“Ha! How many times must I tell you, you’ve got a give, my friend!” Brajana gave a hearty laugh as she gathered her winnings from the table. “How about another game?” She took a large swig of mediocre Kungaloosh and looked around the table at her companions.
They weren’t really companions – after the initial glory brought on from the final defeat of Arthas, the Lich King, it was not long until her group of real companions disbanded. Some went in search of more adventures, some were satisfied with their victory and settled down closer to home, and others just seemed to disappear. Brajana remained in Northrend, aimless and alone. She’d done the odd job here and there, but after a lifetime of training to defeat the evil that plagued the Horde, nothing really seemed worthwhile anymore. More often than not she could be found in The Filthy Animal surrounded by empty bottles of whatever they’d serve her and looking for a cheap thrill through a game of dice.
Her gambling partners seemed to decide they couldn’t afford to give her anymore of their hard earned gold and vacated the table. But just as Brajana raised her hand to beckon the barmaid, someone new sat down at her table.
She blinked, trying to straighten her slightly spinning view.
“Tza’jin, you should not be here. Your place is in Sen’jin.” Brajana told her uncle and mentor. She did not want him to see her like this – barely able to sit straight let alone hold her bow as steady as he’d trained her to.
“It be ya place too, Brajana. De time has come. We be returnin’ to de Isles, an’ we be needen’ all de help we can get.”
All of a sudden, Brajana felt more sober than she’d been in weeks. Memories of her childhood home washed over her, of the stories she’d heard of Zalazane and his Voodoo. She nodded to Tza’jin and stood, whistled for Fiddlesticks and strapped her bow across her back.