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Amber Eye pt 4

The cold wind streamed through her hair, she could feel the onset of a shiver even through the thick cape she had borrowed from the Troll Priestess. Kohakku may have Frostwolf in her blood, but she never thought the cold of Northrend would be this biting. She rode the rented windrider back to Dalaran, clinging to the Troll Priestess in front of her. Her legs were slowly getting better, and now only a simple splint held the mending bones in place.

She set her jaw.

Dalaran was not really a place she felt all comfortable with. It was a Sanctuary, where the Kirin Tor mages forbade fighting amongst its people (with the exception of a Sewer based arena where the Dalaran inhabitants can either let off some steam or witness others doing so). Alliance and Horde intermingled, some keeping their distance, and some actually overcoming the language barrier and getting along amicably, while others made their disgust and displeasure shown.

Kohakku felt displeasure at it, though not disgust.She grew up with the humans wanting to wage war, and hiding from their own armies that were sent to hunt them down. Tough life to be born in, and to be conditioned to… when all of a sudden they’re expected to walk side by side in arms with the Alliance.

She snorted as Dalaran came into view. The purple spires rose proudly, if arrogantly, into the sky while its denizens and visitors were fluttering around it on Flying Machines, Drakes, and Magic Carpets. The floating continent shimmered as they rounded it, its magic shields still stable. The Troll and Orc passed through the magical barrier, and nearing Krasus’ Landing, they were soon assaulted with the noise and smells of the mage capital. Blood Elves and humans were in proliferation, some of them yelling at new arrivals to not draw weapons on the Landing Pad and move out of the bloody way.

Bloody. I like that, she smirked.

Kohakku clambered off the Wind Rider, and started hobbling off to the side, to wait for Zahki. She carried their gear, her armour clanking in the sack on her back each swing she hefted herself on her crutches. Bridgitte was curled on her shoulder, mrowling.

The troll strolled towards them, and they both started walking towards Dalaran proper. “I be treaten ya wounds fer a small time still, but afta’ dat, yas on yer own.” the witchdoctor murmured as they walked through the arches, weaving between people coming and going. She kept on looking around slowly, as if suspicious someone was watching.

“What’s wrong?”, Kohakku eyed each passer by with a wary look.

Zahki shook her head ever so slightly. “Nut’in. Jas feelin’ dis strange sensation I’m bein’ watched.”

They walked towards the Horde appropriated portion of Dalaran to book in a hammock as it was all they could afford. Kohakku sat slumped on the floor against the wall away from the railings that overlooked the common area. She let all the sounds and smells of the Horde inn wash over her, a familiarity set against the more magical spice of Dalaran. The added earthy smell of the Tauren, and muted dead musk from the Forsaken, and the sweat of the Orcs, as well as lingering mojo scent from the trolls made her smile.

————

The camp fire flickered in the distance, their drakes untethered to allow them to hunt the local game. She had left her good armor in the bank, wanting to experience a more rough and rugged hunt. Leathers were donned, and they took their drakes to Stormpeaks.

She could see the depth of the far off mountains and the jagged silhouette of Ice Crown Citadel, the swirling snow storm had settled down. She stood next to him, laughing, trudging through the knee deep snow. The Northern cold was biting, but his cold never bothered her. The heat and the cold of his skin was a delicious contrast to the heated passion that they had shared in their furs at night.

She said something, and sensing a change in her companion, looked over and watched as his ice blue eyes glaze over as he grew smaller and  the cliff face she once stood from fell away from her. She twisted around  to meet the ground but  a jagged crag rushed to meet her first.

———–

Kohakku gasped awake, still in her slumped position against the wall of the Horde Inn. There were less sounds now, hushed tones and the soft clink of mugs against wood. Zahki was no where to be found, and her wind rider was still curled under the hammock that she had rented.

She blinked, her hand by habit came up to rub her right eye when she remembered. Her eye was gone.

