Holding a rough stone bowl with her large feet she pounds colourful plants into a pulp, humming cheerfully with the rhythm. Tiny bell charms on her wrist, ankles and braids chiming along with her as she works, occasionally tipping the contents into a small simmering cauldron on a nearby fire and placing some fresh herbs into the bowl, coils of smoke rising from her long thin pipe.

Pu'Shala, or Puush to her friends, was just downright eccentric looking – even for a troll. Her garb was a strange mix of badly skinned leathers and brightly coloured beaded silks. Her long flaming orange hair was braided with vibrant ribbons, feathers and bells while her arms and legs sported many charms mixed made of precious metals, wood and bones which jingled as she walked. All necessary for her profession she had decided. Being 'just' a merchant was nothing special, even though her wares were rare to come by; you had to fight for your reputation in such a competitive world. Customers needed to remember who you were and how to find you in the buzzing midst of Orgrimmar Bazaar. Being tall helped, being female definitely helped those men, and some women, who were under the influence of the local moonshine – many a poor soul had walked away with several scrolls entirely useless to them because of her charm and clever tongue.

She flicks a bug off her long tusks and carried on preparing the ink for the teleportation scroll. They had never been her *best* work, but usually, those desperate enough to use a scroll rather than an expensive mage portal weren't in a financial situation to complain about the results, and more often than not, too far away after use to complain. She laughs out loud and taps the dangling sign making the wooden chimes clunk, it read:

'Unhappy wiv goods? Accept all Returns – unused within 14 moons'

Sure people complained, once they had eventually returned from wherever they had actually landed it was far too late to do anything about it. To be fair, the locations were never THAT far off the desired point, the right domain ... usually... continent, definitely.

The bazaar was particularly busy today, and the sun was beating down upon the masses. Pu'Shala had managed to pitch her temporary stall (being a stretched blanket above for shade and another to sit on) in a prime spot right near a small pool which was not only good for the ink making but she could collar customers when they came to soothe their aching feet in the waters. Across the way a stern looking Tauren had his ample weaponry stand with various great sized axes and oversized wooden staves spread on a huge hide, presumably kodo. He was haggling loudly with a pair of goblins, bruisers probably from the new shanty town. They seemed to think they should be getting a discount for being discriminated against by being too short and unable to pick up one particular elaborate axe which was clearly too heavy for them.

'Little brothers, I have many other axes more suited for you? Surely if you cannot wield such a large item, it is of no worth to you?'

'You hear that Gribb? You hear that! Right there! He insulted us!' The greasier of the two goblins hopped angrily from one foot to another pointing accusingly towards the bemused black mountain of a sales-Tauren. The bald goblin nods vigorously next to him, trying desperately not to give the game away by lusting after the shiny weaponry

'I did Rab! I did! That's got to be at least half off the price for offensive language!'

The Tauren shakes his head in disbelief as the goblins continue to gesture at him wildly.

Pu'Shala catches the eye of the Tauren and points to her stack of scrolls with a sign "Go anywhere any time!" with a toe and a wink which she continues pounding the herbs with a chuckle. The Tauren raises an eyebrow with an appreciative nod and continues to placate the small green angry customers. Elsewhere in the market a dark figure cuts through the bustle, nosing at stalls here and there, a few market goers giving the man a wide berth turning their noses up at the smell as he pokes over imported wares and spices. An elder lady Orc shouts out the daily catch while her mate guts fish with his thick hands, tossing the body to the table and the innards into a bucket to his side, a hungry ginger worg rests uneasily near the stall – an effort to fend off would be thieves, but the wafting stench of fish guts causes the hot wolf to stare and drool at the bucket, knowing a reward will come later if he is obedient.

A leather clad hand belonging to the stooping owner swathed in a long dark maroon battered cloak with wide brimmed hat, rests on the cauldron tripod before picking through the jar labelled 'Escape scrolls – 50s' with a sniff of disapproval and a gravelly voice.

