Post by Archivist~Bel on Mar 27, 2006 11:02:05 GMT -5
The Spirit Lives On
Author: Nokora
Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=159684&p=1&tmp=1#post159684
Mikna was fading. It was obvious to those in the tribe that soon, she would be unable to stand on her own. Soon she would lie on her pallet, removed from all but those she held dear. And soon those she held dear would watch her pass.
It was not an easy weight to bear, the knowledge that she would be leaving her daughter behind. It was not comfortable, but neither was the ache coursing through her body with each heavy step she took towards their home. This pain was defeating her. Her adept healing skills had failed in cleansing her body of the disease that would claim her life, but she took what little comfort she could in the fact that her spirit would live on.
Pushing the hide flap of their abode aside, Mikna entered her home and lowered herself to her cot. There she sat, near the earth she cherished, in the home that had held her and hers for so long. There were paintings on the walls of their teepee-like shanty, done by her and her daughter in remembrance of the good times, the bad times, and the times of war.
One finger traced the dearest of all memories inscribed upon their wall. Retgar. “Father,” their child had called him. Mikna’s love. Taken many years ago in a battle that they had not asked for. Centaur encroached upon their lands, stole their supplies, and abducted their own tribesmen, sparking a fire that would burn in Mikna’s heart for the rest of her life. Retgar had taken up arms against them. They had won that day, but he had lost his future. The chance to see his child grow into the strong young woman she had become…
Mikna drew herself out of her thoughts. She would not see her daughter grow further, either. There was no need to feel that loss. The Earth Mother was calling her home to be with her love, soon. It would be her time, and to be kept past that time would be unnatural, and unfair to her.
Her eyes scanned the tools before her, a bowl, some plants, some colored powder. Her hand reached out to grip the pointed brush she would use. It would hurt, but it was time to give her daughter what she could of her guidance, her spirit, before passing on.
She set the tool down, grasping for a small box that Retgar had carved when he was younger. Contained within was a small lock of his hair, mixed with her own, wrapped with a simple leather tie. Mikna’s eyes slipped closed as she cradled the hair in her palm, murmuring a quiet prayer in preparation for this task.
Within the space of an hour, she had meticulously created the dye she would use. She mixed in a few strands of the hair as she crushed the plants, adding soon after a small amount of water, the powder, her blood. A prayer of strength and power and love went into each ingredient before it was added. It was ready.
“Nokora,” Mikna called out, hoping her voice would carry. Her hopes were not in vain.
The soft shuffle of footsteps appeared at the door, and Nokora entered meekly. “Mother?” she asked, head tilted to the side as her green eyes searched her mother’s face worriedly.
“My child… sit before me. It is time for me to give you what I have left. I will be gone soon, you know this as well as I do, and… well. I can not leave you forever. So I must offer you this.” She gestured to the bowl before her. “Will you trust your mother and give me your hand?”
Her daughter blinked, her gentle face offering up a small, though saddened smile. She sank to her knees carefully in front of her mother, holding out her hands before her. Mikna took hold of Nokora’s left hand, and pulled her closer so that she could reach a pale portion of her spotted upper arm.
“It may sting, child.”
Nokora lifted her chin bravely. “I can bear this, Mother. I may share in your pain, your passing, this way, and it is an honor. Please… do not worry about me.”
Pride shone in Mikna’s gaze, and she gave a weak nod. “Very well. Be strong, my daughter.”
The point of the brush bore into her skin, and Nokora only closed her eyes. “You have raised me true, Mother.”
The design was small, wrapping around only half of her arm, with small swirls and dips appearing equally on each side. It began to dry as a ruddy brown, standing out brightly against her white and black complexion.
Mikna hand grew weary as she finished, dabbing softly at the small amount of blood that had come from the marking with a linen cloth. “You have taught me as much as I have taught you. But now… I must rest. I fear I will not rise from this bed again, but you, Nokora… You will carry me with you when I can not be here for you. Your father and I will never cease to guide you. Remember that, dear.”
Nokora opened her eyes, tears causing a small river through the soft fur of her face.
“Thank you for this gift, Mother,” speaking was difficult. “Get… get your rest, now.”
Mikna nodded, and laid herself down to rest, falling asleep with little trouble. Nokora was left to clean up the small mess they had made, her arm stinging as she began to heal, drawing the tattoo in to become a part of herself.
She stood to go, remaining quiet as she whispered again. “Thank you.”
2
Nokora turned in the bed she had taken for the night at the Thunder Bluff inn. It had been a long travel back from the land of the Undead, but she couldn’t stay there any longer. The taint of the land haunted her, even as she slept, and working for those skeletal alchemists made her feel sick. She considered this a vacation from that, a purifying.
Also, she had learned a handy new form upon her return. So she wasn’t without reason in her exodus from the Apothecaries.
But why couldn’t she sleep? It wasn’t as though she wasn’t tired. Her body had been put to the test lately, with far too much unnecessary battle occurring all around her. Yet her mind would not be put to rest. Thoughts swirled about her head, thoughts of people, of things that had happened, some memories came to the surface, uncalled. Why was this happening? Some thoughts, she would almost swear, were not even her own.
A buzzing sound passed overhead as she sank deeper into herself. That roach friend of hers, no doubt, but she couldn’t focus on him. Couldn’t focus at all.
