~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I accidentally posted the un-edited version of the next chapter instead of this one. If you caught my mistake thanks for sending me a message. There is the ACTUAL chapter 76. Also, sorry for the confusing chapter numbers. The "chapter 32/32" were still on those last few chapters because I forgot to change them when I expanded the Forsaken story arc. And by that I mean Sylvanas, her cat and that kaldorei brat ran away with my writer's reason.

I actually wrote this six months ago before I published the last chapter. I just didn't want to publish it before I knew if I was going to have Kayas stay for this story arc.

Sad and true fact: I played Horde almost exclusively yet I shamefully had to go back and look up old screenshots to remember what pre-Cata Valley of Honor looked like. Aside from a wolf vender and a weapon's trainer it was empty. In 6 years I can count one one hand the number of times I went there and not use all my fingers.

~*~ Chapter 76 ~*~

It only took three days for the guards to get bored enough to leave the pond and return to work. That or the thundering Orcish orders which awoke the druid on day two had been commands to do so. What harm was one elfin druid, after all?

If only I were a threat. Wait till I get back to Darkshore and get some more experience under my belt. I'll show you who's threatening then.

She stretched and rolled over in her silty bed. The fanged seal form was gifted with underwater breathing. In all her years she never though there would be a use for learning such a form, especially seeing how the ocean her people were so good at navigating was full of things who would only find her a tasty snack.

But now?

Now she dug into the sands at the bottom of the pool and ate crayfish and nestled in a rather comfortable bed of silt. She waited. The assumption that orcs don't swim well must be true, seeing as none of them had tried coming in after her. Yet.

The priest had camped out for a day or two with a wooden lawn chair from Elune knows where, and fished. Who knew such a dignified fallen noble even knew how. From under the murky surface of her pond the Druid first played with the bobbers and then outright slapped them out of the water. He didn't need the fish! He only wanted to displace them the way he had displaced her!

His persistence outlasted her attention span. Soon he was fishing unmolested by cranky druidic seals. She slept and ate all the first day. The second day saw an end of the crayfish – at least the ones she would eat. The babies she let go, knowing that eating all of them would devastate the population and throw the ponds whole ecosystem off balance. Despite what the priest and the Dark Lady had done to her she was still a Druid, still a Kaldorei and it was still her responsibility to restore and maintain The Balance(TM, Cenarion Publishing Inc.).

By day three there was an unusual lull in the number of people surrounding the pond waiting for her to come out. Adult responsibilities (that thing called "life") often mean that once they can no longer take interest in something it gets left to the children. Apparently the pond was only a hop, skip and a jump away form the Orgrimmar Orphanage. Children had taken to swimming in when parents weren't looking, but only the bovine and troll kids. They would freak out and scream when the course hairs of her hide brushed their legs under the water's surface and they would go paddling back to land as fast as possible.

The priest found this amusing as, during his short trip to the pond that day, he sat in his rough wooden chair and fished. The excited children gathered around the "Fishy McWhiteskin"(1) and told him their harrowing ordeals about narrowly avoiding being eating by the Pond Monster.

"Oh, is that so?" he asked, leaning closer as he slowly reeled the line in, "Well tell me how big it was."

The little troll boy's eyes got huge. Not often did grown ups listen when he tried to tell them something, "It must ha' been ten feet long!"

The priest nodded solemnly, loose black hair swaying as he did. This was a very interesting story. "That's very long. How much do you suppose it weighs?"

"Maybe 200 pounds o' more! It was huuuge!"

"That much, you say?" Raising the tip of the rod and swinging it over his head, he flicked the line out into the water once more. "Suppose I could catch it with this rod?" Said rod was banded in gold and strung with spider's silk from Sillithus. A gift from Corrosa after a trip down South ended with him eating worm meat stew for two weeks while she perfected the recipe. Invertebrates were now banned from his diet, to say the least

Right on cue said warlock came storming over and the children scattered like flies. Everyone scattered around Corrosa. The story of how she burned a zeppelin right out of the sky had gotten around and to say the least people were avoiding her even more than usual. Warlocks were really only accepted in Forsaken society; those of the Orcish variety kept to themselves lest they bring the authorities down on them.

