Just because after this arc is done (one more post, I swear) I am dumping all the rest of my cata toons in over a period of time, I thought I might make a quick character list of the ones you know, and will come to know.
Trolls:
Dzie'wanna: The current Protagonist. Her story is coming to a close, her path found and becoming a tame one. A shadow hunter, yes, but not a powerful one and one meant to push others on the path for the future. She may have cameo's in future works, but I feel like she is about done, and I want to give her her rest.
Quetz'le: Dzie'wanna's future mate. After Cataclsym hits, and some of my chaos has died down (I think maybe as a christmas 'gift') I will have a troll style wedding as the final spotlight on her. It will have taken place before the Cataclsym, after the retaking, so it will be a bit of a flashback. Something nice and cheerful to distract from all the drama that will be going on as the world implodes. He is a old dude who is simple in speech, but smart as anything and was quite handsome back in the day.
Tsis'tu: Dzie'wanna and Quetz'le's son. He will be a rogue come Cataclysm, smart and sharp and will be the straight man next to Sinkalip. He will take on the name given to his mother: Dartertrick.
Sinkalip: The nephew of Dzie, cousin of Tsis'tu, and my future troll druid. He will become much more of a main character come cata, and will be a comic character. Flirty, lively, and mischievous as all heck. I am thinking of him being a bit like Bugs Bunny. He will delight in annoying the Night Elves in Moonglade.
Isondo: My future troll mage. Drakkari in origin, I will probably keep her OOC while in most of the big cities. She will have her home in Dalaran in the future, and be a force to be reckoned with. My challenge, but spawned by my love of the Drakkari trolls. I still like the Darkspear more, but man, the Drakkari have such a freakin' story.
Skathidi: My future troll hunter/shadow hunter. She will be one of the students Dzie'wanna taught in the past, who will come back and take the next step to be a shadow hunter soon. A sharper character, a wiser wit, and a veteran of the war in Northrend and had a very brief stint in Outland. In some ways, she is carrying on Dzie's tradition.
Tauren:
Ayunli Thunderdrum: A niece of one of Dzie'wanna's friends who died in Northrend, she had been training as a druid and acting to further friendship between Silvermoon and Thunderbluff before hearing Aponi Brightmane and Tahu Sagewind speak. Now, she is called to battle and has taken the ways of the Sunwalker.
Goblins:
Dizzy: Also known as Dzie'wanna Appletini Wiggle Bedelia Robin Speekeasy III. Yes, Dzie will be given a race change, but completely different character here. A collector and genius when it comes to animals, she is a odd goblin that has a very apt nickname.
Higgle Lugbomb: Cousin of Dizzy. Miser, grinch, and business woman. Doesn't like get rich quick schemes. At all.Is currently under the service of Her Tallness, Mida Silvertongue. Shaman.
Speekeasy: Sister of Dizzy, also cousin of Higgle. A warrior alchemist who uses the word 'cool' and 'chill' too much. Very laid back, and has both horrendously bad luck (ex. stuff keeps falling at her) and horrendously good luck (ex. the stuff that falls always misses her by a hair).
And, my new main...
Snuffit Threez: A goblin priestess who is cousin of all the other goblins I mentioned, and has six older sisters who are well-known and respected gold-diggers. She is smart, sophisticated, but has a bit of a soft spot for luxery and cheating (she calls it 'insurance').
I am tempted to make Dizzy connected to Dzie'wanna, to keep up the theme of the blog. As a hunter who wasn't on Kezan when it sunk as she was busy traveling and collecting, it is feasible. So something for me to think about.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Echo Isles: Regaining Home - part 3
The daggers screeched as they locked and slid against each other, flashing in the now setting sun. Tsis’tu stumbled back, bringing up his arm in defense as Dzie’wanna struck at him again. He could feel his fur matting with sweat, and the coolness of the evening had yet to make a difference. His mother was strong, he hadn’t realized until now how much so. It wasn’t that she was particularly skilled with the dagger. She had no flashy moves, no finesse, but experience and sheer strength was on her side. Whenever she got past his defenses, she hit him with the back of it. He had bruises forming all over and settling into his muscles.
