath could boast the same. The last time Miria had traveled this road, it was silently, in the cover of darkness, stealing away from Shattrath in the dead of night to escape the oncoming siege.

“Treize, Miria - stay very quiet. We must get to Zangarmarsh undetected.”

Miria shook her head, throwing her mother’s voice out of her memory. That night, full of fear and uncertainty, had been the last time she saw many of her friends alive. Too many stayed behind in Shattrath - mostly fighters, but they’d also made a difficult decision to leave some noncombatants behind. The orcs would never have fallen for Shattrath’s sacrifice if there had been no women... or children. Her people had suffered so much, and those left behind had suffered most of all. Didn’t the Light care that the draenei’s numbers dwindled with each new disaster? Didn’t the Naaru care?

The spiky, shadowed trees of Terokkar Forest began rearing their heads on the horizon. They were drawing closer.

“What do you suppose we’ll find?” Kaster asked. “Ruins? Orcs? Ruins crawling with orcs. Ogres, too - the orcs love allying with ogres. Ooh, I bet there will be naga-”

It was the final straw. Miria whipped her bow off her back, turning in the saddle to point it at Kaster. Arcane energy hummed around her fingers as she drew the string back to her ear. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled in contempt. “Be silent,” she hissed. Naru growled at the warlock.

Dark, shadowed energy began to gather around Kaster’s hands, and his felhound snapped back at Naru with equal ferocity. “If you want to fight, bring it on,” he said, grinning recklessly. He knew as well as she did that she needed more range to line up a proper shot. He had no such constraints.

They faced each other for a long moment, their pets circling each other, their mounts stamping nervously under their riders’ tension. Miria’s grip tightened on her bow. “You think I won’t?”

“I think you might,” Kaster said. “I just don’t think you’ll win. You’ve seen me in battle.”

Miria shuddered, thinking back to the image of the fel orc running in mortal terror while Kaster wrenched his very soul away. “You’ve seen me as well.” She was gratified to see a wary light come into his eyes, although the grin he sported didn’t fade.

“You won’t accomplish anything by shooting me,” Kaster said.

“It will make me feel better,” Miria said, through gritted teeth.

“Will it?” Kaster said mildly, hands still wreathed in purple shadow magic.

“Damn you,” Miria whispered, slowly allowing her bowstring to go slack. The energy dissipated from Kaster’s hands as fast as it had gathered, and the arcane hum disappeared from her bow. “When someone finally gets sick enough of you to end your wretched life, I hope you twist in the foulest, most demon-infested corner of the Nether.”

“Not very draenei of you, to curse your enemies,” Kaster said loftily, and spurred his felsteed into a trot.

Miria seethed, pushing her elekk to the same pace. Even threats didn’t faze him. What kind of man was this, to go through life purposely antagonizing others and laughing at them when they took offense? It wasn’t a human thing; she’d met plenty of kind, trustworthy humans. Perhaps it was a warlock thing. She didn’t exactly go out of her way to seek their company.

Shattrath’s tan stone walls were starting to become visible between the trees, and every couple seconds Miria glimpsed a shining column of light piercing the clouds. They’d passed out of Zangarmarsh and into the forest proper, and as they cleared a small copse of trees, they stood atop a rise with the glory of the city spreading out below them.

The outer walls, hastily erected before the siege, still showed signs of heavy damage. The rise they stood on overlooked a long bridge, guarded on either side by mounted Vindicators. Despite the state of the walls, what Miria could see of Shattrath’s central structure was either undamaged or rebuilt. The light she’d caught through the trees shone like a beacon from the middle of the city.

Miria swallowed hard, feeling her face get hot and her eyes start to gather moisture. This... this was the city she remembered.

“Are you done having your emotional moment?” Kaster asked.

Miria glared at him and rode forward, passing between the guards on either side of the bridge. “Welcome to Shattrath, sister,” one of them said as she passed. “May the Light embrace you.”

From her vantage point on the bridge, Miria could see most of the city. The stone floors, once inscribed with exquisite detail, were the biggest casualty of the siege. They were broken in large stone chunks, and in many places the stone had been torn up entirely. In its place was packed earth and green grass. Miria took a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes to let the scents surround her. It smelled like living things, warm earth, and an eclectic mix of food. It was a living, breathing city, not like the run-down waystations they’d traveled through.

