#Warcraft writing

[gravekeeper-anna]

Daily Writing Challenge || May 2024

Day 1: Mysterious/Appearance

In the overgrown pocket of forgotten cemetery in Tirasfal, the Great Plaguebat landed with quite a force, making the old soil shiver in its impact, the threads of webbing loosen from the stone parapets of the nameless mausoleum standing just across the spotty dirt path. The Gravekeeper slid down slowly from its throne of a seat with the care unexpected of such a entity, ensuring her bone wings would not catch on the Plaguebat’s catchings.

Something else was disturbed in her arrival home - the white rose bush planted at the side of her underground sanctum. A few white blooms were jostled from their own home, joining the pale, dry grass below them. Anna eyed the rose bush for the span of a few frozen seconds, statuesque, before dismissing the great bat from the dark thicket. She tracked the Plaguebat with her gaze until it was embraced entirely by the Tirasfal fog, pathed vaguely in the direction of the Undercity. It still had gone nameless, but the Warbat had belonged more to the Undercity’s secret tunnels more than it had belonged to her.

The Gravekeeper turned again to the rose bush, this time with almost a hesitation in her footfalls toward it. Unlike the Plaguebat and herself, the white rosebush was not something that belonged to Tirasfal, neither should it have been able to thrive so well in the nutrient-less soil. In fact, she would have expected such a natural flora to quickly rot, or be corrupted by the nascent energies of the deadened land. She often brought flowers here to their death, whether to mix into required reagents or dry out for later use and decoration.  It was a rare feat for the living to find purchase in such a place. She certainly did not plant the bush in that soil;  it was a bold move on all accounts for the one that did.

Anna was removing her heavy gauntlets by more action than thought, natural sense told her that she would crush the cloud like roses on the ground with them on. Her movement slowed as she questioned such buried instinct. Why did she care if she crushed these particular roses? Powdered rose may have sold well on the elven market, or a torn petal may have been an interesting addition to a cup of tea. Dried, dead roses were better appreciated in her decor too. As she reached down to gently take a severed head of a rose into her spidery fingers, the sting of Light magic lit on her stony skin, every petal laced with the preserving magic. The rose head would not start to lose its color or health for a week or so still, even fallen from the safety of its leaves. It was a magic and even a rose she recognized, though she did not think it would follow her ‘resting place’. For some reason, the sting of the rose felt…interesting on her sculpted flesh. A sting to disrupt the numbness.

Coal briefly caught her eyes as the bat-winged tom leapt up to a grave cross nearby, making it his perch as he watched her. The little homunculous  did not seem uncomfortable as she neared with the rose head, expecting that Coal would have darted away with a disapproving yowl as he did around most of the Light-natured. He made himself on home there on that cross, in fact, leaning into her other hand as she reached to grant him a pet. 

“Could be a threat, you know,” the Gravekeeper spoke to her familiar with an absent tone, but the cat only continued with his rattling purr underneath her touch. “I should rid of myself of the entire thing, root and petal and all.” 

“Mrrrrp?” Coal purred his questioning, and questioned her logic. Perhaps the cat knew more than a cat ever let on. White roses were for Remembrance. Enchanted, Gilnean variety.

“Hmmm. Quite tricky…quite the mystery…” Lady Anna whispered, her voice a haunt as she considered, pulling her train of thought away from the tangle of memory the roses evoked, and the mysterious patron that might have supplied it.  Coal only blinked slowly at her, ‘innocent’, continuing his odd, rattling purr. 

“Ohh, I suppose I’ll let you keep your little secrets.” Anna settled with the cat, and perhaps her benefactor, and left the inner known mystery at that.

@daily-writing-challenge

[nahisummerhold]

Preparations

Nahi picked up her comm unit and began to type into it, finding the right contact was not hard at all… the dingus had put 111 before his name so he would be first. She only had about 10 contacts there, it wouldn’t have been hard to find his.

N: Hey Pathyn.

As she watched ….. scrolled on her screen so she waited for a reply. She was curled up in her new apartment in the building other Tarts lived in, under a soft blanket with hot water with honey and lemon.

P: You know, I thought you would be too pissed off and stubborn to text us.

It made her smile, she should have been that pissed off but those last couple of days with him and his cousin had made her soft in the head she decided. She enjoyed that time and didn’t want to cut off his friendship. Between Kyean’s picking at her, and Nahi drinking too much, they knew almost as much about her life as Talthorn did.

N: You only kidnapped me and made me breakfast, your cousin is the real assole, I am not texting him. Where do I get a tent that will be light enough for me to carry with me?

P: …..

P: What do you need a tent for?

N: I signed up with a mercenary group and need to get some gear.

P: …..

P: ….

P: ….

This was taking him a while, probably not a good sign.

P: Why did you do that?”

Oh… that was short considering, How many things had he typed and deleted?

N: Because I  am a spoiled rich girl and when the city is somehow destroyed as the soothsayers say. I will be distraught and looking for a glorious way to end it all.

P: Now say that again without all the sarcastic bullshit and I might help you fill out your kit.

Oh course he knew all this stuff, it was why she reached his help. He was a ‘bad ass  fighter’ after all, 5,000 years of fighting type, according to his asshole cousin.

N: Because I have spent my life not doing much of anything and I want to find out what kind of person I am.

P: And joining a random mercenary group is how you do that? Couldn’t you have taken some self-help course or something? Why not just volunteer to help healers or something. Didn’t you have anything else you could do rather than go into the thick of things?

At least Nahi didn’t feel like he was lecturing her as much as just wanting to know what was in her head. Shifting around until she was laying on her back she replied.

N: Sure, there are a couple families that want me as a tutor in music for their children. I met a Madame not so long ago that said she would happily give me a job, I could sing there and then warm the sheets. Oh, then I have a few offers,of being a kept woman. Such fulfilling and challenging tasks.

P: ….

N: Before you say anything else. I was raised to be an accessory, spoiled but kept out of  sight until they needed to show me off. Then I dug full in to that in the court, did what I wanted, when I wanted and with whom I wanted. Since then my life has been caring for mother.

P: Anyone you wanted and you chose Kyean? Girl, your taste is suspect.

At least he was listening, if she had spoke to his cousin it would have been so much worse.

P: What company?”

N: Commander Talonoa Dal’shula’s company.

P: There are much, much worse choices. Come to Azsuna, we will get you ready. Bring your armor and weapons, we can work on your fighting. When do you go out?

N: “He said I would get a call.”

P: “Then we should have time. Come now, bring what you have, we will get you decked out and we can talk about this choice you have made that will tell you what kind of person you are.”

