I don't know how long I've been here.
The days have blended together. I've lost count.
Perhaps only a few years have past, perhaps centuries.
The Scourge has won. I can no longer feel the Sunwell.
If I stay here I will die.
I need to get out.
“Wake up, Laag.” A guttural voice growled from somewhere about him.
Wearily, Delos stirred, becoming painfully aware of the thick scents that filled the air- of worgen, of old straw, of the felsteeds and the fact that he had not bathed for several days.
He opened his eyes quickly to see a Shadowfang Worgen leering over him, the worgen's features twisted into a snarl of displeasure. Delos lowered his gaze. “Right.” He replied, sitting up too quickly and becoming suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness and an intense pain in his head.
By the time the time he stood up, the worgen that had woken him up long gone.
Not that Delos minded. Without looking around, the elf wandered over to the basin in the corner. He was lucky- no one was using at the moment. He didn't even care that the water had already been turned a muddy brown by the worgen that had used it before him- without the slightest hesitation, he dunked his head in the icy water, scrubbing his hair for a few moments before pulling his head back up.
As he shook out his hair and wiped his face, the dirty mirror hanging over the wash basin caught his gaze and he paused.
Delos usually made an effort to avoid mirrors and with good reason. His gaunt features were a mockery of his once handsome visage and faint claw marks could be seen going across face.
His dark auburn hair was oily and unbrushed, tangled and dirty and in dire need of a cut- a shaggy goatee also clung to his strong chin, barely concealing a scar on it. His eyes glowed a faint blue, far from their once blazing azure- the lack of magic also brought about crippling headaches, but weakness was something not tolerated at the keep. His skin was weathered and well muscled, but he was very skinny- shirtless as he was now, he could clearly make out his rib bones through his skin.
--
Thump, thump thump, thump thump thump, thump, the sound of her feet pounding erratically on the rocky landscape echoed in her ears. Blood oozed from dirt-covered cuts on her feet, but they had long gone numb and she barely felt any pain. Her breath came in and out in sharp half-gasps and her side felt as though it was going to burst open, but she kept on running. Faster, faster, faster.
She was stumbling, tripping, scrambling across the landscape, blood oozing from the large wound on her back, soaking the rag that could barely be considered a tunic. She was dizzy and tired and scared but the sword hanging from her belt was a reassuring presence even as it thumped against her leg painfully with each step.
Her golden eyes were firmly fixed on the spectral form in front of her, leading her on. The Death Knight bound to the runeblade hanging from her side. Zorn. He looked dead and menacing in his black armor but his face was twisted with concern. He had gotten her out. “Hurry, Kinu!” He urged, “Those adventurers will not keep him distracted for long and when he realizes you’re gone he will send others after you.” She tried to reply but her throat was painfully dry, her lips cracked and bloody. So she just nodded and even that almost sent her falling over. She didn’t have her arms for balance- she was holding the Soulbound Keepsake too tightly- the item that would turn the Lich Ras Frostwhisper mortal, and the item that had gotten her imprisoned in Scholomance. With Zorn’s help, she’d managed to get it back, and when the opportunity arose she had escaped.
But she wasn’t safe yet.
“They’ve sent riders after you, Kinu- two acolytes- you need to hurry! You must make it to Uther’s tomb!” But despite Zorn’s words, Kinu halted, her breath coming in exhausted gasps.
The river stood in front of her, deep and swift and going on to plunge over a waterfall. She stared at it numbly, feeling a rivulet of blood drip down her leg from the wound on her back. She clutched the keepsake tightly and gave a tiny shake of her head, her limbs starting to tremble.
“Kinu-” Zorn started.
“I don’t want to.” She croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips started to bleed from just the movement of her talking, and the metallic taste of it filled her mouth.
“Please don’t make me.” Distress filled her voice.
“Kinu, you have to, please, they’re coming…” Zorn stepped out over the river, holding out his hands, looking at her pleadingly. After a moment, she moved, slowly, slipping down the bank without her arms to use for balance. The keepsake dug painfully into her flesh, but she clutched it all the tighter.
Then she took a step into the river.
A choked sob escaped her as the cuts on her feet suddenly burned, and she stood there with tears running down her cheeks, unable to move until Zorn urged her onwards. He had to coax her ever step of the way pleading and begging as the water climbed up to her waist and soaked what was left of her garments.
The water was cold and icy and unforgiving, and she lost of balance several times, her hair getting wet but after what felt like an eternity she finally emerged on the other bank, dripping with water and blood and shaking violently from the cold.
And then she heard the hoof beats.
She slowly looked behind her and saw two specks in the distance, but they were getting closer at a terrifying rate. Her breathing started to accelerate as horror filled every inch of her being as she stood there, frozen in place.
“Run, Kinu! Run to the tomb!” Zorn bellowed and as if he had broken a spell, she was off, running. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she found her second wind. Her world had shrunk remarkably. There was nothing now, nothing except the riders behind her and the tomb in front.
