okutong

[okutong]

The young pandaren finished dousing the hut in a vile-smelling liquid, something between soju and oil.

He struck a match, and watched it fall as he backed away.

The terrors never slept, and neither could he. Arms flailing, fists found cracks in his walls that only got deeper with the passing days. A heaving chest found calm after a crashing sigh, a buckler-sized palm lofting to cradle his head.

A frost-laden miasma of tundra air whispered insults at the edges of his doorframe, scolding the pandaren for the rustily reassembled hinges that allowed the lazy morning sky to cast lures of young sunlight across the slowly crumbling shack. Other than this, all was fine.

A coughed breeze rustled the edges of a scripture that had been tucked underneath the door.

All was not fine.

Fury slammed through the poor door of the shack, causing the recuperating hinges to once again come undone. A dejected-looking door slumped tiredly against the front wall. It was done trying.

It always feels as if it takes a thousand years, and then claps every moment into a single instant at the very end. The next thing he knew, Oku was glowering down at the local dockworkers. He had come… maybe miles, really. It was hard to tell. He was not covered in blood this time, though. Some poor bosun was suspended by the neck between his digits. Something else had brought him to.

“What did you say?” He loomed over the poor cabin boy across the deck, dropping the bosun perhaps moments before the man would have died.

“She left a day ago, sir-”

“Before that. Who left?”

“M-Miss Talnae, sir. Miss Talnae.”

A nearby figure who looked to be a captain shot death glares to the deckhand, hissing out in his direction,”Shut up, you fool!”

Oku softened, shaking his head. His steps seemed to shake the whole main deck and the forecastle that he shoved past as he hopped down onto the docks. The workers on the deck now lowered their weapons, one boy looking very sadly over what looked to be a newly forged blade that was now bent into a position so it’s only functionality might be as a corkscrew. Oku’s fingers were already around the bridle of his kodo, ushering it towards the road. He tossed the scripture that had stolen him from sleep, letting it settle on the breeze like a lost leaf or torn feather. The face of it held a hastily painted image, with a short phrase:

Sweeping brushstrokes of silver-white nestled around a centerpoint like a winding serpent, neck meeting a torso with wings outstretched upon a rushing wind. Long, dark legs matched the long, pointed beak of the bird and at the base of the image;

She is here.

[ PART 1 ]

[ Second in a series of partner pieces to this, written in a story with her. Please enjoy. ]

[okutong]

                                                       Part Three

     Rain hit the roof with a steady thrum that eased some of the tension from her shoulders.  It was a cramped space, with two elderly pandaren sharing the table with her and the heavy scent of smoke on the air did little to help her.  The mender had been in Pandaria for weeks, now, and her frustration was mounting.  Perhaps she had been foolish to think that he would be waiting for her when she arrived.  Invisible threads of lost love were all well and good, but they did little to actually help and she had spent that majority of her time on fruitless searches.

     So she had climbed a hundred steps and found herself settled in a tavern shrouded in mists.

     “As I was saying,” the male pandaren said, gesturing with one paw toward the table as smoke snaked past his facial hair.  His voice was the grate of metal against stone, unappealing but the sound of work.  “A man who does not wish to be found should be left alone.  Especially the one you seek, little crane.”  An eye the color of soot watched her from the creases of his face, the pipe in his other paw placed once again between teeth yellowed with age.      “Bah!”  Another voice interjected, a much more pleasant growl, “Any man who runs from such beauty - such artwork - is a fool.  She should hunt him down just to beat some sense into his head!”  This voice belonged to an elderly woman, long hair mostly grey, shot through with a vibrant purple.  She was missing her right arm and the hand of her left currently held the neck of a long bottle.      The ghost of a smile haunted pale lips, “You cannot see, Grandmother,” she added the honorific in that lilting accent, the sound of waves lapping upon a pebbled shore.

     A snort, a clink as the bottle was placed once more upon the crowded table.  “A person does not need eyes to know art!”  The elderly woman slapped her paw upon the table and then pointed it across the way in the general area of her male counterpart.  “We are helping her.”  It was not a question and though the man snarled he did not object.  “Boys!”  This screamed over one shoulder loud enough that the priestess flinched.      They appeared in the doorway, blotting out the weak sunlight that did it’s best against the heavy clouds.  “Grandma?”  They spoke in unison and she could feel their eyes on the back of her head.      “You are taking this girl to the cliff’s edge.  Be efficient and fetch her a cloak, this rain is going to turn to snow.”      “Aye.”  The words followed by the sound of one boy retreating, the other waiting in silence.      She stood, hands pushing against the worn wood of the table before her. “Thank you for your time, Grandfather,” she murmured, voice soft and head bowed to the pair, “And your help, Grandmother.”  The priestess did not wait, sensing the sort of argument that comes from years spent loving.  She turned and stepped into the pale sunlight, squinting against the wind that lashed chilling rain against the stone around her.  The boy followed, as silent and swift as a shadow.