( @talonoa for mention)

[safrona-shadowsun]

DWC August Writing Challenge

Day 4: Relationship/Somber

Daily Writing Challenge

Nearly two weeks had passed since Safrona had resituated herself in the office, managing trade manifests and acquisitions on top of advising and structuring her own courier team. And after two years of officially relinquishing the office role to her sister, Safrona found a distaste in having to again solely manage Empyrean Imports and Trades and become The Courier and all it entailed once more. She’d been spoiled with the freedom of selective business,  no longer having to carry the entire courier trade on her own back for so many years, work ethic be damned. But Wennefer Shadowsun was now avoiding not only the responsibility of the Tradehouse but specifically Safrona herself.

All of two weeks, and Safrona was finally relieved to find the younger Shadowsun behind the counter of Empyrean Star Trades, awaiting her upon opening. The relief was short-lived when Wenne seemed entirely willing to vacate as soon as she entered. Wennefer payed more mind to the tome that housed another soul in her hands, cradling it like a precious relic. The mage always liked her books more than she liked people; now she found something that functioned as both.

“Ah,” Safrona took her place behind the counter as Wennefer swept past her without meeting her eyes. “So I see you’re going to run away again like a child again instead of having a conversation like an adult? That is fine. Have fun, Wenne. I suppose I’ll manage as I always have without you.” She made sure the passive aggression in her monotone voice stung with its chilliness.

The bite stopped Wennefer from reaching the door, just as she intended; the mage’s temper rushed up in a sudden backdraft of incredulous laughter and words. “I can’t believe you. You won’t even talk to your own daughter, but you expect me to talk to you? That is rich, “Saf”.”

Safrona stood unmoving, listening to her sister rant, giving her this moment. Wenne took it, inching back to the counter with exasperated steps, until she faced her sister head on with all the words that had been boiling beneath her skin. “What is wrong with you? You are breaking that girl’s heart, you know. Your daughter wants to see you. Does that mean nothing? And those kids were your entire life, you know. Do you really not remember them, or are you just afraid to face them? Or do you just not, what, care?”

Safrona’s nebulous eyes met the sister’s brilliant blues in a sharp turn, yet she remained silent. The incredulous anger in the Mage’s face was held back for a teary eyed somberness. “I am trying, here, Saf. To keep what’s left of our family together. I really am. But you don’t really care, do you? Or, more, things are just not…right. Because things are not adding up. You remember so much that I am not a part of, like it’s just, written right into your palms. You’re closer to your demons than you are me. Dalaran doesn’t even have a record of what happened to you.”

“We’ve been over this,” Safrona finally said with a breath of a sigh, calming the edge of alarm Wennefer’s suspicion was bringing her. “Many records went missing after Proudmoore ‘evicted’ us from Dalaran. Not everyone was accounted for.”

“Even still. No Tesrael Dawnsinger wasn't recovered by our people. You were known, Tes. You weren’t just a merchant, or a vendor - Sunreaver Dawnsinger was executed, by Proudmoore herself. FROZEN to death. Nobody recovered a body, and you clearly weren’t just. Shattered.”

“I don’t remember what happened, I told you–” Safrona swept her eyes away from the mage’s gleaming, wet eyes.

“You are lying. Why?”

“Wenne...”

The arcanist spoke now with a heartbreaking softness. “Are you even my sister at all? Is it true…?”

Safrona’s eyes narrowed as her skin prickled in awareness, a network of insidious insight screaming inside her head all at once, a cacophonous, singular, burning suspicion. “Who has been talking to you, Wenne? Is someone talking to you about me? Tell me.”

Wennefer doubled down. "Are you. My sister?"

It would have been too easy to end the farce now and tell the truth, and for a moment Safrona considered that avenue. It had become exhausting living on a lie, or thieving truths that Wennefer would give her about who her sister had been. In the core truth of who she was, the warlock longed to be known as she was, not as the skin she wore. Whether the dark truth chased Wennefer away away, became an invitation for the young mage to try to end her there and then, or infeasibly brought them somehow closer together, the revelation Safrona had curtained off to most would be a resolution in its exposure, in this twisted, harsh moment.

And yet, staring on the troubled face of the younger Dawnsinger, sister of a long gone Sunreaver, Safrona found she could not utter the words. The mere utterance of the dark truths felt wrong. Like stating a demonic ritual in all its detail for one who did not understand the practice themselves, let alone speak in the infernal tongue. Trade secrets lost on one who would never understand the significance. A waste of words, of breath.

 There was a safety here in the lie. And more, a desire to become the lie, after all these years.

Wennefer took the silence as an insult, the bond between sisters wedged farther apart. The mage chuckled and wiped at her face, backing away from the countertop slowly. “Tell you what: I’ll go talk to my book, you go talk to your demons. We both seem more comfortable that way, apparently.” Wennefer Shadowsun let the door to Empyrean Star Trades slam closed behind her.

{ @daily-writing-challenge }

[wildwood-and-bone]

~°•○Savage Daughter○•°~

Evey's mam had tried to instill in her a deep fear of the woods ever since she was a child. Her warnings were accompanied by a stern finger in her face, along with the looming expectation that she must do as she was told-- no questions asked. Foe certain, there were many reasons for Evey to remain far from the woods - tales of wicked witches devouring curious little girls who thought they knew better than their mothers was often a favorite story told at their hearthside.

But Evey wasn't like most girls; she was a wild creature, preferring the dull blue of twilight in the forest to the pale summers at home. Her friends were beasts, not children - her days were spent among wolves and ravens who let her wander as shadows do, while those from her tiny village made signs against her and threw stones whenever she walked by. She felt more secure in the roots and vines than with any of them; even the adults could never understand why she wasn't afraid of the things that they whispered about behind their hands.

Having spent so much time in the woods, it shouldn't have come as no surprise that it would soon come to claim what rightfully belonged to it. She remembered the primal pull, an ancient call that stirred the itch in her bones and sent her pulse racing as the wind brought with it the heady aroma of the wild. No words were needed; this was something far deeper, far more instinctual than human language could express.

And it urged her to *run*

She plunged through the brambles, a primal rage pushing her onwards as thorns ripped at her dress and tore through her skin. Oblivious to the bloody trails she left behind, she blindly followed the call until her body felt like it was being twisted and pulled in two. Broken and reformed until her body finally reflected the wild beast she'd always known herself to be.

When she reached the summit of the nearby hill, one solitary glance at her village below made a deafening howl rip from her throat with such force that the trees around her bowed their boughs in reverence.

She could feel every ounce of her being surge forward into the night sky and for the first time in her life she was entirely right and made whole.

[steelhornstories]

Steelhorn Chapter Two: The Seers

Sun streamed in through the part in the window’s curtains.  Omusa blinked and sat up, remembering she was not at home.  She could hear the time telling drum beat resonate throughout Orgrimmar.  It was seven beats.  Seven in the morning.

