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Eonia and Kwami: Fight or Flight
((I figured I should start at the beginning. So This story will be ongoing for a bit. This is the first part, the earliest Eonia remembers. It is the story of how she and her sister became separated to begin with.))

The night was clear and cold, wind whistling across the hard packed firmament of Durator. Hard, dried bits of bramble and dead brush rolled in the wind under the star-spangled, night sky. In the distance, someone walking alone out here might hear the cry the scorpid searching out food or the snorting calls of the boar roaming the grounds. It seemed almost too quiet, the Quillboar not making their usual racket of in-fighting and riotous partying on Horde supplies.

Ten year-old Eonia Attaboli sat on the floor in her little room of the hut she shared with her parents and her infant sister, Kwami. It was late and she worked by the light of a small candle stub that had been discarded by one of the scribes in a hut near hers. There was very little of the waxen light source left, but she utilized it by scooping the melted wax back into the opening left by the flame to make it burn just a little longer.

She’d been working this way for weeks, after her mother, Chakti, had given her the bolts of silk cloth. She’d been proud to hear her mother praise her workmanship so highly stating that she was a ‘gifted seamstress’ at only ten. Eonia had set to work on the gown immediately, and her sister was nearing her first birthday. She’d have the garment done well before morning at this rate and she could present it to her mother on the morning light, just in time for the birthday celebrations. Finally as the candle light flickered then went out, Eonia placed the last stitch. She drifted off to sleep, the floor cool against her cheek.

Sometime in the night, Eonia became aware of the intense heat surrounding her. The floor, no longer cool, felt as if it were burning the flesh from her face. Was she dreaming? Had she heard screams? From where did they come? She jolted upright from the floor; the finished gown lay sprawled in front of her. The air was filled with the rancid stench of smoke. Had she fallen asleep with the candle lit and caught the room on fire? No, it had gone out. She remembered finishing the last stitch in the semi-darkness of the candle’s last flickers.

Rushing to the window, she peaked out. Near the village center, where the campfires burned in the night, she saw her mother fighting. She could see her there chanting and shooting flame from her fingertips at several human raiders. Eonia felt panic rise within her. She snatched the gown off the floor and ran for her sister’s room. Sleeping. She was sleeping.

Without really thinking much, she tucked the gown inside the folds of Kwami’s linen blankets and snatched her from the cradle. She was ten, untrained in anything but seam work, but she’d fight. She’d find a safe place for Kwami and she’d fight. What choice was there? She could hear the clash of swords and daggers steel against steel, the sounds of wood hitting flesh and hear the screams and shouts rending the night.

Running back to her own room, she collected what she could in a small pouch, and paused just long enough to tuck the last remaining scrap of silk within her robes. With a final look she strode off into the night. She had to find a safe place to put Kwami so she could help fight off the human raiders. Why were they here?
Eonia tripped going out the door of her family's hut. She couldn't look back to see what she'd tripped over, for now she could see that not only was her mother fighting, but a vast majority of her village was on fire and so was everyone else fighting. She was fairly certain she'd tripped over a body though. Getting Kwami to safety was priority for now.

She'd gotten just beyond the perimiter of the village when she heard the raiders coming her direction. She stashed the infant in the brush and bushes kissing her little cheek and fled into the fight. "What am I going to do against experienced fighters?" she thought. Not giving herself much time to think, and armed only with her grandmother's old wand, she began to fight. She fought for all she was worth, and in the end, she was just a ten year old untrained Troll fighting a losing battle against a winning enemy. She fought until she saw Chakti fall in battle.

"MOTHER!" She'd screamed trying in vain to get to where Chakti lay dead. She'd watched as her father was over-taken by four Human raiders, his axes flashing in the firelight. He'd fought like a demon until the rogue had garroted him from behind and he'd fallen as well. Spent and shaken and feeling like her world was crumbling around her small head, she ran.

She did what any sensible ten year old would do and she ran. It was an act that would give her nightmares and self doubt for years to come. She'd wake up in the middle of the night remembering how she'd cowered away from a fight to save her own sorry neck. In her mind, she was no more than a coward and a sneak who ran off in the fray of battle. It took her years to realize the futility of an untrained child fighting against an experienced militia who'd already cut down more than half of her people.

As the sun started to pinken the desert sky, Eonia slept. She'd managed to wedge herself into a gap in one of the rock walls that encased many settlements in Durator, and when the last ringing of sword and the final screams died out, she drifted off into nightmare sleep.

Sometime just after dawn, when the ash was beginning to settle and all that remained were the embers left behind by a raging battle, she crept from her crevice in the rock wall. She had to find Kwami and see if there was anything she could do for the people. Would there be survivors? She needed to check, to help and to get to the Warchief to tell this tale. As she picked through the rubble and flames that still burned, she searched for any remaining villagers. Surely there was but one, but body after body she discovered no one living. She'd given up hope as she picked her way to where she'd hidden Kwami in the bushes. They were charred and soot covered but intact. The baby would have been fine here, away from the fighting. Nobody would have come searching unless they'd seen Eonia place the child in such a spot. ...And yet, as Eonia approached, she knew Kwami was not there. Too still, too quiet. Kwami was no place to be seen, save for a tiny piece of blue silk obviously torn from the gown she herself, had crafted for the infant.

Eonia lifted the scrap to her face and sniffed it. It smelled like her baby sister, clean and powdery. She sat there and cried. She was there for what felt like hours just crying, first for her sister who was missing, then for her parents, Chakti and Kubla who'd fought for their lives and lost, then she cried for herself. She was alone here, in the ruined village of her upbringing. She had no family left, and she was alone. She'd allow herself this moment of self pity and put it away. That's what an adult would do. Its what she had to do. She was alone and she had no family, and if she wasn't an adult, they'd put her in the orphanage at Orgrimmar. She'd go to the twisted nethers before she'd admit to being an orphaned child in need of coddling. No, she'd train and learn and be and adult and she'd find Kwami no matter the cost or time it took.

Eonia stood and dusted herself off. Drying her tears, she vowed to clean up this mess. She began in earnest, cleaning up the rubble and preparing the bodies of her tribesmen for burial. In the end, she'd had to admit she was unable to lift them, so she'd simply said the prayers she had always heard the witchdoctors say over the bodies of loved deceased. She knew not what her vocation would be, but was certain it was not the path of a healer. She only hoped the Gods would accept the feeble prayers she could offer and not damn her beloved for her ineptitude.

She needed to get to Orgrimmar, to the Warchief. It was a long journey though and would take a good portion of the day. Better to get to Sin'jin and beg help of the Darkspear located there first. ...And so she'd set off to begin a life that she had no idea how to live alone, a sacred vengeance in her heart and a vow to find the only person who might still live with blood ties to herself.

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