The short story is located in Krasarang Wilds, during patch 5.1, prior to Inran's joining the 157th "Wild Tempest" Company. The story was written over 8 months ago and before Inran remake into a Monk, although this story is still a part of her background story.
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"Light, be merciful to those that are to fall today, take them into your loving embrace. Forgive those missguided, those who bring the tide of missery onto this land. Guide the hand of your humble severants, those who stand against the darkness. Grant us your blessing, O' Light, give us strength and let us live to see another day. By the Naaru, may it be so!"
The two armored fingers remained a moment on the forehead of the armored draenei female standing in the heat of Krasarang Wilds. A soldier of the Alliance, a full grown man yet a head or two shorter than she ran past her to rejoin the battle, a battle she to would rejoin shortly. The battle against the Horde at the footstep of their fort was as fierce and bloody as ever. The clash of metal, shouts and screams of pain. The scent of blood and sweat in the air and the ear-breaking sound of the Horde anti-air cannons and the gunfire of the Alliance gyrocopters. Inran looked behind her at the small raft they had used for landing. They had been lucky and made it through, unlike many other who now laid dead in their watery graves, hit by the cannons. Inran moved her hand past the dark blue horns as long as a mans forearm sprouting from the sides of her head, partly hid among the other horns of her helmet that were intended to protect the real ones. She had no desire to lose her horns, not anymore. There had been a time she had consider to cut them off, they had always been in the way, but not after the same horns had saved her life by turning them into improvised weapon against her attempted captors. That had been one of the fights during the Orc War on Draenor... Inran swiftly pushed the thought aside. There were more present matters to attend to. Her hand closed around the hilt of her greatsword, a long blade made of dwarven steel sheated in her back. It had served her well since Northrend where her old crystaline sword from ancient times had finally shattered from the countless battles it had seen. Her entire armor was of northern design, with large shoulderpads with spikes and additional spikes set on elbows and knees, forged by the Alliance smiths to suit a Draenei. She didn't have the designed undercloth beneath it, wearing only simple trousers, a shirt and the wrappings around her breasts to prevent them getting in the way or distracting with unnecessary bouncing. Wearing the warm layers would be a suicide this far south. Luckily the wind from the sea provided some relief and she would not cook to death in her armor. Embolden by these thoughts she drew her sword, raising it high and watching the sun reflect from its surface. A thin smile rose on her lips. Yes, it would be a good day to die. Inran set her eyes on the battle ahead through the blue lenses of her helmet. She lower her sword in front of her. The blue hooves sank slightly into the sand as her muscular legs forced her body forward to join the onslaught.
Inran's first opponent soon came to sight. A young orc, merely reaching adulthood set its eyes on the draenei and roared a challenge. Inran lift her sword for a salutation as she charged to meet the orc. Her opponent grinned and lift his mighty axe. Clearly the draenei would be of no challenge. He would slaughter this one and take the horned head as a trophy just like the countless orcs had during the slaughter of the draenei back in Draenor. Wrong. The young orcs eyes widen of surprise and shock as a sword break through a joint in its armor, slide between its ribs and out of its back. It had all happen so quickly. He had only lift his axe for a mighty chop when the draenei had arched into his left, swinging towards the orcs left arm. He had of course changed the course of his axe to block the blow. In the next blink of an eye much had happen. The draenei had swiftly pull her sword back, feinting the blow and the Orcs axe met nothing but air. Being left unbalanced for less than a second had been enough for the draenei, who had lunged forward and sank the sword through him faster than should be possible from such a weak and pathetic race, even the less from a female specimen! With these thoughts the orc fell down on its knees as the draenei pulled her sword out and swing it towards the orcs neck to finish it. Inran muttered a quiet prayer, her apology for the Light as her sword cut through tendons and flesh, the orcs head separating from its body. A sudden feeling of dread shoot through her. Without thinking she drop into a crouch, bending her head forwards and not a moment to late. She could hear the rush of air as something large and heavy narrowly missed her head and a frustrated rasp high above her. Still in crouch she turned around while simultaneously swinging her sword in a slashing arc. She was rewarded by an surprised "Ooomh?" as the sound of a blade cutting through flesh. A ghostly white trail followed the blade, which had cut through the thick skin with ease, slowly fading away. Inran did not stop to wondering what she hit but dashed past the lumbering creature. The hobgoblin who had attempted to sneak on the draenei looked stunned down at its stomach, where-from its internals were now pouring out, its thoughts interrupted by a sharp pain in its back when the same blade buried itself a moment later through its spine. The hobgoblin fell forward, crushing the already dead orc beneath it's large form, its slayer already on the move towards the next opponent.
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