Tezuli: She hasn’t danced in a ritual pretty much since she lost her home in Shatterspear Vale 4 years ago. She misses it and wants to get back into it, though!
Jenzulu: Though I haven’t played him in ages, I’ve been thinking OOC on what to do with him to liven him up. ICly, he’s considering changing paths from a balance/resto druid to maybe taking up being a big, burly bear!
Kioni’fon: Kioni’fon has two braids in her hair given to her by her closest friend, Faraji. He taught her how to braid and demonstrated for her, and she only takes them out to wash her hair, then puts them back in.
Altherei: She plans to take a trip to Pandaria with a friend soon to have a reprieve from all the craziness going on in the world.
The Hanged Man/ Hermit for Tezuli The Magician for Kio The Star for Oti The Emperor for Jen Have fun~
For Tez:
The Hanged Man: See previous ask!
The Hermit: If your muse were trapped alone on an island, what three items would they have to have?
Asssuuuumming basic needs are met? Her Rush’kah, her blades, and her armor. Everything else she can probably take care of herself! If basic needs aren’t met, well, then the same answer as Kio has— food, fresh water, shelter!
For Kio:
The Magician: What would your muse draw if given paper and markers?
Honestly? Probably nothing. She’d have no idea what to draw.
For Oti:
The Star: If your muse had one wish, what would it be?
She’d wish for things to be less complicated. Or for this war to be over, so they could all go home.
For Jenzu:
The Emperor: Name a time your muse has broken the rules.
Jenzu has gotten a bit sassy sometimes, but I can’t think of a time when he’s genuinely broken a rule. He tries to be well-behaved!
"You're gonna be fine, okay? You... You'll be fine." - M'chumba to Jenzulu. AAAAND, "Oh, god. Please be alive. Please still be alive." fom Zal to Tez! OR "Don't die... Don't die on me. Please..." from Rak to Oti.
((WHY NOT ALL THREEEEE~~??))
There was blood, so much blood. Where Jenzulu’s ended and his enemy’s began, not even M’chumba could tell. Every cough brought up another clot, crimson staining the druid’s lips as his mate clung to his hands as if willpower alone could save him.
"You’re gonna be fine, okay? You.. You’ll be fine," She repeated, over and over, blue eyes fixed on violet-red.
Jenzu cracked a smirk, though it faltered some, “Ah t’ink joo an’ I bot’ know dere ain’ any comin’ back from dis ‘un, chickadee…” His voice was raspy and wet at the same time, thick with blood.
Choo shook her head. “No! No, don’t talk like that. You never gave up before, so don’t give up now!” She replied indignantly, though a part of her knew Jenzu was right.
"Kunda can help you.. she can heal you… just hold on a little longer? Please, for me? For Kunda?" She chewed on her lip, so much so that the skin finally broke and bled.
"Ya know I wanna, girlie.. I wanna stay so bad.." His eyes grew sad, and a bloody hand reached up to caress her soft, leathery skin. She was so warm, and he was so.. cold. His hand left a smear, but M’chumba refused to let go, and clasped her own over it.
"T.. there’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there.." Tears welled in her eyes.
He let out a deep, hacking cough, and more blood than before came with it. She could see him pale, each breath a larger struggle than the last as he replied, “.. But.. Ah feel de Loa.. callin’ me home.. butchu know.. Ah’ll always be watchin’ ovah ya.. an’ Kunda.. an’ the boyos.. Ah promise.”
Kunda arrived at the scene just in time to watch her mother hunch over the lifeless body of her father. The twins heard the wracking, inconsolable sobs at the gates. And as they laid him to rest, they heard the soft growl of an incorporeal tiger.
He was always there, just as he had promised.
((Putting the rest under a read more!))
Desperate times called for desperate measures, as the saying went. The clan had been beset from all sides by enemies— ogre, naga, murloc, the Twins.. anyone who had ever had reason to fight the clan fought them. It was chaos, complete and utter madness. The clan had called in every ally they could— former clanmates, allied races, those who owed them favors.. but it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough for Zalmai.
