From Lirshar with Love

[ChampionMouse]

Part I: To The Place With That Thing

It was in the dead of night that Lirshar stole away from the pig farm. The pack that she had placed in a small bush outside the hut only contained a waterskin, a bedroll, and very simple, basic supplies. It was light and easy to grab and hoist up on her back. She spoke not a word to Duron, or to any living soul. She had one axe on her hip. The second one would have to stay. This was a mission to prove her independence, that she didn’t need to rely on the strength of her soldiers.

The conversation with Warlord Kil’shi Rendtear had come as a surprise when he summoned her to meet with him in Orgrimmar. She had been letting it be widely known that she was a bored warrior looking for more to do than work on a pig farm, but she had never expected him to make her an offer like this. She was to become a Kor’kron, with the approval of his brothers in arms, if she were to pass this test. The mission? Travel to the lands of Azshara carrying only an axe, and basic supplies; and then obtain four hands of an enemy naga. She was allowed to tell no one of this mission and was required to work alone. That meant no calling the Vanguard, and no relying on the beasts the wilds that she had such an affinity for. It was only her, and the wilds before her.

She would have kissed Duron’s forehead to bid him farewell, but she didn’t want to risk waking him. He looked so peaceful, lying there in a comfortable pile of furs they had acquired together over numerous hunts.

So it was, with no words or affections exchanged, that the Huntress moved away from her façade of a peaceful life…

The going through Ashenvale proved to be slow. Lirshar remained off of the main paths so that she would not be seen either by her own people, or the dangerous Night Elves that lurked within the shadows waiting to pick off lone Orcs. She was not graceful about the process by any means, but proved to be a rugged traveler. She sustained herself off of edible plants and berries, one afternoon killing a rabbit for a bit of a treat. As long as she remained on the outside of general Horde territory, she wasn’t too concerned. She was familiar with this place, as Duron’s family was here. She had spent many days under the trees of Ashenvale learning just how the enemy moved and what areas were highest in conflict. Duron’s father, Koris, always told the best tales about the battles between the Warsong and their bitter enemies the Kaldorei. His passion for the subject was unbridled, and he often hit the wooden dinner table for wrathful emphasis.

Lirshar smiled at the thought of Koris. He was a good man, strong and dependable. Duron had been worrying for him lately, what with the rumors of increased hostility in the forests. Koris may have been old, but there was no way anyone was going to get him to not go looking for Elf heads. That smile soon passed, however, as she remembered Grakor’s warning. Her brother had recently reminded her that with war…it isn’t just the blood of your enemies that will flow. Grakor had always been more true to peaceful ways than she had. He knew things, that somehow he just ought not to know. It wasn’t that she resented his wisdom and abilities, rather, she merely envied that he was the one born with those gifts. She would have loved to bonded with their mother, talking about the Spirits and other Shaman business, but she could not. Lirshar was born a warrior; unable to hear the spirit’s whispers, but certainly able to kill with anything you put in her hands. She shook her head at length, putting the thoughts from her mind. She needed to concentrate on the here and now, not the past.

Water was plentiful in Ashenvale, what with the many rivers and lakes scattered throughout the forest. From what she remembered, however, it wouldn’t be the same in Azshara. There was a lot of ocean to the east, and that would do her no good for drinking water. She could recall stories of soldiers going mad from drinking vast amounts of the black water up in Northrend. Perhaps it was related to the very taint of the place, but she couldn’t be sure. Better to be safe than sorry anyway.

When she came upon the place where the Southfury River separated Ashenvale from Azshara, she made sure to fill her waterskin. It was more difficult to stay off the roads here, for the river was lined by steep cliffs that tended to drop off sharply at a moment’s notice. In addition to that, some of the rocks were slippery from rain, and the river itself. That part was slow going for her. Her steps had to be solid and sure to make certain she didn’t fall to her death. She found herself hugging the rock walls multiple times before she even made it down to the river’s edge. It was necessary, however; not just for the water, but to get into Azshara unnoticed. The main road connected to a bridge she had observed that morning, a bridge heavily watched by Elves. She wasn’t here for them, though she would remember to come back if they caused her any trouble during her time here.

By the time Lirshar actually managed to cross the river and climb up the other side into Azshara, it was well into the evening. She was quite soaked and would have to find a place to dry. She easily spotted some nearby rocky cliffs and decided that they would be a good first place to look for shelter.

