Post by Archivist~Bel on Mar 27, 2006 11:10:01 GMT -5
Searching for a Lost One
Author: Shawakanda, Oria
Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=162919&p=1&tmp=1#post162919
SHAWAKANDA:
Shawakanda was angry.
The human in the blood-red robes was not answering her questions. He babbled. All Shawakanda could understand of his babbling was his fear. The whites of his eyes and the ever-increasing pitch of his voice were the only things coming from him that she understood. She was disgusted by fear.
She removed the fool from the torturer's hook, not entirely lifting him off before pulling him forward and down. His eyes bulged, the whites of his eyes were now nearly pink. Blood was oozing from his tear ducts.
Bits of wet flesh dropped to the floor and table. Blood matted her forearm and dripped off her elbow. She dropped him onto the table. A loud, not-quite-solid thud filled the chamber. Black-red, steaming blood coursed through channels into some unseen container.
And still he babbled on. At least he didn't scream as the previous man had. Shaw couldn't abide grown men screaming. She hated fear.
"Where is she? She's not in the graveyard. She's not in the armory. She's not in the cathedral; she's not anywhere within this monastery. I've killed every living and unliving being here. Where is she?"
More babbling.
Shawakanda bound the man to the table, using the unfortunate soul at the table next to him as a guide. A pleasant turn of events as the torturer became the tortured. As she reached for the crank, there was louder, more fervant babbling, and more of those white-eyed, butchered boar looks.
She leaned hard on the crank. With a satisfying tearing and cracking, the man became a few inches taller.
More pink-whites of the eyes wobbled. More words were babbled. More blood flowed.
Fluids overtopped the bloodlets and ran across the floor, darkening long-hidden scores in the stone. The bitter stench of bile filled the room.
Drip, drip, drip.
Shawakanda sat down beside the man, slightly leaning on the crank. She watched the blood flow along pre-determined paths on the floor; it slowed and the rounded flow front became thicker the further it was from the source.
Soft babbling came from the table.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
Babbling.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
No more babbling.
She couldn't make out if there was a pattern scored into stone or if there were tiles laid into the floor.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
.
.
.
Shawakanda heaved her weary body up, turned the crank one more time, kicked dirt over the slowly spreading blood on the floor, and approached the last of the scarlet monks. He babbled as the rest had and wet himself again as she undid the lock on the ceiling cage. He had watched the rest of the Scarlets be put through similar treatments as Shawakanda's rage worked its course. He was next.
She lifted him up to the hook, readied to plunge it deep into his back, and paused.
"Maybe it's a language," a distant, calm voice penetrated the fog of fury.
"Maybe he's trying to tell you where she is. Let him live."
Shawakanda was confused. Angry and confused: not a good combination with her. She looked around for the speaker. She was alone.
"Listen, Shaw. Maybe you can find someone to translate for you and they can tell you where she is."
With only one left to kill, Shaw's rage was beginning to smoulder. She pushed the man against the hook, beginning the slow process similar to baiting a fishing hook. Blood wet his robes. He babbled. His eyes bulged. All to be expected, she supposed. She wondered if the earthworms babbled as he did; their tiny voices ringing out in fear and pain as she folded them onto the hook.
She wondered if She had felt the same fear and pain as she was put on this very hook. Shaw pushed harder.
"Shaw! She may still be alive. There are no fresh graves in the graveyard; she's not buried next to her friends. He is your very last hope of finding her."
Shawakanda, finally, understood. She dropped the man onto the floor. He just lay there, shaking. Bleeding. Crying. As his many victims had. Shaw kicked him.
She found some rope and tied him up. Tight. His extremeties were purple by the time she had stuffed him into a sack and thrown him over her back.
The rage slowly transformed itself into a focused, clear determination: find someone to translate.
The goblins.
Shawakanda headed to the Undercity. How she hated that place. From there she flew to Grom'gol and then on to Booty Bay. Perhaps she would find someone there to translate this babbling, idiotic language into a proper tongue. She would find Her.
