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.