Totems 101: Enhancement (OOC)

Well, my lovely and talented Faeldray has written up something interesting, and based on that and the shaman I had the...dubious honor of grouping with on my alliance rogue, I think it's time I wrote a little something on my favorite class. This is meant primarily as an overview and introduction to the class for new players, or players who are new to shaman. So please, pencil and paper only, and there will be many tests on the subject as you level. :)

First, there are the talent trees: Elemental, Enhancement, and Restoration. These three trees encompass spell dps, melee dps, and healing, respectively. If you are just starting to put talent points together, think carefully about what you want to do in the game, and how you want to do it. This post will cover Enhancement; I'll go through the other specs in later posts.

Enhancement is my primary spec on Kazimierz, my personal favorite to play, and the best for those who like to solo and quest their way up the levels. This tree favors melee combat, and allows a number of powerful group buffs that aid those with similar talents: 20% melee haste, 10% increased attack power, and the highest strength/agility buff in the game. If you enjoy getting up close and personal with your opponents, this tree is ideal.

Given this focus, you want to maximize melee DPS. As a shaman, you gain 1 AP per point of STR and one AP per point of AGI. Since AGI adds crit chance as well, it is the clear winner. Low-level enhancement shaman should try to gear for agility, crit, attack power, and some hit if they find it. Strength isn't bad, per se, but agility gives you much more. Gear with intellect isn't particularly useful at this time, and spirit should never be considered for any flavor of shaman, as it gives nothing beyond its underwhelming passive, out-of-combat regeneration.

As far as weapons go...from 1-39, you'll want to grab whatever two-hander you can use and has the highest base DPS. Agility is nice, of course, but base weapon damage counts a lot more. You should imbue this with Flametongue or Rockbiter; whichever one you've trained a new rank in most recently is generally a good bet. Both improve damage on hit; flametongue also buffs your spell damage (but not healing). Both are inferior to Windfury, which you train at level 30-this should /always/ be on your weapon once you have it, as it gives a chance to effectively hit three times with buffed damage. Unless you PVP regularly, Frostbrand isn't going to do a lot of good, and brings very low DPS compared to the other options. In this level range, you will typically be using totems sparingly, but they are very handy for tough fights or mob-heavy areas where you won't move a lot. Use Earth Shock, auto-attack, and keep Water Shield up: it'll keep you in mana (and thus health) for no cost.

Now, at 40, you will gain the ability to dual-wield, if you talent for it. Scratch that, you will talent for dual-wield; it's a massive boost in both DPS and smoothness over the two-handers. Combined with the ability to wear mail, this means a very big jump in your ability to kill quickly and without taking a huge amount of damage. This ability to dual-wield means you have to think about what kind of one-handers you use, however, and the answer is based on your Windfury Weapon. Every time WF triggers, a hidden 3-second timer counts down, during which no more windfury procs can be generated. This, combined with the other useful talents Stormstrike and Lava Lash, means that the slowest possible weapons are advantageous. Additionally, you should imbue your offhand with Flametongue; the WF timer does not discriminate between weapons, and the extra attacks will be much weaker if they're from your offhand.

As you advance from there, your combat priority changes: start with Stormstrike, then use your Earth Shock to profit from the nature damage boost, using magma/searing totem and Fire Nova as your mana allows. Mental Dexterity means you can profit from Intellect on your gear, so don't discount it anymore, and at 50, you gain access to the wonders of Shamanistic Rage: 15 seconds of damage reduction and mana generation. Proper use of shamanistic rage and Improved Stormstrike will make it much easier to keep your mana up, allowing you to drop totems as a matter of course. The best are generally Strength of Earth, Magma, and Windfury; healing stream or cleansing are both solid choices depending on how toxic the region you're fighting in may be. As you obtain Lava Lash, add it after Earth Shock in your priority.

As I mentioned your priority, I should say a little more about it. You do not, as an enhancement shaman, have a rotation. You have a priority, and at any given moment of free global cooldown, you want to use the highest available skill on the list. Thus, for you 50ish shaman, it's Stormstrike/Earth Shock/Lava Lash, with Fire Nova on either side of Earth Shock depending on if it's a solo mob or a group. Learning to prioritize with each new skill should be a goal while you level, as you have rather a lot of them by the end-game. It's not too important as you level, of course, but if you want to maximize your damage output, it's something to practice.