A tired, blood-soaked Shawakanda entered the inn in Booty bay, and looked around. Her rage still burned, but she could at least contain it enough not to immedietly strike down the humans in the room. She simultaneously beckoned to the serving wench and, with a dull thud, dropped the large sack at foot of the table.
Blood began to seep out of the sack onto the floor.
~~~
ORIA:
The smell of blood set Oria's teeth to grinding, every instinct awakening. Hands curling, she tossed her glance around the tavern, wondering what it could be. The short growl at her side by the spotter saber gave her a direction.
What was it Glynona had called the Tauren the night before. Shu'halo? It was a tongue she did not know. Yet the word seemed soft, enchanting. But this one, female by curve of horn and snout, reminded Oria of the blood thirsty fanatics she killed of the Twilight's Hammer.
And there at her side was a gunny sack of leather, blood pooling about it. Eyes slitting, she rose fluidly from her seat at the bar.
Pointing a dragonscaled gauntlet, Oria sniffed leaning forward. Her eyes watchful for some attack, yet she kept her sword sheathed. Someone needed help...either away from this fiendish Tauren or a final death of its tortured life.
~~~
SHAWAKANDA:
Shawakanda watched the elf at the bar, alert for any hostile action.
As the serving girl, still without Shaw's food and drink, passed her a second time, Shaw motioned her over. The goblin approached hesitantly.
"Tell the elf woman at the bar that today is not a good day to be a hero,"
Shawakanda said in her own tongue, dropping a heafty scarlet bag of silver into the hands of the quaking woman.
"And bring me my food."
The goblin nodded and hurried off to do Shaw's bidding.
Shaw's demeanor softened ever-so-slightly as an impossibly large, orange tigeress entered the bar and approached her table. Nakawanda had cleaned
herself of the blood and gore, feeding the fish in the process. Perhaps Shaw should do the same. Her weapons and armor did need some attention.
Nak growled softly, looking at the elf standing near the bar.
"Yes, sister, I see her. She's fine for now. We don't need to bust up the town just yet."
The goblin returned with her food and drink, spilling a little of the ale across the table in her hurry to leave hunter pair's vicinity.
Nak's hackles rose as she sniffed at the bag on the floor. A low rumble from the tigress caused ripples to appear in Shaw's ale. Shaw pushed Nak
away from the bag.
With a stern voice, Shaw admonished the cat, "Nakawanda, No."
Nak looked at Shaw with confusion. This was not the usual method with which they hunted. In the past the only living things they had kept had been the young, helpless (and trainable) dragon kin. Keeping a full-grown man didn't make sense to Nakawanda.
It was the way it was, though; Nak had dealt with more bizarre behaviour from Shawakanda. Sometimes she wondered why she kept the big cow around. Nak moved to the other side of Shaw, out of the way of misplaced feet, and lay down to finish her grooming.
Shaw looked around the bar. Most of the other patrons knew enough not to get involved in the private affairs of a Shu'Halo hunter and her pet and were minding their own business. Shaw only hoped the elf at the bar (she stole a look as she finished her survey of the room) knew enough as well. Goblin guards were not on her list of people to kill today. A night elf, sure, that could be added to the list at any time, but tonight she needed the goblins' help.
The hot soup was as good a soul-food Shaw would find in these bleak times. She pulled a carefully wrapped cherry pie from her pack. Something different from the normal tack would do her some good. It's too bad her sister couldn't, could
probably never again, be here to share. Nak raised her head to the table. She, too, was tired of the same old roasted quail. Shaw pushed the self-pity away and, apoligizing, set the extra bowl of soup down on the floor for the cat to lap up at her leisure.
~~~
ORIA:
Grizzak neared with the usual shake of head while "cleaning" a glass. "Seems the Tauren don't need yer help, Ori'. I'd say leave her be."
Oria's eyes darkened of glow for a moment, lips a grim line. "But she has a living one in that bag. Blood still pools from wounds. You're going to let her keep some helpless...damn it you are."
