Post by ThreeDawg on Jan 26, 2015 19:10:49 GMT -5
The Draenei.
{Faction Overview - Click to View}
The Draenei have existed for millenia upon millenia. They existed long before most of those on Gabriola knew how to use tools, or so they say. For the Draenei are not native to Gabriola, indeed they are not native to this world. They arrived upon Gabriola only a century ago, landing in the woodlands south of Zul'Mabwe and north of Kessig. Their descent wasn't without fanfare, for it wasn't organised - rather they crashed, setting alight much of the forest and streaking across the night, and day, sky for all in Gabriola and beyond to see. Once the smoke had died down, the Draenei left their crystaline vessel to meet the arrows of Elves. Thankfully, the Draenei managed to convince the Kenelaith Elves of their good-intentions (possibly through sharing the secret of the Naaru's existence with them) and war was prevented.
Instead, the Kenelaith aided the Draenei in securing their newfound borders as they attempted to repair their city-ship and understand this new world. Over the next few decades, the final two Draenei vessels arrived and landed much more safely within the same forest. Cities sprung up around them, followed by towns and villages. Eventually the Draenei settled, hiding their cities with magics and securing it from the constant harassment of the Zul'Mabwe Trolls.
The truth of their existence is only known to those who seek them out, for the Draenei have ran for as long as most of them can remember. They have fled at the advance of an unknown demonic army. A Legion. A great evil from the beginning of time, that the Naaru warned them of and managed to squander them away from. Barely. So they have ran, led by their Prophet Velen, for thousands of years.
The Draenei have existed for millenia upon millenia. They existed long before most of those on Gabriola knew how to use tools, or so they say. For the Draenei are not native to Gabriola, indeed they are not native to this world. They arrived upon Gabriola only a century ago, landing in the woodlands south of Zul'Mabwe and north of Kessig. Their descent wasn't without fanfare, for it wasn't organised - rather they crashed, setting alight much of the forest and streaking across the night, and day, sky for all in Gabriola and beyond to see. Once the smoke had died down, the Draenei left their crystaline vessel to meet the arrows of Elves. Thankfully, the Draenei managed to convince the Kenelaith Elves of their good-intentions (possibly through sharing the secret of the Naaru's existence with them) and war was prevented.
Instead, the Kenelaith aided the Draenei in securing their newfound borders as they attempted to repair their city-ship and understand this new world. Over the next few decades, the final two Draenei vessels arrived and landed much more safely within the same forest. Cities sprung up around them, followed by towns and villages. Eventually the Draenei settled, hiding their cities with magics and securing it from the constant harassment of the Zul'Mabwe Trolls.
The truth of their existence is only known to those who seek them out, for the Draenei have ran for as long as most of them can remember. They have fled at the advance of an unknown demonic army. A Legion. A great evil from the beginning of time, that the Naaru warned them of and managed to squander them away from. Barely. So they have ran, led by their Prophet Velen, for thousands of years.
{Provinces: - Click to Expand}
{47 - Telar}
Terrain: Telar is a region of forested hills, linking the forests of Kenelaith with mountains to the north. The hills are highly fertile and the forests are perfect for hiding the secretive Draenei's cities.
Army: The army of Telar is a complex one, they are few in number but incredibly versatile, well armed and most important of all well trained. Surprisingly, the Priesthood of the Aldor are the largest provider of forces for the Draenei's army. These forces come in the form of the Vindicators - powerful Holy warriors that channel the magic of the Light in order to defend the Draenei. While their usage is always defensive in means, never have the Draenei actively started a war, that does not mean the Draenei are passifistic - on the contrary the Draenei while embrace war as a means to an end, as their name suggests they are very vindictive. They simply do not honour war, it is a neccesity for survival. The Aldor do not only field Vindicators, they also field Priests who are the primary healers of the species. But the nature of the Draenei is not the singular worship of the Light, but rather they blend it with ancient Arcane Magics from origins beyond Gabriola. While Draenei archers and scouts are outfitted in leathers, Vindicators are equipped with exotic silver-looking plate metal, adorned with gems that radiate the Holy Light. Their weapons (often swords and warhammers) too are made of a similar crystaline substance and often emit a dull glow, which burns stronger in the presence of evil.
Brief Description: The Draenei live in hidden cities throughout the forests of Telar - cities often hidden by powerful magics. These cities are tall, made of metal that is extremely exotic - appearing to be of a metal or stone that is created rather than mind. Possibly even magically created. Their cities have many spires, each is tipped in gems that radiate light towards the sky - for unknown purpose but quite possibly as magical defenses. The Draenei are secretive only because of their desperate state, their population is low and they fear that each war will be their last. They maintain that Evil will eventually come to this world, as it did theirs and all the worlds they have visited since. They see something in this world that they have not seen in countless others and this time their Prophet has said they will remain - but for the world to survive the various races of the world must unite to form an 'Army of The Light' against the endless forces of evil.
Terrain: Telar is a region of forested hills, linking the forests of Kenelaith with mountains to the north. The hills are highly fertile and the forests are perfect for hiding the secretive Draenei's cities.
Army: The army of Telar is a complex one, they are few in number but incredibly versatile, well armed and most important of all well trained. Surprisingly, the Priesthood of the Aldor are the largest provider of forces for the Draenei's army. These forces come in the form of the Vindicators - powerful Holy warriors that channel the magic of the Light in order to defend the Draenei. While their usage is always defensive in means, never have the Draenei actively started a war, that does not mean the Draenei are passifistic - on the contrary the Draenei while embrace war as a means to an end, as their name suggests they are very vindictive. They simply do not honour war, it is a neccesity for survival. The Aldor do not only field Vindicators, they also field Priests who are the primary healers of the species. But the nature of the Draenei is not the singular worship of the Light, but rather they blend it with ancient Arcane Magics from origins beyond Gabriola. While Draenei archers and scouts are outfitted in leathers, Vindicators are equipped with exotic silver-looking plate metal, adorned with gems that radiate the Holy Light. Their weapons (often swords and warhammers) too are made of a similar crystaline substance and often emit a dull glow, which burns stronger in the presence of evil.
Brief Description: The Draenei live in hidden cities throughout the forests of Telar - cities often hidden by powerful magics. These cities are tall, made of metal that is extremely exotic - appearing to be of a metal or stone that is created rather than mind. Possibly even magically created. Their cities have many spires, each is tipped in gems that radiate light towards the sky - for unknown purpose but quite possibly as magical defenses. The Draenei are secretive only because of their desperate state, their population is low and they fear that each war will be their last. They maintain that Evil will eventually come to this world, as it did theirs and all the worlds they have visited since. They see something in this world that they have not seen in countless others and this time their Prophet has said they will remain - but for the world to survive the various races of the world must unite to form an 'Army of The Light' against the endless forces of evil.
{Races: - Click to Expand}
{Draenei: - Click to View}
Telar and it's surrounding areas are home to the Draenei, a race of blue-skinned, horned, mammalians with reptilian tails and facial tendrils. They are beautiful to behold, if completely alien and terrifying all the same. The Draenei claim, and there is much evidence to support this, that the Draenei are not native to this world. They claim to have traveled here using 'Dimensional Ships' which form the hearts of their most holy cities, shepharded from the desctruction of their homeworld (instigated by dark, evil, forces) by the Naaru - beings of immense power. The Draenei emulate these Naaru and have developed a culture that reveres and harnesses the 'Holy Light' as they call it in almost all aspects of their civilization. But the Naaru have not forgotten their roots, as powerful ancient magi that could mold cities through their force of will alone. While they may have lost this power of magics in their years, they still maintain powerful arcane magics that are an important part of their superior technology and civilization.
An important part of the Draenei culture is their longevity - Draenei do not die of old age. Never has it been recorded to occur, even the Draenei do not know just how long they live. Their Prophet, Velen, who led them from their ancient homelands on their millenia long journey to seek refuge from the forces of Evil is at least thirty thousand years old and a minority of the Draenei are just as old, remembering the glory of their passed civilization before Evil claimed it. They only arrived on Gabriola a mere four thousand years ago - although the shorter lived races have forgotten this event. Thus Draenei are wise, experienced and masterful at the arts they employ - martial or not. That does not mean they can't die, as they often do - war, disease, accidents - and rarely is a Draenei child born.
Mount of choice: Draenei ride a species of deer-like creatures picked up from one of their travels long, long ago. Known as the Talbuk, each city-ship will always carry a Talbuk herd as they leave a planet. Draenei have close relations with their Talbuk, who they swear have grown a personality of their own. Talbuk are covered in furs from browns, oranges, reds, greens, blues - practically any colour you can think of.
![http://wowbiology101.weebly.com/uploads/7/5/8/5/7585639/8469301_orig.jpg]()
The Draenei also have herds of the alien Ellek, elephantine beasts used for burdenous jobs or as great weapons of war. As with Talbuk, any Draenei that owns an Ellek grow deeply attached to them. Ellek range from blues, to greens, to purple.
![http://o.aolcdn.com/hss/storage/midas/ccb1ff8dea35e82fa5144a86cb9e9a9e/200409285/elekk_mom_baby.jpg]()
Telar and it's surrounding areas are home to the Draenei, a race of blue-skinned, horned, mammalians with reptilian tails and facial tendrils. They are beautiful to behold, if completely alien and terrifying all the same. The Draenei claim, and there is much evidence to support this, that the Draenei are not native to this world. They claim to have traveled here using 'Dimensional Ships' which form the hearts of their most holy cities, shepharded from the desctruction of their homeworld (instigated by dark, evil, forces) by the Naaru - beings of immense power. The Draenei emulate these Naaru and have developed a culture that reveres and harnesses the 'Holy Light' as they call it in almost all aspects of their civilization. But the Naaru have not forgotten their roots, as powerful ancient magi that could mold cities through their force of will alone. While they may have lost this power of magics in their years, they still maintain powerful arcane magics that are an important part of their superior technology and civilization.
