CHAPTER 3

It had been a month since Nazkura's failed attempt at using Far Sight within the cave. She had mixed success ever since - without the spirits, she could just barely reach out over a short distance around her; it enhanced her capabilities as a scout, but it still bared her soul. She could not fathom why it was now that the Siblings resisted; her connection seemed stronger outside of the cave, away from Rhakra, but even then, they only managed but whispers at the best of times.

She resigned to scouting physically outside of the cave system. There were some spells and calls that she knew that did not rely so heavily on the spirits, but Nazkura knew that if she pushed too hard on using them that she might offend the Siblings even more than she already had. Ghost Wolf, Ancestral Imbuement, Guidance - she also knew some voodoo spells learned from her Troll brethren; Hex being chief and most prominent among them.

Moving through the forest in the form of a Ghost Wolf was second nature to her by now; without Eyota, it was the quickest and most silent way to travel. She could move up the Darkshore within a day and go down it just as quickly. She took two weeks to scout the Horde positions.

They had set themselves truly to the task of occupation in the two months since the War of Thorns. Although the Night Elves and Gilneans were using guerilla warfare to wage war since then, they were not as effective as the concerted effort to occupy the land. Nazkura identified three types of camps being created and utilized:

War Camps were chief among them - they were many, and they had all races of the Horde involved in their creation and defense. Their purpose was point fortification and power projection over a small region. They were positioned every few kilometers at crucial points where defenses might best be: crossroads, hills, cliffs, et cetera. They seemed to align in such a way that supplies could be safely moved through them.

The strength of each War Camp varied: the smallest of the camps had about two dozen soldiers stationed within, six of which were mobile outriders of some sort. Orcs with their wargs seemed to be the most favored of these outriders, though she saw Dreadguard and Blood Knights among them as well. Each War Camp was commanded by at least a Blood Guard with a Stone Guard acting as a second-in-command. This organization seemed to be somewhat standard for defenses of crossroads and other such points.

A Prison Camp was the second type of compound that the Horde was employing in the Darkshore and at least the edges of Ashenvale. She only identified three such camps: one in the south, center, and north part of the Darkshore. The Prison Camps were guarded by a mostly Forsaken force and commanded by a Centurion. Each had a varying level of guards, most of which was comprised of, at minimum, three dozen soldiers. They were solidly focused on defense, and rarely did they go out for more than a patrol around the compounds.

The last type of camp that Nazkura could identify was what she coined as the 'Corpse Camp.' There was one that she could find, and its forces there were entirely comprised of the Forsaken elite: Dreadguard, Deathstalkers, Blightguard, and all their associated maleficent experimentations. She didn't know who commanded at the Camp, but she suspected as high as a Commander, personally appointed by Sylvanas herself, was here somewhere within. Wagons of corpses, both Horde and Alliance, were carted here daily.

Satisfied with her scouting thus far, she began to move back towards the cave complex. Nazkura was unsure exactly how Rhakra and her were going to assail any of these defenses. Together they could perhaps take on a dozen regular troops, but that was only at their peak strength; the smallest of the Prison Camps had more than three dozen soldiers.

As these thoughts and doubts raced through her mind, she felt the wind shift and an arrow whizz by her. She didn't stop but looked back briefly to discern whether it was Night Elven or Forsaken. When she saw the wood and the crude makes it was only one conclusion: Velariene is here.

She redoubled her efforts to sprint, hoping to outrun her Coterie pursuers on foot. A Deathstalker appeared out of nowhere in front of her; however, she quickly shifted back into her true form. She rolled out of it, unsheathing an ax and attacking the one in front of her.

The Deathstalker was quick and wielded two daggers, but his speed was no match for her strength. She moved out of the way, sweeping her feet backward each time he advanced before suddenly bursting through him, shoulder-checking and burying her ax into his side. He groaned out, cursing as she felt his swipe at some of the stronger parts of her armor. She pushed him off, sending him several meters away from her.

She checked the cut to her armor; no blood, no pain - the durable armor did its work well. She unsheathed her second ax, spinning them in a flourish to intimidate her wounded opponent. She began to charge forward when she stopped short of another arrow flying her way.

The Deathstalker with the bow appeared from the trees, nocking another arrow in his bow. A third and final Deathstalker appeared from the trees, wielding a wicked sword and dagger. Nazkura gave him a quick look; her face distorted with disgust as she saw his jaw was missing, his tongue lolling out as he slobbered ichor over the ground.

Turning to face all three of her attackers, her instincts told her to fight defensively, but her mind told her to attack. She felt the heat of her blood beginning to rise, and she struggled to keep doubt from coming into her mind; she needed to be sharpened. There was an eerie moment of stillness between the three before the bowman loosed his arrow.

