The Lower City of Shattrath…a warren of tent camps and temporary structures that the refugees of the horrific Outland conflicts had erected. In truth, the motley collection of dwellings could hardly be called a “city”, but despite the clamor and squalor, Thrysta found herself spending more and more time within its confines. There was work to be done in the Lower City, this she could feel deep within her ruined heart.
Ensconced on a broken ledge of rock near a large gathering of tents and hastily erected kiosks, Thrysta sat quietly, absorbed in reading as the morning light shone down upon her. Held in her hands was a small, tightly-bound book of prayers.
Thrysta had done much to assist the plight of the refugees during her time in Outland, the book having been a reward from a grateful representative of the Lower City populace. The book itself was a treasure; keeping it upon her person eased the strain of channeling the Holy Light and strengthened the power of her healing. While Thrysta was thankful for these abilities, it was the words within the small tome that she truly valued. Such comforting prayers, such guiding philosophies and descriptions of the Light she knew she harbored within her. Thrysta had been so very busy since her return, helping with the fine work of The Grim. Moments such as these, calm amidst the conflict, were to be treasured.
Clad in a simple ankle-length dress of bleached wool, her ruined lower face and mouth hidden behind an opaque veil of white silk, Thrysta was a tiny eddy of serenity amidst the bustle of the Lower City. Despite the clean simplicity of her attire, there was no mistaking her heritage: exposed bone, necrotized flesh and long, sharp talons at the ends of her fingers.
Thrysta was drawn from her study of the prayer collection by a passing group of gleefully yelling children. They ran in a loose pack, laughing as they chased each other amongst the tents, cooking fires and kiosks. One of them, a very young orc girl, stumbled and fell as the rest continued merrily onward. Thrysta looked on as the child, with tears in her eyes from a skinned knee, called out to her playmates in vain. They did not stop, for they had already ran on in ignorance of her fall.
The laughter of the children faded into the distance and the droning background clamor of the bustling Lower City again settled upon Thrysta. It was, however, now overlaid with the crying of the orc child. Setting her book down carefully, Thrysta called out to her.
“Come here, child…”
The snuffling orc girl, eyes red with tears, looked up at the sound of the voice, her eyes widening upon seeing the Forsaken woman perched near her. Holding her skinned knee, she stared at Thrysta, seemingly torn between the need for comfort and her fear of a stranger.
Seeing the child’s hesitation, Thrysta beckoned again.
“Come up here, young one. Let us take a look at that knee.”
Looking down at her scraped knee, fresh tears ran down the child’s green cheeks as she stumbled to her feet. Snuffling softly, she wiped at her running nose as she approached Thrysta. Favoring her injury, she walked slowly up the sloping edge of the rocky outcrop to stand beside the sitting priestess.
Thrysta turned, inspecting the orc girl’s knee. Her sunken eyes closed in concentration for a brief moment as she softly murmured a short prayer. She raised a hand from her lap toward the child’s knee, not noticing the girl shy away in fear at the long talons tipping her desiccated fingers. The girl, however, suddenly felt a tingling in her knee and looked down in wonder. The scraped flesh began to mend, the soreness and stinging quickly fading away to nothing. Before her eyes the knee mended flawlessly, no traces of her injury save for a bit of dirt from the fall.
Thrysta could feel the restoration of the child’s flesh reach its completion and she opened her eyes, turning away from the youngling and again reaching to pick up her prayer book.
“Run along now, child,” Thrysta murmured.
Returning to her reading, Thrysta found her previous place in the book and again lost herself in the words, for kindness and mercy were simply their own reward.
“…you’re nice.”
Thrysta had not noticed that the girl, rather than returning to her previous merriment, had instead sat down beside her. Gazing at the orc girl, the priestess took in the beaming toothy smile, the child’s now injury-free legs swinging idly in the air over the lip of the rocky ledge.
“You’re a nice lady,” the child repeated, almost to herself as she looked away from Thrysta’s gaze. She settled in alongside the priestess, looking out over the tent city with a happy grin.
“What is your name, young one?” Thrysta finally asked softly, again setting aside her book.
“…Magla…Magla and I’m six,” the child murmured bashfully, now staring at her own swinging legs.
“Child,” Thrysta murmured, “that was very kind of you to say about me.”
Blushing, the girl smiled, studying the ground.
“Do you have family, Magla?”
“…My Ma is here…she’s nice like you. We live over there!” the young orc gestured, out amongst the tents and shabby dwellings as she continued.
“…My Da…he…Ma says he had to go away. When the deemun monsters came he saved us…but he di’nt come back and…and…” the girl trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.
“Oh child, I am so very sorry,” Thrysta murmured, her desiccated arm settling around Magla’s tiny shoulders, “I imagine you miss him terribly.”
“He’s big and strong and good and he’s the best Da and he would hug me and…and...I miss…I miss him…” Magla began snuffling, crying softly as her little shoulders shook with quiet sobs.
