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Naheal

Eclipse: The Holy Light (Open)

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"Be safe." Julilee's words echoed in Naheal's mind. "You're the only soldier we have with experience dealing with her."

Walking down the streets in Shattrath to the Aldor temple, he shook his head. We're all in danger, Commander, he wanted to say to her. I'm a grunt. What more can I do but put myself in harm's way so others can live? The irony, of course, was that, despite being terrified for the past few days, he had slept better than he had in months. Between a conflict with the Grim he didn't agree with and the nightmares just getting worse, even laying his head on a pillow was enough to cause him distress. But lately? None of that seemed to matter. He felt at home in this conflict, as if he was born for this.

"Something troubles you, Vindicator?" He heart a familiar voice to his side. A draenei woman, the soulbinder named Neera who had chosen to follow him into the alternate Draenor, smiled at him. "You are not alone, you know."

"I know."

"So stop acting like it!" She hit him in the chest with the back of her hand. "Really, would it kill you to ask for help?"

"What do you think I'm here for?" He said with a laugh. "I mean, I enjoy the company of the draenei, yes, but your people make horrible tea and have the worst wines of any race I've been around!"

"Blame tradition." Neera shrugged.

"You put sand in my drink." She smiled at that. "Got me to stop drinking that night, I'll give you that." As they approached the temple, he turned to her. "Neera, would you gather as many people as possible? We need to spread word on this curse and see about getting as many people on finding a cure for it and a means to heal wounds like my scars as we can."

She bowed to him and ran off as he walked into the temple.

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The troll had been on the Aldor Rise of Shattrath, muddling through the tomes stored in the northern summit. It was a typical foggy day, with the mists drifting past the city walls like an unperturbed invader boiling forth from the Zangarmarsh. The illusion of a floating island of rock and shelving was not lost upon Krae'jin as he squatted on a precipice of the Rise, gazing out over the false sea of vapor. Below, multitudes of Skettis Outcasts soldiered on with the rebuilding of their feathery lives and the Lower City was abuzz with the latest rumor and gossip.

Turning away from the overlook, Krae'jin returned to the wide olemba table covered with various tomes of Draenei history and geographical minutia that could only interest the devoutly bookish. A draenei priestess had entered the repository and was passing a strange blessing from scion to adherent. The words were strange to Krae'jin's tongue and nagged at a certain curiosity. A curse with physical scars?

"Oh! Priestess!" the troll called. "What be dis warning o' which you speak?" Krae'jin cleared his throat. "I know a ting or two 'bout healin'!"

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The draenei looked to the troll. "One of our Vindicators has word that some evil has been unleashed onto the world and it's something that he's faced in the past." She looked to the main temple as Naheal was walking in. "If you're willing to help, that blood elf there has some of the scars we need examined."

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"A chance for ol' Krae'jin to show 'is mettle! Hah!" The old troll shambled past the draenei keeper, his scaly skin brushing her fancy gossamer cloth while doing so. There was a weirding way about the shaman, like a a creature out of his element yet calm in his own world. The aura persisted as he trundled up the ancient stone stair to the Aldor terraces and the waiting elven hunter.

"Ahoy! You dere, mistah' elf man," he waved from several yards behind. "Wait up fo' Krae'jin, yah? You got da mean look on ya brow and I dun' tink 'dere be nothin' in 'dese books das gonna heal ya all o' da quick-like!" Krae'jin continued to stomp forward past the bemused Naheal through the stone archway, relying on cane and wit to guide the pair into the inner sanctum.

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"I know that much," he said to the troll. "I've searched for years on how to heal these wounds, but haven't gotten a thing." He moved beside Krae'jin. "If you're a healer, then we'll be happy to have your help. As many angles to heal wounds caused by these things. What we're facing down are worgs summoned by some ancient being in addition to the curse itself, but what I need from healers here is to learn how to treat the wounds given by the minions of this creature." He pointed to the scar on his neck - fang marks from a massive worg that nearly ripped his throat out. A wound upon his "essence," as Kex'ti and Taozhu had put it, that had never properly healed. "Mine are old and they may never truly be healed, but healers here may be able to study them and figure out how to heal other wounds like it."

He paused for a moment, then held his hand out to the Shaman, "My name is Naheal Malastar. I'd like to count you amongst the team needed to get these things treated."

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