As you approach 60, one of the most valuable talents becomes available: Maelstrom Weapon, which, when capped, will give you a 20% cast time reduction per stack on any lightning or healing spell. At the 5-stack maximum, this gives you instant-casts on some very useful spells. Soloing, you will find great use in Healing Wave to quickly patch yourself up mid-fight, while in groups, use of lightning bolt or chain lightning will up your damage dealt considerably. For optimum DPS, using a 5-stack of Maelstrom to cast Lightning Bolt is the highest priority of all your damage-dealing skills.

Your capstone talent in the Enhancement tree is Feral Spirit, and it summons a pair of wolves that make you into a tiny god for 40 seconds. They attack, they taunt, they give you faster movespeed, they break snares, and they heal you for the damage they deal-it's an amazing talent, and combined with shamanistic rage and maelstrom procs, you will be able to solo a great deal of the group quests in Outlands.

Grouping as an enhancement shaman is slightly different from soloing; the mobs aren't hitting you anymore (hopefully), and you don't have to worry about healing. First, the basics of DPS apply as always: watch your threat, target what the tank is targeting, and don't pull before the tank does. After these, you have a few more considerations beyond soloing.

First, you want to attack from behind whenever possible. While you have no Backstab-style skills, rear attacks are not subject to the enemy's full block/parry/dodge chance, meaning more damage and more chances for useful procs. Positioning like this also helps give the tank a chance to build threat, which is useful due to the sometimes-bursty nature of your DPS.

Second, you need to watch your totems, both to ensure they're giving the proper buffs and to make sure they aren't left in the path of a patrol. Familiarize yourself with your totems and what buffs they grant; death knights can duplicate your Strength of Earth effect, and allow you to drop Stoneskin instead; they can also duplicate your Windfury totem's melee haste enhancement and allow you to drop Wrath of Air for the healers. Knowing the mobs in the instance (or paying attention, if you've never been) will let you know when it's a good time to swap to Cleansing totem, or the ever-useful Tremor to strip fears and mind control. Proper use of these two totems will almost guarantee the healer's love in certain encounters. :)

Third (for higher-level shaman): use your cooldowns wisely. Shamanistic Rage lasts for 15 seconds, so if you're running low on mana, try to conserve until a relatively big or tough pull. Use your spirit wolves on every boss, and if there's a long time between them, don't be afraid to pull them out for trash. And Reincarnate wisely! It can be the difference between a bevy of corpse-runs or resurrection, or it can be the difference between a wipe and victory. You're low on health and mana when you come back, so take a moment to look around before you hit the button-AOE or void zones in your vicinity will be immediately fatal when you return.

The enhancement tree makes for a very entertaining and self-reliant shaman, combining good DPS with useful tools, potential off-heals, and flashy, powerful cooldowns. Look carefully at everything you can do, and you'll be amazed at the situations that you'll be able to get through.

Worst. Tank. Ever.

I realize the title sounds like hyperbole, and I suppose it is, but...I'm pretty sure this one is up there on the global scale of tanks-that-should-not-be. So here's the setup: I queue as healer/vain hope *coughs* I mean healer/DPS on Kazi to grab my frost emblems today. Get into HHOS, and check out the group. Ended up with a pally tank with 26k HP-not bad, probably new, but even new pally tanks aren't bad to heal, right?

Well, right about as I finish casting Earth Shield the first problem happens. A mage gets a little close to the wandering 3-dwarf patrol that lurks near the beginning and body-pulls them. No problem, right? Avenger's Shield, Consecrate, Hammer of the Righteous, any of them would pull all three to the tank with almost no effort. I'm not concerned.

Until the tank runs around, doing approximately nothing. And I do mean nothing, the mage goes down before I see the pally draw her weapons to auto-attack. Once the rest of the DPS notice, the mobs start dying, but she never gets threat on anything. I check it out, she *does* at least have Righteous Fury up, so I figure she wasn't ready.

...how wrong I was. The first group she pulls, she loses *instantly*. Same with the second, and the third, and then the three groups combined after that. /Never/ did I see this tank ever get more than orange-level threat on something for more than a second. I finally mouse over recount, and, well...I'll show it to you (names withheld to protect the innocent. And the guilty).


