Small of stature and of frame, Nia is all ropy tendon and sinew. She does not seem to carry the bulk or weight of other orcs of her age. Her rich blue eyes sparkle with curious intelligence, and although they are sometimes prone to dancing with laughter, they generally remain darkly serious. None would take note of her drab clothing on a work day; the muted greys and browns that blend right into the environment would probably make her less noticeable if it wasn’t for her striking appearance. On the rare days of relaxation, however, she is often seen to be wearing brightly colored dresses that appear to be of high quality. Her cheekbones are high and crafted, and she manages to retain a regal beauty that is foreign to most orcs. It is obvious that her physical appearance means a lot to Morgania because she is always well groomed, her head cleanly shaven every day except for the thick mane of auburn hair that cascades out of her topknot and down her back. Her ears are pierced with silver rings lining the delicate green flesh. She will never be seen without three items: The two knives that hang from her hips, or the shimmering crystal on a steel chain around her neck.
Life is never easy when the standards were set high at your birth. Such is the case for Morgania. Born into the Frostwolf Clan, the rolemodel of all the young is Thrall (as it most likely is for all young orcs even if you were not born into his clan). Despite all this, Morgania did not live with your typical orc family. Her mother was very dedicated to her own education and knowledge (and mostly in subjects like literature and fashion), and therefore just as dedicated to the knowledge of her children, raising two quite sophisticated and rather peace-loving orc young. But when you're in the middle of war, being peace-loving isn't the best of traits, and Morgania was sent to train as a warrior, at which she failed miserably, disappointing her father and many of her clan.
However, like with all children, it just took a bit of time to find her nitch. It was realized fairly soon after her failure that despite her inability to hold a heavy sword, her nimble sewing fingers were much better at wielding tiny daggers and picking pockets. With some training in sneaking around, she became at least a semi-proficient thief and assassin, to the pride of her father, of course.
Despite all of this, Morgania's real love is not the thrill of the night, but rather the thrill of the stitch, and she finds nothing more satisfying than designing and creating beautiful clothing. If the world were a perfect place, she would be much happier to just stay at home and run her own tailoring and enchanting shop.
Morgania has two living parents and a deceased brother. She is still strongly connected to her family, but has branched out to join the Night Vanguard and help to end the wars. Throughout her journeys she has acquirred a few friends that she considers her "sisters", Xoruka and Meelas.
It was the worst day of her life, or so young Morgania had thought at the time. There had been so much relying on her acceptance as one of the new warriors in the clan that she had insisted she could succeed. The honor of her family depended on it. But looking at the darkening face of her enraged instructor now, she knew it was futile. Grezz shook one massive fist at her and bellowed. “AGAIN, RUNT!”
Flinching at his strong voice, she stood and hefted up her heavy shield and sword and tried to raise them to parry his attack, but all it did was knock her, once again, flat on her behind. She stared up into the eyes of Grezz Ragefist, one of the finest warriors in Ogrimmar, and whined, “They’re just too heavy, Master Ragefist. My arms get tired after a few seconds.”
“Orcs don’t GET tired!” He bellowed, although not quite as loud as the last time. “Orcs stand on their two feet. Orcs raise their swords and fight. Orcs do not fall down from one measly blow! It is not the weapon that is the problem in this situation. IT IS THE ORC!”
Morgania couldn’t help herself, she pulled the shield in front of her face and cowered beneath the wrath of her master. If she were honest, it wasn’t really so much cowering as trying to hide the tears that were running down her cheeks. She had been wishing for days now that her mother hadn’t raised such a soft-hearted fool.
Grezz, however, had no time for a whimpering child. He pushed the shield out of the way and hauled her up by the scruff of her shirt, boxing the side of her head with his other hand. The palm of his hand against her temple sent the inside of her head spinning long enough to stop her from sniveling any more, but also causing her to just about pass out. He pulled her close to him and whispered into her face, a deadly type of whisper. “And orcs, stupid child, do not cry.”
He was about to drop her back onto the ground, when a clipped, deep voice came from behind her. “Grezz! Is there a problem with her training?”
At this point, he tossed her to the side like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and she put a hand up to her now aching head. She could feel a goose egg forming on the side, and she sniffed again, although this time more with indignation rather than fear. Grezz held up his hands to the source of the voice. “Ezrik! The child you have brought me is useless. She is so small she is deformed. She cannot even lift a sword or a shield! How can you expect me to train such a runt?!”