     They walked in silence, the three of them, an arrangement that was alright with her.  She got the sense that the boys did not need to speak to know what the other thought.  They moved in sync, carefully leading her along a narrow path of uneven stone, one stopping to help her while the other kept keen eyes of stormy blue on their surroundings.  The rain had quickly turned from stinging water, to slush, to snow.        The trio came upon the first cairn after an hour of trudging through old snow and new.  A mound of pale stones with a bit of silk affixed to the top one, a feather tied to the end of it.  The chilly wind whipped it back and forth angrily and it took her a moment to catch it, running her fingers over the feather.      “A crane feather,” one of the twins said, nodding to the bit of white clutched in her hands.

     She spoke without looking up, “He made this?”      A shared glanced.  The other one spoke, “Yes.  All of them.”      Now the priestess did look up, following the gesture of one pandaren.  She had to squint against the wind and the swelling darkness but she saw them, dotted along the cliff’s edge.  Something sharp tugged at her heart.      “Take me to him.”      Another glance, a few minute gestures that spoke volumes.      “Why not?”

     “He…” One started.      “Threw our uncle off the cliff,” the other added.      “For bothering him,” the first one finished. 

     “I assure you both, if he tries to hurl either of you off the cliff I’ll make his life hell.”      “We’d be dead, ma’am,” the replied in unison.      Her fingers tightened on the feather, crushing it beneath her fingers, “Please.”

][ Part One | Part Two ][

[okutong]

                                                        Part One 

     Every scar lining her body had started to sing with memories the moment her next step had solidified in her mind, a clamor that set her teeth on edge.  It pounded through her veins to the near frantic beat of her heart a constant reminder of what it had cost her to run before – what it still cost her in lack of sleep, lack of peace.  But, still, to run was something that was hard coded into her DNA.  She had run from her failing marriage, from the debt the bastard left her, from those that came to collect.  Now, though, she ran from those she had called friend, lover.  A tune familiar and different in the same breath, a comfort and a heartache.

     Pain was an excellent tutor and she had packed her bag while the space her missing fingers had occupied throbbed.  A greasy feeling spreading over pale skin, lining the dimpled ruins of her flesh.  Nausea gripped her from day one and robbed her of an appetite, left her fingers shaking.  So she had steadied them, first with drink and when that was not enough with a herbal mixture left to her by a friend now long gone.  

     The apartment was left pristine and with most of her left behind in it.  Robes were hung neatly in the small closet, her bed made, the table set for a one.  Someone would have to know the priestess well to know what was missing - a well read book, a favored hood and dress, the small collection of knives, a battered case of rose gold.  Things easily packed in a single bag.

     The mender’s recent proximity to the Harbor had been beneficial and she moved when it’s activity was at its peak. Customary robes marking her as a city priestess had been stowed in the bag she carried, traded out for a set of worn but sturdy trousers, a finely made shirt and a broad brimmed hat that was pulled low over her face.  For once she did not fight the crowd, but let it push and pull in along it’s current.  She did not flinch when strangers pressed against her, did not scowl when someone tripped and nearly pulled her down with them.  She simply pressed forward until she found what she was looking for.      A large man waited for her, looking sheepish and awkward with his cap in massive hands.  Turning, turning, turning.  Eyes of warm hazel scanned the crowd and hope mingled with relief presented itself readily upon his wide face when she stepped forward.  In a voice that reminded the priestess of wood creaking beneath footfalls he spoke, “Miss Talnae?”      A brief smile at the mangling of her name – one of her names.  “The very same,” she replied with a bow of her head, keeping that brim between his curious gaze and her face.

     “We were just waitin’ on you miss - ma’am.”  His cap was placed back on his head and one of those big hands were offered to her, “I’ll row us out there right quick and we’ll be on our way!”  She took the hand and stepped down into the dingy tied to the jetty, moving slow and careful to perch upon a damp seat with her bag tucked between her feet.  The poor thing dipped deep in the water as the man climbed in, his motions practiced and smooth as he freed them from the harbor.  She sat in silence, he rowed to the tune that he sung under his breath.

     The ship was not the largest she had ever seen but it was big enough and the only thing she had been able to afford.  It’s captain was a large woman, all scars and tattoos with steely grey hair that matched the intelligent, judging eyes.  A mouth full of sharpened teeth directed her crew and spewed almost loving insults to those too slow to act.  She had taken a moment to greet the priestess but had quickly dismissed her, instructing another man to bring the lady to her cabin.

     It was a small space - as cabins on ships tend to be – but it was enough space for such a small woman.  Her guide had lingered long enough to help stow her things so they did not scatter with the waves and then he had disappeared, beckoned by the hollering of his captain.  She sat on the bed, a thing little more than a wooden plank, and closed her eyes.  Around her flexible wood creaked as the sea shifted endlessly beneath it, around it.  The scent of sea water and fish and tar filled her nostrils with a sharp tang of unwashed bodies beneath it.

     All at once familiar and different.

