Feeling Blue
She had seen them in the Dream Hunt.
The blue beings, who were not the People. Those with horns, and not tswin. Those whose eyes had shone with light, yet not joy. Those who had cried out in terror, before the greenskins' tsahik had ripped their light away. To fuel the tear that had brought the monsters to their world.
The blue beings were gone, Neytiri told herself. Or at least, the ones she had seen in her Uniltaron. Now, they were skulls that the redskin bore on his shoulders. The one who led the invaders through the jungles of their home. The one she knew that she had to kill more than any of them.
They all have to die.
Tsu'tey gestured to her from the trees – one of many in the war party that lay in wait for the greenskins. The gesture asked, "shall we?"
She gestured in turn to the greenskins, away from the red, the one with many tusks. Take them out, she said, as her hands wove the silent language of her people. Our swizav may fell them, but not the one with many tusks.
Her mate nodded, and as with the other hunters, drew his tsko. The greenskins did not use tsko. But they hurled tukru with such range and force that it more than compensated for any lack of finesse. They were not as tall as the People. But they were stronger. Much stronger. So strong that no amount of swizav could fell them at times. Only the tukru would suffice.
"Fire," she whispered.
The Omaticaya let loose, their swizav hitting the greenskins. Enough to give them pause, as they howled and grunted in their guttural tongue. Enough to fell a few, their green blood seeping into the dying land. Eywa's spirit was damaged, her mother had said. The land was tainted, as something else had entered it. What Eywa called the fel. The magic the greenskins' tsahik wielded. The land around their tear was dead. The land around that land was dying. And ever onwards they pressed out. Riding their hairy palalukans. Bringing death where they went.
No more, thought Neytiri, as she drew her tsko. She let loose the swizav, its tip impaling itself into one of the greenskins' eyes. No more steps. No more false signs.
The warriors on the ground charged, some on foot, others riding their pa'li, tskos and tukrus in hand. The swizav had done their job as best they could. Soon, the greenskins could recover from their shock, reform, re-organize, and attack. Their numbers matched, if not exceeded that of the People. Their tribes and clans were many, but still unified. The battle that was unfolding might well have been a microcosm for the plight the People faced. The People reduced to hunting warriors, not prey.
The pa'li line tore into the greenskins. The greenskins were not simple prey. Too many of the People had died with that belief on their lips.
So she kept firing, as the battle was waged on the ground. One of the People thrust his tukru into a greenskin, the creature going down as its blood stained the soil. Another pa'li was grabbed in mid-charge, the tusked creature throwing it aside, crushing its rider. A greenskin's axe clove one of her kin in two. Another hunter jumped on its back, plunging his blade repeatedly into the creature's neck. Eventually it fell.
They are stronger, she reminded herself, echoing her father's words, before the invaders had destroyed the Kelutral. Be smarter.
The redskin was not going down. The hunters knew that he, of all the invaders, had to die. And yet he resisted whatever they threw at him. Swizav, tukru…nothing stopped him.
So she jumped down, to the forest floor. Not smart, she told herself. Not wise. But wisdom had departed long ago. Now the law of the jungle was the law of the world – kill or be killed. Now, without giving thanks to those who gave their lives for the People.
He saw her, and laughed. She bore her teeth and hissed, forgetting that it meant nothing to the greenskins. "Small teeth," they called the People. Those of small hands and small muscles. Too slender to be useful, too small to hold an axe. The redskin ceased his laughter, but not his levity. He charged at her, wearing the strange clothing his kind called armour. His eyes burning with the light of a thousand fires. He charged, and she remembered.
She remembered that once, there had been brownskins. That once, they had called themselves "orcs," that as strange as their tongue was, an understanding could have been reached. That their own world was dying, their Eywa (or "Eywas," they had made vague reference to multiple spirits) had fled their home, and in turn, so did they. That once, peace was more than a memory, and more a hope. A-
They did not save the blue ones.
The blue creatures by the tear. The ones that their tsahik had reaped. Even the brownskins had let that happen, Neytiri reminded herself. Brownskin, greenskin, blueskin. It didn't matter. Their skin was not blue. And so they were the enemy.
So the redskin charged. She crouched. And-
"Waaagh!"
And it ploughed into her, one of its tusks tearing into her arm, another into her belly. Neither lethal. Both painful.
They're stronger. Be smarter.
Had she forgotten? Or just stopped caring? It slammed her into the ground, and she yelled as the wind was knocked out of her.
The redskin drew a blade. Curved, forged not from stone, but metal. More testament that the invaders were not stupid. More testament that her own stupidity was about to get her killed unless-
A swizav hit the creature's arm. It barely seemed to notice. But it was enough to give her time to kick upwards, hitting hit between its tusk, on its nose. That, it seemed to notice a bit more. Notice enough to be distracted as it brought its blade down, only to hit the soil.
Thank you.
She knew who fired the swizav. She could only hope that she lived long enough to thank her mate. Which was looking a bit more likely as she retrieved her own blade from the ground. The redskin approached. She crouched down once more. It did not charge, but lumbered over. Through the chaos and din, as na'vi and greenskin fought and died, time seemed to slow. Kill or be killed. The law of the jungle was clear. Such was the new way. Perhaps it would always be so.
So she slashed out, drawing blood, the green liquid falling on the ground where no more green remained. It swung its axe, and she dodged. She slashed out again. More blood fed the soil. More drops from a river that was waiting to be let free. If she could avoid drowning before that happened.
So her dance continued. Such was the only dance the People knew now. Such was the way of the Omaticaya. Of the Anurai, the Tipani, the Tawkami, the Li'ona. One dance, one song, but many ways to die. The greenskins knew so many ways of killing, even if this one was a redskin who knew only to swing his axe. She crouched down. He brought it down.
For the People.
And she sprung up, sailing through the air. Her legs wrapped around its neck. It howled. It reached for her. She thrust her blade through its eye socket before it could do any of that. And then…and then it started to stagger. So she brought it into its skull. Again, and again. And again.
May the fel take you.
Eywa would not take them. Eywa would never take these monsters. Not this one, as it fell into the soil, as Neytiri unwrapped her legs. As she leant down, and grabbed it by the throat, her hand unable to form a choke. She stared into its one remaining eye. Watched as the fire burned less bright. As it burned away the last embers of its life.
"I see you," she whispered.
The creature could not understand. It would never understand. So she withdrew her blade and returned her gaze to the battle. She saw the People fight, and die, and so many of her pr…enemies, still standing.
I see all of you.
So she charged. In the spirit not of the hunt, but of war.
If any difference remained.
A/N
I've detailed my thoughts on the Warcraft movie elsewhere, so I'll spare you a repeat here. But basically this drabble came up from the obvious similarities of "the draenei are blue (like na'vi), are on a world that's suffering environmental devastation (like Pandora), and unlike Lothar and co., might stand a better chance in taking on orcs). So, yes. Cue fight scene for the heck of it.