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amarthielThe warrior sat at the side of the lake, muttering under her breath and scrubbing at her hands, occasionally casting an irate glance at the distant pillars and triliths of the Throne of the Elements. Beside her stood a proud black steed, covered by shining pieces of equine armor- recently acquired by his mistress, in order to better protect the beast from the Outlands' dangers. The horse was restless; from time to time great wolf-riders passed along the roads to and from Garador, the nearby outpost of the Mag'har orcs. The stallion, well-trained by his human companion, feared little... But these wolves were fierce, and more than once had chased the human til sweat soaked the steed's mane and his mistress' hair alike.
It'd almost be ironic if they caught me.
With a final grimace, Amarthiel finished scrubbing her hands clean of the last traces of.. Well, better to leave it forgotten. She moved to stand, but thought the better of it; it was a lovely day, and Nagrand was breathtakingly beautiful... None of her obligations were too pressing, and the opportunity to sit on the grass beside a lake was far too tempting. She made a small sound to signal her steed to relax, and pulled off her heavy plate boots. The horse, ignoring its new armor, loosened its stance and moved to nose the grass, as the warrior let her heavy pauldrons fall from her shoulders with a sigh of relief. Stripping the padding from her feet, she shifted over a little and edged her feet into the cold water, carefully avoiding the area she'd just washed her hands in. Trusting the dark stallion to alert her if anyone approached, she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the warmth of the day.
Some moments later a voice rang out from the nearby Horde town; the warhorse was instantly alert, tossing his head, scenting the air. The warrior, too, broke from her reverie, though more from curiousity than fear. The distance wwas too great to catch the exact words-- I am home, or something like that, she thought-- but she recognize the booming shout of the Warchief. Thrall's voice was hard to mistake; it rang familiar to the human, because of the trace of a Common accent to it. She'd taken to emulating his style of speech whenever possible- quoting him when she could, borrowing his expressions- hoping to pass off her own accent as an affectation. The Warchief was not unique in his Common fluency, though no one in Orgrimmar exercised command of that tongue frequently... But for most, the human language had been a second language. Amarthiel was quiet when she could be- her chosen profession didn't hurt- but when she did speak, she was careful about her words, acutely aware of herself, afraid that her tongue would betray her. It could be a projection of her hopes, but she did seem to be more convincing, now that she'd chosen to portray herself as copying Thrall's mode of speech... It was much more comfortable than trying to feign a speech impediment.
Frowning slightly, the warrior whistled to get the horse's attention. The beast calmed itself quickly and wandered back to its rider. Amarthiel dried her feet with a rag from her full pack, and pulled back on her armor, regretting the necessity of burdening herself with such weight on such a warm day. Stretching once to test the fit of her pauldrons, she mounted and took one last, longing look at the lake. Turning back, she settled in her saddle, preparing herself for a long ride.. Back to the Portal, to Azeroth...
Enough, for now, of furthering her mercenary career... The Kurenai could wait. She wanted to know what brought the Warchief to Garadar.
It'd almost be ironic if they caught me.
With a final grimace, Amarthiel finished scrubbing her hands clean of the last traces of.. Well, better to leave it forgotten. She moved to stand, but thought the better of it; it was a lovely day, and Nagrand was breathtakingly beautiful... None of her obligations were too pressing, and the opportunity to sit on the grass beside a lake was far too tempting. She made a small sound to signal her steed to relax, and pulled off her heavy plate boots. The horse, ignoring its new armor, loosened its stance and moved to nose the grass, as the warrior let her heavy pauldrons fall from her shoulders with a sigh of relief. Stripping the padding from her feet, she shifted over a little and edged her feet into the cold water, carefully avoiding the area she'd just washed her hands in. Trusting the dark stallion to alert her if anyone approached, she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the warmth of the day.
Some moments later a voice rang out from the nearby Horde town; the warhorse was instantly alert, tossing his head, scenting the air. The warrior, too, broke from her reverie, though more from curiousity than fear. The distance wwas too great to catch the exact words-- I am home, or something like that, she thought-- but she recognize the booming shout of the Warchief. Thrall's voice was hard to mistake; it rang familiar to the human, because of the trace of a Common accent to it. She'd taken to emulating his style of speech whenever possible- quoting him when she could, borrowing his expressions- hoping to pass off her own accent as an affectation. The Warchief was not unique in his Common fluency, though no one in Orgrimmar exercised command of that tongue frequently... But for most, the human language had been a second language. Amarthiel was quiet when she could be- her chosen profession didn't hurt- but when she did speak, she was careful about her words, acutely aware of herself, afraid that her tongue would betray her. It could be a projection of her hopes, but she did seem to be more convincing, now that she'd chosen to portray herself as copying Thrall's mode of speech... It was much more comfortable than trying to feign a speech impediment.
Frowning slightly, the warrior whistled to get the horse's attention. The beast calmed itself quickly and wandered back to its rider. Amarthiel dried her feet with a rag from her full pack, and pulled back on her armor, regretting the necessity of burdening herself with such weight on such a warm day. Stretching once to test the fit of her pauldrons, she mounted and took one last, longing look at the lake. Turning back, she settled in her saddle, preparing herself for a long ride.. Back to the Portal, to Azeroth...
Enough, for now, of furthering her mercenary career... The Kurenai could wait. She wanted to know what brought the Warchief to Garadar.
