A/N: I really, really, really wanted to get around doing my back story for my RP character. These are a handful of mini-chapters to explain her background. My characters timeline IS NOT lore accurate, nor do I claim it so to be. The same goes for my toon in game. The name is Caewyn on Alliance and Kaywyn on Horde. Moon Guard of course. Yes I do play the same toon on both sides.

Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Warcraft.

~8~8~

The, rough, hostile land of Durotar was a beautiful thing at sunset. Soft, greenish gray waves rippled against the wind lapped lazily upon the tawny red sands of the harsh land like hands vainly pawing at the pomegranate sands. Sea birds wheeled languidly above the twinkling waters, riding on the hot currents of the receding day with an air of careless abandon that came with knowing another day had been survived.

The sun was a rippling orange globe dipping into the waters gray horizon and spreading glorious, final light in wondrous display over the dangerous elements. Thin, straggly clouds loitering in the sky were randomly dashed with hues of purple and pink and vermilion along their gray underbellies as they scudded along at the winds behest. The red sky promised another clear, hot day which was a promise by the relentless sun nearly always kept.

The stony, dusty land of a barren desert away from the sea was alit in the harsh blood red of the sunset. The dull scarlet of the jutting rocks and the cracked land mystically transformed into a deep rust color that painted the bluffs and the ridges in the tint of ichors of the wounded.

A color suited for the black bloods, Arun grinned sardonically at the thought as he leapt from the rowed dinghy coming to the hazardous shores. Disrupted waters lapped about his calf high, green and gold sea boots and his feet sunk into the sucking sand as he hopped from the prow. The scraping and hiss of sun heated grains against boat keel echoed only moments behind him, but he gave the familiar sound no mind. Only the sound of splashing reverberated in his head as he sloshed effortlessly the rest of the way to shore.

His brown eyes scanned the dusty, barren land as he knelt and his well worn hands mechanically loaded his gun with powder and ball. His matching gloves roved up the well polished barrel to deposit the powder from its ram horns case in the flared opening, then packed a round bullet of dwarven make inside. His hand skirted over the cheery wood stock and the tally lines carved there for how many his gun had slain with a familiar grace before he raised the gun to his shoulder. Ready and primed, the blunderbuss aimed for the shore and the open land before them.

From his left to his right marines that hopped from other boats did the same. The familiar click of metal and the scrape of mail and leather against the sand echoed in a familiar tune about the sea's edge until a long row of humans knelt in the sand in a rigid line, their guns pointed to the slowly darkening of the harsh new world. One could never be too cautious with wild black bloods roaming about, of course.

"Think we'll see any of the green skins?" a feminine voice inquired with a hushed whisper to his left.

Arun suppressed a roughish smile from the uncomfortable heat in his white plate, plumed helm. "Probably. You know how territorial the beasts are. They're probably attracted by the sun shining off our helms like moths to a flickering flame."

"Quiet in the ranks there!" another, deep officious voice practically made for yelling out over the loudest squall on the seas rebuked evenly.

Boots crunching against wet sand echoed over the lapping of the waters goading the talking pair to silence more than the voice. A singular body, clad in simple but well kept and trimmed regalia marched before the long line of dinghies planted ashore and marines ready to fire at but a word. His shoulders were straight and even keeled with their gold trimmed tassels upon the epulates and his back was like the main mast of the largest ship. Bits of gray turned into silvery platinum by the sun salted his hair. If he was even concerned of the guns he blatantly strode in front of, the fact never showed inkling upon his always in command person.

Always alert, always in command here stood the grand admiral - Daelin Proudmoore.

Turning about to face the sailors and marines alike, the admiral tugged at the golden trimmed cuffs of his sea coat before folding his hands behind his back. "All of you, sons and daughters of Kul'tiras, I commend you. Through storm and foul winds, through monsters and ills you all have stuck through this perilous journey as the best of the best. You, the bravest men and women the seas summoned and the wind tried to break, you sea dogs have come a long way from home to protect your people and make sure a threat is permanently annihilated."

Shifting his right hand forward again he thoughtfully stroked his weathered, neatly trimmed moustache that fell in a frown about his face. "For all our efforts, it's no secret we've arrived late to the party. The orcs, the black bloods, have had a chance to spread out, and breed more of their foul spawn. I won't lie when I say we have our work cut out for us. It's up to the people of Kul'tiras to fix this problem and make sure once and for all the orc threat is no more. We have the advantage, we have the power, we are the sons of the ships and the daughters of the waters. We are marines and we make sure the job gets done!" his bellowing timbre rose defiantly, booming over the waters and the land. "Are you with me?"

A wild, rabid cry rose from the marines and sailors alike from the inspirational speech. Proudmoore was not a man of many words, but when he did speak his voice was filled with conviction and power and the heart and soul he put into his leadership. Oars lofted into the air and more than a few marines, pointed their guns up and fired in exuberance from the words.

A grim smile came to Daelien's face from the spectacle of support. He trusted them all, but it was going to be a hard job. Yet, he forced back a sigh and stood straighter, someone had to do it and who better than the toughest sea dogs around?

Waving his hand for order he began to toss out commands as though still captain aboard his prized ship. "Captains I want to see you in quick council. Marines on the sand will stay on alert and ready till the last marine gets off the ship. Pass the word that each marine is to stay with his own company and crew. I want quick rallying if the orcs spring an attack and the last thing we need are marines trying to find their captains and companies in the midst of a fray. Tugging at his tunic his face softened into weary worn lines that came with the job. Talk low amongst yourself and keep a sharp eye out for the black bloods."

"Sir!" the unified, military precision cry of the marines bellowed out in recognition of his orders.

Arun's shoulder slumped low as the admiral turned away and walked parallel to the shooters. A handful of captains and more to come trailed behind him as they went off to govern amongst themselves and deliberate the orders.

"Do you think it'll be as bad as the admiral says?" the voice to Arun's left asked. No fear hemmed the voice only a distinct weariness. The journey had been a long one and now that they were at their destination fatigue of the chore still before them was felt like the lingering heat.

Shrugging, the marine licked his lips tasting acrid sweat from inside the helm. His black hair that needed to be cut again clung like glue to his forehead, making him itch. Eyes blinking away the sheen of preparation he focused his light brown eyes on the land in front of him. Now that the adrenalin from landing had simmered down, his problems came back full force in his mind. There was more pressing things than orc attacks racing through his thoughts. Far more pressing.

Forcing a shallow laugh, he shook his head faintly. "Surely not. These orcs have strength, but their stupid as the sand. We'll slay them quick and be alright. It'll be alright, Caewyn, you'll see. We'll be out of here before the baby bump is even pronounced…."

He hoped.