Finally, after the next blow struck his chin, she pulled back and let her arms relax at her sides. “Enough, this is good.” Before he could say anything (he hadn’t even hit her once, dammit) she started walking towards the bonfires that were being started in the town. Drums had being going on all day, but the new rise of the sound against the red of the sea and sky caused the air to fill and pulse with the beat. He took a deep breath and felt the air sweep off the sea as he examined his mother.
He hardly knew her. It struck him how much this was true. By the traditions, she was worthless, a adulteress and one who abandoned her family. He knew why she had slept with his true father though, he had used his and Sinkalip’s spying skills to sneak around and find out. He had been lucky that gossip ran rampant. There was true affection, but the truth was that with her husband no child had been coming. The blame for this is always on the woman, so she risked her reputation to receive a child. He supposed she didn’t regret it, it was with the man she loved. And though he had a black mark on him since a child due to the drama surrounding his parents, that helped sooth his mind. Oh, he had been angry about it. When younger. But although still bitter he had achieved some peace. It wasn’t worth it to tear his mind over how unfair it was when it simply was, and that was that.
His mother… she didn’t look motherly. Whipcord muscles and scars scattered across her body, the same calm orange eyes as him, the same blunt features. He had his father’s hair and overlong ears, but that was about it. He had been thinking about punishing her for her absence with biting remarks and long silences, but seeing her… he couldn’t help but think she was punished by fate enough. And that had him satisfied.
“Tsis’tu?”
His ears twitched as he came out of his thoughts. “Yes, mother?”
She tilted her head towards him, her eyes sizing him up, weighing him. “Do you plan to join the Horde soon?”
“In a year or two. The island needs to be rebuilt first.” He gave a shrug.
“Yes, that is good. I… I plan to stay, for awhile. Sassaba needs a place to stay, and Isondo will soon leave. I shall stay.” Her tone was hesitant, eyes watching for his reaction. He shrugged again. He could hear the undertones, how she wanted to spend more time with him (not that he minded, he could use some training) and both knew how hard it would be.
“Do what you wish, I will not protest.”
Her lips twitched into a small smile.
————————————-
Isondo got off the bat, feeling her legs wobble as she collapsed on the ground and started whimpering. How did these little half-trolls manage to fly these things? She shuddered. Frogs that hadn’t been thrown let out croaks from the bag as she staggered to her feet, ignoring the laughter and amused looks from some trolls near by. Stars were starting to come out on the horizon.
She straightened her back and shoved the bag at the nearest person, marching off towards the stables. After growling her way past some of the keepers, she slipped into the stall of Mahak.
He lay there, a blue glow pouring out of his mouth and his bright eyes looking at her sleepily. One of the few uncursed sons of Harkoa and Loque’nahak. A blessing. It was said only those hunter’s that were favored by the spirits would be able to tame one, and this was the one reason she had not tried to kill or flee from Dzie’wanna. To tame a child of the two was something to respect.
She sat down, stroking the head of the cat as he purred and curled up around her. She remembered Harkoa, back in Zul’Drak. The beautiful snow leopard was the loa she paid homage to, her chosen one to worship. Loa were jealous of their followers, after all. She loved this creature, the reminder of home and of the ice and snow, and of the power of the Drakkari. She remembered binding long, bleached strands of leather around her arms, the paws cut from one of the older cats laying as gloves over her hands, a painted mask covering her face as she and other maidens dances in the first snow. The celebration of the maiden of ice was a dance balanced with ferocity and and elegance, a worthy dance. Many men would use the time to spot out woman who they might want as mates, though they could not ask until they had proven themselves over the hard winter.
Du’roo had watched her, that night. When her feet were slicing into the snow and each flake catching in her hair. Her mother was sure that he would prove himself, and he would come to her with a offer of marriage. He had been proud, strong. She did not let herself think of his fate, of how he was one of the first to fall to the Scourge. Nor did she let herself remember how in the next year, in the first snowfall, Harkoa had been chained and nearing her end.
