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About Ruuki

  • Rank
    Junior Member
  • Birthday 11/24/1984
  1. Ruuki snorts as she sees the flyer, grabbing a pencil from her gauntlet to add in careful yet heavy pressed Orcish. Daisha Redpaw She smirked as she tucked the pencil back into her gauntlet and strolled away. Oh yes, this would work well as vengeance on the little drunken Priestess.
  2. <p>I POKE AT THEE *poke poke*</p>

  3. She'd stared at the dagger for what felt like an eternity, the blade pointed upwards and the tip pressed to her fur. She looked up at the mirror one last time, trying to steel her resolve to see this through, to actually complete something for once. Her eyes scanned her reflection, then settled upon something. Scars. Scars that reflected her life of fighting, her life of protecting and sacrificing to keep others safe. The curving line on her lower right leg, where she'd hit a trap her aging father had nearly walked into. She was young enough to spring right back after the stitching and healing, but it would have crippled him. She didn't like the thought of him being wounded, not when he worked so hard to teach others and instill wisdom in them to save their lives at some point in the future. She couldn't help the small smile of pride. That was a good memory, to her. To her left, the reflection looked completely surprised, even looking down at her own leg. This reflection was visibly younger, with less scarring and much shorter braids. The blood seemed to melt away, leaving her as she had been that day, dirty but proud that she'd kept him safe. The reflection grinned, chest out and shoulders back with absolute pride. The mirror cracked and shattered, and the reflection was gone. "This won't change anything. He's still dead because of you." The voice was right behind her, hissing in her ear, but she shook her head. "No. He's dead because someone took advantage of his age. They couldn't face him in battle like an honorable person." She hesitated, then looked to the second mirror. She was a little older in this one, her braids longer and more scars marking her body. The scar here wasn't visible, but she recognized the way she favored her shield arm. She remembered it well. She'd taken up a defensive stance on the battlefields of Icecrown, not long after the group of Sunwalkers had adopted her and made her one of them. A pair of Argent Crusade menders had been locked down mid battle, with an abomination bearing down on them. She'd stood before them, shield raised and taking the blows for what felt like an eternity until help could arrive. The shield was shattering under the repeat blows, and her arm had been dislocated and the bone cracked, but the agony couldn't compare to the pride that she felt. She'd have given her life for them and they didn't even know her name. All she knew was that they were allies, and they needed help. Her mentor had been so pleased, and that night they'd drank and had a little celebration. The reflection smirked, rolling her left shoulder and stretching her neck as the blood that soaked her back and neck seemed to wash away. That had been an exhilirating day of battle, one she'd repeat gladly. The reflection gave a little salute, and the glass cracked in the shape of a punch, spiderwebbing outwards and dimming the light within. "You were a coward! You left your mentor for dead in the filth and rain!" The voice was more insistent, louder and more painful in her ear. The dagger was lowering from her body. "No. He was dead before I reached him, and I was too scared to accept it. He died an honorable death, fighting to stop the Scourge, and I hope that one day I will die the same way." She was eager now, looking to the remaining two mirrors. Her eyes scanned the scars, each telling a story, and finally they settled on her neck. Four puncture wounds marked where fangs had sunk into her flesh. She'd nearly bled out, but it was to prove a point to a Supplicant and to reach him in the depths of his curse-riddled madness. They were Grim. They were never alone. Her reflection gave a wicked grin, and behind her eyes began to light up red against the dark background. A matching red light lit up, revealing the silhouettes of dozens of her companions standing behind her in a show of support. The blood that soaked her fur moved and shifted, becoming instead a black and blood red tabard with the Grim sigil emblazoned proudly upon it. Her reflection nodded once, and the mirror splintered and shattered as if struck by many weapons at once. "You think this will stop me?" The voice came from the remaining mirror, where her bloodsoaked reflection glared angrily at her. The lips curled into a sneer, cruel and taunting. "I will never leave you. I will hound you for all of your days and remind you of your failures, your flaws, your weaknesses. You are nothing!" Ruuki gripped the handle of the dagger even tighter. "No. I am more than my flaws. I am more than my strengths. I am more than my past, and more than my future. These things do not define me. They build me, back me, strengthen me. And if the world was to fall down around my head tomorrow, I wouldn't take back a single thing." She drew her shoulders back, golden eyes blazing with realization and pure determination. "I AM RUUKI OF THE GRIM! And you... YOU ARE NOTHING! You WILL! NOT! WIN!" Each word was barked out with every fiber of her being, and the dagger was raised high only for the blade to be driven into the reflection she faced. Glass shattered and blood poured, and the dagger was driven home again and again. The voice shrieked, the reflection twisting and morphing before the mirror finally exploded. She could feel the stinging pain of tiny glass shards hitting her skin, burning their way into her fur as she fell back. She was falling, falling... She woke up to the icy rain pelting her fur. She opened her eyes, seeing the deep grey clouds overhead. Her back was cold and soaked through, and she slowly sat upright to look around. She knew this place well, this old battlefield of Icecrown. Her leg ached with the partially healed wound from Brast's swipe, but she still found her way to her hooves. "Damn. Figures I'd end up here..." She sighed, her mind reeling with thoughts, memories, and newfound determination. She had Office Hours tonight, she had her Supplicants to lead by example, and she had the Mandate to uphold. Her past could hold her back no longer, and her fears would no longer haunt her. Beer first, then a nap. Definitely a nap.
