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Chapter Text

Killing demons had become cathartic as of late.

Now that wasn’t to say it was the only catharsis Daiya managed to find these days. A hot bath, a decent wine, winning a few gold pieces in a poker game. These were all good things as well. But killing demons was… so satisfying.

Especially the smug ones. They always had fucking something to say. Every single one of them had some long-winded malicious diatribe. Like some sort of evil pissing contest. They went on and on. About their master, about how they were going to rip her flesh from her bones, about how they were Legion. It was honestly endless. As endless as they were, presumably. Or at least, that’s what they always tried to tell her before she cut them down where they stood.

They had taken everything from her. Her family. Her friends. Her safety. The Legion killed hundreds, and left nothing but suffering and death in their wake. It made her… angry. More than angry, it made her seethe in rage. The fury nearly blinded her sometimes.

Whenever a young soldier lost a limb because the healers couldn’t drain the fel blood from their system quick enough. Whenever a friend drowned themselves in drink at the taverns in Dalaran, unable to think about their dead comrades. Whenever an officer had to inform someone’s next of kin, causing mothers to wail in anguish, fathers to fall to their knees, and siblings to lose any light they had left in their eyes.

Seeing it every day took its toll. So, she told stories to the soldiers who lost arms and legs to distract them. And she bought the grieving friends another drink. And she gave whatever money she had to the inconsolable families of the dead, hoping to help ease the cost of burying their loved one.

But she never cried. And she never gave in.

Instead, she killed demons. As many of them as she could. Which turned out, wasn’t as difficult as she had thought, Argus was filled with them. One after one, they came. And one after one, they fell to her axes. They were no match for a warrior as seasoned as she.

Not even the big ones.

So, when a group of injured soldiers came stumbling down the mountainside into her path, warning of a pit lord… well… she couldn’t resist then, could she?

There were three of them. Two males, and a female. All draenei, all young, all dressed in the same gold and silver plate she’d come to associate with the Army of Light. They came running down as fast as their injuries allowed. The young woman looked like she was about to collapse and Daiya jogged the rest of the way towards them, brow furrowed in worry at their haste. The female draenei tripped, falling into Daiya’s arms heavily. Her bloodied armor was nearly torn to shreds and her heart sank at the injuries on the woman.

Daiya knelt down to one knee, propping the draenei against her as comfortably as she could. “What happened?”

“A pit lord,” the woman mumbled, coughing up blood as she looked dazedly up at her. “Up on the ridge.”

“He came out of nowhere,” one of the other soldiers rasped. Daiya glanced up to look at the man who had spoken. His left arm hung at an odd angle at his side, and he carried no weapons. Lost, she guessed.

Daiya grimaced. She glanced at the last soldier. He looked stunned and bloodied like his companions, but his arms and legs seemed in mostly working order. “You, come here for a moment. Hand him your sword,” she ordered, nodding her head towards the second soldier who’d spoken. The draenei seemed at a loss for words, but did so, silently giving his blade to his companion.

She turned her concentration to the dying woman in her arms. Ragged breaths shook out of the draenei’s chest wetly, and her eyes were starting to flutter closed. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Daiya said, gently jostling her awake. “I know you’re tired but I need you to stay with me, okay? What’s your name, lass?”

The woman’s unfocused gaze found hers and a small smile graced her features. “Miret. ‘M name’s Miret,” she replied.

“Miret,” she said, letting it roll of her tongue encouragingly, “that’s quite lovely. I’m Daiya.” The third soldier was kneeling by the two of them now, looking at her expectantly. “Your friend here is going to carry you to the beacon just down the hill and get you back up to the Vindicaar. They’ll be able to heal you there, how’s that sound?”

Her gaze moved to the soldier kneeling in front of her. The man, who’d up till this point seemed like he was in shock, was shaking slightly. “Yes,” he agreed, his voice thick. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he tried to sound steady, “Don’t worry, Miret. I’ll make sure they take care of you.” Gently, Daiya moved the draenei woman into his arms and he stood, wobbling somewhat.

