The goblin hesitated at the massive hall doors, then opened them. His green hair was its usual mess. "Zee zhings I do for zhat cow." He nearly walked into her. Squigvicious cursed.
Mula ignored the comment. "Did you get the information I asked for?"
Squig nodded. "Yeah."
"Good."
Squig handed her a piece of parchment he'd obtained from the local inscriptionist. On it was drawn an aerial view of a camp. Squig went about explaining the exact location and the count of guards.
"Why are you doing zhis?" He finally asked.
"Because I need to protect my daughter."
"Didn't you have two?"
Mula scrunched her eyes slapping her forehead, "yes....Daughters." She still had difficulty accepting Corerra as her own, but she couldn't deny the resemblance. Flinttooth, her mate, had agreed to keep her with him, as the girl had grown quite fond of a blood elf, named Pyaara in his guild. She visited them frequently, but still had obligations to her tribe. How Squig had found out, she didn't know.
She examined the map further. He'd done an excellent job marking guard posts and putting in many details.
Finally, she looked up and handed him a moderate size pouch of coins. "Thank you."
Squig took the pouch and made it disappear. "You zure you wanna do this?"
"I am."
Squig sighed taking the gold out of his pocket. "Give it to your daughter."
Mula frowned and felt his forehead. He pulled away. "Sorry, I'm a little confused. You're refusing to take the payment. Are you sick?"
Squig shook his head. "You can pay me when we're done."
"We? You're risking your life, you know."
"Not just me. Your fazher zaid he'z coming and won't take no for an anzwer. And I won't be rizking myzelf; I'm just going to be providing a diztraction."
"I don't suppose I'll be able to talk you out of it." He shook his head. "Fine. We leave at first light tomorrow. If you're not here, I will leave without you."
Squig nodded and reached into his bag. He withdrew a white stone with blue markings on it and grasped it firmly. Green streams of light encircled him as he was swept away into the magic. All that remained was a scattering of leaves that disappeared into the light.
Mula turned toward the kitchen and stopped short as Rincewindy approached her. "I could help," he rasped.
She looked down at him. "Thank you."
"You think that the four of us will be able to do this?"
"I don't know. But I will not sit by idly and watch this tyranny continue. Reaver and his cultists will end...one way or another."
The murders of Sunwalkers across the land had been continual. Reaver, a monster of a tauren, had not stopped his attacks. And since the first time she'd encountered him, he'd grown in power. He now had cultists to back him up. Her last encounter with him had nearly killed her. She'd felt obligated to train under the guidance of a friend of Lucinther's, but eventually couldn't keep up with their vigorous pace. She returned back to her tribe to stay with her daughter, but things had changed. Everyone had felt the impact that was Deathwing. It had taken a toll on morale. She couldn't even remember the last time she saw Sreng.
"Pack up, then. We leave at first light." She went to the kitchen to prepare some tea.
She left that night in the cover of darkness, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. She whistled and the drake came down from his perch on a rock on the mountainside. Moonlight glinted off Lovidaera's scales.
She could not endanger the others. Would not risk anyone else. She climbed up on the drake and took to the skies.
Mula Stronghoof landed on the plateau of the high mesa overlooking the arid landscape of what was know as the Thousand Needles. She dismounted from her proto drake and sent him off. This is where she'd tracked him to. From what she could tell, he was alone. She could see the path winding down and around the pinnacle to the dry cracked red earth below. The wind whipped at her cloak. She fingered the flat of her axe and could hear its whispers. Her other weapon, Cryptmaker, a four-edged mace that brought the cold of the grave to her fingers, rested against her back.
The sun glinted off the inlaid bronze details of her dark plate armor, and the crafted hogs' heads on her pauldrons. A steady stream of smoke and enchanted fire lit up the hogs, giving them an eerie look.
She drew her weapons, as she saw the scene before her. A large stone alter, still stained with the blood of its victims loomed in a cloud of shadow. She saw the tauren kneeling at the alter. "Reaver!" she screamed. "Your blood will pay for blood you took!"
The black furred tauren stood at the sound of her voice. He drew the black-bladed scythe from his back and approached. Embedded red runes glowed in contrast against the black of the blade. He wore a black and purple leather outfit that left his right arm free. Metal plates had been woven into the leather to protect his left arm and legs.
"The blood of your spawn was most enjoyable. Cho'gall will taste your blood as well, cow."
Mula narrowed her eyes with hatred. Lightning crackled around the alter and the clouds expanded overhead. Reaver swung his weapon, teasing the tauren to attack. There was no need for further talk.