The bandages had fallen loose while she slept, exposing her healing skin to the world. She touched it, feeling the tender skin, no longer the hardened skin of years battle exposure. Her legs shook slightly as she rose up, and fumbled to the corner where the pisspot was and relieved herself, and she saw herself in a lightly polished mirror.

Her hair was greasy, limp, and disshriveled. No longer a slicked back mohawk. She seemed thinner, more bone structure showing through her face, and where her right eye once was, skin was stretched over it, healing. Scars criss crossed over it, some of the arms reaching above her eyebrow.

I look like shit.

She hobbled down to the ground floor, where there were several blood elves, trolls, and orcs sprawled across some tables, still drunk or hung over. She limped past the group, into the open Dalaran air.

It was still night, the shimmering of the magical barrier tinted the sky a slightly purple, but the magical and engineered lights of the city still lit up the dark night. Just a few people were up at this time of night, mostly by the undead who needn’t sleep. There were no Alliance in this part of town, the Horde cordoned off this area and any Alliance that ventured near were punted out. To her right was a familiar sight, the stairs leading to the battlemaster, and the area where one of her superiors normally conducted business.

The stairs proved difficult, lifting her weight on each leg to rise up, but she made her way up to the top, where she sighted her superior, straightened her back, and and saluted.

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Posted by on August 1, 2013 in Story: Amber Eye

 

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Enter Avashni

Avashni picked up the helmet, its hard metal cold in her small hands. The crystal decor on it glinted in the candle light. If she put this on, then that was it. She regarded it, wondering if she made the right decision. It was true, she had nothing left; her life partner was gone, her brother had died in the crash. Her friends have all either died in battle or moved away from the Exodar.

The Exodar… originally a piece of Tempest Keep, it had become the Draenei’s “home base” whilst on Azeroth. She had spent the 5 years on the island, doing her best in trying to repair the ship – many had blamed it on her and her kin that the Exodar had fallen. They were the ones who maintained it, who navigated it through the Twisting Nether. She kept trying to find ways of repairing the ship, but to no avail. With the emergence of Deathwing, more and more was needed outside of the Azuremyst isles in terms of assistance.

She sighed, her legs curled up beneath her. She did have combat training, sure, and there still was plenty things to learn. A part of her remembered back to when she agreed to work directly on the Exodar was the impression that she would be able to see first hand the new worlds before anyone else. And in doing so, ended up having to defend herself as well. Often times she inexplicably had to bring up arms along with a couple of her colleagues, when they went our roving with a few scholars.

‘I suppose…‘ she reflected, putting aside the the helmet. ‘That my brother was a great fighter, they thought I would be one too.’ Talk about fulfilling a prophecy… She leaned back, her bare skin pressing against the wood walls of the inn. She moved to Stormwind since it had seemed that the capital city was where people mostly gathered, where dispatches were made. Her common wasn’t spectacular, she still spoke with a fair accent, though throughout dealings with visitors from off island and more and more common being interspersed in Draenic, it perhaps was inevitable that Common would well… be common.

She recalled the empty living quarters within the Exodar, well refitted during the adjustment period after the crash. There were still people living on Azuremyst, mostly denizens who were too disabled to venture off the island, or those who did not mind the lessening amount of people who stayed there. Her room mates had moved on, traveling to the far reaches of Tanaris to studying with the Mages within Dalaran. Hesitant to move on, to move out, but finally succumbing to the need for newer surroundings, she packed up her things and left as well.

The boat ride to Stormwind was uneventful, though while she had heard of talk within the Exodar of Wolf-men – Worgen – having joined this Alliance, seeing several of them in their feral form startled her at first. Not many of them had ventured to Azuremyst, and thus were still a novel sight. She mostly kept to herself, often not bothering to keep her short chestnut hair from obscuring her face. The worgen, in turn, as she found them novel beings, would sometimes brazenly turn to stare at her, her tail, her horns.

A couple of them did venture forth to try and speak to her, but she was not entirely sure what to say to them and thus the attempted conversation dwindled. ‘Too long in the company of only myself.’ She thought, as she gazed across the moon illuminated rooftops of Stormwind, in the ‘Old Town’ as they called it.

