Grim Views

The Day of the Dead, Yichimet thought as he looked down Orgrimmar's dusty street. Tonight, when we gather around the fire, I hope some of the Grim will tell me tales of their remembered family and friends, for without our memories they are left to nothing.

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(( Share your characters's memories of those they've loved & lost, hated & killed, or etc.! Standard rules and regulations--see the sticky at the top of this forum. ))

Jamarion settled down by the fire, but outside the ring of people wearing Grim colors; he looked around at the silent faces, and grinned. "I an' I remember Amiliya. She was Shu'halo, a big girl, a fine huntah. She fought 'longside Khorshah an' Korvash an' Morg an' me wit' da Argen' Dawn. Dis was... Oh, two, tree year ago." He pulled a small fetish from where it dangled on his vest, and tossed it into the fire; it leaped up in a momentary blaze, leaving the troll's angular features in sharp relief. "She an' de cow - dat be Khorshah, y'know - was close, ve'y close. Talkin' bout family someday."

The fire abruptly went low, leaving the inn room cloaked in shadow. "Amiliya fought wit' a big cat too, name o' Wintah; she tamed him in da mountains nort' o' Evahlook. De six of us, we was unstoppable, mon. De leadahs o' de Horde command - we go. De leadahs o' de Argen' Dawn command - we go." There was a rush of cold air as someone entered the inn, a hulking shadow that remained in the corner as the troll spoke.

"If Morg was de shield o' de crew, and Khorshah de fist, den Amiliya was de heart. She was happy - even wit' de angry cow - an' she made othahs happy too. I an' I nevah knew nobody dat could make us laugh so easy. An' courage! Dat girl had 'nuff fo' a whole army." The shadow in the corner moved, approached Jamarion's back; even in the dim firelight it was clearly Khorshah himself, but the troll remained oblivious.

"When Khorshah an' Morg died in de Plaguelan's, Amiliya an' Wintah wen' huntin'. She wasna happy no mo'. It was like day an' night." Jamarion shook his head sadly. "Sometin' in dat girl died. I an' I an' Korvash, we couldn'a kept up wit' her. Two days latah, we fin' Wintah; he dead. We look roun' for Amiliya but --" Khorshah's hand came down on the troll's shoulder and squeezed; Jamarion stopped talking.

"But she was never found." Khorshah's voice was harsh and angry, his expression unreadable as ever. "She must have been killed. By the Scourge. Isn't that right, Jama?"

The troll's answering smile looked weak. "O' course, Khorshah. You say so, dat mus' be troo." The tauren released his grip, and Jamarion retreated from the fire, moving over to a table and rubbing his shoulder. Khorshah looked around at the gathered Grim, shook his head, and left the inn without a further word.

"I guess we could tell a story that we sorta grew up on." Tehau looked around the ring of fire watchers as Khorshah left and chewed the cork from a bottle of ale. A vapor rose from the green glass and a bitter smell preceded the bitter taste in her mouth as she tipped it back. Beside her Nehau's green hand reached over to take a turn. She finished a third of the bottle before passing the rest to Dehau who grinned and drank until her finishing belch made the fire glow brighter for an instant.

"Death." Nehau began, her face screwed up from the taste. "Death is pretty much not a prob these days, amiright?" she grinned, pleased with her deduction.

"Seriously though," Tehau began, "death prolly isn't so bad."

"Just as long as we get it done all at once." Dehau piped up, her mouth full of s'morcs.

"Yeah, that." Nehau agreed with a grunt as she ripped open a pouch of fried lizard tails.

"About that story though..." Dehau cackled and flipped down her goggles.

"Yeah that story is too long." Tehau complained and spat a piece of buzzard gristle onto the coals.

"Only good if you've got a 'tocksload of shim-weed." Nehau agreed, crunching loudly.

"Yeah so if you wanna hear a story..." Dehau grinned and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"Not it!" all three of them said at once and leaned back in their complicated portable recliners with a loud grinding of gears.

Villayna sat and listened to the tales told by others and thought of those she'd once known.  She remembered her parents, of course, as well as those she'd known that had died during the last few years of war:   lost with the fall of Silvermoon, lost on that far off world of Draenor, lost in the cold of Northrend.  Too many to name; too many that she could only remember their faces, and not their names.  There was also those who'd been missing for so long everyone assumed they were dead, but refused to admit it.  Her sister belonged in this group.  Her neighbor the Baron Ran'deau as well.

She paid tribute to her parents in the Spring each year, and while there was much she could say on their memories, they were far more personal than she cared to share today.  Dentley, her faithful servant since the fall of Silvermoon deserved honor today, but his murder by her husband was something she didn't want to talk about.  Her Prince, her King, her hope for a better future?  She glanced around at the others and shook her head slightly.  No, they wouldn't understand, some may have even helped in the assault on Tempest Keep.  She knew now that he had fallen, been corrupted, but he was once the reason she had become a blood knight.  If not for him, where would her people be now?  All dead?  Wraith-like monsters wandering around Eversong Woods or the Isle of Quel'Danas trying to feed a hunger for magic long lost?

Her glass was empty, but the bottle of wine from her vineyard was not.  She cleared her throat and filled the small glass with the remains of the bottle.  Standing slowly she raised her glass to those around her, looking from face to face before turning her gaze to the fire.  "To those who have given all for those  that remain.  We remember you.  We..."  Villayna bit her lip and stared at the fire willing the tears welling up in her eyes to not to roll down her face.  "We loved you.  Rest in peace."

She tipped her glass up and gulped it down, the dry red fluid washed down her throat.  With a deep breath she smiled at everyone and waved the empty glass at them one more time.  "I must depart now.  Have a good evening, all."  She pulled her shoulders back and left the warmth of the fire and those around it.

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Mortica watched the elf leave and grinned.  "Ah, that one doesn't understand da custom!  'Tis a day to be happy and rejoice in memories, not be sorrowful.  Here!"  Her grin widened even further and laughed, her jawbone supernaturally remaining attached to her head.  With a swirl, she yanked the blanket she'd been sitting on away to reveal a small pony keg.  "Beer for all!  Drink up my friends!  Our lost ones are dancing, we should do the same!"  Waving her mug, she broke out into a dance, completely oblivious to whether anyone joined her or not.

(( Let's just assume that every week, we'll tack one more story on and by the time the Spring ends everyone will be responding! ))

((Ugh.  I had really wanted to get a story posted for this one, but I couldn't find the time over the weekend.  You'll get one from me soon!))