Eridah

The crow whipped across the sky, diving through the clouds of ash. Water streamed from her eyes as she cut through the choking murk. Suddenly the blackness opened up and a tree canopy loomed before her. It blazed, branches and leaves on fire. She beat her wings desperately, but her momentum carried her forward. With a thud, she slammed into the charred trunk, let loose a squawk of pain and tumbled toward the ground below. Twising in the air as she fell, her form shifted, grew and elongated. Fur sprouted where feathers flew away like the embers on the wind. Then as a lean panther, Yuta landed on all fours and was off again, muscles bunched and released as she sprang.

Large image under the cut. Possibly NSFW. Mild nudity, breast feeding.

((

Ok, just to head things off and not have to explain this to multiple folks, I'm going to post this little announcment here. As a compromise, to encourage myself to spend more time on art and less time running about Azeroth, I've engaged the parental controls on my account. Yes, I know, why not just not play? Well that's not worked out so well for me over the past year or so. I'm a confirmed "what feels good" type of person, and working is always less fun than playing. Consequently my projects have langoured and gone fallow, and I'm no closer now to where I want to be than I was in January.

((I didn't have much time at the White Hart, but I felt this write up come on and it had been such an awfully long time. So here goes. I've tagged for the folks I interacted with and mention, though I know there was more folks there.))

**

The fire light made the night elf's eyes flash and dance like a cat's as she sat in the early fall evening. Her babe sat before her, wobbling on his butt and playing with a rattle fashioned of a gourd and filled with small crystals and shells. The night air felt cool on her naked skin and the huntress could tell that within a few breaths of the world, the north winds would blow down out of Hyjal carrying the snows with them and covering all of Ashenvale with frost. Mushal'dur shook his rattle, his small eyes wide with surprise and delight at the tinkling sound it made. Shil'drae looked up from her mending. The dryad lay on her haunches, the doe half of her body gathered underneath her while she worked at the leather jerkin and breeches. Her skilled fingers wove leaf designs into the stitching, illuminating it with gold and silver. She smiled at the boy and spoke in the old druid's tongue, cooing at him like a morning dove. Eridah smiled, her hand absentmindedly stroking his wispy hair.

The park seemed strangely quiet to Eridah as she sat on the stoop of the bed and breakfast she'd taken lodging at for the few days she'd be visiting Stormwind. She had friends who she'd wanted to introduce to the baby, mostly the girls at Fanshen's school who'd been pestering their mistress once they'd heard about the boy. Fanshen had been amused by it, while having no need to see the boy herself. So they'd arranged the visit, Zeldi letting out rooms for the maestra where she'd be most comfortable. After the seclusion of Ashenvale, Stormwind seemed incredibly hectic to her with the throngs of people who lined its streets. They'd timed the visit with Children's Week however, so many of the citizenry of the human capital had taken off to remote parts with their young charges in tow. At this late hour, the night elf had the park to herself practically.

Milo walked slowly back from the outhouse, swatting at one of the hummingbird sized mosquitoes that stung his neck. He'd long since gone beyond complaining about such little inconveniences. The jungle had all sorts of dangers, and those that survived the first few months showed themselves to be immune to the sleeping sickness. Other than that the little vampires were no more than an annoyance. Echoes of calls from a hundred different creatures echoed all about him, but Milo payed little more attention to them then he did to the pests. Months away from civilization had rendered his senses deaf and blind to the plethora about him. Now it was just background noise, only dangerous in its absence. When the jungle was quiet, that was when a person had cause to be alarmed. The little creatures took notice when a big predator moved in their midst. Silence rippled out around them as they passed. When you heard that quiet, it was time to make sure you had you weapons ready and yourself right with the Maker. The jungle was about to test you, and failure meant you'd be eaten not the one doing the eating.

 

It's huge, bigger than the kodo of the barrens, with their woolly manes. My eyes can barely take it all in this close, its massive horned head with sails for ears and a serpentine trunk. I watch as that curving mass of muscle and sinew dips delicately to the bails of straw and gathers up a bundle for it's hungry maw. I feel myself grinning like a elfling again, despite the smell of the enclosures, or perhaps because of it. This place smells of dung and straw and sweat...and elekks, a musky pungent smell. It rises off their leathery skin and fills the place. I lay my head to the beast's flank, listening to the huge lungs breathing. The heart beat is so slow, a deep rumble that throbs against the side of my face at most every few seconds. I smile, comforted by it.

((A second wedding post, one more from Yuta with the pictures to come.))

