My Sword Does Not Sing -- Zolotai
Posted: Thu Apr 11, 2019 10:24 pm
Northrend
Snow piled on the ruins of Zul'drak. White shapes stood out against gray skies for as far as Zolotai could see. Nothing moved, and besides the sounds of her mount's slow, rhythmic wing beats, the world was completely silent. It felt like death to her, and even Bwonsamdi's grinning visage knew better than to mock the corpses that lay beneath the snow in this place. Her father's spirit likely roamed here, somewhere.
Her mount struggled against a sudden blast of arctic wind, recovered, and began the slow, hovering beats again. He chuffed out a low grunt of annoyance as she kept him reigned in.
When Zolotai had made the decision to leave Zandalar, she had done so with the intent to visit several of the troll civilizations that she learned about as a child. Her loa was dead, and it had seemed fitting tribute to see that this was not the first time that this apocalypse had happened. When the Orgrimmar mercenary boards had listed jobs in Northrend, her heart had stopped, then leaped, then stopped again. Dreams she'd had when she was younger of travelling there and finding her father, alive and well, filled her head. A bitter and angry voice that her twenty year old brain labeled "adult realism" sneered at those dreams. But an hour later she had found herself waiting for a zeppelin heading north. And now she flew above the grand entryway to Zul'drak. The warring voices in her head were oddly silent.
Her mount grunted again. She leaned in and patted the neck of the beast in apology and allowed it to continue their journey in towards the Zandalari camp Zim'Torga where her new employers were stationed. The jobs given her weren't much different than most of the jobs she'd taken since leaving Zandalar. Collect artifacts, kill any local wildlife that had become over-populated, put to rest angry spirits. One of the professors had delighted at having an educated Zandalari to help her transcribe notebooks full of scribbled tanslations of Drakkari stone tablets to something neater and easier to read for other researchers to debate about meanings and portents. The part of her that had trained to be a talon of Rezan's might despised the hours spent sitting still, but her mind drank in the ancient words and stories. Afterwards she would spend at least an hour working her blades against a target dummy.
A week passed, and then a second. She fell into a strange routine where she would wake in a moment of panic from the weight of unfamiliar heavy blankets strangling her, then she would reach out for Rezan's blessing, his loved warmth and light no longer there for her to touch, and she would then remember where she was and instead of peace she felt...nothing.
An hour of martial routines, some food, then several hours of transcription. More food, then she would wander through a new section of the ruins, searching. The temples were empty, except for a stray archaeologist here and there patiently removing centuries of lichen and dirt and blood from some sculpture or tablet or altar. The part of her that attuned to her loa would sometimes vibrate as she passed through the snow-filled spaces, whether from ghostly remnants of the dead loa whose temple she visited or "THE Light" or maybe just her frayed nerves sparking randomly.
Sometimes she would find a lost spirit, but years of adventurers looking for buried riches had thinned them out. Near the temple of Har'koa she found the tracks of snow leopards and this made her smile. Har'koa's children lived, even if her people's civilization did not. Zolotai considered leaving an offering for the mother of leopards, attempt to contact her. She ran the conversation through her head:
Zolotai: "Greetins' holy mother o' leopards, Ah be wondering if yah remember seeing a Zandalari troll here about six years ago, my color hair, strong handsome tusks, sideburns, nose ring?"
Har'koa: Growl, hisss. *Drakkari mutterings* Growlllll!
Zolotai: "Oh, right, yah probably don't be speakin' Zandalari. Sorry ta bother yah."
Har'koa: Growl, swipe, spit!
Zolotai: "Ah be goin' now."
Zolotai decided against the offering.
Snow piled on the ruins of Zul'drak. White shapes stood out against gray skies for as far as Zolotai could see. Nothing moved, and besides the sounds of her mount's slow, rhythmic wing beats, the world was completely silent. It felt like death to her, and even Bwonsamdi's grinning visage knew better than to mock the corpses that lay beneath the snow in this place. Her father's spirit likely roamed here, somewhere.
Her mount struggled against a sudden blast of arctic wind, recovered, and began the slow, hovering beats again. He chuffed out a low grunt of annoyance as she kept him reigned in.
When Zolotai had made the decision to leave Zandalar, she had done so with the intent to visit several of the troll civilizations that she learned about as a child. Her loa was dead, and it had seemed fitting tribute to see that this was not the first time that this apocalypse had happened. When the Orgrimmar mercenary boards had listed jobs in Northrend, her heart had stopped, then leaped, then stopped again. Dreams she'd had when she was younger of travelling there and finding her father, alive and well, filled her head. A bitter and angry voice that her twenty year old brain labeled "adult realism" sneered at those dreams. But an hour later she had found herself waiting for a zeppelin heading north. And now she flew above the grand entryway to Zul'drak. The warring voices in her head were oddly silent.
Her mount grunted again. She leaned in and patted the neck of the beast in apology and allowed it to continue their journey in towards the Zandalari camp Zim'Torga where her new employers were stationed. The jobs given her weren't much different than most of the jobs she'd taken since leaving Zandalar. Collect artifacts, kill any local wildlife that had become over-populated, put to rest angry spirits. One of the professors had delighted at having an educated Zandalari to help her transcribe notebooks full of scribbled tanslations of Drakkari stone tablets to something neater and easier to read for other researchers to debate about meanings and portents. The part of her that had trained to be a talon of Rezan's might despised the hours spent sitting still, but her mind drank in the ancient words and stories. Afterwards she would spend at least an hour working her blades against a target dummy.
A week passed, and then a second. She fell into a strange routine where she would wake in a moment of panic from the weight of unfamiliar heavy blankets strangling her, then she would reach out for Rezan's blessing, his loved warmth and light no longer there for her to touch, and she would then remember where she was and instead of peace she felt...nothing.
An hour of martial routines, some food, then several hours of transcription. More food, then she would wander through a new section of the ruins, searching. The temples were empty, except for a stray archaeologist here and there patiently removing centuries of lichen and dirt and blood from some sculpture or tablet or altar. The part of her that attuned to her loa would sometimes vibrate as she passed through the snow-filled spaces, whether from ghostly remnants of the dead loa whose temple she visited or "THE Light" or maybe just her frayed nerves sparking randomly.
Sometimes she would find a lost spirit, but years of adventurers looking for buried riches had thinned them out. Near the temple of Har'koa she found the tracks of snow leopards and this made her smile. Har'koa's children lived, even if her people's civilization did not. Zolotai considered leaving an offering for the mother of leopards, attempt to contact her. She ran the conversation through her head:
Zolotai: "Greetins' holy mother o' leopards, Ah be wondering if yah remember seeing a Zandalari troll here about six years ago, my color hair, strong handsome tusks, sideburns, nose ring?"
Har'koa: Growl, hisss. *Drakkari mutterings* Growlllll!
Zolotai: "Oh, right, yah probably don't be speakin' Zandalari. Sorry ta bother yah."
Har'koa: Growl, swipe, spit!
Zolotai: "Ah be goin' now."
Zolotai decided against the offering.