[okutong]

                                                     Part Two

     The mender woke with a gasp, sitting up swift enough that she nearly tumbled from her uncomfortable bed.  A weight was settled on her chest, pressing the breath from her lungs, the life from her body.  Hands fumbled, plucking through the air like a harp player until – Light bloomed on slender fingers and illuminated… nothing.  She was alone in her cabin that creaked with the wave’s force just beyond worn wood.  It was hard to breathe, the air was stale without any breeze to stir it.  Grasping fingers found cloth and drew a robe tight over her small frame, pulling the hood of the garment up and over her face as she stumbled from her cabin.      It was easier to draw in the cold night air than that of her cabin, to feel the flirty splash of seawater against her cheeks.

     “Couldn’t sleep?” A voice like creaky floorboards asked and a large form stepped up beside the petite priestess.      “Charlie,” came her greeting, fondness leaking into the name.  The man who had rowed her to the ship they stood on – a large merchant vessel with two cabins for passengers.  The Ocean’s Kiss, it’s figurehead that of a beautiful maiden with arms outstretched, as if ready to embrace a long time lover.  The priestess felt warm hazel eyes on her, always curious but never enough to ask the questions held so carefully between his teeth.  She liked him.  Liked how he moved as if he wasn’t use to being quite so large, liked the sandy blonde hair tied in braids close to his skull.  Liked how soft spoken he was, how he watched one of his fellow sailors like the man hung the moon in the sky.  A sweet boy with rope calluses on his hands.  “It was too warm in my cabin, is all.”  She explained with a dip of her head in his direction.

     “Not been on a ship often, miss?”  Charlie asked, leaning big hands on the railing and turning his face toward the breeze.      “Not since I was much younger.”  

     “Do you plan on… staying?  In Pandaria?”      A hidden brow arched at the question, concealed eyes watching the boy as he carefully looked elsewhere.  “Are you being nosy, Charlie?”  She asked, a bit of chill creeping through the words like a first frost.      “Ah – Forgive me, Miss.  It’s none of my business.”  Big hands lifted from the railing and he retreated a few steps, leaving her to her thoughts.  She regretted the words, the tone, but… this ship was bound back to Stormwind and while the thought of anyone searching for her was laughable she did not want to leave too many crumbs.  Teal colored eyes watched Charlie return to his work that night.  A game of cards, as far as she could tell.  Soon her attention turned to the front again, watching the shape of a landmass grow and slowly blot out stars as the ship sailed closer. One hand lifted to rub gently at the spot above her heart.  If she closed her eyes she could see them - dozens of thin lines spreading out from her heart.  Strings looped around her soul and leading to those she had left part of herself with.  A few pulled sharp to the north, to her first true home.  A handful lead back to Stormwind, buried in the hearts those far stronger than she.  One, though, pulled her forward toward Pandaria.  A bright red string constantly tugging her toward its source.  Distantly, absently, the priestess wondered if others saw them, if others had the same strings tied around their hearts and anchored in those they loved.  She wondered if others had threads anchored to her.  She hoped not.  She hoped so.

{ Part One }

[okutong]

He watched the flames take her.

“Burn the past. Scatter the ashes. There’s nothing left for you here.”

They ripped flecks of stone from the brick wall of his hut, jagged claws tearing in exasperation only moments before he awoke. A single, sobbed breath left him as the stormy eyes opened evenly and slowly. A furred maw, now dyed blood red  from the corners of his mouth and down, trembled as he tumbled from the bed and to the floor. He caught himself with his palms which set heavy into the dirt floor, bits of dust billowing on the still air to find homes elsewhere. A single, heavy tear trickled down from the corner of his eye, then his nose, and then falling;

Drip.

Sweeping finger-strokes brushed the tavern wall; as if an artist ever truly needed a brush. A supple red ink that took to his canvas readily, never running or smearing. The man had mastered calligraphy long ago, he wouldn’t make mistakes now.

Drip.

A palm-blot here, accent there. A gesture off to the side for more ink. His thumb brought sweeping arcs across the lettering. This was a poem that had to be clear. A masterwork.

Drip.

He stood back from the canvas, admiring his verse:

Curious songbirds break the horizon, seeking day.

What they found was not salvation.

They had forgotten.

Drip.

The creak of ropes and wooden beams, then he tied it off. He was done here.

Above the deep red calligraphy, a frayed rope hung the disfigured form of something that might have once been alive. It didn’t matter what it was, that was impossible to know now. A frame of shattered ribs and viscera crossing skinned limbs like macabre birthday ribbons. At the centerpiece, suspended by a poorly-crafted blade on the forefront of the mind was a former shoulder adornment; a marred head without features or face. They had all been burned away. A drop of blood trickled from where eyes should be, down cauterized nostrils and then falling-

The mountainous figure stood out overlooking the cliffs of Kun-Lai, crimson tundra beneath his feet. The frosty cushion of the spongelike footing reassured him that his purchase was firm, despite standing so close to the edge. But he had to. He felt something tugging at his soul, just past that spot where the ocean disappeared over the very edge of the world. A soft, pale string. It hummed out for him like the plucking of a harp, or the hum of a violin. In the other direction lay other strings. Most of them were burned and black, and now led only to headstones. This one, though… he knew it.

And he had never been more scared.

[okutong]

Soundless.

Sightless.

And then suddenly, a light.

