A memory tugged at her as she gazed down at the large gray cat sitting atop the ramparts overlooking the crater that once was the park in Stormwind. She knew him. Only briefly had they met but she knew him. With a gentle touch she directed her netherdrake partner to set her on the rampart near him. The wind ruffled his thick fur as she did but he did not turn toward the disturbance. When the drake flew off to find a comfortable perch of her own, Nauloera sat quietly on the winter chilled stone. Only then did he turn to look at her.

There was recognition in his eyes. She saw him consider for a moment, then in that transformation that always made her eyes swim, she watched him shift from cat to bird. With a rustle of wings he launched from the cornice where he sat to join her on the one where her drake had left her. His form flowed back to that of a cat and he settled on the stone next to her.

She laid her hand on his shoulder remembering well the feel of his fur. When last they met, so many months ago in Dalaran she spent hours simply sitting and taking comfort in the feel of his fur beneath her hand. No words were spoken between them then. He found her trapped in her sorrow and offered her silent comfort.

Now she followed his gaze to the devastation below. Though she did not know why, she did know that druids more than anyone else were always drawn to the moonwells, those places of gentle, pure power created by the Kaldorei goddess, Elune. A smoking crater now stood where the moonwell in Stormwind had been. She could feel him trapped in sorrow.

Slowly she stroked her hand along the fur of his shoulders, offering the same silent comfort he once gave her. After a time he relaxed and leaned against her. The warmth of his furred body fought off the chill of the stone and the evening wind.

No words were spoken. Long into the evening they sat in silence taking comfort from each other’s presence. She could not heal this wound, as he could not heal hers so long ago, but in silence she could ease some of his ache as he had eased hers.

The damage is done. Their world is broken. They weep and I comfort them as I would my own. I hear the pain and loss, I feel it in their souls and I weep for them as well. The wounds to this world go deep. The damage has changed much of their world and it will never be the same. It cannot be undone.

It shames me to admit that in a dark, wicked corner of my heart I cannot feel for their pain as much as I should. Our world went through this and worse. Draenor is nothing but crumbles drifting in the nether. Though broken, theirs is still complete. They did not understand the loss we had endured. The horror and deaths. They did not want to understand these things.

Now they do.

And a dark, wicked corner of my soul that I am ashamed to have and will never admit to others…. Is glad they now understand our pain.

Word spread quickly through the city that the orcs were coming. A force greater than any we had faced. They were changed as well. As if they had become part of the fel magicks they turned on us. The scouts reported that they were like man’ari. Something so evil as to be nothing like they once were.
 
We did not have to be told we had no chance against them. The decision that Velen made we all accepted with resignation. We could not all flee. They would hunt us and wipe out our entire race. Some of us would have to remain. Not to fight, though. To give the appearance that the city was fully occupied. That those left were all that remained of our people.
 
One could see the decision broke Velen’s heart. Each person, each family, that he chose to remain behind left yet another line of pain etched forever upon his face. They accepted it, those chosen to die. They would give their lives for the chance that some of our people would still live. They would fight, but we all knew it was a fight that could not be won.

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I don’t remember anything for many hours after learning that my home, my sister, everything I loved, was destroyed. I could not think nor feel. The wounded were prepared for travel and sent on their way. Some could not be moved, so many of us chose to remain behind to care for them and to defend the Temple. Prophet Velen left with the wounded. There could be no other choice. If none of the rest of us survived, he must.

I chose to stay. My patients needed me, the Temple needed me, and there was nothing waiting for me in Shattrath. The only family I had on this world was Yaaniesa and she was now gone. I felt empty inside. All I could cling to was the power of the Light. I held to me the image of the Temple as I first saw it. This was our most sacred temple and I would stay and fight the orcs for it. It was all I had.

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We’ve all taken up study of the blade. It seems so strange to me, learning to hold it to take a life rather than for the simpler tasks which I am used to. I am glad you are not here, sister. I do not think I would like seeing the look of war upon your face.

The word is strange. War. Combat for survival against another race. Ever we have tried to live peacefully with the other races we met along our great journey. Even the orcs. I remember that day three summers ago when we heard that fever swept through the village of orcs not far from here. You, Aloor and two others took potions and supplies to aid the weakened tribe. You were so gentle in your assessment of them. You described their gratitude as “gruff”. I do not think even you could find such kindness in your heart now.

I do not know how much you have heard in the Temple. Perhaps a great deal considering that is where Prophet Velen resides. But there is no kindness towards the orcs now. They defile our dead, they sack and slaughter our people mindlessly. They murder children and babes in the womb. They desecrate our holy places. And still we know not why.

All of the children and injured of Anlenor have been sent to the safety of Shattrath. How long they will remain safe there is uncertain. It seems lately there are more injured than healthy. We fear we will have to abandon our home soon.

I do not know if I will be able to write again. Things have changed so much. I miss the gentle summer evenings listening to the song of the river and the night birds. No more do they sing. The sounds of the night now are terrifying or mournful. I care not to listen any longer.

Please stay safe in Karabor.

Your loving sister,
Yaaniesa

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My first sight of the Temple of Karabor took my breath away. As we crested the wall of Shadowmoon Valley and began the journey to where the Temple was nestled against the white stone, I could see it in the distance shining in the sun. Polished marble steps and balustrades blended with crystals harvested nearby and lush garden courtyards. Even at this distance I could tell that, like many of our cities, this great temple lived in harmony with the surrounding land. Rather than forcing itself into the landscape, it melded with it, flowed with it, and it added to the natural beauty of the valley.

As we followed the road it disappeared on occasion behind the surrounding rocks and mountains of earth, yet each time it reappeared like a beacon of beauty to welcome us. Never in our travels through the many worlds my people had seen had I felt so much like I was going home as I did at that moment. My heart sang for Karabor; it yearned for it. Something deep within, buried for many long centuries, awoke and reached for the promise it could feel within that temple.

I hold to myself that vision of the temple. That first, beautiful view of one of our most sacred sites. The shining structure, so large, yet not dominating the stone at its back or the rolling hills of golden grasses stretching out before it. I longed to see the sun rising against its face or setting at its back. I could hear the promise of tranquility carried on the breeze from it. As our elekks entered the main courtyard I felt shrouded in peace and Light. This truly was a temple fit for the lessons taught to us by the Naaru. More than anything I had ever seen, Karabor was a true home of the Light.

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With a delicate touch, Nauloera set the small gem to rest in its fitting and began the careful process of placing the prongs which would hold it securely in place. She had been working on this elegant piece of jewelry for days and hoped to gift it to her sister, Yaaneisa, for the upcoming Moon Celebration. She counted herself very lucky to have found the moon opal in the creek while she was hunting some of the more ordinary crystals that tended to wash up on its banks.

“Nauloera!”

Nauloera jumped at the sudden interruption, sending the ring skittering across her worktable and dislodging the gem from its setting.

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(( Reposting from my guild website so I can finish it here. ))

The history of my people is a long and tragic affair. Much of what was recorded was lost under the boots of the hideous orc war-machine on Draenor. Through countless centuries my people fled the Burning Legion. Fled two who had once been our leaders, yet who sold their souls, and the souls of their people, into slavery in exchange for power. Only Velen and those few who would hear him and follow him escaped the same fate, yet a burning grudge against us continued to feed Kil’Jaeden. He pursued us for longer than many of the races upon this world could comprehend.

It was on Draenor, a beautiful world we dared to hope we could call home, that he found the willing – nay, eager- instruments of our destruction. The orcs.

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