Tales Twisting Shadow

=Tales of Twisting Shadow=

Wind cry
 Her eyes covered the scene. Before her fire elementals crawled on blackened earth, the sulfur smell of lava only outdone by the wet wood smell of the forest around. Ungoro had been her home for days now. Small trinkets gathered from the elementals adorned her belt, causing multicolored glitters now and again.  &quot;One more down, one more to go&quot; she growls, running quickly after a moving flame. The elemental falls to ash quickly as she calls forth a cold blast, following swiftly with her mace. &quot;One more down, one more to go&quot; she whispers, looking behind her she spots a walking flower covered with thorns. A brief smile crosses her face as she scampers after it, not caring where she places her feet. Her hands already calling flame when the sound behind her breaks through.  The flower and its poison tendrils are quickly forgotten in the rush to get away from the feet and claws that slam down around her. A small moment of grace and she is free, paws hitting burnt dirt as she runs as fast as she can. The moist air hits her like a fist as she leaves the flame owned area, crossing the stream quickly and climbing twords Marshall's Refuge. She shifts as she enters the small area, not talking to a soul. Her feet taking her to the trader and then to the gryphon's.  Flight  It is like home, like freedom, somehow when traveling from place to place there is no worry about now or then or even why.   &quot;The new you is amusing, predictable but amusing.&quot; says a hissing undead voice  Wyst shakes her hair free into the wind as she and the manticore fly over the edge of the crater. Before her is Sithilis, seething with desires and death.  &quot;You remind me of one I knew, forgive me&quot; a soft tone from a orc states <BR> <BR>&quot;I am not SHE!&quot; she screams into the wind, even as her heart replies. <BR> <BR>Lies <BR> <BR>Below her scorpids circle for the kill on some poor soul. At this distance it is impossible to tell who it is, friend or foe. For a moment her heart skips, then the scene and it's finale are beyond her. <BR> <BR>She lands in Feralas, hair tousled and free. Her eyes are just a bit wild and she shifts then runs before a thought occurs. <BR> <BR>Run if you will, I will chase you <BR> <BR>A growl escapes startling a few birds, her paws reach water. Across the way she sees an island with signs of Elven building. She shifts and screams at the sky. <BR> <BR>&quot;NO!&quot; <BR> <BR>She looks at the water gently lapping at the shore, her face relaxes. Her hands rest at her sides, and life seems to slip from her. A stone looking at water is all she is. <BR> <BR> Hide in yourself and we will meet sooner  <BR> <BR>Her hair stirs, though no emotion comes to her face. Her eyes glazed, sightless. The sky above her turns with turmoil as if what should be reflected in her face instead is reflected in the sky above. <BR> <BR>&quot;I will bury them all. Every single one of them.&quot; the voice sounding flat as the sky continues to boil. <BR> <BR> <BR>Then as if two people are speaking.. <BR> <BR>' There is no redemption in death. There is no redemption in life.  '

Time that stands still, Time that moves behind us
<BR> <BR> <BR> <BR> <BR>Air stirs lazy over the crumbling temple. Pines in the distance show no hint of the wind that moves her hair. He brought her here to tell her, to show her the ways that trolls can be. To remind her that she once followed a different path. <BR> <BR>She stares at a much less maintained temple below her, lost in thought. <BR>................................... <BR><i> <BR> &quot;You heal him then, you can heal him?&quot; A wan troll woman begs of her. She stands holding a child that was dead before birth, yet it moved. Soulless it was. Wyst motions to a spot in the tent. There others were tied down to prevent them from moving, where she worked to restore what was never given to the mindless ones. The darker skinned troll placed the child there, tears falling as she left it behind. The set of her shoulders told her tale more clearly than her face. This was not the first child she had born like this. <BR> <BR>&quot;You should rest Ji'taa&quot; Wyst states to the trolless as she leaves the hut. <BR>&quot;You rest Shaman, I have no rest till I have a child to teach.&quot; With that Ji'taa was beyond the entrance. <BR> <BR>Wyst sighed and turned back to her notes. Scribbled on various kinds of leathers were notes with dates. A quick glance would show the months of work that had gone into making this pile. In the process of writing, she doubles over coughing, thick black blood comes forth after the fit passes. The room spins before her, and the child who was just placed now is at her knee. <BR> <BR> <BR>&quot;Soooooon&quot; is all it said</i> <BR> <BR> <BR> <BR>........................................ <BR> <BR> <BR>She climbs the temple stairs ,combating the trolls that come at her. Somehow this feels all so familiar. For that matter the one beside her does as well, but though the shadows tease with hints, no memory comes forth to get rid of the dejavu. <BR> <BR>&quot;Vort, You lived here?&quot; She dodges suddenly from a knife thrown at her head. They dispatch the offending troll, and he catches her eye. &quot;Yes, I did&quot; is all he answers. <BR> <BR>Her thoughts turn to how she ended up here today, a orc and a serpent. A statement from Zanzul about Hakkar. <BR>A question to Vort, and a argument that had them both running across the world to shout threats, promises and finally force the tale to be told. Though only this one answer, that he had lived here, now lead to so many more questions. <BR> <BR>The amphitheater at the top of the mountain temple was breathtaking, even in it's disarray. Waterfalls fell to calm pools bordered by worked stone. The altar contained horror, but the area was not to blame. The earth held no malice here, the water itself was clean. <BR> <BR>The conversation ebbed and flowed as they explored, occasionally interrupted by a guard, or a patrol that sought why two trolls would not be in the proper armor. They dispatched those they could not just quiet, moving through the tale of Vort's life. <BR> <BR>......................................... <BR><i> <BR>&quot;She will not wake again&quot; Ji'taa says to a larger shadow behind her. Wyst lay sprawled over one of the tied down dead things, her hair lying limp. Her eyes closed. Her breath came in gasps. She struggled even to breathe. <BR>&quot;Take her to the pile, and these others now should be dispatched as well. We entertained her notions long enough. There is no cure for this, they are cursed and will remain so.&quot; The male moves out of the hut and words are spoken quietly outside. <BR> <BR>Ji'taa looks at Wyst for a moment with pity, then her face turns to hatred. &quot;So those that refuse to accept what the gods have decided. You will not be forgiven.&quot; <BR> <BR>Husky trolls enter wrapping the bodies in traditional burial bindings, Wyst as well is wrapped bound and placed to rest in a pile of other &quot;cursed&quot; ones. Some instinct awoke her as the sun set that day, she removes some of the wrappings states a word and is gone to the nether. <BR> <BR>As the sun rises She is walking, stumbling toward a shore in Desolace. The coughing racking her body, the smell horrific as she seeks her last moment of peace.</i> <BR> <BR>............................................ <BR> <BR>Two trolls stand in Revantusk village, as if seeing each other for the first time. Friends they have been for a long time, friends they continue to be. The secrets of the day, the blood on the altar, the cries calling the trolls to feed, to worship, to move to the path of Hakkar have since faded from their minds. <BR> <BR>The sun rises showing that even though one may not remember friends clearly, often the reasons to be friends never change.