Harrowheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
westfallcorndog) wrote2019-10-29 01:49 pm
westfallcorndog) wrote2019-10-29 01:49 pm
Entry tags:
AU: Welcome to the Jungle
The first thing one might notice, when transported rather suddenly into a jungle, is that it’s hot. Sweltering. Sauna-like, really, with thick and sticky air that clings to the flesh and mats hair against skin. Even the shade of the canopy doesn’t protect a person from it. It’s inescapable, like the buzzing of the swarming bugs, and the trolls.
Ah, right. The trolls. On Azeroth, you simply can’t enjoy a jungle without it being ruined by the trolls. In fact, there are a few a stone’s throw away right now, just across the camp. They were only barely out of the line of sight of the mirror propped up against a rough-barked palm tree, and any person peering through that mirror couldn’t be reprimanded for having missed them.
Now, though, when one of their spears sails through the air, they’re quite impossible not to notice. The weapon pierces through the thin mirror, shattering the glass, stopping only when its head is buried deeply within the palm. While the bouncing of the wooden shaft at eye level might be distracting, a person might be better-served to watch the troll that threw it.
One simple, cloth tent — and the scattered remains of three others — lie between the blue-skinned, long-nosed, boar-tusked troll and its wobbling weapon. Boxes and chests of goods have been thrown around the camp, and a long rifle has been discarded beside the burning fire. None of it catches the eye of the troll — easily the height of a man and a half — who points a thick, blue finger just past the newest arrival on the scene. He shouts something in his cryptic language, looks to the ground around him, finds another spear, and throws it with all his might.
It sails with practiced skill, long and fast, and it jets right past the first. There’s a squirt of blood and a bestial shriek, and seconds later a red-scaled raptor collapses to the ground, instantly dispatched by a spear through the eye.
The troll claps, and his friends behind him hoot and holler. Proud of his work, the troll smiles around his long tusks. “Lil’ hu-mon!” he calls out, then beckons with his gangly arms. “Ya almost was ate!” His company laugh.
“C’mere, now, get on over here!”
Ah, right. The trolls. On Azeroth, you simply can’t enjoy a jungle without it being ruined by the trolls. In fact, there are a few a stone’s throw away right now, just across the camp. They were only barely out of the line of sight of the mirror propped up against a rough-barked palm tree, and any person peering through that mirror couldn’t be reprimanded for having missed them.
Now, though, when one of their spears sails through the air, they’re quite impossible not to notice. The weapon pierces through the thin mirror, shattering the glass, stopping only when its head is buried deeply within the palm. While the bouncing of the wooden shaft at eye level might be distracting, a person might be better-served to watch the troll that threw it.
One simple, cloth tent — and the scattered remains of three others — lie between the blue-skinned, long-nosed, boar-tusked troll and its wobbling weapon. Boxes and chests of goods have been thrown around the camp, and a long rifle has been discarded beside the burning fire. None of it catches the eye of the troll — easily the height of a man and a half — who points a thick, blue finger just past the newest arrival on the scene. He shouts something in his cryptic language, looks to the ground around him, finds another spear, and throws it with all his might.
It sails with practiced skill, long and fast, and it jets right past the first. There’s a squirt of blood and a bestial shriek, and seconds later a red-scaled raptor collapses to the ground, instantly dispatched by a spear through the eye.
The troll claps, and his friends behind him hoot and holler. Proud of his work, the troll smiles around his long tusks. “Lil’ hu-mon!” he calls out, then beckons with his gangly arms. “Ya almost was ate!” His company laugh.
“C’mere, now, get on over here!”
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“Never heard of a fairy. And you ain’t never seen a troll before?” He laughs lowly at his own question.
The troll makes his way across the camp, top-toeing carefully around scattered clothes. Human clothes, by the looks of them. And, come to think of it, those tents are too small for creatures as large as these. This might not be their campground after all.
“And you all alone out here?” he asks. “No mommy or daddy to watch over it? Out in Strangletorn, got no one to protect it? Ahhh, sad ting, sad ting! But good ting now, eh? You got us.”
He reaches out with a long, long arm and extends his two-fingered hand as if he expects her to take it. “Come along wit’ us now, li’l princess. We keep ya safe from all de roamin’ beasties.”
