The Strength to Say...

[ImagenAshyun]

Spoiler:

IC thread for Mahen'tosh's class change from warlock to shaman. Events in this post have all occurred IC with other players. Important participants are mentioned by name.

              "...I'm sorry."

              Those were the words I was raised to never say. The strength of my people as well as the clan. The person. Should a wrongdoing arise, we do not grovel for forgiveness--we move on to correct the mistake. Grovelling is a sign of weakness, I was brought up. We hold our heads up high, in pride and honor. Even when it came to sin. We certainly bow to those greater than us, especially to the Elements who bestowed us their power and strength. Still, in a world where we must fight every day to survive and belong, to grovel and plead often spells more than just humiliation. It is disgrace. It is dishonor.

              I am fully aware not all orcs are brought up this way. The Frostwolves seem to be very different from the Bleeding Hollows, for instance. I do not conglomerate with orcs of other clans beyond Kosh'hargs, and even then, I stayed mostly with my fellow Bleeding Hollows. Still, this belief was instilled in me since childhood, and I held it close to my heart.

              But even then, as I have come to accept, times would change, and beliefs would too. I have certainly changed when I met the young draenei building their homes in Nagrand. I have certainly changed when Kilrogg introduced us the Blood of Mannaroth. When the Second War was over and my family and I were interned. When we were freed. Isolated. And when I arrived in Orgrimmar for the first time in my long, weary life.

              I am old. Days ago, I have turned eighty-three. No party, no celebration. My grandchildren weren't even present. It matters not; a birthday would only be a reminder of how far and how deep I have come in this dreary life. I had sired my four children--Bragnok, Ta'bak, Sigaw, and Gan'da--when the Chalice of Rebirth was presented to us. I created an army through my children. My beloved, Ka'wal, became one of the Burning Blade. Most of my draenic friends have died. One is now my enemy, a soldier for the Alliance, sworn to avenge her people. And the other... will never cease his mourning of his loss, becoming lost in his walk with the Spirits.

              Eighty-three years. I am nowhere as old as my draenei friends, but I feel the wear and tear of age approaching me. I know, for a fact, I do not have long. I wish to stay alive long enough to see my beloved Irsha and Mana'gal bear their own children. I have yet to meet Gortan's son. My grandchildren, bearing their own children... for the better of their future. Our future. For ourselves, our clan, our people... this new Horde. Redemption is within our grasp. Honor shall be restored to us once more. My progeny would then live with peace within themselves, their friends and neighbors, and the Elements around them. Even when I didn't.


              Even then, however... heh. Gortan suggested that I return to shamanism. Laughable. I am barely strong enough to walk well on my own two feet without a cane. Yes, I did once carry a centaur and beat another centaur with him... but I broke my back in doing so. Shut up, you didn't hear that from me. Anyway... yes. A return to shamanism. I thought it was preposterous for anyone to think that it is possible, one so old and deep into the fel such as I. And yet... I don't know. My heart felt like it wanted to soar with the possibility that I could be redeemed. That my own honor could be restored. Is it true? Can the Elements of Azeroth accept me as their follower? This... I had to try. I will not give up. I will hold my head up high and return to the path of the Elements. My name is Blindthunder. The cries of lightning will be mine to command once more.

---

              A visit to Thousand Needles. Madugo suggested we commune with the Spirits there. I heard them for the first time there. My heart smiled.

"Speaker of Draenor, have you forgotten our call?"

"Go forth."

"Follow."

"We speak to you, as well. Blindthunder, is it? An esteemed name, to be sure. How did one such as you get a name such as that?"

              "I once was connected to the spirits of Draenor. I have cried to them to lend me their power in times of need, even my vision was lost to me. When I summoned the thunder, it quelled my enemies when I was blind."

"And would you need that power now? To summon the spirits to your beck and call?"

              "I wish to connect with the spirits of this planet, as it is now my home. I would like to abandon the path of the fel, for it has done nothing but destruction to me and my people."

"Your body is greatly corrupted by the fel. Can such poisoned bodies channel our purity once more?"

