The cart jerked as it hit another rut in the road, most of the passengers unconcerned by the brutal beating the axles were taking. Sitting in the rear of the wooden conveyance and thankfully far from the smell of kodo, Lagasha Wolfclaw found herself needing to grasp the cart's sides to avoid falling out onto what passed for a transportation route through the barrens.
The trip had been a long one, and for the young shaman, an exciting one. She'd only traveled once in her life and that had been at a very young age when she'd fled one of Lordaeron's internment camps with her parents. Born in such a place and then living only in Durotar, she'd grown up on tales of the wider world of Azeroth and even of the homeworld of her people, Draenor. Tales full of honor, glory, and pride in one's clan and people. Tales that had, eventually, been tarnished by the gruesome acts committed by her own father under Garrosh's leadership.
She turned, brushing some of her long, flame red hair from her face as she glanced at the other passengers in the cart. Most were orcs like her, with a tauren or two mixed in. All were headed towards the distant Crossroads where Lagasha hoped she would be able to put her budding skills with the elements to use helping the people there. She looked away from the other passengers, glancing out over the endless distance of the barrens, her hands subconsciously playing with one of the stone fetishes attached to her belt. Although the lands were beautiful, the trip was long and boring, with little more than the jingle of the scales of her mail armor to keep her company. Certainly the others weren't interested in speaking to a new blood out on her first adventure when they had several months of boring guard duty to contemplate instead.
Unfortunately, her long and silent vigil at the rear of the cart was suddenly interrupted as a cry arose from the front of the three cart caravan. Although there were many dangers in the barrens, no one expected to encounter any so close to the outskirts of the Crossroads and Lagasha found herself more curious than nervous as her cart suddenly veered to one side. In the brief snatches of sight she had off the side of the road, she noted a particularly thick flock of plainstriders hurrying past; clearly they had managed to get in the way and the carts were diverting around them.
All was not as it seemed however, as soon as the cart bearing Lagasha had left the road, an unearthly howl arose and arrows began to fill the air. The lead cart came to a halt as its driver was slain, the second cart stopping shortly and preventing the third from returning to the track. Moving at high speed, it struck a rut and then a deeper, deliberately dug trench, the wooden axle snapping and the cart tipping over, dumping its occupants in the tall grasses to the side of the path.
Lagasha found herself in brief flight ending in a brutal shock as she contacted the ground. For a time she lay there, dazed and not truly understand what had happened, her shield and mace scattered about her where they had fallen. Other bodies lay around her, and in a haze of pain she saw her arm in front of her face. Dimly she flexed her green fingers, watching in satisfaction as they began to move again, the stinging pain in her arm and hip beginning to fade and her heart beginning to pound as the sounds of combat rose up all around.
She lifted her head from the dirt, eyes widening as the form of stunted boar-men rushed through the grasses towards the fallen. Already the second cart crackled with flames, the raiding quilboars having set it alight with fire-arrows. The boar men rushed towards them, screaming in their high pitched squeals, axes ready as they slammed into the dazed orcs who attempted to rise and defend themselves.
From her place on the ground, Lagasha watched her first battle in shock and horror. Here an orc took an arrow to his chest, falling as quilboar rushed towards him. There a tauren was struck from behind by an axe, his great size and strength meaning little when taken unaware. Blood, red red blood, flowed from horrible wounds the likes of which she'd only heard tales of. Fear raced through her, leaving a chill up her spine.
And yet, deep within her, her mind railed at her to get up and fight. She'd lived her whole life listening to tales of valor and daring. Her ancestors had fought and died in savage wars, had gained honor and glory for her family that had been smeared by the cowardly actions of her father. Would she continue in his footsteps, bringing shame to her ancestors once more? Would she let these beasts cut down orcs and their allies who had volunteered and were now sacrificing their lives for the Horde?
She felt a tremor in the ground as the elements coaxed her upwards and onwards. Here was a worthy cause they seemed to say. Here was an acceptable use of their great power in the defense of others. Painfully she pushed herself up, dirt and grasses falling away from her chain skirts as she wobbled and managed to snatch up her shield and mace. Ahead of her, several quilboar turned, seeing her standing and veering towards her to cut her down.
She didn't think, she couldn't think. The fear was too strong, the desire to flee too great. All she could do was listen to the song of the elements that was raging within her now, all she could feel was the anger that the quilboars had inspired in her. She brought her hands up, and the elements came to her at her calling.
The first in the line of quilboars was struck by a shock of lightning, the boar-man's face contorting into a shocked look as he was hurled backwards, a smoking hole in his leather armor. Others dodged past him, flinching as the heavens above crackled with thunder. Big fat blobs of rain began to fall here and there, as if the sky itself was bitterly scolding them for their audacity. Lagasha concentrated, the song of the elements flowing through her now, making her heart sing with it. Lightning lashed out again, another of the creatures falling.
The third reached her, its axe coming down to strike her. Instincts took over, her shield shifting and catching the blow, the impact making even her sturdy orcish arm numb. Her mace came up, the head trailing flames as it struck the creature, the elements exploding over it and sending it reeling backwards, its body alight. More of the creatures appeared in the edges of the tall grasses, bows strung and ready, watching warily as their flaming companion squealed and ran off into the distance. Lagasha knew she had little time, and spent none embracing the horror that still raced through her mind. She pointed and the elements jumped to action, lightning slashing out again and again, searing the grass and sending the would-be archers fleeing, minus several of their number.
It went on for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes at best. Again and again she called upon her power. Here water touched a fallen orc, easing his pain. There the earth cracked, sending boar-men stumbling and then fleeing into retreat. It was not until the battlefield grew quiet that Lagasha even realized it was over, or that she had been the only one defending that side of the caravan.
As silence descended, her pounding heart began to quiet, and she stared out across a field burned by fires and cracked by falling rock. The still forms of quilboars lay amongst the debris of battle, while here and there an orc stirred in pain on the ground. She heard cries from the other side of the caravan, but no sounds of combat; clearly the raiding beasts had had enough losses and had withdrawn.
Lagasha felt like her body was someone else's as she returned her shield to its place on her back and her mace to her hip. She wandered amongst the fallen, offering comfort and what little healing the elements deemed to provide. It was not until the others began to thank her, began to praise her valor and strength in battle that it dawned on her that she'd even been in a battle. That she had fought with honor and glory as in the tales she'd grown up with.
Later on, as she sat on the edge of one of the carts, watching the others as they prepared to move out once more, she reflected on just how much fear there had been, and how difficult it had been to act. No one had ever told her about such feelings. No one had ever discussed how absolutely terrifying battle could be. Her entire idea of honor was changed forever, knowing just what warriors faced when they stepped into battle knowingly. As the caravan moved out and dusk began to color the sky above in vibrant pinks and purples, Lagasha sat silently, swearing to whatever spirits could hear her that she would remember this day, remember the fear so that she would always know the true meaning of honor, and know the difference between when it was worth it to fight, and then the fighting lead to horror and bloodshed without purpose.
A lesson her father had never learned, but one his daughter would keep in her heart as she lent her aid to the Horde in the years to come. She would make up for the shame he had given their family, and restore honor to her ancestors by remembering their lessons and living as they had lived.
