Chanchu

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  1. Previously... The very air here felt oppressive. Sunlight filtering wanly through the boughs of water oaks. It was yellow and sickly, as if, after such a struggle to be seen, it was no longer the bright and wholesome thing it had begun the journey as. It was tainted, somehow. Changed. The great swamp trees grew crooked and wandering arms in all directions. Wet wood textured in rough bark hoisted a variety of life above the waterline. Mosses, insects and very rarely, the brief bloom of a flower could be seen cradled up there. Such beauty was never to be trusted, Chanchu knew. The tauren squatted in a nook of roots, patiently waiting. Crocolisks nearby went about their scaly business of croc-life without being bothered overmuch with her presence. They were masters here, a top-level predator similar in rank to her. If she did not trespass on them, they would in turn be respectful of her own power. The mosquitoes, however, simply adored her. The monk sat, highly irritated, wet on her bottom, itchy all over. What a ridiculous thing she was doing. How was it that Coqui had bullied her into bothering with this? Chanchu grumbled only internally. If she risked speaking aloud or betraying her position by moving, surely the pig she’d been tracking would scare. She needed the momma pig to be brave. If she scared off now, Chanchu might not be able to find the piglet on her own before the trappers did. The pig did scare, but not because of anything Chanchu did. Pigs were prey animals to begin with, and they tended to startle easily. The swooping survey of a large bird overhead sent the piggy mother headlong into flight for her own life. Chanchu rolled her eyes, cursing her luck. Here she’d been worried that she would have misjudged the attitudes of those crocs and one of them would have gotten snappy with her. Nope, just your average bird. Chanchu stood straight up among the roots. That had not been an average bird. It’s head lacked feathers. Vulture. The crippled monk snatched for her walking stick. She missed. Her knuckles smacked the tool instead, sending it careening into the stank water on the other side of the root. It disappeared beneath a surface layer of algae. Gone forever. “Gah, who needs you!” she screeched at it. The tauren vaulted over the root, aiming after the vulture. Carrion birds could, so the old hunters said, scent their meals from miles off, and they preferred fresh kills. A bird like that, so obviously lost, was on it’s way to wait for it’s dinner to get good and dead. How much was Chanchu gonna bet that bird was hoping for a little pork? She raced as fast as she dared, cutting her line dangerously close to where cranky crocolisk mothers nested. She tempted teeth with that, but gained valuable ground by avoiding the mucky spots and deep water. She also needed to rebound off the trees. At this pace, she relied more on momentum than actual grace of movement to keep her upright without the stick. Whoever heard of a cripple going on a pig hunt in the middle of a marshland? This was ridiculous. She found the piglet. It was bigger than expected, a juvenile already gaining the rounded growth of future tusks along the jawline and packing on the stoutness of adult shape. The young boar was lying partway up the side of a hill as far from the waterline as the chain would let him get. A wicked leghold trap clamped around his back end. One arc of the oversized jaws buried in the pig’s spine, and the other wedged under into his groin and belly. Chanchu actually stopped for a minute in horror, unable to fully process what she was looking at. Then the pig saw her, and grunted. He was still alive, and in great pain. “Merciful Mother,” Chanchu hopped across from her brace and fell to the mud before she reached the trap. The pig didn’t startle as she would have expected. She crawled the rest of the way, laid a dirty hand on his shoulder. He grunted again, but this time lacked the energy to look at her. Chanchu thought she could almost hear the plea in his porcine voice. Did he know she was there to help him? “Stay still, little piggy, I have to get you out first. I’m sorry, it’s going to hurt more, please don’t bite me.” Chanchu swung the small pack off her back. She had to shake her hand to clear mud from her fingers enough so they didn’t slip on the toggle, and once she had it she snatched the stupid clasp past the retaining knot in frustration. She flung the metal finding out into the marsh to rot. The pack got upended onto the soggy ground in order to more quickly access the clamps she needed. “See piggy, I have the stuff right here.” Chanchu opened a C clamp and fitted it over one of the trap’s wings. She spun the core down. The other wing was sticky-slick in pig blood. She had to reseat the clamp twice to get it right. Meanwhile the carrion birds gathered to watch. The great twisting boughs of the water oaks were soon alive with the movement of fluttering wings as the birds rearranged and jostled each other to make room for newcomers, but otherwise they observed silently. Chanchu hated them. She spun the clamps. It was easy, at first, but then the resistance and rust started to take it’s toll on her wrist. She switched hands. “I got you, piggy. You oink at them birds and tell them ‘not today’.” The pig grunted softly a few times. Chanchu twisted and twisted. She kept hearing noises that she could swear were not animal-made. A sloshing of the swamp water like hunters trudging up to check for their prize. The racking of a rifle. These were specific noises that surely she’d recognize if heard nearby for real, but imagination was a powerful thing when working amidst the heavy buzzing of insects and the rushing of our own blood through your ears. Finally the wing snapped clear of the jaws with a final twist on one side. Three more twists on the other. “Yes!” Chanchu pried at the trap jaws. They opened with a disgusting suction noise, and the pig screamed. This time it was not her imagination when she heard answering voices on the other side of the hill. The tauren sprawled herself over the pig, hugging him around the middle as she stuffed a hand to her pocket for her hearthstone. The hunters crested the hill just in time to see Chanchu’s clamp fail. Overmatched, the other C clamp was forcibly ejected from it’s position. Their trap snapped shut on empty air.
