Shattrah City was one of the Holiest of Holies, and a grim reminder for the costs of war. Walking in quiet solitude upon the Aldor's upper tiers, the immense Draenei male thunders from afar with his hooves striking the deck. The male strides with a teeming confidence, nearly set on the precipice of arrogance, but held in check by reverence of those around him. They were his people, the reason he fights, the reason he bleeds. White eyes slowly peer to the Aldor acolytes kneeling in supplication to the midday prayer bells. A soft, subtle smile creeps upon his face, rare for one so serious as he.
Little Draenei orphans frolic to and fro around the grass of the upper tiers, their laughter mixing in with the local birds that chirp and sing. Some run over to the black Draenei, squealing in delight.
"Vikentiy! Vikentiy! Come play with us! Pick us up! Won't you play with us today Vikentiy?"