Bastard! Summoning? ASKING?
She growled and kicked more stones as she stomped back to her quarters. Damn this stupid, horrible, weak, soft, wet place! Damn it! There was no *real* forge, no towering spires of stone and flame and heat, there was only the small apartment near the pit where the human “forgemaster”, ha!, did his work, in a building that was squished in between the herb gardens and other craftsman in what appeared to be a section devoted to such things.
A room that was overlooked the craftsmans’ square and had *windows*. Ugh. Small they might seem to humans, but they were open enough you could easily fire an arrow through or throw a torch. Stupid humans too.
She kicked open the door to her room, to the brief protest of the landlord below, and stomped in, slamming it behind her. Weak wood! Everything was stupid and soft here!
You ask, you bargain. You talk to them and negotiate service. If you do not, if you try to take, they can punish you.
When she had arrived in Boralus, she had asked if there were other shamans about. Some of the humans had stared at her and moved away, some had looke puzzled and had trouble understanding her accent, haw, as if they spoke any clearer, her common was flawless… no one seemed to know what she was talking about. So she had followed her natural instincts, trying to feel something in this soft earth, and ended up near the forge.
What did Mosur know. As if that was the first elemental scar she’d seen. Everyone had them. Every dwarf she had ever seen that worked heavily with the creatures had them. They didn’t talk, they roared. You bent them to your will and *made* them do what you bid. They were beasts of burden, nothing more then barely sentient bundles of energy and anger, and it was right and good too…
She punched the large runestone she had in her room, bruising her knuckles and nearly cracking the sacred rock.
She sat, meek and quiet, looking at her father as he preached, as he was wont to do when tutoring her. She had a bruise on her face from the last time she had tried to speak up. “They are slaves, girl, lesser beings meant to serve us. It is an expression of our will and our strength of spirit to subdue them. An elemental is nothing. It is fire, it is earth. It is what we form and craft. They are *our* servants. Remember that. If you get burnt, it means you conquered something stronger then you. Mark it with pride.”
She punched the stone again,anger bubbling up hot and bitter inside her. Oh yes, Da would have liked that little speech she gave, the bastard. Ma was hardly better. She sure showed that biggun, huh. She had spit back every idea her whoreson father had put into her head. And she breathed, heavily, steaming now as the cold, damp air struck her skin, looking at the blood smeared over the runestone. Mosur…he felt like he believed. She had heard draenei were very old, and he felt…like he knew what he was talking about. And not once had he yelled, or berated her, or lashed out. But it wasn’t just Da, *every* dwarf she had known in her circles believed as she did.
At least, she thought so…
She paced, tried to sort out the feelings, the words. Everytime she did it came back to Da. Da screaming at her. Da beating it into her. Da proclaiming it. Every sentence she had said back there came back to Da, that….
She held herself back from punching the stone again. Her fist was starting to ache. At least it wasn’t her head this time. On top of everything else she didn’t need Azeroth herself reminding her…
Azeroth. The earth itself. Aching, wounded. But…real. Feeling. Mighty. If Azeroth was herself, then…
Nynkasi slumped to the ground, clutching her furs around her. She needed time to think. She couldn’t be this wrong. About everything.
She waited, fighting back tears, and then tore out the door again, slamming it again, headed for the mountains the humans had talked about. Damn the cold. She needed real stone beneath her feet again.