Mula charged at him, hooves kicking into the parched earth. She swung her axe at the grimtotem. His scythe flipped up, catching it and diverting it. She jabbed in with Cryptmaker, striking him in the side. He stepped back as the mace struck him, reducing the damage. She held onto the axe as he twisted his scythe, attempting to disarm her. She roared and untangled her axe from the black blade. Reaver brought the blade around, and she knocked it aside with her mace.
"Your spawn are abominations!" he said, goading her. "What do you call them? Sunwalkers?" He spat at her.
Her blade came in, calling for blood, and he ducked. "You REEK of it, too," he added.
The Sunwell. She'd helped defeat Kil'jaeden and was present when they'd cleansed it. That was so long ago.
The blade came in, splitting through her armor as if it was paper. Her side burned from the touch. Still she attacked with more fury and rage than ever. Cryptmaker caught him in the side of the head, splitting into his skull and ruining his right eye. Her axe was blocked at the last minute. She stumbled, but blocked another swing of his scythe.
She didn't notice the shaking of the ground, nor the black flames coming out of the alter. She brought up her knee into his side, but lacked the power behind it. The ground shook violently and both combatants felt it. The alter crackled as the black flames turned to violet and streams of magic began to come forth from it.
Both combatants still fought, Mula pressing the attack and then Reaver pressing back. "This is where you pay up!" Mula yelled over the howling wind and the roar of magic that was coming from the alter. Both combatants fell to the ground as a burst of magic fire hit them as the alter cracked from the explosion of that which was contained in it. Her axe dug into Reaver's side as he hit the ground and exhaled for the final time.
Mula went to get up, but found she couldn't move. She looked down and saw the scythe embedded in her chest, with about four inches of blade showing. Spirits swirled out of the alter. She was surprised that she could see them. She watched as they began to encircle around her. She felt oddly at peace.
Darkness. She drifted. Death was not so bad. It was peaceful. Soon, she would be rejoined with her two daughters, and they would walk the spirit world together.
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The morning sun was high overhead. Rays pierced through the willow tree. Solira coughed again. Her sister pressed the cloth into the wound trying to stop the blood. Her body shook with a spasm. The clothes around the wound in her side were soaked with blood. "I'm sorry sister! I'm so sorry!"
They'd been fighting, and had attracted the unwanted attention of a thunder lizard. Normally peaceful, this one had charged at her and had impaled her. Her sister attacked the beast and had killed it.
Her sister stroked her ebony hair, trying to calm her. "It's not working. I can't do it." Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Her body spasmed again. "It's so cold."
"No! Don't give up, Sol. You are my light. You cannot leave me!"
"I--I'm sor...." And then she was free. She drifted. Spirits surrounded her guiding her. She looked down upon the grove. It was a miracle in itself in this place. When Deathwing had ravaged the land, he brought water and plant life to this place. It was now protected by druids.
Her sister ran to the druids now. A tall night elf followed her to the body. "She is gone. I am sorry for your loss."
"You have to try! Please! She's all I have!"
The druid placed a hand on the wound, binding the flesh together and closing the hole. His other hand touched her forehead, while his left went to the center of her chest. He began to pray in his native tongue. Light glowed from his hands. For several minutes he tried. Finally, the light went out, and he stood up. "I am sorry. Please see us if you would like us to help bury her and bless her spirit."
The young woman nodded and turned to her sister. She waited until the night elf had disappeared from sight and then sliced across her wrist. She lost consciousness.
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Her spirit felt a tug. She ignored it. But she was no longer drifting. She was being pulled violently backwards. She fought it. My daughters! No! There was nothing she could do. Hot dusty air filled her lungs. She felt the heat around her. There was a great pain in her side, and something was on top of her. She opened her eyes. She felt wrong. This wasn't her body. She sat up, shoving the body off of her. She stood up and pitched forward hitting the ground with a smack. Where was--? She felt her rump. Her tail was gone. Her hands were...human hands. She felt her face. It was not hers.
She looked down at the girl lying on the ground. She quickly rolled her over and saw fresh blood on her wrist. For some reason, she felt a deep affection for her. She felt for a pulse. It was weak, but still there. She tore a strip of cloth from her skirt, and wound it around the girl's wrist. I'm wearing a skirt?!
She could hear faint singing coming from the grove and quickly gathered the girl up in her arms. "Help!" She walked faster. Her side hurt and she could feel fresh blood dripping down her side. "Help!" This time she yelled it. The singing stopped and she saw several figures running towards her. Night elves. She froze. They came at her fast. One had transformed into a hawk and was flying towards her. She almost put the girl down to reach for her weapons, but her back didn't have that familiar weight.
