(( Written from the perspective of (MU)Mikkaelos on (AU)Draenor a few days before the first (in game) attack on Shattrath City. ))
“It’s not Vindicator armor that I’m looking for,” I could feel my smile slipping as I spoke – eh, not so much slipping away as it was pulling too long, too thin; too tight. Acidulous irk licked a burning trail down my throat to coil, unsettled, in my stomach. If it was an explanation this guy was looking for he wasn’t getting one.
Distrust had etched some choice lines across his face from the moment I approached. A deep line between heavily drawn brows framing a set of ancient eyes, corners crinkled against unspoken thought. Thin brackets scored over an even thinner mouth, each end drawn down in obvious disapproval. “You have come to me seeking armor. I have told you, already, that I will not grant you use of a set of Auchenai Defender armor – even if it is temporary, as you say.” The Auchenai High Vindicator barely moved as he spoke. Not even his tail. With his hands behind his back, shoulders back, chest out, and chin raised, he cut a tall, proud figure. “We cannot spare armor of that quality. Not even to… freelancers who’ve offered their service in defense of Auchindoun.”
“Yet, you offer me Vindicator armor,” my smile tightened further. By now it had to have lost any semblance of convincing warmth. Still, I refused to let it go.
“Indeed,” his thin chin dipped into a singular nod. “You have stated that you are a former Vindicator. It is all we have left. Battle worn sets delivered to us from Karabor.”
A chill ran through the length of my tail, both hot and cold. Stepping back into any traditional set of Vindicator’s armor was heretical enough. I was already breaking about three of my rules in just considering it. But encasing myself in a set unique to Karabor? “No,” I responded too quickly, dropping my gaze with a shake of my head. I didn’t cross through the portal to relive my glory days as a Karabor Vindicator. No one needed that…
“Then you will return to the central encampment and rejoin your party with the rest of the civilian refugees.”
Anger flashed through my gut, startling its irk-filled coil to flare. Refugee. I was no refugee. Closing my eyes, I took a steadying breath to clear my head. No, I wasn’t a refugee, but the 11 children we brought here were, and until the path was clear to take them all home, they were my responsibility. What hope did I have of protecting them without a set of armor to call my own? …I couldn’t afford to be unprepared. “No,” I replied more softly. Blowing a resigned breath from my nose, I lifted my gaze to meet his. “The roads are crawling with orcs and fel fuc–” I stopped myself. This guy looked too stiff to appreciate the poetry of a well deserved curse. “…fiends. It’s not safe. Until the roads are clear, this is the safest place for my party and I. And…” Gods, I couldn’t believe what I was about to agree to, but if it got me a set of armor… “For as long as I’m here, I’ll serve to protect this place. Freelance, you know,” I dared to flash a smile, my tail curling behind me. “I’ll take whatever plate armor you’ve got,” I rumbled, trying to keep displeasure from my voice.
The High Vindicator’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Almost. “Very well. I’ll have one of the others get you fitted into a set,” looking past me, he waved a young, robe clad draenei man over. “When you’ve found a match, return to me for and we will test your proficiencies.”
The living coil of frustration in the pit of my stomach stilled suddenly and then began to retreat, its acidic candor hardening into something more subtle, protected; its descent deep enough beneath the bounds of my subconscious that I couldn’t discern its meaning. I felt numb. “Proficiencies?”
“Yes,” finally, he smiled faintly, a darkly curious twinkle in his milky eyes. “Surely even former Vindicators can summon the Light.”
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