She shivered a bit as she drew near, peering about with her one good eye. It was fairly quiet, which was a good sign. No hissing meant that no enemy naga would be too close. In fact, the rocks were far enough away from any bodies of water except for the river, that she was certain they wouldn’t be bothering her here. She extended a hand away from her body, tapping lightly along the rock walls so that if there were wild animals about, she wouldn’t take them by surprise. If she had learned anything as a hunter, it was that animals were always more pissed off at you if you startled them or surprised them.

Eventually her hand came to rest upon open air when the rock wall ended. She had discovered a cave entrance buried deep within the wilderness of this place. She glanced into the darkness warily. It was possible that something could be in there. She shivered again.

There was no time to waste, but she need not be a fool and walk right in. Lirshar picked up a small stone by her feet and hurled it straight forward into the cave mouth. It seemed to hit a wall or another rock or something, because there was a thwack sound, and then the sound of the rock falling and cracking against a few more things.


SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!


The bats came flying out of the cave all at once, flapping their wings as they wheeled about. Lirshar quickly covered her head with her hands.

I knew it! I knew there was something in there! Guess you lot are going to be my new neighbors for the next two weeks…

She grunted softly, crawling along the ground and making her way into the cave underneath the bats. They were all excitable now and apparently thought it was a good time to out looking for food anyway, what with the sun setting and all. She didn’t want to get in their way, so she tried to keep her distance and stay low to the ground. She didn’t have any wood to start a fire for drying herself, which wasn’t particularly good, but at least the cave sheltered her from any chilly winds for the time being. It was enough to get through the night, at any rate. If she did start a fire, there was the possibility that it would be spotted before she could secure her temporary home, and that wouldn’t do her any good either. She resigned herself to a bit of an uncomfortable light sleep and moved behind a stalagmite in the back of the cave. This would provide some cover as she slept. She wouldn’t be seen by anything looking in the cave from the entrance. It would do until tomorrow.
Tomorrow, she would have to get down to business…

[ChampionMouse]

Part II: An Orc in the Hand is Worth Two in the Bush?

Thankfully, it was an uneventful night. Her presence had gone unnoticed in Azshara, and for that she was grateful. She woke up with a stiff neck and sore back, however, and there was much cursing as she pulled herself up from the cold hard ground. Lirshar cracked her knuckles as she stretched her arms up over her head, trying to get some mobility back in her limbs. There was a lot of work to do around the cave if she was going to properly secure this location for an extended stay.

She wasn’t worried about food. From what she had seen during her travels, there was plenty of wildlife around here for her to hunt should she get hungry. Hippogryphs, giant spiders, stag…they would all most assuredly suffice. There weren’t just dangerous animals to worry about though. Aside from the obvious Naga problem, Lirshar still had to worry about the Kaldorei that were patrolling the bridges, and then there were the Satyr that had their own encampment to the North of her cave. All in all, Lirshar counted a good many ways to die here, so she had to remain focused and learn the terrain to the best of her ability.

Preparing camp and scouting the area occupied her entire morning. It wasn’t until after the noon sun had passed overhead that Lirshar had found the time to fill her belly on venison. She had cooked it over a small fire near the cave in the hopes that it would go unnoticed for the most part. She had made a little extra to devour later, best not have a campfire going in the dark of night where it could be spotted for miles around. That went onto the “many-ways-to-die” list.

Once she had a decent meal and some of the Ashenvale river water that she had saved on her way through, Lirshar set out to explore Azshara a bit more. There was ocean bordering the land to the East, and if she knew anything about Naga…it was that they lived primarily near ocean. It would be a good place to start her search for a Sea-Witch.

While there was a proper road heading directly East, Lirshar didn’t feel like pushing her luck. Eyes would be all along those main roads. Northeast from the caves and cliffs seemed like a more promising direction. It would lead her both away from the main road and towards the sea.

The wilderness eventually gave way to a small clearing. Lirshar could smell smoke and fire coming from some small settlement marked with Horde banners. If she remembered correctly, this was Valormok. One of the few Horde outposts in all of Azshara. She could not directly stop and ask for help, as that would have been cheating, but she could at least use the presence of this place to her advantage. If Valormok was to her back, she could rely on the fact that no hostiles would be coming from that direction.

