Faraji's blog

Smells-like-food?

Zolani hunched and shivered, rotted features splitting into a lopsided grin at the woman. The orange haired trolless nodded to the ghoul.

There is no quiet like the desert. Even the whispering wind is muted. Gentle water burbles. It flows away, little by little, leaving nothing but history in its wake. Only the beetles remember. Only the stone recalls.

It is here that relics wash white in the sun, and legacies are buried in ever shifting sand.

“I put for the general inclination of all mankind, a perpetual and restless desire of power after power, that ceaseth only in death. “
Thomas Hobbes

The trappings of her craft hung from her meager skeleton like chains. The hems of her long robes were wet from where they brushed the water, her sleeves already weighted down with accumulated frost and melting ice. The long staff she carried served as a walking stick, silver plating cool on her palm. The beaded lanyards tied to the tip rattled musically as she walked. Her feet were bare, and the water beneath was a pleasantly slick sensation.

Pride filled his heart for the strength of his tribe. He looked on their faces and saw hope, a future, and he was satisfied. Upon his perch, looking over the vastness of their home, he knew at last that they would survive the tests of time.

His eyes drifted shut and true sleep took him.

---

“Joo happy now?” A voice roared.

He was not afraid. Only glad. Though his surroundings were indistinct, he knew his place, and felt at home.

“Jah.” He said. The sound of his own voice was no longer weak. It rose to match that of his God.

“Good. We be in touch.” The Bear replied, smug.

---

He woke and there were no strange skeletons seated at his doorstep. Nothing at all had happened while he slept, and others had taken the watch. No danger had befallen his tribe while the Darkwatcher rested his weary eyes, and he was filled again with pride.

His time had come, that he could finally rest.

Don't ruin the surprise, babe! I'm just gettin' started!

(( yay backstory! More to come :) ))

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him that he was wet. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, a fact that lent itself to the constant aroma of mold that hung about his person. However, as he stood gazing out into the darkening forest of Elwynn, he was startled to note that he was soaked beyond any reasonable explanation, other than that he might have been standing there in the rain a good deal longer than he rightly intended to. As a reflex, he looked at his hands, and found they were suitably gloved and humanoid, no claws or fur attached. It was a relief, if only a small one.

(( Edit: Getting a feel for the character with this post. Not a whole lot going on, but it will make more sense with the following posts. ))

The glow of the fire was cheerful against the walls of his tent. Though it was descending into winter proper outside the coarse linen walls of his home, inside it was smoky and warm, if a bit cramped and smelling of mold. He sat with legs crossed against one of the rope supports, just within the tent’s flap, and prodded the embers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a shrill voice, demanding he move the flame to a safer distance.

“You’ll catch fire if you let it burn that close.” She stated, arms folded across her chest. Long brown hair tucked into a working woman’s braid drifted over her shoulder, damp from the day’s rain. A small nose was scrunched into a disapproving, gentle frown.

(( Some background information on this post: I played Drog'thar for a few months in game, and never quite got around to blogging him. His concept, to me, was amazing fun to contemplate and twist, but when it came time to play him in game and in blogs, it was a chore and a half. I did, however, fall in love with one of his riding spirits, and as such chose to give him full form within the game and within blogs. This is the story of Drog'thar Tidefist(The Many)'s death, and also the story of Jabari the Drakkari's rebirth. The second half of this post follows on Jabari's account. Enjoy, but be warned, it is rather lengthy, as an individual with four additional spirits attached to his body has many moving parts and minds! ))

The night before the Shattering…

She was irritated with him. It showed in the way her shoulders refused to part ways with her ears, and the way her feet were planted resolutely in the red-brown dirt. Lips were pulled tight over tusks, a frown stretching her nose into sharp relief on her face. Beady brown eyes were narrowed at his approach.

“Oh that’s just great! Gonna let your raptor eat my swine or are you gonna tie it up?!” She shrieked. She likely hadn’t meant to, but the defiance in her stance denied her the chance to apologize. Aji smiled in a genial fashion, moving closer to the farm with deliberate, lumbering steps. The raptor at the end of his lead stomped an d snorted, claws digging in as she tried to resist his forward movement. He couldn’t tell if it was her typical ornery nature around Darma or if there was something wrong, and frankly he didn’t care. He had a reason for being here.

He was not used to sleeping in a hammock. The to-and-fro swinging motion after he climbed in was mesmerizing, at first, and he watched the canopy overhead sway with him for a while. The empty vial of sleep potion lay against his chest, held loosely in one large hand. Jiri stood nearby, between him and all the other raptors occupying the pen in which the hammock was hung, acting the guardian should any of them turn to investigate the soon to sleep troll. All was quiet, not even the night birds cluttering the air with their cries. The world slept, and Faraji crept to join it.

A dead wife who can’ speak… an unfait’ful Mate… an’ a dead child… Joo can’ do anyting right, can joo?

Faraji stared with baleful intensity at the wreckage of his cave.

Dey come tah joor rescue, shah. Dey pull joo outtah deh rubble. But foah wha’? What’s lef’ o’ joo tah save, eh?

