Xistla

((A few words of introduction to this material. I wrote this about a year to a year and a half ago after finishing Descent, really at the beginning of my time playing WoW. I and the player who runs Horkin/Talashar had been writing a shared epic story for Hand of the Dark Queen's site for some time. Xara's story was the follow up to Descent, and was to finish the tale. As I wrote it, I got introduced to some new characters who's stories moved me to create them in game and tell their stories as well. It was from the Scrolls of Xara that Eridah and Lirah were both born, as well as a few other bit characters who only appear there, like Zeldi Tinker, the Scriptorium's former accountant. Xara's conception was the prototype for the storyline that ran between myself as Yuta'mazah and Theryl. Xarahsha's tale has never been finished and goes well outside the established lore. It's not RP so much as story and so, I'll ask your forgiveness for the liberties I'm going to take with Azeroth and the future. Amusingly enough, all this time travel material was written well before I'd heard anything about BC content. Just one of those many odd coincidences that have made my time playing WoW fun and resonant. As I fix things up and do rewrites, I'll post the Scrolls up, and hopefully finish them. That done, my time in WoW will be done as well I think. It won't be quick, I don't intend to disappear overnight. But all things come to the end, to make room for what's to come. I hope this last tale I have to tell entertains and I thank you all for putting up with my attempts at storytelling over the past two years. Now, without more exposition, Xara's introduction...)

***

The old troll woman lay in an ornate curtained bed. Bright lace hung about its frame, breaking the light that streamed in through the many open windows. A warm breeze troubled them, flapping them about. The old troll's chest rose and fell in shallow labored breaths. Her hands lay upon her chest in a posture of restful contemplation. Her eyes were closed and a small smile played about her wizened mouth. Dark circles were carved by many days of pain under her eyes. The flesh of her face lay sunken on her cheekbones, showing them in great relief. Her hair, caught up in a few long braids, shone white in the sunlight.

((Wrapping this up with this final repost from the Hand site. Shar will have to decide if she wants to repost Ascent, the precursor story to this one, so I can put the last little bits of that up in the proper spaces. Thanks for paying attention if you did ;) ))

**

Years passed into the distance. As foreseen, the spires of Thunderbluff rose again to look out over the valley of Mulgore. As a new winter turned to spring, fireworks exploded into the night over the village of Nighthaven. Lush green trees filtered the silver moonlight into dusky shadows. Flashes of orange and gold showed the pier in high relief before letting it fall back again into the blurred half light of the new year moon. Revelers went to and fro, boisterously making merry. All races of Azeroth presented themselves in their finest apparel. For a brief wondrous time, the Horde and Alliance respected peace and raised toasts to their sometime foes. Talashar leaned on her elbows against the dock railing alone. She looked into the sea at the reflection of full moon. A gown of fine purple velvet clung tightly to her, outlining the curve of her hips in a silver sheen. Golden embroidered traceries whorled about the hills and valleys of her body and winked in concert with the clusters rockets as they popped and fizzled before dropping to the water. Laughter floated to her from behind, tickling at her earlobes. Talashar looked over her shoulder hopefully and then sighed. Her shoulders slumped. A group of young trolls chased each other over the pier and jumped unceremonious into the water. Talashar smiled wistfully, watching their play. A frown darkened her expression, and she turned to walk from the pier.

((After a long hiatus, republished as is from the Hand of the Dark Queen's website. This and the next will wrap up The Descent. Apologies again for leaving this hanging.))

** 

The alley stank of garbage, piss, and sour ale. Shadows clung about its entrance, defying the light that managed to break its way down through the sooty smoke of Orgrimmar. A pair of rats skittered across the alleyway in search of scraps. Coming on a crust of bread, a noisy row erupted in a flash of long incisors and tiny sharp claws. The victor dragged away its prize, leaving the looser to skulk away licking its wounds. A large orange cat watched the exchange, and with causal disinterest, rose to follow the bleeding rodent. Sliding noiselessly from shadow to shadow, she tracked her prey. Too late the rat caught the scent. It bolted for a crack in a baseboard window. The claws caught and bit into its hind quarters. The rat squealed in agony and terror. Suddenly a bottle of glass exploded into jagged shards wet with wine gone to the tang of vinegar. The cat howled in panic and took off for the street.

((Just a quick apology. I've let this thread sit for a long time, because it's older material and I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. However, to rebel from Mr. Lucas, I'm going to leave this one as it originally was. I don't have anything to add, and though it's a little Kung Fu theater-ish, I still like it. For my father, the real life Sun Lü who taught me how to be still. Thanks dad, I love you.))

**

Xistla watched the felhunters as they flanked the portal. Their scaly backs glistened with foul ichor. Drops of viscous saliva dripped from their immense maws to the ground. They paced like great tigers, snapping at each other when chance would bring them too close. Xistla tried to breathe slowly, taking the air into and out of her lungs. She entreated the spirits for aid, asking them to guide her steps. Xistla rose, she took no weapon from her back, looked to no shield for protection. She simply walked forward toward the gate, leaving little puffs of dust in her wake.

White, like snow, but warm and soft against her face as Xistla's mind slowly rose out of sleep. She groaned and opened her eyes, blinking to clear them. She tried to make sense of her surroundings. She found herself in small room, sparsely furnished. She lay in a comfortable, if somewhat small, bed, heavy with furs and soft linens. A crude wooden chair sat nearby, with a small end table as well. The table held a couple of tomes, leather bound and gilt-edged. Xistla looked at these but could make out nothing of the script on their covers.