She turned on her other side, drawing the blanket up closer to her chest. A chill went through her body, and a burning pain erupted within her stomach. As soon as they had arrived, the sensations disappeared, leaving Nokora gasping for air.
Her body relaxed. The barrier to her sleep was gone, as only echoes of the pain before remained inside her. Slipping into unconsciousness, her left hand released hold of the blanket, crossing over her chest lamely in her sleep.
A drop of blood swirled around a whorl of her tattoo, gliding down her arm and dripping heavily onto the mattress beside her. It glimmered in the faint glow of the night, then faded into nothingness.
3
The wind blew through Nokora’s bristled grey fur, colder in spots where it had been ripped and where the blood flowed, drying against her. Her elongated canines felt heavy in her mouth, and her gaping maw was tainted with another’s blood as she panted for air. She was resting in the grass, the rough, dusty earth that gave little comfort. She was too tired to call out and be cradled by the land. Too tired…
As rage and panic faded from her body, she felt her features shifting back to what she had once been. It was always a strange sensation, one that she didn’t particularly enjoy. She liked the feeling even less when she was hurt. Wounds tended to extend or pinch her skin as she resumed the shape of a Shu’halo, as they were just then.
Nokora whimpered softly, clutching at the grass with weak hands. Her palms were stained with blood. Her dark, black palms dripped with the sticky redness, none of it her own. Pain shot through her as she tried to get to a sitting position, but she clenched her jaw and forced herself up. She couldn’t lie here and wait for them to return. The centaur and their ilk…
They had won. Those around her had fallen, but they had won. She had to get home. There were people waiting for her, and Earthmother, could she use a good long sleep.
Ignoring her discomfort, Nokora stood. She stood in victory, she stood in pride. The centaur lay around her, as did her brothers, her sisters who had joined the battle. Was she the only one left? She couldn’t be. That couldn’t be possible. They had fought together.
She took a weak step forwards, starting a trek to find her tribesmen and her home once more. Blinding agony flooded her senses with every step, but she had to push forward. She would be rested enough to heal herself later, she just had to make it—
A hoof thudded against the ground behind her. She stood up, smiling in familiarity. Another hoofstep. Help had arrived. She turned on her hooves to face her companion, eyes falling wearily instead on the tanned skin and brown hide of a centaur.
“No,” she murmured, in a voice too low to be her own. “No!” She turned, trying to run, but managing little more than a hobbling stagger away from the enemy.
The centaur reared back on his hind legs, bringing his massive hooves down in a brutal downswing into Nokora’s back. She crumpled like parchment to the ground, moaning as blood pooled in her mouth and dribbled down her lip, onto the ground where her cheek lay against the harsh earth.
Her hands, the blood dried on them now, clutched at the grass, trying to pull herself away from the danger, just away from all of this. Her mind was screaming at her. This wasn’t right, none of this was right. She had been here, she had fought, but she hadn’t. Why couldn’t the centaur leave? She was finished, of no threat.
She kept pulling at the grass, inching away. A hoof plodded patiently beside her. She heard nothing but the slow unsheathing of a weapon, then silence.
The blade ripped through her leather armor like it was paper, and the pain of her innards being punctured was more overpowering and devastating than she could have imagined. This wasn’t right, none of this was right. The blade beside her head, dripping with her own blood. The black hands that were too large to be her own. The entire battle, none of it made any sense.
She was in a spin, a downward spiral of pain and confusion as she lay dying. Dying. She was too young to die. Not like this, never like this—
Nokora sat up in her chosen hammock, gasping for air, chest heaving painfully as she struggled to rein in her heart’s erratic beating. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be real.
Her hand traveled to her midsection, feeling about her torso with a couple fingers. She inhaled sharply as she traveled across an incision, a few inches long and slim in width, across her torso. It didn’t bleed, only burned, as it slowly disappeared into her, leaving nothing but a scar in its wake.
Tears took Nokora, then. She had never known the truth of her father’s death. She had never known true pain like that. She had never known...
“Please,” Nokora begged quietly, to nobody in particular. “Please let this end. I don’t need to know this, I never asked for this knowledge. I never asked for this pain…”
Everybody dies, she had been told. But not like this. I don’t need to die more than once. Not every night. Please…
In the dark of the night, Nokora’s tattoo shimmered once, another drop of blood going unnoticed as she sat in the clutches of her quiet crying.
4
The stars weren’t out that night. The clouds had rolled in, and the plains looked ready for a storm. Rainfall would be good. It would be cool. It would soothe, perhaps heal. That was the purpose of this journey, at least.
Nokora gazed up at the sky from her position, far off the well-beaten path leading to Thunder Bluff, to Bloodhoof Village. She had crossed the plains she used to call home, and she had been to the familiar sights that had made her heart beat with a warmth she hadn’t felt in far too long. She hadn’t stopped in passing, she had come to become reacquainted with all that had made her who she was.
She remembered, as a child, her mother had taught her what she could of the Druid ways. The love of the earth, the way to heal and care for people by borrowing from the ever-ready heart of the land, sharing her own love with the land to replenish it. It was a cycle. She had always respected and cared for that which had created her.
