02-18-2011, 01:39 AM
I stood on the edge of the great crater torn by Deathwing's reemergence once again. It seems I go to that place a lot in the last few months. I'd heard rumor that she was here. My sister, my beloved Kwami, here in the Barrens... Could it be that after all the searching and fighting, the grief and laughter, the sweat, tears and blood, that I'd find her today?
Jonquil Vaille stepped through the ashes of what appeared to be a small village of the coast of Durator. It wasn't more than a stone's throw from the village of Sin'jin, but far enough that the warriors there would not have seen the blaze. The smell of ash, burned wood and flesh assailed her nostrils, a scent her Forsaken body didn't find entirely unpleasant, ash she picked her way over the remnants of home and hearth.
Why had the Alliance sent a raiding party into what appeared to be a small fishing village? The truth was, they probably hadn't. These were tough times between the peoples of the factions of Horde and Alliance, and chances were high that this particular party had raided for supplies, money, or simple boredom.
She clucked her tongue as she winded through the burned foundations of huts and debris. She'd thought maybe she could help here. Maybe she'd find a few living in need of her prayers of mending, but it seemed there was little life left here at all, and those who clung to the last visages of breath were too far gone to benefit from her wisdom.
Jonquil sighed as she turned to leave. It was then that the tiniest movement caught her eye from a small distance away. Had she imagined it? No, she was certain there was something, or someone moving within the branches of a small, whithered looking bush. As she knelt over the bush brushing aside the soot covered leaves and branches she discovered the source of movement. Here lay a tiny, ash green, female troll wrapped in tattered and muddied linens.
Now, being Forsaken having already died once, and having been far removed from children for most of her existence, her first thought was to simply take the little Trollkin to the Orgrimmar orphanage for placement. ...But something happened inside her as she hoisted the tiny bundle against her breast. It smiled at her and giggled. The undead heart within her chest felt about to burst with something she'd never experienced since her rebirth. For the first time since her reawakening, Jonquil allowed herself to think back to the small baby girl she'd had before her death.
Holding the tiny, soot covered infant against her chest and shoulder, Jonquil Vaille hearthed back home to Lordaeron, back to the depths of the Undercity. "This child is mine," she thought. As she looked one more time at the child, she thought, "Amatula," and nodded at the child. "Lovely Strength. Quiet Strength. It is the only way you'd survive such horrors little one. You are more like me than you know." With that final pronouncement, Amatula and Jonquil set off to begin their lives together.
The priestess had been odd. Sure, she was Forsaken, and many of her people had been driven insane in the process of death and rebirth. Who wouldn't stand those possibilities when faced with such horrors? No, it wasn't insanity that Eonia sensed about the woman though. It had been pride. A mother's pride in her child, as she spoke of Kwami... No, she'd called her Amatula. Lovely Shadow. Strength. Odd that she knew these words of the name. Kwami was not this woman. Kwami was a lost shadow in time, only held inside of Eonia's heart. Amatula was the woman she was going off to meet this day.
Eonia said a last prayer at the edge of the chasm that now divided Northern and Southern Barrens, and mounted her drake. At the Crossroads, her sister waited to finally meet her.
Jonquil Vaille stepped through the ashes of what appeared to be a small village of the coast of Durator. It wasn't more than a stone's throw from the village of Sin'jin, but far enough that the warriors there would not have seen the blaze. The smell of ash, burned wood and flesh assailed her nostrils, a scent her Forsaken body didn't find entirely unpleasant, ash she picked her way over the remnants of home and hearth.
Why had the Alliance sent a raiding party into what appeared to be a small fishing village? The truth was, they probably hadn't. These were tough times between the peoples of the factions of Horde and Alliance, and chances were high that this particular party had raided for supplies, money, or simple boredom.
She clucked her tongue as she winded through the burned foundations of huts and debris. She'd thought maybe she could help here. Maybe she'd find a few living in need of her prayers of mending, but it seemed there was little life left here at all, and those who clung to the last visages of breath were too far gone to benefit from her wisdom.
Jonquil sighed as she turned to leave. It was then that the tiniest movement caught her eye from a small distance away. Had she imagined it? No, she was certain there was something, or someone moving within the branches of a small, whithered looking bush. As she knelt over the bush brushing aside the soot covered leaves and branches she discovered the source of movement. Here lay a tiny, ash green, female troll wrapped in tattered and muddied linens.
Now, being Forsaken having already died once, and having been far removed from children for most of her existence, her first thought was to simply take the little Trollkin to the Orgrimmar orphanage for placement. ...But something happened inside her as she hoisted the tiny bundle against her breast. It smiled at her and giggled. The undead heart within her chest felt about to burst with something she'd never experienced since her rebirth. For the first time since her reawakening, Jonquil allowed herself to think back to the small baby girl she'd had before her death.
Holding the tiny, soot covered infant against her chest and shoulder, Jonquil Vaille hearthed back home to Lordaeron, back to the depths of the Undercity. "This child is mine," she thought. As she looked one more time at the child, she thought, "Amatula," and nodded at the child. "Lovely Strength. Quiet Strength. It is the only way you'd survive such horrors little one. You are more like me than you know." With that final pronouncement, Amatula and Jonquil set off to begin their lives together.
The priestess had been odd. Sure, she was Forsaken, and many of her people had been driven insane in the process of death and rebirth. Who wouldn't stand those possibilities when faced with such horrors? No, it wasn't insanity that Eonia sensed about the woman though. It had been pride. A mother's pride in her child, as she spoke of Kwami... No, she'd called her Amatula. Lovely Shadow. Strength. Odd that she knew these words of the name. Kwami was not this woman. Kwami was a lost shadow in time, only held inside of Eonia's heart. Amatula was the woman she was going off to meet this day.
Eonia said a last prayer at the edge of the chasm that now divided Northern and Southern Barrens, and mounted her drake. At the Crossroads, her sister waited to finally meet her.