Yes, the tank is the one in pink from Nazgrel. Yes, that *is* Hand of Reckoning as her top DPS ability. No, Consecrate, Hammer of the Righteous, any Judgment, or any other tanking ability are not present. And yes, that is Seal of Command being used, helping her generate the amazing 360 DPS sufficient to tank, I don't know, maybe level 60 instances? Oh yeah, remember, this was Heroic Halls of Stone, and she somehow had enough gear for 26k HP-more than you can get with a fresh 80.

I'm normally willing to put up with new players or less-than-skilled players, but this? Combined with her silence and the fact I could barely keep everyone alive on the easiest trash pulls...I bailed. I left group, and so help me I don't feel bad at /all/.

Except for the poor DPS who have to requeue, they're definitely worse off.

So...give me your stories of the worst tanks you've ever played with, and if you can top that...I pity you. ;)

*brushes off dust*

So I know I've been neglecting my blog for a while, with little explanation as to why. Well, as you may have read on Faeldray's excellent site, the two of us have been spending as close to every waking moment together as possible for the past three and a half months now. She, wonderful woman she is, captured my heart and mind, and my motivation to write kind of faded as I valued time with her much more than writing...or sleep, or food, although those last two got me in a little bit of trouble...However, gentle prodding indicates I should probably start writing again, so here we are. Hopefully, I won't have another long absence like that.

No promises. <.<
Anyway, my incredibly sweet Faeldray has sent me a marvelous gift: a custom portrait of Kazi, kitted out in his Argent Dawn RP gear, Gorehowl in his hand. It's a beautiful piece, and I'm paranoid to expose it to damage, so it's going to remain mostly boxed until I can get a proper frame for it. :)
...yes, I am weighting down the corners with stacks of blank CDs. They may or may not also be the ones I use as a mirror when I want to shave at my desk.

...don't look at me like that. >.>

In any case, as you can see, it's a wonderful piece of art from a wonderful lady, and I wanted to share it with everyone. I understand this was made by our guildie Snugglekins, who I have not yet had the chance to compliment in person. You do excellent work. :)

I'll try to get back to writing now...hope to share more with you soon!

A gift

This is a belated birthday gift for Faeldray at Petaholics Anonymous, who it has been my very great privilege to know and call friend. Qouth Wowwiki:

"A lok'vadnod is a prestigious song composed for a specific individual. It is commonly seen as the greatest honor the orcs can grant to an individual."

While usually the subject of a lok'vadnod is dead, Niqora's still very much alive. Happy Birthday!

