Ride

The ground unrolls below me like a tapestry flung by careless hands to display its pattern. It is red and black, virulant green. It stinks of pain and torment. Of the elements gone awry. I'm no shaman, no filthy Krokull, but even I hurt to see this earth's condition.

Tapestry in Zangar City, patterns shimmering in netherwoven fabrics, gemstones glittering. The smell of the heady green waters lingering through the bustling city. Merchant hands unrolling a swatch to show the fine fabric, smile hovering above. Orcs moving to and fro outside. Nomadic, savage, honourable tribal folk. A caravan from the southeastern coast has arrived, having wended its way across the shining plains of Nagrand, escorted by proud orc warriors, and the green muscled men nod greeting to fellows visiting the Draenei city of spires and crystals, scalplocks bobbing.

My gryphon's wings thunder through the air, cleaving the dry atmosphere in two with each hard stroke, bearing me over devastation. Demons roam unfettered, and horror wends its way pale under the cowering sun.

Lightning stabs through the air above ruined Nagrand, intersecting streamers of Twisting Nether coursing like unholy lights through the sky I grew up beneath. The BOOM of the storm's feet as it walks over the ravaged landscape on a thousand lightning legs curls me tighter against my Kara. Our son sleeps fitfully. He will wake soon and need feeding. Thunder grumbles and complains, and my beloved's arms tighten around me, his heart distant thunder to match what is outside. I feel myself curving against him, needing him, wanting him. I could have him forever and be unsated. I will want him as long as I live, as I want to drink clean fresh water, or feel the sun upon my face.

The saddle creaks as I lean forward, dragging my metal-sheathed fingers through snowy feathers, feeling their rustle and softness beside the leather straps. The alien mount screams, eagle beak wide, as if from triumph at the conquest of the blasted landscape beneath me. Our shadow scuds like a cloud drifting over the barren ravines, and blistered red orc faces look up with glowing eyes as we pass.

An agonised howl from the piglike rubbery orc face, contorted in fury and hate. The sand is splattered with its stinking blood. Its rotting friend lies in a crumpled mess. The alien elf, Amoona, whirls to hook long dark claws into the orc's calf, one huge violet paw slamming into the robed broad back. A warlock. One of those who tore my birthworld apart. My own loathing chokes me, hot in my mouth, as I hiss for the Light to defend my comrade in arms. I have no pity for this dishonourable scum. His death is like a bandage hastily placed upon an oozing wound inside my soul. With a final fel-reeking curse, he falls, blood gushing from his ruined mouth where my edged shield caught him. The stands erupt into yells as the blood summons the frenzied mob, and Amoona and I stand with heaving chests and burning eyes by the corpses of our enemies. She is as driven as I to kill, to see the ruin of these monsters. I don't ask why, and she doesn't press me either. We simply stand side by side and kill until the dark hunger eases.

A gout of magma spurts up as we fly, hot gas and fire enveloping us as we skim the ground, the vent superheated below. My mount has no time to veer away, and without caring, without thinking, I call for the Light to shield us. The fire engulfs us but it does not harm us. The molten rock splatters over us but it does not sear us as we fly. Something like the hot fire I feel when I fight boils briefly in my veins, tingling along my nerves.

Ichor spurts from the writhing lich, spattering across my face where my helm does not protect me. My comrades strike, ferocious as rabid beasts, as I heal and heal and heal, barely aware of them, of the lich called Deathwhisper.. only of muscle and torn flesh to be mended and knitted. Lost inside myself, the frozen air congealing around my parted lips. I don't notice the chill. Tranced, Light warming me. We have a long way to go in this alien citadel, far from my home and my love and my son. I promised him never to die, so I shall not even in this horror-ridden place. I will bathe, and return to love, and life, and our son playing with the toys his father has carved him.

A laugh bubbles up in me. It bursts out like a bubble of blood. Half crying, half lost in transcendant ecstasy. Our son grows. Our love warms me like the Light. My hate darkens me like corrosive acid when I fight. Yet just as I am driven to ride at breakneck speed over what used to be a forest and is now termed 'Hellfire'... I cannot stop myself entering the arenas. I stood in Telaar and fought off raiders beside my love. I ran through the grassy plains, sun hot on my bare shoulders, as my darling ran beside me. I am a Vindicator, and I am a woman. I am at peace and I am at war.

I am a Draenei who lives in the ruins of a planet I love, and I cannot rest so long as my home's destroyers walk any soil unscathed.