“See?” Daiya asked, rising with them. “You’ll be right as rain when I see you again.”

“Thank you,” the woman whispered, grabbing onto the warrior’s hand.

“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t done anything,” Daiya said. “But don’t worry, I’m going to. So, I need you to be alive when I get back to the Vindicaar, you know why?”

The woman blinked.

“’Cause I’m going to bring you that pit lord’s head.”

The second soldier, the one with the broken arm, holding onto his friend’s sword, choked. “You cannot be serious! That thing tore our warframe to pieces, it would be suicide!”

Her head snapped up to glare at him, and his mouth snapped shut in silence at her expression.

A rough chuckle came from Miret, “-’ve… never seen him… shut up that quickly… before.” A wet cough shook through her body then and she curled into her friend’s arms even more.

Daiya gave Miret’s hand a brief squeeze before smiling as wide as she could manage. “When he watches me plant that head at your feet, I bet he’ll be speechless then too.” She let go, glancing towards the ‘you can’t be serious’ draenei. “Get them there quickly. I will meet you up on the Vindicaar,” she said, sounding certain. She had turned on her heel to trudge up the hill when he spoke.

“Wait!” he said. She glanced back, seeing a mixture of fear and respect on his face. “Good luck. May the light be with you.” Daiya nodded curtly before turning up the hill. Taking a deep breath, she began to make her way up the mountainside.

Chapter Text

Daiya imagined Argus must have been beautiful once. Perhaps there had been large fields of crops, exquisite buildings glowing softly with the light of the Naaru. Now, the ground was soaked in blood, fel and not, and the land beneath her very feet was broken and jagged. Edges of earth would end suddenly, and the mountains crumbled into oblivion.

She should have figured that the ridge this pit lord had settled on was at the edge of a cliff, the land behind the demon disintegrating into nothing. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? Why pick a large, open, secure field to fight on, when you could battle it out on the border of a very long drop?

“Unbelievable,” Daiya grumbled, reaching over her shoulders for her axes.

The pit lord had been cleaning blood off of his giant spear but upon hearing her approach, he lifted his head. He was... fucking huge. The demon’s teeth flashed wide in what she perceived to be a smile and he laughed, his glowing eyes narrowing. “Ah, mortal,” he noted, his voice deep and rumbling like thunder.

Very evil thunder.

He angled the rest of his enormous body towards her then, stretching his arms wide as he grinned. “I assume you come to grovel,” he growled, “and beg to join the Legion, so that your life won’t be so worthless.” His large tongue was slow to form the words, but they reverberated through the air and she felt surrounded by his voice.

Daiya sneered. “That’s a pretty big assumption.”

The pit lord chuckled, taking a step towards her, shaking the ground beneath her feet. “Perhaps then, whelp, you’ve simply come to bask in the magnificence that destroyed your puny, mortal friends.”

Her brows raised and she laughed at him. “Destroyed?” she asked, twirling her axes. “You’ve done a poor job then,” Daiya replied, “since they’re still alive.”

Something flashed in the corner of her peripheral vision, up on the rocky ledges that lined part of the clearing. She kept her eyes on the pit lord however. If it was reinforcements, she didn’t want to give away their position. To keep the demon’s attention, she took it a step further.

“Does your boss take performance reviews? I really think he should have a look at your work,” Daiya taunted. She shook her head disapprovingly, “It’s shoddy, at best.”

The grin, if you could even call it that, fell from the pit lord’s face then. His growl rumbled through him down into the very earth, and she could feel the vibrations of it in her legs.

“Pity,” he snarled, “it seems you have come to die.”

She began to circle towards him then, attempting to force the pit lord’s back to the jagged ledges where she hoped sat aid. Even with the pit lord’s size, it seemed he did not want to be flanked because it worked, both of them moving in time with one another. “Indeed? Perhaps you could monologue me to death,” Daiya suggested mockingly.

The demon pointed at her with his spear, a weapon that was at least three times her size, and roared. Daiya’s jaw clenched at the sound, and she planted her feet firmly, raising her axes. She could feel her arms and legs start to twitch with adrenaline, and if she was being honest, a small amount of fear as well. Her fight or flight was kicking in hard, and she had to breathe deep through her nose to keep it under control.