“I understand, child,” Thrysta murmured, rocking softly as she wrapped her other arm around the small orc girl in a comforting hug, “My loved ones, they…had to go away as well, like your father. My husband and our two children, but they are in a better place now.”
Magla, her eyes wet and puffy, looked up into the priestess’s veiled face.
“…a better place, nice lady?
“Oh yes, child, a far better place. They were such treasures. Now, they are at peace and so very happy. I have seen it, child. I helped them and I saved them. It was wondrous.”
“Is…is my Da in a better…wundruss place too?”
Thrysta looked down into the child’s face, smiling warmly.
“Yes, I believe he is,” she said soothingly, rocking the child softly in her arms.
“…I wish I could see my Da…and…and…I just want my Da…my Ma cries a lot and…and…why can’t he be…with me and my Ma?!” Fresh tears spilled down the child’s face and she again began sobbing.
Thrysta made soothing shushing noises, simply holding the orc child quietly for quite some time as the bustle and clamor of the Lower City flowed around them.
Magla quieted, sinking into Thrysta’s arms as the Forsaken priestess broke their reverie.
“Child?”
“Yes nice lady?”
“Would you like me to help you see your father again?”
Magla’s eyes widened, a wide, toothy smile creasing her face as she began nodding excitedly.
“Take me to your mother, child…I will help you both.”
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The evening was fast approaching as Thrysta emerged from the tent of Magla and her mother, her undead face beaming with contentment and serenity. She strolled away, so pleased that she could help people with kindness and mercy, that she could help them with their pain. There had been no one to help her with the loss of her own treasures, but she would not let such despair and sadness fester in others like it had in her for so long.
As she walked through the bustling chaos of the Lower City at dusk, she could not help but be proud of such fine work as that which she had wrought this day.
“So much mercy still to spread,” Thrysta murmured, smiling warmly as passerby, “so much fine work left to do, Holy Light be blessed.”
Clutching her prayer book, Thrysta strolled on, disappearing into the evening shadows.
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As the sun shone the next day on the Aldor Rise of Shattrath high above the Lower City, Thrysta hummed softly as she went about her errands. She greatly enjoyed her status of honor amongst the Aldor, their priests being so knowledgeable in the ways of the Light and having taught her much during her time associated with them. It was fine work that she did on behalf of the Aldor. It could not help but bring joy to her heart, a heart which had borne so much pain.
As she went about her tasks, Thrysta nodded kindly as she neared a Vindicator, one of the Aldor soldiers patrolling the Rise. The guard was known to her from her time spent on the Rise.
“Light be with you, brother,” Thrysta murmured.
“And with you, sister,” the Vindicator responded, “Are you heading down to the Lower City to help with the situation, priestess?”
Thrysta cocked her head quizzically at the Vindicator, her confusion evident at his statement.
“Just what ‘situation’ would that be?” Thrysta chided, not unkindly.
The soldier shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the floating lift that led down towards the Lower City.
“I’m sorry sister, you have not heard? I should not-”
“It is quite alright, brother. Now tell me, please. What is going on?”
Looking back at her, the Vindicator’s eyes filled with sadness.
“I speak of murder, sister. An orc woman and her young daughter. They were found dead this morning…they were…I was nearby when they were discovered…the things that had been done to them…”
The Vindicator’s lips moved for a few moments longer, his eyes far away as he searched for words that would not come. Thrysta reached out, touching his arm tenderly, bringing him out of his sad recollection. The soldier continued, returning from his recollection at her prompting contact.
“…The refugees…they are scared and angry. They want answers. Some of our brothers and sisters of the Aldor are down amongst them, offering comfort and assistance. They are doing what they can to determine what happened. I thought maybe you…that you were heading down there…”
Thrysta smiled kindly at the young soldier.
“Thank you for the information, Vindicator. I will make haste for the Lower City at once and see what spiritual comfort I can offer to the refugees. Be strong, brother.”
The soldier smiled sadly, nodding.
“You are a fine example for all Forsaken, sister, you embrace our ways with such resolve. I have heard tales of The Grim, of those you count yourself among…but if you are one of them, they…well, I shouldn’t put any stock in those tales,” the Vindicator remarked, still unable to shake the haunted look in his eyes at the events he had earlier witnessed.
Thrysta again patted the young soldier’s arm as he continued to unload the burden of his thoughts.
“Priestess, I have fought for the Aldor and this city. I have killed in battle…but…but I had never seen…what that woman…and the girl, by the Light, the little girl…”
Thrysta made a quiet soothing noise and gave the guard’s arm another pat.
“Be strong, Vindicator, for this will all be sorted out,” she reassured him, “and worry not for that poor woman and her child,” Thrysta assured him, turning for the lift that would take her to the Lower City as the guard smiled wanly and continued on his way.
“…for they are in a better place now,” Thrysta murmured happily to herself, her face creasing in a serene smile. The lift slowly lowered, taking her downward toward the refugees who so desperately needed the kindness and mercy that only she could provide.