Ulric awoke from his dream in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as his eyes shot open. His torso jerked up as he sat there, rubbing his face, his head shaking as he, apparently, hadn't needed his own advice to avoid getting nightmares from his tales.

He had only vaguely remembered his mother, though in his dreams, she was far more clear than when he tried to recall her while awake. He pulled his blanket up to his shoulders, the cold managing to bite at the parts of his body that had smiled out from underneath its warmth. He could hear the others speaking, not too far away through the trees, his eyes turning to see the fire burning around their shadows.

Shadowmoon was sitting beside Remnaar as the two sharpened each of her two new daggers that she'd bought in Wintergarde to replace the two she had lost way back in Valiance Keep, her eyes squinting as she lifted it up to her face, her stare running down its sharpness.

"Not bad," she muttered to Remnaar, "It should be true enough to be used. I just hate its handle; it doesn't feel natural at all."

Remnaar shrugged, "You'll get used to it; you only had the last two, what, for how many years?"

"Too many, apparently," Shadowmoon groaned.

While they worked, Tandkota was still writing as he usually did by the light of fire, Remnaar's eyes popping up to watch him as he struck the stone in his hand down the length of the blade, "Still writing your brother?"

Kota nodded slowly, though offered no audible reply. Parvaen, on the other hand, had completed his wood carving, having sat it down beside him as he stared vacantly into the fire, still shaken up by Ulric's demonstration earlier in the day. Remnaar's eyes slowly turned to him, curiously. He wasn't ever the type to just be still like this.

"Parvaen," the draenei quipped quietly, the elf's face quickly bolting up to look back, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, nodding before looking back into the fire, "Yeah…"

Remnaar often found himself in a leadership role whenever Ulric was absent, due to his seniority. In these instances, he often would tease less, which the others quickly realized, and they equally respected him greater in these moment. Seeing a lack of morale, Remnaar figured it was something of his duty to lift his friend's spirits.

"What did you carve, there?" he asked, Parvaen quickly turning to what he was referring to.

"Oh," Parvaen spoke up, picking up his carving, which resembled a fanciful dagger, though instead of a blade, it was a curling serpent that ran swerved up from the handle, its head evening out into a sharp point, "It's a knife. It's supposed to resemble the daggers the satyr use; they would often imbue them with the darkest of magic. Legends usually make it out like the 'blades' are actually living serpents, but I've seen enough of these during archaeological sites."

He shrugged, "I don't know; I figured, you know, if we needed protection from the dragons over the Blight. I mean, I didn't finish on time, but we worked out."

Even Shadowmoon peeked up at him as Remnaar spoke up, curiously, "The dragons?"

Parvaen chuckled, "Well, it's pretty stupid, really. It's just a bunch of myths and junk, but the satyrs, apparently, found a way to kill dragons, and that's where these sorts of knives came from. Apparently they could pierce their scales or something, but I don't know; you'd have to think there was some evil magic going on."

He held either end of the dagger between his palms, swirling it around in front of him, "I love stuff like that, though. That's why I came up here in the first place; 'The Forgotten Continent'. I thought I could get my kicks hunting and also see what I could see from the ancients here."

He groaned, "Of course, after today…"

Pausing, he suddenly broke into a nervous chuckle, "I don't think I'm cut out for that first part."

"Why not?" came Ulric's voice from within the brush as he stepped out, the entire group looking to him, though Parvaen's was one of fright, having been confronted with such a question.

The elf stammered mindlessly, "W-W-W-"

Ulric's face had been serious, but it slowly turned soft as a smile showed itself. He walked toward the fire, slowly crossing his legs as he sat down, sticking his hands closer to the flames to warm himself, though his eyes remained on Parvaen.

"We all have our own reasons for being here. What makes yours any lesser than Tandkota's?" Ulric questioned, sincerely, "He writes to his brother, every night, though he's been dead for years now."

Parvaen slowly looked toward the tauren, whose eyes closed somberly, though he still kept his hand down against the sheet of paper. Ulric shrugged, reaching out for a stick to stoke the nearby flames.

"Remnaar, he came from a whole other world to find nothing here to be his. All he has, really, is this troupe; I found him wandering the landscape, emaciated, torn clothes. He couldn't speak a word of any of our languages, couldn't support himself. He'd been reduced to sitting near prairie dog burrows for days at a time, desperately hunting for anything to eat. This life I brought him into, its all he's ever known here on Azeroth."