She flowed out of the purple mist which engulfed the lower recesses of the Orcish home city, glowing fel tome in one hand and a wand/torture stick in the other. The whole thing glowed with super heated trogg blood. She also sported a full soul shard bag(2) as well as some much covered boots which were bound for the enchanter. Afoot today due to lack of mount left the ground dotted with searing green footprints.

Someone was not happy.

They argued again, she and the priest. The druid watched the show of threats, dramatic hair tossing and a little bit of weeping on the priest's part. The warlock drew back in disgust at the show of tears and one final shake of her blood soaked tome at him caved his resolve. Reluctantly he bowed his head and followed, only once glancing back at the dark shape just below the pond's surface. The white glowing eyes started at him through the water and watched him walk away.

It took a few minutes longer for the druid to realize something very important: she was alone. If seals could grin then this one grinned. Slowly, so the water didn't ripple that much, her stealthed feline form exited the crayfish habitat and inched it's way onto land. Still she was grinning.

Whether anyone meant to or not they left the lake unattended for a full five minutes before someone came back to watch the waters, swim out into the shallow depths and throw pebbles into the water. She was long gone by then, halfway across the giant clearing and headed to a better lit part of the city.

Orgimmar was dusty and dry, not unlike bleached bones of long extinct animals which held up the walls of waddle and daub buildings. Slick leather awnings cast shade on doorways which did not have actual doors to block entry. Compared to beautiful wooden archways and vine lined paths of her homelands these primitive buildings were gruff and unrefined. Not unlike the inhabitants who argued and bartered in their jagged tongue and didn't notice the slight rising of dust as she passed.

A pungent smell of raw meat – a lot of raw meat – pulled her in the direction of a less inhabited part of the city. The crowded place she came from was called The Drag by guards who gave endless directions to everyone from freshly washed brats to dirt encrusted pig herders. Patience was more a virtue for these guards than muscle mass it seemed, though they were lacking in neither.

Kayas would latter come to understand patience was something all Orcs had in spades.

Getting to that less crowded part of the city involved slicking into a claustrophobic cave that very closely resembled the one she ran through attempting to get out of the city. It would be too much to hope she'd win freedom this easily and that open ground lay on the other end. Entire trees had been lashed together, sharpened and strung up along the roof of the cave. If a moment's notice was given one only needed flick a switch and the whole lot would drop, skewering even the smallest person and making kindling of the trees themselves.

The young druid fought down angst at noticing the purple hue of the trees. It meant they were stolen from Kaldorei territory. Instead she ignored the rising bit of panic which pushed down her spine and wanted silent paws to scurry fast through the opening, past the gentle plodding kodo and agile, hyper raptor mounts. The last time she was in cat form and in similar circumstances she also met with stealth and it cost her agony, deformation, and trauma. Trauma haunted her now as every sound of decorative bones rattling brought back days old memory of the Scourge. Every bit of leather over skin reminded her the Scout and his pleas of companionship. Each bare food slapping stone made her think of the guilds for undead children and their tiny, bare feet.

The well lit valley did not give her cause to be overjoyed. Stopping just short of the edge of light she noticed immediately the shape of the valley was a bowl of rock open to the skies. Inside were multitudes of buildings, a small waterfall that fed ponds, a dock with a couple of old tauren napping in the vivid sunlight, and otherwise no escape except the one she just came through. Why, she wondered, would anyone need such a heavy guard gate to stop people from getting in here?

Laying down quietly she watched the place, studying the layout and noting which buildings were inhabited. Figure out what each building was and one might serve an escape mechanism into her waiting paws. It was almost deserted; no pun intended since it was desert to begin with. The bright sunlight and dry dust did not agree with a Druid of the cool, shaded paths of ferns and sentinel trees. The smell of food came from the left of the opening, where several orcs held loud, laughing conversations in baritones that vibrated the ground. No doubt they held court over a place she could only regard as freedom's dead end.

A thick walled wagon held a mountain of dead animals. They awaited their turn with the butcher, who was happily chopping up steaks half as big as his chest with a knife as long as the small druid.

Resigning to see how well her stealth worked, and not much caring it if failed as long as she go food for her efforts, the gray and black cat watched another covered cart go by before running across the path and around the edge of one huge bone support pole.