All at once, the Deathstalkers attacked. Nazkura barely deflected the arrow with the broad side of her ax, but the disgusting Deathstalker leading them was on her a second later. So fast! She thought to herself, trying to create space. His attacks were blazingly quick, and although she only managed to barely parry and block them, she found herself giving ground to his great strength; she was underestimating this Forsaken severely.

She felt a blow into her side; the first wounded Deathstalker had come up behind her as she had been occupied with the leader. She then felt an arrow hit her shoulder - everything was happening at once. She pleaded out to the spirits, desperate for their attention and aid, but none came. She was alone.

With no reprieve in sight, she managed to make a critical reflection of the flurry of blows she was receiving, sending the strongest Deathstalker backward a few meters. She reached out, speaking a crude curse at the bowman Deathstalker; his form shifted into a harmless frog, dropping his bow in the process. She pivoted, knowing that she only had a few minutes before the curse would wear off.

She brought her ax down on the wounded Deathstalker, though her blow was deflected. She moved again, throwing her weight behind each attack; they were slow and cumbersome compared to the other two, but she could hear their bones creaking with each assault. As her Orcish fury began to take over, she finally managed to break through her prey's defenses: she snapped his arm, ripping it off his body, and bringing her ax down where his neck and shoulder met.

The final Deathstalker had paused - his bowman was hexed, his dagger-wielding companion was critically wounded… thus he chose to break his assault. Nazkura growled, staring him down; she knew she could not defeat this Forsaken, not without her shamanistic power. This Deathstalker was too fast and had unnatural strength. Instead, she chose to flee - beginning a full sprint south. She sheathed her axes and shifted forms.

She took several long paths back to the cave complex and was sure she wasn't followed - it was clear that the Deathstalker was a captain of some sort and thus was cautious. Perhaps he wasn't related to Velariene's Coterie, Nazkura thought as she entered the cave, shifting back to her true form. It was just a coincidence - a patrol; nothing more.

Her breathing was labored by the time she reached their camp. She sat, beginning to take off her leather armor when Rhakra appeared beside her with bandages, salve, and water. Wordlessly, he gripped the arrow and mercilessly pulled it out of her - the barbed arrowhead causing far more damage to her flesh than it did going in.

"I would not wish to see the corpses you left behind," he joked, his voice low and gruff. He helped Nazkura take off her chest piece and dribbled water over the wound, cleaning it. He mumbled words of power, and Nazkura felt Sister Water's healing soothe the pain and cleanse the wound of toxins.

"I… didn't leave any behind; I was not strong enough to kill any of them." She balled a fist, grunting in pain as Rhakra applied the salve to the wound and began to bandage it. "Not through lack of trying, but… I already cannot communicate with the spirits, and my skills as a warrior lack just as much. If I were at my peak strength…" she trailed off, lowering her head.

Rhakra did not respond for a long few moments; he could read the desperation on her face. "You are facing a crisis of identity and soul, Naz," he said, finishing the tight bandages to her frame. He checked on the other wounds and began the same process - cleaning, salve, bandage. "Both of which I have seen before. You were on solid ground before, your goals and cause clear - loyalty to a vision of the Horde that might have once been true. But that vision is shattered; Thrall is gone. Vol'jin is gone. Saurfang is a liar." He spits out each name with some amount of venom. He continued:

"Naz Darkwolf of the Horde is dying," he said to her, looking into her eyes. He put an aged finger underneath her chin, tipping her head up. "She is in critical condition. She must die for you to remake yourself."

For the first time in a long time did Nazkura have a mentor she trusted - only knowing this Orc for two months and yet he shared with her wisdom that she needed unabated. Tears began to stream down her face, her arms wrapping around Rhakra's frame and her head buried into his shoulder. I am broken, she thought to herself. Where once I was strong, now I am… nothing. I must become something else.

Even now, if Gro'kar or Drem'lok had seen her, they might not recognize her. She had led soldiers into battle, stayed strong and fierce in the face of all odds, confronted her clan's demons without hesitation or breaking at seeing her ancestors long dead. She was the caricature of the Horde warrior-shaman… and now she was nothing.

But she was to become something again; Rhakra left that spark of resoluteness within her. His ritual would change her from nothing… to something greater than before.

It would be a week before Nazkura could undertake the ritual - her wounds were too severe to even attempt it. Rhakra had been preparing the chamber in which the ceremony was to be conducted while also allowing for time to mend Nazkura's wounds. Upon the day after Nazkura returned from scouting, they found that the poison the Deathstalkers used was far more potent than they realized.

