*Screaming, as usual. Mother and Father, in the foreroom, shouting. Walls shaking with energy, cracking with Father’s power. Shadows swirling around Mother’s voice. Brother sitting on the end of her bed, tucking her in while she held a pillow clamped tightly around her ears. It wasn’t helping.
Brother, silent as he was, rising up, stone faced, into the foreroom. More screaming. Thuds. Scraping. Shouting and thunder. Weeping hot tears into her pillow, smoke curling up around her fingertips as she clutched it tighter over her ears. Soot and ash and…silence.
Slowly looking up. Brother limping back into the room, smiling a little, wiping her tears with his hanky. Whispering don’t worry. Mother took care of it. Don’t worry.
Don’t worry…*
She woke up with a start, dripping with sweat. Weird. She rarely sweat. Heat was life and blood to her, fire her essence. Ash flowed in her veins, lightning sang in her eyes. She…was…in bed. Right. A groan as the pain hit. Also right. Two big blue guys, a lot of beer, and a rough sparring session. It had been a good night, and she rolled out of bed to stagger to the water pitcher. A very good night. Heh.
She washed her face and looked up, adjusting her braid, tightning the locks on the side of her head. Drae…nee? Nai? How’d they say it? Enh. They were the most interesting creatures she’d met yet. Humans were pale and weak and squishy, the other dwarves were absolute bastards, the lot, and she’d never even *been* a cultist. The elves….ugh. They looked so sad. Although to be fair she had heard something really shitty happened to them.
She wiped some blood from her forehead, paused gingerly, and let out a breath. Good. No headaches this morning, that was nice. She’d have to touch back with Grim and introduce him to Mosur. The other draenei. He was shaman as well, he knew about *water*. For her it had always been fire. Blood. The shaking of the earth and it’s tremendous power. Water was…water. Necessary but not important. How did it all even work? There was so godsdamn much of it here and yet so little back home.
The cold breeze that blew in through the empty window frame caused her to dive for the bed again. Good gods how did they even stand it. Sure she could generate heat but that took effort and it was too damn hard to keep the furnace going, as it were, when every moment it was either, wet, cold, or both. Bloody humans, bloody ocean, bloody godsdamn island!
She peeked over the edge of the furs and scowled. Maybe that’s why the biggun could get on so well. Zaanthe looked pretty damn cold blooded most of the time, but, heh, he did have a temper. Way more interesting then any of the other lads and lasses she’d come across. She brawled many, many times, but not even a dwarf had the drive that big blue bastard did when he got going. What was he called himself? A Vindicator? Wonder what that meant…
She grabbed a little bit of her leftover beer, slurped, and then buried herself back into the furs. Well. Maybe later, when it was less cold…
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