The Talking Dead by Chilalli

[Keeper Of Lore]

The Talking Dead

Chilalli - January 3, 2006

Snowfeather arrived in Ratchet at Yichimet’s request. She would
have traveled to the depths of Blackrock Spire if he wished her
too. It had been over a moon since she had smelled his endearing
scent and heard his staunch voice. Only in her dreams did she see
him, and in those he became a weak, twisted meal for an animal.

She watched him for some time in Ratchet, hidden among the
shadows. His massive frame moved with a grace she only witnessed
from other Grimtotem. She stalked up to him, unseen and revealed
her true form.

"It has been too long, Yichimet.." she quietly spoke as she felt
the tips of her ears heat up.

"It has, lioness.." he answered with his gruff tone, not rude,
but serious.

They sat down near the dock, both looking out at the port, but
both within each other’s peripheral sight and began to talk.
Questions and answers, mostly about Yichimet’s sudden departure
to the Nether. Snowfeather was burning with a passion on the
inside to spill her woes to him about all she had suffered since
he fell ill, but she kept silent and focused on him. She didn’t
want to go over it all again out loud, she had done enough of
that in her head..every hour of every day. It was time to focus
on him and look for a glimmer of sunlight to wipe clean the dark
shadows in her mind.

Fate or circumstance, the conversation and allusions were soon
over. Yichimet was tired, she could hear it in his voice with
every word. It was not long before Snowfeather heard the familiar
voice of her new Sister, the Forsaken Warlock, Daala. A few
pleasantries were exchanged and introductions made, all the while
Snowfeather felt covetous of her time with the Grimtotem.
Snowfeather had told Daala many a secret the past few days, and
she was nervous around her for fear of Yichimet learning anything
unsavory about her. Thankfully, Daala kept her confidences
personal.

It was time, Yichimet was leaving. He bid Snowfeather good
evening and promised to provide some intimate time with her the
next day. She watched him walk away wondering if this would be
the last time she would see him. Once she could no longer see
him, she turned her attention to Daala.

[Keeper Of Lore]

The conversation started off harmless..as usual. It was not long
before both of them felt the heavy weight of responsibilities
weighing on their words. Soon enough, the playful interchanges
were replaced with realities.

"What is this proposition you spoke of, Sister" Daala asked. "You
keep avoiding me when I ask.."

"It is not quite a proposition, but a plea..." Snowfeather
begrudgingly replied. "You know more about my situation than any
Grim, and yet you were not even one of us when I told you my
plight. Now you are my Sister, and I look to you for your
knowledge as a warlock and a scholar. I tire of this life. Either
I find a way to live with this new demon leg or I end it. I can’t
suffer through these nightmares every night any longer...."
Snowfeather was deadly serious in her request.

Her words were true. Daala had accompanied Snowfeather in
Winterspring when she quested to find her birth home. Once found,
Snowfeather spilled her soul out to the Forsaken. Told her every
dream, detail, hope and fear she had ever known. To this day,
Snowfeather did not understand why, when she could have told any
other Grim the same things, she told a stranger. The point was
moot now, Daala was a Grim and Daala would help her.

The demure Forsaken wove a tale of woe for Snowfeather again. One
that revealed Daala’s life before her unlife. The pain suffered
as a lesser elf. The perversions of those put in positions of
trust over her. The name "Kari" as the one that took something
from her .. More than just flesh, more than dignity. Something
Snowfeather could not understand completely. It was too painful
to hear and comprehend. Daala told Snowfeather she killed this
monster for his deviant assaults on her. Relief came over the
Tauren as she heard the words slip from Daala’s mouth. Why,
though was she telling this story to her now after asking for
help?

Daala’s stories always made their way back to a pertinence in
Snowfeather’s life, and this tale was no different. Was it
trickery? Fate? Certainty? It mattered not to the druid. She
could feel the anger and the green mist building in her mind
again listening to Daala speak. He was about to make her stop
caring once more. He was about to shut her out and resume control
of her. She carefully put her pets away, her thoughts drifting to
the burial mound near Stonebull Lake.