              "I do not know. I wish that I am to be purified, however. I do not know how."

""... do you not hear us? Feel the beckon? You may once again be able."

              "...What must I do?"

"Your body must be cleansed to be a vessel. You have ascended these heights, and so if you wish, the air you breath shall be purified."

              It was hard to believe. "I am grateful you are providing me this opportunity. But I am unsure how I can be cleansed."

"Listen well, Blindthunder. The air from your lungs are dirty, impure. It must be drawn out, and you shall breathe anew. But you must face this alone. None may help you, through magic or medicine, as your body will be wracked with pain. Do you accept?"

              "...I accept."

"Then go forth on foot. Ready yourself."

              "Where?"

"The cliff edge. Watch your step."

              "I am here."

"Off the worg. On your own two feet."

              I was lead to what felt like the tallest cliff in Thousand Needles. The height was dizzying... but I felt the wind in my hair.

"Breathe anew."

              Indeed, I did breathe. The air was warm, comforting. There was no pin-pricking bite the fel-tainted air often had. It made me think of home. The land of winds.

"You are strong willed. In control.... you do your people proud. Your dedication is an example all could learn from."

              From then on, I was cleansed... but I was not to use the fel again. Never again. I was willing to go through. I could do this easily, as ever since I was released from Torr, I did not touch the fel. I was ready. I was strong.



              No, I was not.

---

              Only a few months after the meeting with the winds of Azeroth, I slipped. I met with Gortan to talk about my progress with returning to shamanism. We were lead into Shadowmoon, to contemplate on our pasts. I had Kapre with me. He was unwell, but he needed company. We are friends. I thought that if I kept him close to me, he'd be safe.

              This was not the case.

              I slipped. So very irresponsibly. Ghosts were rampant.. well, one was. He was charging at me, sword in hand and ready. It was the First and Second War all over again. A son of Azeroth, Knight of the Silver Hand. He cried his war song as his hooves galloped my way in hopes to pierce me. I raised my hand, calling upon the forces of darkness into my fingertips. The pin-pricking air bit onto my fel-tainted skin, the flames of the fel channelling into my palms. I fired at him. It went through him. A vision. A ghost.

              ...a failure on my part. The bloodlust was still in me. I cried out furiously at myself. Even my grandson chastised me for my weakness.


              How stupid of me.

---

              I meditated. A lot. I prayed hard. I poured my soul to reconnect with the Spirits. I wanted to return. I am remorseful and I want to leave my sins behind.

              I stayed in Outland to contemplate some more. To think about not just my past, but the more recent events. Lately, Kapre has been spirit walking some more. Quite frankly... I was jealous. I used to commune with spirits before... now a draenei, of all people, is doing just that. What's next, orcs following the Light? Sheesh.

              I have made some new friends recently. Orvisha Lorewolf, a young one. She is companions with this Gantrithor, a draenei. Neither are shamans, but both seem to have high reverence for the Spirits. I stayed with them some. I got to know them. Both hope to follow. I know in my heart, due to their eagerness and good natures, this can be possible. The Spirits smiles upon those who follow them reverently. With peace and humility. I used to have that... but I have failed to turn away from the fel. It is still second nature to me. And now... I am unsure of what to do.


              I returned to Shadowmoon. I wanted to think, once more, of what I done. This was where I blew my chance.... but this was also where a second one may come to me.

              I saw them. Orvisha, and Xanthe, friend and employee of Kapre. Along with them is a female draenei, one whose name escapes me. I met her once in Shattrath, but I never got her name. Nevertheless, I followed. I was curious. I figured I could contemplate with company around me. We kept walking until we gathered at territory even I was unfamiliar with prior to the explosion of my home planet. Draenic crystals, everywhere. Odd structures. A vast temple. I felt fel taint growing stronger as I approached. I listened closely to my companions. I then learned of what this place was...


              Karabor.