Splinters of cut wood protruded at all angles, painted and treated remains of what had once been the outer hut, leading into the mouth of the actual cave. It’d been well lit with lamps, thatched roof, and dry; a pleasant entry for the cool and dark confines of his home. It was meant to deceive, meant to hide the depth of the winding cavern he dug with his bare hands. It was destroyed as well.

It wahms joo haht dat she screamin’ joor name. Dat she realize joo gone. An’ yet… joo let hah wandah off wit’ anoddah male. Dah faddah o’ hah child. Dah child joo wah supposed tah give hah.

(( Just a short little something while I was thinking about 'Aji. Hammered out my plans for him in Cata and resolved some current conflicts of his character. Also a little back story fun with Zolani. The mystery of the ghoul gal is solved. ))

He remembered a time when he gave his blood to his Tribe, when it was still a sacrifice. He remembered a time when his only expectation out of life was to die a glorious, swift death at the hands of his greatest enemies. He would joke with the bulkier, more adept Amani that he’d take a few of their number with him on his way down. He never quite understood why their laughter was so bitter. He never quite understood how his efforts were the source of malicious glee throughout the temple. Never understood why the blood drinkers and other servants of the Loa would not even meet his eye. It was not until he died that he learned of his disgrace.

We are a little voice in his head, we hear his thoughts. We know he doesn’t want to see her, but we know why. We were broken before, and we are whole now. He is afraid he will break again.

(( Image after break!

There is something to be said about the quality of life lead by those who have no fear of dying. Where others might think twice, or perhaps act with great fear, there is no hesitation. It was in this manner, without any form of forethought, that Faraji leapt from the windrider and plummeted after his falling quarry.

Wind whipped blue strands of hair about his head, catching on his long ears, stinging and slapping at his eyes. The howling blast of moving air obliterated meaningful sound, meaningful thought, and for several long seconds, Faraji enjoyed a serene void of consciousness. It wasn’t until the stomach-turning sensation of falling had ebbed, having reached his full speed, that he was able to apply sense to his situation. Downward he peered, chill blue eyes picking his prey out of the crushing white below with the ease of a hawk spotting a mouse. He tilted himself into a steeper dive, hugging his limbs close, and rocketed forward.

(( Uhhh... I promise I'll make a concerted effort to not do the 'to be continued' thing all that often after this, since I still have to finish up the spirit realm bits from before Aji woke up >> This does, however, happen after the fact. I still have every intention of posting the rest of that particular storyline.

Anywho. Haven't written in a long arse time, feels like, but here we go. Aji bloggins- go! ))

He hadn’t thought there were all that many left. He even imagined that his job would be difficult, that his quarry would be in short supply, at least the ones he could pick off without raising suspicion. He had even gone so far as to think he would be forced to pull from a much more dangerous stock.

He was wrong.

(( These events immediately follow this post- Sefu the Ravenous: Together at Last. This is part one of four. Avoiding another ginormous post :) Will post part two tomorrow! ))

(( Image below the break! ))

(( Just a teaser. Tons more to come, likely tomorrow. Had to break up a ginormous post! ))

(( Image after the wurds ))

From out of nowhere a green blur launches into the attack, snarling and clawing in miniature rage. Lanky arms wrap around troll leg, tusks dig into troll calf. He laughs.

The little orc boy glares up at him, and the large Amani fluidly plucks him up by his ankles.

Faraji grins. “Joo got spunk, kid.”

(( Listened to this while writing, rather enhances the mood, I feel. ))

(( Flyntlocke Harbor is courtesy of Dubaku, since he loaned it to me for use in this little narrative, purposely avoided the finer details so as not to spoil it :3 but it's geographically a ways south of Northrend, a decent sized island in the cold northern sea. 

Oh, and if you really, really want to enjoy this bit, just imagine Mrrghfulrrgl as being voiced by Golem from LOTR.  ))

(( Goblin names go to Zyjiin, Ruecien, aaaaaand... Gwrth, I think. Whatever. <3 Thanks for the amusing conversation leading up to this <3 ))

Jezrik Boltbender was, by all standards, a fairly industrious goblin. The few inches he had on his green-skinned brethren seemed like feet when he stood next to them, and it was a fact he never let any of them forget, ever. Even as they wound their way along the snowy ravine on the mountainous northern edge of Dragonblight, with monsters circling overhead, enormous worms burrowing beneath their very feet, and the howls of a thousand hungry worgs on the wind, he harped on this fact.

(( Due to recent events involving Aji's blade, I figured it'd be fun to see how.... exactly.... it makes it back to its rightful 'owner'. Part one of four. Enjoy <3 ))

Drop us, jah, little elfeh. Drop dah Sefu an’ let us find anodda who listen!

The voice was nothing more than a whisper, though leaden with a sinister deep undertone that reverberated in the cold Dalaran air like an echo of some terrible being so very far away. The Blade thrummed in his hands, a little gift for his grip that only the orange-haired elf would ever feel.