  4. She stood in a dark room, the dagger clutched tightly in her hand, her head bowed and shoulders rounded with defeat. The three visions played over and over in her mind, like it was stuck on replay, pausing only a breath before it began again from the beginning. A torch lit behind her, the sudden sound of flame catching making her lift her head, and she turned to look. Behind her stood her father as she'd last seen him, his sleep-shirt spattered with blood that still dripped from his slashed throat. Ear to ear he'd been carved, and he was giving her that look, the one that always let her know she'd done wrong. His shoulders were squared off, his back straight, always the proud, wise warrior. Where those brown eyes once held love behind them, they now looked at her in disgust, contempt, anger. "You failed me. You are no child of mine." She opened her mouth to protest, to plead with him, but a torch lighting to his left drew her attention there. A Sunwalker, his plate mail shattered and broken, now stood tall in what had been an empty place. His legs were coated in sticky mud, his shield missing pieces from where it had been broken and yet somehow put back together again despite the gaps. His chest was split open, blood pouring from the grievous wound, and he was glaring at her. She wanted to shrink back from his gaze, unsure of what to say to him, of what she could possibly say. "You failed me. You're little more than a Warrior who can wield some of the Light. You are no Sunwalker." "You know he's right." Again the persistent voice in her ear, the constant companion as she was faced with her past. There was a tug on her shoulder, and she turned, facing yet another lit torch. Here, instead of her past, stood Awatu, the Commander of the Grim. He was giving her the same steely glare as the others, and similarly spoke a single sentence that threatened to rip out her soul. "You failed the Grim." His hand reached out, gripping the bloodsoaked tabard and viciously ripped it from her body. She gasped, trying to clutch the fabric, to keep it on her body. It was all she had, and without it, she stood nude, her every flaw on display, the torchlight bright than it should have been. She felt deep shame, her arms trying to hide her body from their judging eyes. She turned to run. "Of course you're going to run." That voice seemed to mock her, giggling at her misery. She ran right into him. His warm blood splattered against her body, painting her more red and gory brown, and she couldn't do anything but look up to him. His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, and for a moment, there was hope. Maybe, maybe he would look past the flaws, the deaths, the weakness. He had no further words for her, and roughly he shoved her back to the center of the group. She slipped, hoof skidding on the blood that coated the floor, and she landed on her ass with a yelp. She caught her breath, and looked up at him in despair as he turned his back to her and walked away, taking the torchlight with him. One by one they all walked away, leaving her with their own gifts. Despair. Cowardice. Solitude. Rejection. Fear. She'd spent her entire life fleeing from these emotions, bottling them up and tucking them into the furthest reaches of her mind where they couldn't hurt her. Now, something was releasing them, turning their biting words and slicing thoughts loose upon her. She stood, and came face to face with a mirror. She was surrounded with them, and they reflected her in the worst way possible. Scars marred her body, and her white fur was soaked with blood, stained with dirt. All that was left was the dagger at her hooves. She bent to pick it up, gripping the handle tight and turning the point to aim it at her heart. "Finally, you'd be doing something right." The laughter echoed in the room, then left her to contemplate her decision, and her reflection.
