CHAPTER 2

When Nazkura awoke, she could only barely see the campfire in front of her; the edges of her vision were blurred and dark, and she could not move. She struggled for a short moment, feeling the rope that bound her hands and feet were well and tightly knotted. Her mind was addled as she came to; thus she tried to sharpen her mind to her surroundings.

"It is the early morning," said a hoarse voice. For a moment, Nazkura thought she was at Velariene's mercy, but when she rolled from her back to her knees and looked up, she saw an Orc. He looked ragged, wearing threadbare robes that might have gone to an apprentice Shaman in Orgrimmar years ago. His skin looked like leather, his face rough and weathered through years and years of toil and hardship. His tusks were removed, ripped out from their place in his mouth - a common torture tactic to Orcs. As he set down wood for the campfire, Nazkura saw his hands - calloused from years of working with them.

She judged him to be as old as Saurfang or Nahmentok or even older than that; he moved slowly, and each step he took looked like it needed to be deliberate. Nazkura put two-and-two together. "You killed the Deathstalkers," she said to him, the long silence abated. "You're a Shaman, then?"

"What is it you're doing wandering alone in the forest? There's a war going on." He ignored her question and her observation completely, adding a log to the fire and stoking it with a few snaps of his fingers. "Did you come to hunt me?"

This was some sort of game, Nazkura thought; she struggled against her bindings, snapping her fingers so that she might create a flame to burn them awake, but when she called out to Brother Fire, he did not answer her. As the fire snapped and crackled in front of her despite her attempts, she chose to play the old Orc's game.

"You're some sort of pariah, old one. You must be some sort of criminal if you have Deathstalkers on your trail. Murder some children?" She watched his expression as she spoke, trying to pinpoint a nerve of some kind. "That's all the old ones are good for. Killing innocent children."

There was a twitch in his face; she saw some emotion come from him. She continued: "I suspect you're just being hunted to cover something up in Sylvanas' government. Saurfang orders you to murder a few Horde operatives, kill a few children to set up a just cause, then you're a loose end."

"Do not presume I served or ever would serve the witch," he snarled out. He glared for a long moment, his eyes moving between her face and the tattoos on her shoulders. "You're a Darkwolf; I've seen tattoos like that before." He huffed lightly, picking up a stick to poke at the fire. "Didn't like the Orc who bore last bore them."

That was surprising to Nazkura; she took a risk. "You're talking about Kravak the Blackblood?" Saying the wrong name might elicit a better response - she knew he was talking about Nahmentok, her grandfather.

"No. A Dark Shaman; Nahmentok." He spits the name out with a glob of mucus, coughing just afterward. "Hated his stinking, rotting tusks since he took mine when I was young," he said, motioning to his mouth. "I was among the Shaman they chose to become a Warlock, and Nahmentok administered the… training." He shuddered at the thought of it. "My name is Rhakra."

As Rhakra opened up about his hatred of Nahmentok and even gave his name, Nazkura softened. "Naz," she said simply. She did not trust him completely, not yet. "Nahmentok was - is my grandfather. I hate him just as much as you do." She spits out his name just as he did, hoping that their shared hatred much gain far more trust. "I led the Darkwolves to fight his cult of fanatics. His purpose was… unclear."

Rhakra moved a hand across his face. "Did he give you those, then?"

He spoke about the claw scars on her face - a long-standing visage gained just before the Horde's Civil War. "Yes," she said, looking away. "I am not ashamed of them, but rather of my failure in not killing Nahmentok then." She looked back at Rhakra. "He turned my older brothers against me; made me fight them. When I challenged him for clan leadership, he defeated me, but I ran."

A considered rumble came from Rhakra's throat, his hand scratching at his chin as he took in all he heard. "It does not help that you were weakened beforehand," he said, motioning to his hip. "I saw your scars completely; that one on your hip and the one on your face were gained at the same time." He stood up, grabbing a knife.

She panicked; she struggled against her bonds but tried to hide her alarm as he approached her with the knife. She was utterly helpless. "I am not ashamed of running. I achieved victory in the end."

He paused, staring down at her. "Then you killed him?"

"...No. He still yet lives," Nazkura said after a moment. "But his cult is dismantled; his powers have waned significantly. He is nothing now."

Rhakra knelt at her side, and Nazkura prepared for the worst; he brought the knife down on her bindings. "I am in the Darkshore to fight against the Banshee Witch's Horde," he said, completely freeing her. "My brethren and I all are - though I am the only one left. We received advance notice that there was to be a campaign against the Night Elves; thus, we came north from our hideouts in Dustwallow… but we were constantly ambushed by the Sentinels as we were setting up in these caves," he said, shaking his head - his voice was solemn.

"Most were killed; a dozen were cut down, and a score was later captured by Saurfang's great warhost. Their fates now are… unknown." He turned away from Nazkura, moving back to his seat. "I am hunted now. Those Deathstalkers aren't the first - no, they're simply the boldest. The strongest of Sylvanas' hunters is a Troll called Jen'do. He's a Shadow Hunter, but his allegiance is to a group called the Ashwalkers."

