hunter

The battle lines are drawn, the stakes are high. Neither one backed away.

The spirits’ call I have never been able to hear.  I see others speak to them, I see others call forth their power to work destruction, or mend wounds.  This young one has used their blessing to seek me out.  The goblin town should be safe to meet him; they keep the peace so that people will bring gold to them, to trade.

“You are Shujaa, of the Gurubashi?” he asks.  The huntress’ brother, I remember him now, but name I never learned.

I nod in reply.  He waits a moment, as if thinking I will speak.

“You have heard of the rebuilding of Zul’Gurub?”  he asks again.  Does he think me blind, or deaf?

“We go there,” I say.

“You are Se’ala’s father?” Moshir asked, standing in the doorway of the small hut hanging from the side of one of the marsh’s massive mushrooms.  The rain’s steady rhythm beat down on the roof of the hut.  Inside the dim shape of a troll sat, sharpening an axe.

The older troll looked up, eyes suspicious as his gaze traveled up and down the gaunt-looking youngster.  “Maybe.  Who are you then, boy?”  he asked, a frown on his face.

“I am Moshir. The others said I should come speak to you, about your daughter?”  Moshir replied.  He craned his head forward as he spoke, the phosphorescent glow from the brightly-lit fungi outside a sharp contrast to the single candle lighting the hut.

The page tapped the older man’s elbow hesitantly. “Excuse me, sir…”

Erich lowered his bow and turned to face the young boy. “Can I help you, son?” he asked.

“Animals aren’t allowed on the range,” the boy said apologetically. The tan mastiff beside him sighed. Gwennie was a smart dog. Erich wouldn’t have been surprised if she really had understood the kid. She might have.

The lad eyed her nervously. He had good reason. Gwendolyn was a very large dog. She could be terrifying. She wasn’t often, but she could be. More than a few hunters had told Erich tales of his hound latching onto elk stags five times her size with determination in her eyes and blood on her mind. Erich knew, though, that Gwennie was getting old (just like he was) and preferred sitting by the fire to running about in the wilds (like he did these days).

Shilaze long since left the lair she had been staying in, trying to re-find herself apparently cities don't like undead companies even if they are undead birds that wouldn't hurt anything.. living. At least that's what she thought when she watched her bird fly around on pick at dead things. Then she was still learning about this new companion, same as she was learning about her new.. friend. Yes a friend one she could speak with an have real conversations with. Not that she didn't with her companions but body language only said so much when words.. spoke so much more.. She.. didn't feel as alone now either knowing she at least had someone she could talk with. So in the city of Sivlermoon she sat waited watching the people. Sighing so many were tainted corrupted now.. was it this many before. An yet.. why didn't that bother her as much now.. as it did then.. Then.. why was it the bond she had.. seem to be one sided.

The most peculiar thing about an arcane-powered artificial weather system is what happens when a hundred or so mana-hungry wretches latch onto it for sustenance, gulping and sucking as if it's their mother's teat. It's not an issue if they're spread out over a wide enough area--the system's designed for that kind of drain. When they're all clustered together in one spot, though, the results can be quite odd.

Silvermoon's ruined western half tends to be such a place, and today that means snow.

I can see it falling outside from where I sit, big fat flakes dropping down from the clouds that started to gather this morning. It'll be gone by afternoon, even with the magisters taking their sweet time about it. The system's designed to be self-correcting, after all.

Sitting outside on the ledge of the lair she had been staying in Shilaze gave a long sigh. "seems.. I'm meant to be alone.. doesn't it Fang?" she asked her wolf getting a gruffle in a reply "I know.. your with me but.." she looked behind her into the lair "they.. have each other.. I'm.. bonded but.. it's all i have. I feel so.. alone.. so empty.. at times my bond is all i can feel" getting her cheek licked she smiled sadly "I know.. you bonded with me too Fang but.. it's.. not the same.. I thought I had love once.. he.. just went away. He said he loved me an... he.. I guess didn't. Am.. I that bad of a person.. is there something wrong with me? Is that way I'm always alone?" she sighed tucking her knees up under her chin her ears drooping as her wolf whined softly "I.. just don't want to be alone anymore.. but I'm scared.. if I try one last time.. an I lose them as well.. that I'll crumble away.. my heart can't take much more.

I stand bare, clean from the river’s water.  Her body twines over mine, a shiver of delight piercing me as she caresses me.  I lift a hand, and she moves her head up to rest in my palm.  I move her face close to mine, feeling her tongue tickle my cheek and lips.  I whisper, telling her what must be done, and that she is the one who now holds my heart.  I brace myself for the parting, and then lift my hand up to the heavens.

