Authors Note: This is a story months in the making. I'm a new writer, so any constructive reviews are encouraged and welcomed. I don't update often, but i'll try to update every weekend. Cheers!
Prologue
The morning air was thick with mist from the night's rain, the grass slick with dew, and the birds sang their little hearts out. The trees swayed slightly in the light breeze, and the whole of the isle seemed to be rising from slumber. Nightstalkers stretched themselves out, yawning, their jaws of knife like teeth exposed to the light of dawn, and began their instinctual search for food. Tame Elekks ventured to their troughs for their breakfast, trumpeting and grunting amongst themselves. Striders foraged deep in the forest, and deer, along with stags pale as moonlight, grazed lazily, always alert to the slightest danger. Ravagers, seemingly always angered, growled and guarded their staked out territories. Murlocs, small, brutal, fish-like people, began their patrol of the ocean shores. Vile naga, inhabiting their ancestral ruins, slithered along, carrying out their mysterious goals. The world was as it should be, calm, peaceful, a new day ready to be seized in all its glory.
Isa'kor stepped out of her hut, taking in her surroundings with joy. All this was visible from her mountain perch, as she lived on the peak of one of the smaller mountains on the west side of the mountain range, high above Stillpine Hold. The furbolg were peaceful enough, kind to her, and left her to her own devices.
She breathed in through her nose, the air sweet and cold, the light breeze tickling her bare skin, being clad in only her simple undergarments, leaving little to the imagination. She was human, athletically shaped, and feral in appearance, like a wild animal. Her skin was pale like starlight, hair brown like the trees, long, curly, tangled like a jungle, un-brushed and untamed since the previous day. Her ears were pointed, hinting at a possible high elven heritage, eyes hazel and always changing, though today they were a storm grey-blue. She was tall, six foot even, tall for a human, let alone a female human. (Most humans are in the 5 foot spectrum of height. 5'0"-5'11") Tattoos covered her body, ancient, tribal, feral-looking tattoos, geometric, yet asymmetric, from a bear paw on her left arm, to a raven on her neck. The largest was a tree on her back, from the base of her neck to her tailbone, spanning shoulder to shoulder, the only tattoo not tribal. Solid black, and curly ended branches, it represented the tree of life, connecting all things in the world. Her very essence radiated her animal nature, primeval, maybe even dark, and adaptable, as if born to survive in the savage and ever-changing world of Azeroth.
She was a Warrior of the Fury path, rage coming to her as a second nature, wearing heavy plate armor, and wielding two-handed weapons as if they were but twigs, one in each hand. Her armor was handcrafted by herself, being a blacksmith, and had many interlocking plates, to allow fluid movement while fighting. It was a dark green set with bronze edging, and covered every possible part on her body. It was light for plate armor as well, having been made of steel and folded, like a Japanese katana. It was forged in such a way that the wearer could swim in it with little effort. Her chosen weapons were twin Swords, forged of Elementium, a gift from her current mentor, he himself finding them in ancient ruins in Northrend. They were single edged blades, traditionally wielded with two hands, and looked as savage as their master. Isa'kor also had a tomahawk she made herself, and several other weapons in her collection, though she almost always preferred her swords, which she named Soulfire and Heartstorm.
She started her morning as she did every morning: First, with a series of increasingly difficult stretches akin to our yoga, then with a brief but intense workout to keep her body in shape, and ending with her run down to the ocean to the West and a brief swim. She loved swimming. It woke her up more than anything else, the cold water a comfort to her. But more than anything, it helped her forget her worries and relax.
Having spent the early morning hours in the ocean, she returned to her humble abode, and prepared for her lessons with Turran Cloudwatcher, her shaman mentor and close friend. He was a Broken Draenei, one of the first shaman of his kind, taught by Nobundo himself. She brushed her still damp hair, and fixed it into a French-style braid, simple but elegant. She began her trek to Turran's home, and hummed a simple tune as she went, dressed in simple brown robes. Today would be a good day, indeed.
A'yora was finally returning to her adopted home. After years of adventuring, participating in every major conflict from the Siege of Outland, to the War against the Lich King, and most recently, the conflict in the Elemental Planes, and the Expedition to Pandaria, she was finally home. She was always the explorer, but now she longed for a warm bed, a good home, and maybe someone to share it with. She was weary of all the fighting, all the death, and, after over 25,000 years, she had come home ready to settle down and maybe have a family of her own. She felt she deserved at least that much, after the long, lonely years of fighting she had done.