Nazkura took in all of what he told her. "Ashwalkers?" The name was familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. Her mind was still addled from the blow and the grief she had felt over the last week.

"It is a fanatical fire cult, like the Twilight's Hammer, though they don't worship the Old Gods. No… they pervert the flames and use them to commit cruel acts of slaughter in the name of the Horde." He snarled again - Nazkura figured that Rhakra's enemies were innumerable.

"Then we're of the same mind, Rhakra. I… was part of the great warhost but abandoned the campaign when the Horde gleefully took part in the slaughter of innocents. One of my warriors fled with me, but he was cut down to allow me to escape." Nazkura's face contorted for a moment in grief, her heart dropping at Gro'kar's sacrifice. "I know not what I will do now."

Rhakra allowed for a long silence between them, feeling the heartache that Nazkura felt. He considered her for a long moment. "Help me in my war, then. My brethren can't have been killed yet - I suspect they're being interned for the nonce. It would give you a chance to avenge your warrior and your honor."

"The Horde plan to set up war camps in Darkshore," Rhakra explained to Nazkura as they walked through the cave system under the mountain. "I know not their purpose beyond occupation if there is one at all. But the Elves have been taken out of the war, for the most part." He held a torch to light their way. "Our goal was to enact a guerilla campaign against them using these elaborate tunnels."

Nazkura committed the tunnels to memory, holding the crude map that Rhakra had put on a dried piece of leather. She had primarily been exploring the tunnels on her own for the last week since she agreed to join Rhakra's campaign, but today he decided to lead her on one that would bring them all the way to the north. "I heard the Shatterspear made use of these tunnels, but never seen them before."

"Shatterspear and Sentinels," Rhakra grunted in response. "The Elves know these tunnels like the back of their hands, though I've collapsed many of them, created new ones…" he said, trailing off for a moment. "It was bad scouting; we were overconfident. Had we taken our time to properly scout these tunnels and then plan out our attacks, well… perhaps my brethren would still be here with me."

She put a hand on Rhakra's shoulder. "Worry not, Rhakra; if your brethren still live, we'll free them. We'll take this fight to the Horde." His vigor seemed to return to him with her hopeful words - they finished the tour a few hours later, returning to where they made their base of operations.

Rhakra gave Nazkura some armor to replace hers - it had previously been a comrade's, but she would no longer be needing it. The leather was worn, but it was of durable make. She scrutinized it, recognizing it that it was Bleeding Hollow in nature. "Is this from Draenor?" She said, looking up to him while he prepared some concoction. "From the… other one, I mean."

He nodded, mashing a paste with a mortar and pestle. "It is," he responded to Nazkura. "Some of those Orcs came into Azeroth following the Iron Horde's defeat and against when the Legion took control of it." He inspected his work and found it satisfactory. He wiped the paste into a small jar and handed it to Nazkura. "Here. A salve - if you get wounded."

"Wounded? I intend to use Far Sight to scout out the area. There is no risk of being seen then." She had already taken out some incense to do such a spell. Rhakra didn't respond to her, though looked wary of the intention. He kept the salve nearby, placing it while he prepared other supplies.

Nazkura found a quiet place away from Rhakra. She placed the incense between some rocks to prop them up and sat cross-legged in front of it. She took slow, deep breaths as she rubbed her fingers together on the ends of the incense, calling Brother Fire to light them. After several minutes, however, a frustrated Nazkura took out matches - Brother Fire was not responding to her.

Doubt seeded within her mind. Brother Fire was her patron spirit; the elemental that commonly came to her was called Ignis. Even under the strain of the Cataclysm, she could hear his whisper to her. So why did he not come to her now?

Regardless, she managed to find some matches in the supplies and lit the incense accordingly. She repositioned herself, placing her hands palm-up upon her knees and closed her eyes. She took long, deep breaths and allowed the pungent smoke to fill her nostrils and lungs. She cleared her mind, emptying it of all thoughts, and focused on everything around her.

She heard the drips of the moist stalactites on the ceiling of the cave, she felt the cool breeze moving through it. She listened to the bats gently snoozing overheard, the little mice rummaging through the cracks of the cave. She reached out further, anchoring her focus on the cave. Once anchored, she called out to Brother Earth. Brother, I request your aid. Show me what has happened to the Darkshore.

Nothing; there was no response from Brother Earth. Grine the Unbreakable was a temperamental spirit, but it was unlike him not to respond with a firm no if he decided not to help. With no response, she reached out to Sister Air. Flurris, sister, I need your help just as before. Show me my enemies.

She did not respond, but she did feel a more significant presence where she was. Nazkura felt strange - with no body of water nearby, she could not call upon Sister Water, Aquila, and Brother Fire was not responding to her at all. Did the Sibling Spirits abandon Nazkura?

She stopped the spell, coming to. She felt all her doubt and anxiety return to her tenfold; she was shaken to her very core. Have I lost my ability to call upon the Siblings? Have I disgraced myself more than I think? These thoughts and thoughts like them raced through her mind. How is Rhakra performing these extraordinary feats of shamanism? A former warlock… She stood, taking the incense with her. Walking back, her eyes were moist with coming tears. She held back, however.