Lok’vadnod for Niqora Wildstride

Harken, spirits, and heed my calling

That I may speak with sageful truth

Of the tranquil towering hunter

Of the mighty Wildstride

Born to warring plains and peoples

‘Twixt hateful hooves and twisting thorns

Dwelled her kind in cruel-edged battle

Dwelled the staid Shu’halo

In bitter strife did Wildstride strengthen

Sharp of wit and bright of soul

With her aim she warded elders

With the land she made her bond

Battered from the battles many

Bleeding stood the Shu’halo

Defiant through their doomed resistance

Defiant through their people’s night

Roamed Wildstride the barren badlands

Seeking shelter for her tribe

Ever stalking safer havens

Ever charting unknown lands

And as the Horde made hasty landfall

Wildstride wandered wide and long

To the woodland deep and looming

To the depths of Feralas

There, beneath the boughs of emerald

Found Wildstride a wolf of worth

Her hide of sable hue and luster

Her eyes of brilliant topaz gleam

Patient as the peaks above her

Stalked the woods did Wildstride

With skillful eyes she tracked the wolfling

With silent stillness she bode her time

And as the wolf loped lightly near her

Near the trap the tauren set

Readied her the rhyme of ancients

Readied her to sinter souls

Whispering her heart-wish swiftly

Before the snared and snarling wolf

Niqora formed her fastest friendship

Niqora to the beast was bound

Through slogging moor and icy mountain

Wandered Wildstride again

Always seeking, ever finding

Always Blacky by her side

Across the Plagueland’s fallow fields

And through the burning Blackrock mount

There was no shoreline shunned to travel

There was no stranger she’d not aid

With canny aim and cunning prowess

They ranged to regions strange and far

None may know their deeds for number

None could call their quests in vain

And as the Horde in heated battle

Sounded summons to the fray

Ready with her wolf she answered

Ready Wildstride marched to war

Amidst the spilling soldier’s lifeblood

Skirmished swiftly Wildstride

Gentle as she mapped and scouted

Gentle as she slew her foes

Never born to blood or thunder

Still Niqora knew their ways

Without fear she served her Chieftain

Without rage she earned her due

On her war-wolf swiftly riding

With her heart-bound at her side

Feared she made her name amongst them

Feared is Wildstride by our foes

And when honor’s hold was loosened

To savage southern dusts she strode

Seeking once more sights of wonder

Seeking secrets long unheard

In the bleached and bone-strewn desert

Stirred a strange forgotten foe

Driven by the voice of madness

Driven by the Old God’s gaze

Countless came the might of mortals

To face the fearsome threat again

Many stood and fought with fury

Many died to breach the gates

Yet Wildstride would not be among them

And though the thought was naught but desperate

Went she with the band of heroes

Went she to the Old God’s lair

None know aught of all they found there

Or of the wrathful ruin wrought

By the forty fearless mortals

By those who dared defy a god

Thought the toll was cruel and costly

Stood she with those who survived

Bow your heads and give her honor

Bow to Niqora, Old God’s Bane

Not content with quiet respite

Again she dared walk distant lands

Wandered with her wolf and weapons

Wandered to a broken world

Onward through the Outland wastelands

Wildstride wandered, Blacky near

‘Cross the crumbling crust of Hellfire

‘Cross the lakes of Zangarmarsh

Through Terokkar’s tainted woodlands

Across the nascent Netherstorm

Niqora ranged with green eyes watching

Niqora to the Mag’har came

On the gale-swept ground she battled

In service to our long-sought kin

Ogre’s blood she spilled in rivers

Ogre’s fear Nagrand now knows

With honor over those in waiting

Wildstride went to serve again

To the place we formed our folly

To the blackened Shadowmoon

Through the damned of Draenor’s darkness

Niqora watched and warred and won

Stood she at the black-built temple

Stood she at the Warden’s side

Amongst the needles born of nether

Those of shackled scales she found

Abandoned by black-hearted breeders

Abandoned once, but now no more

Disdaining doomed assault and slaughter

With beguiling guise she crept

Among the slavers, sly and slinking

Among their victims, breaking bonds

And with her cunning, canny luring

A sentry’s knell Niqora knew

Free was sable-scaled Saraku

Free again to aid his kind

Made them masquerade together

Foiling fel-orcs from within

Standing steady near the slavers

Standing, soon to pounce and strike

At last, the long deception dwindled

Before Betrayer’s blinded eyes
Away they fled on flows of nether

Away, in friendship forged of flame

And through her deeds so wide and wondrous

Her chieftain’s heart had with hers held

Together with her mighty Mysthowl

Together in bliss they would dwell

Yet peace was sparse and soon abated

As the Lich-King’s languor fled

Again with gun and gentle grimness

Again went Wildstride to the fray

To Northrend went Niqora freely

Not for only honor’s sake

Fought she for the fates of many

Fought the fallen, for their souls

At Angrathar she marched with honor

With the vanguard’s vengeful charge

Watched her Saurfang’s final challenge

Watched her Putress betray us all

And when the Warchief, ever watchful

With Sylvanus purged the halls

Niqora with the Kor’kron sallied

Niqora close beside them fought

Always seeking strange new visions

Through northern wilds Niqora strode

Finding friends to aid in battle

Finding sights of beauty deep

And when her clan with calm-set faces

Marched to slay the Lich-King’s pawn

With them Wildstride was stalking

With her, they felled dark Kel’thuzad

Bathed in honor bright and shining

She was granted duty great

Ambassador, of all our peoples

Ambassador to the Crusade’s call

Rose Wildstride through all aspiring

Skilled with lance and shield and bow

Until the Crusade called her sister

Until a Champion she was named

Now new terror haunts the northlands

Sibling spawn of dread C’thun

Dauntless, Wildstride advances

Dauntless delves to Ulduar

Hunts she now the ancient evil

Leading those who call her friend

Seeking through the Titan’s prison

Seeking dreadful Yogg-Saron

All who call her captain honor

Brave and valiant Wildstride

Always with her black-furred packmate

Always patient, always strong

Harken, spirits, and heed my calling

That I may swear with solemn vows

Of the truth of all I’ve spoken

Of the tale of Wildstride

A failure of spark (OOC)

So you may have noticed I'm several days behind here. <.<

I still plan to make the attempt, but I'm going to try marshaling inspiration instead of the daily grind. *crosses fingers*

Anyway, even if I don't make the Nanowrimo completely, I still intend to post a great deal of Kazimierz's adventures and the like.

