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Homeward Bound
There’s a particular smell that comes along with the presence of demons, generally. It is an acrid tang that curls up the lower lip into a grimace, and flairs the nostrils. It is faint around warlocks and their minions, but grows stronger as the population of nether-beings grows. On this night, it was nauseating, and Majra’s head and throat were thick with the stench. It coated her, clung to her just as the blood of the monsters soaked her skin and blade. Khefiri snorted, trying to spit out the taste, and Majra had to give a weak smile; you knew it was bad if it sickened a hyena.

The Dark Portal loomed in front of them as the pair rested behind the Argent Dawn’s blockade. Bruised, bloodied and exhausted, Majra had been on guard for the past sixteen hours, hours in which the flood of demons never waned. Her gun was hot to the touch, and her palms were developing blisters from her sword’s hilt. All that could be done was to slow the demons down, to stop them from crossing the Blasted Lands into the swamp. All the guards, all the soldiers, all the green recruits knew they were just buying time until the mages and warlocks could figure out how to shut it down, but there’d been no progress so far. Some were even suggesting that the portal be opened, so that the defenders could enter and destroy the demons at their source. There were even rumors that Draenor might be reachable, if intact, should the portal fall into mortal control.

When last she saw her cousin, it had been in Orgrimmar as she prepared to defend the Portal. Magrash had been bristling with excitement at the possibility of returning to Draenor. “Home, Maj! We could go home!â€

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