“Run!”
Taashti turned her head toward the series of screams that followed the order, her wide eyes catching the look of terror upon the face of her friend Kishanti before the woman was cut down by a rampaging Orc. The young girl’s screams joined the cacophony, though hers were of rage, not fear. Whipping her axes from her hips, Taashti flew through the air at the attacking Orc; she lashed out, the weapons thudding into the creature’s neck and chest. She blinked through the blood that spattered against her face and burned her skin – didn’t the stories say that their blood was unholy? – and her rage fizzled away as she realized that the beast was dead.
And her axes were stuck.
Taashti grunted and swung around, barking, “Mohito, Mohito, where are you? Help me!” as she dropped down beside the bloody, crumpled form of Kishanti. Kisha had been much older than Taash, she had been the one that taught the girl to use a gun.
Blinking back tears and wiping her face on her sleeve, Taash grabbed hold of her friend’s shoulder with her free hand and shook her.
“Kisha, get up. Get up, Kisha, we’ve gotta – we’ve gotta get outta here, they’re killing everyone. Kisha – KISHA!”
Nothing. Taash let out a low growl as she rolled her friend onto her back, and when she finally looked to the girl’s face, she stopped and stared; Kisha’s expression was frozen in a look of stark terror, and that look would haunt Taashti for the rest of her days.
- – -
She wasn’t sure when Mohito, the massive gray Worg, had managed to join her – she just felt his presence beside her as she ran and she didn’t bother to question. Taashti’s hands were sore from her tight grip on the gun she carried, a gun that bore Kishanti’s mark upon the shining metal, and her eyes burned from the blood of her last kill and the effort of trying not to cry. She couldn’t cry. Kisha would make fun of her if she cried.
“What kinda tracker cries in the heat of battle, huh, kid? Buck up, there’s worse where you’re goin’ and where we’re from.”
Mohito’s snarling shook Taash from her thoughts and she slid to a stop, spinning to stare at the Worg and whatever he was snarling at. They were so close, all they had to do was get to Zangarmarsh and they’d be safe like the others that had left before they did.
“Moh! C’mo – ”
A trio of Orcs crested the hill and Taashti’s eyes went wide. She didn’t have enough ammo to kill all three, she knew that, but she reached into her ammo pouch anyway. If she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting.
Her hands were shaking as she loaded her gun and screamed for Mohito to attack.
- – -
A sickening crack and blindingly sharp pain announced to Taashti that her leg was broken.
It was the gurgling whimper that informed her that Mohito was gone, too.
The young Draenei woman lay within mere metres of the safety of Zangarmarsh. Slowly, she reached forward, in the hopes that perhaps, just perhaps, if she could get part of herself a little closer…
“Aaah!”
Taashti cried out as one of the two remaining Orcs stomped on her hand – and that was all that was needed. As the Orc raised his axe above his head to deliver the final killing blow, a low, reverberating noise – almost like the trumpet of an angry Elekk – rumbled across the land.
The gravely wounded young woman barely registered what was going on around her; she could see plate-clad Draenei, she could smell the marsh on them, clinging to their clothes and tabard. She heard their voices and battle cries and the death-yells of the Orcs. She heard the concern in the voice of the male that leaned over her, but her vision was blurry, she couldn’t identify him. She didn’t know what she was being asked, or what she was being told, and she yelped when the Draenei man scooped her up.
“… her… Telr… make has…”
Though she struggled to remain awake, it was no use, and Taashti soon lost consciousness.
- – -
“My dad was killed by the Orcs,” Kisha said, shrugging lightly. “’s how I learned how to shoot, him yellin’ at me to run but uh, I knew it wasn’t no use. So I shot the fuckers.”
Taashti gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, prompting Kisha to giggle. “What?” The older Draenei asked. “You ne’er said any bad words?”
“No way!” Taash replied. “Mom would give me that look and then she would say, ‘Do not make me tell your grandfather’, and I do not want to disappoint Grandpa.”
Grinning, Kisha ruffled the young girl’s hair and teased, “Your Gran’pa’s just as bad, mebbe worse. You ever heard ‘im when one a’ his magic spells didn’t work?”
The little Draenei girl’s cheeks darkened and she nodded slowly.
“‘Sides, he’s eeeverybody’s gran’pa, ‘e’s so old,” Kisha added, then she gave Taash a rather thoughtful look. “So uh, what ’bout your dad, what happened to him?”