Ithalta was already awake and sitting at the table in the corner of the room.  “Oh, good morning Omusa!”  She was rifling through a bunch of parchment and referencing a tome that was open on the table.  “I’m all done with the washroom if you need to use it,” she said, returning to her work.

Omusa rubbed her eyes and sat for a second, thinking.  “Before we go to see the rest of the seers, can we stop by the post office?” Omusa asked.  “I would like to send Ugrada a letter to let her know I got here okay.”

“Oh, yes, that’s more than fine. I would like to send something to my son as well,” Ithalta responded.  Ithalta looked up.  “Oh, I hope you don’t mind eggs and roasted veggies for breakfast.  They should be up here shortly.”

“That’s fine,” Omusa said, throwing her blanket off and swinging her legs around the bed.  This one was actually the correct size this time.  It was more comfy than the cot at home, but Omusa still missed her tent.  She got up and rifled through her bag.  “Do I need my armor or is my robes okay?”

“Oh just the robes today.  We’re not doing anything out of the city for quite a while,” Ithalta said.

Omusa grabbed her shaman robes out of her bag and unrolled them.  They were mostly red, with a pattern stitched on the cuffs and collar in various colors.  She pulled the matching sash out of her bag that had the same pattern stitched in.  She put her toiletries in her arms with her robes, going into the washroom to clean up and change.

When she walked out, teeth clean, face washed and bright eyed, there was a knock at the door.  Ithalta answered it.  The attendant, a brown furred tauren man, was holding a tray with their food.  Ithalta thanked him and took it from him.

As they ate their food, Ithalta continued to read.  Omusa finally said “Is there anything I should be looking at?”  Ithalta perked up and apologized.

“Sorry, I am just comparing your vision description with everyone else’s,” she said.  Ithalta’s brow furrowed.  “Others had a vision of Thunderbluff in a storm, just as you had, but…no blood.”

“Are there any visions not about Thunderbluff that have blood?” Omusa asked.

Ithalta frowned.  “Yes, there was one that another tauren shaman had where blood was pooling in the streets of Orgrimmar…”  She put her head in her hand.  “These are so vague.  I can’t tell what the blood means.”

“Is something happening to the Earthmother herself?” Omusa asked in a small voice.  “Is that why the elements are frantic?  Do they know something we don’t?”

“That’s the leading theory,” Ithalta said quietly.  “Let’s finish eating then go to the post office.  Get our letters out.”  Ithalta snapped her tome shut.  Omusa nodded in agreement, her mouth full of vegetables.

* * *

The dry air hit Omusa hard on the nose when they stepped out into the street.  The Durotar sun was bright and harsh compared to its warm glow in Mulgore.  Omusa took her cloak and covered her head to see better.

Ithalta pointed down the street towards the entrance to the Drag.  “I believe the post office is this–”

“SEER ITHALTA!” A blue troll woman dressed similar to them ran up, panting.  She stopped in front of them, bent over, hands on her knees, attempting to catch her breath.  Her blazing red hair was wet with sweat.

“What is it, Gortrazbek?” Ithalta asked.

The woman took another deep breath.  “In de valley of de spirits,” she huffed.  “There be anudda fire!”

Ithalta grabbed Omusa’s hand in a panic.  “Come!  We must go!”  Omusa felt the panic take hold of her almost immediately, but she didn’t have time to process it.  Ithalta was pulling her down the street in a hurry.  The troll woman, Gortrazbek Ithalta called her, was following close behind.

They ducked and weaved through the crowd.  Omusa could see a pillar of smoke above the mountain pass that separated the two valleys.  A cart rushed by them, barrels of water in tow, towards the same valley they were sprinting to.

They had just reached the entrance to the valley and Omusa saw it.  Some of the tall Darkspear dwellings were ablaze.  Their thatch roofs were kindling in the dry desert.

Omusa’s first instinct was to attempt to call on the water in the nearby pools and direct it over the flames, but she instantly remembered how the elements did not answer her several days before.  The memory of her unable to soothe her friend’s burns intruded into her brain at this moment and it made her wince.

She still felt she needed to make the effort though.  She took a deep breath and reached out to the spirits…and felt nothing.  No surge of power, no push or pull of energy.  Just silence.  She turned to her mentor and saw the same look of rejection on her face.  The elements denied them.

Omusa scoffed angrily and instead reached for the buckets that were being handed out at the cart.  She helped pass them off to some wyvern riders who could reach the roof of the burning building more quickly.  Ithalta was doing what first aid she could on the trolls that had been evacuated from the structure.

It took some time, but eventually the fire was quelled.  Omusa found Ithalta and began to help where she could in terms of first aid.  Her bandage preparation was not the best, but it was better than nothing.  Omusa silently thanked the Earthmother the trolls could regenerate their wounds.  The burns on some of them were enough to make Omusa turn away.  It made her feel sick.

Omusa swallowed hard and did her best to help anyway.  She silently thanked the Earthmother again, this time for her only having her robes and fur singed.

* * *

Omusa and Ithalta showed up at the post office smelling of dirt and soot.  It was in their fur and all over their shamanic robes.  The post office worker at the counter, a small blood elf man, did a double take when he saw them, but went back to sorting incoming mail.

Omusa grabbed some parchment and a magic quill off of the side counter and began to scribble her sister a note:

Dearest Ugrada,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I have made it to Orgrimmar safely and I am now with Ithalta.  We are staying at the Wyvern’s Tail in the Valley of Strength. Please give my regards to our family.

A fire broke out today in the Valley of the Spirits, which I helped as best as I could.  The elements still are not responding to us.  I feel silly saying this to someone who isn’t a shaman, but it was certainly distressing to feel so powerless.  Thankfully there were no fatalities.

I am not sure when I will be returning home.  Please stay safe.  I will send regular letters to let you know how I am doing and keep you updated.

With love,

Omusa

Omusa blew on the ink to dry it and grabbed an envelope.  She folded it carefully and stuffed it in, scrawling her sister’s name and the shop location on the envelope.  Ithalta was still writing her letter so Omusa went up to the counter to speak to the elf.

“Hello, sending out a letter?” He asked, turning to Omusa.

“Yes, I have a letter to my sister at our shop in Thunderbluff,” Omusa said.  She slid the envelope across the counter.

“Okay, it should get there in a few days, unless this is urgent,” the worker said to Omusa.

“That’s fine,” Omusa responded, opening up her coin pouch.  He gave her the total and she paid him, thanking him for his time.  She decided to wait outside for Ithalta while she sent her letter.

She stood outside, and looked around again at how large the city was.  She remembered to cover her head again in the harsh afternoon sun.  This was certainly an adjustment.  Omusa silently hoped to herself she wouldn’t have to stay here long.