But it wasn’t enough; they were getting closer- even now their steeds forged across the river with ease. Her breathing became frantic. It wasn’t going to be enough. She could see the tomb now, in the distance, but they were going to catch her. They were going to bring her back to the Butcher. A sob escaped her at the thought and she sprinted for the tomb, pulling on some last reserve of strength she didn’t know she had.
The pathway leading up to Uther’s Tomb felt smooth to her bloody feet, its polished white stone smearing with her blood. Had it been any other time she would have felt guilty for tarnishing it, but she was too overcome with fear to care.
She limbed into the tomb, past the columns that stood on either side of the room, and up to the glowing statue of Uther the Lightbringer. He looked up to the sky, half kneeling, hammer raised triumphantly. She walked around behind it, looking for some sort of shelter, when a cold voice echoed through the tomb and made her freeze.
“Come out, come out, little night elf…”
The two riders had entered the tomb. She could tell from the sound of their footsteps. The voice caused her to start trembling, even as she pressed herself up against the back of the stone, biting back a hiss of pain as her shirt rubbed against her wound.
She could hear them, walking slowly, taking their time, looking around the pillars, laughing and calling out for her. Her heart raced as she struggled to remain standing, trying to keep quite as she closed her eyes.
“We know you’re here…” Said one in a sing-song voice.
“We know what you’re hiding…” Said the other.
She started to panic, the impulse to hyperventilate becoming stronger as they lazily made their way across the tomb towards her. The memories of what happened in Scholomance came back, disturbingly clear. Strapped down to a table, the hot metal pressed into her back, the Butcher talking calmly over her screams to a group of bored looking students. She shivered and abruptly felt sick to her stomach.
Zorn had said the tomb was safe. Where was he? Why had he lied to her and left her alone?
She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and her nerves took over as she let out a scream in terror, her eyes flying open as she jerked away.
What she saw made no sense what so ever.
The spectral form of Uther the Lightbringer looked down upon her, smiling peacefully and (from what she could tell) looking vaguely amused at her reaction to his presence. She took the hint and closed her jaw, which had been hanging open a moment before.
“Who- what- you’re-” She started to stammer, but he raised a transparent hand and she quieted. He placed a hand on her shoulder again.
“Rest.” He said softly. “You are safe now.”
And somehow she found herself unable to doubt him. She nodded, smiled uncertainly, and then blacked out.
The last thing she saw was Uther turning to face her pursuers, raising his hammer and glowing with the strength of the Light.
An uncertain amount of time later…
Kinu slowly opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling of what appeared to be a tent. It made sense, for about a second, then she wondered how she got here.
As if on cue the memories came back and she sat up, and then abruptly wished she hadn’t as pain shot up her back. A soft cry of pain escaped her as she laid back down, gasping for breath. She took a breath, steadied herself, then looked round again, trying to take in as much of the tent as possible without causing herself pain.
The keepsake. She needed- where was- she relaxed as she saw it lying down next to her, blowing out a sigh of relief as she laid back down and closed her eyes for a moment. At least until she heard movement outside the tent. Her golden eyes opened again as an old man clanked into the tent, dressed in standard plate mail. His face was wrinkled and his hair was gray, and she smiled and him.
“Robbie?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her. “You've been through quite a lot, Kinu.”
“No s**t.” She grunted.
A pause.
“What happened to me?”
He stared a her for a moment, then sat with a clank in and a grunt. “... Back isn't what it used to be... Anyways, I found you at Uther's Tomb. You were being pursued by some Acolytes.” He scowled. It made him look like an angry walrus. She fought back a giggle and nodded, then frowned. “So you found me at the tomb? There... Wasn't anyone else?” The old man shook his head. “Nope. Just me.” His scowl turned into a frown and he looked at her sadly, “I healed your wounds, but there's going to be a scar...” Kinu looked down at herself. She was wearing a large over-sized robe and she had a sneaking suspicion belonged to Robbie. Her mid-section was wrapped in bandages. She nodded.
“It's alright... I was expecting that-” Kinu broke off mid sentence to yawn, and Robert chuckled. “Well, I'll leave you to your rest. You need it.”
She started to protest when he shushed her, reaching over and ruffling her hair.
“Rest.” He said softly. “You are safe now.”
Then he got up and left, complaining about his back all the while, and Kinu dozed off, eventually falling into the dreamless sleep she so desperately needed.
---
Doctor Gregory Victor was not, to his knowledge, a bitter man. Of course he had plenty of reason to be bitter: not only was he a forsaken, but a doctor as well. A man who took second stage to the many other healers of Azeroth- priests, shamans, paladins, druids, and so on and so forth. But he enjoyed his work, and he enjoyed teaching others, if they took the time to listen.
