Disclaimer: No really, I think it's rather obvious that I don't own Warcraft. The game would be rather clichéd and horribly tragic if I did.
((A/N)): So here is chapter two of Raincaller. Thank you for those who left me reviews for the past chapter, which at the moment I write this is only one. Maybe there are more, because I am now reinstalling my damned netzero dial-up because it is apparently 'corrupted.' Oh well. A special thanks to Youkai no Miko (have to luv Inuyasha!) who left me an encouraging review on my grammatical errors and my story. Thanks a bunch.
Chapter 2: An Unfavorable Price
"For a long time the people of Hardhoof Village have watched you grow. We have watched you mature from the delicate calves that you were and into strong and respectful Tauren. You are one with the earth, one with nature, and soon you will be one with the Earth Mother as you complete your Rites." Baine finished his speech with a smile as he handed Yawna the hewed wooden cup. Even when he said this Baine had no idea how true his statements were to the young huntress.
It had been five long years since Yawna's first visit to Seer Two-Moons. She had long ago shed her calf's innocence and lack of responsibility and was now tied down with the weight of a working member of the Tauren society. Still she remained distant from her people, her mind always molding things differently than her bovine brethren. She felt her diversity even before Two-Moons had told her of it.
"You are not like them," He had dictated one day, his head nodding slightly as it always did when he was speaking. For the five years that Yawna had grown she had visited Two-Moons frequently. He was a mentor unlike her hunting trainer, for the oracle was her mentor of the mind.
"Your Awareness separates you from them." he nodded at the village in the distance, a smile playing across his maw as it always did when he spoke of the Awareness. This was the term that Two-Moons had applied to the strange ability Yawna had to sense the feelings of power, pain, and intelligence of living things. The sage was even pleased that Yawna was able to stretch her power forth and feel what is must be to be a rock of bead of dew.
"You have all completed the task before you," Baine continued his speech again to the three young Tauren who stood with Yawna and interrupted her from her thoughts, "And you have now all brought ten feathers from the Plainstriders that we share our land with. Drink the potion now and follow your individual visions."
Yawna closed her eyes as she tipped the cup to her lips. Before she did she spied her mother in the crowd closest to her, Kiel's eyes beading with un-cried tears of joy. Her mother had grown older and gray during the years passed, her stress robbing her life of more years than it should have. But the Tauren mother now looked on with pride as her child sucked down the ritual potion that would induce the Earth Mother to give her a vision.
It was like drinking a cloud or drawing in the mist. Yawna felt the liquid slip between her teeth and never before had her Awareness spread out so much. She felt the feelings of pride and sadness from not only her mother, but from every Tauren gathered about. She even stretched to the musings of the trees surrounding, the boredom of the rocks, and the sorrow of the dead Kodo mantles that hung from the large hut nearby. Then the vision came and blasted away this open feeling and Yawna stored it back inside.
First she saw that plains rushing underneath her as she was borne southeast from her own body. It was a feeling of flight and full freedom that bore her heart to her throat and made her pull in her breath as if her lungs would crumple.
Then she heard it, a long drawn out howl. It started as the rich tones of a wolf, low and melodious. But then it fraught horribly. It began to scale up and extend into what began as a guttural Tauren bellow and into an almost human-like scream. Yawna pressed her ears back onto her head and tried to block out a sound that would never fade away.
When she opened her eyes again her peers had already begun to run off in separate directions. They had left their own ritual cups with Baine and had wasted no time in running off to their destinies. But Yawna had already decided what she would do and if that howl meant anything than her quest would be a hard one.
The Tauren cleared away. They were not allowed to help with the Rites and unless a young tauren gave up and dishonored his or her family they would only be able to talk to traders or people on the Rites at the same time. Yawna was lucky to have two others with her on the quest though she knew they had different visions. Especially Bolo.
Yawna walked slowly to the weapon smith, smiling to herself as she thought about Bolo. The bull was born in the same moon circle as her and was just as smart and courageous as Yawna. Every time the bull sprang to her mind Yawna could feel a strange tingling in her stomach so much different than her Awareness. It made her look around to see Bolo starting off into the southeast as well. If she were lucky then she may catch him in time.