She simply lay back against the stable wall, the warmth of the creature and of her memories before the ice became cold lulling her into sleep.
————————————-
Sassaba was enjoying herself. Quetz’le had picked her up and had let her eat a ton of coconuts, and now her eyes slid heavily shut as she was carried back and laid down on the mat in the tent, him chuckling as he ruffled her short hair and told her to sleep. She saw him walk out, back into the night to help prepare for the last events of the war, and her eyes shut dreaming about chasing frogs and playing in the ocean.
She think she liked it here. Even if the other kids were a little stupid.
————————————
Tsis’tu was now asleep, and Dzie’wanna was standing by the beach as the stars filled the sky. War paint covered her face, her body still feeling the beat of the dance of the spirits. She felt it then, the joining of the past and the present, the celebration of those who came before and gave them the blessing. Home.
“Ah, see, I knew you would be out here.”
She looked back over her shoulder and inclined her head at Quetz’le as he walked up to her. He came to stand beside her, a smile curving up around his tusks.
“The battle starts tomorrow, are you ready?”
“I have missed the march on the citadel of the Lich King for this. I am ready, Quetz’le.”
He looked at her, examining her features before his hand fell on her shoulder. “You chose us then.”
Dzie’wanna looked out over the sea, the islands standing in the distance. She thought she could see them for a moment, the spirits of the past. Her friends, Heighth, Beast, and Fleighth. The three Tauren who took her under their wing when she was fighting for the Horde in Feralis and the Barrens. She had taken up their ways, their religion, and many other things to fill in the hole that leaving her tribe behind had left. They had each passed on. Heighth, the hunter who had shown her strength, he had died first in The Outlands. Bleeding to death from a Alliance attack in Nagrand. Beast (not his true name, but one affectionately given by friends and allies), also a hunter and one who was her closest friend, the one who she was often paired for missions with, died in Northrend. He only made it so far as Dragonblight, felled by the Scourge. Fleighth, who was a druid, died on the grounds of Wintergrasp, by Alliance.
She had sacrificed a chance at revenge at the home of the Lich King to serve her people. But her son was here, and although she had left him in body she had never left her thoughts of him. The time had come to take up her tribe again, and to take the burdens that came with it.
“Will you come back to rest tonight?”
Dzie’wanna shook her head, deep in thought. “No, I need to do my own consulting with the spirits. I must be right with them before tomorrow dawns.”
Quetz’le gave a nod, and leaned over, allowing his tusks to rest on her shoulder in a moment of affection. “See you on the battlefield, then.”
As he walked away, Dzie’wanna started her own trek outside the village. Following the shore, picking up any brush she came across, she eventually reached to a small grove of trees and started snapping some leaves and branches off them. She stacked the materials and took out her flint and steel. A few solid strikes had the brush catch flame. Sitting back on her heels, her eyes watched the sparks catch as the moon shone brightly on the sand. The fire was not for light. Tonight, Mu’sha was bright enough to have the trees paint stark shadows, the mountains in the distance looking strange for their own crevices being cast deeper in the light.
For awhile she sat there, breathing in the ocean and fire, feeling the sand between her fingers and grinding into her heels, having the breeze attempt to move her thick braids. Then, her hands rose, the palms facing upward as she spoke.
“Earth Mother, I ask-”
“Eeeehhhh? What is this, young one? Have you forgotten your way?”
Dzie’wanna’s muscles snapped to attention, her neck tensing as one hand sought her dagger and she whirled around, one knee on the ground with the other leg ready to push off with it’s foot forward on the ground. Standing right where the firelight started to grow weak was a man, a troll of great age who’s wrinkles seemed to fold on themselves. His tusks were small, but had runes and the old Zandali language carved into every inch. His white hair was made into many small braids, some falling in front of his ears and framing his face. Clenched between his front teeth was a ornate pipe that was painted to look like a snake. The strangest thing of him, however, was his sleek deep blue fur, darker than any troll’s she had seen, and the yellow eyes that had a glow to them. Recognizable as a troll’s eyes, the pupil easily seen, but the light was there nonetheless.