The sullen looking boy stared out the window pane that was splattered with raindrops. The landscape was as dull and dreary a gray as the pair of eyes that dreamily scanned the forest; dull from the broken promise of a day spent outside. His mother would not allow him to splash in the puddles because he would soil his satin breeches. But what did little boys care about satin breeches?

His brother Reynauld was the mastermind of most plans to escape the prison's current warden: his nursemaid. She was a watchful guard, but could easily be tricked into releasing the boys in order to take care of the pampered family pet, an ugly, bare-faced condor named Graywing, who was a present to the boys. They had shown interest in falconry but were not skilled enough to own a greater bird of prey so their father decided they should practice with a less valuable specimen.

“Light-damned … not again!” Lothanor held the bag at arms’ length, sighing in frustration as he looked at the red streak along his thigh.  He scrubbed briefly at it with his hand, and then pulled the hand away as the blood smeared.

The soft light of the forest filtered strangely through the pale red leaves, the Farstrider’s dappled armor blending in with the surrounding tree trunks.  He tossed the bag aside, a mossy severed ear tumbling out.  He glanced around, seeing the path back to the Farstrider Enclave winding up through the dim woods.  He smiled, tossing his head back, hair swirling around his shoulders as he let out a relieved sigh.  He walked over to the bag, hefting it carefully, face twisting in disgust as he picked up the loose ear, dropping it back into the bag.

Oy, this one’s gonna hurt, Perry thought to himself.   He tried to duck his head, turning his shoulder to absorb as much of the impact as possible.  His eyes clenched shut in anticipation of the blow.  He skidded on the ground, his breath brutally slammed out of his body by the fall and his own speed.  He lay a few moments, grateful for the thick fur that kept his skin from getting ripped away by the dirt and rocks.

He stood, looking around furtively.  His nose tested the air almost involuntarily, and he frowned as he caught himself doing so.  “Well, Gyll, glad you’re not here, you’d get a right hearty laugh, you would,” he mumbled, grinning in spite of himself.  Fastest on all fours, Rhiza told him.  Not like he had the means to afford a horse, and so he’d just make do.  Besides, he’d watched enough wolves run.  Dumb brutes could do it, how hard could it be?

Image below the cut...

The smooth stone floor of the chamber was warm to the touch, though the air was still nearly as cool as it was outside, and Quetsul sat on the edge of the bed, resting her bare feet on the ground. Her muscles ached, and there were fresh cuts from basilisk claws under the thick robe she wore, but it was a comfortable kind of soreness. She stretched, letting out a happy sigh, and ran her hands over the robe for what seemed like the hundredth time. She wasn't sure what it was made of, but the warm, heavy cloth was softer than anything she'd worn before. She suspected, in the small part of her mind that took note of such things, that it was the single most costly item she had ever possessed. It was worth it, though, for the soft rustle against her fur, and the protection from Deepholm's chill. The hangings in the chamber were of similar material, heavy drapes covering nearly all of the rough stone walls and hanging in the entrance in place of a door.

An azure finger ran down the length of her tail as she shot the deep red potion back. Raksasha ran her tongue across her sharp canines to try and remove the filmy after taste as she shot a look over her shoulder at the muscular Draenei male who still lay in bed. She growled low, “Ahmik...”

He chuckled and stopped before answering in Draenic, “Come now, Sasha. You're not still mad, are you? I'm sure your comrades, and your sister, are looking for you, it has been a few days.”

The lean, light blue skinned woman rolled her eyes and finished buckling up the rest of her plate armor, “Yes, I am still mad. Yes, they are probably looking for me. I am very good at not being found until I wish to be, you know this.”

The pair had just left Wailing Caverns, hunting for Raptors. Tied to the saddle of the large Acherus Deathcharger, were two such specimens, black scaled and blank stares. The creatures had a measure of intelligence in them, but it wasn't as if they hadn't killed living beings before. The young hunter on the other hand, had a difficult time sending his pet to distract the beasts. It took all Elriech's effort not to snatch the gun from the man and shoot at them himself.

“You did fine, Dezrek.” clawed fingers deftly tied securing knots, keeping the carcasses still. “A true aim, though your wolf could do better.”

(( A story, from before Quet was Quet, and when she still hadn't reclaimed Ajamu! With the old-world changes hitting tomorrow, she'll be losing her faithful scarlet hyena (Hawrt is, sadly, being changed into a mastiff) and so I thought I'd dig up this old piece to share. I think it really captures Hawrt's personality, one that I wish I'd showed off in game more often. ))

The wind chilled her to the bone. There was no doubt about it- she hated the cold. "And Orgrimmar is in flames, and yet here you are," she thought, but shook her head - she wasn't ready to go back there yet.

