Chavie and the Children: Awakenings

[Chavie]

((OOC Backstory: This was posted in The Grim forums 04/23/06 (http://www.guildportal.com/Guild.aspx?GuildID=30729&ForumID=141891&TabID=275257&TopicID=2423895), except for the final entry which was posted 4/24/06. This arc was written on paper while my laptop was dead and takes pleace in early April when said laptop died, concluding in late April when a friend gave me his old computer to use. The computer was old and couldn't handle a lot of aspects of WoW, and I roleplayed this as Chavie being "di zi" from trying to figure out and execute a spell that was beyond her comprehension. Ding! (http://tn.yzeens.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=1391)was written to commemorate my laptop's repair, and the end of Chavie's dizziness.

There are prequels to this. I'm not posting it all because this is really the only arc that needs to be read to understand Chavie and what's going on at Caer Darrow; everything else is just leading up to this.

Chavie and Marson: Bu Bat (http://www.guildportal.com/Guild.aspx?GuildID=30729&ForumID=141891&TabID=275257&TopicID=2063248)
Chavie and Bu Bat: Caer Darrow (http://www.guildportal.com/Guild.aspx?GuildID=30729&ForumID=141891&TabID=275257&TopicID=2063248)
Chavie and Caer Darrow: The Children (http://www.guildportal.com/Guild.aspx?GuildID=30729&ForumID=141891&TabID=275257&TopicID=2063248)))
______________________________________


The corpses of children sat in a circle, illuminated by the flickering green light of an enchanted fire. In that tiny cellar, beneath one of the abandoned structures of Caer Darrow, the air crackled and pulsed with a dark magic. Lying sprawled by the fire, in the middle of the circle, a dishevelled Chavie slept fitfully, gnawing on her knuckles.

She dreamed.

Under a full moon, the sands of Tanaris looked like snow. Chavie stood and looked at the dunes with a smile. She loved this beautiful desert, full of so many memories...

A part of Chavie knew this was a dream. She accepted--without revulsion or alarm--her peachy, unrotted skin, her lank and uncombed brown hair, her awkward teenage humanness. She touched her face; her mouth wasn't slit, and she had no makeup. Her lungs drew air in and pushed it out at a steady pace. Her heart was beating, thrum thrum thrum.

Chavie crouched in the swirling sand and ran her hands through it. She pulled up handfuls, and watched them seep away through her fingers and be blown off by the wind.

When she looked up, she saw someone standing before her, maybe seven or eight yards away. A female figure, wearing all black, with a long lacy veil. At first Chavie thought it was a mourning outfit, but when she squinted at it more closely, she realized it was the outfit of a high priestess. Chavie shuddered and took a step back. It was watching her. A dead boy lay in the sand between them, his throat slit.

"H-hey!" Chavie shouted, trying to look unconcerned and annoyed. "Go away." She swallowed. "I'm playing here."

The veiled lady didn't respond and the wind whipped her veil and skirts around; they made a flapping sound like wings.

I'm speaking Common, the sleepy, observer part of Chavie noted.

Chavie's heart was beating quickly; the rush of blood in her ears was unexpectedly loud.

"Come on," scowled Chavie, resting her shaking hands on her hips. "I've got things to do. I'm raising my army. Say something, or go away. You... you're wasting my time!"

Sand swirled against black lace like stars in battle and the lady jut watched and watched. Chavie couldn't see her face, but there was a feeling of familiarity... She felt a horrible sense of regret as if she'd lost something. That part of Chavie's mind that knew it was a dream was just puzzled.

Then the lady in black turned, oh so slowly, and began to walk away.

And for some reason, Chavie cried out silently, not wanting this familiar unkown intruder in her dreams to leave. Her eyes darted around, scanning the sand, trying to think of something to make the veled dark priestess stay. She saw the dead boy, half buried in the shifting sands; his throat was a big red toothless grin... But that was all wrong, it wasn't his throat was cut, it was something else that killed him--

(Who's Jack?)

Then she realized--she had something to show the silent lady! Chavie bent down and picked up Wa Yit, held him out in front of her to the veiled priestess who was already walking away.