A tiny flame flickered at the end of a long, thin match. Orange warriors danced in light just over the wick of a flat, round candle. In a moment, they would leap desperately from the match and cling to the wick, resuming their lively display as if they had never left home.

A wall of fur and ink shifted away from the candlelight, the entire room around him waking drowsily with the glow of fire. A shirt was grabbed from where it hung in front of the small, circular hearth at the opposite end of the room. Ashes upset themselves with the fluttering of the garment from its resting spot, settling once again as it was pulled over the mountain of pandaren muscle and tucked into the waist of crimson legplates.

A rattle of chain and the groan of floorboards murmured around the room as a weight was lifted from the bedside. A hand of gauntleted digits wrapped around the handle of the circular door and pushed it open without a sound, a flourish of cloak and plate stepping through the moonlit gap before the door closed with a hollow:

Click.

And once again the room was still, save for weary warriors dancing drowsily down towards their demise.

______

Oku’s greaves sat heavy upon the ill-paved road. The hints of a new day snored breaths of dim daylight from just beyond the horizon, the moon still full in the sky. Blue eyes darted from where the sky met the land and off down the path ahead of him, away from a small shack nestled somewhere in the mountainside of the bloody peaks of Kun-Lai.

The cold air swept circles about the Pandaren’s feet, billowing his dark cloak off to one side. The dark burgundy fringe of the garment appeared something akin to bubbling blood with the erratic motion. A hood hung low over the Pandaren’s visage as he approached the Temple, a bundle of cloth and twine tucked under one arm. The pandaren moved through the early morning at the coastal outcropping, the few faces awake at the time following him intently as they had every other day. Oku made no eye contact with the locals, eyes focused only ahead of him.

His feet found their way just past one of the large training courtyards to the edge of the cliffside. It looked out over the crashing waves, white capped and roaring hundreds of feet below. Oku sat down and untucked the bundle from under his arm, finding a seat just before a small pile of stones. Untying the bundle, it collapsed open with more stones.

All of the stones were a strange, pale white.

One by one, Oku moved the stones carefully. His focus was steeled upon the rocks, stacking one and then the next with a lethal precision. Focused carefully until-

“Why do you do this? What are you hoping to accomplish?”

A merchant stood just at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed and glowering over at Oku. The blue gaze of the berserker broke from its target, one stone clicking ever-so-carefully to the left and out of place. Oku’s gaze seethed with a cold fury, shifting towards the merchant.

“A man came to me with similar questions the other day. You should ask him.”

The merchant scoffed, crossing his arms.

“And where might this man be, then?”

Oku paused and looked for a long moment at the old merchant, studying over his features. Then one hand lifted, a finger extended. The direction swept from just at Oku’s side, and out further until it set out over the cliffside, down into the frigid waters crashing hundreds of feet below.

The merchant paled, stammering for a moment before huffing at Oku and hurriedly walking back off towards his cart.

Unfazed, Oku looked back to his work. Before long, only one stone was left. Oku lifted the stone from the cloth and reached into a shirt pocket. He pulled a strand of torn silver silk, which snaked further and further out of the pocket until it lifted completely out. Tied to the end, carefully but firmly, was a single crane feather. Oku took the untied end of the silk and bound it about the final stone, then placed the stone atop the stout cairn he had just finished. The feather caught the coastal breeze, the silver silken strand taking to fluttering off to one side of the pile.

Oku gazed upon the pile of stacked stones, pale as snow. His eyes then shifted just further up the cliffside, where a similar cairn stood with the same silvery strand and fluttering feather. His eyes shifted to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And to every single pile that dotted that coastal cliffside, vigils constructed to watch and sit.

To sit by the water.

[okutong]

][ A companion piece to This One ][

The sight of the letter brings dread.  She has never liked letters.  Nothing ever good was written down.  Not that much good was ever said aloud, either.  Goodness only exists in fleeting moments of silence for the Priestess.

I’m sorry.

She doesn’t want to open it, so sure she is of it’s contents.  A vice has gripped her heart, a thing she thought long forgotten; turned to dust behind the walls of indifference.  It is a bittersweet thing to know that such a shriveled thing can still break. The puff of his cologne nearly undoes her.  Such a familiar thing should not tear at her so.  It should not bring with it such a sense of finality.  It should not settle like a stone in the pit of her stomach to weigh her down, to drown her in a sense of dread she has only felt once before. Why is it always simple things that inspire such things?  The knock at a door, a single glance… a letter. It is so silent in her office.  What is she suppose to do with this?  With pretty words of poetry?  Such things will not keep her warm at night, she cannot argue with a letter, cannot read with it in companionable silence. It is so silent until it is not.  The letter and it’s contents left on the desk where they had fallen from numbed finger tips.  A bottle, its contents now residing in the small mender’s body, is hurled against one wall where it shatters and with the shards fall books as the impact rocks the rickety bookshelf.  A scream follows; the loudest sound that tiny woman has ever made it is filled - as filled as a sound may be. Why is it always anger that rises to the smooth surface of her emotions, erupting like a sea beast of fable prepared to reign down hell and death upon unsuspecting sailors.  She cannot contain it, cannot control it.  She doesn’t want too.  She wants this feeling out, wants it to leave her in peace for once and for all.  Destruction is brought to her cramped office; tables are overturned and bookshelves are pulled apart their contents thrown around the room. His letter is left untouched.