She stepped off ship from
Rut'theran Village, a striking figure in full plate armor, and walked down the gangplank, stepping foot on Azuremyst Isle for the first time since crashing on this strange world. She had left almost immediately after, seeking glory and riches while helping the Alliance, as well as the weak and defenseless. She successfully acquired the wealth she sought, and her bank account sat at a comfortable 1,000,000 Gold, making her as rich, if not richer, than much of the Alliance nobility. But wealth could never buy the happiness she wanted, the love she sought. She had faced many frightful and nightmarish foes, from demons to the Old Gods themselves, but only feared being alone, to never be graced with a mate.
She was a stoic, yet graceful Draenei. Thousands of years training and fighting had honed her body into a weapon, her motions fluid, and her reactions faster than believed possible. Her face was like smooth stone, like a statue worn smooth by the passage of millennia. Her skin was as blue as the sky on a cloudless day, and looked as smooth as silk. Her hair was jet black, long and loose across her shoulders, stick straight, with only the bangs tied back, unnoticeable behind her ears. Her horns were short, swept back, following the contour of her skull, and blue like her skin. She was gargantuan, a giant amongst the other races, let alone her own people, standing at 8 feet and 5 inches tall, a wall of muscle clad in armor.
Her armor was a dark blue, almost black, and it seemed to glow with an icy chill. The plate itself seemed to swirl like water, almost alive in looks, but still in reality. It covered every inch of her, making her the image of death, but elegant all the same. The breastplate hugged her curves, the abdomen segmented for flexibility. Her arms were completely encased, even the elbow. The shoulder pads were segmented in a style reminiscent of the samurai, and from her belt hung a kilt of plates, split down the middle so she could walk. The legs were also encased, and though her plates weren't as extravagant as some warriors, so might even say feminine, she had the look of a tank; one who could take punishment and dish it out tenfold. The last piece of her armor hung from her backpack, a helmet of unique design. It had a slit for the eyes stretching from ear to ear, providing a full 180 degree view, almost as good overall as going without a helmet. Made from the same dark plate as her armor, it was smooth, with no outcroppings or ridges. It was vaguely skull shaped, and the only flourish was a carved rune of shielding on the back, on the samurai-like neck guard that extended down from the helmet.
She had two weapons; a two-handed black war hammer, the head reminiscent of an anvil, and a bastard sword, single edged, straight backed, and the blade's edge shaped like an "S". She also had a foldable shield, perfectly round when extended, its appearance like that of a foldable fan, with leaves of metal instead of paper. It had ancient runes carved into the surface, protective wards from an ancient era. She wore it in its stored position on her right arm, lock into place on the bottom of her gauntlet. It was a gift from a companion in the War against the Lich King, an inventive and quirky little gnome of the Argent Crusade.
Clad in her hard won armor, she strolled leisurely towards the city of Exodar, repaired to its former glory as a trans-dimensional ship, leading her armored bear along by its reins. Her bear was a companion picked up from Dalaran, and a close friend ever since. She named the bear Stoneheart, and since Northrend they've fought side by side, scarely apart from each other for even a moment.
The Exodar floated above its crater almost lazily. It had been repaired shortly after the Cataclysm, and it had "anchored", so to speak, over the location it had crashed, standing as the center of Draenei society in all its glory. Entrance was now gained through portals located where the back entrance was once located, and next to the inn that stood outside of where the main entrance was once located, respectively. Though capable of inter-dimensional travel, the Draenei elected to remain on Azeroth and honor their pact with the Alliance, offering aid in whatever aid they could.
A'yora lead Stoneheart to the inn, to fill her belly with a warm meal and ale, check her mail, and listen to happenings of the world from other travelers. Stoneheart napped lazily outside, undisturbed by all in the waning hours of the day. Belly filled, eyes heavy, she bought a room for the night, and before turning in, asked after her uncle, Turran Cloudwatcher. He was a reclusive shaman, living in the wilds north of Stillpine Hold. She was amazed to learn that he not only had a student, but small village going. Rumors of a wild human, trolls, even tauren were whispered amongst the rest of the Draenei. Too tired to worry, she retreated to her room, dropped her bags in the corner, stripped naked, and collapsed on her bed.