Her hands fell to the ground as she bowed, her limbs shaking. Any troll who had been raised with the stories of the loa knew who this was. “Legba, lord of many roads, why-”
He laughed, his wrinkles moving as he stepped closer. The beaded leather outfit, dancing with designs and fringe that gave movement around his mostly bare arms, caught the light in each bead and made it to look like it held stars. He grinned down at the shaking troll. “You know, I am glad to see you here Dzie’wanna, daughter of no one, master of beasts. It is about time things start coming into place.”
She looked up, watching as he sat down in front of her with no little awe. Though it was not unheard of for the Loa to visit on the trolls, especially those who served them (in fact, among the more powerful priests, if you had not at least had one vision of a loa you were considered cursed in whispers) it was something that was not usual. “May I ask-”
“Eh, stop with all this ‘may’ and ‘lord’ and such. Good for ceremonies, but you were starting another. Which although I don’t mind as much as others that you serve the Earth Mother, well, that being the reason I am here instead of another, I do mind that you did not call on me before her this night.” He puffed on his pipe, a white cloud raising and curling on itself before it disappeared into the night.
Legba was one of the most sociable of the Hunter loa. Of the Shadow Hunter pantheon, as the loa of speed and crossroads, he knew both battle and wisdom. She took a deep breath, wondering if he would cut her off again, before speaking.
“I am sorry, Legba, and ask your forgiveness.” It was all she could say. To be visited by this loa was amazing enough, she did not want to cause any animosity, nor cause any curse to come upon her.
He gave a laugh. “Still so formal! Tell me, you only half mean it, yes? There is still scars on you, Dzie’wanna. You felt abandoned by your tribe long before you were married, long before you left. And you felt abandoned by the loa, even if your prayers were never meant in the first place.” He smiled down at her, a twinkle in his eye as he shook his head in humor. “But, this is your crossroads. You have chosen to stay in the tribe again. This will not be a easy path, Dzie’wanna. Should you take it with only half a heart, should you still cling first to your learned Tauren ways, you will fail and leave yet again. And perhaps die in the Barrens, in a blast of fire.”
She swallowed, wondering if he meant by mage, cannon, shaman or warlock. She stayed quiet as he examined her, his face becoming serious.
“But there is another path. Should you take it, you will die as well Dzie’wanna. But it will be a more fulfilling death, and take place later in life. Although you will not be marked as a hero, not remembered in legends, you will be known by those you teach.” He knelt by her, and reached over and took the dagger from it’s sheath. Throwing it the air, it spun before he caught the blade between two thick fingers. “This path… is one of the Shadow Hunter. I do not ask you to stop believing in Tauren rights, but your worship shall be to me, and your rights will be to me. Although many loa are loosening their way in this out of need, with you I will not.” He held the dagger out, the handle for her to grab. “Do you accept?”
Her hands shook as her thoughts tumbled together. She knew what this meant. For a moment, she thought of her friend’s and their deaths. Of her family and the life she now had. “Would… when visitng my friend’s graves, may I pay honor in the way of the Earth Mother? In all else I will follow and be glad to do so. But in this, my friend’s spirits I need to honor.”
A grin curved up against, the grooves in his tusk catching shadows and the light of the fire deepening his wrinkles. “You may. But that is all I shall give in this.”
With a nod, she took the handle. As she pulled the dagger to her, the blade deepened into black and the runes and the language of old Zandali now took their place, curving on it. For a moment, she could see Legba in the reflection of the dark edge. He winked at her, before the image was gone. She didn’t need to look up to know that he was no longer there as well.
A shuddering breath wracked through her, a delayed shock seizing her for a moment before she sat down and turned to the fire. She rose her hands again, palms up, and started the rites. “Legba, father of the roads, I ask tonight for your blessing.”