“Wretched mongrel! Your world will BURN!”

The demon took a step towards her and Daiya felt herself tighten into her defensive stance. The ground shook and that was when a flash of blue flew out from its hiding place on the ridge. It landed on the pit lord’s back and crawled up its spine, and she finally realized what it was.

A troll. Large, blue skin, navy hair, light mail armor. A shaman she guessed, with the way that he placed both hands on either side of the demon’s head and let off a lightning spell powerful enough to cause the pit lord to roar in pain.

Daiya was frozen for a moment. She had hoped it was someone from the Army of Light or the Alliance but… a member of the Horde? Not exactly the backup she was hoping for. But it wasn’t like she had the liberty to be picky now. So, she charged.

The pit lord was swinging his spear wildly back and forth, and she had to duck out of the way to flank his side. Making the assumption that the hide on his lower half and on the inside of his legs was less tough, she began to dig her axes into him. Her guess was right, and they left biting marks all along his limbs and belly. Daiya aimed for what she hoped were tendons and arteries along the demon’s thick legs. They were like tree trunks and she had to attack as if she were trying to fell him like a lumberjack.

At some point during the battle, she recognized the pull of heavy magic against her skin. Fire and lightning crashed into the pit lord and she could hear the heavy pounds of maces against flesh somewhere above her. Likely the troll, she figured.

Their opponent bellowed when she cut so deep into one of the pit lord’s knees, he buckled, causing her axe to lodge itself firmly into him, unable to be yanked out. “Enough!” he roared, shaking himself hard and swinging his spear in a large arc. Daiya, surprised, leapt backwards to dodge it and flew off of her feet, landing on her ass a few yards away. She dazedly watched as the troll lost his balance and fell down the side of the demon, tumbling towards the edge of the cliff.

“Foolish creatures! This will be your death!” The pit lord buffeted his wings then, causing the air to hurl itself at them violently. Daiya crouched lower, turning her face away from the wind and debris flying at her. She had already been on the ground, the air was able to whisk over her for the most part, no harm done.

The troll never stood a chance.

He was large, and broad like most of the males of his species. And his armor was not as heavy as hers; it did not award him much protection against the onslaught. He stumbled slightly, and suddenly it was like watching an umbrella flying away in a storm. The troll rolled backwards and began to slide to the edge of the cliff.

A frustrated roar sounded from the demon and she glanced over to see him favoring the leg she’d buried her weapon in. He fell to a knee, unable to get up, but his wings stopped their movement now that he struggled to dig her axe out of his limb. Her head spun back towards the troll at the edge of the cliff, and she watched with horror as he lost his balance.

Well. Shit.

Daiya wasn’t sure what sent her forward. Perhaps it was the fear of watching someone fall into oblivion. It could have been, that even though he was Horde, he was a person just like she was. He had friends and family, loved ones who cared for him. Or maybe it had been his willingness, the act of him taking advantage of the opening she’d given him. Jumping onto a pit lord took guts, she imagined.

It was possibly just instinct.

But whatever it was, it propelled her to her feet and into a sprint, watching as he tipped over the edge. She dove then, sliding along her stomach, reaching her arm over the cliff, and catching onto his wrist. His weight nearly sent her over the edge as well, and she dug her axe deep into the earth behind her to stop them both.

The expression on his face appeared to be one of resignation and it took him a moment to look up and let it turn to shock. He had not anticipated being saved, she reckoned. Hell, she wouldn’t have either.

It was like a dream, the way he seemed to be surrounded by nothing, and she watched as small rocks and debris fell over the edge into the oblivion beneath him. The troll weighed so much that she thought her shoulder was ripping out of its socket under the pressure.

“By the Light, you’re fucking heavy,” she cursed through gritted teeth.

