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((Not based on any specific RP, but inspired a bit by running around Tanaan in a party, and just wanting/needing to write something for Nore lately…))

The stench of the fel forge clung to her as she made her way to the harbor. Ichor stained her armor and dripped from her sword. Sweat-damp strands of red hair had long since escaped from her braid, her goggles keeping it out of her soot-smudged face.

She was weary, but fel-drunk orcs still threatened the outposts strung through the jungle to support the assault on Hellfire Citadel.

Alynore stretched, shook herself, and adjusted her grip on her blade and shield and moved forward, almost welcoming the clean salt scent of the ocean.

A heavily armored orc and two mail-clad riflemen stepped onto the path leading to the harbor. The leered at the paladin.

“A lone little pinkskin,” the armored one snarled, brandishing his axe. “They’ll notice that hair when we put your head on a spike.”

“You guys and spikes,” Nore replied, lifting her weapons. “But if you think I’m alone, then I need to introduce you to my husband.”

A shot cracked the air and one of the riflemen fell. The other whirled toward the wood line to respond, and was jumped by a large brown worg.

Nore grinned at the armored orc. He roared and charged, big axe swinging. Her shield took the strike, the shock of impact running up her aching arm. She called on the Light, gold flaring around her as she pushed with a shout of her own, the orc unbalanced, his weapon caught still. She thrust her sword into the joint at his armpit, and he screamed, coughing up blood.

Another shot whizzed by her face and into his skull, body quickly slumping. She was jerked down after partway, propping her boot on his side to pull her sword out, momentarily dropping her shield to get the leverage needed to free it from the axe. “I had that,” she groused.

“I know. Just speeding things up; we have other enemies to deal with,” Wes replied as he loped over. He pointed a claw toward the harbor. “Those guns aren’t going to dismantle themselves, you know.”

“Well, give a girl a lift then, and let’s get to work,” she said. They grinned at one another as Wes stepped back, shifting into a stone drake. Nore used his foreleg to climb onto his back, the worg settling in behind her with a whine.

They took off, making only the short flight—this time—to bomb the enemy cannons, and from there to assist in evacuating casualties from the Front, a constant team on the battlefield.