His eyes flick down to the dead raptor, then back to the girl. “Dere worse monsters out today, sweet girl. Hungry tings. Dead tings.”
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But, steadying herself with a small dose of courage (or curiosity), she settles on frowning at them.
"You can't be trolls," she tells them with far too much confidence for a little girl on her own in a strange land. "You're too small! Trolls are as big as mountains!"
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When he returns his attention to her his eyes are bright with amusement. He hangs one thick finger on his looping tusks and smiles, charmed as any man (or troll!) ever has been.
“What we be, den? Gwan! You da troll expert, after a all. Grace us witcha knowledge.”
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It helps, a little bit, that they call her an expert. Just because they aren't serious about that doesn't mean she isn't either. She is a Durant, after all. That's what they're meant to be!
So she fidgets with a button. "Well... Most fairies are meant to be small... So maybe you're not fairies after all." She nibbles on a fingernail before gasping suddenly with realisation. "You're goblins!"
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He chuckles again as he eyes Lynn up and down. “Goblins. Yeah, sure, we are goblins. We’ll take ya right down to the beautiful cape and show ya round Booty Bay. Like goblins do. Goblins...” he snorts.
“Silly ting. If we’re gobblin’ anyting, it’s goin’ to be your flesh!”
He takes a swipe for her and warns, “Now don’t fight it! And don’t try to run! No good dyin’ tired!”
Behind him, the others are cackling. Behind Lynn there is only jungle — dark, foreign, filled with beasts and, if she were in the position to listen more closely, the sounds of fighting.
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Goblins, fairies, trolls. It doesn't matter what they are anymore. What matters is that they're bad!
Now that she knows the situation in front of her it's a little less startling. Less startling but still scary. Back home she's only had a few lessons to help prepare her for dangerous situations, and usually her sister is there to help her! Not this time.
She waves a hand, summoning a tiny bit of fire magic. It's so fleeting and small that it might as well be like putting out a candle with bare fingers for the troll. Her only card played, she turns heel and runs away, screaming until she can't scream any more.
Out of the frying pan, into the freezer
Finding the girl won’t be hard. In her wake she leaves a trail of broken foliage. And then there’s the screaming, of course. She couldn’t be easier to track if she tried. The real challenge will be getting to her before something else does.
Unfortunately for the troll, and maybe for Lynn, he doesn’t. A sword slices through a knot of vines just ahead of her, and from the thick tangle an armored knight emerges. His armor is dark and decidedly wicked, from the spiked pauldrons to the black tabard with its purple sword insignia, from the flowing, black cape to the visored helmet from which an eerie blue steam vents. A trio of humanoid skulls swing and clatter at his belt. The only pleasant thing about him is the cool air that swirls around him.
There isn’t much time for the knight to consider the girl that he’s nearly cut in half. Seconds after he steps into her path the quick and tricky troll bursts forth from the path ahead of them. Behind Lynn, the bushes rustle as his companions catch up. Soon they’ll be surrounded.
The knight turns to see the troll, but no sooner does he have his back to Lynn than a spear drives through him. It pierces his middle and comes out his back, but it doesn’t manage to tear through his cape, which tents awkwardly around it. The knight looks down at the wound in his stomach, then back to the troll. With an uppercut punch to the air the knight calls on a pillar of frost to rise up from the ground. Even in heat like this the water in the air makes for easy ice magic.
The spell encases the troll, binding him in place. Only his arms are left to slap against his prison. His companions appear just in time to see what’s happened. They hesitate, unsure of what comes next, but when the knight grips the girl’s wrist with an icy gauntlet and tugs her away they spring to their companion rather than continue the fight. One of them produces an axe from her belt and begins to hack away at the ice, but the knight isn’t going to stick around to watch them free their leader.
He tugs the girl into the bushes and his magical sword gets to work hacking and freezing away at ferns and vines to clear the way before them.
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A flash of metal stops her in her tracks and sucks the air from her lungs. If the monsters behind her were scary, what emerges from the undergrowth is terrifying. Bulging eyes take in the enormous mass of armour, steaming with cool light and reeking of magic. The first thing that comes to mind is that it's a golem, and probably an evil one at that. The clattering skulls catch her attention- Definitely an evil golem.
