The Hanging Tree

[Ashagga]

Ashagga lay on the plains of Mulgore, letting the night wind whip across the grassland and blow her red hair across her face. Omen, her massive dire wolf, curled up beside her, breathing slowly, sleeping peacefully. Ashagga, however, watched the stars.

The time was rapidly approaching. Syreena had mixed the potion. Yichimet and Grolish had found the tree. Chingaso... well, hopefully Chingaso would not crack.

She hated this. The waiting. The stars had to be aligned just so, the tides and ley lines perfect. She was no occultist. Surely, she should have requested help from some of the more arcane of the Grim, from Regnanetah or Pincus or Lupen... but she couldn't chance that they would discover her purpose. She had to do this.

All her life, Ashagga had been nothing. She'd been born poor, raised poor, and lived poor. Her father had been a nameless, faceless casualty in Ashenvale. Her mother had died of the pox, her corpse sold to the warlocks of Orgrimmar for the price of a knife. And Ashagga had sold her innocence for food and coin at the point of a dagger.

Now, she'd found the ritual to change all that. It was ancient magic, older even than the mages that founded Dalaran. If it worked correctly, it would bond her soul with a blood spirit, giving her power over her own life. It was symbolic, but it was also very, very real.

She'd fed her allies, her family, a story about revenge, about a dark power manipulating her enemies, but it was only half true, if that much. It was about power. It was only a little about revenge.

And soon, the stars would be right. Two weeks... Tuesday night, before the harvest festival. Yichimet and Grolish knew the place. Soon, she would, too.

She was afraid. She was afraid she had miscalculated, or misunderstood, and that the ritual would fail. She was afraid the Alliance would learn of the ritual and try to stop it. She was afraid she would not be strong enough to contain the spirit, and that it would control her.

But, for tonight, Ashagga lay on the plains of Mulgore, letting the night wind whip across the grassland and blow her red hair across her face.

[Yichimet]

Yichimet slowly, deftly, bent a thick birch twig into a hoop once, twice, three times, so that it was thick enough for his purposes. He tied it off with sinew and began wrapping the long cord around the wood tightly. With the hoop between his knees, and now wrapped tightly in the sinew, he wove a new strip of rawhide into a pattern around the rim of the hoop. His giant fingers moved quickly and easily from many years of practice. The pattern continued until a spider-web had formed, and he tied it off, then cut and attached three more strands, slid glass beads over them, and stuck feathers into the beads' holes as tightly as he could.

He held it up to the moon, grunted in satisfaction, and began work on another dreamcatcher as soon as he had set the finished one aside.

Ashagga's ritual would take days, and the tree was in a terrible place, and the spirits would be clawing at her. He would cover the branches in these things to guard her if he must.

[Ashagga]

The time drew closer.

As Ashagga's blade bit deep into the chest of one of the many ghouls wandering the Western Plaguelands, a flash of her impending doom took her mind. She gritted her teeth and tried to push it aside, slashing at the ghoul as if slashing at her own demons. Still, it lingered, and as the ghoul fell, it forced itself to the front of her mind.

Less than two weeks.

She had spoken with Yichimet and Grolish. The time would be right on October 24th. She would meet with the shamans, Syreena, Chingaso, and whichever other Grims would appear in order to make her way to the tree where she would be hanged. It was to be an evening event, eight and thirty by the way goblins reckoned time. And she knew they would leave from the Horde outpost in Ashenvale, because that was where her father had died.

It seemed suitably symbolic.

Sighing, Ashagga kicked over the ghoul and fished a squirming nightcrawler from the putrescence around its eyes. She wasn't going to be able to concentrate here. Plucking her hearthstone from her pouch, she triggered the rune on its surface. She needed sleep, but she was unwilling to give up the time. She was afraid she would sleep forever all too soon.

((Alliance! This is a semi-open invitation. The Grim will be doing *something*. You know when and you know where. Think you can stop us?))

[Chingaso]

Chingaso trouble. Shaggy plan ritual that may kill. Shaggy say for get revenge on powerful enemy, but Chingaso feel more deep.

Chingaso know that Shaggy one of best friend. Chingaso know from recent that would miss Shaggy horrible if not survive. But Chingaso also worry that if Survive, Shaggy be different, and not be friend Chingaso.

Chingaso see three outcome of, and two of three cost Chingaso clsoe friend. But Shaggy ask Chingaso help, so Chingaso help. Guard Shaggy during ritual. Against all who would interrupt.

[Yichimet]

Yichimet stared up at the branches of the dead, demon-twisted tree. Ashagga would hang for days. Would she need a guide? Would Chingaso be able to guard her alone? Yichimet's spirit stirred in him, ready to walk free of his body. All living beings feel the pull--was it what Ashagga was feeling?

So many questions.

(( Big bump for this--the event was pushed back a week to tonight, Oct. 31 @ 9:30 server time. It would be great if some Alliance would show up to try to give us trouble! ))

[Chingaso]

With great trepidation, Chingaso make way to Splintertree post. Chingaso see Ashagga in Orgrimmar before leave, and have talk, but Shaggy as determine as ever for complete ritual. As Shaggy and Chingaso walk through Orgrimmar in prepare, Shaggy ask Chingaso strange question.

"'Ave yer ever seen me in a dress?"

Chingaso think... "No, Shaggy always wear armor."

"Well, ternight ye migh'," Shaggy say.

Then, Shaggy and Chingaso part, finish task for prepare for ritual.