"What was the name of the Satyr you took that leg from again,
Snowfeather?" Daala asked, without a hint of concern.

"His name.. What did they call him... Geltharis?" Snowfeather
answered as she scratched the scar where Maledictus attached her
new leg to the stump.

Daala looked down as whatever color that was left in her pallor
face dissipated. She looked to Snowfeather and once again began
to narrate a scenario. One that cut too close to Snowfeather and
one that may tie them together more intimately than she could
ever imagine.

"Show me this demon. I require shards if this is going to work.
Hurry before I change my mind!." Daala called out to Snowfeather
as she called her demon steed and rode north towards Ashenvale.
Snowfeather whistled for Proot, mounted up and quickly chased
after Daala. Along the road, they met up with Lascivious and she
joined with them on the hunt. It was decided they would hunt the
denizens of Felwood for shards.

Six shards were gathered and the three women made their way back
through Ashenvale to Xavian. It was not long before Snowfeather
could smell him. Soon she could see him. His leg fully intact and
beautiful once again.

Then it all went blank in Snowfeather’s mind. There was an
attack, a binding, and a betrayal. Snowfeather’s mind had
splintered from the inner battle. She was no longer tauren,
instead an entity of depravity and demonic euphoria.

He had taken over and he was none too pleased to have two
Forsaken women dabble in his affairs. Remarks were made trough
veiled threats .. Some truthful.. Some gathered from the fear in
their breath...all hateful and full of resent and disgust.

Snowfeather fought against the Voice. She ran towards the water
in hopes of choking him out of her mind. She jumped in and sank.
He yelled in High Elven.. Demonic.. Low Elven.. As the water
filled her lungs she felt him sleep. Quickly, she ransacked her
satchel and found her hearthstone.

Thunder Bluff. Blurry vision and ears ringing, Snowfeather made
her way to the flight master, brokered passage to Freewind Post
and collapsed on the beast as it took flight. The Freewind master
rolled her off the beast and tossed water on her face. "Wake up
you drunk! You nearly drove that poor Ithu into the cliff there."
she shouted as she caressed the animal.

"Apologies..." Snowfeather grunted out as she tasted blood in her
mouth. He was coming. She felt him swirling again in her mind
trying to find the door out. Snowfeather tried to drown Him out
again, this time with thoughts of better times.

Dancing with Grainger on the Maiden’s Virtue..

Licidion on his war horse the night he was free..

Maledictus in Brackenwall calling the Horde to battle..

Nights in Gallow’s End with the Grims drinking and telling
tales..

Fishing in Aszhara with the Mountain, Lily, Clys, Grainger and
Sehkar..

Fighting with Sehkar over chocolate..tickling Winslow..

Yichimet...

Snowfeather lurched and stammered to the lift, barely making it
before it sunk below. She transformed into a cheetah and ran off
as fast as she could for Dark Cloud Pinnacle. She would once
again try to find Yichimet. Baring that. .there was always the
walk off the edge.

Sitting at the funeral needle defeated in her search for the
Grimtotem, Snowfeather contemplated her next move. The blood was
running down her nose into her mouth and her ears were ringing
with a cacophony of agony that no other sound could be heard. The
water stopped Him an hour ago. The dust below would too, wouldn’t
it? Maybe if she hit hard enough he would be tossed from her mind
for good.

That guess would have to wait. He had wormed his way out. He had
bested her attempts once more and this time he was staying.
Snowfeather soon heard battle behind her and heard Lascivious
screaming her name to the sky. Soon, more Grims arrived. Daala,
Mohan the Grimtotem hunter and Thyrsta the Forsaken priestess.

"Make this look good" Snowfeather said in a guttural cough,
"Tricky tricky, pet.."

The group approached with caution and soon they assembled around
the stark white druid. The conversation was a sporting one and
seemed to work in His favor. The facade was working, the tears
seemed genuine enough... almost.

"Snowfeather, we must do the ritual. And we must do it now.
Thyrsta here will assist us. You can trust her. I do not know if
he is there or not anymore, but we cannot take that chance."
Snowfeather heard the words, but He was speaking now. Calming
them.. Reassuring them.