But the path was becoming confusing. Nokora felt empty, confused. Her mother was no longer there to guide her, and worse yet, the Earthmother’s hand no longer seemed to be directing her.
Alone.
Nokora shuddered, and drew herself out of her thoughts, gazing down from the precipice on which she stood. Scaling the large bluff had been difficult, but she had found her way. It was quiet, away from discovery. She would not be disturbed here. Here, she could apologize. Here, she could make amends.
Or be lost forever.
Her large, oddly graceful hands pulled away her tabard and laid it to rest on the ground. Scattered across her spotted torso were scars, marks of battles she had not even known. The first, the one across her stomach, remained the largest and most evident, but others could be seen around the edges of her too-revealing chestplate.
Running her fingers over each scar, she heard the battle cries of her father, his tribesmen, ringing through her ears. She felt the pain of each incision, each earned badge of honor, and she sobbed as she jerked her hand away.
Sinking to her knees, the pain within her made itself known. Of course. Her mother. Her mother’s pain burned away at her from within, and her father’s loss ripped her apart without. There was no escaping their presence. There was no dealing with it. It simply was. And that was all she had. All she felt.
Nokora had gathered what she remembered necessary for a Spirit Vision. The liquid that could ease her mind, open her up to commune with the spirits, the Earthmother. To beg forgiveness for whatever she had done to deserve this. To be cured.
She drank.
Thunder rolled. She cried out, one hand clenched in a fist on her chest.
“What have I done!? An’she, why can I no longer feel your warmth? Mu’sha, your peace has left me! What can be done? Why has this happened? Earthmother, please, hear your child!”
Silence. Wind blew, rustling what little grass there was atop the plateau.
Nokora let out a weak sob, her voice traveling above the thunder as it boomed louder in the sky.
“Grant me with your presence once more, I beg of you! I have lost my way, I have lost my love! All I know is this pain, and I implore you for only guidance! Please…”
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and in that moment, Nokora’s eyes widened. She felt something traveling through her, perhaps as the concoction took its effect. It gripped at her senses, tensed all of her muscles, made her gasp for air. It was not painful, but it was not pleasant, either. It held her still, and she whimpered.
You ask much, child…
A shiver ran down Nokora’s spine. That voice… it couldn’t be real…
“I… I’m sorry… I just… I need help, please. I beg for grace.”
You are not guilty. Why do you beg forgiveness?
“It hurts so, Earthmother. It has to be in retribution for a wrong… something I’ve done…”
The presence shifted within her, and it seemed to be examining her. She felt the fur surrounding her scars shift, and stinging pain bit through her in a moment, both inside and out.
The pain faded, and the voice was silent.
“If I have done no wrong… why does it pain me?”
You have done no wrong. But a wrong has been done. Here.
The spectral sensation traveled to her left arm, and her tattoo glimmered in the flash of another burst of electricity in the clouds.
It bleeds, my child. It bleeds because it contains that which it should not.
“It… contains… but, Earthmother, no. It wasn’t… it’s only a tattoo… My mother…”
Their spirits have passed, and yet you are allowed to cling to them. This is not right. They are not meant to stay. You must let them go.
“Their … their what? I, no… it is only a reminder of her! Of my father, the man I never knew! He was taken from me, and the pain he felt… I never knew him, and now I know too much… But this can’t be the way…”
I have answered you, child. I have shown you the way. The spirits will flee you. But if you must fall so they may be free, they will take their due course. Listen carefully. This is all I can tell you.
Rain fell.
And Nokora was alone.
5
Silence sank deep into Nokora as she traveled swiftly along the dusty, barren road through the Thousand Needles. The racing of her own heart, her labored breathing, the dual thuds of her hooves and Tahnrath’s – these were all audible, yet all she heard was the quiet.
He would not speak. He was here for her, willingly, she assumed, but he was reluctant to talk to her. She had welcomed the company Tahnrath had offered her as an escort to Feralas, but now she was biting back feeling of guilt. Does he want to be here? she mused, silently.
This inner monologue made the aching pain in her… well, everything, throb all the more. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She never meant to get her guildmates interested in her problems, she had just wanted to take care of it and go along her own way.
But that wasn’t life. While she had been frightened to share her predicament with her friends, it had turned out for the best. Fortunado had put his quick wit and smooth tongue to work in offering the location of a possible source of help. Jezipali had offered to take her safely to Feralas, but along with that offer came a thinly veiled threat of a horrible, fiery death. Nokora had politely declined.
Even Stumm had offered a tidbit of advice. And Tahnrath, though quiet, was there for her in a way the rest of them could not be. But the silence, along with her growing sense of nervous tension, was gnawing at her mercilessly.
The dust and the heat evolved slowly into foliage and a cooler, darker climate. Trees covered the path, shielding it from much sunlight, and the open environment around her felt alive again. Nature would offer her no embrace, however. She still was separated from the Earthmother’s caring hand, but she hoped that tonight, that feeling would return to her once more.
Their feet slowed to a walk, approaching Camp Mojache. Tahnrath stopped as they entered the middle of the village, and pointed out a hunched Troll beside a tent.
“I think that’s your guy.”
“I… um, so it would seem.” Her voice faltered somewhat, and she made no move to approach the witch doctor.
