An orcish woman flipped through some notes she had spread out on the table, checking over some sort of list with a nailed finger. She was wearing some rather thick furs, both feral yet exquisite at the same time. Her head, neck and forearms were uncovered, yet she seemed relatively unaffected by the cold Frostfire air swirling around her. The fire burning under the mantle seemed enough for her.
The large jungle troll bundled up from head to toe across the table from her wasn't faring so well. Tucking his hands between his knees, he hunched over as much as he could in an attempt to stay warm. Even after two months on Draenor, his system had not adjusted to the extreme cold in Frostfire Ridge. Perhaps it never would. Some of the grunts around the new garrison city remarked that one could always bundle up a little bit more in cold weather, while there was nothing you could do to escape hot weather. It took everything he had in him not to hex those fools into something delicious like salmon or quail.
His hands could never be idle for too long without drifting up to the various animal teeth and claws on the necklace Cecilia had given him. It had been a few days since he had seen her - it's incredible how convenient travel was with warping and flight paths and all - and the prospects of waiting days or even a week or two before seeing her again was a little bit easier this time. The constant flow of letters they had been writing to each other made the distance bearable. Although they avoided using the M-word, they used the L-word freely after just shy of a month. Things were moving fast, which she acknowledged first and had no fear of, and it was she who used the L-word first. She was much braver than he was, he had to admit.
Snapping back into the present, Khujand looked back at his interviewer for fear of having missed a question. The orc had only just now looked up at him; he was in the clear. He had heard about the Hand of the Titans guild during his second visit to Gorgrond - one of several things he lied about during his interview, claiming to only have visited Gorgrond once and only spent time with some strangers around a campfire. He was still a bit self-conscious about being in such an unconventional relationship and was ready to hide it until their respective services on Draenor were finished and they could elope back to Azeroth. The guild was all business, and there was no need to mix it with the personal.
Truthfully, he did need allies while he was there. A group of people who had dedicated themselves to opposing worldwide threats such as the Twilight's Hammer, Burning Legion and now the Iron Horde was a noble cause. These seemed like people he could get along with, if they could deal with the biting sarcasm and mocking behavior he had developed since his social skills had slowly started to reemerge. He didn't want to screw this up.
The orc folded up her notes and tucked them away into a bag, which she then buttoned closed and laid to the side. She was taking her time during the interview, which made her come off as a calm, collected leader. He hoped she would be easy to take orders from. She was quite young to be leading a guild - nineteen years old, if he had heard correctly. She certainly seemed mature enough, and if there was one thing he had learned since his release back into society it was to judge himself first and not worry so much about what other people were being or doing.
Looking back at him, she seemed prepared to ask him one more question. "Alright Khujand, before we conclude the interview I need to ask you one more question." How did he guess that?
"Do you have anything in your past which could follow you here and negatively affect the guild?" Her question was sincere and she didn't seem to be implying anything, yet he still froze. On top of literally freezing as well.
"Uh...what do you mean by past, Miss...eh, Anroka?" he asked.
She still didn't seem suspicious, though he didn't know if she was simply skilled at hiding what she was thinking. "You know, old enemies or vendettas that could come back to haunt you and, by extension, us. We had one member in particular who didn't mention that he had crossed paths with an undead warlock bent on cursing the shadows of every building in the guild to burn people who strayed into them."
She paused now, waiting to see how he would answer. No, she didn't know anything. There was no way. The record he had was fake and relatively minor, his actual identity and past being long buried and wiped out of his life entirely. There was no means via which she could have found out.
The fire danced in the hearth of the barracks, the room empty of life except for the two of them and another jungle troll, though his drowsiness meant that he likely wasn't paying attention to anything they were saying. His role wasn't entirely clear anyway; he mostly seemed to just stand around in the barracks.
Khujand considered his options. He could lie and would never, ever be caught. He and Celia had decided to simply escape their checkered pasts. There was no point in fighting losing battles and exercising in futility. This would be a good test to see if he truly was up to starting over, blank slate, with the new identity and life story. To see if he really had cut off from that former life which was no longer his and never would be again.