As luck would have it, just past Valormok there were some large ruins. The white pillars looked broken in most places. The stone had not held up very well. Toppled statues were a common sight. Lirshar could not get close enough to make out many details though. The place was crawling with naga. All it would take was one loud mouth to ruin it all. No, she needed to stick to the outskirts where she could silence one of the snake people with a well-placed arrow to the throat. Gurgling would be much less threatening than shrieking in a crowded area.

Lirshar promptly hustled her way over to an area heavy with shrubs and knelt down. With cover, she knew she would get the jump on the naga before it saw her. This was a necessary precaution. The place was just far enough away from the ruins that Lirshar wasn’t too worried about interference as a result of gurgling. Stragglers and scouts might possibly come out this far from the heart of the ruins, but the bulk of the monsters would not. She would have to bunker down here in this bush and wait until the moment was right.

It felt odd to hide. She was so used to having her soldiers around that Lirshar normally just joined them when they ran wildly into the heat of battle. But they were not here now, and she had no one to rely on but herself. Hiding was not honorable, to be sure, but the mission was important. No unnecessary risks could be taken. This was not the time to show off. Bragging rights could come later when there was time to tell exciting stories about the trip.

I will have to tell Teztez that I kicked an Elf’s teeth out on the way back. He’ll be jealous. Or maybe I can scare the pups and tell them stories about Naga snake pits.

Lirshar smirked to herself, enjoying the little daydream for as long as she dared. It was time to get back to business in the bush.

Ow. Damn prickers.

[ChampionMouse]

Part III: Dances With Naga

It was early evening when Lirshar picked up the faint hissing sound. At least, it started faint. It grew louder as the creature came closer and closer to her hiding spot. Truth be told, Lirshar had never really taken the time to study the build of a Naga. The skin on this creature was vividly colored, with scales that glinted and changed from blue to a deep purple and back again depending on how the sunlight struck them. The approaching Naga woman twisted and turned as she slithered by brush and rock. She was almost pearlescent in some strange tantalizing way. Beautiful, strange, and terrible all at once.

Lirshar slowly readied an arrow, fitting it in place as she watched the Naga sway from side to side. The four arms of the beast writhed this way and that, searching for something just as the creatures’ eyes did look about. A forked tongue slid forth from the Naga’s mouth as her lips parted and she bared her large fangs. Lirshar had once been told that snakes could smell and sense through their tongues. She wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but she believed it well enough when those slit eyes snapped in her direction.

The Warlady did not wait another moment to let the arrow fly.

TWANG!

The barbed arrow soared from her place of hiding. The Naga seemed oddly ready for a foe under relatively surprise attack, but it was not ready for the speed of Lirshar’s arrow. The arrow stuck itself in the scaled body, on the right side of the chest. Dark blood trickled in a steady stream from the fresh wound, staining the white fletching. The Naga priestess let out a hideous shriek.

She reached out with one arm to clench the shaft of the arrow while her other arms moved independently. All but one of her palms were facing inward now, and Lirshar could swear that there was some strange iridescent blue glow collecting about the Naga’s hands. The winds picked up then, and Lirshar felt an involuntary shiver at the sudden surge of cold. She had seen this kind of thing before if she remembered correctly. Naga priestesses used a lot of ice, water, and cold in their magical assaults.

How often had she read of these tactics in her youth before she had focused her efforts on the Scourge in Northrend? Lirshar had loved her books more than was normal for a young Orc. She had learned to read and write from her knowledgeable mother, but she had also learned much from practical experience. Books could teach you what to expect in certain situations, and even what you should do to survive. But books could not teach you the mysteries of how. How was best left to muscle memory. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could recall the other lessons of warriors. Pain and loss were the great motivators of their lives, that and an unwavering sense of loyalty to the Horde. Fighting was just as much about guts and feeling as it was strategy.

Regardless, it was because of her learnedness that Lirshar could anticipate the Naga strategy. She had to get out of the way of the Priestess’ magic before she could be held in place and picked off by foul, long-distance magics. In other words, she had to move now.
In the midst of the frantic chanting, Lirshar took cover behind a nearby boulder. This would have been a prudent place to use for cover, but the Naga wouldn’t have it. Her deadly magic manifested itself into a solid crystalline lance of ice. She raised one arm above her head and deftly hurled the lance towards the boulder which Lirshar had scurried behind. One would have thought the ice would shatter or bounce harmlessly off of the rock, but it did not. (Something to mark for the strategy books.)

