An Exile's Sanctuary

by Heart-of-the-Phoenix

Rukhmar's will, it was all the three arakkoa ever knew. But past the life they once held so dear, the kindness of a lone orcish shaman broke their perception, opening their eyes to the Adherents' lust for power. Taking to the shadows, they are presented with a choice. Will they aid the outsiders in freeing Rakshar (Draenor) from war? Or will they keep to the shadows forevermore?

Night shown deep, drowning the covered sky in an inky darkness. Three figures scurried amongst the shadows, searching. Their eyes darted at any sign of movement, and their beaks all but forced shut as if they were trying to keep from making a single noise.

For hours, the three continued - hurrying, hiding, and keeping their eyes to the sky. Depending on how things went, this could go badly… or even worse still. Once, they had been known as guardians. They had defended the will of Rukhmar with all they could give. But now, what were they but exiles, criminals?

They had spared themselves the fate of the Curse, but only by retreating into the shadows before they could be found. The leader of the three, draped in purple and golden robes, glanced around. In an almost hushed whisper, she muttered, "Tshka. Are they still ahead?"

"Yes," Tshka responded, her own beak barely opening in response. Eyes closing for a fraction of a moment, she opened them with a start. "But they are not alone, Blade-Dancer Krys. The outsiders are under attack by the Shattered Hand!"

Krys fell silent for a brief moment. The Shattered Hand… It was because of them Tshka, Vraw, and herself had chosen exile rather than serving the High Sage any longer. All three had a hand to play - the green-skinned orcs, the wretched native orcs, and their former comrades. They had sacrificed everything because of the shaman's kindness and acceptance, all but shattering the mindset they knew.

After a few more moments of silence, Krys glanced up. She had made her decision. "Tshka. Vraw. To me. The Shadows have served us well, but now it is time to repay the the shaman's kindness." As she spoke, memories of sacking drifted into her mind, reaffirming the words that came from her throat. Determination setting in like stone, her talons wrapped around the hilt of her wingblade. "Let us go."

Feeling her own determination, fires all but light in the eyes of her comrades as they both readied their own weapons. Victory or death, they will have done what they could to aid the outsiders. Victory or death, they will have done their part to secure peace for Rakshar. And victory or death, they would be free.

Leaping from the shadows, the three climbed the darkened trees to make their way to the best vantage point before taking to the sky. In the distance, they could hear the faint clash of blades and fires of magic. And in the distance, they could hear the strong and proud cry of the green-skinned defenders. "Lok'tar ogar!"