Tahnrath let out a breath. “I guess I better leave you to it, then.”
Nokora felt the already weak foundation of her strength starting to sway. Not now… “You… I, um, yeah. I mean, I don’t know how long it’ll take, so… yeah, I won’t ask you to stay.”
He paused, and sighed. “I’ll stay nearby. Just going to take a walk.”
Her bleary eyes cleared up a bit, and she nodded. “I… okay… thank you, Tahnrath.”
He nodded, bowed, and turned, taking the sleek Sekhmet away into the forest. Nokora was left alone, in a place she had never so much as visited before, taking on a task that was beyond herself. Not in the least bit daunting, nope.
Nokora gulped, walking shakily towards Uzer’I, the witch doctor, studying amongst the Tauren-populated Camp Mojache. He knew the spirits, their function and purpose, and he knew how best to… take care of them. He might be willing to help. Earthmother willing, she could resolve this.
She bowed in respect to the Troll, and looked up to peer at the mask guarding his face. “Uzer’I, if it is possible, I seek your guidance.”
The Troll tilted his head in curiosity, then nodded. “Wot be de probbem, gahl? ‘ow kin Uzer be achoor service?”
Nokora gave a weak smile, and flicked her gaze to the unoccupied tent nearby. “Privacy, sir, before I feel safe explaining it all. It’s a… personal matter.”
“Oh, righ’ den, less get inside de tent, close ‘er up, eh?” He guided her inside, slipping the mask off of his face as he closed the flap to the structure. Memories flooded back to Nokora as she gazed around the inside of the hide home. Tears filled her eyes, and she forced them away with another gulp.
She explained herself, giving as much information as she felt necessary, including what the Earthmother had told her. She sought any sign of care in his face, and found only a sly twinkle in his eyes. That could be good or bad, and she wasn’t in the least bit sure what to expect.
“’s quite de probbem,” he chuckled huskily. “I tink I kin help choo ou’, mebbe. Yeh’ll listen teh wot I be tellin’ choo, an’ we see ‘ow de spirits answer.”
She nodded blankly, following the Troll’s speech with only a small bit of difficulty. She only knew a couple of Trolls relatively well. Their accent was much harder to follow, so she felt, in the very least, well prepared to listen.
Uzer’I circled around her slowly, as though sizing her up for his next meal. His hawkish eyes and hooked nose were clearer as he got closer in his inspection. He crouched down in front of her, and grinned. “Less see de arm band dat be givin’ choo all dis trubble, gahl.”
Nokora held out her left arm, turning it so that the tattoo could be clearly seen. The Troll’s hand passed over it, hovering just an inch over her skin. He let out a whistle. “Dis be sumthin’, dis be sumthin’ all righ’. I tink I know what we kin do heah. Choo stay dere, I get my tings an’ we kin do some chantin’.”
The tusky grin he offered her before turning around to gather his supplies was more than just uplifting. For the first time in a while, she felt hopeful.
Uzer’I circled back around with his bowl of ground herbs, crouching back down beside her. “Dis might hurtchoo, but choo know dat, I s’pect.”
Nokora nodded. “Just do what you have to. Thank you.”
He smiled, and turned to the tattoo, gathering up the powder in his bowl and sprinkling it over the tattoo, humming a small song to himself. He began chanting, and though Nokora couldn’t actually understand the language he was using, she felt his intent clearly. He was breaking the enchantment of the tattoo, calling the spirits out of their home. It burned like nothing she had felt before.
Her eyes slipped closed. Memories ran through her mind at rapid-fire, each one flashing before her, then disappearing shortly. Try as she might, the memories wouldn’t stop, and she couldn’t reach the ones that were gone. They weren’t hers to keep, but she wanted some of them… just to remember…
Tears ran in little rivers from her eyes. The pain of her body was fading, but there was an overbearing feeling of loss throughout her entire being.
Eventually, the burning sensation ceased. The chanting went quiet, and the memories stopped misfiring in her mind. She wanted to open her eyes, but she couldn’t deal with the fact that she might truly be alone when she opened them.
A voice, sweet and soft, came to her. It spoke of love, and of loss, of spirits lifted and spirits damaged. It cradled Nokora within her own mind, and restored an inner peace and balance to her that she had lost along the way. Her mother. That voice lilted away slowly, but not before easing the throbbing pain within her daughter.
Strength then coursed through Nokora’s body, working its way through all that she was and replenishing the energy that had been sacrificed in this endeavor. Her father’s gruff voice, clearer than she could ever have remembered it, said only a brief word of love and passing to her, then faded as well.
When her eyes opened, she was entirely still. Uzer’I was putting away his supplies, humming a little tune to himself. When she stirred enough to hold her arm out and gaze down at where her tattoo had once been, he turned to face her.
“Choo see de spirits?”
“No, I didn’t... but I felt them. They were… they were here,” she whispered quietly, sniffling.
Uzer’I smiled. “Dey be seein’ choo, gahl. Even if dey not heah fer choo now, dey see all choo be doin’.
Nokora met his smile with one of her own, brave and strong. “Thank you, Uzer’I. For everything.”
“Don’ mention it, gahl. I be heah fer dese tings! Spirits be witchoo!” He grinned, grabbed his wooden mask, and slipped it back on over his face, heading back outside.