"I’d really you rather didn’t, Daala. I am very tired."
Snowfeather mewed.

"You poor thing, you need so much love." Daala tried to hug
Snowfeather and He nearly vomited on her with disgust. He pulled
away from her and ran towards the nearest bridge. He had enough
of this game. They would soon see He was not She and He would be
in dire straits.

She fought him. "Help me.." Snowfeather called out as she
struggled one last time to be herself, switched forms to the
cheetah and tried to run for low ground. He lashed her mind like
a whip on bare skin and struggled for control once more.

"Forgive me.." and she leapt off the edge.

Instead of peaceful tranquility on the way down, Snowfeather
heard laughter. His laughter.. And then nothing at all.

[Keeper Of Lore]

[Daala]

he night was hot and sticky and I found myself yet again in the
little bilge-hole of Ratchet. I've never been able to even guess
why old Strahad and his bretheren had chosen the city for their
tower. Nevertheless, the codger knows much. I set off for the
place in the hopes of some obscure snatch of power floating into
my possession, as it has in days long past.

I was bone-weary, though. When I arrived, my initial destination
was not Strahad, as I'd planned, but the Inn, to rent a room from
an inebriated little snot of a goblin. He was thin; I cannot
abide thin Innkeepers. From the overlook that the building stood
upon, I happened to spy two Tauren, one familar.

My steed -still need a name for him- shared in his master's
fatigue. They didn't hear those plodding hoofbeats, didn't notice
me until I spoke.

"Two villains, regarding the harbor? Ill portents for Ratchet, I
fear!"

That was when I met Yichimet. I knew of Snowfeathers
maybe-feelings, and that the gentleman had been on an extended
hiatus, so I'd intended to be on my merry way, and leave them to
their privacy. It would have it that he was even more exhausted
than I; soon, he turned in to whatever nook he was holed up in
for the night.

Snow and I spoke at great length, then. She bared her fears to
me; the first time she's truly done that, for me. I suspect, the
first time on a long time, to anybody. Her voice was tight when
she confessed that she'd rather die than keep on her path. I
swore to her that I'd fix things, without cutting her.

A Kaldorei whore made trouble for us, as we were set to depart. I
make mention of it because I exhausted my last shards, upon her.
All of the signs of the past weeks came together, that night, and
I knew that the Satyr's leg was Kari's leg. I won't go into that,
here...not yet. A half-baked idea slowly cooked in my feverish
brain, and we set off to Satyrnaar. Madame Lascivious happened
upon us. Without any explanation, she graciously added her number
to our own.

Things became...unreal, in the woods. We went east, to Azshara,
in order to farm my souls. But things were very, very strange.
Time seemed to slow, then halt, yet our voices rang as true as
ever.

Soon, we were there. And I saw him; his malevolence radiated, the
configuration was not unlike Kari. As I began to prepare the
enslavement, Snowfeather violently shoved me to the ground, and
spoke softly, menacingly, in the tongue of fiends. I defended
myself...somehow, I think she held back. Caught unaware and
unprepared, I should've been roundly slain. Lascivious held back;
I cannot blame her, she hadn't a clue what was going on. But my
heart sang at the thought that some of Snowfeather's movements
were yet her own.

When I defeated my sister, she ran off. I chose not to give
chase; the ritual had to begin. First, I wrapped the Satyr, Kari,
about my will with a magickal razor-wire. Then, I fed my
concentrated life-force into his arcane signature, focusing upon
his severed stump of a leg. I would overwhelm the connection
between body and leg; hopefully, that would weaken the influence
he had over Snowfeather.

At least, that was the theory. Now, I suspect that Kari is an
ethereal being, and that Sister is his host.

The Heart Eater defended me dutifully and zealously; my eyes
could no longer see, and all sounds were lost upon me. When Kari
regained his will, Lascivious cut him down as I collapsed into a
quivering heap, helpless as a legless dog. I recovered soon
after; we set about finding Snowfeather, finding Kari.