**

Stitches and a smooth weave of silk slide under my fingers. I can hear them below, the soft murmur of voices. I hear Dune'adah's voice clearly as she moves among them. The cloth slips through my fingers, comforting me as I worry it and weave it through them. I close my eyes and reach out.

((Precursor to the rite, PG, nothing overly offensive.))

**

Breath...warmth...soft skin. She's sleeping, the moon is pouring in through the window, leaving brillant pools on the floor. The curtains flap in a breeze coming in off the ocean. It smells of fish from the docks and slightly of murlocs and naga from the strand.

Yuta'mazah's booted feet shifted in the leaves of the haunted wood. Eyes peered at her from the dark thickets, then winked out of sight at her approach. A sound of skittering caused her to lift her ears as something flitted away from her. Yuta's eyes narrowed and she peered into the brush, trying to make out what-

((Almost forgot...this post contains material of an adult nature, sexual content and explicit references to drug use. Parental Discretion is advised. "R"))

***

Fanshen carried the satchel of food up the tree-way. She had enough to last for a week for two. It would likely stretch to three with ease. Noctilia likely wouldn't eat much. If Eridah was right, she wasn't far along. So hopefully it would be easier for her than it had been for Fanshen. She stepped off the bridge-way. Movement from the bed caught her eye, the gleam of an eye, only one. The other had swollen shut, black and blue. Noctilia stared at Fanshen from the bed, balefully. Fanshen smiled at her. She had warned her. Better to be Fanshen's friend that her enemy. The girl was willful. Despite herself, Fanshen liked her.

Fanshen swirled the sizzling slury of eggs, ham and cheese the a massive black iron skillet. She reached beside her, grabbing a handful of diced onion and mushroom. Omlets required timing and patience. To do one right was often a matter of luck. As she waited for the meal to reach the proper firmness for the flip, Fanshen pulled a few slices of toasted bread from the hot box that sat on the other burner. She caught her fingertip on the hot hinge of the gnomish device and swore like a Menethil sailor. Sucking at the rising blister, she deftly flipped the omlet over with her free hand.

 

Kick.

Wandering an alien wood.

Kick.

Watching in wonder.

Kick.

While the chase goes on and while I'm walking home.

Kick.

When it's time to wake...when all I want is to sleep.

Kick.

With his hand against my belly, with his fingers on my hip.

Kick.

While we remember, seeds planted with that kiss.

The red gravel crunches under my boots like shells or brittle bone. I can't bring myself to look up yet. I don't want to loose my nerve. So long, and I'm so tired. How many times have we turned them aside? Ever since I can remember, when my mother told us stories to scare us to make us behave, it was their faces she conjured to terrify us. They've hounded my people for millenia. Nothing we have been able to do has stemmed the tide. They breed, swelling their number behind the folds of the world. Then they burst forth again and again, like some pus-filled pestilent sore. It's always only a remission of the cancer. Just a reprieve. It might last a year or a thousand, but they'll be back. They always are.

Tall fungus trees let down putrid, phlegm-colored spores over the trail. No sound of bird, no croak of frog, no animal noise what so ever disturbed the silence of this unholy place. The air seemed to press about Eridah, smothering her. The huntress looked up to the sky in hope of some respite, but the stars were not there to be seen. Only the oily black clouds of a plagueland night rolling over the corpse bones of Old Lorderon. Rahtharen growled, the huge cat sounding like a frightened cub in the hush of the forest of toadstool trees. Eridah hopped down from his back and laid her hand to his muzzle, trying to comfort him. Overhead, she could hear the soft flap of Hammah's wings as the owl circled, scouting the land for her.

((Here's to hoping that your holiday has been a good one. Thanks to all you folks who've taken the time this year to suffer through my posts. May your next year be full and bright for you and yours. Rated "PG", for some mild innuendo.))

**

Sian-Rotam bounced through the knee deep snow, throwing up huge plumes of white into the falling motes of ice. Eridah smiled, watching the big cat play like a cub. His huge paws would keep him above the snow pack for a dozen steps and then he would fall, with a most un-feline lack of grace and dignity, through the thin crust. The lion bounded then, leaping from place to place, chasing nothing, his bright blue eyes glowing with delight at being back in his element.