Her rage does not last as long as anticipated.  Perhaps she tires easily.  Perhaps she was not as angry as she thought.  In the end it matters not as the Priestess falls to her knees in the midst of the mess she created with her heart no less lighter. And for the first time in a long time, Aevirious laid her head down upon her arms. And she wept.

][ @okutong ][

[okutong]

Goodbye

A neatly closed envelope sat on Aevi’s desk, a wax seal of black and red with an ox’s brow pressed into it like a forged groove. Upon inspection, the other side of the envelope held two simple words.

I’m sorry.

As the seal was broken, a simple enchantment sent a puff of Oku’s cologne whirling about the air, a smoky aroma with hints of rain poppy that clung to the envelope and the papers enclosed. As the letter was drawn from its veil, a single pressed carnation the likeness of snow toppled slowly out of its package, floating as if weightless before settling upon the desktop. The paper was folded neatly and creased evenly. Upon unfolding the message, she’d hardly have to read the address to know who it was from; the nature of each brushstroke within the lettering told clearly of its author.

“Aevirious Ravana.

The woman who sits by the water.

I walked past you a hundred times then, when I learned your name. A hundred more when I learned your face. I don’t know how many times I walked by you before I left Stormwind after my work collapsed beneath my feet. I don’t know how you found me in Pandaria.

But there are things that I do know.

I know that I will miss you. I have never allowed any into my heart before, and it is now clear why. You are as dangerous to me as an exposed artery. I did not see it at first; I did not see what you were to me.

A still lake with a single crane, standing lone as a statuette. She is not awakened or disturbed by the dark shoreline, the creeping tigers, the fiends of tooth and fin lurking beneath the surface. She is strong, but not wrathful. She is pure, but not innocent. She is the perfect antithesis to her environment, yet… she lives within balance. Both feet plant firmly beneath the water’s surface, but only as deep as they have to.

You bring a gentle mist to the hot coals of fury in my mind. You are the last bastion of longing in my heart. You are the one thing that could keep me sane, and the one thing that could throw me over. I have already seen the consequence of your harm in my presence. No gods could stop what punishment was dispensed that day. Like religion, you bring motive and meaning to my otherwise egotistical resolve; in the same way, you drive me to lay waste to all that may offend such an endeavor.

I cannot live in a world of such duality. It is dangerous for me, for you, and for everyone within arm’s reach. And so I must leave. I know you may not understand, and I am deeply sorry for that. My heart aches in anticipation of my departure, because I know I will never be able to forget you. You will always be the question without answer. I know you will be safer as a question in my mind than a figure drawn too close to my side. I cannot risk something so dear to me as you.”

Beneath the letter is a clipping from what looks to be an old book, reading only:

and an imminent and urgent sense scratches at my ear with whispers,

“Nothing may ever be the same.”

Mentions:

@pearlhalo

[okutong]

METAL - What is their epic battle music?

Most of Oku’s fights don’t really constitute as battles for him, just brawls more than anything. However, if Oku were to ever truly be engaged in full-on battle he’d most likely go berserk, and this song would be quite fitting for him.

The first portion would most likely be him picturing someone he loves getting hurt or tortured, which would be what he would use to let himself loose. Once the main verse kicks in, I think the pure fury and bassline would pretty well describe what’s going on in his head. A background thrum of shattering bones and his ears throbbing whilst he takes out all of his repressed anger on everything around him.

[okutong]

FOLK

Oku is definitely most happy and most at peace when he can see his future clearly and without obstacles. I think this song pretty clearly embodies that mindset and the lengths he’s willing to go to to reach his dreams of success. Those means may be incredibly dark, but nothing is really truly dark in Oku’s mind, so I think it also speaks volumes to the extent of which he romanticizes what he does as a criminal and as an entrepreneur/druglord.

[okutong]

ANON LOVE FRIDAY! Oku is such a great character, I honestly adore his concept and the way you write for him is SO good. Pandaren characters are often really awesome, but even among gems, Oku stands out. Your writing is excellent, and you should do more of it!

(( omg thank you so much you dont know how much this means to me

[okutong]

Asks - Soundtracks for Muses

Send an ask with one of these words and the muse will reply with a song and possibly an explanation of why. (You don’t have to!)

BALLAD - What song represents a moment of heartbreak for them? (does not have to be romantic.) METAL - What is their epic battle music? OPERA - What’s a song that represents sorrow for them? POP - What’s their happy song? SOUL - What is their dying song? R&B - What’s a song that represents them in love? (Current, past, or general!) RAP - What’s their “being a boss” song? COUNTRY - What’s their working song? FOLK -  What song represents them having a good time/fun? BLUES - What song represents their past? JAZZ - What song represents their hope for the future?

Tagging: Anyone who wants to play!