Miria dismounted her elekk when they came to the central structure, walking toward it like she was in some kind of trance. The light spilling out from its archways was almost tangible, like a gentle breeze running over her skin. She could hear chiming that was painfully familiar even before she passed through the doorway and saw what was drawing her to this place.

The Naaru in the center of the city chimed in its slow, musical language, like it was speaking specifically to her. She stumbled down the ramp in a daze, completely forgetting that Kaster was still there on her heels. He was saying something, but the chiming drowned him out. Naru nudged her hand, concerned, but Miria ignored her, pulled toward the Naaru in the center of the city like she was led by a string.

Its light washed over her, settling around her shoulders like a comforting cloak. In its steady stream of music, Miria felt the gravity of its ancient mind, its steady compassion. She knelt before it, bowing her head and letting it soothe her tumultuous soul. The tears that had threatened since she found her father finally broke loose, and she sobbed wretchedly, her arms wrapped around herself. Nobody made a move to pull her away from the dais, despite the bustle of activity that continued around her.

“Why did this happen to us?” she asked it, looking up to its shining form.

The Naaru chimed. Rather than speaking in words, it sent her a pulse of sorrow - it felt the plight of her people, perhaps not as keenly as she did, but the Naaru knew their grief. Then it sent her a wave of pure hope, delight at how much they’d rebuilt in so short a time. Miria realized now that what she’d seen across the continent was only possible because of all the effort spent rebuilding this city. With a stable base of operations, now they could branch out to places like Zangarmarsh and Nagrand, to reclaim their homeland.

“I am sorry I doubted,” Miria said, straightening from her kneeling position. Naru leaned against her leg and she gave the bear’s ears a firm scratch. She was smiling. The Naaru chimed at her one last time, a feeling of almost fatherly affection suffusing her. She thought it might be laughing at the notion that it would hold her grief against her.

“Are you done?”

Miria turned to find Kaster lurking outside of the Naaru’s aura, his arms crossed in clear discomfort. She scrubbed the remainder of the tears from her cheeks, but found that she didn’t care that Kaster had seen her emotional moment. “You should speak with him,” she said, still smiling. “It might do you good.”

“No, thank you,” Kaster said sourly. “I know what he would say to me.”

Miria shrugged. “They are Naaru, they are above the petty prejudices we hold against each other. You may be surprised.”

“Doubtful.”

“Suit yourself. I feel the need for a drink, care to join me?” She walked past him, Naru following at her heels, her head held high. She felt better than she had in weeks. The pervading sense of sorrow and dread that had taken hold of her spirit was lessened, and she felt uplifted. She wanted to get back out into the world, to start helping people again.

She made for the lower city at a trot, her hooves echoing on Shattrath’s stone. She didn’t know precisely where the tavern was, but that wasn’t going to stop her - any adventurer who couldn’t find a tavern was a poor adventurer.

The sight that met her eyes took her aback for a moment. Not only were there draenei in this tavern, smiling and laughing and generally having a great time, there were also elves. Not the night elves that had supported their people and sponsored them into the Alliance, but blood elves. The same elves that sabotaged the Exodar, forcing their people to crash-land on Azeroth.

Kaster ran into her back, knocking her forward a little. “What are you standing there for - oh. I see you’ve noticed the Scryers.”

“There are blood elves in my city,” Miria said flatly.

“The Scryers broke away from Kael’thas Sunstrider as he descended into madness,” Kaster said. “They’re all over the place in Shadowmoon Valley - and they’re quite serious about cleaning up their prince’s mess.”

“I thought you’d never been to Shattrath before,” Miria accused.

“I haven’t,” Kaster said. “I have been to Shadowmoon, and I’ve had dealings with the Scryers. They’re quite the scholars, you know. They told me they have a library here - I expect I’ll be spending my hours there, if you’re going to run around having religious experiences with floating windchimes.”

Miria ignored the jibe, cautiously entering the tavern. None of the Scryers seemed to notice her presence. Comfortingly, she noted that the draenei seemed to be giving their blood elf allies a wide berth. She felt justified doing the same.

To her relief, Kaster split off from her to join a table of blood elves. She did not particularly want to explain the warlock following her around like a lost puppy to any of her people she met. They would probably ask her why she had bothered saving his life. It was little comfort that she wondered the same thing, herself.

