Wollust stretched her back and cleaned the underside of her fingernails with one of her daggers. She was traveling the hot desert wasteland that was the Barrens. She saw the familiar town on the Crossroads to the lands where the Tauren grazed, Ogrimmar …the third and fourth roads Wollust wasn’t sure about. The small town, was aptly named: The Crossroads. Short sweet and to the point, Wollust liked that. Though she didn’t appreciate it much, the heat that just radiated off of everything in the Barrens was getting to her; she missed the nice springs that surrounded what was left of Silvermoon. She turned her head and, ah! There she was.  

“Sergra!”

“Ah, Wollust, have you my Plainstrider beaks?”

“Yes, I love that you only want them unharmed. I had to kill at least 14 birds to get your pristine beaks.” Wollust said with spite in her voice that they would be proud of back home.

“Yes, well now that the Plainstriders numbers are fewer our supply lines will be well defended.” Sergra the, rather unpleasant looking, orc said, paying no attention to Wollust’s sarcasm.

“Just no arguing with you, huh?” Wollust said handing the Orc the beaks that she pinned for.

“ The Zhevra, whilst not being the toughest beast, has more fire in its blood than the plainstrider. Bring me 4 of their hooves. Don’t worry we will have you against more formidable foes, but your teeth need more cutting.” Wollust’s lip curled at the ritualistic orc reference.

“My teeth are remaining untouched, thank you very much.” But none the less, Wollust set out to find the hooves. She contemplated whether it mattered what she said to the residents of the Crossroads, since they didn’t seem to talk much otherwise.

The Blood elf climbed a larger mound in the dusty Barrens to get a better look. She searched the desert for the odd horse like creature. She had overheard a Troll mentioning something about them to someone.  She caught sight of a small encampment off to the side. She couldn’t recognize who or what it is. It was so far away that its flags blurred in the heat.  Curiosity getting the better of her, Wollust started toward the strange encampment.

As she neared the caravan she stealthed herself, she still couldn’t see the flags, so she at least wanted the upper hand if they were enemies.  She got close enough to see objects and people; a large pole centered next to a great fire was about the gist of it. She unstealthed and neared the orc that was spitting flame.

“The Alliance cannot extinguish our flame!” He chanted happily. She was unsure of what was going on around her, and spoke with an older orc who seemed to know what he was doing. The old orc spoke of a Festival that Celebrated the fire the Horde have in their bellies. And that the Alliance will try and steal the flame.

Wollust nodded at all the appropriate moments and understood what the orc was saying. But…Damn it, she eyed the ribbon pole. A Forsaken was dancing around it and appeared to be having a good time. She joined in dancing and spinning she was filled with a joy and…heat that made her all the stronger. She smirked and stealthed again feeling that she could take on four zhevra’s at a time, and win.

She joined in the chanting, “The Alliance will never steal our flame!”