We Find You Wanting
The bones were strewn across the ragged dirt path, some gathered together in clumps, others thrown far and wide from their mates. They were trampled almost beyond recognition, and as she navigated the pathway, holy water in hand, Rhianon had to be careful not to trip over the jagged pieces sticking up out of the dirt.
“It wasn’t enough for them to hunt us down like animals, destroy our cities, and torture those who survived,” Warp-Scryer Kyrv had told her, a shadow passing over his face. “They had to use our people’s bones as paving stones, denying our brethren a proper burial under the Light!” He had then taken the small vial of water from his robes, handing it to Rhianon. “My dear child, Rhianon…you must help me release these tortured souls. It is your duty to your people.”
Rhianon looked down at the tiny vial of holy water in her hands. She had seen her father anoint sick and fallen Vindicators with the blessed liquid, and somehow, now, the same task fell to her. The words of the draenei Kyrv, however, rang out in her mind. “It is your duty to your people.” She had spent much of her time training working for people other than her own: assisting the human, elf, dwarf, and gnome denizens of Azeroth, but rarely her own kind. The idea of having an obligation to help her own people seemed oddly foreign to her.
In fact, the feelings of kinship that the draenei in the Outlands expressed towards her made her somewhat uncomfortable. The other evening, as she had been sitting down for a bowl of stew and a mug of juice in the inn, an elderly draenei woman had approached her and had taken the liberty of sitting down beside her. The elderly woman, it turned out, had overheard one of the commanders refer to her as Rhianon Sa’naan, and had wanted to inquire as to whether or not Rhianon was related to Rhellus Sa’naan, a Vindicator she remembered from her days in Telredor. She had been overjoyed to discover that Rhianon was his daughter. ‘A fine draenei, your father. Solid and noble. You ought to be proud to call yourself his daughter.’ The woman had also insisted that Rhianon look up her son and his family once she arrived in Shattrath. Apparently, she had a handsome, unattached grandson who would be an “ideal match” for Rhianon.
Rhianon sighed and sprinkled the water over one of the clumps of bones. “I suppose I should say some sort of prayer for you,” she said slowly, “and I would, if I had any idea what to say. I’m sorry that you all had to suffer like this. No one deserves this kind of miserable, neglected end. I hope the Light will release you and give you peace.”
Your words are hollow, draenei, a voice whistled in her ears. Rhianon, startled, straightened up and turned around, searching for the source of the eerie whisper. Behind her, rising slowly out of the red dirt like plumes of smoke, spirits of the fallen draenei began to form, their bodies broken and their eyes sunken. They looked upon her, and Rhianon could feel their righteous gaze burning into her skin. This is what we died for? A girl who mocks our ways and feels out of place among her own kind?
Rhianon flushed and bowed her head. “I – ”
We find you wanting, Rhianon Sa’naan.
We find you wanting.
Rhianon did not wait to hear what else the spirits might have to say to her. She threw the holy water down on the ground and ran towards Honor Hold, away from the Path of Glory. What could they say that she didn’t already know?