She took a seat at the bar. “Draenic Pale, please,” she said to the barmaid, and took a large swallow out of the tankard when it was delivered. It had a much lighter flavor than the dwarven spirits she’d been drinking on Azeroth. It tasted like coming home.

Sitting at the corner of the bar, his shoulders hunched and a full tankard of ale cradled between his hands, was another draenei. “Arkanon Poros, my friend,” Miria said to him cheerfully. “Why do you drink alone?”

The draenei jerked, startled, and looked up at her. “They will not have me,” he rasped, and Miria sat straight up at the echo in his voice. He was a death knight - a draenei death knight. She had never seen one.

“A shame,” she said. “I fought beside a Knight of the Ebon Blade not too long ago - he was a skilled warrior and a useful companion in battle. I would think we would need all the help we could get, here.”

The knight’s mouth twisted and he looked down into his tankard. “I don’t deserve their company - after all, if the Light forsook me, why shouldn’t they?”

Miria was reminded powerfully of the Broken, of their bitterness at the way the rest of the draenei treated you. She scooted her barstool closer to the death knight and laid a hand on his arm. “You are no less one of our people now than you were in life,” she said.

The draenei glanced sideways at her warily. “I thank you for saying so,” he said.

Miria raised her tankard to him. “To rebuilding,” she said. “Our home and our people.”

The death knight stared at her raised tankard for long enough that Miria was sure she’d made a misstep trying to extend a friendly hand. Then, slowly, like he had forgotten how, he raised his own tankard and knocked it against hers. Miria drained it quickly and hailed the bartender for another. She felt like celebrating. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Madhav,” the death knight said slowly. “I... why do you drink with me? You are young and full of life. You should be making friends.”

“I am making friends,” Miria said, her cheerful smile never leaving her face. “I am Miria, and my sometimes traveling companion over there is Kaster - if you are lucky, you will get out of here without meeting him. He has horrendous manners.”

Madhav let out a grating chuckle and then stopped, staring at Miria like she was some kind of foreign creature. It sounded like he had not spoken or laughed in a long time. Miria wondered how long he had been sitting there in the dark corner of the bar, speaking to no-one and staring into a full tankard of ale.

Time flew by. Miria found that before long, she was not so steady on her feet. She should have known better than to try and drink with a death knight - the alcohol did not affect him nearly as quickly as it did her, and she matched pace with him. She was in the midst of a giggling fit when she tipped backward, falling off her stool.

Something soft was there to catch her. “Easy, Miria.” It was Kaster’s voice in her ear. “I think she’s had a little too much. I’ll just take her somewhere to lie down.”

Madhav, who still had not lost his bewildered look through an evening of ale and conversation, nodded. Kaster steered her out of the tavern as she stumbled over her own hooves. Naru was growling behind them. “Hush, Naru,” she said, and giggled again. “My bear hates you, you know.”

“I know,” Kaster said. “Come on, it’s not much farther.”

Miria couldn’t see straight, but she followed Kaster’s directions as he steered her through the lower city. In some foggy corner of her mind, she wondered how someone who had never been to Shattrath before knew the layout so well. Naru’s growls got louder and louder as they continued away from the populated lower city toward the Scryer’s rise - not that Miria could tell that’s where they were going.

It wasn’t until the elevator rose without Naru on it that she began to sense something might be wrong. “Naru,” she said.

“Shhh,” Kaster said soothingly, steering her off the elevator. “Not long now.”

“Not long - what?”

“Shhh,” he said again.

The next corner they turned, Miria found herself face to face with an eredar - a succubus. The succubus opened her hand and blew. A handful of red powder flew into Miria’s face - she inhaled some before she could help it and promptly felt the world spin around her. “Kaster - you-”

Kaster laughed merrily and the hairs on Miria’s neck stood up even as her vision faded to black.

Orebor Harborage

There was no direct road from Teldredor to the settlement Miria was told to seek. Their course took them across the boggy terrain just south of Blade’s Edge Mountains. The reaching spines of those mountains cast spiky patches of shade over the marsh and threw their rippling reflections into the water below.

For the first time in their journey together, Kaster neither spoke nor sang. Miria snuck glances over her shoulder at the warlock, watching him ride in the shadow of the mountains, his head thrown back and his mouth slightly open. She hid a smile behind her hand. If he knew that she was watching him gape at the mountain range like a child full of wonder, he would probably try to kill her.