Hugging the wall an invisible cat flowed shadow-like towards the large fire pit. A procession line of orcish cooks did Elune-knows-what to otherwise perfectly good cuts of meat.

They were a myriad of colors, these orcs. It was the first time the little druid noticed orcs came in more than one shade. Most of them were green, with deep moss green carving meat portions from the carcass of something huge, and a more dark-lime colored one patting each piece with herbs and spices and laying them out on trays that got shoved down the line. The brightest green one had dark hair braided on either side of his neck not unlike the fashion of several kaldorei or tauren women (3). The other two were bald; one had outrageously fluffy eyebrows while the other sported daylily tattooers in garish yellows and pinks. Perhaps to perplex and throw off battle partners?

Kayas watched them cooking, seeing how they worked in tune. After several moments she nearly got the plague scared out of her when an almost brown orc on top of the wall called down an order for "five somewhat burnt ones and a not-so-burn one, hold the bad attitude". The one at the end of the line of cooks laughed outright and pointed at the orc who manned the grill. Vivid green eyes almost glowed with light and life. They took the little druid back. Many orcs she had seen, but never the ones who were not near their end and dying. They did not have that light in their eyes as this one did.

The dark braids who manned the grill smacked the edge of his spatula on the metalwork and glared up the wall. "If the steaks are too raw they might fight you for their freedom!"

"I'd gladly give it freedom than serve charcoal to a bride at her wedding feasts!" the wall-dweller called back down, much to the ire of the cook and amusement of his helpers.

What the Dark Lady had done to the Druid's hearth stone allowed it's owner to understand the guttural orcish language, and she still did not understand the individual words themselves. The word "wedding" had been used, but something told the druid it was not the right word. Kaldorie did not have "weddings", but Mell'marie had explained to her the human concept. Apparently it was close enough – but not quite – to the intent of the word the orc used that the magic substituted it in such a way as to allow her to understand it was a "close enough but not exact" translation.

Orcs have culture?

Now both orcs were laughing at the cook, who smiled good-heatedly and went back to grilling. Others may take insult from this type of jeering, but this old soul let the others have their fun and didn't read too much into it. Perhaps he burnt a steak or two? Judging by the size of the wagons full of dead animals waiting their turn on the grill there would be enough to feed all of Orgrimmar for a week at this rate.

He said feasts? As in more than one?

They continued to jeer and joke and talk while the order was cooked, placed on a tray and lifted up to the top of the wall via pulley. The druid noticed then that there was a party going on up here, though from her position pressed against the wall she could not see exactly what was happening. Only that there was mention of a wedding and all the food was vanishing upwards.

That would have to be rectified. It took moments for a plan to form. An easy one, taking into account what she noted about the layout of the valley upon arriving. If she snatched one steak while the cook wasn't looking and then darted back to the wall he wouldn't notice it for maybe a minute while he helped the other prepare extra cuts. She'd be away and well fed before he came to realize it was missing. Suspecting that the thief would exit through the gate they would leave to track down them down. Meanwhile she would be at the bottom of the pond and enjoying her steak as a fat and happy seal.

It wasn't long before an opening presented itself. Another ordered came down along with the emptied tray on it's rope pulley. The cook slapped the order on the grill and went to help butcher while they sizzled. It was a tallstrider of some sort. Smaller than the ones found in Darkshore, but wider about the ribs. The wing joints gave way easily and the meat twisted free. Easy work for such large men.

Kayas had one fat steak clamped in her jaws and was halfway back to the wall when a hand firmly grabbed her tale.

~ End Notes ~

1) I assume that racial slurs, nicknames, pet names, etc also exist in Azeroth. Such as calling a Tauren "Buffet, because if the man's species didn't have language then they'd be on the dinner menu and not the guest menu."

2) Back when warlocks had to carry shards in their bags and dang near EVERY spell used up a shard. Raid agenda used to include five or six of the raid helping you to fill up two sixteen slot bags before the raid started because you'd use up over half of that before you got to the first boss. Heaven help you if you wiped and peeps needed summons back after repairs. You'd have to spend 20 minutes clearing raid trash to get more shards...

3) Cause nothing says manly like piggy tails. My original character development for this guy is from 2011 and just so happens to match Blizz's eventual fleshing out of his cliché story arc.

5/10/15