#shator

we did it

It was not to be understood – the gratitude between savior and saved. Aelnii could stand tall – proud –knowing that she'd not understand the worth of dawn glittering beneath the eyes of those she'd sacrificed to allow to persevere. Argus – a place of war, sorrow, and a thorn to the heart of all draenei – held true to this thought. She'd not know what those on Azeroth thought of their near-suicidal venture to reclaim 'home' – did they even know? - nor would she be aware of what the broken people of this shattered land thought of her efforts to stem the tides of loss; the efforts of the Sha'tor, the Lightforged, and all others come to slake their fury and batter their tenacity against the walls of Antorus and across the desolate remains of Krokuun. Petrified remains of an arbor – bathed with searing tar and choked with the dead arid air that permeated the Legion's throne – found her standing there. An unmoving stance held between two stone trunks that had long collapsed against one another while clutching a leaf of parchment. Chitinous talbuk flesh tanned to a degree of expertise she'd scarcely expect to be rewarded with here. Ink glimmered from that page – black, cold, and smeared by a shaky hand. Legible though the message was – her eyes seemed unable to mark the worth of this document.

I found myself – as you appeared – as afraid of you as I was of the hound that came chasing after me. A cloaked figure that left the darkest crevices of Krokuun's forest like some panthara stalking prey. I thought that you'd as soon kill me as you did the Legion's hound. You didn't. You offered a hand – one that passed no judgment. Parsed no words. You simply offered a hand. I... the scrawling trailed off – smeared beneath a palm shaped blotch of ink that found a shimmer from the radiant glow of her narrowed eyes. She felt her fingers tighten against the rough texture of the hide paper analogue before catching the scrawls halfway down the parchment – began anew with resolve. Children could offer clearer calligraphy than that which she read now – and, yet, clarity and emotion poured from every illegible flow of the script.

… I know not why you did – but you reminded me that there's hope here. Our souls have been torn and our bodies forsaken by the Light – bearing sins of the past for the Legion has taken our future. They may plague this – our home – but you... you teach them the meaning of righteous scorn. I only wish I could feel the warm touch of the Light as I felt from your hand as you pulled me to my hooves and led me to a place away where I could entrust that I may have a tomorrow. I, I am poor with words. I've never felt such a presence... the other slaves had told me that – while one of the ancient ships crashed, another arrived. I hated you both for leaving us to this plight. Repeated torture and suffering and madness and murder at the hands of those who thought us nothing more than... than beings given life so that they could die...

The rangari's hand shook. She'd concluded that above all else – they fought here on this desolate place of ashen stone and slate for the Light. They fought for the Light – for all that was good and that harbored a hatred of malice at the core of their heart. Not for vengeance – not for the simple value of retribution – but for the ability to make sure they could at last stow their swords; knowing well that the evil that had done this had paid recompense... and could threaten nothing more with their Burning Crusade. She turned a keen eye to the shifting – corrupted – form of the familiar broken draenei as they departed this gorge – this forest vale tarnished by stone-like bark and soot on every outcrop. They'd wrung their clawed hands together upon handing this note to the draenei – she knew not how the krokul had managed to track her down – like some anxious adolescent youth handing off a letter to their hero – perhaps that wasn't so inaccurate a description to lend.

… so, so I thank you. For showing me that not all of you outlanders are here to destroy your foe and leave us to our fate. Maybe there's no hope for us within the Light's embrace... but at least some of you still show virtue and... and I thank you for that.

Aelnii never expected to have this – to feel a thorn piercing the heart blossom to a rose against all odds. The back of the krokul – pallid and sickly – disappeared beneath the shadowed veil cast by the ridges flanking her. She never thought her work thankless... but to actually be thanked by a member of her malformed kin that... that her people had left behind for millennia; that considered her nothing more than a heroic outsider?  That felt... astounding – especially for a gesture that she thought so little of. Butchering a fel hound slavering after the broken like a predator hounding prey – and she did so out of a hatred that burned at the back of her mind for this demon and all others. It reminded her that people beyond them had to persevere here – to survive here... and that this wasn't another battlefield to them. This – Argus truly was home to them and not the forsaken fel-blasted backwater the Army of the Light and the Vindicaar had come to find. It was a dead land full of tenacious things that refused to die with it.

[[ ik i probs exaggerated the size diff,but screw the rules  >:^U