              It was here that Orvisha, Xanthe, and I were blasted with a vision. A family. A little draenei girl, not much different from sweet little Aria. A loving husband. A tender love. A joy that was destroyed. That we destroyed. That I destroyed. I saw it, through the eyes of one who was once my prey, the loss and destruction of all that was dear. Her daughter. Her husband. Her friends and family. They didn't do anything--they were running from the Burning Legion. We let ourselves be deceived. We destroyed the draenei.

              Yet here she is... accepting me with open arms. A pain she shared. A burden that cannot be lifted on her own.


              ...I understand now. What must be done. This is more than just regaining honor. This is more than just saying a simple apology. There are hearts besides mine that need healing. But... this is a whole people. There are people of mine who would not care about the draenei, or have any regret of what we did in the past. Our fights are our own. The Female has her. And here... I have mine.


              Spirits.


              I need you.


              I need you to heal me... to heal the world I live in. This world I have moved into. The times have changed and come to a point where I am at a road block. I cannot move further except to wither and die in place if I do nothing. The fel has not left me, nor would it ever as long as my skin is tainted green... but I care not for that. I humbly submit myself to you as a servant. I wish to regain honor and redemption, for myself, for everyone and everything I cherish and love.

              Please give me the strength to say more than just say "I'm sorry." I must act. Not just talk. I want Mana'gal to have a grandfather she can be proud of. I want Gortan to have a grandfather he can pride himself in. I want Irsha to learn from my mistakes and seek her own path of honor. I want Kapre to be at ease that his wishes and longings for peace is not a wish of his own. I want.... I want... Female. I don't know your name. But I want to help lift that burden of pain from you... as your burden of pain is my burden of guilt. We will be free. We will be strong again.

              But I am not strong. Not yet. But even if I am to die tomorrow of old age, it matters not. I am willing to take the first step.









              I'm sorry.

[Valicor]

Seeing as that trip to 1k Needles was actually my first ever Roleplay with Jaedyn...I have to.

/overly-loud applause

[ImagenAshyun]

              A vision.......





              I see a vast mountain. Black. Black rocks. Blades clashing. Blood spilling. Red eyes.... red eyes...

              A familiar shape. I recognize her...

              Ka'wal.








              Manag'gal woke me. She found her way to the Love Boat, where I was staying to watch Irsha recover. I must have fallen asleep cleaning the kitchen, as my head was laid atop of a food crate.

              "Are you okay, Grandpa?" she asks me. By her feet was not only a large bag, but swords sticking out.

              I chuckled as I pushed myself up. "I am fine, Granddaughter. I am happy that you have come to see me. Have you finished training for today?"

              "I've finished more than just today."

              "Excuse me?"

              "I've finished training." Mana lowers herself to pick up a sword. "I will be leaving for The Valley of Trials for my Om'riggor. When I return, I will be a full woman."

              I forgot about the vision for a moment. I jumped up, my arms wrapping around my granddaughter. I couldn't stop grinning with joy. "At last! You are ready! Manag'gal, I am so proud of you!"

              "Will you be coming to my rites, Grandpa?"

              I stand back to look into her eyes as I open my mouth to answer her. Before me, I didn't see just my granddaughter... I see her mother. Her grandmother. Ka'wal, a blademaster before her.... no. Burning Blade. Burning.....

              "You remind me so much of your grandmother, Manag'gal."

              "Grandpa?"

              "She was a blademaster before you. She even braided her hair like you do."

              Manag'gal managed a smile. "Do I... do I look like her?"

              "Absolutely."

              "What happened to her, Grandpa?" she says as she tilts her head.

              My brows furrow. I have told her before. "She died at the camps, my dear Granddaughter. Died because of the Lethar-"

              "If Grandma was a blademaster before me, she'd have been a Burning Blade, wouldn't she?"

              "You are correct."

              "She'd either be killed at Blackrock Spire or taken by the Alliance to be studied. So what happened, Grandpa?"

              I felt my heart sink. She must have learned about this history during her blademaster training.

              "What happened to Grandma?"

              "I....."