  5. <p>Be my friend now that I'm dead!</p>

  6. "Why weren't you there?" The question was a subtle yet glaring accusation as she stood in what had been hers and her father's home. Trinkets that had once been highly respected had been thrown about carelessly, stomped underhoof and destroyed. The cooking fire in the center had gone neglected, dead and revealing the bits and wisps of scrolls that had been dumped in them and burned. The little totem pole she'd made as a tiny youngblood for her father peeked from the ashes as well, blackened and nearly unrecognizable. Most damning though, was the blood. It was cruelly sprayed along the wall of the tent where her father's bedroll laid, the blankets soaked with it and the scent of death. The whole place reeked of it. Her own bedroll laid untouched nearby, testament that she hadn't stayed home the night before. She'd initially run to his body, her hands rapidly staining with his cold blood as she shook him, screaming for him to wake up. They'd pulled her off of him, taken his body to prepare for burial, and left her to face the now empty tent "I... we had a fight. He was upset with me... I left for the night, to go drink in the bluffs with the bulls..." "Was it worth it? You knew he was old and could no longer fight." The words cut into her deeper than even the sharpest blade, and she closed her eyes to block out the vision. The smells, and their words, however, stayed with her. "He could fight still, despite his age." Even she didn't believe her protest. The weather had changed recently, his joints always ached so. "You may as well have slit his throat yourself. If your mother was here she'd be ashamed of you. You're a disgrace, Philomena." And then she was alone, their words echoing over and over in the eerie silence as she kept her eyes squeezed shut. How could this be her fault? It was her fault, a tiny voice in her mind replied. It was her fault for not being home. She didn't listen, and now he was gone to where no amount of apologies could bring him back. She looked down at her hands, wet and glistening with blood. No amount of washing or rubbing would make it go away. She was alone, and had no one but herself to blame. ___________________________________________________________________________ The cold, sucking mud pulled at her hooves as she trudged up what seemed to be an endless hill set against a dark, rainy sky. She was near doubled over, carrying the fallen body of her Tauren mentor on her back, his blood running in a warm, wet river down beneath her armor, against her skin. She could see her breath in front of her face in the cold air, each inhalation like knives slicing at her lungs. She couldn't lift her hoof another step, and collapsed into the mud, the chill immediately sinking through her armor. She didn't have the strength, and then the body was dragged from her back. She jerked upright in surprise, seeing the body of her beloved teacher being dragged from her. "You shouldn't have left him." Again that voice, just as damning as before. She looked around for it, anger bristling her fur. "I had to! I couldn't carry him the entire way! I went for help, I couldn't... I was trying to save us both!" "You were too weak. You were always too weak. He took you in, taught you what he knew, and you abandoned him." "I didn't abandon him!!" She screamed the denial, but again the tiny voice in her mind, this time a little louder. "But you did. You tucked him under a bush and left him. You didn't bother looking for his body again, either." She dropped to her knees, feeling the warm blood flowing against her back as if he was still there. She did leave him, didn't she? She was foolish to think he'd be safe from the Scourge's minions like that. She may as well have handed him over to them. She looked down at her still bloody hands, her white fur marred with it and the muck of the landscape. She should have stayed alone. Maybe, just maybe... he'd still be alive. Or at least he might have survived til morning had she listened to the others and not run out there... Guilt gnawed at her, making her second guess her every move. She may as well have killed him herself. _____________________________________________________________________________ She was accustomed now to the stench of blood that pervaded her nostrils with every breath. Her hands were soaked in it, her back warm and sticky from where it drenched her fur. Her sword lay nearby, the blade dark with recently spilled blood, and all around her she could see the corpses of her enemies that she'd slain. They rose around her in mountains, and yet, one laid before her, one she knew well. He hadn't been an enemy- the opposite in fact. His torso had been slashed open by her own blade from shoulder to opposite hip. The surprise was still on his lifeless face. She hadn't seen him. She'd been so lost in her fervor to kill that she hadn't recognized him until it was too late. She kneeled by his head, brushing back his mane from his face and kissing his forehead, staining his dark fur even darker as she touched him. This... this was one she treasured, one she'd sworn to protect, and yet now he was dead at her hands. She cradled his head against her chest, pulling his limp body close as she rocked on her knees. "I'm so sorry... so, so very sorry... I failed you... I only wanted to protect you." She wept openly, a side of her she'd never shown to anyone but him. His leathers were dark with gore, but the glint of something at his belt caught her eye. It was the dagger she'd given him as a gift, peeking from its sheath and calling for her, the delicate vine work she'd etched into the blade now seeming to be made to hold tiny pockets of blood. She took it, gripping the bound leather handle tightly, and pressed one final, tender kiss to his cold lips before standing, and turning to walk amid the pile of bodies that seemed to stack ever higher. "You killed him." The persistent voice that followed her spoke right in her ear, yet she didn't shy away from it, or argue with it, not anymore. "I know. It's my fault. He's gone."
  7. I'd love to jump in but I'm still trying to figure out how to do so.