Perhaps it was because of his position in the world that he was not bitter. Hammerfall was located in the Arathi Highlands, and the main stopping point before heading into the Arathi Basin where the Horde and Alliance beat the living daylights out of each other. Of course there were healers in Hammerfall, but they were unable to keep up with the seemingly constant flow of wounded that came from the Basin.
While forsaken needed no rest, one of the other surgeons there insisted he take breaks every few days. It was on one of these infrequent breaks that he sat on the porch outside his 'hospital'- little more then a large old building once for used grain storage- that he watched an odd forsaken woman walk into the heavily guarded down. At first glance, of course, she seemed perfect ordinary- except that she had once, obviously, been an elf in life and she was well preserved (winterdead, he assumed. Some people get all the luck.). Her hair had a distinctly trollish influence and was dyed a pure white and she seemed harmless enough, dressed in simple cloth garments as she was- but there was something about her that seemed slightly off, though he couldn't quite place it.
He mentally shrugged it off- his arm tended to fall off when he physically shrugged- and watched her approach with a slightly wary gaze.
“Hello, I'm Kinu,” She greeted him with a brief closed mouth smile, “Do you know where I could find Doctor Gregory Victor?” He grinned up at her- or as much as he was able to, lacking a lower jaw- and said in a surprisingly clear voice, “You are looking at him.”
She didn't seem surprised, but nodded and continued on, “Nice to meet you. I'd like to further my medical training, and I've been told that here is the place to do it.” The doctor nodded, motioning to a chair next to him with a skeletal hand. He noticed that her own hands had the bones exposed, and she had several scars on her face and- he guessed- many more hidden by her clothing.
She sat down, looked around briefly, and Gregory decided that this woman was dangerous.
The scars didn't worry him- he'd met a lot of people with scars and most of them weren't from battle. But this woman- however she appeared now, with no visible weapon or armor- was a solider, or had been at one point. But it wasn't the scars that led him to the decision- scars just meant she'd fought, not whether she had won. It was other things- the way she sat, still but not quite relaxed. Ready. Patient.
The way her eyes moved- cunning, careful, from him to their surroundings and back to him. Soulless yellow eyes like a hawk, watching, thoughtful. Thick veins on the back of her hands, but long, clever fingers, slightly tinged with dirt. One finger missing- the middle finger on her left hand.
This woman wasn't a healer, she was a killer.
Gregory leaned back, laced his own bony fingers together, and watched her thoughtfully. “Why, might I be so rude as to ask, are you interested in this?”
She answered right away, one of her elongated ears giving one of those small flicks that he found annoying beyond all belief. “You could say that I am tired of what I've been doing,” Of what exactly that alluded to she gave no hint, but he could make an educated guess as to what that might be. “And I want to help, when those I care about need me. I'll be honest with you; I'm no priest, my beliefs in others has never been strong enough to draw on any healing power, but... I want to help.” And then she smiled wryly and added, “And my pighead of a significant other is distrusting of magical healing. What else am I supposed to do when he gets himself beat up?” She chuckled as Gregory gazed at her with mild surprise. That had not been the answer he had been expecting- though he had a habit of judging people right of the bat. He cleared his throat- which sounded more like a sick gurgle with his lack of lower jaw- and looked around. “Very well.” He said absently. A gong rang out suddenly, loud and sharp, followed by a hoarse undead voice showing, “We got some from the Basin arrivin'!”
Doctor Gregory nodded at that as they. He walked inside, straightening as much as he couple with his stooped over back. Damn undeath. “Falon! Get me some triage bandages, we have some casualties arriving from the Basin...” He turned towards the forsaken elf and gave as much of a grin as he could. “You will be tested on your ability to triage patients accordingly this afternoon. Should you pass your examination, you will join the prestigious ranks of Horde Trauma.”
Kinu nodded, rolled up her sleeves, and waited the arrival of the wounded...
Several hours later
She noted the apartment was empty. That was how far along in details she got before she dropped her pack to the floor- ignoring the clatter it made and the several skulls that rolled out- walked over to the couch where Andi had been sleeping these past few days, and curled up onto it with an exhausted sigh.
While forsaken didn't physically tire, that had been mentally exhausting.
It took her a painful moment of her armor digging into a shoulder to remind her that she'd forgotten something. She sat up with an unwilling grunt, unstrapping her shoulderplates, unclasping her cloak, and kicked off her boots before laying back down and pulling up the blankets Andi normally used. They smelled like those stupid cigars he smoked. It was comforting, somehow.
Ever since a few days ago, Andi had been sleeping in her apartment on the couch- nothing romantic, though they'd spent a few nice morning's together- but he was gone on a trip. It was only a few days, she kept telling herself, but it seemed to stretch on forever. Love can be a pain in the a** sometimes.
Still, overall, she was happy. Kin let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. None of the patients she had taken care for had died, though there had been a close call once...
As she drifted off into the trance like state that had replaced sleep, the Doctor's words echoed in her mind.
“Doctor Kinu, welcome to Horde Trauma.”
Audric Lithdel Community Member 
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