Tezuli had pulled her aside in Orgrimmar and begged for her help, and Zalmai returned. She lent the Shadowtusk her claws, fangs, and when the battle was finally over and the enemies defeated, she lent them her healing.
"SOMEONE GET A HEALAH OVAH HEAH, NOW!!" She heard another troll bark, and she took a moment to catch her breath only to lose it a moment later.
"HURRY— TEZULI’S HURT REAL BAD—!!"
She moved as swiftly as her legs could carry her, even as they began to fail under the crushing worry of what had happened to her adopted daughter. Her heart pounded against her ribs as if threatening to burst through, and as she neared the scene, she pushed worried onlookers out of her way.
"Ah’m a healer, lemme through! Lemme see her—!!" Her voice was a sharp bark, and masked the utter terror that rose in her as she saw the shadow hunter.
Tez was broken. So very, very broken. Her right arm was completely severed from her body, and lay a short distance away. Her Rush’kah was cracked and dented, and blood oozed from underneath it. Her chest and torso armor were torn to pieces, her legs broken.
Zalmai was no stranger to the violence of war, her stomach had long ago been steeled to the atrocities.. but this was different. This was her daughter.. and to see her lying there made her gut twist. She took another few moments to force herself to calm down when new details renewed her panic.
Tezuli wasn’t breathing. The fiery red-orange glow in the eye sockets of the bear skull Rush’kah were gone, snuffed out. Her hands began to shake as she channeled her healing energies into the shadow hunter.
"Oh, god. Please be alive. Please still be alive," She murmured, and her voice began to quaver.
Those who circled the druid watched, though they all shared an unspoken knowledge that Zalmai yet refused to acknowledge. When her magic didn’t close the wounds, when the young Shatterspear refused to breathe, Zalmai grew angry.
"No— no, don’t you do this!! You can’t die!" She snapped.
She spent so much time there, and pushed all her energy into the body. When nothing worked and desperate prayers fell on seemingly deaf ears, Zal forced herself to confront the truth. As she slowly peeled the mask off Tezuli, she saw the distant gaze of the dead.
"M.. my baby, my girl.." Her anger vanished as quickly as it had came, and grief filled her to the brim. "No, no, no.. not my little cub.."
Two warm hands pressed to Tezuli’s cheeks, and the druid leaned forward over her, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, nose, cheeks. Onlookers dispersed as her wracking sobs began. For hours, Zalmai sat in the bloodied battlefield, and clutched the body of her daughter to her chest. Her girl, gone… and all it took was one thought, and Zalmai continued to sob.
If love could have saved you… you would have lived forever.
*******
That Otieno had let Rak’yat even speak to her was a miracle. The pregnant Sandfury held so much anger for her mate, so much hurt. Rak bore it all, though, even if so much of it couldn’t have been helped. She wanted her love back, her heart. She wanted Otieno.
As Otieno’s delivery date neared, Rak’yat tried to spend as much time with her as possible. Her dreams taunted her with horrible visions, nightmares of losing Oti. She pushed them down whenever she saw the hydromancer, and forced herself to be positive and to channel her fears and worries into protecting the woman she loved so dearly.
But in the dead of night, a good month before the child was expected, Oti went into labor. She had been staying nearby in Lunazu and Asa’ti’s hut, and was moved to Ale’s and Drajin’s for the birth, but already there seemed to be complications. Rak’yat was by her side in moments.
The baby wasn’t coming. Oti pushed, and pushed, and pushed, but the baby wouldn’t budge. Rak did all she could to calm her love down, and cooed to her gently, but it only did so much. Instinct told Oti to push harder, and she did.. until she pushed too hard.
Something ruptured, and suddenly there was blood. Otieno screamed in pain, yet unaware of the damage as Ale called for a healer. What seemed like good news in the baby beginning to crown only became the very nightmare Rak dreaded.
Otieno was bleeding out, and no healers responded. In the dead of night, the city was asleep, and all of Ale’s attempts to stem the blood flow herself only provided temporary relief. Rak’yat, however, was panicking. Oti cried out in pain as tears streamed down her cheeks. The cloths laid out for her birthing were now soaked in blood.