              "How come you never told me? Even though you fawn over Grandma and how wonderful she is?"

              "I..."

              "You told me she was just a warrior. You never told me about her being in the Burning Blade."

              I couldn't speak.

              "What happened, Grandpa? Do you even know?"

              I sighed. "No, Manag'gal. I do not."

              "Why not?"

              "Truth to be told..." I take a deep breath before I continue. "I have not seen her since before the opening of the Dark Portal."

              Manag'gal's mouth gaped. "So I wasn't even born when you last saw her?"

              "Granddaughter, it was over thirty years ago. Not even your older cousin Gortan was born then, I think."

              "So the last time you saw her was.... when?"

              "When I threw her to the Burning Blade overseers."

              "Wait.... you threw her into the Burning Blade?"

              I reach for my cane and lean on it before I take a seat on one of the food crates. "Your grandmother was so deep into the corruption of demon's blood that, she was a risk to keep around for me and the rest of her family. Your mother and her siblings were at risk too."

              "And you threw her to the Burning Blade?"

              "The ogres kept her in check."

              "And you never learned of what happened since then?"

              "..............No. I did not."




              An awkward silence.




              "Well....that is enlightening, Grandpa. I had no idea."

              "It is painful for me to admit, Granddaughter, yes."

              "So... I guess you've moved on since then, right?"

              "I have." I am a liar.

              Manag'gal looks down to her sword. "So... will you be coming to my Om'riggor?"

              "A proper elder will be overseeing it him or herself. I cannot be present."

              "I see." I could tell Manag'gal was disappointed.

              ....An idea. I lean close to my grandchild to kiss her on the cheek. "My beloved Manag'gal. We will celebrate your passage. I'll request Kapre to prepare you the biggest feast of your life. Everything will be of your favorites. We'll have plainstrider!"

              "Roasted?! With Earthroot seasoning?"

              "Marinated with Sungrass, my dear."

              "I love you, Grandpa!" She held me close in a warm embrace. My heart smiled.

              "Slaughter us a plainstrider at your hunt. Its blood will be your passage, and its meat your reward."

              "Thank you for everything, Grandpa!"

              "No.... thank you."

              She tilted her head. "For.... what?"

              "For giving me a spark. An inspiration."

              "To...."

              "Find out what happened to your grandmother."

              I see it in Manag'gal's eyes. Her own heart sank like an anchor in a deep sea. "Grandpa... what will you be doing? You're not going to Blackrock Spire, are you?"

              "Don't be silly, Granddaughter. Just Hammerfall."

              "I don't like that place..."

              "I know you don't. I don't either."

              "Will you be gone long, Grandpa?"

              "I'll be back in time for the completion of your Om'riggor, child."

              "Will you be going on foot? Mount?"

              I haven't thought of that. "Uh...."

              Manag'gal sticks a hand into the pocket of her frayed robe. She pulls out thirty silver coins. "Here. It should be enough for a return flight."

              As soon as the coins are pressed onto my palm, I pushed my hands towards her. "Mana, Mana, no! You earned this, this is part of your moving-out fund. This has to be months' worth of selling herbs."

              "We'll use it for for moving out. Or should I say..." she says with a smile. "'Moving on.'"



              .........She has certainly grown wiser.



              "Very well. These silvers will not be wasted. A thousand thank-yous, my cherished Manag'gal."

              "No, thank you."

              "For?"

              "Loving me. Raising me. Without Mama. And Grandma."

              I reached for Manag'gal and held her close. I couldn't hold back the tears.

              "I love you, Grandpa."

              "I love you too, Granddaughter."

[Vladdy]

I'll try not to cry. (Deep stuff, Immy. Deep stuff.)

[ImagenAshyun]

              I'm frantic. I search the Love Boat for extra change, as I have realized that the amount Manag'gal left me is not enough to cover Lo'bo's flight. I'm sure Kapre won't mind some silver missing from in between his cushions and floorboards. I'll pay him back if he does.

              "Gran? What're you doing?"