Before she can even think of reacting, one of the monsters appears and a strange, sickening sound makes her stomach flip. It takes her a second to realise that it was a spear going through the golem and she shrieks at the horror of it. The golem, however, is far less fazed and... performs magic? It must be incredibly powerful. A thought that tugs at her so that she starts backing away without thinking. It's too little too late, however. Her arm is soon gripped tightly and she's dragged further into the jungle.
It's so sudden as to be winding, and her throat is getting sore. Panting, she manages to protest as loudly as she can, "No! No, stop! Stop!"
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The golem stops abruptly and its helmet shudders. It stands perfectly still for the span of a few breaths, and then it turns to face the girl in its grasp. It crouches down, armor creaking slightly as it does. The spear still in its midsection doesn’t seem to cause it much trouble.
It reaches up with its free hand and presses the leather palm of its gauntlet to Lynn’s mouth a little harder than is comfortable. Then, slowly, it brings that hand to its slotted visor, where it hovers a finger before the place its mouth ought to be.
”Shhhhhh,” it warns, its breath a hollow sound that sends a stream of blue mist out through the slits in the metal.
Then it stands. And it stares. It stares at Lynn a long, long while even as its sword goes on without them, hacking away to its content.
And just like that the golem bends down again and in one swift motion hefts the girl over its shoulder. Her head is at its back and her legs go before it, while her sides are pinned between a helmet and a row of spikes on its oversized pauldron.
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Cool leather presses hard against her face and she screeches in protest, pulling at it with her free hand until he finally convinces her to go quiet and still. Big blue eyes stare at the freaky helmet, cowed into cooperation by the eerie hissing instruction. Perhaps it sees that she's still debating her options, still putting some slight pressure in pulling away. That, surely, is why it does what it does next.
This time it's more a squeak that comes from her and then a sob. "Why are you doing this? Where are you taking me? Please don't eat me! I promise I'll be good! I'll go straight home! I won't tell anyone anything! Not even my aunt! I promise!"
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When the golem steps past the tree line it’s as if they were transported to another world. They’re high atop a cliff, and far, far below are the placid, crystal waters of a tropical sea. Sapphire blue and nearly waveless, the water pools into a massive inlet fed by the ocean to one side and a horseshoe-shaped waterfall not terribly far from where the golem and the little mirror-walker emerge. They’re far enough that the sound is a pleasant static that’s quieter than the squealing gulls and shrill, chittering parrots.
A few yards off, the ornate sword that cut their path is lowering itself onto a palm stump. The golem moves to join it, and finally sets the girl down. Now she might actually be able to enjoy the view. If she chooses to, and if she really squints, she might even see the ships far, far in the distance. Some are large, sail-powered things that wouldn’t be out of place in the 18th century. Others are long and boxy, and smoky breaths puff from their rising stacks.
The golem turns away from the girl and breaks off the front of the spear poking through its belly. It reaches behind it to take hold of the head of the spear, but in all that armor it can’t... quite...
It grunts in frustration and drops its arms, quickly stymied and unwilling to further embarrass itself.
A little light twinkles on the blade of the sword. In the distance, a troupe of monkeys howl.
The thing in the armor gestures to the ocean — or perhaps the boats — with a sweep of its arm. The metallic, ghostly echo of a voice says, “Home.”
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Monsters and golems aside, this world looks perfect for exploring. How uncharted this land must be. Why, she'd just need some binoculars and a pith helmet and she'd be set!
No, no, she has to focus! Though when she turns to the golem to see him struggling with being impaled, she's a little distracted, and more than a little grossed out at the reminder. It seems ok, at least?
She follows its gesture and then looks back to it. "You... live in the sea?"
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Underneath all of that armor, it seems he was only ever a man. A blonde man, and human by the shape of his ears, though the color seems... Off.
“You. Will go home. On a boat.” Even without his helmet his voice has an unnatural echo, and he forces out his words as if they don’t come easily.
“From Booty Bay. To Stormwind.”