An important part of the Draenei culture is their longevity - Draenei do not die of old age. Never has it been recorded to occur, even the Draenei do not know just how long they live. Their Prophet, Velen, who led them from their ancient homelands on their millenia long journey to seek refuge from the forces of Evil is at least thirty thousand years old and a minority of the Draenei are just as old, remembering the glory of their passed civilization before Evil claimed it. They only arrived on Gabriola a mere four thousand years ago - although the shorter lived races have forgotten this event. Thus Draenei are wise, experienced and masterful at the arts they employ - martial or not. That does not mean they can't die, as they often do - war, disease, accidents - and rarely is a Draenei child born.
Mount of choice: Draenei ride a species of deer-like creatures picked up from one of their travels long, long ago. Known as the Talbuk, each city-ship will always carry a Talbuk herd as they leave a planet. Draenei have close relations with their Talbuk, who they swear have grown a personality of their own. Talbuk are covered in furs from browns, oranges, reds, greens, blues - practically any colour you can think of.
The Draenei also have herds of the alien Ellek, elephantine beasts used for burdenous jobs or as great weapons of war. As with Talbuk, any Draenei that owns an Ellek grow deeply attached to them. Ellek range from blues, to greens, to purple.
{Naaru: - Click to View}
Beings of immense power, the Naaru are embodiments of the Holy Light the Naaru revere. Mystical, secretive, crystaline beings that float above the ground and communicate - in any language - through contacting directly to the mind of the being they wish to converse with. Debates rage amongst non-Draenei if these Naaru are manifestations of the Light spectrum of Magic, or if they are Demi-gods or even Gods. The Naaru do not tell their origins, and the Draenei do not care. The Draenei simply revere the Naaru, listen to their advice and seek to emulate the values of their saviours. Naaru come in many colours, yellows, reds, blues, greens, whites - even deep purple. Few Naaru exist, their numbers less than one half a hundred spread across the three city-ships. Although they claim more of them exist throughout the 'cosmos'. As numerous as the Stars - perhaps the stars are Naaru?
The Naaru have a strange life cycle, a secret to most but the Draenei. When a Naaru 'dies', they enter into a state of dormancy. They will absorb magic, in the form of the Light specifically, until they have 'rejuvenated' back into a Naaru. This 'Darkened' state leaves the Naaru injured and weak, the Draenei tend to it for centuries before it rejuvenates. However the dichotomous nature of the Naaru life cycle (Light and Dark) makes the Naaru vulnerable to corruption in this darkened state - or perhaps it isn't corruption. Perhaps it is the result of a Naaru truly dying that releases the Darkness within.
Mount of choice: N/A.
Beings of immense power, the Naaru are embodiments of the Holy Light the Naaru revere. Mystical, secretive, crystaline beings that float above the ground and communicate - in any language - through contacting directly to the mind of the being they wish to converse with. Debates rage amongst non-Draenei if these Naaru are manifestations of the Light spectrum of Magic, or if they are Demi-gods or even Gods. The Naaru do not tell their origins, and the Draenei do not care. The Draenei simply revere the Naaru, listen to their advice and seek to emulate the values of their saviours. Naaru come in many colours, yellows, reds, blues, greens, whites - even deep purple. Few Naaru exist, their numbers less than one half a hundred spread across the three city-ships. Although they claim more of them exist throughout the 'cosmos'. As numerous as the Stars - perhaps the stars are Naaru?
The Naaru have a strange life cycle, a secret to most but the Draenei. When a Naaru 'dies', they enter into a state of dormancy. They will absorb magic, in the form of the Light specifically, until they have 'rejuvenated' back into a Naaru. This 'Darkened' state leaves the Naaru injured and weak, the Draenei tend to it for centuries before it rejuvenates. However the dichotomous nature of the Naaru life cycle (Light and Dark) makes the Naaru vulnerable to corruption in this darkened state - or perhaps it isn't corruption. Perhaps it is the result of a Naaru truly dying that releases the Darkness within.
Mount of choice: N/A.
{Notable Individuals - Click to Expand}
The Prophet Velen, leader of the Draenei.
K'aru, Naaru Leader of the Channandar.
Ya're, Naaru Leader of the Oshu'tar.
Daa're, Naaru Leader of the Makeyla.
The Exarch Council (Five Exarches from different parts of Draenei Society, also known as the Hand of the Prophet).
The Prophet Velen, leader of the Draenei.
K'aru, Naaru Leader of the Channandar.
Ya're, Naaru Leader of the Oshu'tar.
Daa're, Naaru Leader of the Makeyla.
The Exarch Council (Five Exarches from different parts of Draenei Society, also known as the Hand of the Prophet).
- Exarch Kee'ala, Exarch of the Auchenai - Soul Priests that care for the disembodied souls of the Draenei dead and the Naaru's darkened lifecyce.
- Exarch Manaanatar, Exarch of the Artificers - Essentially the Draenei equivelant of Engineers, who work with their advanced crystaline technology to work practically all of the Draenei society.
- Exarch Che'an, Exarch of the Hand of Argus - The Draenei martial military might, host of the Justicar and Vindicator military orders.
- Exarch Maiyo, Exarch of the Sha'tari - The Draenei Priests that care for the wellbeing of the living souls and the Naaru as they exist in their Light.
- Exarch Otheer, Exarch of the Chee'an - The Draenei Magical Authority, where all Draenei who show an adeptness with magic are trained.
{The Story of Namyra: - Click to Expand}
A typical story of a Draenei Survivor.
A typical story of a Draenei Survivor.
{A village by the Sea}
The Draenei have always wandered, when they settled down it never lasted long. Well, by Draenei standards at least. Their peoples traveled from world to world, using the Naaru-gifted Interdimensional Vessels Oshu'tar, Oshu'tem and Oshu'mak. But they did not do so willingly, for each time they left they would be leaving a planet to its destruction. The worst part was, it was entirely their fault. For evil hunts the Draenei, evil that seeks the Ones That Got Away. The Exiled Ones. The Draenei.
Gabriola was not the only planet the Draenei had decided to truly settle on, believing they had finally escaped their pursuers. They had done it many times, but the most important to a little Draenei called Namyra was one called Ossigoth. The Draenei did not name this planet, as it already had inhabitants. Two species, small furry bipeds that had a tribal civilization known as the Grokon and tall, pale-skinned, bulge-eyed, bipeds known as the Grek. The Grek were the more advanced civilization on the planet, but they had not advanced far passed their seclued homelands. When the Draenei arrived, they did so in secrecy. It was unwise practice to settle upon a planet with species already present, but the Draenei have always had little control over their Interdimensional Vessels - which seem to make up their own mind about how to do things. So for a hundred years did the Draenei build their cities in secret, only then once their grand cathedral-cities and harborages were erected did the Draenei make contact with the Grek and the Grokon. The Grek nor the Grokon cared much, but it was with the Grokon that the Draenei would trade with upon occasions.
In one of the smaller harborages, Draenei went about their business creating exquisite silks, fishing and crafting works of metal to trade with the Grokon when one of the most wondrous events to a Draenei occured. A child was born. Draenei had always had few children, but since settling on this peaceful planet the birth rate had increased. The common saying was that there 'must be something in the water' of their new home, but in truth it was merely the lack of stress that constantly being hunted brings. The baby born was small, blue, with little nubs for horns and wailing like a Banshee. This child was given the name Namyra by her mother, a Priestess, and her father, a Baker.
The young girl was cared for with love and affection, for a Draenei child was a precious thing, especially a female in a village that so far had only birthed males. The village had a school, although it was run by the local Priesthood, and so the young girl was educated - quite well, for all Draenei are educated to a great degree over their younger years. But as they age, they must learn a role to perform. But that was far from Namyra's mind, for she enjoyed playing around the fields with her friends, all of which were boys, too much. When her general education had ended and an apprenticeship, of sorts was to be sought out, Namyra was sent off to the Priesthood - as tradition dictated within her village the girls (just her) would be sent off to the Monastery. While her friends were sent off to the local Justicars Camp to squire for the holy warriors, even if they were only still children.
A few years passed, but it was clear that Namyra was not priestly material. For the girl lacked the patience to meditate and a tendency to anger, although her affinity for the Holy Light was noted by her mother - the only thing keeping her being sent back to the village. It was with one specific incident that forced the High Priestess's hand, for Namyra had been rough housing with the young boys of the Monastery and had broken ones nose. The priests convened, and an alternative to sending Namyra back to be a tailor was concocted. For her talent with the Holy Light was something that would lend itself well to another profession.
Namyra was to be sent to the Justicar's Camp.
The Draenei have always wandered, when they settled down it never lasted long. Well, by Draenei standards at least. Their peoples traveled from world to world, using the Naaru-gifted Interdimensional Vessels Oshu'tar, Oshu'tem and Oshu'mak. But they did not do so willingly, for each time they left they would be leaving a planet to its destruction. The worst part was, it was entirely their fault. For evil hunts the Draenei, evil that seeks the Ones That Got Away. The Exiled Ones. The Draenei.