Nokora was alone in the tent. And it was okay.
Author: Nokora
Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=159684&p=1&tmp=1#post159684
Mikna was fading. It was obvious to those in the tribe that soon, she would be unable to stand on her own. Soon she would lie on her pallet, removed from all but those she held dear. And soon those she held dear would watch her pass.
It was not an easy weight to bear, the knowledge that she would be leaving her daughter behind. It was not comfortable, but neither was the ache coursing through her body with each heavy step she took towards their home. This pain was defeating her. Her adept healing skills had failed in cleansing her body of the disease that would claim her life, but she took what little comfort she could in the fact that her spirit would live on.
Pushing the hide flap of their abode aside, Mikna entered her home and lowered herself to her cot. There she sat, near the earth she cherished, in the home that had held her and hers for so long. There were paintings on the walls of their teepee-like shanty, done by her and her daughter in remembrance of the good times, the bad times, and the times of war.
One finger traced the dearest of all memories inscribed upon their wall. Retgar. “Father,” their child had called him. Mikna’s love. Taken many years ago in a battle that they had not asked for. Centaur encroached upon their lands, stole their supplies, and abducted their own tribesmen, sparking a fire that would burn in Mikna’s heart for the rest of her life. Retgar had taken up arms against them. They had won that day, but he had lost his future. The chance to see his child grow into the strong young woman she had become…
Mikna drew herself out of her thoughts. She would not see her daughter grow further, either. There was no need to feel that loss. The Earth Mother was calling her home to be with her love, soon. It would be her time, and to be kept past that time would be unnatural, and unfair to her.
Her eyes scanned the tools before her, a bowl, some plants, some colored powder. Her hand reached out to grip the pointed brush she would use. It would hurt, but it was time to give her daughter what she could of her guidance, her spirit, before passing on.
She set the tool down, grasping for a small box that Retgar had carved when he was younger. Contained within was a small lock of his hair, mixed with her own, wrapped with a simple leather tie. Mikna’s eyes slipped closed as she cradled the hair in her palm, murmuring a quiet prayer in preparation for this task.
Within the space of an hour, she had meticulously created the dye she would use. She mixed in a few strands of the hair as she crushed the plants, adding soon after a small amount of water, the powder, her blood. A prayer of strength and power and love went into each ingredient before it was added. It was ready.
“Nokora,” Mikna called out, hoping her voice would carry. Her hopes were not in vain.
The soft shuffle of footsteps appeared at the door, and Nokora entered meekly. “Mother?” she asked, head tilted to the side as her green eyes searched her mother’s face worriedly.
“My child… sit before me. It is time for me to give you what I have left. I will be gone soon, you know this as well as I do, and… well. I can not leave you forever. So I must offer you this.” She gestured to the bowl before her. “Will you trust your mother and give me your hand?”
Her daughter blinked, her gentle face offering up a small, though saddened smile. She sank to her knees carefully in front of her mother, holding out her hands before her. Mikna took hold of Nokora’s left hand, and pulled her closer so that she could reach a pale portion of her spotted upper arm.
“It may sting, child.”
Nokora lifted her chin bravely. “I can bear this, Mother. I may share in your pain, your passing, this way, and it is an honor. Please… do not worry about me.”
Pride shone in Mikna’s gaze, and she gave a weak nod. “Very well. Be strong, my daughter.”
The point of the brush bore into her skin, and Nokora only closed her eyes. “You have raised me true, Mother.”
The design was small, wrapping around only half of her arm, with small swirls and dips appearing equally on each side. It began to dry as a ruddy brown, standing out brightly against her white and black complexion.
Mikna hand grew weary as she finished, dabbing softly at the small amount of blood that had come from the marking with a linen cloth. “You have taught me as much as I have taught you. But now… I must rest. I fear I will not rise from this bed again, but you, Nokora… You will carry me with you when I can not be here for you. Your father and I will never cease to guide you. Remember that, dear.”
Nokora opened her eyes, tears causing a small river through the soft fur of her face.
“Thank you for this gift, Mother,” speaking was difficult. “Get… get your rest, now.”
Mikna nodded, and laid herself down to rest, falling asleep with little trouble. Nokora was left to clean up the small mess they had made, her arm stinging as she began to heal, drawing the tattoo in to become a part of herself.
She stood to go, remaining quiet as she whispered again. “Thank you.”
2
Nokora turned in the bed she had taken for the night at the Thunder Bluff inn. It had been a long travel back from the land of the Undead, but she couldn’t stay there any longer. The taint of the land haunted her, even as she slept, and working for those skeletal alchemists made her feel sick. She considered this a vacation from that, a purifying.
Also, she had learned a handy new form upon her return. So she wasn’t without reason in her exodus from the Apothecaries.
But why couldn’t she sleep? It wasn’t as though she wasn’t tired. Her body had been put to the test lately, with far too much unnecessary battle occurring all around her. Yet her mind would not be put to rest. Thoughts swirled about her head, thoughts of people, of things that had happened, some memories came to the surface, uncalled. Why was this happening? Some thoughts, she would almost swear, were not even her own.
A buzzing sound passed overhead as she sank deeper into herself. That roach friend of hers, no doubt, but she couldn’t focus on him. Couldn’t focus at all.