Ezrik, the orc in question, stalked his burly frame up to Grezz. They were about the same size, both brawny orcs with fearsome faces and stances that were ready for battle. Morgania thought that perhaps they were sizing each other up for a fight, but she knew for a fact that the two had been friends since childhood. If anyone was to get a thrashing that night, it would be her. And she could bet that it would come from Grezz if she went back to the training barracks or from Ezrik if Grezz sent her home.
Ezrik growled at Grezz, his tusks gleaming in the torchlight, and his breath visible as he snorted it out in a huff. “The child that you are insulting happens to be mine, if you hadn’t forgotten.”
“I didn’t!” Grezz grunted, taking a step back as if to acquiesce to Morgania’s father. “Simple truth is that she’s just not a warrior, Ez! She’s a puny little runt. If she doesn’t grow and you can’t fatten her, she’ll never be one either!”
Ezrik glared down at the girl. “Is this true?”
Whimpering, Morgania scrambled over and knelt before her father. “I just can’t lift it, Da! I tried so hard!”
Ezrik’s eyes hardened, and he pulled her up by her scruff just as Grezz had done. His breath stank, and she wrinkled her nose and looked away, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to stare at him. “Go home to your mother. I’ll deal with you tonight.”
Morgania trembled as he set her gently down, and she scampered away, leaving the forgotten shield and sword to lie in the practice yard. Grezz huffed his disapproval from behind her as she ran towards home, and she knew that no matter what the outcome of their conversation… there was no way that her patient mother could hide her from the beating she was going to get that night.
“Owwwww!” Morgania wrenched her wounded appendage into her mouth. She glared angrily at her mother and said around the finger, “Ah can’ do dis!”
Sada didn’t even look up from her work. She continued to sit patiently in her seat across from her child and cast graceful, even stitches into the material. “Give me your hand, darling.”
Shuffling over irritably, Morgania shoved the offending limb under her mother’s nose. “Mama, I’m too small to be a warrior, too clumsy to be a tailor, and… and…”
She tried to continue the sentence but by that point was sniffing uncontrollably into her mother’s shoulder, as she threw her arms, and bleeding finger, around her mother’s neck.
Sada Frostwolf was by no means a small woman like her daughter, but despite her size and buxom shape, she somehow wielded this gentle gracefulness and subtle strength that had her respected and envied by many of the other female orcs. She stroked her daughter’s tiny back and smiled into the messy pony-tail. “It’s all right, Nia darling. Sometimes it just takes a little bit of time for us to find our place is all. Your Da knows this as well; he’s just as impatient as you are. That’s all.”
She looked over to where Morgania’s ripped pants were and leaned forward to pull them off the chair and examine the stitching while holding the softly crying child in her other arm. “Besides, your stitching is quite good for a beginner, child. I think that with some practice you might end up being one of the finest tailors in Orgrimmar.”
Morgania stepped back and looked at her mother, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. “You think so?”
Sada took serious interest into the torn pants at that moment and pointed one of her large fingers towards the fine stitches. “If hands as large as mine can sew with any expertise at all, then your tiny fingers will yet be some use to the Horde.”
Morgania beamed, grinning broadly and unabashedly at her mother. Ezrik had long believed that all emotions but anger should be hidden deep inside his heart to remain strong, but Sada had a different strategy. She intended to raise her children to be honest with both the world and with themselves, so that they would be able to react and handle any situation. Ezrik would complain that she coddled them, and maybe she did just a little, but deep down she knew that this was the way for her children, especially her tiny daughter. There was no other way for one so out of place in the city.
“Do you really think so?” She snatched the pants quickly from her mother’s hands and examined them herself. Her lip quivered again. “But it looks so clumsy next to yours…”
Sada laughed, a booming sound echoing through the room. “Of course it does. This is your first time and I’ve been practicing for years and years. I made clothes for you when you were a baby, Nia.”
“You did?” She took her pants and sat back on her mother’s lap. “Do you think that I’ll be able to make clothes for my baby, too?”
At that moment, Ezrik appeared in the doorway and snorted, but the look that Sada saw in his eyes was a fond one. “Just like a woman to think like that. Other things should be on her mind than sewing, Sada.”
“And what is she going to do without any pants, Ezrik?” Sada retorted with a smile. “Walk around half naked?”
Ezrik snorted, a sound that seemed to Morgania as another moment of disapproval, but Sada read clearly as hidden amusement. He threw his big mantle down on one of the hand crafted chairs. Despite what he might want to think, the artistry of crafting ran strong in their family, and he had even patterned pretty things into the chairs that he had created specially for Sada as a wedding gift.