Like a javelin, the icy spear sank inches into the stone, and the mere distance of its penetration was enough. Lines and cracks started appearing in the foundation of the boulder, and Lirshar could hear the Priestess chanting again. The rock would not hold long against magical assault. There wasn’t much time to think. Lirshar grabbed herself a small rock that had broken off of the large piece. Before the priestess had finished chanting, Lirshar hurled the stone in the snake’s direction.

Thinking that another arrow was upon her, the priestess kept her eyes on the moving object as it came whizzing by; and was forced to stop her chanting in order to move out of the rocks path in panic and anticipation. But Lirshar didn’t stop moving.

She followed through with the feint, pouncing on the Naga with axe now in hand. Once in melee range, Lirshar attempted to bury the hatchet into the Naga’s skull. The snake was no slouch however, and two of the four arms reached up to grab at the shaft of the weapon. The two other arms busied themselves trying to claw at Lirshar’s arms and hands. Lirshar knew she couldn’t lose control of the weapon now. She would just have to take the punishment. Claws ripped through her light leather armor, slicing her green skin open in three straight symmetrical lines. They were spaced apart evenly as though one had been keeping a small tally. The armor had protected the vital muscles in her wrists and arms, but the cuts still stung and burned as the area around them became inflamed with agitated swelling. Lirshar gritted her teeth, keeping her jaw clenched tight. She wanted to yell so badly.

The Snake may have had her out-armed, but she had something it didn’t have. Legs.

Lirshar pulled back on the axe as hard as she could, dragging the Naga through the dirt and closer to her. When she was within range, Lirshar tugged again, causing the Naga’s upper body to bend forward sharply. When it did, Lirshar’s knee came up too, heading straight for the arrow she had planted earlier in her enemy’s chest. The great snake shuddered and heaved as the barbed arrowhead twisted and went deeper into her flesh. Her arms dropped to desperately clutch at the worsening wound. Air only came in sharp painful gasps.

Lirshar grunted and switched the axe into her left hand, the one that wasn’t pulsing in agony. She raised the weapon clumsily, for it felt foreign to hold there. Lirshar hoisted the axe up with some effort and swiftly let it fall down for the Naga’s neck.

At first the creature didn’t die right away. It flailed and twitched as though it intended to cling to life. Lirshar raised her axe again in response, repeating the gesture as she swung the axe down at the Naga priestess as she began to droop. The horrible gasping sound finally ceased when the head went rolling and tumbling through the coarse grass of Azshara; but it wasn’t the head she came for, it was the arms. All four of them. She needed to make quick work of the butchery before the smell of blood attracted any nearby predators.

Ironically, the body was harder to cut apart once it had become a corpse. Maybe because it had become stiff and rigid, or maybe because Lirshar’s arm ached. Once she had chopped off all the required limbs, taking the head for good measure, Lirshar bundled them up in the sack she had brought with her in anticipation of this gory mess of a task.

She would spend another night in the cave recuperating. She was in no condition for heavy travel right away. Maybe with some rest, roasted meat and herb remedies she could dull the sting just enough for the journey home.

She was so close…

[ChampionMouse]

Part IV: The Trouble With Elves

Well…at least she thought she was close.

Lirshar had covered her wounds in a paste made from mashed up Peacebloom and Silverleaf, an old trick she had learned from her mother, but her rest that evening was very sporadic. Perhaps it was the wound, or perhaps it was just the excitement of going home that woke her every so often in the dark, dank cave. There was a logistic problem with getting home now, she realized, and a big one at that.

With her wound, there was no way her arms would be steady and strong enough to carry her down and up the rocky cliffs that guarded the river. When she had first arrived it was already a difficult climb, but a surefire way to avoid the bridge on the main road that was most certainly patrolled by those pesky Elf sentinels. While Lirshar knew in her heart of hearts that she was clearly superior to any Elf because of good breeding alone, she was not going to take the chance of failing right after she killed the Naga. Walking right across that bridge in the middle of the day would be pure folly. Somehow, she would have to distract those Elves.

A wicked grin crossed her face.

It took her maybe an hour to find all the materials she needed to set up, and then another two hours to actually do the building. Wood, rocks, vines and other bits and pieces of the natural world had been scattered all about her before she brought them to order. She went about her work efficiently, for it was a task the huntress was quite familiar with. Trap building, some called it. She preferred to think of it as Fun making.