Gabriola was not the only planet the Draenei had decided to truly settle on, believing they had finally escaped their pursuers. They had done it many times, but the most important to a little Draenei called Namyra was one called Ossigoth. The Draenei did not name this planet, as it already had inhabitants. Two species, small furry bipeds that had a tribal civilization known as the Grokon and tall, pale-skinned, bulge-eyed, bipeds known as the Grek. The Grek were the more advanced civilization on the planet, but they had not advanced far passed their seclued homelands. When the Draenei arrived, they did so in secrecy. It was unwise practice to settle upon a planet with species already present, but the Draenei have always had little control over their Interdimensional Vessels - which seem to make up their own mind about how to do things. So for a hundred years did the Draenei build their cities in secret, only then once their grand cathedral-cities and harborages were erected did the Draenei make contact with the Grek and the Grokon. The Grek nor the Grokon cared much, but it was with the Grokon that the Draenei would trade with upon occasions.
In one of the smaller harborages, Draenei went about their business creating exquisite silks, fishing and crafting works of metal to trade with the Grokon when one of the most wondrous events to a Draenei occured. A child was born. Draenei had always had few children, but since settling on this peaceful planet the birth rate had increased. The common saying was that there 'must be something in the water' of their new home, but in truth it was merely the lack of stress that constantly being hunted brings. The baby born was small, blue, with little nubs for horns and wailing like a Banshee. This child was given the name Namyra by her mother, a Priestess, and her father, a Baker.
The young girl was cared for with love and affection, for a Draenei child was a precious thing, especially a female in a village that so far had only birthed males. The village had a school, although it was run by the local Priesthood, and so the young girl was educated - quite well, for all Draenei are educated to a great degree over their younger years. But as they age, they must learn a role to perform. But that was far from Namyra's mind, for she enjoyed playing around the fields with her friends, all of which were boys, too much. When her general education had ended and an apprenticeship, of sorts was to be sought out, Namyra was sent off to the Priesthood - as tradition dictated within her village the girls (just her) would be sent off to the Monastery. While her friends were sent off to the local Justicars Camp to squire for the holy warriors, even if they were only still children.
A few years passed, but it was clear that Namyra was not priestly material. For the girl lacked the patience to meditate and a tendency to anger, although her affinity for the Holy Light was noted by her mother - the only thing keeping her being sent back to the village. It was with one specific incident that forced the High Priestess's hand, for Namyra had been rough housing with the young boys of the Monastery and had broken ones nose. The priests convened, and an alternative to sending Namyra back to be a tailor was concocted. For her talent with the Holy Light was something that would lend itself well to another profession.
Namyra was to be sent to the Justicar's Camp.
{A Warriors Call}
"You need to focus, kinai."
An old warrior paced in front of a line of small blue-skinned warriors in training. His hooves clapped heavily against the floor, yet with every other step the sound seemed to drag on. This ancient Draenei had a limp, and the wise instructor now stood in front of the only girl in this group. Girls were uncommon in the Justicars, but not unheard of. Every Draenei had a Naaru-divined callings and it seemed to be the calling of this one young troublemaker to make an old Draenei's day harder.
The little one, for that was the title the Instructor had called her by, was clever he did not doubt and in mock combat she could best all the boys in this group. But she was unfocused - she swung with too much determination, a conviction that would see her open for a mortal wound in the battlefield.
The girl huffed and scowled in reaponse, raising the too-big metal sword up into the air and swung again at the air. Today's lesson was balance with the blade - a real blade, for the group has advanced passed training sticks. Of course, the blades were magically and physically dulled. At worst they would cause a harsh welt or a small cut, nothing the Healers - or even this strange girl - couldn't handle. But for the girl, her problem came with getting carried away with the blade. Her form was balanced, yes, but the method in which she swung the blade frustrated the elderly instructor.
"Here," the old Draenei said, pulling loose his own sword. It radiated a white light in his grasp, the crystal blade shining like the Naaru themselves in the powerful warriors hands. "watch closely."
The instructor shown her exactly how to perform the required move and she hated it. Hated not being good at something, and it made her sloppy. It was her strive for success that made her unfocused - and she had been told this time and time again.
The delicate blue eyes closed in an attempt to calm the young one and when she opened them, she swung the blade, and made her Instructor proud.
The next week, after days of the usual training, Namyra was pulled aside by her mentor. With his wrinkled hand he gently gripped her shoulder and led her away from regular practice - this time being taught by a younger Justicar running over the basics. Namyra was glad to be free of that.
"How are you finding training, Namyra?" The old Draenei asked of her, as they walked down an arched corridor lit by crystalline lanterns. It came as a shock to the little girl, her tutor had never used her actual name. In fact she wasn't sure he even knew it.
With a composure that would have made her Mother proud, Namyra his her shock and gave him a polite answer, even going so far as to use the honorific 'wise one'. "I love it here, shanai. I wouldn't change this for the world."
Her mentor smiled, the gesture of happiness lighting his face up. But he did not continue the conversation, instead he turned abruptly to the right and Namyra followed suit. They exited into a courtyard, the mid day Ossigoth sun shone down brightly upon the garden-cross-training ring, feeding the young sprig of a tree in the corner. For Namyra recognised it for what it was, the slight raise to the centre, the ring of stones embedded in the dirt. The old Draenei stepped into the ring and beckoned Namyra to stand opposite him.
"Namyra, you are flourishing here. Far faster than the others, but you still have much to learn and many problems to overcome." Namyra lowered her head, feeling as though she had been pulled aside for nothing more than yet another chastise on her abilities. "But," and Namyra looked up into the aged face to see a smile, born pridefully, and a twinkle of youth in the Draenei's deep silver eyes. "I have decided to advance your training personally. Every day, after regular training. We will meet here. For you are no longer a kinai, you have surpassed your group and now the real training begins."
Namyra could almost cry - it took all her training to keep her emotions in check as pride in her self mixed with happiness at the tutors words.
"Now, strike me, Namyra!"
With a grin of joy and a determined look in her eyes, Namyra charged the older Draenei.
The sound of her horns hitting the floor could be heard throughout the courtyard and the adjacent corridors.
"You need to focus, kinai."
An old warrior paced in front of a line of small blue-skinned warriors in training. His hooves clapped heavily against the floor, yet with every other step the sound seemed to drag on. This ancient Draenei had a limp, and the wise instructor now stood in front of the only girl in this group. Girls were uncommon in the Justicars, but not unheard of. Every Draenei had a Naaru-divined callings and it seemed to be the calling of this one young troublemaker to make an old Draenei's day harder.
The little one, for that was the title the Instructor had called her by, was clever he did not doubt and in mock combat she could best all the boys in this group. But she was unfocused - she swung with too much determination, a conviction that would see her open for a mortal wound in the battlefield.
The girl huffed and scowled in reaponse, raising the too-big metal sword up into the air and swung again at the air. Today's lesson was balance with the blade - a real blade, for the group has advanced passed training sticks. Of course, the blades were magically and physically dulled. At worst they would cause a harsh welt or a small cut, nothing the Healers - or even this strange girl - couldn't handle. But for the girl, her problem came with getting carried away with the blade. Her form was balanced, yes, but the method in which she swung the blade frustrated the elderly instructor.
"Here," the old Draenei said, pulling loose his own sword. It radiated a white light in his grasp, the crystal blade shining like the Naaru themselves in the powerful warriors hands. "watch closely."
The instructor shown her exactly how to perform the required move and she hated it. Hated not being good at something, and it made her sloppy. It was her strive for success that made her unfocused - and she had been told this time and time again.
The delicate blue eyes closed in an attempt to calm the young one and when she opened them, she swung the blade, and made her Instructor proud.
The next week, after days of the usual training, Namyra was pulled aside by her mentor. With his wrinkled hand he gently gripped her shoulder and led her away from regular practice - this time being taught by a younger Justicar running over the basics. Namyra was glad to be free of that.
"How are you finding training, Namyra?" The old Draenei asked of her, as they walked down an arched corridor lit by crystalline lanterns. It came as a shock to the little girl, her tutor had never used her actual name. In fact she wasn't sure he even knew it.
With a composure that would have made her Mother proud, Namyra his her shock and gave him a polite answer, even going so far as to use the honorific 'wise one'. "I love it here, shanai. I wouldn't change this for the world."
Her mentor smiled, the gesture of happiness lighting his face up. But he did not continue the conversation, instead he turned abruptly to the right and Namyra followed suit. They exited into a courtyard, the mid day Ossigoth sun shone down brightly upon the garden-cross-training ring, feeding the young sprig of a tree in the corner. For Namyra recognised it for what it was, the slight raise to the centre, the ring of stones embedded in the dirt. The old Draenei stepped into the ring and beckoned Namyra to stand opposite him.
"Namyra, you are flourishing here. Far faster than the others, but you still have much to learn and many problems to overcome." Namyra lowered her head, feeling as though she had been pulled aside for nothing more than yet another chastise on her abilities. "But," and Namyra looked up into the aged face to see a smile, born pridefully, and a twinkle of youth in the Draenei's deep silver eyes. "I have decided to advance your training personally. Every day, after regular training. We will meet here. For you are no longer a kinai, you have surpassed your group and now the real training begins."
Namyra could almost cry - it took all her training to keep her emotions in check as pride in her self mixed with happiness at the tutors words.
"Now, strike me, Namyra!"
With a grin of joy and a determined look in her eyes, Namyra charged the older Draenei.
The sound of her horns hitting the floor could be heard throughout the courtyard and the adjacent corridors.
{A Light in the Dark}
"Hrrrrah!"
The sound of metal clashing against metal sounded out across a secluded secret courtyard, masked in a tall orange blossoming tree. Shadows danced beneath the boughs as the warm sun penetrated the leaves to reflect back off the silver armour encasing the tall Draenei woman stood in the centre of the ring. Her face was not covered by a helmet, unlike her quarry who was donned head to toe in the reflective - albeit his more ornate - armour.
Sweat trickled from her brow, curving along the subtle ridges of her skin to slide down her cheeks. Her breaths came ragged and for all purposes the young Draenei would appear to be exhausted but the blade within her hands did not falter, did not so much as twitch as her arms held it up before her in a defensive posture.