She awaited...no, he awaited us at a Satyr coven. The fiends did
not seem to pay him heed; he was recognized as one of their own,
despite Snowfeather's Tauren flesh. He spoke to me in demonic; I
spat upon him, and told him I wouldn't reply to such a tongue.
Soon, he began speaking to me in the language of the Sin'dorei;
another blatant insult. When I replied in the rough dialect of
Low Elvish, it seemed to grate his nerves. Well enough...

He escaped, to the Thousand Needles. For a time, I could not
sense the fiend, as I should've been able. Lascivious asked me
why she shouldn't throttle me; I pray I gave a satisfactory bunch
of answers. Soon, I could smell Sister again; through the
hearthstone I announced what had happened, with great brevity.
Some seemed perturbed, some paid it little heed. But two; Brother
Mohan and Sister Thrysta, offered their assistance. It was
gratefully accepted, though I could not wait long.

We found Snowfeather in the midst of several dead Grimtotem. She
whispered that Lascivious had killed them, and that she'd tried
to kill herself. From the onset, I suspected that the mewling,
broken creature at my feet was a ruse of Kari's, though I'd no
clue he had such subtlety. I was angry, terribly angry, at this,
but I restrained my tongue and played along.

When he refused to let me complete the ritual -purging the
spirits from the leg- I knew that this was not my friend.
Snowfeather, Kari, ran off. Somehow, he escaped.

This is far from finished; I only await his return to snap upon
the wretch.

[Keeper Of Lore]

[Thrysta]

The air was thick with sweet cloying smoke from the hanging
censers as Thrysta knelt in front of the small devotional altar
in her quarters in the Undercity. The early morning hours meant
nothing to her. It was always night here...and the night suited
her. It hid her ravaged body, cloaked her ruined face and masked
her work on behalf of The Forsaken.

Lighting a small flame in the recess of the altar, she closed her
eyes, murmuring devotions and prayers to the Dark Lady. As she
faithfully murmured the litanies of loathing for her enemies and
belief in Her True Word, her mind wandered...

Thrysta was troubled.

Her devotion as a priestess was unwavering, but on this morning
concentration was difficult. Her thoughts wandered back to the
events of the previous evening...

Thrysta had been in Tanaris among the filthy Dunemaul ogres.
Hissing catechisms of hatred and screaming devotions to Her
Cause, her shadow magics slew the stupid lumbering beasts.
Psychic screams overloaded their minds while dark devotional
spells burned their bodies. Bellowing their fear, the ogres
responded like wounded animals, frantically trying to strike the
diminutive Forsaken who was ravaging their ranks...to no avail.

As the last of the loathsome beasts crashed to the sand with a
guttural death rattle, Thrysta's hearthstone hummed to life with
sudden discourse. She caught snatches of frantic
chatter...Snowfeather missing...possible demonic influence...a
reported sighting of her in Thousand Needles...Daala beside
herself with worry...

One of her brethren was in need.

Since being inducted into The Grim, Thrysta's stance on The
Demonic had...softened. Once vehemently opposed to any aspect of
the art, she had been convinced otherwise as she had fought
alongside many of her Warlock brethren. She had witnessed them
wield their art with impressively destructive results, watching
them conduct themselves as any other devoted member of The Grim.
One had even saved her unlife in the bowels of Razorfen
Downs...and she had returned the favor.

As the wise tauren Laughingcrow had once mentioned, the demonic
arts could indeed be seen as a sharp sword...deadly in the right
hands, but dangerous to a novice. There, however, the comparison
ended, for the sword does not have an agenda of its own...and it
does not hope to subvert its wielder.

Thus, Thrysta had come to wholeheartedly embrace her Warlock
brethren while still keeping a careful eye on the minions and
magic they wielded. She would simply not tolerate any corruption
of the soul stemming from these magics. Her brethren wielded
their weapons against the enemies of The Dark Lady and The Grim.
Thrysta would make sure those weapons never turn against their
wielders. She vowed to guard the souls of her brethren...as a
priestess, she could abide no other thought.

