Kalimdor was a peaceful continent, full of mysteries and intriguing creatures. Among these were the Orcs. Green skinned, brown (tinted sometimes other colors) eyed, tusked mammals. Built tough and physically terrifying, they were nomads, moving in troupes. Among these many a troupes was the Blood-curds, a most recent cluster of orcs. They'd produced many Shamanistic fellows and hard skinned Warriors, but never had they had a hero like this.
Growing up, she was an odd orcling. Her parents had been killed when saving her from a band of the Burning Legions hounds. Strangely enough, one of the hounds had brought her home before being found by the guard. As the leading shaman Ujayani, a fellow Horde troll, touched her, his face went into shock as to where her powers lay. Demonic embracing was always against their ways, but many of the Demon Order had saved them in battles with the Alliance.
Setting her down, the Shaman gave her his blessing of a prospering life and he went off to make a note to find a trainer and mentor for her. The babe cooed and held a little stuffed worg her father had fashioned for her before his ending day. They had been Worg Breeders and Herders. The dogs were loyal as old small dogs humans had in their homes.
Orcs, Trolls, Tauren, the and well walking again Forsaken were band together as the Horde. In this treaty, they were not permitted to kill one another but help alike. Orgrimmar became her home once she hit ten years old.
Along the way, she met a Tauren troupe called the Cloudwalkers. Looking about through them, she met a little white male Tauren. Moving up beside him, she touched his hand to get his attention.
"What's your name?" she asked softly, those tiny blue eyes very startling for an orc to have. She hugged her stuffed worg tightly, hoping her question or talking to him hadn't offended him.
"I'm Winterpaw Cloudfeather, I got the name when we went through Winterspring, or, well, my parents anyways." The small Tauren snorted, his voice child like but deep like all bulls of the race. He stood well over four feet already, making the small female orc feel, well, tinnier. "What's your name?"
"Me? I'm Grimora. My parents died before I could take their last name…" She sighed, hugging her worg more, trying not to think of their death to which she'd witnessed.
"Hey, hey… Cheer up! We'll be getting to the Crossroads soon. I'm going to Camp Narache to learn to be a great Druid! How about you?" Winterpaw asked, trying to shake the tears away from the little orcs eyes.
"I'm going to be a Warlock…they say I'm bound to be one of the corrupt…oh! I hate Fate!" She whined, hugging her arms more. Winter, as she nicknamed him, picked the small orc up with boundless strength and set her on his shoulders with a grunt. The hump in the middle of his back hadn't shown up much yet, but it'd grow in time to his disappointment.
Wearing a dress, it rode up on her, but she didn't mind in the least, liking the view of being tall. Giggling, she ran her hands through the thick and slightly matted fur of Winter and bending over, she planted a small kiss on his soft furred muzzle, getting a purring like grunt out of him. She hugged her worg doll closer and sat without another sound, enjoying the air, her time on the journey, and time with Winter, her new best friend.