The Plea..

[Lupa]

The firelight cast dancing shadows along the walls of the tiny Revantusk Village hut that belonged to Yayo'Jin, troll Mystic. Every now and then the shadows would intensify as the green haired troll woman seated down in front of the fire cast more herbs into the flames. The purplish smoke curled up and around the woman, engulfing her and forming a sort of halo around her braided head.

Many nights now she had been sitting there, performing this ritual. This last communion. She had made the initial contact some weeks ago, shortly after word of the death of her daughter Lupa had reached Yayo's ears. She was not surprised. Indeed she had forseen this outcome, almost willed it to happen. It was the only way...

Death, the Mystic understood, was more than most realized. A transition, but with many possibilities and not always as permanent or final as the simple folk thought. Shaman knew this mystery, as did the priests. Lupa's death however posed some unique challenges. The Serpents were a part of her because she carried the blood of her father, Zalazane, in her veins. A simple resurrection of her daughter would solve nothing. Neither would an exorcism or de-hexxing. That would not draw the serpents’ influence away. It was a matter of heritage.

No, another more ambitious and unexpected path would have to be explored. One that would possibly take her daughter away from her forever, but would also throw off the yoke of Ula-Tek, and the whispered influence of Dambala. As Yayo pondered the dilemna over the days following Lupa's death, the beginnings of a plan came to her. It would work she was certain. But she could not do this alone. No troll mystic could. She would need to prevail upon her guiding Loa to intervene and solicit the help she needed. Bethekk, the Panther was wise and cunning in the mystical ways. She also understood the ways of nature, and as such could commune with the beasts of the world.

In that she was not alone.. and there lay the key to Yayo's plan..

With one last puff of smoke the ritual was complete, the message passed to the "Beyond". Yayo had felt the presence of Bethekk for the last few days, and it had been overwhelming. But she persevered for 3 days, stopping only to quench her thirst occasionally, until she was certain the plea was received. Received, pondered and accepted.

Putting out the ritual fire, Yayo’Jin left her little hut to go in search of some sustenance. It was dark and the moons were out. Yayo’Jin cast her gaze upwards towards the larger of the two moons, The ‘White Lady’. It was out of Yayo’s hands now, and with those who dwelt above and beyond the confines of this plane. Whether it would be a day, fortnight, year Yayo could not say. The gods lived with time in a different way than the mortal realms. Indeed it might already be done.

There would be a price, she knew, but it was one Yayo'Jin was willing to pay. What else could a mother do?

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The tiger watched the white wolf from a distance. She was magnificent in the hunt. Cunning and swift. The tiger, Shirvallah, felt a wellspring of pride. This was one of his children. But if the messenger was successful, that would change. Forever..

The tiger knew the serpents also watched. Watched and waited for any sign their ‘adopted’ child would be resurrected. The serpents wanted their prize. Well, if the plea delivered by the wolf’s mother was successful, they would be denied.

Shirvallah sensed his sister’s approach before she actually arrived. He also sensed she had news. Bethekk had sent the Raven, just as was done of old by the “Shining Lady” , as a messenger between the Eternals. That Raven of old became the demi-goddes, Aviana, who died during the War of the Ancients. Bethekk, in her eternal wisdom, knew that a raven messenger would be more accepting to the “Shining Lady” than any other.

Of course Bethekk had guessed correctly. Shirvallah knew the answer even before Bethekk spoke to his mind. The proposal was heard by the “Shining Lady”. Heard, and accepted.

“She has agreed.” Bethekk told Shirvallah. “The raven has delivered the message, and has returned with the answer. The wolf will be renewed and returned, but in the fashion agreed upon. I will descend and oversee this personally. The "Shining Lady's" Grandson will meet me there to help with the necessary preparations. All will be as was asked of us.”

Shirvallah was pleased. The Serpents would be thwarted. A worthy hunter would be lost, but a life would be renewed. It was a noble ending, and Shirvallah enjoyed anything noble.

[Kurohane]

Kurohane moved by route through the shadows and webs of Duskwood. Her mount new the path so well now that she hardly had to pay any mind to the reigns, her gaze moving across the dank woods, eyes seeking any members of the Horde that so often came to prey upon the weaker Alliance in the area. Her bow was ready in her free hand, her quiver bursting with arrows on her back, and her hunting spear proped in the stirup to lean back across her shoulder in easy reach.