* * *

Not only was this Omusa’s first time in Orgrimmar, it was now also her first time in Grommash Hold.  She was amazed at the size of the pit lord armor that was displayed outside.  She remembered the tales that were told to her of Grommash Hellscream, and how he had defeated the pit lord to save his people from the blood curse.

Ithalta gave Omusa the moment to look.  “Legion demons quite frankly, are horrifying,” Ithalta said.  “Mannoroth is but one of many.”

Omusa looked at Ithalta warily.  “Is the Legion going to come back?”  Ithalta shrugged.  She turned to walk up the stairs into the Hold.  Omusa followed.  She wondered how anyone coped with the constant existential dread.

The Hold, though made of stone, looked pretty cozy once inside.  The shamans were in a room off of the main throne.  The room, like the rest of the Hold, had fur rugs and cozy warm furniture. Braziers kept the room lit in a nice warm orange glow.  Kor’kron guards were all throughout the Hold itself to guard the Warchief and his allies.

Ithalta’s fellow seers were a mixed bag.  There were orcs, trolls and tauren.  It was also a pretty even mix of men and women.  After all, the gift of shamanism did not discriminate on gender.  Ithalta introduced Omusa to each one.

When she got to Gortrazbek, Ithalta chuckled.  “This one you’ve already met,” Ithalta said.

“Quite da meeting dat was, Omusa,” Gotrazbek laughed.

Omusa also chuckled.  “I’m just glad we’re okay,” she said.  “Has…has that been normal lately?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Ithalta said.  “And we can’t seem to call on the elements to help us contain it either.”

“I noticed myself,” Omusa said.  “It happened to me at home in Thunderbluff too.  Last week.”  Omusa furrowed her brow.  “Has any of the elements managed to say why they’re panicking?”

“We were hoping to meditate on that today,” another shaman said.  This one was an orc woman named Fyrnah.  She was short for an orc and stocky too.  Her long black hair was tied in a large braid that ran down her back.  She had woven beads into it of various colors and shapes.  She had various hoop piercings in her ears, and a septum piercing in her nose.  She looked at Omusa with her striking red eyes.  “We’re specifically going to meditate on your vision.  We are hoping you will share it with us,” she set down an incense burner.

Omusa felt confused at first.  “I feel like given my experience, I’m not sure my visions are fool proof,” she said.

“Nonsense,” Fyrnah said.  “If it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.  But it’s obviously bothering you.  We should see if we can find out why.”  She put a stick of incense in the burner as the other shamans gathered around in a circle to sit and meditate.  “We all would like to understand it more, especially since your mentor is deeply concerned as well.”

Omusa turned to Ithalta to see her nod.  “We will be with you Omusa.  We will experience it together,” Ithalta reassured her.

“When did you all find out?  I just got here last night,” Omusa asked.  Fyrnah chuckled.  Gortrazbek spoke up.

“Ya mentor talked to me about it shortly afta de fire,” Gortrazbek said.  “I came back ‘ere and relayed it to our fellow shaman.”

“Come, take your seat here,” Ithalta said, gesturing to the cushion on the floor next to where she sat.  Omusa took her place, assumed her meditating position and took a deep breath.

“I’ve never really been the one to share the vision before,” Omusa mumbled.

“Just focus on it, we will help you,” Fyrnah said.  She lit a match and burned the incense.  “This will help too.”  She then went and took her spot in the circle.  All of the shamans around Omusa were in their meditation positions with their eyes closed.  Fyrnah spoke again.  “Take deep breaths and focus on the vision.”

Omusa closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled.  The incense smelled sweet and felt calming.  She furrowed her brow and focused on her vision as best as she could.  The thunder.  The lightning.

The blood.

Omusa felt a weird sensation…she felt lighter.  Almost as if her body was left behind.

All of a sudden, she was standing in Thunderbluff.  The wind was biting and swirling around her, whipping her mane up and around her face.  She turned around; she saw her tent.  Everything in its place, just like the last time she had this dream.  She turned back around, looking off the bluff towards Spirit Rise.

The thunder cracked overhead.  Omusa yelped, covering her face.  It felt extremely real, even more than when she was dreaming.  A faint voice called out to her.

It was Ithalta.

“Omusa, you are safe.  We can see and feel you,” she said.  “Do not be afraid.  Keep your focus.”

Omusa looked around, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.  She opened them again and looked around.  The sky roiled and lightning flashed.  She looked down, and this time, she saw something different.  There was a figure in the valley below the city.  Omusa focused and squinted.

It was her sister.  Omusa started to panic.  “Why is my sister there?  UGRADA!” She screamed.  She knew what was going to happen.  The blood.  The blood would spill into the valley.  She would drown.

The figure of Ugrada looked up and disappeared in a puff of smoke, just as the blood began to cascade over the mountains into the valley below.  Omusa whimpered, confused.  Why was her sister showing up now?  Why did she disappear?

The blood continued to flood the valley of Mulgore and the thunder continued to clash overhead.  Omusa began to panic and scream.

Omusa gasped, her eyes open, sweat running down her fur.  She panted in confusion, looking around to see she was in Grommash hold again.  “Oh no,” she whimpered, putting her hands in her face.

Ithalta reached over and rubbed her back as Omusa began to break down into sobs.  Ithalta looked over at Fyrnah, whose lips were pursed in thought.  Gortrazbek got up.  “I’ll go get ‘er some water,” Gortrazbek said, leaving the room.

They sat with Omusa as she sobered up from her vision.  Omusa gulped the water that Gortrazbek gave her.  She thanked the troll and took a deep breath.  “I’m so sorry, it just seemed so real.  More real than the dream itself,” she said quietly.

“It is okay,” Fyrnah said.  “I don’t think a lot of us ever had to share a vision that was that…disturbing.”  She sat down next to Omusa.  “I am not sure what this vision means, for you or your sister.  It’s very different from the ones a lot of us have had.”

“There was the one that Yokotah had recently,” Ithalta said.  “His was in Ogrimmar instead.”

Fyrnah rubbed her chin in thought.  “We really need to think about this,” she said.  “This can’t be a weird dream. Not if it makes her feel like this.”  Omusa’s eyes were red on the edges from crying.  “Let’s adjourn for the day, we’ve all been through a lot.”

“Come Omusa, let's go back to our room and get you some good food,” Ithalta said.  Omusa nodded, trying to put the vision out of her head as much as possible.

* * *

Omusa spent the coming months with her fellow shamans.  They meditated on the elements, trying to commune with them.  The most they could get out of them was fear.  Every time a fire broke out in Orgrimmar, Omusa tried to call the water to her but was met with silence.  A lot of the shamans were. In the more recent fires, Omusa thought she could hear the fire scream in fear.  She wasn’t sure if her mind was playing tricks on her.