He nodded. "Ori', you knows the rules. Been under 'em yerself. The Sailor's seen worse. Why that Red Admiral--"
The huntress waved him quiet, growling low. With a slapping of coin on the bar, she paid the fee. "I don't like it. And a hunter should know better. I could assume she holds a bounty, but I sincerely doubt it from your words."
Grizzak laid a hand on her arm. He had come to like the girl from the times she and the elven lord stayed. They always paid in advance. "Ori', she'd break ya in half she would. Leave it." With a biting of coin, he smiled and wished her well on her way.
It was the universal sign of move on, leave, or the bruisers will end it right quick. With a soft grunt, she rose and left with the spotted saber beside her. With a sideways glance, she looked to the bag...still worried. Corelua nudged her legs, growling softly. Another day, that growl said. Another time.
~~~
Shaw watched the action at the bar. She understood the elf's frustration. She'd been in the same position before. Today, however, she would not tolerate an interruption.
She pulled the crumpled letter she'd received not two days ago. Already, the words were fading from too much handling, too many tears, too much blood.
"...compelled to return. . .Monastery. . .answering it."
Those few words were all that were left. All that she had, and they were only copies. She hadn't received the letter, she had received a copy of the letter. A copy by someone she was sure she could no longer fully trust.
Changing her mind, Shaw laid a light hand on the elf's arm as she headed for the door.
"Grizzak, translate for me."
Shawakanda faced the elf.
"Hunter, if you want to help someone, help me learn from this man where my sister is. She was taken from her home as a small child. She escaped the monks at the Scarlet Monastery as a young girl, but has apparently been summoned back to them. She is not at the monastery--I know this much."
Shawakand upended the sack, dumping the battered monk onto the tavern floor.
"This man babbles in a language uknown to me. Tell me what he says."
She glared around the room, daring any to challenge her. If there were any spies here, they already knew of her and her past raids against the monastery. They could quickly verify that their fortress had been purified of its inhabitants. The would also just as quickly repopulate it with willing and stupid recruits.
Her look dared any to question her treatment of this man. Too late, she realized that, in her anger, she had carelessly given up any advantage over her prey, something she rarely did.
Nakawanda watched with concern. The Shu'Halo was hunting in the oddest of fashions. In fact, this entire affair was worrisome. One does not hunt in anger. Shaw'ak'anda had been doing that a lot recently. She had even been hunting Shu'Halo, which was particularly bothersome; one should not kill one's own lightly.
"Well, hero, elf, what do you say?"
~~~
SHAWAKANDA:
Shawakanda let the stunned silence draw out. After no one made a move or even a sound for several minutes, Shaw dropped a gold piece on the table, picked up the unfortunate monk, tossed him over her shoulder and left the tavern. Nakawanda followed shortly after with Shaw's pack in her teeth. Shaw was as angry with herself as with the Scarlet Crusade. They would still pay, but now she would have to be much more careful in her search.
Outside, Shawakanda stood for a moment, unsure of her next course of action. She would not likely get any help here in Booty Bay after that illconceived display. As she stared out across the sea, wondering where to go next, the boat to Ratchet came into view.
While on the long voyage to Ratchet, Shaw bandaged up the monk, force-fed him a healing potion, and loosed the bindings so his fingers could return to a more normal color. He would have to look healthier if anyone was going to help her get information out of him.
Increasingly, Shaw's head told her what her heart refused to hear: this is a hopeless mission. At best she would recover a body that could be returned to Thunder Bluff for the proper burial rights.
A soft chirp shook Shaw from her moping. She opened a cage and withdrew a tiny emerald whelpling. This creature was supposed to have been a gift to the lost one, but it now seemed to have attached itself her. She still had no name for it, but perhaps that was for the best. Shaw placed it back in the cage, and fed it and its cage-mate, Qaelawanda, a few pieces of food. She then dropped off for a fitful night of bloody dreams.
Nakawanda kept her ever-aware vigil as Shaw slept through the rest of the journey. Only issuing a soft growl as they approached Ratchet's docks.
