#saaska

"We're going to go see an old friend of mine from the war on Dragonblight," Mosur responded to her question about where they were headed. He hefted her onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around her legs to keep her steady. It was much warmer in Grizzly Hills and the pair had shed some of the heavy winter clothes they had worn in Dragonblight. There were very few individuals she ever heard him refer to as friend, but something warmed her a little to hear that he did have those he considered such. She noticed the more somber tone in his voice as he'd spoken but let it go as just being somber thoughts of the war. The trek didn't seem far at all when he'd stopped to let her down. "We're here," he said and lifted her setting her hooves on the pine straw coated floor. She looked around seeing no signs of life. No wisps of light or otherwise, her empty gaze turned to Mosur in question. Mosur looked down at Saaska, a swirl of sadness and guilt spiraled in his stomach. It was a few moments before he spoke to her, "We're visiting a grave Saaska." His words were quiet and subdued. Saaska inhaled, pressed her lips tight together at Mosur's words and dropped her wavering gaze. She suddenly felt bad, felt sorry for him, she felt like she should comfort him but he was so distant. Mosur knelt at the grave and began cleaning away the leaves and pine needles. Saaska shifted as he got down to clear the grave off, her hoof bumped into rock. "Gravestone," Mosur muttered. The makeshift gravestone still stood, draenei words carved into it. His gaze graced the stone once before continuing his task. Saashenka knelt beside the stone and let her fingers see it. It only took her a moment to recognize the symbols and words carved into the stone. No doubt the carvings were done by Mosur's skillful hands. It read: Merrik Shrewsbury, Friend & Savior. Her lips pursed again and she looked from the stone toward Mosur's essence again. The shaman’s brow furrowed as he finished cleaning the grave off, something was odd. There was no grass covering the whole grave, it had been nearly a year the ground almost looked as though it had been disturbed. He pressed against the earth above the grave, it gave a little his hand leaving an imprint in the dirt. Shifting he attempted this again beside the grave, but the earth held firm, packed. A sense of urgency gripped Mosur an explosion of worry and concern that shocked the young priestess. The sound of dirt falling came to her ears and she watched his form work. As this went on longer the sounds of grunting joined in. He was digging up the grave. “Mosur, what are you doing?” she asked surprised and knelt next to the gravestone. “Something’s not right here,” he commented and continued to dig. Already his linens were stained with dirt and mud but he continued to dig. His finger cut through the earth and mud beneath him with ease pushing and pulling the dirt out of the hole to pile beside the grave. He continued unwavering until his fingers raked across a wooden board, only then did he slow. By now the whole front of his cream colored robes were stained with reddish brown earth. It took him a while longer to clear the dirt from the surface of the makeshift coffin. He could suddenly feel his heart pounding against his chest and the blood rushing in his ears. Hesitation held him still in the silence of the mountains. Breaking free of his worry he reached forward and with effort lifted the lid of the man’s coffin. Nothing had changed, there was nothing disturbed. The man lay in the coffin as Mosur had placed him a year ago, he didn’t even look as though he had decomposed any. Strange, Mosur thought.  “Mosur..?” Saaska spoke drawing his attention to her. She still huddled by the gravestone and watched him dig up the grave, “Is everything okay?” Mosur looked from Saashenka back to the body of Shrewsbury and breathed out. He nodded then spoke realizing his silence, “Yes, it appears that everything is just fine.” A sparkle drew his eye to the death knight’s chest where a long stemmed pipe lay. Something told him to take it. He reached inside the coffin and retrieved out the pipe. He expected there to be the smell of death lingering about the instrument, but it only smelled of the earth and the cedarwood that comprised the coffin. Mosur closed the coffin back and filled in the grave. The pair traveled back to the inn, at least only one of them was tired and dirty.

But meeting my Imp’s friend reminded me of others I had met during that time. Transgressions I caused and respects I still have to pay. Despite enjoying a simple new lifestyle unlike one I have known for a long time there are still duties I feel I have to those I once counted as friends.