[okutong]

Character Alignment

Neutral Evil

(As determined by this test)

Alignment: Lawful Good —– XXXXXXX (7) Neutral Good —- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (16) Chaotic Good —- XXXXXXXXXXX (11) Lawful Neutral – XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14) True Neutral —- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (23) Chaotic Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (18) Lawful Evil —– XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (25) Neutral Evil —- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (34) Chaotic Evil —- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (29) Law & Chaos: Law —– XXXXX (5) Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14) Chaos — XXXXXXXXX (9) Good & Evil: Good —- XX (2) Neutral - XXXXXXXXX (9) Evil —- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (20)

[okutong]

[ A companion piece to this >one<]

   Aevirious could not recall the fight with the hydra, no matter how many times Oku retold it.  She could not recall the sewers and the reason for the trip. She had the brief and distant memory of waking and feeling annoyance that Oku was getting blood and tears on her, and another, even foggier memory of that weightless sensation of being carried.

   The next thing she can rouse from her battered memory, although it is also vague, is waking in a bed.  There was a reason for her sudden jerk into consciousness… ah, yes. Oku’s snoring. She threw something at him but the object is blurry in her mind.  It must not have been heavy as Aevirious can remember clearly the feeling of his chuckle; the sound vibrating through her the way war drums use too. The Pandaren reached down to smooth hair back from her face, a decidedly fond gesture that halted awkwardly as she flinched.

   Why had she flinched?

   One hand lifted to trace the path his fingers hand.

   Pain shot through her skull, her vision glaring white for several panicked breaths.  When she awoke again it was still dark and she was alone.  No… she wasn’t.  She saw the shadow of something large looming outside her office’s door; a silhouette that was familiar and reassuring.  Enough so that she was able to slip back into the fitful sleep her wounded body was demanding.

][ @okutong ][

[okutong]

“You go on ahead.”

The very bricks of the sewers shook with the sounds of six snakelike heads letting forth a screeching growl as they emerged from the water. Oku turned around just as he’d launched Val up the slope a short ways, careful not to over-throw the small woman. The pandaren let out a deep and challenging roar in response, the thin bed of water vibrating beneath the adversaries with the absolute volume of the grim conversation.

Gentle seiches sloshed guttural fluids this way and that from the noise as it grew lower in pitch, heavy plate gaining momentum as a gauntleted hand choked the chain in it’s palm, hefting from beneath the shallows a grime-covered stone fist of chiseled basalt. The length rattled as he let out slack with the arc before bringing it around once more just as he came into contact with the hydra. The jade-and-iron knuckles of the fist whistled a lethal tune through the air before the high arc made contact with the scaly, unsuspecting brow of the hydra’s right-most head.

The meteor hammer didn’t even stutter along it’s path with the first skull. The heavy pendulum showed no signs of stopping when melodies of cracking bone and dying shrieks rang out through the air. Three other heads lunged forward, the two left-most reptilian heads looking quite startled enough to reel back in surprise. The hammer careened over the tops of the lurching jaws, chain catching on the outside of a scale-plated neck as the hammer was jerked into a new arc. The fist swung down and around now, lassoing three of the heads together as the chain spun tighter and tighter about their long necks, binding them together as they attempted to writhe about and get free.

The two heads that had retreated slightly quickly bore down on Oku as he struggled to keep the three heads in control. Two sets of needlelike teeth, sopping with venom tore unpredictable arcs through the air towards the pandaren’s exposed face and neck while three angered heads gnashed nigh-uncontrollably only a few feet from his arms. The trunk-like torso of the beast shifted forward without legs, the long tail whipping behind it through the water like a gnarled root coming to life. Oku winced in anticipation of the teeth, maintaining his grip only just enough that-

The teeth sunk deep. Deep into a large, bubble-like shield of light over the pandaren’s whole body. From the inside, it looked like a thousand tiny needles piercing through a veil of yellow stained glass. Tiny hairline fractures began to form in the shield, Oku quickly realizing what had happened. Utilizing Aevi’s shield, he pushed forward. The necks of the hydras strained to keep their hold as Oku continued pushing forward against the weight of the beast, chain still holding tightly and only getting tighter as the pandaren reeled in the rancid catch. Slowly, the shield above him began to let off wisps of fog-like smoke, glimmering in the darkness. The hydra heads began to screech and growl, reeling back from the bright light and their now-scorched mouths. Oku flashed a look over his shoulder, eyes gaining purchase momentarily on the scarred maiden with cascading silver waves let loose from her hood, fluttering behind her as if buffeted by a strong wind.

The hydra’s whole body recoiled, turning as if to flee but not getting far with the chains binding three heads together. The serpentine reptilian form contorted, the mass of muscle beginning to drag Oku off down a dark hallway. The pandaren’s heels planted, leaning all of his weight back and foot-claws dragging against the grimy sewer silt in some attempt to gain purchase. He slid a few feet before his greaves caught on a divet in the brick, a workable foothold. With a sudden jerk, the whole body of the hydra let out a shrill groan as it flopped backwards, writhing around and turning towards Oku as the shield fell.

The chains wrapping around the beast’s neck fell slack, one of the heads sliding out as the other two followed quickly. The beast’s tail coiled in folds behind it as it sunk beneath the surface of the water, the massive form of the hydra disappearing in the darkness.