Unfortunately for Nazkura, this left her alone for most of the day - laying down on padded furs, waiting for the inevitable time to come. Rhakra never seemed to sleep, wholly restless and brimming with energy for such an old Orc. Was he brewing potions that kept him awake? She wondered to herself. Is all this going to be worth it in the end?

Nazkura wasn't even sure she should go through with what Rhakra intended. Perhaps, she thought, that the Earthen Ring might have a more significant remedy that would not drain neither Rhakra nor herself. Maybe she truly should simply turn herself into the Horde and prevent anything catastrophic from happening. Even the Alliance has Shaman - great Nubundo had given Nazkura wise advice before. Perhaps she -

"It is time," Rhakra said, stepping out of the shadows. He placed some threadbare robes - some form of neophyte's robe - in front of her. "Put these on and then follow me."

Nazkura did as she bid, but her heart screamed at her to turn and flee. She removed the bandages, her clothing, and put on the neophyte's robes - simple clothing that looked as old and worn as Rhakra. As she stepped forward, she could hear her heart thumping loudly with every step she took alongside Rhakra.

They moved together into a chamber with a big, swirling whirlpool. It looked unnaturally deep - as if created within the last few weeks by Rhakra himself. Nazkura turned to Rhakra, seeking his guidance. He took out a potion, handing her the vial after uncorking it.

"This ritual might kill you," he admitted after she took the potion. "That will assuage your mind; it will remove all doubt from you. Your mind must be completely empty before going into the water… otherwise, I cannot save you."

Nazkura looked at the potion; the green viscous liquid stared back at her. "How many times have you performed this ritual?" She asked, not yet drinking from it.

"Three times," he responded. "To my great shame, only one perished from this." He took a step forward, motioning to the center of the whirlpool. "You will swim there; it is where all four spirits meet. Brother Fire heats Sister Water, Brother Earth guides her down, and Sister Air maintains a constant flow around you. They will all enter your body and judge you." He turned back to her. "If you are found wanting, they will kill you."

She stared out over the water for a long moment in silence. Her mind raced, overturning thought after thought before she finally drank the potion in its entirety. It was a greasy fluid - left a film in her mouth. She began to step into the water, and already she could feel its heat. She could feel each of the spirits battering her over and over.

There was a point where her feet could no longer touch the bottom, and she began to swim. It was tough; the whirlpool allowed for no error. She managed to reach the middle, and then she merely… let go.

She went under, and water entered her lungs. She felt a cacophony of elemental energies exude around her. There were four presences within that seemingly attacked her every being, finding every physical weak spot she had. She cried out in pain, the agony wracking her mind. She opened her eyes, becoming bloodshot as she attempted to weather their attacks. She began to feel her ancestors nearby, began to even see the face of her long-dead father and brothers and mother.

As the darkness took her, she thought she had died.

"Awaken," she heard a voice say. It was gruff, distant, and quiet; she was not sure whose it was. "Awaken!" She heard it shout. After what seemed like hours, she finally opened her eyes, her crimson gaze falling upon Rhakra. She was sopping wet, she coughed up water and mucus and even some blood. She sat up slowly, taking Rhakra's hand. "Easy," he said. "How do you feel?"

Her mind was still reeling from the ritual. She looked to where the whirlpool was, and it was gone. There wasn't even a space in which there could have been that large of a whirlpool, none which she could swim to the middle and lose herself to kilometers and kilometers of water.

"Naz," he said. "Focus. Do you feel different?"

A minute later, and her mind began to sharpen. Her heartbeat had slowed, her breathing regulated, and her wounds were merely scars now. Her mind was completely clear… she did feel different. She raised a wet, moist hand and called out to Brother Fire; while she did not hear his voice, she felt his presence - then saw his gift. Her hand turned into a wild, blazing fire, turning colors that she did not know she could do.

The gift from Brother Fire felt different; she was unsure of how to explain it. She had always had her best connection to Brother Fire; thus, she knew his presence when he granted his gift to her. This… didn't feel like him. "This power…" she said, looking to Rhakra. "Brother Fire feels different."

Rhakra shook his head. "That is your power," he said to her. "That is your new connection with them. They have granted you into their most sacred paths into their power… and now it is yours." He helped her stand up. "You are closer to them now than any shaman has ever been; a more powerful shaman than the Earthen Ring could ever ask for." He paused for a moment. "Are you ready for our war, Naz?"

Nazkura closed her fist. "Not Naz," she said, looking to Rhakra. Her spirit lifted, her soul burst with feeling and overflowed with confidence. "Shrike. Shrike is ready for war."