Author: Shawakanda, Oria
Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=162919&p=1&tmp=1#post162919
SHAWAKANDA:
Shawakanda was angry.
The human in the blood-red robes was not answering her questions. He babbled. All Shawakanda could understand of his babbling was his fear. The whites of his eyes and the ever-increasing pitch of his voice were the only things coming from him that she understood. She was disgusted by fear.
She removed the fool from the torturer's hook, not entirely lifting him off before pulling him forward and down. His eyes bulged, the whites of his eyes were now nearly pink. Blood was oozing from his tear ducts.
Bits of wet flesh dropped to the floor and table. Blood matted her forearm and dripped off her elbow. She dropped him onto the table. A loud, not-quite-solid thud filled the chamber. Black-red, steaming blood coursed through channels into some unseen container.
And still he babbled on. At least he didn't scream as the previous man had. Shaw couldn't abide grown men screaming. She hated fear.
"Where is she? She's not in the graveyard. She's not in the armory. She's not in the cathedral; she's not anywhere within this monastery. I've killed every living and unliving being here. Where is she?"
More babbling.
Shawakanda bound the man to the table, using the unfortunate soul at the table next to him as a guide. A pleasant turn of events as the torturer became the tortured. As she reached for the crank, there was louder, more fervant babbling, and more of those white-eyed, butchered boar looks.
She leaned hard on the crank. With a satisfying tearing and cracking, the man became a few inches taller.
More pink-whites of the eyes wobbled. More words were babbled. More blood flowed.
Fluids overtopped the bloodlets and ran across the floor, darkening long-hidden scores in the stone. The bitter stench of bile filled the room.
Drip, drip, drip.
Shawakanda sat down beside the man, slightly leaning on the crank. She watched the blood flow along pre-determined paths on the floor; it slowed and the rounded flow front became thicker the further it was from the source.
Soft babbling came from the table.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
Babbling.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
No more babbling.
She couldn't make out if there was a pattern scored into stone or if there were tiles laid into the floor.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
.
.
.
Shawakanda heaved her weary body up, turned the crank one more time, kicked dirt over the slowly spreading blood on the floor, and approached the last of the scarlet monks. He babbled as the rest had and wet himself again as she undid the lock on the ceiling cage. He had watched the rest of the Scarlets be put through similar treatments as Shawakanda's rage worked its course. He was next.
She lifted him up to the hook, readied to plunge it deep into his back, and paused.
"Maybe it's a language," a distant, calm voice penetrated the fog of fury.
"Maybe he's trying to tell you where she is. Let him live."
Shawakanda was confused. Angry and confused: not a good combination with her. She looked around for the speaker. She was alone.
"Listen, Shaw. Maybe you can find someone to translate for you and they can tell you where she is."
With only one left to kill, Shaw's rage was beginning to smoulder. She pushed the man against the hook, beginning the slow process similar to baiting a fishing hook. Blood wet his robes. He babbled. His eyes bulged. All to be expected, she supposed. She wondered if the earthworms babbled as he did; their tiny voices ringing out in fear and pain as she folded them onto the hook.
She wondered if She had felt the same fear and pain as she was put on this very hook. Shaw pushed harder.
"Shaw! She may still be alive. There are no fresh graves in the graveyard; she's not buried next to her friends. He is your very last hope of finding her."
Shawakanda, finally, understood. She dropped the man onto the floor. He just lay there, shaking. Bleeding. Crying. As his many victims had. Shaw kicked him.
She found some rope and tied him up. Tight. His extremeties were purple by the time she had stuffed him into a sack and thrown him over her back.
The rage slowly transformed itself into a focused, clear determination: find someone to translate.
The goblins.
Shawakanda headed to the Undercity. How she hated that place. From there she flew to Grom'gol and then on to Booty Bay. Perhaps she would find someone there to translate this babbling, idiotic language into a proper tongue. She would find Her.