The troll blinked, reaching up with his free arm to grasp onto her wrist as she began to pull him up, leveraging herself against her axe. The pit lord bellowed in pain behind her, causing her to gasp, her eyes going wide. She knew he heard it too because she watched his jaw clench tightly.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Daiya pulled him as hard as she could. He was finally up far enough that he was able to grab onto the cliff and scramble up. When he was on solid ground once more, he stepped past her, letting go of her arm almost immediately. "You're welcome," Daiya grumbled, using her lone axe to lift herself to her feet.

She shook her arm out and began to turn back to what she thought was the immediate threat, the pit lord. Apparently though, she was wrong because it was at that very moment that she felt a dagger pressed to her throat. It wasn’t terribly large, probably a skinning or cooking knife, but it was well sharpened, and she stilled against the blade, already knowing who held it to her neck.

"What are you doing?" Daiya sputtered, her voice hoarse and panicked.

"Dis be a trick!" the troll hissed against her ear, his voice low and heavily accented.

"Surely you're joking!" Daiya protested. She could feel his other hand gripping her arm, his hot breath raising the hair on the back of her neck.

The troll spat, "Do ya plan ta throw me over yourself?"

"Oh for the love of- you know what!" she shouted, throwing her free arm up in frustration. The troll tensed against her but she continued anyways. "You're close, actually! I pulled you up so I could make the suggestion that we throw ourselves over the edge and save that pit lord the trouble of killing us! That’s why I did it! Well done, really! I-"

Her hysterics were interrupted when a large tail slammed into her chest, sending both of them flying into the jagged ridge the shaman had come from. Her back landed against the troll's chest, and she heard a sickening crack behind her as he struck the sharp rocks.

Daiya slumped to the ground, dazed. Her chest felt like it was caved in, and she gasped painfully for breath, heaving air into her lungs as if she'd been drowning. Her chest guard was bent inwards so deep, she thought the pit lord might have broken her sternum.

She ripped the plate breastplate off frantically, leaving her in only fine chainmail as she gasped for breath. She coughed, shuddering violently as air tried to reach her lungs and the pit lord laughed. Glancing over at the troll, she stilled when she noticed he was completely motionless, his eyes closed. Likely dead.

"Do you understand, mortal?" he began.

Daiya raised her head, stars spinning in her vision as she looked at the demon grinning smugly at her.

"Everything you know, everything you love, will burn in the flames of my master. You will burn in the flames of my master," he growled.

She clutched her chest, lifting herself to one knee. Her head had already felt like it was swimming, but now it was drowning in rage as well. Daiya had already lost everything she loved. Her parents, her siblings, her friends. The Legion had destroyed villages, taken hundreds of lives.

She’d be damned if they took hers too.

"You cannot withstand the storm," the pit lord rumbled.

Daiya roared in defiance, "I AM THE STORM!" She glanced around. Both of her axes were out of reach and she didn’t see the troll’s maces anywhere. But.

There was a knife.

She picked it up, stood, and rushed him.

He hadn’t seen it coming. Or that’s what she assumed as she launched herself through the air, and buried the blade deep into his eye socket. Somewhere in there, there was a joke about how he had seen it coming, being that the knife was stuck in his eye after all. She just didn’t have it in her to take advantage of the opportunity though, as she clung to the large demon and drove it deeper into his skull.

The demon tried to claw at her and she clenched her teeth in determination as his talon-like fingers dug through her back. He howled as she pushed it past the hilt, the blade plunging up into the pit lord’s head. And then suddenly he stopped. And his face went slack. And his body slowly sank to the ground.

Daiya dropped onto the dirt, lazily slipping her gauntlet off as fel blood sizzled against it. She slumped onto her back, breath ragged as she stared up at the dark sky. Her chest hurt. Her arms hurt. Her back hurt. Everything hurt. So, she laid there for a long moment nearly convinced, almost hoping, that this whole scenario had been a dream.

A noise broke her out of her reverie however. A wet gasp sounded from the cliff and she glanced over to see the troll wheeze shakily, his eyes still shut. Gods, he was still alive.

“Tough bastard,” Daiya muttered, groaning as she sluggishly lifted herself to her feet. She approached him, pushing his leg with her boot, “Hey, grumpy. Get up.” The troll didn’t stir however, and his wheezes sounded awful. He looked at terrible as she felt.