It was quite that night. No reports had sounded but sometimes people were foolish enough not to bother reporting attacks. She woudl ensure the saftey of the area before returning to Stormwind to share a few drinks with her fri--

She pulled her mount up short, frowning down at the large mound of upturned soil. The grass that had just barely started taking root lay amoungst the clumps of strewn dirt... This was where Lupa had been buried. Frowning deeper, she dismounted and slid her polearm into the holster on her back before kneeling down beside the upturned grave. No reminents of the troll... And it was odd, the way the ground was shaped. As if something had exploded out from inside the grave, rather than being dug up.

Confusion mingled with the frown as her gaze moved towards the edges of the gaping hole. No humanoid prints... But there. A panther's print, clear as it could be. A hunter, perhaps, then..? But how? She allowed her gaze to leave the print, following it's scrapings through the soft dirt, until... A deer's hoof-print, embedded far deeper in the ground than anything in the area could have done and far larger than she had seen even in Ashenvale. She allowed her fingers to trace each print, embedding them in her memory before leaping back onto her mount and driving her nightsaber towards town, and the gryphons. Barke should know of this.

[Lupa]

Antonio Perelli quaffed down his ale and ordered another. The inn was fairly busy, but Antonio scarce paid any attention to the other patrons. He was fully lost in his memories of last night, such as they were. Much of it was a blur, almost as if in a dream slowly faded by the coming of the morning.

He had been making his normal trade route from the border of Westfall eastwards along the main Duskwood road. The night was unusually dark, even for Duskwood. The moons were obscured by heavy cloud cover and the underbrush was full of dark shadows. None of that really bothered Antonio. He had walked these woods for a long time now; he knew the safe paths and how to avoid the dangers.

He had just arrived at crossroads where the road south to Stranglethorn Vale branched off the Duskwood path. In recent weeks a new landmark had been created just to the north of the path at this junction. A plain dirt grave with a simple marker. Antonio had heard stories of some troll huntress who had met her end a while back at this very spot. Some said the grave was hers. Antonio wasn’t certain, but he always picked up his pace slightly when passing that site.

He was just about to pass the grave when a rustling in the underbrush caught his attention. Antonio knew it was never a good idea to investigate nighttime noises in Duskwood, but something about the noise captured his attention. It sounded almost like.. rumbling?
“Now, what would making a noise like that in Duskwood?” Antonio thought to himself. Gingerly he crept off the road towards the gravesite. It was at this point Antonio’s memory became unreliable. It just made no sense. Indeed, Antonio preferred it that way.

He had made barely 3 paces towards the dirt grave when a large, black shape separated from the darkness of the underbrush. It moved with an almost liquid motion across the damp ground, making scarce a whisper of sound in the twiggy soil. Suddenly twin beacons of yellow eyes shone straight towards him. Antonio was frozen in spot. It was not simply fear, he felt his limbs grow cold in an unnatural fashion. Slowly the shape coalesced into the figure of a large black panther. Larger than any Antonio Perelli had ever heard of!

The panther did nothing but stare at Antonio, holding his attention and rooting him in place. Antonio was terrified! He was just about to soil himself when the next strange thing happened. There, emerging from the woods behind the panther from the direction of the grave was what looked like a gigantic stag. Only as it drew nearer Antonio saw that only the bottom half was that of a stag, the top half being that of a large, muscular bearded man of vaguely elvish appearance.

The figure came to a stop just behind the panther, who still held Antonio frozen with its gaze. It was then that the stag-man spoke. Well, Antonio heard it, just a single spoken word, but he could not recall if it was spoken aloud or to his mind. Perhaps both..

Sleep.....


Slowly Antonio returned to wakefulness. It was still dark, and he arose with a start. A quick glance around told him he was alone, and still in the thickets just off the Duskwood road. In a few moments more he realized he was about a mile further down the road than he had remembered. Indeed he was almost at the outskirts of Darkshire.

A few moments later he heard the approach of the patrols.. There a mounted night elf huntress passed him without a glance in his direction. Off she went westwards, towards the crossroads, and the grave site. At that thought Antonio went cold, and he ran the rest of the way towards Darkshire..