              I jolted in surprise. Turning around, I see my second surviving granddaughter, Irsha. It seemed she has made her way in. She surely has caught me off guard, as I was on the floor trying to scrape for a stuck copper coin. "Irsha! Are you well?" I asked as I got up, not answering her question. It has been a while since she has recovered from her curse, but her condition still worries me.

              Nevertheless, my dearly beloved grandchild smiled as she raised her hand at me dismissively. "'Course I am! Who do you think you're talking to?" She chuckled before pushing herself towards me. "And you? What are you doing?"

              "I'm.... scavenging for coin," I admit with hesitation. I barely have much in my hands.

              Irsha was able to pick on my intentions fairly quickly as she was looking onto my palm. "Well that ain't gon' help. You plan on travellin', though?"

              "I am. Thirty-one copper.... Yes. I will be leaving for a while. I will be back soon, though. Your cousin will be having her om'riggor, and we shall celebrate."

              Looking onto her face, she seems to be taken aback. "Sooo... where you goin'?"

              "I will be going to Hammerfall."

              Her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. "Hammerfall? Fo'what?"

              "I wish to know the fate of your grandmother."

              "... In Hammerfall?"

              "It's a long story." I take my cane, which was leaning on the wall next to me. "In short, your grandmother was admitted to the Burning Blade. Though many have fallen in Blackrock Spire, there were some held by the Alliance to be studied. I wish to know if your grandmother was among those held and tossed into the camps after they were done with her."

              It seemed Irsha couldn't believe what she was hearing. "All right. But, Grandpa, you know... I was born in Hammerfall. So I was thinking.. maybe I could join?"

              I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... wish to come with me? To Hammerfall? Why?"

              Irsha lowered her head and started talking with a low, yet strong voice. "Gan'da gave birth to me there... She was my mother and I wish to see if I can find anything about her too..." Irsha, then, looks up with a forced grin. "'Sides, you can't walk alone in a Alliance-infested land!"

              I smiled as I extended my hand to my granddaughter. "Hammerfall is Horde territory now, my cherished one. Our people took it over after the Third War. I am sure, though, the humans may have kept records there on what happened to your mother." I pause for a bit before I continued, "And surely, we will know of her fate too."

              Before I knew it, I was lost in a sudden but warm embrace within my larger granddaughter's arms. "Thanks, Gran!"

              I couldn't be happier.

---

Spoiler:

RP with Kira13 will be retroactively added here.

              My cherished, beloved Gan'da. I learned of her fate in Hammerfall. Irsha must have been but a toddler when mother and daughter were separated. My daughter was transferred to a mining facility when she died of malnutrition and illness along the way there. The Lethargy consumed her entirely.

              An undignified way for an orc to perish.... but the Bloodlust was dishonorable to begin with.

              None of the human records, however, mentioned a Ka'wal--or names of any Burning Blade experiments. My heart sank as my search turned fruitless. I would look into every book the best I can, using Common-reading guards to assist me. Not one mentioned Ka'wal. I was able to find out about Gan'da and some of my other grandchildren born of her and Sigaw, but not much else. Nothing on my wife. My beloved.

              Ancestors, help me.






              Sleep. I certainly needed it. I have been in Hammerfall for four days now, spent entirely on just researching the fates of my family. Blood of my blood, tainted from my pride and gullibility to Kil'jaedan's deceit and Kilrogg's command. I am worn out.



              I see a vast mountain. Black. Black rocks. Blades clashing. Blood spilling. Red eyes.... red eyes...

              And I am alone. Alone with many angry spirits. They surround me, blocking me away from other souls who could be with me. And they take my hand... before raising theirs.

              And I hear her. Ka'wal.





              I wake up. It's still dark. The crickets and cicadas outside were still chirping to the early morn. My candle has melted almost completely. The sun hasn't risen yet.

              I sit up from my bed. Irsha slept not far away, peaceful. I smile. She has surely grown from the toddler whose mother was torn away from her. In many ways, i see Gan'da in her. Gan'da, my sweet daughter. I long to put her to rest. Put all my children to rest. And my wife....