Responding to the call for aid from Daala, Thrysta made haste for
Thousand Needles...if there was corruption of the soul within
Snowfeather, Thrysta vowed she would purge it. The brave Tauren
druid deserved no less...the priesthood of The Grim would not
fail her.

Upon arrival at Freewind Post, Thrysta had met up with the
warlock Daala as well as Mohan the hunter, a solemn Tauren she
had not met before. Completing the ad-hoc rescue party was
Lascivious, the enigmatic Forsaken warrior.

Concern emanated from Daala...and something else, as well.
Thrysta quietly murmured a devotion to the Dark Lady and glanced
at Lascivious. Her aura was...unsettling...and infectious.
Lascivious emanated waves of murderous lust, deviancy, hate and
tragedy. Thrysta had internally recoiled, throwing up mental
shields while silently reciting fervent litanies. Even for one
who killed joyously in the name of The Dark Lady, who spread Her
Word with the blood of the Alliance, the intensity and debauchery
emanating from Lascivious was almost too much to block
out…almost.

As a group, they had ridden for the Grimtotem burial ground high
atop Darkcloud Pinnacle. Daala had mentioned Snowfeather’s last
faint transmission…she had said she was “…among the dead”. They
had made haste and there they found Snowfeather, sitting idly at
the edge of the sharp precipice.

Daala had asked for Thrysta, Mohan and Lascivious to stay back so
she could commune with her trusted friend in private. Thrysta had
complied…taking up a defensive position near the bridge that led
to the pinnacle, watching the backs of the group.

Even from across the pinnacle, Thrysta could feel the
malevolence…the anger…the hatred…all battling with something
more…pure. Whatever Daala was speaking with across the way, it
was not simply a tauren. It was all Thrysta could do to just hold
her position, rather than stride across the pinnacle, screaming
prayers of faithful slaying in order to strike the corrupted
being down. She could feel the demonic influence in Snowfeather,
a cloying, wretched film on her soul…but this was Daala’s friend,
at least in form, and Thrysta felt she should give her the
courtesy of this conversation before taking any action.

Thrysta held firm, fervently muttering devotions and prayers to
her Dark Lady…and then Daala called for her. She had strode over
to the warlock and possessed druid, eager to help Daala purge the
taint that she could feel radiating in the air around her. The
demonic influence in the female tauren was strong…pervasive...it
pounded on Thrysta’s psyche like a hammer.

Suddenly, Snowfeather was moving…backing away from Daala’s calm
offerings of assistance…and with a growling utterance of demonic
filth, she burst into the form of a large cat, streaking away
towards the bridge.

Howling litanies of purging and culling, Thrysta had taken off in
pursuit of the demonic druid with Lascivious, Mohan and Daala…but
Snowfeather’s crafts in speed in stealth were too much, and she
soon outpaced her pursuers.

Hissing with frustration, Daala had called a halt to the pursuit.
Thrysta had grudgingly complied, murmuring prayers to guard her
own soul against the demonic filth she could still almost taste
in the air.

The group had gone their own ways then, with a vow to continue
the search for the possessed druid once they received any word of
her whereabouts.

Thrysta had spent a sleepless night pacing her quarters, working
on her tailoring, reading,…anything to keep her mind off the
taint she could still vividly recall. Finally, it had been time
for her morning devotion.

She rose from her knees, giving thanks to her Dark Lady for the
gift of purity in undeath. But now, it was time to go forth into
battle once again.

The soul of one of her brethren was at stake.

[Keeper Of Lore]

[Chilalli]

Lying crushed at the bottom of the hill, any passerby would have
assumed the dead cat to be a crag stalker caught unawares and
continued on. Though the beast appeared dead, there was still a
battle being fought inside the yellow and black spotted carcass.

Snowfeather had done it once before - left her body at the bottom
of Freewind Post and searched for Yichimet. She was trying
desperately again to struggle free from His grasp. He held on to
her like a lover holding his dead dying mate, refusing to let go.
Somehow, she gathered the last bit of her inner strength and
seeped out of the dead cat’s nostrils free.