This time it was her opponents turn to attack and his crystalline sword spun around to strike at her left side, before shifting suddenly upwards to slash at her face - a move that would have taken her by surprise, if she were younger. But with a shifting of her weight onto her hooves and a flick of her wrist she managed to bring her sword up to deflect the strike and carry it forwards to strike at the combatants chest.
With a crash she fell backwards onto the stone floor, pain radiating from her abdomen. Her face bore a look of shock and outrage as she stared up at the sword nearly touching her nose. "T-that was cheating!" She stuttered out, her voice light and not quite fitting of her growing body yet.
The Draenei before her pulled the sword away and took off his helmet. The wrinkled face - unchanged over so many years it had taken Namyra to grow in both age and power - looked down at her with a smug smile. "It is not cheating to use your hooves in armed combat, Namyra. You know how to fight unarmed, why should you not mix the two? After all, any advantage in combat would save your life." He held out a hand to the prone Draenei and with a clear reluctance she accepted it and was pulled to her hooves.
Namyra had learnt more than just martial prowess in her time at the Justicar's camp - for a Justicar was more than just a warrior like those of the Grokon. Each Draenei warrior was taught the principles of the Holy Light spoken down from the Naaru and in doing so they harnessed powers not dissimilar from those of the Priesthood, albeit of a more martial spectrum.
As the training continued in their secret courtyard, the focus shifted more towards utilising the Holy Light in a combative manner. While every Justicar was taught the use of the Holy Light to bolster themselves, select few individuals with affinity for the Light could expand this aura to their companions, too. Her mastery over these abilities had impressed her Mentor enough to attempt to teach the girl lessons far beyond her years. Although Namyra had not been told that this training was anything but ordinary.
With a palm firmly against her chest and a long exhale, Namyra's hand radiated the Light itself and a shimmering bubble of Holy energy encased her form. She smiled up at her mentor, he soft features seeking approval for what she had managed to accomplish. But his face held no change in emotion and instead he raised his sword and swung it straight for the girl. She was told to make no move to defend herself, but she found it hard to fight back the reflexive motion of dodging - although her force contorted in a flinch. The blade sunk deep into her bubble before rebounding backwards. She noted a twinge somewhere in the back of her eyes, but soon it cleared.
Opening her eyes she looked up to her mentor, who's face now shone with the pride she longed to see. "Very good Namyra." He sounded genuinely impressed, a little in awe at her still pre-adult form managing to perform such a feat that would take many a century to master. Perhaps she was ready for offensive uses... "Now let us try to direct the Light at a foe."
As instructed for a further hour, The young Draenei held her palms out and concentrated on what she had been told. To focus the Light in a beam of Holy Fire was her aim - she had been told it would be troublesome and if all she could summon was a slight flicker of Holy Fire then that was excellent progress for a first time.
Smoke rose from the courtyard in the middle of the splendid compound, the thin stream of dark black waved in front of the sun. The din of bells ringing, the scattering of hooves and the slosh of water in buckets.
"Hrrrrah!"
The sound of metal clashing against metal sounded out across a secluded secret courtyard, masked in a tall orange blossoming tree. Shadows danced beneath the boughs as the warm sun penetrated the leaves to reflect back off the silver armour encasing the tall Draenei woman stood in the centre of the ring. Her face was not covered by a helmet, unlike her quarry who was donned head to toe in the reflective - albeit his more ornate - armour.
Sweat trickled from her brow, curving along the subtle ridges of her skin to slide down her cheeks. Her breaths came ragged and for all purposes the young Draenei would appear to be exhausted but the blade within her hands did not falter, did not so much as twitch as her arms held it up before her in a defensive posture.
This time it was her opponents turn to attack and his crystalline sword spun around to strike at her left side, before shifting suddenly upwards to slash at her face - a move that would have taken her by surprise, if she were younger. But with a shifting of her weight onto her hooves and a flick of her wrist she managed to bring her sword up to deflect the strike and carry it forwards to strike at the combatants chest.
With a crash she fell backwards onto the stone floor, pain radiating from her abdomen. Her face bore a look of shock and outrage as she stared up at the sword nearly touching her nose. "T-that was cheating!" She stuttered out, her voice light and not quite fitting of her growing body yet.
The Draenei before her pulled the sword away and took off his helmet. The wrinkled face - unchanged over so many years it had taken Namyra to grow in both age and power - looked down at her with a smug smile. "It is not cheating to use your hooves in armed combat, Namyra. You know how to fight unarmed, why should you not mix the two? After all, any advantage in combat would save your life." He held out a hand to the prone Draenei and with a clear reluctance she accepted it and was pulled to her hooves.
Namyra had learnt more than just martial prowess in her time at the Justicar's camp - for a Justicar was more than just a warrior like those of the Grokon. Each Draenei warrior was taught the principles of the Holy Light spoken down from the Naaru and in doing so they harnessed powers not dissimilar from those of the Priesthood, albeit of a more martial spectrum.
As the training continued in their secret courtyard, the focus shifted more towards utilising the Holy Light in a combative manner. While every Justicar was taught the use of the Holy Light to bolster themselves, select few individuals with affinity for the Light could expand this aura to their companions, too. Her mastery over these abilities had impressed her Mentor enough to attempt to teach the girl lessons far beyond her years. Although Namyra had not been told that this training was anything but ordinary.
With a palm firmly against her chest and a long exhale, Namyra's hand radiated the Light itself and a shimmering bubble of Holy energy encased her form. She smiled up at her mentor, he soft features seeking approval for what she had managed to accomplish. But his face held no change in emotion and instead he raised his sword and swung it straight for the girl. She was told to make no move to defend herself, but she found it hard to fight back the reflexive motion of dodging - although her force contorted in a flinch. The blade sunk deep into her bubble before rebounding backwards. She noted a twinge somewhere in the back of her eyes, but soon it cleared.
Opening her eyes she looked up to her mentor, who's face now shone with the pride she longed to see. "Very good Namyra." He sounded genuinely impressed, a little in awe at her still pre-adult form managing to perform such a feat that would take many a century to master. Perhaps she was ready for offensive uses... "Now let us try to direct the Light at a foe."
As instructed for a further hour, The young Draenei held her palms out and concentrated on what she had been told. To focus the Light in a beam of Holy Fire was her aim - she had been told it would be troublesome and if all she could summon was a slight flicker of Holy Fire then that was excellent progress for a first time.
Smoke rose from the courtyard in the middle of the splendid compound, the thin stream of dark black waved in front of the sun. The din of bells ringing, the scattering of hooves and the slosh of water in buckets.
{With Lessons Hard Learnt}
"By the Honour of the Naaru, the Light and our Prophet I accept the charge of the Justicar. I will perform with my all for the good of my people and the Light. By my Ancestors that live within us I will honour their decision of freedom over the tyranny of Evil."
She lay in her sleeping pod, the egg-shaped metal structure encompassed her all but from the front. The words she had spoken but two nights before echoed throughout her mind. Her oath had been taken, she was officially a Justicar. Her training had finaly finished, she had passed the tests set upon her by her mentor and the High Exarch of the Justicar's camp, a powerfully built Draenei that almost radiated the Holy Light.
Now, she had been granted her first mission. A storm had hit the night before, the day after her induction into the Justicar order. If she was one for portents she would have called it a bad omen, but Namyra cared not for the storm that had hit. The damage to the Draenei's hard buildings was minimal - a few cloths tore, some windows were shattered by debris. But the neighbouring Grokon village had been hard hit, and so the Justicars were sending some numbers to grant healing and physical aid to the broken Grokon. Namyra had been chosen, the excuse had been that it would make a humbling first task for the Justicar but in secret her mentor had lauded her abilities to his fellow Exarches and so she was granted this honour. For an honour it was, to be a chosen representative of your people to those of another.
They set out early that day, they rode Talbuk for speed - beasts native to their Ancient Home that had traveled with them from the coming storm. Her Talbuk was strong, a horned beast much like the cross of Gabriola's Horses and Antelope - although she would not know these alien beasts for thousands of years to come. Its fur was a bright silver, although dark lines striped its back and its horns were a deep purple. It squeeked beneath her weight, for that was the noise of a Talbuk should it choose to make one, as the Draenei in her silvered armour mounted the well trained beast. A crystaline sword hung from her hip, a gift from her mentor, while a circular shield bearing the seal of the Justicar order was strapped securely to her back. The shield held a subtle glow to the symbol, an enchantment to bolster its defensive properties against magic. All of this was fluff, of course, for the Grokon hold no aggression to the Draenei and it was merely tradition to ride out fully armed.
The Grokon village was not far from the Justicar's Camp. While the camp was built into forested hills - the Draenei cultural affinity for hiding their settlements in action - the Grokon had camped along the banks of the nearby river, down in the valley. Even from here, as the path down from the Justicar camp left the woods, Namyra could see the Gorkon camp nestled by the flowing water. Or, what was left of it. For wreckage was strewn across the grasslands. As the Draenei rode up towards the village, the much small Gorkon looked to them. Their faces, like those of apes, looked up at the Draenei who came to a slow. Their eyes radiated the pain they had gone through. Many looked down from them, continuing their desperate work to shore up the wreckages of their wooden huts and tents.
Namyra was first to lower herself from her Talbuk, which dutifuly stood where she left it as the Draenei walked over to the nearest Grokon. With a sad smile, she used her superior strength to help the small biped lift a wooden beam blocking the entrance into his hut. The Grokon looked up and in his native tongue uttered thanks. A hint of hope shone in his eyes as he shuffled into what was left of the structure.
