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[ Dzivah ] Waking whispers.

Time passes easily, without the reluctance that it would have in more trying times. My duties have been disharged, as I have been deemed unfit for performance due to my failing health. With little choice but to live off of a meagre stipend until I either die or find further work, I became relegated to the Trollish slums demarcated by our kindly Orcish masters here in Orgrimmar.

What a sick fucking joke.

The opinion that I should accept this foul circumstance is beyond my comprehension. It isn't reasonable to me. Even in Dalaran, where I was a curious oddity, I was entitled to a bed, adequate warmth, and privacy. Here, it is different. This is the Horde to which our people 'belong'.

Ohiska and I greet one another in the early hours, wandering aimlessly through the streets to escape the heat and the squalor. He is less open about his frustration, though I can tell that being here incenses him greatly. Outside of the tribe, outside of an occupation, we have come across the sad truth of our people's diaspora. We are homeless here, and even worse, I find myself no better off swathed in make-believe 'freedom' then when I was a slave.

After seeing little sister Lily'na and finding her in good health but poor outlook, I began to ruminate. Eventually this cost me much sleep. For nearly fourteen days I have slept only briefly. My exhausted ears ring loudly, and my eyesight is blurred to the point where only the faces of my close circle are discernable. All else is a smoky haze through which I navigate, half awake. And in this time, the visions come.

At first I took this to be a sign of sleep deprivation. I tried the usual remedies, and sought healing practitioners. I even resorted to the use of a general noticeboard.

No respite from this strange malady comes, however, and so Ohiska has entreated me to seek an answer away from the city. To this end, he painted a rush'ka, and adorned it painstakingly in the images of Damballah and the raptor. He thought it best that I have a reference to the Loa who has favored me previously, though I understand he was reluctant to paint such an effigy on a tool designed to aid me.

And so it has been three days that I sit here, days away from Orgrimmar, under the shade of the palms of the Echo Isles. My writing hand is shaky, my vision is poor. But I shall take no serious effort to sleep, nor return, until the answer to my question comes.

That question?

What be my purpose now?

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