Well. Fuck. She couldn’t just leave him there.

Daiya sighed, realizing already what she was going to do, and resigning herself to the awful plan her brain had concocted. First though, she had a promise to fulfill. Glancing around, she grabbed one of her axes, and approached the now dead pit lord. She lifted the weapon above her head, and with all of the strength she could muster, brought it down onto the demon’s neck.

It took a few whacks, his neck was nearly as thick as his legs, but eventually she got the job done, severing the head of the pit lord from his body. She grabbed her other axe, and slipped them into the back of her belt instead of up on her shoulders. Her hand grasped onto one of the elephant-like tusks protruding from its head, and she dragged it back over to the troll.

Freeing her hands for a moment, she leaned down on one knee to pick up the shaman. Grunting, she rolled him up onto her shoulders into a fireman’s carry, and stood. The troll was so tall, his arms and legs still reached past her knees even as she was upright. Grabbing onto the pit lord’s head once more, she began to walk.

“Can you believe this shit?” she mumbled irritably, struggling to remain vertical. “Both of you tried to kill me and somehow I’m the one stuck carrying you back home. Unbelievable,” she muttered, her words beginning to slur together. She could feel blood seeping out of the claw marks on her back, and she felt her head getting lighter.

They made it a few more steps before Daiya sent the unconscious troll a withering glare, “You’re still fucking heavy, by the way.”

She walked for what felt like hours, but in reality, couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Every moment made it harder and harder to put one foot in front of the other however, and she could swear the edges of her vision were darkening by the second. Maybe she could stop to rest. Just for a moment.

No. No, if she stopped, she wouldn’t ever start again. And then they’d all be dead. She had to keep going.

Daiya walked and walked and walked and eventually, she made it to the beacon at the bottom of the hill. The light emanating from it nearly blinded her as she stepped towards it, feeling her legs start to shudder underneath all of the weight. She trembled as she walked into it, letting the warmth embrace her.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was on the Vindicaar. Startled voices spoke, and she assumed they spoke to her, but she didn’t hear any of the words. Her limbs finally gave out, and she fell hard to her knees. Daiya tried to say something, but her voice failed her as her vision went black, and she drifted into darkness.

Chapter Text

Jamodah drifted in and out of consciousness, catching only glimpses of the world outside his dreams.

…

“…-flames of my master. You cannot withstand the storm.”

“I AM THE STORM!”

…

”…-not going to make it.”

“Just stop the bleeding! You can’t let them die!”

…

“…-the head of that pit lord.”

“By the Light… she carried him all that way?”

…

…

…

Awareness began to stir at the edges of his consciousness, coming back to him in small degrees. The first thing he noticed was that he was sore. His muscles felt stiff and strained, and the barest of movement caused him to groan in pain.

A shuffle. “He’s waking up, go get the Anchorite.”

Jamodah opened his eyes slowly, his vision bleary. He blinked a few times, trying to clear away the haze. He felt disoriented, but he could tell he was lying on his back, and that a figure was leaning over him. When things started to come into focus, he found himself looking at the face of a draenei, his expression grim.

He tried to sit up, to move away, to get out of arms reach, but the draenei simply placed his hand on his shoulder. “Peace, shaman. I mean you no harm.” Jamodah gritted his teeth against the ache in his muscles as he warily settled back into the cot, mostly out of discomfort. “Do you know where you are?” the draenei asked him, causing him to glance at his surroundings.

Soft gold and purple light filled the room, but despite the warm colors, the temperature was cold, and he shivered in the chilly air. A large window overlooked the sick land of Argus and it was then that he realized where he was.

“Da Vindicaar,” he rasped, his head dropping back heavily onto his pillow. The draenei nodded and Jamodah continued, “What happened?”

A soft voice responded, “We were hoping you could tell us that.”

Jamodah glanced up to find a female draenei approaching him, rolling up her sleeves. She looked over at the draenei kneeling by him and smiled, “Thank you for sending for me, Arvu. I’ll take it from here.” He bowed his head towards her, and went on his way.

