Grim Views

Tell Maletha Blazestone that I am coming for what is mine.

Malethia jolted upright in her bed, the final words of the mysterious letter echoing in her mind. Despite the pleasantly cool night air, she was covered with a thin layer of sweat. Malethia brushed her hair back from her face as she reached for the nightstand and the water pitcher that rested upon it.

The dream had been so real. It was as if she was watching through someone else's eyes as they penned the letter. It was her hands - and yet, not hers - that had threatened Anaie with extortion. Her fingers that had claimed to be her own brother; impossible, for Melos had been crushed in the ruinsof Blazestone Manor.

Melos. Malethia could still remember the rain-soaked funeral when her baby brother's crushed body was lain to rest, along with her mother's desecrated remains and her father's empty grave. The Scourge had stolen her family from her, and yet there had been no time for mourning. The Quel'Dorei were on the brink of extinction, and as a survivor she held the responsibility of pressing forward.

In one way, that had been a lifetime ago, the sundering of a childhood and the forced responsibilities of adulthood. Increasingly, however, she found herself being dragged back in nightmare. And then there were these new dreams, where she was watching events through a stranger's eyes.

Malethia took a deep breath, struggling to separate dream and reality, and having incredible difficulty doing so. She heard steps outside her door, and rushed to compose herself.

"Malethia? Are you well?" The door swung open, admiting one of the Order's most powerful members. Malethia kneeled on the floor before the other woman. "Matriarch...I apologize if I woke you in my distress. I will strive to better clear my mind of such distractions in the future."

Liadrin sat down in front of Malethia, raising her chin with a finger and brushing her hair back softly. "Malethia...I know that I was hard on you in the early days. I had to be, or I would have failed you as your master. But you were one of my first student, and I was so proud to watch you grow strong, into the woman you've become. I consider you my daughter, my offspring in spirit if not in flesh."

Malethia looked up at the Matriarch, and sighed heavily. Liadrin smiled gently. "It's the dreams again, isn't it?" Malethia nodded. "We have done all we can for you...our healers can find nothing wrong. I think it is time you trusted those outside our own people."

Malethia looked confused. "Who do you mean, my Lady?"

"The Tauren, dear girl. Go to Thunder Bluff, and speak to their druids and shamans. If anyone can delve into the meanings of your dreams, it is they..."

by Yichimet

He had spent nights now, four, five, speaking to the Spirits for this brash young pink-skin long-ear. He did not know her well, and was hoping that some day he would not be sorry for helping her: she knew secrets--about Anaie, for one--that she should not know, and he hoped the Winds would not change on him. For now, she was a Grim, and he would give her the help he gave all of his Tribe.

So each night, for a week, he had mixed a small sapta and gone to sleep with it in his belly, so that he could speak with the Spirits and listen to their words of Malethia:

A burning fire, giant tented wood blazing. Clawing dead fingers, like bone-sharpened tree branches. A desperate ferret lapping water from an oily pool, turning to walk away, dying and bloating and rotting in minutes. Grass thin like hair blowing in a strong breeze, counting time, whispering blades, weaving itself into thicker and thicker strands, forming a giant basket in which cried a pink-skinned baby.

The same thing, night after night: fire, creation, death; fire, creation, death.

The elf-woman will not understand, he thought to himself. There are things he would need to know.

When he woke the fifth day, he gathered his things, lit his peacebloom pipe, smoked to clear his head and the air of bad spirits, and went out to seek Malethia of the Grim.

Malethia shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the small tent she occupied with the Tauren shaman. It was the smoke that filled the inside that caused her discomfort, as she tried not to allow her thoughts to drift back to her childhood. She understood the tradition of the smoke hut, but for her it was a distraction rather than a focus.

She sat cross-legged, dressed in little more than a simple tunic, as she listened to Yichimet explain the visions he had seen at her request. Like so many things that involved dreams and souls, the symbology meant little to Malethia.

Of all the member races of the Horde, she had spent the least amount of time amongst the Tauren, and part of her was now regreting it. They were not so different from her own people. Where the Sin'dorei worked to blend nature and civilization, the Tauren worked to have as little an impact upon nature as possible. Even their spiritual techniques weren't so different, the Tauren simply used various burning woods instead of the incense and oils of the elves.

She almost wished she could stay here, to learn the ways of peace and harmony from the Tauren, and spend the rest of her long days learning and experimenting. But always there was her duty, always more battles to be fought, more blood to be spilt. The thought suddenly made her very weary, and very lonely.

Since the day her family had been slain, Malethia had kept her emotions, her hopes and fears, her private thoughts, to herself. It had been a long time since she had allowed anyone in to her inner self. Yet here she was, about to expose herself to someone who was barely more than a stranger. It had to be done, though, if she were ever going to find any semblance of peace at all.

"I am ready, Yichimet. Ask me what you will."