A shaman's duty

Blinking back his surprise, Kazimierz clambered to his feet and bowed to his mentor in acceptance. To earn a surname was a mark of distinction, though the precise status gained depended heavily on what you did to get it. Marzena Brightaxe had earned hers through her flashy weapons style and nearly compulsive attention to her equipment-if she wasn’t intending to creep about, there was no piece of metal on her person that you couldn’t use for a mirror, and when combined with the oddly graceful spinning cuts that were a staple of her repertoire she was dazzling in the Durotar sun. Limbsunder’s namesake show of force has already been mentioned, and rumor had it Kazimierz’s adoptive father had become known as Ironfang after a particularly close-quarter and savage battle.

The Farseer beckoned him to walk with her, and they left the still coolness of the healer’s pavilion. Some distance outside, three bodies were laid out neatly: the remains of Marzena’s squad. Shrikha watched Kazimierz’s reaction carefully, but there was little to gauge-the shaman merely gazed wordlessly upon the corpses.

“I have taught you what you must do, Bloodhand. You were there when these warriors died…their souls still cling to you. There is none better suited,” Shrikha said, more softly than her usual rough-edged tone. “Give them the final honors.”

Kazimierz knelt beside the nearest of the fallen, picking up the strange charm of bone and feathers that the troll had carried with him. It still glowed lambently in his mind’s eye, a whisper and an echo of the warrior whose soul it had been entwined with. He called on the words he had been taught, speaking slowly and carefully in a tongue that had been ancient long before the demons came to Draenor.

The earth reclaims your body; let your spirit rise beyond it.

The fire of your heart is quenched; let your soul burn anew and unbound.

The water of life has left your veins; let your spirit flow unhindered.

The air of your breath is stilled; let the winds carry you to the Nether.

The ties of duty are broken; by your honor dwell amongst the Ancestors forevermore.

As he whispered, a ghostly glow rose in thin tearing sheets from the body, glittering at the edges of his sight. The weary presence of the warrior’s spirit brightened, then lifted entirely as the luminance faded away, but it did not fade from the shaman’s memory. The span of the troll’s life flickered and danced at the edges of memory, and Kazimierz knew the very essence of the one called Viljami. Once more, then a third time he repeated the ritual, and the deep echoes of two orcs joined the troll. Finally done with his task, he stood gazing into the dying glitter of spiritflame, overcome by the intensity of the remnants within him.

Shrikha gently patted his shoulder, her features approving and sympathetic. “You have done well, young one. They will find their way to the Twisting Nether, and the Ancestors will welcome them.”

Kazimierz responded with only a shallow nod, which the Farseer seemed to accept as sufficient. “They will fade from your soul, with time,” she continued, looking blankly into the distance. “It will not be so…overwhelming, eventually. But they will be with you forever, a shadow of their spirits.”

The farseer seemed almost hollow now, no more bluster or authority in her tone or stance. “It is the burden we bear, Kazimierz, to remember the dead in a way no one else is able. It is why we must be of stronger will than any other in the Horde, to remain able and ready to serve even with the weight of the fallen upon our shoulders.”

She left without further words, leaving Kazimierz to stare into the empty desert.

It was hours later when Kazimierz returned, still subdued. The others had awoken as well, and they were celebrating their victory with drink and food. The scent of spice-laden boar was tempting, but he had no desire for the rough companionship of the warriors. The young shaman walked instead towards the sheer valley wall where Shrikha’s hut stood, seeking answers.

The Farseer was sitting alone, meditating in the tiny stone room that she called home. She rose calmly at Kazimierz’s approach, turning to face him.

“You seem more at ease now. The spirits rest more lightly upon you?” she asked, beckoning for him to sit.

Kazimierz complied, nodding uncertainly. “It…was too much, at first. I could not separate myself from them. Will it always be so hard?” he asked haltingly.

Shrikha shook her head. “You will learn to stay aloof, at least well enough to function afterwards. It is similar in many ways to the hard-headedness required to deal with the greater spirits-a learned skill, not something you must be born with.”

