Gorgeous!~

And I'm on WoW. We're tied.

GORGEOUS SEXY WOMAN

After much traveling the world, he found his thoughts drifting to his sister once more. Tezuli... he missed her. He wanted her to see the power he gained, the strength and resolve and the way home! He had to find her, but... rumors had reached his ears of a clan of trolls, fiercely dedicated against Hakkar’s cause. He suspected she was among them, and his heart twisted.

If it were true.. convincing her to join his cause, to join Hakkar... would be difficult at best, impossible at worst. But he had to try.

... But in order to try, he’d need to get to that clan. He’d need to get into that clan.

And so his travels began again. Away from the swamp, through deserts and forest alike, until he found himself warily in Durotar. A little snooping here, a little information-prying there, and he found himself at the door of the one person who might be able to help him, Hakar willing.

With a knock, he uttered a phrase, “When is the blood thickest?”

The rain poured from the heavens, soaking the jungle below. Clouds hung and darkened the sky, flashes of lightning breaking that illumination every so often.

Off on the other side of the city, a warhorn blew. The hunt was on.

Zen'gru had been released from her binds within Bethekk's. Under Ocnar's orders, a clanwide manhunt had been put into effect. Nobody had been given details as to what Zen'gru had done to earn the extermination, but all were just as thirsty for her blood. Here and there, hollars could be heard over the rain and thunder. Voices whooped and called over the skull as they chased the druid towards the gates. It was there, that Rak'yat sat and waited. Perched up high in a tree, the Sandfury notched an arrow and waited. Hawk-eyes were trained on the path leading up towards the stairs. It was the only way out of the city.

It wasn't long before the hunter saw movement. Up the path from the waterfall, a form hurried on. That tell-tale mess of hair was her indication. Pulling the arrow back in the string, Rak'yat drew in a breath. She took aim. She trained.... And she loosed. Zen'gru hardly knew what was coming, until the arrow had bit into her ribs.

It was here that Rak'yat stuck true to her blood-thirsty roots. She got some sick sense of satisfaction at the howl of pain that tore over the thunder. Another arrow was pulled from the quiver at her hip and fired on the stumbling woman. This one clipped her shoulder, sending a brief spray of red through the air.

The clan had no idea where she had gotten to. So Rak'yat sought out her fun. Dropping from her perch, the woman ripped a dagger from her hip. Her bow was slung back over her shoulder as Hi'baba and Te'te burst from the bush beneath. They had been sitting and waiting for their two-leg to land. Both hyenas were snarling, slobbering, violent masses. Hackles raised and tails stood erect.

Zen'gru's head lifted, eyes widened in horror. She thought she would make it out in one piece. She thought she had escaped!

"N-no! Please! Don't hurt me, please! You have this all wrong, I didn't d-" She was cut off by a sharp bark from the Sandfury.

"Don't give a damn what you did, or did not do. My orders were to kill you. And that's what I'm going to do."

Dread filled the druid's heart. It started as a chill that developed to a sheet of ice, the longer she stared at Rak'yat's wicked, upturned smile. The Sandfury was out to blood. There was no swaying her opinion or intention. So Zen'gru reacted, trying to defend herself. She lashed out, a bolt of moonfire ripping from her palm. Her aim and judgement was off, and the offensive gesture simply soared right past Rak'yat.

"Oooh. Got a little fight left, huh?" The Sandfury sneered and purred. "Good." Just like that, she rushed Zen'gru, their bodies colliding and tumbling to the ground once more. The arrow in her shoulder was ripped free, alongside the one in her lungs. They were a flurry of movement and desperation as they rolled down the hill. When they stopped, Rak'yat was sitting atop Zen'gru, the arrows raised high. A short shriek tried to out-volume the roar of triumph as the projectiles were plunged back into the druid's chest. Flesh gave way and her sternum cracked in half, leaving her breathless as she screamed. The pain was agonizing. Topping that with her right lung rapidly filling with blood, she was frantic.

Rak'yat had wasted no time in executing the termination, though. She could hear her clanmates gaining ground on her, calling over the skull. This kill was hers. She wouldn't share. The dagger she still had in hand was lifted. Grabbing Zen's hair, she tilted the woman's head back.