He threatened as much on an almost daily basis - when she annoyed him, to try and unnerve her, and sometimes just on principle, like when he dismounted and promptly sank to mid-calf in smelly swamp mud. Even though they had only known each other for two and a half weeks, and had really only been on speaking terms for four days, Miria was starting to see that he was all threats and little actual malice. He had plenty of opportunities to ambush her on the road, or in her sleep, and yet he had not. Perhaps he truly took the notion of a life debt seriously, or perhaps his loyalty to the Alliance came into play. Miria kept a weather eye on him but no longer jumped when he summoned a demon next to her, and no longer flinched when he unleashed his fel magics.

Kaster shook himself out of his daze and Miria quickly turned to face front again. “We must be almost there,” he said. “Did you get anything out of that friend of yours besides a vague direction?”

“They are due northwest of Telredor along the border of the mountains,” Miria said. “I would say we are getting close, yes.”

Kaster huffed. “You know, we could be making decent money clearing out this swamp, but instead you’re on a wild goose chase-”

“It is not a wild goose chase,” Miria snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, forcing herself to relax. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as accepting of his eccentricities as she liked to tell herself. His persistent callousness to her situation simply set her on edge. “I do not require you to follow me, after all.”

“I require me to follow you,” Kaster said. “I owe you a debt.”

“I have already forgiven that debt several times,” Miria said.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Kaster said stubbornly. “Look, isn’t that a draenei structure?”

Miria followed his pointing finger. Just sticking out from the surrounding cliffs was the rounded plaza structure of a draenei temple. Miria felt her heart stutter against her ribs and gripped her elekk’s reins tightly. What she could see of the structure made it look like it had been through many battles - or the shattering of the world, which she supposed it had been through. This was the place where she would find her parents, but instead of filling her with hope, she merely felt a mounting sense of dread.

“Well?” Kaster said, bringing his felsteed up beside her elekk. “Are you going, or are you just going to stand there and stare at it? Or if you’ve changed your mind, we could go kill more hydras.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Miria said, her tone bordering on exasperation. She clicked her tongue at her mount, urging it forward through the swamp. She was here. There was no sense in avoiding the truth. If nothing else, she would be able to give herself and Treize some closure.

Like Telredor and every other place Miria had been since arriving, Orebor Harborage had seen better days. Its outer walls were crumbling, and there were cracks snaking through the plaza and the steps. The temple proper appeared to be built into the mountain, and Miria was willing to lay a bet that the stone surround had saved it from being totally obliterated when the planet shattered.

She dismounted her elekk and it vanished. Naru nudged the side of her leg, sensing her unease, and Miria scratched the bear behind the ears absently. She looked over her shoulder at Kaster, who was eyeing the marsh with distaste from his saddle. “I would appreciate it if you dismissed your... minion for this,” Miria said.

Kaster raised his thick red eyebrows at her. “Afraid of being judged by the company you keep?” he asked.

Miria closed her eyes and sighed. “I am more concerned about the effect of a demon’s presence in the midst of people who have been corrupted against their will by demonic energies. Must you always be difficult?”

“It’s in my nature,” Kaster said, and made no move to dismiss the felhound at his feet.

“Have it your way, then,” Miria grumbled. He is such a child. She mounted the steps up to the temple, ignoring Kaster’s black swearing as he was forced to dismount and follow. It was then that she truly saw what war with the orcs and the shattering of Draenor had done to those left behind.

They were shorter than a draenei, stunted and hunched to an almost human height. A mass of swinging tentacles sprouted from their backs underneath their shoulders, hanging down almost to their misshapen feet. Their bodies were withered and wrinkled, their mouths full of pointed fangs. Miria halted on the top step, clenching her jaw hard. She would not weep for her people, not in front of Kaster, and not when she was sure they did not want her pity.

“Hideous, aren’t they?” Kaster whispered. He leaned in close to her, so close that when he spoke she could feel his breath. “They aren’t worth it. Save yourself the heartbreak, and let’s go somewhere else.”

Miria shoved him away violently. “How dare you,” she hissed. “These people made a great sacrifice, remaining behind to hold the line so we could escape. I owe all of them my life.”

“There are not many who remember that. There are even fewer who are willing to say it aloud,” one of the nearby Broken said. He put down a large knife he’d been using to butcher a marshfang and pulled off his apron, shambling over to the two of them. As he passed Kaster, he curled his lip back over his fangs, baring them at the warlock and the felhound. “You bring strange company here.”