She would need to start a small blaze off the beaten path on this side of the bridge to draw the Elves out. They would have to protect their precious trees after all. Then, while they were distracted, she would sneak over the bridge with the Naga parts in hand. Around the area where the blaze would be started, Lirshar had prepared a special surprise just in case the enemy needed to be further detained. She went through the plan several times, double checking all the working parts. She would have to be quick to move once she started the fire.

Things burned easier inland. Without the heavy dampness of the salty sea, Lirshar was able to get the wood burning the old fashioned way. She stepped carefully, hopping away from the spreading flame in order to get to cover where she might better spy the bridge and its patrollers. From behind the tree she risked a glance; peeking out to one side she examined the road. All she caught was a quick glimpse of an Elf running towards the fire. There were certainly less of them than she had anticipated. A single Elf posed a much lesser threat. Even so, the Elf had bounded off with a reaction time that even Lirshar could envy.

A frightened yelp told Lirshar that her trap had been successful. She would at least give the Elf the gift of a quick death. As Lirshar approached she could make out the sounds of the struggling Elf before she could see it. The trap she had set going towards the fire had worked indeed, for the elf was thrashing about in a net Lirshar had woven together with thick vines and sapling branches.

The Elf’s hair was a deep green, pulled back in what looked to Lirshar like some kind of comically vain loops. There was so much purple on her foe that she was reminded of Ashenvale itself. She recognized clearly the markings of the Elf capital city. It was some kind of white or silver tree. She had no idea why anyone would pick so fragile a symbol to carry into war, but she was not here to debate heraldry with the enemy of her people.

Looking around, the she-Elf set her eyes upon the approaching Orc. For once, Lirshar couldn’t read the expression on that face. It seemed so foreign a thing. Was it pain she saw in those glowing eyes? Fear? Regret? Disgust? The Elf tensed, watching the Orc warily as though awaiting with baited breath the judgment she knew must come.

“You will kill me, will you not greenskin?” The Elf demanded. "I was fool enough to get caught by such a simple trap that surely you approach to put me out of my misery."

Lirshar blinked. She had not anticipated the Elf to speak to her like this at all. She should have been struggling to flee for her life, not making idle chat.

The Elf was a fool!

“It is okay, you know. I have lived a good long life and have seen my children grow strong. I have no regrets.”

Lirshar grunted.

“I don’t understand your groveling. How can you so readily accept death like a coward? Do you not want to die with honor and dignity?”

“What do brash monsters know of courage?” she retorted. “You mistake killing for glory and spill blood where trees should grow.”

Lirshar shook her head. “What are you trying to do, Elf? Your words do nothing to wound my pride. I am Lirshar Goresight, Warlady of the Goresight Vanguard!” She slammed a fist into her chest, unable to resist a proud salute.

The trapped elf clicked her tongue and shook her head like a condescending elder.

“You’re an idiot is what you are.”

As if on cue, another she-Elf who had been hiding and watching from the brush, charged Lirshar. She swung her three bladed glaive with the intention of catching Lirshar off guard. The footfalls were quite soft and the Elf was nearly upon her when Lirshar realized what the other Elf had been hinting at.

“Damn you cowardly Elves!” Lirshar roared, spinning to get out of the Elf’s path of ambush. She was cutting it close, she realized, for the Elf managed to graze her brow and leave a shallow cut. Not only that, but the Elf was coming again. The Elves that Lirshar normally fought were like this, not heavily armored, but fast as hell.

Lirshar managed to get her axe up in time to parry the blow, but the Elf’s weapon was curved. It wrapped around the axe head, trapping it, but Lirshar was no stranger to a contest of strength. Out muscling the Elf, Lirshar began to push back with all her might. The Elf’s knees began to shake and buckle. The agile creature quickly twisted her weapon, forcing the Orc into a contest of circular momentum and finesse, which was something Lirshar was not ready for.

The axe went flying end over end where it dropped harmlessly on the ground some feet off to her right. The Elf smirked and moved to block Lirshar’s path to the weapon, swiping horizontally right for the Orc’s chest. Lirshar could only jump back. The Elf changed the angle, coming in for another attack. She reversed directions and returned the blade back across the way it had come. This time it struck, and Lirshar’s leather armor split cleanly where the weapon had landed. It was not a heavy blow, but Lirshar could not match the fast pace of combat. Especially not unarmed. If she kept sustaining injuries like this, even light ones, the Elf would toy with her and bleed her to death.