"Ssssh, sssshhh... You're bound for the spirits, girly. But I won't promise it'll be painless." The Sandfury spoke with a sickly sweet tone. Every word oozed venom and malice. Zen'gru struggled, Rak'yat would admit that later in retells of the story. She struggled and squirmed and garbled out to her assailant. But Rak'yat didn't stop. Pressing the curved part of the blade to Zen'gru's neck, she applied pressure and slowly dragged it across in a line. The sadistic woman didn't even flinch as Zen'gru's heart pumped sprays of blood all over her. All Rak'yat did was lick her lips.

((Whoops.. missed a day. Oh well! Think I'm just gonna do these for Tez, because she's become my main, as it were. o xo

Day 2 —Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.))

Had it really, truly been almost two years now?

Tezuli sat on the old stone gates outside Zul'Gurub, magenta eyes peering out over the pathway and into the jungle beyond. So much had happened in the year and a half since her world had fallen apart. So much had happened since the day she lost everything.

They destroyed her home. Not just the hut where she grew up, but everything that made Shatterspear Vale a place to thrive. Drums were burned, lanterns smashed, instruments snapped into pieces and tossed into bonfires. Children's toys were trampled underfoot by kaldorei rangers and sentinels, and glaives and arrows bit into flesh and wood as though it were all the same.

Her world went up in flames. The sounds of joy and celebration of a carefree people were drowned out by the cacophony of an attack that never should've happened, of needless violence.

This, she could've come to terms with far more easily. This, she could've pushed to the bottom of her being, hidden away in some little corner.

Finding her mother's body, seeing her father die...

Even now, a year and a half later, she found it difficult. On a good day, she could discuss them with some ease, though the ache in her heart brought the images back to the front of her mind.

Her mother, An'zima, a weaver. A simple woman, known for assisting in the creation of the tribe's ritual clothing. She wove the webs for the dressings of Shadra, the nets of Bwonsamdi, the fabrics that draped over Bethekk. A woman with a fiery temper fierce enough to silence the proudest warrior, or so Tezuli always thought. The woman who gave her daughter pride, passion, courage, and wit.

Her father, Kin'zul, a warrior. There weren't many warriors in her tribe, at least ones that so readily answered the call to arms. Many were fighters, but many more were mystics. Her father was no brute, though. Gentle, kind, even silly at times, he and his daughter got into more trouble when she was a youngster than Tez could even remember. At the end of the day, they always answered back to An'zima. Her father.. the man who gave her knowledge, strength, kindness, and the bright laugh and happy grin that so often lifted her features.

She knew as the year came to a close, she would feel their presence nearby, if only in her heart. She knew she would feel the painful sting of their loss all over again. She'd see them again, someday, and until then she'd hold fast to all they'd taught her, living in the ways of her tribe, her people.

((1. Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room.  Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your story. I modified the last sentence slightly to put it in third person 'cause I'm a stickler. It's from Rebel Angels, by Libba Bray.))

She watched until she couldn't see anything, until the path it had traveled was erased by a sudden flurry of new leaves.

The sound of drums was still fading from her ears, the sight of her clansmen and tribesmen dancing in one final ritual still playing in front of her eyes. The way the bone-ash paint felt on her fingers and her face, marked in a skull for the Rite of Passing. The spirits were released, ushered onto the Road to walk with the Loa.

Her parents were among them. An'zima, Kin'zul... she'd seen them during the ritual. Others had seen the spirits too, those two and many more.

It was as though all the deceased came back to watch one last dance. Tezuli swore once in a while that she saw tears in their spectral eyes, relieved to be freed, and enthralled to see their culture living on in the next generation, in other tribes.

She could remember it all so clearly, even though the drums had since ceased, the keens and cries and loud hails to Bwonsamdi only echoes in the dusky mountains now. The clan had moved ahead, making the long trek back to Stranglethorn, but the young hunter remained until a familiar hand put itself on her shoulder.

".. C'mon, Tezzy. It's time to go," Hez'luz spoke softly. He knew how hard this had been for her.

"I know," She murmured in response.

Leading her back to his raptor, he waited for her to climb into the saddle before spurring the beast off. She kept her head turned, watching as Darkshore faded behind them.

She could've sworn then that she saw the spirits of her parents, arms around each other's waists, smiling and waving to their daughter, their baby... one last time.