Viscous ichor bubbled and swirled below her as Xistla crossed the stone bridge into the magic quarter of the ruin of Undercity. The smell of this place set her senses on edge, a powdery must of old tombs and corpses long since dried to dust. The remnants of funerary bouquets still troubled the air down here, and perhaps always would. Xistla had known enough undead to have become accustomed to them. Only the freshest ones still smelled of rot. After a few months, the organisms that the walking corpses carried inside their bodies had done their work leaving behind only the desiccated remains. They became dry, seemingly brittle creatures, most not taking care of their unliving bodies. They split their skins, bones bleached white and picked clean by the insects that had long since abandoned their forms.

((Rated "PG" for emo content. Blatant cameo from one of my favorite author's characters. Aside from that, no further provisors, disclaimers or warnings should be required. ))

**

Wind blew over the strand, coming in off the sea into the village with the tang of salt. The sun shone down, shimmering all the air about into running rivers of heat. Even the scorps that hunted the sands just north of beach lay splayed out, exhausted and baked in the mid-summer heat. Carrion birds hid in the dry branches of the uboro tree that overhung the cliff that looked down on the beach. They kept their eyes lidded against the sun, using the parched leaves to provide themselves what shade they could. Below, on the white-hot sand, two trollings wrestled over a something green and out of place in this arid clime.

((A word of warning. This post contains sexually explicit content. It is rated "R" and intended for mature audiences. Parental discretion is advised.))

**

The embers of the small chunks of incense glowed dully in the brazier. White tendrils of silverleaf resin mixed with the pungent aroma of mageroyal and impregnated the air with a soft haze. This caught the light of a small hanging chandelier of oil lamps, whose flickering flames cast ribbons of rich warm light about the room. Across most of the floor and furniture, a litter of clothes and leather armor was strewn in a trail that led to an immense copper tub in an alcove at one side of the room. Here more clothes lay, along with plush towels now heavily sodden with water and dirt. A ring of grime circled the otherwise spotless finish of the bath. In a small oven to the side, the coals of a fire glowed dimly and a cauldron of hot water simmered.

((PG, contains graphic images of death and sickness.))

***

Xistla stood looking out over the cliffs of the strand into the distance. She'd stood there since midday. The ship that had come to take Talahshar away had long ago disappeared over the horizon. Wind whipped her black hair about her face like a nest of brambleseed bloom. She held a bright scrap of linen, a handkerchief that Talashar had used to tie her hair back. Her fingers squeezed and caressed it unconsciously. The sun had followed Talashar, passing from the sky in its fiery glory as the stars swept up the colors of its leaving, laying out the sack cloth of night. Below, the village of Shadowprey twinkled as lamps were lit, pushing back the darkness. The air was chill, even here on the coast as winter came on, and Xistla shivered.

Xistla watched the adventurer from her perch in the roost of the inn. Sikewa, the innkeeper, didn't like trollings to play about the place, bothering travelers and begging for coin. She tolerated the strange girl however, because for the most part, Xistla kept quiet and to herself. To be honest, the tauren felt sorry for the child. Though she seemed personable enough, most of the village children had taken an immediate distaste for the girl. They'd taken to teasing her, calling her names and in generally being as cruel as only young trolls know how to be. Sikewa had no clue as to what had singled Xistla out for such persecution. She didn't think it fair. So when Xistla couldn't deal with the packs of hooligans and needed a place to hide, Sikewa let the girl go up to the roost where she could sit in peace. Often, she'd even give her an apple of a piece of cheese to nibble on. Xistla always took these with a solemn expression that made Sikewa want to laugh. The innkeeper took care not to show it though, mindful of the trolling's feelings.

Lah'Mahwani scraped at the skin with a piece of sharpened flint. The stone worked better than steel for this, keeping its edge where a metal blade would have to be whetted continually. The flint blade was what her mother had used preparing her skins and it was what she'd taught her daughter, Xistla, to make. Once you had a good one, it would last for months. Flint lay scattered over the whole of Durotar. It was easy to come by and didn't require the upkeep of precious oil to keep it from rust. Lah'Mahwani finished scraping the gore from the underside of the hide.

((Due to the non-linear nature of this storyline, folks may be scratching their heads by the end of this post. All I can say is that eventually, this will make sense to the more linear minded of you. "Never apologize, Never Explain." - Neil Gaiman))

**

Fire. They're coming. Gods, there's so many of them. My hammer feels so heavy in my hand. I turn to her, my shoulders slumping with fatigue. Her magenta hair spikes out in all directions. She looks ragged and half mad, her eyes sunken in their sockets–but still, she smiles at me, her love warms me. I push my streaked hair back out of my sweat drenched face. My skin feels hot and the itch is getting worse, a tickling pain all over my body. I can feel the tiny elementals, seething under there. They feel this violation even as I do, this rape of our world.

“Get her into the water,” the voice was strange to Eridah's ears. A kaldorei voice, familiar but she couldn't place it. Everything was too bright. Her heart seemed like it would explode with the fury of its beating. Pain lanced her and she screamed. Arms lifted her as she bent in two under the onslaught. It passed as quickly as it had come, leaving her clutching her abdomen wondering if she'd felt it at all. She was afraid, blood covered her naked legs and stained her linen shift, making the water of the moonwell cloudy as they lowered her into it.