Lirshar snarled. There was no way to get to her weapon. The elf had seen to that. She could feel her blood pounding hotly in her veins. The rage coursing through her was as palpable as the deep thrums of a tribal war drum. When the Elf tried to slash down at her, Lirshar caught her by the wrist and squeezed, twisting the arm until there was an audible sharp crack. The Elf kicked for Lirshar’s shins, suddenly not wanting to be in close proximity to the enraged Orc. The kick bought her enough time to retreat a small distance, but the furious Lirshar was the one that pressed the attack this time around.

She could remember the play fights in Azshara Crater as plain as day. There she had repeatedly endured what she referred to as glorious beatings from Duron and his Warsong brother in arms. They fought for no singular purpose but to prove themselves; to prove that they were warriors of the Horde. Her loyal soldiers even after their last breaths had left them lying exhausted on the dirt ground bruised and bloodied.

“LOK’TAR OGAR!” Came the bellowing war cry, and Lirshar flung her full body weight at the Elf.

Together they fell to the ground, rolling amongst the leaves in a battle for dominance. The Elf had dropped her weapon at Lirshar’s initial rush, but that didn’t stop her from trying to scratch, kick, and claw her way to victory. Lirshar’s single-minded response was a furious howl. One hand wrapped around the Elf’s throat while the other went to grab roughly at her hair. The Elf grabbed at Lirshar’s arm, desperately trying to move it; but the wrathful Orc was beyond reproach. She crudely yanked the elf by the hair, slamming her head back into a large slab of rock. The Elf seemed dazed and stunned for a moment, her eyelids fluttering in confusion.

Lirshar did not relent. Again and again she slammed the Elf’s head into the rock until the skull had cracked, and all that remained of the Elf’s face was bloody mush. Lirshar’s chest rose and fell quickly as she took in sharp breaths. Slowly, her fierce red eye turned to the Elf that was still trapped.

Lirshar grinned menacingly, and the death was clean and quick.

---

Part V: Oldest One In the Book

Once she had calmed her racing heart and added two pairs of Elf ears to the sack of arms, Lirshar felt accomplished and crossed the bridge back into Ashenvale. She quickly removed herself from the main road. The adrenaline made her want to run gleefully all the way home, but she held the impulse at bay for fear that one sloppy mistake could undo all her hard work.

When night fell, she was extremely grateful for the temporary end of hiking through underbrush. She ate heartily, devouring the rest of her leftover venison as well as some savory berries she had found after looting the two dead Elves. When she was comfortably full, Lirshar made herself a makeshift bed of pine boughs and covered herself from would be prying eyes. She needed the sleep quite badly. Her arm was bothering her again. The wrist was started to tweak out and would occasionally send a sporadic burning sensation up her arm. She dared not go searching for the herbs to make more salve in the dead of night though. There were most assuredly more Elves roaming the forest. They would be watching and waiting.

She shuddered, remembering all the tales Mundo the Peon had told around the bonfire late at night. Sometimes, the Peons stationed here long ago would call this place the Forest of Death. The lucky Orcs, they said, got to face the Elves in honorable combat. The unlucky ones wandered down a path and then wandered back out with arrows sticking out of them. The scary part was that no sound was ever heard. Sometimes the Peons were frightened to work in that place, but that was back then. At least, Lirshar told herself that these were War stories from Older times. It was more comforting that way. The Horde had yet to make its full fury known to the Elves of Ashenvale. Lirshar slept soundly anyway amongst her pine boughs, happy to be off her feet and not fighting for her life.

When morning came she felt a bit better. The furious remnants of adrenaline had left her, but the pain was still there. She had to press on, however. The only way the wound could be treated properly was if she returned to Orgrimmar and finished her business. With the goal of proper medical treatment in mind she started on her way, trying to retrace her steps and go back the way she had initially come. She kept her eye on sharpy lookout. The chirping birds served to make her jumpy as every shifting breeze became a sneaky, cowardly, Elf-archer ready to end her triumphant return.

Lirshar took a deep breath and held it in. It was just nerves, she assured herself. Surely all those who had come before had felt the same when they walked through the forest. She was just being moody because her life was bound to change one way or another.