Eridah bent, scratching the Sian-Rotam's mane, smiling. The lion's long muscled flanks twitched with pleasure and those immense eyes shone like sapphires, looking up into her own silver ones. Rising, she turned to watch Noctilia and Fanshen preparing their instruments. Fanny gave Eridah a wink, turning the large pegs and tuning the dulcimer in her lap, while Noctilia quietly went over the songs she'd prepared, mouth moving with the words. Eridah looked the druid over with concern, but Noctilia caught her eye and grinned. Noctilia looked thin, her cheekbones prominent and high, but she seemed healthier, her eyes bright. Relief and thanks rose in her breast and Eridah gave a little bow to them both. Fanshen just nodded with amusement and gave Noctilia a smile.

Hammah glided over the hillock and perched himself in a the bough of tall holin. From his seat, the owl could see a large section of the vale below. Squirrels darted from tree to tree. A pair mated and tagged each other in a courting game. Another sat, munching on the hard shell of a holin nut to get a the delectable meat inside. Fat ground shrews poked up blind faces from their warrens and sniffed the air. A large thistlefur bear heaved its immensely muscled bulk from a behind a stand of trees, sending a flock of wrens aloft in a panic.

Silverpine. Figures stood about a few fires. Voices low, chuckling as greetings were exchanged and old friends reacquainted themselves. Theryl stood at the outskirts, watching it. She felt Eridah more than saw her as the huntress slipped up behind her. Rage billowed off Eridah and she moved to draw her blades. Theryl grabbed her arm.

Rah's massive paws silently carried Eridah over the hillock and down in the Silverwind valley. The huntress patted him, comforting them both as well she could. For the last three nights, the pair had patrolled the Wild Wood, riding non-stop from the Zoram strand to the bridge to Azshara. They'd found nothing, not even a hint of spoor from whatever had killed the druids and left their corpses to mock and terrorize the people of Ashenvale. Fatigue had dulled her rage to despair. She felt impotent, unable to defend her sisters from...what? The wounds had been a mishmash of horrors. Atrocities, they'd been mauled, tortured and raped. Remembering the sight of the bodies, Eridah's stomach roiled and she had to fight the bile that rose in her throat.

If he loved you
Like I love you
I would walk away in shame
I'd move town
I'd change my name

When he watches you
When he counts to buy your soul
On your hand his golden rings
Like he owns a bird that sings

When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings.

When We Dance, The Dream Of The Blue Turtles, Sting

...Eridah turned up the temple steps and walked into the heart of the festival. The revelers twisted around her like a sea of weeds drifting in the waters of the sea below the elven city. She smiled, seeing friends. They greeted her in turn, here and there breaking from the undulations and the music to touch her hand or kiss her cheek as she passed. The huntress worked her way through them, looking this way and that, searching the crowd for a single face. She couldn't separate the many trails of scent in the profusion of bodies, there were simply too many. Her eyes would have to suffice.

...Ryndyl strummed his lyre in time with Suriah's voice. A large throng of the revelers waved and swayed about the small stage watching intently as the singer belted out the words. The tendons of Suriah's throat stood out in high relief and the singer's face shown with sweat. Neshamah leaned against one of the large marble columns watching the bards ride the energy of the crowd. He smiled, wondering how it might feel to have such a direct contact with his audience. Appreciation and execution belonged to different times in his art form. Until an image was frozen, it was nothing but piles of bright mud on his canvas. This though, this music, it lived. He loved that it changed with each performance, that the artist could tune it to the crowd, allow them to become part of it with dance.

The air about the temple gardens of Darnassus crackled and thundered as the fireworks opened their fiery blossoms high over the dome. The embers twisted and danced on the breeze, floating down like petals and feathers upon the upturned, bright-eyed faces of the revelers below. The throng pressed close, spilling out onto the lawns and paths laughing and dancing. The pools were packed with their bodies, some naked, others giving testament to modesty with a scrap of silk or mageweave. Lovers embraced and tangled with each other in the shallows, heedless of the smiling lookers on. Here and there, teams of druids, their forms that of mighty bears, pulled huge casks of moonglow nectar about, keeping the festival goers well lubricated. The stones thrummed with the deep bass of the tom toms and brassy cries of the musician's horns. Canters cast their song over the crowd, swaying them in a trace of melody.

((Again, recent past, before Eridah leaves Darnassus. PG.))

***

Eridah smiled looking down at the smooth silk of the dress. Neshamah would love her in this, she thought to herself. In her mind, they were already dancing at the festival. She closed her eyes, hearing the lyre and the soft beat of the drums. She raised her hand, catching the barker's eye to place her bid. Golothas nodded and a clerk came round to collect her silver. Eridah counted the coins into the young elf's palm.