#dekaar

The Legion's corruption of the savage Orc people was complete. They had become their greatest weapon against the Draenei. City after city had already fallen to their might, and now the bones of the fallen were being made into a glorious road that ran from the portal to the Hellfire Citadel, a staging area for the coming invasion of the next world.

In the still of the night, Draenei refugees were huddled around low fires. One bedraggled figure wandered from group to group, sooty and in scored, broken armor. His arm darted and he dragged a man stoking the fire higher to his feet, growling in his face.

"Are you an idiot? What if they see the smoke from a distance? What if they see the light?"

"We're sorry, Exarch," a woman in bandages sitting next to the fire said hurriedly, moving the meager embers apart with a stick. "He didn't realize."

Zolahir turned on his hoof, continuing on towards what little portable shelter had been salvaged from the city with a snarl. "Soft...if our people had not grown so soft and helpless behind our high walls, perhaps this would not have happened."

He grimaced as he entered the makeshift quarters...there were other factors, of course. Factors that he knew too well, that gnawed at the pit of his stomach and threatened to crawl up his throat and strangle him of he stopped for even a moment--

There was a shuffle and a small sound in the dark, on the blanket roll that he was using. His hand went to the pommel of his sword as he crept forward, focused and unswerving...

It was a wriggling bundle of blankets. Instinctively he brought his blade to bear, ready to slash at whatever might leap out from what was no doubt some kind of Legion trap...two glowing points of fel-green light fluttered open in the darkness, and a tiny red hand loosed itself from the binding cloth with a curious burbling sound.

She's yours, the note beside the bundle said. Raise her well.

I will be back for her.

*******************************************************

The Legion's corruption of the savage Orc people had failed. It had been thwarted by a so-called Prophet who had appeared suddenly and knew far too much about what was coming. The disparate tribes and factions had banded together and had refused to be swayed by threats or promises. 

The huge Peacekeeper maneuvered easily through the crowds in the gleaming city of Shattrath despite his size, picking up an apple on his way to the gates. His talbuk was packed and he was on his way out for another tour of the sleepy local provinces to see what kinds of issues people had that needed resolving. He took my clefthoof was a popular one.

He couldn't help his eyes from scanning the crowds a little more carefully than before...the Exarch's woman had stopped coming around. He had to admit, he was getting a little attached. There was just something about her that was...he couldn't put his finger on it.

Spensaar and his talbuk made good time out to the first campsite he used on his usual route, delayed only by having to split up an argument along the road about, predictably, a clefthoof wandering onto the wrong property. He hummed to himself as he started a fire, spread out his bedroll, picked up his hammer because someone had followed him and was trying to be very quiet...

When he turned, however, the campsite was still empty except for a faint scent that was like...burnt magic. It was a scent he'd caused often, inadvertently, when he'd been training to be an Arcanist.

A faint scent, and a small bundle of cloth on the ground.

Frowning critically he moved closer, nudging the bundle open with the base of his hammer.

"....yep. That's a fel-tainted baby all right," Spensaar said to himself, staring. The little...girl? Boy? He'd have to check, was staring up at him with wide fel-green eyes and red skin, a wisp of black hair. Also inside the blankets was a note...

She's yours, the entirely too familiar handwriting said, even if he hadn't seen it in tens of thousands of years. Raise her well.

I'll be--

Spensaar sat on the ground with a heavy thud that made the baby blink, crumpled the note without finishing it, tossing it into the fire, and then rubbed both of his hands over his face. "Thaaaaat bitch."

***************************************************

A child. Chandraa had been with child? This...monster was his child? Zolahir's mind raced and his heart filled with panic. They would know, people would take one look at it and they would know. He would have to take it away. It would have to be destroyed.

Holding the bundle to his chest, he slipped out of the camp at the darkest part of the night. It was like no time had passed at all between his "student's" betrayal, the woman that he thought that he loved, and it was all a trick to get access to the city's defenses. Shattrath was in shambles due in no small part to her, and this...thing came from her.

He kept moving until he was exhausted, ran until his breath was ragged. He had to be out of earshot now, both from the camp and any wandering Ogres or Orcs that might be scavenging in the night. Still tightly wrapped, he put the bundle of blankets on a rock and went to get an equally large, heavy rock.