She turned on her other side, drawing the blanket up closer to her chest. A chill went through her body, and a burning pain erupted within her stomach. As soon as they had arrived, the sensations disappeared, leaving Nokora gasping for air.
Her body relaxed. The barrier to her sleep was gone, as only echoes of the pain before remained inside her. Slipping into unconsciousness, her left hand released hold of the blanket, crossing over her chest lamely in her sleep.
A drop of blood swirled around a whorl of her tattoo, gliding down her arm and dripping heavily onto the mattress beside her. It glimmered in the faint glow of the night, then faded into nothingness.
3
The wind blew through Nokora’s bristled grey fur, colder in spots where it had been ripped and where the blood flowed, drying against her. Her elongated canines felt heavy in her mouth, and her gaping maw was tainted with another’s blood as she panted for air. She was resting in the grass, the rough, dusty earth that gave little comfort. She was too tired to call out and be cradled by the land. Too tired…
As rage and panic faded from her body, she felt her features shifting back to what she had once been. It was always a strange sensation, one that she didn’t particularly enjoy. She liked the feeling even less when she was hurt. Wounds tended to extend or pinch her skin as she resumed the shape of a Shu’halo, as they were just then.
Nokora whimpered softly, clutching at the grass with weak hands. Her palms were stained with blood. Her dark, black palms dripped with the sticky redness, none of it her own. Pain shot through her as she tried to get to a sitting position, but she clenched her jaw and forced herself up. She couldn’t lie here and wait for them to return. The centaur and their ilk…
They had won. Those around her had fallen, but they had won. She had to get home. There were people waiting for her, and Earthmother, could she use a good long sleep.
Ignoring her discomfort, Nokora stood. She stood in victory, she stood in pride. The centaur lay around her, as did her brothers, her sisters who had joined the battle. Was she the only one left? She couldn’t be. That couldn’t be possible. They had fought together.
She took a weak step forwards, starting a trek to find her tribesmen and her home once more. Blinding agony flooded her senses with every step, but she had to push forward. She would be rested enough to heal herself later, she just had to make it—
A hoof thudded against the ground behind her. She stood up, smiling in familiarity. Another hoofstep. Help had arrived. She turned on her hooves to face her companion, eyes falling wearily instead on the tanned skin and brown hide of a centaur.
“No,” she murmured, in a voice too low to be her own. “No!” She turned, trying to run, but managing little more than a hobbling stagger away from the enemy.
The centaur reared back on his hind legs, bringing his massive hooves down in a brutal downswing into Nokora’s back. She crumpled like parchment to the ground, moaning as blood pooled in her mouth and dribbled down her lip, onto the ground where her cheek lay against the harsh earth.
Her hands, the blood dried on them now, clutched at the grass, trying to pull herself away from the danger, just away from all of this. Her mind was screaming at her. This wasn’t right, none of this was right. She had been here, she had fought, but she hadn’t. Why couldn’t the centaur leave? She was finished, of no threat.
She kept pulling at the grass, inching away. A hoof plodded patiently beside her. She heard nothing but the slow unsheathing of a weapon, then silence.
The blade ripped through her leather armor like it was paper, and the pain of her innards being punctured was more overpowering and devastating than she could have imagined. This wasn’t right, none of this was right. The blade beside her head, dripping with her own blood. The black hands that were too large to be her own. The entire battle, none of it made any sense.
She was in a spin, a downward spiral of pain and confusion as she lay dying. Dying. She was too young to die. Not like this, never like this—
Nokora sat up in her chosen hammock, gasping for air, chest heaving painfully as she struggled to rein in her heart’s erratic beating. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be real.
Her hand traveled to her midsection, feeling about her torso with a couple fingers. She inhaled sharply as she traveled across an incision, a few inches long and slim in width, across her torso. It didn’t bleed, only burned, as it slowly disappeared into her, leaving nothing but a scar in its wake.
Tears took Nokora, then. She had never known the truth of her father’s death. She had never known true pain like that. She had never known...
“Please,” Nokora begged quietly, to nobody in particular. “Please let this end. I don’t need to know this, I never asked for this knowledge. I never asked for this pain…”
Everybody dies, she had been told. But not like this. I don’t need to die more than once. Not every night. Please…
In the dark of the night, Nokora’s tattoo shimmered once, another drop of blood going unnoticed as she sat in the clutches of her quiet crying.
4
The stars weren’t out that night. The clouds had rolled in, and the plains looked ready for a storm. Rainfall would be good. It would be cool. It would soothe, perhaps heal. That was the purpose of this journey, at least.
Nokora gazed up at the sky from her position, far off the well-beaten path leading to Thunder Bluff, to Bloodhoof Village. She had crossed the plains she used to call home, and she had been to the familiar sights that had made her heart beat with a warmth she hadn’t felt in far too long. She hadn’t stopped in passing, she had come to become reacquainted with all that had made her who she was.
She remembered, as a child, her mother had taught her what she could of the Druid ways. The love of the earth, the way to heal and care for people by borrowing from the ever-ready heart of the land, sharing her own love with the land to replenish it. It was a cycle. She had always respected and cared for that which had created her.
But the path was becoming confusing. Nokora felt empty, confused. Her mother was no longer there to guide her, and worse yet, the Earthmother’s hand no longer seemed to be directing her.