With the Draenei's help, refuges were erected and rations handed out before nightfall. All would sleep safely tonight, their bellies full and a sense of comradery in the air as the Draenei healed the Grokon's ails and said prayers for their wellbeing. And as the second buffet of the storm struck that night, the Draenei's structures stood strong against the winds. Two races joined in a solemn event of laughter and mourning.
"By the Honour of the Naaru, the Light and our Prophet I accept the charge of the Justicar. I will perform with my all for the good of my people and the Light. By my Ancestors that live within us I will honour their decision of freedom over the tyranny of Evil."
She lay in her sleeping pod, the egg-shaped metal structure encompassed her all but from the front. The words she had spoken but two nights before echoed throughout her mind. Her oath had been taken, she was officially a Justicar. Her training had finaly finished, she had passed the tests set upon her by her mentor and the High Exarch of the Justicar's camp, a powerfully built Draenei that almost radiated the Holy Light.
Now, she had been granted her first mission. A storm had hit the night before, the day after her induction into the Justicar order. If she was one for portents she would have called it a bad omen, but Namyra cared not for the storm that had hit. The damage to the Draenei's hard buildings was minimal - a few cloths tore, some windows were shattered by debris. But the neighbouring Grokon village had been hard hit, and so the Justicars were sending some numbers to grant healing and physical aid to the broken Grokon. Namyra had been chosen, the excuse had been that it would make a humbling first task for the Justicar but in secret her mentor had lauded her abilities to his fellow Exarches and so she was granted this honour. For an honour it was, to be a chosen representative of your people to those of another.
They set out early that day, they rode Talbuk for speed - beasts native to their Ancient Home that had traveled with them from the coming storm. Her Talbuk was strong, a horned beast much like the cross of Gabriola's Horses and Antelope - although she would not know these alien beasts for thousands of years to come. Its fur was a bright silver, although dark lines striped its back and its horns were a deep purple. It squeeked beneath her weight, for that was the noise of a Talbuk should it choose to make one, as the Draenei in her silvered armour mounted the well trained beast. A crystaline sword hung from her hip, a gift from her mentor, while a circular shield bearing the seal of the Justicar order was strapped securely to her back. The shield held a subtle glow to the symbol, an enchantment to bolster its defensive properties against magic. All of this was fluff, of course, for the Grokon hold no aggression to the Draenei and it was merely tradition to ride out fully armed.
The Grokon village was not far from the Justicar's Camp. While the camp was built into forested hills - the Draenei cultural affinity for hiding their settlements in action - the Grokon had camped along the banks of the nearby river, down in the valley. Even from here, as the path down from the Justicar camp left the woods, Namyra could see the Gorkon camp nestled by the flowing water. Or, what was left of it. For wreckage was strewn across the grasslands. As the Draenei rode up towards the village, the much small Gorkon looked to them. Their faces, like those of apes, looked up at the Draenei who came to a slow. Their eyes radiated the pain they had gone through. Many looked down from them, continuing their desperate work to shore up the wreckages of their wooden huts and tents.
Namyra was first to lower herself from her Talbuk, which dutifuly stood where she left it as the Draenei walked over to the nearest Grokon. With a sad smile, she used her superior strength to help the small biped lift a wooden beam blocking the entrance into his hut. The Grokon looked up and in his native tongue uttered thanks. A hint of hope shone in his eyes as he shuffled into what was left of the structure.
With the Draenei's help, refuges were erected and rations handed out before nightfall. All would sleep safely tonight, their bellies full and a sense of comradery in the air as the Draenei healed the Grokon's ails and said prayers for their wellbeing. And as the second buffet of the storm struck that night, the Draenei's structures stood strong against the winds. Two races joined in a solemn event of laughter and mourning.
{When Storms Rage}
The second storm never ended. That foggy morning, as rain buffeted the ground which had quickly saturated, the Draenei and Grokon emerged from their structures to a frightful sight. On the banks of the river was a body, a Grek. It was armed and armoured, and its pale flesh had not been parted with wounds or its bones cracked. The death seemed entirely natural, as if the river had washed him into the village from the storm. Namyra approached the body, examining it closely. Something felt wrong, unnatural. Not entirely was it the situation, but the body itself felt... Poisoned, for lack of a better word.
She was startled by the sound of horns in the distance - not Draenei horns and from the puzzled look on the faces of the Grokon nor were they horns belonging to them. The villagers came out of their makeshift structures, the rain buffeting their furred forms and matting it completely. The Draenei gathered in the center of the village, as the horns sounded again. The fog masked the direction of the blower, but it was definately closer than the first.
Then something flew by - narrowly skimming the Draenei and landing in the chest of a Grokon. The creature looked down at the wooden shaft erupting from his breast, he idly fingered the feathered tip in disbelief and horror, before stumbling backwards to the floor. Panic struck the Grokon, many ran into their ruined abodes, others grabbed for weaponry that they had to hand - bows, hatchets - and yet others just curled up and cowered in fear. Their too-long arms wrapping around their short stocky legs in a defensive stance.
The Draenei were far more organised in their response, their weapons drawn and shields out as the first of the mysterious attackers came from the mist outside the village. It was a Grek, armed with steel and armoured in chainmail. Its eyes, usually white with brown pupils, shone a crazed red. It was clumsy in its attack, charging and screaming at the Draenei rank - and falling quickly to the blade of an experienced male Justicar. The unhealthy black blood spilled across the soaked ground, mixing with the puddles of water in the mud.
Then they came. It was as if a tide was upon the Draenei, a sea of grey bodies, teeth bared like those of vicious predators. Namyra had no time to think upon the meaning of this conflict before she found her sword buried deep into the chest of an attacker.
A slam of her shield dropped the body, but before she could look up from the corpse her shield arm was battered down by a mace. Wincing in pain was all the shock she could manage, but her training soon shone through as she delivered the pummel of her sword into the Grek's face. A gruesome crunch followed and the being stepped backwards, only to fall as her crystalline blade cut a bloody swathe through its chest.
The Grek continued to flood into the small encampment, the Draenei were outnumbered - their compliment of six was up against forces three, four, five times their own. Maybe more, for the mist still shrouded the Grokon camp - the early morning sunlight hardly penetrating the barrier.
Black blood splattered over her blue face, it smelt rancid, rotten, to her senses. A rough scream of outrage and pain came to her ear, she knew the noise without needing to look. One of the Justicars had been overwhelmed, for only a Draenei could make such a touching noise on this battlefield. All was wrong with this attack, and as the Draenei and a small number of the Grokon fought desperately against the war party, Namyra had her first true taste of mortal fear. They would die here.
But they would not die without a fight. Namyra flexed her fingers, the sound of battle masked the quiet words of her appeal to the Naaru - but it was returned twofold by the roars of her companions. "For the Naaru!" They shouted as one, voices raised over the sound of their shields slamming against steel weapons and their hammers, swords and axes digging into the flesh of this once neutral race.
"For the Light!" Namyra cried in her own response, and as the words left her lips a great light shone forth from the glyphs on her shield. A golden light, warm like the summer sun and rich like honey, bathed the field before them. The Grek were blinded, dazed, their thin lips bared back in a grimace of pain. Their bulbous eyes closed tightly, they were left open to the pressed attack of the Draenei and their allies - who seemed completely unfazed by the magic. Scores died, cut down by Draenei hands.
Even as the light dimmed and the Grek begun to defend themselves. They found themselves unable to look upon the Justicars for long - for they were bathed in the same golden glow, their normally calm features twisted in righteous fury. The aura was their miracle, their saving grace. The heavy mists parted before their approach - and as the last of the Grek fell to the floor, his head detached from its body, the visual barrier seemed to dissipate.
Namyra stood over the headless corpse, rain and blood matted her long hair to her delicate face. She was panting, now. The energy lent to her by the Light fled her body like a sinking ship. The tip of her sword lowered shakily to the floor, sinking ever so slightly into the mud beneath.
Sounds pulled her back to reality, the cries of the Grokon. She turned to view the village, that the night before she had been so sure would recover. An attack like this had been unheard of, they were not prepared. The Grokon here had lived in peace for generations, their only weapons the tools of the hunt.
"Pack your things, prepare the dead." She called out in her native tongue, her voice amplified by the will of the Light. "In half an hour we are taking you to the Justicar's camp." None of the Grokon moved, although the mournful cries had abated for now, for none of them understood the words of the Draenei.
All except one, who shuffled out of the crowd and raised his own voice to his people. The first Grokon she had aided the day before. "I will tell them." He called out to the Draenei in a crude accent.
The other Justicars looked to Namyra with a mix of awe and pride. It had not been them who had saved their lives this day, for the feat of the Light had been hers to call upon not theirs. The eldest, their leader, bowed his head as a sign of respect to the young Draenei. He silently agreed to her instructions, and moved to gather carts for the deceased.
The storm raged high up into the mountains, the rapid streaks of lightning coming down would have seemed unnatural to Namyra. But everything had been strange today.
The second storm never ended. That foggy morning, as rain buffeted the ground which had quickly saturated, the Draenei and Grokon emerged from their structures to a frightful sight. On the banks of the river was a body, a Grek. It was armed and armoured, and its pale flesh had not been parted with wounds or its bones cracked. The death seemed entirely natural, as if the river had washed him into the village from the storm. Namyra approached the body, examining it closely. Something felt wrong, unnatural. Not entirely was it the situation, but the body itself felt... Poisoned, for lack of a better word.
She was startled by the sound of horns in the distance - not Draenei horns and from the puzzled look on the faces of the Grokon nor were they horns belonging to them. The villagers came out of their makeshift structures, the rain buffeting their furred forms and matting it completely. The Draenei gathered in the center of the village, as the horns sounded again. The fog masked the direction of the blower, but it was definately closer than the first.