She sent frequent letters to her sister.  Her sister wrote her back often.  The shop was still doing well, but the autumn in Mulgore was turning colder.  Omusa noticed Ogrimmar didn’t change much over the season.  It was still a hot desert in the day, and a cold one at night.

Omusa did not have another vision since the meditation where she shared it with the other shamans.  The silence felt deafening, but at the same time, she welcomed it.  Thinking about it was hard enough.

The break in the new routine came a few weeks later, the day that news of the Cenarion Circle envoy spread around Orgrimmar.  Tauren druids were supposed to meet with the night elves in Ashenvale to try to ease tensions over the logging that the Horde was doing.

Omusa walked into the room the seers were all sitting in that morning to see Ithalta and Fyrnah conversing, both looking extremely uncomfortable.  Omusa approached them.

“Seer Ithalta, what is the news about this tauren envoy I heard about in the city?” Omusa asked.  Ithalta and Fyrnah fell silent and looked at each other.  Omusa furrowed her brow.  “What’s wrong?”

Ithalta opened her mouth to speak but paused.  Fyrnah spoke instead.  “A group of druids sent by Cairne were supposed to meet night elves from the Cenarion Circle,” Fyrnah said quietly.  “The tauren never came back, and scouts found dead night elves…” Her voice trailed off.  She covered her eyes with her hand and looked down.

Omusa looked to Ithalta with concern.  “They found the night elves flayed, and hanging from the trees,” Ithalta said quietly.  Omusa felt a pit in her stomach.  Tauren surely wouldn’t have done this?  Omusa swallowed hard as Ithalta continued. “The tauren are missing.  They are presumed dead.  Hamuul Runetotem was among them.”

Omusa stood there stunned.  A huge pillar of the tauren people was missing.  The elements were in a state of panic and fear that was starting to reach a crescendo of madness.  Omusa’s own fear for her sister from her vision.  What else could be added to the plate?

“What…what do we do?” Omusa asked.  Ithalta and Fyrnah looked at each other.

“We wait,” Fyrnah said quietly.  “And prepare.”  Omusa knew what she meant.  Prepare to fight.  Prepare for retaliation.

* * *

Omusa was in Thunderbluff again.  The sky screamed in agony, lightning crashing and screaming into the night.  She turned around again to see her tent.  It was the vision again.  But why again?  Why after so many weeks of peace?

Omusa turned again to see the valleys, waiting for the inevitable crash of blood rushing in.  Too many weeks of fear.  Too many weeks of powerlessness.  Now she just wanted this nightmare to be over.

“Omusa, please do not worry,” a voice said.  It was familiar, but serene.

Omusa spun around again to her dwelling.  Standing outside of her sister’s tent was Ugrada.

At least, it looked like her.  “Who are you?” Omusa asked.

“Please do not worry about me,” the figure said.  “I will be fine.”

Omusa swallowed hard.  “Ugrada?”  She tried to walk closer but the figure melted into smoke between her fingers.  Her voice echoed around Omusa, blocking out the crashing thunder.

“I will be fine, Omusa.  Please do not worry.” If only it were that simple, Omusa thought to herself.

[guardevoir]

one wiseass drachtyr's No Good Very Bad day.

(For bonus points, she'd absolutely mentally lumped in Khadgar with the Aspects because he's The Most Reliable Human she's met, and has no idea how to deal with him suddenly not being around anymore)

[chryseis]

The way I literally burst into tears

[druidonity2]

They call you King but all I see is Pawn...

[kottkrig]

To me this Hearthstone expansion is also canon in Warcraft lore and Gadgetzan has become a colossal multicultural metropolis ran by the Steamwheedle Cartel

Can we all agree on this together

[solthrys]

not much i liked about the xpac except these two and some moody locations

[catfirebrand]

Y'all.

I am so close to finishing The Lighthouse.

I'm so excited.

[gravekeeper-anna]

DWC August 20-25: Day 1

Beginnings/Endings

A new design of bone and metal awaited, on display in the depths of the small mausoleum like a macabre dress. A masterpiece of a sculpture, the Gravekeeper would call it: thick, pristine dragonbone painstakingly molded together to thorium framing, and topped by a dragonkin skull to match. Mithril chain graced its ivory frame, completed with gauntlets, ebonweave garment beneath to channel her unearthly magic with fluidity. Anna gave the dark, knight-like construct a long once over, considering what else could be added.

Some might have said her dedication to the bonecraft was unnecessary, a waste of her time - of course most living would consider her draw to the craft horrible, if not taboo and subject to punishment by their little governing laws. It was not an artistry for the living however, it was a work for her kin, especially for those that had long haunted and deserved a gift for their time at her side. A new beginning for the Forgotten she took delight in providing.

Nearly grown as still in her musing as a statue herself, the Gravekeeper finally jerked into movement as an idea ensnared her, “Ah yes…” She’d found her answer in the small collection of abandoned relics of battlefields and warzones, weaponry of a variety of style and means. Metal-coiled digits rested on the hilt of a broadsword, scraped across the relief of an old shield, then wrapped slowly around the thick hilt of an elaborate flail. A chilly aura began to activate on touch, the chained attachments taking on an icy glow. A smile attempted to stretch across the Gravekeeper's stony lips, nodding in approval as she dragged the enchanted flail to her new piece.

“I think we are ready if you are, my Lady,” the Gravekeeper spoke to the spectre hovering nearby. Finally remembering her name, Shieldmaiden Candra reflected what she had been years before on the day of her death: a figure of once knightly ambition. A dragon emblem was distinct upon her chest, representative of her name, now long forgotten by the world at large. Forgotten to all but the Gravekeeper, and the willful spirit herself.

“It is a dragon…” the Shieldmaiden whispered in some awe. “I am ready to become a new beast on the battlefield, Keeper. For you.”

“Good, good,” The Gravekeeper chuckled, raising her hands as she began to enact the binding spell. “Just remember, my dear lady: some legends must end for others to fully begin.”