"I found him!" Chavie called, over the rushing wind. "I found our kitty, see? His name is Wight. See?" Wa Yit squirmed and mewled, wanting down.

The lady turned her head around, so slow, so painfully slow, and spoke. At the sound of her voice--soft and sad--the wind stopped growling.

"We never had a cat."

Dumbfounded, and angry at this denial, Chavie stared as the lady turned away.

Then Warneshi appeared, just left of Chavie, looking at her. "Warneshi iss wondering how old thiss little undead iss... musst tasste it to ssee." And he drew a deep breath, sucking in air and sand and night and--

Chavie woke up and moaned. The side of her face was pressed against the packed dirt floor, which was almost all she could see. Beyond the floor a inty slack-jawed corpse stared at her in dumb fear. The green fire was sputtering and dying.

Painfully, Chavie pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and crawled around the circle, inspecting her children. The dream bothered her, but she tried not to think about it. The children--most of them--showed no real change. But a couple seemed to be growing a kind of crystallized fungus... which meant the spell was working.

Smiling, Chavie felt around and found the sack of supplies, and dug out the necessary ingrediants and tools to keep the spell going.

[Chavie]

An anonymous letter waiting in Chavie's mailbox:

I can no longer supply or instruct you, Sister. My new family has certain prejudices, and they've told me they don't like my special cooking recipe. Alas, only you have this recipe now. May the children enjoy the dish in the privacy of their own hall. Good luck and be careful--our enemies abound.

[Chavie]

((The above letter, addressed of course to Chavie, can be found in Silverpine by whoever wishes to find it, for reasons shown below.

Still recapping events weeks past. This occured one unstable Tuesday night after one unstable patch.))
_____________

Chavie found herself in Brill, with no memory of how exactly she got there. Since she needed to check her mail anyway, she didn't mind. Dazed, she hummed a song and rifled through her mail.

It was a surreal day, like the small half-dreams you have when you're nodding off. Over the hearthstone, Grims were greeting her. One of them sounded like a Dwarf and she didn't know him and he was being very patronizing. The earth was shaking. A string of music kept playing in her ears, a long-forgotten wordless lullaby.

In between sleepy responses to her wonderful guildmates, and opening letters and packages, and the ground tremors, Chavie would pass out, again and again. Waking once more, she abandoned her mailbox and pulled herself onto Bu Bat. "Ni tu go ba tu Ker Da Ro," she told him, before passing out again.

When she woke they were on their way to Silverpine. Having no energy to turn him around, Chavie kicked him on. The bats at the Sepulcher would take her to Tarren Mill just as easily as the Undercity bats would...

Was it the ground shaking, or just Chavie? Before she could think to sort it out, she slipped from her saddle, landing on grass. Stupid Bu Bat wasn't sticking to the path... She was so tired--this necromancy was a lot of work! Chavie closed her eyes and let her consciousness drift away.

A sudden sharp wind caught the letter she had been clutching and blew it away. She didn't notice; she was already out.

[Chavie]

((Many days later! This concludes what I've written so far; more will come.))
_______________

Chavie woke, feeling much better, but still weak. She stood, and stretched, and slapped dirt and dried mud from her Atal'ai Prophet's kilt. Yawning, she looked around... and frowned.

"Wat am a du in in Sil Ver Pan?" she asked the hearthstone, which was buzzing with greetings from Syreena, Yichimet, Lilliana, Lucrena, Coussa, and more. It was good to hear them again!

Chavie whistled for Bu Bat and when he came she got on and directed him toward the Sepulcher. She had to get back to Caer Darrow; she didn't know how long she had been passed out and the children shouldn't be left alone, not before she'd completed the spell.

Over the hearthstone, Chavie asked about the Grim in general, and Vuudu in particular. Syreena's whisper came over the hearthstone, while Chavie was en route to Tarren Mill, saying Vuudu's condition was worse--but not too uch worse--and that Syreena herself was afflicted, too. Lilliana had helped her, though. Still, Chavie was worried... but the worry was distant. She needed to get back to Caer Darrow, and finish what she had started.