"Rhakra," she called out, sitting by the fire. "The spirits… they are absent. I cannot feel them." She tossed the incense near her packs, folding her knees into her chest. She had never felt so abandoned before - even when facing her clan in the Civil War. Everything that she was was cast into doubt.

Rhakra paused what he was doing and scratched his neck. He looked pensive, thinking about possible scenarios. "The spirits of this land are ancient - the Elves' spirits, I mean. Combined with the Twilight cult's meddling, the blighting of the Forsaken, the war… all is in flux." He turned to her, sitting. "Your strength has waned. You need a stronger connection to the Siblings."

"That requires far more training than I possess," she admitted, staring into the fire. "Rituals and totems and… so much more."

"I… know of a ritual that can help. The boon will be temporary; a few months long at best. In that time, we can improve your training while we wait for the Horde to settle here for the Alliance to counter-attack." He nodded, putting away his mortar and pestle. "The ritual will take weeks to prepare, however. You'll have to scout physically."

Nazkura resigned herself to such a fate; she nodded meekly in response. She turned towards her padded leathers, laying down and covering herself with a blanket. She had been cowed completely, drawing into the depths of despair.

Velariene's Coterie had taken disastrous losses hunting down the Darkwolves. Gro'kar had killed a number of her Coterie and the outriders that bolstered her forces. Though she hadn't genuinely intended to spare the leftover outriders if they had killed Gro'kar, she still wanted them to kill him. Thus is the way of relying on the living.

Despite her losses, she received new orders in the Darkshore. Not only was she to find the Darkwolf renegade, but also to hunt down the Night Elves and Gilneans that remained in the forest and to hunt down another Orc renegade. To do this, she was given the best of the Deathstalkers on Kalimdor, increasing her Coterie to a dozen.

She had enough soldiers and influence now to pick a lieutenant as well. She chose Graz na Graz, a Deathstalker Captain who cut his teeth against the Scarlet Crusade. There was a rumor that he had been a part of the Royal Apothecary Society's experimentations to enhance his abilities - Putress loved using enhanced warriors to test his Blight.

She overlooked them now at the main Horde war camp near Lor'danel; Supplies and soldiers going in and out of the camp and the Darkshore with war and prisoner camps being set up everywhere to counter the new threats that were popping up. "Are they prepared, Captain Graz?"

Graz only nodded - any attempt to speak resulted in a disgusting shower of ichor. Graz had lost his jaw prosecuting the Forsaken's war against the Scarlet Crusade - his long, slippery always stuck out and drooped under his skull.

"Line them up; I wish to inspect them."

Captain Graz moved at his commander's bidding, and Velariene waited while he assembled them. As she waited, she smelled a foul weed being burned behind her and heard the stomping of hooves on the ground. She turned, seeing a Troll Shadow Hunter, clad in his horrid Trollish regalia of wood, leather, and chainmail all staring at her smoking a pipe. Just behind him, a large black-furred Tauren with a smattering of ash-white warpaint on his face.

"Greetings, mon," he said, bowing - not allowing the embers of his pipe to fall to the ground. "I be Jen'do. General said ya be assigned ta me quarry." Velariene knew this Troll well - especially his surcoat. She had read the reports of the Ashwalkers and their independent - but sanctioned - campaign against Garrosh's loyalists over the past few years.

"I am," she said, turning away. She detested how Trolls looked; how Tauren smelled. The living was an insult to her. "But this is a stealth operation. You will not be needed."

Jen'do snorted, taking the pipe out of his mouth. He upturned the pipe, slapping the bowl of it against his palm. "Ah, yes, but ya be seein' dis," he said as Honwah offered her a piece of parchment. Velariene read it while Jen'do continued. "Honwah an' me be authorized ta join ya cohort; even be takin' control o' it, if needin' be."

Velariene gripped the parchment tightly - frustration rising. She pushed the orders back into Honwah's hand. "I will not have you taking my command. This is my mission for the Dark Lady."

"Ah, ah, yes, it be," he said, seemingly relenting. "It be your glory dat we be earnin' so long as me quarry is bein' taken by us back ta Stonetalon." He motioned to Honwah. "...If dat be not so fine, I can be lettin' da Hurricane o' Kalimdor convince ya."

Honwah stepped forward, but Velariene held up a hand. "I shall not question the orders of your Orcish general," she seethed, keeping her glaring gaze out on her soldiers. "But you will follow my orders… and then you can have your target."

Jen'do slapped the pipe against his hand a few more times. "Good, good, ah, ah good. Jus' be tellin' me when we be leavin'. Oh… an' Honwah be silent as da a still air. Be trustin' me!" He said, cackling as the two began to walk away without being dismissed. Already that monstrosity dares undermine my authority, she thought to herself. Bah!

I will have my glory. I will rise above this wretched place… Velariene moved to inspect her Coterie. Over the next few weeks they would train together - and then prosecute a new campaign in the Darkshore.