Then something flew by - narrowly skimming the Draenei and landing in the chest of a Grokon. The creature looked down at the wooden shaft erupting from his breast, he idly fingered the feathered tip in disbelief and horror, before stumbling backwards to the floor. Panic struck the Grokon, many ran into their ruined abodes, others grabbed for weaponry that they had to hand - bows, hatchets - and yet others just curled up and cowered in fear. Their too-long arms wrapping around their short stocky legs in a defensive stance.
The Draenei were far more organised in their response, their weapons drawn and shields out as the first of the mysterious attackers came from the mist outside the village. It was a Grek, armed with steel and armoured in chainmail. Its eyes, usually white with brown pupils, shone a crazed red. It was clumsy in its attack, charging and screaming at the Draenei rank - and falling quickly to the blade of an experienced male Justicar. The unhealthy black blood spilled across the soaked ground, mixing with the puddles of water in the mud.
Then they came. It was as if a tide was upon the Draenei, a sea of grey bodies, teeth bared like those of vicious predators. Namyra had no time to think upon the meaning of this conflict before she found her sword buried deep into the chest of an attacker.
A slam of her shield dropped the body, but before she could look up from the corpse her shield arm was battered down by a mace. Wincing in pain was all the shock she could manage, but her training soon shone through as she delivered the pummel of her sword into the Grek's face. A gruesome crunch followed and the being stepped backwards, only to fall as her crystalline blade cut a bloody swathe through its chest.
The Grek continued to flood into the small encampment, the Draenei were outnumbered - their compliment of six was up against forces three, four, five times their own. Maybe more, for the mist still shrouded the Grokon camp - the early morning sunlight hardly penetrating the barrier.
Black blood splattered over her blue face, it smelt rancid, rotten, to her senses. A rough scream of outrage and pain came to her ear, she knew the noise without needing to look. One of the Justicars had been overwhelmed, for only a Draenei could make such a touching noise on this battlefield. All was wrong with this attack, and as the Draenei and a small number of the Grokon fought desperately against the war party, Namyra had her first true taste of mortal fear. They would die here.
But they would not die without a fight. Namyra flexed her fingers, the sound of battle masked the quiet words of her appeal to the Naaru - but it was returned twofold by the roars of her companions. "For the Naaru!" They shouted as one, voices raised over the sound of their shields slamming against steel weapons and their hammers, swords and axes digging into the flesh of this once neutral race.
"For the Light!" Namyra cried in her own response, and as the words left her lips a great light shone forth from the glyphs on her shield. A golden light, warm like the summer sun and rich like honey, bathed the field before them. The Grek were blinded, dazed, their thin lips bared back in a grimace of pain. Their bulbous eyes closed tightly, they were left open to the pressed attack of the Draenei and their allies - who seemed completely unfazed by the magic. Scores died, cut down by Draenei hands.
Even as the light dimmed and the Grek begun to defend themselves. They found themselves unable to look upon the Justicars for long - for they were bathed in the same golden glow, their normally calm features twisted in righteous fury. The aura was their miracle, their saving grace. The heavy mists parted before their approach - and as the last of the Grek fell to the floor, his head detached from its body, the visual barrier seemed to dissipate.
Namyra stood over the headless corpse, rain and blood matted her long hair to her delicate face. She was panting, now. The energy lent to her by the Light fled her body like a sinking ship. The tip of her sword lowered shakily to the floor, sinking ever so slightly into the mud beneath.
Sounds pulled her back to reality, the cries of the Grokon. She turned to view the village, that the night before she had been so sure would recover. An attack like this had been unheard of, they were not prepared. The Grokon here had lived in peace for generations, their only weapons the tools of the hunt.
"Pack your things, prepare the dead." She called out in her native tongue, her voice amplified by the will of the Light. "In half an hour we are taking you to the Justicar's camp." None of the Grokon moved, although the mournful cries had abated for now, for none of them understood the words of the Draenei.
All except one, who shuffled out of the crowd and raised his own voice to his people. The first Grokon she had aided the day before. "I will tell them." He called out to the Draenei in a crude accent.
The other Justicars looked to Namyra with a mix of awe and pride. It had not been them who had saved their lives this day, for the feat of the Light had been hers to call upon not theirs. The eldest, their leader, bowed his head as a sign of respect to the young Draenei. He silently agreed to her instructions, and moved to gather carts for the deceased.
The storm raged high up into the mountains, the rapid streaks of lightning coming down would have seemed unnatural to Namyra. But everything had been strange today.
{The Light Will Fade}
The Draenei convoy was slow moving. The injured Grokon limped alongside the Talbuk drawn carts, which bared the bodies of Grokon and the singular felled Draenei Justicar. The body would be interred into the great catacombs of the city-cathedral Chindai. The Grokon would burn their dead.
Namyra was thankful for the stones paving this path up to the Justicar's camp for the ground was naught but mud up here now, the carts would be stuck by now and the group would be at the mercy of the elements and any more Grek assaults.
Oh the pale skinned warriors no sign had been seen, but as the convoy rounded over a crest and the hidden Justicar's Camp came into view there they were. Countless pale skinned bodies surrounded the camp's walls. Draenei had always been defensively minded, so it was no surprise that the Grek hadn't managed to infiltrate the camp. Blue skinned warriors milled about outside the walls, several carrying large wooden spikes while other stood guard with crossbows and swords.
A new life hit the group, even the Talbuk could sense their home, and they moved at a remarkable speed to reach the safety of the camp. The great beige metal doors were open and the carts trundled into the open courtyard. Pyres burned, even in the downpour. Grek bodies were piled high amongst the burning logs. Namyra looked to the Draenei, but none looked her way for they were too busy in their assigned jobs. The highest ranking Justicar of the group ran ahead to the Exarch's Quarters, while the other Draenei slumped down to the wet floor. The Grokon unloaded their bodies and their goods, taking the bodies to the fires and cradling what they had managed to save from the desolation of their village.
Days passed like this, the Draenei stood around their communicators trying to contact outside aid. The Naaru gifted technology were truly a marvel, one would stand upon a circle and using a dais would attempt to contact another such circle. In the event of contact a lifelike representation of the Draenei on the other side would be outlined in purple lines of light. No one else replied.
Talbuk mounted messengers were sent out to the nearest Draenei city, Oshu'tar. It took thrice longer than expected for a reply to get through. Oshu'tar had been besieged by the Grek, but the Justicars had broken their lines. The Fist of Argus, the Council of Exarches, had convened with the Prophet Velen, hand of the Naaru. Any and all displaced civilians were to be sent to larger cities, like Oshu'tar, where they would be kept safe as refugees. Forts, camps and monastries would await further orders while the situation was looked into.
It took a week for the High Exarch of Namyra's camp to gather the citizens together and comply with his orders. Talbuk would pull carriages full of the citizens, Grokon and Draenei alike, while Justicars mounted and on foot would escort the convoy to Oshu'gun. The rest of the Justicar's would hold the camp until further orders arrived. It was only the day after the carriages set out that the Justicar's found themselves doing just that.
The Grek came in droves, their army masked by a forboding mist yet seemingly too large to just take this small camp - as if it had been roaming around in search of a city to claim. The storm had raged on for two weeks now, as if the world itself was drowning in its sorrow. The forests outside the Justicar's Camp had become so waterlogged as to represent a flood plain. This served the Draenei well, as the Grek forces that rushed to their walls floundered in the water while Draenei rained bolt and arrows upon their forces. It was only by sheer numbers that they managed to reach the curving walls. The Draenei metallic-stone walls bulged in the middle, it was hard for the Grek to get their grapples and ladders up to the top and when they did, they fell quickly to the Justicars manning the battlements.
Namyra was one of these Justicars, standing atop the walls with a greatsword to hand. The silvered metal was simply massive, with a deep purple crystal inlaid in the center and splitting the blade into two halves, yet she wielded it masterfully. Her armour was slick with the ebony black Grek blood, it did not run as it should instead it congealed almost as soon as it had left the body. Lightning struck down across the battlefield, it was tinged green and was clearly magical in nature yet it did not distinguish where it landed - striking the ranks of the Grek and the Draenei atop their walls alike.
Namyra brought her sword across in a great cleave, slicing the stomach out of a Grek and almost halfing one to its right when a great roar filled it her ears. All around her she saw Grek and Justicars stop mid-strike to see where the noise had originated. The Grek recovered first, striking with renewed vigour at the Draenei. Luckily, the Grek were outnumbered atop the walls. The great banging of drums came from with the Grek ranks - a dull 'thud, thud, thud'. Namyra peered into the murky depths of the fog-shrouded army. A great shadow outlined the direction of the noise, one that lurched slowly towards the Draenei walls. The Grek had managed to bring forth a siege weapon, it seemed. Yet as the object loomed closer, piercing through the fog, it was clear that this was no mere siege weapon. It was a siege beast.
Two great legs and two thick arms, as black as the blood that spilled from the Grek, supported the beast. It was easilly the size of the tallest Draenei tower, it would take 14 or more Draenei to match it in height. The body was thick and sloping down towards the rear. When Namyra first saw a Gorilla in the jungles north of Telar on Gabriola, it brought back terrifying memories of this moment. For that is what the beast resembled, only its muzzle was filled with sharp teeth - tusks curled around from the side of its mouth towards the front and great sloping horns not unlike her own sprouted from its head. But the worst part? This creature was completely unnatural, its eyes burnt with green fire - which sprouted along its back and around its neck in a mock of a mane. The beast was a Demon.