Approaching the bridge leading to Scholomance and Caer Darrow, Chavie told Syreena to give Vuudu Chavie's love and say hello. She told the Grims that if they needed her, they were to find Wa Yit at Scholomance and leave any messages with him. He liked wandering the ruins...

Then she turned off her hearthstone and walked toward her precious little cellar. A thought occured to her... Syreena understood wor sa fa chal about as well as Vuudu, and if she was troubled by dragons too... She should be made an official Sister of the Children. Chavie would speak to her about it. Later.

Right now, the other children waited.

[Chavie]

((Keep your sapta and your mushrooms; the lucid dreaming and vision-tripping agent of the discerning enlightenment-seeker is questionable dark magic.

Forbidden, experimental necromancy: My anti-drug.

It doesn't support terrorists, but it might get you executed.))
______________________


Another dream, in that tiny magic-infused room: The sands of Tanaris and a starry night, and Chavie in her human body. She felt her face; it was uncut. She remembered with happy nostalgia those early days at Deathknell...

Chavie sat in front of a cracked but usable mirror, a knife in her hands. She'd picked it up off of one of the zombie guys. She kept slicing at the corners of her mouth, wiping away the green ichor, and examining the effect in the mirror. If she didn't like it, she'd heal it and try again. She tried again and again until at last she had her crazy, unnatural grin perfected--then she let it heal on its own. Like piercing an ear, but so much more satisfying!

A lot of the undead--the forsaken--were wearing X-shaped masks. It delighted Chavie to do the same; at the time she thought it was just popular fashion. Later she'd learn a lot of them wore those masks to keep their faces from falling off. It didn't make the mask any less fun. Made from leather, leather so light and thin it didn't interfere with her spell-casting.

There was a cheap case of crumbly makeup in Chavie's lap. She used it to make herself look scary, then pretty, then angry. She experimented with it until settling on a macabre harlequinn look, deep purples and reds and blacks, on a near-white face.

She cut her hair.

She emerged from the run-down building a new person. Her own person. Self-made and happy, so happy.

But now she was alone in the desert and her face was just another human face. Chavie frowned and let her hands fall back down to her sides. All that work for nothing. She felt around her dress for pockets, but they were empty. She looked around the desert, thinking she should find someplace with a general store, but it was empty, just wind and sand and

that woman in black.

Chavie glowered. "You keep following me."

"You keep coming here," said Wa Yit at her feet. He had the voice of a young boy, accented in such a way that she couldn't tell if it was human or what. He looked at her with wise and curious eyes.

"What do you know?" Chavie sneered at Wa Yit, angry at him for interrupting. "You're just a cat."

Bu Bat, just to the right of Chavie, shook his mane and said in a rumbly, horsey voice, "He sees things I can't. He sees the ghosts of those children you and I only hear, for example. He brags about it to me; it's really quite insensitive of him. I'm fairly certain I could see ghosts, back when I was a healthy young stallion. I don't really understand it, but I have this theory..." He seemed to sense Chavie's impatience and snorted. "The gist of it is, we could be one of those ghosts, but we're trapped in dead bodies. Neither living or dead. We're outside the natural order of things and have lost our Sight. Us animals, that is--I don't know that living humans are ever gifted with such Seeing without the aid of narcotics."

Chavie looked again at the woman in black.

"Furthermore," continued Bu Bat, "I'm not sure this is my rightful body. I seem to recall not being so scrawny, but perhaps that is just wishful thinking. What do I know about the methods you ex-humans use to reanimate the dead and return their souls to their original bodies? I'm just a horse. Or I was..." He plodded off in search of something to chew. "I think..."

Wa Yit was looking up at Chavie; somewhere a wolf howled and a little girl sang a song in words Chavie almost understood. The sounds were carried on the wind, faint and far away. She was tempted to turn and find the little girl and the wolf, but the veiled lady... the veiled lady needed her attention first.

"I know you," Chavie whispered, taking a step towards her. Her foot kicked against something dead. She looked down and saw the boy, mostly buried, with his throat slit, and was gripped by a sudden and revolting terror--

"Who is Jack?" Marson asked.