"Really Pu'Shala, you can't expect people to pay good money for faulty transportation"

She only grins even wider in her thick trollish accent "You be jus jealous ya dint tink av it! Dere is always some'un who be desperate enough ta jump ta somewhere unknown. It nat be ma problem where, ah jus be providin' da service." She flicks her braids confidently and flirtily pouts at the potential customer "An how can ah be helpin ya today ma fine man, eh?"

He sighs with a roll of his eyes "Reluctantly, I find myself in need of one of you transportation parchments... my fine lady."

She ceases obliterating the pulp and rests the stone instruments and looks up at him rather surprised "Realleh?" Her voice pitched higher for the question, she stands and to sort through some blank parchments ready to receive her inscription "Whatchoo be wantin' wit a 'portation scroll from me eh? Ah thought you can move ya own sorry carcass by da arcane dese days?"

The figure pulls his cloak back with the leather hand to reveal a ragged boney stump ending at the elbow with a sigh "Such incantations usually require both hands... A slight accident down at Razor Hill" He dryly explains while she squints at it, then pokes it sharply with her long pipe inspecting the damage "Madam, do you mind?"

"Hmm dem teeth holes...Jonas... did ya get yaself bitten by dat worg o' Grubthar agin? Didn'cha?"

If he wasn't dead already, with a face of composite skin from who-knows-where, she could have sworn she'd seen him blush.

"I swear that fiend is going to cost me more in spare parts than I make from his masters' damn hides!"

"mmm hmmmm" She nods not entirely convinced, taking a long drag on her pipe and puffing blue smoke through her teeth.

"Blasted thing, I should have it sent to the quarter for Haynes to play with." He mutters "My health aside, I need passage to Tranquillen. That should be simple enough?"

She smiles gently at him "Okaaay den, dat be fine wit me... Ya just get on outta dis sun an' ah meet'cha later. Ah gotta get dis ink jus right den write it for ya. Ah give ya dis one on meh, since ah owe ya for dem books still."

He tips the brim of his hat towards her to show gratitude, the normally calm and collected forsaken succumbing to the heat of the Orcish city "My thanks. Since you need to finish things here, and I need to get out of this irrepressible sun before it desiccates me entirely. I'll be in the Broken tusk." Pulling his hat brim further down he meanders off through the bustling crowds and dust, paying particular care to avoid the hungry looking worg loitering by the fish and bone stand who was (he felt) eyeing him up as an alternative to the fish bucket.

Pu'Shala watched him lumber off in with his unwieldy limp, wrestling his cloak with his one good hand. They had been friends within the merchant trade for years now, she liked his slightly formal ways and dry humour, and underneath the facade of distain and moaning he had a good heart, dead, but good. Unlike most of the forsaken she had encountered, Jonas was not afraid of travelling outside of the dank cellars of the northern kingdoms, infact; she would swear that he actually enjoyed it.

Run

Flee

Branches cracked under her bloodied soles, her soiled tattered gown tearing itself to ribbons as she tore through the undergrowth, branches whipping her skin, the stinging strikes keeping her alert and focused. The blood thumped in her ears and her throat dry as she gulped in large mouthfuls of the fresh air into her lungs.

She had no idea of her previous belongings, her current location or her destination, just simply the adrenaline to keep moving, alive and as far away from that place as possible.

The dappled sunlight blinded her temporarily – her silver eyes had become accustomed to perpetual darkness for too long. Her footing lost, and she tumbles downwards with a yelp, landing awkwardly on her elbows into a small stream. She cries out as the pain jolts through her body, the exclamation reducing into quiet sobbing, the shock of the fall finally releasing her anguish. She lay there, sodden, alone, bruised and crying. The water gently washed over her, clinging her roughly hacked hair to her scalp, rinsing off the dirt and the blood, but it couldn't remove the bruises, scars or the memories.

She could still hear his laughing, his heavy breath on her skin. She could still feel his touch, his icy hands... all over. Mercilessly beating, crushing, probing... tainting her, his endless enjoyment of breaking in his toy. Then when he was physically satisfied, he'd discard her one of the other males to either take blood and flesh samples, sometimes to drain her remaining magic and life force within an inch of her life, just enough to keep her weak, but alive for further sport the next day.

She wept, the tears tumbling onto her dusky lilac skin, joining the stream.

'Elune help me...'