It tore the camp apart. The walls were nothing to this beast, which clambered over the Draenei defences and crushed those within the walls. Its hind legs kicked the wall through, allowing the Grek to swarm through. The Draenei fell in droves, Namyra too was struck from the walls by the great beast. As she lay, mind swimming, amidst the rubble of the fallen wall she had thought the Light had abandoned them to the Demons. Indeed it had, for where were the Naaru to face this great beast? The Draenei could do nothing, nothing but lie there and die.
She awoke some undetermined time later, her face was caked in her own blue blood. As she rose her head throbbed, calling her back down to the floors sweet embrace. Yet she got to her hands and knees, slipping twice in the mud before getting purchase with her hooves. Her vision was blurred and doubled, her body battered and weak. The ruins of the Justicar camp were all around her, every step took her over the body of another dead Draenei, Grek or the occasional Grokon. To her dismay the body of the great beast that assaulted their camp could not be found. No living Grek could be found either, so her hope of finding someone else alive drove her onwards. Hours of searching through the compounds broken halls finally paid off, she found a group of Draenei deep within the inner sanctum. Many were injured and it was clear others had died of these injuries once they had reached this safe place. For they were laid out in lines, dozens of them. Their faces were bloody, horns broken, bodies mangled. One of the Draenei caught her eye, it was her old mentor - as ancient as the Exile - lay stiff with the others.
It broke Namyra, tears streamed down her face and cleaned it of her blood. The months events dawned upon her for the Light had truly abandoned its champions, the Draenei had finally been found by Evil and it was going to destroy their entire way of life.
The Draenei convoy was slow moving. The injured Grokon limped alongside the Talbuk drawn carts, which bared the bodies of Grokon and the singular felled Draenei Justicar. The body would be interred into the great catacombs of the city-cathedral Chindai. The Grokon would burn their dead.
Namyra was thankful for the stones paving this path up to the Justicar's camp for the ground was naught but mud up here now, the carts would be stuck by now and the group would be at the mercy of the elements and any more Grek assaults.
Oh the pale skinned warriors no sign had been seen, but as the convoy rounded over a crest and the hidden Justicar's Camp came into view there they were. Countless pale skinned bodies surrounded the camp's walls. Draenei had always been defensively minded, so it was no surprise that the Grek hadn't managed to infiltrate the camp. Blue skinned warriors milled about outside the walls, several carrying large wooden spikes while other stood guard with crossbows and swords.
A new life hit the group, even the Talbuk could sense their home, and they moved at a remarkable speed to reach the safety of the camp. The great beige metal doors were open and the carts trundled into the open courtyard. Pyres burned, even in the downpour. Grek bodies were piled high amongst the burning logs. Namyra looked to the Draenei, but none looked her way for they were too busy in their assigned jobs. The highest ranking Justicar of the group ran ahead to the Exarch's Quarters, while the other Draenei slumped down to the wet floor. The Grokon unloaded their bodies and their goods, taking the bodies to the fires and cradling what they had managed to save from the desolation of their village.
Days passed like this, the Draenei stood around their communicators trying to contact outside aid. The Naaru gifted technology were truly a marvel, one would stand upon a circle and using a dais would attempt to contact another such circle. In the event of contact a lifelike representation of the Draenei on the other side would be outlined in purple lines of light. No one else replied.
Talbuk mounted messengers were sent out to the nearest Draenei city, Oshu'tar. It took thrice longer than expected for a reply to get through. Oshu'tar had been besieged by the Grek, but the Justicars had broken their lines. The Fist of Argus, the Council of Exarches, had convened with the Prophet Velen, hand of the Naaru. Any and all displaced civilians were to be sent to larger cities, like Oshu'tar, where they would be kept safe as refugees. Forts, camps and monastries would await further orders while the situation was looked into.
It took a week for the High Exarch of Namyra's camp to gather the citizens together and comply with his orders. Talbuk would pull carriages full of the citizens, Grokon and Draenei alike, while Justicars mounted and on foot would escort the convoy to Oshu'gun. The rest of the Justicar's would hold the camp until further orders arrived. It was only the day after the carriages set out that the Justicar's found themselves doing just that.
The Grek came in droves, their army masked by a forboding mist yet seemingly too large to just take this small camp - as if it had been roaming around in search of a city to claim. The storm had raged on for two weeks now, as if the world itself was drowning in its sorrow. The forests outside the Justicar's Camp had become so waterlogged as to represent a flood plain. This served the Draenei well, as the Grek forces that rushed to their walls floundered in the water while Draenei rained bolt and arrows upon their forces. It was only by sheer numbers that they managed to reach the curving walls. The Draenei metallic-stone walls bulged in the middle, it was hard for the Grek to get their grapples and ladders up to the top and when they did, they fell quickly to the Justicars manning the battlements.
Namyra was one of these Justicars, standing atop the walls with a greatsword to hand. The silvered metal was simply massive, with a deep purple crystal inlaid in the center and splitting the blade into two halves, yet she wielded it masterfully. Her armour was slick with the ebony black Grek blood, it did not run as it should instead it congealed almost as soon as it had left the body. Lightning struck down across the battlefield, it was tinged green and was clearly magical in nature yet it did not distinguish where it landed - striking the ranks of the Grek and the Draenei atop their walls alike.
Namyra brought her sword across in a great cleave, slicing the stomach out of a Grek and almost halfing one to its right when a great roar filled it her ears. All around her she saw Grek and Justicars stop mid-strike to see where the noise had originated. The Grek recovered first, striking with renewed vigour at the Draenei. Luckily, the Grek were outnumbered atop the walls. The great banging of drums came from with the Grek ranks - a dull 'thud, thud, thud'. Namyra peered into the murky depths of the fog-shrouded army. A great shadow outlined the direction of the noise, one that lurched slowly towards the Draenei walls. The Grek had managed to bring forth a siege weapon, it seemed. Yet as the object loomed closer, piercing through the fog, it was clear that this was no mere siege weapon. It was a siege beast.
Two great legs and two thick arms, as black as the blood that spilled from the Grek, supported the beast. It was easilly the size of the tallest Draenei tower, it would take 14 or more Draenei to match it in height. The body was thick and sloping down towards the rear. When Namyra first saw a Gorilla in the jungles north of Telar on Gabriola, it brought back terrifying memories of this moment. For that is what the beast resembled, only its muzzle was filled with sharp teeth - tusks curled around from the side of its mouth towards the front and great sloping horns not unlike her own sprouted from its head. But the worst part? This creature was completely unnatural, its eyes burnt with green fire - which sprouted along its back and around its neck in a mock of a mane. The beast was a Demon.
It tore the camp apart. The walls were nothing to this beast, which clambered over the Draenei defences and crushed those within the walls. Its hind legs kicked the wall through, allowing the Grek to swarm through. The Draenei fell in droves, Namyra too was struck from the walls by the great beast. As she lay, mind swimming, amidst the rubble of the fallen wall she had thought the Light had abandoned them to the Demons. Indeed it had, for where were the Naaru to face this great beast? The Draenei could do nothing, nothing but lie there and die.
She awoke some undetermined time later, her face was caked in her own blue blood. As she rose her head throbbed, calling her back down to the floors sweet embrace. Yet she got to her hands and knees, slipping twice in the mud before getting purchase with her hooves. Her vision was blurred and doubled, her body battered and weak. The ruins of the Justicar camp were all around her, every step took her over the body of another dead Draenei, Grek or the occasional Grokon. To her dismay the body of the great beast that assaulted their camp could not be found. No living Grek could be found either, so her hope of finding someone else alive drove her onwards. Hours of searching through the compounds broken halls finally paid off, she found a group of Draenei deep within the inner sanctum. Many were injured and it was clear others had died of these injuries once they had reached this safe place. For they were laid out in lines, dozens of them. Their faces were bloody, horns broken, bodies mangled. One of the Draenei caught her eye, it was her old mentor - as ancient as the Exile - lay stiff with the others.
It broke Namyra, tears streamed down her face and cleaned it of her blood. The months events dawned upon her for the Light had truly abandoned its champions, the Draenei had finally been found by Evil and it was going to destroy their entire way of life.
{To Fight Again}
The Justicars in the inner sanctum did not stay for long. They interred what bodies they could within the catacombs, before the spoilage of the local waters forced them out. Of her Mentor, Namyra had taken a momento - a golden necklace on a band in the shape of a Naaru. The 'crystals' of the Naaru's form were seemingly not connected by any physical means, floating in place around the main body of the pendant as if they were tied to it. The weary Justicars fled to the only place they knew, Oshu'tar. Their journey was slow, for many were injured. They had no Talbuk to draw them, so instead they made do with each others arms. They were lucky, for as they wandered through the woods-turned-swamps not a Grek was found, not even a Demon. Nor a Grokon, nor a Draenei. The world was eerily quiet, even the birds and the insects did not dare give away their position.
When the weary party arrived at the hidden city of Oshu'tar, it was heartening to see that the strong walls surrounding the city itself still stood. In several places they were dinted, but the wreckage of siege engines outside the city's walls was a testemant to the Justicars and - Namyra realised - the Light. For three of the great beasts that had destroyed her camp lay amongst the carnage. The ground around their corpses was pooled in their blood, the grass with which they lay upon was dead. As Namyra came closer to the great walls of Oshu'tar, it became clear that almost everything outside these walls were dead. The short grass crunched under her hooves, bushes that had once been green were naught but twigs now. Trees were not even fit for firewood.
But the bright walls of Oshu'tar beckoned her forwards. The gates slid open to allow the Justicar's entry. The Draenei here were not bloodied, but clean and strong and proud. Refugees filled the space between the outer wall and the city itself. The city was walled off too, by a shorter less imposing wall. Behind the inner walls were many buildings all stood tall and grand. But the most impressive point was the white mountain at its heart. For the true Oshu'tar was the mountain, made entirely of a material that looks like diamonds. One giant gem, embedded within the ground. It seemed to radiate the Light, for within its halls sat the Naaru - or a collection of them - that the Draenei so revered.
