Mortica
07-30-2007, 05:58 PM
Yichimet's wolf-eyes saw more than his Shu'Halo eyes could lately. Forinstance, Snowfeather's hoof was radiating powerfully amidst the hugegathering of Grim in Brill.
He nuzzled her with his snout, but was afraid to give himself back overto his physical body. In that form, his mind, like his eyes, grewclouded. It also helped him avoid the pulling feeling coming from thecorner of Kalimdor. Somehow, being a wolf lessened the urge to sprintfor the dense trees of Ashenvale and beyond.
When the giant mass of Horde warriors strode off for the Plaguelands,Yichimet whimpered briefly and pawed after them. Dirt and rocks stuckin his pads. The land around was dead. That should mean something tohim: dead land, a broken heart, Earthmother's hands shaking. He shookhis head quickly to clear it.
A celebration. Yes, a celebration: friends given responsibilities.Fireworks and icestorms and explosions. And none of it even half whathe had seen: the raining hellfire like leaves from the branches, demonssprouting like fruit and dropping to the ground, torturing elven bodiesfirst, then claiming the rest of the world:
Purple legs, golden heart. Ivory carving of the moon becomes themoon. Under the common light. Break, broken stag, open, opened rib,blood to smear your face. Eyes have no meaning.
When he woke from the Vision, the black field clearing from hiseyes, Yichimet was alone in the dead land. He sniffed the air,whimpering again, and bolted after his brothers and sisters. Somethingtugged at him from the ground. He felt its pull, imaging a roiling massof fire and malice bubbling under the crust of the earth, and he ranharder, hardly skimming the ground with his paws.
And ran into a long-ear.
Yichimet called to his friends with his spirit in what sounded to himlike a sane message, but that meant nothing lately. The eyes of theKaldorei burnt, consuming fire with fire. Its teeth grew and shrank,grew and shrank, into picks and fangs and daggers. First its legs wereeight, then twelve, then two again. The Frostsaber under its groin grewwings, shed its skin, snarled with a gaping void of a mouth. Laughing,the once-Kaldorei pointed.
And when Yichimet found his friends, it turned and ran, once again a blur of purple skin and white fur.
He was confused and lost among so many people. He trembled on touchingthe dry, dead road. More explosions of magical power, steel crunchingbone and withered flesh. For mere seconds in the next hour and a half,Yichimet came into his mind and knew the people around him: the Butlercalling for caution, for a re-group; Yichimet in his own body again,watching Maledictus' perfect speech and rage; a gnome breaking in twofrom the swing of so many of his comrades' weapons.
The roiling feeling under the ground became too much at last.Yichimet's spirit cowered with his body. The pull was too much. Hisclouded eyes turned to the Tree, to Teldrassil. Words left his mouth.They may have been words of farewell. He looked at Snowfeather withtenderness, and then pushed his spirit and body through the astralchannels towards the Calling of his Vision.
* * *
The trees grew thicker and thicker the deeper Yichimet went into thewoods. His ghost paws padded silently on the layer of pine needles anddust covering the ground. He sprinted across clearings and hid forminutes, shivering and whimpering, under the cover of trees. Still hewas pulled in a direction he ought to recognize but could not.
Even his wolf-eyes had clouded over. From the ground, flaming tuskssprouted and bled blue ichor. Curling tendrils reached up from thetainted mud. Voices whispered, distanceless, piercing his eardrum withtheir thundering quiet:
Krast torin sto torin. Taegoson brom dor draek gi toro.
Another:
Grima gar-modi ghael-baros.
More and more voices in crashing waves of soundless sound pouredthrough the woods, then were gone. He howled at the moon and growled,first at nothing, then at the tree in front of him. Slowly it becamesomething else: a face he recognized. A broken horn, a near-toothlessgrin. Just as suddenly it was gone.
The dense green trees slowly thinned out to a forest less lively andmuch darker. Had he been himself, Yichimet would have delighted at thegame running through the forest. He was thirsty, and found a sizablecreek to drink from, then rested on a mound for a moment, shiveringagainst the chill air. He found that he was hungry too, and againsprinting and hiding in the trees he made his way to the waves thatcrashed in the distance. After catching a fish, he settled down with itbetween his paws and ripped into it, growling.
Later, while naping near the carcass, a flutter of noise rose in thetree above him and he looked up. An owl sat in a branch with somethingtied to its leg. Somewhere in his mind Yichimet knew that he shouldknow what this meant, but he could not call it up. Instead, he barkedand scrabbled at the tree, scaring the owl away. It called from adistance, a low and sad sound. He settled again, circling in the grass,and napped for some more time.
* * *
He awoke to a nightmare. The sound of a bow being drawn tight and awhispered command snapped him awake, but when he saw what he faced hecowered. It could have been nothing but a demon. Its purple skin grewsnakes from its scalp. Its limbs were elongated past the point wherethey drug on the ground. It had no eyes, only gaping holes of light.
An arrow suddenly pierced his leg, and instincively, Yichimet let go ofhis spirit form and called a frostshock at the thing. Its companion wasa jumble of wings and light, but he ignored its screeching swoops andswung his hammer, connecting with the creatures head. The thingcollapsed to the needle canvas and the screeching demon flew off.Yichimet, terrified, wasted no time and called his spirit form backinto being, fleeing as quickly as possible. He ran away from thepulling, as much as it hurt him, and soon was lost in the woods. Ahead,through the trees, he could see a strange, shining structure and couldhear mutterings in languages he should understand.