She was fairly certain she heard laughter on the wind.
Finally, after the next blow struck his chin, she pulled back and let her arms relax at her sides. “Enough, this is good.” Before he could say anything (he hadn’t even hit her once, dammit) she started walking towards the bonfires that were being started in the town. Drums had being going on all day, but the new rise of the sound against the red of the sea and sky caused the air to fill and pulse with the beat. He took a deep breath and felt the air sweep off the sea as he examined his mother.
He hardly knew her. It struck him how much this was true. By the traditions, she was worthless, a adulteress and one who abandoned her family. He knew why she had slept with his true father though, he had used his and Sinkalip’s spying skills to sneak around and find out. He had been lucky that gossip ran rampant. There was true affection, but the truth was that with her husband no child had been coming. The blame for this is always on the woman, so she risked her reputation to receive a child. He supposed she didn’t regret it, it was with the man she loved. And though he had a black mark on him since a child due to the drama surrounding his parents, that helped sooth his mind. Oh, he had been angry about it. When younger. But although still bitter he had achieved some peace. It wasn’t worth it to tear his mind over how unfair it was when it simply was, and that was that.
His mother… she didn’t look motherly. Whipcord muscles and scars scattered across her body, the same calm orange eyes as him, the same blunt features. He had his father’s hair and overlong ears, but that was about it. He had been thinking about punishing her for her absence with biting remarks and long silences, but seeing her… he couldn’t help but think she was punished by fate enough. And that had him satisfied.
“Tsis’tu?”
His ears twitched as he came out of his thoughts. “Yes, mother?”
She tilted her head towards him, her eyes sizing him up, weighing him. “Do you plan to join the Horde soon?”
“In a year or two. The island needs to be rebuilt first.” He gave a shrug.
“Yes, that is good. I… I plan to stay, for awhile. Sassaba needs a place to stay, and Isondo will soon leave. I shall stay.” Her tone was hesitant, eyes watching for his reaction. He shrugged again. He could hear the undertones, how she wanted to spend more time with him (not that he minded, he could use some training) and both knew how hard it would be.
“Do what you wish, I will not protest.”
Her lips twitched into a small smile.
————————————-
Isondo got off the bat, feeling her legs wobble as she collapsed on the ground and started whimpering. How did these little half-trolls manage to fly these things? She shuddered. Frogs that hadn’t been thrown let out croaks from the bag as she staggered to her feet, ignoring the laughter and amused looks from some trolls near by. Stars were starting to come out on the horizon.
She straightened her back and shoved the bag at the nearest person, marching off towards the stables. After growling her way past some of the keepers, she slipped into the stall of Mahak.
He lay there, a blue glow pouring out of his mouth and his bright eyes looking at her sleepily. One of the few uncursed sons of Harkoa and Loque’nahak. A blessing. It was said only those hunter’s that were favored by the spirits would be able to tame one, and this was the one reason she had not tried to kill or flee from Dzie’wanna. To tame a child of the two was something to respect.
She sat down, stroking the head of the cat as he purred and curled up around her. She remembered Harkoa, back in Zul’Drak. The beautiful snow leopard was the loa she paid homage to, her chosen one to worship. Loa were jealous of their followers, after all. She loved this creature, the reminder of home and of the ice and snow, and of the power of the Drakkari. She remembered binding long, bleached strands of leather around her arms, the paws cut from one of the older cats laying as gloves over her hands, a painted mask covering her face as she and other maidens dances in the first snow. The celebration of the maiden of ice was a dance balanced with ferocity and and elegance, a worthy dance. Many men would use the time to spot out woman who they might want as mates, though they could not ask until they had proven themselves over the hard winter.
Du’roo had watched her, that night. When her feet were slicing into the snow and each flake catching in her hair. Her mother was sure that he would prove himself, and he would come to her with a offer of marriage. He had been proud, strong. She did not let herself think of his fate, of how he was one of the first to fall to the Scourge. Nor did she let herself remember how in the next year, in the first snowfall, Harkoa had been chained and nearing her end.