"You have arrived just in time, Justicars." The words, spoken by one of the Vindicators that came to meet their group. His armour was not the silver of the Justicars, for he was of a different sect of the Hand of Argus, instead it was a purple - almost black - and the helmet fully covered his facial features. They had always intimidated Namyra, for they were the next step up from the Justicar order, but after what she had seen within the passed weeks - nothing so trivial intimidated her now.
"The Fist has convened, within two weeks we will be leaving this planet. The Naaru are already sending the messages, but if you had not shown you would have been left behind on this Light-forsaken world." she started at his words, this was the only world she had known. Even if it now fell under the sway of evil. But she bit back her tongue, in truth she would be glad to leave. To start again somewhere else, as the Draenei always had.
Namyra blended seamlesly into the crowds of refugees and displaced Justicars. She was ordered into enforced rest leave by the cities defenders, their army already bulged under the weight of refugee soldiers and volunteers. Alone, without military orders guiding her path, Namyra had time to think. She begun by searching the refugee camps for her family, of her mother the Priests had no knowledge, of her father she found no trace. But every time she asked, those who cared reminded her that the two other Naaru Vessels could have taken in her parents. It didn't much help to stop her from worrying, but the thought that they could still be alive and safe was enough.
The Justicars in the inner sanctum did not stay for long. They interred what bodies they could within the catacombs, before the spoilage of the local waters forced them out. Of her Mentor, Namyra had taken a momento - a golden necklace on a band in the shape of a Naaru. The 'crystals' of the Naaru's form were seemingly not connected by any physical means, floating in place around the main body of the pendant as if they were tied to it. The weary Justicars fled to the only place they knew, Oshu'tar. Their journey was slow, for many were injured. They had no Talbuk to draw them, so instead they made do with each others arms. They were lucky, for as they wandered through the woods-turned-swamps not a Grek was found, not even a Demon. Nor a Grokon, nor a Draenei. The world was eerily quiet, even the birds and the insects did not dare give away their position.
When the weary party arrived at the hidden city of Oshu'tar, it was heartening to see that the strong walls surrounding the city itself still stood. In several places they were dinted, but the wreckage of siege engines outside the city's walls was a testemant to the Justicars and - Namyra realised - the Light. For three of the great beasts that had destroyed her camp lay amongst the carnage. The ground around their corpses was pooled in their blood, the grass with which they lay upon was dead. As Namyra came closer to the great walls of Oshu'tar, it became clear that almost everything outside these walls were dead. The short grass crunched under her hooves, bushes that had once been green were naught but twigs now. Trees were not even fit for firewood.
But the bright walls of Oshu'tar beckoned her forwards. The gates slid open to allow the Justicar's entry. The Draenei here were not bloodied, but clean and strong and proud. Refugees filled the space between the outer wall and the city itself. The city was walled off too, by a shorter less imposing wall. Behind the inner walls were many buildings all stood tall and grand. But the most impressive point was the white mountain at its heart. For the true Oshu'tar was the mountain, made entirely of a material that looks like diamonds. One giant gem, embedded within the ground. It seemed to radiate the Light, for within its halls sat the Naaru - or a collection of them - that the Draenei so revered.
"You have arrived just in time, Justicars." The words, spoken by one of the Vindicators that came to meet their group. His armour was not the silver of the Justicars, for he was of a different sect of the Hand of Argus, instead it was a purple - almost black - and the helmet fully covered his facial features. They had always intimidated Namyra, for they were the next step up from the Justicar order, but after what she had seen within the passed weeks - nothing so trivial intimidated her now.
"The Fist has convened, within two weeks we will be leaving this planet. The Naaru are already sending the messages, but if you had not shown you would have been left behind on this Light-forsaken world." she started at his words, this was the only world she had known. Even if it now fell under the sway of evil. But she bit back her tongue, in truth she would be glad to leave. To start again somewhere else, as the Draenei always had.
Namyra blended seamlesly into the crowds of refugees and displaced Justicars. She was ordered into enforced rest leave by the cities defenders, their army already bulged under the weight of refugee soldiers and volunteers. Alone, without military orders guiding her path, Namyra had time to think. She begun by searching the refugee camps for her family, of her mother the Priests had no knowledge, of her father she found no trace. But every time she asked, those who cared reminded her that the two other Naaru Vessels could have taken in her parents. It didn't much help to stop her from worrying, but the thought that they could still be alive and safe was enough.
{The Naaru Provide}
Oshu'tar hummed with energy. It crackled from the mountains surface, destroying the buildings of the Draenei around it. The roar of the vessel tearing itself from the ground drowned those of the angered Grek and their Demonic allies. For more than just the great beasts had attacked the walls wihin the last two weeks. Gollums had rained from the sky, made of stone, both molten and solid, and bound together by green fire. Tentacled Horrors with many eyes had assaulted the defenders - alongside other unspeakably evil beings.
Each had been repelled and finally this day came. The defenders had abandoned the walls, each and every Draenei refugee, and a few families of Grokon, now slumbered within the great structure. The energy released by the vessel scorched the ground around it. It struck at the armies of Grek and Demon - obliterating them where they stood. With a deafening crack, the vessel split from the earth. Then in a blinding flash of Light - it was gone. The Demons had failed.
The Draenei settled on many planets after this, the cycle was the same. Sometimes it was Demons, catching up to the Draenei like on Ossigoth. Other times the worlds were too inhospitable, or the inhabitants too dangerous. The Grokon refugees settled upon a number of these planets until they too were left behind by the Draenei. Namyra begun to understand why the Vindicator seemed so willing to leave the planet to die - for that was the way of the Exiled Ones. Self preservation led them on an endless retreat from the forces of Evil. The Prophet claimed it was the Naaru's will - that the Draenei remain pure and free, while the Naaru prepare for the time when their Army of Light would finally destroy Evil's greatest champions.
The Naaru provided them the means for this escape, and for fifteen thousand years Namyra and the Draenei moved from planet to planet. The memories of the Draenei are impressive, but not infallible. The names of many of these places, Namyra can no longer forget. Of course many others she does, for the events that occured upon those foreign soils still weigh upon her today - her rise into the Vindicator order, and then to that of an Exarch, can all be attributed to life-or-death events upon those planets. Many of which were now probably lifeless rocks, void of even the life of water.
This unnamed world and the continent of Gabriola that they found themselves settled upon now was to be the same. The Draenei would watch, prepare for their eventual escape - many within their numbers, including the Prophet himself, wished to teach the local races to respect the Light and in doing so, give them hope of surviving the Evils that pervaded existence. Namyra was not entirely of that thought process, but the Prophets will was her own. She does her job and she does it admirably.
The most recent of which is to determine if the rumours of undead within the lands the locals name 'The Hordelands', namely the province of Kessig, were the sign of greater evils having discovered the Draenei's sanctuary. The information she seeks is important to the survival of the Draenei race, for if she stumbles upon the truth that this world is doomed - the Draenei will flee and avoid their needless massacre one more time.
Oshu'tar hummed with energy. It crackled from the mountains surface, destroying the buildings of the Draenei around it. The roar of the vessel tearing itself from the ground drowned those of the angered Grek and their Demonic allies. For more than just the great beasts had attacked the walls wihin the last two weeks. Gollums had rained from the sky, made of stone, both molten and solid, and bound together by green fire. Tentacled Horrors with many eyes had assaulted the defenders - alongside other unspeakably evil beings.
Each had been repelled and finally this day came. The defenders had abandoned the walls, each and every Draenei refugee, and a few families of Grokon, now slumbered within the great structure. The energy released by the vessel scorched the ground around it. It struck at the armies of Grek and Demon - obliterating them where they stood. With a deafening crack, the vessel split from the earth. Then in a blinding flash of Light - it was gone. The Demons had failed.
The Draenei settled on many planets after this, the cycle was the same. Sometimes it was Demons, catching up to the Draenei like on Ossigoth. Other times the worlds were too inhospitable, or the inhabitants too dangerous. The Grokon refugees settled upon a number of these planets until they too were left behind by the Draenei. Namyra begun to understand why the Vindicator seemed so willing to leave the planet to die - for that was the way of the Exiled Ones. Self preservation led them on an endless retreat from the forces of Evil. The Prophet claimed it was the Naaru's will - that the Draenei remain pure and free, while the Naaru prepare for the time when their Army of Light would finally destroy Evil's greatest champions.
The Naaru provided them the means for this escape, and for fifteen thousand years Namyra and the Draenei moved from planet to planet. The memories of the Draenei are impressive, but not infallible. The names of many of these places, Namyra can no longer forget. Of course many others she does, for the events that occured upon those foreign soils still weigh upon her today - her rise into the Vindicator order, and then to that of an Exarch, can all be attributed to life-or-death events upon those planets. Many of which were now probably lifeless rocks, void of even the life of water.
This unnamed world and the continent of Gabriola that they found themselves settled upon now was to be the same. The Draenei would watch, prepare for their eventual escape - many within their numbers, including the Prophet himself, wished to teach the local races to respect the Light and in doing so, give them hope of surviving the Evils that pervaded existence. Namyra was not entirely of that thought process, but the Prophets will was her own. She does her job and she does it admirably.
The most recent of which is to determine if the rumours of undead within the lands the locals name 'The Hordelands', namely the province of Kessig, were the sign of greater evils having discovered the Draenei's sanctuary. The information she seeks is important to the survival of the Draenei race, for if she stumbles upon the truth that this world is doomed - the Draenei will flee and avoid their needless massacre one more time.