  2. Chanchu sat outside the infirmary, fingers busy weaving a loop of string into a repetitive series of shapes. She'd woken Maralah as requested and sent the healer out to deal with the broken huntress Arahe in their village. She'd ignored when the disappearing orc snuck out from his bed. The restless glint in his eyes was a familiar one. She had sent him off with a wink, but wasn't sure if he'd seen. Or cared. She wasn't sure why she stayed. Chanchu could have gone rummaging in the kitchens to find something tasty. She might have even come across someone else doing the same, and they could have exchanged stories. Chanchu didn't feel much like spinning a story. The tauren dipped her thumbs, dropping the loop strung across them and then her hands swiveled so she could hook the yarn over the top and stretch it backward. She jumped the middle fingers and pulled the shape taut. Travois. The monk didn't pause, but began the series of steps to take the string on into the next shape. No, she didn't feel much like lying. That's what would happen, if she were to go to the kitchen, find something tasty, and meet someone. It might be someone who didn't matter. Or it might be someone she knew. Kolu, maybe. She wouldn't mind a verbal sparring with that cantankerous cow. She was so easy to rile, too. She carried the weight of the Grimtotem tribe on her shoulders and while it was true Chanchu held some prejudices there, they were no where near so prohibitive as Kolu expected and therefor perceived them to be. How much longer could she poke those buttons and still expect it to be fun? She didn't really know what else to do but poke, but doing so usually led to enemies made. Chanchu liked Kolu. She didn't want to do that. By the same token, the tauren did not feel like retracing her steps back to the room she'd claimed as her own. The maze of shelves held many interesting things, but all of them made for poor company. Chanchu was tired of being alone. She was tired of her cushy soft pouf of a bed, and she was tired of the puzzle boxes and the combination locks and all the usual distractions. She wanted... She wanted to be useful for once. So what did she do? She went and let someone snatch one patient, and then she abandoned her other patient because she didn't work well with others. Chanchu yanked the string. So what if Kolu had yelled at her? So what if she had called Chanchu useless? Just because that was precisely how the monk felt, why did that make her react so strongly? She should have done something to prove she wasn't. That's what she should have done. Instead she'd retreated like a coward. And not even a proper one! Here she was, still sitting outside the infirmary. Her leg hurt. The string flowed back through the travois configuration and continued on. Chanchu thought about the infirmary, and the things she had seen there. It was all so different from everything else she had known. People came in with weird unexplained ailments. The healers flung spells about with abandon. Where did that Maralah even get her energy from? The sheer scope of magics that had been wasted, in only a short time of observing, was astounding. Chanchu wondered if maybe the healers of Sanctuary had found a way to use the city itself as their source. Chanchu had only her own self. Maybe that was the difference. You're not useless, she told herself sternly, frowning at the yarn strung through her fingers. She could heal. She knew she could. She had a little carved totem back in her room that proved somebody else thought she could too. Skytotem tauren were supposed to be some of the very best healers among all the tribes. Coqui had obviously seen something in her that made it worthwhile to bring the monk into the group. The seer Lomani had looked with her pale creepy eyes and judged her. She must have seen something. Something that Chanchu still had yet to recognize as truth. Lies were always easier. Easier to tell, easier to believe. Chanchu was not useless. She knew that. But, she might not ever be able to do what they did around the corner, in that room. She wasn't sure she wanted to. The sheer amount of pain those two healers had caused! Chanchu's fingers missed a loop and her hands pulled tight before she caught the error. The monk frowned. She unmounted the string form from her other fingers and began picking patiently at the knot she'd made. It was only one day, she told herself. She could sit and watch over many more days. She could try very hard to not backtalk the other healers. Kolu. She would try not to backtalk Kolu. And she could learn. Theoretically. Kex'ti had even hinted at training, when he'd recruited her to Sanctuary. Though she scoffed at the time, the idea was tantalizing. Chanchu hadn't done well with any of her other teachers. She was a bad student, as a general rule, confirmed twice so far. The elf didn't seem typical for his kind, though. Maybe he'd fare better. Or not. Glumly, Chanchu rewound the string around her fingers.