The weapon smith smiled as Yawna approached him. He already had most of his wares out, his paws tingling at the thought of his profits from the Rites. He also knew Yawna had been saving a long time, for Hardhoof was a small village and news traveled fast.
"What is it you require?" he asked politely and Yawna relished in the sound of another voice. It may be one of the last she would hear until her Rite was completed and she opened her mouth partially in order to savor it.
"A new axe head, sir." Hefting the large axe onto the table made Yawna smile. The handle was still as good as ever, polished rigorously every day by the cow huntress herself. It was Makar's old axe, but the blade was now beyond the repair. It was better as melted down steel than as an axe head now.
The trade master inspected the weapon with a trained eye. His orbs leveled down the handle and the size the blade would have to be. Calculating the price made his mouth twitch into a smile.
"Even the cheapest blade would cost fifty silver in order to balance the handle. I'll go down to forty-nine fifty for you though." He said nothing as the aspiring huntress's face fell. Yawna could almost feel her poverty in her hands. The meager amount that she had managed to scrape through these years would not even come close to the amount needed to retrieve her father's beaten glory.
Without answering the smith the young Tauren stomped off. Her old axe was clutched in her hands, her face blushed under her fur. It was foolish, ignorant, and rude to walk away from the helpful shop keeper but there was little more she could do. Her battered pride made it hard for her to admit defeat.
The unfavorable price made Yawna irritable, but soon the Tauren had better things to think of. Her hooves began to pound the grass and ahead she could see Bolo, his own steps eager with the prospect of earning his place at Thunder Bluff.
It was not long before Yawna had caught up. Her anger and embarrassment had been transformed into raw energy in her hooves. She could feel it, pulsing through her as she ran. Two-Moons had told her it was proof that she was getting more and more skilled.
"Bolo, wait!" she called out, her hands flinging up in an attempt to slow down. A nearby plainstrider flung itself from her path as she skidded to a stop, falling back onto her rear end. The bird-like beast clacked it's beak angrily, nipping her on the ear before plodding off.
"If it were anyone else," Bolo said, holding out a hand to help her out, "They would have been attacked by that plainstrider. But not you, never you Yawna." He chuckled to himself softly as Yawna brushed herself off.
Yawna blushed under her fur though. The thing that Two-Moons had absolutely forbidden was Yawna telling anyone in Hardhoof Village of her Awareness. He told her it would cause a panic or that she would be treated differently.
"I wouldn't have killed it," Yawna said very quietly. She had never killed anything in her life, from the beasts that roamed the area to butterflies that buzzed across her path. Skinning anything always made her sick to her stomach and the deadly power of the skinning knife seemed to burn her hands when she touched it. The knife was pain.
"They always run anyhow," Bolo replied with a shrug, "And especially if they a mutilated by your chipped axe. You'd be better to use your gun." Bolo nodded at the blunderbuss at her side. It swung from her side and seemed to leave a burning pain every time it touched her bare skin. The remark was a kind one, but Yawna's ears folded back against her sable mane of hair.
"Maybe," Yawna said uncertainly. She hated the gun. She hated everything about the weapon. Ever since its destructive power had been shown to her as a child she had never touched it again. The gun seemed to hold its own feeling of pain very unlike that of a wolf or tauren.
When Yawna had accompanied her mother on hunts she had felt every bullet fired from the gun as if it was aimed at her and not just some plainstrider or plain prowler. And this was the gun at the hands of her mother. She could only imagine what pain she would feel if it was her hand killing the beasts with the deadly bullets.
The two had been walking for a short time now and Bolo stopped, his head swinging to a cave nearby. It went without saying that this was the warrior's destination. He turned back to his friend, his deep eyes glittering with thought.
"We'll have to part now, though I don't doubt that I'll see you in just under a day or so." He paused almost uncertainly, his hooves suddenly becoming very interesting. When he spoke his voice wavered slightly at the beginning. Yawna's Awareness felt his hesitation and something else she couldn't quite pinpoint. It was the feeling she felt when her mother looked at her, but different somehow, similar but altered.