{ @daily-writing-challenge }

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: MMO’s

Alien: What do these letters mean? Human: “Massively Multiplayer Online Game” Alien: Shouldn’t there be a “G” in there as well then? Human: Then it would be “MMOG”, and that sounds silly when said out loud. Alien: *Looks sad* Human: Oh Christ your name is Mmog, isn’t it? ---------------------------

Alien: So this game is about the star wars religious fanatics fighting each other? Human: Pretty much. Alien: You would think the rest of the galaxy would have united and wiped them all out by now since it looks like the majority of conflicts are started by one side or the other. Human: Pretty hard to stamp them out when they can crush your windpipe from half a star system away. ----------------------------

Alien: So evil triangles fighting good spheres? Human: Pretty much. Alien: That doesn’t sound exciting. Human: It was before they put up a paywall around everything believe it or not. Alien: How so? Human: Well for one thing you got to punch an ancient worm god the size of a skyscraper in the face on Mars. Alien: Wow, that does sound like fun. -------------------------------

Alien: Friend human, I wish to start a fight but I don’t know hard. Human: Oh that’s easy. Human: Walk into any of those blue cities and shout in chat “Sylvanas did nothing wrong!”. Alien: Thanks. *An hour passes* Human: How’s it going? Alien: I’m not sure how but I may have started an in-game race war. Human: Ah; classic indeed. ---------------------------------

Alien: So this one is about flying around the universe and raiding people? Human: Yup. Alien: Isn’t that what we do now though? Human: Well when it came out it was depicting the future so it was more exciting. Alien: I’ll say. Alien: For being supposedly dangerous I’ve seen waiting lines at amusement parks on Florp III that were more harrowing. Human: They never did find that little girl waiting for the teacup ride. -------------------

Alien: Why are there fire pits everywhere?!?! Alien: There are not enough players to need so many. Human: you just don’t understand. Alien: Understand what? Human: You always need to leave a trail of fire pits behind you as you go in this game. Alien: Why? Human: *Points behind alien character to see angry band of players dodging way through fire pits trying to attack them* ---------------------

Alien: I don’t like this one. Human: Really? Human: You loved the two previous entries. Alien: Those were both offline games and this one isn’t. Alien: Plus it has a really annoying feature I hate. Human: Which is? Alien: Having to interact with other players to complete missions. -------------------

Human: They called this one a wow killer. Alien: How’d this get a name like that? Human: Well for starters they invested in decent writers. ------------------

Human: I heard that one is rather good. Alien: I guess. Human: You sound disappointed. Alien: Well I’ve yet to come across this black desert the title speaks of and I’m starting to get upset. -------------------

Alien: All I wanted to do was mine asteroids!!! Human: Yeah, but you did it in their territory. Alien: This is government controlled systems! Alien: Nothing is player controlled!!! Human: Probably explains why they are swarming you with cheap ships. Alien: Why!?!? Human: They’re probably hoping they can take you out before concord floods the system and wipes them all out. Alien: That’s crazy! Alien: They’d waste dozens of ships just to take out my lone miner? Human: Let me tell you about a little group called “Goonswarm”. ----------------------------

Alien: So everything is player created in this world? Human: For the economy at least.  Alien: That would explain a few things. Human: Like why there is super inflation for a bundle of wood? Alien: More so why every sword for sale is called a variation of “Buttsmasher”

[redisaid]

Ladies, gentlemen, and gentlethems...the Windrunner Sisters.

[icenineporcupine]

Mathias Shaw (WoW) as Tav (BG3)

i.e. a beautiful, stabby man making priceless facial expressions...

[steelhornstories]

Steelhorn Chapter One: First Flight

Omusa was no stranger to her shamanistic dreams at this point in her life, but this one was the first one that truly horrified her. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped as she looked around to see she was standing on the edge of Thunderbluff, looking towards Spirit Rise. She looked up to see the Mulgore sky above her twisting and roiling, angry and red.

This dream was of home.

She turned around to see her tent.  Her belongings were where they should have been, neatly put away for bedtime.  Her lanturn was still lit, but the flame inside of it almost seemed…scared?  It danced around unnaturally as if to flee.  The wind flapped the entrance and walls of her tent erratically and forcefully.  Omusa feared the wind would carry it away, despite being staked down properly.

Another flash and loud crack of thunder caused her to turn around.  Something was drawing her eyes down below the bluffs.  The darkness of the storm made it difficult to make out.  It almost seemed as if the fields of Mulgore were flooding…with blood?

* * *

Omusa gasped and shot straight up in her bed.  Her gray fur was matted, wet with cold sweat.  She closed her eyes again, taking deep breaths to steady herself.  It was dark in her tent; her lantern was not lit.  She could hear the sounds of nighttime outside and moonlight streamed through the top of the ceiling.  She reached for her watch and saw the dials saying it was 3 in the morning.  Omusa sighed and placed it back down.

I may as well try to get some more sleep, she thought to herself.  She laid back down, pulling her blankets to her chin, deeply worried about the dream she had just had. After some tossing and turning, she finally went back to sleep.

* * *

The birds outside were chirping loudly as Omusa blinked her heavy drowsiness from her green eyes.  She sat up in bed and reached for her journal to write down the dream she had the night before. The land was restless and fearful as of late, and shamans, not just her, were feeling it all around them.

After she scribbled her nightmare down, she placed her journal back in her pack.  She threw her covers off and began her morning routine.  She could hear her other tribesman outside prepping for today’s work.

She tossed her night time clothing in the corner of her tent to wash later.  It was soaked with sweat and needed a good scrubbing.  She put on her work clothes, tying her apron behind her back and putting her long brown hair in a messy ponytail. As she reached for her goblin made wrist watch, she glanced at her totems.  Like the other shamans, her control of the elements now was difficult.  It made her frustrated just looking at them. She decided to take them with her today anyway and stuffed them in her front apron pocket.

When Omusa opened her tent, she squinted against the morning sun.  Her sister Ugrada, who was hammering a blade on the anvil, laughed and waved at her.  “Good morning Omusa!  Nice of you to finally join us!”  Omusa halfway scowled at the comment.  Ugrada’s face fell.  “Another dream?” she asked. Omusa nodded.

“What’s the workload like today?” Omusa asked, reaching for the stacks of parchment near the workbench.

“Not as much as yesterday,” Ugrada responded.  “We have an order for a new sword, but the rest is just stock replenishment for the shop.”  Omusa nodded in response and took note that Ugrada had already started working the metal for the blade.

“I had a dream that Mulgore filled with blood,” Omusa said quietly.  Ugrada stopped hammering and turned to Omusa, her brow furrowed deeply in concern.

“What do you think it means?” Ugrada asked quietly.  Omusa shrugged.

“I’m not sure, and I don’t have the luxury of even asking my mentor,” Omusa grumbled with a glowered expression. “She went to Orgrimmar to speak to the Warchief and the other shamans gathering in the city.”

Ugrada resumed her hammering, but now with a more worried look on her face replacing the once jovial expression.  “Is that to discuss the elemental situation?”

“The elements acting completely out of control and irrationally?  Yes,” Omusa answered.

“She’s been there for what?  A month now?” Ugrada asked.  Omusa nodded and was rifling through the parchment orders when she saw an orcish courier approaching their work yard.