He turned to Shadowmoon, his face quickly turning to confusion as he continued, "Shadowmoon, she… Well, I don't exactly know why she's here, but she's the best hunter I've ever seen, so hey, maybe it's just the sport."

She nodded, contented that he hadn't pried any further, Ulric moving along as he address Parvaen, "So, hunting isn't your first choice or your forte. Does that mean you're any less dependable? That you're any less fun to have around, that you can fix anything with a pocket knife?"

Ulric chuckled, "I may have a reputation for being a hard ass when it comes to membership, but as you know, I don't kill for sport. It's more for the people than anything else."

Parvaen lowered his head, feeling slightly awkward at having been told the darkest parts of everybody's past, save for Shadowmoon. He brought his hands together, twirling his fingers, fidgeting nervously as his face sunk in thought. Ulric didn't speak up as he sat back, probably knowing that Parvaen would open up without any more effort- he had honed these sorts of social skills long ago.

"There was, uh… I've always enjoyed history, artifacts, that stuff. Silvermoon isn't exactly the city for all that, though- you either get people who hate recounting our history, or if they do enjoy it, they're probably the ones so hopped up on magic, they're out of their minds half the time. So I joined a group of Horde excavators, mostly trolls, trying to stroke their own hubris by seeking evidence that trolls were the first beings on this earth, before even troggs and elves."

"We traveled all over, and I got pretty close with this one, uh…" his eyes surveyed the others nervously, "Gentleman, Zaakjin. We became lover's of sorts, sort of on the down-low, you could say, but it want anything that…"

He trailed off, his face comforting with a slight pain, "I mean, we loved each other. He was my entire world, you know, and I though I was his. Lo and behold, however… The group eventually made it down south to his home, so of course, me and the few other non-trolls were sort of left out while they did all their rituals and what not. A group of trolls came and forced me to the large bonfire, beat me to a pulp while they got Zaakjin."

"He just stood over me, watching me writhing in pain," Parvaen muttered along, emotionlessly, as if he'd long since run out of tears, "I don't know Zandalari beyond what I learned from the team, but I knew enough from what Zaakjin spoke to me in our private moments to understand that they'd found out. I guess they left it up to him to get rid of me; he grabbed me and drug me across the ground, leaving me on the edge of their camp, battered and bruised. He returned, and I never saw him again."

He sighed as the others held their heads low in so her respect, Parvaen shrugging as he cleared his throat, "So I guess I'm up here on a soul-searching dig or something. I cant even begin to tell you guys-"

He began to chuckle through a widely sincere smile, "I was so lost. So ready to kill myself or something. Then I ran into you all, and my days have just been… Just so full of fun, that I…"

The elf stopped before he could get choked up, though his smiled remained as he leaned forward, trying to keep control of himself. Out of nowhere, a large hand came to rest on his shoulder, gently patting him as he looked up to find Tandkota, the tauren nodded in acceptance.

"Not that you weren't already, but in light of today's events, you might as well be family," Tandkota explained, "Even those who are sent away, once you've gone kiting, you're one of us, forever."

Ulric nodded in agreement, leaning over to pat Parvaen's knee with a smile, "Welcome aboard, man."

The blood elf sniffled under the weight of his emotions, but he quickly shook it off, wiping an arm across his face, "Well now I'm embarrassed."

The others laughed lightly as he went on, breaking through his own laughter and tears, "Just- Can somebody else talk while I pull myself together?"

Remnaar happily obliged, "Well, we could hear the rest of our leader's story."

"There's more?" Parvaen questioned, earning an inquisitive glare from Shadowmoon.

Ulric sighed, "There is."

His face contorted in a sort of reluctance, but he groaned, shrugging, "I guess you've earned it. It's not exactly… I don't exactly like recounting it, personally, but-"

He looked up, smiling grimly, "If you're content with following me around for days on end, I suppose you've earned it."

Shadowmoon's glowing eyes peeked out from her shawl carefully, staring at him intently as he cleared his throat, dropping the stick he'd been using as he leaned forward into his lap, crossing his arms between his torso and legs. His face became distant. Cold.

Dark.