A tired, blood-soaked Shawakanda entered the inn in Booty bay, and looked around. Her rage still burned, but she could at least contain it enough not to immedietly strike down the humans in the room. She simultaneously beckoned to the serving wench and, with a dull thud, dropped the large sack at foot of the table.
Blood began to seep out of the sack onto the floor.
~~~
ORIA:
The smell of blood set Oria's teeth to grinding, every instinct awakening. Hands curling, she tossed her glance around the tavern, wondering what it could be. The short growl at her side by the spotter saber gave her a direction.
What was it Glynona had called the Tauren the night before. Shu'halo? It was a tongue she did not know. Yet the word seemed soft, enchanting. But this one, female by curve of horn and snout, reminded Oria of the blood thirsty fanatics she killed of the Twilight's Hammer.
And there at her side was a gunny sack of leather, blood pooling about it. Eyes slitting, she rose fluidly from her seat at the bar.
Pointing a dragonscaled gauntlet, Oria sniffed leaning forward. Her eyes watchful for some attack, yet she kept her sword sheathed. Someone needed help...either away from this fiendish Tauren or a final death of its tortured life.
~~~
SHAWAKANDA:
Shawakanda watched the elf at the bar, alert for any hostile action.
As the serving girl, still without Shaw's food and drink, passed her a second time, Shaw motioned her over. The goblin approached hesitantly.
"Tell the elf woman at the bar that today is not a good day to be a hero,"
Shawakanda said in her own tongue, dropping a heafty scarlet bag of silver into the hands of the quaking woman.
"And bring me my food."
The goblin nodded and hurried off to do Shaw's bidding.
Shaw's demeanor softened ever-so-slightly as an impossibly large, orange tigeress entered the bar and approached her table. Nakawanda had cleaned
herself of the blood and gore, feeding the fish in the process. Perhaps Shaw should do the same. Her weapons and armor did need some attention.
Nak growled softly, looking at the elf standing near the bar.
"Yes, sister, I see her. She's fine for now. We don't need to bust up the town just yet."
The goblin returned with her food and drink, spilling a little of the ale across the table in her hurry to leave hunter pair's vicinity.
Nak's hackles rose as she sniffed at the bag on the floor. A low rumble from the tigress caused ripples to appear in Shaw's ale. Shaw pushed Nak
away from the bag.
With a stern voice, Shaw admonished the cat, "Nakawanda, No."
Nak looked at Shaw with confusion. This was not the usual method with which they hunted. In the past the only living things they had kept had been the young, helpless (and trainable) dragon kin. Keeping a full-grown man didn't make sense to Nakawanda.
It was the way it was, though; Nak had dealt with more bizarre behaviour from Shawakanda. Sometimes she wondered why she kept the big cow around. Nak moved to the other side of Shaw, out of the way of misplaced feet, and lay down to finish her grooming.
Shaw looked around the bar. Most of the other patrons knew enough not to get involved in the private affairs of a Shu'Halo hunter and her pet and were minding their own business. Shaw only hoped the elf at the bar (she stole a look as she finished her survey of the room) knew enough as well. Goblin guards were not on her list of people to kill today. A night elf, sure, that could be added to the list at any time, but tonight she needed the goblins' help.
The hot soup was as good a soul-food Shaw would find in these bleak times. She pulled a carefully wrapped cherry pie from her pack. Something different from the normal tack would do her some good. It's too bad her sister couldn't, could
probably never again, be here to share. Nak raised her head to the table. She, too, was tired of the same old roasted quail. Shaw pushed the self-pity away and, apoligizing, set the extra bowl of soup down on the floor for the cat to lap up at her leisure.
~~~
ORIA:
Grizzak neared with the usual shake of head while "cleaning" a glass. "Seems the Tauren don't need yer help, Ori'. I'd say leave her be."
Oria's eyes darkened of glow for a moment, lips a grim line. "But she has a living one in that bag. Blood still pools from wounds. You're going to let her keep some helpless...damn it you are."