“Kaster owes me his life,” Miria said. “He will not do anything untoward while he is in my custody.”

“Custody,” Kaster snorted. “I’m your traveling companion, not your prisoner.”

“Yes, and I still cannot take my eyes off you for a moment without you running off into the marsh, experimenting with fel-tainted flora and causing explosions.”

Kaster grinned shamelessly, executing a deep, mocking bow. “It’s my pleasure to keep you on your toes. Only think of how complacent you’d be without me here.”

“Hm,” the Broken grunted, turning to Miria. “The unafflicted dare not come near us,” he said. “They seem to think we are contagious.”

“Are you?” Miria asked mildly. Naru shifted at her side, pressing her large bulk against Miria’s legs.

“No,” he said. “However, if you should encounter a strange red mist wielded by the fel orcs of the area, stay well away from it if you do not wish to share our misery.”

Miria’s heart ached. She heard stories of the last siege of Shattrath, and the plight of those left behind. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with guilt that she had not remained behind with the rest of her people, even though she knew she was too young at the time. “I... I do not know what to say. I feel as if I should-”

The Broken was shaking his head. “Do not apologize for the fearful actions of those few survivors who stayed on this planet,” he said. “We are simply happy to know that our people live on and continue to prosper. What brings you to the harborage?”

“I am searching for someone,” she said. “My family did not all escape aboard the Exodar. I have been told that my parents are - that they came here.”

“You were told that your parents had lost the Light and become Broken,” he said shortly. “Yes, I see through your hesitation. It is the kind of judgment we expect.”

“No, that’s not - I merely meant, that’s the information I was given-”

The Broken smiled a wide, fang-filled smile that was probably meant to be friendly but still sent a shiver down Miria’s spine. “Do not stutter over yourself, young one, I know you were too small to remember the last battle of Shattrath City. Even now, I would say you are too young to be adventuring.”

“Our people need me,” Miria murmured, but her words lacked conviction. In the presence of this man, who had given so much and fought so hard to ensure that she survived, she felt like a child.

Kaster yawned theatrically beside her. “This is all very fascinating - draenei and their internal prejudices and all-”

“For the love of the Light, Kaster, be quiet. Nobody wants you here anyway,” Miria snapped.

Kaster put his hands in the sleeves of his robe, and the felhound at his feet pointed its eyestalks at Miria and growled. “Harsh,” he said, but he wore an approving smile. “You’re losing some of that polite polish.”

Miria made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat and turned back to the Broken. “My mother and father are supposedly among your people,” she said. “Korii and Maktu.”

“You are Maktu’s child?” the Broken asked, looking her up and down with his head tilted to the side. “Perhaps you can help him. Follow me.”

Miria swallowed around the lump in her throat as she rushed to follow the Broken’s shuffling footsteps. She felt eyes on her as she moved through the temple and glanced around. Some gazes were hostile, some puzzled, and some fixed on Kaster with a special kind of loathing. The warlock smiled and waved in return, apparently delighting in the attention.

They arrived at a small nook with an anvil set up out front. Several pieces of half-finished mail and leather gear were scattered around the anvil, and Miria could see hides stretched across racks to dry. It was all painfully familiar, reminding her of the times when they lived in the Lower City. “Maktu! You have a visitor.”

“I am closed!”

Miria’s steps halted at the sound of that voice. Even with the grating, raspy undertone, she would recognize it anywhere. “Papa,” she whispered.

“This is boring,” Kaster said, and cupped his hands around his mouth. Before Miria could stop him, he shouted, “Maktu, your daughter’s here to see you! Stop throwing a pity party and come say hello!”

There was a crashing noise from behind the heavy rug that covered the doorway. A swollen, misshapen hand pushed it aside, and a Broken stood outlined in the doorway, the tentacles on his face quivering. “Miria?”

Miria took a hesitant step forward, her hand on Naru’s head. The bear was like a weight of support beside her, and kept pace beside her. “Papa... is it really you?”

The rug came back down to cover the doorway faster than she could blink. “Go away. You do not belong here. Go back to Azeroth where you are safe.”

It felt like her hooves were rooted to the spot. She remembered the day they were separated like it was yesterday - her parents forcing her into the Exodar while she struggled against the strangers who held her, watching the grim determination on their faces as they turned to stave off the blood elf forces. Yes, back then they had been whole, but no matter what happened to them, they were still her parents.