"Hello?" Mosur's voice called out through the small house and he hung on the silence that followed. He'd spoken in common in case and hoping that perhaps Shame was still there. He wondered if, perhaps, they had gone out, and he meandered into the kitchen for a glance around. The only things out of place were the items on the table. A pair of glass bottles, one on its side with little more than a sip left in it, and the other standing upright with a drink or two remaining. Both were still uncorked and he stared at them for the longest time as a memory drudged itself up from the depths of his mind. Despite the cold ground beneath him he felt no urge to get up, a heaviness filled his body and any desire to move was shoved aside. A groan escaped him as he peeked his eyelids open then shut them again immediately. The bright light caused a stabbing pain between his eyes. His shoulders slumped back against the hardened earth beneath him and he allowed his mouth to downturn at the pain. A dry tackiness in his mouth became apparent when he took a deeper breath; the tang was awful but there wasn't enough saliva to spit the disgusting taste from his mouth. A drink of water, that's what he needed. Thinking about a drink of water set his empty stomach on edge and it roiled with discontent, empty but for the evenings past consumptions. He swallowed hard leaving his eyes closed and forced a hand into his pocket to fumble around. Two coins...too light...coppers...and a handful of crystals. They didn't take crystals here for currency, why did he even still have them at all? He lay for a long time debating getting up, he had no desire to move, for the world to start spinning like he knew it would. He also couldn't just lay there all day though and by the brightness it was already well into the morning if not past. Finally the overwhelming urge to relieve himself forced him from his evening bed, likely where he'd been tossed after running out of money, or carrying on too much or too loudly. He didn't recall any of the past evening and it was likely for the best he thought. He forced himself to sit and nearly toppled over before he could center his weight forward. The draenei swayed as he sat the sound of rushing blood filled his ears at what he thought was an abnormally loud level. His stomach bubbled a second time causing him to feel ill again. He needed to eat, but like everything else he had no desire to do so; the thought of food caused him to feel even sicker. He raised his hand to rest his face against and his fingertips brushed over something crusty above his left eye. He brushed it away, bits of whatever falling into his palm. He forced his eyes open again and squinted to see. Small dark blue crumbles. He raised his hand again and continued to brush at the area till a soft sting registered, yeah it had been blood, a wound of some kind, he didn't quite remember. A pressure in his lower abdomen reminded him why he was sitting at all and he finished staggering to his feet and started to contend with another day. He had been somewhere in...well honestly he couldn't recall the name of the place, some dwarven area. Bearded little boar-like creatures he'd thought of them then, strange looking creatures at the time. They tossed him out on his rear for insulting one of their brews if he recalled correctly, then he had been too drunk to make it further than the trees near the ram stables where his talbuk, Onkuru, had been housed. Though that was the norm for a long time, pissing his money away on drink and forgetting more than half of every day just for being out of his mind. A year or more on Azeroth just being a drunken bum. Why? People only drown themselves in alcohol when they have something they want to forget. The mind is a funny thing; it changes memories, holds back information, protects us from...the truth. Most of the time. He didn't drink because he liked the taste, he liked the burn, it was a punishment almost. A self inflicted punishment that he wasn't afraid of, like some of his darker thoughts.Honestly it was sad to think about now even if at times it was a tempting life to return to and the same dark thoughts surfaced on occasion. Unfortunately, or rather luckily for him, he had things...he had things to worry about...people to occupy his time. He found himself holding one of the bottles now and it was empty. He didn’t recall when the contents had emptied themselves but there was a sweet taste on his lips. Shame did enjoy her wine when she could afford it. He should just wait for them to return he decided and set the bottle back down.

