[Storytime][Intro] Technoshaman Taashti and the Military Missive
[ Taashti is a level 62 Draenei Shaman on Zul'jin US-PvE and this is my attempt to figure out her character. She is a cigar-smoking, ale-chugging, technoshaman with a penchant for inappropriate curses and behaviour that isn't quite fitting of a Shaman. An injury in an attack when she was a child caused permanent damage to her right leg which has resulted in a limp - a problem she makes up for with her dabblings in Engineering. Much of Who She Is isn't really evident here, unfortunately, so I hope to develop her a bit more as time goes on. ]
Tap. Taptap. Taptaptap. Tippity tap.
Taashti slowly opened one eye, then the other and raised her hand in front of her face as she blinked groggily at the sudden influx of daylight. What time was it? Nether, what day was it?
Creeeeeeak. Thumpthumpthump clank clatter clank.
“What is racket?” Taashti shouted. She was sprawled across a mess of a bed that was Dwarf- not Draenei -sized and surrounded by unfinished gadgetry, explosives, barrels of gunpowder, stacks of various metal bars and the occasional pipe or small part. The young Shaman pulled herself out of bed and onto shaky hooves, then stumbled across the room to a crooked desk that sat beneath a bronze-coloured pipe that stuck down from the ceiling. The pipe ended at a ninety degree angle that had a metal cone sticking off of it, from which a tinny, female-sounding voice emanated.
“Got th’mailbox runnin’, Taash!” The Gnome cried. “An’ you gotta summons!”
Taashti scowled. She worded her response carefully to avoid slipping into Draenic as she spoke into the cone.
“Is from where? Nobody but you know of me live here, Tecci. You not tell, yes?”
“Who’d I tell?”
The young Shaman limped about her home, grumbling as she ran her fingers through her long, pale yellow hair; she had to find her goggles in the mess that was her collecting of gears and miscellanea. “Nevermind,” she shouted, so she could be heard through the communications device. “Who summon Taashti?”
Meanwhile, on the roof, Tecila Shieldwall flopped down and tore the envelope open.
“Looks ta be somebody wit’ a fancy Drainy name,” she said.
Crash!
… And she grinned at the Draenic curses that filtered through with the sound of crashing and banging that had become the usual noontime greeting.
“They’s callin’ you ta Hellfire Peninsula in Outland, Taash. Place is damn hot an’ they want ya ta do some spirit somethin’s with keepin’ up morale or somethin’ inna citadel place an’ that Zangarmarshy thinger,” the Gnome continued. “Ya gots ta report ta some hold or somethin’ that’s run by humies an’ I guess folks’ll put ya wherever you’ve gotta go.”
Inside the stone house, Taashti was struggling to get into her overalls. After an epic battle wherein a handful of whirring bronze gizmos were lost and a copper pipe or two was bent, the Draenei woman stood victorious, snapped her goggles into place on her head and staggered out into the afternoon sun of Loch Modan.
“And name is?” Taash loudly asked. She was just about to haul herself onto the roof when the Gnome suddenly appeared at her hooves, grinning.
“And why you grin so much. Little gnome is smart-ass,” the Shaman continued.
“That ain’t very spirit-nature-lovery of ya at all,” Tecila replied. She was far too chipper for Taash’s taste.
With a snort, the Draenei snatched the letter from her companion’s hands and read it aloud.
“Taashti; it has been brought to our attention that you are idle on Azeroth while on the military payroll. Please report to Honour Hold at once. Your services are required, you will be joining the ranks in the capacity of a medic and will be asked to accompany recon. teams into Hellfire Citadel and the Coilfang Reservoir when your first missions are complete. Report by the end of the week or face Court Martial. Signed, Vindicator Krivyx.”
Strangely enough, as Taashti’s face fell, Tecila’s grin grew, until the small woman’s face threatened to be consumed by it.
“So that’s how you’ve been payin’ for yer ‘speriments,” Tecila said. “Now yer actually gonna hafta work fer it!”
“Shut trap, little mouse, and help Taashti suit up. Is going to be long trip to Ironforge to get transport to hell-hole, so must be started early.”
With that, the pair disappeared back into the old stone dwelling to prepare for the Shaman’s departure.
- – -
Taashti’s love of the spirits was never obvious on the outside, and appeared to be trumped by her adoration of technology, but little did most know that, for her, the two went hand-in-hand. The gadgetry that dangled from her belt, or that she wore elsewhere, made up for her weaknesses and supplemented her magic and resolve. She was often chided for her approach, but it worked for her.
She was still alive, after all, and she was still able to walk.
The young Shaman absently toyed with one of the steel gears that she wore in her hair as she slid off the Gryphon and stepped onto the parched red soil of Hellfire Peninsula. The land, she noted, was screaming – she didn’t like it one bit.
“I am thinking is time to start the drink again,” she muttered as she made her way toward Honour Hold. “Too many dead, Taashti remembers, too many that can be heard. Is a bad, bad time to be leaving Dwarf-land. Bad time.”
Young Taashti would soon find that she had plenty of reason to be worried.
Matojo's Tome, Zul'jin | admin | 
March 3, 2010 12:27 pm
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