She settled in at Jamodah’s side, checking the pulse at his wrist. “My name is Anchorite Lysara. I am the healer and first aid trainer here. How are you feeling?”

He grunted when she cut away the bandage at his chest, the frigid metal of the scissors against his now bare skin causing him to shiver slightly. “Like a’ve been beaten by death ‘imself,” he replied.

“You nearly were,” Lysara stated, “you’ve been unconscious for three days.” His jaw clenched when she began prodding at the large, dark bruise on his chest. Her hands were freezing like everything else. “If it weren’t for your friend,” she continued, “you probably would have died.” She glanced at him, a matter-of-fact look crossing her face. “You had a broken sternum and two cracked ribs. It’s bruised now, but healing well. Lie still for a moment.”

Jamodah grumbled, but did as he was told. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He watched her then, as her palms glowed softly with a light that only a priest could possess. Her hands hovered just above his skin and he felt the healing magic seep into his very bones, warm and pure. He could not hold back the quiet sigh of relief that escaped him as the light did its work.

Anchorite Lysara turned to grab some clean bandages and began to unroll them. “We will still have to wrap the wound on your back, I suspect. Something pierced through your armor,” she explained.

The rocks, he supposed. Jamodah nodded, but frowned, feeling his thoughts tug themselves back to a different conversation. “What friend?”

She glanced at him, “The warrior. You two made quite the stir.”

Things started coming back to him more and more. The pit lord, the cliff. “Da human?” he murmured. His brow furrowed, “What do ya mean?”

The draenei let out a huff, “A couple of injured soldiers came stumbling through the beacon, talking about a pit lord and how some crazy warrior had gone to kill him. Arvu, the draenei that was watching over you just now, was among them,- Here, sit up for a moment.” Lysara helped him lift himself into a sitting position, and he gasped at the sharp pain that shot through his spine.

“Easy,” she crooned, pressing a hand to his back. Jamodah’s teeth ground together as she used her healing magic to mend the muscle and bone there. The sharpness stayed for a moment, but the warm buzz of the light seeped into it, and the pain lessened. “That warrior walked through the beacon covered in blood and dying,” she murmured. “She had carried you on her shoulders, and had brought back the head of that pit lord with her as well.”

Lysara smoothed some sort of sharp smelling ointment across the middle of his back and began bandaging it back up, wrapping it around his chest to hold it in place. “It was great for morale,” the draenei continued, “for both sides… Seeing a human and troll coming through the beacon like that… well. It’s a rare thing indeed, even with this tenuous alliance we have.”

Jamodah grimaced. He had threatened that human, held a knife to her throat and had assumed she was a trickster, and yet… she’d carried him back to the Vindicaar anyways. Why?

“Would you like to see her?” Lysara asked, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes snapped up to hers and she continued. “She’s still unconscious but she’s just at the other end of the cots. Here,” she said, not really giving him a chance to answer, “I’ll help you up.” Hooking his arm over her shoulders, she supported him as he stood. He had to give the Anchorite credit, for a priest she was exceptionally strong as he leaned against her, taking small steps towards the end of the beds.

The hit he’d taken must have been hard, indeed. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what the human looked like. He remembered her sarcasm, her biting words, directed towards both him and the pit lord.

A voice below him taunted the pit lord, ”Does your boss take performance reviews?”…

He held the knife to her throat, his heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. She scoffed, “Oh for the love- you know what! You’re close actually!”…

She had hauled him back to the Vindicaar. She must be quite distinguishable. Someone who was tall and broad like him. She must be, to have carried him all that way down the mountain. His eyes scanned the rows of the injured, looking for a towering warrior woman in plate armor with a sharp mouth.

He was surprised then, when Anchorite Lysara stopped him, looking down at a cot, brow furrowed. “She’s healing well but she… just isn’t ready to wake up it seems,” the draenei said softly.

Jamodah felt his lips part in surprise. The human was… small. Or, average, was probably more accurate. She was only a little taller than any other human he’d ever seen, which was still a couple feet shorter than him. Out of the plate armor she’d been in, she was slighter than he had expected. Muscular sure, but not in the way that someone who could carry a troll should be, he thought.