She longed for Duron then. He should have been there to share in this moment. She would bring honor to their family with this deed. Or maybe…she just missed his quirky grin, strong jaw, wisdom, humble respect, and complete inability to effectively wield a ranged weapon. Quite frankly, she missed everything about him. She missed her soldiers too.

The fiercely loyal Dagrim with wit and a tongue as sharp as any blade. The seasoned Mokaku who always said just the right thing in some strange aloof manner. She even missed Tusin and Teztez, who would totally enjoy the Elf ears she would bring him. Then she remembered her broken demolisher and scowled.

“Damnit, Tusin.”

There was Wilt too, though! She could never forget about Wilt. Sure she didn’t really understand him on a deep personal level, but she knew he was a good friend with the fiercest agenda against dirt, grime, and bad smells that she had ever seen. She smiled. Yes, she missed them and would be all too glad to celebrate in their company when she returned.

As she continued to creep along, the brush began to thin out. Lirshar could make out the sounds of Elven voices coming from the area up ahead. Her heart quickened and she looked to the other side of the river in the hopes of of spotting a different clear path. Much to her dismay, she found more Elves. At least four of them were wandering the area that she could see. If they spotted her with those keen eyes of theirs she was dead.

Thinking quickly, Lirshar tiptoed to a shaded area of the riverbank, one still partially covered by plant life. Quietly, she snapped a hollowed out plant chute free. She put it to her lips and breathed in and out to make sure the airflow was clear. This plan wasn’t fantastic. Really, she had only heard the theory mentioned once. Nobody she knew had ever really tried this classic form of escape artistry. Despite her trepidations, Lirshar stepped down into the dark river that flowed through Ashenvale, descending as far into the depths as she ould go while still allowing the top of the plant access to the air. The water was cool for this time of year, and the river bottom, she found, was quite mushy. Her boots sank down into the mud as she walked, but it was better that they do this than kick up obvious clouds of river debris for the Elves to notice and investigate.

Carefully she made her way down the river, right under the Elven noses. She was cautious not to rush, making the bit of plant that was showing move as close to the lazy river’s pace as she could. If the Elves thought this strange or suspicious at all, she couldn’t say; for they did not bother her. The clever trick had surprisingly worked, and she thanked the ancestors for her good fortune. She remained under water for a bit further than she thought she needed to. It was best to be overly cautious. She would be lucky indeed to come out of this encounter unscathed.

…That was when she felt her toe roughly bump up against a sharp rock. She winced, finally deciding that this was a good time to come up for air. Her exit from the river was not majestic in any way, shape or form. She cursed under her breath, for her toe was turning strange colors and swelling just as bad as her arm had done, if not worse. Of course, this was only after she had found a safe place to sit and take off her thoroughly mud soaked boots. In addition to the discomfort of the swollen toe, some pebbles had somehow found their way into the boots and had been rubbing against her heel all the way down stream. Then there was the crayfish, which she ate. Sure she had no idea how it got in her shoe, but it was delicious even when raw.

It was slow going as usual when sneaking about, but it was worth it when she caught sight of the Barrens. Home was just around the corner!

That night, Lirshar found an abandoned hut and spent a good portion of the night retching because of something she ate. She swore up and down in between breaths that the Elf berries had been poisoned. The crayfish had nothing to do with it.

Anyway, by the time morning came, her queasy stomach had settled a bit. From here it was safe to walk on the main road all the way back to Orgrimmar. Of course, Lirshar hadn’t really taken into account that the dead flesh from the Naga and Elves in her pack would attract so many vultures for her to swat away.

Nor did she imagine that the high sun of the Barrens would cause those body parts to smell infinitely worse than a Troll in heat. It was almost enough to make her sick again, but that was difficult on an empty stomach. She would probably have no healthy appetite anytime soon.

With a bit of a limp, a queasy stomach, and a wounded arm she hobbled her way to Orgrimmar where she was promptly bumped into by a pup in a rush. Lirshar sighed, so relieved to be home that she didn’t even scold the child. With a slight smile, she took in the sight of the glorious city. Her appearance was unseemly, and others wrinkled their noses in disgust as she passed by with the sack of body parts; but it was with her head held high and heart full of pride that she went to find the High Warlord and present him with her trophies of conquest.