“Well, she better learn how to fix them fast, because next week she’s heading out to try her hand again,” Ezrik boomed.
“Da!” Morgania gasped. “You can’t be sending me to Grezz again!”
Ezrik raised an eyebrow in her direction and she diminutively lowered her head. “I mean, you wouldn’t send me to Master Grezz again would you? I don’t think that days of sitting at home with Mama have made me any stronger.”
Ezrik scowled. “Nor has any of her strong cooking. I think you’re cursed, girl!”
“Ezrik!” Sada snapped. “Do not say those sorts of things to the child. You know they are not true.” She stroked Morgania’s arm as the girl shivered in her lap. “Besides, there is no need to terrify your child.”
“Well, what else is she if not cursed?!” Ezrik threw up his hands. “She cannot lift, she cannot swing. She is small, and you know it. Smaller, probably, than I have ever seen. She could possibly be smaller than a human!”
Sada smiled, “Which is why you’ve thought of a better plan, haven’t you? A better way for our little girl to serve the Horde. As we talked about last night. You don’t have to be so gruff about it, sir.”
Ezrik grunted, and sat down at the table, motioning for Morgania to join him. “Come sit over here, girl. And bring your sewing with you. Might as well take care of two things at once.”
She walked over to the table and sat down nervously, her hand trembling as she focused on the stitching. Ezrik managed a small smile for her as Sada continued to glare at him. He crossed his arms and leaned on the table, looking down at her. “Your Ma and I have been talking about what you can do, what with you being so small and all. She says that you’d be good in small spaces, hiding out in the bushes, sneaking up on people like you’re always doing to your brother when he comes to visit.”
He scowled again, but Morgania forced herself to ignore it. With a bit of willpower, she managed to make her fingers stop trembling and realized that her stitching the torn pant leg back together was rather relaxing… and rewarding. As she lifted her head to cast a glance at her father, he started to speak again. “So, your Ma and I have decided to let some of the shadier characters in Orgrimmar take to your training. Next week you’ll be heading over to Master Ormok to start your training in daggers… and other things.”
Morgania’s blue eyes widened. “I… I think I can lift a dagger.”
And, for the first time in a long time, Ezrik smiled down at his little girl and patted her gently on top of the head. “I rather thought that you’d be able to do it, myself.”
Morgania sat outside Ravenholdt Manor late at night, staring into the cooking fire that she had prepared. She couldn't bring herself to rest inside the manor with so many other thieves, rogues, and assassins about. A paranoid business to be sure, but a profitable and useful one, she thought idly. Master Ravenholdt had given her another lesson this day, and another task, one that she was contemplating bitterly as she looked into the fire. She thought back on what he had said, "You are skilled at your profession, Frostwolf, but you still have much more to learn. Much more. It is time that you take the next step. You have proven that you can get into a building, detect traps, and take out your target within the matter of a few short minutes without letting any about be aware that you have invaded their place. This is enough to make anyone queasy. However, you have developed a nasty habit!"
The master held up her pile of papers... lists of jobs, but also personal items like her letters from home and from her companions in the Night Vanguard. Even though she could speak to her comrades in arms through the crystal at any time, sometimes there were nights when she was alone and just wanted to read some of their kind words.
"These are the key to your death, Frostwolf. Any sort of paper trail will lead straight back to you, and those that fear you will not hesitate to take your life. Your task is to burn these. Every single one."
She had already cast her list of jobs and letters with details explaining what she was to do into the fire. She could remember those all easily enough. She didn't even need the papers or the notes any more for those such things, as she had been training herself to remember her duties for years now. It was the personal items that she was hesitant to get rid of.
The group of papers was a small one... and the letters were simple. Small notes accompanying gifts, or letters of thanks for items that she had sent to her friends, but each was personal and warm. Morgania felt that she needed warmth on cold nights like this, and there was not much to warm your heart more than a letter from someone who had become dear to you.
Tightening her shoulders and clenching her jaw in determination, she steadied herself for the task at hand. If this was something that she must do... then so be it! She knew that her father would say that if you could not succeed in your profession, then you have no need of a kind word... but Morgania knew that she would miss the items nonetheless.
The ritual was a quiet one, no tears, no signs of weakness other than one. As she read each letter over one last time, she clenched it to her heart with a smile, and tossed it into the ready flames.