"How old are ye," asked Etar, a frown lining his face. Tukarn watched the Orc carefully, a pistol having been on the Shaman's chest mere moments before.

"Old enough, my friend, old enough..."

He sat on the ground, his feet stuck in the pool as a fire roared nearby, the dawn beginning to break around him. The West Wind blew around him, tousling his hair as he dimly pushed his mind in thought, sleep gnawing at him like a scavenging vulture as he tried to…

His eyes ran over the declaration, slowly, reading every detail and then digesting it within his mind, dissecting the words until he could fully wrap his head around them. Picking up his mug of black coffee, he sipped the dirt-like drink, trying to blink his eyes awake.

Outside the hut, the Pandarian sun began to rise from the east, struggling to gain altitude in the early hour of the daytime. The small creatures of the land began to stir, as the predators waited…

The sands swirled over Tanaris, another sandstorm brewing in the deep south of Kalimdor. The sands had swirled for some time, the golden grains painting the very air a pale yellow, stripping the bare flesh of anyone foolish enough to show skin. Only the hardy basiliks and scorpids dared to stay out, hunkered down in the dunes behind rocks and huts. 

Buried under layers of sand, deep down in the dunes, he meditated. Weeks, again, cutting down his time from the last he had done…

Tukarn rested in a branch, crouched low in his spot as the darkness of the swamp closed in on him. He opened up his senses, reaching out to feel the movements in the earth. A squad of Zandalari moved not to far away, but they were headed south on a patrol. Some Saurok scrabbled about to the east, gnashing their teeth and stomping around, waiting. A small group of Alliance struggled against the Mogu to the south, near the fringe of the Courtyard of Bones.

His sense of touch…