The pandaren stilled, peering around at the cloudy greywater and slowly making his way over towards Aevirious.

“Thanks for coming ba-..” The pandaren stopped mid-sentence as his eyes set on a hydra head looming in the darkness just behind Aevi, still like a statue before it gave an eerie grin of hundreds of needle-like teeth. Oku ran forward as fast as he could, the priestess raising a brow and turning only slightly before she found herself launched through the air by a heavily scaled tail. Oku stumbled, deep blue eyes watching as Aevi was flung helplessly across the room. Her form struck a nearby wall, a yelp as her eyes went wide and then a whimper as her head struck the ground and her body crumpled in an unconscious heap.

There was no noise.

Oku breathed heavily, eyes shifting to the hydra that now emerged in the corner of the room in front of him. Five sickly grins glared over at him in the dim light and a crumpled head and neck twitched on one side.

But Oku didn’t see any of that.

Oku only saw one thing.

Red.

And suddenly Oku woke up. He was looking down at small body of the priestess, sitting cross-legged in a corner. The silver-haired maiden was breathing gently in his lap, a small head injury allowing for a slow trickle of blood to mix with her hair and down the side of her face.

And across the room…

Blood.

The blood was everywhere.

One might have thought a six-ton meat tenderizer had struck down on the spot, sending shattered bones and scales and fragments of neck and skull all around the room. Reptilian viscera painted the already grimy walls in a red-glinting coat of mush. The corner looked like someone had been enraged at their surplus of red paint. Oku himself; completely covered. His fur was matted, his armor had a layer that dripped with the sticky substance. His face, his beard; all red. Floating in front of him in the water was a poem in two pieces. Two halves of a broken heart, quite literally. There was a trail of organs and shattered bone that led up to the ruptured chambers.

It was done.

And for the first time since he was a child, Oku laid his head down upon Aevi’s.

And he wept.

Characters Mentioned: @val-rius @pearlhalo

[okutong]

Loose Ends

Wisps of aromatic tobacco smoke drifted lazily from the end of a lit cigar. A human lip cradled the end of the slug, yellow teeth sunk gently in to hold it steady. Dull, tired eyes grazed the lamplit street with idle boredom.

Stand in front, guard the door. Don’t let anybody in unless they’re on the list. Simple.

Real. Fucking. Simple.

Thirty-five minutes until his shift ends. The human lifted a gloved hand to drag through thick, greasy locks of dark brown hair.  Just as the digits had almost tilled completely back across the crop, a callused ring finger caught in a small tangle. Noticed only too late, the human let out a shallow, breathy curse as his scalp tugged and a small tuft was wrenched into freedom and that so-secure cigar dropped to the cold cobblestones. Bending at the hip to retrieve the cigar, the man still allowed a stream of airy curses as he dusted it off. He rolled it over in his palm, shoving it back between his teeth and fumbling for a match. Focusing keenly on the rolled tobacco, the human sparked up the matchstick. Once, twice, and…

A massive, red and silver breastplate stood directly before him. Catching the dim light of the match, the feeble flame immediately went out. Slowly lifting his gaze, the human-

____

The inside of the opium den was as still as ever, slumped piles of bodies with drapes of silk hanging overhead to add to the superfluous aura of the room. The piles breathed gently, eyes half-open on each of the assorted cadavers. A thick haze hung about the room like a low coastal fog. The dense cloud carried the sounds of a long, flat string instrument from the corner across the room in a shallow echo. The device was manned by an incredibly old-looking pandaren, small and frail in nature with clear cataracts in both eyes. An uncertain air to the playing of the string instrument, and a hand that probed the strings after each pluck assisted the blind and deaf old man in his tune. Three guards stood about the room, one of which was a younger pandaren that seemed to be dozing near the entrance and the other two humans who were cleaning their blades in the corner of the room opposite the door. Nearby them was what appeared to be a silk-shrouded doorframe leading into another room.

All was seemingly still, until:

Thump.

The door shook in its frame, rattling the delicate bells that hung about the establishment. The guard nearest the door perked up, peering narrowly towards the noise.

Thump.

The other two guards took notice now, looking up from their blades across the room. The second thump had sent an ornate vase in one corner to be rocking gently on it’s end.

Thum-ta-THWACK

The door slammed open, lock splitting directly through the doorframe as the heavy wooden facade battered the inside wall, sending dim natural light and a cold breeze flooding through the establishment. All guards rose to their feet, weapons drawn. The vase fell from the corner, the bells shaking violently with the shatter.

A strained gurgle could be heard from outside, moving swiftly inside as a human body was sent tumbling into the building arm over arm. The human was still moving, eyes bugging out as one hand clutched at his missing voice box and the other tried to maintain a massive hole in his lower chest cavity. Fractured bone could be seen from the upper abdomen as sticky, red plasma poured onto the floor from both newly crafted orifices. After a moment, the human went limp in a puddle of his own ichor.

All was still.

With a croak, the pandaren guard inched towards the doorframe with a hatchet raised over his head,

“…H-Hello..?”