He returned moments later with it held high over his head...the baby had kicked the blankets open. She kicked her chubby little red legs again, experimentally, staring in open wonder at her tiny hooves. She was so small that she didn't yet have the control to grab at them and instead waved her arms excitedly at the sight of them, making a burbling noise.

His resolve held steady as the creature's glowing green eyes moved in his direction, unfocused and curious. Watching him...in the dark it was difficult to see the way she had been tainted, she looked like any other baby. Like the children and infants whose bones were being crushed into the ground, had been thrown from the Rise and had been torn from the arms of their parents.

Zolahir wilted, dropping the rock with a ragged sob as he fell to his knees. What had he become? What had she turned him into? He couldn't do away with it...her. Some part of her was him, and some part of her was a woman, an awful, traitorous woman that he thought he'd loved. But what could he do? He couldn't take such a tainted thing back...

The skies of Nagrand had become twisted, chunks of land hung in the air. His eyes fixed on the largest moon, one of the only things in the sky that was still reassuringly unchanging as he leaned back against the rock that his...daughter...was laid on, and murmured a prayer to the Light.

The Light.

What else drove out fel but the Light? Turning, he laid a hand on the child's head and closed his eyes, calling up a limited surge of healing energy. But healing had never been something he'd had much skill at, he used the Light to sear and smite his foes with terrible force. The child burbled again, but otherwise seemed unaffected.

Desperate, he called up a stronger surge of Light. A harsher one, one that made the child fuss and squirm. But...this time, just for a moment, he could see the faintest shift where the Light had touched her, a subtle lightening of the deep red. It would take time...a long time. And the process would not be...comfortable. But in the end...

He steeled his resolve and called up the Light again with searing, burning force. The baby screamed.

***********************************************************

"Well..." Dekaar said, eying the red-skinned, green-eyed child critically. "She can't stay like that. Obviously."

"I don't see why that's obvious," Spensaar rumbled. "She's my daughter. If someone has something to say, they're welcome to talk it over with my fist."

"And you think that's not going to cause her problems eventually, hmm?" Dekaar leaned back, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"...the fel taint, or the fist?"

"Both," Dekaar muttered, and then shook his head. "It's true that I'm a healer, and I think you're on the right track. It's possible that it can be cleansed. I...am likely not powerful enough, though." While the Peacekeeper's brother liked to put on a humble air and allow his enemies to underestimate him, this time it seemed genuine.

"All right...who is?" It seemed simple enough to Spensaar. Someone had to be.

Dekaar sighed. "I think we should take her to Velen."

"All right," Spensaar said without hesitation, gathering up his daughter. She kicked her hooves and sucked on the edges of her fingers.

"I suggest that we not start with, 'my disguised Man'ari ex-mate seduced me while she was doubtlessly up to nefarious spying on someone else'..." Dekaar suggested, but the Peacekeeper's broad shoulders only shrugged.

"Why not? it's the truth."

*************************************************************

Zolahir had found his place with the refugees again, careful to hide his tiny burden. People expected him to keep to himself due to his station anyway. They had finally stopped in a small town not far from where he had run to. There was beginning to be talk of escape to yet another world. The Draenei people would survive, somehow...they always had.

He sat on the edge of the bed that the red infant was laid on...well. Not entirely red, now. The treatments were difficult, but overcoming the pain would give her strength. A single wisp of white hair was mixed in with the black, her skin was striped, scored even with spreading swaths of lighter red, pink, and even white. She would look unusual, being so young and yet such a light color, but unusual was better than obviously tainted...

Her tiny fingers closed around his larger one, she shook it around and brought it to her mouth.

"I will not let this world taint you again, Shashibala," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he said the name that he had chosen for her aloud for the first time. He would not let Chandraa and the Legion have her back.

**********************************************

"I told you going to Velen was the right choice," Dekaar said with an air of victory, giving his staff a little twirl as they set off from the capital. The baby, now slightly purple-skinned instead of red albeit still with black hair, was in a basket tied to Spensaar's chest, while she lacked the strength in her neck yet to really pull back and get a good look at all the people and the bustle she was trying.

"I didn't argue with you," Spensaar chuckled. They were going to have to come back, perhaps a few times, but the process seemed to be just a bit uncomfortable so he wanted to give her time to recover.

As they passed, people stared. The child obviously looked odd. Spensaar just gave them a nod and a cheery wave.

"She's going to need a nam--" Dekaar began.