“Excuse me, is there an Omusa Steelhorn here?”  He was exhausted and wet with sweat under his autumn furs.  He had a bag of some sort clutched in his grasp.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” Omusa said, approaching him.

“Here.  This is from an Ithalta Snowhisper.”  He handed the bag to her, and then reached into his own pack.  He presented a piece of parchment and a newer looking goblin made pen.  “If you could sign here confirming your receipt of the package.”  Omusa signed the line marked with a big red X and thanked him for his time.  She also offered him some water, but he refused, commenting he was going to stop at the nearby inn instead.

As he left, she opened the pack, finding a bound journal with a note attached, as well as a handful of coins and small trinkets.  She removed the note and opened it.

Omusa,

Attached you will find a copy of my notes from my meetings here in Orgrimmar with our fellow shaman.  I would like you to come to the city, and have included some coin and other valuables to allow you to pay for the trip. I recommend the new zeppelin from Thunderbluff. Please read the notes as you are able while traveling and make your way here as soon as you can.

Your mentor,

Ithalta

“I have to go,” Omusa said to Ugrada, skimming the note again.

Ugrada looked at her and nodded.  “Is it from Ithalta?”

“Yes,” Omusa said.  “She wants me to head to Orgrimmar as fast as I can.  Something must have happened.  Or is about to…”  She took the bag and rushed into her tent.  Her belongings were already packed in a way, given that she used her travel bag to store her clean clothes.  She removed her apron after gently putting her totems in her pack, removing her work clothes to put on her under armor instead.

Her shaman armor was in a foot locker next to her cot.  She opened it, finding a set of simple kodo leather armor and ceremonial jewelry.  Her leather shield, painted with a red hoof, rested behind the foot locker, and her ax was under the armor itself.

She carefully put on the armor, silently thanking the Earth Mother that it still fit after a few months, and double checked her packs.  She reached over for her journal and stuffed it in.  She made sure her things were ready to be left alone and that her lantern was out.  Satisfied with what she could get packed quickly, she left her tent and found her sister again.

“Everything in my tent should be okay, but if you want to check before bed just in case, I would not fault you,” Omusa said, slightly out of breath.  Ugrada nodded in response and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Please be safe Omusa.  Write when you can.”  Ugrada gave her a troubled look.  She was concerned.  Omusa did not blame her.  After all, their parents never returned from Northrend, and now Omusa was leaving her alone.  Ugrada still had her cousins, but it wouldn’t be the same, and she knew this.

“I will,” Omusa said.  She placed her hand on her sister’s, and as she did, Ugrada pulled her into a tight hug.  “I’m not dying, Ugrada. Please.”

“I know,” Ugrada said, her voice wavering as she released her sister.

Omusa had a pit in her stomach as she walked away, feeling her sister’s sadness as Ugrada waved goodbye.

* * *

The zeppelin ticket was indeed expensive.  Omusa almost choked when the goblin at the ticket stand told her the price.  “Look lady, I don’t make the prices. That’s my boss’ job,” the goblin said in his thick Booty Bay accent.

“No no, I know,” Omusa said, pulling the gold coins out of her bag.  She made a mental note to herself to take the long way home.  Whenever that’s going to be, she thought.  The goblin collected the coin and handed Omusa her parchment voucher.

“Next blimp should actually be in a few minutes.  You got lucky.  I’d get in line if I was you,” he said, pointing in the direction of the dock built into the side of the bluff.  Omusa clutched her ticket and jogged to where he pointed.  Sure enough, there was a small gathering of other adventurers waiting for the arrival of the zeppelin.

Omusa noticed it was more than tauren like herself.  There were lots of orcs and trolls, but Omusa even saw some blood elves and Forsaken in the crowd.  They were all talking amongst themselves excitedly.  It was an interesting contrast to Omusa’s anxiety over the future.  The dream flashed in her mind’s eye again.  The blood pooling in the fields.  The thunder overhead.  She shook the images from her mind and steadied herself as she could see the blimp approach in the distance.

“I still can’t believe Thrall named Garrosh Warchief,” someone in the crowd whispered.  Omusa turned her concentration to the conversation as best as she could.  “Oh, yes, I believe that Thrall has decided to go to Outland to figure out the elemental unrest.”

This must be why Ithalta called me to Orgrimmar, Omusa thought to herself.  A change of leadership is a big deal, and to have it happen while almost every shaman on Azeroth is struggling right now is certainly tenuous at best.

The zeppelin had pulled up, and the goblins had been instructing the passengers getting ready to board to form lines.  “‘Ey!  ‘Ey!  Ya gotta make room for everyone to come off the blimp or you ain’t gonna have a place to sit!” one of the goblins yelled.  Omusa followed the instructions and got into the boarding line.  Another goblin was going down the line checking tickets.

The goblin got to her ticket, peering at it through her monocle.  “Ah, you got lucky!  One of the last ones!”  The goblin gave her directions to her room on the zeppelin.  Omusa was too nervous to catch everything she said.  “Anyway hun, you’re good to go.  Have a good flight!”

“Shit,” Omusa muttered to herself.  She stepped on the zeppelin and looked around for room signs.  She finally flagged down a goblin attendant after realizing the empty space on the wall was because the sign had fallen off.

After she reached her room, she threw her pack on her bed.  It was a small room, barely fitting her.  The bed was not the appropriate length and looked more fit to hold an orc.  Omusa checked her ticket again to notice that the flight was going to have her arrive in Orgrimmar in the evening.  Luckily she wouldn’t even have to use the bed.

Omusa sat down on the bed, leaning up against the headboard.  Her curved back horns were dangerously close to the ceiling.  She reached up for her pack and pulled out the journal her mentor had sent her.  She skimmed the pages, some of which were meeting notes, and others were personal thoughts on the situations at hand.

According to Ithalta, Thrall and the other shamans were increasingly unable to communicate or placate the elements.  They were increasingly erratic and unstable.  Fires were breaking out around Orgrimmar, endangering citizens in the already dry climate.  Some of the other shamans were having visions of flames engulfing the landscape, leaving charred ruins in its wake.  Some had visions of the oceans sweeping in and erasing the coast lines.  Even more visions of earthquakes breaking and sundering the land.  Visions of storms engulfing huge portions of Azeroth.

Omusa wondered how her own vision played into this.  The thunder and lightning played into the elements, surely.  The storms from elemental unrest perhaps?  But why the sea of blood at the foot of Thunderbluff?  Ithalta did not seem to record visions from the other shaman that echoed this.  Maybe it was just a nightmare?

Omusa closed the book after an hour or so.  Her neck ached and her anxiety was running high.  She checked her watch feeling her stomach grumble and wondered if they were serving lunch in the mess.