As the gray mists surrounded her, she looked down at her broken
form with anger. Inside that damaged beast dwelled a monster of
unspeakable hate and power. It was her hope that he would decay
like her body and be cast out across the tiny grains of red sand
covering Thousand Needles. Nothing more than a bad memory.

Free again and seeing the truth of the world as a spirit,
Snowfeather traveled the long walk to Thunder Bluff. To see the
capitol of her people one last time was her goal and nothing
more. After, she would simply cease to be, and that brought her a
finality of acceptance of all that had gone wrong in her short
life. Things that should have been but never were.. Things that
happened that should never have..none of that mattered now.

Elder Rise was her last stop. As she entered the tent, Turak
Runetotem turned his gaze directly on her. Snowfeather approached
him and he lowered his head and slowly closed his eyes.

Whispering to thin air, he spoke like a father to a daughter,
"Little One, do you not know the power you hold? Have you
forgotten what you are? You are Runetotem. You are shape-changer.
You are Tauren. Dendrite. Go there. Do no falter or question now.
You are in no shape for indignance."

With that, Turak Runetotem tossed his giant, strong head back and
began to draw in breath. As he did, Snowfeather felt herself
being drawn in to his being.

Just the sound of a slow beating heart was all Snowfeather heard
and nothing more.

The druid left the tent and stood on the edge of the precipice.
"Winds carry you home, Little One." He exhaled deeply into the
north winds and Snowfeather’s spirit was among it, floating like
a cloud. She was carried on the winds of the gray mist all the
way to Moonglade and left swirling just outside the balcony of
Dendrite Starblaze’s home.

The elven druid watched the swirling winds, waved a hand and
stood as a statue as the winds subsided and Snowfeather coalesced
back into her sprit form. She walked slowly up the steps and as
she approached the deck, he turned to her and gave a sarcastic,
denegrating smile.

"Why am I not surprised, Cow? We had you marked from the start of
your pitiful training. What was it? Ah yes.. Paper Tauren?"
Dendrite coyly laughed at her with one hand on his hip. "Seems it
is true after all. Once a weakling ... always a weakling. What is
the matter, Mangy? Satyr got your tongue?"

Snowfeather was not able to respond, though her mind was racing
with insults, threats and bitterness.

"Yes, yes.. I heard you the first time. You hate me. Want me
dead. Have since the day we met, is that not so? Now look at you.
You are in no condition to idly threaten me, ghost." Dendrite’s
words seethed with venom she had heard since the first day they
met. He turned his back to her and cast his gaze once again
across the glade.

Slowly, with a hint of repulsion, Dendrite spoke again,
"Runetotem has asked me to help you.. Prolong your pitiful
existence here, Snowfeather. You have a choice. Listen now and
choose wise. You are only being offered this as a courtesy of the
Cenarion Circle, do not think you are special. There comes a time
when the Circle must appease our ‘pact’ with the tauren, and
consider this our offering."

The elf spun around and cast his gaze through Snowfeather’s
spirit. "Choose. Life with the form at the bottom of that needle
or new life, new leg, new hope. Pick one."

[Keeper Of Lore]

The smell of Mulgore is one of a kind. Any tauren, be they
Grimtotem, Runetotem, Skychaser, Stonehoof or Ragetotem, all know
the smell as welcome as a mother’s embrace. She could hear a well
churning and an old woman humming softly.

She looked down at her hands. They were her hands. Her clothing,
fresh and clean, fit tightly across her body. Her fur white as
snow. She lifted her kilt and was shocked. Both legs were pure
white all the way down to her black hooves.

"Earthmother... it is done." She cried out.

"Ah.. There you are, Wanderspirit. So good to see you again."
Greatmother Hawkwind spoke softly to her. "The same, but not. Do
not suffer that old shell, young one. Some things should be left
to time, and your old body is one of them. Now go.. Speak to my
son. We have much work for you here again." The old woman wagged
a finger and gave a wink to the young druid.

Snowfeather started up the hill towards the small village when
she was overcome with sadness.

"I just have to know..."

______________

It was a perilous run, but she saw her broken body near the lift.
She sat down next to it and stared intently...looking for any
sign of Him.

"Hello.." came a weak voice.