“Well, that’s that,” Kaster said. “He doesn’t want to see you. Let’s get going - if we leave now we can clear out a few more hydras and make it halfway back to Telredor before nightfall.”

Miria ignored him, picking her way through her father’s scattered projects and hide racks to the doorway. She yanked the rug aside and entered, closing it behind her. “I will not allow you to run away from me,” she said.

“I told you to leave,” Maktu said, but he made no move to get up from the cot he sat on. His elbows rested on his knees and he cradled his head between his large, swollen hands. “Why have you returned? We put you on that ship for a reason!”

“Papa,” Miria said gently, sitting down on the cot next to him. She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder and he wrenched away violently. She put her hands in her lap. Naru shoved her head through the doorway, sniffing the bare interior of Maktu’s workshop. Aside from the cot, some spools of thread, and an awl, there was nothing else. “Where is mother?”

Her father flinched hard, and Miria immediately regretted asking. “She is not here,” he said harshly. “She could not bear- she...” he trailed off. Miria did not press him to finish the sentence and finally, after a drawn out moment of silence, he said, “Even though I cannot feel it, I pray to the Light every day that her soul has found a place of peace. She had little of that here.”

Miria felt like the ground beneath her was yawning open, like she would fall through the floor and what remained of the earth into the Twisting Nether below. “How?” she whispered.

“It is easy enough,” her father said harshly. “Due west of here, the land simply drops off into the Nether.”

“I am sorry,” Miria said. “I wish I had known - I wish you had written! Perhaps when we first left, it was not possible, but with the Alliance forces arriving-”

“What would I have told you? That your mother and I had become twisted and withered, foul things cast out by our own people? That they feared us so much we were driven into the wilderness? That we escaped the fall of Shattrath only to be corrupted by the breaking of the world? That it drove her to madness?”

“They told me you left,” Miria said through numb lips.

Her father laughed. There was no humor in it, only bitterness. Naru shuffled over to lay across Miria’s hooves, her presence a blanket of comfort. “Left? Perhaps we would have left willingly, eventually. Our conversion scared them. They thought it was only the survivors of Shattrath that would be afflicted, but now they saw people who had escaped the city before its destruction fall from the Light. Clearly there was something wrong with us.”

“I came back because Treize and I were worried about you,” Miria said. “Three years it has been since the Exodar fled, and no word. I saw him in Azeroth and he said he had been to Shattrath, but had not seen you.”

“Shattrath,” her father said bitterly. “Shattrath is as closed to us as anywhere else.”

Miria shook her head. “Do you not remember the Broken that taught Treize the ways of the shaman? He was not shunned by our people.”

“Because Velen was there to speak for him. Not all of us are former Vindicators. Some of us are simple craftsmen. I am glad to see you are alive, but you only bring yourself heartbreak here. The land is broken, as are its people. There are still vents of fel energies all across Draenor, and any one of them could have the right concoction to turn you into... this. Leave while you are still whole, my daughter, and leave me to my grief in peace. It is enough to know that you and your brother are alive.”

Miria could not think of anything to say. She sat beside her father in silence for a long while, trying to find the words to express how it pained her to see him in sorrow and bitterness. Seeing Hellfire Peninsula was bad, but that had happened long before her people fled the planet entirely. This... she had no idea how to cope with this. Her mother was dead and her father wanted nothing to do with her.

Perhaps it would have been easier if she had not come. She rose from the cot and turned to go, Naru following her meekly. Her father said nothing as she left the workshop, even as she hesitated in the doorway before letting the rug fall behind her.

“Are you done torturing yourself?” Kaster asked. “I could have told you this was a waste of time. The Broken hate everyone.”

“They have a right to,” Miria said quietly. She couldn’t even summon ire at Kaster’s relentless lack of tact. “We should leave them in peace. My people have done them enough wrong.”

“You have a good heart, Miria,” the Broken who led them there said. “I wish more of our people were like you. You must forgive Maktu. He is carrying a deep sorrow.”

“We will make for Shattrath. I want to see the city I was born in. Then I will leave this planet. May the Nether claim it,” she said bitterly, and strode away from her father’s workshop with speed. She felt the sorrow her father was carrying, for now she carried it in her heart too.