              ...I look out the window. It is still dark. Beyond it, beyond the pane and frame, to the far away skies... is Blackrock Mountain.

              South. South is where I must go.

              I get up. I leaned close to Irsha and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. I limped to my cane and hobbled my way to the desk, where some spare paper and a piece of charcoal was left. I wrote on it and left it with Irsha, along with her coins for a trip back:

Irsha. The Spirits have called upon me someplace. I must go alone. Here is some coin to fly back to Booty Bay. I will return for you and Manag'gal so we can all celebrate our family together.

-Gran

              Besides my cane, I prepared my waterskins and dried meat. A ring of orcish fetishes and prayer beads were stuffed into my satchel. As I pack up, Lo'bo made his way by my side and nuzzled me. He could tell we are about to depart.

              I look upon my granddaughter. Once more, I will be leaving family behind. I reach into the satchel and look onto the map. The Eastern Kingdoms of Azeroth is surely different from when the Bleeding Hollows ruled Dun Morogh.

              "First," I mutter to myself, "the Wetlands." I marked my map. "Then Loch Modan.... then Dun Morogh... then Searing Gorge. Mostly dwarven territory. Surely they remember when the orcs ruled their land." I combed my fingers through my beard as I peered south from the gates of Hammerfall. The sun is starting to rise, her golden hair falling delicately across the green land. The fog was finally starting to dissipate, leaving behind a clear path for me to see. The Spirits are watching over me. I can feel it. And I will need it.


              This will be a long trip.

[ImagenAshyun]

              Arathi Highlands.


              I have little memory of this place beyond whence Thrall led our people to freedom; perhaps it is my age that is fooling me. The wind blew south, and I followed. Raptors roamed about not far from the road Lo'bo and I took, and thus, we remained cautious. Curiously, we ran across a farm along the way. Go'Shek Farm. The orcs have taken it over from the humans that once lived here. I had no time to ask... but perhaps, someday, I shall learn.

              A wrong turn at a fork had me realize I was heading towards Stromgarde as opposed to the Wetlands. I do not ever recall facing any of them during the campaigns I fought in back in the Wars. And quite honestly, I don't really care.

              Eventually, I made my way to Thandol Span. Much of the bridge is in rubble. I wonder what happened here.




              Wetlands.


              The sun was setting, and Lo'bo was getting tired. I lead him off the road and began setting up camp. As opposed to the drier north, the humid swamp provided little ground for an adequate campfire... at least one I can make without felfire. The temptation was there, but I resisted. It was cold, but I packed in an extra blanket. Lo'bo had one too. We provided each other warmth as we slept through the foggy night.

              Fireflies were buzzing about. I saw one land on a blade of grass right before my nose. I smiled gently, my fingers already placed upon my wolf. I stroked his fur gently. I felt calm.



              I dreamt of the last time I felt like this. It was in Terrokar. Kapre and I went there, with his reason as to head to Shattrath City and for me to commune with the spirits there. It was nightfall then. We decided to camp out and rest, as our beasts were exhausted, and we were hungry. Kapre taught me the naming conventions of the Draenei people and why "Shattrath" came to be. In return, I described to him the wind spirits dwelling within the rustling leaves of the forest.

              He was to sleep by his talbuk, with its saddlebag as his pillow. I was to sleep with my head on my wolf then. Fireflies were starting to gather, supposedly from Zangarmarsh. We found them a curiosity to be lingering about where we were. Kapre then confessed to me that the firefly is his favorite animal. When he was a child, he thought fireflies were particles of light from the Naaru that came to life on their own. Though he outgrew this notion, he nevertheless became fond of fireflies for their ember-like light.

              I've always associated the Light with the Draenei. But with fireflies, they are with my naive and humble friend, Kapre.



              Morning. When I awakened, Lo'bo seems to have wandered off. I called out to him, only to be denied his attention. Perhaps he went off to get breakfast.