The hawk had shifted back and he was staring at her gawk-eyed.
"What?" She looked at him.
"I....You speak Taurahe." He spoke in the common tongue of the humans. She'd dealt with enough members of the Cenarian Circle and fought enough enemies to know the language well.
She had to get her wits about her fast. "Yes," she said changing to the common human tongue. "I was just practicing." She nodded down at the young woman, "she's hurt."
"Please, take her over to the camp. We can give her, and you, proper treatment."
She did as she was told. Her sister's eyes fluttered for a moment and looked into hers. "Solira?" Her voice was frail.
"Yes, I'm here."
Her sister smiled and closed her eyes.
They treated her injury commenting on the thunder lizards and how she'd not responded to the resurrection spell. She asked about her sister and they said she was resting. One of the druids mentioned that she was going through some sort of mental breakdown, and that they were trying to help her with it.
Her sister awoke the next morning, but didn't show any signs of recognition. Instead, she would ramble on and on. On occasion she'd respond to her own questions. Solira asked what'd happened to her. The druids said that she couldn't handle the stress of losing a sister and had snapped. When Solira tried to approach her sister, she changed, turning into a worgen. But the beast hadn't attacked her, only spoke of defending herself.
Solira stared at the worgen for a long time. She'd never heard of a worgen that could speak.
She had to find answers. She took a flight down to thousand needles and had to take a boat to the site where she'd fought Reaver. She climbed up to the top of the pinnacle and saw no evidence of a fight. No alter. Nothing.
She then traveled to her home. When she got there, there were no structures. No evidence that there had ever been anything built there.
When she went back to the grove, the druids said they would be taking her sister to Darnassus, and that it'd be best for her to avoid any contact with her, should she set her off again. Solira nodded.
She then decided to discover what had happened in this world. She started here at the grove, offering her help to the druids and gathering what information she could from them. When she'd done all she could she moved on.
She was beginning to grow fond of these folks. How was it that the Horde could find so much fault with them. She arrived at Ratchet and took a boat down to booty bay. And she continued to travel across the world helping and learning.
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Almost two years had passed since Deathwing's emergence, when she met Resmayel. She spoke of a group of knights who resided up north that focused on fighting the scourge and forsaken. She almost turned the offer down. She had no qualms with any of the Horde. Res spoke of some relations up there, and Solira's instincts were telling her to go up there.
Besides what else was there? Her travels had lead her to the Twilight Citadel and to the Bastion of Twilight. She'd seen the Temple of Four winds. Perhaps there was a greater foe to be fought! She yearned for the fight. Ached for it. She'd been reborn again for this. The spirits wanted her back, so how could she refuse them? And this Resmayel was a daughter of the Sun. Or as she would say--the Light. Even her name, Solira, meant Rage of the Sun in the old language.
Solira ran her finger along one of the horns of Akirus the Worm-breaker. And Shalug'doom hungered for more blood. She'd forged her armor. Death had come and gone. One day it would return. "But not today."
Resmayel looked back at her for a moment then turned back to the road ahead. A smile formed on Solira's lips, and tapped the horse into a canter.
She was in Thunder Bluff. No longer a human. The blind Tauren sat next to her by the cavern's pool, her bird a purple tallstrider called "Chicken" was splashing happily in the water. She had been telling her story to the young gal.
Oshannah Sky smiled and said quietly, "Please continue."
Mula did, "I fell in with a group called the Lordaeron Temple Knights. Upon recollection, I think that this was probably not the best of ideas. But the gal that introduced me to them was friendly, and reminded me of my old friend. They seemed to be a very powerful military group, and at that time it sounded like just what I needed. I later found out that they were more interested in the reclamation of Lordaeron. This put me in a very...precarious situation. But, it also gave me a lot of insight into the situation of the world from the perspective of the alliance, despite how much I despised it. You see, they believed that Lordaeron belongs to the humans. The forsaken, or deaders, as the humans call ‘em, believe that it belongs to them. So, for the past few months I’ve been stuck with them. I did my best not to raise my blade against the Forsaken, for it would have been like cutting down my friend, Rince.”