He nodded. "Ori', you knows the rules. Been under 'em yerself. The Sailor's seen worse. Why that Red Admiral--"
The huntress waved him quiet, growling low. With a slapping of coin on the bar, she paid the fee. "I don't like it. And a hunter should know better. I could assume she holds a bounty, but I sincerely doubt it from your words."
Grizzak laid a hand on her arm. He had come to like the girl from the times she and the elven lord stayed. They always paid in advance. "Ori', she'd break ya in half she would. Leave it." With a biting of coin, he smiled and wished her well on her way.
It was the universal sign of move on, leave, or the bruisers will end it right quick. With a soft grunt, she rose and left with the spotted saber beside her. With a sideways glance, she looked to the bag...still worried. Corelua nudged her legs, growling softly. Another day, that growl said. Another time.
~~~
Shaw watched the action at the bar. She understood the elf's frustration. She'd been in the same position before. Today, however, she would not tolerate an interruption.
She pulled the crumpled letter she'd received not two days ago. Already, the words were fading from too much handling, too many tears, too much blood.
"...compelled to return. . .Monastery. . .answering it."
Those few words were all that were left. All that she had, and they were only copies. She hadn't received the letter, she had received a copy of the letter. A copy by someone she was sure she could no longer fully trust.
Changing her mind, Shaw laid a light hand on the elf's arm as she headed for the door.
"Grizzak, translate for me."
Shawakanda faced the elf.
"Hunter, if you want to help someone, help me learn from this man where my sister is. She was taken from her home as a small child. She escaped the monks at the Scarlet Monastery as a young girl, but has apparently been summoned back to them. She is not at the monastery--I know this much."
Shawakand upended the sack, dumping the battered monk onto the tavern floor.
"This man babbles in a language uknown to me. Tell me what he says."
She glared around the room, daring any to challenge her. If there were any spies here, they already knew of her and her past raids against the monastery. They could quickly verify that their fortress had been purified of its inhabitants. The would also just as quickly repopulate it with willing and stupid recruits.
Her look dared any to question her treatment of this man. Too late, she realized that, in her anger, she had carelessly given up any advantage over her prey, something she rarely did.
Nakawanda watched with concern. The Shu'Halo was hunting in the oddest of fashions. In fact, this entire affair was worrisome. One does not hunt in anger. Shaw'ak'anda had been doing that a lot recently. She had even been hunting Shu'Halo, which was particularly bothersome; one should not kill one's own lightly.
"Well, hero, elf, what do you say?"
~~~
SHAWAKANDA:
Shawakanda let the stunned silence draw out. After no one made a move or even a sound for several minutes, Shaw dropped a gold piece on the table, picked up the unfortunate monk, tossed him over her shoulder and left the tavern. Nakawanda followed shortly after with Shaw's pack in her teeth. Shaw was as angry with herself as with the Scarlet Crusade. They would still pay, but now she would have to be much more careful in her search.
Outside, Shawakanda stood for a moment, unsure of her next course of action. She would not likely get any help here in Booty Bay after that illconceived display. As she stared out across the sea, wondering where to go next, the boat to Ratchet came into view.
While on the long voyage to Ratchet, Shaw bandaged up the monk, force-fed him a healing potion, and loosed the bindings so his fingers could return to a more normal color. He would have to look healthier if anyone was going to help her get information out of him.
Increasingly, Shaw's head told her what her heart refused to hear: this is a hopeless mission. At best she would recover a body that could be returned to Thunder Bluff for the proper burial rights.
A soft chirp shook Shaw from her moping. She opened a cage and withdrew a tiny emerald whelpling. This creature was supposed to have been a gift to the lost one, but it now seemed to have attached itself her. She still had no name for it, but perhaps that was for the best. Shaw placed it back in the cage, and fed it and its cage-mate, Qaelawanda, a few pieces of food. She then dropped off for a fitful night of bloody dreams.
Nakawanda kept her ever-aware vigil as Shaw slept through the rest of the journey. Only issuing a soft growl as they approached Ratchet's docks.