She simply lay back against the stable wall, the warmth of the creature and of her memories before the ice became cold lulling her into sleep.
————————————-
Sassaba was enjoying herself. Quetz’le had picked her up and had let her eat a ton of coconuts, and now her eyes slid heavily shut as she was carried back and laid down on the mat in the tent, him chuckling as he ruffled her short hair and told her to sleep. She saw him walk out, back into the night to help prepare for the last events of the war, and her eyes shut dreaming about chasing frogs and playing in the ocean.
She think she liked it here. Even if the other kids were a little stupid.
————————————
Tsis’tu was now asleep, and Dzie’wanna was standing by the beach as the stars filled the sky. War paint covered her face, her body still feeling the beat of the dance of the spirits. She felt it then, the joining of the past and the present, the celebration of those who came before and gave them the blessing. Home.
“Ah, see, I knew you would be out here.”
She looked back over her shoulder and inclined her head at Quetz’le as he walked up to her. He came to stand beside her, a smile curving up around his tusks.
“The battle starts tomorrow, are you ready?”
“I have missed the march on the citadel of the Lich King for this. I am ready, Quetz’le.”
He looked at her, examining her features before his hand fell on her shoulder. “You chose us then.”
Dzie’wanna looked out over the sea, the islands standing in the distance. She thought she could see them for a moment, the spirits of the past. Her friends, Heighth, Beast, and Fleighth. The three Tauren who took her under their wing when she was fighting for the Horde in Feralis and the Barrens. She had taken up their ways, their religion, and many other things to fill in the hole that leaving her tribe behind had left. They had each passed on. Heighth, the hunter who had shown her strength, he had died first in The Outlands. Bleeding to death from a Alliance attack in Nagrand. Beast (not his true name, but one affectionately given by friends and allies), also a hunter and one who was her closest friend, the one who she was often paired for missions with, died in Northrend. He only made it so far as Dragonblight, felled by the Scourge. Fleighth, who was a druid, died on the grounds of Wintergrasp, by Alliance.
She had sacrificed a chance at revenge at the home of the Lich King to serve her people. But her son was here, and although she had left him in body she had never left her thoughts of him. The time had come to take up her tribe again, and to take the burdens that came with it.
“Will you come back to rest tonight?”
Dzie’wanna shook her head, deep in thought. “No, I need to do my own consulting with the spirits. I must be right with them before tomorrow dawns.”
Quetz’le gave a nod, and leaned over, allowing his tusks to rest on her shoulder in a moment of affection. “See you on the battlefield, then.”
As he walked away, Dzie’wanna started her own trek outside the village. Following the shore, picking up any brush she came across, she eventually reached to a small grove of trees and started snapping some leaves and branches off them. She stacked the materials and took out her flint and steel. A few solid strikes had the brush catch flame. Sitting back on her heels, her eyes watched the sparks catch as the moon shone brightly on the sand. The fire was not for light. Tonight, Mu’sha was bright enough to have the trees paint stark shadows, the mountains in the distance looking strange for their own crevices being cast deeper in the light.
For awhile she sat there, breathing in the ocean and fire, feeling the sand between her fingers and grinding into her heels, having the breeze attempt to move her thick braids. Then, her hands rose, the palms facing upward as she spoke.
“Earth Mother, I ask-”
“Eeeehhhh? What is this, young one? Have you forgotten your way?”
Dzie’wanna’s muscles snapped to attention, her neck tensing as one hand sought her dagger and she whirled around, one knee on the ground with the other leg ready to push off with it’s foot forward on the ground. Standing right where the firelight started to grow weak was a man, a troll of great age who’s wrinkles seemed to fold on themselves. His tusks were small, but had runes and the old Zandali language carved into every inch. His white hair was made into many small braids, some falling in front of his ears and framing his face. Clenched between his front teeth was a ornate pipe that was painted to look like a snake. The strangest thing of him, however, was his sleek deep blue fur, darker than any troll’s she had seen, and the yellow eyes that had a glow to them. Recognizable as a troll’s eyes, the pupil easily seen, but the light was there nonetheless.