((Continued from Science in the Marsh))

There was rifle fire, then an explosion, and Qoruul instinctively ducked his head, his heart thudding in his chest. In his mind’s eye, he could see the grey-green smoke blooming in the Lower City, the teeming black-armored orcs like so many ants; no less dimly, he also saw the crystal spires of Mac’Aree shudder and reflect the fel-green fire as the power-maddened Eredar exalted in their transformation.  By the time his brain registered that the sounds were further to the north, he had broken a sweat on his bony brow and his shoulders trembled amid the tall marsh grasses. He chided himself; foolish, really, to be so haunted by the past. Bracing his hands against the loamy ground, he moved to stand…

Click-click.

“Don’t move an inch, goat.”

The trees stretched high above them as they stood on the rocky lip overlooking the crater from the desert. Even from this vantage point, there was little to be seen but a cloud of green, with tall strong arms holding it aloft. In the distance, Quetsul could just barely make out a flock of birds, lifting off from the canopy. She smiled, and turned to look at her companion. "Ready?"

The raptor snorted softly, dipping his head to butt at her side with his nose. His yellow hide made him almost invisible against the Tanaris sand--just a strange floating collection of blue stripes and brighter blue feathers. She scratched his neck, nodding. "Alright, then." She bent down, lifting her pack onto her shoulders again, and beckoned for the raptor to follow.

Astranaar.

Soft, moss-covered skin covering hard muscle, the scars’ patterns weaving through.  Shujaa ran his hand over the troll female’s skin, her robes torn in the massive blast that elf let loose.  The dark rusty blood of her wound stained both of them, his blue fur clumped from the mess, her mossy skin stained and crusted.  Her eyes were now closed in sleep, the panicked fluttering calmed to a still rest, her chest moving steadily up and down as she breathed, no longer gasping raggedly.

A pitch-black world surrounded Tarreya, binding her arms and legs.  The sickly smell of decay was her only companion.  Fear and anger coursed side-by-side through her, powerful muscles flexing, mind straining to call the elements to her.  For hours the muffled noises outside were oblivious to her cries.  She knew where she was and what would happen soon.  Soon the nerubians would carry her down and she would never be seen or heard from again.

Her body stiffened as she heard faintly through the thick webs the sounds of shrieking and hissing.  A slender line of light suddenly split her dark universe, the sickly smell intensifying as the webs split away.  A loud whoop burst forth from her as she saw a troll in dark armor in front of her, a red wind serpent coiled around his arms, two wicked-looking blades in his hands.

"Wow!" the Blood Elf exclaimed. "That was amazing!"

Ryo'jin didn't respond. His gaze traced up the stone walls, noting their hastily constructed patterns as his probing eyes finally reached their destination. The top of the tower was wide open, the circular ramparts that were so signature of human constructions airing out the heated bottom. Two beings stared back down at him, one of them gracing him with a cold smile.

"Sound the alarm," she said calmly, as if ordering a slice of zhevra meat for dinner. "I'll deal with this one."

Ryo'jin snarled viciously, readying himself for battle. As if by magic, two daggers slipped from his gauntlets into his hands. Both combatants started rushing along the staircase leading up to the top; Ryo'jin heading up, the woman running down. Seconds later, they collided with a resounding chrunk!

She rose in the blue shadows before dawn, pushing back the blankets of the bed she shared with Grandmother and her younger brother, careful not to wake them as she stood and reached for her clothes. Light leather armor went on over the loose shirt and short trousers she wore, buckles clinking softly as she worked to fasten the harness around herself. Running her fingers through dark hair cut short and wild, she paused, looking over the interior of the hut. The rest of the family would likely sleep til the sun was high. Grandmother had been up late the night before helping to deliver a pair of twins, and Ko was a lazy child, never rousing til breakfast was ready. She would have plenty of time to hunt. Nodding to herself, she picked up spear, bow, and quiver from where they rested against the stitched-hide wall, and let herself out into the morning.

"They are very unaware. They do not realize the true cost of the drugs they are taking."
     ~Ray Landis

     I feel fantastic.

     The last few weeks are a dim haze, clouded in the murky waters of my memory.  Mother tells me I foolishly ran out of my medicine, which reminds me to pull one of the dark leaves from my pouch, bigger than the last one.  Chewing on the thing, a shade of bruised purple and bitter as all fel on my tongue, brings me a sense of peace and purpose again.  I was a fool to deplete my supply before, and I won’t be making the same mistake twice.

Tashorr’s teeth were bared, his eyes wide with panic.  His lynx companion, sensing his distress, was at his side, snarling.  He pulled his knife free of the wolf’s body, looking down at the prone figure that he was standing above.  Yunari’s body was cold and pale, her left hand a bloody mess, a great wound still bleeding despite having been wrapped up hours ago.

“Chief!  She’s hurt!” Tashorr shouted, the voice rough, fatigue and hours of screaming had worn it away.  “We need help, chief, she’s lost a lotta blood!”