Mosur sat on a hill looking down over the Tian Monastery. He stretched his legs out and laid back in the grass. He couldn't keep this up, but then why did he start it? He was always tarrying after someone these days it seemed. And for what? To save some woman, some girl, to do the right thing? Things were so much simpler two years ago. What had really changed? His eyes closed and the sun shined down on him, warming his exposed flesh and heating his robes. He felt that...since Draenor his life had been filled with missteps. His dove not a misstep of his own, but that was the start was it not? And Rea..lost her husband... "Look out for her ‘til I get there Moe." He did a fine job of that...letting her wander back to Shattrath and get slaughtered by the orcs. Or at least so he had thought for all these years. His stomach turned over and he shook his head to clear his mind. She hadn't died..but he'd been unable to go to her..he was sure she had died, and he didn't want to see that. Two women he couldn't save... Then there was Merry; he let her die. Let her make the deal with Subigo that she would die trying to kill Xodius. It was only by some scheme of the flame druids that she survived. He would have done nothing though. Woman three. His Imp, the demon would have had her, wanted to rip out her heart, what could he do? Doesn't matter..he did save her, right? He was scolded for it. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Then there- His eyes opened and he sat up. Thoughts, memories. They were poisonous, they were weighty. He was so worried about who he was now and how he'd gotten here. He kept trying to change but wasn't making the necessary efforts...the right efforts. He stood up and dusted the grass from the back of his robe and looked down to check himself over. Yes, he looked fine. He glanced over his shoulder at the yellow-blue moth resting in a growth of wild flowers. He clicked his tongue the way he'd heard Saaska do it many times before and caught the moth’s attention. He just needed to find Jamus now.

One Keg. It was both close and far enough away. The entire situation was a conflict that welled up inside of him. At least before when he had the taint and his issues he had, or could have had, assumed it was twisting everyone’s words. It was funny how now without it the words still sounded the same and from individuals he never thought to hear them from. He sat heavily on the half keg by the bar looking already half ragged. Nearly a week of camping out and sleeping in the hills and snow of Kun-Lai had not been kind to the draenei. Days of growth marked his normally smoothly shaved cheeks. His hair appeared in no better shape than what a few strokes of his fingers through it might have accomplished. Tiredness also settled over him, he'd had sleep, sure, but the cold hard ground was nowhere to get properly rested. A scruffy hozen turned around to him after finishing serving another customer at the opposite end of the small bar. "What you havin’ Grook?" he asked already wiping a decent sized glass out. Moe's gaze rose to the hozen, unsure of what exactly the ape had called him. He decided it wasn't worth the effort to worry what the monkey meant. "Something strong...and large," he added after a moment. It only took a moment before he was reaching out to grab the larger flagon the hozen handed over. His blue eyes looked down into the mug as foam and froth slowly settled. His right hand grasped the mug and his eyes watched his thumb slide back and forth along the lip of the drink. His heart beat at a moderate pace as his head swam with thoughts. It had been a long time since he drank to get drunk. He’d put that mostly behind him when he’d lost the puzzle box, wherever it had gotten to. Had it been so bad after all, what the taint had given him? It certainly hadn’t taken anything away from him that he hadn’t already lost. You know, he might have actually been happy. Things he wanted were well within his grasp. What did he have to give up for them, but things that he no longer had now anyway and that was all... He tilted the mug back and had a long drink. The liquid had a refreshing bite as it coursed down his throat. Curiosity wove several outcomes in his mind as he continued to drink at the end of the darkened bar. Poison in the mind. Poison in the body.

The guildstone in his pocket crackled to life, Templar voices. His eyes half opened, he assumed it was nothing as always. He was wrong. Compromised, he listened to the list of names, some he knew. Binan Village, that was the first village on the map, the one just up and past these stairs, just through a small cave system. He lay away listening till the voices stopped. They would not be going up these stairs tomorrow. He hadn't realized the Templars were so close, he was not ready to give up her companionship just yet. Selfish, yes, but he would keep his word, just a few more days.