* * *

Omusa was on the flight deck when the zeppelin reached Ogrimmar.  The huge stone gates and spires were draped in the red flags of the Horde.  She had never seen anything like it.  She observed how the city seemed to be built into a natural valley here in the desert.  She mused if it was perhaps an old branch of the Southfury River.

Omusa’s attention turned to the buildings outside of the walls.  The zeppelin approached one of the towers that was outside of the city gates.  It was a rough connection as the blimp brushed against the structure.  Omusa gripped the railing for dear life and gritted her teeth.  Another passenger, a blood elf, gasped with fright.

It wasn’t long before the goblins started to deboard the vessel.  One of the goblins was stamping guest vouchers as redeemed.  Another one was handing out cheap flight pin souvenirs.  Omusa took one anyway, to commemorate the occasion.  She didn’t think she would fly again after all.

As Omusa walked down the spiraling ramp of the zeppelin tower, she tried to remember the name of the inn that Ithalta said she was staying at.  After she left the tower, still unable to remember the name, she pulled out the journal.  “Oh, the Wyvern’s Tail, in the Valley of Strength.”

Omusa began to walk the dusty orange dirt path that led up to the city’s gates.  There were orc and troll guards posted at the entrance.  She thought about how she wouldn’t be able to speak her native language much here.  Her Orcish was fluent enough, but her Taur’ahe accent was thick.  One orc customer recently commented in jest that it was because she didn’t have the tusks.

She greeted the guards with a small nod as she walked past.  They returned the gesture. Omusa followed the path through the city gates until she reached the entrance.  A gust of dry desert air hit her face as she looked up to take in the sight of the city.

Orgrimmar was huge!  Omusa had never really had to crane her neck back this much to see.  Multi-story mud structures seemed to jut from the valley walls.  Pelts, skins and flags decorated the buildings and the various spikes that emerged from them.  Numerous cacti and similar desert plants dotted along the sides of the paths that wound up and down the levels of the city.  Braziers lined the streets to light it in the dusk, not dissimilar to Thunderbluff.

And this was just the first portion she had seen!

Omusa noticed the central tower rose high above the rest of the structures, not unlike the central totem of Thunderbluff.  A troll brushed past her and knocked her out of her upward directed gaze.  “Oh, shit, better get out of the street,” she said to herself, moving over to the side.  She looked down at the journal again to see where the Wyvern’s Tail was supposed to be.

After some looking around, the sign outside on the eastern side of the valley caught her attention and she wandered over to it.  She entered and walked up to the orc woman at the bar.

“Er, uh…hello.  I was wondering if–.” Omusa did not get to finish her sentence as Ithalta’s voice rang out above the tavern noise.

“Omusa, over here!”  Ithalta pointed down to the table she was sitting at.  Omusa apologized to the orc woman, who smiled warmly and returned to her work.  Omusa then moved toward the table, shyly saying “excuse me, pardon me” in clumsy Orcish as she pushed past various people.

“I’m so sorry Seer Ithalta,” Omusa said sheepishly, switching to Taur’ahe.  “I am not used to how busy this city is compared to Thunderbluff.”

Ithalta smiled.  “Do not worry, child.  It’s especially busy since everyone is celebrating Garrosh Hellscream’s return and ascent to Warchief.”  Her smile was off; she didn’t like this new political appointment. Omusa pretended not to notice, digging for the journal and putting it on the table.

“I hate to get right to it,” Omusa said.  “But I need to ask you something.”

Ithalta chuckled.  “Please do.”

Omusa opened up the journal, pointing to the section of visions that her mentor had documented.  “I have had a strange vision, but it’s not similar to anything here.”  Ithalta raised an eyebrow.  Omusa continued.  “Thunderbluff was stormy, and as I came out of my tent, I looked at the fields…”  Ithalta, noticing Omusa’s hesitance, bade her to continue.  “They were full of blood.”

Ithalta furrowed her brow.  “That’s very different from what a lot of shamans here were seeing.  Perhaps this is an unrelated vision?”  Just as Ithalta asked her question, the waiter appeared at the table.

He was a gruff forest troll, giving a quick tusked smile and pulling out a parchment pad from his apron pockets.  “What’chu ladies be wantin’?” he asked, producing a grease pencil from his apron as well. Omusa immediately froze, having not bothered to know what the menu was.

Ithalta simply ordered two strider stews.  Omusa sighed in relief and asked for ale to drink as well.  The troll smiled and scribbled something down on his pad, turning away to serve other customers.

“Like I was saying,” Ithalta said.  “It’s possible this isn’t related to the elemental situation at hand.”

“Well, I mean, it was storming,” Omusa replied.

“That could mean any sort of turmoil,” Ithalta sighed.  “I’m more worried that not only was this Thunderbluff, but the blood…”  She tapped her fingers on the table top in thought.  “Was there anything else?”

“I mean, the fire in my lantern was acting fearful, but that’s about it.  I’m not sure where that would play in here,” Omusa scratched her cheek absentmindedly.

“So perhaps it’s tangentially related to our current plight…” Ithalta tapped her chin.  “Did you write this down?  I would like to bring this to my fellow seers.”

“Oh, yes, I have.  It’s in my journal.”  Omusa pulled her own journal out of her bag and slid it across the table.  “I would like it back when you are done, it’s still half empty.”

“Of course,” Ithalta said.  “I will bring you with me anyway.  This is a perfect time to study with us.”

“In the midst of a crisis?”  Omusa asked.  “My control over the elements has been subpar at best, I can’t even channel my healing to help my fellow tauren at home.”

“That’s what I mean, it’s the perfect crucible for you,” Ithalta said.  “Hopefully, coming out of this, you will learn quite a lot.  I know we are, and I’ve been at this for much longer than you.”

“Well, if it comes to combat,” Omusa said, thinking of Garrosh’s new station, “I would have to fall back on my warrior training.”

Ithalta scoffed.  “I highly doubt it will come down to combat.”  She smiled brightly as she spotted the troll coming by with their stew.  “Ah!  A local home favorite,” she remarked as the troll set the bowls down in front of them.  He then put their ale on the table next to their bowls.

“You be lettin’ me know if you be needin’ anyting else, ya hear?” he said as he turned to help other customers.

Omusa picked up her spoon gingerly.  The soup did look good, and she hadn’t had anything after the dry fruit rations the goblins had on the zeppelin.  She took a huge spoonful and looked up at her mentor.  “So, tomorrow…?”

Ithalta blew on her stew.  “Yes, tomorrow we will be with the other shamans.  Rest here tonight.  My room has a second bed.”

Omusa nodded and took a bite.  It was good.  It tasted of home in this unfamiliar city.  But bite after bite, she couldn’t get rid of the pit in her stomach.