Alone.
Nokora shuddered, and drew herself out of her thoughts, gazing down from the precipice on which she stood. Scaling the large bluff had been difficult, but she had found her way. It was quiet, away from discovery. She would not be disturbed here. Here, she could apologize. Here, she could make amends.
Or be lost forever.
Her large, oddly graceful hands pulled away her tabard and laid it to rest on the ground. Scattered across her spotted torso were scars, marks of battles she had not even known. The first, the one across her stomach, remained the largest and most evident, but others could be seen around the edges of her too-revealing chestplate.
Running her fingers over each scar, she heard the battle cries of her father, his tribesmen, ringing through her ears. She felt the pain of each incision, each earned badge of honor, and she sobbed as she jerked her hand away.
Sinking to her knees, the pain within her made itself known. Of course. Her mother. Her mother’s pain burned away at her from within, and her father’s loss ripped her apart without. There was no escaping their presence. There was no dealing with it. It simply was. And that was all she had. All she felt.
Nokora had gathered what she remembered necessary for a Spirit Vision. The liquid that could ease her mind, open her up to commune with the spirits, the Earthmother. To beg forgiveness for whatever she had done to deserve this. To be cured.
She drank.
Thunder rolled. She cried out, one hand clenched in a fist on her chest.
“What have I done!? An’she, why can I no longer feel your warmth? Mu’sha, your peace has left me! What can be done? Why has this happened? Earthmother, please, hear your child!”
Silence. Wind blew, rustling what little grass there was atop the plateau.
Nokora let out a weak sob, her voice traveling above the thunder as it boomed louder in the sky.
“Grant me with your presence once more, I beg of you! I have lost my way, I have lost my love! All I know is this pain, and I implore you for only guidance! Please…”
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and in that moment, Nokora’s eyes widened. She felt something traveling through her, perhaps as the concoction took its effect. It gripped at her senses, tensed all of her muscles, made her gasp for air. It was not painful, but it was not pleasant, either. It held her still, and she whimpered.
You ask much, child…
A shiver ran down Nokora’s spine. That voice… it couldn’t be real…
“I… I’m sorry… I just… I need help, please. I beg for grace.”
You are not guilty. Why do you beg forgiveness?
“It hurts so, Earthmother. It has to be in retribution for a wrong… something I’ve done…”
The presence shifted within her, and it seemed to be examining her. She felt the fur surrounding her scars shift, and stinging pain bit through her in a moment, both inside and out.
The pain faded, and the voice was silent.
“If I have done no wrong… why does it pain me?”
You have done no wrong. But a wrong has been done. Here.
The spectral sensation traveled to her left arm, and her tattoo glimmered in the flash of another burst of electricity in the clouds.
It bleeds, my child. It bleeds because it contains that which it should not.
“It… contains… but, Earthmother, no. It wasn’t… it’s only a tattoo… My mother…”
Their spirits have passed, and yet you are allowed to cling to them. This is not right. They are not meant to stay. You must let them go.
“Their … their what? I, no… it is only a reminder of her! Of my father, the man I never knew! He was taken from me, and the pain he felt… I never knew him, and now I know too much… But this can’t be the way…”
I have answered you, child. I have shown you the way. The spirits will flee you. But if you must fall so they may be free, they will take their due course. Listen carefully. This is all I can tell you.
Rain fell.
And Nokora was alone.
5
Silence sank deep into Nokora as she traveled swiftly along the dusty, barren road through the Thousand Needles. The racing of her own heart, her labored breathing, the dual thuds of her hooves and Tahnrath’s – these were all audible, yet all she heard was the quiet.
He would not speak. He was here for her, willingly, she assumed, but he was reluctant to talk to her. She had welcomed the company Tahnrath had offered her as an escort to Feralas, but now she was biting back feeling of guilt. Does he want to be here? she mused, silently.
This inner monologue made the aching pain in her… well, everything, throb all the more. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She never meant to get her guildmates interested in her problems, she had just wanted to take care of it and go along her own way.
But that wasn’t life. While she had been frightened to share her predicament with her friends, it had turned out for the best. Fortunado had put his quick wit and smooth tongue to work in offering the location of a possible source of help. Jezipali had offered to take her safely to Feralas, but along with that offer came a thinly veiled threat of a horrible, fiery death. Nokora had politely declined.
Even Stumm had offered a tidbit of advice. And Tahnrath, though quiet, was there for her in a way the rest of them could not be. But the silence, along with her growing sense of nervous tension, was gnawing at her mercilessly.
The dust and the heat evolved slowly into foliage and a cooler, darker climate. Trees covered the path, shielding it from much sunlight, and the open environment around her felt alive again. Nature would offer her no embrace, however. She still was separated from the Earthmother’s caring hand, but she hoped that tonight, that feeling would return to her once more.
Their feet slowed to a walk, approaching Camp Mojache. Tahnrath stopped as they entered the middle of the village, and pointed out a hunched Troll beside a tent.
“I think that’s your guy.”
“I… um, so it would seem.” Her voice faltered somewhat, and she made no move to approach the witch doctor.
Tahnrath let out a breath. “I guess I better leave you to it, then.”