He looks over his shoulder and his glowing, cyan gaze lands on her. His flesh is pale, now that it can be seen, but darkened blue around his lips and on the tip of his sharp and crooked nose. If he is human, he doesn't look well...
His white pupil flicks up and down the girl and his nostril flares.
“Good?”
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"I don't live in 'Booty Bay'," she protests quietly with a wrinkling of her nose. "Or 'Stormwind'."
That sounds familiar... Like a name she's said aloud before. Gods, that's so familiar! Where is it from? Her mind races through places she's visited, or read about. It's on the edge of her mind...!
She pulls herself out of her thoughts long enough to say, "I need a mirror, that's all."
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“You don’t need a mirror,” he decides. He mumbles what he says next, but it sounds like ‘jungle’ and ‘pretty hair’ factor in.
“Besides.”
The creature glances over its should to see Lynn once more. It eyes her up and down again and pauses for a moment’s thought. Then, all at once, it turns to face her.
The right half of his face is normal, if no longer living, but the left half is gone. The flesh has been stripped clean off the bones, exposing a smoking eye socket, half a mouth of teeth, the bony bridge of his nose and the smoldering, blue fire inside it. His neck flesh, too, has melted away from muscle and veins and even his sinewy larynx. All around, bits of flesh have been burned in spots and speckles, destroyed by a splash of something caustic. When he speaks, the movements of his tongue are visible in his half-lipless mouth.
“I don’t keep mirrors.”
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Anything before now might as well have been a squeak as she lets loose a bloodcurdling scream at the top of her lungs. No amount of weird family encounters could have prepared her for this sight. All thinking goes out the window. Her body moves on its own, vaguely taking her away from the terror in front of her. All while she screams and screams and screams.
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Shit, and when he opens his eye again she’s so far off! He never should have let go of her! His sword rises, ready for the chase, but he stops it with a gesture. It lowers itself down to the palm trunk again, blinking rhythmically in the way a cat might swish its tail.
A twist of his hand conjures shadows that grip the girl around the middle and pull. She’s light and easily overpowered by the magic that drags her right to the dead man’s chest. He holds her tightly — too tightly — around the middle and presses his hand hard against her mouth once more.
“Don’t.” A trembling sound twitters out of him and he forces a quiet, stressed laugh to overcome his frustration. “Scream like that. All right? Don’t go screamin’ like that, hun. I’m tryin’ to help you, but you ain’t makin’ it easy on me. I’d feel real guilty if I had to go and leave you in this jungle to get eaten by them trolls, but if you keep on screamin’ like that I ain’t gonna be able to stop myself from hurtin’ you. Then we’d both have a bad day, huh? We’d both have a real bad day.”
His grip lightens slightly, and beneath his armor he takes a deep, slow breath.
“Now. I’m gonna take my hand off’a your mouth, and I’m gonna let you go... And you’re gonna be a real smart girl, and you’re gonna decide that you want us both to have a good day. All right? You’re gonna be good, and you ain’t gonna scream, and you’re gonna let me help you by tellin’ me how I can get you back to your folks.”
It’s a few long seconds before he lets go of her middle, and then the hand on her mouth follows suit.
“Okay?”
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This time the immediate command silences her instantly and she trembles in his grasp. Her hands hesitate over his, scared to touch, but wishing they would let her go. When he finally does release her she stays frozen to the spot, looking up at him as her wide eyes begin to water. Luckily for the golem, she's more keen about screaming than crying, so even though she has to wipe away a few renegade tears, she doesn't outright sob.
"I really do need a mirror," she insists, quiet but certain. "I'm not lying! If I have a mirror I can get home. I don't know how else I can find my way back."
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But then she’s back on the mirrors. What’s he supposed to do with that kind of request? He looks left, obscuring his exposed bones, then right, where all that’s left of his face is the hollowed out half of his nose. Where the Hell is he supposed to—
“There’s a mirror back at camp...” Every twitch of his tongue is visible just past his cheekless jaw until he finds where his helmet had rolled to. He’s quick to put it on again, and once more he’s sighing. “Rum, too, ‘less they got it all.”
The knight retrieves his sword, which blinks as it passes by the girl, and he returns to the path it has cut them through the foliage. “Follow me,” he commands. “Hold my cape. Don’t get lost.”