Solira pauses, sadness washing over her face. She looks up, brought back to her thoughts. “It wasn’t until recently that I was able to come back to my natural form. To be honest...I don’t really know how I came back to this form. I made a deal with a mage, and they worked it out for me. I don’t remember it happening or who the mage was.” She frowns...”Might not have even been a mage. It’s interesting...when I returned to the site where Reaver and I fought, there was no sign that there had ever been a fight...or even a cultist encampment. And when I went to my old stomping ground...there was nothing there. It also appears that many of my acquaintances from the past never existed. Not my family, not my friends, and not even that troublesome goblin that got away with...well, never mind about him. And this body...” Solira lowers her voice to a hushed whisper. “It is not mine. This name isn’t even mine. Solira...rage of the sun...Ironic that it belonged to a human. Did they even know what it meant?” She pauses again sighing, “There’s a scar on my chest, right over my heart. Perhaps that is how this body died? Does that make me a Forsaken? Or a Death Knight? I do not know.”
Oshannah shook her head. “No. They are cold.”
“Right you are.” Solira said quietly. “I don’t like not knowing. I don’t like that this is the second body I’ve been in that is not mine.”
Oshannah bit her lip, “It’s strange.”
Solira nodded, “I come here to pray to my daughters…and maybe get a glimpse of them in these waters.”
------------------------
She felt as if she were drowning, the darkness pushing her down. She fought against it, but the darkness kept pushing her down. She sucked in a large gulp of air.
"Shhh shhh."
Her chest was bound tightly and the pain...the pain was the worst.
She heard the voice speaking, but did not understand. She'd heard that language only by one other person...no being...Qian Lang. But why was he here? The last time she'd seen him was before she fought Reaver.
Her eyelids felt like metal plates welded shut. I've become like Deathwing. And the thought of that made her open her eyes. The world spun. She struggled to breathe. The air was different here and she could not catch her breath.
Darkness succumbed to blinding light, and she shut her eyes. The beings were still talking and she realized it was their hands that were pushing her down. She opened her eyes again and forced to keep them open, despite the brightness. She found herself staring directly into the eyes of a Pandaran. Another one came up, pinched her neck, and she felt her body go limp.
Qian Lang quickly came over, pushing at the one that had just pinched her and speaking to him in his native tongue. The one made an apologetic gesture and eventually left.
Qian came over to her and rubbed her hand, "Pass, it will. You lucky."
The words swam around in her head for several moments. "Hnhh?"
"Shh. You no speak now. You very sick. Qian tell you tale. Not now. You rest now. Much time, you have."
Mula found that she was finding it difficult to stay awake. And still, so many questions were pushing at her. Where was she? What had happened? And had it all been a dream? Were Oshannah and Res just figments of her imagination? She felt the tears come and the sleep.
(This takes place during her sleep and up to the point where she wakes in the previous post. Enjoy!)
Seasons passed. Time took on a new meaning to the Tauren in the recovery room. Most of all, it barely meant anything to her. She felt split, damaged beyond repair. She slept most of the time. The fight to stay alive was an ever-constant battle.
The Pandaren tending to her, Qian Liang, was fascinated by the injury and despite some of his patient's pleas to have it all ended, continued to treat her and heal her. Some criticized him for this, saying, 'What is she to you?' One even spat on his tunic, 'She is one of those Horde dogs! They are destroying our land, and you are trying to save her? You should do us all a mercy and slit her throat.'
He could not. Maybe it was the loss of his father that pushed him to try so hard. Or maybe it was that he'd gotten to know these people. And a small part of him wanted to see if he could do it. The touch of death that had been dealt to this female was unlike anything that he'd ever seen.
Lastly, she had been showing signs of improvement. True enough, her body needed much nourishment, which he had difficulty providing her with, due to her state of unconsciousness. He would let the power of the Mist decide if she was worthy of healing, and he would feed her as he'd been taught.
'Why do you heal her? She is dead. Can you not see it?' Once again, his neighbor was at his window, peering in, nosy as ever.
'There is a part of her that still lives.'
'She is dead. I have a tonic that I could make that would make it quick and painless. Then, you will have more time to tend to your village's needs.'
'Dao Xhi has been tending to their needs.'
'He is too young.'
And so it went. There were many times when he took their criticisms to heart. Why? Why? Why?
They would talk about him. Just the sudden silences and stares as he walked by, told him that much.
It was several months before he'd actually started seeing improvement. Yes, she had become so frail and thin, but he could tell that she was a fighter, through and through to her core.
And then she woke from her slumber. It had shocked him so much that he'd not had time to register that she was awake.
She had tried to get out of bed, but her knees buckled under her weight, and she collapsed to the ground like a newly born foal. He let out a gasp and then a cheer, for he could not help himself. And then he quickly helped her back into bed. He could hear his father's voice scolding him, 'Why are you cheering when you should be helping!' He laughed.
What would the neighbors say, now? Actually, that thought weighted more heavily then he had intended it to. He might have problems if they knew she was recovering.
((This is awesome! And thanks for playing yesterday, it was fun catching up!))