Nokora felt the already weak foundation of her strength starting to sway. Not now… “You… I, um, yeah. I mean, I don’t know how long it’ll take, so… yeah, I won’t ask you to stay.”
He paused, and sighed. “I’ll stay nearby. Just going to take a walk.”
Her bleary eyes cleared up a bit, and she nodded. “I… okay… thank you, Tahnrath.”
He nodded, bowed, and turned, taking the sleek Sekhmet away into the forest. Nokora was left alone, in a place she had never so much as visited before, taking on a task that was beyond herself. Not in the least bit daunting, nope.
Nokora gulped, walking shakily towards Uzer’I, the witch doctor, studying amongst the Tauren-populated Camp Mojache. He knew the spirits, their function and purpose, and he knew how best to… take care of them. He might be willing to help. Earthmother willing, she could resolve this.
She bowed in respect to the Troll, and looked up to peer at the mask guarding his face. “Uzer’I, if it is possible, I seek your guidance.”
The Troll tilted his head in curiosity, then nodded. “Wot be de probbem, gahl? ‘ow kin Uzer be achoor service?”
Nokora gave a weak smile, and flicked her gaze to the unoccupied tent nearby. “Privacy, sir, before I feel safe explaining it all. It’s a… personal matter.”
“Oh, righ’ den, less get inside de tent, close ‘er up, eh?” He guided her inside, slipping the mask off of his face as he closed the flap to the structure. Memories flooded back to Nokora as she gazed around the inside of the hide home. Tears filled her eyes, and she forced them away with another gulp.
She explained herself, giving as much information as she felt necessary, including what the Earthmother had told her. She sought any sign of care in his face, and found only a sly twinkle in his eyes. That could be good or bad, and she wasn’t in the least bit sure what to expect.
“’s quite de probbem,” he chuckled huskily. “I tink I kin help choo ou’, mebbe. Yeh’ll listen teh wot I be tellin’ choo, an’ we see ‘ow de spirits answer.”
She nodded blankly, following the Troll’s speech with only a small bit of difficulty. She only knew a couple of Trolls relatively well. Their accent was much harder to follow, so she felt, in the very least, well prepared to listen.
Uzer’I circled around her slowly, as though sizing her up for his next meal. His hawkish eyes and hooked nose were clearer as he got closer in his inspection. He crouched down in front of her, and grinned. “Less see de arm band dat be givin’ choo all dis trubble, gahl.”
Nokora held out her left arm, turning it so that the tattoo could be clearly seen. The Troll’s hand passed over it, hovering just an inch over her skin. He let out a whistle. “Dis be sumthin’, dis be sumthin’ all righ’. I tink I know what we kin do heah. Choo stay dere, I get my tings an’ we kin do some chantin’.”
The tusky grin he offered her before turning around to gather his supplies was more than just uplifting. For the first time in a while, she felt hopeful.
Uzer’I circled back around with his bowl of ground herbs, crouching back down beside her. “Dis might hurtchoo, but choo know dat, I s’pect.”
Nokora nodded. “Just do what you have to. Thank you.”
He smiled, and turned to the tattoo, gathering up the powder in his bowl and sprinkling it over the tattoo, humming a small song to himself. He began chanting, and though Nokora couldn’t actually understand the language he was using, she felt his intent clearly. He was breaking the enchantment of the tattoo, calling the spirits out of their home. It burned like nothing she had felt before.
Her eyes slipped closed. Memories ran through her mind at rapid-fire, each one flashing before her, then disappearing shortly. Try as she might, the memories wouldn’t stop, and she couldn’t reach the ones that were gone. They weren’t hers to keep, but she wanted some of them… just to remember…
Tears ran in little rivers from her eyes. The pain of her body was fading, but there was an overbearing feeling of loss throughout her entire being.
Eventually, the burning sensation ceased. The chanting went quiet, and the memories stopped misfiring in her mind. She wanted to open her eyes, but she couldn’t deal with the fact that she might truly be alone when she opened them.
A voice, sweet and soft, came to her. It spoke of love, and of loss, of spirits lifted and spirits damaged. It cradled Nokora within her own mind, and restored an inner peace and balance to her that she had lost along the way. Her mother. That voice lilted away slowly, but not before easing the throbbing pain within her daughter.
Strength then coursed through Nokora’s body, working its way through all that she was and replenishing the energy that had been sacrificed in this endeavor. Her father’s gruff voice, clearer than she could ever have remembered it, said only a brief word of love and passing to her, then faded as well.
When her eyes opened, she was entirely still. Uzer’I was putting away his supplies, humming a little tune to himself. When she stirred enough to hold her arm out and gaze down at where her tattoo had once been, he turned to face her.
“Choo see de spirits?”
“No, I didn’t... but I felt them. They were… they were here,” she whispered quietly, sniffling.
Uzer’I smiled. “Dey be seein’ choo, gahl. Even if dey not heah fer choo now, dey see all choo be doin’.
Nokora met his smile with one of her own, brave and strong. “Thank you, Uzer’I. For everything.”
“Don’ mention it, gahl. I be heah fer dese tings! Spirits be witchoo!” He grinned, grabbed his wooden mask, and slipped it back on over his face, heading back outside.
Nokora was alone in the tent. And it was okay.