He curled up next to a tree and buried his snout in his paws, whimpering and shivering.
He nuzzled her with his snout, but was afraid to give himself back overto his physical body. In that form, his mind, like his eyes, grewclouded. It also helped him avoid the pulling feeling coming from thecorner of Kalimdor. Somehow, being a wolf lessened the urge to sprintfor the dense trees of Ashenvale and beyond.
When the giant mass of Horde warriors strode off for the Plaguelands,Yichimet whimpered briefly and pawed after them. Dirt and rocks stuckin his pads. The land around was dead. That should mean something tohim: dead land, a broken heart, Earthmother's hands shaking. He shookhis head quickly to clear it.
A celebration. Yes, a celebration: friends given responsibilities.Fireworks and icestorms and explosions. And none of it even half whathe had seen: the raining hellfire like leaves from the branches, demonssprouting like fruit and dropping to the ground, torturing elven bodiesfirst, then claiming the rest of the world:
Purple legs, golden heart. Ivory carving of the moon becomes themoon. Under the common light. Break, broken stag, open, opened rib,blood to smear your face. Eyes have no meaning.
When he woke from the Vision, the black field clearing from hiseyes, Yichimet was alone in the dead land. He sniffed the air,whimpering again, and bolted after his brothers and sisters. Somethingtugged at him from the ground. He felt its pull, imaging a roiling massof fire and malice bubbling under the crust of the earth, and he ranharder, hardly skimming the ground with his paws.
And ran into a long-ear.
Yichimet called to his friends with his spirit in what sounded to himlike a sane message, but that meant nothing lately. The eyes of theKaldorei burnt, consuming fire with fire. Its teeth grew and shrank,grew and shrank, into picks and fangs and daggers. First its legs wereeight, then twelve, then two again. The Frostsaber under its groin grewwings, shed its skin, snarled with a gaping void of a mouth. Laughing,the once-Kaldorei pointed.
And when Yichimet found his friends, it turned and ran, once again a blur of purple skin and white fur.
He was confused and lost among so many people. He trembled on touchingthe dry, dead road. More explosions of magical power, steel crunchingbone and withered flesh. For mere seconds in the next hour and a half,Yichimet came into his mind and knew the people around him: the Butlercalling for caution, for a re-group; Yichimet in his own body again,watching Maledictus' perfect speech and rage; a gnome breaking in twofrom the swing of so many of his comrades' weapons.
The roiling feeling under the ground became too much at last.Yichimet's spirit cowered with his body. The pull was too much. Hisclouded eyes turned to the Tree, to Teldrassil. Words left his mouth.They may have been words of farewell. He looked at Snowfeather withtenderness, and then pushed his spirit and body through the astralchannels towards the Calling of his Vision.
* * *
The trees grew thicker and thicker the deeper Yichimet went into thewoods. His ghost paws padded silently on the layer of pine needles anddust covering the ground. He sprinted across clearings and hid forminutes, shivering and whimpering, under the cover of trees. Still hewas pulled in a direction he ought to recognize but could not.
Even his wolf-eyes had clouded over. From the ground, flaming tuskssprouted and bled blue ichor. Curling tendrils reached up from thetainted mud. Voices whispered, distanceless, piercing his eardrum withtheir thundering quiet:
Krast torin sto torin. Taegoson brom dor draek gi toro.
Another:
Grima gar-modi ghael-baros.
More and more voices in crashing waves of soundless sound pouredthrough the woods, then were gone. He howled at the moon and growled,first at nothing, then at the tree in front of him. Slowly it becamesomething else: a face he recognized. A broken horn, a near-toothlessgrin. Just as suddenly it was gone.
The dense green trees slowly thinned out to a forest less lively andmuch darker. Had he been himself, Yichimet would have delighted at thegame running through the forest. He was thirsty, and found a sizablecreek to drink from, then rested on a mound for a moment, shiveringagainst the chill air. He found that he was hungry too, and againsprinting and hiding in the trees he made his way to the waves thatcrashed in the distance. After catching a fish, he settled down with itbetween his paws and ripped into it, growling.
Later, while naping near the carcass, a flutter of noise rose in thetree above him and he looked up. An owl sat in a branch with somethingtied to its leg. Somewhere in his mind Yichimet knew that he shouldknow what this meant, but he could not call it up. Instead, he barkedand scrabbled at the tree, scaring the owl away. It called from adistance, a low and sad sound. He settled again, circling in the grass,and napped for some more time.
* * *
He awoke to a nightmare. The sound of a bow being drawn tight and awhispered command snapped him awake, but when he saw what he faced hecowered. It could have been nothing but a demon. Its purple skin grewsnakes from its scalp. Its limbs were elongated past the point wherethey drug on the ground. It had no eyes, only gaping holes of light.
An arrow suddenly pierced his leg, and instincively, Yichimet let go ofhis spirit form and called a frostshock at the thing. Its companion wasa jumble of wings and light, but he ignored its screeching swoops andswung his hammer, connecting with the creatures head. The thingcollapsed to the needle canvas and the screeching demon flew off.Yichimet, terrified, wasted no time and called his spirit form backinto being, fleeing as quickly as possible. He ran away from thepulling, as much as it hurt him, and soon was lost in the woods. Ahead,through the trees, he could see a strange, shining structure and couldhear mutterings in languages he should understand.
He curled up next to a tree and buried his snout in his paws, whimpering and shivering.