Alone amongst armies...

Kil'gora found herself awakening inside the Argent Pavillion, the smell of fresh powder and steel tickling her nose. Why had she fallen asleep right by the supply boxes, she didn't know, except for the fact that she had been so tired the previous eve, a patch of snow might have seemed comfortable to her then.

It was time to get back to work. Polishing her jousting, pointless as it had become to her, except for when she faced the throngs of Scourge that amassed before the Citadel. Lesser matters needed tending, such as the feeding of the animals in the Tournament Grounds. Much as she understood the need to test the fighters' strength before sending them off to the real battlefield - 'lest they were slain miserably and be raised against them - she still wasn't pleased with what the Argent had made of this Tournament. It looked like a child's game, in her eyes, albeit a necessary one. But it was all too easy to get lost in the supposed glory of the arena champion, and not see the threat that they stood up against but a few leagues south.

The Cult of the Damned and the Kladvir always seemed to need some slaying. Now this was a task that allowed Kil'gora time to think. It had become routine by now. To put on her gear, slip on her mask, slide her Warsong tabard into place, and land upon the tightly packed snow as quiet as a mouse. Adrenaline did her job from that moment forth. From the moment she dug her daggers into the back of some unsuspecting Cultist, and the warm, red blood flowed before her eyes, its smell filling her nostrils; it was a killing spree that mutilated the faces of every Cultist that came to face her, that tore at their clothes, at their limbs, that slit their stomachs open and let their entrails spill upon the ground, still pulsating with some semblance of life. Her senses were alert, her animal instinct driving her from foe to foe in a chain of mass murder that marked her trail with the bodies of her fallen victims.

Her mind, however, was elsewhere. As an orc, she was born and built for battle. She awakened every day to put her life on the line for the sake of the Horde. For conquest, glory, honor. And every night, she would collapse, thoroughly exhausted from the strain that battle had placed upon her body and her spirit. It was a cycle that had repeated itself for months of end, without rest, without comfort. Every time she gathered the orcs of the Bloodfury Clan, she urged the same from them. "Grow in might, and you will revel in the glory of the Horde!" she would cry out to them, stirring their hearts down the same path of battle and bloodshed.

It was the same path that wearied her spirit. When all was said and done, and she looked behind her, the trail of bodies stretching out, scattered about the Cult's camp, she couldn't help but to feel... empty. She collapsed onto the snow, holding out her daggers as they dripped with poison and blood. She couldn't let go of them, her knuckles white as she gripped them tightly in her shaking grasp. She should have felt proud to be such an assassin, with so much power and such intricate skill for the art of murder, all at the service of the Horde. For being such a fine weapon of warfare.

But she wasn't. Something was missing, and the hole tore at her soul. Her body shook in a mixture of sadness, anger, and the cold that washed over her once the warmth of adrenaline was all but gone. Amongst throngs of warriors, ready and willing to fight and die for the cause, Kil'gora felt... alone. Ganakh's words echoed in her mind... Not to worry. The most important thing right now is the cause. But why did that make her feel so miserable? Why did it suddenly seem as though it was all not worth it? She couldn't wrap her mind around it, and she found herself snarling in anger at the impotence that she felt at that very moment. It was all for nigh.

She returned to the camp, dragging Crusader Kul by the arm and very nearly tossing him to the ground at Girana's feet. "Here's your blubbering fool. Now give me that before I slit his throat myself." Shocked, the Elf handed the bag of gold over and saw Kil'gora shove it mindlessly into her backpack before storming out.

She needed to be alone, needed to think, to brood. She found herself sitting in a small tent, a rush of chilly wind blowing against her face, drying the fresh blood splattered upon her cheek. Luckily, the body of a fallen Kladvir right beside her gave her some warmth while it still clung to its body. At Hrothgar's Landing, its invaders now staining the snow with their blood, Kil'gora found some refuge. Finally letting go of her daggers, she held her head in her hands instead, and cursed but one name.
"Damn you, Lerossa... Damn you." Finding another thing to live and fight for had suddenly become the hardest thing she'd have to do in her life.