The boy took shape, rising out of the sand. He seemed to grow older. He was lean and cocky and his hair was dark. An ugly gash raced down his chest and abdomen, and he sat up and clutched at himself, trying to keep his guts from falling out. "Not again," he said. He looked up, and his eyes passed right over Chavie as if she wasn't there, and then found the lady in black. He gave her a lopsided grin. "Can you give me a hand with this?"

"No, Jack," the lady said. Her voice was sad and bitter and Chavie just wanted to hit her. "Someone took my hands."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Chavie shouted at them. They didn't even flinch at the sound her voice. "I have a name!" She glared at the lady in black, and tears fogged her vision. She pointed an accusing finger at her. "You never called me by my name!"

Chavie felt the other lady's burst of anger, like a gust of hot wind, and with it came a disdainful hiss: "It was never your name!"

For a moment Chavie was cowed. But somewhere else in the desert, a party was killing humans much stronger than these ghosts, and the wind carried their victory cry to Chavie: "For the Horde! For the Grim!"

And Chavie's mouth widened in an impossible grin, and she shifted her body into a shadow form. She tossed a word of pain at Jack, who writhed and screamed for a couple seconds before he died again--she didn't need him, she had Vuudu.

Chavie ran over his lifeless body, toward the lady in black. Her target didn't move, but it did flinch as Chavie wrenched the veil off its face... As she did, the girl's black robes turned white, a blinding white. The grains of sand flew all around as the wind kicked up, flying in their faces, but it wasn't grains of sand now, it was just grain, just cursed grain--somewhere a man's voice was calling Fresh from Andorhal! Fresh grain from Andorhal!--and Chavie grinned her harlequinn's grin in the face of her pathetic nemesis.

"He lo, Sa Bin," Chavie said, tossing the white lacey veil aside.

The girl's face was once Chavie's face. But it was set differently than Chavie had ever set it; it was always trying to be adult and serene and wise. Now it tried to hold this look but failed, as fear and greif took over. Sabine sunk to the ground, the sand swirling and buffeting her, and sobbed.

"I could have helped you," she wept, holding her stomach and rocking. "I could have done so many things... I could have been a great tool of the Light, with my cursed gifts..." She looked up at Chavie again. "I could have helped you."

Chavie looked down at Sabine without pity. "Yu ne ver t'rad tu hep mi. Yu did al yu kud tu kip mi lak te we..." Chavie knelt to be on level with Sabine. They were the exact same height. She grabbed Sabine's face and turned it to look at her. Sabine tried to resist, but Chavie was almost at the peak of her training as a priest, and all Sabine had were hopes. "Yu t'rad ev ri tin, ek sep wan tin... An so yu las." Chavie grinned and stood. "An a wan."

Sabine held her face in her hands and cried.

"Gu ba."

"Wait!" Sabine cried, looking up. "At least tell me your name before--"

Chavie cast a spell and flayed Sabine's mind. The weak girl's shrieks were lost in the sound of the wind.

And then she woke up.

The fire had gone out. Chavie lit a candle and looked around. She crawled around the circle of children, inspecting them. They were each completely encrusted with the strange greenish crystallized-looking fungus-stuff. Chavie struck at one, at a small girl in a flowered dress, and hurt her hand doing so. Chavie laughed then. She admired her work.

Like her lost contact in the RAS had promised, the one who had invented this spell, the magic had reattached the severed limbs and in some cases regrew missing body parts. Each of the children, undermeath their protective exoskeletons, looked better than they had when Chavie had brought them here. She'd reversed some of the decay. More importantly, they would be protected indefinitely, until Chavie returned one day to touch their spirits, and wake them up. And then the children would return to Lordaeron.

Until then, she'd let them sleep. A rock, made from the same crystal that protected the children, she would carry with her whenever she went. It would serve as her link to this secret place. The runes she'd carved into the trap door and onto the walls would alert her if anyone tried to tamper with them. And the crystal growth would probably, her contact had said, continue to try to grow over her own self, but it could be skinned off easily enough. She was a priest, she could heal any skin she excised. If only that could work on other growths... She'd bring it up with Vuudu and Syreena.

Today she would take time and digest her newly recovered memories, and the dreams. And she'd let them go. Chavie would emerge from the run-down building a new person. Her own person. Self-made and pleased, so pleased.