#tezuli

WHAT’S THAT?? A DRAWING??? I STILL DRAW????

yes, actually.

although this is the first meaningful lineart i’ve done since september.

‘I ain’t goin’ anywhere, girleh. I don’t intend ta die ta Garax, or his void-shit’. It was meant to inspire Di’onaya. It was meant to give hope. Yet her mind was never torn from the vision given to her that day. Her first Trial was important. All to ensure that the Zandalari could handle the responsibility of being a Shadow Hunter. Yet out of all of the visions...Di’s seemed to be the most brutal. She stares ahead in her cot. These were the beginning stages of the blood plague, heralding the arrival of that dreaded C’thraxxi. The Antu’zuls had been working day and night to keep the Clan safe. But so did they in that vision Di had and as parallels were drawn...

In a dark, cold, sealed crypt they had laid what remained of Tezuli. It wasn’t much- a right leg, blown off below the knee. A portion of a right hand. Bits and pieces of her armor. Her Rush'kah. Gifts and parting offerings for the fallen Chief, sacrificing herself at 19 to buy precious few days for her people before the demons came.

In the moments before the explosion she had triggered, the Shatterspear had called for a full retreat. There was no winning that fight. She knew it. They knew it. Demons poured forth from portals, an endless and overpowering force.

And in the moment she destroyed the main portal, there was no fear. No doubt, no regret. She barely had time to feel the searing pain of hot metal and destructive magics before her head hit the mountainside behind her.

The next morning, in a red dawn harboring an oncoming storm, her remains were recovered. A few days later, the clan she so loved laid her to rest. Eyes closed and heavy-laden with tears, they said goodbye.

None knew that almost two weeks later, in a dark, cold camp, the Chief they had buried lay, grievously wounded and comatose. She had remained there after a passing group of Horde adventurers had spotted her. How they had managed to retrieve her was nothing short of a miracle, with the Tainted Scar still swelling with demonic forces. Yet all the same, there she was, battered and broken and still as the death that had not yet claimed her. Every now and then, Tezuli had heard bits and pieces of the conversations around her. They faded in and out of her blackness, and though she heard them talking to her, or more often than not about her, she was powerless to move or respond to their promptings.

“It should be soon...” A gravelly, hoarse voice rumbled in Orcish. A male. Forsaken, by the timbre.

“And if it isn’t?” Another voice, this one female and gruff.

“Then she won’t wake at all.” The Forsaken replied.

Tezuli had seen her death. Years ago, at the start of her shadow hunter training. She had deliberately chosen to forget as much of it as she could-- after all, what point was there in knowing when the Loa would call her home? It would do nothing but hold her back or cause worry-- whether for herself or for others was another question.

She remembered bits and pieces though. Hardly anything to jog her memory on how she would die, much less the when.. but enough to know that it would not be today. It would not be lying on itchy hay barely covered by an equally scratchy blanket. It would not be in a coma, dead to the world and trapped in a hazy dream state from which she could not wake. Six voices echoed in the dark; sounds in neither Zandali nor Orcish, yet ones she understood all the same. The same sounds she had so often heard before in her Rush’kah when the Loa spoke to her.

Your time is not yet, child.

There is more we require of you.

There is more to be done.

Rise now, fight again.

Open your eyes, steel your resolve.

Get up, get up, get up!

Her body seized as she tried to lurch forward, tired and bruised muscles and still-healing broken bones resisted against the sudden movement. She tried again, grunting and failing. Get up. Get up.

GET UP!

The Shatterspear finally forced herself up, spittle flying from her maw as a raw, tattered scream tore from her throat. Every inch of her felt as if it were on fire, as though her muscles were tearing apart and her bones cracking under the strain of simply moving. It would not stop her, though. Even as the sounds of many footsteps hurriedly made their way to her bedside, and multiple voices told her things like ‘not yet’ or ‘you need to rest’ or even ‘if you keep that up you’ll hurt yourself worse!’, Tezuli focused on only one thing.

Her eyes were open.

Hi nonnie! :D Thanks for the prompt!

One for each then!

Tezuli: She hasn’t danced in a ritual pretty much since she lost her home in Shatterspear Vale 4 years ago. She misses it and wants to get back into it, though!

Jenzulu: Though I haven’t played him in ages, I’ve been thinking OOC on what to do with him to liven him up. ICly, he’s considering changing paths from a balance/resto druid to maybe taking up being a big, burly bear!

Kioni’fon: Kioni’fon has two braids in her hair given to her by her closest friend, Faraji. He taught her how to braid and demonstrated for her, and she only takes them out to wash her hair, then puts them back in.

Altherei: She plans to take a trip to Pandaria with a friend soon to have a reprieve from all the craziness going on in the world.

Hi nonnie! Thanks for your question!

Some of Tezuli’s favorite childhood memories are participating in all the rituals the Shatterspear have, and getting to dance with her family and tribesmen. :D Bright colors, big bonfires, jingling bells and all the energy that came along with it is something she still treasures!

It was a loud peal of thunder that woke Tezuli from her deep sleep. The sky was dark and heavy with a summer storm, and peeling back one of the leather flaps at her hut’s entrance revealed nothing but a darkened downpour. Zul’Gurub’s cobbled stone streets were slick with rain, and she could barely see the hills and trees without the strobe-like strikes of lightning to illuminate them. What time it was, she had little clue, but the skull was quiet. It must still be rather early.

Choosing to stay inside for now, she closed the flap and lit a few candles for extra light, letting the soft glow fill her hut. She settled her Rush’kah over her face and took a moment to stretch her neck and wake up; with this storm, there’d be no sleep any time soon. Her eyes fell to the table, where now four out of the six hirizi she’d assembled lay on its wooden surface. On the floor were the two remaining pouches, and therein the last of the items the Loa had demanded.