"There's a festival after we complete our tasks." Bolo stared hard at his hooves, "Save a dance for me, won't you?" Yawna's Awareness flowered. She smiled secretly and nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course." As they took different courses Yawna felt like skipping. Freedom graced her mind and a happy ending seemed in sight. Bolo was a tauren that she could see herself spending the rest of her life with. But of course, one such as Yawna does not just settle down and live in peace.
That night was cold. Despite the warmth in the sun the plains were different at night. She felt something stir softly in herself, but Yawna could think of only the hours she seemed to have wasted. She had searched vainly for hours, her eyes straining. But nothing could bring her to kill one of the nearby wolves, and she still felt as if that was not what she had been asked to do. It seemed too simple, and no wolf she knew howled like a banshee.
Yawna huddled deeper into her blanket, her body shivering violently. If she did not complete her quest she was allowed to return to the village but a stubborn pride made her stay. She could imagine Bolo and the other tauren who had taken the quest today. They would be gathered around a festival fire waiting for her appearance. In another day or two after they would send a search party for the body. She could imagine the embarrassment, to be found alive when she was supposed to be dead or victorious.
The cold had begun to get to her. Prairie winds whipped grass over her sleeping form and her Awareness seemed to freeze itself. Nothing moved for a while, then something within her Awareness stirred.
It was a tired feeling, a cold feeling, a weary feeling. But most of all was the desperate longing for another warm body. Yawna stiffened as the pelt of a wolf brushed against her.
He was an old wolf, no longer able to be an alpha. But in his prime the wolf would have been amazing, a real brute with strength like a bear. He was cunning still though, sly green eyes peering at the tauren mistress from under ebony brows. Where his pelt should have been a sandy or tan shade it was a dull black, hanging loose in places and showing signs of neglect. Even though the wolf did not attack Yawna felt herself bristle and tense.
The wolf settled against her, his warmth providing something small. The two creatures were silent for a moment, the company of each other held close before the two may have to resort to instinct.
That was when the howl began. Like before it started as the pure note of a wolf's, but rose higher in a tauren's bellow of pain and then into the human-like scream that filled the air with a desperate longing. Yawna's Awareness was torn to shreds at first, feeling only pain and sorrow. Then she felt an anger rising up in what ever had made that terrible cry. It gave her raw energy that seemed to blacken her heart. As quick as the old wolf had come to her he disappeared over a hill.
Something was coming.
Yawna first thought the sun was rising. She saw a dull fire on the horizon, a red blur rising over the hill. It was slow and deliberate like a rising storm cloud, the fire's of hell summoned from the ground.
Then the thing came into full sight. Twice the size of the huntress it loomed on the nearby hill, a macabre smile gracing its maw. The creature was a wolf, or it might have been sometime. But now all that was left were bones. They were bleach white, a graveyard style dream that rose from the ground as if evoked by the Alliances need itself. The bones took a step forward, suspended in the shape of a wolf and consumed by hellish flames that danced over its entire form.
Yawna had found her quest.
Things seemed to move in slow motion at first, the creature taking slow steps forward as if biding its time. Yawna's Awareness had stretched out to it unwillingly, feeling the pain of the burning creature. It seemed as if she too was on fire, her skin searing along with this demonic monster's.
Then things sped up. Yawna propelled herself forward, every particle of her soul commanding her to kill this creature. Not only because it seemed that this was her quest, her Rite, but also because this demon was heading right for the home she loved. Hardhoof Village needed her.
When her axe struck the creature it bounced off. The bone was repellant to her attacks, the demon wolf not even flinching as she attacked it. Not only that, but as it walked the fire that curled around it danced straight into the dry plain grass and begun to consume it with small patches of burning paw prints.
Yawna really was burning now. She felt her fur begin to smolder the second time she lunged for the burning terror. Her axe head was melted to scrap now, a bit of the steel dripping off the end. But still the demon was advancing with its slow, methodical steps that made her mind seethe.