But then a new cry sounded. High-pitched and interrupted by gasps. The baby. Ale quickly cut the cord and put the child on Oti’s chest, but both her ears and Rak’yat’s fanned down. Otieno was still bleeding, and badly. Her skin had paled and was cold and clammy to Rak’s touch. Ale barked over the skull for a healer yet again, and continued to try and stop the flow.
"Don’t die… Don’t die on me. Please…" She murmured, with her nose against Oti’s cheek. "You can’t die, maisha.. you can’t.." She hissed softly.
"H… Hiari.. her name.. is Hiari," She replied softly, barely able to hold up the nursing child.
Rak’yat bit her lip. Even Ale, normally unmovable as a mountain, drew in a deep breath to calm herself. The look she gave Rak told her everything she needed to know: Oti was dying. There was nothing they could do but keep her comfortable.
Ale grabbed some spare furs from the side of the hut and draped them around Oti and the baby. Then, she sat on Oti’s other side and rested a hand reassuringly on her arm.
"We’re here, Oti.. we’re here," She spoke softly. Rak’yat choked back tears.
"Mmh…" The pale Sandfury hummed, ".. Hiari.. means.. free will.." Tears brimmed in her own eyes as she weakly stroked the small tuft of red hair on the suckling infant’s head. "My little.. free.. will.." Her voice grew weaker with each word, until finally, it was no more than a whisper on the wind. And just like that… Otieno was gone.
Rak’yat and Ale both reached arms under the child as Oti’s fell, and even Hiari seemed to grasp that something was very, very wrong. Her high-pitched sobs began anew. Rak pulled the child into her own arms with the Zandalari’s help, and rocked her gently. Her own tears fell without abandon, and Ale made the announcement to the few who had awoken in the area. There was no need for a healer now, just a witch doctor to oversee the burial.
((Inspired by the Owl City song, and melodwyn's prompt!))
Are you there, or are you just a decoy dream in my head?
Am I home, or am I simply tumbling all alone?
The lyrics brought him back to his time away, to Northrend. To Pandaria. To all the places he'd been without his love, his heart, his mate and his child. The times he lay awake at night, staring up at whatever the sky would show him, and seeing their faces reflected in the stars.
I'm dreaming you're out in the blue and I am right beside you, awake to take in the view.
My darling, we're both on the wing, look down and keep on singing, and we can go anywhere.
I haven't drawn these two little cutiebutts in a while. Here you see M'chumba and her daughter, Kunda. Can you blame Jenzulu for coming home often as he does?
Jenzulu blinked at Inti - slowly at first, and then quickly as if he’d gotten something in his eye.
”.. Wha’?” His mouth curled down, confused. “But Ah don’ even know who ya are. Like, I know ya a clansman, an’ ya like t’run buck-ass nekkid t’rough de city.. but unless ya been sneakin’ into me hut an’ ravishin’ me in my sleep, I t’ink ya got de wrong boyo. Ah’m a mated mon, an’ happily so!”
He fell silent for a moment before adding in, “An’ ya definiteleh ain’ mah type, eitha. Nnnnnooopenope. Not one bit. Ain’ an insult! Jus’.. yeah. Definitely ain’tcha babby daddeh, girleh.”
When he finally woke up, it felt like the weight of a thousand tons sat on his chest. He struggled to push himself up, only to have a gentle hand press him back down.
"Not yet, you need to move slowly," Tahigwa spoke, her voice as calm and even as ever.
"... T-Tahigwa--" He barely managed to get her name out, shocked by the sound of his own voice. What once had been a smooth baritone, dark and warm, was now gravely and hoarse. He carefully reached a hand up to his throat, feeling the thick, jagged scar running over the skin.
"You're lucky the cut wasn't deeper.. it didn't get to the vein." She picked up a warm, wet towel, setting it over his neck.
As he slowly came to, Jenzulu took note of his surroundings. They weren't in the tents at the Vanguard - in fact, this didn't look like any place he'd ever heard of before. And wherever they were.. it smelled like incense and some spicy sort of food.
