It was dark, almost peaceful in the Orc’s city tonight. Those citizens who hadn’t fled in terror or been beguiled by the twilight cultists into swelling their ranks, barricaded themselves into their huts with the sullen obstinacy of those determined not to allow their hard earned belongings to fall into the hands of opportunist looters no mater what other hardships must be suffered.
The oppressive quiet was only broken by the earth tremors that were becoming so frequent they almost blurred into a constant angry grumbling that echoed her own irritable growls as she padded to her favorite resting place.
Flopping down by the large fire outside Orgrimmar’s inn, the ghostwolf looked like any other shabby mutt hoping for a few leftover scraps. The thought made her stomach ache with hunger as she realised that all she’d eaten that day was a rat that had gotten roasted by a rampaging fire elemental.
There was no one left to turn to…The Elder shaman of the Warsong Blades had no answers for her. The Frostwolf shaman who had trained her, made her into a warrior after the less than shining exploits pf her youth, were distracted; their mighty general and elder shaman, Drek’thar was reportedly only a hands span away from joining the ancestors and the Warchief… make that former Warchief, Thrall had left them to seek guidance from the wise Mag'har Orcs of Nagrand.
Since the time she’d left her old life behind, Orcs had instructed her. She’d tried not to leave behind all the old ways, the mysteries of the witch doctors that her father had allowed her to learn, the power granted her by her patron loa, a blend of both worlds was what she had always strived for…now she felt that she belong to neither.
Huffing grumpily, she stood, shimmering out of the comfortable wolf form. Sitting alone in the dark was no way to deal with her problems…she needed a drink, and though the door was firmly closed, the inn was always open for business.
The few patrons were mostly made up of Orc grunts. She recognized one or two having helped them round up and question some of the Cultists that seemed to keep getting inside the city walls no matter how thorough the Warsong Blades’ patrols were.
One nodded in greeting ‘Bloodguard’ he rumbled, acknowledging her rank. The others at the table relaxed a little, though not completely. She wasn’t one of their own; she wouldn’t be invited to their table, not in these times.
In the past, she would have gone and joined them regardless, got them to relax by sharing a drink and some silly story. Now, folks were wound too tight, the enemies they faced were creatures of fire and stone and, in every shadow, the cult waited to bring about their master’s final plan.
Buying her usual flagon of mead, Vypra made her way to the rear of the small room and took a seat opposite what appeared to be a seedy looking fellow in a hooded robe. The troll gave a half smile ‘like I look any better’ she thought, taking in her singed fur and battered armour.
The irony of being under attack by the elementals she’d always felt closest to wasn’t lost on her. She’d been rudely awakened to how poor her hand to hand skills had become having so long relied on the fire spirits to come to her aid in battle. Only the power of the storm, the gift of Loa Shango remained a reliable weapon, if the chaotic swirl of a thunderstorm could be called such.
Swirling her drink thoughtfully, the troll considered her options. In some ways, she’d enjoyed the thrill of melee combat yet she wasn’t willing to believe the elements wouldn’t respond to her calls ever again And so these were her choices…stay here in Orgrimmar, be a soldier of the Horde and fight toe to toe with their foe or follow Thrall to Nagrand, be a shaman in truth and walk with the elemental spirits.
She paused in the act of brushing one of her recently dyed braids from her face and realised that there was one other option…but would they take her back? Certainly the elders of Sen’jin village had recognised her and welcomed her aid in the rituals that helped free the Echo Isles from Zalazane’s grip but taking her as an apprentice Witch Doctor…had they changed enough for that? Had she? Was she willing to become a student to those who’s last lesson still stung?
She smiled wryly and downed her mead. Her future was, as ever, in the hands of the spirits.
"We are the ones that want to choose; always want to play but you never want to lose."