After a few more attacks the axe that Makar had so treasured spilt off of its handle. The steel was gone, just a smudge on the magnificent handle. Only Yawna's gun was left, but even as she brushed the barrel of the feared weapon her hand stung. She could not, would not use that gun.
The demon opened jaws that dripped with pumice, small drops of fire smoldering the plains that Yawna had grown up. There was something so wrong with this, something so unnatural and so sick that Yawna broke.
Sobbing quietly to herself the tauren sank to the ground. She was so close to her village that she could now feel the people sleeping in their huts. In front of her eyes played a time to come that she could not prevent. Her vision stretched into the future, showing her Hardhoof Village under attack from flames. It burnt to the ground in front of her eyes, the home that she had known all her life. Hallucinations of every town burning across Mulgore and beyond came to her.
With a final ounce of strength Yawna rose again. Her body seemed to operate on its own and her mind seemed to tell her exactly what was to be done. Without hesitation Yawna hefted what was the heavy handle of her father's double-handed axe and flung it straight at the leg of the demon.
The wolf's back femur snapped off, falling from the rigid uniform of the skeletal bones and dropping to the ground. It clattered to the ground and the demon looked back with some impatience. But the bone loss did not seem to hinder the wolf and it began again, limping along on three legs as if the bone was broken but still there.
Yawna heard Bolo's voice over the roar of fire rushing in her ears. "Hardhoof Village is under attack. The Alliance has come." He seemed so full of spirit and courage that Yawna wanted to kneel beside him and allow him to take the reigns. But she could not even do that, for every ounce of strength had left her body. She sank to the prairie grasses once more and watched a terrible scene unfold before her.
It was not the wolf that Bolo had spotted, for only Yawna could really see the creature in full blaze. To others it was a wispy ghost, for even though the Taurens tried among them only Yawna and Two-Moons would have been close enough to the earth and right state of mind to realize the terror before them. No, Bolo had seen yet another threat.
A battle platoon of Alliance members had come. Dwarfs came brandishing anything from pick-axes to guns. Night elves' hands glowed with magic that enveloped the target in pain. Gnomes ran amuck, their attacks swift and brutal. And humans, the young race, came bearing all the courage that a new race is given.
The fighting would be quick. Hardhoof, so full of children and the elderly, bled that night. Cries of terror and pain rang out through the night air, and not more than a few feet from it all Yawna lay crumpled on the grass, her sobs racking the night with grief. The trees sagged at her pain, the rocks gave up their boredom to feel her sorrow. And all around the creatures of the plains gathered not far from the village, their own eyes witnessing the terror that night.
The town had caught fire. The Horde would blame the cruelty of the Alliance, and the Alliance would claim it the severe clumsiness of the Horde that night. Only Yawna saw the wolf roaming amongst the fighters, touching his nose to huts that burnt under his touch and left the smoking bodies of the dead inside.
Well, another did see it, but it would be the last thing he saw that night. Two-Moons surveyed this all very calmly from his hut far away. He had seen his young charge chase the demon across the plains, and now he presumed Yawna dead. His heart was heavy with sorrow, but he didn't know of the danger until the sword appeared from his chest.
"What?" Two-Moons choked, blood frothing on his lips. He felt the sword slide out again and a shadow stepped in front of him, smiling eerily on the burning night air. A human? No, an undead.
"Now you see, oracle, where this hatred begins. But you will never see it end." the undead hissed through decaying lips. He smiled as the seer's eyes widened and the last thoughts of an aged dying tauren were painful.
"Thralk?" Two-Moon's cried with his last breath, "But why?" As the tauren's eyes began to cloud and his breath leave his lungs his ears heard the reason.
"Because cow," Thralk hissed, his eyes blazing, "This peace has gone on long enough." Thralk kicked the dying sage in the stomach far after he had died, his rage bent into defeating the one who had opened Yawna to her potential.
"You have started something you should not have, and now Yawna Raincaller, the one who you thought was your savior lies dead in the grass, bleeding to her hearts content," Thralk hissed to the dead body, "Prepare yourself for the afterlife, oracle."