  3. Chanchu
  4. WRITING TIMELINE 2 [Chanchu born] 17 Any Man of Mine - Chanchu's brother punches her crush Bubbly - Chanchu's brother visits on leave from the army 25 WORLD OF WARCRAFT 2004-11-23 26 BURNING CRUSADE 2007-01-16 27 WRATH OF THE LICH KING 2008-11-13 28 CATACLYSM 2010-12-07 30 MISTS OF PANDARIA 2012-09-12 31 WARLORDS OF DRAENOR 2014-11-13 Eclipse: Does Not Play Well With Others - Kerala summons the Skytotem Eclipse: Spirit Walk (Log) - Chanchu helps the Skytotem locate Konro's soul Smooth Criminal - Chanchu steals a button after a bad dream/memory Get Up Offa That Thing - Chanchu meditates She's Got the Rhythm - Chanchu uses her curves to distract marks 32 Luck Be a Lady - Chanchu reviews a day's plunder 33 LEGION 2016-08-30
  5. CHANCHU MISTDANCE Gender, Race, Class: Female Tauren Monk Age: 30 Occupation: Skytotem tribe Healer Languages: Taurahe, Orcish Physical description: Chanchu is a tauren woman of strikingly beautiful features. High cheekbones, delicate nose with smallish nostrils, straight teeth in an easy smile. Her fur is a less common shade nearer to true red than the usual brown hue. Her eyes are a bright yellow, surrounded in lush dark lashes. A lot of the time, her eyes appear more of a rosy peach color from reflected light. Chanchu's black horns are wide and back-swept. The nearly black locks of her mane are kept in tiny braids arranged in neat rows like a cornfield. At the end of each braid swings a bead. Some are a delicate pink gem, some are of simple gold, and some are a natural material that isn't quite wood... those are most prominent. Even the tuft of her tail is in a trio of cornrow braids and decorated. Chanchu's body is lean and just muscular enough to fill her out with a pleasing figure. Her fingers and limbs are long and slender in proportion with the rest of her. Her movements seem effortless with a grace that reminds one easily of a dancer... unless they see her walking. Chanchu is crippled. She may wear a skirt which hides the deformity, but her left leg is missing a knee and everything lower. She almost always uses a walking stick and travels with a pronounced lurch. Personality: Skills: Dancing. Balance. Sleight-of-hand/thieving. She excels at picking locks and untying knots, and delights of similar puzzles. Chanchu enjoys healing. Animals tend to be her focus, and she specializes in creatures hunted for prized trophies of skin and fur. Kodo and stags, crocolisks, bears, etc. Combat Tactics: Chanchu is a dedicated healer, but one with a bag of tricks in case she gets in trouble. She is not afraid to drop to the floor and sweep out with leg or stump, and may do so simply to play to her strengths. She usually tries to avoid physical contact (of the combative kind), but if grabbed she tends to grapple very well due to an exceptional grip strength. She is extremely flexible and therefore slippery to hold onto or maneuver against her will. Chanchu may take advantage of her longer limbs to strike from distance, or utilize her magic to zing the nerves of an opponent, like lightning. Phobias and Weaknesses: Pet Peeves: Labels/assumptions/judging a book by it's cover (she's a hypocrit and carries a grudge against Grimtotem) Special Possessions: always has some kind of peach food item with her Origin/Birthplace: Brief History:

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