Double-Edged

The sand stung her cheek as Vindicator Boros towered over her, the individual grains grazing the already abraded skin. Almost impatiently, Boros tapped the flat of his blade against her shoulder. "Get up," he ordered. Gritting her teeth, Jordis had no choice but to obey; the Hand of Argus suffered no weakness, and to be a Blade was to be the best with both sword and shield. Jordis got to her hooves, spitting out a mouthful of grit, saliva, and blood before hefting her heavy two-handed blade.

No weakness. None. Not even the barest tremble from muscles that ached from exhaustion. Her jaw tightened as she watched the Vindicator, carefully side-stepping away as he circled towards her. "Give it up, girl," he growled, waving his own massive blade at her, one-handed, "There is no shame in being a Peacekeeper, or even a priest. There are...softer professions."

The insult stung, but Jordis refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she let him talk, using the time to regain her wind. Boros had woken her at dawn's first light and chased her around the salle for hours that seemed endless. They had not stopped to eat, drink, or rest. "Do you think the Legion will stop in the middle of their war so you can sleep or have some tea?" Boros had roared as his blade pounded against hers. Even when a messenger came for him he had chased the youth off with the flat of his blade. There was nothing for him but this. If she did not endure this, Jordis knew she would never become a Blade of Argus.

Jordis had hated being sent away from Draenor; she'd wanted to stay and fight just like her siblings. Yet, she was the youngest, so it was up to her to see her family endure. Somewhere in this strange new world, this Azeroth, the youngest of her brothers was also stranded. She did not fear for him, though. They were from a strong family of warriors and paladins; he would take care of himself just as she had done.

"Pay attention!" She had no more warning than that, but instinctively she brought her greatsword up to block her opponent's downslash. The bladesong shrieked around them in a deadly chorus before locking at the crossguards. She looked at Vindicator Boros from beyond their crossed blades, but his face was impassive. Only the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his concentration. Jordis returned his dispassionate gaze with eyes lit with fervor and determination, her entire body held rigid as she kept her blade locked with his. Heartbeats seemed to drag into hours, but it was mere moments before Boros dropped his blade, seemingly satisfied. He extended his hand, patting her shoulder, "You'll do."

As the Vindicator left the salle, sheathing his sword at his back, Jordis waited for him to get out of line of sight before falling gratefully to her knees. Her greatsword sagging across her lap as she drew in long gusts of air she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. One of the acolytes that minded the salle came to her with a cup of cool water that she drank sparingly. Even after the rigors of such an exercise, she kept her wits about her; after such a strenuous workout and having had nothing to eat since the day prior the cold water would cramp her belly if she drank too quickly. Long moments passed before the cup was finally empty. As the acolyte took the cup from her, he smiled, "You did well." Jordis rose to her feet slowly, her hand tightening around the hilt of her blade. Yet, she could do little more than wearily smile her thanks at his compliment.

-by Mosey

The Dark Portal had opened again, they said, the portal of dreams, of the alien orcs, the stuff humanity's nightmares were made of. The portal that swallowed Khadgar and an entire army, it was open.

And here was Mosey, stuck on the opposite corner of the world.

Barely off the boat, she clutched her cloak tightly about herself, shivering slightly at the biting cold. She berated herself for being here in the first place, so far from the Dark Portal..... for the thousandth time that week, of course.

The air had a metallic scent, of food you'd never want to touch, and water you surely wouldn't drink. Reaching one hand to her face, the priest brushed a wisp of hair from her nose, wincing at each unfamiliar color. The earth was pierced by crystals that sang in mellifluous colors, the largest of resembled a shining cathedral, archways and buttresses, the Exodar. Naturally, the earth hated it. The contrast of the stabbing pain reverberated through the island like an earthquake to the priest's ears. Naturally, Mosey hated it.

But the worst was the awful din of the sword-wielding maniacs that ran in random circles, yelling nonsense in their foreign language, tripping and falling over each other onto the sand for no apparent reason, and yelling some more.

Suddenly, one of the loonies bought to bear his ridiculously out-of- proportioned sword against his companion, who blocked it rather clumsily. Maybe it was a test of strength ritual? a struggle for dominance? some sort of barbaric custom? From afar, the priest shrugged.

What a strange world, she mused. And she held her cloak yet tighter.

-by Jordis

As Jordis turned from the salle, her hoofs scuffing in the gritty sand, she raised her eyes to see a stranger. Moreover, a stranger who was not draenei. Granted, Jordis had seen many of these strangers coming and going over the past few weeks, but she had never really stopped to interact with one. Prophet Velen had said these were new allies, friends to be treated accordingly. Jordis gnawed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, her large cloven hooves thudding against the hard-packed earth as she crossed over to the woman.

Jordis grimaced slightly, knowing what a terror she must seem; still sweaty and dirty from the morning's exertions. Almost self-consciously she scratched behind the horn on her right temple, for once grateful for her short-cropped hair. As she approached, the taller draenei loomed over the human, who clutched her cloak around herself, her very posture telling of her lack of desire to be here. Jordis slid her greatsword home in its sheath at her back as she regarded the smaller figure, "You seem... lost or discomfitted," she inquired, "Is there something I can help you with?"