“What was your best, favorite creation?” Saas had asked him. She was speaking of his jewelcrafting. He didn’t think for long and frowned a little. “My favorite?” His voice was already laced with a tinge of sadness, he could tell at the sudden droop in her face. He cleared his throat and didn’t speak again for a moment. After a long pause he sat up. “This.” He said his left hand took her right and turned it over while his right hand placed a weight in her hand. Saas looked up at him and closed her hand around what he’d handed her and sat up. She leaned over it her fingers once again feeling the small trinket he handed her. It was a ring, heavily weighted and there were several stones set in it, small ones set in a swirl around the head of the band and a larger set into the band. There was carving along the band and on the inside of the band. Letters, she couldn’t quite make them out. “It’s a nice ring.” She smiled in his direction. She could tell it was too small for him to wear. “Whose is it?” He had expected such a question but still found it hard to mention, his center swirled with pain and hurt, it built till he finally spoke. “It was going to be a wedding ring for my fiance.” He started to speak again but stopped remaining silent. “What was her name?” Saas spoke quietly her grip on the ring becoming lighter, as though she needed to be more respectful of the ring now that she knew what its purpose would have been.. After a long pause he spoke again. “Amia, her name was Amia.” Despite the turmoil that seemed to swirl within him to her sight his words smiled as he spoke her name. “Wh- do you mind if I ask what happened..?” She could see and had heard the pain, she had at least an idea of where this woman was now. The shaman pursed his lips a moment and took a deep breath. “We ah, we were both priests at Karabor. For centuries.. until it all came to an end you know.” He was sure she was old enough that she had lived more than a few decades on Draenor despite calling or describing her as a child. “She never made it to Shattrath.” He said clearing his throat. Mosur was still sitting up, his face had dropped down to stare at his lap so he was surprised when she crawled into his lap. He opened his mouth but wrapped an arm around her as she hugged him about his chest tightly. Her hand pressed the ring back into his palm. Her horn pressed against his collarbone and he turned his head to rest his chin there on the curve of it. “She was a good girl.” He said unprompted a sad smile creeping across his face. “I miss her a lot.” Saas nodded her head. She had lost people herself, even after the orcs, more recently, the man she knew as a father. She nodded her head again biting her bottom lip. “You know, you shouldn’t miss her, she’s with the Light now. You should know that as a priest...in the grand Army of the Light...with the Naaru.” She smiled up at him with a crooked grin, a bit of sadness sat in the corner of her eyes. Mosur lifted his thumb to her face to wipe it away. “Eh, you’re right...you know.” He said exhaling a shaky breath. He gave a long pause. “I’ve never showed that to anyone before...that ring...you’re also the only person who’s ever asked her name.” Then again he didn’t talk about her, or his past often. If anything he tried to hide it. It didn’t affect the now. Or at least he didn’t think it did. He couldn’t often see the hangups that his past caused him, the hesitations he took, the reasons he made decisions. “I’m glad you showed me, it’s beautiful.” She smiled again and continued to rest against his chest. He couldn’t help a light laugh at her comment, beautiful...beautiful said the blind girl. The laugh faded into a smile. “Yes, I think between you and my father, no one else has seen it...besides my father...but really, you like it then?” She nodded her head. “I can feel the work you put into it, you put your heart and soul in it.. I can see how deeply they are affected when you talk about it.” She could see that he had settled down now, there was still a stabbing of pain, but nothing more than what he seemed to carry, like a splinter in his energy. “Tell me about her.” She dug again. He tensed just barely and she watched the ripple in his energy through half lidded eyes. She was patient for her age as he took his time. “She was younger than I,” he started as though he were telling a story then again thats what it would become as he spoke to her, “She had fair skin, tinged a more violet color, dark hair, black as the night...completely opposite mine.” “You have white hair?” She questioned mid story. He hummed the affirmative and nodded. “Old man.” She said softly with a smile but not loud enough to interrupt the tale as he continued. “Silver glowing eyes, and a wonderful personality.” She continued to watch his energy as he spoke, it swirls calm the longer he talked the more comfortable he became it seemed. “I was a very different man back then, I’ve been called stubborn, I was completely bullheaded...but I was more than confident. I was very full of myself.” He chuckled thinking about it, it seemed like so long ago but it really wasn’t, at least not over the course of their lives. “I think I chased after her trying to get her to say yes for a nearly a hundred years. We were both priests at Karabor all that time, so I found plenty of reasons to run into her, bump into her. Sometimes I surprised her, sometimes I didn’t.” He continued to talk for a while longer, describing his Amia to her till he noticed her breathing had changed. “Saas?” He paused for a while, there was nothing. He smiled a little and shifted putting her back on her bed roll and covering her up again, making sure she was tucked in. He felt...better. A smile on his face he leaned down and kissed the young one’s forehead. “Eh, good night.” He spoke softly and laid back in his own bedding and pulled the covers up over his shoulders starting to drift off.