[ It's not wisdom that gets her attention, precisely. But there's noise and that's something. It' more than she had a moment earlier, when there was nothing but her own self and the dust.
Kettara opens her eyes, sniffing the air.
Human.
It's been a long time since she's caught the sent of a human, living or otherwise.
Kettara feels her lip curl, but fights it back. She stands slowly, putting her weapons away. The Horde isn't at war with the humans, not precisely, but she remembers, in the bone deep way of her ancestors, how that last war went. How badly it ruined her mother's people, Frostwolves and so many others - true, proud warriors - brought low, brought to nothing. It wasn't humans who caused that, it was the warlocks and actions of the desperate, but the humans were the ones who controlled the aftermath. Who organized the camps.
Master Muln says everyone should be judged on their own merits and Kettara agrees, to a certain extent. She's friends with dwarves and draenei, has fought alongside Krelna and called her sister without hesitation, but humans are something else entirely.
Humans cannot be shaman. They cannot hear the elements.
Humans have not, to her knowledge, ever enslaved the elements and forced them into chains either.
Kettera squares her shoulders. She will do her master proud.
So she follows the sound and the smell, until she rounds a corner and sees the human in question.
Male. Adult.
Smaller than she expected.
Kettara stares for a moment. She's taller than him, bigger than him. He doesn't appear to be carrying weapons or wearing any armor at all. There's almost no chance he'll understand her language.
But she has to try, doesn't she? This human - this small, smelly thing - is the only living soul she's yet seen.
Kettara clears her throat, then slaps her shoulder in the traditional orcish salute. The human ought to respect that, if he knows anything. ]
The Earthen Ring salutes you, human.
[ She doesn't bow. He hasn't earned that. He hasn't earned the salute, either, but gestures must be made. It has to start somewhere. ]
no subject
Kettara opens her eyes, sniffing the air.
Human.
It's been a long time since she's caught the sent of a human, living or otherwise.
Kettara feels her lip curl, but fights it back. She stands slowly, putting her weapons away. The Horde isn't at war with the humans, not precisely, but she remembers, in the bone deep way of her ancestors, how that last war went. How badly it ruined her mother's people, Frostwolves and so many others - true, proud warriors - brought low, brought to nothing. It wasn't humans who caused that, it was the warlocks and actions of the desperate, but the humans were the ones who controlled the aftermath. Who organized the camps.
Master Muln says everyone should be judged on their own merits and Kettara agrees, to a certain extent. She's friends with dwarves and draenei, has fought alongside Krelna and called her sister without hesitation, but humans are something else entirely.
Humans cannot be shaman. They cannot hear the elements.
Humans have not, to her knowledge, ever enslaved the elements and forced them into chains either.
Kettera squares her shoulders. She will do her master proud.
So she follows the sound and the smell, until she rounds a corner and sees the human in question.
Male. Adult.
Smaller than she expected.
Kettara stares for a moment. She's taller than him, bigger than him. He doesn't appear to be carrying weapons or wearing any armor at all. There's almost no chance he'll understand her language.
But she has to try, doesn't she? This human - this small, smelly thing - is the only living soul she's yet seen.
Kettara clears her throat, then slaps her shoulder in the traditional orcish salute. The human ought to respect that, if he knows anything. ]
The Earthen Ring salutes you, human.
[ She doesn't bow. He hasn't earned that. He hasn't earned the salute, either, but gestures must be made. It has to start somewhere. ]
I won't hurt you.