Her hands fell to the ground as she bowed, her limbs shaking. Any troll who had been raised with the stories of the loa knew who this was. “Legba, lord of many roads, why-”
He laughed, his wrinkles moving as he stepped closer. The beaded leather outfit, dancing with designs and fringe that gave movement around his mostly bare arms, caught the light in each bead and made it to look like it held stars. He grinned down at the shaking troll. “You know, I am glad to see you here Dzie’wanna, daughter of no one, master of beasts. It is about time things start coming into place.”
She looked up, watching as he sat down in front of her with no little awe. Though it was not unheard of for the Loa to visit on the trolls, especially those who served them (in fact, among the more powerful priests, if you had not at least had one vision of a loa you were considered cursed in whispers) it was something that was not usual. “May I ask-”
“Eh, stop with all this ‘may’ and ‘lord’ and such. Good for ceremonies, but you were starting another. Which although I don’t mind as much as others that you serve the Earth Mother, well, that being the reason I am here instead of another, I do mind that you did not call on me before her this night.” He puffed on his pipe, a white cloud raising and curling on itself before it disappeared into the night.
Legba was one of the most sociable of the Hunter loa. Of the Shadow Hunter pantheon, as the loa of speed and crossroads, he knew both battle and wisdom. She took a deep breath, wondering if he would cut her off again, before speaking.
“I am sorry, Legba, and ask your forgiveness.” It was all she could say. To be visited by this loa was amazing enough, she did not want to cause any animosity, nor cause any curse to come upon her.
He gave a laugh. “Still so formal! Tell me, you only half mean it, yes? There is still scars on you, Dzie’wanna. You felt abandoned by your tribe long before you were married, long before you left. And you felt abandoned by the loa, even if your prayers were never meant in the first place.” He smiled down at her, a twinkle in his eye as he shook his head in humor. “But, this is your crossroads. You have chosen to stay in the tribe again. This will not be a easy path, Dzie’wanna. Should you take it with only half a heart, should you still cling first to your learned Tauren ways, you will fail and leave yet again. And perhaps die in the Barrens, in a blast of fire.”
She swallowed, wondering if he meant by mage, cannon, shaman or warlock. She stayed quiet as he examined her, his face becoming serious.
“But there is another path. Should you take it, you will die as well Dzie’wanna. But it will be a more fulfilling death, and take place later in life. Although you will not be marked as a hero, not remembered in legends, you will be known by those you teach.” He knelt by her, and reached over and took the dagger from it’s sheath. Throwing it the air, it spun before he caught the blade between two thick fingers. “This path… is one of the Shadow Hunter. I do not ask you to stop believing in Tauren rights, but your worship shall be to me, and your rights will be to me. Although many loa are loosening their way in this out of need, with you I will not.” He held the dagger out, the handle for her to grab. “Do you accept?”
Her hands shook as her thoughts tumbled together. She knew what this meant. For a moment, she thought of her friend’s and their deaths. Of her family and the life she now had. “Would… when visitng my friend’s graves, may I pay honor in the way of the Earth Mother? In all else I will follow and be glad to do so. But in this, my friend’s spirits I need to honor.”
A grin curved up against, the grooves in his tusk catching shadows and the light of the fire deepening his wrinkles. “You may. But that is all I shall give in this.”
With a nod, she took the handle. As she pulled the dagger to her, the blade deepened into black and the runes and the language of old Zandali now took their place, curving on it. For a moment, she could see Legba in the reflection of the dark edge. He winked at her, before the image was gone. She didn’t need to look up to know that he was no longer there as well.
A shuddering breath wracked through her, a delayed shock seizing her for a moment before she sat down and turned to the fire. She rose her hands again, palms up, and started the rites. “Legba, father of the roads, I ask tonight for your blessing.”
She was fairly certain she heard laughter on the wind.
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