The sound of cloth curtains being pulled back caught his attention, and he turned to find the source.
A small pandaren woman appeared, relief on her features.
"Oh, good.. he's finally awake."
"W.. where am I?"
"You're in Halfhill, troll."
"... Half.. hill?"
"Pandaria, Jenzulu. You're in Pandaria." Tahigwa smirked lightly, "Yi Tsu has been housing us and helping in your recovery."
Jenzulu's maroon eyes widened slightly. Pandaria? He'd heard a lot about this place, good and bad. But he'd never heard of Halfhill - it didn't sound like a military base, and he swore he heard livestock outside.
The confusion must've made its way to his face, because Yi Tsu chuckled. "Halfhill is a farming community, and the source of much of Pandaria's vegetables."
He turned his head to look at Tahigwa. ".. Why.. here?"
Tahigwa's expression warmed, her gaze looking more motherly now than anything else. "Because, my student.. you've spent all your days in training until now learning how to fight the evil in the world and take care of others.." She smoothed back his hair.
"Now, you will learn to fight the evil inside you, and take care of yourself." She smiled, standing up. Jenzulu tried to sit again, only to be pushed back down with the same gentle hand of his mentor.
".. But only when you're well enough." She smirked. "Now rest. Tomorrow we begin."
Compared to Icecrown, Zul'drak was almost a paradise. The sky was hopelessly dark and ominous, no chance of the sun peeking through to grant light. The air, far fouler with the stench of death, and so thick one almost needed gills just to breath. The sounds of ghouls and geists, gargoyles screeching and howling all through the day and night, keeping Jenzulu on his toes and on little to no sleep.
Still, they pushed through. Whatever negativities the troll held for the Alliance, working side by side with the Argent Crusaders still stationed in Icecrown taught him more than just survival. If Azeroth was to be safe from threats outside itself, it needed to stop fighting within itself - he saw dwarves and humans fighting alongside blood elves and forsaken - it was possible, peace was possible.. but only if the Horde and the Alliance truly wanted it.
Every day, he and Tahigwa went into the field with the Crusade, pushing the remaining Scourge back, recovering the dead soldiers, healing the wounded. She had been right to send him here - seeing the worst of the worst was slowly but surely desensitizing him to war. If he could stare down at a fallen friend, barely clinging to life and covered in his own blood, a mess on the snow.. if he could do that and heal his wounds without flinching, then he would be a strong healer.
But only if he could stay alive.
The latest push from the Scourge was a test unlike anything he'd encountered yet. His palms burned to numbness from the arcane energy he'd used, his body crying out for rest with every move. He could hear the sounds of home on his skull, and when there was a break in the fighting, he took a moment to check in.
Tired, ragged, and sounding more than a little sickly, he spoke to his mate. Hearing M'chumba's voice in the dead of Icecrown was like the breath of life he'd so desperately needed. So relieved was he to hear her voice, that he didn't heed the sound of an approaching group of Scourge, growling and gurgling behind him.
Only when a geist sprang forward, grabbing him by the shoulders, did he realize there was a problem. Toppling forward, he twisted to land on his back, throwing the diseased thing off him. As he did so, the geist grabbed his communication skull, taking it with him as he was flung away.
A bony, plate-clad menace stood over him then, rusted blade at his throat. Jenzulu's breath caught in his chest, a few ghouls amassing around him. Was this how he was meant to die?
His body refused to fight - it had no more energy left to give. Still, he struggled, even as the blade's jagged edge tore across his throat. Blood began to leak from the wound, slowed by the cold, and Jenzu's hands flew to his throat to try and stymie the bleeding.
The world was fading. He felt colder. No, no, NO! He promised he'd return! He couldn't - wouldn't die here! The weight of the ghouls kicking and stomping on him, chewing at his armor made him cry out-- a ragged, wet sound that was his only chance for rescue.
He managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see a powerful burst of solar energy tear through the face of the commander, the rest of the Scourge scattering before his mentor.
He looked up at the tauren, his eyes full of fear and regret. He didn't want to break his promise.. he promised, he promised..
His promise was the last thing on his mind before his body finally gave up.
