Apocrypha

((Xis and Al have been making quite the smiting team over the last couple days, so I figured a write up was in order. *hugs*))

**

Xistlah's mace whipped down in a blur and crashed against the dark iron's stout helm. The metal rang with the impact but the steel held true, unfortunately for her. Still the dwarf's head, though hard, was made flesh and bone, not the stone it seemed. He staggered back, dragging his pick-axe in a daze. The dwarf blinked, trying to clear his vision. Before him, two draenei women raised their weapons in unison. He swung out with his pick wildly and somehow managed to hit them both, slashing with its point and spraying the ground with blue ichor from her side. He shook his head, while she hopped back, cursing in her demon tongue and clutching at her side. His vision cleared and he eyed Xistlah balefully. Then he hefted his pick-axe and waded in, his muscular arms swinging it in wide powerful arcs.

((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.

((Rated PG, for violent content.))

**

Lieutenant Teeg lifted his chalice and drained it dry. The officer's mess tent maintained a sense of opulence with fine woven banners showing the standard of the King. Several long sturdy tables were laden with sumptuous foods: fine roasts of plains boar, tender kodo calf legs, thick hearty way bread and a collection of strange fruits gathered by the men from the farms and orchards of Mulgore. The many officers of the Third Company of his Majesty's Grand Hussars supped on these with fine wines and ales looted from the stores of the surrounding villages. The Third was one of several units stationed here outside the now crumbling ruin of the cow-men's capital.

((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.))

***

((I don't chatlog, so I apologize in advance for any irregularities or perceived god modding. I storytell first and foremost. If you see anything you don't like, let me know via PM and I'll edit for you.))

**

Arasminna made her way across the crowded common of the Golden Leaf. She felt tired and road weary. Too many nights on the road, eating out of a camp pan. She ached from head to foot. She looked to the corner where she could hear her friend, Lorith, speaking with some of the bar's patrons. Her keen ears tried to pick their conversation out of the gale of voices. Giving up, she slumped into a chair at the table nearest, to wait until she could catch Lorith's eye and say hello.

Previously: When You Got To Go...

**

It sounded like the world was coming part on the other side of the rise. Xistlah kept her head down flinching at the crash and cacophony. Just out of sight, she could still hear the elementals clashing. Molten rock exploded into a hail-storm of deadly shards, as one of the small earthlets fell under the blows of the slyphs, undines and efreeti gathered against it. Go in there, the Spirit had said. She peeked back over the rock, watching the triad of angry elementals move on to another earthlet, falling on the creature like a pack of rabid dogs. Lightning flashed and fire bloomed, making her squint. She didn't even see the rocks behind her begin to bulge and shiver as another earthlet wormed its way into consciousness. Her first warning came as an explosion of pain in the back of her head as the elemental struck her from behind, nearly dashing her brains over the ground with its rocky forearm.

Xistlah looked down at the red dust on her hooves, with sour expression. This stuff stinks, she thought to herself. The red dust smelled acidic and made her eyes burn and itch. As she picked her way up between the rocks, hopping with a clop from outcrop to outcrop, she could hear the gurgling of the brook behind and below her, flowing as red an open wound down to the water. The red stains still clung to her legs where she'd had to wade cross. She could feel the itching starting there as well. Xistlah had to make a effort of will not to scratch at her skin. It would only make it worse, she knew.

“You have her?” A male's voice...old wise...worried...

“She's fading.” Resignation, another voice...female...sad... “I can't hold her. She's going to discorporate...” It fades out...

Light...so much light....

“Try another harmonic,” the male's voice again...tingling...

“No good...” sinking...warm...”She's slipping”

((Okay, just adding my own little spin to the story of the Exodus and the Exodar. As ususal, it's a story, take it as that, not something you need to be beholden to. Enjoy.))

**

The wails of the dying cut the air as another bolt of arcane power rent the air, leaving the scent of ozone in its wake. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Smoke hazed everything under a murky cloud of that occasionally glowed deep from within its depths as one of the sides in the battle released another volley. The child in Xistlah's arms wailed in terror and her hand clamped to the girl's mouth too late to stop the sound. Around her, the small group of refugees from in the central spire of the Tempest Keep cowered back into the shadows. The deceptively smooth sounding voices of the invaders echoed through the fog of the battle. They'd heard. Xistlah could hear their booted footfalls on the the platform as the worked their way toward the hiding clutch of children.

“What do you think of this one?” She says. That strange face turns up to me, looking up at me from her seat on the floor. She wants me to answer her. I open my mouth automatically to say I think she should choose the blue one, a blue roll of some fabric...but I can't name it, I've never seen it before either. Where am I? And who is she? I feel a sense of panic, my stomach explodes with butterflies. My heart is racing. I look around, feeling the beginnings of panic.

((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.

Heavy, so heavy, Eridah couldn't lift her face from the floor. From her vantage point, the floorboards stretched out towards the door, tiny ridges shining in the afternoon sun. Her breath came in tiny gasps. Somewhere far away, contractions continued to flutter feebly in her belly. The pain had gone but a cold had crept into her in its absence. She couldn't feel her limbs, just a prickling numbness. She could see the glossy slick of blood all about her now. It pooled against the side of her face and around her prone form. She could feel the baby shifting in her, struggling. She tried to lift her head, but nothing happened. She just lay watching the door as it swung open.