She scratched her bare legs, feeling the various scars that peppered her skin.

‘Why am I here?”

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2011 in Story: One Shots

 

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Amber Eye pt 3

The female Troll sighed, looking up at the rock ceiling. She had a thick cloak draped around her shoulders, softening the rock wall behind her as she leaned against it. Orange bangs fell across her brow, brushing against the white streaks of ink on her cheekbones. The cup of broth sat steaming in her hands.

Zahki smiled fondly. “Hard ta imagine so much has happened in such a short time fer me.” She looked down at Kohakku, who was seated and with her legs outstretched and a half empty bowl cupped in her own hands. “A few years ago, I was jas a leedle zul’fli in trainin’. A female witchdoctor.” She added, for translations sake.

“So you do voodoo and stuff? Isn’t that… you know, illegal?” Kohakku interjected with a wary look on her face. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on September 15, 2011 in Story: Amber Eye

 

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Understanding the Shadow

An audible gasp sounded in the small hut, heavy breathing in the cold night air. Jungle nighttime sounds eventually filtered through the ringing in her ears as Zahki slowly sobered up from the nightmare she a woke from. She still felt the lingering effects of the dream on her skin, the slithering tendrils of darkness felt like it was invading her bones, the shadowy whispers in her ear. She scowled, worn out from the continued nightmares her tenure under Zisszin’Thek the Hexxer’s control had brought upon. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on August 10, 2011 in Story: One Shots

 

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Escape from the Temple of Atal’Hakkar

Within the depths of the Temple of Atal’Hakkar, deep through its winding passageways carefully constructed in the name of the Blood Serpent, Hakkar the Soul Flayer. Reveling in the worship of the faceless Loa, the smell of blood pervades throughout the temple, mingling with the musty dampness of the Swamp of Sorrows. Its followers prowled through the hallways, clad in purple, as moans and screams rang through its twisting halls. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on August 8, 2011 in Stories: Saf'ya

 

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Enter Nathalyon 3

Orgrimmar was busy, as expected, the Valley of Strength filled to the brim with people and their to’s and fro’s. When the zeppelin had docked, Nathalyon oversaw the bustling trade area below, thrumming with people. It was a place that was unafraid of what it was, a hub, a crossroads. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on August 2, 2011 in Story: Enter Nathalyon

 

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A Loosely Bound Journal 7

[The following is written in blocky Draenic script]

Terrokar Forest is a sight for sore eyes. I have not set foot on its grass in many a year. Nary much has changed, and the trees are still yet filtering the distant light into shafts of enlightenment. It is as if nothing of the Burning Legion has touched this tranquil place, and then I see it – a burned Fel Orc stronghold in the distance on the way to Shattrath.

Mari must have seen the tension on me, my face, the way I gripped my sword hilt, for I had then felt a light touch of her bare gloveless fingers on my arm. It was from the look on her face that I realised how tight I was holding my sword, how hard my teeth ground together. I immediately let up, but I still felt ill at ease at the stronghold. Its blackened remains stared back at me, mocking me as we moved past it. I can feel its inner demons glowering, taunting me. Forcing me to relieve those days of fresh wounds.

Shattrath is in better shape these days though to see that the rumour of Blood Elves being on uneasy terms with the Aldor Priesthood were true… I am not sure what to think. I understand that the Blessed Naaru have allowed them to stay within Shattrath, but I am still at a conflict within myself. I find myself looking into their fel tinged eyes and seeing them in disgust. Also given shelter within the blessed city are orcs and trolls. They have made their home within the lower city, perchance taking advantage of the multitudes that filter through on their way through campaigns as well as ones who have tried starting anew within Shattrath.

Refugees. It pains me to see them begging in the hallways entering the Lower City, but it cannot be helped. One may offer to give them gold, as the means of pay has spread from within Azeroth into Draenor. This, I cannot help.

If there is something I have learned in my years of living, and it is that Change is Inevitable.

 
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Posted by on August 1, 2011 in Story: A Loosely Bound Journal

 

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