It was Daala. She sat down next to the young druid.

"I’m happy now, Daala. I was that.. Don’t I look small?"
Wanderspirit said sadly.

"I need you to trust me, Snowfeather. I worked some old debts and
got my hands on a sapta.. Like the one that Bull’s father gave
us. I have a plan. You can get your old body back, but it won’t
be easy." Daala’s words had a hint of hope to them, but it was
obvious she was carrying a lot of guilt with every word.

"I.. Like this new body, Daala. I’m free again. Only to ease your
mind, though, I will drink. What do I have to lose anyway? It’s
not like I’m afraid to die again!" Wanderspirit laughed and gave
Daala a sly little wink.

"You will travel with me.. In my mind Snowfeather. Like Kari did
to you. We will work this out together." Daala spoke
reassuringly.

"I’ll remind you now, Daala. I know what you are like... please
remember I am pure.. A virgin. I would like to return that way
when this is finished." Wanderspirit spoke directly.

"I have already considered that.." the Forsaken warlock answered.

The mixture was handed out and both women drank.

It was not long before both were sleeping.

The world started to spin around them and all things changed...

"It is done. Let us be off." Daala spoke, but her words were
flowing out backwards in Snowfeather’s mind.

Being in the mind of a Forsaken warlock with a penchant for
depravity was a step Snowfeather never thought she would take..
But worse things had happened...

[Daala]

Daala mulled things over from her perch in the courtyard. Things
were going well. Sister had been sleeping, most of the
time...nothing unexpected, in that. So long, have the nightmares
held her in their redoubtable vice. Now that she has found
sanctuary, it must be a relief to catch up on some peaceful
shut-eye.

For some time, the slender slip of a diabolist had been keen to
get a look at the demon-blooded Paladin, Lovely. When the mess
with Kari began, her gateway to an inspection summarily shut in
her face, for fear of a leak. That greatly vexed Daala, but it
got her thinking.

Kari seemed to have evolved into a more fel form. Or, it might be
possible that he wasn't originally an elf. In either case, though
Daala held extenstive expertise in binding and manipulating
fiends, the only set of individuals well-versed in their
slaughter and exorcism are the Paladins.

Perhaps Lovely has more to offer, than raw data. Perhaps their
relationship might prove mutually beneficial, in the long run.

With luck, Yichimet would arrive soon. The poor chap had seemed
greatly antagonized, when he learned that Sister was sharing
Daala's body. As long as he doesn't behave rashly. That would
muck things up terribly...

[Chilalli]

Waking up in the mind of Daala was something that Snowfeather was
not very comfortable with.

She had heard of her exploits in love.. lust.. whatever it was
she reveled in, and Snowfeather did not want to see, hear, feel,
smell.. experience any of it.

When she did finally open her eyes to see through Daala's they
were filled with the vision of Yichimet.

She stared at him for a long time before speaking. Here, she did
not have to do anything. Act like a proper girl. Worry about her
mane.

She had much to say, but did not want to share such intimate
things through the mouth of a short Forsaken woman.

Daala offered several times to release control so Snowfeather
could speak to Yichimet privately, but there was always the
chance of something going wrong. Snowfeather did not want to take
any more chances for a while. It was safe in Daala's head for
now, and that was fine with her.

"He looks amazing doesn't he?" Snowfeather's words whispered in
Daala's head.

"She says you look well..." the warlock giggled.

"Daala! Shh!" the whispered cracked.

The Forsaken started to laugh in thin air. Yichimet was visibly
bothered by her actions.

"Tell him I am fine. Tell him we will work this out. Just check
on my broken bits every now and then.." Snowfeather whispered.

Yichimet promised he would.

"I am tired Daala, I want to sleep now." the voice was quiet.

"I understand, Sister. Sleep." Daala told the druid.

Quietly, through Daala's eyes, she watched Yichimet a little
longer and thought about what should have been -revealing those
thoughts to no one.

[Keeper Of Lore]

Wanderspirit's vision quest:

I have been sleeping like a baby in her mother's arms the past
two days. No nightmares. No dreams. Just .. black. The voice is
gone. That demon must still be inside my broken bits in Thousand
Needles.. I hope that is the case.