The fires had quelled down, the battle had been won, and through it all what had been hundreds of tauren now only five remained. Two were Baine Hardhoof and his mate. Three was their messenger, and four was a story teller that would later die of his wounds. Among the dead were Bolo, his heart pierced by the arrow of a skilled night elf. The body of Kiel lay also, her head finally able to rest.
"Listen." A dwarf commanded, his voice carrying to Yawna. It was daylight now, but Yawna had not moved. Her Awareness had stretched over the whole battlefield and every time someone had died she had felt a fragment of her soul go with them. She lay unable to move, her body drained and her heart pierced. She didn't want to move again, but she had not mercifully died under enemy fire.
"Listen," the dwarf repeated, "You have paid for the fire set to our village days ago. Now we leave five alive. Start again, but let it be known. The Alliance will not tolerate your trouble. We will exterminate you." With that the dwarf nodded and his cavalry and patrol thundered off leaving the village of Hardhoof buried under three inches of blood and bodies.
"Now you listen to me," Baine Hardhoof thundered loudly to the five assembled people. He wouldn't have to yell, but it felt good to stretch his anguish to the sky. "This village is no longer Hardhoof Village, and I am no longer Baine Hardhoof. From now on this land in Bloodhoof Village, and I am now Baine Bloodhoof. It will never be forgiven. Look at our dead elderly, look at our dead children, and look at our dead family, our dead neighbors, our dead friends. Look at the faces of the dead and weep. Those who have died have earned their place in Thunder Bluff forever."
Yawna hung her head slowly. She did not move because she was dead. Not in body, but in spirit Yawna had died. But the rest was still to come. She had won her place at Thunder Bluff, but it was at an unfavorable price.
"What do we have here." It was the smooth voice of a night elf. He was leaning over her, hid by a hut from the perspective of those in camp. "A humanoid cow wench. Not dead either." The elf prodded her with his staff. It was not their nature to be cruel, but this certain platoon had lost children and friends and family to the fire set at Stormwind days ago.
"Shall we take her?" a gruff dwarven voice asked and Yawna could feel his hot breath on her face. She winced away, her ears pushed back against her head.
"No, let's just play with her." The night elf offered, his staff coming up with surprising agility. It hit Yawna straight in her side, burning like a whip and making the young Tauren flinch.
'But I'm dead.' Yawna reasoned to herself, 'The dead don't yell.' Yawna's own feeble mind had shut down. She was spiritless, and nothing would bring back what she had lost that night.
The dwarf brought down his axe then. This was far crueler. The ebony horns with the blue hue that Makar had marveled at were in its path. One of them was severed in half by the blade and this time Yawna did let a cry escape her lips. But it was too soft to alert the Tauren in what was now Bloodhoof Village and they did not come.
"She cries," remarked the dwarf as tears of grief spilled over the huntresses eyes. She buried her head further into the grass as her sensitive nose tried to escape the smoke and her Awareness leached the cruelty of the two.
But the elf had enough. He had suddenly seen the face of his dying daughter in the crying tauren and he pulled away. "Enough," he remarked quietly, "The others are getting far away. We should leave now brother." With that the elf was off, his swift legs bringing him far ahead of the dwarf.
Yawna sobbed to herself. 'The dead don't cry,' she told herself, but it was no use. She was dead maybe, but she could not stay that way for long. Something was pulling at her, something dangerous and evil beyond the horizon.
''Bonds of friendship must be made
In order to disprove what lies have been laid.
Where forces of hatred do conspire,
Only rain can quench the fire.'
Her mind was speaking softly and Yawna rose stiffly, her back facing what had been her village. "Rain, huh?" she muttered in a dry voice as she spied the femur from the demon wolf, "I only can hope that I have the strength."
((A/N)): SUPER ANGST! That was terrible! How could I write such thing? Poor Yawna was in so much pain. Man, must be the snow. I live in new England and just got buried under three feet! School's canceled though. Or maybe I'm angst because I just watched the full season of Trigun. SO SAD! Made me cry, that episode 'Living Through' or something like that. Anyhow, hope you liked it. Will be back soon!