Kazimierz sighed with relief, visibly relaxing. “It is good…I feared for my future, if this is what I must deal with,” he said, then paused for a moment, considering his next words. The Farseer raised an eyebrow.

“Speak, Bloodhand. You have grown into your role; you understand what I have tried to prepare you for. I have no further need of harshness.”

“The last fight, which you lauded my deeds? I cannot remember it, not coherently-only flashes of images, and the glorious rage…” Kazimierz trailed off.

“It fits with my own visions, then. I believe you caught the attention of a fury spirit, called it to you unconsciously. It is a gift, or great fortune, that you were able to do so while so inexperienced-I doubt you would have survived without its strength behind your own. Do not fear corruption, child. They are natural enough, though they take a dear toll on the body.”

“But…I have called spirits before, and always I have recalled my actions. Are you certain?” he pressed, the dark suspicion building in his mind. “I have talked with the old veterans...this bloodlust sounds too similar to their tales of the blood of Mannoroth.”

The Farseer’s eyes narrowed, but she responded in an even tone. “That one is dead and burned, Kazimierz. We are free from his influence forever. Do not forget this!” she admonished, then sighed. “If you had been possessed, you would have four more ghosts to deal with. Demonic bloodlust is…indiscriminate.”

“But then why-“ Kazimierz began, and the grey-haired Farseer interrupted him.

“You were almost lost to the mere echoes of three mortals sharing space in your soul, boy! Fury spirits are very rare, and very strong. It is no real surprise that you couldn’t hold on to your senses,” she snapped. “Enough of this. If you feel guilt, let it go; you fought fiercely and honorably.”

Sighing deeply, Kazimierz nodded. “I have another question, Farseer, if I am permitted to ask,” he said, and Shrikha nodded her assent. “The humans channeled some strange power against us; searing bolts of light, mostly. It felt…strange, neither the smooth rightness of the spirits nor the bloody pain of demons. Do you know what it might be?”

Shrikha pursed her lips irritably. “Yes. The humans called it the ‘Holy Light”, and their champions draw upon its power to heal and harm, much as we do the spirits. As to their source…I am not sure. It is not from this world, nor from Draenor-the Draenai brought the tradition of Light-worship with them when they arrived so long ago,” she said, eyes distant in recollection. “I do not trust the Light, nor the ones who wield it-it demands worship, not respect, so much like the Legion’s cults. Like shamanism, the Light can be used to heal or harm, but it is typically more focused-I have seen their paladins shield themselves or another all but totally against harm, yet to the others in need around them goes nothing. It is a power which should be respected, but held at arm’s length-I have seen many such alien powers and their followers, and they seem ever unstable.” She snorted scornfully, twirling a stick between her fingers in an unconscious gesture Kazimierz had not witnessed before. “I have heard word that the Lich-King, vile perversion that he is, was found and resurrected by one of these ‘paladins’. Do not become tangled in their affairs!”

Kazimierz bowed his head. “I thank you for your wisdom, Farseer. It is good to know what I face. If it is not impertinent, may I ask your opinion on our new allies?”

“They are…difficult to read,” Shrikha responded after a brief contemplation. “I have watched over them for some time now, and they do seem to be distinct from the scourge-they clashed bitterly over the ruins of Lordaeron’s capitol until the Forsaken drove them further east. But their intentions…I am unsure. There are rumors and whispers of terrible things in their ‘Undercity’, foul perversions of life stitched from dozens of corpses, concoctions of poison and disease. Yet these are only rumor-I have heard nothing substantial, and the rumormongers may simply be afraid of them.

“We need them, I think. We are still weak from the battles before Hyjal, and after the betrayals of the Second War, we have never regained sufficient numbers to challenge our foes directly. Even if the unsavory rumors are true, we must accept them as allies,” she pontificated, then laughed with a tinge of bitterness. “Besides, if our cries of redemption are to be believed, who are we to deny the opportunity to them? Our situations were not so different…we merely have the advantage of still living and breathing after our escape.”

Kazimierz took this in slowly, watching the smoke from the small cooking fire escape up the chimney.

That…is true, he thought, mulling over the Farseer’s words. Maybe they sought us out for that reason, knowing our history…

His mind worked over all the information Shrikha had shared, and Kazimierz was too deep in thought to realize the imprint of the dead warriors no longer troubled him.