              Upon wandering about, I come across familiar spikes attached to fallen wheels. Gears. Chains. The insignia of the Dragonmaw etched upon the remains. I hobbled about, my heart sinking as I came to the realization of this site. Though Lo'bo did return to me with rabbits in his jaws, I was not ready to either eat or leave. There are spirits that needed rest here.

              I formed a totem out of rocks and sticks from the ground. Hardly a sham of a fetish, but one that, perhaps, the Ancestors would be pleased with. I sat there and prayed. I knew full well that these souls were lost to the Bloodlust as well as the dwarves that lived here.

              I feel as though my visit here is no accident at all. The Spirits have guided my wolf away from me to lure me here. I have no idea if this is part of my trial or not... but regardless. I can feel the souls crying from liberation from the curse they voluntarily and foolishly brought themselves upon. I hoped that by coming here, I have brought at least some reprieve.




              The Dun Algaz pass. Apparantly, the living Dragonmaws do not appreciate my presence at all here.

              I was careless. Though I maintained caution in case of dwarven mountaineers scouting the area, I let my guard down upon seeing a Dragonmaw orc standing around. I was in deep surprise--perhaps some orcs around the area have mained secured points in Dun Morogh. I waved to him, shouted him greetings... and he raced towards me with full intentions to kill. I fell off my saddle as Lo'bo lunged to attack him in self-defense, and while my wolf had him pinned, I took up his fallen axe to finish the job. I held no qualms killing him. Perhaps he, too, was lost in the Bloodlust.

              Then again, granted what they did during the Second War, they hold no loyalty to the Horde--He would have attacked me with conscious clarity in his mind.

              ....But it didn't end there.

              Upon arriving on the other side of the pass, a camp of Dragonmaws was not far at all from the road. The way was narrow, and it was broad daylight. The smell of blood was still strong on Lo'bo and me. Neither of us could risk rushing past the camp. Not like this.

              Sundown couldn't come fast enough. Lo'bo was becoming restless, as was I. The Dragonmaws did not let up their patrol rounds; even as stars began to speck across the sky, many remained out. I could feel my breath shorten. We were running out of time.


              It seems I'll have to do something stupid just to pass.


              Relying on the dark to obscure the visions of the Dragonmaws, I strapped myself firmly to Lo'bo's saddle as I picked up a rock. I threw it as far as I could over to the side; the distraction worked, as two orcs were alarmed by the sudden, unexpected noise. I signaled for Lo'bo to run, but to my lack of luck, there were other sentries away from my own field of vision. We ran. Boy, did we run.

              I leaned forward, hoping, praying that the wind would carry us. I could feel their arrows flying past us, and one managed to hit my saddle and cane each. I nearly fell off Lo'bo again as one managed to connect to my left calf, but I endured the pain as much as I could. I held on to Lo'bo's reins as my loyal companion raced down the pass's halls ahead of us. The sentries were relentless in their chase; some even mounted up on their own beasts and began pursuing us. Though I was not the one running, I could feel myself running short on breath.

              As soon as we made it on the other side, my vision was starting to blur. I could not control where my wolf would go, and thus, Lo'bo kept going straight. Before I'd know it, he made a sharp left turn, and this time, I did fall--but not off. I dangled along the grassy earth as I heard dwarven shouts and then the clashing of steel. Heh. The dwarves must have noticed the Dragonmaws but not me.

              Lo'bo hid among the brushes. I unstrapped myself off my saddle and fell upon the earth, grateful the dwarves did not notice a small old orc riding upon what could be mistakened to be a native wolf. I laid low, waiting for the noises to quell. The fight lasted for a while, but I couldn't let my guard down. Not that I could get back up.

              Lo'bo faithfully licked my leg wound as he reclined next to me. I couldn't remove it--the area is starting to feel numb, and I may risk a greater injury if I do anything even more stupid. I remained on my back, thanking the Elements and the Ancestors for guiding me and my companion. The Spirits were surely with me today. I didn't bother to make another campfire as I simply fell asleep.

              My wolf laid by me. I am not alone. And I am eternally grateful.