He took a step forward, letting go of the priest as he looked down at the human’s face. She was pale. Exceptionally pale, actually, but not… unhealthy. She didn’t look sickly, if the redness of her full lips and steady rise of her chest were any indication. Her hair was black as night, and several braids were scattered into her long locks. She had a sharp jawline and a prominent nose. A long scar that ran under her eye, from her ear to the bridge of her nose. But…

None of these things answered his question.

Why.

“…Your friend seems pretty tough, I think she’ll pull through-“

“-She ain’t a friend.” Jamodah interrupted sharply. There was a long pause as the Anchorite stayed silent, and it prompted him to continue, “I don’ know why ya assume so. She be a stranga’ ta me.”

“A stranger? But… she saved your life?” Lysara asked, confused.

Jamodah took in a deep breath, suddenly much more exhausted than before. “So it would seem.”

The Anchorite seemed to have noticed the change, because she grabbed onto his arm once more, ushering him back to his cot. “You need your rest,” she explained shortly, as she helped him down onto the makeshift bed. She stood for a moment, looking down at him with narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips disapprovingly.

“What?” he huffed tiredly.

Anchorite Lysara paused for a long while before she replied, “If you decide that you do not want to be a stranger, I’m told that her name is Daiya.”

Jamodah stayed silent and the draenei left him in peace.

In the end, he left the Vindicaar before the human even woke up.

”Don’ try to predict what can an’ what will ‘appen wit tings, little wolf. Sometimes, ya tink about sometin’ so much, an’ nothin’ eva happens. An’ otha times, when ya stop tinkin’ about sometin’, ya give da spirits room ta put it right in front’ve ya.”

His grandmother had told him that. A fierce woman who had believed in the ways of the earth, as well as the guidance of the spirits and loa. She had passed away when he’d been a teen, and it had been a long time since he’d thought of her wise words.

Two weeks. Two weeks, he had spent pacing his floor, wearing holes into the very stone. Constantly frowning, hardly able to pay attention to anything, letting his mind run through it over and over. No matter what he did, he could not stop thinking about that human.

Daiya.

It was… absolutely infuriating.

Unable to make up his mind, he switched back and forth between hatred and gratitude towards her. He was so convinced it was a trick, a ruse, a scheme of some sort. It had to be. She was human. But the fact was, she had saved his life. Twice. From the cliff, and from bleeding out on Argus. The pale warrior, with black hair and a sharp mouth hadn’t let him die up on that ridge. And he was… thankful.

Damn her. It was maddening.

He went through several emotions every time he thought of her. Anger at her being Alliance. Appreciation that she’d saved his life. Mistrust because of her race. Shame that he hadn’t tried to repay his life-debt. He felt like he was losing his mind.

“Perhaps ya should jus’ try ta forget about da woman,” his best and oldest friend, Matiki, suggested, sighing as Jamodah frowned. “Ya be tinkin’ too hard, mon. Just leave it be. An’ if not fo’ ya own sanity, den fo’ mine. Ya drivin’ me crazy.”

Jamodah huffed, but agreed. He had let it consume his thoughts nearly every minute of every day. But, what had happened, happened. And he could not change it. It was time to try and let go. To stop thinking about her.

He had made it one full day.

So, of course, that was when he saw her.

He and Matiki had been standing at the edge of Krasus’ Landing in Dalaran, counting up gold to send back home to their families. Matiki was saying something, but Jamodah had barely heard him as he watched a gryphon fly in, the great beast landing gracefully. A human in plate armor swung her legs over the side and hopped down, cooing at the giant bird. It preened at her and she had said something to Aludane, the flight master. It must have been a good joke because the blood elf threw back his head in laughter.

“An’ otha times, when ya stop tinkin’ about sometin’, ya give da spirits room ta put it right in front’ve ya.”

It was like his grandmother was standing right next to him with how loudly he heard those words echo in his ears.

“Jamodah?” Matiki had asked, shaking his shoulder. “Ya dere, mon?”