Three heavy footsteps brought with them the massive shadow of a beast, ducking under the doorframe as the poor pandaren was lifted from the ground by his throat. The hatchet dropped to the floor as both of the guard’s hands clutched the forearm that had gripped him. Jaw gawking open, a bloody mass of human throat was slammed into the open mouth as a low growl permeated the haze,

“Hold this.”

A second later, the same hand came down in an arc from behind, slamming a human rib into the pandaren’s left eye socket. Muffled screams left the poor guard, biting down on the human thyroid in his mouth and only causing further blood to pour down his chin and onto the massive gloved wrist that held his neck. The rib was drawn back, and then brought down once more. This time a deep crack could be heard from the inside of the pandaren’s skull that shook his whole body, his other eye pleading for purchase upon one of the stranger’s features but finding no relief in the gargantuan silhouette. The rib was drawn back again, and in a muffled grunt and a splatter of blood and face-matter the rib split deep into the pandaren’s skull, burying itself within the brain and killing the immigrant instantly. The hand dropped the body as it fell slumped upon the other on the floor.

The cloaked figure’s head tilted, four hollow cracks emitting from the back of his neck as his gaze set upon the two humans in the corner of the room. One stood trembling with his sword held tightly in both hands, peering over at the form of the beast. The other guard had just begun reeking of the urine that had sogged the front of his leathers, sword on the ground and his hands in the air. The stranger lifted an oak branch of an arm, a single clawed finger pointing towards the door. It didn’t take words to convey that message. Both humans booked towards the exit, the one reeking of ammonia making his way out as the figure’s clawed digits set upon the back of the collar of the guard that had just been slightly slower. The poor blonde-haired boy yelped, freckled complexion barely of age to grow stubble. He howled and pleaded, but the walls were of course soundproofed in the opium lounge. The stranger dragged the human behind him across the ground, feet knocking and kicking over bodies that were heavily intoxicated, the forms beginning to shift and moan slightly with the commotion that had jostled the whole room.

Moving past the silks, the massive form entered an even hazier space. In it were three concubines, nearly nude; two elves, one human. The girls were each trembling in corners, covering themselves in a last-ditch attempt at modesty. Standing in the far corner was a pandaren holding out a blunderbuss, aimed directly at the stranger’s chest.

“You have made a mistake, Oku. The pact will hear of this treachery, you filthy swine!”

Lifting the human boy’s body out in front of himself, the young adult squirmed in his grasp and clawed at the gauntlet. His body fell slack as scattershot from the shotgun left a bloodied apron over the blonde-haired guard’s front, sputtering up blood as the face came closer with each slow, heavy step from the stranger. Keeping the boy outstretched enough to take the brunt of the second shotgun blast, he quickly tossed the boy aside once he was within arm’s reach of the druglord. A massive plated gauntlet caught the barrel just as it had been reloaded, knocking the end of the weapon up towards the ceiling in time to deliver a blast to the low wooden cover. Splinters splattered all over the floor like spilled toothpicks, littering dust and allowing thin shafts of light to seep in from above. The mass of power took the gun, easily pulling it from the man’s hands to hold it between two palms the size of dinner plates. Muscular digits wrapped about the stock and the barrel, then bent until the device snapped at the receiver into two parts. Letting each piece fall individually to the floor, the massive knuckles swept up slowly to pull back a thick hood. Loose hair had been arranged into a tight topknot, intense blue eyes occasionally catching odd light shafts as the furred face lowered to the level of the druglord.

“I will tell the pact myself when I bring them your head.”

The druglord’s face paled as Oku donned a grim smile, fangs glinting in the lanternlight. Those bloodstained claws lifted to the man’s chin, tilting it up gently as if to deliver a kiss as the other hand drew a knife from a belt-sheath. The gaze was trained upon the terrified man’s pupils, locked in eye contact as the ceremonial curved blade slipped across the front of the man’s neck. Dragging slowly, the druglord’s face stammered with shuttered eyes. A font of blood dribbled from his lips as the knife dragged across the front of the throat. The knife clattered to the ground now. Clawed digits dug themself into the incision, a thumb still gently cradling the man’s chin as his life slowly leached into the air from his esophagus. The hand that had been holding the knife placed softly upon the shoulder, before in one swift upward motion;

STTHHHFP- Crack.

A chorus of screams from the nearby concubines acted as ensemble to the act, highlighting each individual movement.

The muscle of the neck tore easily beneath the power of the massive pandaren. The head was still attached at the spine, tilted backwards like an opened tankard lid as blood sprayed across the walls and across Oku’s face and front. The hands re-placed themself upon the exposed spine, applying a dense grip to snap the already awkwardly bent structure. A bubbling of blood and spinal fluid left a drag-mark across the corner walls as the body slumped to the ground, beheaded. A canvas sack slipped around the departed head and the massive form of the pandaren took his leave with heavy steps, horrified eyes of the females present staying trained upon him in terror to take in every detail of the traumatic experience.

An ever-constant plucking of strings persisted, blood pooling and seeping into the floorboards in various spots. Natural light filtered into the den from the busted door, producing hard lines through the thick smoke. A patron’s body twitched as it began to awaken from the high.

And at once; all was still.

[okutong]