A matter of honor

[moonshadows]

The Kor'kron Elite finds me outside, wiping Rex clean after a roll in the dusty sand. He's polite but firm: the Warchief has summoned me. In truth, he didn't need to be firm. After my interview with him regarding Arikara, he asked me to stay in Orgrimmar for a bit, and arranged for me to train with some of his finest warriors, veterans of the wars that brought our people to this world and this land. I was only too happy to obey. I'm still only half-grown, after all, and while I can hold my own in a jungle, a battlefield is a much different place. So I stayed, and trained, hoping that the nebulous promise of serving my Warchief somehow would be fulfilled. He's summoned me before now, usually to join him for meals and tell him stories of my childhood, or listen to his - if you can call that a childhood. It didn't take long for me to get over my surprise that he's just a few years older than I am, and between our comparative youth and strange upbringings, I think he's come to see me as a friend. I hope so; anything to spend more time around him, do anything for him. He's my Warchief, and I am proud and honored to serve any way I can.

The guard leads me to the throne room, where Thrall sits, clearly frustrated. A red-haired Darkspear stands uneasily by him - an elder, to judge by his trappings, although a young one. I salute my Warchief and bow to the Darkspear, and Thrall smiles - just a little. I stand straighter, heart pounding. "You called for me, Warchief?"

"I did. Vol'jin, this is Ryxl. She is an orphan, raised in the jungles of Stranglethorn. Ryxl, this is Vol'jin, chieftain of the Darkspear tribe. Perhaps you can explain to me why he will not allow the Horde to aid the Darkspear tribe's attempt to regain the Echo Isles."

Vol'jin eyes me cautiously. "I be hearin' tales of a child of da tribes who not be of da tribes," he says casually.

"You be hearin' right, mon," I answer him, my own orcish lilting as much as his did.

"You know of the loa, then?" he asks in trollish. From his expression, he doesn't expect me to understand him.

I grin. "Of course I do."

He's surprised, but he hides it well and grimaces. "Ours are unhappy with us for abandoning them when we had to flee the Echo Isles."

Oh, well. That makes sense. I try to make my face a mask, but from Vol'jin's sigh, he saw my disdain. No wonder he refuses the Horde's help; winning this fight is not a matter of military might, but of the Darkspear proving to their loa that they are worthy of being favored once again. I turn to my Warchief. "It's a matter of honor."

The frustration leaves his face. "Oh. I understand. If there is any assistance the Horde can provide, Vol'jin, I expect you to ask it."

"You got it, Warchief." The troll salutes and begins ambling away, but then turns to look at me. "Ryxl, walk with me a minute. If you be done with her for da moment, of course," he says to Thrall, who nods his agreement.

I fall in with the Darkspear leader as he leaves the throne room, and we walk in silence until there are no Kor'kron around to overhear.

"I can sense the blessing of one of the loa on you," he says in trollish, "but I can't make out which one it is." The statement is laid between us like a filleted question. Some trolls share openly which loa they favor - or which loa favors them - but some keep it hidden and asking can be a breach of propriety.

"Probably because he doesn't take worshipers from the tribes," I say offhandedly. I'm not going to come out and claim that the Raptor God favors me - that would be asking for his favor to be revoked - but it's enough to imply that Vol'jin can't identify the loa because he's never seen his blessing before. There are a few gods that rarely take worshipers, but only one who outright refuses. I've given the Darkspear the answer to his unspoken question - if he's clever enough to crack my statement open and suck out its marrow.

From the expression on his face, Vol fully earned that -jin despite his age. "Do the Zandali know?" he demands, looking slightly panicked around the eyes.

I shrug. "They watched me grow up."

"I gonna have a talk with da elders of da Zandalar tribe," he says, lapsing back into lilting orcish. "Spirits be with you, mon."

"Spirits be wit' you, Vol'jin," I reply politely, and we part ways.