His eyes snapped back to his friend and he turned away from the human, hoping she hadn’t seen him.

“Hush Mati,” Jamodah had snapped, immediately shapeshifting down into his wolf form.

Matiki chuffed in surprise, looking around wildly for a threat. There was none of course, just them, and the human. Jamodah had watched as his friend went still, his eyes widening. “Is… dat her?” he’d questioned, nodding towards the warrior. “Is dat da human dat saved ya life?”

Jamodah simply bared his teeth in a warning growl, knowing exactly where he’d been going with that. His friend’s face had slowly begun to light up with a grin. “Well, now’s da perfect time ta talk ta her, hm?”

He had nipped at Matiki’s ankle. His friend jumped back, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Ay mon, don’ be tuff wit’ me. I know all ya most embarrasin’ moments, and I’m tellin’ ya, dis be right up dere.”

He had ignored him, turning to watch as the human woman made her way across the landing. She pulled a gauntlet off to run a hand through her windblown hair, and before he knew it, she was gone, down into the bustling city of Dalaran.

Jamodah hadn’t shifted back from his wolf form, thinking she could turn around any moment. He avoided Matiki’s gaze, feeling his friend’s eyes on him as he stood there.

Matiki sighed, “Ya already know how I be feelin’ ‘bout it. Da honorable ting, would be ta thank da woman fo’ savin’ ya. Even if she be human.”

He’d huffed, walking off as his best friend grumbled and shook his head.

He couldn’t help but think Matiki was right though.

Which was how he found himself lying by the fireplace at The Legerdemain Lounge a few hours later, his chin on his paws. He had planned on approaching her, but the fact that he still didn’t understand this human woman at all held him back. Perhaps, if he watched her for a bit, he’d get some insight into this warrior that he owed his life too. As far as he was aware, they’d left things on bad terms, with his knife at her throat. He couldn’t imagine the first time she saw him being pleasant.

So, he stayed in his wolf form, and simply watched, waiting for answers.

She was out of her armor now, wearing comfortable pants and a loose tunic, and he had settled in by the fire when she ordered a few drinks, smiling and making jokes with the bartender. After a while, she had glanced over to see Bonegrim, the orc “importer”, the blood elf Karam Magespear, and Ol’ Toomba, the pirate troll, playing poker. Her grin had widened, and she had taken drinks over to them, asking innocently if she could join in. Warily, they had agreed. She made some comment about ‘being rusty, so don’t worry’, and that seemed to have mollified them, expecting the poor woman the lose whatever gold she had to them.

She then proceeded to beat all of them in three consecutive games. Oh, she claimed ‘beginner’s luck’ the first time, and then that the deck hadn’t been shuffled much on the second, but by the third, the men at the table had finally figured out that she was simply just good at it. She cracked jokes and made them laugh and bought them drinks though, so he supposed that must have soothed their wounded egos.

“Bah!” Bonegrim spat, “Can’t believe I fell for the ‘I’m a beginner, take it easy on me’ bit.”

Ol’ Toomba tossed his cards into the middle of the table, amused, “Tellin’ ya dis now girly, I won’ be playin’ witcha again. Dat be fo’ sure.”

The human simply laughed, brushing her winnings off the table into a small sack. “Oh, don’t be so sore. You guys didn’t lose nearly enough as Magespear over here,” she joked, tossing the sheepish blood elf a wink.

Karam, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, blushing. “Don’t suppose you’ll let us have a chance to win it all back one more time, would you?” he asked, grinning at her, all young and boyish.

“Alas, gentlemen,” she smiled, finishing off her drink, “I need to call it a night.” The human stood, smiling warmly at them, “Got some things I’ve gotta get done. But maybe next time, yeah?”

“Dere won’ be a next time,” Ol’ Toomba replied, leaning back in his chair and placing his arms behind his head, grinning.

The warrior chuckled, “You keep tellin’ yourself that, troll.” She gave them all an embellished bow, and Jamodah felt his ears perk up as she turned on her heel. He stood, stretching his legs, before following her out of the lounge.