The spear in his back bobs with every step he takes as he disappears into the darkness of the jungle.
After a short while of wordless walking he flips his visor up to be better understood. “Why’s it matter so much?” he asks. “A mirror. For gettin’ home. You’re too young for magic, if you think you’re gonna scry the way back or somethin’.”
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Lynn watches the sword float through the air and waits a second before following the zombie. Each bobbing of the spear makes her stomach twist unhappily and follows with her eyes locked on it. If he thinks she's going to hold his gross cape, he's very wrong. It probably has zombie blood on it from the spear.
"I'm thirteen!" She proclaims in the way all children do in an attempt to scrounge up respect. "I've been doing mirror magic since I was eight! And my dad did dream magic since he was five! I'm actually behind on my magic compared to him... Where did you get that sword?"
She eyes it again as she walks. "I think I've seen it before. Where did you get it?"
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“Kinda small for thirteen, ain’t ya?”
A column of smoke streams out from the bridge of his nose. Was that a snort? Whatever it was he shakes his head and continues plodding along. The way toward the camp has already been cut, and the going is easier.
“That’s my runeblade. I bought it from the nice old lady at the farmer’s market. Same as every other death knight.”
He props the blade up against his shoulder before stepping over an inconvenient stump. The eye socket near the handle faces Lynn, and no matter how the dead man moves, the pit has a way of always being just at the level of her eye. It radiates with a powerful magic, but more than that, it exerts another sort of pressure. A feeling not unlike the vacant gaze of an antique, porcelain doll.
“If your dad’s such a wizard, how come he never taught you nothin’?”
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Lynn stops when the zombie does and looks up at him hesitantly, but that comment sends a shudder of indignation through her. Her fingers curl into fists and she storms on after him. It doesn't quite have the same effect as when her aunt strides in anger, so she has to trot up to him to get closer.
"I'm a perfect size for a thirteen year old," she tells him.
While he lumbers over a stump, she takes the opportunity to try and walk up along side him. Only to be stopped by the sight of that eye drilling into her. Maybe it wasn't the zombie that felt magical at all. Maybe it's all coming from that sword. Maybe the thing she's talking to isn't a zombie at all, and it's the sword instead.
"He taught me lots, but he's away a lot. He's very important. He works with the gods, so sometimes he has to be away for a long time." She struggles briefly with a vine that caught her by the arm, then trots on closer, this time being more careful of where she steps. "Are you a sword? Or a zombie? Or a lich?"
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Until, that is, she says something that takes a moment to register. Gods. Gods? Had she really said that? Gods. Not in this place. Not on Azeroth.
Gods and mages and dreams and — and she has seen it before, hasn’t she? The other half of his runeblade. The half that wasn’t tarnished and pitted by the plague. And she’s asking about him, and what he is, and he can’t quite tell her that he’s any of those things, because he’s all of those things — but if he’s anything at all, he’s the half of himself that he left with the woman he loved.
He stumbles over a fallen vine and staggers into a tree where he remains, unmoving, still as a corpse ought to be. Right now, more than anything, he needs to be wrong. He needs to be told he’s a fool for thinking what’s on his mind.
He turns to see the girl again, and his solitary eye is filled with dread.
“Are you a Durant?”
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She's been warned thoroughly of bad people eager to hurt her family, or just mages in general. Likewise she's been told of those who eagerly help just at hearing her family name. It's a gamble. All she can hope is that this place isn't Earth and that it has only met one of her family members in passing, just enough to leave a good impression. She hopes.
"Yes... I'm Lynnette. Lynnette Durant."
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And then his cape swirls to the side of the spear in his back as he turns on his heel and grabs the girl by the wrist. With a too-rough tug he pulls her along across the uneven ground, freezing away at fronds and vines to clear the way before them.
The journey back to the campgrounds is short, lucky for Lynnette, and in moments they're back at the clearing again. The knight drags the girl to the shattered mirror frame where shards of glass are scattered all around. He lets her go only to shove her harshly toward it.
"There's your mirror," his echoing voice says. "Your father wouldn't want you here. Neither would your mother, and neither would your aunt. Go home."
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