Both of Taashti’s hands went to a tiny silver pendant that she wore around her neck. The little girl shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Grandpa said mom showed up when she was pregnant and he took her in, and she never talks about him.” The girl fidgeted a little before brightly exclaiming, “I bet he’s a great hunter, and he has a big old Worg and he makes all his own guns and ammo and one day he’s gonna show up and sweep mom off her feet.”
“Sure, kiddo,” Kisha said. “I’m sure he will.”
- – -
Daniil had been frowning all evening. He tried not to, but after the news he had received from his granddaughter’s healer, he couldn’t help it.
“Her leg will never heal properly, Daniil. It was crushed. She will be very lucky if she is ever able to walk again.”
The old Draenei’s frown deepened into a scowl and he puffed furiously on his pipe, then turned toward the very pale young girl that lay in the bed behind him. She was safe, for now, in Telredor, but that safety couldn’t possibly last. He had to get her out. He had to find a way.
“First your mother, now Kisha, now you,” Daniil mumbled. “Light help us all.”
The old mage shuffled to Taashti’s bedside, took her hand in his and fell into silence. There was little else that he could do.
- – -
For weeks, Taashti had been left with little to do but stay in bed and wait for her leg to heal – or at least strengthen to the point where she would be able to limp about.
One day, however, she was awakened by a commotion outside her room. She called for Daniil, who carried her outside to see what the fuss was about, and there the duo found one of the Broken speaking to the Draenei of Telredor about a new path. Though Daniil showed no interest, and even slight distaste, in the words of one of them, Taashti was enamoured with the idea of a new path.
That day, as she sat among other young Draenei like herself who had nothing to lose and everything to gain, she found something that would prove to be very important to her people: Hope.
That day, the wind and the water spoke to Taashti.
- – -
“You are beautiful.”
“Stop it, Grandpa.”
Taashti was positively beaming as Daniil set his massive hands upon her tiny shoulders and pressed his lips to her forehead. The girl laughed, exclaiming, “You’re acting like we’re going to be apart forever, Grandpa, but it’s gonna be fine, honest!”
“Promise but one thing, Taashti,” he said as he leaned back from her, just so that he could get a better look at the young woman. “promise me that you will not die before me.”
“Grandpa,” she replied breathlessly, just somewhat shocked. “that’s – I can’t – ”
“Promise,” he repeated.
The girl went very, very quiet, even looking a little guilty as she whispered, “That’s a really strange thing to ask for but I promise. Can I go now? I’m gonna be late, I think the Farseer is assigning everyone to their trainers and I’ve never been good at really navigating the Exodar and -”
“It’s fine,” Daniil said. “Go. Light be with you, my dear, and tread carefully!”
Taashti gazed absently at her Grandfather for several long minutes before reluctantly parting ways with him, and he smiled sadly as he watched her go. Then he, too, left, taking to the path from Azure Watch to the far-off coast.
- – -
“These are your orders, ladies, and if any of you are caught fleeing the front lines you will be shot on sight, is that understood?”
A very small Alliance contingent stood on the parched red soil of Hellfire Peninsula just outside Honour Hold, a mixture of Humans, Dwarves, Night Elves, Draenei and Gnomes. Among them, wearing the colours of an Alliance Medic, stood Taashti, with her arms crossed over her chest and a very Daniil-like scowl upon her face. She was dirty, hot and had a smouldering cigar clenched between her teeth. Tiny gears were peppered through her hair, which had been darkened from its yellowish-white to a deep red-brown, and a pair of battered goggles rested upon her forehead. This was the land that had nearly killed her nearly a century ago, and she could hardly believe her eyes.
When the group was dismissed, Taash made her way back toward the inn, grumbling under her breath the entire time. She hated it in Hellfire, all she wanted was to go elsewhere. Anywhere. Even -
A painting on the wall of the inn caught the woman’s eye, a new painting of a land that was covered in snow and strange, pointy trees. She tilted her head, then pointed to the painting and asked, “Where is?”
“That’s Northrend,” a human soldier replied. “’s where most of our forces are.”
Taashti grinned. She knew exactly where she wanted to go.
Healer Hymns, Matojo is a Snarky Bitch, My Other Mount is a Troll, Rambles, Tank Talk, Tool Box, WHARRGARBL | admin | 
March 12, 2010 3:05 pm | 
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