I sent him a letter yesterday through Daala's hands. She promised
not to look, but I don't care if she did at this point.

We had a good talk last night, girl to girl. I told her I do not
like the way her nose works. The way her tongue tastes. The way
she breathes once an hour ..if. How her legs bend in all the
wrong places. How strange it is to feel and see bald, cold flesh
through my eyes.

She told me more of her .. life. I think for the first time, I
have finally met someone who was more injured than I could have
ever been that day in Mulgore when I lost my hoof.

I watched him again last night on the main rise - almost like a
game .. .. ..

I hope I can convince Daala to stalk again this night...

[Licidion]

t was dark in Thousand Needles near the Freewind post. So dark,
in fact, the guards could not see very far, even with their
lighted laterns. It was almost like a cloud of pitch filled the
entire area, giving it an eerie shadow which no light could cut
through. The guards were alert during this time, however, they
could not predict what came their way.

A hand reached from behind a guard, dagger like fingers plunging
into the side of his neck, as the tauren's vocal cords were
skewerd like a gnome on a bar-b-que. His throat collapsed, and
his breathing became ragged and bloodied as he fell to his knees,
writhing in pain, unable to scream out. Soon enough, he was dead,
the latern rolling along the ground, until it was stopped by
something - the flesh-voided tips of Licidion's Toes.

Stepping over the dead Tauren, he knelt down by the form of
Snowfeather, Crumpled and twisted from her previous fall. He
knelt down by her side, as he studied her form. He seemed
unemotional at the sight, until those empty sockets viewed
something crushed in her hand. Reaching down, he lifted it from
her tight grip, a pile of wildflowers he had sent her in the name
of Salty during the Feast of Winter's Viel.

Those eyes that lighted up seeing the flowers still in her
possession slowly died. With almost child-like care, his arms
scooped under her lifeless body, and he began to walk with her
through the Thousand Needles.

He walked. Continually, through the Pitch black that only one
with his eyesight could see through. The moon rose and began to
fall as he found himself at the entrance to the Furblog Hold.
They were none too happy seeing him there, but refrained from
attacking, and let him pass, seeing the lifeless corpse of
Snowfeather in his grasp. They all stood to the side, and lowered
their heads, as they witnessed their transition into Moonglade.
Even savages knew when to honor the dead.

Entering the place of the Druids, he brought her to a small hill
along the main road toward Nighthaven. Kneeling down, he
delicately placed her to the side, before his dagger-like digits
plunged into the half-frozen winter earth. He dug with his bare
hands, much like a dog. He dug down four feet before stopping, a
huge pile of dirt to his side, his own clothes and bones soiled
horribly. Before picking Snowfeather up once more, he wiped his
hands, as to not soil her any more then he needed to.

Lifting her into his arms once more, he placed her into her
shallow grave. He crossed her arms up to her chest, and in her
hands, he placed the crushed wildflowers. His eyes watched her
silently, though if he had tear ducts, water may have gushed from
them then.

His voice, quiet and abstained, he whispered to her down in her
hole.

"May you find peace...and if you do not....may you find your way
back to me."

Leaning down into the grave, he moved to kiss her on her slightly
bloodied lips. However, he in his madness had ripped his own lips
from his face, thus only able to press his rotting teeth against
her soft flesh.

Anger welled up into him, as his eyes glew asunder. With haste,
he shoveled the dirt onto her corpse, covering her, and smoothing
out her grave. After he was done, he heaved heavily, before
letting out a scream which could shatter eardrums.

Calming, he looked down to the burial site, whispering lightly as
his fingertips traced a small stick figure, holding a dagger
pointing to a heart he held in his other hand over his head.

"I swear to you, Snowfeather....I will kill them all."

With that, he stood and turned, making his way back to the rest
of the uncaring, cold society he lived amongst. Just as he did,
the first rays of light of the new day cracked over the
mountainous terrain that surrounded Moonglade, falling directly
onto his back, and soon, Snowfeather's final resting place.